Swords, Sorcery, & Self-Rescuing Damsels

by Jody Lynn Nye

  ~*~

  Tertia woke to the Gaul commander yelling through the gate to the citadel. She crawled to the edge of her favorite arch nearest the Capitoline, looking down at the display below.

  “I don’t know how you keep sneaking men past my guards or if you employ spirits to do your bidding, but your petty tricks will not work. My men grow hungry, but yours starve outright. We walk for our water, but you have none. Only your deaths or a proper ransom will satisfy,” Brennus said.

  Father’s voice, “Ransom? What kind of ransom?”

  “One thousand pounds of gold, and we will leave this place and its cursed, pranking, foreign spirits. Take it or die. Either way, we leave today. You decide whether we leave over your corpses or not.”

  “You will have your ransom,” Father said, quickly. The iron door to the citadel slowly groaned open.

  “It is done.” Brennus confirmed.

  Brennus’ men produced a giant scale, complete with weights from the depths of his wagon train. They set up the scales in the plaza in front of the forum, between two of the large pillars. The bottom of the scale stood about a foot off the ground until the weights were placed.

  A long line of Romans began depositing all their valuables on the scales. But when they had finished, the balance still leaned heavily in the Gaul’s favor.

  In front of the scales, her father and Brennus argued about the weight of the ransom.

  “We have fulfilled the ransom already,” father was protesting. “We have provided far more gold than the required amount. The scales are false.”

  Brennus stared at her father, his face impassive, his eyes lethal. Then the giant Gaul reached for the sword strapped across his back. Father flinched as Brennus drew the sword, clearly convinced the Gaul meant to use it on him.

  Instead, Brennus threw his massive sword onto the Gallic side of the scale with a flourish and a hard, mocking smile. The giant, two-handed sword clanged onto his side of the scale, adding a good seventy pounds to the Gaul’s counter-weight, growing Rome’s debt in a matter of seconds as their side of the scale inched upward. Brennus continued staring at her father in a silent contempt, his gaze unfazed.

  “Woe to the vanquished,” Brennus said.

  Father stared at the Gaul’s sword for a moment longer, and then turned, walking off abruptly.

  Scipiones appeared next to Tertia, her gaze fixed on the scene below.

  “Father is short on gold for the ransom, isn’t he?” Tertia asked the goddess. “He’s arguing the weights are off because he’s already gathered all the gold that Rome has to offer, or so close to it, as makes no difference. Now he must make up the weight somehow or all my efforts will be for naught.”

  “You have managed much. It’s not your fault your father cannot negotiate a workable bargain. You’ve reduced the Gaul army to a hungry, contentious, rabble that is nearly as big of a danger to itself as it is to Rome,” Scipiones said.

  “Brennus hungers for gold to make this siege worthwhile, but he’s loathe to waste the energy his army has left or test his control of his men in battle,” Tertia said slowly. “But he cannot lose face by accepting a lesser amount or appearing weak in front of a vanquished foe.”

  “I would agree,” Scipiones said.

  “Then the scales must balance.” Tertia said.

  Starting from her stash on the roof of the forum, Tertia tied a sack of bronze statues and other odds and ends to her back. She estimated the sack weighed fifty or sixty pounds. It was not enough, but it was a start. She slid a small knife into her belt and wrapped extra rope around her waist.

  From her vantage point, Tertia could see the invaders had set a young Gallic guard in the plaza to keep watch on the gold. Using the pillar farthest from him, she crept carefully down, making sure she stayed out of any eye-line.

  Once on the ground, as long as she came in from the back, the bulk of the scale should hide her from his sight and from any of the Gauls gathered in front.

  Cautiously circling to the front of the pillar, Tertia dove for the senator’s podium directly behind the scale, breathing a prayer to Scipiones. She opened her eyes, confirming no one had spotted her.

  The plaza guard was sticking to his post like glue. If she tried to tamper with the weights while he stood there, he’d notice. Tertia glanced around and saw her sisters, standing at the edge of the plaza, waiting out of the way of a cart bringing a few more pieces of gold to the scales.

