A Chorus of Fire

by Brian D. Anderson

  Her arms flew wide and she threw her head back. Fire rained from the heavens, striking Belkar’s army, the flames consuming everything they touched. But the onslaught did not stop. For each that fell, another trod over its ashes. And this time, Belkar had loosed his entire force—at least five times more than during the previous assaults.

  Mariyah searched her mind for something that would turn them away. She clasped her hands together, muttered a charm, and a mighty gale slammed into the ranks, sending the vanguard flying through the air like sand in a desert storm. Yet still they drove forward, a fearless juggernaut with a solitary purpose: to carry out the will of their master.

  Spell after spell she cast, until barely able to lift her arms. The bodies of the enemy faded to smoke. But this was not their end. Their flesh would reform and, without hesitation, return to the line, uncaring—or more accurately, unaware that they had fallen. Ready to die again.

  The terrified screams of Lamoria rose to a fever pitch, pressing in on her, crying out in accusing voices: Why could she not deliver them from this horror? She had sworn an oath. Why was she breaking it?

  She could smell the leather of their armor and make out the individual faces that had once borne expressions but were now a sea of spiritless stone masks. Then in an instant, all fell silent, and the vast army blinked out of existence, the bodies of the slain fading to nothing. Lush grass pushed its way up through the ruined earth, along with wildflowers of infinite variety. The air was now fragrant with the scent of pollen as bees darted from bloom to bloom in the chaotic dance of spring. Overhead, the noonday sun was a heavenly centerpiece for a clear blue sky. It was as if the world had been washed clean, purified by celestial radiance.

  “This is what Lamoria will become once my victory is complete,” Belkar said.

  She knew he was standing behind her, but she dared not turn around. “But at what cost?”

  “The cost is great. To myself. And to the world. But to witness the end of war, hunger, disease, hatred, all the things humankind has been unable to shed … I will pay it gladly.”

  “I will not.”

  She could feel the warmth of his body radiating around her flesh, like invisible arms holding her firmly yet with gentle purpose.

  “If only you could see Lamoria as I do,” Belkar said. “The futility of it all. Do you not think I tried to save them? I did all I could to change their hearts. But I cannot alter creation. Even my power has limits.”

  “You have no desire for change. All you ever wanted was to rule and conquer.” Bits of his thoughts popped in and out of her mind: strange images of battle, of unfamiliar faces and landscapes. He was trying to conceal this from her. But each time Belkar reached out from his prison, she was slowly cobbling it together. “You were … angry. And hurt. Someone hurt you. I can almost see it. A name … one you wish you could forget.”

  “You are perceptive,” Belkar said. “And strong, to be able to penetrate my mind. But you see without understanding. The name that eludes you will tell you nothing about me or what has brought me to this place.”

  The heat diminished, as if he had backed away. “You don’t think I understand the desire for revenge?”

  “Is that what you believe?” He laughed softly. “My sweet innocent queen, vengeance was satisfied long ago. The one who betrayed me is naught but a fading memory. But it is clear to me now that perhaps my visits have been reckless. I cannot expect you to comprehend my designs.” His voice was becoming distant. “But in the end, you will.”

  Mariyah opened her eyes. This time she was not soaked in sweat, and her heart was beating normally. But unlike with the previous occurrences, she knew that what she had been experiencing were not dreams. She slipped from the bed and exited her chambers. Across the hall, a quick word disabled the ward protecting Loria’s door, and a few seconds later it opened.

  Loria was not asleep, as expected, and she looked none too pleased that Mariyah had come in without knocking. She was seated near the window on the far side in her nightgown, looking fatigued, a pile of ledgers on the floor. “What is it?”

  “I spoke to Belkar.”

  Loria sat up, back stiff, and pointed for Mariyah to sit. “Are you sure?”

  Now closer, Mariyah noticed the dark circles under Loria’s eyes. She had overextended herself again. “It can wait until tomorrow, if you were ready for bed.”

