Sarai's mouth opened, then closed. She stared at Ederd, then finally managed, "Yes, my lord."
"Good. Then I believe we part here; I'm using Lord Torrut's quarters until my own apartments are repaired." He turned, supported by the guard commander, and hobbled down a side corridor.
For a moment, Lady Sarai watched him go. Then she walked on, not toward her own apartments, but toward an exit from the palace. She wanted to walk in sunlight and fresh air, to think. She did not feel ready to talk to her brother and his nurse.
Besides, she had not yet decided which quarters were hers; should she return to her own old room, or take her lather's?
It was a trivial matter, really, but right now, after sixnights of worrying about usurpers and murderers, World-shaking magic and matters of life and death, she preferred to think about trivia.
She emerged onto the plaza and looked out at the city of Ethshar of the Sands, the streets and houses stretching away in all directions. Directly ahead of her a wisp of smoke from a kitchen fire was spiraling slowly upward.
It reminded her of the smoke from her father's pyre. He was really gone, now—his soul was free, risen to the gods on that smoke.
She wondered whether Tabaea's soul had been freed when her body was destroyed, or whether the Seething Death had consumed that, as well. And what of the various people killed by the Black Dagger? No necromancer, of any school, had ever been able to find any trace of their ghosts, either in the World or elsewhere.
She supposed she would never know. There were a great many things she supposed she would never know.
But that would never stop her from learning what she could.
Author's Notes:
There are two items to be mentioned this time around.
First, The Spell of the Black Dagger is unusual in that it was cut down somewhat before its original publication. While most writers seem to write their stories long in the first draft and then trim them down and tighten them up in rewrite, I usually find myself fleshing out details, rather than cutting anything, in the second and subsequent drafts.
This novel was an exception; I cut pieces of several scenes that seemed to be running long. I have not restored those excised pieces in this edition—the reasons I cut them in the first place still hold—but I did want to mention that at least one such outtake is now on my webpage. If you'd like to take a look, go to http://www.ethshar.com/ and follow the links to the page for The Spell of the Black Dagger.
(Parenthetically, I also cut a long scene from The Misenchanted Sword, but that was back when I still used a typewriter instead of a computer, and to the best of my remembrance I threw away the only copy, so it's probably gone for good. If it ever turns up I'll probably post that on the web, too.)
Second, the single most common question from my readers in recent years has been, “Are you ever going to reprint all the short Ethshar stories somewhere? I can't find them!”
While it would be nice to gather them all into a collection, so far there aren't enough to fill an entire volume. Rather than wait until there are enough to fill a whole book, which might well take another ten or twenty years, I decided that including them in the backs of the novels would be better than nothing, and the fine folks at Wildside Press agreed. I've tried to match the themes and details of the stories with the novels they accompany, though sometimes the similarities aren't very obvious.
Accordingly, here is “The Guardswoman,” which first appeared in an anthology called Chicks in Chainmail, edited by Esther M. Friesner and published by Baen Books in 1995.
The Guardswoman
Dear Mother,
Well, I made it. I'm a soldier in the City Guard of Ethshar of the Sands, in the service of the overlord, Ederd IV. It wasn't easy!
Getting here wasn't really any trouble. I know you were worried about bandits and ... well, and other problems on the highway, but I didn't see any. The people I did see didn't bother me at all, unless you count a rude remark one caravan driver made about my size.
He apologized nicely after I stuffed him head-first into a barrel of salted fish.
After that everything went just fine, right up until I reached the city gates. I asked one of the guards about joining up, and he made a rude remark, but I couldn't stuff him into a fish barrel—for one thing, he had a sword, and I didn't, and he had friends around, and I didn't, and there weren't any barrels right nearby anyway. So I just smiled sweetly and repeated my question, and he sent me to a lieutenant in the north middle tower...
I should explain, I guess. Grandgate is very complicated—it's actually three gates, one after another, with towers on both sides of each gate, so there are six gate-towers, three on the north and three on the south. And each of those towers is connected by a wall to a really big tower, and then the city wall itself starts on the other side of each of the big towers, which are the North Barracks and the South Barracks. Everything right along the highway, out to the width of the outer gate, which is the widest one, is part of Grandgate Market, and everyone just walks right through if they want to and if the guards don't decide they shouldn't. Everything between the inner towers and the barracks towers, though, is sort of private territory for us guards—that's where we train, and march, and so on.
Anyway, the gateman sent me to a lieutenant in the north middle tower, and he sent me to Captain Dabran in the North Barracks, and he sent me back to another lieutenant, Lieutenant Gerath, in the north outer tower, to see whether I could qualify.
I had to do all kinds of things to show I was strong and fast enough—most women aren't, after all, so I guess it was fair. I had a foot-race with a man named Lador, and then after I beat him I had to catch him and throw him over a fence-rail, and then I had to pick up this fellow named Talden who's just about the fattest man you ever saw, Mother, I mean he's even fatter than Parl the Smith, and throw him over the fence-rail. I tried to find nice soft mud for them to land in, but I'm not sure if they appreciated it. The lieutenant did, though.
