FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  In those days there were many more than four kingdoms of men. What was now Uthen-Arden had at one time been made up of more than twelve small kingdoms, constantly battling for power. As the years passed and lands were taken by war, two kingdoms rose above the rest—Uthen and Arden. After a bloody war between the two, they finally ended the strife and outlined their borders in the Uthen-Arden Peace Treaty. The kingdom of Uthen spanned from what was now the Isladon border, and the existing mountain border of Ky’Dren, eastward to the center of the Thendor Plains. The kingdom of Arden extended from there to the easternmost coast of Agora, beyond the Elgar Mountains and including what was now called Elladrindellia.

  The two kingdoms lived in peace for nearly four hundred years until war broke out between them once again. The great war of Uthen-Arden raged for more than thirty years, during which time children were born to both kings: Aldolas, son of the king of Arden and heir to the throne; and Bryella, daughter of the king of Uthen—an old man who had yet failed to produce a son of his own. In the midst of the war, a secret love affair arose between Aldolas and Bryella. It happened that when both kings fell in battle on the Thendor Plains, Aldolas became king of Arden. Shortly after, he called an end to the war and took Bryella as his queen, combining the two great kingdoms into one called Uthen-Arden—though many referred to it simply as Arden.

  Isladon had established itself long before the wars of Uthen-Arden. The borders that existed along the Ebony Mountains and down to the coast were made years before either great kingdom came to power. Though many attempts had been made to overtake Isladon, none had succeeded.

  Eldalon was the oldest, and possibly strongest, of the four kingdoms of men. This was mostly due to the mountain borders and the Ky’Dren Pass, against which many armies had marched and been defeated. Unlike all other kingdoms, Eldalon maintained a strong alliance with the dwarves. According to legend, this amiable relationship dated back to the time when the king of Eldalon gave the great mountains back to the Dwarves; it had been taken by what was, at one time, the barbarian kingdom of Gothneck. The mines of the Ky’Dren were rich with gold and diamonds, and the dwarves thought a man who would give back such a treasure must be of the noblest kind. They never forgot Eldalon’s kindness and fought alongside it every time the Ky’Dren Pass was challenged.

  Whill looked forward to meeting the Ky’Dren dwarves, but more so, he looked forward to finding out what secrets of his their deep chambers and vaults possessed. As he went over the long history of Agora in his mind, he wondered if there was indeed a possibility that it would ever fall to the Draggard. After all, the beasts had conquered the elves of Drindellia. True, the armies of Agora were strong—and the navies stronger still—but the elves had powers that humans did not; if they could be defeated by the Draggard, then what chance did humans have?

  Though the sky was clear and the night was calm, Whill was troubled. Suddenly he heard a loud banging noise that jolted him from his trance. Abram appeared from below the deck, swearing loudly and rubbing his head. Whill laughed. “You alright, old man?”

  “The damned ceiling down there was made for a dwarf. I swear, if it were any lower I would have to crawl around like a fragging dog.”

  “Well, Mr. Brightside, at least you’ve still a head to hit things on—it’s got to be the hardest head this side of the Thendor Plains,” Whill said, mocking Abram’s voice, which he happened to be very good at.

  “Very funny.” Abram checked his fingers for blood.

  “If you like, I could try to find you an iceberg to bring down the swelling.”

  Abram chuckled. “Alright, jester, why don’t you get some rest. I’ll take over for the rest of the night.”

  Whill gave Abram a pat on the back as he took over the wheel. He went below deck to the sleeping quarters and crossed the dark room with his arms outstretched. Suddenly he banged his head on a low beam. A flash of light appeared before his eyes and he became dizzy. Sharp pain shot from his throbbing forehead as he heard Abram burst into a fit of laughter above.

  “Look out for that beam! My father always said what comes around goes around. You all right, boy?”

  “Never better,” Whill grumbled as he found the cot. “Good night.”

  Chapter VIII

  Diamonds and Greed

  “WAKE UP, WHILL, WE HAVE trouble!”

