FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

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  THE DAWN OF DRAGONS TRILOGY:

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  Requiem’s Hope

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  BOUND

  Kate Sparkes

  Chapter I

  Aren

  THE BARMAID DIDN’T OFFER HER name to me as she would have to any other unfamiliar man who entered the tavern, but it was there at the front of her mind. Florence, though she preferred to be called Peggy. I could have dug deeper into her thoughts and memories to find out why, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t matter. She was just another loose end I was going to have to tie up at the end of the night, another irritation in a long chain of them.

  The wooden clock on the wall read half-past eleven as I moved toward a table in a dark corner, trying not to draw the attention of the half-dozen border guards who were preparing to leave. I wished only to be left alone, to get the information I needed and move on. The hood of my cloak blocked my peripheral vision, but I kept it up to cover the shoulder-length hair that would identify my status as an outsider in this strange land.

  A red-haired brute bumped my shoulder as he slipped into his heavy coat, and he cursed at me. His friends laughed. They’d have been more cautious if they’d understood what I was.

  For the sake of my mission, I allowed them to leave unharmed.

  Peggy knew what I was. Every time she glanced in my direction, her thoughts jumped to the preserved dragon head in the back room. She pushed the thoughts away, refusing to make the connection. It was an attitude I was familiar with. The people in this country, Darmid, feared magic. They’d spent centuries destroying every form of it within their borders, protecting themselves from a threat they didn’t understand.

  Few things irritated me more than willful ignorance. I needed to get home to Tyrea before I snapped and strangled one of these people who so reminded me of spooked cattle.

  The barmaid ignored me as the seconds and minutes ticked audibly by on the intricate monstrosity mounted behind the bar. Her anxiety grew, pushing out of her in high, fluttering waves that I ignored. I breathed slowly and deeply, focusing my magic on the area outside of the inn, staying aware. All was quiet. Peggy and I were alone.

  She jumped as a tiny door on the clock snapped open and a bright red bird popped out, tweeting an off-key tune that did nothing to lighten the atmosphere. It pulled her out of her anxious stupor, and she turned to me.

  “Drink?” she squeaked.

  I shook my head, and she went back to sharing her attention between the door and the clock.

  “We’re closing soon,” she said a few minutes later. “Do you…” she hesitated, torn between emotion and professionalism. “Do you need a room?”

  “No. Only a few more minutes, and I’ll be on my way.”

  She nodded, but made no move to begin closing up.

  The door flew open, blown back by a gust of wind and rain. A slender man entered, wearing a black coat matching those of the men who had left earlier. He struggled to pull the door shut behind him. The hat he wore low over his eyes had done little to keep his face dry, and his thick mustache dripped rainwater down the front of his already-soaked garments.

  He nodded to the barmaid and removed his hat as he passed. “The usual,” he muttered.

  He turned his head from side to side as though sniffing for danger, paused as he caught sight of me, then hesitated for a moment before sliding onto the bench across the table from me.

  I took a moment to reach outside of the building again with my mind. He had followed my instructions, and had come alone.

  Drops of water from the hem of his coat made dull tapping noises as they hit the grimy floor, out of time with the clock. He knocked his fingers on the table and pretended he wasn’t afraid, but his thoughts pressed out of him, propelled by uncontrolled emotion. Fear, dread, a touch of excitement. Seeing a person so exposed repulsed me, and once again I longed for this assignment to be finished.

  So finish it, I thought.

  “You are Jude Winnick?” I asked him, dropping my voice to a pitch and volume that grabbed his attention but left the barmaid unable to listen in.

  She interrupted us, leaving the safety of her post long enough to deposit a cup of sharp-scented spirits in front of my companion. She ignored the droplets that sprayed the table as she retreated.

  He drank deeply, then wiped his mustache on the sleeve of his coat. “I am.”

  “Your brother is Myles Winnick, the magic hunter?”

  “Might be. Might not be.” His words were confident, but his voice trembled. “I know who you are, Aren Tiernal. I know who your brother is. I could turn you in.”

  Half-brother. Even as I worked to gain Severn’s favor, I couldn’t help but distance myself from him in my mind. “Is that why you answered my message, why you came here tonight? Are you going to place me under arrest?” I allowed myself a small, humorless smile and leaned forward, catching his gaze with my own. “No one knows you’re here.”

  He licked his lips and took another long drink, then signaled to the barmaid to bring more. She looked away.

  Winnick cleared his throat. “What do you want?”

  “Your brother has been a busy man lately.”

  Winnick snorted. “Well, he’s good at what he does. He sniffs out people like you better than a fox after rats.”

  “I’m looking for a magic-user born in your country. Any one would do, but your brother is killing them off. It’s inconvenient.”

  “Not for us, it isn’t.”

  “It could be.”

  Another attempt to drain the dregs from his cup, and a scowl. “Why don’t you talk to Myles about it? He’s the magic hunter. I’m just the muscle.”