And then I had to climb a rope to the top of the tower, and throw a spear, and on and on.
The worst part was the swordsmanship test. Mother, no one in the village knows how to use a sword properly, not the way these people do! Lieutenant Gerath says I'll need to really work on using a sword. That prompted some rude remarks from the other soldiers about women knowing what to do with swords, only they didn't mean sword swords, of course, but they all shut up when I glared at them and then looked meaningfully at the fence rail and the mud.
By the time I finished all the tests, though, a whole crowd had gathered to watch, and they were laughing and cheering—I never saw so many people! There were more people there than there are in our entire village!
And I was exhausted, too—but Lieutenant Gerath was really impressed, and he vouched for me to Captain Dabran, and here I am! I'm a soldier! They've given me my yellow tunic and everything.
I don't have a red skirt yet, though—all they had on hand were kilts, and of course I want to wear something decent, not walk around with my legs bare. It must be cold in the winter, going around like that.
Anyway, they didn't have any proper skirts; they're going to give me the fabric and let me make my own. And they didn't have any breastplates that fit—naturally, one that was meant for a man isn't going to fit me. I'm not shaped like that. The armorer is working on making me one.
I asked why they didn't have any for women, and everyone kind of looked embarrassed, so I kept asking, and...
Well, Mother, you know we've always heard that the City Guard is open to anyone over sixteen who can handle the job, man or woman, and everyone here swears that's true, so I asked how many women there are in the Guard right now, and everyone got even more embarrassed, but finally Captain Dabran answered me.
One.
Me.
There have been others in the past, though not for several years, and they wouldn't mind more in the future, but right now, there's just me.
I guess it's a great hono
r, but I wonder whether it might get a bit lonely. It's going to be hard to fit in.
I mean, right now, I'm writing this while sitting alone in the North Barracks. I have my own room here, since I'm the only woman in the Guard, but even if I didn't, I'd be alone. Everyone else who's off duty went out. I asked where they were going, you know, hinting that I'd like to come along, but when I found out where they were going I decided I'd stay here and write this letter.
They're going down to the part of the city called Soldiertown, where all the tradespeople who supply the Guard are. I've been down there—to Tavern Street, and Sword Street, and Armorer Street, and Gambler Street.
Except tonight, they're all going to Whore Street.
Somehow I figured it would be better if I didn't go along.
Well, I guess that's about everything I had to say. I'm a soldier now, and I'm fine, and I hope everything's fine back home. Say hello to Thira and Kara for me.
Your loving daughter,
Shennar
Dear Mother,
I'm sorry I haven't written sooner, but I've been pretty busy. The work isn't all that hard, but we don't get much time off.
Well, I could have written sooner, but...
Well, anyway, I'm writing now.
Everything's fine here. I got my uniform completed—the armorer had a lot of trouble with the breastplate, but he got it right eventually. Or almost right; it's still a bit snug.
I've been here for two months now, and mostly it's been fine. I don't mind standing guard at the gate, or walking the top of the wall, or patrolling the market, and so far I haven't had to arrest anyone or break up any fights. Not any real fights, anyway—nothing where picking someone up and throwing him away didn't solve the problem.
And my time off-duty has been all right; most of the men treat me well, though they're a lot rougher than I'm used to. I don't mind that; I can be rough right back without worrying about hurting anyone.
But I'm not sure I'm really fitting in. I mean, everyone's nice to me, and they all say they like having me here, but I don't really feel like I'm part of the company yet, if you know what I mean. I'm still the new kid.
And it doesn't help any that once every sixnight, all the men in my barracks hall go down to Whore Street, and the whole place is empty, and I can't go along.
The first time they did that I just sat here and wrote to you, and then tidied up the place, and kept busy like that, but the second time I was determined to do something.
So I tried going downstairs to one of the other barracks halls—I'm on the fourth floor of the North Barracks—but I didn't know anybody there, and they were all busy with their regular off-duty stuff. The only way I could see to get in on anything would be to join the game of three-bone going on in the corner, and I'm not very good at dice, so I didn't.
Then I tried going into the city, but I went in uniform, and the minute I walked into a tavern everyone shut up and stared at me. That wasn't very comfortable.
I thought maybe they'd get over it, so I bought an ale and sat down at an empty table and waited for someone to come over and join me, but no one did.
It wasn't much fun.
When I finished my ale I came back here and sat around being utterly miserable. I felt completely left out; it was as bad as when the village kids wouldn't play with me because I was so big and strong. I didn't exactly cry myself to sleep, but I sniffled a little.
The next day all my barracksmates were back, laughing and joking and feeling good. I made some remarks, and Kelder Arl's son said, “Well, Shennar, at some of the houses there are boys for rent, too.” And everyone laughed.
I didn't think it was very funny, myself. And I certainly didn't take it seriously. I don't understand why the men all go to the brothels, anyway—they're mostly decent people, and could find women elsewhere. Some of them have women elsewhere, but they go to Whore Street anyway.
Men are strange.
But it did get me thinking that what I needed was some nice young man I could visit every sixnight. It wouldn't really do to bed with one of my fellow soldiers; I wouldn't feel right about that. And besides, most of them aren't that nice. I wanted a civilian.
