A Chorus of Fire

by Brian D. Anderson

His mind wandered to the series of events leading him away from his beloved home into the brutal world beyond the border. Not from his flight after the stranger arrived, but all the way to his early childhood when he had strummed that first chord. But it went back even further, didn’t it? To when his mother had left Vylari for reasons that still remained a mystery.

  So many seemingly insignificant events led up to the chaos that had become his life, and there were more trials to come. But it would end one day. He would find a way to end it.

  7

  MAGIC, EGO, AND VENGEANCE

  Swift to anger, slow to pardon. Embracing rage, shunning tranquility. Needful for lust, repelled by righteousness. These are the curses of the mortal heart. Heed the words of Kylor and beg him to anoint you with the strength of his spirit. For should your time expire and your soul remain burdened by sin, there is no atonement. Oblivion awaits.

  Book of Kylor, Chapter One Hundred and One, Verse Seven

  Mariyah recalled looking out on the Sea of Mannan with Trysilia from the deck of the merchant vessel after leaving Lobin, her future uncertain, afraid and clinging to hope. As she gazed upon the majesty of the Manuli Plain, a similar sensation of awe and wonderment tingled in her chest and caused her breath to catch in her throat. Only this time she was not weak and helpless. Not afraid of the future. Not looking for a comforting arm to lend her courage.

  No, she decided. This was different than with Trysilia. Better. She was her own master.

  Mariyah lifted her chin to the sun and closed her eyes as the warm breeze blew back her hair. The scent of a coming shower reached her nostrils, tugging the corners of her lips into a smile. The rumble of far distant thunder confirmed the coming rain. But it was hours away. There was no hurry. She opened her eyes and watched as the wind blew thousands of ripples over the vast golden expanse. The urge to descend the hill and run her hands over the tops of the weavers’ grass, said to be as soft as silk to the touch, was almost overwhelming. The one drawing she had seen of the plains had been in black and white charcoal, and did nothing to capture its true beauty.

  “We’re not going that way, my lady.”

  Mariyah felt a hand touch her shoulder, snatching her into the moment. She glanced back at Milani, the guard captain Loria had sent along to guide her. She was young to be a captain, but her experience in the Lytonian army well made up for her lack of years. To look at her thin frame, one would never suspect she was well capable of gutting a foe in the blink of an eye nor that her accuracy with a bow was uncanny.

  “I know,” Mariyah said. “But I wanted to see it.”

  Even from their perch atop Mount Zagamol, the forest where the plains ended was too far away to see. The “mountain” was little more than an unusually tall hill with a flat top. A natural watchtower, as Milani put it, used for ages to spot enemy armies crossing from Eastern Syleria—back when Lytonia and Syleria were bitter rivals and conflicts between the two nations were frequent.

  Coming here had put them a day behind schedule. But Mariyah was in no hurry. However excited she was to see the Thaumas enclave, given that this was her first adventure of any significant distance from Ubania as a free woman, she fully intended to take advantage of the situation. Loria would not have approved of the delay. But then, Loria was not here.

  “Have you been to the other side?” Mariyah asked.

  “No. There’s not much to see. A few abandoned ruins. The rest is wilderness, as I hear it. No settlements at all.”

  Mariyah shielded her eyes from the sun and stood on her toes. “And beyond that?”

  “Couldn’t say. No one goes there. Can’t get through anyway.”

  The Manuli Plain began on the border of Lytonia and Syleria and ended in a forest so dense as to be considered impenetrable. Vines as thick as a large man’s leg climbed from the tops of impossibly tall trees, creating a solid barrier that stretched for hundreds of miles north to south along the eastern border until reaching the Teeth of the Gods.

  “Has anyone tried?”

  Milani cocked her head, eyebrow raised. “Why would they? There’s nothing out there.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Everyone knows that.” She reached down and picked up Mariyah’s pack. “We need to get moving. Lady Camdon will have my hide if you’re late … later than we already are, anyway.”

  Mariyah took her pack from Milani and slung it over her shoulders. “You just want to get back so you can pester Bram.”

