It didn’t take long for him to find Shemi and Travil. Shemi was, as Lem had expected, pacing madly, insisting to Travil that they reenter the Keep and rescue Lem. Travil had just threatened to tie Shemi to the back of a horse if he made the attempt when Lem called out.
Both men were startled when Lem came striding up from the wrong direction.
Shemi quickly recovered and threw his arms around him. “I am so sorry, Lem.”
Lem returned the embrace fully. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It was my fault. They were after me.”
Shemi moved back a pace. He looked to be in good health, though he wore an embarrassed expression. “I know. But I was the one careless enough to get caught.”
“It doesn’t matter now. It’s over. It’s time for you to go home.”
Shemi frowned. “Me? What about you?”
“I have to go to Xancartha.” He placed his hands on Shemi’s shoulders. “But when I get back, your part in this is over.”
“What are you saying?”
Lem glanced over at Travil, who was pretending not to listen. “You have a chance to be happy. And as long as you’re with me, you won’t be.”
“Don’t speak nonsense,” Shemi protested. “Travil and I…”
“You and Travil deserve to live a life that’s not surrounded by death. And until I’m free of the High Cleric, that’s what staying with me means. I will not allow it. I’ve already been selfish enough. It ends now.”
Shemi squared his stance and pressed his knuckles to his hips. “And how do you suppose you’ll be rid of me when I intend to follow?”
“Where I’m going, you cannot follow. But you can prepare a home. You and Travil. Once I free Mariyah and am released from my service, I’ll come back to you. Maybe we can find a way to return to Vylari. If not, we’ll find somewhere here in Lamoria to live in peace. And if fate wills it, raise a family. But I will not … I cannot bear another moment of putting you at risk. Not when I can see how happy you could be.”
“My happiness will come once the job is done.”
Lem lowered his head and took a long breath. “You have to do this for me.” A tear fell. “If I’m to accomplish what needs to be done, I can’t have you with me.”
“I knew it,” Shemi said, throwing up his hands. “I get caught and you overreact. I swear: It will never happen again.”
“No,” Lem said, looking up with a sad smile. “It won’t. Because I’m giving you a choice. And I already know what your decision will be.” He looked back over to Travil. “I see that he loves you. And I know you well enough to see that you love him back.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“He knows who I am. He knows I’m the Blade of Kylor. Leave with him, and he lives. Stay with me and there’s only one thing I can do.”
If Travil was worried or afraid, he did not show it.
Shemi fumed, stepping in close. “You will not touch him.”
Lem did not waver or avert his eyes. “That’s entirely up to you.” He plucked a dart from his pouch. “Choose.”
Lem thought Shemi might strike him. Travil approached, his massive frame towering above Shemi. “He’s right. If I were in his position, I would feel the same way.”
Shemi spun around. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s family, curse you. You don’t know what we’ve been through. What we’ve lost. I won’t leave him.”
“Then you condemn me.” He bent to eye level. “Lem is not lying. He will kill me.”
“No. I know him. He won’t.”
Lem flicked his wrist, and the dart sank into Travil’s right arm. Shemi let out a feral cry, plucking it out as quickly as he could.
“What did you do?” Shemi shouted, terror stricken. “You heartless bastard.” He let fly a barrage of punches, most of which Lem was able to deflect, though a few found their mark.
Travil was staring impassively at the scene, covering the wound with his hand.
“I have the antidote,” Lem said.
Shemi ceased his assault. “Give it to me now!”
“So you’ve made your decision?”
Shemi thrust out his hand. “Yes, damn you. Give it to me.”
“If I do, you must swear not to follow me.”
Shemi was weeping openly. “I swear.”
“Go tend your wound,” Lem told Travil, who nodded calmly and started toward the horses.
“The antidote,” Shemi demanded, shoving Lem in the chest.
“The poison in that dart is spent,” Lem said, with a cold, even tone. “Travil’s in no danger.”
Before Lem could react, Shemi landed a fist to his jaw that sent him hard down on his backside.
Lem remained still for a moment, looking up at his uncle’s fury. This had to be done, though it was breaking his heart. “I’m sorry it had to be this way. I hope one day you can forgive me.”
“Forgive you? Who do you think you’re talking to, boy? Some stranger you met at a tavern?” With that, he marched off to join Travil by the horses.
Lem draped his arms over his knees, choking back his own tears. Forgive? Shemi had already forgiven him. He knew this. No amount of anger could sever the bond they shared. Even had he killed Travil, he would not have abandoned him. Strangely, this made Lem’s guilt immeasurably worse.
Travil approached him a few minutes later and offered his hand. “Thank you. You did the right thing.”
“No. Thank you. I’ve known for a while now that I would have to part ways with my uncle. Now I don’t have to worry that he’s alone.”
“He’s not. And never will be. You have my word.”
“I have to ask: Did you know the dart wasn’t poisoned?”
“No,” Travil replied.
“And yet you stood there and did nothing.”
Travil shrugged. “Things sometimes have to play out as they must. I knew Shemi wouldn’t let me die.”
“And if he had?”
