Swords, Sorcery, & Self-Rescuing Damsels

by Jody Lynn Nye

  Marie-Jeanne dropped to her knees and let her voice die away. Mistinguette leaned over and chucked her in the cheek with her head, as if to say, “Well done.”

  “Well, then,” the comte said, swinging out of his saddle and striding to her. Unlike his usual bluff self, he looked abashed. “It seems that not only the falcon, but the falconer is full of surprises. I apologize for doubting your father when he said you would do well. You have done more than well, child.” He held out a hand to help her up.

  “Thank you, my lord.” Marie-Jeanne discovered that her voice was no more than a hoarse croak. Mistinguette peeped.

  The comte smiled.

  “Say no more,” he told her. “I think we’ve all heard enough from both of you for today. I see why I cannot control your falcon. I’m not enough of a wild creature. But it seems it takes one wild spirit to defeat another. You and your kestrel shall ride with me again. I have more to learn from you.”

  “And I from her,” Marie-Jeanne said, stroking Mistinguette’s soft speckled breast. “So much more.”

  ~***~

  Jody Lynn Nye lists her main career activity as “spoiling cats.” She lives near Chicago with three feline overlords, Athena, Minx, and Marmalade; and her husband, Bill. She has published more than 50 books, including collaborations with Anne McCaffrey and Robert Asprin, and over 165 short stories. Her latest books are Rhythm of the Imperium (Baen), Moon Tracks (with Travis S. Taylor, Baen), and Myth-Fits (Ace). She teaches the annual DragonCon Two-Day Writers Workshop, is a judge for the Writers of the Future Contest, and writes book reviews for Galaxy’s Edge magazine.

  SHE REMEMBERED

  LEE FRENCH

  Twin streams created by unrelenting rain funneled in the wagon ruts of the packed earth road. A chestnut mare trotted down the center, her hooves splattering thin mud in every direction, including upward. The horse’s exhausted rider had lost track of time in the constant gloom, and couldn’t guess if they’d reach Cork by dark or not.

  Aife stared at the leather-wrapped hilt of the sword strapped to her saddle, still dazed by the reason she carried one. Fifteen years ago, she’d set aside the mercenary life to bear a daughter. She hadn’t intended for the break to last so long. Whether she remembered how to swing a blade or not, though, she had to try. For Moira’s life, she would kill a monster or die trying.

  The horse slowed and whickered. Aife checked the road. Ahead, a stopped wagon with an odd shape in the back blocked the way forward. One lone figure stood at the rear, working on the left wheel. Hairs on the back of Aife’s neck stood at attention. No matter how soft she’d let herself become, she knew a classic ambush setup when she saw one.

  If Keric had come with her, she wouldn’t have worried. Even the most audacious brigands didn’t bother a pair of armed riders. One woman of her age with a sword, though, wouldn’t give such criminals much pause.

  She scanned everywhere except the wagon. On the right, low grasses and wildflowers covered a gentle slope upward with scattered shrubs and small trees. Yellow, her husband’s favorite color, dominated the blooms. No one save a skilled mage could hide there. Skilled mages didn’t debase themselves with banditry.

  On the left, a line of giant cedars marked the western edge of a sizable forest. An entire army could lurk within it. Aife saw no arrow tips or other weapons, but doubted she would in the rain.

  Expecting attack, she gripped the sword hilt. The moment she saw or heard anything, she could slide off the horse’s side and use it as a shield. If they let her reach the wagon, she’d have to contend with the unknown figure, but she could hide behind it.

  As the horse neared the wagon, Aife tensed. The horse tensed. Even the air and rain tensed, holding its collective breath in anticipation.

  She discovered the odd shape came from a sheet of canvas pitched over the back with a peak in the middle like a tent. Hitched to the front, a fat pony stood with its head down. The unidentified person paused in their work and waved a hand high at Aife.

  Aife snapped her head to the trees and leaned to the side.

  Nothing happened.

  “Excuse me,” the figure said. The woman sounded as exhausted as Aife felt. “Can you help, please?”

  Bandits and highwaymen frequently used women as lures, but seldom did those poor souls seem so worn and used.

