FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  She reached in.

  It was like a handshake that got cut off midway. The two taller commanders stepped at her with swords drawn, lightning speed. The shorter commander fingered a knife, not bothering to crowd her. He was probably waiting to see if she got through the others, then he’d tackle her. The Captain was up with throwing knife in hand, poised to throw.

  Great technique.

  Her own reactions were slow and clumsy, her muscles confounded and screaming in protest. She clutched the hilt, she hefted it, couldn’t hold on, then threw it across the room with an uncoordinated jerk. It skidded against the baseboards near the feet of the boys. The young men scattered, throwing themselves out of the way, or diving behind the desk like idiots.

  Two sword blades glinted at her throat, the hands holding them steady and confident. Their feet were shoulder width, ready to move and perfectly balanced. The Captain, seeing she wasn’t planning to rush to her death, sat down confidently and tucked his knife into his belt.

  Two heads poked up from the side of the desk and Shanti resisted an urge to blind them with an ink bottle.

  “I guess that answers the question of whether it’s your sword,” the Captain said in amusement.

  Shanti ground her teeth in annoyance. Playing along would behoove her, but she hated his smug surety that women could not wield weapons.

  She took a slow step toward him, feeling out the men holding the swords. The more organized commander relented slightly, pulling his sword away to match her advance. The other, the oldest of the army men, did not. Her skin kissed the metal. The metal bit back. A small pearl of blood welled up on the blade.

  The boys hissed.

  “Well, then. Point proven, it seems.” Shanti stepped back. “If you ever go up against the Mardis, which are all women by the way, this man is the one for the front line.” She jerked a thumb at the gray-templed commander.

  And then something else surprised her. The other commander, the one who had pulled away, swung his sword forward again, his mind oozing mistrust and anger.

  Another interesting reaction.

  “Mardis? Is that your people?” the Captain asked lightly. A hard edge had infiltrated his eyes.

  So they’d had a run-in with the Mardis. Not good.

  “No. Sex slaves are not my thing. I prefer my men willing. Now, since I am obviously in over my head, I think I might just try out the couch?”

  “Please.” The Captain stood gracefully and gestured for her to sit opposite on the couch facing him.

  Shanti crossed the room gratefully, swords falling away as the men stepped back. She surveyed her sword as she passed, making sure it didn’t have any damage. Continuing on, she reached the couch and sank in, sighing gratefully as her body sank into the plush leather.

  “Oh Elders, I thank you for this treat. What workmanship!” Shanti closed her eyes.

  “You aren’t worried about the blade?” the Captain lowered back down.

  “It jumped boat. It can lie on the ground for a while. It needs to go over its life choices.”

  “Jumped ship, yes, I see. Speaking of choices, we need to decide what to do with you. You’ll not be allowed weapons, nor to leave. Not until I have more information. These are difficult times. There are rumors of war and famine coming our way. I want to know what your involvement in that is.”

  She had plenty of involvement in that. Thwarting the Being Supreme, running from him, planning to overthrow his tyranny with the help of a distant relation—yes, she had plenty. The Captain was right be worried about what was coming, but if he knew that the girl he was helping would bring the Graygual to his doorstep immediately, bringing the war with them, he’d probably kill her immediately. She couldn’t say she would blame him, either, were she in his place.

  She said, “I am but a trader who lost her comrades, now just trying to make my way to distant relations.”

  Suspicious blue eyes delved into her with a corresponding brush against her mind. He might not be trained, but he’d learned enough to be of value. What a sneaky bastard. One day soon she hoped to give him a rude awaking. In the meantime, she let him read emotions that gave her credibility. He snatched what she purposely offered, intensity stealing his features as he analyzed information not even remotely true.

  “I see,” he said softly, probing her more readily. Getting greedy.

  She closed up shop, blocking him with a well-constructed shield. “I can’t do much like I am, so I have no choice but to play nice until I’m strong enough to be outside of your control.”

