“Well, what do you make of that?” he heard Clovis ask.
“No idea,” said Hallis. “You don’t think Farley has hired himself a servant, do you?”
“Could be,” said Quinn. “But it doesn’t explain why Lem didn’t finish the night. Or why he’s sleeping on the bloody floor.”
“Should I wake him?” asked Hallis.
“No, let him sleep. Whatever it is, it can wait until morning.”
“I’m not sure I like the idea of sharing a tent with a stranger,” Clovis said.
“What do you think he’ll do?” mocked Quinn. “Look at him. Poor bloke is beaten half to death. He couldn’t hurt you if he wanted to.”
They talked for a short while longer before going to bed, speaking in whispers and taking care not to make too much noise as they moved around the tent. Lem could only lie there with his eyes shut, unable to banish the awful thought of Mariyah trapped in Lamoria—a world where bartenders hurt you for no reason other than for the sport of it, where someone as old and kind as Shemi was imprisoned and beaten nearly to death. He imagined these horrors and more befalling Mariyah. He wanted to cry out, but resigned himself to silently begging the spirits for help. You can’t save her if your mind is gone, he told himself repeatedly. Stay strong. You must. For her sake.
Somehow, he had to hold onto the belief that Farley was wrong. That there was a way. Even if it ultimately cost him his life, he would never give up. Mariyah had found the courage to come after him. He would not shame her by losing himself to despair.
It was close to dawn before he finally fell asleep, waking only a few hours later. Shemi was still on the cot, eyes now open and gazing at him with an agonized expression. Lem didn’t speak for a few moments. He already knew what his uncle wanted to explain. What had happened was written clearly in his eyes, vanquishing all trace of Lem’s anger from the night before.
“You couldn’t stop her, could you?” he whispered.
“I wanted to,” Shemi answered. “But she loves you so much. I could only do my best to keep her safe. And in that I failed. I will never forgive myself.”
Sitting up, Lem took his uncle’s hand. “I’m the one at fault. I should never have left. I thought I was doing the right thing. I wanted to save Vylari. But I was a coward. I didn’t even have the courage to say goodbye. And now Mariyah is paying for my mistake. Both of you are.”
“No, don’t think that,” Shemi insisted, his voice rising. “You only did what you thought you had to do. It’s my fault for not telling you about your father years ago. I just hoped you’d never need to find out.”
Lem glanced to check that the others were still sleeping. “We should talk quietly,” he warned. “Until I know more about this world, I don’t want people knowing about me.”
Shemi’s voice dropped accordingly. “I understand. Farley asked me about you when he took me to the healer. But I pretended to be too weak to talk.”
Lem was coming to realize that he would need a more believable story. That he was a quiet traveler who didn’t like to speak of his past had been sufficient when he was on his own, but now that his uncle had been found a prisoner in the Hedran jail, he would have to expand on his story with a few details at least. It was either that or be completely honest. Farley wasn’t from Ralmarstad, and so far as Lem could tell had no strong feelings one way or the other about non-believers. But that could change if he thought their presence were a danger to the troupe.
“How did you end up a prisoner?” he asked.
Shemi’s expression became grim at the memory. He recounted the events leading to their capture. “The poor man who took us in was not at fault. I still can’t believe his own wife betrayed him. What kind of people are these?”
“What happened to Mariyah?”
“I … I don’t know. We moved around for a while, picking up more prisoners. But we were kept separated.” His tears fell uncontrollably and it was almost a full minute before he could speak again. “You have to save her. She was sentenced to life. Some of the others told me how horrible the prisons are. You can’t leave her there.”
Lem pressed his forehead to Shemi’s. “I won’t. We’ll find her. And if I have to tear down the prison with my bare hands, I’ll get her out. Farley’s seeing about it now.”
“I wouldn’t trust him. He’s up to something. I saw it in his eyes.”
“For now I don’t have a choice.” Quinn stirred, and they stopped talking for a moment. “You get some more sleep.”
