A Chorus of Fire

by Brian D. Anderson

  “What happened to him?”

  “He led the Order for generations, until he was eventually betrayed. One of his students, a powerful Thaumas named Belkar, accused Kylor of keeping the secret to immortality for himself. Kylor tried to convince him that it wasn’t true, that his long life was not immortality but a result of his magic, that in time, even he would die. But nothing Kylor said could sway him. In the end, Belkar convinced others to join him against their own master. Soon after, a great war erupted and countless people were slaughtered, entire nations reduced to ashes. Ultimately Belkar was defeated by the Thaumas who had remained loyal to Kylor, but not before the world was all but destroyed.”

  “I’ve heard this name,” Lem said.

  “I’m not surprised. The devastation his war wrought was unlike any war before or since. Such things are not easily forgotten. Belkar had uncovered the secret he’d sought from his master. With it, he hoped to conquer the world. The circumstances are unknown, but it was the Thaumas who imprisoned him, ending the conflict.”

  “And you think he’s returning?” he asked, recalling the letter to the High Cleric given him by Lord Mauldin.

  She shrugged. “It’s possible. There are those who still follow him. They’ve lain hidden in the shadows until recently, and their emergence suggests that something has changed. Though I couldn’t say what.”

  “And Kylor. What happened to him?”

  “I don’t know. Many of our histories were stolen away by the Church. But I think it’s likely Belkar killed him. The church arose a short time after the war ended. With the bards gone, they were able to raid what was left of our archives and hide them away. Probably in an attempt to conceal the truth about their … god.”

  Lem leaned back in his chair. Could this be what the stranger had been warning him about in Vylari? So many threads, all somehow related. Kylor, a living person; Belkar, an immortal conqueror. Bard magic. The Thaumas. His head pounded. He could almost see the connection, the way they wove together. Mariyah would know how everything fit. She had a mind for puzzles.

  “So what am I supposed to do about all this?” Lem asked.

  “I’m not sure if there is anything you can do,” she said solemnly. “But perhaps. I must believe you have come for a purpose. That our meeting is not random. If Belkar is coming, your arrival must be more than chance.”

  Lem choked out a derisive laugh. “You’re saying I’m here to fight? Against an immortal sorcerer? With what? My balisari and some sheet music? You can’t be serious.”

  Feriel scowled. “I’m not saying anything of the sort. Bards were not warriors. They were healers, bringers of life—not agents of death. That does not mean you wouldn’t have an important part to play.”

  Lem nearly pointed out that he was in fact an agent of death, but held his tongue. “Even if I have this so-called gift, I don’t know how to use it. And so far, nothing you’ve said has helped.”

  “The church didn’t take everything,” Feriel said. “Only the histories pertaining to Kylor. There is material here that you might find useful.”

  The Bard Master stood and vanished down a row of shelves, returning a few minutes later with three thick leather-bound books. “These were written by the ancient bards. It’s music, mostly, along with a few notations explaining its use.”

  “This is all you have?”

  “I’m afraid so. Most of what was known about bard magic vanished when they did. We believe they took it with them.”

  Lem opened the top book. It was written in the ancient language, but after a few pages went from text to sheet music. Were these spells? Bard magic? “What do they do?”

  Feriel smiled. “Play one and find out.”

  Lem closed the book and pushed it away. “I think not.”

  “Bard magic was not destructive,” she said with a hint of irritation bleeding into her tone. “It’s unlikely anything harmful would happen.”

  “I’d rather not take the risk.”

  Feriel started to object, but after a few seconds deflated and gave a disappointed nod. “You’re probably right.” Looking at the book, she smiled reflectively. “I’m not usually so undisciplined. But having you here … seeing bard magic for the first time … I feel like I’m a young girl again.”

  Lem did not share the sentiment. But the possibilities could not be ignored. Perhaps there was a way to use this power to free Mariyah. “Is there anyone else who might know more?”

  “The Thaumas,” she said. “But I would advise that you avoid enlisting their help.”

  “If they know something, why shouldn’t I?”

  “The Thaumas blamed the bards for Belkar’s rise,” she replied. “It was from the Thaumas’ wrath the ancient bards fled. They might not react well if they learn one has returned.” She cocked her head and shrugged. “Though I suppose it’s possible they might have forgotten the old hatreds.”

  Lem ran his finger over the lettering on one of the covers. More than ever he wanted to get back to Shemi. Something was telling him that Mariyah was somehow involved in this; that was what she’d meant by saying the stranger had come to Vylari for her, not him. Which also meant she was protecting him. Why else send him away?

  “I can see how conflicted you are,” Feriel said. “But you must look on this as a blessing.”

  Lem continued staring at the book. “My people shun the use of magic. If the bards really did found Vylari, then they made the choice to teach us that it was evil. They abandoned it, and then concealed all knowledge of their origins. There must be a reason.”

  “Perhaps they feared the Thaumas would find them,” she offered. “Whatever their reasons, I can tell you that bard magic was not evil. The bards were healers, who brought peace wherever they went. That much I am sure of.” She took one of the books and began flipping through the pages. “I cannot decide for you what you should do. All I can do is hope that you do not turn your back on this.”

