FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  He kept walking, nodding at the guard as he passed. Deep in thought, he began to carefully consider his next step.

  Much lower in the castle Penny awoke. She had worked very late so Sarah, the head maid, had let her sleep in. Normally, the staff was up before dawn. Penny’s eyes snapped open, something was wrong. She had slept well, but now she was wide awake. Looking around the room, she was beset with confusion.

  How did I get here? she thought, and then said it aloud, “What happened?” Suddenly she remembered, and her chest tightened with emotion. Fear, shame, and rage fought within her for dominance. A surging storm rose within, the fear and helpless terror of the night before washed over her, threatening her sanity. Mother, what should I do? That thought nearly brought her to tears; the helpless sorrow of a child who knows she can never go back, never go home. Her mother was dead, and her father was almost an invalid, unable to work. Caring for him had become her purpose; he was why she had taken this job.

  Now it was gone, along with her hopes for the future. She doubted she could keep her job once her shame became public knowledge. The room was empty, so she drew the sheets back, afraid of what she might find.

  She was naked, every stitch of clothing gone. There was blood on her thighs and a bandage around her right leg. The blood was to be expected, but she didn’t recall hurting her leg. He must have done that after I passed out. A vivid image rose in her mind, an ugly vision of what had been done to her. The only mercy was that she had passed out; at least she wouldn’t have to remember that. Except in my nightmares, she added mentally.

  She got up and mechanically began putting on one of her spare uniforms. Her leg was stiff where it had been injured, but she felt alright otherwise. There was no soreness, no pain—down there, which seemed a bit unusual. She knew some girls had little pain, but she suspected Devon had not been gentle. “I guess I should count my blessings,” she said. Then it was too much, and she began crying. The tears poured out of her, and her body heaved with great wracking sobs. She hadn’t cried like this since she was a child.

  Her mother had comforted her then, but there was no one now. After what seemed like hours, she ran out of tears. She was exhausted, too tired to care, too numb to feel anything. She finished dressing and decided she might as well report for duty. Before she left, she tidied up the bed and put her spare clothes away. A small slip of parchment fell behind the bedside table unnoticed as she picked up the nightgown.

  She found Sarah and told her she was ready for work, hoping that the head maid wouldn’t be too angry about how late she had slept.

  “No problem lass, you did well yesterday, and we had you running till well after everyone else was snug abed.” The older woman seemed genuinely grateful, “If you’ll run down to the laundry and give them a hand there for a bit, I’d be glad of it.” Sarah’s orders always sounded like requests, as superiors went, she was nicer than most.

  Penny was glad to do it, anything to keep herself busy. She kept moving, working the rest of the day in a mad rush, desperate not to remember. However, no matter how she worked, her mind kept going back to it every time she let it stray. The worst came that afternoon, when she had to take fresh sheets up to the guests’ rooms. Every step filled her with dread, and she prayed that one particular occupant would be absent.

  As luck would have it he was not in the room. She changed the sheets as quickly as possible, yet she could not help noticing the blood on them, as well as a torn section that must match her bandage. She was out of the room in less than five minutes, and her heart was still pounding when she reached the stairs. Thinking herself safe at last, she almost ran headlong into Devon as he came up the stairs.

  She came close to dropping everything and bolting, but Penny was made of sterner mettle than that. She clenched her fists, gripping the bundle of linens and made her face a mask of indifference. She had already passed him on the stair when she heard his voice, “Penny.” She stopped, refusing to turn back toward him.

  “Don’t think matters are finished between us,” Devon’s voice was like ice. “Last night was just the beginning. I’ll see your blacksmith’s son cold and dead before this is over. You have my word on that.” She could feel his eyes on her back, and fear held her heart in an iron grip. In her mind she saw Mordecai lying in a field, his body broken, with blood running from his nose and mouth as he struggled to breath. Devon stood over him smiling, murder in his eyes. The vision was so powerful it made her gasp, and she knew instinctively that it would come to pass. Rage built in her, a raw animal fury, and without thought she whirled, throwing the bundled laundry ahead of her. Perhaps it would distract him for a second. A second was all she needed, she would pull him down. If the fall didn’t kill him, she would finish the job herself.

