Elementary
Page 1
Praise for Mercedes Lackey’s
Elemental Masters novels:
“This is Lackey at her best, mixing whimsy and magic with a fast-paced plot.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Fans of light fantasy will be thrilled by Lackey’s clever fairy-tale adventure.”
—Booklist
“Richly detailed historic backgrounds add flavor and richness to an already strong series that belongs in most fantasy collections. Highly recommended.”
—Library Journal (starred review)
“Mercedes Lackey fans will thoroughly enjoy this fun escapade into turn-of-the-century England. . . . I find Ms. Lackey’s Elemental Masters series a true frolic into fantasy. . . . Witty and dry, the magic in her books is always so believable, as are her characters.”
—Fantasy Book Spot
“The Elemental Masters novels are beautiful romantic adult fairy tales. . . . Master magician Mercedes Lackey writes a charming fantasy.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Once again, Mercedes Lackey has created a rich, lush depiction of England’s Elemental Masters, combining elemental magic, fantastic creatures, coming-of-age elements, and the realities of war. . . . Lackey’s elegant wordcraft combines humor with the knife edge of desperation. . . . I highly advise people to read this book, and I desperately urge Mercedes Lackey to keep writing the Elemental Masters novels.”
—Fresh Fiction
TITLES BY MERCEDES LACKEY
available from DAW Books:
THE NOVELS OF VALDEMAR:
THE HERALDS OF VALDEMAR
ARROWS OF THE QUEEN
ARROW’S FLIGHT
ARROW’S FALL
THE LAST HERALD-MAGE
MAGIC’S PAWN
MAGIC’S PROMISE
MAGIC’S PRICE
THE MAGE WINDS
WINDS OF FATE
WINDS OF CHANGE
WINDS OF FURY
THE MAGE STORMS
STORM WARNING
STORM RISING
STORM BREAKING
VOWS AND HONOR
THE OATHBOUND
OATHBREAKERS
OATHBLOOD
THE COLLEGIUM CHRONICLES
FOUNDATION
INTRIGUES
CHANGES
REDOUBT
BASTION
BY THE SWORD
BRIGHTLY BURNING
TAKE A THIEF
EXILE’S HONOR
EXILE’S VALOR
VALDEMAR ANTHOLOGIES:
SWORD OF ICE
SUN IN GLORY
CROSSROADS
MOVING TARGETS
CHANGING THE WORLD
FINDING THE WAY
UNDER THE VALE
Written with LARRY DIXON:
THE MAGE WARS
THE BLACK GRYPHON
THE WHITE GRYPHON
THE SILVER GRYPHON
DARIAN’S TALE
OWLFLIGHT
OWLSIGHT
OWLKNIGHT
OTHER NOVELS:
GWENHWYFAR
THE BLACK SWAN
THE DRAGON JOUSTERS
JOUST
ALTA
SANCTUARY
AERIE
THE ELEMENTAL MASTERS
THE SERPENT’S SHADOW
THE GATES OF SLEEP
PHOENIX AND ASHES
THE WIZARD OF LONDON
RESERVED FOR THE CAT
UNNATURAL ISSUE
HOME FROM THE SEA
STEADFAST
BLOOD RED*
Anthologies:
ELEMENTAL MAGIC
ELEMENTARY
*Coming soon from DAW Books
And don’t miss: THE VALDEMAR COMPANION, edited by John Helfers and Denise Little
Copyright © 2013 by Mercedes Lackey and Stonehenge Art & Word.
All Rights Reserved.
Cover art by Jody Lee.
Cover design by G-Force Design.
DAW Book Collectors No. 1638.
DAW Books are distributed by Penguin Group (USA).
All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may be stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated
DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED
U.S. PAT. AND TM. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES
—MARCA REGISTRADA
HECHO EN U.S.A.
ISBN 9780698143371(eBook)
Version_1
Contents
Fire-Water
Samuel Conway
Fire Song
Diana L. Paxson
Sails of the Armada
Kristin Schwengel
The Wild Rogue
Fiona Patton
Feathers and Foundations
Elizabeth A. Vaughan
Hearth and Family
Dayle A. Dermatis
Secret Friends
Louisa Swann
Fire’s Daughter
Elisabeth Waters
Picking up the Pieces
Cedric Johnson
The Price of Family
Jennifer Brozek
Arms of the Sea
Tanya Huff
London Falling
Ben Ohlander
The King of the River Rats
Michele Lang
Air of Deception
Jody Lynn Nye
Fly or Fall
Stephanie Shaver
Bone Dance
Rosemary Edghill and Rebecca Fox
The Flying Contraption
Ron Collins
A Peony Amongst Roses
Gail Sanders and Michael Z. Williamson
Into the Woods
Mercedes Lackey
About the Authors
About the Editors
Fire-Water
Samuel C. Conway
As he did every day, Octli poked his nose first from his burrow to sniff for the scent of blood. He found none, so next came his eyes, scanning the landscape for telltale shadows. Next came his long, long ears, and only when they detected no lurking hunters did the rest of him follow.
