The Bard's Blade

by Brian D. Anderson

  Lem nodded, more than a bit disappointed. Still, the information was useful. They could be found. And he was most assuredly determined. “Thank you.”

  “Just be careful not to ask about them until you’re beyond Ralmarstad borders,” she said. “I know hiding who you are can be hard. Believe me, when you saw me loose the elemental magic on Zara, I was scared you would think I was a heretic and try to turn me in.”

  Lem furrowed his brow. “You saved me. Why would I do that?”

  “Why does anyone do anything in this bloody world? I’ve seen children turn on parents. Husbands on wives. Just about every kind of betrayal imaginable. All for the love of Kylor.”

  “I promise, I’ll never say anything to anyone about you,” he assured her.

  “I know that now. You’re a kind young man. I can see that. It’s why I knew I had to get you out of that wretched tavern. Lucky for you I overheard Zara talking about Farley’s offer just after Durst had his fun with you.”

  The mention of Durst’s name brought on a swell of anger. “How did you find him?”

  Martha chuckled. “That was easy. Zara told him you had refused his offer. Fortunately, he didn’t believe her and decided he would stay in town a few extra nights until he could speak to you again. Someone who dresses as fancy as that isn’t hard to find. I told him what happened and he agreed to take you with him. Actually, he seemed rather excited about it.”

  Lem now regretted not confiding more in Martha earlier. Had they more time, he might even now. But it was too late. Ahead he saw the silhouetted figure of a man against the light of the half-moon standing in the road, his horse a few feet away.

  “This is as far as I go,” said Martha, pulling up her mount. “You take care of yourself, Lem. And thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “I haven’t been able to … well … just be myself in a very long time. I’m glad you know what I am. It will make the days ahead more tolerable.”

  Lem smiled. “I’ll never forget what you did for me.”

  Martha wheeled her horse around and moved up beside him close enough to touch his hand. “You keep your wits about you. This Farley fellow might be your way out of here. But I wouldn’t trust him if I were you. Of course, these days, who can you trust?”

  Before Lem could speak, she gave his hand a squeeze and spurred her horse to a quick trot. In seconds Martha had vanished into the night, and the beating of hooves was soon swallowed by the darkness.

  “Strange woman.”

  Lem hadn’t noticed Farley’s approach. “Thank you for waiting,” he said.

  “You can thank me shortly,” said Farley, with a grin that was slightly comical. “When Martha told me what had happened, I knew I couldn’t just steal away with you in the night. Not without a bit of justice first.”

  Farley took the reins of his mount, and Lem climbed down. Though he was off balance for a second, he was relieved to be back on solid ground.

  “Justice?”

  Farley led the horse to where the other was tied to a felled limb. After securing it, he pointed to a narrow trail a few yards ahead. “It’s waiting just down there.”

  The trail led a short distance to a small farmhouse situated between two large fields, though in the darkness, Lem could not tell what was being grown. It was a modest dwelling, though appeared well maintained when compared to the buildings in town. The windows were lit, and smoke drifted up from the stone chimney. However, Farley did not approach the front door. Instead, they rounded the right side to where a small wooden shed stood. Waiting beside this was a man in simple work clothes, a short wooden club in his left hand. Lem blinked in astonishment. Kneeling helplessly beside the farmer, with hands and feet tied and his mouth gagged, was Durst.

  “About time,” said the man, scowling. “A few more minutes and I was going to cut him loose. I got work in the morning, you know.”

  Farley reached into a pouch affixed to his belt and retrieved three copper coins. “You know what to do, don’t you?”

  The man stared at the coins, his scowl redoubling. “You said five.”

  “No, you said five,” Farley corrected. “I said three.”

  The two men locked eyes for a tense moment. With a dissatisfied growl, the farmer then snatched the coins from Farley’s hand and shoved them into his pocket.

  “The pigs it is,” he muttered before walking away.

  Farley waited until he was well out of earshot before speaking. “Now, then. Here we all are.”

