The Bard's Blade

by Brian D. Anderson

  “For the very same reason Belkar wants you. Even though I still have my doubts as to your resolve, your natural talent is undeniable. In time, you could become very powerful indeed. Unfortunately, our foes are now aware of this as well.” She glanced over to Kylanda. “And it seems they are also aware of me. This complicates matters.”

  “Why?”

  “Those of us opposing Belkar have tried to remain hidden. We need to learn more about what we’re up against. So long as our alliances are secret, we can more easily acquire the information we need.” She held out her hand. “Why do you think I endure those wretched parties?”

  Mariyah allowed herself to be pulled up and led back to her room. After cleaning the wound and applying a second coating of salve, Lady Camdon helped her put on a fresh nightgown. It felt strange being attended this way, but as her arm was still useless it was a necessary measure.

  Once this was done, Lady Camdon examined the ashes on the nightstand. The gem was gone. With a barely audible grunt of annoyance, she used the blood-soaked cloth to brush away the ashes. Sparks crackled and snapped as they were consumed by the floor’s magic.

  “You should have informed me at once when it was brought to you,” she scolded as Mariyah climbed into bed.

  “What was it?”

  “Some sort of beacon, or perhaps a charm used for communication over vast distances. I’ve heard of them, though I’ve never seen one before. They are quite rare. And this one was apparently powerful enough to penetrate the barrier.”

  “Belkar’s prison … it’s in the mountains.” Mariyah was not sure how she knew this.

  Lady Camdon nodded. “Yes. Beyond the Teeth of the Gods. Belkar is struggling to break free, and for now he can only reach out with his spirit. But with each day that passes, the magic is weakening.”

  Mariyah could still see the vacant soulless eyes of Belkar’s vast army. They were immortal, their existence bound to their master. How did one defeat that which cannot die?

  “Can we do anything to stop him?” she asked.

  “Of course. We can fight.” Lady Camdon turned to the door, pausing just outside. “Thank you. What you did tonight was very brave. I won’t forget it.”

  The rest of the night she could hear the servants coming and going. Several times Lady Camdon insisted that Mariyah be left alone, assuring the others that she was unharmed and needed her sleep after the ordeal. Gertrude could be heard actually arguing with the mistress to be allowed to check on her. Only after repeated assurances did she agree to wait until morning. Kylanda’s betrayal had upset everyone.

  It was well past dawn before she finally closed her eyes. When she did, Belkar’s face haunted her dreams. Of all the lies he had told, one thing was true: He was coming. And whatever she had to do, she would be ready. The people of Vylari would not be turned to mindless fiends. He had been driven back once. The Thaumas of long ago had found a way to defeat him.

  She would find a way to do so again.

  24

  THE PAIN OF REUNION

  The husband wept, and begged of Kylor: Can you not save her? Kylor knelt and touched the body of the fallen woman. But she did not rise. Kylor stood and looked to the grieving man and said: She has given her last measure so that you might live. Her sacrifice is eternal. Do not weep for your loss. Rejoice for the love she has deemed worthy of her own life.

  Book of Kylor, Chapter One, Verse Seventy-Six

  Lem adjusted his elegant wide-brimmed hat and checked to see that his veil was secure before approaching the door to the lavish manor. This would be a quiet kill, the victim dead long before he knew what had happened. He preferred this to the messy assassinations the High Cleric occasionally ordered whenever suffering and blood was required as penance. Those didn’t happen often, for which he was grateful.

  The Head of Household greeted him at the rear entrance just off from the kitchen with a rigid expression. “You’re late. The guests will be arriving within the hour.”

  “Your mistress contacted me only a week ago,” Lem replied. “It was a long journey.”