  Milani cast her an impish grin. “Fine figure of a man, that one. He’ll give in, sooner or later. Wait and see.”

  Milani had been after Bram since the day she’d been hired and was unapologetic about it. She wanted what she wanted and was not afraid to go after it. Loria had described it as a “soldier’s mentality.”

  “He’s old enough to be your father,” Mariyah pointed out, as they began the descent down the north face of the mountain along a well-trodden path.

  “He is not,” she protested. “An uncle, maybe. Besides, age doesn’t matter to me.”

  “I think it matters to Bram.”

  Milani laughed. “You haven’t seen how he eyes me on hall patrol when he thinks I’m not looking. Pure lust, I tell you.”

  “Are you sure it’s not fear?”

  Milani shrugged. “Same thing.”

  Mariyah laughed. “I doubt Bram thinks so.”

  “Who cares what he thinks? It’s not what’s between his ears I’m interested in.”

  Mariyah blushed. Hearing people speak so crudely about their desires was something to which she could never grow accustomed.

  “So none of those nobles who come calling strike your fancy?” Milani asked, delighting in her discomfort. “Not even the handsome one? What was his name … Lamson?”

  “Landon,” she corrected. “Lord Landon Valmore.”

  “That’s right.” Milani flicked her wrist. “Too pretty for me. I like my men rough around the edges. And with some meat on their bones.”

  “We’re friends. Nothing more.” Mariyah’s embarrassment was building, along with her irritation.

  “You could have fooled me. If your eyes were hands, he’d be naked each time he walked through the door.”

  “That’s enough,” she snapped. “I don’t think about Landon that way.”

  Milani laughed, unmoved by Mariyah’s angry display. “Why not? He surely thinks of you that way.”

  “No, he does not.”

  “Then he’s good at pretending.”

  Mariyah’s fists clenched. “We’re friends. Understand? Just friends.”

  Milani held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I was only teasing you. If you say you’re friends, then you’re friends.”

  “And if you want me to put in a good word for you with Bram, you’ll stop with that sort of teasing. I don’t like it.”

  Milani’s face lit up. “You do that and I’ll never mention Lord Valmore again.” She placed one hand over her heart and the other over her brow—the oath gesture of Lytonia.

  Mariyah allowed her anger to subside and gave a sharp nod. “Then we have a bargain.”

  It took most of the morning to reach the main road leading to Cail, a city on the Lytonian side of the Sylerian border, where the carriage and its driver, an older gentleman named Gimmel, was patiently waiting. He was sure to tell Loria about the delay. But then so was Milani. It was worth the scolding she’d receive. With the darkness closing in, Mariyah was determined to see as much of the world as she could.

  The carriage was more comfortable than most, the reason being that Loria placed charms upon those she owned so that the jostling and jarring from the road was kept to a minimum. Milani found it unsettling, complaining at least twice daily that she would have preferred to be on horseback. Mariyah had not been able to bring herself to ride, though Loria, who enjoyed the activity very much, had invited her along, repeatedly offering to teach her. Mariyah preferred to walk, when given the choice. But as time was of importance, it would have
been out of the question.

  Milani kicked off her boots and stretched out on the seat. “Too bad you’re a Lady. You’d have made one hell of a soldier.”

  Mariyah reached under her seat and pulled out a book on Ralmarstad history she’d brought along to pass the time. “I’m not a Lady. I’m as much a commoner as you are.”

  Milani sputtered a mocking laugh. “Oh, you’re a Lady all right. A tough Lady. Tougher than any I’ve met. I don’t know a single one who could have taken that mountain in one day.”

  “I grew up on a farm,” she said. She didn’t like being thought of as anything other than what she was: a simple person with simple tastes. Not by anyone other than the nobles, at least. And that was only due to the need to keep up appearances.

  “And I grew up in a manor,” Milani said. She spread her hands. “But look at me now.”

  Mariyah creased her brow, unsure if Milani was having fun with her. “A manor?”

  “My father was the head cook for Lord Inred Maljoy. Made enough gold to be a Lord himself, if he wanted. Mother was a jeweler for the King.”

  “What happened to you?” Realizing Milani was being serious and how insulting this must sound, she added, “Not that there’s anything wrong with you.”