  Abram shook Whill out of his quiet and dreamless sleep. He sat straight up in the cot, alert and ready. “What is it?”

  “Come above.” Abram started for the steps.

  Whill followed Abram to the deck and looked at the sails and then the ocean with wonder as the older man untied rope holding the wheel steady. “What’s wrong?”

  Abram pointed to the rear of the ship. “There.”

  Whill followed Abram’s finger toward the horizon. With the morning sun just rising in the east, it was not hard to see the faint dot. “A ship, I presume?”

  Abram nodded, troubled. “I noticed it not an hour ago. Whoever they are, they have been following our course steady, and they’re gaining.”

  “Pirates!” Whill spat over the side of the boat.

  “Yes. Followed us from Fendale, I imagine.” He slammed his hand down hard on the rail. “Damn, but I am a fool. We are not prepared for this.”

  “Can we outrun them?” Whill asked.

  Abram answered bluntly. “No. This ship is no match for theirs.” He paused. “We could sail toward shore and try to make land in time.” He pointed toward the coast, which was nothing more than a phantom beyond the fog.

  “But broad cliffs line those shores for miles. Our only option is to fight.” Whill looked at the ship upon the horizon, already growing larger. “What if we just give them the diamonds? That’s what they want.”

  “Pirates have a code, as you know: leave no man alive whom you have wronged. They will take what they want and kill us without hesitation.”

  “Then what chance do we stand?”

  Abram smiled at him. “None but hope, my friend—hope that our path is not destined to end here. That is all we have.”

  Whill was not encouraged by Abram’s speech. “We should start tossing everything we don’t need!”

  “That will give us a little more speed and a little more time, but not enough. Let us prepare for battle.” Abram loaded his quiver with arrows. Whill went below and donned his armor from the tournament. He also grabbed the armor he had bought for Abram and brought it up to the deck.

  “I was going to give this to you yesterday, but we left in such a hurry I didn’t have a chance.” He held out the bag.

  Abram emptied it and marveled at the silver armor. He gave Whill a one-armed hug and pat on the back. “Thank you, Whill. Not only is this a wonderful gift, but it could’ve come at no better time.”

  The hours passed and the ship gained steadily on them. Soon it was not more than a half-mile away. Whill could now see that it was a black ship with all-black sails—but for a large dragon symbol outlined in white at the center of each.

  “That can’t be,” Whill gasped.

  “I’m afraid it is—The Black Dragon.”

  Whill knew of the Black Dragon, as did most people living in Agora. The ship and its captain, the notorious pirate Cirrosa, had once been part of the Arden navy. Their last mission had been to escort a merchant ship sailing from the port city of Hentaro. Destined for Fendale, the cargo had been a wealth of diamonds and jewels—over twenty chests. After sailing from Hentaro, neither the Black Dragon nor the merchant vessel were seen again. It was rumored that the ships were lost to a great storm or destroyed by dragons, but when a vessel identical to the Black Dragon was reported to have been plundering ships, it became clear to the king and people of Arden that it was indeed Captain Cirrosa and his crew. Since then, Cirrosa had become the most feared and wanted pirate to sail the great oceans of Agora.

  Abram scowled at the approaching ship. “We have but one advantage: the element of surprise.”

  Whill knew exactly what Abram had
in mind and he quickly went to work. From one of his bags he retrieved a length of bandage cloth. He tore it into long thin strips and wound them around the end of his arrows. Next he dismantled a lantern, opening it at the basin so that he could dip the arrows into the oil. He and Abram quickly converted ten arrows in this manner. Finally, Abram lit a torch and they were ready for their surprise attack, feeble though it might be. There was nothing to do now but wait.