He sat motionless for some time, smelling, watching, listening, until at last he felt safe enough to forage for his breakfast. With so many eager fangs waiting out there to sink into his pelt, Octli could ill afford to be careless.
Still, as careful as one might be, the world has a way of doing what it will. Octli had just enjoyed some tender clover and was about to start digging up a wild yam when the sun winked at him. Instinctively he froze, becoming one with the landscape. The sun winked again, a shadow, a circling hunter.
Octli bolted for his burrow but was too slow. Something crashed down upon his back and drove him to the ground. Its weight held him down, his middle squeezed tightly. A cloak of feathers fel
l over him and blotted out the sun. A savagely hooked beak descended to Octli’s ear. He closed his eyes tightly.
“Peace,” the beak’s owner said. “I will not eat you.”
Octli’s eyes flew open. “You won’t? Is this a trick?”
“No trick.” The bird lifted his foot from Octli’s back and allowed the rabbit to stand. “I am not here for food.”
“What, then?” Octli said nervously, backing away from the bird’s fiery gaze.
“I have come to ask for your help.”
Octli had expected to hear any one of a number of things, but that had certainly not been among them. “Me?” he sputtered. “How could I do that?”
“I do not know.” The bird sighed. He ruffled his feathers and shook them all out, first his body, then his head, and finally his tail. “But I hoped that you would.”
“Well . . . I . . . I suppose that I must. You did spare my life.”
“Your life was never in danger from me.”
Now that his terror had subsided, even if only a little, Octli looked more closely at the bird and realized that was true. The long, lanky and naked legs meant this bird was not the sort to eat a rabbit, although if hungry enough, anyone with a beak like that would hardly be fussy. No, this bird was the sort who preferred fish for his supper. “I am grateful for that,” Octli said, still eyeing the long, long, long talons upon which the bird rested. “You will forgive me, though, if I continue to shake for a while.”
“If you must.” The bird settled his feathers once more. “Will you help me?”
“I ought to,” Octli said warily, “but I still do not know why you are here.”
The bird glanced over one of his shoulders, then over the other. “I am here because of my Master.”
“He sent you to me?”
“No.” The bird stared at the ground. “I am here because of him. If he knew, he would be very, very angry.”
Octli peered at the bird, who, standing with his head bowed and his wings drooping, looked far less horrifying and far more miserable than he had before. Octli began to pity him. “I . . . would like to help you, yes . . .”
The bird raised his head hopefully.
“. . . but first you must tell me what troubles you.”
“It is my Master.” Again the bird glanced furtively about. “We are of the Water, you see, and my Master has declared war on one who is of the Fire. They are in constant battle, and the land suffers for it. Water floods where it should not, Fire rages where it must not, and nothing comes of it but misery for all. Their hatred for each other has made them blind to the suffering they are causing.”
“Why, though?” Octli asked. “Why do they hate each other so?”
The bird shrugged his wings. “They are Men. Who can guess why they hate each other? I imagine that they themselves do not even know why.”
“I see. But what can I do?”
“You are of the Earth,” the bird said eagerly. “I thought perhaps if another Elemental were to intervene, we could put a stop to the fighting.”
“What about your brothers of the Air?” Octli asked.
The bird clicked his beak and shook his feathers out again. “Them!” he snorted. “There is no talking sense to them. I have always found them so . . . so . . .”
“Flighty?” Octli offered, but when the bird drew himself up and glowered, he hurriedly added, “Yes, I can see that you need help. I do not have any such power myself . . .”
The bird hung his head.
“. . . but I know of one who does. An Earth Master.”
The bird perked up. “Do you think he will help me?”
“She,” Octli corrected. “That I do not know. There is only one way to find out.”
• • •
It took a long time to travel to where the Earth Master lived. Octli’s legs were built for speed, but he needed to rest frequently. He refused all of the impatient bird’s offers to carry him—those talons were just a bit too long and a bit too sharp and a bit too frightening for such a trip. The sun had sunk very low, then, before Octli arrived, panting, at a little stone house sitting all by itself at the base of a mountain.
“Mother!” he called. “Earth Mother!”
She emerged slowly, one carefully placed foot at a time, but Octli knew that it was not because of her age; she simply never had any reason to hurry. Mother smiled down at the rabbit and brushed a long white wisp from her eyes. “Well, hello, little one,” she said in a voice that was both as soft as sand and as powerful at the mountain that loomed above them. “Have you come to share my supper?”