  Durst was struggling against his bonds, eyes wide, mumbling incoherently through the gag. Farley unsheathed his dagger and, with an inviting smile, held it out to Lem.

  Lem stared at the blade in horror. Did Farley really expect him to kill Durst? In cold blood? This was what he meant by justice? The idea was repellant. And Martha … she knew. How could she have thought he would want this?

  “I can’t,” he said, holding up his palms.

  Farley cocked his head. “So you’ve never killed? Interesting.” He reached out and grabbed Lem’s wrist, pressing the dagger into his hand. “Well, it’s time you did. After all, from the look of your face, he deserves it.”

  The dagger felt oddly heavy. He wanted to drop it, but he couldn’t. He was paralyzed, transfixed, as if the steel had somehow captured his mind. Only with an enormous effort was he able to rip his eyes away from the weapon and look down at Durst. The man who had beaten him so mercilessly and with great joy was no longer menacing, with his muffled pleas and tears spilling down his cheeks.

  Lem had imagined scenarios not unlike this one—Durst helpless and at his complete mercy. He wanted nothing more than for Durst to wake up in a cold sweat, as he had, shaking and weeping, brought low by the terror inflicted upon him. And now … here he was.

  “Look at you. You’re nothing but a coward.”

  “That’s right,” said Farley.

  Lem hadn’t realized that he had spoken aloud. He held out the dagger. “I can’t do this.”

  “I’m afraid there’s no choice,” Farley told him. “If he’s still alive when the farmer returns, he’ll just cut him loose. And if that happens, you can count on Durst making a beeline for the magistrate. Then we’ll really be in a fix. Especially that nice old lady. She was the one who caught him and gave him to me. Though how she managed to subdue the brute is beyond me. She must be tougher than she looks.”

  Durst was shaking his head vehemently, making desperate muted promises not to turn them in. Through the red-faced tears, Lem could still make out the crooked smile of the man who had beaten him until he could not move. A surge of fury rushed in, and before he realized what he had done, the toe of Lem’s boot thudded into Durst’s ribs and the bound man coughed through his gag and leaned forward, his head a few inches above the ground.

  Lem took a short step back and kicked him solidly in the face, grunting heavily from the effort. Blood spewed from Durst’s nose, his torso once again upright and his eyes wide with sheer terror. Lem paused a moment as the sight of his once-tormentor’s blood sent desires through him that were both frightening and oddly exhilarating. He knelt back down, the blade in his hand extended, the tip hovering above Durst’s heart. A firm thrust and it would be over. The barman recoiled, the grunts and cries becoming hysterical. Lem could feel his heart racing, the muscles in his arm begging to sink steel into flesh.

  “That’s it,” urged Farley. “Do it.”

  Lem glanced over his shoulder to where Farley was grinning encouragingly. What am I doing? He had never imagined himself capable of this, or of any level of cruelty. Durst was a vile bully of a man, and in his entire life, Lem had never wanted to hurt anyone more. But to consider murdering him? That it had gone this far, that he had come so close, filled him with shame. Knowing that Durst would likely turn Martha in was still not enough to sway him. He cared for her, and dearly hoped nothing would happen as a result. She had saved him. But this was not the Vylarian way … not his way. A calm fell, sweeping away his ang
er and along with it, his thirst for revenge. “You’re a foul person, Durst. I don’t think I’ll ever understand someone like you.” He withdrew the dagger and stood. “And I won’t let you make me into someone I’m not.”

  Durst’s entire body bounced and jerked from his uncontainable sobs of relief.

  Lem could see the disapproval in Farley’s expression.

  “Never allow the wickedness of others to dictate who you are.” The words of his mother slipped out like a prayer.

  Farley took the blade and regarded Lem for a time. “Are you sure about this?”

  Lem nodded.

  Farley let out a long sigh. “Very well. Then I suggest you wait by the horses. You might not want to see this.”

