Choices

by Mercedes Lackey

  “That seems . . . dangerous,” Wil said. “And impossible.”

  She shrugged. “While we’re wishing, why not wish big?”

  “Let’s not go down this path,” Wil said. “Can I have some time to think? Again?”

  “Certainly,” Khaari said. “I need a stroll to clear my head, myself.”

  “I wonder if dessert is ready,” Lyle said, following her out.

  Alone once more, Wil put his head in his hands. He could feel Vehs tiptoeing around his thoughts, a subtle query in waiting.

  :Yes?: he asked.

  :Is this what’s been bothering you?:

  :Our imminent demise? Yes.:

  :You didn’t tell me?:

  His throat knotted up. :My visions aren’t exactly crystal clear. They start and leave off at random points. Parts are maddeningly blurry. The only certainty was that I’d die. And that . . . how do I tell you that?:

  :Oh, Chosen. This . . . is always the bargain. A bargain I put upon you, if you really stop and think about it.:

  :I don’t, thanks.:

  :I appreciate it.:

  Wil spun the quarrel. :Can I trust Khaari?:

  :Mostly.:

  :Mostly?:

  :Yes, mostly. Aubryn thinks she’s reserving something, but . . . it’s like Alberich-level reserve. She needs to get to know you and learn what she thinks you’re capable of, and then she’ll let you in. Do you know what I mean?:

  Wil ran his hands over the gittern. :Yeah. I think I do. Okay. Let’s try trusting.:

  He exhaled slowly, emptying his mind.

  The gittern hummed. The quarrel flashed. Wil’s focus slipped—

  —outward—

  —and forward.

  The Quarry

  Madra emerged from the mouth of the mine, cradling the crossbow in her arms.

  Angry gray thunderheads massed in the sky over Wil’s head. No blood, no acrid smell, no burning bodies. The air stifled them with a growing humidity.

  A different then this time. The same quarry, but a different time. A changed future.

  “You think you’ve won,” she said.

  “I have,” he said.

  She smiled. Her arm dropped to her side in a deliberate gesture.

  Something blurred out of the mouth of the mine, but his vision couldn’t seem to focus on it. He heard Madra scream-laughing a familiar refrain as something tremendous rushed toward him.

  “Give Lelia my regards.”

  Then the vision turned to white.

  The Waystation

  A Waystation in the forest. . . .

  He walked toward it. Had always been walking toward it, in a way, since the day he’d been born. Vehs passed silently nearby. Wil couldn’t see him, just felt his presence.

  Flowers nodded in the night breeze, perfuming the air. A million stars winked overhead, a million fireflies flashed back in answer. Gittern music welcomed him through the door, and a dear voice sang a welcome.

  Wil reached for the handle—

  —and dropped his hand.

  “Not yet,” he said.

  With a click, the door sprung open all on its own. Khaari leaned in the entryway.

  “Well met, Herald,” she said. “Do you walk the Moonpaths, too?”

  Wil woke up with a start.

  The real Waystation. Where the quarrel still spun, and Bloom hummed softly.

  “Give Lelia my regards—”

  “No,” Wil said, scooping up the quarrel and shoving it back in the pouch.

  :Vehs,: he said. :Get Lyle and Khaari. We have a siege to plan.:

  Deep in his belly, Wil could feel the seed of the stone starting to dissolve.

  The Quarry

  Nothing had gone right.

  Heralds.

  Madra tried not to let her annoyance show, but she couldn’t help picking at the scab on her arm. For a week now they’d festered in this dank hole, waiting. They’d run out of water, and no one knew how to work the old pumps. Their options, like their cups, had run dry.

  She’d had a plan, once. A fantastic one, years in the making. But no plan survived first contact with the enemy, and hers had barely survived first contact with the Bard Lelia, much less a determined Herald. She’d known the cache had been compromised, but Wil’s pursuit and a lack of competent help to move it had put everything into disarray. And by the time she’d rallied that help. . . .

  Too late.