  It was risky, but if she could enlist their help... Tertia picked up a pebble, then balanced it in her palm, waiting to throw it until she was mostly sure she’d only attract Prima’s attention. The pebble hit Prima’s shoulder and fell to the ground with a small clack. Tertia winced.

  Her sister turned toward her hiding place. Tertia put one of her fingers to her lips and pointed toward the guard in front of the scales. Prima’s eyes grew wide and she gripped Secunda’s arm, nodding toward Tertia’s hiding place. Secunda’s mouth opened in a silent “O” before she clapped a hand over it, looking down. Tertia gave a soft sigh of relief and pointed toward the guard once more. Please understand, she begged them internally. She used two of her fingers to mimic walking and pointed toward the guard again.

  Prima walked toward the young fighter, wringing her hands, “Sir,” she said, “My sister’s not feeling well. Can you help please?” She batted her eyes at the young guard.

  The young man shook his head doubtfully and shrugged. Prima pointed to where Secunda stood with her hand clapped over her mouth. He stepped toward Secunda, peering at her admittedly pale face.

  Tertia crept up next to the pile of the gold on the scales, finding her mother’s golden trunk, opening it just far enough to retrieve four of her mother’s gold body chains and shove her bag of bronze inside. She then wrapped the chains around several of the yellow bricks scattered about, burying the bricks under the gold at the back of the scale, then hurriedly slitting a burlap bag of coins and laying it on top.

  She’d just tied another of the smaller bags of gold coins to her belt when Prima signaled her, panicked. Tertia dodged, hiding inside the nearest senator’s podium with her contraband seconds before Brennus and her father rounded the corner. A cart loaded with the last of Rome’s gold followed in their wake.

  She looked back, realizing she’d left the body chains draped on the ground out of her reach. Brennus meant to weigh the ransom, not count it out gold-piece by gold-piece, but she’d still need to remove the bricks from the scale when Brennus unloaded them.

  As father turned away from dumping the last of the gold on the scale, Tertia crept out of the senator’s podium. She hugged the floor, heart hammering, then silently grabbed the gold chains where they lay.

  The scales slowly settled into an unwilling balance. The Gauls looked around at each other, muttering in surprise, and then turned to Brennus for direction.

  Brennus signaled for the unloading of the scales to begin, picking up his sword. He stepped away, shouting orders, readying their departure. As the Gallic warriors began rapidly unloading the scales—more than ready to be quit of Rome—Tertia yanked hard on the gold body chains, putting her whole weight into it. The hidden bricks slid off the scale, hitting the ground at the same time the slit burlap sack burst in a raucous shower of coins. Gold cascaded all over the forum floor. Tertia quickly unclasped her gold chains, rolling them up and placing them in her tunic. She waited until the warriors finished picking up the last of the coins, and then slid away to the edge of the plaza, scampering back up a pillar to the safety of the forum’s roof.

  Scipiones welcomed her there with a beaming smile. “Well done, Tertia. I’m very proud.”

  Tertia allowed herself a small smile. Woe to the vanquished, indeed.

  ~***~

  Frog and Esther Jones are a husband-and-wife writing/editing/publishing team living deep in the rain forests of the Olympic Peninsula. They are primarily known for their running urban fantasy series, The Gift of Grace, and they appear in many anthologies
including this one. They can be found online at www.jonestales.com or www.impulsivewalrusbooks.com.

  REMEMBER TO THANK YOUR HEALER

  JEFFREY COOK & KATHERINE PERKINS

  In the rough days when life was carved out of chaos, the Golden Maiden, with her sister, came to the vast walls of her divine cousins and knocked with the gilded pommel of her broadsword.

  No gate opened, but a voice called, ‘What need have we of you?’

  ‘I wish to join my cousins, in luxury and in expertise,’ declaimed the Golden Maiden. ‘I am mistress of the blade.’

  ‘This we can say that we have.’

  ‘And of saga-telling.’

  ‘This we can say that we have.’

  ‘And of metalcraft.’

