The velvety black lay thick over the barren land. Holding its breath.
“Do you think it’s the Mugdock?” the young man persisted.
Sanders glanced at Marc, hovering worriedly over his charge, then back at the night. “I don’t know. Mugdock don’t usually come this far. Doesn’t mean they won’t.”
Xavier let that settle in for a moment. He asked, “Do you think it’s something to do with the girl?”
Sanders let the question dissolve into the air. He didn’t know. She was an enigma. Where had she come from and why was she allowed to travel alone in distant places? Did her companions all perish, leaving her to continue on her own? Even if that was the case, she wasn’t from anywhere close. Sanders had seen travelers over the years, he’d met people from distant places, he’d even bedded a few, but no one had ever been as light of feature as the waif. Her breasts and chest were so pale they showed faint blue veins. Her hair was the color of burnished wheat even with all the dirt, and fine. Almost like soiled feathers, which meant it was probably fluffy when cleaned. She was lanky and slim, which wasn’t all that rare, but covered in a functional, lean muscle. Her finger tips were calloused, which might have been from playing an instrument, but her hands were muscled as well, as though she was used to working with something heavy. The pads of her feet were tough, especially the balls and toes. Each of those things weren’t strange in its own right, except the coloring, which could be explained away by a childhood disease, but as a whole it was unnerving. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she’d done some fighting. A lot of fighting, if truth be told.
Maybe where she was from women fought as a sport, or for an audience. Or maybe they fought for survival or as penance for a crime. Which was sickeningly similar to the Mugdock.
Leilius gave a loud scream and rolled around, thrashing. Xavier moved to him quickly, shaking the boy awake, trying to keep him quiet. The other boy screamed again, grabbing for Xavier’s head, attempting to execute a lock that would snap Xavier’s neck. Xavier shirked him off easily, batting his hands away and shaking harder. Two others sat up at the commotion.
A wave of fear rumbled over Sanders. His skin tingled. His balls tightened.
Shit was about to blow up.
He gripped his knife and rose to a crouch, ready for an attack.
“Are we under attack?” Gracas asked in a harried whisper. “I don’t see anyone.”
Neither did Sanders. No movement. No sound. Dead trees and barren land stretched out away from them, sprinkled in silver moonlight. If something moved closer, it would have to show itself between pools of shadow. It would present itself, if only for a moment.
A moment was all Sanders needed.
So where was the enemy? Why was every alarm in Sanders’ head going off when emptiness stared back at him?
The girl moved slightly, moaning. Marc was stroking her face, quietly whispering soothing words.
“Commander?” Xavier stared at him, hand on Leilius’ shoulder, waiting for orders. He had apparently stepped up in rank and placed himself in the Second position. It was a good sign for his future. If he had one.
“We hold. It’s too dark to continue en route. Anything could be waiting out there. We need silence. Wake everyone up—no one is getting much sleep anyway. Pack up. We’ll leave at first light if we’re able.”
Sanders lowered again, watching. Logic said nothing waited out there, but his gut said soon they’d face an army. All he could do was wait and see.
It was a long night. The creeping dread never subsided. The bitch of it was Sanders couldn’t see anything the matter. Nor hear anything. His gut said move but his brain said there was no hurry. If it wasn’t for how on edge the boys were, he would think it was time to retire.
“How’s the girl?” Sanders asked Marc as they moved out quietly. It was nearly dawn, but no one wanted to wait any longer.
Marc had deep blue circles under his eyes. “She seems more lucid. She’s taking more liquid and her fever is down. She’s still in danger, but she’s fighting.”
“When did he become an expert?” Rachie mumbled.
Sanders glared at the loudmouthed kid until he shuffled his feet in the other direction. Sanders was not above tossing the kid into another tree.
They set a fast pace, cutting through the land on the fastest route home. They would arrive around noon, a full five days before they were due. If constant fear wasn’t continuously clawing at Sanders’s gut, he would be thrilled to be rid of the young idiots. He didn’t do daycare duty well.