“Well, I . . . no . . . but . . .” Octli fidgeted, his nose catching the scent of something very rare inside the house. “But if you had more than enough for yourself, I would not refuse your kindness.”
With a chuckle the old lady turned and disappeared into the shadowy interior of her house, returning a moment later with the tender and delightful fruit called tomatl. “Now tell me,” she whispered as she set it down before Octli’s nose. “What is it that bird wants of me?”
Octli froze in midbite and almost spat out his treat. “I . . . he . . . you . . .” he said in astonishment.
She laughed. “His shadow crossed over you twice, but you never even blinked. I know that even a tomatl could not entrance you so much as to make you blind, so you and he must be friends.”
“Well . . . sort of . . .” Octli said sheepishly.
The old lady smiled and stroked Octli’s ears. “Eat your supper. Let me speak to your friend.” With that she stood and pointed up at the circling silhouette, then pointed to the ground before her feet.
The bird tucked his wings and plunged, rocketing toward the sand and only stretching his wings at the very last moment before he thumped down and sprawled out submissively, his beak on the ground. “Please, Earth Mother,” he squawked, “do not punish me. I came to plead for your help. Terrible things are happening: the Fire splits the rocks, the Water drowns the fields! Rivers boil and rage!”
“Would you like a tomatl?”
“I . . . what?”
“A tomatl. Would you like one?”
“Er . . . I . . . no, thank you.” The bird gave Octli a dumbfounded look, which Octli could only answer with a shrug.
“No, I did not think so. Please forgive me that I have nothing else to offer you. Welcome to my home, Son of the Air.”
Bewildered, the bird rose to his feet and shook the dust from his wings. He gave Octli another uncertain glance, then said, “It is, um, Water, actually, Lady. I am of the Water.”
“Oh! Please forgive me,” Mother said, throwing up her hands. “I did not recognize you, all flapping about in the dirt as you were.”
The bird cleared his throat and looked down, but said nothing.
“Now,” Mother said as she hunkered down on her heels. “Tell me, what is the matter?”
Never taking his eyes from the ground, the bird recounted the tale of the dreadful fight between his Master, who really was just a mage but who insisted on the loftier title, and the Fire Mage, who also liked to be addressed as “Master,” and how the fight was scarring the land and harming everyone nearby, be it Man, Beast, or Elemental. Mother listened to it all while chewing thoughtfully on a bit of dried tomatl. When the bird had finished, she pondered the story for a while before she said, “I can see that you have quite a problem.”
“Yes, my Lady.”
“So answer me one question. Why is it that I should help you?”
The bird opened and closed his beak, but no words came out.
“Answer me. Why should I help you?”
One yellow eye opened and glanced pleadingly at Octli. “I . . . please . . .” he began.
“Answer me. Why should I help you?”
The bird sagged, defeated. “I do not know, my Lady.”
“My Lady?”
Mother reached down and hooked her finger beneath the bird’s beak, gently lifting the reluctant gaze to hers. She smiled. “Because you asked me to.”
• • •
They set off at first light, but even so, the sun was nearing its peak before they reached the battleground. Mother never hastened her thoughtful and deliberate pace and stopped quite often to sniff at flowers or to comment on the beauty of the clouds, while the bird who rode on her shoulder did not dare to make any impatient noises. His gaze darted about with increasing agitation, however, as the signs of war became more obvious. Here a field buried in mud, there a shed burned to ashes. Each time Mother stopped, leaning on her stick, and surveyed the scene grimly. “This,” she muttered, “will not do at all.”
The bird pointed the way to a hilltop overlooking a village that had clearly seen happier times. Some of the fields were swamped in water as deep as a man’s ankles, while others had been blackened to dust. People struggled to coax what crops they could out of the few little patches of green earth that remained. As Mother frowned, a column of white steam gushed skyward in the distance.
“They are at it again,” the bird said mournfully.
“So I see.” Mother glanced down toward Octli, who had been following at her heels. “Little one, would you do me a kindness?”
“Of course, Earth Mother,” Octli said eagerly.
“I need to get their attention, those two,” she said, nodding toward the geysering steam. “Could you give me a thump?”
Octli blinked and peered down at his long hind foot. “A thump, Earth Mother?”
“Yes. You know, something to make them take notice.”
Octli was skeptical, but he did not question the old lady’s wisdom. Planting his forepaws firmly on the ground, he stamped his hind leg as hard as he could. To his astonishment, the entire hillside rocked as a wave rushed through the soil and down through the village, leaving the people staggering about in alarm.
“A few more, please.”
Octli obeyed, watching with amazement as the little taps of his foot rocked the world to its heart and turned the village into a disturbed anthill. He was even more amazed when he saw the soil itself shift and roll, rise and dimple, shaping itself into the very semblance of a face—his face, ears, whiskers, and all.