Lace and Blade 2

by Deborah J. Ross

  His gaze settled upon me first, and that nearly undid me. I had never before felt such malevolence in a simple look. As I watched, the wolf of writhing purple energy snarled and turned toward me. I would have screamed, but I found myself without any breath at all. The wolf began to leap, and I braced myself for the worst, but then Pavil shook off my grip and stepped in front of the beast. The wolf crashed into the Kavalieri, shaking him as if he were a small child before tossing him to the ground.

  I do not understand how I knew what to do—perhaps the contact with Pavil opened up the channels of my power—but know I did. I stood my ground, shut out awareness of anyone but my opponent and focused my thoughts. The red energy within me churned and roiled and flowed through my fingertips, my hair, the very pores of my skin, to form a red, taloned eagle that faced down the growling wolf. Drawing in a breath, I concentrated, and the eagle swooped down on the wolf, raking the beast’s back with its claws. I was working on pure instinct, hoping to draw the attention of the wolf and his master from both Pavil and the prince. My strategy worked, if such an unsophisticated ploy can be called a strategy, and the man’s malevolent glare returned to me. Inside, I quailed, but I did not retreat, and the manifestations of our magic—for how else to explain those unearthly creatures?—joined battle. I struggled to overpower my opponent, to rend his wolf and put its master on his knees, but he was at least as powerful as I, and experienced in wielding this weapon I had only just discovered within myself. I felt a sharp pain as the wolf’s teeth caught at my eagle’s wing, felt my initial confidence fade and a panic at what my defeat might mean well up inside me. But just as I thought I might fall, I felt a presence at my side and Pavil took my hand in a cool, firm grasp.

  As power and knowledge flowed between us, the faint blue of Pavil’s aura grew and rose into a great column, a column that resolved itself into a fierce fighting cat. Together we brandished our power, my eagle’s claws raking the wolf’s muzzle, her beak pecking at his eyes, while Pavil’s cat tore into his flank. Together we fought, until the wolf was brought to the ground and the young man staggered. One last push from Pavil, one last swipe of his cat’s paw, and the wolf dissolved into nothing and our adversary collapsed insensible on the parquet floor.

  Breaking free from the confused and milling crowd, Talis reached the young man’s side and bound his hands with a strange silken cord. A brief consultation with Prince Andris, and then he was running in our direction, pushing through young nobles who only began to panic now that the danger was past. But before he could reach us, Pavil released his hold on my hand and dropped to the floor himself.

  If I’d wondered at the extent of Talis’ relationship with Pavil before, I wondered no longer. He was at Pavil’s side in an instant, checking the barely conscious man for injury and murmuring quietly to him as he stroked his brow.

  “What am I going to do with you?” Talis said, affection warring with frustration in his voice. “Facing a mage beast without setting your guards.”

  “I couldn’t see the danger.” Pavil said, and though his face was strained, his voice showed a strength that boded well for his recovery. “Not until it was too late.”

  “So you let a slip of a girl save your life.”

  “That slip of a girl has more raw power than I have. More than I’ve seen in any of our recruits.”

  “You magic users,” Talis said with what I recognized was fond exasperation. “You’ll all be the death of me.”

  I was just about to step in and argue that I was not a slip of a girl, and to demand that Pavil explain exactly what this power was that I possessed, when my hand was seized in an iron grasp that could only have belonged to my aunt.

  “Astrida Rozkalni, what have you done?” Aunt Ilze’s tone was the one she usually reserved for female relatives who had the bad manners to produce a child out of wedlock, though there was a thread of fear running through it as well. “You will come with us at once.” She pulled me in the direction of my father, surrounded by a crowd whose attention focused increasingly and uncomfortably in my direction.

  Just as I’d known how to access my powers, I knew without a doubt that I was at a crossroads. Accede to my aunt’s will, and I would be transported to the country and married off to the first suitable male who would have me, what little choice I’d had in the matter disappearing entirely. Oppose that will, and my life would take a path I had never even seen on the map. A path that might just be the one I had been searching for all my life. So I set my shoulders, planted my feet, and retrieved my hand from my aunt’s clutches with a swift tug.

