A Chorus of Fire

by Brian D. Anderson

  Lem noticed that her hands were placed tenderly on Gylax’s shoulders. “I see you decided to give up acting.”

  “I’ve given up many things since leaving the Lumroy Company. Though it seems you have not.”

  Lem shrugged. “I’ve done what I must.”

  “I wish I’d killed Farley before he dug his claws into you,” she remarked, with a combination of pity and anger.

  “Don’t say that, my love,” Gylax interjected. “If you had, I’d have been forced to kill you. Then where would I be?” He reached up and placed his hand on hers. “Vilanda has become very dear to me. I only wish I’d found her thirty years ago.”

  Vilanda leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “Thirty years ago I was a child.” She turned back to Lem. “Is it true you are also Inradel Mercer?”

  Lem nodded. “A good way to get in and out of places without suspicion.”

  “Yes,” Gylax said. “Very clever. And from what I hear, you’re quite accomplished. So much so that Vilanda shed tears when we heard you’d been executed.”

  “How did you end up here?” Lem asked Vilanda.

  “By accident. The Order wanted to know how Farley was betrayed. So they came looking for me.”

  “And it was love at first sight,” Gylax added playfully.

  Vilanda slapped him on the shoulder. “Hardly. If Clovis hadn’t verified that I’d left prior to Farley’s arrest, you’d have had my head on a pike.”

  Gylax spread his hands. “What can I say? I’m not easy to love.”

  Lem would have laughed had the situation not been so dire … and confusing. “I still don’t understand why you went through all this just to speak to me.”

  “We weren’t the ones who wanted to speak to you,” Vilanda said.

  “Yes,” Lem said. “The client. Someone powerful, I assume. Someone who wants to keep their identity hidden. Someone in a position to know who I am and provide you with the information you needed to find me. And to approach you directly.”

  Gylax steepled his fingers to his chin. “You’re on the correct path. But I can promise you will never be able to figure it out.”

  “You can be such a child,” Vilanda scolded. “Tell him.”

  “And miss the chance to see the look on his face?”

  Vilanda rolled her eyes. “Very well.” She moved to the seat beside Gylax.

  “So you returned to being an assassin?” Lem asked.

  “No,” Vilanda responded, smiling. “It was the one condition I put on Gylax should I stay with him.”

  “So you’re wed?”

  This drew a laugh from both.

  “Assassins don’t wed,” Gylax said. “Our bond runs far deeper.”

  Vilanda reached inside her dress and removed a tiny silver locket and chain. Gylax did likewise.

  “Inside each is a small scrap of parchment from the contract we both signed,” she told him, blowing a kiss over to Gylax. “We swore to be faithful and true to one another until the moment of our death.”

  “How is that different from marriage?” Lem asked.

  “It was sealed with a binding spell,” Gylax said.

  Lem straightened his back. “Are you serious?”

  “As serious as I can be,” he replied, leaning over and placing a kiss on Vilanda’s cheek. “It was the only way I could convince her of my love.”

  “If you tell that lie one more time,” Vilanda said, feigning anger, “I just might put the spell to the test.” She looked at Lem, putting the locket away. “It was his idea. He didn’t think I’d go through with it.”

  Gylax let slip a long sigh. “I should have known better. Never underestimate the resolve of a woman’s heart, my friend. You’ll lose every time.”

  Vilanda nodded sharply. “The wisest thing you’ve said since I’ve known you.”

  By now Shemi would be growing concerned. He knew his uncle all too well. He would insist on reentering the Keep to find him. Travil had been instructed to use a dart to render him unconscious should he insist. But Lem had no idea if the man would go through with it.

  “I see before me the things from which nightmares are formed.”

  Lem turned to see a tall man in the blue robes of the clergy standing in the entrance. He had black wavy hair and a deep olive complexion, dark brown eyes, and a severe expression. Around his neck was draped a fist-sized emblem of the Eye of Kylor, but he wore no other jewelry.

