FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  Sanders was still confused. Surely she knew the Captain had lost his parents—or else why would he be Captain?

  “Unfortunately, I have no family to speak of.” The Captain’s tone was matter-of-fact, but Sanders could see a little of the leftover vulnerability from the conversation with Lucius. Sanders shifted uncomfortably as the Captain went on—being in this room was worse than the last. “If you are asking about Tanicia, she’s okay, as is her family, as far as I’ve heard. There were no civilian casualties.”

  Tanicia? If Sanders remembered correctly, that was a short brunette with great curves and a giant rack. Why—Oh. He must’ve had company the night Shanti barged into his house. A passing fad, just like all his girlfriends. The man changed women like underwear.

  The Captain stared at Shanti, his face blank. She stared back. Communication of the silent variety trickled between them until Shanti’s face dropped.

  “That rat bastard!” she exclaimed suddenly. Sanders flinched and reached for his sword before he could stop himself. “I’m not beautiful in your culture. Fine. But he didn’t have the fornicas to tell me to my face he didn’t desire me? Instead he hides behind the myth that sex before mating is forbidden.” She turned back to the window, her back rigid.

  Sanders blinked a few times. “Fornkas?”

  Shanti turned back to him with sadness weighing down her features. She pointed to his bulge in his pants, which had been easing down, and now gave an excited lurch. He needed to get the hell out of this room and back into the world were women were properly clothed. Or home where he was allowed to have sex.

  “Balls, I think,” the Captain said quietly, his eyes focused on violet grief, which had nothing to do with whoever she was talking about. It seemed like old pain—scars from her past that were now resurfacing. “Of whom are you speaking?”

  Shanti turned again, her back to the room. Her grief was so fresh, so sharp, she looked like she would break in half at any moment. Whatever had happened in her past, it must’ve been traumatic for her to haul it here and not be able to contain it.

  “Are you speaking of Lucius?” the Captain asked, quieter now.

  “No, but how is he healing? I am trying to help but I don’t have much strength. I can’t keep contact for long.”

  “Come again?”

  “I would love to come the first time, but the man of my choosing is not interested. I could really use that distraction right now.” Her voice trailed away as she stared out the window.

  The muscles in the Captain’s arms flexed. He was starting to lose his patience. He took a second to calm himself, something he had to do often in this woman’s presence, which Sanders had some experience with, and changed gears. “Where are you from?”

  “That is not working, and I am not planning to tell you.”

  Sanders look around in confusion. What wasn’t working?

  The Captain said, “I had a meeting yesterday with an interested trading party. Sanders can confirm—he was there. He often organizes protection for trade routes. He has a head for numbers. I value his opinion in those matters. As I do in this matter.”

  “I’m fascinated, both by the news and also by the randomness of this continued conversation.” Shanti continued to stare out the window.

  “In addition to setting up a possible trade route, they inquired if we had seen a young woman pass this way. They described her as not exactly beautiful, but visually arresting. Tall, light features and hair, regal…”

  Shanti had turned to the Captain, her eyes on fire, her face devoid of all color. Fear lurked just behind the death in her eyes.

  “They said she was the wife of their Lord,” the Captain went on in a smooth voice. “She was apparently taken by a hostile party when traveling and was now feared lost. They are searching for her. They brought her up before I could ask about you, as a matter of fact…”

  Shanti stared, a rigid figure in a loose robe standing in front of a bright window. Her eyes started to glow faintly. The room condensed and blazed. Spikes of pain assaulted him. His bones started to vibrate until they felt like they were cracking. His skull was too tight. His eyes sandy and raw.

  The Captain’s eyebrows crawled down the bridge of his nose like two caterpillars. He stood slowly, his whole body flexed, the thick cords of muscles making ropes and ditches down his arms, legs and torso. “They mentioned she had violet eyes.”

