A Chorus of Fire

by Brian D. Anderson

  As she hadn’t seen much of Lobin from the confines of the cage, Ubania was the first city she had been able to fully explore. She had marveled at the buildings, some tall as five stories, and its broad avenues that could accommodate six wagons abreast. Various temples and churches—all dedicated to Kylor, naturally—could be found scattered throughout. Most were small and plainly built, though the one nearest the docks was quite impressive, crafted from green marble and surrounded by massive columns, with beautifully hewn statues and fountains within a circular plaza. According to Loria, Ubania was the largest of the Trudonian city-states, with a population of nearly two hundred thousand people; easy to believe while walking about at midday when every street was packed full of wagons, carriages, and horses.

  As she positioned herself to make an exit from the glamor-bedazzled ballroom, Mariyah noticed Landon talking with a young woman and her father at a table near the dance floor. A touch of jealousy arose. But only for a moment. His eyes caught hers as she turned away. Quickly she ducked through a large group of nobles and exited through the servants’ door.

  She did not enjoy the attraction she felt for Landon. Every fanciful thought or playful moment they shared felt like a betrayal of Lem. Landon was charming and kind, and without question, handsome. But she did not … could not love him. They were friends; or as close to it as they could be given their station in Ubanian society. Nothing more.

  Stopping by the kitchen for a cup of hot tea before retiring to her room, she considered her brief encounter with Malay. Though Mariyah would not go so far as to say she liked her, the love she held for her homeland was admirable. Another home that would be lost forever should Belkar triumph.

  “I thought I told you not to wander around alone.”

  The gruff voice coming from the direction of the kitchen door could only be Bram. His mouth was twisted into a comical frown, thick arms folded over a powerful chest.

  Mariyah gave him a guilty smile. “I’m sorry, Bram.”

  A few weeks prior Bram had accidentally overheard Mariyah and Lady Camdon discussing the followers of Belkar, during which he learned that Mariyah was engaged in magical training. Initially Loria feared that he might go to the authorities, or at minimum become frightened enough to tell someone, given some people’s irrational fear of the Thaumas. But it turned out quite the opposite. After a brief scolding from Loria for eavesdropping, he had become more protective than before, insisting on accompanying Mariyah any time strangers were in the manor. It was well-meaning, but annoying. Which was probably why Loria thought it to be a fine idea. Though no longer the cold and callous Iron Lady, Loria, Mariyah found, had an eccentric sense of humor.

  She finished her tea and took Bram’s arm.

  “It’s for your own safety, my lady,” he said. “I couldn’t forgive myself if I let something happen to you.”

  “I really am sorry,” she said. “I know you worry.”

  Bram’s affection was genuine, and unlike the nobles who fawned over her constantly, he didn’t employ it as a masquerade to conceal romantic intentions. If she asked, he would carry her all the way to her room. And he was the only man she could think of whom she would feel comfortable allowing it, apart from Lem.

  “How go the lessons?” he asked, attempting to make conversation.

  “Tiresome.”

  “The ballroom looked wonderful,” he said. “At least what little I could see of it. You’re quite good.”

  “Hush,” Mariyah scolded. “You want to get me in trouble? No one can know.”

  Bram took a quick look around, but they were alone. “Sorry, my lady.”

  As sweet as Bram was, his intelligence left much to be desired. In truth, though, most of the servants, at least those who had been there long enough, were aware of Loria’s abilities, and suspected the same of Mariyah. But they would never speak of it, and were loyal to their mistress. Loria would occasionally raise concerns, when she and Mariyah spent a day in the city proper during leisure time, that someone might learn of her Thaumas allegiance should too much wine cause a servant’s tongue to wag. But thus far, there had yet to be an incident.

  Bram excused himself upon arriving at her chambers, and Mariyah took a long, hot bath before slipping into bed. Picking up a book from her nightstand, she flipped it to a random page. She didn’t particularly care for poetry, but it would keep her awake until the inevitable visit.