  “I’ll be keeping an eye on you. You best stay out of trouble. You’ll also be expected to earn your keep. What are you good at?”

  Killing people. “Hunting.”

  “Hunting?” The Captain looked at her quizzically. “I don’t want you outside the city walls. It isn’t safe. What else?”

  Training. Leading a nation. Fighting. “Uh…”

  “Do you bake?”

  Shanti started laughing.

  “Can you wash clothes?”

  “Not if you want them clean.”

  “Needle point?”

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “It’s making designs in fabric.” The Captain glanced around for a display.

  “With needles?”

  “Yes, needles. And colored thread.”

  “That sounds like a huge waste of time. How about skin animals?” Shanti tried. “Although you might have a different way since my people cannot make leather such as this. I would love to learn, of course.”

  “Making leather like that is a well-kept secret. We will try needlepoint. Keep you out of trouble.” With finality the Captain stood up.

  “To insure my cooperation, I ask that you take care of my weapons,” she said softly.

  He didn’t even balk. “Of course.”

  “And that you return my ring. It was my father’s. It’s important to me.”

  The Captain’s eyes lost their accusation. “Are the weapons his as well?”

  “No. Just the ring.” She might be genuine, but she still wasn’t about to reveal her journey.

  After a moment of delimitation, he nodded. “To insure your cooperation.”

  It was then that Rachie came running in, panting. He held up a pair of slippers. They weren’t much more than a couple scraps of fabric. Shiny, pink fabric at that. Were earth colors so out of the norm in his city?

  “Chaylene had a pair that should fit her,” he blurted. “Unless her feet are boats.”

  The Captain nodded and left out the back way, Commander Sanders and the older fellow following him.

  The remaining Commander studied her with a blank, flat stare. “Please dress and follow me.”

  Shanti glanced at the catastrophe of fashion. “Is that mandatory?”

  Silence. Apparently it was.

  She shrugged into the uncomfortable material and had Marc zip the back. She then followed the Commander toward the door. Once there, he stopped and faced her. “Xavier, she is your ward now until she leaves this city. Captain’s orders. Keep tabs on her from here on out. You can take her to Commander Sanders in the small practice yard; he will be putting her up. The rest of you, escort her to the small practice field, where you will then fall in to your training. Dismissed.”

  The Commander strode away, gliding like a swordsman. The rest of the boys stood around on the foot path, gawking. If they’d ever held a sword in their lives, Shanti would’ve been shocked. Xavier stepped up next to her and started walking. She did, too, noticing that Marc was directly behind.

  “So you boys found me, is that right?” Shanti asked pleasantly, noticing all the women bustling by in giant, bright, ridiculous dresses. They looked leisurely and plump, not having a care, or apparently a task, to burden them. This must be a rich sector of the city.

  “I did,” a drooling boy with staring eyes said.

  “And you are?”

  “Gracas, sir.”

  “She’s a girl!” Rachi
e muttered.

  “Ma’am,” Gracas amended.

  “I am not a lady and I am not of your city. I have experience with commands and fighting. Sir is fine.”

  “See?” It sounded like Gracas elbowed Rachie.

  “I was there, too, Miss!” Someone yelled from the back.

  It occurred to her that these boys were following her in a loose horde, Xavier doing nothing to put them in order. Irritated, Shanti stopped. She was already different—if a rag-tag crew followed her around, everyone would notice her every move. That was not acceptable.

  She turned to face the boys. Then waited until they all looked at her.

  “You are all Cadets, is that right?”

  Nods all around.

  “You nod to mothers, fathers, sisters, and aunts. You nod to neighbors and friends. You do not nod to a commanding officer, or so I have noticed. If you are asked a question, you answer with a vocal response. Is that clear?”

  She got a “Yes, ma-sir”; one “Yes, sir”; one “Yes, com”, which was hopefully slang or the speaker was just plain stupid; and one nod. Marc was the one who nodded. He got punched in the throat. Xavier tried to intercede and got punched in the kidney. Everyone else got one quirked eyebrow. It was a dare. No one rose to the bait.