  A thick pulse of electric energy flashed into Sanders. He could swear his skin was peeling off. Her eyes were glowing more now, power within them dancing, the air in the room forcing his breath out in painful gasps. His brain started to buzz, slowly at first, then like knives were scraping against it. Needles stabbed into his ears. He clutched at his skull, the deep ache exploding out, forcing out a scream.

  A second later he was devoid of pain. Panting. Scared—he’d never been so scared in all his life. He huddled in the corner. What the hell had just happened?

  A second after that he felt invisible hands crawl up his body. Small, tickling spirals, trailing up the small hairs on his inner thighs. He brushed at his legs. Nothing was there. But it felt like something was there. Like a caress, firm and loving.

  He gulped loudly, patting at the feeling. Trying to wipe it off. What the—

  No, now he had never been so scared in all his life. Especially since that tickle felt so, so fucking good.

  An invisible hand cupped his ball sack. He yelped, dancing around the floor, swatting at his nuts. Something lightly stroked his dick.

  He froze.

  It was logically uncomfortable, the pressure from invisible hands. Soon logic was gone, though. He couldn’t think past the rubbing. Pain he could ignore, but this…

  The pressure. Where was it coming from?

  It wasn’t a real person, did he care?

  Oh… he probably should…

  He fell back against the wall with his eyes closed. This was wrong. Whatever was happening was not good. Except it felt good. He couldn’t stop—he wanted to—

  Another blast of pain cut through the pleasure. A flash of light burst behind his eyes. He staggered against the wall, blinded momentarily with the hot spikes of pain.

  “ENOUGH!”

  It sounded like the Captain, but Sanders couldn’t focus. His cock was hard, his head felt like someone had stabbed a knife through his forehead—what…the fuck…was happening in this room? Every time he had to deal with the woman, something like this happened. Every time.

  Why was it always him? Why didn’t the Captain give someone else a turn to deal with her?

  Sanders glanced at the door. He might just brave the Captain’s punishment for leaving right now.

  Chapter XXII

  SHANTI WATCHED THE CAPTAIN APPROACH slowly, his eyes trying to hide the fear. She had been too weak to kill him from even a few spans and was afraid to touch him. He learned fast. Touching would make her ten times more powerful, but him as well. If he tried to block, or reciprocate, she would struggle, and he could then snap her neck. She had no weapons and could barely stand. She was practically defenseless.

  “If you turn me over to them I will kill myself immediately, leaving you with nothing to trade,” she said in a seething whisper, trying to keep herself upright.

  He stopped directly in front of her. “How?”

  “By reversing what I just did to you.”

  “Were you intending to kill me just then?”

  “You’ve caught me at a bad time. You’re lucky.”

  “Why shouldn’t I turn you in and take my chances? They’re offering me a sweet deal. The amount of money they’re throwing at me, at this city, is staggering. They even offered to end our troubles with the Mugdock. Our people would be safe. Trading you would be to our advantage.”

  Shanti’s stomach twisted. “They are offering you slavery. They don’t trade, they own. You, as a leader, are too powerful. You would be killed immediately. Your army, as you call it, would be destroyed or taken into their ranks. Your people wou
ld be spread apart so you couldn’t band together. The prettiest in your city would be taken—you’ll be told they’ll be put up in the best houses, given the best schools, then can come back when they are enlightened. Instead, they will be granted to the seniority battle commanders or government to play with. Some will go to the ranked men to be used. They have all sorts of interests, women are just one. Little boys are a favorite. Watching torture, bestiality, whipping—they love fresh meat, no matter the flavor.

  “And that’s if you don’t reveal what you are. As soon as you lose control and fill the room with a display of power, they will know. Then you will be taken. Drugged. You are handsome and well built, so the rich women and men will want to use you. Their leader likes men—he likes to take other leaders by force as he captures their cities, but with your Hasneas—your Gift—he won’t be able to. He can still drug you and chain you to his bed, though. You will like it. You will like what—“

  The Captain grabbed her throat and squeezed. Air caught in her lungs, nowhere to go. Lights danced in her eyes from the pressure of his fingers. The bastard was strong.