  “No, Aunt Ilze.” Judging by the look on her face, this was the first time she’d ever been contradicted by anyone in the family, let alone an insignificant niece. Her face took on the reddened hue that usually presaged an outburst of epic proportions, but any eruption was diverted by the appearance of a new figure out of the murmuring crowd.

  “Countess Berzins,” Prince Andris said with a bow before turning to me. “Lady Astrida, I believe I have you to thank for my life. The eagle was yours, was it not?”

  “Yes,” I said, nodding and struggling not to stutter. “You could see it, your highness?” At the time, it hadn’t seemed that anyone, outside of Pavil, myself and perhaps Talis, had seen the magical beasts.

  “Only at the end. The magic does not run as strongly in my blood as it does in yours.”

  “Nonsense,” my aunt blurted out, her contradictory nature overcoming even her diffidence toward her ruler. “There is no magical taint in my family’s blood. I am certain of it.”

  “A gift rather than a taint, Countess. Had your niece not intervened when she did, I would not have survived that traitor’s attack. Nor would my men have.” He nodded to where Talis supported Pavil.

  “But—” my aunt began, then broke off in frustration, clearly not wanting to contradict the prince further, even as she wanted to give me the firmest rebuke possible.

  “Baron Rozkalni,” the prince said, motioning my father over to join him. “We must arrange a meeting tomorrow to confer about your daughter’s future.”

  “My daughter’s future?” My father was recovering his color, but had obviously not fully comprehended what I had done. Which was understandable. I wasn’t sure I comprehended it myself. In fact, now that the danger had passed, my whole body was trembling and I felt in imminent danger of the sort of fainting attack that my sisters often indulged in and I had always scorned.

  “She has the sort of power that is rare in our realm today. The sort that is badly needed within the Kavalieri.” If nothing else did, Prince Andris’ confidence in me stopped the panic in my breast and made me stand just a bit taller.

  “But she’s a girl,” my aunt blurted out, outrage winning out over the required respect for her ruler. “She should be getting married and having children, not consorting with a horde of ruffians.”

  “My Kavalieri are not ruffians, though many were born of the common folk.” The steel in the prince’s voice caused my aunt to cower, however slightly, and made me hopeful that I might yet evade the future my mother and aunt would have for me. “It is considered an honor to join their ranks.”

  “An honor we will be pleased to discuss with your highness,” my father said with a bow, shooting his sister a quelling look. I had never been so grateful for the quiet determination my father possesses than at that moment. He might acquiesce to his wife and sister more than he should, but he had never done so on matters of import.

  “I will send for you and your daughter on the morrow. And now, if you will excuse me I must see to my fellows.” Prince Andris gracefully turned and strode over to where Pavil was struggling to regain his feet and Talis was firmly trying to restrain him. Pavil won the battle as the prince appeared at his side, though he did not shun the support of his companion.

  My concentration was all for the three men, though around me a tumult was breaking out, my father and aunt being the least of it. The evening’s events and our prince’s regard h
ad gained me attention that two months’ presence in the capital had not, and I was beset by young men and women claiming my acquaintance. I ignored them all, not wishing to be this week’s notorious wonder, and strained unsuccessfully to hear what Pavil and the others were saying.

  I nearly groaned in disappointment as two newly arrived men, no doubt also members of the Kavalieri, escorted the prince, Talis, and a still shaking Pavil from the ballroom.

  If Prince Andris were serious, if he truly wanted me for the Kavalieri, if my family allowed it, it was likely I would see Pavil and his dark companion again. But if the prince had only jested, if my family opposed my choice, this would be my only opportunity to speak with him once more. The thought of never seeing Pavil again caused me a pain such as I’d never felt before. It was as if we were joined together by some remnant of the magic we had wrought, thin as spider’s silk and just as strong. Heedless of the protests of my aunt and the confusion of my father, I spun and ran to the door through which the Kavalieri had disappeared.

