FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  The moment passed, and he continued up the stairs. My reverie was interrupted by the next guest, Stephen Airedale, the son of Count Airedale. He was an impressive looking young man with light blond hair and steel grey eyes. He was also the first person to emerge who was my equal in height. In fact, he might possibly be taller. Marc’s sister, Ariadne, offered him her arm, and the two of them proceeded up the stairs chatting amiably. Her mother had trained her well, and I could see she would someday be a formidable socialite.

  The next to get out was Master Gregory Pern, the son of the famous Admiral Pern. As the son of a military commander his standing within aristocratic circles was minor, his father had originally been a commoner after all. Regardless, his father’s powerful shadow had a long reach, and there were rumors that Gregory might be granted a minor title in the future.

  Before we go on I have to confess, if I sounded knowledgeable about the aristocracy, it was not through any great knowledge of my own. Marcus had tutored me on our guests that afternoon with some help from his sister.

  Master Pern was being led away by Lady Thornbear, who seemed quite comfortable on the arm of a handsome young man. She winked at me as they went by. Meanwhile her husband, Lord Thornbear had stepped up to escort Lady Elizabeth Balistair, daughter of Earl Balistair. She was lovely in her own right, although I would have said her nose was a bit too long and her green eyes were unsettling. She was also excessively tall for a woman, probably near five feet eleven inches. Not that that was a bad thing, but being as tall or taller than most men would make finding a husband difficult, and finding a husband would be important to Lady Elizabeth. The Balistair family was rumored to be having financial difficulties.

  I had little time to think on that though; my turn had come. Lady Rose stepped out of her carriage and greeted the ducal couple warmly, and then she turned to me. I offered my arm as I had seen done, and she slipped her gloved hand across it. Truthfully she was one of the most beautiful women I could recall, with long dark tresses and warm blue eyes. Well, she might not be quite as pretty as Penny, certainly her figure was a bit slighter, but she had a definite presence. Her father, Lord Hightower, was the nominal head of the royal guard and commander of the garrison in Albamarl. Reputedly their family name came from the tall bailey their family occupied in the capitol.

  We walked up the steps carefully. I felt awkward walking next to such a graceful lady, but I did my best to cover it. “Lady Rose, I understand this is not your first trip to Lancaster?” I said. You would never guess I had a note card hidden in my pocket with a list of similar conversational phrases, thanks to Ariadne. Marc’s sister was very thoughtful.

  “Oh! Yes, yes I have visited twice before, when my father came to discuss matters with the Duke.” She seemed distracted, her eyes scanning the crowd when I asked my question. I wondered briefly who she might be looking for.

  “I hope your previous stays were pleasant. Did you make any friends of note while you were here?” That question wasn’t on my list of approved topics, but I figured I could improvise.

  She looked at me carefully, and I could see a sharp intelligence behind her blue eyes, “Why yes I did. I was just a girl at the time, but I was quite charmed with young Ariadne.” Her eyes slipped away from me again, and it seemed to me that they lit upon Dorian for a moment as he stood duty by the front doors. It might have been my imagination though, for she returned her glance to me but a second later. “How long have you lived in Lancaster, Master Eldridge?” she said.

  I nearly answered, ‘All my life,’ but I caught myself, “Not long, but I’ve visited many times before.” She was no longer looking directly at me, but it still felt as if she were looking at me intently. As we passed through the doorway I gave Dorian a quick wink to let him know things were going well, but he didn’t notice. His attention seemed fixed on my companion. My curiosity was definitely piqued.

  “Her grace introduced you to me as a scholar, Master Eldridge… might I inquire what it is that you study?” she queried me.

  I thought I could detect a subtle undercurrent of humor in her question. Worse, I had let too much time lapse, and she had turned the questioning back upon me. I was definitely getting into murky waters here. “Mathematics, Lady Rose,” I answered. “Although I fear the term ‘scholar’ does me too much credit. I still feel myself a novice compared to the great mathematicians of old.” See, I can be quite erudite when I try.

  “You do not seem old enough to be so learned,” she remarked.

  “In faith I am young, my lady. It is a fact which has done me no good service. I shall be glad when I will at last be able to display grey hair as proof of wisdom.” I was rather proud of that one, I might be a natural.

  “You do not think we should revere the wisdom of the aged?” observed Lady Rose perceptively.

  Ouch, she had neatly turned that one back upon me.

  “That was not my intention at all,” I explained. “I merely imply that in matters of mathematics, advanced years are no guarantee of wisdom, nor does youth necessitate its lack.” We had reached the sun room, and I felt relieved that I might escape. I was beginning to doubt my ability to keep up with Lady Rose in the dueling dance of our conversation.

  I started to excuse myself, but she held onto my arm for a moment, “Master Eldridge, relax. We’ve only just met. Let me give you some advice.” I looked down and her blue eyes caught me again. “You did well for a novice; in future, don’t let your opponent have so much time to turn the questions to topics you would prefer to avoid.”

  “Opponent?” I sputtered.

  “Shush” she said quietly, and then she smiled, a flash of white teeth under rose petal lips. “Don’t act so surprised, you’ll worry your friends.” She waved at Marcus for a moment. “Next time don’t let your eyes give away your thoughts so readily.”