  ‘This we can say that we have.’

  On and on she listed, from archery to tactics to music, and the voice replied the same.

  ‘But can you say,’ asked the Golden Maiden, ‘That you have any who so strives in all these things?’

  And at last the voice said ‘No.’

  ‘Then you shall let me in, and my sister for good measure.’

  And they did, for she was a mistress of argument as well.

  From the Litany of Gold.

  ~*~

  Rota’s golden paladin armor shown in the spell-light, and the demons swarmed her. Scaly fingers pried between the panels and pierced skin, but she continued driving the creatures backwards with her shield, keeping the focus on her. One scaly neck was pierced in turn by Hedren’s dagger, as the operative from the Guild of Entrymen made every second count. Further back, Tannemyr, the representative from the Collegium Arcanum, was felling more of the creatures with bolts of sorcery. Behind even the sorcerer, Arin, her drab dress the opposite of her temple partner’s regalia, knelt quietly off to one side, prepared bandages, and prayed.

  When the battle was done, Hedren and Tannemyr were finished collecting demon-heads before Arin was finished dressing all the wounds that had been made under Rota’s armor.

  “How in the name of every hell known or theorized,” Hedren asked, “are we going to get anywhere if you take this long with every nick and cut? And that stuff smells awful.” Hedren gestured to Arin’s vials of salve as she applied it to Rota’s shoulder.

  The conversation, such as it was, had become extremely common during the joint operation between the Guild, the Collegium, and the Temple. As usual, Arin stayed focused on her work. She interpreted Hedren’s question, at this point, to be as rhetorical as his previous ones, such as ‘How much money did the temple waste on gilded armor?’ and ‘Comfortable hiding back there?’ and ‘Do the Brass Maiden’s priestesses even take vows of chastity, or do they rely on those outfits?’ Arin was too busy for rhetorical questions.

  The half-armored woman, however, glared at the guild operative. “If she says it’s necessary, it’s necessary,” Rota said.

  “We’re not getting anywhere,” Tannemyr said. “We’ve barely killed a dozen of the demons. And not because they’re all that scary. They’ve gone down to my spells just fine.”

  “The traps and wards aren’t that complex, either,” Hedren said.

  Arin shook her head, not looking up from Rota’s wounds. “Demons. You don’t ever know what kind of enchantments they have. The salve is blessed by the Lady of Evercleansing Brass. It will prevent any festering. Even infernal.”

  “What kind of second-rate priestess of a third-rate goddess needs salves and prayer?” Hedren said.

  “And if the stuff is so great, why is she getting almost all of it?” Tannemyr said. “Is this a temple thing, or a girl thing, that you always focus on her?”

  “She has all the demon-wounds.”

  “But she’s killed what, one...maybe two?”

  “Not my job,” Rota said.

  “Not even our job,” Arin said. “We’re supposed to deal with the source.”

  “Which is much easier if all the individuals are dead,” Tannemyr said. “You know, as long as they don’t have all day to prepare for us. This entire operation feels like it’s dragging a giant heavy anchor.”

  “With a short, scrawny anchor attached to it,” Hedren added. “So much for the vaunted demonsbaney paladins of the Temple of Gold.”

  “And Brass,” Rota said.

  “Right. Temple of Gold and Brass. Trust me, some adherents of your religion downplay the runt of the litter,” Hedren said.

  Rota tensed before Arin put a hand on her less-wounded shoulder. “My Lady’s been called worse, and she’s proud of her golden sister. Let me help you back into your armor.” Rota settled back as Arin set to putting the shoulder piece and arm guards back in place.

  “You do that. Then maybe you can catch up,” Tannemyr said, starting down the passage. “More of them this way. Let’s go, Hedren. No more time for deadweight.”

  Arin did look at them this time. “That’s suicide.”

  Hedren shook his head. “We haven’t had any real trouble so far. As you said yourself, only the golden girl has taken any real demon-wounds, wading into them while you duck. Talk to her about personal safety consciousness. We’ll manage.”

