FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  She started walking, hoping to find a mercenary who could look her in the face without glaring to ask for directions.

  Before she’d taken six steps, the archivist’s voice cracked through the air. “Wait! Do you have a horse?”

  She looked at him and shook her head.

  He clicked his tongue. “Go to the farrier as well, then. But the tailor is first.”

  Deciding that she’d rather ask than wander around aimlessly, Sara said, “Where are they?”

  Instead of answering, he snapped his fingers and a young girl came running up. “Tams, take her to the tailor first, the farrier second.”

  Tams nodded eagerly.

  As they walked away, Sara asked her new guide, “Are all the messengers named with something that ended in ‘ams?’”

  Tams looked up at her with a wise expression and a gap-toothed smile. “Yep. The archivist took us in and we all got new names then. There’s Rams, Vams, and Wams, too.”

  “Great.” muttered Sara as she wondered how anyone was supposed to keep them straight. She decided she’d just call all of them ‘Cams,’ as in, Come here ‘ams!

  This Cams made short work of her getting outfitted in serviceable attire and assigned a spirited gelding with a white star on his chestnut forehead.

  “Thank you,” said Sara when it was over.

  As Cams was saying, “You’re welcome,” the sharp blare of a bugle blew out and then all of the mercenaries loitering around began to move.

  “We’re on the move!” shouted Cams while running off towards the archivist’s. Shielding her eyes against the sun’s glare, Sara saw a messenger horse pull up beside the caravan and the owner quickly hand the reins off to a larger man. The other Cams was back.

  As Sara mounted up, she wonder what adventures awaited her. But she knew for sure as she exited through the city gates with the others, that no matter what she would find out the secrets her father had uncovered, and heaven help anyone who stood in her way.

  Chapter XVI

  BEFORE TWO HOURS HAD ROLLED by, she’d managed to get a comfortable routine in place. She had her horse in a smooth trot and was getting used to the gelding’s fast gait. Once she got a feel for riding after so long walking the alleys of Sandrin, she kicked the horse she’d decided to name Danger into high gear. Unfortunately, she realized she only had a feel for his speed but not his energetic state when she kicked him in the ribs and he jumped a foot into the air. Before he landed on all four hooves, they were off racing in a gallop. By the time Sara got him under control, she found herself in a different section of the troop altogether. She was now surrounded by archers with bows of all sizes on their backs. But one bow in particular caught her attention.

  It looks very familiar, she thought. Even though there were two riders between her and the bow that had caught her attention, she could have sworn she recognized the crossbow across the rider’s back.

  Dropping into her mage sight, she opened her eyes and took in a sharp gasp of surprise. This bow was definitely familiar. She knew because her battle magic recognized it as a weapon she’d seen in use before. An endless catalog ran in Sara’s mind of the swords, knifes, bows, staffs, and weapons she had used over the years. Like a normal human, she could see and recognize a weapon’s make and model with ease. But as a battle mage she could take that remembrance of a weapons catalog one step further and cross-reference any weapon she’d previously come across based on its magical aura. It was like having a walking encyclopedia of weapons in her head. She knew just by looking at it whatever she had previously learned—from the owner to the age of the instrument to the weapon’s abilities. On top of that, if the weapon stayed long enough in her presence it absorbed some of the magical signature of her own aura, forever marking it to her. She knew enough to know that she had seen this weapon before and perhaps had used it in some sense.

  It can’t be, Sara thought to herself as she urged the gelding to sidestep over.

  But her eagle-sharp vision hadn’t failed her once.

  Someone had stolen Cormar’s crossbow.

  She didn’t particularly care how or why because whoever they were, they were a dead person. Whether they realized it or not, even if their convoy was already miles outside the city and heading farther northeast by the minute, Cormar would find them. She couldn’t imagine anyone stealing from Cormar and living to tell about it. He seemed like the type that would go to the ends of the earth to reclaim what was his. Curiosity piqued, she stared harder as she drew closer.