So I started looking for one. I wore my civilian clothes and went to the most respectable inns and shops and tried to act like a lady.
Honestly, Mother, you'd think that in a city this size, it wouldn't be hard to find a good man, but I certainly didn't manage it. For sixnight after sixnight I looked, and I found plenty of drunkards and foul-smelling wretches, and big stupid oxen, and men who might have been all right if they weren't so small I was afraid that I'd break them in half if I ever hugged them.
And, well, I gave up, and here I am writing this letter while the men are at the brothels again.
What is it that makes them so eager to spend all their money there?
Mother, you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to seal this up for the messenger, and then I'm going to go down to Whore Street and ask someone. Not one of my barracksmates, but someone who works there. I'll just ask why the men all go there every sixnight.
Maybe if I can figure that out, it'll give me some idea what I should do!
Love,
Shennar
Dear Mother,
I met the most wonderful man! And you'll never guess where.
I'd gone down to Whore Street, the way I told you I was planning to, and at first I just walked up and down the street—it's only seven blocks long—just looking at the brothels and listening to the people. But after awhile that wasn't getting me anywhere, so I got up my nerve and went up to one of the doors and knocked.
This woman who wasn't wearing anything but a chiffon skirt and a feather in her hair answered, and took one look at me, and said, “I'm sorry, but you must have the wrong place.” And she tried to shut the door.
Well, I wasn't going to give up that easily; I was afraid that I'd never be able to get up the nerve to try again if I once backed down. So I put my foot in the door and pushed back.
I tried to tell her I just wanted to talk to someone, but she wasn't listening; instead she was calling, “Tabar! Tabar, quick!”
I pushed in through the door and I tried to catch her by the arm, since she wasn't wearing any tunic I could grab, but I couldn't get a solid hold, and then this voice deep as distant thunder said, “Is there a problem?”
And I looked up—really up, Mother! And there was this face looking down at me with the most spectacular mustache and big dark eyes.
"She wouldn't let me in,” I said, and I let the woman go. She ran off and left me face to face with this huge man—we'd have been nose to nose if he hadn't been so tall.
"We don't accept women as customers here,” he said. “You could try Beautiful Phera's Place, two doors down.”
"I'm not a customer,” I told him.
"If you have a complaint you can tell me," he said. “Though I don't promise we'll do anything about it.”
"It's not a complaint, exactly,” I said, “but I'd like to talk to you.”
He nodded, and led the way to a little room off to one side.
And while we were walking there I got a good look at two things.
One was the front room. It was amazing. Silk and velvet everywhere, and beads, and colored glass, all in reds and pinks and yellows.
And the other was the man I was talking to. Mother, he was taller than Father! And much broader. I'd never seen anyone close to that size before! He had lovely long black hair, and these long fingers, and that wonderful mustache. He was wearing a black velvet tunic worked with gold, and a black kilt, and he moved like a giant cat, Mother, it was just gorgeous.
Anyway, we went into this little room, which was very small, and pretty ordinary, with a little table and a couple of chairs, and we sat down, and he looked at me, didn't say anything.
I couldn't help asking, “Why aren't you in the Guard?"
He smiled at me. “You must be new around here,” he said. “Think about it. A
guardsman—or guardswoman—has to be big and strong enough to stop a fight, preferably before it starts. You've probably seen a guardsman stop trouble just by standing up and frowning, or by walking in the door and shouting—guards hardly ever have to draw their swords.”
"I've done it myself,” I admitted.
"Well,” he said, “this is Soldiertown. Most of the customers here are guardsmen. If they start trouble, Rudhira wants to have someone around who can stop guardsmen the way guardsmen stop ordinary tavern brawls. So she hired me.”
He wasn't bragging, Mother. He turned up a palm, you know what I mean. He was just stating a fact.
"But wouldn't you rather be in the Guard?” I asked.
He looked at me as if I had gone mad, then laughed.
"Rudhira pays better,” he said. “And there are extras.”
"Oh,” I said, and then I realized what the extras probably were, and I blushed and said, “Oh,” again.
"Some houses use magicians to handle trouble,” he said conversationally. “After all, we all need to have the magicians in sometimes to make sure nobody catches anything, and some of the girls want magic to be sure they don't get pregnant, so why not use them to keep things peaceful? But if a customer's drunk enough he might not notice a magician right away, and magic takes time, and can go wrong—and besides, I cost more than a guardsman, but not as much as a wizard! So Rudhira keeps my brother and me around, and we make sure everything stays quiet and friendly and no one gets rough.” He leaned back, and asked, “So why are you here?”
So I explained about how all my barracksmates would disappear every sixnight, and how tired I was of being left with nothing to do, and I asked why they all came here, instead of finding themselves women ... I mean, finding women who aren't professionals.
"Oh, it's all part of showing off to each other that they're real men,” Tabar said. “They all come here because they can do it together, and show how loyal they all are to each other. The more stuff they do together, the more they trust each other when there's trouble.”
The Spell of the Black Dagger (2nd Edition) Page 36