Travil chuckled. “Then I would have died the way I’ve lived … a damned fool, but true to my own heart.” He clapped Lem on the arm. “Come on. We have ground to cover. And it’ll be a few days before we part company.”
They had only taken a few steps toward Shemi and the horses when Travil halted.
“What is it?” Lem asked.
“I just realized,” he whispered. “I still have to tell Shemi about being a soldier.” He grinned over to Lem. “Good thing he’s angry with you.”
“Believe me,” Lem said, with a laugh. “He has enough for both of us.”
As they rode, Lem kept his distance for a time to allow Shemi’s anger to subside. The parchment in his pocket would not leave his thoughts. Upon reading it, he could not help but feel that somehow Gylax had planned this from the very beginning. Once he left the High Cleric’s service, he would carry it out; though in doing so, he might be damning his soul to a life of blood.
There were rules in the Order of the Red Star that could not be ignored, and the ascension to leadership was one of these. As Gylax had explained: One was either named a successor, or you had to kill the current leader. Lem retrieved the parchment from his shirt that Gylax had left for him, naming his final target. The one that would settle his debt to the Order. Again he read the name, as if somehow the words might have changed. Gylax, the Shade Summoner.
14
OLD FRIENDS AND NEW ADVENTURES
It is through Kylor’s grace that we receive salvation. And in this, we find redemption and peace.
Book of Kylor, Chapter One, Verse Two Hundred and Three
Mariyah winced at the sound of breaking glass. Why she had allowed Milani to convince her that this was a good idea was beyond reason. There was a perfectly adequate tavern downstairs at the inn where they were staying, but Milani had insisted that they would have a much better time here. And by that she meant there would be gambling.
The patrons, mostly local working folk and a few dusty travelers, were not the lowlife dregs she had
feared, unlike at the previous tavern Milani just so happened to have been in before and had “highly recommended.” There were a singer and harpist playing on a small dais at the rear, and the games were relegated to a room behind the bar, out of sight of the general public, the raised voices from within muffled by a closed door and disputes quickly dealt with by a hulking brute standing just outside.
Mariyah took a sip of the ale, forcing herself to swallow. It was bitter, though preferable to the wine she’d tried upon arrival. At that moment, she would have given anything for a bottle of her father’s wine. The memory made the ale taste that much worse, and she placed it back on the table, scowling at the mug.
The musicians were playing a local favorite, and several people burst into song, overwhelming the voice of the singer, whose irritation was evident from her expression.
The scene, along with thinking of her father’s wine, caused her mind to drift back to the banks of the Sunflow. Lem was rarely interrupted so rudely when he sang. On the few instances one of their friends had drunk too much wine and dared to do so, it earned them a dunking in the shallows, fully dressed, and sand stuffed down their trousers.
She fingered the pendant Felistal had given her, the desire to use it having increased considerably since leaving the enclave. Again the inner debate erupted. Belkar was coming, and her chances of preventing this slim. Would it not be better to have Lem with her? If the end was likely, should they not spend their final moments in each other’s arms?
But if he were killed, she could never forgive herself. The dangers she would face were incalculable, and Lem was far too gentle to be expected to fight. By her side he would certainly be forced to spill blood, or if not, watch as she did. Thus far she had yet to kill. But the encounter with Aylana was enough to know that she could … and would.
That was how the debate ended each time. And that was how it would always end.
“Might I join you?”
Mariyah looked up from her reflections to see a man in a worn leather riding cloak, his face hidden beneath a deep hood. “I prefer to be alone.”
“I can see,” he replied. “For one so lovely, solitude is certainly a choice.”
Mariyah sighed. This was not the first time she’d had to fend off unwanted advances from strangers. A pity Milani wasn’t there. It was entertaining to watch as the tiny woman defended her mistress in what was invariably a most aggressive and threatening manner. “Then would you be so kind as to respect it?”
“Alas, I cannot. I gave my oath to Kylor that upon seeing the most beautiful woman in Lamoria, I would buy her a drink.”
“If you leave me alone, I’ll buy you one.”
He pointed to the ale on the table. “You cannot be enjoying that. I beg you—allow me to fulfill my oath, and if you still want me to leave, I will do so without delay.”
Though she could not see it, she imagined a roguish smile on a youthful face. She gestured to the chair opposite. “If it will convince you to leave, very well.”
The man called over to the young boy serving drinks and whispered into his ear, and, after a curious look, he scurried toward the bar.
“Now then,” the man said, taking a seat, one arm draped over the back of the chair, his knee raised and pressed against the table. “Might I know your name?”
“You may not.”
The man laughed. “Then my lady must do for now.”
“Do you always hide your face?” Mariyah asked. There was something familiar about him; something in his voice and the confident way he carried himself.
“I fear you might find me horrid,” he explained, albeit unconvincingly. “Better to win you over with my charm than my appearance.”
“You will not be winning me over with either.”
“I’m sure you’re right. Still, you are worth the effort.”
Mariyah sniffed. “Am I? And how would you know this? I might be a loathsome gold-hungry shrew. I might be married. I might be many things.”