  It was testimony to how naïve these boys were in the ways of fighting that her poor excuse for strikes dropped them to the ground. It was also testimony to how weak they thought women that these men were sent to guard her.

  “You follow directions or you get people killed,” Shanti continued, noticing the boys gingerly stepping away from Marc moaning and writhing on the ground. “If you are too stupid to follow directions, you will get really, really tough, because I will beat the… I need a slang word for poop.”

  “Kaa-kaa,” one of the boys volunteered.

  He got elbowed. “What are we, five?” The boy turned to Shanti. “Shit.”

  “Thank you, Rachie. I will beat the shit out of you. Now, Marc, are you recovered?”

  She got a nod as he climbed, painfully, to his feet.

  “Marc is about to demonstrate how to get tough really quick.” She spun, sweeping the legs out from under him. He fell directly on his butt bone in the middle of the foot path. It looked like it hurt. Her stagger wasn’t much better. “Please note that Xavier is smart. He didn’t try to help that time. Silently give Xavier praise.”

  “Good on ya!” Rachie congratulated, stepping forward to pat Xavier on the back.

  Shanti stepped forward to meet Rachie and punched him in the solar plexus. She didn’t have much sauce behind the punch, not having much more stamina in her body, but Rachie fell like a lead weight in a barrel of water. It was hilarious, and to celebrate, Shanti held her stomach and started laughing.

  “You boys are a bunch of funny men.” Shanti started walking.

  Thanks to the Captain, and her state, she had nothing to do but get better. She was bored already. She might just have to make a project of these boys—turn them into something worth talking to before she moved on.

  “Clowns. Ah, sir,” Xavier commented, catching up immediately.

  “Clowns, fine. Can anyone tell me why Rachie just got punched?”

  “He was supposed to be silent.”

  “Good, Cadet. What is your name?”

  “Leilius? Sire.”

  “Are you unsure of your own name, Cadet? And I am not a king.”

  Leilius flinched, realized he wasn’t going to get hurt right then, then said, “Leilius. Sir.”

  “Good. Come along you lot. And stay in pairs. You look like shit after someone ate beans. I will need more swear words, too; I love the startled faces when I use them.”

  Thankfully the walk to meet Commander Sanders was short, allowing Shanti to appear confident and unaffected the whole way. As they neared the large square of lush, freshly trimmed grass, Commander Sanders cut off his hand-to-hand combat training and approached them like a man would a raging bonfire if he was covered in flammable liquid.

  “Boys, get geared up,” Sanders barked in greeting.

  Shanti heard a “Yes, sir”, one “Yes, Chief”, and a “M’Kay.” She was able to kick one of the silent boys in the leg, taking him down, but had to settle for a rock for the other. She got him right in the back of the head. She’d always been an excellent shot.

  Sanders had her by the upper arm before she could blink. He was fast and in control. The grip was gentle but firm.

  The Captain had definitely chosen his Commanders well. Interesting.

  “If I were you,” Shanti groused in clipped tones, eyeing each of the young boys, “I would not stare when a commanding officer takes a lesser in hand. I would move about my business, or prepare for another lesson in how to get tough really quick.”

  They all gave a quick “Yes, sir” and scurried away. Granted, it looked like ants after a boot, but at least they got the vocalization down.

  Sanders’ hand tentatively left her arm.

  “I apologize, Commander.” Shanti turned toward him, surprised his height was barely above her own, especially when the rest of the men in this land seemed abnormally large. “They are a lump of coal that needs a flame. I could not have them embarrassing me. This dress is enough.”

  Sanders just stared.

  “I have been told you have a place for me to go?” she continued. “Hopefully it is not to needlepoint.”

  It was to needlepoint.

  Chapter VIII

  “JUNICE, I AM AWARE THE Captain requires me to master this accursed discipline, but I simply do not understand it. I am not an artist. My thread pictures look like rainbow vomit. I’m not useful.”