  “Gylax the Shade Summoner sitting across from the Blade of Kylor,” he continued, his eyes fixed on Lem. “If ever a dangerous place existed in Lamoria, this is it.”

  Gylax stood and bowed. “I thought you would be longer. Otherwise I’d have had wine ready.”

  “I’m in no mood for wine,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “And from the impassive look on our young friend’s face, I can see you were able to hold your tongue as to my identity.”

  This man had the arrogant demeanor of someone of high rank; someone accustomed to others being uneasy in his presence.

  “So now that you’re here,” Lem said. “Am I permitted to know who you are? Or must I keep guessing?”

  This elicited an amused smile. “You are brash, as I was told.”

  Gylax cleared his throat. “Lem, Blade of Kylor to High Cleric Rothmore, I present Archbishop Rupardo Trudoux V.”

  Lem shot from his chair. “The Archbishop? What the hell is he doing here?” With bound hands, he reached for his dagger, startled into forgetting it had been confiscated.

  “Now do you see the reason for the shackles?” Gylax said to Vilanda in a half whisper.

  “Your anger is unsurprising,” the Archbishop said, unmoved by the display. “Heretics often lash out when confronted by the righteous.”

  “You’re not righteous. You’re a monster. A vile and cruel monster. And if I get free, I will rid the world of you.”

  “Please sit down,” he said. “I am no more happy to see you than you are to see me. Unfortunately, time has run out. And I can no longer stem the tide.”

  Lem remained standing. “Then be quick. The air around you stinks.”

  “Brash … and vulgar. Though my own Blade is little better.” He strolled to a bench facing the table and sat down with his hands folded in his lap. “Stand if you wish. I require you only to listen and do as you’re told.”

  “You don’t command me,” Lem snapped.

  “We shall see.”

  Lem’s hatred was blazing. This was the man whose narrow-mindedness and bigotry had caused the torture and death of countless innocents, not least of whom were Shemi and Mariyah. If only Trudoux would move closer, he would rip out his throat before Gylax could stop him.

  “You have nothing to say to me,” he said.

  “Enough of your childishness. Be silent or I will have you gagged.”

  Lem spat at his feet. “Speak. Then get out of my sight.”

  The Archbishop’s face twitched ever so slightly. Likely no one had spoken to him this way in a long time. Perhaps ever. “Very well. I have brought you here because your master’s life is in great peril.”

  Lem laughed irreverently. “You don’t say? And I suppose you’re here to save him.”

  “Young man, I am here because I have nowhere else to go. My enemies have taken control of the church and are plotting against the High Cleric in my name. They have sent my Blade to kill him. And unlike as it is with you, failure is not possible. The true Blade of Kylor will not be stopped. Rothmore will surely die unless you do as I say.”

  Two Blades. It had never occurred to Lem that the Ralmarstad church would have his counterpart, although it made perfect sense. Was Rothmore aware of it? Information regarding the Archbishop was difficult to come by. Still, Rothmore was no fool, so he would have had to assume it.

  The thought brought about an unexpected sense of fear. The Archbishop’s Blade would have been chosen for many of the same reasons he had been. And it could be anyone. Worse, while Rothmore confined his use of Lem to church matters, r
efraining from involvement in the politics of nations, the Archbishop would definitely not feel so constrained. For a fanatic, everything was a church matter.

  “Why should you care if he dies?” Lem asked.

  “Normally, I wouldn’t. I would have even aided in the attempt if I didn’t know that it would spark a war.”

  “So your enemies are trying to start a war?”

  “Were it only so simple,” he replied, darkly. “No. Now that they are rid of me, they seek to control both churches. Who they have in mind to replace Rothmore, I don’t know. But replace him they will.”

  “Who? Who is doing this?”

  “The followers of Belkar. They have no other name.”

  Belkar. The name sent off warnings in his head. “So they took control of your church, cast you out, and only then you think about warning us?”

  “I was deceived. I thought they could help me further my goals. I was wrong. They are snakes in the garden. A disease. And they must be stopped.”