  “It’s all right,” she said. “I’ll be leaving for the lake house tomorrow, and I needed to see to the household orders before I go.” She closed the ledger that was in front of her. “Gertrude insists I take a few days away from the manor. She actually threatened to resign if I didn’t.”

  This drew a laugh from both women. “And you agreed?”

  Gertrude cared about Loria, having known her from childhood, though she would never raise her voice or behave in any way insubordinate. To picture her kind, round face scolding the “Iron Lady” was humorous, to say the least.

  “One thing I’ve learned about Gertrude,” Loria said, “once she sets her mind, there is no changing it.”

  “Well, I agree with her. You definitely need a rest. You look awful.” Seeing Loria’s frown, Mariyah quickly added: “I meant to say, you look exhausted.” Of Loria’s faults, vanity was chief among them. She spent no small amount of time and gold to keep herself looking as youthful as possible. While she claimed it was for nothing more than to tease out secrets from the young lords, Mariyah doubted this assertion, though she did not hold it against her. Vanity was a minor fault, one most people possessed to varying degrees.

  Loria appeared only partially satisfied with the amendment. “I must say that you are no better at flattery than I am. But the truth is, I am exhausted. My mind feels sluggish. So I’ll need you to take care of things while I’m away.”

  “Of course.”

  “Now that we’ve established that I’m a tired old woman, you can tell me what happened.”

  Mariyah recounted the vision in detail.

  “I thought they were dreams at first,” Mariyah concluded. “But now I’m sure they’re more than that.”

  Loria lowered her head, fingers steepled and pressing a dimple into her chin. “This could mean his prison is weaker than we thought.”

  “What should we do?”

  “I will need to postpone my holiday.” Wincing, she pushed herself up. “I think Gertrude might actually yell at me.”

  Mariyah laughed, despite the gravity of the situation. “Not a chance. But you should at least clear the social calendar for a month.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” she said. “Lord Bryton is arriving from Ralmarstad in ten days. I’ve already agreed to entertain him while he’s here. I had intended on having you make the arrangements while I was away, but now I suppose that’s not necessary.”

  Mariyah wasn’t going to attempt to dissuade her on the matter. Lord Bryton was an important noble who was known to have the ear of the Archbishop, and his wife was sister to the King. “I can still make the arrangements.”

  “No. Given what you just told me, I’m sending you to Felistal. There may be a connection between you and Belkar. If so, he might be able to find a way to use it to our advantage. Unfortunately, it will involve magic with which I am … less than skilled.”

  This was a startling admission. Loria never discussed her own limitations—another feature of her vanity. Mariyah knew that all Thaumas possessed finite power according to their gifts. Some levels of magic were simply unattainable to a student regardless of study and practice. Loria had explained that it was up to every student to discover their own boundaries. The way Mariyah was taught in the manor was less structured than it would have been at the enclave, but she’d reached the third of the twelve ascensions. She wondered how high Loria had reached but was sternly rebuked when the subject was broached. Mariyah knew that Felistal had been her mentor and had presumably reached the twelfth ascension. It was an exciting prospect to receive his instruction. Though Loria did n
ot often speak of her time as a student, she had described Felistal as a stern yet patient teacher, with a sharp mind and insightful way of getting the most out of a person. As for Mariyah’s own experience, he had only returned twice to the manor since their initial meeting: the day she agreed to learn magic. That was also the day she had been told about Belkar. Felistal’s kind smile and sharp wit never failed to lighten her mood and distract her from the dark times that were sure to come. And the way he could ruffle Loria was hilarious to watch, though Mariyah would never say so aloud.

  “You want me to go to the Thaumas enclave?” To leave Ubania for any reason was enough to prompt a broad smile.

  “Your studies with elemental magic have progressed well enough that I feel comfortable with you on your own.”