  Lord Thornbear came over suddenly, so she let me have an easy out, “It was nice meeting you Master Eldridge, and I hope we have a chance to talk more later.” She turned and began speaking with Lord Thornbear, seeming, for all the world as if she had completely forgotten me already.

  I took my chance and began making my way across the room, looking for Marc. I found him talking with Stephen Airedale. He saw me coming and excused himself for a moment to pull me aside, “Do me a favor would you? Devon has Ariadne cornered over there, and I’m sure she could use a break. Would you mind distracting him for a moment?”

  Me? It seemed that my friend was unaware of my status as a novice in the art of conversation, at least in these circles. But I couldn’t leave Ariadne without support; although she’d been a pain when we were younger, she was his sister.

  I headed back the other way and spotted Ariadne. Sure enough, she was deep in conversation with Devon. I took a moment to remember the proper address, by which I mean I consulted the note card Ariadne had made for me earlier. Lord Devon it read. Although he wasn’t the Duke of Tremont yet, he had been granted a baronet already. Since ‘Tremont’ could be used to refer to the Duke of Tremont, his father, the usual way to call him was by his given name rather than his surname, hence, Lord Devon.

  “Ariadne,” I called, and she looked at me gratefully. I faced Devon, “Please pardon my intrusion, Lord Devon, Her Grace asked me to see if she could be found, to assist with some arrangements.”

  “Certainly,” he replied with a genial smile. Despite his friendly attitude, the aura around him still made me uncomfortable. Hopefully, the books we had found would help me to better understand these things. “I didn’t catch your name when we arrived...” he let the statement trail off, making it an obvious question.

  “Ah, my fault, I should have introduced myself directly to you, Mordecai Eldridge, Your Lordship.” That pretty well exhausted the topics I was prepared to discuss with the future Duke of Tremont.

  “Mordecai, what an unusual name, are you originally from Lothion? The name sounds foreign,” the young lord noted.

  Wonderful. I didn’t even know the answer to th
at question; my father had found the name embroidered on the blanket I was wrapped in.

  “Honestly I’m not sure where the name comes from either. My mother had a love of foreign romances, so she might have picked it up from one of her books. I was raised near Lancaster though, so I consider myself a true son of Lothion.” Practice was honing my skills in the art of dissembling. Lady Rose’s advice came to mind, so I attempted to retake the initiative, “My life must seem very boring to a man such as you. Tell me about your family, do you have any siblings?”

  Devon’s eyes narrowed for a moment, “A brother, Eric, but he was lost in an unfortunate accident a year ago.”

  I have a knack for uncomfortable topics. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to remind you of such a delicate subject,” I replied.

  “No harm done. He and I never got along, and there was nothing delicate about his death either. Passed out drunk in a bath and drowned.” Devon spoke casually, but I could feel him watching my reactions carefully.

  “Was there any suspicion of foul play?” I asked.

  Devon’s face never moved, but I saw the purplish aura around him flash for a moment, “No, there was no cause for concern in that regard. Eric was well loved by all, and the girl who found him attested to the fact he had been drinking heavily before entering the bath. A few of the other women in the ‘establishment’ confirmed her story.”

  “Establishment?” I was confused.

  “He died in a brothel.” Lord Devon answered. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to refill my glass.”

  “I would be happy to get that for you,” I said, glad to have something else to do. He proffered his glass, and I started looking for the fellow with the bottle. When I returned, I found him standing with Marc.

  “We were just discussing you, Mordecai!” My friend said this enthusiastically but his eyes were full of warning.

  “Yes, Marcus was telling me that you’re a student of mathematics and philosophy.” Devon added.

  “I try, but I fear I will always be a humble scholar, rather than one of the pathfinders of reason,” I replied.

  “You sound as though you might be well suited as a poet. Tell me what you think of Ramanujan and his work with the Riemann Zeta Function, I get so little interesting conversation at home.” The aura around him had gotten darker again, which made his smile ominous.

  “I think no one took him seriously at first, but that was his own fault.” I said.

  “How so?”

  “He presented his ideas in such a way as to deliberately elicit a contrary reaction from others. If he had been open about his methods from the beginning, the fact he was using the Zeta function to arrive at his conclusions, there would have been a lot less controversy.” I could almost feel Devon’s disappointment. There was a very good reason we had chosen mathematics as my scholarly cover. It had become something of a hobby of mine as a result of my time studying with Marc. My parents thought it was useless abstraction of course, as did Marc, but I had found great enjoyment in the subject. Consequentlym I had spent a lot of time absorbing material from the Duke’s library that most folk would never have even heard of.

  “The controversy is perhaps the only reason anyone still remembers his contributions. Possibly it was necessary to preserve his work,” Devon countered.

  “I’m sure he is not the first person to hide his methods,” I was starting to get annoyed, so I probably emphasized that phrase too much. “He doubtless won’t be the last, but his motive was not controversy.”

  “Do explain,” his teeth flashed as he spoke, and I found myself reminded of a fox.