  When the Dragon seemed to Whill to be about two hundred yards away. He nodded to Abram, gesturing for him to light his arrow. With the tip of his arrow ablaze, Whill steadily pulled back on the bow as he aimed at a point high in the sky. Bringing the bowstring all the way back until the feather of the arrow touched his cheek, he fired. The blazing arrow flew high into the sky in a large arch and began its descent upon the ship. Instead of hitting the sails, it missed and landed on the deck of the vessel. Whill and Abram could hear someone cursing and screaming obscenities, and assumed it was Captain Cirrosa ordering his men to put out the small blaze. As the first arrow hit, though, Whill was ready with another. Abram lit this one in the same fashion and Whill recalculated his shot. The second arrow took flight and found its target. It hit the closest sail in a small burst of flame, which quickly began to spread. Men swung from ropes, trying to douse the fire with buckets of water. The captain’s barked orders became more urgent now, and Whill heard him yelling, “Drop sail, you useless fish turds, drop sail!”

  Before the crew of the Dragon could comply, Whill shot another arrow at the same sail, this time hitting higher than before. He followed with two more aimed at the deck of the ship. Still, the Dragon had gained enough that Whill could see a small group of archers preparing to fire upon them. He let loose another arrow, aiming this time directly at them. The men saw it coming and ducked out of the way as the arrow stuck in the mainmast, spraying liquid fire on the surrounding ship. They quickly resurfaced, though, and shot a barrage of their own arrows. Whill yelled, “Get down!” and ducked in the stern as they struck the deck.

  Not daring to peek over the side of the ship, Whill watched as Abram abandoned the torch and went for his own bow, which lay beside him. He readied an arrow and said, “Alright, when they get—” but his words were interrupted by a deafening crash as the Black Dragon rammed them at the starboard rear. Huddled close to stern, Whill and Abram were now smashed hard against it from the great force of the collision. As they recovered from the blow, they saw the bow of the Dragon come into view. It loomed high over Old Charlotte and seemed ten times as broad. Abram scrambled into a shooting position, as did Whill, and as the archers came into view, the pair took down two of them with simultaneous shots. Their fellow archers cursed them as they let their own arrows fly. Anticipating the return fire, and with no immediate cover, Abram grabbed Whill and ran for the sleeping quarters. Arrows fell right where they had been, and more followed close at their heels. Abram and Whill had instinctively notched another arrow each, and took the opportunity to fire before the archers could again. They stopped just long enough to get off a clear shot, and then quickly closed the distance to the stairs as two bodies fell to their deck from above.

  Whill and Abram hurried down and took cover. Whill stood closest to the opening. “That’s one hell of a large ship,” he said as arrows hit the back wall.

  Abram nodded as he readied another arrow.

  Whill did the same. “There must be dozens of men aboard.”

  “Aye. And here they come.”

  Whill heard what could only be large ropes hitting the deck. Abram grabbed his arm and switched places with him.

  “What are you doing?”

  “There’s no time to bicker.” Abram abandoned his cover, dropped to his knees, and fired three arrows in rapid succession. Whill heard a loud thud as at least one body hit the deck. Abram retreated within the stairway once again and strung another arrow.

  “There are seven ropes over the side of the Dragon and men are filing down one after another. We can’t hide here forever. Let’s do the unexpected and meet them head on, my boy. Are you up for a good fight?”

  Before Whill could answer, Abram ran out into the opening, firing arrows as he went. Whill followed suit and ran screaming onto the deck. At least twenty men were now descending upon the ship down the long ropes. Whill shot at the men highest of them, hoping they would take some of their fellow seamen with them as they fell. He took up his position next to Abram and they took down two more men. Though they were excellent bowmen, the pirates were too many, and soon they covered the deck. Some had swords, while others brandished a long knife in each hand. Still others carried hatchets and maces. The men didn’t look anything like Whill thought pirates might. They wore rags for clothes and looked very thin, as if they hadn’t eaten for weeks. Two men charged forward and were quickly taken down, but as they fell, four more charged in their place. Outnumbered and out of arrows, Whill and Abram drew swords and made a charge of their own. The men came at them with wild screams and curses, fearless in their attack.