  Lem’s mouth twisted, the desire to throttle the man so powerful that it made his stomach churn. “You thought to use them to spread your vile ways throughout Lamoria. And now that you’ve failed, you come begging for help?”

  “However you wish to characterize it will not change the facts. You will do as you’re told. And I will be left alone. I need nothing from Rothmore directly. I have adequate gold and guards to provide for my own needs and safety.”

  “You think you can come here, occupy a church property, shout a warning to the High Cleric, and all is forgiven? You’ll need to do better than that.”

  The Archbishop sniffed, head high, absolutely certain of his own superiority. “I need no forgiveness. As for church property, I will not remain here. But neither shall I reveal my location. I only ask that I not be hunted. For this minor consideration, I will provide the names of Belkar’s followers living beyond the Ralmarstad borders.” He leaned forward. “You should trust that this is information worth knowing, and is more than adequate compensation for this marginal request.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “I don’t think it’s within your power. This is not an offer made to anyone but your master.”

  “Rothmore is not my master,” Lem said. “Neither are you.”

  A tiny grin appeared, as if the outcome had already been determined. “And yet you will deliver my message. I am a foe you can see. The followers of Belkar are far deadlier.”

  It was Lem’s turn to smile. “Maybe so. But then what’s to stop me from simply killing you and taking the information?” He glanced down at the shackles. “You think this is enough?”

  The Archbishop’s expression hardened. “I think you’re forgetting the man standing behind you.”

  “Maybe he could get to me before I get to you. Maybe not.”

  His words had the desired effect. The Archbishop stood and moved behind the bench, eyes darting to the exit. “Are you going to stand there and do nothing?” he said to Gylax.

  “I have fulfilled my contract, Your Holiness,” he replied. “At least as it pertains to Lem. Besides, he only threatened. He has not acted.”

  “I will remember this, Gylax. As for you, Blade—you have my offer.”

  Lem regarded him for a long moment. He was afraid, though he hid it well. And the guards—they were his, not Gylax’s. Not the best either. Certainly not the quality he’d expect to be protecting a person as important as the Archbishop. Probably hired on short notice. And after he left Ralmarstad. All of this made his situation precarious at best. So clearly vulnerable, it would be a simple matter to dispose of the Archbishop once and for all, if the High Cleric were so inclined.

  “I will deliver your message. But on one condition: You tell me how you found out so much about me.”

  The Archbishop locked eyes, as if trying to cow a subordinate who had gone too far. But Lem was not intimidated. “Sister Dorina. She gave me the information in exchange for the release of her nephew. Now you have a traitor to expose also. That should be sufficient.”

  Lem turned his back. “Then if you’re finished, you may go.”

  Gylax looked more than a bit amused, and Vilanda had to cover her mouth to stifle a laugh. Lem wanted to look at what he knew would be an outraged reaction to being spoken to so dismissively, but that would diminish the effect. He only looked over when the sound of footfalls had faded.

  “That was … interesting,” Gylax remarked. “You are definitely not what I expected.”

  “Nor are you,” Lem said.

  Gylax chuckled. “People like you and I live divided between who we are and who we would like to be. But unlike you, I chose to be who I am. It was never a choice made from ignorance. And I was never coerced.”

  “How did you end up an assassin, then?” Lem asked.

  “My father was a member of the Order. He died when I was a small boy. Before that, we had a decent home, food on the table, and my clothes were not riddled with holes. After, my mother wasn’t able to make enough as a glassmaker. We lost everything. So when I came of age…”

  “You followed in your father’s path,” Lem said, finishing the thought. “Certainly you have enough gold now. Why continue?”

  “I joined the Order with my eyes open. I knew what it would do to me. And now that I’m their leader, I have responsibilities that I can’t ignore.”

  “So you’ll do this until you die?”

  Gylax leaned back smirking, arms draped over the chair. “Who knows? There are two ways I can leave: if I’m murdered by a member craving my position, or if I name a successor.” He squinted one eye. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested?”