  “He kept his methods secret to embarrass his contemporaries. If they admitted they could not follow his work, it made them look ignorant, if they argued he was wrong, he revealed his methodology to make them look like fools. In essence, he was an egotistical ass.” Perhaps I was a bit too passionate about my subject. I might have insulted Devon, but I hadn’t intended to, at least not consciously. The purplish light around him was pulsing now.

  “Pardon me, Your Lordship, no offense was intended,” I added.

  “None taken,” he replied, although it was clear he felt otherwise, “You are passionate about your subject, a commendable quality in a scholar. If you’ll excuse me, I should mingle some more with the other guests.” I was relieved to watch him go.

  Marc stepped closer to me and took me by the elbow, “Let’s retire for a moment. I need to get some air.” He steered me to the balcony which was currently empty. Once there, he spoke softly between clenched teeth, “What the hell was that?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” I replied sipping my wine casually.

  “Could you have chosen anyone in the world to make your enemy, that man is probably the worst you could have picked.” Marc seemed genuinely worried. “What did you say to get his attention so firmly fixed on you?” He was referring to my short conversation with Devon before Marc had joined us.

  “Well I did stumble into an embarrassing topic quite by accident, I asked him about his siblings.” I quickly related the story of Devon’s brother and how he had died. “He didn’t seem particularly upset about it though.” I concluded.

  “Of all the things you could have asked, that was the worst. His elder brother’s death has been the subject of many rumors. Quite a few suspect Devon of having a hand in it.”

  I could see the problem but not my own relevance. “Surely he must know I wasn’t intentionally trying to upset him.”

  Marc sighed, running his hands through his thick hair, “He knows nothing of the sort. You have to understand how people like him work. Let me give you a lesson in the aristocracy. First, he assumes that, because he’s so important, everyone else must be nearly as knowledgeable about his affairs as he is. Second, if he did have something to do with his brother’s death, he would have to be incredibly paranoid about it. Third, a complete stranger approaches him and starts questioning him about his brother’s ‘unfortunate’ demise. He will naturally assume that you are either trying to send him a message or embarrass him. In either case he will take it as a challenge.”

  “Oh,” I answered adroitly. “Well thankfully I live here rather than in Tremont.”

  “Idiot—like that matters to someone like him,” my friend was angry now.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The only person who can safely insult one of the greater peers is someone of equal rank or greater, such as my father, or someone from the royal family,” he explained, as if I were a child.

  “Thankfully my best friend is his equal in rank.” I smiled, thinking that would make him feel a bit better.

  “That only makes it worse, look over there.” he glanced behind me.

  Turning so I could casually glance back into the room, I saw Devon looking our way. He raised his glass and nodded at me as if in greeting. “So what does that mean?” I asked.

  “He’s already caught on that we’re friends, and he probably thinks I put you up to the questions about his brother. We were friendly before, but now he’ll mark me as his enemy. Rather than shielding you, that puts you in danger, Mort.”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” I said.

  “He can’t strike at me directly, so his obvious targets for retaliation will be my allies, particularly those who have limited resources of their own.” Marc looked at me intently as I finally understood what he had been trying to get across to me.

  “But I don’t even know him! I certainly never intended to make an enemy of him.” How could things have gone so terribly wrong?

  “In these circles, intentions don’t matter,” Marc answered glumly.

  “So what do I do?” I was appropriately worried now.

  “Avoid him if possible, and pray he doesn’t discover much about your family and friends. Let’s go back in; we’re only making him more suspicious chatting out here by ourselves.” Marc stepped back inside. I followed a moment after and made my separate way around the room.

  I wound up
trapped in conversation with Stephen Airedale, who was self-absorbed enough to refrain from asking me anything about myself. I got bored quickly though, since I had absolutely no interest in spice trading or how much money he had made investing in it. I was about to excuse myself to visit the privies, when I saw Penny enter the parlor with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. She met my eye for a moment and then looked away uncomfortably.

  I made my way to the privies with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. In the course of one short day, I had managed to become a political liability to my best friend, while at the same time convincing another friend I was in league with the powers of darkness. At least I hadn’t caused Dorian any trouble yet, but Marc’s comments had me worrying that he might become another of Devon’s targets if he learned of our friendship.

  The rest of the afternoon passed slowly, and I finally managed to retire to my room without causing any more problems. I tried to take a nap as the social maneuverings earlier had left me tired, but I was restless. Instead I spent my time practicing the little bit I had learned. After a while I got fairly proficient at controlling the amount of light I produced. I had begun to get a feel for the flow of aythar as I created the light ball. ‘Aythar’, I had learned, was the proper name for the force mages use to produce magical effects.

  There weren’t any handy subjects to practice my sleep spell on, and the hawk had made me cautious; I still felt a little bad about that. I resolved to retrieve that third book as soon as dinner was over. I couldn’t make much more headway with Vestrius’ journal without a better understanding of the Lycian language.

  Eventually Benchley came to tell me that it was time to eat. Apparently Penny had arranged to have him handle me, to avoid any more difficulties. As dark as my mood was, I couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t feeling up to facing more political intrigue so I begged him for mercy, claiming a sudden illness. Benchley had been a valet for many years, and he understood immediately.