The girl mewed like a lost kitten, thrashing in Xavier’s thick arms. The large boy flexed, keeping her pinned, not daring to drop her like Rachie had yesterday. He didn’t want a bruise on his chest the same size and shape as Sanders’ fist.
Chapter III
SHANTI’S CONSCIOUSNESS EMERGED THROUGH A deep haze. Pain seared her body, almost as if someone had reached in through her stomach and pulled everything inside out. She forced her eyes open, trying to scrabble her way out of the darkness that trapped her. What she saw next terrified her.
A man held her, and judging by the bulging biceps and length of the arms, a large man. He had her pinned against his body in an unbreakable squeeze, rocking and swaying. Her legs were closed at the moment, which was a good sign, but for how long? He was taking her somewhere, and he was crushing her painfully as he did.
The scent of boot polish tickled her nose. Peeking out from behind his mangy, curled hair were the fletching of arrows and the tip of a bow. On the other side of his massive shoulders a shiny, metallic hilt peeked out.
Closing her eyes again, she listened, immediately hearing a chorus of breath and heavy footfalls. More large men, then. And in her experience, it was often that a group of soldiers would make a prize of a lost and alone girl.
Fear coursed through her, then determination. She had no more than a trickle of energy, but she would bloody well fight. The only consolation was that he was touching her skin. The more skin contact meant the less energy required to attack his mind. Still, she didn’t have much to throw.
Building the dismal amount of power she had at her disposal, she lashed out. His burly arms constricted, crushing her into his chest as a scream of pure agony strangled his throat. His resistance was strong or she was weak, probably both, but in the end it worked. With a long wail, he let go, clutching at his head and dropping to the ground.
As Shanti’s body fell, she tried to unfurl. She tried to prepare to roll away upon impact. She tried to do something besides thump to the ground like a log and immediately pass out.
Tried, and failed. She’d be worse off than before, completely left to their devices.
Fabulous decision-making, as always.
Chapter IV
“GET DOWN!” SANDERS SCREAMED.
IN two strides he was standing over the woman, sword in hand, sweeping the landscape with an experienced gaze. He glanced at Xavier, didn’t see the fletching of an arrow or the hilt of the knife, so looked back up. “Where did the attack come from? What caused this?”
Xavier rolled around, kicking up puffs of dirt.
Marc stood next to them, frozen. His mouth hung open and he stared down at the lifeless girl.
“Cadet! Get down!” Sanders grabbed Marc’s shirt and yanked him to the ground. “Attack? Where from?”
The boy stared.
Seeing no movement, Sanders bent to Xavier. They needed to get this parade marching. Carrying wounded with no cover, they might as well just roll over and expose their bellies. That’s how easy it would be to pick them off.
Except…the enemy didn’t have any cover, either... It would be another hour of hiking before the lush forest of their land spread out in welcome. The Mugdock had only burned land Sanders and his men didn’t regularly patrol.
Still no movement.
Sanders swatted Xavier’s hands away, looking for wounds. All he found was a face pinched in pain and bloodshot eyes. “What hurts?”
“The girl’s eyes,” Marc mumbled, still staring. “They glowed. Purple.”
Perfect. They were being attacked, in the middle of nowhere, with nowhere to take cover, and the one guy that was supposed to patch them up was losing his mind. Sanders was living his worst case scenario.
“Marc, grab the woman. Rachie, Garcas, grab Xavier. Head north. Find cover. The rest of us will flank.”
“It was her,” Marc gurgled softly, waving a flaccid pointer finger.
Sanders reached out with a quick hand and yanked Rachie to him. He thrust the kid at the woman like a rag doll. “Rachie, grab her. Marc, get moving. You’re no good to me.”
Both boys stared, hunched over and blinking.
“MOVE!”
Sanders hopped to Xavier, swiping the young man’s hands off his head again. “Let’s go, son. Gotta move.”
