A Chorus of Fire

by Brian D. Anderson

  The tables were jammed full with a wide variety of meats, breads, and fruits along with pitchers of wine and water. Lem could feel the eyes of the Bard Master following him as he took a seat close to the left wall.

  Valine also was watching his every step, looking quite unhappy that he hadn’t joined the applicants, having kept a seat empty beside her.

  Lem quickly noticed that he was not the only person who had brought an instrument, even spying another balisari a few seats down.

  “This is the best part of having the applicants here,” Karlia said, rubbing her hands together with anticipation. “A feast.”

  “You’re not the one cleaning up afterward,” remarked a young man directly opposite.

  Karlia leaned over to whisper in Lem’s ear. “First years do the cleaning.” She sat back up straight. “It’s good for hand strength,” she called over, grinning.

  “I play the flute,” he replied sourly.

  Karlia shrugged. “Then perhaps you can whistle the dishes clean.”

  Lem suppressed a laugh. “You enjoy tormenting them, don’t you?”

  She assumed an innocent expression, placing a hand over her chest. “Torment? No. Well … a little. Nothing cruel. Believe me when I tell you that I cleaned this entire building from top to bottom back when I was a first year.”

  “Maybe more of us would make it to second year if we did more practicing and less cleaning,” the unhappy youngster said.

  This was met by several nods of agreement.

  “The first year is the toughest,” she explained to Lem. “Some don’t make it through the first month.”

  “Seems harsh.”

  “It is. But necessary. At least for the young students. Out there in the real world, a musician’s life isn’t easy. Until you’re established, you struggle. We try to mirror what they’ll face once they leave. Well … in a way.”

  “Sounds to me like they just want someone willing to clean up without paying them.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it. All I know is that I felt a sense of accomplishment when I made it to my second year. As much as I did when I was accepted to the college, truth be told.”

  Lem could see the logic behind it. Shemi would have definitely agreed.

  “It’s not as bad as all that,” she added. “They’re given plenty of free time. More than they’ll have once they leave. The way I see it, those who quit didn’t want to be here in the first place.”

  A bell tolled, and the hall fell quiet. The Bard Master glanced over to the instructors and waited until each had nodded that they were ready, then rose from her seat.

  “Welcome, applicants.” Her voice was richly feminine and carried easily. “I am Bard Master Feriel. I will begin by saying that I am aware of the incident in Callahn. Nothing of the sort will be tolerated here. Any violence will be punished severely. Harm or attempt to harm a living soul within these walls and you will not see your home again for many years.”

  She paused for effect. “Some of you have come from wealthy families. Others from poverty. Some may even bear titles. Not here. At the Bard’s College, we are equals. Should you be accepted among our ranks, your position and status will neither harm nor help you. I don’t care if your father is the king of Lytonia or a Sylerian beggar, it is your talent and dedication that will see you through and nothing else. Doubt this, and you should stand up and walk out now.”

  She paused again, her gaze fixed on the applicants.

  “As you were told upon arrival, only three of you will be permitted to remain after tomorrow. That being the case, once the feast is over, feel free to wander the halls until the evening bell tolls. Speak to the students and the instructors you see. There are none better to help you discover if you should have come. Enjoy the beauty that surrounds you. Few can boast of having laid eyes on the treasures kept safe within these walls.”

  Lem leaned close to Karlia. “Not very encouraging, is she?”

  Karlia stiffened, shooting him a warning look.

  The Bard Master’s attention focused on Lem. “Do be silent. My words may not be important to you, but for those who are hoping to stay, they might be. Please show some consideration.”

  How had she heard him? He had scarcely whispered. Lem nodded an apology and lowered his head.

  “Now, then. In the morning you will be taken individually to the audition chamber. If accepted, you will be shown to your new quarters. If rejected, a carriage with your possessions will be waiting to return you to Callahn. In the time between now and then, enjoy your stay and be welcome.”

  The moment she sat down, the students began filling their plates and cups.

  “What were you thinking?” Karlia asked. “You don’t speak when the Bard Master is speaking.”

  “How did she even hear me?”

  “Almost every room has perfect acoustics,” she said. “Even the hallways. You can hold conversations standing fifty feet away if no one else is making noise. Something to do with the stone.”

  Something to do with magic, more like, he thought.

  “Who shall be first?”

  An instructor seated beside the Bard Master had stood and was looking out over the hall. Several hands shot up.

  “This is your chance,” Karlia said. “Raise your hand.”

  Lem frowned. “I’m not playing. So if this was your plan to get the Bard Master to hear me, you can stop now.”

  “Every musician who has come here wants to stay,” she shot back hotly. “Yet here you are, one song away from acceptance, and you refuse. What in Kylor’s grace is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing is wrong with me. I just have other priorities.”

  “Other priorities?” she said, loud enough to turn the heads of several students. “What could be more important than this?”

  Lem took a moment to suppress his annoyance. “I understand that this might be confusing. But I don’t want to be a bard. I didn’t want to come here. And if I could leave now, I would.”

