“And you are?” she asked Lem.
“Inradel Mercer.” He caught a hint of recognition in her eyes.
She ran her finger up and down the page, shaking her head. “It appears that you’re not on the list.”
“I know. I was sent here by … my employer.”
“And who is your employer?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Then you will need to leave at once, I’m afraid.” Her tone was firm, though not angry.
“I understand. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” This was going to be easier than he’d thought. He caught the disappointment in Valine’s expression, as she gripped the box tight to her chest.
Lem bowed and started toward the exit. He had tried. The High Cleric could not fault him. He reported to the Bard’s College as ordered and had been told to leave. That was that.
A few feet from the door, he heard rapid footsteps echoing off the stone tiles.
“Wait!”
For a brief second Lem considered ignoring the cry.
“Inradel!”
Karlia was standing with the older woman, out of breath and holding a slip of paper.
“If she says so, I suppose it’s all right.” She waved over to Lem. “Come on. You can stay.”
Where the other applicants had looked relieved that he was leaving, knowing his application would mean two vacancies for them to compete over, Valine’s face now bore the only smile among them.
“But he is to stay with you,” the woman added. “And tell her I do not appreciate being left ignorant.” She turned her attention to the applicants. “This way.”
The procession followed her through a narrow door off to the left of the stairs, and Lem heaved a sigh.
“Why didn’t you tell me the High Cleric sent you?” Karlia asked, hands on her hips. “You could have saved yourself a lot of trouble.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Lem muttered.
“Yes. I heard about Tilmin before I left Callahn this morning,” she said, upper lip curled. “Good riddance.”
“I didn’t see you at the inn last night,” Lem remarked.
“I never stay there.” She jerked her head for him to follow. “I have a friend in town who keeps a spare room open.”
“Why am I not with the others?” he asked, just as the final applicant exited the gallery.
Karlia cleared her throat. “Um. Well … the Bard Master isn’t what you would describe as happy you’re here.”
“Is that right? Then why ask me to stay?”
“Appearances. She doesn’t like it when the Temple interferes with our business. But the High Cleric is one of our most devoted patrons. I explained that to send you away too soon would be a bad idea.”
Lem’s irritation was building rapidly. He halted just as they came to a door on the far-right end. “So I’m just supposed to sit here and wait to be told to leave? I think I’ll save the Bard Master the trouble.”
Karlia caught his arm as he was turning back. “Please. You must stay. Just one night. I’ll find a way to get you an audition.”
Lem spat a sardonic laugh. “You mean I’m not even to be heard?”
“Well, no. Not officially. But I have an idea.”
“First, I couldn’t care less about becoming a bard. Second, why do you care if I get an audition?”
“Because you belong here,” she replied, with staunch conviction. “And … well … tenish is a position you have to continue to earn; one I only recently achieved. A find like you would go a long way to securing my place. And I convinced the Bard Master that you would be offended if asked to leave without so much as the common courtesy of a meal and a warm bed for the night.”
“You can tell her that I’m not offended.” Lem tried to pull free, but she held fast.
“It will be almost nightfall before you reach Callahn anyway. Stay the night here.”
She was right. Besides, what harm could one night do? He had to admit the prospect of seeing the interior of the college was a mighty temptation. “Fine. But I don’t want you scheming to get me an audition.”
This drew a broad grin. “Wonderful. Now let me show you where you’ll be staying. Then you can take a look around.”
They passed through a series of corridors, where students could be heard practicing within the rooms on either side. Some Lem thought to be quite good, though others were clearly in the early stages of development. Upon hearing a particularly poor performance, Lem cocked an eyebrow at Karlia.
“I thought you already had to be rather good to get accepted,” he remarked.
Karlia waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t mind that. We’re required to learn new instruments in our spare time. It’s why the rooms are closed off—so no one will see who it is playing the sour notes.”
“What’s your instrument?”
“A bit of everything. But the darmarline mainly.”
This was an eight-stringed, large-bodied instrument known for its rich deep tone and the way advanced players used it also as percussion, thumping and tapping it with the heel of their palms and tips of their fingers. A skilled player could make it sound as if they were being accompanied by a percussionist.
There was a large open chamber with four lit hearths and comfortable-looking furnishings, where several older men and women were lounging and talking. They took little notice of the duo, though their eyes did pause on his balisari.
“How many people live here?” Lem asked.
“Only new students and a few faculty live in the main building. There are student houses spread about where most of us stay. And most of the instructors have their own cottages.”
Lem had not shared living quarters with anyone other than Shemi since he had been with the Lumroy Company. He was unsure how well he would do living within a large group. Unlike many of his childhood friends whose extended families would visit regularly, drawn by Olian Springs’ close proximity to the Sunflow, his mother’s family had not been so inclined. Though he had an aunt and a few cousins, for the most part, it had been he, his mother, and Shemi. On the rare instances when the house was full, he had not enjoyed sharing the space. The troupe had been different. The others wandered around whatever city they were in, only staying inside the tent to sleep or get ready for a performance.