“Huh?” Xavier stared up with blank brown eyes.
“Can you walk, man?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“Good. Rachie, would-you-grab-the-woman?! Shoulder hold will do. Let’s move!”
The whole band was up and moving at record pace. It wasn’t until halfway through the flight home, when no other attacks came, that Sanders realized his internal battle alarm was silent. The pressure of impending doom was gone. It felt like the danger had passed.
They didn’t slow. Sanders had an excuse to head home, and he wanted to get there and get these numb-nuts dispersed to some other babysitter.
The ground started to change slowly as they neared home. Hard, cracked dirt turned into fertile land, rich in nutrients and life. The burnt, cracked trees gradually morphed into huge, lush green monsters. The air sweetened, the shade deepened.
Three leagues from the gate and the sentries started, sparse at first, with their sound devices and their lights, able to signal others should unwanted persons wander too far into their land. As the band continued, more sentries dotted the trees overhead, watching them pass. The Captain had an efficient and organized system that had never let them down. Which was why a runner met them not long after they crossed into the lands.
“Commander Sanders.” The runner, a lithe lad, was hardly out of breath. “I was sent to see if you needed aid. You’re moving quickly and five days early.”
The mention of the time constraint meant the Captain knew Sanders was back and wanted a damn good reason for it. Fine. Sanders would have to have an audience with him, anyway. He just wished he could’ve rested for a second or two before he walked into the next battle zone.
Chapter V
THE HAZE WAS RETURNING, WHICH meant consciousness was close. A cool liquid trickled past her lips. It tasted fresh and delicious, though it had no taste at all. Water. That was okay. Deft, soft fingers placed a cool rag on her forehead, dabbing twice before moving away.
Forcing calm, relaxed limbs, Shanti kept her breathing steady and rhythmic. She wasn’t ready for a confrontation. Not without knowledge of this room or that beyond. She waited patiently, eyes lidded, for the woman to adjust the sheets and then move away.
Mentally peeling a thick film from her Gift, she groggily opened her mind. Needing to know what lay in wait, she let her feelers trickle into the room, and then reach beyond. Without warning, shooting pain stabbed through her temples and down through her gums. Flashes of discomfort pulsed behind her eyes. Hastily, not able to help a sharp intake of breath, she reeled her power back in.
Ouch.
Okay, that wasn’t going to work. She’d severely strained her Gift along the way. She’d have to settle for getting to know one person at a time. It was more personal, anyway.
She focused in on the hazy mind-path of the woman in the far corner. On a normal day the person, so close, would be a crystalized bunch of motives and feelings, intents coloring her mind-path as loudly as speaking across the room. While she couldn’t read thoughts, per se, she could read the motivations behind them. The average person she’d experienced in her travels, however, not raised with knowledge of mental power and all its branches and nuances, would usually advertise their intentions so grossly that it might as well have been reading thoughts. It was great for her cause, but very noisy if she didn’t actively work to tune it out.
Sweet and fairly dense, the woman continued about her day in dull monotony; she had no real expectations, and no real desires. She had no drive to do anything but her simple occupation, which was folding sheets.
Well, that was good.
Shanti allowed her eyes to open slowly, the gloom of soft light coming from a drawn shade in a window to her right. The window was big enough to slip through. No bars covered the outside. She wasn’t a prisoner. Not yet, anyway.
Her body lay immobile in a small bed with crisp white sheets, the frame not much wider than her body. Two landscape paintings hung on the wall she faced. The artistry was second rate but the frame gleamed, made from a well-crafted, polished wood.
Ugly art housed in exquisite word-working. Strange. Shanti wondered if a family member had done the paintings, and this woman was too kind to say the painter should take up another hobby…
The sting of cleaning detergent assaulted her senses, and there was no sound outside of the room. No coughs of the sick or the murmur of voices from jailers. The furniture and dressings, though slightly worn, were clean and well taken care of; everything here was loved. If she didn’t know better, she’d say she was in a room in a home.