Shemi wiped his eyes and settled back into the cot. “Wake me if you learn something.”
Lem stood over Shemi and gave him a warm smile. “I promise.”
The aroma of porridge and fresh bread drifted in, which meant breakfast was on the way. Finn would be along shortly. Lem checked Farley’s tent, but he had already left. On turning back, he found Vilanda standing in his way, both hands planted firmly on her hips.
“I suppose you think you’re fooling everyone,” she told him.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You think you’re going to replace me? Well, you just try it and see what happens.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I can’t act, and I have no desire to try.”
She stepped so close their noses were almost touching. “Don’t think you can play games with me, boy. I’ll watch as your blood stains the ground, and I won’t lose a wink of sleep over it. Do you understand me? My husband taught me everything he knew. I can kill you a hundred different ways and no one will suspect a thing.”
Lem stepped back a pace. She was serious. But why was she so angry? “I have nothing against you,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “And I’m sure your husband was a fine man. Whatever you think is going on, I promise you’re wrong. I’m just here to play music. That’s all.”
She snorted, then spun on her heels. “You tell that son of a pig he had better come see me. And I mean today.”
Lem stood there dumbstruck as Vilanda strode away and ducked inside her tent. What was that all about? He’d never so much as had a conversation with Vilanda that lasted for more than a few seconds. What did she imagine he was doing? As much as he racked his brain, no answers were forthcoming.
Back in his tent, Clovis and Quinn were sitting at the table, waiting for Finn to arrive. Hallis was sitting on his cot, thumbing through a book.
Clovis eyed him curiously. “So now that you’re back, do you mind telling us why you left last night? And who is that on your cot?”
Shemi had fallen back to sleep.
“He’s my uncle,” Lem explained, taking a seat at the table. “He came looking for me and got himself into a bit of trouble. Farley helped me free him.”
Clovis looked at him incredulously. “Farley helped you? You’re not serious.”
“Of course I am.”
“Farley doesn’t help anyone,” said Hallis. “You can bet whatever he did, he’ll expect ten times more in return.”
“Hey. Maybe he really is a bard,” offered Quinn, smirking. “Farley might be trying to get into his good graces.”
“If I were a bard, would I need his help?” Lem pointed out. “I will say that I understand why they refuse to come here.”
“You won’t get any argument on that from me,” agreed Quinn. “I’d pray to Kylor to get us the blazes out of here, but I might get arrested for blasphemy.”
“Don’t start,” said Hallis.
Quinn chuckled. “What? If you think it’s so great, why did you leave?”
Hallis stiffened. “That’s enough.”
Lem could see that the exchange was upsetting Hallis. But Quinn seemed to enjoy it.
“Don’t worry,” said Clovis, joining in. “We won’t turn you in.”
“Turn him in?” said Lem.
“Our dear friend Hallis,” Clovis explained. “A while back he had the temerity to wed a woman from … where was it again?”
“Ur Minosa,” said Quinn, before Hallis could rep
ly.
Clovis raised a finger and gave an exaggerated nod. “That’s right. Ur Minosa. Left the church for her, yes?”
“This isn’t funny,” snapped Hallis.
He looked worried, though Lem had no idea why. “Why should that matter?” he asked.
“Are you serious?” laughed Clovis. “You know what they do to apostates?”
Hallis leaned in, his voice a hissing whisper. “Are you wanting to get me killed? Shut your mouth.”
“Young Lem won’t turn you in,” said Quinn. “Will you?”
“Of course not,” he replied, smiling over to Hallis. “I think you should be free to marry whoever you want.”
“Spoken like a true heretic,” said Clovis, rocking back and slapping his knees. “He hates it when we make sport of his blasphemous union.”
“Then you shouldn’t,” said Lem. “Not if he’s your friend.”
Quinn cocked his head. “Aren’t you the considerate one?” After a moment, his posture deflated. “I suppose you’re right. We’ll just have to pick on him for being an insufferable bookworm.”
