The Bard's Blade

by Brian D. Anderson

  Lem’s mind was in bits. All he could think about was Mariyah, caged and beaten like an animal. “I love her,” he said. “I have to help her.”

  Farley leaned back, looking stunned.

  “I’m begging you,” Lem continued. “Help me save her. I’ll do anything you ask. Anything.”

  Farley regarded him in silence for almost a minute. He then rose sharply to his feet. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Lem waited, barely able to contain his desperation. Why had Shemi brought her along? What was he thinking? If she died, he would …

  No. There had to be a good reason why she was here too. He would wait until Shemi had the chance to explain.

  When Farley returned, he rubbed his temples and plopped wearily into the chair. “Do you have any idea what you just cost me?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Lem. “I promise to make it up to you.”

  “I’m not talking about the girl. I mean tonight. Forgetting the ten gold I’ve already spent, I’ve had to tell Clovis that he’ll be playing the second intermission this evening. I can’t have you onstage in your condition.”

  “So you’ll help me?”

  “I can’t.” His hand shot up before Lem could object. “Even if she was still here, my purse is already stretched too thin.”

  Lem’s heart sank. “Is there nothing you can do?”

  “Perhaps. I’ll go back to the magistrate in the morning and see if I can find out what she was convicted of and where she was taken. But you’re going to have to face the truth. There’s a good chance you’ll never see her again.”

  “Please. Just do whatever you can. If I can find her, I’ll get her free.”

  Farley looked at him with warning eyes. “I know what you’re thinking. Forget it. Prisoners cannot be taken.”

  Farley rose and crossed over to Shemi, then lifted the nightshirt to reveal a thin gold band around his ankle. “You see this? The magic it holds will kill him if he tries to flee or if anyone tries to take him away. His sentence was one year. So that’s how long he’s indentured to me. And only I can release him before then.”

  He reached inside his shirt to pull out a tiny blue glass orb attached to a silver chain. “So long as I have this, he’s mine. And before you ask, the answer is no. Until I recover my losses, it stays with me. I like you, Lem, but I can’t let that rob me of my common sense.”

  He returned to his seat. “I’ll do what I can to find this girl for you. All the same, I think it’s best you try to forget about her. Wherever she is, she’s beyond your reach now. Just be thankful I was able to save your uncle.”

  Lem nodded slowly. But it was far from being a gesture of agreement. Mariyah was here because of him. He would not abandon her. He would find out where she was. And if it took him the rest of his life, he would set her free.

  13

  PROMISES OF THE HOPELESS

  There are two lives we lead: one within, the other existing beyond our corporeal selves. Should sorrow dominate both, peace will be forever out of reach.

  Book of Kylor, Chapter Ten, Verse Four

  Mariyah stared down at the foul hunk of metal wrapped around her ankle. More than anything she yearned to rip it free and smash it into a thousand pieces. Well, maybe not more than anything. The heartless monster of a woman who had forced her into a confession … if only Mariyah could have the chance to wrap her hands around the woman’s throat, that might bring her even greater satisfaction.

  The tiny ship’s cabin in which she had been placed was dark, moldy, and caked with slime. On top of this, the way everything constantly swayed back and forth with the motion of the sea had made her violently sick for the first day. Or was it two? It was impossible to tell without so much as the tiniest glimmer of sunlight. Sleep had come sporadically, and when she did manage to drift off she was plagued by nightmares of her journey. The beatings and cruelty she and others had endured on their way to Lobin would be scarred into her memory forever. At least whoever held her now had yet to beat her, though that was likely to change before much longer.

  In spite of the bargain she had made, poor Shemi was probably dead by now—or had been sent to the mines or something equally horrific. From the brief conversations she’d had with other prisoners on the journey to the coast, she knew she was in Ralmarstad. She still had no idea what this meant. And as talking among prisoners was strictly forbidden and brutally enforced, she had been unable to learn much more. One thing was certain: The stories about Lamoria were true. Every one of them. It was not only heretics who were abused, either. Just before being packed onto the ship, she had witnessed three large men beat a young boy without mercy, simply for the crime of begging for a few coins to buy food. They had left him bleeding and unconscious in a pool of his own filth.

  Looking around the tiny room, her hand drifted down to the anklet. Its reality was unavoidable. She was trapped, and had been since the moment she crossed the bridge in the back of the wagon. No; even before that. From the first word she’d spoken to Tadrius, her fate was set. This was her life now … for however long it lasted. Even should the opportunity present itself, the anklet excluded any chance of escape. The woman who had handed her over to the captain had been sure to reinforce what could happen should she try. Though the lesson was unwarranted.

  She leaned back and closed her eyes. A hatred had taken root in her heart. At its core: Kylor. And while it was true that not everyone she had encountered was evil or cruel, they had done nothing to change their own world. Inaction is complicity. This was a saying she remembered Shemi using on several occasions. Not that he’d been referring to anything like this. Theft and shady dealing were the evils he’d been speaking of. Nonetheless, his words were equally true in these most dreadful of circumstances.