  “You’re just going to leave?” Arin looked back to the sorcerer.

  “This joint operation needs to be a little less joint and a lot more operating. If you decide you can keep up, maybe we’ll cut you in on part of the payday still.”

  “It’s not about the payday. It’s about making sure the demonic infestation doesn’t settle in,” Arin said

  “Keep telling yourself that. Or go back and tell your order that some real adventurers handled the demonic infestation for you and collected the bounty on demon skulls too. See how happy they are that the job is done, but the gratitude of towns doesn’t flow into the coffers. I know the guild wouldn’t like that, so I can’t imagine your people would.” Hedren followed the sorcerer down the passage, leaving Arin scrambling to re-secure Rota’s armor.

  Mid-scramble, she paused, glancing down at the golden plate.

  Rota looked at her in confusion. “What are you doing? We’ve got to hurry if we’re going to make them see reason.”

  “They want to face the storm without knowing where the lightning rod is. They won’t see reason.”

  “We’ve got to try. This mission is important.”

  “Exactly. I can’t ask you to keep protecting them. You’re going to get yourself killed like that.”

  “If need be. That’s part of the job,” Rota said.

  “Yes. And the job might still be deadly, and it’s bigger than any two people. We can’t grow old banging at a wall that won’t open. If we don’t have allies, we have to change the plan.”

  “You know I’ll stand with you. What’s the idea?”

  “The two of them might still be useful.”

  “So we do need to catch up with them?”

  Arin shook her head. “We need to take a different approach. And...much as I hate to say it, we’re going to need to do it without your armor.”

  Rota didn’t hesitate as she began to remove the next pieces while listening. “No more lightning rod?” she asked.

  Arin moved to assist with the removal down to the padded underlayer. “Exactly. We need to move quietly.”

  Rota raised a brow. “Move more quietly than a guild operative?”

  “They’ll draw attention off of us. Guildsman or not, you heard him. Bounty on demon skulls.”

  Rota nodded. “And confident in their ability to kill. While forgetting the first through third laws of demon slaying.” As they talked, she dirtied up her shield with mud and blood to hide the shine.

  Arin smiled as she finished tucking the armor away, hidden under some of the bodies. She didn’t look forward to the cleaning when they came back—if they came back—but it would hopefully keep the eye-catching armor hidden. “Not everyone gets a proper temple education. Just because you learned early that demons always put the cannon fodder near the doors...”

  “Then what do they te
ach them at those schools?”

  “Backstabbing, of course,” Arin said. She started leading the way deeper into the cave. “Shoving a blade into something with its claws in gilded armor is probably in the introductory course, but abandoning colleagues you believe helpless—that’s prodigiously advanced study.”

  Rota snorted. “You’d think sorcerers would learn better.”

  “You’d think,” Arin said. “So...this passage over here looks like it’s had more demons come out than go in. Let’s go.”

  After a while they found a nook in the rock, and Arin paused. “Does this seem safe?” she asked.

  “I can make it as safe as anywhere’s going to be,” Rota replied, and she stood guard as Arin sat, took out a small brass mirror and began the divine augury.

  Finally, Arin meticulously put the mirror away and rose. “Well,” she said. “We haven’t headed in the wrong direction yet.”

  Rota frowned. “That’s good. It took you longer than usual, though.”

  Arin nodded. “That’s part of the problem with going the right direction. It takes us closer to the source of the demonic infestation, and further away from my Lady’s influence.”

  Rota nodded, offering Arin a hand up. “But we haven’t gone in the wrong direction yet. She’s still guiding us.”

  Arin smiled and rose, clasping the paladin’s hand an additional moment. “That’s what she does.”

  It was all too brief a time before the sounds of crackling lightning echoed through the halls. Inhuman screams followed. Rota pulled Arin into another nook to hide as a number of demons, legs longer, scales stonier, rushed past. “Hedren and Tannemyr would have killed quietly where they could. With just the two of them, their attacks are getting bigger and louder as the demons do. I’m hoping the increased numbers of patrols out here heading that way means we’re getting close.”