  Unlike Loria’s indecipherable and infuriating non-approach to teaching transmutation, elemental magic was easy to understand. In less than a week Mariyah had learned several spells that would be lethal should they be used on an enemy, along with a few binding charms. They were straightforward attacks and took only seconds to cast. Blunt instruments, according to Loria, but highly effective. So far she had only used them against wooden dummies, but it was not difficult to imagine what would happen to flesh and bone when struck by a bolt of lightning or a ball of white hot flame.

  “Now, I think I’ll get to bed,” Loria said. “But do wake me if Belkar returns.”

  Mariyah was giddy with anticipation. She had not been beyond Ubania since arriving. On a few occasions she’d made plans to accompany Loria to one of her vacation homes, but something always came up. If Mariyah hadn’t known better, she’d have thought Loria had planned it, and even accused her once in a fit of frustration and disappointment. But it was ridiculous. Loria was not cruel. Hard as steel, yes. A pitiless task master at times, definitely. But petty and mean, no. When Mariyah had asked about the enclave, she’d been told that it was dull and bleak, populated by stodgy old men and women who never smiled and rarely spoke—a surprising description, given Felistal’s lighthearted, kindly personality and dry wit. But it didn’t matter if every word of it were true. It took her away from Ubania.

  Unable to sleep, Mariyah walked the gardens for a time. The guards no longer took notice of her as she passed, this being a common habit on a restless night—which were becoming more frequent. Not desiring company, she had avoided where she knew Bram would be patrolling. He would be upset she was leaving. More so when he learned he would not be the one to go with her. While Loria would insist on an armed escort, she did not want him hovering over her every minute.

  Taking a seat on the bench beneath the willow, her thoughts turned to Landon. She had only seen him once since Loria had asked her to get closer to him.

  Loria’s tutelage in the ways of seduction and playful banter had been helpful with this. While a fault, her vanity was not entirely unfounded. She was a master at planting the seed of romance without being obvious.

  “Show him just enough interest to make him believe there is a chance,” she had said. “But not so much as to seem like you have completely fallen for his charms. Allow him some confidence, then take it away. Desire, whether it’s in a man or woman, robs them of reason. It’s like the low embers of a fire. Blow too hard and it goes out. It’s the gentle breath that ignites the flame.”

  Mariyah had witnessed Loria do this on many occasions. But until now, she’d no reason to pay much attention to specifics—the brush of a hand on a shoulder; a demure glance lasting just long enough to be noticed; a laugh at the right moment; and of course flattery. Though with Landon, flattery was not as effective. His self-assured nature was rooted in achievements, and he detested the empty compliments the nobility gave one another as a matter of course. But Mariyah’s words drew more than a few smiles from him. Even a mild blush.

  “But be careful,” Loria had warned. “Landon is a shrewd and clever man. If he suspects what you’re doing, he’ll allow you to think it’s working so that he can pass on misinformation. Not to mention the danger of you being seduced yourself.”

  “I’m in no danger,” she had assured, though not convincingly enough to remove the doubt from Loria’s eyes, so she’d added: “I love Lem. I admit I’m attracted to Landon. But attraction isn’t love. I’m not a doe-eyed girl who can’t tell the difference.”

  “I know you’re not. But Landon isn’t a typical dull-witted noble. I just want you to be careful.”

  Mariyah tilted her head back, a tiny smile on her lips. The spiteful stares she received from the young noble women—and a few of the men—were a never-ending source of delight. Oh, how they hated and envied her! Coffers filled with gold, every advantage imaginable at their disposal, and a lowly servant girl was able to earn the attention and favor of the most sought-after man in Ubania. They could not comprehend it. And their lack of understanding was why Landon spurned them.

  She imagined herself with Lem, striding into the ballroom, watching their open-mouthed expressions as she made it known to all that it had never been Landon she desired. That it was not a lack of charm or beauty preventing them from catching his eye but a lack of character and substance. She allowed the image to linger, almost feeling dizzy as she envisioned whirling around the dance floor.

  A soft sigh slipped out. Since seeing Lem again, the images of their future were welcome respites from the persistent pressures put upon her daily life. They helped to subdue the fear of Belkar’s return and to motivate her to work ever harder to see his defeat. A hundred Landons were not worth one Lem.

