FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  “No, a meal first is fine. Thank you,” Shanti answered.

  “Sure thing, Miss.” The woman bobbed in a sort of curtsey, and then bounded away.

  Shanti watched the woman head back toward the kitchen, stopping by the bar. The bartender, a rugged, aged man with grizzled eyebrows and graying hair looked her way. A shot of adrenaline pierced Shanti’s stomach at his prolonged stare. Assessing stare.

  She shifted her gaze, trying to show lack of concern, and looked out over the tables. Two were occupied, one with three heavy-set men all wearing travel stained garb, and the other with two similarly travel stained men, the one closest with a sword peeking out of his tunic. The door swung open, emitting a grim man with a balanced walk and his hand on a bag at his side.

  Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the bartender glance toward the man walking in, but his gaze didn’t linger. Instead, it swung to her again before turning to his left—the same area the bar maid had exited the room. The kitchen, probably.

  A moment later, as the new man was settling down to a table one away from hers, the bartender lumbered over with a plate of food and a cup, his large stomach covered with a dirty apron. He set down her food on the edge of the table and stood back some, surveying her.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, gaze flicking up to his stomach before back down to her plate, indicating she was comfortable and he could move on.

  He didn’t budge. Concern drifted away from his body, showering her. “We don’t get much women through these parts,” he began.

  “I’m just passing through. I’ll keep to myself.”

  He shifted, resting his weight over his right leg. The gray rag dangled down his thigh from where it was looped through his apron string at his waist. “You got some finery on you. That cloak weren’t made from no scraps. The thing is, it’s gotten a bit rough through here. It’s no place for someone without protection—‘specially a woman. I’m not telling you your business, but it might be wise to stay in your room ’n find someone to travel with.”

  “I don’t remember this area being so rough…” Shanti let the statement trail away, really hoping that was true, and also hoping for a little more information.

  The bartender glanced at the man occupying the nearest table. He leaned in to her a little, lowering his tone. “Got trouble passing through this way pretty often of late. Army men, though they seem a little scruffy for any sort of organized outfit, causing trouble. Word is, they’re looking for a woman. Fair haired, violet eyed woman…”

  Cold washed through Shanti as the man paused. He lowered his voice as he continued with, “Word is, she was rumored to be with some rich folk a while ago. She was a part of a big battle not that far East of here—a few guys got out. Ridin’ through here like the Devil was herding them. Spreadin’ stories. Tall tales, I reckon. A woman and man with some sort of power. I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout that. I’m an honest man—I ain’t got no time for tall tales. But people talk. Army men are askin’ around. Women wandering around by themselves get picked up. Disappear. Now, I ain’t trying to tell you your business, but whatever color your eyes, you’re a woman, and these guys ain’t no good. Best to steer clear.”

  Shanti stared at her food, her stomach churning. “And these stories—they involve a man?”

  The bartender looked around again, shuffling closer until he was right up at the edge of the table. His tone was low and words nearly a whisper. “The man that woman was traveling with, yes, ma’am. Not sure if she still is—haven’t heard. But this man—word is, he attracted the attention of that army I hear all kinds of stories about. Wiped out one of them cities those Inkna took over. Like I said—a couple people got out. Rode through here—nearly killed the horse with exhaustion. Way I hear it, Inkna were interested in his city—and you know what happens, then…they move in. No one stands in their way. Well. It’s said someone did. He held his ground, then he shows up at the Inkna city and wipes them out? Him and a violet eyed woman?” The man tilted his head in a telling sort of way. “That kinda thing calls attention, make no mistake. I reckon the Inkna’ll have more interest now. And they have backing. The Inkna don’t like to lose. People are saying that man might be able to stand in the way of that ol’ Being Supreme…”

  The man’s voice hitched and he glanced around hurriedly, as if saying the name would call attention to himself. Not able to help spreading gossip, though, and probably happy to have a listening ear who hadn’t already heard the information, he continued on in the same deathly quiet voice. “They say if anyone, you know…could stand in the way, it’d probably be that man. Him and that violet-eyed girl. Word is, they tore through that Inkna town. Tore right through it. Took down all that mind-power. Now, I don’t know—this is all tall tales. But I do know that no one has done that before. No one I’ve heard of, anyway. Got them all nervous.”