  It could be another of those ancient crossbows Ezekiel was raving about, she thought.

  But even in her mind, she highly doubted it. What was the chance of coming across two of those things in less than a week?

  With a wry grin, she relished telling Ezekiel about it when she got back. He’s going to be furious!

  She might not be seeing him for another two months if the plan went well, but she knew she would rue the day they met again. Because he would kill her if she let the opportunity to find out who the thief was pass her by. She urged her horse closer and closer to the hooded archer. She found it strange that he kept the hood atop his head in the hot midday sun. But she had known stranger people.

  With one last urge of the gelding, she was riding side-by-side with the thieving archer. So close that she could have reached over and touched their thigh. She couldn’t tell if they were a man or a woman, but their hands were certainly small, so she guessed female.

  Sara leaned forward a little and looked into the hood. She didn’t try to hide her actions. She wasn’t shy about anything and expected most mercenaries weren’t. So when they turned their head to look at her while she did the same, she wasn’t shocked by their actions. It was what lay inside their hood that gave her the surprise of her life. So shocked was she, that she almost didn’t correct her posture, and leaned over so much that she nearly fell off the horse. Sara hurried to right her position by grasping the saddle of the pommel frantically and pulling herself back upright. The archer beside her helped by pushing on her left shoulder.

  Seat regained, she turned and stared with her mouth open.

  Ezekiel looked back at her with amusement on his face as he said, “Did you really think I was going to let you go off to war without me?”

  She spluttered a couple of nonsensical words. Finally ending up with, “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking after you, of course,” he said, “Who else is going to keep you from going berserk but me?”

  “I thought you said you had hideouts in the city,” she stammered.

  “I never said I was going to use them,” he pointed out.

  Sara sat on her horse with a butt that was growing sore and a mind a flurry with disbelief.

  “You can’t be here,” she hissed. “We’re going to war.”

  He gave her a wry look. “I know that. Didn’t I just say that?”

  “This isn’t a joke, Ezekiel! You could get hurt. Even killed.”

  He nodded. “I’m aware. This doesn’t seem any more dangerous than my treasure hunting adventures.”

  “It’s a lot more dangerous, you moron. Go back to Sandrin!”

  “I can’t,” he said, “Do you know what mercenaries do to deserters? A hanging would be kind by comparison.”

  A pall descended over her.

  He cursed. “I’m sorry, Sara. I wasn’t thinking of your father. I shouldn’t have said that. I just meant that I signed on the dotted line and I have to honor that commitment.”

  She stared straight ahead. Teeth clenched. Angry at him, angry at the world. She had one friend. One friend, and here he was riding beside her into the maw of death. Sara had no illusions about being on the frontlines. It would be tough—for her—but she could survive it.

  But Ezekiel, she thought softly. He’s helpless. A scholar if I’ve ever seen one. He can’t survive a war.

  “Sara?” said Ezekiel softly. “I said I was sorry. Come on, don’t freeze me out. I don’t…”

&
nbsp; He paused.

  She turned to him. “You don’t what?”

  He looked at her with a pained expression on his face. “I don’t have anyone else. No friends. No family. I came because for the first time in my life I felt a connection to someone. To you.”

  She sighed. “I’m not freezing you out. Just trying to process. To think.”

  “Well, I’ve always thought best by thinking aloud,” he said cheerfully. “I could imagine that you’d do better if you told me what’s on your mind.”

  She glared at his rapid change of temperament. The man could go from despondent to happy at the drop of a hat. She’d never had that ability. If she was angry, she stayed angry until she resolved whatever the problem was she was angry about. Usually by killing someone.

  “Well,” Sara drawled, “why don’t you tell me how you ended up here?”

  “I joined the Corcoran guard.”

  He said it as if he’d just gotten invited for tea at the local parlor.

  “That’s it? You joined the guard? I know that,” she said. “The questions is how? They would barely let me join.”