  “What’s the trouble?”

  “The wheel is stuck in the mud, and the damned horse won’t move when I tell it to.”

  Still watching the trees and still holding her sword’s hilt, Aife reined in the horse beside the woman. “Where are you headed?”

  “Cork. You?”

  “The same.”

  Someone in the wagon giggled.

  Aife drew her sword and pointed it at the wagon. “Who’s inside?”

  The woman raised her hands in surrender and sucked in a breath. “My daughter. Please don’t hurt us.”

  Her reaction drew Aife’s gaze. Damp wool swathed the woman from head to toe, as a scarf, skirt, and jacket. She seemed young, with no more than twenty summers behind her. Her open face and earnest brown eyes reminded Aife of herself half a lifetime ago.

  The child giggled again with the same voice as Moira.

  “Gemma, come here,” the woman said. She delivered the command with firm, clear voice. Aife used that same tone with her own daughter.

  The canvas rustled, then a little girl with brilliant blue eyes and a mop of blonde curls poked her head out. Aife guessed her age as two years.

  “Ma ma ma ma ma.”

  Aife blinked at the girl who sounded too much like Moira. Shaken, she sheathed her sword. “My apologies,” she mumbled, unable to tear her gaze from the child.

  “No, I understand. Can’t be too safe out here.” The woman lowered her hands. She took a step to her daughter, kissed the girl’s forehead, and shooed her inside again. “Gemma play.”

  “Pwa pwa pwa pwa pwa.” The girl disappeared and giggled again.

  “Pardon my Gemma. She’s...” The woman sighed and shook her head. “Something’s wrong with her.”

  Not sure what to say, Aife climbed off her horse. “You handle your beast. I’ll push.”

  “Thank you. I’m Delaney.”

  “Aife. Nice to meet you.”

  Delaney hurried to the front of the wagon. Aife strained her muscles to rock the wagon back and forth. She gave up after the fourth try and tied a line to her horse for extra power. Between the added horse and Aife’s efforts, they slid the wagon wheel out of a sucking mud puddle.

  All the while, Gemma’s giggles burst from the wagon in random clusters.

  As Aife untied her horse’s lead, Delaney checked her pony’s feet.

  “I can’t think you enough. We would’ve been stuck here forever if you hadn’t come along. My husband didn’t want me making this trip. Maybe I should’ve listened.”

  “Why are you making it?”

  Delaney sighed. “To see a mage. There’s something wrong with Gemma and I know it. The other little kids in our village can talk. They can dance and sing and learn games and all kinds of things. Gemma understands a few words, but that’s all. She’s simple. Which I could live with, I suppose, if her father hadn’t been such a capable mage. This seems wrong to me.” She set down the last hoof. “I just have to know for sure if there’s something a mage can fix. Even if there isn’t and it’s a waste of my money.”

  Aife covered her mouth. Moira had been the same as a toddler. She’d asked her husband for money to take the girl to a mage for the same reason. He’d refused.

  “It’s good your husband was willing to pay for that, but—”

  Delaney barked a sour laugh. “Oh, no, he thinks I’m overreacting and doesn’t know I’m doing this. She’s just a bit behind, you know.” She climbed into the driver’s seat and picked up the reins. “Every child is different, after all. Sometimes, their little heads just need to cook longer.”

  “That’s what my husband said.” Aife remembered the first time she’
d asked. He’d used the same words. Bewildered, she climbed onto her horse and urged the mare to keep pace as the wagon rolled forward. “It’s exactly what he said. Their little heads need to cook longer.”

  “That’s an odd turn of phrase for two different men to use. I wonder if they know each other? What’s his name?”

  “Breasal Cuinn of Cork.”

  Delaney blinked at her. “That’s...that’s my husband’s name.”

  Aife frowned at her horse. “Didn’t you say Gemma’s father is a mage? Breasal isn’t a mage.”

  “Breasal isn’t Gemma’s father. I married him when I was already pregnant. Her father was a breeze-through-town adventurer-type I was stupid enough to believe. Goddess bless, this is a shock. How could one man marry two women? Why would he even do it?”