  The bartender backed off a bit and grabbed his rag. “Now, like I said, I don’t know. These are just things I heard. I only know what comes through these doors. Tall tales, usually, like I said. But a lone woman is the worst kinda thing, regardless. She’ll get nabbed, sure as I’m standing here. You best stick to your room, and then find someone to travel with.”

  Shanti tilted her head in thanks, her throat closed up with suppressed emotion. Of course, it had been silly to think they’d killed everyone in that battle. Stupid to think no witnesses could’ve escaped. Inkna were cowards. Most of the people the Graygual commanded were—that was the thing about fighting because you were forced to; you didn’t stick around if you didn’t have to. And glowing eyes were the telltale sign of the Gift, no matter the potency. Cayan would’ve been noticed before he even made it into the stronghold. Plus, no one person could’ve held her own against that many Sarshers. Not even her.

  Shanti’s heart sank as the bartender moved away quietly. A release of power here would paint a big target on her location, and it still wouldn’t help Cayan. If the Graygual didn’t move in for his power, the Inkna would move in for his riches. It was only a matter of time.

  But to help him, she had to get the Shadow People to her side.

  Guilt settled into her stomach as she pulled her plate to her. She should’ve better trained him when she had the time. She’d been afraid of his might. Of what he could become. Also, she’d been wary of how her power acted with his, and how she felt when it did. She’d backed away, ever the coward, and now it left him vulnerable.

  The roast mutton tasted like sand in her mouth. She forced the food down, needing to keep her strength up. Regardless of her failings to Cayan, tomorrow she would have to continue her journey, hoping Cayan started building his forces; hoping that would buy him time. Buy her time. The prophecies said that the true Chosen needed to lead the Shadow People out of the Land of Mists. That only the true Chosen could grant the world’s salvation. She needed to fulfill her duty.

  She needed to continue her journey as planned.

  Refusing to sigh, or to feel the pang of discomfort from her decision, she pushed the haze away and honed back in on her surroundings. It wasn’t a time for remorse—she was without protection again. Without Cayan at her side and his men at her back. Alone meant surviving.

  A group of three men entered the common room together, having a glance around. Travel stained like everyone else, these men had hard bodies and shifty eyes. One with a beard glanced at her, his brow furrowing. He did a sweep of the rest of the room, before following his mates in her general direction. Another of the men, a barrel chested man with dirt on his cheek and killing in his eyes, sighted her before glancing to the table next to her. The third man glanced at her as well and then to the empty tables in her area.

  She must’ve been in their usual seat, and though she felt wariness from them as another person might scream-sing their favorite song, they didn’t count her as a threat. In fact, they took the table next to hers along the wall, probably happy to be next to the dirty woman hunkering in the shadows instead of any of the other rough lookin
g individuals carrying an array of weapons.

  “Oh, I didn’t tell you. They saw him again,” the man with a beard was saying in a low tone as he took the seat closest to Shanti. He didn’t bother sparing her a second glance. None of his party did, in fact. Which was a good sign. They were worried about their own troubles, and didn’t want anyone else’s.

  “Who? That fella calling himself the Chosen?” the barrel chested man asked.

  All other noise in the room ceased to exist as Shanti honed in.

  “No,” the bearded man answered. “He’s headed to the Shadow Lands, I hear. The Chosen, I mean.”

  “What is that damn thing, anyhow?” the third said, a wiry man with quick hands, by the look of him. “All I hear anymore is about how they finally found the true Chosen. These are the same people who got some idiot calling himself the Being Supreme or some damn thing—“

  “Shut up!” the man with the beard hissed, glancing at the next closest table. The solitary man didn’t even raise his eyes from his plate. “You’ll get strung up for saying a thing like that.”

