A Chorus of Fire

by Brian D. Anderson

  He sat there for a time, regarding her with a curious expression, as if having some inner debate. After a few minutes, he drained his glass, crossed over to a tall display case, and retrieved a tiny blade from the top shelf.

  “I’m going to release you,” he said. “Will you promise not to attack me?”

  “No.”

  “You must know by now that your master did not send you to kill me,” he pointed out.

  “You’re a heretic. You deserve death.”

  Rothmore thought for a long moment. “I offer you this bargain. I’ve had the books on the table brought for you to read. Very special books. Afterward, I will hold the truth stone, and you may ask me any question you wish. Once you’re satisfied, you may leave and seek out the Archbishop, if you like. I’ll even give you his location. I will not stop you. But you must promise me, no violence until you’re out of Xancartha.”

  This must be a trick, she thought. Why would he release his enemy’s Blade? “You will not turn me to your cause.”

  “Nor will I try.”

  She watched him for a time, her eyes darting over to the books. “What’s in them?”

  “The truth.”

  She sneered. “Your truth, I assume.”

  “Are we agreed or not?”

  She nodded curtly.

  Rothmore removed the truth stone from her hand and placed it on the table before cutting her free. “It will take you a few days to get through them all, which is why I had you brought to one of the upper level apartments. You’ll find a bedroom and washroom, and food will be brought.” He turned to the door. “Just tell the guards when you’re finished.”

  She sat unmoving for a time. The High Cleric was trying to trick her into betraying the Archbishop. He’d been lying about the letter. He had to have been. Her master would never reveal her secrets … particularly not to the High Cleric.

  She stood and moved to the books. The lamp was still dimmed, so she couldn’t make out the titles. The truth. Her desire to rip the pages out and throw them into a fire was far too tempting. She already knew the truth! Still, if it would get her away from this horrid place …

  She picked up one of the volumes and turned up the lights. The sooner this was over with, the better, she thought.

  * * *

  Rothmore entered the sitting room and took a seat in the same chair he’d been in three days prior. The Blade of Kylor was sitting across from him, eyes downcast and cheeks wet with fresh tears.

  “This can’t be true,” she said.

  “I’m afraid it is, my dear. Which is why I gave you the truth stone.” He held out his palm. “To use on me.”

  She reached into her pocket and retrieved the stone, then tossed it to the floor.

  “Everything is a lie,” she muttered under her breath. “And everyone a liar.”

  “No,” he said, with a sympathetic smile. “It’s not a lie. The teachings are real. Kylor was real. The church … it is real.”

  “The Book of Kylor is a fraud.”

  Rothmore frowned. “It is no such thing. Within its pages is wisdom. A way of living with others in peace and understanding. What difference does it make that it was written by mortal hands?”

  Her eyes fell on the pile of books. “How many people know?”

  “A few.”

  “The Archbishop?”

  Rothmore nodded in response.

  Her chest felt numb, her body limp. “All the things I’ve done … in Kylor’s name.”

  “All who’ve learned the truth feel as you do in the beginning,” he said. “I’ve considered destroying them on a few occasions, given the pain they cause.”

  “No,” she snapped hotly, her body coming alive. “People need to know the truth.”

  “What truth? That Kylor was a man? That like all men, he died?” He let out a sigh. “What do you think would happen? Consider all the good the teachings have done throughout the ages.”

  “Along with an equal measure of evil.”

  “Evil that would have happened regardless. Kylor didn’t create evil in the world. But he did leave us a way to combat it.”

  “With lies?”

  “With wisdom. You read the accounts. Kylor was a remarkable person, who lived only for the betterment of humankind. Should we not use his example and try to do the same?”

  “But we don’t.”

  “The Archbishop doesn’t,” he corrected. “His goal is only to retain power.”

  She could see Rupardo’s smug grin in her mind, prompting her blood to boil. She had slain so many in his name. Betrayed her own mother. Rejected her family. “You’re protecting him?”

  “I am not hunting him,” he replied. “There’s a difference. But if vengeance is on your mind, I would ask that you wait. Rupardo’s time will come. I showed you this because I need your help.”

  “I will not be used. Not by you or anyone else. I’m leaving.”

  “I understand. I only ask that you take some time here before you decide what to do. Listen to what I propose. If you still want to leave, I will not stand in your way.”

  Only her blinding fury prevented the crushing guilt from consuming her. “The Archbishop dies. Whatever deal we make, that is a part of it.”

  “I cannot condone it,” Rothmore said. “But neither will I prevent it.”

  Nothing could prevent it, she thought. The Archbishop would join her mother in the arms of oblivion. He would die by her hands.

  Rothmore stood. “I’ll give you time to think.”

  She removed the chain with the tiny blue orb attached from around her neck. Curiously, Rothmore had not confiscated it. She held it up for a moment, allowing it to turn slowly, its facets twinkling in the lamp light.

  “I don’t need time,” she said, dropping the orb on the floor and crushing it beneath her heel. “Tell me what you want from me.”

  19

  A HINT AND A PRAYER

  When danger comes and you feel hope is lost, look to your heart. Kylor is there. He will feed your strength with the courage of heaven.

