The Bard's Blade

by Brian D. Anderson

  They continued for what felt like an eternity, making turn after turn and ascending several more flights of stairs. Even through the odor of onion he could smell that the air now bore a hint of honeysuckle and roses and had cooled to a comfortable temperature. Where in blazes were they going? Finally, he heard the click of a lock and was made to sit in a chair. The feeling of the cushioned seat was surprising. His shackles and the bag were then removed.

  After blinking for a few seconds to adjust his vision, Lem found himself in what looked to be a study. Directly in front of him was a large desk with a high-backed chair behind it. Shelves stuffed with books along with a few cabinets lined the walls, while the rather dim light from a solitary lantern gave the room a cozy atmosphere. It was a place to work or study in comfort. And judging by the high quality of the furnishings and artwork, a place used by someone of considerable wealth and power.

  “Well, now,” came a voice from behind. He recognized it at once.

  Sister Dorina rounded his chair and stood beside the desk. Curiously, the guards were not present.

  “You’re taking quite a risk,” Lem remarked. He wanted to feel anger toward this woman. But he couldn’t. He was the one who had been the fool. She had simply behaved as he should have expected.

  “A risk? Why? Are you planning to attack me?”

  “Who are you really?”

  “As I’ve already told you, I’m Sister Dorina,” she replied, her smile just as warm and motherly as it had been when they met. “But if you are asking who I am aside from that … my official title is Light Bringer.”

  Lem let slip a self-deprecating chuckle. “Of course you are. Who else would you be? But why am I here? Did you want to mock me before you have me put to death?”

  “Mock you? Never. I am not so cruel. And as for putting you to death, only one person in the Temple has the power to command that. No. I came simply to offer you my thanks. You have renewed an old woman’s faith.”

  Lem cocked his head. “How did I do that exactly?”

  “The High Cleric had lately begun to question my loyalty. But thanks to you, he no longer does.”

  Anger finally managed to surge. “So you’ve brought me all the way to your study just to express your gratitude? After you betrayed me? Go to the depths, woman.”

  Dorina frowned. “I think not. You were the one who came here with thoughts of betrayal. Was it not your intention to curry favor by exposing your employer? Your actions had nothing to do with protecting the High Cleric and everything to do with saving your own skin. In fact, I would bet my life that if you had thought it was possible, you would have gone through with the assassination.”

  “Coming in here alone and unprotected, it seems to me that you might have already made that bet.”

  “I am neither alone, nor unprotected,” she told him, unmoved by the implied threat. “Feel free to test my assertion if you must.”

  Lem’s muscles tensed. It would be quick. In the blink of an eye he could be out of his chair and have his hands around her neck. He sniffed, then allowed himself to relax. No. His last act in this world before dying would not be another murder.

  Her smile broadened. “A wise choice, young man. More so than you realize.”

  As she started moving toward the desk chair, a soft aura of blue light surrounded her. Her form began to ripple, as if he were looking at her image through the reflection of a pond. Lem’s eyes grew wide. She was changing. But into what? By the time she was seated, the old woman was gone, replaced by a man of about fifty with a square jaw, bald head, and deeply set hazel eyes. He was wearing a yellow-and-purple satin robe with the eye of Kylor stitched in silver on its chest. His hands were adorned with gold and gems, and a gold hoop hung from each ear.

  He smiled at Lem’s astonishment. “You didn’t think I would send Dorina in here alone with the infamous Shade, did you? I had to be certain that you were not prone to violent outbursts.”

  Lem’s voice dropped to a half-whisper. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “I think you know that already,” he replied, leaning back in his chair.

  “The High Cleric.”

  “Of course. Guillard Rothmore at your service. Or more accurately, you are at mine.”

  Magic. No wonder he wasn’t afraid. The High Cleric was a sorcerer. “I … I don’t understand,” Lem stammered. “Why am I here?”

  He folded his hands and pressed them beneath his chin. “That, my boy, is a question I have been pondering for some time. When Dorina came to tell me what had happened, my initial reaction was to drag you and that shady dog of an employer of yours straight to the executioner. Honestly, did you really think your plan would work? That you could bargain with me?”

  “I … I was trying to—”

  “You were trying to avoid justice. The kings and queens of Lamoria may turn a blind eye to your kind, but the church does not. Were the circumstances different, you’d be dead already.”

  “I don’t understand. What circumstances?”

  “For such an accomplished killer, you certainly are impatient.” He waved a dismissive hand. “But I suppose you’re right. We should get down to it.” He leaned in to get a closer look. “I thought I would see it in you. But now that you’re here…” He squinted, then shook his head.

  “See what?”

  “It is said that those from Vylari possess an inner light.”

  “So you know?”

  “Of course. I read the report on your interrogation. And your former employer confirmed it. You were wise to hold nothing back. It’s remarkable, actually. A great pity you chose the path you did. Your talents could have taken you quite far.” He paused for a weighty moment. “Though even now, perhaps it’s not too late.”

  A shiver ran through Lem. “What are you saying? That I’m to be spared?”

  “That all depends on you.”