  She glanced out the mouth of the mine entrance. The Herald’s guards patrolled the ridge above the quarry, just out of range. They made no effort to hide, and at night they drummed and made so much racket no one could sleep. They’d clogged the exits with boulders and killed or captured her sentries on the first day. She’d prepared for an assault. She’d gotten a siege instead.

  Gods damn them all to the deepest, coldest, harshest hell. The one with the demons that flayed you alive and used you as a hand-puppet after.

  Madra licked her lips, cracked and dry. Lack of water would kill them before scurvy and starvation, a miserable way to go. What then of the fabled Heraldic “mercy”?

  Oh, they offered it. Daily. One of the Heralds would ride out and call out terms of surrender. Sweet promises of “justice” and a “fair trial.”

  Ha! Her mouth twisted at the thought. None for her. She had the blood of a Companion on her hands, to say nothing of Ferrin. And that twice-traitor Carris should have been added to the tally, but Wil had won that battle—Madra’s spies had informed her the little bitch was already back to Haven. Probably singing whatever song Selenay desired.

  :Bond with me.:

  The voice wound its way through her mind, wrapped her spine, and settled like oil in her belly. Madra shuddered and shook it off. The call came every day, and every day it got a little harder to resist. Especially when she was just . . . so . . . tired.

  “Hey, Madra,” a voice said.

  She turned to look at Galos, among the last of her Bards.

  What good they’ve done me, she thought.

  “So, ah, we’ve been talking,” he said, not meeting her gaze.

  “You have,” she said flatly.

  “We . . . we think it’s time,” he said.

  :Bond with me, Madra,: the voice purred. :We’ll get out, together.:

  “Time for what?” she asked.

  “To . . . surrender. You know. Like th-the Heralds have offered—”

  She touched his forehead, shutting down his mind with her Gift. He collapsed instantly.

  In a way, she did him a mercy.

  In the shadows of the cave, something groaned as it rose.

  “If you eat them all, could you Gate?” she asked.

  :No, no,: it replied. :Not here. No.:

  “Well, eat them anyway. I’m done with them. You and I can rebuild and live to fight another day. Carris is the last traitor I’ll suffer.” She hoisted her crossbow and turned back toward the mine entrance, touching a pouch that hung from a belt on her hip.

  Behind her, she heard the wet crunching of bones, and then the screams started.

  For Galos, she did a mercy.

  Judging by the screams of the others, no such mercy was allotted.

  The Waystation

  Wil knew before Rivan’s mindcall that today would be the day.

  They’d turned the Old Solmark Waystation into a makeshift basecamp, rotating day and night shifts at the quarry. Khaari kept them outfitted by going to Solmark for food and supplies, and the cousins kept Ivy occupied with reading and knife-throwing lessons.

  That morning he’d woken up to an oppressive air and the hot, sticky promise of an impending thunderstorm. Even though his shift wasn’t until evening, he’d paced restlessly all morning, waiting and waiting, until—

  :Wil, something’s wrong at the mine.:r />
  He saddled Vehs in record time, gave Ivy a quick kiss and hug, and then galloped off to the quarry.

  He heard the screams as they rode up. They pulled alongside Rivan and Lyle on the ridge above the mine.

  Is she killing them? An accident? He didn’t remember this in his visions, but his visions tended to start with her emerging from the cave mouth. He glanced up at the sky. Thunderclouds. It looked right.

  The screams stopped.

  And then Madra stepped out, smiling, crossbow cradled in her arms.

  “Surrendering?” Wil yelled down at her.

  She laughed. “There’s no one left to surrender, Herald. I took care of that. Like I’ll take care of you.”

  “So you’re surrendering?”

  She shook her head. “You think you’ve—” she started to say.

  “Now!” Wil yelled.

  Above the mine entrance, Khaari and the cousins triggered the rockslide.

  Madra dove forward, crossbow flying out of her arms as she avoided the thunderous rain of scree and boulders. Dust flooded the quarry below. With a week at their disposal, they’d had enough time and hands to engineer the trap per Wil’s design and the ingenuity of the cousins.