  Pieces of a bewildering puzzle clicked into place for Aife. She had to explain everything to Delaney. She had to save Gemma’s life with Moira’s.

  “About sixteen years ago, I was one of those adventurer-types. My partner was a mage, Keric. I got pregnant with his child. He kept working to build savings for us, so we could live comfortably for a few years. The second time he left, he never came home, and I assumed he was dead.”

  She remembered that last kiss. He’d brushed a hand over her rounded belly and promised to return long before the birth.

  “We had little. I knew no one. I panicked. Breasal swooped in and promised to take care of us.”

  She remembered his warmth and gentle touch. He hadn’t demanded much of her. At the time, she’d thought him kind and generous.

  “My daughter, Moira, is like Gemma. She didn’t talk until she was five, and since then, she’s never gotten better than simple statements of fact or want. She understands more than she can explain, but not much. Giggles at strange times.”

  She remembered tears. For both Keric and Moira. Years ago, Aife had surrendered to the inevitable fate of caring for her daughter for the rest of her life. She’d mourned the loss and moved on. Aside from her purpose on this ride, the past few hours without Moira had been a guilty pleasure, a terrible joy.

  “This morning, Keric returned.” The moment had turned her world upside-down. “I learned he’d been under a magical geas and unable to leave where he was, or even send a message.” All that time, she’d thought him dead. She’d cried in his arms for an hour or more. Fierce love still glowed between them, and she should’ve felt it. Somehow, she should’ve known to go looking for him. So much time had frittered past, wasted by what she didn’t do.

  “One look at our daughter, and he knew something was wrong, so he examined her. Moira is under a curse. Vile magic has been draining away her life force since she was born. It’s stolen her mind and soul, leaving her with only enough to survive.”

  Recounting Keric’s report made her eyes burn. If only she’d defied Breasal’s wish to not take Moira to a mage, like Delaney had mustered the will to do. If only Delaney had been the first, perhaps there wouldn’t have been a second.

  “Since she started her courses a few months ago, Moira has suffered illness after illness, her health declining with each passing day. She’s bedridden now. Keric says the dark magic is killing her, probably because she’s no longer a child. He tried to remove the affliction, but it was too powerful for him. What he could do was discover its source.”

  “Breasal,” Delaney whispered. “It’s Breasal, isn’t it?”

  Aife nodded. The rage that had put her hand on a sword hilt again after so long roiled in her gut, pushing aside her weariness from the morning’s turmoil. “I don’t know what he is, but I do know he’s killing my daughter. I also know he’s in Cork. I’m going there to stop him and save my daughter.” Keric would’ve come, but he didn’t think Moira would last much longer. He’d stayed behind to do everything in his power to keep the girl alive as long as possible.

  Delaney stopped her pony. Aife halted her horse. Though the rain had lessened to a fine, misty drizzle, the sky had darkened.

  “Night’s falling,” Delaney said. “I knew we should’ve started earlier in the day, but after lunch was when I managed to get up the gumption. Would you mind camping with us tonight? Safety in numbers.”

  “I should’ve left earlier too.” Aife nodded. The time in Keric’s arms had been a glorious luxury she shouldn’t have afforded herself.

  The two women tended the horses, the quiet broken only by Gemma’s errant giggles. Inside the wagon-tent, they prepared a small, cold meal from Delaney’s supplies and compared their experiences with Breasal by candlelight. In both cases, he’d demanded little in exchange for providing much. He’d found delight in the girls and never acted improperly toward them.

  “Two days a month on a schedule like clockwork,” Delaney agreed. “That’s how often we see him. I didn’t realize it was so little until I sat down and added it up. Once I figured that out, I decided I should go, because he’d been to visit last week.”

  Aife had noticed the same many years ago. Like a fool, she’d never given it much consideration. He traveled for business, so of course he rarely stayed at home. “What does he do for the rest of the month? You know, I don’t ever remember discussing his business. He always wants to talk about Moira or me, or the household, expenses, anything and everything except himself.” That tendency had endeared him to her, of course. He seemed so selfless.