“I think not. Were you gold-hungry and looking for someone wealthy to swindle, you would not come here. And were you married, I cannot imagine a spouse leaving you alone for even a moment.”
“Then maybe I’m a fugitive. A murderer, even.”
The man cocked his head. “A murderer, you say? Yes. Though one such as you could slay with a harsh word and a scolding glance.”
Mariyah groaned. “Does this woo the women in your homeland?”
“Oftentimes, yes,” he affirmed. “Though I did not think you would fall prey to flattery.” He looked over his shoulder to where the serving boy was carrying a bottle and two glasses to their table. “So I thought this might be a better choice.”
“The wine here is rancid,” she said, as the boy filled their glasses.
“Indeed it is,” the man agreed. “Unless you know the proprietor. Which I do.”
Mariyah held the glass to her nose, and a smile formed before she could stop herself. Raising it to her mouth she could not prevent a sigh of pleasure from escaping.
“Good, yes?”
“Very,” she admitted. “Better than I’ve had in some time.”
“I am pleased to hear it. So … have I earned a small measure of your company?”
She eyed him closely. “You may stay until my companion returns. Though I have one condition.”
“You need but to ask, my lady.”
“I want to see your face.”
“What if you find me disgusting? Then where would I be?”
“Precisely where you are now. Your charms will not work on me be you the most handsome man in Lamoria. And be you disfigured, your chances will have not decreased, as they are none. So if you insist on joining me, you will do as I say. Or you can leave. I’m happy to buy my own wine.”
The man paused for a moment, as if considering what to do. “Very well. You leave me no choice.”
Slowly he pushed back his hood. Mariyah nearly coughed up her wine as the broad smile of Lord Landon Valmore beamed back at her.
“Lord Valmore!” she cried, a bit more loudly than intended.
Landon held up a hand. “Please. None of that around here. No one knows my true identity … aside from you, of course.”
“Yes. I mean, please forgive me for my rude behavior.”
“The fault is mine,” he said, picking up his glass. “I was having a bit of sport. You handled yourself perfectly.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question. Such a long way from Ubania. And on your own.”
“I am not alone,” she told him. “Lady Camdon sent protection.” But a reason for being there was not forthcoming. She had not anticipated encountering anyone she might know, so she tried to change the subject. “Why are you dressed like a sheep herder?”
“I often disguise myself when I travel,” he replied. “Keeps the bandits and thieves away.”
Mariyah affected a skeptical look. “Bandits and thieves? Wouldn’t armed guards be more effective?”
Landon appeared as a boy caught stealing treats. “You are too clever by far. I must remember that before I think to conceal anything from you. The truth is I have business here that requires a high level of discretion. Were it known I was a Ubanian lord, my partners would not be inclined to continue our association.”
This was not unusual. As allies of Ralmarstad, Gothmoran and Ubanian nobles could have difficulty establishing trade with nobles and merchants from other nations. In fact, Lytonia expressly prohibited these partnerships, as did Ur Minosa.
“Now that you know why I’m here…”
“The same,” she replied, playing off Landon’s reasons. “Lady Camdon has dealings in Syleria she wanted me to see about.”
“And you jumped at the chance to leave Ubania, yes?”
“Exactly,” she affirmed, relieved that he appeared to be believing the lie.
A shout from the gaming room drew her attention. A second later, a man came crashing through the door and
landed flat on his back. Standing just inside, holding a broken chair in one hand, teeth bared, was Milani. The big brute standing outside stepped between her and her foe, who was struggling to rise and had a shallow gash over his right eye.
“What’s this about?” the bouncer roared.
“She cheated me,” the fallen man cried, pointing an accusing finger, still unable to stand.
“Prove it,” Milani challenged.
“Check her pockets,” the man said, finally managing to grip a table and pull himself to his knees. “She’s carrying weighted dice.”
The bouncer took a step forward, but the metallic hiss of a blade being drawn halted him.
“Touch me and I’ll gut you,” Milani said, a dagger replacing the chair in her hand.
“Milani!” Mariyah shouted, springing from the table.
“A friend of yours?” Landon asked, amused by the scene unfolding.
“My guard,” she replied, with embarrassment.
Mariyah crossed over to stand beside the bouncer. “Put that away,” she ordered.
Milani hesitated, but only briefly, before obeying.
“I need her to turn out her pockets,” the bouncer said, nervously stepping in closer to Milani.
“You heard him,” Mariyah snapped hotly.
Milani gave Mariyah a stricken look, as if she had expected Mariyah to leap to her defense. “But…”
“Now.”
Milani lowered her head and reached in her pocket. When she removed her hand, she held a pair of dice. “I didn’t use them. You have to believe me.”
“You see?” the injured man snarled. “She was cheating all along.”
“I was not,” she retorted, her voice firm but her eyes appealing for Mariyah to believe her.
Mariyah shook her head and then turned to the bouncer. “I’ll pay for the damages. Then we’ll be on our way.”
“I’m afraid it’s not so simple,” he replied, never looking away from Milani for a moment. “She’s accused of cheating. She assaulted one of our customers, and threatened me with a weapon. She’ll need to see the magistrate.”
A Chorus of Fire Page 24