  The prince and the other two men had vanished, but I found Pavil and Talis in the grand hall of the baroness’ mansion.

  Pavil, his face a ghastly ashen color, was leaning against a marble column. Talis supported his partner around the waist, his mouth drawn into a tight, severe line. As I took a step toward them, the most extraordinary thing happened. Talis’ expression transformed from one of the utmost harshness to one of the gentlest affection. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Pavil’s, a gesture of remarkable intimacy and trust.

  My feet froze where they were and I felt a flush hasten

  up my neck to flame my cheeks, my foolish, half-formed dreams of a life with Pavil evaporating like morning dew under the summer sun. I did not know then, as I know now, how very deep the connection went between them, but I did know without question that even the magic we had performed together could not surpass the ties between these two men.

  Swallowing my disappointment, I withdrew into the ballroom, hiding behind a tall fern until I once again felt ready to face the room.

  When I finally rejoined my family, my aunt swept the three of us out of the ballroom almost immediately. It is one of the few acts of kindness she has ever done me, however inadvertently. I spent the night sitting cross-legged on my bed, listening to my father and my aunt argue over my fate, and wondering with both hope and fear what was to become of me.

  I must have fallen asleep just before dawn, as the starlight faded into the lightening sky, and awoke with the late morning sun streaming through the window and the sounds of the city penetrating the room.

  Astonished that I had not been disturbed earlier, I hastily dressed myself and hurried down to the breakfast room. There I found my father dining heartily on cheese crepes and a salmon omelet, with my Aunt Ilze nowhere to be found.

  Neither of us spoke of the previous night’s happenings, nor did we comment on the absence of my aunt, but instead we passed a most pleasant hour. I talked more openly with my father in that brief time than I had since I was a youngster and he had taught me, against my mother’s wishes, to ride.

  As the hall clock struck one, there was a knock on the door, and a servant appeared to tell us a carriage had arrived from the prince to take us to his grand palace. I traveled to the meeting to decide my future in a state of serene unreality, my father sitting calmly at my side.

  I had harbored a faint hope that Pavil might be in attendance at my meeting with the prince, but any disappointment I might have felt that Pavil was not with the prince was more than overcome by the attentiveness and consideration our ruler showed my father and me. He explained the training members of the Kavalieri received and some of the duties for which they are responsible. And he offered me a place in their ranks. With my father’s blessing, I accepted immediately.

  My father was remarkably understanding of my decision to join the Kavalieri. My mother’s reaction, when we arrived home at our estate a few days later, was more complicated. Though she was outwardly distraught, I suspect she was secretly relieved at the prospect of having a difficult daughter taken from her hands. My aunt, however, has never retreated from her initial outrage, and arranges not to be available for visits when I am on leave.

  I have been a cadet in the Kavalieri for nearly a year, and never once in that time have I ever regretted the events that occurred in that ballroom or the choice that I made in Prince Andris’ salon. I have experienced more elation in this year than in the seventeen that preceded it, though it is sometimes mixed with a faint disappointment that real adventures are never quite as wondrous as they sound in books. I am nearing the end of my training, having learned enough of the disciplines of sword and intellect to perform my duties, though I have discovered to my delight that for a member of the Kavalieri, learning is a lifelong pursuit.

  In spite of the regulations of the barracks, I enjoy a freedom of the sort I could never have imagined in my old life. I never attend garden parties or balls unless it is part of an assignment, and then I am always happy to be wearing breeches rather than a ball gown. I am under no obligation to marry, and indeed am encouraged to follow my own heart. And I am pleased to see Pavil nearly every day.

  Not that I have the slightest illusion that he would ever return the romantic feelings I harbored for him on our first meeting. More than ever, I’m aware of the deep bond he has with Talis, a bond I would never want to sever. He has become a trusted mentor, offering instruction in the uses of the old power we both share. Even more, he and Talis have become my friends.