  “Really?” he said with a side glance. “What’d you do?”

  “Nothing!” she said in a shout loud enough to startle the rider and horse cantering by. She really didn’t want to relive the abject humiliation of acting the part of the entitled brat. The mare’s rider gave her a one-fingered salute and continued on his way.

  Sara bared her teeth at him and wished she could show him her knives. She was feeling restless, angry, and anxious all rolled into one.

  Funny, she thought wryly, half those emotions didn’t show up until Ezekiel came into my life.

  Calming her tone, she reiterated, “Nothing. I swear.”

  “Right.” The judgment in that one word had her bristling. Mainly because he was right.

  “All I said was that I belonged in the first division,” she spluttered. Still playing the part, but inwardly rolling her eyes. Both at the ludicrousness of the fact that she hadn’t really been able to audition for her spot as a true first division candidate and the fact that Ezekiel might believe her lies after all they’d been through.

  She waited as he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. For a moment her stomach flipped, worried that he hadn’t taken the bait.

  Then he said, “I thought you didn’t do anything?”

  She turned to him with a dark expression on her face. He held up a hand while forcing himself not to laugh. She could tell because even though he ducked his head to hide his face, chuckles were still escaping his mouth.

  Nevertheless, Ezekiel quickly sat back up and looked at her with a straight face. Or, well, as straight as he was capable. His mouth was pressed into a thin line that trembled every so often as he tried to hold back more laughter. Her mouth was set in a thin line of its own. One of irritation.

  Lips twitching, Ezekiel said between sharp gasps of air, “Okay, okay. That was wrong. But did you really think that the mercenaries wouldn’t think you a bit of an upstart for trying to get into the premier division of their unit on your first day?”

  Sara’s back stiffened and she looked straight ahead through her tall gelding’s black ears. Her gaze wasn’t focused on anything in particular. She just didn’t want to be looking at Ezekiel at the moment.

  Nevertheless, she explained, “I’ve trained my entire life. Since the age of five I’ve studied with masters of hand-to-hand combat, swordplay, and archery. I speak three languages, including the tongue of the old ones, so that I can take my place as an officer in the army. I’ve studied with mages and mystics to learn the ways of the old ones and become the mistress of my magic rather than its servant.”

  “You’ve trained your entire life?” was Ezekiel’s quiet question. His voice no longer held amusement, just contemplation. He was riding side-by-side with her and she knew he was staring straight ahead just as she was. Although she might have cheated and looked out of her peripheral vision once…maybe twice.

  “Yes!” she said adamantly.

  “For this?” Then she turned her head.

  “Yes!”

  “I didn’t ask if you’d trained your entire life for war, Sara. I want to know if you’ve trained for this.”

  “This is war,” she growled at him. “Do you think we’re going to the front lines for a tea party? Or to sign a peace treaty with the Kade mages. They’ve been fighting for eight months against the imperial mages, with no end in sight. Make no mistake, there will be blood and there will be death.”

  He turned to her. “Yes, there will be. But before we get to war, before we get to the frontlines, we must prove ourselves. We are strangers here, Sara. What you don’t get is that every mercenary in this guard knows one another. If they don’t know their fellow mercenary’s weaknesses, they know their strengths. They have worked together. Trained together. Bonded and they trust one another.”

  She opened her mouth to interject. “I know that…”

  “I’m not finished yet,” Ezekiel said with an angry look as he pushed his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose.

  “You are an outsider. We are outsiders. And what’s more, you’re an outsider who thinks she’s better than them. Because you’ve trained with masters, studied with mages, and possess a magic like only a few of them have even seen glimpses of. Yes, Sara. You think you’re special.”

  She glared at him as he continued. “You are special. You are gifted and unique. But you are also untried and untested.”

  “I suppose you aren’t?”

  “You’d be surprised what you don’t know about me,” he said.