  Lem knew he should feel elation, or at the very least relief. The trouble was, he’d already come to grips with the hopelessness of his situation. Though he heard the man’s words, he could not yet bring himself to accept them.

  “Do you believe in destiny?” the High Cleric asked. “That the creator of all things has a plan for us?”

  “No. I don’t believe in Kylor, if that’s what you’re asking. If you must know, I believe that our ancestors watch over us. But they do not interfere. Nor do they alter our course.”

  “Yes. That keeps it nice and simple for you. Without the need for clerics or worship. Or faith, for that matter. Tell me, do you ever ask your ancestors for guidance?”

  “Occasionally. Though I can’t say if they hear me.”

  The High Cleric thought on this for a moment. “I see. Are you not the least bit curious to understand our faith?”

  “I’ve read about it. But more out of necessity than curiosity. I needed to be able to blend in.”

  “Yes, your homeland was the biggest surprise of all. Vylari, of all places. I confess I didn’t believe it. Not even when your employer confirmed it. It took your uncle to convince me.”

  “What did you do to him?” Lem demanded.

  The High Cleric held up his palms. “There is no need to worry; he’s perfectly fine. There is no law against being from—and I still can’t quite believe I’m saying this—Vylari. So far as we are concerned, he’s done nothing wrong. And if you’re worried about the same thing your uncle was, I have not the slightest interest in finding your homeland. So rest your fears.”

  “Where is he?”

  “For now, he’s here in the Temple. As for Farley, in case you’re wondering, I turned him over to the king’s executioner. So what’s left of him is probably ash.”

  A smile formed before Lem realized it was there. “And you intend to let my uncle go?”

  “As I said, he faces no charges. Sister Dorina offered him accommodations while your fate is being determined. She really is a kind woman, you know. She even pled for leniency on your behalf.”

  “So what is it you want
from me?”

  “Faith.”

  Lem creased his brow. “You want me to worship your god?”

  “Kylor is everyone’s god. So yes.”

  Lem huffed a laugh. “You can’t force a person to believe.”

  “A bold statement from a man a hair’s breadth away from execution.”

  “I’m only saying that you can’t make me believe. If it saves my life, I’m willing to lie and tell you I have faith. But it would only be words.”

  The High Cleric scrutinized him for a time. “You are indeed different. Most people faced with death would not be so honest. They would say anything they thought I wanted to hear.”

  “If I did that, I have the feeling you’d see through me.”

  “Indeed I would. And you’re right—you cannot force someone to have faith. They either have it or they don’t.” He dipped his head, eyes darting around as if checking to see that no one was about. “Do you want to know a secret?”

  A touch confused by this odd behavior, Lem nodded.

  “I had all but lost my faith. Until very recently, in fact.”

  “What changed?”

  “You, as it happens. When you came here on what amounted to a fool’s quest, you could have run into any number of people. Likely none of them would have taken you seriously. You certainly wouldn’t be sitting here now. But you didn’t run into just anyone. Three thousand men and women live within the Temple, and thousands more visit here each day on business. That’s not even counting those who come on pilgrimage. So what are the chances that you would end up encountering the one person who would be able to help you? The one person who could see me without anyone stopping them? In fact, the second most powerful person in the Temple. What are the chances?”

  Leaving this question hanging, he stood up and rounded the desk, sitting on its corner directly in front of Lem. “There is a new enemy arising. One who is bent on the destruction of the Temple … and myself. One whom I know how to fight, yet do not possess a weapon with which to do so.” He laughed loudly, sweeping a hand toward Lem. “Just when I think I cannot prevent what’s coming, when all my prayers have been ignored, you arrive. The Shade. The perfect weapon for me to throw down my enemies. And if there was any doubt left, I hear that you are from Vylari—a land believed to be nothing more than a myth. I would be a great fool not to see this as anything other than divine intervention. You were sent here. A miracle. I can see no other explanation.”

  Lem was unsure what to say. He was no miracle. And he certainly did not believe he’d been sent by a god to help this man. But it was obvious that the High Cleric believed his own words, and it would be foolish to contradict them out of hand. He spoke carefully. “Even if what you say is true and I was sent here, I don’t see how I can help you.”

  “Of course you don’t. But you’re about to.” He returned to his seat behind the desk and opened a drawer, producing a sheet of parchment along with a small gold box. Both were placed on the desk and pushed toward Lem. “This is the choice I give you.”

  Lem read the parchment. Much of the language was confusing and cryptic, but he was able to divine it to be a contract of sorts—one that required him to become something called the Blade of Kylor. “What does this mean, exactly?” he asked.

  “It means that you will serve me,” the High Cleric explained. “Until such time as I release you or you are killed.”

  “What would I be doing?”

  “The same thing that you’ve been doing all along. Only this time you would kill for the good of this world rather than serve the darkest side of its nature.”

  “So I’m to be your personal assassin?”

  “Putting it crudely, yes. But it is so much more than that. The Blade of Kylor is a sacred charge, highly regarded among the faithful. A position for which you are uniquely qualified.”