  His reputation as a musician had grown. He was now highly sought after and paid almost as much as a bard for his services. Had he not been the Blade of Kylor, he would have considered the life he’d carved out for himself to be quite rewarding. In the six months since leaving the holy city, he had saved nearly one thousand gold, more than enough to keep Shemi well stocked with books and their bellies full. Which was all they really needed, although there were times when he thought his uncle would have liked to settle down. In fact, Lem had offered to buy him a small home in Lytonia or wherever else he might want to live. But the old man refused for them to be separated.

  He spotted a servant standing over a steaming pot as they passed the open kitchen door, almost certainly a convict from Ralmarstad. He had been four times to the Ralmarstad-controlled city-states, and it always made him uneasy. Gothmora was by far the worst, with the indentures there treated no better than animals. Here in Ubania, it was not quite as bad. Most worked for rich nobles, their duties limited to household chores. Here they were a status symbol more than anything. At least the extreme high tax placed on indenture ensured that their treatment was typically humane.

  “Are you prepared?” the man asked, guiding Lem down a long corridor.

  “Of course,” he replied. “Is there a particular style of music preferred?”

  “I understand that you are quite versatile. Feel free to use your discretion.”

  This was to be a small event—just him alone playing for about thirty people. Normally he performed at far larger functions, sometimes together with other musicians, in front of hundreds of guests within massive ballrooms. On these occasions, those he played with tended to look at him with animosity. This was unavoidable. Inradel Mercer, the name he had chosen as his alias, was well known for being a man who did not socialize with others. Mostly, though, they resented him for the same reason that Clovis had when they first met. His superior talent was obvious, and in Lamoria, musicians were often jealous and spiteful creatures.

  He had run across his old troupe a few months after becoming the Blade. Though he chose not to approach them, from what he could see, Clovis had taken over the management. In Lem’s opinion, the plays were even better now. Clovis had hired a lutist and a singer with a powerful, belting voice to entertain during the intermissions, and the crowd seemed to enjoy them immensely. Lem was glad they were continuing to do well, though admittedly he felt a small touch of jealousy. He had always thought his talent could not be replaced. A petty thing … but not even he was above baser feelings.

  The manor was impressive by any standards, although this was to be expected, considering the affluence of its owner. Ubania as a whole was wealthy, and unlike Gothmora, did not solely depend on Ralmarstad for support. This was mainly due to proper management of resources. There was little difference between Gothmora’s permanent governor and a king or queen, whereas Ubania’s High Chancellor was not a lifetime position. That wasn’t to say there was no corruption, a thing Lem had found to be universal regardless of where he went. It was just that in the kingdoms where power was shared and the monarch given limits, there was far less.

  The parlor in which he was to play was large enough to accommodate many times the scheduled number of guests. Crystal chandeliers, ornate furniture, fine works of art, and masterfully woven rugs made certain that the owner’s status was never in question.

  A woman in a sleek red gown, her neck and fingers dripping with jewels, entered just as Lem was being shown the corner in which he was to play.

  “Must you cover your face?” she demanded.

  “Lady Camdon, I presume?” Lem responded, bowing.

  “Indeed,” she confirmed. “Now do please remove that ridiculous scarf.”

  “I’m afraid that is out of the question, my lady.”

  “You look like you’re here to rob me, not to play music.”

  “I assure you I am not.”
<
br />   “I should have called for a bard.”

  Lem’s smile went unseen. “As my lady is probably aware, the bards refuse to play in Ubania. However, if my veil bothers you, I can leave.”

  Lady Camdon gave a scornful look, though it quickly melted to impassivity. “Let us hope you are as good as they say.”

  “I will do my best, my lady.”

  Without another word, she spun gracefully around and strode off toward an archway at the far end of the room that led out onto a courtyard.

  “Is she always so pleasant?” remarked Lem.

  “Please refrain from speaking about Lady Camdon with disrespect,” the man told him sternly.

  “My apologies.”

  The Head of Household gave a curt nod. “You should begin playing.” He started to leave, then paused after taking only a single step. “And yes. She is always precisely that pleasant.”