  She used the contact to send a pulse of pure, heavy lust into his brain, throwing him off. He was close enough that his erection was prodding her. His eyes lit on fire. Sanders groaned in the corner, in the radius of power but not getting the full dose. She switched to pricks of pain, searing his skin, aiming for the hand that held her, but too weak to hit it properly. Back to pleasure, confusing him, noticing his hand weakening as he tried to figure out what she was doing. Also trying to resist—men had an easier time resisting pain than pleasure. It had been a wonderful discovery. Back to pleasure, pulsing, prodding at his backside, freaking him out with how good it felt. Testing his sensibilities. Experimenting a little, too. Might as well screw with him as a farewell gift.

  She shifted her power, noticing his eyes starting to dull as they looked into hers. Sucking in a breath of air as his hand loosened from her throat. The last of her power swelled, Sanders having fallen over, like a board, straight to his back.

  She looked straight into the Captain’s eyes, gripped his mind as hard as she could, and prepared the knife. She stabbed.

  And splintered on a block.

  The Captain’s eyes had cleared. She hadn’t noticed. She was clutching to her strength as weakly as a leaf clutching to a branch in Fall.

  He had been hanging on to try and figure out how she constantly blocked him. She’d been doing it since he came into the room. He would never know how close he came, because she could have done it. With contact, she would have ended him and probably taken Sanders with him. At full strength she could shatter that block and the mind behind it. She was far, far from full strength.

  “You would’ve regretted it,” he said softly, his voice all kinds of strain, his face showing none of it. “You would have regretted killing me.”

  Oh. So he did know how close. Which meant he had picked up another little trick. Which also meant he was capable to using that trick. It was not a pleasant discovery, though it wasn’t exactly a surprise, either.

  She was out of options. “No, I wouldn’t have. I would have been close behind you when your people found out. If they didn’t kill me right away, Commander Daniels would’ve traded me in a heartbeat. My people, however, would have regretted it.”

  The Captain removed his hand and Shanti fell. He scooped her up before she hit the ground and laid her on the bed. She didn’t bother trying to hide her trembling. Her body and mind both were spent.

  “That was fucked up,” Sanders shouted from the corner.

  The Captain regained his chair. “Hasnias?”

  “A divine gift given to us by the Elders—your gods. An immortal weapon or tool in the hands of mortals. In my language, it is Hasneas, which means Gift.”

  A hunger flashed into the Captain’s eyes, and then wariness. After a moment, he changed the subject.

  “Your Honor Guard disobeyed my orders.” His tone was smug. He’d felt like he won that battle, blast him.

  Shanti didn’t bother answering.

  “They were responsible for killing over a dozen men,” he continued.

  “Good. Who got the most?”

  “Leilius. Apparently he has a knack for sneaking around. His father said he got in trouble a lot for picking on his little sister and hid to try and escape trouble.”

  “Good trait. Take him hunting, let him define those attributes.”

  The Captain studied her.

  “If you want to, obviously.” She was probably supposed to go through the chain of command for that suggestion.

  “The men they killed did not look like Mugdock,” the Captain volunteered.

  “Is that right? Were they women? If so, check for missing soldiers. They’ll kill anything they can’t screw, and take anything they can. They are great with nets, ropes, and knives. They also like strap-ons a great deal, so beware.”

  “They were slight men with fair skin, like yours.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes. All.”

  Shanti felt a jab of fear. Again. It was getting irritating. “What type of weapons did they carry?”

  “Large swords with a wide tip, or wicked looking knives.”

  “Yarn or string on the hilts?”

  “Yes.”

  Shanti sighed in relief. “Not Graygual. Thank the Elders their mercy. The Graygual do not know I’m here. Not yet.”

  Sanders staggered into view, his hair mussed and his eyes wild. “Why the fuck am I in this room with this perversion? What the fuck is going on? Sir. Let’s give her over and be done with it!”