  Delaney blinked. “Goodness, you’re right. I have no idea what he does. Some sort of merchanting something or other.” She frowned and passed Gemma a cracker to make her stop giggling. “Four days out of every month, maybe two more for travel. That’s twenty-two days left to account for. What if— What if there are other women with other children? If he’s in Cork right now, what if he’s got one there? And another five or more in other villages?”

  “All those children, and all those mothers,” Aife whispered.

  “And we never meet each other because we’re too tired to ever get out. Even if we weren’t, no one wants to talk about a child like this.” Delaney rummaged through a lumpy sack and retrieved a small leather pouch. She offered it to Aife. “This is the money I planned to pay the mage to look at Gemma. You take it, and you use it to get at that bastard. He’s ruined a lot of lives. If he’s been doing this for a long time, he’s ruined a whole lot more than we’ll ever know.”

  Aife held out a hand to push away the coin purse. For a farm girl, the number of coins offered had to represent years of scrimping and saving. “I can’t take that.”

  “Yes, you can.” Delaney dropped it at Aife’s feet. The coins inside clunked. “This all stinks of magic. I’m no warrior or mage. I can’t fight Breasal and hope to win, especially not with Gemma to look after. You can. And you need support. This is what I can do for you.”

  Picking up the pouch, Aife didn’t know what she’d do with the money. She didn’t need anything and couldn’t stomach the idea of using it to pay for a room or food in Cork.

  “Don’t you dare ‘accidentally’ leave it behind come morning.” Delaney snuffed the candle and settled with Gemma.

  If she didn’t use it, Aife decided, she’d find Delaney and return it. With that thought, she settled under a blanket and fell asleep.

  Gemma woke them in the morning. Aife helped Delaney turn around the wagon, then urged her horse onward. Within an hour, she crested a low hill.

  Aife hadn’t visited Cork in sixteen years, yet little had changed. Villages dotted the three roads leading to the massive, singular gate in the high stone walls around the city. Stone buildings marched to the ocean, where ships bobbed with the waves at the deep-water port. Horses, oxen, wagons, carts, and walkers clogged the area near the gate.

  As she neared the city, a chilly breeze brought the stench of too many creatures in too small a space. Dogs barked, donkeys brayed, children shrieked, people chattered. Guards stood at attention and watched people pass through the open gate without stopping anyone.

  She didn’t know where in Cork to find Breasal. Once upon a time,
she would’ve plunged into the seedy underbelly and knocked heads together until someone pointed her in the right direction. That approach took skills she hadn’t practiced in a long time.

  Since no one knew her anymore, she figured no one would treat her like a criminal or mercenary. She stopped her horse beside a guard.

  “Excuse me. I’m supposed to find a man named Breasal Cuinn to deliver a package. Do you have any idea where he might be? Or know of a place to ask after him?”

  The guard smiled at her. “Of course, ma’am. Master Cuinn’s place is on the north side, along Crevard Row.”

  Aife blinked at him. “I...didn’t expect you to know that.”

  He laughed. “I guess it’s your lucky day. Master Cuinn passes through here all the time, and he’s a frequent guest of the Duke. I sometimes escort him.”

  “Thank you.” Aife moved on, eager to keep the guard and his colleagues from remembering her.

  Three-story houses sharing side walls lined Crevard Row on both sides of the street. Every house looked the same as every other house except for the window boxes. Flowers in every color spilled from planters hanging off the facades.

  Planters full of daffodils and yellow daylilies made her pause outside one house. As she reined in the horse, the front door opened, and a woman stepped out.

  The woman, perhaps five or six years older than Delaney, wore a black wool dress with a white pinafore and a white bonnet covering her hair. Her shoulders sagged with weariness. Aife thought she recognized the droop of a young child’s mother.

  “Excuse me, miss? I’m looking for Breasal Cuinn. Do you happen to know where he lives?”

  “This is his house,” the woman said as she closed the door. “But he’s not home. Come back after dark if you want to see him.”

  “Thank you.” Aife watched the woman walk away. She didn’t want to trouble anyone, but she needed to know.

  Once the woman turned the corner, Aife urged her horse to follow. Two turns later, the woman disappeared around a corner. When Aife stopped to look for her, the woman stepped from behind a column, pointing an accusing finger at Aife.