FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

“No. The dark wizard’s army traveled in such haste that they didn’t bury their own dead. Surely, if Darik and Daria were killed, someone would have found their bodies by now.”

  “Captured, then?”

  “Perhaps. I hope not. Better that they die. Still, I’ve got a feeling that they’re alive, so we’ll keep looking.” He cleared his throat and looked at his boots. “Kallia, may I speak with you frankly?”

  She gestured for her servant girl to leave the room, but Whelan lifted his hand and said, “Perhaps she should stay. You are a married woman, now.”

  Kallia eyed him coldly. “I am the wife of no man. Tashana, you may leave.”

  Whelan looked relieved and waited quietly until the girl drew the door shut behind her. “I spoke to the dark wizard’s general a few minutes ago.” He unstrapped his sword and lay it beneath the cricket cage, as was the custom in Balsalomian homes, then he and Kallia sat on the rug opposite each other. “He is a vicious, stubborn man and not afraid of torture. In fact, he dared me to do my worst. He said something, however, that concerns me. Something about the dark wizard’s child.”

  Yes, of course. Much to her fear, Mol Khah was right about one thing. She’d gulped gallons of Saldibar’s tea to salt the field where Cragyn had planted his seed, but still it took root. She hadn’t thought he would impregnate her, coming in the last few days of her cycle. But her courses were three days late.

  “Yes,” she said, “it is true. It was not my wish.”

  “No, of course not. The question is,” Whelan said, “what to do about it. A physic or herbalist can give you poisons to root it out, but they are dangerous things. Bearing his child lends legitimacy to the wizard’s claim over Balsalom.”

  She rose to her feet, pouring him a goblet of fine Chalfean wine. He sipped politely; they preferred ales in the Free Kingdoms. “And if I keep the child, what then?”

  Whelan said, “Declare the marriage to the dark wizard forced and thus invalid, and marry again, quickly, and with an ally. Then, conceal the child for a time, and lie about its age.”

  “And Mol Khah?”

  Whelan shrugged. “Saldibar will suggest that we kill him before he talks too much. I say lock him in solitude, or shrug off his statements as the ravings of a madman.”

  His plan held a certain appeal. “No,” she said at last, “it will never work. I could not deceive my husband, and defiled, no prince or khalif would have me, political gain or no. Otherwise, I might approach the khalif of Darnad, see if he would join our revolt if I married his son. He once wished such an alliance.” She sighed, turning to look out the window. “Perhaps if I had Marialla’s beauty, he might overlook these flaws.”

  Whelan put down his wine and looked in her eyes. “I heard what the dark wizard said about you.” He rose to his feet and sat closer.

  She blushed. Yes, that she looked like a dunghill. “You did?”

  “Yes, and it is a lie.” He sat far too close to be proper and took her face in his hands. The trembling in his hands alarmed her. But there was a raw power in his face and a strength in his shoulders that made her heart pound.

  Whelan pulled away, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry. But Kallia,” he protested, “your beauty is not a concern. There might be petty khalifs who are afraid of the dark wizard’s claim, or reject you because he defiled you. I wasn’t thinking of that sort of husband, but someone from the Free Kingdoms.”

  She smiled. “Are you talking about yourself, oh great warrior of the thorn?”

  He recoiled. “Oh, no. Of course not. I would not presume such a thing. But what of King Daniel’s brother Ethan? He is with Markal in the mountains, but if I can find Flockheart, we can bring him back to the city instead. You can wed him then.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said, disappointed and a bit confused.

  Whelan must have misjudged her expression, for he continued in a hurry, “Prince Ethan is a good man, wise and kind like his brother. His brother, the king, that is. He would be a good match.”

  “You may be right.” She looked Whelan directly in the eye. “Now let me speak boldly with you, Whelan. I know my marriage will be largely for political reasons, but I can’t simply marry Ethan just like that. I’ve met the man once.”

  “He is a good man,” Whelan said. “Kind and decent. Strong in character.”

  “But I want something more. I won’t marry a stranger and simply take my chances.” She smiled. “I haven’t had the greatest fortune with marriage.”