  “None of that was aimed at you, Sanders.” Shanti closed her eyes. “It was aimed at your Captain. You only got the backlash. He got the full blast. And he wasn’t witching.”

  “Bitching, I think you mean,” the Captain helped.

  “Bitching? Female mongrel?”

  “Female dog, yes. Also slang—a derogatory word for a female. Also slang for whining.”

  “For all your culture says you love women, you certainly have a lot of nasty terms to describe them.”

  “I now know why,” Sanders said viciously.

  “Who are the men we found? Where are they from and what do they want?” the Captain asked, easily ignoring the man foaming at the mouth in the corner.

  “Inkna,” Shanti said weakly, also ignoring Sanders. “They are the financial minds behind the Graygual. They are extremely loyal because the Graygual keeps them in wealth. They are checking your city—analyzing your worth. They are realizing how very rich you are. And how good at defense. They probably now know they cannot take you by force. Not without heavy losses. They are good fighters, but you, as a whole, are better.

  “They’ll establish trade. Let them. Start very small. Say you are trying to establish commerce, establishing trust and credit. Make something up. Let the trade trickle increase. Dazzle them with some of your best wares, but keep them constantly trading those that are worst. They know you have much, but they probably don’t know quality. Keep them thinking your quantity is in something not worth as much, and the quality items are sparse.”

  “That will hurt our income,” Sanders said, working on breathing to calm himself. His fists were still white-knuckled.

  “When they know you have quantity in quality wares, the Graygual will want to run this operation themselves. Your city is small and rich. All your people benefit. It is not how their system works. With them, their cities are giant. Everything is for sale, including sex. Including…um, mind changing devices. I don’t know the word—“

  “Drugs,” the Captain supplied.

  “Yes, that’s right.” Her eyes drooped. She was so tired. “The rich are about ten percent, mostly nestled in the folds of military. The mid-tier is about twenty. The rest are under the boot. You have too many profiting. If you divide up the wealth in smaller shares, a few get much more. That is how the Graygual work. The few run things. The rest try to find a good place
to hide.”

  “And your people…”

  Shanti felt her heart drop in defeat. There wasn’t much more to hide and he was too strong to kill. Besides, he now knew her value to her enemy. What was the point in hiding the rest? “The Shamas. We were a quiet people with no wealth. Not in material goods, anyway. Our choice. The Graygual were a young, power-hungry nation when they first came to us. They were starting to branch out and wanted to bring us into the fold. They needed fighters—military. They needed muscle. My people fight. It’s what we do. We fight with mind and body. We train all our lives for the conditioning of it. From the memory of a violent past. But we are a small nation. Tiny, really. We don’t procreate well.

  “The Graygual didn’t like that we said no. The next time they came it was to teach us a lesson. They didn’t realize women fought right beside the men. They didn’t realize that one of us equaled five of their mercenaries. They didn’t realize that one little girl in the small, northeastern village could kill people from a distance by thinking of stabbing a knife in their brains. She hadn’t known it at the time, either—not until she was pushed to it. Not until survival instinct took over.”

  Sanders took a noisy breath and sat down with a heavy plop. The Captain stared, his face blank, his eyes riveted.

  “The second time they came was much later. The little girl was a woman. She’d lost her parents in the first skirmish. She then inherited the leadership. The doctrines said that when a girl is born from magic and none, who takes the role of a man, and desecrates with thought, she is the Chosen. She will connect the distant halves into a whole and lead her people to salvation. My father had the Ahna Hasneas—the Warring Gift in your language. My mother had no Gift at all. He took her as his mate anyway, love trumping all, expecting not to have children. They had me. I inherited his leadership when he died in the first battle. I am the Chosen. Apparently.

  “Anyway, false labels aside, I had to learn to lead from age five. I had to hone my Gift. I had to be the best fighter anyone had ever seen. I was trained for it mercilessly. I grew into it painfully. The next time they came I was ready, but it was not to be. The Graygual had grown into their leadership, too. They had consumed all nations along the coast and a great many inland. We were their only failure.