  If what she said was true, he knew turning his back was an impossibility. How could he? “I need to leave.”

  “Where will you go?”

  Lem scrutinized her for a long moment, unsure how much he should reveal. He would need allies. And while the bards wielded no actual power, they possessed tremendous wealth and influence. “When I came here, I had other things I needed to attend to. That much hasn’t changed.”

  “You have loved ones you are concerned about, am I right?”

  “Yes. And if Belkar is coming, I need to see to their safety.”

  Feriel smiled. “I can see that you’re not entirely convinced. I understand. But even if we’re wrong about Belkar’s return, war will come through those who follow him. I offer that you bring your loved ones here. You will find no safer refuge for them.”

  The offer was tempting. More than the Bard Master could realize. To leave behind the life of being the Blade of Kylor; to bring Shemi here to see this library; to spend his own days in musical study. After all, Belkar might be nothing more than a legend, a banner under which to gather support and gain power over nations. Even thinking about it now, the notion of an ancient evil returning to destroy the world seemed laughable.

  But real or imagined, he would need to free Mariyah before he could decide about the future. After that, let the world burn, if war was its desire. His younger self would have thought it cowardly to hide away while people suffered. Not anymore. He had witnessed the result of idealism and sentiment. When the weak stood against the strong, only one outcome was possible—regardless of what it said in the books Shemi loved so much to read. And if the college could shield those he loved from the coming slaughter, why not take advantage of it?

  “I will consider your offer,” he said, after a lengthy pause. “But for now, my place is not here.”

  “Please. Let me help you. Tell me where they are, and I will have them brought. I will spare no expense to see it done.” Her brow was creased deeply. “Stay with us. There are secrets in the keep that only you can discover. Hidden c
hambers that your magic can unlock. Perhaps while you await their arrival, you will find the answer you seek within one of them.” The slight warble in her voice betrayed her desperation.

  Lem shook his head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  The Bard Master began rubbing her hands together, and her breathing was coming in short gasps. The change was unsettling. Lem was about to stand and leave when she shut her eyes and placed her palms on her lap.

  “Forgive me.” She gave him a fragile smile, forcing her calm to return. “You cannot imagine what it has been like. I’ve spent my entire life trying to uncover the knowledge of the ancient bards. I’ve searched every inch of every room and passageway. But without their magic, the stones do not give up their secrets.”

  “How is it no one else has come before me? Surely someone in Lamoria possessed the ability.”

  “The test I gave you has been given to thousands of others, by every Bard Master to hold the position for hundreds of years. Not a single person has been able to do what you did. Some believe the ancient bards stripped the world of their power when they left. Vylari, it seems, is the only place where it still exists.” Her voice lowered to just above a whisper, as if apprehensive to speak. “Are … more of your people coming?”

  “I doubt it. We’re taught from childhood to fear the outside world. Very few have crossed over.”

  “I see,” she said. “Then will you at least promise to return?”

  “If I can, I will.”

  This seemed to lift her mood somewhat. “Excellent. Now then. While I may be lacking in some knowledge, there are a few things I can tell you. Your instrument, for example.”

  Lem had almost forgotten. “Yes. Why didn’t it break?”

  “As I mentioned, there was a time when Thaumas and bards could unify their abilities, to create wonders the like of which the world had never seen. This building is an example. As is your balisari. Crafted by a bard and their isiri.”

  Lem picked up his instrument to look at it closely. “What’s an isiri?”

  “A joined mate, of sorts,” she told him. “Like a perfect chord, one was attuned to the magic of the other. The instruments you saw earlier were all made like yours. Virtually indestructible.”

  “Could it be the balisari and not me who created the lights?” Lem asked.

  “No. There’s nothing inherently magical about the instruments. The power comes from within. Any balisari would have worked the same way.” She stood and gathered up the books. “Come. We can talk on the way back to my study. I would very much enjoy hearing you play.” She gave him a wag of the finger. “And this time, show me what you can do.”

  Along the way she pointed out several areas where she suspected hidden chambers might be. Lem listened with only mild interest. Though her composed and calm demeanor had returned, it was clear that her motive was still to convince him to stay. Casual mentions of hidden treasures and mysteries peppered the conversation.

  “I’ve studied the layout of the keep for a long time,” she said. “Here and there you can find things in the construction that seem out of place. They’re cleverly hidden to look as if a natural part of a room or corridor. But if you look closely, it’s undeniable that they’re not.”

  “How would they open?”

  “I assume the same as with the archives. The proper series of notes triggers the magic guarding it. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be the first in centuries to see what lays hidden within?”

  Seeing the anxiety return to her expression, Lem decided to change the subject. “How did you know my instrument was like the others?”

  “I didn’t. Not absolutely. But if you notice, the joints are seamless, as if carved from a single piece.”

  He had noticed. But he’d always thought that it was a result of particularly masterful construction.

  Back in the study, Lem played several songs, while Feriel listened with eyes closed and a tiny smile on her lips. He chose selections of his personal favorites—some quite difficult from the perspective of technique, others he found to be the most emotionally stirring.