  “All’s I’m saying is, they got some war lord, right? What do they need with this Chosen person?” the wiry man said in a loud whisper.

  “He’s supposed to be able to control the Shadow Land.” The man with the beard didn’t hide his shiver. “Why any man would want to mess with those people, I don’t know.”

  “I hear they eat their dead,” the robust man whispered in a disgusted tone.

  “No, they eat those they find wandering on their island. The Chosen is supposed to tame that. The Being Supreme wants that army for his mercenaries, it’s said.”

  “Don’t know why,” the robust man leaned on the table. “They’re a bunch of savages. They’d just go wild and kill the army they were supposed to fight for.”

  “Instead of desert it, like you?” the wiry man smirked, earning a loaded warning delivered in an icy stare. The wiry man put up his arms in surrender. “Not that I blame you, I’m just sayin’ is all—“

  “Well don’t say nothin’, you hear me? If they find me, I’m as good as dead. Torture, too. They’ll slice me up in front of a cheering audience. I’ve seen it. And you, too, for being with me. Best to steer clear from that whole lot.” The robust man hunched a little more, dipping his face.

  “Which is why we’re going south. But that’s what I’ve been saying about the Shadow People—the Chosen is supposed to tame that,” the bearded man growled.

  “How do they know he’s the real deal? I’ve heard of some of them before.” The robust man motioned for the bar maid, currently delivering ale to another table.

  “Passed a bunch of tests or something. He’s an Inkna—has a ton of that mind-power stuff. More than anyone ever—that’s what they’re sayin’.” The bearded man let out a huff and flicked something off the table. “Load of bollocks if you ask me. Anyway, he’s on his way to get those Shadow People, but he’s waiting in Mirasoma for some scrolls or something.”

  “Mirasoma…sounds familiar.” The wiry man squinted his eyes, apparently trying to picture that place on his mental map. Shanti did likewise, but without the visual contortion.

  “By the ocean. Anyway, doesn’t matter,” the bearded man continued. “That ghost is back.”

  All three men hushed as the bar maid bustled over, a smile in place, ready to take their orders.

  Shanti’s mind was whirling. Another Chosen! One with a bunch of power. And he’d passed the milestones…

  It was a he. The scrolls the Shamas had had always spoke of the Chosen as a male. It was thought the ancient Seers couldn’t predict sex and just went with a male default, but…if the man proclaiming himself the Chosen passed the tests, it meant he was truly the Chosen. A he.

  Something in her chest constricted, and then sank, confusion soaking up her thoughts. She didn’t really know how she felt. She’d lived with that burden for so long… All her people had sacrificed themselves so that she might live. For all of that to be a lie… For her whole life to have been a lie…

  Rushing filled her ears and her head got light. A strange disappointment settled deep into the pit of her stomach.

  “Miss?” she heard, having her looking up distractedly.

  The bar maid’s eyes went wide as she met Shanti’s gaze. Shock and fear radiated from her, a reaction to the violet eyes, no doubt.

  Bloody—

  Shanti stayed deadly still, gripping each mind within that room. Wondering which way the winds would blow.

  “Do you want more water, Miss?” the woman asked in a whispy voice, taking out a charcoal and paper from the pockets of her apron. She angled her body and brought her hands in close, hiding her activity under the shelf of her large bosom. “Or shall I call the bath for you?”

  The charcoal worked for a moment before the woman dropped the paper to the table. On it was written, “Not safe. U brin truble. Go room.”

  “A bath will be fine. Please get me when it’s ready,” Shanti said in an even voice.

  “’Course, Miss.” The bar maid bobbed and hurried away, anxiety shedding from her mind in sheets.

  “Yeah, he took out another Commander last night. A hundred spans from here. They say he’s fair, like that violet eyed girl,” the bearded man was saying.

  Shanti furrowed her eyebrows with that description, the disappointment from a moment ago turning into shock. There would only be one person matching her description who would travel across the land after her.