  This earned him a slap on the leg from Vilanda. “Lem’s a musician.”

  “I only said it in jest, my love. But there’s no denying that you would be a capable leader.” Receiving another scathing look from Vilanda, he held up a hand. “Forgive me. You’re right, as always. And I suppose it’s for the best. Named successors often end up killed by the more ambitious among us. It’s much better that someone kill me and be done with the matter.”

  While Gylax was clearly amused, Vilanda was not.

  “Let them try,” she said.

  “Once I’ve fulfilled my duty to the High Cleric,” Lem said, not wanting the conversation to become heated, “I’ll never take another life. That much I swear.”

  Gylax nodded with complete understanding. “I envy you your conviction. And your future, should you be able to hold to it.”

  If I survive long enough to see it, Lem thought. The lonely call of an owl somewhere in the darkness drew his attention. “I should be going.” He held out his hands and jingled the shackles. “If you don’t mind.”

  “There is the small matter of my people we need to discuss,” Gylax said, rubbing his palms together and looking almost apologetic. “Aside from poor Jerron who you thought was me, I’m assuming you killed several to gain entry.”

  “Yes.”

  “You can’t,” Vilanda snapped. “I won’t let you.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Lem had almost forgotten that he’d killed members of the Order—a crime with a lethal penance. “I can offer compensation,” Lem said.

  “I’m afraid our laws leave few options,” he said. “But there is a way to spare you.”

  “Gylax, no,” Vilanda repeated her warning.

  “As the leader of the Order of the Red Star, I am duty-bound to see that you pay for your crimes. But as I stated earlier, killing someone so well protected is a delicate matter. So I offer you the only alternative within my power.” He placed a reassuring hand on Vilanda’s, but she shoved it away. “You will carry out a contract once your business is done with the High Cleric. Do so, and your debt is paid.”

  “Who is the target?” Lem asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  “No.”

  Gylax looked at Vilanda and smiled. “You see? It wasn’t as bad as all that. I spared his life. Though I’m truly sor
ry you’ll be forced to break your oath in order to rid yourself of me. But what is one more life to people like us?”

  People like us. The words felt like a curse. It was a truth he could not ignore. Again, he held out his hands and Gylax unlocked his shackles.

  “The ledger with the Archbishop’s list along with the contract is waiting for you at the front gate,” Gylax said.

  “So you knew this would happen? You knew I would come here the way I did? And you knew I would kill your men?”

  “Knew? No. But you don’t survive ten attempts on your life without being able to read a situation.” He tossed the shackles to the ground. “You might be a fine musician. But you think like an assassin.”

  The self-loathing that had become his constant companion reached inside his stomach and twisted it in knots. Only one type of person could have anticipated his actions: one who thought as he did. A killer. A purveyor of death and misery. And the harder he tried to create distance between who he wanted to be and who he was forced to be, the harder fate fought back. It was as if destiny were not some abstract concept used to explain the course of a life but rather a sinister beast, over whom there could be no victory.

  “I am pleased to have met you,” Lem said, with as much sincerity as he could muster.

  “No, you aren’t.” Gylax chuckled. “Nor should you be. And were I you, I would wish we never had. It’s a hard thing to face your future self.” He bowed low. “Though I can say I am pleased to have met you … Lem, Blade of Kylor.”

  Vilanda stepped forward and took Lem’s hands. “It was good to see you again. And don’t you mind Gylax. You and he are nothing alike.”

  Lem could see the lie in her eyes. “Take care of yourself,” he said, giving her hands a soft squeeze.

  With no need for more words, Lem turned and exited the courtyard. A few of the diners were standing about, shooting him vicious stares as he passed. Gylax had likely left them in the dark as to what he had planned. One of their friends had been killed right in front of them, and by now the other bodies would have been found. You think like an assassin. The words dug into his mind with razor-sharp talons.

  At the entrance to the Keep, he was given back his dagger and darts, along with a leather-bound book and an envelope bearing a wax seal. The guards then escorted him through the main gate to the point just beyond the protective illusion.