Upon arrival, he found that the room was spacious, nearly as large as some city apartments.
“This is for visiting nobles,” she told him. “Patrons, mostly. Master Feriel said that you should be treated as a guest rather than an applicant.”
Lem nodded approvingly. “Very nice.”
“I have duties,” she said, backing from the room. “Feel free to explore. When you hear the bell toll, come to the main dining hall.” She turned to leave, pausing to add with a fiendish smirk: “Make sure to bring your balisari. Wouldn’t want to get it stolen.”
Stolen? He found it hard to believe someone would steal his instrument. Not here.
The door closed, and Lem took stock of his surroundings. The elegance of the furnishings and décor was certainly befitting a noble visitor. There was even a separate washroom with hot running water as well as a small dining chamber.
Lem had brought a fresh set of clothes, so he decided to get cleaned up and take Karlia’s advice to explore the college for a time.
There were no locks on the door, so he strapped his instrument across his back and fastened the pouch containing his gold to his belt, in case Karlia was not just having fun with him. The dagger he tucked behind him, taking special care to hide it beneath his shirt so as not to cause alarm. This was not the type of place where one carried weapons. But the vysix dagger was far more precious than he had realized when it was given to him. Should it be lost, finding a replacement would be impossible. To the best of his knowledge, the art of their construction had been lost to time, and those in existence were jealously guarded and would cost a king’s fortune—assuming you could find someone willing to sell.
Exiting the room, he started back in the di
rection he had come until he reached the chamber where the instructors were still sitting about in quiet conversation. He took some time to appreciate the art and architecture. It was unlike anything he’d seen in the various manors and temples he had visited. The paintings all bore a musical theme, as was to be expected. But their lines and colors were simple, in a way, and the carvings and statues hidden in the corners and among the furnishings, though not crude, lacked the intricacy he would have expected, given the obvious wealth of the college.
“Most of this is older than the building itself,” a deep voice called from a nearby circle of chairs.
Lem glanced over to see two women and a man huddled over a table, playing some sort of game with multicolored stones and dice. “I see.”
The man was younger than his companions by at least a decade, with a pallid complexion, bright blue eyes, and short curly red hair. He was thin, though not in the way that suggested ill health, and a three-stringed umbrisar was leaning against his chair.
“You’re not an applicant?” he inquired, reaching down, moving a tiny green stone, and picking up a blue one. This produced grumbled curses from both women.
“He’s cheating again,” one said.
The man shrugged. “You’re the one who asked me to play. You know I can’t win without cheating.”
Lem was about to walk away when the man stood, bowing to his opponents.
“As I am caught, I concede defeat.”
The women flicked dismissive hands and returned to the game.
“Who are you here to see?” the man asked, as he picked up his instrument and tucked it under his arm.
“Bard Master Feriel,” Lem replied.
The man chuckled. “I thought you were perhaps the brother or cousin of a student here come for a visit. But as it’s the Bard Master you seek, I assume you’re someone of importance.”
“Not really,” Lem said. “My employer sent me here to apply. But it looks like it was a wasted trip.”
“A patron of the college sent you, yes?”
Lem nodded an affirmation.
“Then I’m afraid you’re probably right. The Bard Master can be difficult, particularly if she feels like someone’s trying to make her do something she doesn’t want to do. Fantastic musician, though. Best of all the bards.”
“Are you a bard?” Lem asked.
His chuckle grew into full-blown laughter. “Me? No. Just a lowly instructor. Master Feriel is the only bard here right now.”
This was somewhat of a disappointment. He’d hoped to hear one play before leaving.
“What is your name?” the man asked.
“Inradel,” he replied, intentionally omitting the last name of his guise.
“I’m Thomil,” he said. “Drinker of wine and teacher of the scaru flute.” When he noticed Lem looking at the umbrisar, he smiled. “This was a gift. I’m not very good at it. Not yet.”
The scaru flute was a pleasing instrument, constructed of multiple wooden tubes fastened together. Some could be quite large, requiring a stand to keep them aloft, though most could fit easily in one hand. It was a common instrument, to be sure, but Lem had always found it a pleasure to listen to when someone had truly mastered it.
“So you only teach the one instrument?”
“No, I teach several. But only scaru through eighth year.”
Lem was not exactly sure how the college was organized. He knew that instructors were typically students who had failed to become bards but had made it through to the final year. But what their qualifications were, or even what constituted a bard, was a mystery.
“A pity I won’t get the chance to hear you play,” Lem said.
“So you’ll be leaving us, then?”
“Tomorrow, most likely.”
“Then allow me to show you around.” He tilted his head at the balisari. “And perhaps you might favor me with a song?”
Lem forced a smile. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from anything.”
“Not at all. No lessons in the main building when the applicants arrive. It’s the only time the place is quiet.” His face contorted. “Otherwise it’s crammed full of first years. Makes the halls sound like sick pigs fighting over the last bit of slop.”
Lem laughed. “Everyone has to learn.”