  As anticipated, about an hour later there was a rap at the door. Loria did not enter without permission.

  “Come in.”

  The Lady was still in her gown, though her shoes were dangling by her right middle and index fingers. “I thought I would check in on you before I retired.”

  “I’m fine,” Mariyah said, returning the book to the nightstand. “Preparing the ballroom took more out of me than I thought it would.”

  “Then you’ll be pleased to know that your décor was all the rage tonight.”

  “Truthfully, I don’t care,” she said, trying not to raise her voice. “I thought you were going to teach me transmutation.”

  “Have you read the book I gave you?”

  Mariyah shot her a look that said it was a ridiculous question.

  Loria shrugged. “Then I’m doing all I can.”

  “All you can? You haven’t showed me the first spell or charm.”

  “I’m teaching you as I was taught. As all Thaumas are taught. But perhaps you’re not ready.”

  “I’m ready,” she protested. “I could prove it if you showed me something other than more glamor.”

  Loria pinched the bridge of her nose. “I knew I should have waited until morning. There’s no speaking to you when you’re tired.”

  Mariyah huffed, but said nothing, not wanting to prove Loria’s point.

  “Did you speak with Malay?” Loria asked.

  “Yes. And why didn’t you tell me about her?”

  Loria let out an exasperated sigh. “I suppose you’re about to accuse me of keeping things from you. It simply didn’t occur to me. Between teaching you, running the estate, and trying to outmaneuver Belkar’s followers … oh, and preventing assassins from entering the manor and slaughtering us in our sleep, it must have slipped my mind. Or is that not a satisfactory answer?”

  Damn it. Loria always knew what to say to make her feel guilty. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Like you said, I’m just tired. We didn’t speak long. But long enough to know they’re allies. Or at least, they say they are.”

  “We can trust the Nivanians,” Loria said. “I only wanted you to get to know them a bit. It’s those close to us I’m concerned about.”

  “Like who?”

  “Lord Valmore, for one.” She hesitated for a few seconds. “I would like you to get … closer to him.”

  Mariyah sat up straight. “You think he’s with Belkar?”

  “I don’t know. I hope not. But I need to be sure. For all his wit and charm, he is a dangerous man. If he turned against us, it could be disastrous.”

  “How close should I get?”

  Loria sat on the edge of the bed and stared into her lap. “You know I would never ask you to do anything against your morals. But Landon is clearly smitten. And we need to know where his loyalties lie. How far you should go is entirely up to you.”

  Loria stood to leave.

  “How far would you go?” Mariyah called after her.

  Loria paused at the door, though did not turn around. “The decorations were truly spectacular. I mean that.”

  Without the need for a reply, Loria had given her answer. As far as it takes. Loria would do whatever she needed to do if it meant achieving victory. There was no need to press her for a better reply.

  But will you? To offer one’s own body this way somehow felt more severe than risking one’s life. It was more than a betrayal of Lem; it was a betrayal of who she was.

  It was quite possible it would not be necessary. Landon was certainly not shy about his desires when it came to women, though wheth
er they went beyond a dance and a kiss, she could not know. And while he had often behaved flirtatiously during their exchanges, it was more playful banter than a sincere attempt at seduction.

  As she settled beneath the blanket, a terrible thought insisted its way to the fore. One that she did not want to contemplate. A truth she did not want to admit: With each day that passed, she was becoming more like Loria. Which meant that to ensure victory, she would do whatever was required. Even if it meant betraying her own morals.

  2

  CONFESSIONS AND PORTENTS

  Forgiveness is the sustenance that feeds the soul. Even the darkest heart is not irredeemable in the eyes of Kylor.

  Book of Kylor, Chapter Eight, Verse One

  Lem crouched in the shadow of the low hedge. Not more than twenty feet away, yet another victim of the Blade of Kylor awaited his fate. Lord Britanius Mauldin was alone in the garden, as was his custom on cool, clear evenings. It had taken only a few simple inquiries to learn his habits. Though typically there were a few guards nearby, for some reason they had stopped coming a week prior. Not that guards would have saved him. Still, it made Lem’s job far easier. The polished red stone path was a fitting color—almost identical to fresh blood in the dancing torchlight.