  Shanti put down her needlepoint paraphernalia and leaned against the solid wood chair.

  She’d been in Sanders’ house, much to Sanders’ continual frustration, for two weeks. It had been long enough to ascertain that she did not belong in a domestic setting for any longer than a night at a time. And while she had put on substantial weight in the short time, she was grossly lacking in muscle coordination and mental warfare. Worse still, without access to move freely and train unobstructed, she was forced to linger, the world growing older, the Graygual moving closer. The sun was drifting toward the horizon of her duty; she had to move on, but to do that, she had to get well.

  “Patience, you’ll get it,” Junice said with a sweet smile.

  Junice was Sanders’ adorable young wife, only married a month or so, and in charge of their quaint (by their standards) three bedroom house. The woman had a quick tongue and was completely besotted with Sanders, first name Avery. He was apparently a big teddy bear, which was some kind of stuffed mammal. Others, however, thought he was just the bear part, which was some sort of large, lumbering beast.

  “Would you like to help me make bread?” Junice paused as she took a bag of flour from a shelf.

  “No. Do you need your knives sharpened again? Or polished?”

  Junice just smiled. Shanti had done it three times in two weeks. They were razor sharp and gleaming.

  “I do not understand the fascination the Captain has with needlepoint.” Shanti rested her head on her fist and staring out the window at the distant treetops. The forest called to her. Beckoned. She wasn’t strong enough to get away from her honor guard—the group of bumbling boys that followed her around everywhere—in time to climb the twenty-foot wall and jump over. The boys usually caught her halfway up and dragged her back down. Xavier had a long reach. And an irritating smile.

  “I think it isn’t that he wants you to learn it, so much as he wants you better.”

  “I do not think he cares of my health. He wants my story. Punishment, then? Is that what he is after?”

  Junice tsk’d at her. “The Captain isn’t vindictive.”

  Junice didn’t know the Captain very well. Neither did Shanti, which she was thankful for. The man was a meddling jerk. She left the house for a walk, and someone showed up to tell her to go home and work on needlepoint. She opened t
he window for some air and to stare out at the trees, and someone wandered by with the needlepoint message. She even got interrupted while getting Junice water, of all things. She was helping, yet still the fascination with a trivial waste of time and materials.

  She’d settled for drawing an explicit gesture on a piece of cloth and sending it to his house via messenger. She received the piece of cloth back with a message to try again, only this time, sew the gesture in needlepoint.

  It wasn’t that he had no sense of humor, as she originally thought. He just told rotten jokes.

  “What’s really bothering you?” Junice asked as she stirred a mixture of food items in a bowl.

  “Besides that frustrating man who gives obtuse orders via messenger?” Junice nodded into her glaring eyes. “I’d like to wander in the wood. It’s been some time since I’ve been able to relax and shut off. It’d greatly help my recovery, but I’m sworn to stay inside city limits. Not that that would normally stop me, but I’m too weak to figure a way out.”

  “Is that all?” Junice shook her head and put down her bowl. “You should learn to talk more, rather than just listen. C’mere, let me show you.”

  “What?” Shanti blinked as Junice dragged her up by her arm.

  “We have a fabulous wooded park here. Since I’m not your jailer, and you won’t be outside of the city, I think we’re within the rules.” Junice’s eyes sparkled. “Anyway, there aren’t any structures for children or meeting places, which means it isn’t used very often, but that might be just what you need!”

  Shanti followed Junice with roving eyes, taking in the sights and sounds of the sleepy city. Swept footpaths and gleaming houses spoke of the overall pride these people had in their dwellings. Those passing by had a smile and a nod for Junice, pleasantly trying their best not to gawk at the strange woman beside her. From Shanti’s observation, there were no poor people. Those ‘less fortunate’, as Junice would say, could claim the comforts Molly displayed —things Shanti would call luxury. This city was extremely rich, and what’s more, not afraid to spread that wealth around.