  Lem stifled a laugh. He had heard that Lady Camdon was a difficult woman. As a consolation, the pay was exceedingly good. Shemi, however, refused to step foot in a place where the Archbishop had influence. He was presently staying with a family on the Lytonian side of the Trudonian border. Lem’s oath never to return to Ralmarstad had soon been broken. How else was he to find Mariyah?

  While settling into the chair provided and placing his balisari on his lap, Lem’s mind turned to the message he was awaiting. He needed to get back to Ralmarstad to continue his search for Mariyah. Frustratingly, the assignments he was given invariably drove him farther away. He had given up waiting for the High Cleric to discover who had taken her, though the more Lem learned, the more he came to believe what he had said about it not being a matter of a simple inquiry. Yes, the High Cleric was powerful. But his influence in Ralmarstad was almost nonexistent.

  Lem plucked out a soft tune with a moderate tempo as an opener. It was a favorite among the people in the north, though seeing as Lady Camdon was unwilling to pay the extra five gold for vocals, he would not be singing the lyrics. Perhaps that was why she was being so inhospitable, he mused. But if you wanted the voice of Inradel Mercer to grace your event, you had to pay. One lesson Farley had taught him: Never do anything for free. If you do, people will take advantage of you. He had found this to be the case with the nobility in particular.

  The first of the guests began filing in and wandering around the parlor, most of them pretending to appreciate the art and décor as if they were experts on the subject. The truth was, most nobles were far from knowledgeable on matters that did not involve politics or commerce. They might pretend to be cultured, but their education rarely went beyond the rudiments of scholarship. It was the lower classes, true scholars, and tradespeople who were generally the most educated.

  It was another hour before all the guests had arrived and Lady Camdon reemerged from the courtyard. Though she didn’t approach Lem at first, she did take the trouble to cast a sour look in his direction. Several men and women were gathered nearby, a few remarking quite loudly on the quality of his playing. When Lady Camdon did eventually deign to come near, he grinned at the fact that three guests begged to know where she had found such a marvelous musician.

  “I have my sources,” she told them. “Though I’m hoping to bring an actual bard for our next gathering.”

  This was an absurd statement, likely meant as a dig at Lem.

  “I don’t know about that,” remarked a woman. “I heard a bard play a few years ago, and I must admit he wasn’t as good as I thought he’d be. And this one … so mysterious, the way he hides his face.”

  “I’ve heard of Inradel Mercer,” an older man, presumably the woman’s husband, chipped in. “I was told he covers his face so that he can walk about in public without being bothered with requests to play.” He turned to Lem. “Is that true?”

  Lem nodded. It was true, at least in part. As the Blade of Kylor, he had found it useful to separate his Inradel identity from his true self. This was far from the first time he had infiltrated a noble house in this way. Much better to be able to blend into a crowd should things go awry and the local authorities become involved.

  The man’s attention switched back to Lady Camdon. “Where is that lovely assistant of yours? I hope she isn’t ill.”

  “She should be along shortly,” Camdon replied. “She is seeing to the preparations for my trip to Mardyna Lake tomorrow.”

  Assistant? You mean servant, thought Lem.

  The woman rolled her eyes. “My husband is quite smitten. If he were twenty years younger, I do think he might leave me and spirit her away.”

  “I would never consider leaving you, my love,” he protested with a soft chuckle. “And I am not smitten. She is simply a charming young woman. I enjoy her wit.”

  “Yes,” Lady Camdon agreed. “She is quite talented.”

  “You wouldn’t consider transferring her indenture writ, would you?” he asked. “I would pay you handsomely.”

  His wife gave him a scolding frown. “We have plenty of servants already.” She smiled at Lady Camdon. “Please forgive my husband. He simply cannot govern his tongue at times.”

  “No need to apologize. I would never let her go. I’ve too much time invested in her training. To find another would be a labor I would not want to undertake.”

  Lem felt his anger boil. Speaking about people as if they were nothing more than a horse or a sheep to be traded on a whim … He took a breath and tuned out the conversation. He was there to do a job. And somewhere among the guests was his objective.