  I leaned back and rested my hands on the table. “Your brother is well-protected, and I don’t think he’d be interested in speaking to me. But you—you could get close to him. Pass on a message. I heard a rumor that he’s captured another Sorcerer. Perhaps he’d be interested in letting me take that person with me. Far less messy for your people than trying and executing him.”

  The drink must have been strong. Winnick’s inhibitions were lessening after just one serving, his confidence growing. He pushed the cup too far to the side of the table, and it clattered to the floor. “And help you Tyreans? Not bloody likely. What do you want him for, anyway? As I hear it, your country’s just lousy with people like you. What do you want with ours?”

  “That’s not your concern.” Nor is it mine, I added to myself. My brother Severn, regent of Tyrea, had ordered me to bring him a magic-user from Darmid, and to make sure no one in our own country saw me do it. I didn’t care what happened to them after delivery. I just wanted to find one so I could leave this magic-barren land behind and return home for a reprieve from the manipulation and the killing.

  I wasn’t eager to see Severn again, but some things couldn’t be avoided.

  Winnick grinned, revealing several gaps in his yellow teeth. “What if I told you we’d just executed that one this morning? That he died bitching and moaning about his innocence, how he couldn’t help having magic?”

  I clenched my hands into fists under the table, but held my temper in check even as my pulse quickened. “I would be displeased if I heard that. Is your brother tracking anyone else right now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  But he did know. Had I not been able to read his thoughts with magic, the shift in his eyes and the nervous twitch of his wrist would have given him away.

  “L
ook at me.” He obeyed, and in an instant I was past his almost non-existent defenses, probing his thoughts. “Where?” He felt me in his mind, and tried to push the name of the town away, but I caught it. Widow’s Well.

  “How uplifting,” I whispered as I released him.

  He collapsed back against the booth and tried to pull his thoughts together. “You’re a monster,” he gasped.

  “I wouldn’t have to be if you’d cooperate.”

  “I’ll never help you.” He shuddered, then pushed his short hair back from his brow. “My brother will hear of this, and his superiors, and theirs.”

  “I’m terrified.” I glanced at the barmaid. She stood straight and still, jaw clenched as she listened, looking anywhere but at us. At least her ignorance and fear were working in my favor.

  “Are we done?” he asked. His right hand slipped under the table.

  “Don’t.” I spoke sharply enough that the barmaid risked a glance in our direction. “This won’t end well for you if you attack me.”

  He didn’t listen. The hunting knife gleamed dully in the lamplight as he raised it and held it tight in his trembling fist. I gritted my teeth. I should have taken that drink.

  Winnick stood and adjusted his grip on the knife’s bone handle. “I don’t think you mean for this to end well for me either way. I know about you people, and where your power comes from.” He blinked and looked around. “I shouldn’t have come. Making a deal with the bloody devil himself, that’s what this was.”

  I stood, reached slowly into my pocket and produced a heavy gold coin, which I set on the table. “So you’re not interested in a reward for the information you’ve so generously shared?”

  His eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. His left hand reached for the coin, but he pulled back. In that moment of unguarded distraction I forced my way deep into his mind, past thoughts, memories and desires. He tried to close himself off, but it was too late.

  I had all of the information I was going to get from him. I decided I would alter his memory and let him go. After all, Severn wanted this done quietly. I could be done with Winnick in a matter of moments and go on to search elsewhere for a magic-user.

  Memories flooded Winnick’s mind. Images of people he had helped his brother hunt down. Men, mostly, and hardly any with significant power. A few might have been classed as Sorcerers if they’d had the education and opportunity required to develop their talents, but not one had been given the chance. I saw them hanged. I saw a young woman screaming as the hunter and his men dragged her away from her crying children, as her neighbors looked on and did nothing. And I saw this man and his brother laughing over their victories in this very tavern. My breath caught in my throat as rage finally overtook me.

  Winnick bared his teeth in a mad grin. “You see that?” he whispered.

  He tried to back away. I didn’t let him, and his eyes widened as he understood the extent of my control over him. His knife clattered to the floor, though he tried to hold onto it. His thoughts turned to pleading, his emotions to fear and desperation as he tried to anticipate how I would hurt him.

  A low moan escaped his throat, and behind him the barmaid clapped both hands over her mouth. I ignored her. She wouldn’t remember any of this once I was through with her, and neither would Winnick. Not until he had to. Not until the suggestion I planted in his mind was ready to become action.

  To hell with subtlety.

  I leaned closer, and whispered to him what he was going to do.

  Chapter II

  Rowan

  ANOTHER DAY HALFWAY DONE.

  ANOTHER morning working at the library, with the smells of old paper and new ink, with adventure and romance and tragedy. A few more hours of listening to Mr. Woorswith reminiscing with his cronies about the wonders and horrors they’d seen when they traveled to Tyrea in their youth. I’d lurked in the shadows behind the historical reference shelf, wishing I could see it all for myself, just once. Not much chance of a good Darmish girl like me doing anything of the sort, but I enjoyed eavesdropping on the old men’s tall tales. They got me through long shifts and distracted me on days when the headaches tormented me. Today it hadn’t been enough, and I’d asked to leave before lunch.