  If Milani was offended, it didn’t show in her expression. “If you ask my parents, there is. They wanted me to go to Xancartha and become a scholar.” She feigned an exaggerated shudder. “The idea of sticking my nose in a book for the rest of my life … no, thank you.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I ran away. Nothing else I could do. Joined a free company for a while. Learned to fight well enough to be accepted in the Lytonian army. Not easy for a woman my size, I can tell you. They want them big.”

  “How did you get in?”

  “Slept with a garrison commander,” she replied, with a mischief-laden grin. “I’m joking. I thumped his bloody skull with his own shield is how. Didn’t sleep with him until after.” Laughing at Mariyah’s befuddled reaction, she clasped her hands behind her head. “A girl has needs, right?”

  “I…” She shook her head, returning her attention to the book. “Never mind.”

  Though Mariyah was fond of the woman, Milani was not someone she could understand. In a peculiar way, she reminded Mariyah of her best friend from back home: Selene. Not in mannerisms; Selene was what Father described as a glass doll, refusing to engage in physical labor if it could be avoided. But the way she would cast aside proper manners and convention …

  She hadn’t thought of Selene in some time. A lump formed in her throat as she recalled the harvest festival. Mariyah had been so eager to get away to spend time with Lem; a selfish thing to do. For all her faults, Selene had loved her like a sister. It had probably hurt her feelings when she hadn’t shown up at the Sunflow.

  “Are you all right?”

  Mariyah looked up as a tear spilled down her cheek. She smiled, wiping her face. “Yes. I’m fine.”

  “Memories can do that,” Milani said knowingly. “The stronger you are, the more you feel the hurt inside.”

  “Is that what a soldier is taught?”

  “That’s what my father told me the day I left home,” she said, with a faraway look in her eyes. “Poor old guy. I miss him sometimes.”

  “You should go to see him,” Mariyah said. “I’m sure Lady Camdon would give you leave.”

  “Where he’s gone, there’s no visiting,” Milani replied, doing her best to keep the regret from her voice. “Died of a fever a few years back.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Milani gave a dismissive shrug. “It was a long time ago. You learn to live with some pains.” She closed her eyes and shifted in the seat until she found a comfortable position. “Or they eat you alive.”

  Mariyah watched until Milani’s breathing was deep and steady. Everyone you meet is surprising in their own way. It’s just most of us don’t care to notice. Shemi’s words sounded in her mind unexpectedly. As much as she did anyone, she missed him dearly. His wit and his smile were a comfort no matter how she felt. He always knew precisely what to say when she was sad or upset. And unlike her parents and friends, he was not completely out of reach. And yet, like Lem, he was.

  Milani was right: Pain could eat you alive. But so can regret, she thought.

  Mariyah read for a time before putting the book away and allowing herself to drift into a light sleep. They would reach an inn by nightfall. A pitcher of wine and lively tunes was just what she needed. Of course, last time, Milani had nearly gotten them thrown in jail, after a brawl with two villagers brought on by a dispute over a game of dice.

  Cail, while not quite large enough to be considered a proper city, was big enough to have decent inns and shops. However, their current location, the town of Hymar, was little more than a trading post and stopover point for weary travelers. The streets were deeply rutted by wagons and lit only by the lights spilling out from the windows of the few homes along the main avenue and the inn on the far side of town. A few people were about, though most were on their way to the inn, where from a distance they could hear a flute and raucous laughter leaking into the street through the thin walls.

  “No gambling tonight,” Mariyah warned. “We have to leave early. And I don’t want to have to spend time getting you out of jail.”

  Milani was leaned over, pulling on her boots. “Last time wasn’t my fault,” she protested. “The man called me a pig lover. Not to mention he accused me of cheating.”

  “You were cheating.”

  Milani flashed a grin. “Sure I was. But he didn’t know that. That fella was too dim-witted to have caught me. Couldn’t fight neither.”

  “I don’t care whose fault it was. Just promise me: no games tonight.”

  “Are you really going to make me lie?”

  Mariyah put on her sternest scowl. “I’m serious. No trouble.”