  It was nearly an hour before she opened her eyes and spoke.

  “I see now that you are a bard in every sense of the word,” she said with a sigh. “If you would allow it, I would name you one of us before you leave.”

  “I’m afraid that might not be the best idea,” he said. “It could … complicate things for me.”

  “How so? Is that not why the High Cleric sent you?”

  Lem placed his balisari against the chair. “To be honest, I don’t know why he had me come here. Becoming a bard could possibly … inhibit my service to him.”

  “What is it you do for him?” she asked. “I can tell that you’re no cleric. Your calm reaction to the truth about Kylor told me that much.”

  “I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry.”

  “I suppose it doesn’t matter. Still, I can name you bard without it being publicly known.”

  “What good would that do?”

  “Should something happen to me, your name would be in our records,” she responded. “You could return without being questioned. If war comes, you may find this to be a haven. The assembled armies of Ralmarstad could not batter down these walls.”

  Lem considered the offer. It would afford him somewhere to take Shemi and Mariyah should the worst happen. “What must I do?”

  “Normally there is a ceremony,” she replied. “But as this is a special case, nothing. I will send word to the other bards that you are to be treated as one of us. But I will not tell them why.”

  “I would prefer you used the name Inradel Mercer.”

  “Of course. Only I will know the truth, until you say otherwise.” With a sharp nod, as if to say, That’s settled, she leaned back in her chair and smiled. A moment later she began laughing to herself. When she noticed Lem looking at her curiously, she said: “I was thinking how ridiculous it is—a true bard needing my permission to come and go. When the fact is, you are the only one among us who truly belongs here.”

  Lem was not sure where he belonged, if anywhere. And what the Bard Master wanted was possibly more than he could give. He still could not fully accept that he possessed magical abilities. In his heart, he doubted he ever could. He had only desired a life of simplicity and peace, with Mariyah and Shemi. Could that be found in a place where so much would be expected of him? It didn’t feel likely. But there was no reason to dwell on it now.

  Lem asked if Feriel would play with him, but to his disappointment, she declined.

  “Since you are leaving tomorrow, there are a few things I would like you to have. It will take some time to find them.” In a sudden hurry, as if Lem were leaving that minute, she started to the door. “I want you to know that I’m glad you came. It has been a true privilege.” With these words, she exited the study.

  Lem remained there for a time, his mind feeling scattered. He hadn’t known what to expect when he came here or why the High Cleric had sent him. Was there anyone in Lamoria who did not have an agenda? From Farley to the High Cleric and now the Bard Master, everyone wanted something from him. He felt like a fox wandering the night forest, trying to avoid a hunter’s snare.

  I have my own plans, he thought. But a tiny voice in the back of his mind was telling him that it was not only the schemes of those he’d met that were luring him inexorably toward his fate. You can’t fight destiny once its claws are in you.

  Lem sniffed, slinging his balisari across his back. “I can try.”

  Karlia was waiting in an antechamber, sitting in a chair and tapping her foot with nervous energy. She popped up, eager to know what had happened.

  “How did it go?”

  “Fine.”

  When he didn’t elaborate, she pressed him. “Are you accepted or not?”

  “No.”

  Her posture collapsed. “You can’t be serious. You were with her for hours. What were you doing?”

  “Master Feriel was kind enough to show m
e the archives,” he said, peppering his lie with some truth. “Afterward we both agreed that it wasn’t the right time.” Karlia looked ready to march off straightaway and appeal to the Bard Master, so he added: “She said I was welcome to return. Possibly as soon as next spring.”

  There was a moment of skepticism in her eyes. “So you were accepted. But just not now. Is that it?”

  Lem shrugged. “I suppose you could say that.”

  He was unsure how much Karlia should know. Certainly not that Lem possessed the gift of the ancient bards. That had initially driven Feriel to desperation and tears. Spirits knew what it would do to Karlia.

  “And you promise you’re coming back?” she said.

  Lem gave a reassuring smile. “I promise.”

  Karlia walked him back to his room, going on about how wonderful life was at the college, as if to further convince him to return. Once at the room, she made him repeat his promise before leaving him alone.

  He placed his balisari in his lap and examined the tiny chip in the veneer where it had struck the floor, and wondered about the bard and the Thaumas who had crafted it. According to his mother, it had been in his family for as many generations as could be counted. Which meant he truly might be a descendant of the ancient bards … and possibly the Thaumas also.

  The evening meal was brought to his room, along with a message from the Bard Master that she would see him off in the morning. As he lay back in bed, he could hear the applicants and students roaming the halls outside. Likely they were doing their best to discover what would give them the greatest chance for acceptance during the morning’s auditions. He dearly hoped Valine would be accepted, and made a mental note to request it from Feriel. He wouldn’t insist, but Lem’s importance to the college might be enough to persuade her. Either way, something told him that Valine would be fine. Some people need only the slightest of pushes to give them confidence. The fear in her eyes he’d seen at the inn was gone when they spoke in the dining hall. One night, and her life was forever altered. A familiar situation, he thought ruefully.