  “Hey now! There’s no call for that!” Devon was already gone, and standing where he had been was Marcus, looking surprised. The sheets had struck him full in the face and now lay scattered across the stairs. The anger that had filled her with strength drained away as speedily as it had appeared, leaving her empty. She almost lost her balance then, but Marc’s hand caught her shoulder, steadying her balance. “Are you ok, Penny?” His voice sounded concerned.

  “Yes, yes I’m fine. I’m just not myself today.” Words were inadequate to describe just how ‘not herself today’ she truly was.

  “I won’t ask about the laundry, then, I can guess who made you so angry,” he jerked his head in the direction that Devon must have left in. “I wanted to talk to you anyway, Penny. There are some things you need to know.”

  She looked at his face, surprised at the seriousness she found there. Marc was normally the most easy-going of her friends. “What is it?”

  Marc took a few minutes to describe what had happened at the reception the day before, detailing the trouble he felt was facing Mordecai. She nodded dumbly, it all made sense. He continued, “Penny, you have to understand how dangerous that man is... he doesn’t understand jokes, and he doesn’t tolerate insubordination. If he had been standing where I was when that laundry came flying at me, things would have gone ill for you. Worse, if he finds out you are associated with me or Mordecai, he will try to use you to get at us. Do you understand?”

  He’s already used me Marcus, used me and tossed me away, she thought. “What can I do to help?” she said instead.

  “Nothing Penny, I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. Just keep your head, and above all else, don’t let him find out about our friendship. As long as he doesn’t think you are connected to me or Mort you should be safe.” His earnestness almost brought her to tears again.

  “Sure, I’ll try to avoid talking to you or Mort.” she answered.

  “It’ll only be a few more days, then he’ll be on his way,” Marc tried to reassure her. He could see there were some deep emotions behind her face. He had probably offended her, but it would have to wait. He would apologize later, once Devon Tremont was safely away from Lancaster. Then they could all relax.

  I woke early, well... in the early afternoon. I hadn’t gone to sleep ’til almost dawn, and I had completely exhausted my body’s reserves, both mental and physical. Thankful for not being awakened early, I sat up and stretched. Sleep had done much to repair my condition, although I still had a lingering ache in my lower back. It could have been worse, I supposed.

  A knock at the door gave me an idea as to what had roused me from my slumber. Crossing the room, I opened it and looked out, wondering if I might find a hallway full of guards with Lord Devon behind them. Benchley stood there patiently.

  “May I come in sir?” he said in his best ‘I may be a servant, but I’m still better than you’ tone. It’s amazing how much information some people can convey with simple inflections. I might ask him for lessons later. I stepped back so he could enter.

  “I don’t suppose you have any food on you?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

  “Lunch is already over sir, but if you dress now you might persuade cook to let you
have some leftovers.” he answered with a hint of a smile. The bastard knew full well what the cook thought of people who missed mealtimes. I wasn’t falling for it.

  “Since you mentioned dressing, would you mind assisting me?” My native intelligence was working overtime.

  “I believe that is what young Marcus intended when he asked me to check on you sir,” he replied. Fifteen minutes later I was dressed again. Benchley’s hands were surer than Penny’s when it came to doublet laces, but then I guess he had more experience dressing men. I also made note that he didn’t stand behind and reach around me to do up the laces. That should have told me something, but I was too preoccupied to think on it.

  Once he was finished with me Benchley left, and frankly I was relieved to be alone. I needed to think. The valet had been his usual imperturbable self, so I inferred that no hue and cry had gone up this morning. Most likely, His Lordship, Devon Tremont was lying low wondering who had caught him with his pants down and whether retribution would be forthcoming. I was naive to think that, but I knew little of aristocrats.