Shanti let her head fall slowly so she could see the woman on the other side of the room. She had a pleasant disposition and unruly brown hair. Her shoes were worn, like the furniture, but of similar quality. This woman had wealth; too much food eaten often, expensive wood purchased to house lack-luster art, leather shoes? Wealth didn’t fit with her current occupation, though.
As though realizing she was the subject of scrutiny, the woman glanced at the bed while folding a white sheet. “Oh!” she gasped with a delighted smile, dropping her chore and taking a few steps closer.
Suddenly apprehensive, Shanti hastily clutched the stranger’s mind, sweat blossoming on her brow with the effort. Trying to work through the sludge of her consciousness, Shanti fed a pure shot of terror into the woman’s emotions, and she hesitated immediately in her advance.
“Where am I?” Shanti asked with a thin voice that was supposed to be intimidating.
The woman stared at her, uncomprehending.
How about use the correct language, you idiot!
She wracked her fraying brain, trying to remember which land she was in and what they might speak. She had ten languages in her arsenal. It would be a rare thing if she couldn’t find one they both shared.
If only her mind wasn’t so slippery.
She switched to the Forest Region’s formal dialect. “Where am I?”
The woman shook her head again, forehead lined, trying to understand by sheer will alone.
She’d wandered off path, somewhat. That wasn’t good. Mountain region? “Where am I?”
The woman’s dark hazel eyes sparkled even as she wrung her hands. “In my home, my lady. We need to get you stronger. You nearly starved to death!”
Shanti dropped her mental stimulation. This woman was not capable of harm, thank the Elders.
“Am I the only one here? How were you—“
The woman nearly bounded to the bed, stopping Shanti mid-word. “How do you feel? You gave us all quite a scare! How did you come to be in the middle of nowhere by yourself? You must have traveled a long way…”
Barely resisting the sudden urge to feign a light coma, Shanti took a deep breath and let a brief smile grace her face. She needed information about this land. She needed a reference point from which to plan the next leg of her journey. She also needed to know what they planned to do with her. If the Graygeul had their hands in this society, she and all her people were as good as dead. This woman was obviously a great resource.
A great, chatty resource. Who would probably want to talk all day.
Nothing was
ever easy.
“I was just passing through,” Shanti answered vaguely. “I did not realize the forest was charred. Where—“
“Oh, yes!” the woman cut in, moving back across the small room to fold her clothes. “That’s because of that filthy Mugdock! They’re jealous of our lands and our ability to trade. They’re a poor nation. Of course, that’s their fault, the lazy swine! A few years ago they got the bright idea to burn as much of our land as possible. I don’t know why—“
“Molly?” A male’s voice spoke from beyond the room.
Shanti’s attention snapped toward the door, pushing her mental net out as far as possible. Pricks of pain stabbing behind her eyes, she could barely feel a man’s presence just beyond the wood. A sharp mind, if she had to guess, probably honest. Curious and wary at the same time.
Now why would that be…
“Oh!” The matronly nursemaid bustled into the other room, closing the door with a soft click. Through the thin wood paneling Shanti heard the woman continue with, “Hello! Come to look after your charge?”
“Uhmm, n—yes. The Captain wanted me to check in and see how she was? But I don’t need to see her, you can—“
“Nonsense!”
Molly opened the door a second later, dragging in a boy who couldn’t be older than sixteen. Steering him with hands on his thin shoulders, she deposited him in the center of the room, facing Shanti.
Immediately, as if a bright spotlight had focused on him, his head dropped toward the floor and his shoulders hunched. His thick mop of curly brown hair fell over his eyes. Obviously shy, yes, but Shanti could sense fear, also. It rolled off him in waves, drenching the room in anxiety and uncertainty.
“This is Marc,” Molly announced proudly, patting the youth on the back. “He was the one who got you started toward health! He’s training to be a doctor!”
FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy Page 29