  “You mean you’re going to kill him anyway?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t risk otherwise. Kidnapping is a serious offense, and you can be sure that the farmer won’t be willing to take the blame. He’ll tell them I forced him to do it. On the other hand, if there’s a body, he’ll just feed it to his pigs and be done with it. No body, no crime. No crime, no problem.”

  Durst began struggling to break free, thrashing and twisting until he fell over onto his side, as Farley’s words told him that his fate was sealed. He was indeed a coward. Despite all the strength in his powerful limbs, he was in fact weak. Even so, Lem could not help but think this was wrong. Did he deserve death? Possibly. But something about this struck him to the depths of his spirit.

  “Go on,” said Farley, flicking the tip of his blade toward the road. “Unless you want to watch.”

  Lem started back to the horses, unsure how to feel. The anger was gone. But something else had been left in its place, something he could not quite define.

  “You have it in you,” Farley called after him, and Lem paused. “Somewhere in there is a killer. Your hands—they were steady as stone. Or didn’t you notice?”

  Lem held them out. Farley was right. Not even the slightest twitch. But what did it mean? The possible answer to this was even more disturbing than what was about to happen only a few yards away.

  As he continued back to the waiting horses, Lem heard the muted begs for mercy suddenly turn into a series of panicked screams. He raised his hands to cover his ears, but before he could, the screams ended as abruptly as they had started.

  At least it was quick, he thought. But he found this to be of little consolation. It was still murder. That Farley had wielded the blade did not matter. It had been done for revenge … his revenge. Farley had obviously believed this was something he would want, and so had Martha. Was this what it meant to live in Lamoria? Vengeance and blood? Was that the driving force here? The reason for living? Some perverse notion of justice? Lem had never felt more grateful to his elders, to the ancestors who had stolen away and founded Vylari. What a terrible world this was.

  There was only one thing of which Lem was completely sure: He would never forget the sound of Durst’s final cries.

  Never.

  10

  THE BARGAIN

  A person can wisely choose to slay a foe, fearing retribution. Or wisely choose to show mercy, hoping to have it one day returned. Which voice will you obey? It is this decision that will either guide you to happiness or cast you to the pit of sorrow.

  Book of Kylor, Chapter Two, Verse Nine

  The pain—it was gone. As consciousness returned, Mariyah found herself sitting upright, arms stretched above her head by chains, the manacles clamped tight around her wrists. She attempted to move her legs, but felt ropes wrapped securely around her ankles.

  The room was pitch black and smelled of overripe fruit and stale beer. As her eyesight slowly adjusted, she could make out a few large cubes, presumably boxes, off to her left. The rest was filled with indiscernible forms of irregular mass, their details concealed by darkness. Some sort of storage building was her guess.

  “Shemi?” she called out.

  “Your friend is being held elsewhere,” came a voice. It sounded like the woman from the trial, but she couldn’t be sure.

  A shadow moved directly ahead. Mariyah struggled uselessly against her bindings.

  “What did you do to him?” she demanded, summoning as much command as she could to her voice.

  “Nothing. But it is not what we have done to him that should concern you, but what we will do.”

  “Please. Don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything you want.”

  “Of that I’m sure. And as it happens, there is something you can do. You can confess.”

  There was the flash of a spark, and a lantern gradually came to life. As Mariyah had supposed, she was indeed in a storage room. The oddly shaped lumps turned out to be piles of cloth and a few barrels cast randomly about. Confirming her suspicions, the same woman from the trial was seated a short span away; only she had shed her robes and was dressed in a pair of black trousers and a blue blouse. In contrast to the passionate tone and expression she previously displayed, she looked stoic, her legs crossed as she placed a lantern on the floor and folded her hands in her lap.

  “Confess to what?” said Mariyah, through gritted teeth.

  “Murder. Specifically the murder of the poor guard you stabbed when you and your … companion? When you and he fled.”

  Mariyah stiffened. “That’s a lie.”