  Since I thought it might be safe, I ventured out to look for Penny, and perhaps steal some food if any happened to be lying about unattended. I had no luck finding Penny, or Marcus, or Dorian for that matter. Everyone seemed to have found better things to do than wait for me to get out of bed. Fortune was more kind when it came to food. I stumbled across young Timothy clearing tables in the great hall, and he let me take a large piece of roast pheasant that someone had left behind. I wrapped it in a piece of cloth and added a partial loaf of bread from another plate. Timothy gave me one of his gap-toothed grins. I winked at him, and spoils in hand, I retreated to my room to plot my next move.

  Once I had eaten I decided to make use of my free time to study some more. I delved into ‘A Grammar of Lycian’. Two hours later and my head was spinning. I have a knack for languages, but Lycian seemed designed to twist a man’s tongue into knots. The verb tenses were also confusing. Why anyone needed a ‘past progressive’ or a ‘simple future perfect’ tense eluded me. I decided to focus on memorizing vocabulary since I thought it might be more useful to start there. Another hour and I had had enough, so I switched to Vestrius’ journal. With my slightly less ignorant grasp of Lycian, I began to comprehend a bit more of what he had learned in his first few weeks of training.

  Most of it was not particularly pertinent to disposing of evil sons of rival dukedoms, but one piece did catch my eye as fairly useful. My use of the sleep spell on Devon the night before had made me acutely aware of how easily someone could be rendered helpless. I was more than a little worried that he might be able to do something similar to me in the future, since I half suspected him of being a wizard himself. I wasn’t the first mage to have such thoughts apparently. A lot of attention was given to the methods which could be used to shield a mage’s mind and body from harmful outside influences, or in some cases the results of his own mistakes.

  The simplest method was to shutter the mind. Some men, I learned, were born with no ability to manipulate aythar at all. They were known as ‘stoics’, and I recognized the type in my friend Dorian. A mage could, with some practice, mimic their ability, or rather their lack of ability, and gain the same benefits. To do so would temporarily rob me of my ‘sight’ while shielding my mind from external influences. Because of its disadvantages, it was primarily used at night to protect oneself while sleeping since it required no active effort.

  The hardest part of mastering it was finding a way to tell if I had successfully ‘shut’ my mind. Eventually I hit on the idea of staring at the book on Lycian. Since normal folk couldn’t see its glow I could use it to tell when I had properly closed myself off. It didn’t take long for me to manage it after that. The sensation was akin to shutting your eyes, and it unsettled me more than I thought it would. Without being aware of it, I had already begun to rely on subtle cues my magesight allowed me. Closing it off made me feel blind. I decided that I agreed with the mages of yore, sleep would be the best time for it.

  The second method was to create a shield of aythar. The technique could be used in several ways depending on how much and what type of protection was desired. The least tiring was to create an internal shield that protected only the practitioner’s mind. The result was similar to the other method with the exception that you could still use your ‘sight’ and abilities without impairment. Slightly more involved was the creation of a shield covering the entire body to protect one from physical as well as magical assaults. According to the legends in Vestrius’ journal, some great wizards were able to manage this during all their waking hours. The legends made it clear that not only were the great wizards paranoid, but they were well justified in their paranoia. Sometimes even that protection was not enough to save them.

  Lastly, in times of need, some wizards had been able to create shields extending much farther from their bodies, to protect friends and sometimes even buildings. It was considered risky, since the effort could exhaust the caster, and a particularly strong assault might even kill them if it used up more power than they had to give.

  I practiced with both types, first trying to protect just my mind. Without someone to test it for me I couldn’t be sure I had done it properly, but the amount of energy it required was negligible. Producing a large shield to protect my entire body was easier, though it required more effort. Since it extended just beyond my body, I could actually see the energy as it enveloped me. It was nearly imperceptible, even to my sight, but by modifying the spell slightly I found I could color it with visible light, making it easier to see.