  Book of Kylor, Chapter Three, Verse Seven

  Mariyah leaned against the tree, knees to her chest, the untouched plate of food and the full cup of wine a few feet away. Landon and Damio were huddled by the fire, eating in silence. In the three days since her abduction, the men barely had spoken to each other.

  Landon had avoided her for the first two days, riding in the driver’s seat the entire time. However, this past day he’d ridden in the back of the carriage with her, but still had refused to engage in conversation. This made gathering information impossible. They were traveling north, presumably toward the Teeth of the Gods, where she knew Belkar’s prison was located.

  Landon rose and walked over to sit a few feet away. “You’re not hungry?”

  “You’ve decided to speak to me?”

  Landon smiled sheepishly. “Forgive me. I’ve been consumed in thought. You must have questions if you intend to escape. It would be impolite of me not to answer.”

  She looked over to Damio, who did not appear interested. “If you want me to escape, why not help me?”

  “I didn’t mean to suggest I want you to escape. But I’m certain you have been trying to divine a way to do so. I should mention that starving yourself is counterproductive. Were you to break free, you might be too weak to run.”

  There was something different about him. His hands were not trembling, and his expression that of the Landon she’d thought she knew. But there was something in his speech; the way he was forming his words. An effect of Belkar’s spell, perhaps? She picked up the plate and placed it in her lap.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Yes. That would be the first thing I’d want to know too,” Landon said. “And the answer is, almost due north of Libel, to a temple of sorts. The road we’ll take begins at the base of the Teeth of the Gods.” He held up a finger. “Let me see if I can guess what else you want to know. The route we are taking is a lesser-trav
eled road, so knowing the destination, you could reason out that it will take about a week to get there. So knowing where and how long…” He scratched his chin. “The anklet. How to remove it? And there is where your plan will fall apart. Horrid little things. But quite useful.”

  “Please, Landon. You don’t have to do this.”

  “I think you know that’s not true. Belkar will soon be free. Those who defy him will suffer greatly.”

  “Those who follow him will be no better off, Landon. They’ll be the same mindless creatures as everyone else who serves him.”

  “You are so wrong. What they become is something beautiful. No pain, no rage, no envy or jealousy. They are beings of a single mind and purpose.”

  “They’re nothing more than shells—empty and without a will of their own.”

  “No,” he said, his voice sounding as if describing the beauty of the heavens rather than an army of soulless fiends. “They are one with Belkar. They share his spirit. And through him, his wisdom.” He leaned forward, but stopped short of taking her hands. “You must try to see. Mortals cling to this notion that they are unique, separate from their brethren; that their individual lives are more important than the good of the world. They convince themselves that what they feel is all the reason they need to act out their impulses. And in their pride, they allow suffering to spread.”

  “So you would see people become emotionless husks, with their only reason for existence to serve a man who believes himself to be a god?”

  “Belkar does not claim divinity. Not like…”

  His hands trembled.

  Kylor. He was going to say Kylor.

  “You say this is a thing of beauty,” she said, calming her voice, adding the subtle quality of seduction. She touched the tips of his fingers. “Yet you would never again experience the warmth of a lover’s embrace. The tenderness of a kiss.”

  His face twitched. “Those are trivial desires.”

  She slid her hands over his knuckles to his wrists. “You don’t believe that.” Though the anklet would not allow her to harm him, physical contact was not inhibited.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head, though he did not withdraw. “I cannot allow this.”

  She moved up his forearm. “Allow what? A simple touch?”

  “No,” he repeated weakly. “I cannot.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  All at once his hands cease to shake and a smile formed. “Very good.” He pulled away and stood. “You have no idea how close you came to succeeding just now.”

  Landon turned and strode off to rejoin Damio, laughing softly.

  Mariyah wanted to scream, only barely managing to maintain a semblance of composure. She had been beaten by her own blind ignorance. As it had far too many times over the past three days, Loria’s voice nagged at her, chastising her for being the trusting little fool.

  Her hand drifted to the locket Felistal had given her. Until now, she’d feared using it. Calling Lem would get him killed. What would he do? Bash them over the head with his balisari? Though in this moment, it was a better plan than what she’d come up with thus far. If perhaps she could focus her thoughts on Loria.

  No. Not yet. She had time still. Landon had weakened, if only for a moment. And his reaction to thinking about Kylor could be the key.

  You can figure this out. Landon needs your help. But with what? Freeing Belkar? It seemed logical. But he was imprisoned using magic lost ages ago. She had only just discovered how to use transmutation. Surely, he couldn’t think she was powerful enough. Not yet. Why not lure Felistal or Loria?

  The food was cold and bland, but she ate it anyway. One thing Landon had said was true: She needed to maintain her strength. Afterward, she returned to the carriage. She had expected Belkar to attempt contact while she slept. But he had not. Now unable to cast the spell protecting herself, Mariyah found it curious. Not to say she desired it. But it occurred to her that she might be able to somehow persuade him to release her. Or perhaps he would give something away which could aid her escape, however unlikely that scenario was.