  I slipped out the front door of the library and reached into my bag as I descended the stone steps to the street. The book of fairy tales that I carried felt heavier than it had any right to. No reason to feel guilty about it, I reminded myself. True, I was technically not allowed to access materials in the restricted section, and no one—not visiting scholars, not curious magic hunters—was allowed to remove a book about magic from the building. But no one would know. They’d never caught me before.

  My boots scuffed over the dirty cobblestone streets, kicking up dust that swirled in the autumn breeze and settled into a thin layer on the bottom of my skirt. A sudden gust blew my auburn hair into my eyes, and I tied it in a thick knot at the back of my head. Not fashionable, but there was no one nearby I felt like impressing. My mother would have told me to lift my face to the world, to take pride in myself, and for goodness sakes just smile a little. But she wasn’t there to bother me about it, and I could hardly be bothered to care on my own.

  A bright ray of sunlight broke through the clouds overhead, and the dull headache that had been building all morning pressed harder at the back of my skull. The world swam in front of me, and I paused to take a few deep breaths. You’ll be home soon, I told myself, and closed my eyes against the light. Just get home, make some heartleaf tea for the pain, go to bed, everything will be fine. Nineteen years of this hasn’t killed you yet.

  A clattering noise interrupted my thoughts. Hoof beats on stone, faster than they should have been. I opened my eyes, but the pain made everything slow. By the time I lifted my head and struggled to understand exactly what was happening, they were almost on top of me. Four horses with uniformed riders wearing the king’s blue and gold, armed but not armored, completely out of place in the town of Lowdell.

  What’s the rush, boys? The thought passed slowly through my thick mind. One of them yelled. I tried to step out of the street, but something wasn’t working. My legs wouldn’t respond. I closed my eyes again.

  Someone grabbed my arm and yanked me away, spinning me out of the road as the horses thundered past. It hurt my shoulder, but that hardly registered over the headache, which screamed to life as my head snapped sideways. I pressed my hands to my face and leaned into my rescuer.

  When I opened my eyes a few seconds later, my older brother Ashe stood looking down the street where the riders had disappeared. He ran his fingers through his short blond hair and frowned. “Didn’t even look back.”

  “Must have been late for something.” I slumped onto one of the crates that the grocer had left stacked outside of her store.

  “Too late to do any good, that’s for sure.” Ashe scratched at the arm of his blue messenger’s uniform and bent to pick up the papers he’d dropped when he pulled me out of the road. “You all right, Ro?”

  “Same old thing,” I said, and tried to smile. “Just need to get home to bed.”

  He frowned. “I’ll walk you.” I started to object, but he held up a hand to stop me. “I know, it’s not my fault you’re incompetent. Still, I’d feel sort of bad about it if something happened to you. I just have to post these on the way.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him.

  He grinned and offered a hand to help me up. “Come on.”

  Three more soldiers on white horses trotted down Main Street as we waited to cross, their expressions grim and their gazes forward.

  “Seems strange, doesn’t it?” I asked Ashe.

  He didn’t answer.

  The notice boards in the center of town kept us informed of all the important things. Posters for community events, help-wanted notices, and advertisements for matchmaking and snow-clearing services overflowed from four sides. The fifth was reserved for birth announcements, but there was rarely anything to post there, and nothin
g until a baby was at least six months old. On a really exciting day we might find a new reminder about the dangers of magic and the proper procedures for reporting a magical creature or plant if we saw one—or, God forbid, a person using it.

  “What’s this?” I took a heavy, cream-colored page from Ashe before he hung it.

  “Read it for yourself.”

  Bold, scarlet letters stretched across the top of the paper. “Notice: Every able-bodied man over the age of sixteen is required to volunteer for security patrols as part of a province-wide initiative…” I glanced up at Ashe. “This is ridiculous.”

  He snorted. “I know. How is it volunteering if we’re required to do it, right?”

  “Not quite what I meant.” I scanned the rest of the notice. “They don’t even say why, do they?”

  “Same as it’s always been. The threat’s just escalated since the Tyrean king disappeared. His son doesn’t seem willing to let us be.” Ashe took the paper from me and tacked it up high, partially covering a list of banned flora.

  “It doesn’t bother you at all?”

  “Nah. It’s never as bad as they make it out to be.”

  I wouldn’t have taken the news so calmly if it had been my name being added to that list. Mother would have said that was typical. I’ve never liked being forced to do anything.

  The pain was receding to its usual dull ache, but I leaned on Ashe’s arm when he offered it, and we started toward our parents’ house. I still had trouble thinking of it as home. My parents sent me to live with my Uncle Ches and Aunt Victoria when I was six years old. Their home, called Stone Ridge, was a half-day’s journey from Lowdell, and my parents had hoped that life far from the city would be good for my health. I’d been back in town for a few years, but I still felt like a visitor in my parents’ house and an outsider in town.