  He stood and walked to his previous seat, taking a nervous swallow from his wine. “If that is your wish, my queen, I will obey it. But if so, you’ll face the unpleasant task of bearing the dark wizard’s child more-or-less openly, or poisoning it like some vile weed.”

  “No,” she said. “I didn’t say that I wouldn’t marry for political reasons, simply not political reasons alone. But what if I were to marry the captain of the Brotherhood of the Thorne, the greatest group of fighting men in all of Mithyl? The other brother of King Daniel. For Balsalom, that might be the best alliance of all.” She watched for his reaction, heart beating swiftly. She rose to her feet and went to the window.

  Whelan watched her in surprise. “Who told you? Ethan?” He followed her to the window. “He said he wouldn’t tell you who I was.”

  “No, Saldibar told me, but he only confirmed what I’d already guessed. There is no reason for you to hide secrets from me. I believe in you and trust you.” She put her hand on his arm and felt him tremble. “Come, Whelan, you know that few things would rally the Brotherhood to Balsalom like an alliance between us.”

  He let her hand linger on his arm before tearing away. “No,” he said. “It is impossible.”

  “I see.”

  He turned quickly, and took her down-turned face in his hands to compel her to see the sincerity in his eyes. “No, my queen, you don’t understand. It is not you. I have dreamed of hearing such words from your mouth. I am disgraced among my order, and hated by my brother, the king. He has sworn to kill me should I ever return to Eriscoba.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You know?” Whelan asked.

  “I have known for three years that Daniel banished one of his brothers. Since it happened, in fact. Once Saldibar told me that you were a brother of the king, I quickly guessed that you were that brother. When I knew you as a boy, you meant to return to Eriscoba, to take Sanctuary to atone for your sins and join the Brotherhood, did you not? And so I guessed that you only returned to Balsalom because you finally told your brother and he banished you in a fit of rage and grief. Did I guess correctly?”

  “You guessed correctly.” He lowered his head for a moment, before picking his glass of wine off the floor and taking another sip. “These things shame me greatly. Even when I suffered in Sanctuary Tower I was still too cowardly to confess to my brother that I had broken his trust.”

  “But King Daniel must also be shamed by his own anger.” Hope rose in Kallia. “He too has suffered from the rift between you. He will welcome you back, I am sure of it.”

  “Even if you guess correctly, there is more than that, my queen,” Whelan said. “There is the Brotherhood itself, the oaths I’ve made.”

  “Oaths of chastity?”

  He shook his head. “No oaths of chastity. But let me explain, Kallia. When Serena and I committed our crimes, we were children who didn’t understand the consequences of our actions. Now I am centered and know my strengths and weaknesses. I must marry a woman with that same knowledge, who also knows the crooked path to the Thorn Tree, the path that Jethro the Martyr walked in his last days.”

  This was a trifling concern. “So I will learn this crooked path.”

  “Kallia, my queen. Almost I believe you. I desperately want to believe you.” He sighed. “Kallia you would do anything, say anything to protect Balsalom. The city is your true love. You have no idea what the path to the Thorn Tree means, or you wouldn’t suggest it so lightly. And my oaths aren’t discarded so lightly, either.” />
  Whelan turned to the window. “But I will swear this. If I don’t find my companions today, I will return to Eriscoba and the Free Kingdoms and beg the Knights Temperate to defend Balsalom as if it were the Citadel itself.” He turned to go.

  As Whelan stepped through the doors, she almost stopped him, abdicated her power to follow him on the crooked path, or wherever this man wished to go. For she did not so much wish a political alliance, she realized, as an alliance with Whelan. Alas, she let him go.

  That night, the grand vizier re-anointed Kallia in an official ceremony. Cragyn had taken the Scepter of Balsalom, emblem of Balsalom, wrought from the blackened iron of the star stone, but Saldibar found a diamond tiara with a red ruby at its crest in the vaults below the palace, and placed this on her head. Saldibar lay Mol Khah’s black and crimson helm at her feet and proclaimed her the Jewel of the West, and the Hammer of Veyre. The people crowding the banquet hall, the largest unburned room in the palace, let out a great cheer, hope rising in their faces.