  Not exactly a river or a colddrake, but the next best thing they could manage.

  Wil waited, holding his breath. This was the part of his vision where things went unstable, the part he couldn’t predict. But—

  I think . . . it worked? Wil thought, a smile daring to spread across his face.

  Something pushed the rocks aside.

  Not easily. It didn’t burst through them like in a Bard’s tale, instead digging away with purposeful sweeps.

  From the overlook above the mine, Khaari gave a high-pitched howl, drew her sword, and leaped down the escarpment as if she were half-mountain goat.

  “Scatter!” Wil bellowed, and the cousins broke for the treeline, until only the Heralds, their Companions, and Khaari remained.

  Wil and Lyle began nocking arrows.

  The thing inside the mine emerged, poking its head through the debris. It had a serpentine body, an enormous beak, feathery wings, and hooked talons. Gore splashed its chest. It looked like something mashed together from spare pieces, a monstrous grab bag of parts that filled the quarry. It glared balefully at them as it perched on the boulders.

  I take it back, Wil thought. This didn’t work at all.

  The construct looked up at Khaari curiously, then bent its head and reached for something, picking it up before launching into the sky. Khaari slashed at the creature, but it ignored her, beating its wings lazily before circling once, gliding past, then crossing again. It angled toward the Heralds as if commanded.

  The arrows largely bounced off the creature’s body. One sank into its neck, but it glided on, undeterred. In the second before it banked up, Wil saw Madra clutched in its talons.

  She met his gaze as she flung a powder in his face.

  “Give Lelia my regards,” she hissed.

  Wil’s world filled with an acrid perfume. His eyes and skin burned. His head exploded in red fire.

  :Chosen—!: he heard Vehs cry.

  And then silence.

  Between

  The morning started with quiet and an internal stillness.

  Wil opened his eyes and wondered if he’d gone deaf. But sound hadn’t abandoned him. He sat up to the shush of sheets and muffled birdsong coming through the unfamiliar shutters. He didn’t know where he was, but a moment later he heard soft footfalls, and then Ivy was standing beside him, looking up worriedly.

  They shared a long moment.

  She wrinkled her nose.

  “Your breath stinks, Dada,” she said.

  “Good to see you, too, liebshahl,” he croaked.

  She flung her arms around him. The doors opened, and Khaari and Lyle entered. They looked equal parts relieved and dour.

  “Don’t get too close,” he warned them. “My breath is atrocious.”

  Khaari snorted. “To be expected. You’ve been out a few days, and the Healer’s been forcing all manner of potions down your throat.”

  “Oh, good. Potions.” He rubbed his head. “What did Madra throw at me? I can’t hear Vehs.”

  Lyle and Khaari exchanged a look.

  Out of decades of habit, Wil tried—:Vehs?:—but to no avail. The bond hadn’t broken, but the disconcerting silence between them echoed dully, like when his ears got stuffed up from a cold, but a million times worse.

  The acrid powder. What was it?

  Was it . . . permanent?

  “Where did you find a Healer?” he asked. “Where are we?”

  Again that exchanged look. Wil felt fragments of his memory starting to return.

  “What . . . was that . . . thing . . . with Madra . . . ,” he asked.

  “That,” Khaari said, “was what I came here for.”

  Wil stared at her.

  “I have not been completely forthcoming. To be honest, Herald, you had every right to not trust me completely when we first met, though not for the reasons you think. The Shin’a’in are sworn to certain duties. And your Madra unearthed something she should not have. She calls it Lord Dark. I had a suspicion it was in the mine with her, but. . . .” Khaari bowed her head. “Trust . . . may have been hard for me to grant you, as well. I’m sorry. I truly believed the cave-in would work.”

  “Did anyone of our number die?” he asked.

  Khaari and Lyle shook their heads “no.”

  “Acceptable losses, then,” Wil said.