  It took another few minutes before spotting him: Lord Ranson Lupardi, a tall, rather thin man with lank brown hair and a sickly pallor. Unlike when working for Farley, Lem was seldom aware of why his victims were to die. This time, however, his research revealed that his target had been part of a failed plot to kill a monk who had come to Ubania to visit relatives. Precisely why Lupardi had wanted him dead remained a mystery, one that Lem did not care to solve.

  The target was skulking about, clearly avoiding conversation and drinking copious amounts of wine. He looked nervous, even allowing for his naturally uneasy bearing. Likely he was expecting the High Cleric’s office to retaliate, though he would never expect it to happen here, which was why Lem had chosen the party to strike. And why he had made sure his availability was made known to Lady Camdon. The tiny dart in his pocket had been tailored especially for the task. The poison would act slowly, and the anesthetic blended in would ensure his victim did not feel a thing. He just needed to be close, no farther than a few feet away. Seeing as he was expected to mingle with the guests during his breaks, that should not be a problem. Just so long as Lupardi did not leave early. From what he knew of the Lady, to leave before midnight would be considered a grave insult. And one did not insult Lady Camdon.

  By morning, his target would be dead, and Lem halfway back to Lytonia to meet Shemi.

  “Ah, Mariyah,” called the man standing beside Lady Camdon. “We were just talking about you.”

  Never before had Lem even come close to playing a sour note during a public performance. So off-key was the one he now produced that it prompted an appalled look from several of the guests, Lady Camdon in particular.

  “Apparently your reputation is exaggerated,” she remarked, ice in both her expression and tone.

  Lem had stopped playing completely and barely heard her rebuke. There she was: Mariyah. After more than a year of searching, barely clinging to the hope of ever seeing his love again, she was now standing not a dozen feet away.

  She was wearing a blue-and-white gown, split up her left leg just above the knee. The sleek material shimmered in the soft light, casting a faint aura around her entire body. Her hair was adorned with delicate white flowers attached to silver threads and pulled back away from her shoulders with diamond-encrusted combs. It was as if she had been transformed into someone new. And yet the woman he loved remained unchanged. It showed in her smile, the confident grace with which she crossed the room, the way her head tilted ever so slightly when gre
eting those she passed. It was Mariyah, and yet she had become something more. She was utterly radiant.

  It took all his self-control not to leap from his chair and wrap his arms around her, right there in front of everyone.

  “Do continue, or I will have to ask you to leave my home.”

  Lem had not noticed Lady Camdon move closer.

  “Forgive me, my lady. I was struck for a moment by your assistant’s beauty. It will not happen again.”

  “See that it doesn’t,” she said in a harsh whisper. “And I expect you to sing before the night is done to make up for your incompetence.”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  He continued playing, though his eyes never once left Mariyah as she moved confidently about the parlor, engaging in one conversation after another.

  A few times, Mariyah looked over to him, and for a moment he thought he saw a flash of recognition. But it was fleeting. His mind raced as to what he should do. She would be wearing an anklet, so simply stealing her away was not possible. And from the conversation he had overheard, any offer of purchase would be declined, even if he had the gold, which he didn’t.

  He nearly played another sour note when he saw Mariyah leave a small group of noble lords and walk directly toward him. She had a curious expression, one eyebrow slightly lifted, her lips turned to a half-smile.

  “You play beautifully,” she said.

  “Thank you, my lady.” Hearing her speak was almost enough to cause his hands to fumble over the strings. Unseen tears fell as he did his best to keep from choking on his own words. Though he thought she might recognize his voice, she did not appear to.

  “That’s a balisari, yes?”

  Lem nodded.

  Her eyes filled with sorrow as she gazed upon the instrument. “I knew someone who played one quite similar. Only his was a bit more worn.”

  Lem had recently refinished the instrument, and was now cursing himself for having done so. “Did he play well?” he asked.