  The future lies before me, limitless and exhilarating, and I owe it all to the baroness’ ball.

  The Sixth String

  by Elisabeth Waters

  Elisabeth Waters sold her first short story in 1980 to Marion Zimmer Bradley for The Keeper’s Price, the first of the Darkover anthologies. She then went on to sell short stories to a variety of other anthologies. Her first novel, a fantasy called Changing Fate, was awarded the 1989 Gryphon Award. She is now working on a sequel to it, in addition to her short story writing and anthology editing. She has just turned in Sword & Sorceress 23, to be published in November 2008. For more information, see her website at www.elisabethwaters.com.

  About “The Sixth String,” Elisabeth writes, “The qin (Chinese for “musical instrument”), also called the guqin (Chinese for “ancient musical instrument”), has been played in China for thousands of years; there are paintings of Confucius playing it 2500 years ago. A well-educated scholar was expected to be able to play it skillfully, and a person who couldn’t play it frequently hung either an instrument or a replica on the wall of his study so as to appear cultured.

  “When Voyager was launched in 1977, the classic qin composition, “Flowing Water,” was included on a CD of Earth’s music. (Now if Voyager can just find aliens who can work a CD player...) The guqin was also played in the Opening Ceremonies for the 2008 Olympics in Beijing.

  “There is a great deal of symbolism associated with the qin: it measures 3’ 6.5” (Chinese feet and inches) to symbolize the 365 days in the year, and it has 13 inlays representing the 13 lunar months. The upper surface is rounded, representing the sky; the bottom is flat and represents the earth. The qin was traditionally played in small gatherings of close friends, for a qin strung with silk strings is a very quiet instrument. Most musicians playing it today use metal strings, along with amplification.”

  On a more personal note, she adds, “The guqin is taught orally from master to student (traditional guqin tablature does not include anything that tells how long a note is held or what the tempo of the piece should be). I would like to thank Wang Fei, who taught me everything I know about the guqin, her teacher Li Xiangting, his teachers Zha Fuxi and Wu Jinglue, and all of their teachers back through the centuries. Knowledge is a most precious gift.”

  “He said that he loved me above all else in the world. He said if I agreed to marry him, he would build me a palace of gold.” Jia looked around at her reception ro
om. Walls hung with yellow silk were interspersed with polished hardwood pillars. She paced across the carpet, ignoring both its softness and the beauty of its design, to the window. It was raining outside, and the water dripping off the points of the tiles that edged the roof formed a beaded curtain. The wooden latticework in the window prevented anyone outside from seeing her, but it did not obstruct her view of the palace grounds—or the other portion of the women’s quarters. “He did not,” she snapped, “say anything about becoming Emperor and taking three thousand concubines!” She ran her hand along the smooth wood of the pillar next to the window. Wood was her element, and usually touching it soothed her, but at the moment she was feeling much too frustrated.

  “Does he really have three thousand of them?” her maid Li asked. “He’s been Emperor for only six years!”

  “Three-thousand-fourteen,” Jia replied, “with more coming in every month.” She stopped pacing to sit on a barrel-shaped sandalwood stool and stroked the wooden body of the qin on the matching table before her. “I’ve been keeping track.” She played a soft ripple of notes on the silk strings strung the length of the instrument. Jia was small with a deceptively fragile appearance, which she wielded—along with her beauty—as a weapon in the undeclared warfare of the harem. She regretted, however, that her small hands gave her trouble with the fingering of some of the classic repertoire for the qin.

  “But it would take him more than eight years—assuming a rate of one concubine a day—to go through them!” Li protested.

  “It’s supposed to be more than one each day, but you’re forgetting the ‘more of them every month’ part.” Jia sighed. “I’m twenty-eight years old now. I haven’t been with him often enough even to conceive, let alone bear the son he needs. And I do want at least one child of my own.”