  The door opened again, and a man in lush green entered, his robes trimmed in gold. Attire that suited both a Healer and a lord.

  Lord Grier Baireschild inclined his head. “I’m glad to see my patient is doing well,” he said. “The Kal’enedral got you here just in time for me to save you. When you are recuperated, Herald, we should talk about what we’re going to do about my so-called sister.”

  Wil’s Quarry

  The wind snapped at Madra’s face, and her ankle and wrist sang with a distant agony; she’d broken both evading falling rocks.

  The presence coiled around her spine and the base of her neck no longer felt alien, and she wondered why she’d fought it for so long. It siphoned off the pain, she knew not to where. It used it for something. She didn’t care what, so long as things hurt less.

  :We were always meant to be,: it crooned to her. :Always, my chosen.:

  :Yes,: she thought back at it, wearily. :Of course.:

  At least the Herald would bother her no more. She’d thrown enough of the erakk-fungus in his face to ensure that.

  Lord Dark’s talons pressed into her sides, the tips drawing just a little blood. But no matter. Blood had drawn her to it, blood bound them together. What was a little more now?

  They flew together toward the Pelagirs, and new plans.

  Weight of a Hundred Eyes

  Dylan Birtolo

  “Help!”

  The voice called from inside the granary, a panicked shout that jerked Paxia’s attention like the crack of a whip. She dropped her water bucket, the liquid spilling over and soaking into the dirt road as the young girl stared at the building. She blinked once and rushed forward, investigating the source.

  The door to the sturdy wooden building stood open, illuminating the front room with shelves warping under the weight of the bagged supplies they carried. The smell of fresh-milled grain made the air heavy.

  Paxia weaved around the barrels, heading to the large rolling door leading to the grain storage area. She grunting with the effort to move the slab of wood standing over twice her height; the wheels squealed in protest as it opened.

  A pile of grain sacks blocked the entrance, tall enough to prevent Paxia from seeing farther into the room. Between the edge of the door and the sacks, she sa
w Jindar, his legs pinned. His face tightened in pain, and his skin flushed red as he reached up with both hands to wedge the grain high enough to slide out from underneath. His arms shook with the strain, but he couldn’t escape. He gasped as his arms collapsed to his side, and he winced as the burden shifted.

  When he opened his eyes, he saw the girl standing in the doorway and smiled with relief despite the tear streaks running down the sides of his face.

  “Paxia, go get help! Please!” He sucked in breath through his teeth and arched his back as much as his compromised position allowed him to.

  Paxia started to turn when she heard a horrible groaning sound, like trees in the forest during a windstorm. The long chutes stretching through the empty space near the top of the granary shifted, the supports holding them in place bending to their limits. A crack sounded, and a large splinter flew across the room as it burst free from one of the pillars. Jindar looked up at the chute over his exposed body, his eyes wide as the rest of him froze like a fish stuck in ice.

  As the support buckled under the strain, shards of wood flew through the room, a sharpened hailstorm. Jindar covered his face with his arms, shielding his impending death from sight but doing little to protect against the crushing impact.

  A strong wind summoned from the doorway burst through the room, toppling the top couple of sacks from the pile and blowing the falling structure away from Jindar. It crashed a few feet from him, kicking up a cloud of dust and dirt that made him cough before the lingering wisps of the wind cleared the air.

  Paxia stood in the doorway, both hands held in front of her, fingers extended and palms facing out as if she was pushing against an invisible wall. Sweat made her light hair stick to her face, and her breath came in ragged gasps that made her shake with each inhalation.

  A handful of people rushed into the granary, the first one easing Paxia to the side so they could lift the sacks off Jindar. The young girl stood in the corner, trembling as she stared ahead, not seeing anything. Even though no one looked in her direction, she felt the eyes following her, watching as if they were boring through her soul. She turned to look over her shoulder, but she saw only the wall. She heard the others speaking as they pulled Jindar free, the voices coming from a distance as if she sat at the bottom of a well.