  “Do you have any idea what you’re throwing away?” she pressed, seemingly determined to change his mind. “I’ve seen people kill themselves over being rejected. And here you are, with more talent and ability than anyone I’ve heard in my life, and you throw it away like it’s nothing.”

  Lem turned to face her fully. “I’m not throwing anything away. I don’t need this place to validate me. It might have escaped your notice, but I do fine on my own. What will a title gain me?”

  “It’s not about validation,” she protested.

  “Isn’t it? From what I see, the applicants come to be judged like cattle. As if they have something to prove other than a love of music. They hope they will become musicians, when in truth they were musicians before they arrived. You don’t give them this. Neither does the Bard Master. It’s not yours to give. It’s theirs to take.”

  “You’re wrong. That’s not what we do here.”

  A chord drifted from the direction of the Bard Master’s table. Lem looked past Karlia to see a tall, thin boy strumming a small harp. Karlia was disinterested, her eyes remaining on Lem and burning with anger. The song was upbeat and light, and the skill with which it was played exceptional.

  Karlia poked his ribs. “Are you listening to me?”

  “No.”

  She let out a hissing snarl, then flung her body around to face the harpist.

  When the song was over, another student rose and took the harpist’s place, though this one held a lute. In all, ten students performed for the pleasure of the diners and instructors. In Lem’s estimation, they were all good enough to play in taverns or even a theater troupe, though none really stood out.

  He had been a bit harsh with Karlia. But if he let her have her way, he could find himself stuck with naught but bad choices: stay, which would mean giving up on Mariyah—out of the question—or leave after being accepted, and incur the wrath of the High Cleric.

  After an hour, several of the students were clearing the tables, and no more ha
nds were being raised to play. That’s that, Lem thought. No audition, so no reason to stay.

  Karlia had been silent throughout, sulking into her wine and muttering curses under her breath. Valine tried to catch his attention a few times, but he pretended not to notice. By now he was certain her interest was romantic. All the more reason to leave as quickly as possible.

  “If there is no one else,” the instructor called.

  Karlia sprang from her seat. “There’s one more.”

  Lem reached out to grab her, but she stepped nimbly away from the table. “I said no.”

  “Inradel Mercer says he’ll play,” she shouted.

  “No, I did not,” he said, loudly enough for the instructor to hear.

  The instructor cocked his head. “It seems we have a celebrity among us. Unless you are not the Inradel Mercer I’ve heard about.”

  “He’s the one,” Karlia said, casting Lem a wicked grin.

  “Then please. Favor us with a tune.”

  There were murmurs among the students, and all eyes fell on Lem. “Inradel Mercer? What is he doing here?” they were saying.

  Lem fumed. “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”

  “I do mind,” the Bard Master interjected. “You are a guest. It is impolite to refuse. And I do not abide rudeness.”

  Lem cast Karlia a furious look, which she returned with a wink and a smile.

  Lem stood and made his way to the front. “Is there anything you would like to hear?” he asked, looking directly at the Bard Master.

  She flicked her wrist. “It’s up to you.”

  He bowed ceremoniously and turned to the students, who were looking back with anticipation. It was clear that most had heard of him, though this was not entirely surprising. Unlike many professions, the musical community was comparatively small, and musicians of great skill quickly earned a reputation. In Lem’s case, that he had never studied at the Bard’s College added considerably to his notoriety.

  Karlia moved to lean against the wall and held up a cup of wine for him to see before she drained it in a single gulp. Her plan had worked after all. But Lem was determined to affect the outcome.

  He plucked the first few notes of “A Summer of Lights,” the traditional wedding song in Vylari. It was a song every musician back home knew and could play with very little effort. A pretty piece, to be sure, but the level of skill needed was nominal. He could see Karlia’s displeasure as the final note of the roughly three-minute-long melody faded away. The applicants looked confused. They had heard him play at the tavern. Why had he not performed something more difficult? More impressive? The students appeared to be equally perplexed by his choice.

  Lem turned back to the Bard Master and bowed again. “Thank you for the opportunity. I hope you enjoyed it.”

  The instructors looked either impassive or scornful, thinking that his reputation must certainly have been an exaggeration. But the Bard Master’s expression was one of deep consternation.

  “I did, actually,” she said. “When the feast is over, I would like you to join me in my private study.”

  “As you wish,” Lem said, bowing.

  He returned to his seat, the unimpressed tone of the Bard Master’s voice assuring him that he had accomplished his objective. Karlia was making her way to the Bard Master, who whispered something across the table. The smile this drew made Lem’s heart sink. Surely that hadn’t been good enough to have her accept him as a student.

  As the feast wound to a close, the applicants filed from the dining hall, on their way to take the Bard Master’s advice on exploring the college and talking to the students and instructors.

  “Why did you choose that song?”

  Lem’s attention was still on the Bard Master, who was exiting through a rear door, and had not seen Valine approach.

  “You didn’t like it?”

  She took the now-empty seat opposite. “I did. But … it’s just…”

  “You think I should have chosen something more complicated.”

