The Bard's Blade

by Brian D. Anderson

  The front door of the house opened, and Mariyah’s heart fluttered. Was Father taking a day off? Or perhaps Mother had bought enough food on her last trip to the market and did not need to go today? The figure who stepped onto the porch was unclear—out of focus, as if she were looking at it through warped glass. One thing was sure: It was neither of her parents.

  “Who are you?” she shouted. “What are you doing in my house?”

  Gradually the image cleared. All at once her legs gave way and she fell to her knees. “Lem,” she cried out.

  He was wearing the shirt she had given him on his birthday, his face alight with a warm smile. He walked toward her with long confident strides, shoulders squared and back straight, hair blown away from his face by a stiff breeze. He was … beautiful.

  “Is that the one you were looking for?”

  The voice was an intrusion, one that Mariyah wanted more than anything to ignore.

  But the voice persisted. “Quite a handsome young man.”

  In a blink, the world she had called forth vanished, leaving her kneeling in the round chamber where she had recently spent each day from early afternoon until the sun set.

  “So that was Vylari,” remarked Lady Camdon, seeming to care little that Mariyah was shaking from the emotions the scene had wrought. “A bit … rustic. But cozy, I suppose.” She looked down at Mariyah and frowned. “Are you crying? You did well. Very well, in fact. To recreate your home in such detail usually takes many years to accomplish. And I can see why you miss the young man so much. He’s a scrumptious little morsel.”

  “Don’t talk about Lem like that,” Mariyah snapped.

  Lady Camdon cocked her head. “And why not? Should I not recognize beauty? I’m not so old as to have lost my passion. And that one … yes. I definitely see why you went running after him.”

  Mariyah had never been so close to striking her. Of course, now that she wasn’t wearing the ring, nothing prevented it. But that would only make a difficult situation worse.

  True to her word, Lady Camdon was an even more relentless taskmaster than before. The insults and petty slights had ceased, but that was of little consolation. As a person, she was even more infuriating to be around. Her compliments came across as disingenuous, even awkward; she was entirely emotionally inaccessible. In fact, the only emotion she was sure Lady Camdon possessed was anger. Not once had Mariyah heard her laugh, and her smiles were reserved for the balls and formal dinner gatherings held frequently at the manor, displayed only as a matter of etiquette for the guests.

  “I’m tired of glamor,” Mariyah said, wiping her eyes as she stood. “What good are illusions? Or is this all you have to teach me?”

  This was met with a dismissive flick of the hand. “Altering the perception of an adversary is far more useful than fire or lightning, and more subtle than invading their mind. Glamor is a weapon of intelligence and sophistication. One you would do well to master.”

  Mariyah tried to control her frustration; keep it from surfacing. But after months of lessons, she had yet to learn a single spell that could be used in self-defense or to smite an enemy. How was she supposed to fight evil with nothing but pretty lights and misdirection? “Maybe I should go to Felistal? I’m sure he could teach me something useful.”

  Lady Camdon shrugged. “As you wish. But I think you’ll find life far more restrictive at the Thaumas enclave. And where I will move on to other forms of magic when I think you are ready, there you will be working with glamor for at least the next three years.” She turned to the door on the far side of the room. “Let me know what you decide.”

  Mariyah stared after her, fuming. What was wrong with that woman? She let out a frustrated sigh, then collapsed into a chair, shoulders sagging and arms hanging between her knees. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally. And still there was more to do. Soon the guests would begin to arrive, and she would be expected to greet them looking fresh and perfectly dressed.

  Maybe Lord Valmore will come tonight, she thought. Of all the nobles she had met thus far, he was easily the most entertaining to speak with. Clever and handsome, he had a quick wit and a disarming disposition. He had attended all the parties Mariyah had been to until now, and each time had not failed to gently tease out the secrets of another noble. Lady Camdon respected him as well, and from the way they interacted, the feeling was mutual. Though whether she actually liked the man was impossible to say.