  Milani pretended to be cowed into agreeing. “No trouble. Just a bit of fun. And from the look of it, you could use some yourself.”

  The carriage driver opened the door and stepped back with a sweep of his arm. This always drew a smile from Mariyah. She knew Gimmel quite well; he’d been on staff since long before she had arrived in Ubania and had been one of the first friends she’d made aside from Gertrude. In private, he was as formal and proper as a puppy playing with a rag toy, but the moment he donned his uniform, as unflappable as Loria.

  “You’re off duty once the horses and carriage are taken care of,” she informed him, stepping onto the street. “Do join us for a drink.”

  “As you say, my lady.”

  Milani jumped out and pushed her way past, shoving Mariyah back, though not roughly. “Let me do my job, if you don’t mind.”

  For all her familiar and crude banter, Milani was a consummate professional, checking the area for danger before allowing Mariyah to move away from the carriage door. Her sword was stowed away in their belongings, though she wore a pair of long knives, one on each hip, and was more than proficient enough with them to handle most adversaries they were likely to encounter along the way. Highwaymen and thieves were the chief dangers. But with regular patrols sent by the King to keep trade routes open, incidents were rare, and Mariyah could certainly handle a few bandits. In truth, Milani’s presence was for show. No noble would send their personal assistant beyond the grounds unprotected. To do so would raise the question why.

  Mariyah followed her onto the promenade, halting at the entrance. Milani ducked inside and emerged less than a minute later.

  “Pretty crowded in there,” she said. “Me and Gimmel will have to share a room.”

  The man grimaced. “I’ll stay in the carriage, thank you.”

  Last time, he’d woken to see a very intoxicated Milani straddling some strange man on the floor beside the bed, having completely forgotten they were sharing a room. The next morning, she apologized at least a dozen times, promising to never do it again. While Gimmel accepted her apology, he ma
de a point to avoid her company whenever possible. It was the only time Mariyah could recall Milani being genuinely embarrassed by her actions.

  Mariyah suppressed her amusement. “You can share with me tonight, Gimmel,” she told him.

  “That would not be proper, my lady.” He cast Milani a sour look. “The carriage will do nicely.”

  As always, Milani entered first, eyes darting about, hands hovering near her weapons. As she’d said, the common room was quite busy. Many patrons were seated at the rows of benched tables off to their left, enjoying an evening meal. Farther down was a partition that divided the bar from the diners. Directly ahead, a flautist played beside a lit hearth to the delight of about a dozen listeners who were clapping along with the cheerful upbeat melody.

  On the opposite end stood a counter with two doors on either side, with a third door in the far corner. The young man at the counter was looking at Mariyah with an unusual degree of interest.

  “What did you tell him?” she whispered over to Milani.

  “Nothing,” she replied. “I only gave him a few extra coppers to let me know if any unsavory characters were about.”

  The aroma of spices drifted across the room, overcoming the smell of ale and wine, stoking Mariyah’s hunger. Gimmel would see to the bags, and a bath could wait.

  After procuring rooms, they took a seat at a table and ordered a meal. There was only the one choice: beef and vegetables. Milani did not eat meat; an uncommon habit for a soldier. But then she was an uncommon person. She had no problem running a blade through a foe’s gullet, but would weep at the sight of a suffering animal.

  The food was decent and the wine sweet, and soon Mariyah felt the tension begin to drain from her limbs. Gimmel joined them for a time, but despite repeated offers from Mariyah to share the room, retired to the carriage, his bent posture and short shuffling steps denoting his exhaustion from the long days’ drive.

  Once most of the diners had finished, the partition was removed to allow full access to the bar. Within minutes voices rose to a roar, and a musician with a zabi—a four-stringed bass instrument—joined the flautist, prompting several patrons to dance about and sing along with the melody. It was a lively scene, quite different from the lavish balls and formal dinners held at the manor. Unlike the nobility, these people had the freedom of spirit to genuinely enjoy themselves, rather than feign enthusiasm and interest throughout the evening hoping to gain the favor of the hostess or learn new gossip about a rival. This was merriment, honest merriment.