  Some of her anger dissipated as curiosity took its place. “You’ve been to war, Ezekiel Crane?”

  He looked off into the distance. “I’ve been to many wars.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “I’ve studied the battles of Baen and Carnak. Lived the aerial dragon fights of Dannis and seen the great sea battle of Sandrin,” he said.

  She listened to him list battle after battle from Algardis history.

  Ezekiel finally turned back to war. “I’ve lived the wars through the memories of others, Sara. I am no more tested than you are in your trials to become the best fighter in Sandrin. But you want to know the difference between us?”

  She raised her chin. “What?”

  He said as he kicked his horse away, “I know when I am unprepared.”

  Sara watched Ezekiel ride off. She didn’t go after him. She felt an odd sense of satisfaction. She’d managed to convince the only person in this blasted company that had a hint of her true self that she was an idiot who looked down upon other fighters.

  She thought about getting angry. Angrier really. Angry at what she had to do. Even a small part of her was angry that he would doubt her abilities when she had proven herself time and again in the streets of Sandrin. She was a legend. But slowly she calmed. She merged with the rhythm of her horse’s hooves clopping on the stone thoroughfare beneath them and she thought about what Ezekiel had said. She thought about what the captain had said. They were only defending the reputation of the fighters around her, after all.

  As she looked around at the uncouth faces around her, Sara flashed back to a memory with her father. They had been training on a bright sunny day. Sara still remembered the day she had turned ten as if was yesterday. She and her father had stood atop the battlements of their village home. She, he, and her mother had escaped the stuffiness of Sandrin to their estate just up the coast. It was a land of rolling green hills, dotted with heavy forestry on the west and a seafront estate on the east. That day the breeze had been lovely, not a cloud marred the sky, and she and her father had stood facing each other as they prepared to train.

  Sara remembered standing fifteen feet away from her father. She wore a white tunic, billowing white pants, and a sash tied about her waist. In her hand was a medium-sized staff of hardwood, balanced carefully for an attack as she eased her left leg out from her body, ready
to move. Her father mirrored her pose across from her, but he wore no shirt and no shoes. His hair was cropped short and spiked with the oil of the sand demons so that it stood stiff, like a parrot’s feathers. Sweat dripped down her face as he smiled at her in approval and his pale olive skin was dripping with it.

  He panted slightly. But Sara hadn’t been foolish enough to think their quick parries had winded him. On the contrary, her battle with her father was just the end of a long day of training. Behind him knelt six of his best warriors. Each fearsome fighters in their own right. All of them breathing hard, some of them with blood running down their shirts or naked abs.

  Her father had just single-handedly defeated all six in one fight. Now he faced her.

  “Come, little one,” said the man before her. “Face your father. Learn your destiny.”

  Sara dug her moccasin-covered feet into the mat beneath her. Itching to take them off, but she knew her mother was watching the fight from the doorway. Sara knew that her mother was the most beautiful woman in the entire empire just as she knew her father loved her mother more than anything else. Her parents were almost inseparable and had been ever since Sara could remember. He bore the scars of years in the gladiator’s arena on a six-foot-tall frame that was filled out with muscles and straight brown hair on his head. Or at least what was left of his hair after he let the barber crop it close to his scalp in a warrior’s style. Her mother, on the other hand, had browner skin, like Sara, and long, curly black hair that she kept soft and luxurious for her occasional work as a wind dancer. Mother and daughter both had small, lithe forms. Her mother had been a dancer, renowned for her performances in the empress’s court when she had met Sara’s father at a ceremony awarding his prowess in the arena. Her mother had said he’d been smitten from the moment he saw her. Her father just smiled and pulled her close every time.

  Even now, nothing else could draw his eyes away from her mother when he looked to her. Sometimes Sara felt the burn of jealousy, the desire for her father to love her more than he loved her mother. But she knew that was impossible. Nevertheless, she had his love still. But even that love wouldn’t protect her if her mother caught her without her moccasins on.