  As for most of the others, Mariyah found them to be petty, scheming, and not nearly as clever as Lady Camdon had led her to believe. A few even bordered on being dimwitted. And all of them, Lord Valmore included, had one quality in common: arrogance. In their minds, the rest of the world existed for the sole purpose of furthering their ambitions.

  Well … there was one exception to this. But the mere thought of a compliment directed at Lady Camdon made her want to scrub clean in a hot bath. However, it was true. For all her aloofness and cold bearing, she did not use the common people to elevate her position. Quite the opposite. Mariyah learned that she was well known throughout Ubania for her generosity and kindness. Not so much in personal interactions, but in spending a great deal of gold to provide care for the downtrodden and disadvantaged, of which there were many. This drew ridicule from the other nobles. None of them were able to fathom the idea of aiding people who could never return the favor in kind.

  “Most nobles are shortsighted fools,” she had said, on discovering that Mariyah was aware of her altruism. “When the day comes and they find themselves in need of support from the masses, who do you think will have earned it? There have been uprisings and civil strife in the past. It’s those who have gained the favor of the commoners who survive.”

  In this light, it appeared to be less generosity and kindness than pragmatism and caution that lay behind her building boarding houses and sending out wagonloads of food to the starving. Yet there was one thing wrong with this assumption—she rarely let the people know from where the aid had come. As it turned out, it had been her own servants who had spread the word. And Lady Camdon had been most put out that they had done this.

  Mariyah glanced over to the stack of books beside her and groaned. Not even Shemi read as much as was required of her. And these were just the ones on magic. Upstairs in the library, hundreds of more volumes awaited her attention. Often she had asked herself how so many books about noble families could exist. That wasn’t to say that they had not come in useful on several occasions. Her ability to memorize what she read had already gained Lady Camdon what she deemed to be valuable information. Nobles were easily goaded into a contest of wits. Fortunately for Mariyah, the majority were ill-equipped for such a contest and invariably said things they had not intended. Typically, it was little more than something mildly embarrassing. But as her primary task was to weed out those under the sway of Belkar’s followers, these embarrassing tidbits could often be used as leverage to gain more valuable knowledge.

  “Do not underestimate them,” Lady Camdon had warned. “Feigning stupidity is a strategy often employed, and one that can be difficult to recognize until it’s too late.”

  She picked up the top book and opened it to the first page. The Joy and Wonder of Illusion. The title alone was enough to make Mariyah want to rip it apart and throw it into a fire. There was no joy in illusion. Glamor, as Lady Camdon called it, was the first form of magic one learned. The most difficult form, transmutation, was practiced only by an experienced Thaumas and took many years of study to master. Yet when she had stumbled upon a book on the subject, she found it far more interesting and quite easy to comprehend. But the Lady would have nothing of it.

  “Are you jealous?” Mariyah asked, after a particularly difficult day when exhaustion made it impossible to govern her tongue.

  “Why in Kylor’s creation would I be jealous of you?”

  “How long did it take you to get as far as I have?”

  It was the only time since their lessons began that she had seen the wo
man truly flustered. And the first time she experienced aggressive magic. Lady Camdon’s eyes darkened and her fingers spread. Before Mariyah could blink, a ribbon of blue light shot forth, wrapping itself around her arms and torso. The pressure was enormous, threatening to squeeze the life from her lungs and crush her bones to pulp.

  “I learned this on my first day,” Lady Camdon said in a low, dangerous voice.

  A second later she released the spell, leaving Mariyah gasping on the floor.

  “Imagine if you could have done that when the Hedran captured you.”

  She exited before Mariyah had a chance to reply. But the point was well made. She would not have been captured in the first place. She would be free and Shemi alive. Never again would she be a victim. And once the followers of Belkar were defeated, she would use her power to help others in bondage. At night Mariyah imagined herself raining fire and death upon the foul people who had stolen her freedom, meting out righteous vengeance on the oppressors of the innocent. Belkar was an evil without physical substance. The Archbishop, on the other hand … he was real. Reason told her that revenge was nothing more than wishful thinking, a fantasy to help her endure the constant pressure of the lessons compounded with her duties as the Lady’s assistant. But her heart burned each time she envisioned the cages packed with helpless people, forced to suffer unimaginable abuse simply for violating church law.