  Thinking about Shemi brought back a horrible memory. She had seen him screaming to her, waving his arms frantically through the bars of his cage until a guard beat him back. She tried not to picture this when remembering him, instead calling up the image of the sweet old man sitting in his favorite chair, pipe clamped between his teeth, reading one of his books that delighted him to no end. But it was the pitiless scene that was burned into her memory and would invariably force itself to the fore, no matter how hard she tried to keep it away. A small part of her hoped that he had died before being subjected to the cruelty of the mines.

  The cabin door opened and light flooded in, forcing her to shield her eyes.

  “Are you ready to eat?” a voice asked.

  After a moment, her sight adjusted, and she saw the same woman who had come to her twice before. She was older than Mariyah, perhaps twice as old. Her brown hair was cut short above her collar and her round face bore a sour expression.

  Mariyah turned away. She would not speak, nor would she eat. Death would be her release. Had she a blade, her life would already have ended.

  “They won’t allow you to starve yourself,” the woman said. “Lady Camdon has spent far too much. So you might as well eat now before they order you to.”

  Mariyah was fully aware that the magic of the anklet could be used to compel her obedience. But she would be damned before obeying any command of her own free will.

  The woman sighed. “This is why bull-headed people like you end up in prison.”

  Rage overcame Mariyah and she swung around, glaring hatefully. “No. They end up there because of Kylorian savagery.”

  “Ah, she speaks. I thought that might get a reaction.” The woman smiled, banishing the almost-permanent frown that Mariyah had seen thus far. “Since you do have a voice, will you tell me your name?”

  Mariyah turned away once again, arms wrapped around her knees.

  “I thought not. But you should know that you’re quite fortunate, more than you could possibly know. Ralmarstad prisons are a nightmare, from what I’ve heard. And as I understand it, you were convicted of murder. I can’t even imagine a life sentence in a place like that. At least now you’ll be able to live a decent life.”<
br />
  Mariyah felt the pain of the magic creeping through her leg, as her thoughts of violence threatened a punishment. “You dare to stand there and say I’m fortunate? Get out!”

  “I know it doesn’t feel like it. But I promise, things aren’t as bad as they seem.”

  “If it means I’m to live among your kind, it’s worse,” she said, hoping that the insult would have some impact.

  There was a long pause before the woman spoke again. “Give it time. You’ll see that I’m right. Until then, I’ll keep bringing your meals like I’m told. You can depend on that.”

  The clack of a lock was enough to send more rage, along with the punishment of searing hot pain, through her extremities. This time she was able to bear it without crying out. Fortunate? Take off this anklet and I’ll show you fortunate. She remained still for several minutes before picking up the plate and placing it in the corner on top of the others. Servants fed by servants. Is that what this world really was? A society populated by powerless masses born to serve the few who had the strength to control them? Those able to instill sufficient fear to keep them docile? It certainly seemed to be that way. Why would Lem have chosen to come to this terrible place?

  Lem.

  She hadn’t thought his name in days. When she had, she’d wept uncontrollably. She hoped he had not fallen prey to the same fate. She told herself that he was safe somewhere and getting by. She could not allow thoughts of him being beaten and imprisoned to drag her to even greater depths of despair. If only he had come to her first and told her the truth! She could have talked some sense into him; convinced him to stay. Or at least forced him to bring her along. Her refusal to be left behind might have been enough to make him reconsider.

  As her mind retrod the familiar path, a stray thought entered. By now her parents would have guessed what she had done. But for them, life would continue as it always had. In time, their grief would diminish. Mother would be the most affected. Father would put on a brave face and do his best to convince her that their daughter had found happiness in Lamoria. Whether or not he truly believed it, one immutable fact of existence could not be ignored: Their daughter was gone, and could never come home.

  When she’d left Vylari, the choice hadn’t felt real. Surely there must be a way back, she’d reasoned. And if not, she would find the courage to accept it. Finding Lem was all that mattered. Now, as the moldy stench of the cabin assaulted her, the creaking of the timbers sounding like the whispers of death and pestilence sneaking up from the darkness, she was oddly grateful that they would never know her fate. At least they would be spared that pain.

  Usually thoughts of home brought tears, but not this time. This time there was only more anger. Anger at herself, at Shemi … and at Lem. This was his fault. Shemi was either dead or soon would be, and she was destined to live out her days in bondage. In her fury, she wanted to hate him. But it seemed there was room within her for both love and anger. As much as one threatened to drown out the other, they were each painfully alive.

  As promised, the woman returned again and again, bearing food and drink until the stack of plates was nearly as tall as Mariyah herself. Her hunger was growing and her strength waning with each meal she refused, but her will would not crumble. One hope drove her. Perhaps if she was defiant enough, they would simply decide to kill her and be done with it.

  On this latest visit, that hope was dashed.

  “They told me they’re going to make you eat later today,” the woman informed her. “So all this has been for nothing.”

  “It’s not for nothing,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She had become so weak and dehydrated that she could do little more than sit on the floor, slumped against the wall. “They can make me obey. But I will never do anything they say willingly.”

  “Let me speak to her,” came another female voice from outside the room.

  The servant woman glanced over her shoulder. After a momentary pause, she gave a nod and then stepped outside to wait in the passage.