  The subtle change in the sky told her that she had stayed too long. Dawn was coming, and there was much to do in the morning to prepare for her journey.

  Bram was waiting in the hallway a few feet from her door, looking most displeased.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Bram,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m perfectly safe wandering the grounds.”

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  “Then I’ll run, screaming at the top of my lungs for you to come save me.” She let out a girlish giggle, unable to confine her amusement.

  “It’s not funny, my lady. The mistress made me promise to look after you.”

  She affected a hurt expression. “Is that why? Because you promised? I thought it was because you cared.”

  Bram glowered. “You’re as maddening as my little sister. Please. Just let me know next time.”

  Mariyah opened her door and paused just inside. “I’ll try. But no promises.”

  As Mariyah climbed back into bed, she felt a touch guilty for having fun with Bram and she resolved to do something nice for him before departing. It would be bad enough when he realized she had left Ubania without him.

  This time sleep came easily, and though she didn’t expect him to, Belkar did not return.

  4

  CALLAHN

  The promise of new love, the thrill of the unknown, the magic of a song inspired—these things and more await you in Callahn.

  Excerpt taken from the letter of invitation sent to new applicants to the Bard’s College

  As Lem crested the last rise that descended into the Valley of the Bards, he pulled the wagon to a halt. Below were the rooftops of Callahn, the thousands upon thousands of identical tiles, an island of burnt red amidst a sea of green. On the far side, a single road split the valley and disappeared into the distant tree line, where the Bard’s College lay hidden.

  Any other musician in Lamoria would be excited in this moment. But not Lem. The honor he was being afforded was completely lost on him. In truth, he no longer saw himself as a musician. The carefree days of playing for his friends along the banks of the Sunflow were but a distant dream. He was a killer. The Blade of Kylor. There was no place for someone like him at the Bard’s College, and getting rejected was the fastest way to return to the only thing that mattered: saving Mariyah.

  He knew there was to be an audition and an interview. He would need to be subtle about it; otherwise the High Cleric would know it was i
ntentional. Though why Rothmore had insisted upon his going in the first place was puzzling. His Inradel Mercer persona gave him adequate cover when needed. Becoming a bard could prove to be a hindrance, given their notoriety and prominence. And should he be accepted, they could insist he remain to study for who knows how long? That he would not do under any circumstances.

  The snap of the reins began his slow descent, Lem grumbling to himself that this was a waste of time. Even his curiosity at seeing the college could not overcome the urgency to leave.

  Callahn was not a heavily populated town, existing primarily to support the bards with goods and services. Many of its residents were producers of fine instruments and other odds and ends required by the students and instructors.

  A lone guard carrying only a small dagger and dressed in a green and white uniform stood at the town’s edge. The brown-haired youth stepped into the road until the wagon stopped. “Here to apply, or by invitation?” he asked, smiling.

  “Does it make a difference?”

  “If you want to get in, it does,” he replied. “Applications take six weeks to process. And the inn here isn’t cheap.”

  As he was neither invited nor applying, Lem was at a loss. “I was sent by…” He hesitated, not wanting to mention the High Cleric. “I was told by my employer to report to the Bard Master.”

  The guard raised an eyebrow. “Your employer? He must be rich as a king to send you here uninvited. You have something to prove your claim?”

  Lem wasn’t about to show the man the orders given him for the death of Lord Mauldin, where the instructions to go to the college were also written. And that was all he had. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Well, you’d better hope he sent word. Otherwise, the inn is as far as you’ll get.”

  “Wouldn’t that be tragic,” Lem muttered.

  After receiving directions to the inn, as well as a stable, he thanked the guard and proceeded down the main avenue. The buildings were mostly single story, with colorful stone façades, though a few were wooden and stained a deep emerald green. The people were attired in simple garb, earth tones and whites primarily, and both men and women wore their hair well past their shoulders.