  I found these exercises tiring, but they left me feeling better about my ability to protect myself. Still it was a relief when a knock interrupted me. I had shielded the divan (as a stand in for another person), and I was attempting to beat it to death with the chair. I failed to stop myself in time, and Marc opened the door just as I struck it for the final time. This was my third swing at it, and this time instead of simply rebounding, the chair had splintered with a resounding ‘crack’.

  “If you are that upset with the room’s appointments I could have let you trade apartments with someone else,” he said in a droll tone.

  “Ah... this isn’t what it looks like.” I said, giving him a sheepish look.

  “If this was the first time you had said that to me, I might doubt you, but knowing you I honestly believe it,” he said with a laugh. “Seriously though, why are you hell bent on smashing up the furniture?”

  I thought for a moment before I smiled, “Second law of magic.”

  We had been bantering since we were kids, so he played along, “Which is?”

  “Try new spells on the furniture before you risk other people or pets,” I rattled off.

  He laughed, “So what’s the first law?”

  I took a professorial pose and lifted my hand in an imperious manner, “Try new spells on other people or pets before you risk yourself.”

  We laughed a bit, and it felt good. Things had been so tense lately, it was nice to be reminded of our younger days. “So why have you come in search of me, young supplicant? Love potions? A cure for the piles? All things are within the power of The Great Mordecai.”

  “I thought you might want to take in the fireworks tonight. Father hired the illuminator’s guild to put on a show for our guests tonight,” he replied.

  I was impressed, fireworks were expensive, and I had only seen them once before when we were younger. The illuminator’s guild was a secretive organization that guarded the secrets of producing pyrotechnics. They were often mistaken for magicians because of the dazzling nature of their shows, but their devices were made with the help of science and chemistry. Everyone within ten miles of Lancaster would show up to see it.

  We talked about the impending show for several minutes before I got serious. “Have you spoken to Dorian or Penny yet today?”

  His expression changed, “I haven’t seen Dorian, but I ran into Penny earlier.”

&nb
sp; I immediately pressed him for the details of their exchange. After he had described their meeting I found myself more disturbed than ever. “What’s wrong?” he said. “You look angry.”

  It was difficult, but starting slowly I related the events of the previous night to him. His face grew dark, and by the end he was swearing under his breath. “That explains a bit anyway,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Why Dorian pressed his father to put a guard on your door this morning. I never ran into him, but he talked Thornbear into setting a guard in the hall till you woke up this afternoon,” he explained. I was surprised; Dorian was more protective than I had thought.

  “Do you think he told his father?” I asked.

  “No, if he had, old Thornbear would have raised hell with my father.”

  “You think so?”

  “Most assuredly, and with Lord Thornbear pressing the case Father would have been forced to act, probably to expel Devon from his demesne,” he grimaced.

  “What would that do?” I wondered aloud.

  “Start a lot of trouble. Tremont would be honor bound to complain to the king. The Lancasters would have to present evidence at the king’s court to support our insult to Tremont.” He looked at me.

  “And?”

  “And we couldn’t prove anything. At the least, we would be fined to satisfy Tremont’s honor, at the worst, it would mean war.” Marc sat on the divan and put his head in his hands. He thought for a while, “Why didn’t you just expose the villain when you caught him red handed? The evidence would have been on our side then.”

  “Penny,” I said simply, and I gave him a stare that spoke volumes about how I felt that he had even suggested it.

  He apologized, “I’m sorry, you’re right Mort, and it was selfish of me to think that.”

  In the end we came up with no good ideas, but made ourselves feel better by suggesting bad ones, mostly involving hot irons and blunt instruments. An hour later it was time to get moving, the fireworks were about to start. As we stepped into the corridor, I waved at him to wait a second. Muttering a short incantation, I set a shield around my body. No time like the present to start good habits.