  The rear of the manor was set off about a hundred yards away. Like most in the smaller Malvorian towns, it was a single-story structure. Cylindrical dome-capped towers climbing twenty feet above the roof on each corner gave it the appearance of a stronghold, made more pronounced by the massive gray stone blocks of the façade.

  The garden was in full bloom, and Lem took a moment to enjoy the aroma of the rose, lavender, and gardenia that dominated the area where his target took his ease. Mauldin was tearing loose small pieces of bread and tossing them into a tiny pond where the multicolored bartlefish thrashed about, jockeying for position to gobble them up the moment they struck the surface of the water.

  “I know you’re there,” Mauldin said. “I’ve been waiting.” His voice was deep and commanding despite his advanced years.

  Lem caught his breath. He hadn’t made a sound, and the tingle of shadow walk in his stomach told him that he had not been spotted. He remained perfectly still, hand gripped tightly around his vysix dagger.

  “Please don’t make me wait. If I am to die, let it be now, while I still have the courage to face it.”

  “How did you know I was here?” Lem asked, still not moving from the concealment of the hedge.

  “I knew Rothmore would be sending you. I was a fool. And it’s time to pay the price.”

  Lem considered using the dart in his pouch. The High Cleric had wanted a bloody kill. But he was not about to risk his life over details. “Is that why you left your guards behind?”

  Mauldin continued tossing in bread as if this were any other evening, rather than it being moments before he would draw his final breath. “I would not have them killed for nothing. And as you are the Blade of Kylor, I’m sure that’s what would have happened. I’ve committed enough crimes for one lifetime.”

  “So you know who I am?”

  “Of course.” He turned his head slightly in Lem’s direction. “You can come out. I’m defenseless and have no intention of running. Allow me to look upon the face of my killer.”

  Lem took careful stock of his immediate surroundings, listening for signs of anything out of the ordinary. He’d been sure that no one else had entered the garden with Mauldin and had arrived early enough to know if anyone were lying in wait.

  Drawing his dagger, he stepped from behind the hedge and onto the path. The man looked bent and frail, shoulders sagging, and the deep lines carved into his face were more pronounced than they’d been only a few days ago when Lem had seen him sitting at this very same spot during his final preparations.

  Lem stood beside the bench, hands at his side, ready to strike at the first sign of this being some sort of deception.

  Mauldin shifted to face him, his languid expression turning to sorrow. “How could Rothmore place such a dark burden on the soul of one so young? How old are you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  He paused, shaking his head, and turned back to the pond to toss in another piece of bread. “I suppose not. Do you know why you were sent to kill me?”

  “No,” Lem replied.

  “Would you like to?”

  “There is nothing you can say to change what will happen.”

  “I know,” he said, placing the bread beside him. “You are the Blade of Kylor. I remember well the stories: The Blade cannot be reasoned with nor bribed. Once marked, death is certain. For the vengeance of Kylor has been loosed upon you.” He let slip a soft chuckle. “Of course, that is more than just a story. Am I right?”

  “I cannot be bribed,” Lem affirmed. “I will carry out my instructions. As for Kylor’s vengeance, I know nothing of that. I was sent here by a man, not a god.”

  Mauldin cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “You’re not of the faith?”

  “No,” he replied. “I serve the High Cleric, but I am not a follower of Kylor.” To lie to a dead man was pointless. Though this was the first time he had spoken to a victim.

  “It makes sense, in a way,” Mauldin said. “When I heard a new Blade had been appointed, I felt pity for whoever had been chosen. The thought of murdering in the name of the god you love … repulsive.”

  “Doing it in the name of a man you don’t is no better.”