Hallis still looked agitated, but this only lasted a short time.
“You should be careful not to stay in Farley’s debt,” said Clovis, returning to their original topic. “I know you think he’s your friend, but I’ve known the man for five years. He never does anything from kindness alone. If he’s helping you, there’s a reason.”
“I’ll remember that,” said Lem.
Lem was not so naïve as to think that Farley was acting from pure altruism. He was offering his help because he knew it would earn him gold in the end. Of that there was no doubt. Even so, it was surprising to hear the others speak so harshly. Why did they have such a low opinion of their employer?
Finn arrived a short time later with their breakfast. He looked fearfully at Shemi, staying as far away from the cot as possible.
“It’s okay,” Lem assured him. “He’s my friend.”
Finn was eyeing Shemi’s exposed ankle. “Is he … you know … a prisoner? From the Hedran?”
Lem frowned. The others were taking notice of the anklet as well.
“My father says anyone brought in front of the Hedran should be killed.”
“Then your father is an idiot,” said Lem.
“Easy, Lem,” said Clovis. “You can’t blame the boy for believing what his father tells him.”
Calming himself, Lem looked Finn in the eye. “I want you to listen to me carefully. Shemi wouldn’t harm a soul. He’s as kind and gentle as anyone you’re ever likely to meet. Understand?” He shooed the boy to the exit. “Now bring another bowl and more bread. He’ll be hungry when he wakes up.”
With a final suspicious glance at Shemi, Finn scampered away.
“It’s going to be like that until we leave Ralmarstad, so you’d better get used to it,” said Quinn. “But I do have to ask, what did your uncle do to get arrested? And by the Hedran, no less.”
“His only crime is not being a follower of Kylor,” Lem said defiantly.
Quinn nodded. “Well, around here that would do it.” Seeing Lem’s rising anger, he held up his palms. “Makes no difference to me. Believe in whatever you want. I don’t see how it’s any of the Archbishop’s business what people do in their own homes anyway.”
“If it makes no difference, then why ask?”
“What he means is,” Clovis chipped in, “things are not the same here. Look, Lem. I know your past is some big secret. But it’s obvious you’re not from Ralmarstad. Just be careful. The Archbishop tolerates us because we provide something the people want. But make no mistake—cause any problems and they’d lock you up in an instant. The Hedran is not a thing to be taken lightly.”
Lem had no idea why people would hate someone else for their beliefs, or lack thereof. Clearly he didn’t fully understand Ralmarstad ways. But one thing was certain—he wanted to leave it behind as soon as possible. “Why come here at all, then?”
“Are you kidding?” said Hallis. “Gold. You make twice as much here as you can in the north.”
Gold. Everything in Lamoria revolved around it. It seemed to Lem fouler than magic. And yet without it, nothing he wanted could happen. Mariyah could not be saved. Shemi would still be in prison. And he would still be trapped in Harver’s Grove.
Conversation turned to more mundane topics while they finished breakfast, though Hallis did make a point to once more impress upon Lem the importance of not revealing that he had left the church.
Clovis told Lem that they would be spending the day shopping for a few personal items, and invited him to come along. Lem politely refused, explaining that he needed to be there when Shemi woke. It was good to see their accepting attitudes, though. It was becoming increasingly apparent that the primary dispute among people had to do with the worship of Kylor and little else. More than ever, he felt the urgency to educate himself on the subject.
Shemi stirred just as Finn appeared with the additional breakfast, still with a wary look in his eye. Lem groaned in frustration when the boy was unwilling to come within a few feet of his uncle.
“You’d think one that young wouldn’t be so afraid of unfamiliar things,” Shemi remarked under his breath, once Finn was gone.
“Youthful ignorance,” said Lem.
Shemi rolled over on his side. “I don’t think that’s the reason. People in this world have strange ideas. More and more I think the stories we were taught are true. That the barrier was created for our own protection.”
“From what I’ve seen, so do I.”