  Returning the book to the stack, she started for her room. Her back was aching and her head was pounding, making the long climb up the stairs even more taxing. In two days’ time, Lady Camdon was due to leave for an annual gathering of Ubanian nobles. Two more days and there would be a blessed, if very brief, respite.

  On entering her chamber, she saw that her attire had already been laid out on the bed. Kylanda, the young woman she’d met on her first day at the manor, was drawing her bath.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she called to the girl. “I can take care of it myself.”

  “I know,” she replied from inside the washroom. “But you work so hard. I thought you might need tending to.”

  “I’m fine, really. Thank you anyway.”

  Kylanda moved into the bedroom wearing her customary smile. This vanished the moment she caught sight of Mariyah. “My, you’re as bent as a little old lady. How old are you? Twenty?”

  “Yes. No … wait. I think I’m twenty-one now.”

  “You can’t say how old you are, yet you think you don’t need a bit of tending?” She clicked her tongue. “Keep it up and you’ll drive yourself to the ancestors in a hurry.”

  She was too tired to argue. And it was obvious that Kylanda was not to be deterred.

  “Now hurry up while the water’s still hot,” she said.

  Mariyah smiled wearily. “Thank you.”

  Usually Kylanda would be cleaning up after the evening meal, but not today. On nights there was a party, Lady Camdon had food specially brought in from Ubania proper. While the outlying towns and villages under Ubanian control were mostly populated by tradesmen and farmers, Ubania itself boasted some of the finest fare in the north. Still, to provide sufficiently for the high-caliber events for which Lady Camdon was renowned, extra food often was brought in from every corner of the city-state, not to mention a few of its neighbors as well.

  As she soaked, allowing the hot water to soothe the tension in her lower back, Mariyah went over in her mind the evening’s agenda. Every social gathering, great or small, served a specific purpose. This one was to expose an enemy. The followers of Belkar had someone new among their ranks, someone influential and extremely wealthy.

  At present, this was naught but a power struggle between nobles—a war without obvious casualties. And while it was hard to deny that a bloodless war was preferable to the alternative, Lady Camdon had assured her that sooner or later, the blood would flow. For now, though, it was fought exclusively in the realm of politics. Apparently, that was how the enemy had gained so much ground. They had been methodical and patient, using their foes’ fear of losing position and wealth to subdue them.

  Kylanda was still waiting when she finished her bath, and without prompting proceeded to help with her hair and makeup. Mariyah was still not very good at doing it herself, and this time she was grateful for the assistance.

  “I see how hard you study,” the girl said. “I think I would go mad reading so much.”

  “I’ve come close,” she admitted.

  “Lady Camdon should give you more time to yourself. You know, we have outings once a month. There’s a beautiful grove near a stream on the west side of the estate that we picked out. If you could talk her into allowing it, you could come along.”

  This was not the first invitation Mariyah had received. Outwardly, she got along fine with the other workers in Lady Camdon’s house, and the fact that she was not a believer in Kylor didn’t seem to bother those who were in the slightest. Of course, Lady Camdon was wise enough to have hired people from outside Ubania, so that was likely the reason.

  As Kylanda dried, brushed, and pinned her hair, Mariyah’s thoughts returned to the evening and task ahead. She still didn’t believe Belkar was real. As Felistal had explained, it was the name that held the power, used as it was to cloud the minds of the weak and selfish with promises of immortality and might, wrapped in dark deception. Yet there were times, particularly when she was tired, that she found herself wondering. What if it were true? A mighty sorcerer, with the power to lay low Ralmarstad? Mariyah had trouble wanting to prevent this at times. But she knew if it were true, Ralmarstad would not be the only place to suffer, and that helped her put aside those spiteful thoughts.