  “Of course it’s a lie. But you will confess nonetheless. Otherwise I will charge him with murder as well.” Her mouth twitched, as if in an effort to smile. “He’ll be taken to the mines and set to the most backbreaking labor imaginable. The young and healthy rarely live past three years. Someone as old as your friend … I would be surprised if he lasted a week.”

  With each word spoken, Mariyah could feel hope evaporating. “If I agree?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t simply let him go,” she replied. “But I can reduce his charges to simple trespassing. For a heretic, that is a one-year sentence. And I can see that it is served out in a prison where he is much more likely to survive the ordeal. And afterward, he will be free to return home.”

  “What will happen to me?”

  “You, my dear, will be the jewel in my crown. One so young and pretty will certainly find a noble willing to pay. And a life sentence will fetch a goodly sum.”

  “I … I don’t understand. You plan to sell me?”

  She waved a hand. “No. Not really. But your sentence can be commuted to indenture. Which means you will be in the service of whoever is willing to pay for your freedom.” A soft, almost inaudible laugh slipped out. “‘Freedom’ being a word used liberally, I suppose. As your sentence will be for life, so will be the term of indenture.”

  The words sent a shiver through Mariyah’s spine as the reality of her situation sank in. “Why would you do this?”

  “My dear, there is only one reason anyone does anything: personal gain. Once your case is settled, I can adjourn the Hedran and go home. It’s important to me, for reasons you needn’t concern yourself with, that this happen as quickly as possible.

  “I could, of course, report that you murdered the guard, with or without a confession, and you would certainly be convicted. But that would take time. Though I have influence, I must adhere to the law … at least publicly. And I have no desire to spend any more time in this wretched place than necessary.” She ended with a wry grin. “It’s far easier if you simply confess and be done with it. I get what I want, and you save the life of your companion. A good deal, if you ask me.”

  Everything about this woman was vile; the very embodiment of the evil she had been told existed in Lamoria. The obvious pleasure she took in the suffering of others, the way having power over the life of a complete stranger pushed her mouth into a satisfied smile … Mariyah had thought she understood fury when Nora had betrayed them. She hadn’t. Not until this moment. “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

  The woman’s smile grew as she leaned forward, steepling her hands to her chin. Had she been able, Mariyah would have ripped her apart.

  “You do
n’t. But I promise that he will suffer greatly before he dies should you say no. And that you can believe.”

  Mariyah refused to sob openly, though could not stop tears from falling. She was defeated in every way imaginable. All choices were gone. “I agree.”

  The woman stood. “I knew you would see reason.”

  As she turned to leave, Mariyah couldn’t stop herself from asking, “What was that … thing that caught us?”

  “I’m sure you noticed we did not chase after you. There are wards throughout the forest that prevent any unauthorized passage in or out. The magic is quite effective. And as you are now aware, quite painful. I actually was surprised you ran. It’s common knowledge that Hedran courts are protected this way. Not many are stupid enough to think they can escape.” She started toward the door, pausing when she touched the knob. “You were never going to get away, my dear. Your fate was sealed the second you were put in shackles.”

  Mariyah let out a scream the moment the door slammed shut. Why was this happening? How could people be so cruel? The probability was high that the woman would not keep her promise. Shemi would die, and she would spend the rest of her days in misery. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

  A short time later another woman, a bit younger, entered bearing a thin gold circlet in one hand and a knife in the other.

  “Hold still and I’ll let you out of your bonds,” she instructed.

  For a brief second Mariyah thought of escape. But she knew that the wards would prevent it. And even were that not the case, her cooperation was the only thing keeping Shemi alive. She nodded her acquiescence.

  The woman bent down and fastened the circlet around her left ankle. She then cut the ropes and, retrieving a key from the folds of her sleeve, unlocked the shackles. Mariyah rubbed her shoulders, trying to relieve the burning from the hours of the constant stressed position. The woman did not look worried in the slightest that Mariyah was now free and close enough to assault her. Though no murderer, Mariyah was not beyond a fight when the situation called for it. And this was absolutely one of those situations.