  Whill blocked a blow meant for his head and quickly brought his sword down and across the chest of his attacker. Pushing the man back into the group of pirates, he ducked as an arrow zinged past his left ear. Abram had killed two men, and was now fighting a third, but Whill noticed an archer taking aim at his friend. He quickly dispatched another pirate, grabbed his knife, and threw it at the archer high overhead. The blade found its mark and hit the bowman in the throat as the arrow intended for Abram hit a pirate descending the ropes. Two men now came at Whill—one with a hatchet, the other, a sword. The hatchet-wielding pirate made a two-handed overhead attack as the other jabbed straight at Whill’s chest. Whill blocked the swordsman and spun away from the hatchet blow. Abram chopped into the neck of the hatchet-wielder and blocked a blow of yet another foe as Whill parried the swordsman’s attack. The pirate was no match for Whill, who cut the man down with ease. Even as more men came onto the deck, Whill and Abram steadily drove them back.

  “Come on, you pirate scum!” Whill screamed as he took down another. Abram was now fighting a large man who was using two swords. Whill again faced a man with a hatchet, who came at him with a wild cry. As the pirate swung at Whill’s head, he quickly blocked the blow. Swinging his sword down hard, he effectively caused the hatchet to lodge in the deck floor. Before the attacking pirate knew what had happened, Whill stabbed him through. Before the body could fall, he impaled another pirate who had just landed on deck. Turning, he grabbed the hatchet stuck in the deck and simultaneously blocked a sword attack. Abram killed Whill’s attacker and was quickly faced with yet another foe. Whill launched the hatchet toward the top of the rope that held the most men. It cut clean and sent six men falling towards the deck. Just then, there was a shout from the ship above.

  “Enough!”

  Captain Cirrosa leaned with his hands upon the rail, looking down at the battle below. His hair and clothes were black as night. His face was deeply tanned, and rough with age and years at sea. He wore a mustache and pointed chin beard which, along with his menacing eyes, gave him the look of a bird of prey ready to attack.

  The attacking pirates stopped where they were, and Whill watched as the rage drained from their faces and was replaced by intense fear. There was a thud as Abram let the last of his attackers fall to the deck, having stabbed him through.

  “You useless scum can’t do anything right,” The captain yelled to the men below.

  Whill pointed it at Cirrosa. “If you want more of your men to die, then by all means, send them down the ropes. And if you want my diamonds, sir, then come down yourself and try to take them. But I promise you that you will bleed.”

  Cirrosa gave a hearty laugh, as did his men from above. The men below did not.

  “You have a fighting spirit, young Whill! Good for you. But in fact, you have killed none of my men. Those you have slain are slaves, nothing more.”

  Whill looked at the men, who cowered as the captain spoke. They stood with the
ir arms at their sides, heads down, shoulders hunched.

  Again Cirrosa laughed. “I told them that if they could kill the two of you, I would set them and their women and children free. If not, they would die.” The crew began to cheer and whistle.

  Abram stepped forward. “You always were a heartless killer, Cirrosa.”

  The captain’s face lit up. “Abram, my old friend. It’s been a long time. I see you too have abandoned Arden. We have something in common after all.”

  Abram ignored Whill’s puzzled look. “For one, Cirrosa, we are not friends. And second, if you do not leave now, you and your men will all die today. Twelve men remain on our ship—slaves, you would call them. But I call them free men who will fight alongside us to free the women and children you speak of.”

  Cirrosa laughed again, but cut it short and, instead of a smile, bared his teeth. “I fear that you and your friend have not counted on one thing.” With one swift movement, he produced a long knife and pulled a child close to himself. He put the knife to the child’s throat, and Whill recognized the boy immediately. It was Tarren.

  “No!” Whill lurched forward but was halted by Abram. Cirrosa ran the blade teasingly along the terrified boy’s throat.

  “You have something I want, and it seems I have something you want. Give me the diamonds and the boy will go unharmed.”

  Whill began to curse the captain, but Abram spoke over him. “If we give you the diamonds, you will kill us anyway, along with the boy and these men’s families. We find no comfort in the word of a pirate.”