  It was, she thought, much as Whelan had said. A marriage vow between herself and her people. There wasn’t room for anything else.

  The Story Continues In… The Free Kingdoms The Dark Citadel (Book #2)

  Afterword

  MICHAEL WALLACE WAS BORN IN California and raised in a small religious community in Utah, eventually heading east to live in New England. An experienced world traveler, he has trekked through the Andes, ventured into the Sahara on a camel, and traveled through Thailand by elephant. In addition to working as a literary agent and innkeeper, he previously worked as a software engineer for a Department of Defense contractor, programming simulators for nuclear submarines.

  To receive notice when Michael’s next book is released, use this form to sign up for his new releases list. This mailing list is not used for any other purpose: bit.ly/10ZDLZ2.

  The Complete Dark Citadel Series

  Book #1: The Dark Citadel

  Book #2: The Free Kingdoms

  Book #3: The Golden Griffin

  Book #4: The Warrior King

  Book #5: War of Wizards

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  BLADES OF MAGIC: BOOK I

  Terah Edun

  Chapter I

  SARA FAIRCHILD STARED WITH HARD eyes at the three men and two women who surrounded her. They had cornered her in an alley. But only because she wanted them to. She was having a bad day, might as well end it right. Feet planted firmly in the dry dirt, she called out to the group arrayed in a semi-circle around her, “Nice day for a fight, isn’t it?”

  The woman to her right wore a raggedy scarf around her hair and her ears were covered in at least five earrings per lobe. She glared and said, “You think you’re funny, girl?”

  Sara watched as the woman spit into the dirt before her in disgust.

  “Your da was a disgrace,” the woman continued. “You’re just like him. A coward.”

  “And a cheat!” said the man directly in front of her. He nervously fingered a blade in his hands. It was a poorly crafted one. That Sara could tell from five feet away. She stood in front of him with her back up against the wall. She wasn’t carrying her sword, but she did have one fine long knife at her waist, a dagger on her thigh, and a baton she’d lifted from a city patrolman in her right hand.

  “Is that so?” Sara said, directing her voice at the man in front of her, “And what, pray tell, did I cheat you of, Simon Codfield?”

  Her tone was level. Even surprised. He shifted warily. He was nervous even with four of his friends to back him up. When the people standing with him began to look at him oddly, he stiffened his back. Simon licked his lips and said, “Cards. I know you had an extra ace in your belt. Admit it now and we’ll only beat you two ways until Sunday.”

  She tilted her head. “And if I admit it later?” Even he couldn’t miss the derision in her voice.

  “We’re trying to go easy on you,” said Simon Codfield, his voice dipping into desperation. He might be a liar as well as a thief, but he was no fool. Sara knew the only reason he and his crew had followed her into this alley was because if he didn’t accuse her, he would have to take the fall for losing over forty shillings in a card game that had only started on a bet of five. She knew and he knew that he didn’t have forty shillings to give. That was one month’s pay for a dockworker, never mind a ne’er-do-well like Simon who hadn’t worked an honest job a day in his life.

  “Tell you what. Why don’t you drop those trousers of yours? Then we’ll call it even,” said the thief lord in charge of the west district of Sandrin. She turned to face the man who had spoken. He rubbed a hand over his two-day-old beard with a grin.

  Sara brought up the long knife in her left hand. “Why don’t you drop yours, Severin, so that I can cut off your balls for you?”

  Anger flashed in the thief lord’s eyes. Anger and passion. Sara smiled. She wasn’t joking. If she got close enough to him, she’d make him a eunuch without batting an eye. Simon Codfield gulped and took a step back. He knew she wasn’t playing around.

  But Severin was new. He didn’t believe the reputation she had acquired on the streets. More’s the pity for him. He thought he would be in for what a man like him considered a little rough play—disarming a pretty girl of a simple knife. Maybe getting a few scratches and bites for his troubles.