  The woman who stepped forward was tall and slender, with neatly combed red hair that fell halfway down her back and was held away from her face by a silver band on her brow. She wore a green cotton blouse, loose trousers, and a pair of cloth shoes. Not the attire of a servant, Mariyah considered.

  The newcomer smiled sympathetically, her head slightly tilted and hands folded at her waist. “I understand what you are going through.”

  “Who are you? Another servant? I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Indeed I was a servant. But no longer.” She knelt beside Mariyah. “I was much like you in the beginning. Now I am free to make my own choices. And if you listen to me, you can be too.”

  “Say what you came to say. Then leave me alone.”

  “Though I am not permitted to explain everything, I can tell you that you should not be afraid. I know things seem hopeless. But they’re not. You were chosen for a reason, Mariyah.” She touched Mariyah’s cheek, and Mariyah recoiled, albeit weakly. “You are special. More than you realize.”

  The woman knew her name. “I was not chosen. I was captured.”

  “True,” she conceded. “And I’m sorry for the pain you’ve suffered. But when I say you were chosen, I don’t mean by the brutes in Ralmarstad. You, Mariyah, were chosen by destiny. I admit to playing a small part in this. But then we must play the parts we are given.”

  “You’re insane.” Mariyah felt woozy. “Leave me alone.”

  “Gertrude tells me you are refusing to eat.”

  Gertrude. The other woman had never given her name. “I will not submit.” She was now having trouble keeping her eyes open, and the pain of hunger sharpened.

  The woman smiled. “Are all the people of Vylari this stubborn? Or are you unique?”

  This did get Mariyah’s attention. “How do you know—” she began.

  “Your captors questioned you prior to your indenture, though I am sure you have no memory of this. An effect of the anklet, I’m afraid.”

  Mariyah tried to remember but could not recall being asked anything. But she would have never revealed where she was really from, at least not willingly.

  “It was what brought you to my attention.” She laughed softly. “If I didn’t know better, I would say Kylor brought you to me.”

  “To the pits with you … and Kylor.”

  “If you think to make me angry, you’ve missed the mark. Insult him, and me, all you want.”

  “Then tell me what will. If it will make you leave, I’ll say it.”

  “I know that your pride tells you to be defiant. But if you trust me, and do as I say, I swear that one day you’ll be free. Who knows? Maybe you can even return to Vylari.”

  “You’re a liar.” If she’d still possessed the strength, she would have lashed out. The anklet sent a wave of pain through her, but it was dulled by starvation.

  “Why would I lie? I could simply make you obey. But I won’t. In fact, if you really want to die, I will not force you to eat. You can sit here and throw your life away. I won’t lift a finger to stop you.”

  Mariyah regarded her suspiciously. This must be a trick of some kind, one designed to condition her into obedience. Yet with the power of the anklet at their disposal, why would they bother with subtle means?

  “How can I trust you?” she demanded. “Someone could be forcing you to lie.”

  In response, the woman lifted the legs of her trousers. On her left ankle, there was a slight discoloration where an anklet had been. “My name is Trysilia. Like you, I was once falsely convicted. On the spirits of my ancestors, you have my word that I am telling you the truth.”

  Mariyah gazed up at the woman. She wanted to believe her. More than anything, she needed hope. Part of her rejected the idea that it still existed. But Trysilia knelt down and slipped her arm around her like a mother consoling a frightened child. Mariyah wanted to feel relief, to give in to this embrace, but the memory of Tadrius’s initial kindness, so welcome and so f
alse, held her back.

  She had no idea how long they remained like this. Trysilia held her, gently rubbing her back until Mariyah felt her body relaxing, despite the anger and fear that still burned within her, her jaw and fists unclenching for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

  “Come. You will stay with me in my quarters until we arrive,” said Trysilia.

  “But what about the Captain?” asked Gertrude, who was still standing outside the door. “He won’t allow it. You weren’t even supposed to come down here.”

  “I’ll speak with him.”

  “You know good and well Lady Camdon would not approve.”

  “Lady Camdon is not here. And I am no longer her servant. Don’t worry—you won’t be held responsible. I promise.”

  Whether from a lack of food or the overwhelming torrent of emotion, Mariyah felt suddenly light-headed. She opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out. She wanted to stay here in the dark, where she could remain hidden. Where she would not be forced to look upon the foulness and horror of this wretched world, and where it could not look upon her. The dizziness increased, and her eyes fluttered as she struggled to keep them open. Her attempts to pull away as Trysilia lifted her to her feet were only in her mind, though; her body no longer had the strength to resist. A moment later everything around her drifted into a faraway haze as darkness enveloped her completely.

  14

  A SEA OF BLOOD

  Only the hand of the faithful should carry steel meant for blood. Such a hand is blessed with the gift of righteousness.

  Book of Kylor, Chapter One Hundred and Two, Verse Sixty-Four

  Lem had heard the boos and hisses from the audience when they realized the bard they’d all come to see would not be playing again that evening. He didn’t care. All the same, he pretended to be asleep when Clovis and the others entered the tent. He was in no mood to explain to them what had happened. In truth, he wasn’t even sure what he would say.