Shemi’s face was still badly bruised, and his arms and hands were riddled with cuts and scrapes. But he was at least able to stand and walk.
For a few hours they sat and talked. Lem spoke about what had happened to him since departing Vylari, leaving out most of his experiences with Durst. He didn’t want Shemi knowing how close he had come to cold-blooded murder. But as always, his uncle could see straight through him and knew he was holding something back.
“I suppose you’ll have to tell me everything that happened another time,” he said.
Lem felt guilty for not confiding in the old man. But with everything else happening around him, his heart could not bear more. He did tell him the vision the stranger had shown him, which helped Shemi better understand his reason for leaving.
“Strange,” said Shemi. “Shortly after crossing the barrier, Mariyah began having nightmares. She couldn’t remember many details, but she did say there was fire and death all around her. And a voice.”
This was indeed curious, but if it was important, there was no way of knowing. The questions continued to mount, but no answers were forthcoming. It was maddening.
“Do you have any idea where they would have taken her?”
“No.” Shemi’s mouth twitched as if the memory caused him physical pain. “None of us were told where we were going.”
They both sat in despondent, hopeless silence for a time.
Shemi eventually reached over and placed his hand on Lem’s. “Maybe the Thaumas can help us. They wield magic, after all.”
“Yes,” agreed Lem. “Maybe they can help.”
It was early afternoon when Farley appeared, his expression grim.
Lem leapt from his seat. “Did you find her?”
“Yes and no,” Farley responded. “The girl you’re after was indentured to a wealthy noble. But I couldn’t find out to whom or where she was taken.”
“Indentured?” cried Lem.
“It gets worse. Her sentence was life. Which means someone paid an enormous amount of gold for her release. Even if you find out where she is, it would take a king’s fortune to free her.” Seeing Lem’s growing despair, he placed a hand on his shoulder. “She was spared prison. Wherever she ended up, it’s better than that. Mostly they become household staff and the like, serving out their sentences in relative comfort. Believe me, it’s far better than a filthy cell and back-breaking labor.”
“Is th
ere any way to find out where she is?” asked Lem.
“None that I know of,” replied Farley. “Records are kept with the city magistrate only for a few days, then turned over to the church. Unless you have connections within the clergy, you won’t get far. And the last thing a foreigner wants is to start poking around, drawing attention to themselves. I hope you can appreciate the risk I took just making a simple inquiry.”
“I’m sorry,” said Lem. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. But I can’t just forget about her. Whatever I have to do to find her, I’ll do it. There has to be a way.”
Farley stepped back, head bowed in thought. “There might be.” He turned to Shemi. “Wait for me in my tent.”
Without the slightest hesitation or objection, Shemi did as instructed. Lem watched him go, stunned by his compliance. Particularly considering they were discussing Mariyah’s fate.
“He has no choice but to obey,” said Farley, noticing his reaction. “The magic of the anklet compels him. And what I have to say, you might wish to be kept private.”
The idea of Shemi being forced into submission by magic was deeply disturbing. He thought of the lore he’d been taught growing up—that Lamorians had taken magic and twisted it, that they’d become greedy with power and used it for unnatural horrors. Compelling others through an anklet certainly qualified as an unnatural horror in Lem’s book.
Farley took a seat, waiting for Lem to do the same before he continued. “As I told you before, even if you find her, the cost would be enormous. Much more than you could afford, I’m afraid. And the more time that passes, the more expensive it will be. Ralmarstad nobles take great pride in the way their servants are trained. The longer she’s there and the more she learns, the more valuable she’ll be. And before you go thinking you can somehow sneak away with her, remember the anklet. Any attempt to flee will kill her. And I hear it’s an extremely painful way to die.”
“There has to be some way to remove it.”
“Sure there is. Convince the owner of the anklet to take it off. Other than that, no.”
Lem’s despondency was increasing with each word Farley spoke. “But you said there was a way to free her.”
The Bard's Blade Page 20