  “There ain’t no such thing as a violet eyed girl.” The wiry man shifted with a wave of his hand.

  “Yes there is!” the robust deserter said adamantly. “Yes there is. They tried to keep that hushed up, but I know a guy that saw her. Chased her, too. She’s this huge woman, though. Massive. The strength of two men. It’s no wonder she always got away, you know what I’m saying? And she’s got that mind mumbo-jumbo, too, so…”

  “Yeah, right. No woman’s that big,” the wiry guy said in a dry voice.

  “Well, they say that ghost is related to her. Sneaks in, kills, sneaks back out—looks like her. She must be real if the ghost looks like her,” the robust deserter said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “Yeah, he—“

  The bearded man was cut off as the door swung open with a thud, someone having kicked the door to gain entrance. With a heart trying to rip out of her chest, wondering if what the men said was true, wondering if Rohnan, her Chance, was really still alive, the worst thing happened. Four men wearing the unmistakable black with the red circle on their chest walked in the door.

  Shanti’s bones went cold right before heat flared. Fear and rage pumped in her blood.

  Graygual.

  The robust deserter next to her dropped his head, trying to hide his face as best he could. The other people in the common area hunched down on themselves, the classic sign of trying not to be noticed. And even though she wanted to kill them right now, wanted to get up and physically put her knife through their hearts, Shanti hunched like everyone else, trying to melt into the shadows as best she could.

  Through her lashes, Shanti could see the men swagger in, looking everyone over with self-importance smeared on their dirty faces. Their uniforms were wrinkled and filthy, their smell preceding them as they sauntered up through the tables.

  “What’s this?” one rasped, his body pointed toward Shanti. “Well, well, what have we here…”

  Shanti clutched his mind as her hand dropped to her side, easing a knife out of her leg brace from under the table.

  “Lookie here, Race,” the Graygual rasped, sauntering closer. “I do believe we’ll get some kudos with this find.”

  Shanti coiled. Her body surged with power.

  “It’s Gagna the Deserter.”

  Shanti froze as the table next to her jumped to life. A sword swung free from a sheath, Gagna rushing forward with metal at the ready. He caught the Graygual by surprise, sticking him through the stomach before Race could free his own sword and join
the fray. The men by the deserter’s side had their weapons out, too, running at the Graygual with rusty swords.

  Everyone else cleared to the sides or left the room altogether, not wanting to be in the deadly battle. It was a good idea.

  Shanti bolted upright, sprinting along the bar and into that kitchen. There, as she hoped, she found the bar maid and the bartender, hiding out of sight.

  “We don’t want no trouble,” the bartender said as she stood over them, panting.

  “If the Graygual win this war, all you’ll have is trouble. If you live that long. The ghost—where is the ghost they speak of?” Shanti asked in desperation.

  “Wh-what?” the man asked with wide eyes.

  “The ghost,” Shanti urged as the sound of something heavy crashing through wood in the outer room. Someone dead having fallen on a table, most likely.

  “Last I heard, he was north-west. Them’s just tales, though,” the man pleaded as though asking for his life.

  “How long ago did you hear that?” Shanti asked, leaning closer.

  “A week, I think,” the bartender shuddered. “They’re looking for you. The violet-eyed girl. You shoulda stayed with that man. They say you and him can stand up to that Being Supreme, on a-count of you took out the Inkna… You can’t do much on your own—”

  Ignoring the continued dialogue, Shanti snatched up whatever food she could carry and headed for the back door. Before she left the kitchen, she turned back to the owner and the bar maid, the only two people left in the kitchen. “Fight the Being Supreme in any way you can. Any way you can, you hear me? Or this type of thing will get a whole lot worse.”

  She was out the door at their nods, skirting into the shadows and out of sight. She really should’ve gone for that bath first—now she’d have to bath in the first stream she found. It’d be cold.

  Running from one shadow to the next on light feet, she moved with the experience and grace of someone having spent a year being hunted. Leilius was good, but Shanti was the master. As she ran, her new plan rolled through her head.