  “If you wanted to impress the Bard Master, yes.” She looked despondent. “You did it on purpose. You don’t want to be here?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “But why?”

  Lem took a breath. “I have someone who … well, she needs my help. Every minute I’m here puts her in more danger.”

  “I see. And this someone … you love her?”

  “Yes. With all my heart.” He could see that what he was saying had struck her. But it was not sorrow or even disappointment in her eyes. It was acceptance.

  “Then you did the right thing. Go to her. Save her.”

  “I know you thought—”

  “That I have feelings for you?” she said, cutting him short. “How could I not? You are kind, generous, and through your music I witnessed beauty like I had never thought possible. But I’m not some foolish little girl. I thank you for your gift. It means more to me than you can know.” She rose to leave.

  “Thank you for understanding,” Lem said.

  She smiled down at him. “I hope I see you again.”

  As she went to join the other applicants, Lem blew out a sigh. At least one thing had gone right.

  Lem pushed back his chair and started to the exit.

  “Where are you going?”

  Karlia had emerged from the same door the Bard Master had taken, rubbing her hands together with nervous excitement.

  Lem’s shoulders drooped. “I suppose it’s too much to hope the Bard Master wants to reprimand me for speaking out of turn.”

  “I doubt it. Though I’m surprised the song you played had the impact on her that it did. For a minute there, I thought you were deliberately trying to make her think you weren’t very good. I swear, I wanted to throttle you. But I guess you knew what you were doing.”

  “I thought I did,” Lem grumbled.

  “What did you say?” Karlia asked as she ushered him out.

  “Nothing.”

  After a few twists and turns, they came to a small sitting room, at the far end of which was a half-open door. Karlia halted, pointing for Lem to enter, and with a wink and a smile, jogged back the way they had come.

  Lem steeled his nerves. How had a simple wedding song every musician in Vylari could play piqued her interest? You’re overthinking this, he told himself. She probably wants you to be able to tell the High Cleric that you were granted an audience. Yes. That must be it.

  He pushed the door fully open, revealing a circular, domed chamber. Three steps climbed from a twenty-foot-diameter concave center to a narrow walkway around its outer rim, where shelves from floor to ceiling housed hundreds of books. Two chairs were placed on the lower level, and the Bard Master was seated in one, arms folded and looking at Lem with a hard expression.

  “Please close the door,” she said. “Karlia was in such a hurry to find you she left it open. A fine musician, but forgetful at times.”

  Lem did as instructed. “You wanted to see me?”

  A barely noticeable chuckle slipped out. “It’s been some time since I’ve been with an applicant who was not afraid to speak with me.”

  “Unless I’m misunderstanding the situation, I’m not an applicant.”

  “True. But Rothmore sent you here hoping you would be accepted.” She tilted her head to the empty seat, waiting for Lem to unsling his balisari and join her before continuing. “I do not like it when the church interferes with our affairs.”

  Lem propped his instrument against the chair. “I’m sure that was not his intention. I’ll be leaving in the morning, so I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion.”

  “It is an intrusion. But one I’m now curious about. The song you played: Where did you learn it?”

  “My mother. It’s just an old wedding song.”

  “Old indeed. Very old. Older than you are apparently aware. And given that you are doing your best to leave, it would have been a fine choice to accomplish this goal had I not recognized it.”

  �
��I mean no disrespect,” he said. “But I have important matters to attend to. The High Cleric forced me to come.”

  “Yes. I heard you speaking to Karlia.”

  Even over the noise of the students? he thought, but said nothing.

  Master Feriel scrutinized him for a long moment. “You are an oddity, to be sure. I was told of your performance at the inn. The piece you played, what did you think of it?”

  Lem considered it for a second. “Difficult to play, but simple in its structure. It felt like something you might learn for a finger exercise, to be honest.”

  A tiny smile crept up from the corner of her mouth. “Very good. I’ve never cared much for it myself. Occasionally an applicant will play it hoping to impress me. They invariably fail.” She waved a hand. “But that was not why I asked you here. The song you played in the dining hall. You say your mother taught it to you. Was she a bard?”

  “No. She worked as a tailor most of the time.”

  “Then my next question is this: Where are you from?”

  The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. “Lytonia.” This was the standard lie he told everyone, and he had learned to mimic a Lytonian accent close enough to fool most people.

  “Lytonia,” she repeated. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Of course.”

  “And is that where you bought your balisari?”

  “No. It was a gift passed down from my mother.” Where was she going with this? He could tell she didn’t believe his claim about Lytonia. But why would she care? “I mean no disrespect, but is there a point to this questioning?”

  “There is a point to everything,” she replied, crossing her legs and tapping her fingers on one knee. “Nothing happens without purpose. Particularly here at the college. But as I see you are not the patient sort, I will get to it. The song you played is one you should not have known. Not even the bards know it. Only myself and other Bard Masters have seen it. When I was told I was to be the next Bard Master, I was taken to what would become my quarters. I’m sure you noticed the golden plates on the wall.” Lem nodded. “Did you notice that one is missing?”