  Lem stared down at the parchment. Within its intricate lettering and flowery words was his salvation. And yet once again, he was trapped. Though he had no desire to be this man’s killer, to refuse meant to accept death. Yes, he had been prepared to die. He still was. But hope has a clever way of worming into one’s heart. The hunger it creates for another day of life is powerful.

  Too powerful to resist.

  “If I accept, there’s one thing I would need,” he stated.

  “The girl, yes? Farley told us about her as well. Unfortunately, we have nothing to do with that. Indenture is a practice sanctioned by the Archbishop and only in Ralmarstad.” The word Archbishop came out like a curse.

  Lem was aware that the two churches had nothing to do with one another. Still … “But you could find her? You have ways of finding out, don’t you?”

  After a long pause, he nodded. “Yes. We have spies among them. But it would take time. Months, perhaps years.”

  “If you promise to find her, I will serve you for as long as you want.”

  “So you would serve me not to save your own life, but to save the woman you love?” He lowered his head and chuckled softly. “Yes. Uniquely qualified.” After a moment he cleared his throat and placed a quill and ink beside the parchment. “I will make you a bargain. Become the Blade of Kylor, prove your loyalty to me, and in return I will do all I can to find her, regardless of the cost.”

  “How will I prove my loyalty?”

  “You can start with your signature.”

  He locked eyes with the High Cleric. He didn’t trust him any more than he had Farley. Of course, thus far he’d been unable to trust anyone in this world. Why should he think the High Cleric’s word would prove to be any better than the rest? But did that really matter? By signing, he would save his own life, and gain the one thing he needed most of all … time. Even if the man was lying, it would still give him time to find Mariyah himself. Without dwelling on the issue a second longer, he picked up the quill and scrawled his name at the bottom. The High Cleric smiled, then did the same.

  “Inside the box is a pendant bearing the sigil of your title,” he said. “Keep it with you at all times. It will ensure that no temple, church, or monastery will deny you.”

  After removing the pendant, Lem examined it closely. It bore the eye of Kylor on one side and a curved dagger on the reverse.

  “There hasn’t been a Blade for several generations,” the High Cleric told him. “So you may receive a chilly reception in some places. But no one would dare turn you away.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “Now you are free to go,” he replied, gesturing to the door. “Your uncle will be waiting for you, along with your belongings.”

  “Where should I go?”

  “Wherever you please. Don’t worry. I’ll know how to find you. When you are needed, I’ll send word.”

  Lem stood and placed the pendant around his neck, shoving it beneath his shirt. He stared at the High Cleric for a moment, then, with a curious feeling of serenity and relief, he turned to the door.

  “By the way, I’ve heard you play,” the Cleric called just as Lem’s hand touched the knob. “You were most impressive, so perhaps you should consider heading north. I hear there is a great deal of coin to be made for a musician of genuine talent. Not to mention that the Bard’s College is in Callahn. Nothing forbids the Blade of Kylor from being a bard.”

  Outside, the guards were still waiting. This time there would be no shackles or bags. Instead, after bowing low, they silently led him through the labyrinth of corridors and chambers back to the main gallery. The light pouring in from outside told Lem that it was now midmorning. The air was warm and fragrant, and the bustle of people going about their business was already loud enough to reverberate from the marble walls.

  As promised, Shemi was waiting outside at the bottom of the steps. The moment he saw Lem approach, he ran to greet him, embracing him tightly.

  “I thought they had killed you,” he said, weeping with joy.

  Lem returned the embrace. “Not yet. But the day isn’t over. Who knows what could happen?”

 
23

  THE TRUTH REVEALED

  Beauty can be as deceptive as the cleverest lie. Do not be fooled by a bright smile and friendly eyes. It is the deeds of a person that will give away their heart.

  Book of Kylor, Chapter Six, Verse Three

  Wake up, my child.

  Mariyah rolled over onto her side and pulled the blanket tight. Not yet. Just a few more minutes.

  Wake up.

  It couldn’t be time. Her muscles still ached, and she could feel her body insisting that she remain in bed. But the voice would not be denied.

  Wake up.

  She peeled open one eye. Utter darkness. The lights were out, which meant it was not yet dawn.

  “Whoever it is, go away,” she groaned.

  I cannot go away. Not until we have had a chance to speak.

  “It’s not morning yet. Let me sleep.”

  You have slept all your life. It is time for you to wake.

  “This isn’t funny,” she snapped. “I have a long day ahead. Now, for the last time, let me sleep.”

  The end is coming, my child. I am coming. I need you to hear me. Open your eyes. See me.

  This was too much. Flinging her pillow across the room, she sat up, fuming. “I’ll bloody throttle you.”

  The lights should have brightened the moment she sat up. But they remained dark. A tingle of fear rose in her chest. “Who’s there?”

  Don’t you know me? Have you not seen me deep in the corners of your heart? Surely you have felt my call.

  “This is a dream,” she said, doubting her own words even as she spoke them. The voice … it was inside her head.

  Step outside and you will see that I am quite real. I await you beyond your door. There is no cause to fear. I would never harm you.