  It took another hour to settle her mind enough to sleep. The pendant was weighing heavily around her neck. A few more days. She had to keep from panicking and acting rashly. And by calling Lem, that’s what she’d be doing. She refused to act from desperation and fear.

  * * *

  The morning brought with it a bitter wind from the north. Landon did not behave as if bothered, however, and began to prattle on about how wonderful the world would be once the coming conflict was over.

  “Think of it, Mariyah,” he said, feet propped up on his seat, as he lazed against the side of the carriage. “No more need for weapons or gold. No more children left to starve in the streets. No more commoners and nobles. It will be a perfect harmony.”

  Mariyah battled back her fury and gave a casual flick of her wrist. “No more love and passion. No more laughter. No more art and beauty.”

  “Fleeting moments,” he countered. “What is the value of a painting or sculpture when only the wealthy have the privilege to enjoy it? What are love and passion but the fevered desires of the young and foolish?”

  “You don’t believe that.”

  “Love comes in many forms,” he said. “Mortal love is born from lust and carnal desire. They do not grasp the low burning flame of immortal love. One that never ends and never changes. What is mortal love but a moment in time, gone as quickly as it appears? Changeable and unpredictable. And easily forgotten. The love that drives Belkar to you…” His smile faded, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “You are perfect. It would not matter if you were not thought beautiful to the mortal rabble. They put value only in what their eyes can see. None of them see you as he does.”

  “You’re wrong,” she shot back. “There is one person who…” She folded her arms tightly to her chest.

  Landon gave her a knowing look. “You speak of Lem. But did he not leave you behind in Vylari? Was it not his selfishness that led you to captivity?”

  “Lem left because he thought he was protecting me,” she said. “And I would rather spend a day in his arms than an eternity with you. And as for selfishness: If your master were a god, that’s what he would be the god of.”

  “You speak from anger. You desire a life you can no longer have. But once you see the glory of what Belkar will give to the world, you’ll see things differently. You’ll have a new life. A better life. And it will last forever.”

  As she sat glaring at him with open contempt, something in Landon’s words struck her as out of place. She hadn’t told him about Vylari. But it was more than that. Everything about him was changing. From his speech to his mannerisms, the way he walked, down to how he picked at his food during their meals.

  There could be reasons for this, not the least of which that she was imagining things. And Belkar’s magic could have helped to pass on the information regarding Vylari. But even now, as he looked upon her with a degree of longing that she had not seen in Landon, it was becoming clear.

  If you’re right, best to not tell him you know. Not until you must.

  Now she would watch him even more closely.

  On the fifth day, they stopped at an abandoned house to spend the night. While there was no furniture, the hearth and a room in which to bathe were a welcome respite.

  Landon sat on the floor in front of the fire, cross-legged, fingers spread. From time to time he would touch his own cheek or stroke the back of his hand, looking like a child touching fine silk for the first time. Mariyah watched this odd behavior from the far side of the room. Damio was giving him curious looks as well.

  “So fragile,” Landon muttered. “Yet still marvelous. To think this simple layer of flesh is what provides so much pleasure. So much pain. It protects from harm and yet is easily damaged.” With his fingernail he scratched his wrist, drawing a small portion of blood. “Effortlessly, in fact.”

  Damio approached and knelt beside him. “Are you ill?”

&nb
sp; Landon ignored his presence completely, smearing the blood in a circle.

  Damio touched his arm. “Lord Valmore.”

  Landon’s hand shot out, and his fist collided with Damio’s jaw, sending him to his backside. Before the man could recover, Landon was on his feet. He gripped Damio’s collar and proceeded to hit him repeatedly. Damio raised his hands to defend himself, but after three savage blows was unconscious. And still Landon did not stop. The flat smacking of knuckles on soft flesh made Mariyah want to vomit.

  “Stop!” she cried, unable to continue watching the brutal beating.

  Landon struck him twice more, then released his collar. Blood was pouring from Damio’s mouth and nose, and teeth were scattered on the floor around him. Landon was slightly out of breath as he stared down at his handiwork. He did not look angry, but fascinated by the scene.

  “So fragile,” he mused. “So very fragile.”

  Damio was still breathing, but Mariyah knew that without treatment injuries like these could prove fatal.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked, in a half whisper.

  “I don’t know.” He held out his blood-covered hands. “An odd sensation. I could almost feel his life waning, his spirit slipping away into nothingness.”

  Mariyah stood, her back pressed to the wall. “How long have you been here?”

  He lowered his head and gave her a sideways smile. “So you know. I thought you might. I’ve only inhabited this form fully for the past two days.”

  “And Landon?”

  “He is my servant. And yet he fought to keep you from me. I cannot allow that.”

  “He’s dead?” she asked.

  “Not yet. Part of him exists in the recesses of his mind. I need him in order to keep his body alive. He will remain until my task is complete.”

  She had been correct. Belkar had not only taken control of Landon’s mind; he controlled his body as well. The magnitude of power that it would take was incomprehensible. “What task?” It took all her courage not to flee. Though the anklet would make it impossible to get more than a hundred feet or so.