  She couldn’t wait to show Severin just how wrong he was.

  Sara chuckled. “I’m feeling generous today. You lot can back off and slink back into whatever hidey-hole you crawled out of. Or I can show you some manners.”

  Either way they chose, this would end soon. She had less than fifteen minutes to grab some meat pies off a vendor and get home. Sara Fairchild was seventeen years old. Almost a woman grown with the talent of ten swordsmen and the fierce determination of a lioness cornered. But even she quivered at the thought of being late to her mom’s dinner table. Hell had nothing on Anna Beth Fairchild’s anger.

  “Well? Which is it going to be?” said Sara impatiently. “I don’t have all night.”

  Severin chuckled while raising his hand. The brass knuckles on his fingers were still sticky with the blood from the last poor sod he had beaten into the ground. You didn’t get to be thief lord by playing nice. She grimaced. She hated those types of weapons. They were crude. Designed to provide the most damage to a body in the least amount of time. Which meant beating a person bloody until their head split open and the bones in their face were broken. There was no finesse about the brass knuckles and nothing clean about the kill. It was quite the opposite of the grace of her favorite weapon—the sword.

  “Is that supposed to intimidate me?” Sara said.

  “It should. You’ve got too much pride,” he taunted back.

  “For a woman? Or for a Fairchild?”

  Severin looked at the man who stood next to him. Then he jerked his head to a lackey while issuing an order. “Get her, Rube.”

  Rube moved forward without complaint, every step he took jangling the rusty chain of metal links intertwined between his fingers.

  Then Severin turned back to her and answered her question of why she had too much pride. “For both,” he said.

  Then there was no more talking, because Sara was facing off against a menacing Rube. A lumbering giant, Sara had a feeling he was Severin’s muscle on the docks when the thief lord was cheating sailors out of their hard-earned coins. She’d heard stories about the lumbering giant. Here, in the rapidly darkening alley, as she faced him down with just a knife and baton, she could see why he was intimidating. To most people. But not to her. Because Rube moved with a slow gait. Not the careful precision of a trained fighter, but with the bulk of a man who didn’t know how to use his weight to his advantage.

  She smiled. That was too bad for Rube, because she did.

  Keeping her back to the wall, Sara Fairchild danced forward on light feet with her baton at the ready. She wasn’t going to kill
Rube. He was the dumb muscle—she could see it in the placid cow-like gaze of his eyes. Severin gave the orders and he followed them. She didn’t kill attack dogs like him. She killed the owners that made them kill.

  Rube swung the thick metal chain out with the strength of an ox. The chain snapped forward with enough speed to crack open her head like an egg, if she had stood still. Instead Sara was already moving forward with the speed and dexterity of a warrior trained by the very best. With a swift grunt, she jumped up onto Rube. The force of her momentum as well as weight knocked him back flat on the ground. She was careful to keep her balance and fell with him until she landed atop his waist in a straddle. He sat up with a roar of anger. Wasting no time, she brought her baton down with a harsh crack, infusing it with just a hint of battle magic. It was enough to make the baton take on the weight of twelve of its kind. So when Rube fell back this time, he fell hard.

  As Rube’s body crashed into the packed dirt with a loud thump, she jumped up and landed behind the remaining four thieves with ease. Turning so that her back was now to the opposite wall, she smiled.

  “Who’s next?”

  They looked down at their unconscious muscle man, then back up at her.

  Severin snarled, “Kill her. I don’t care about her loot. I want her pretty throat cut from end to end.”

  Simon looked ready to bolt. But even as she watched his comrades ease up on her warily, she pitied them. They were in a tough position. The thieves’ code meant if one of them ran and the others found them first, they wouldn’t be outcast; they’d be killed on the spot by their thief lord. Simon couldn’t run on the off chance that one of his group survived their encounter with her. But she could tell that he didn’t want to stay and face her, either. She could have told him to run because no one would survive this encounter if they didn’t turn tail first, but she didn’t. This was his fault anyway. Who runs up a forty-shilling wager on their thief lord’s tab and doesn’t break for the hills the moment they lose?