Thomil held out an arm, pointing toward a door on the near wall. “Indeed they do.” When Lem moved in beside him, they started out at a leisurely pace. “It’s not their individual playing that’s so bad, but very few arrive with any ensemble experience. You can’t imagine what hearing five novices playing … trying to play … in unison for the first time is like.”
“I can, actually.” Though he’d never had problems falling in with other musicians, on a few occasions he had brought his students together to play a concert for their parents and families. The children, as a rule, detested the idea and complained endlessly once Lem passed out the music they were to learn. Even those who had shown potential had difficulty maintaining the rhythm, and the distraction of the other instruments caused them to frequently lose their place.
“You taught?”
“Years ago, yes.”
Thomil eyed him skeptically. “From the look of you, it couldn’t have been many years ago.”
“It wasn’t. Though sometimes it feels like a lifetime.” Lem smiled, but said nothing further.
Thomil led him through myriad chambers and galleries. Most, he explained, housed the thousands of artifacts the college had collected over the ages. Each was filled to bursting with display cases and different-sized daises to exhibit the massive collection.
“We are the unofficial museum of Lamoria,” Thomil told him, pausing in front of a battered sword held in a glass case, the words Blade of King Ikar etched into a gold placard on the lid. “A pity so few get the chance to see it. But I suppose if we just let anyone come here to study, it would be like living in an anthill.”
“Impressive. How long have the bards been around?”
“No one knows. Some say since the dawn of creation. That’s ridiculous, of course. But long enough where you can still find manuscripts written in the ancient tongue down in the archives.”
This held true with what Lem had learned. Musicians were not the only ones eager to gain entry; scholars also applied to be allowed to study here. Nearly all were rejected.
Thomil was a chatty fellow, and in less than an hour Lem had learned that he’d been born in Ralmarstad in a seaside fishing village east of Lobin called Milburn. His parents had sent him to live with his aunt and uncle in Solidor, a town on the Garmathian border, when he showed a proclivity for music. There he could easily leave Ralmarstad if he wanted, so long as he was careful.
“The borders weren’t as heavily guarded back then,” he told Lem. “Not like they are now. My mother was so proud when I was accepted. Though it killed her to be unable to boast about it to her friends—things being how they are between the bards and the Archbishop.”
This was a situation Lem knew all too well. “Why not bring them here to live with you?”
“And leave Milburn? They wouldn’t think of it. Well, my mother might. But Father? Not a chance. And Mother would never leave him behind. No. They were born there, and they’ll die there.” He tilted his head forward, reflective. “I do miss them. Almost enough to risk a visit.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“The Archbishop has the names and description of every bard and instructor at the college. A student might be able to get past the border guards. But for me … likely as not I’d end up in a prison cell for the rest of my life.”
Lem was aware that security at the border was tight. All identifications were checked and logged into a ledger. When you left, you passed through the same crossing so as to have your name checked again. If you tried a different crossing, you had to send word at least a week in advance so the records could be transferred, or you’d be turned away. And if you attempted to sneak over and were caught, it was straight to prison. N
o court, no trial. For a year.
They had just entered a small theater when a bell sounded throughout the building.
“Where has the time gone?” Thomil said. “I need to get ready for supper.”
It had been several hours. Lem was grateful for the distraction, and under better circumstances would have enjoyed exploring the college more fully, as he could see that it would take a great deal of time to view its artifacts in their entirety. Shemi would have been in a state of bliss, he thought, smiling as he pictured his uncle darting about from case to case. Shemi loved old things almost as much as he loved books, particularly if they held some sort of historical significance.
Thomil gave directions to the main dining hall and then excused himself with a polite bow. Lem was in no hurry to get there. Karlia was sure to be hatching some sort of plan to get him an audition, and being in the same room with the Bard Master would afford her the perfect opportunity. He felt as if he were walking into a trap. But unlike previous times he’d been cornered, he could not kill his way out of it.
“At least no one wants you dead,” he muttered, as he shoved open a heavy oak door that led into a broad arched corridor.
“Who would want you dead?” Karlia was leaning against a wall off to his left, apparently waiting for him to arrive.
“No one.” He affected a half-hearted smile. “Unless the Bard Master is less pleased that I’m here than I thought.” He stopped and stepped aside to allow a small group of students to pass.
“I see you’re ready,” she remarked, noticing the balisari strapped across his back.
“Ready for what?”
She tugged at his sleeve. “Dinner, of course. Come on. We should hurry, or Master Feriel will have me scrubbing pots.”
Lem followed her into the next room, where a pair of large doors were thrown wide. A few students were hurrying in from doors off to the right. Inside, the main dining hall was filled to near capacity. Students were seated at dozens of long tables placed neatly lengthwise and four rows across—the applicants, their lack of robes making them easy to spot, at the table nearest to the entrance. At the far end, a table spanned the breadth of the room, where, apparent from their age and stone-hard expressions, sat the instructors. In the center was a woman with deep brown skin and thickly curled black hair who Lem assumed to be the Bard Master. Thomil was seated two from the end on the right.
A Chorus of Fire Page 8