  As it was, his followers were trying to seize power. Mariyah was unsure about many things, particularly when it came to Lady Camdon, but any group who found Ralmarstad a fertile ground to spread their cause could not be allowed to arise victorious.

  Disturbingly, there were times when she thought Lady Camdon was still holding back important information. Whenever Mariyah mentioned the name Belkar, she could see the slightest of twitches in the woman’s cheeks. Was it fear? The thought of her being afraid was as unimaginable as the idea of Belkar being real. Still … there was undeniably something.

  As she finished applying Mariyah’s makeup, Kylanda took a step back to regard her handiwork. “There. Finished,” she said with satisfaction.

  There was a rap at the door, and a young man in a neatly pressed blue-and-gold suit poked his head inside. “The guests are beginning to arrive,” he informed them.

  Mariyah nodded, then took a long breath. The bath had relieved much of the soreness in her back. But it was sure to be a late night and most of it spent on her feet.

  “Don’t let them keep you up until dawn this time,” called Kylanda.

  “I won’t.” A definite lie. She would be required to remain in the ballroom until the last guest departed. To leave early would be noticed. Appearances must be kept.

  The musicians were already playing by the time she arrived in the west wing foyer. Tiny lights of green and blue flitted about like fireflies. These were not insects but rather a spell of Lady Camdon’s own design. In fact, the entire ballroom was filled with all manner of glamor. From a vast ceiling resembling a star-bejeweled sky to the tiny translucent-winged fairies that danced on crystal pedestals at the center of every table, each illusion was purposefully and painstakingly crafted. Even the dance floor that rippled like the surface of a pond teeming with brightly colored fish and the surrounding walls made to resemble a raging waterfall were the Lady’s handiwork. When Mariyah had told her of the lights in the Sunflow River, she added them to the spell the next day. Now the fish swam among marble-sized orbs of light. Of course, everyone assumed that this had been created by the Thaumas and merely commissioned by Lady Camdon. Only a counted few knew of her magical training. Not even the manor staff was aware of it, though some suspected. This contest was still being fought in the shadows, and Lady Camdon let only a necessary few know what advantages
she possessed.

  Blatant opposition would only encourage more enemies to stand against her. Most of Lady Camdon’s allies lived outside Ralmarstad’s borders, so they could do little to help. If they did offer overt assistance, it would be taken as a sign of foreign aggression and possibly spark an armed conflict. In that event, Ralmarstad would send an army to aid against the invaders. That could not be allowed to happen. For now, the struggle had to remain completely internal.

  The guards standing on either side of the massive door were clad in shining plate armor, the sigil of the Camdon family emblazoned in black across their breasts, and holding gold-tipped spears. The armor, of course, was ceremonial, and the guards themselves far too handsome to be actual soldiers. Lady Camdon would patrol the city looking for attractive young men to fill the role—a task she certainly did not mind undertaking.

  Marison was standing nearby ready to announce the guests as they passed through the foyer into the ballroom. As it turned out, he was nothing like Mariyah had imagined. Like Gertrude, he was kind and free with his humor in private, yet unflappable and proper when on duty. It was strange to see the transformation, even after all these months.

  The first to arrive was Lord Chaudre Philisol, along with his wife Astrea. He was one of the lesser nobles in Ubania, and not one of the brightest. His wife, it was reported, hated that she had been forced to marry him and made no effort to hide her disgust at his overly ample girth and crude manners. Mariyah liked him, however. Once announced, Chaudre beamed at seeing her.

  “A vision, as always,” he said, spreading his arms wide. Mariyah curtsied to the lord, then bowed to the lady, each movement precise and meant to convey confidence.

  “Why Loria chooses to have so many indentures in her household is beyond me,” commented the lady, rolling her eyes. A gross exaggeration. There were nobles who had dozens.