  He offered a mirthless smile. “No. I imagine it isn’t.” Leaning back, he regarded Lem closely. “I didn’t see it before, but I do now. The pain. The loss. It weighs on your heart.”

  His voice was kind, but Lem would not be lulled into carelessness. “My pain is my own. You asked to see me. Here I am.”

  “I sent my wife and daughter away when I learned you were coming. I would not want them discovering my body. You see, I had thought to make you my confessor. But seeing you now … perhaps I’m to be yours. Perhaps that is the way to my redemption. Tell me what troubles you. And through your confession, may we both receive Kylor’s grace.”

  The words struck Lem unexpectedly, causing him to take an involuntary step back. “I … I told you. I don’t believe in Kylor.”

  “Should that matter? I am here and about to die. And as I am willing to listen, why not unburden your heart?” He cracked an odd little grin. “Surely even the Blade of Kylor has one. Besides, who will I tell?”

  Lem was dumbstruck. Before him was a man whose life he was about to end, and rather than pleading for mercy or cursing him as his killer, he offered kindness. The dagger nearly fell from his grasp. “I have taken scores of lives,” he said, before he realized he’d spoken. “All to save one person. I tell myself they are wicked; deserving of death. But I often have no idea if that’s true.”

  Mauldin nodded thoughtfully. “And this one you are trying to save … a spouse? A lover?”

  “She was my betrothed.”

  “I can see why you are pained. To slay so many for the benefit of one, even one you love dearly, exacts a heavy price. And you fear she will not love you in return once she learns what you have done on her behalf?”

  Lem nodded, a single tear spilling down his cheek. “How could she? Every step I take leaves behind weeping children and mourning loved ones. Is that a man deserving of love? A bringer of death and misery?” The tear that now spilled down Mauldin’s cheek shook his resolve to its foundation, and Lem felt his legs weaken.

  “You are everything you described. You kill in the name of a cause in which you have no faith, at the behest of a man for whom you have no love. For these things, it is just that you suffer. If you did not, it would make you a monster. But if the love of your betrothed for you is half of what yours is for her, she will forgive your deeds, no matter how dark and terrible. I have committed dreadful crimes, and yet I know my wife would forgive me were they revealed to her. And were my life not at its end, I assure you I would. But better not to add to her sorrow, I think.�
��

  Though not cleansed of the stain of his deeds, Lem felt as if some of the burden had been lifted. He wiped his face, the strength in his legs returning. “And what are your crimes?”

  Mauldin looked away and stared down at his lap. “I betrayed my faith for the promise of immortality. Youth and power: the ultimate prize for the weak and selfish. I allowed myself to be deceived through my own lack of courage.”

  “Who could promise immortality?” Lem asked. “Nothing lives forever.”

  “Who indeed? A question all of Lamoria will be posing soon enough.” Reaching inside his shirt, Mauldin produced a folded parchment sealed with black wax. “I had intended on sending this to the High Cleric. But as I will not see the morning, perhaps you could give it to him.” He placed it on the bench and slid it to the opposite end.

  Lem eyed it warily. There were many forms of deadly magic that could be infused into an innocent-looking parchment. “It will be checked first. So if this is an attempt at treachery, it will fail.”

  Mauldin tilted his head. “I hadn’t thought of that. But then I’m not an assassin.” He picked it up and broke the seal. “Read it if you wish. There is nothing written that won’t be known to everyone soon enough.”

  He replaced the parchment and then picked up the bread, tearing apart the remainder and spreading it randomly over the pond. The fish thrashed frantically, fighting for the offerings, the melee drawing a smile from the old man. “I’ll miss this almost as much as I’ll miss my family.”

  “So you’re ready?”

  “Is anyone?”

  Lem stepped in front of Mauldin. “No. I don’t suppose they are.” He took a breath, releasing it slowly. “Hold out your hand. I promise it will be painless. Over before you know that it happened.”

  Mauldin shut his eyes and muttered a prayer. “If it’s within your power, save your love soon.” He extended his hand, palm up. “Time is running out … for everyone.”