Tales of Ethshar

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

The oak-leaf tea had a harsh, slightly nutty taste, but she hardly noticed as she watched the world around her shrink back to normal. The bush she had sheltered beneath, which had seemed as big as a castle, barely reached her waist; the tower wall, while still massive, was no longer the vast World-girdling thing it had been a moment before.

  It was also far closer than she had realized.

  She looked up at the barred window of her room, and saw that their entire adventure had only taken them a yard or so beyond the bars.

  Then Deru, who had been nowhere to be seen, shot up to his old height beside her; she stepped back to avoid catching his elbow in her chest. He staggered.

  He looked awful—and, she realized, it was her fault. He had come here to save her. And it had been her own fault she needed saving in the first place.

  She hadn’t meant for anyone to get hurt. And no one had really meant her any harm, either. She had thrown herself at Gar, and he had taken some advantage of that, but he hadn’t tried to hurt her. Even the owl, which would gladly have eaten her, had just been hungry.

  Deru had been trying to help, but he was the one who got hurt. It wasn’t fair.

  “Do you have any healing magic in there?” she asked, as he swayed unsteadily on his feet.

  “No,” he said, “but I’ve been thinking about it. The Cloak of Ethereality should stop the bleeding and take the weight off my injured leg—I won’t weigh anything when I’m ethereal. You start walking; I’ll catch up.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “Just a few minutes.”

  “Then I’ll wait,” she said.

  * * * *

  It was still early in the morning of the following day when Princess Kirna, escorted by what appeared to be a crippled wizard’s ghost, arrived safely back at Quonmor Keep.

  Judging by the expression on her father’s face, her arrival was not half as surprising as the first thing she said when shown into the audience chamber.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said. “I won’t do it again.”

  He snorted. “We should hope not,” he said.

  “On the way home Deru explained to me about wizards not being allowed to get involved with royalty,” she said. “I need to tell you that Gar didn’t really kidnap me; I followed him. I don’t want the Wizards’ Guild to punish him.” In fact, Deru had gone on at some length about how ruthless the Wizards’ Guild could be—information that Kirna knew she had heard before, but had never paid the attention it deserved.

  Tolthar frowned, clearly puzzled. “We have nothing to do with the Wizards’ Guild.” He looked at the rather insubstantial presence standing just behind his daughter. “Is this the wizard we hired? He looks…different.”

  “He’s under a spell. He got hurt, and needed to enchant himself until he can get home. You’ll still pay him, even though I wasn’t kidnapped, won’t you?” Deru hadn’t said anything about his fee; mentioning it was entirely Kirna’s own idea.

  Tolthar looked at Deru, who definitely did not look human just now. “Of course,” he said, with a rather forced-looking smile. “We wouldn’t want to anger a wizard. If we did the Wizards’ Guild you mentioned might decide to show us the error of our ways.”

  Kirna nodded, very seriously. That was exactly what she had been thinking on the way home. Wizardry was powerful stuff. The Wizards’ Guild, given a reason, might well swoop down on them.

  Just like an owl, she thought.

  About “The Guardswoman”

  Esther Friesner was putting together an anthology of humorous fantasy about female warriors, preferably in armor—I didn’t know yet she was going to call it Chicks in Chainmail. I had already given some thought to sex roles in Ethshar, and to the difficulties of fitting armor to female bodies, and this story was the result.

  The Guardswoman

  Dear Mother,

  Well, I made it. I’m a soldier in the City Guard of Ethshar of the Sands, in the service of the overlord, Ederd IV.

  It wasn’t easy!

  Getting here wasn’t really any trouble. I know you were worried about bandits and…well, and other problems on the highway, but I didn’t see any. The people I did see didn’t bother me at all, unless you count a rude remark one caravan driver made about my size.

  He apologized nicely after I stuffed him head-first into a barrel of salted fish.

  After that everything went just fine, right up until I reached the city gates. I asked one of the guards about joining up, and he made a rude remark, but I couldn’t stuff him into a fish barrel—for one thing, he had a sword, and I didn’t, and he had friends around, and I didn’t, and there weren’t any barrels right nearby anyway. So I just smiled sweetly and repeated my question, and he sent me to a lieutenant in the north middle tower…

  I should explain, I guess. Grandgate is very complicated—it’s actually three gates, one after another, with towers on both sides of each gate, so there are six gate-towers, three on the north and three on the south. And each of those towers is connected by a wall to a really big tower, and then the city wall itself starts on the other side of each of the big towers, which are the North Barracks and the South Barracks. Everything right along the highway, out to the width of the outer gate, which is the widest one, is part of Grandgate Market, and everyone just walks right through if they want to and if the guards don’t decide they shouldn’t. Everything between the inner towers and the barracks towers, though, is sort of private territory for us guards—that’s where we train, and march, and so on.

  Anyway, the gateman sent me to a lieutenant in the north middle tower, and he sent me to Captain Dabran in the North Barracks, and he sent me back to another lieutenant, Lieutenant Gerath, in the north outer tower, to see whether I could qualify.

  I had to do all kinds of things to show I was strong and fast enough—most women aren’t, after all, so I guess it was fair. I had a foot-race with a man named Lador, and then after I beat him I had to catch him and throw him over a fence-rail, and then I had to pick up this fellow named Talden who’s just about the fattest man you ever saw, Mother, I mean he’s even fatter than Parl the Smith, and throw him over the fence-rail. I tried to find nice soft mud for them to land in, but I’m not sure if they appreciated it. The lieutenant did, though.

  And then I had to climb a rope to the top of the tower, and throw a spear, and on and on.

  The worst part was the swordsmanship test. Mother, no one in the village knows how to use a sword properly, not the way these people do! Lieutenant Gerath says I’ll need to really work on using a sword. That prompted some rude remarks from the other soldiers about women knowing what to do with swords, only they didn’t mean sword swords, of course, but they all shut up when I glared at them and then looked meaningfully at the fence rail and the mud.

  By the time I finished all the tests, though, a whole crowd had gathered to watch, and they were laughing and cheering—I never saw so many people! There were more people there than there are in our entire village!

  And I was exhausted, too—but Lieutenant Gerath was really impressed, and he vouched for me to Captain Dabran, and here I am! I’m a soldier! They’ve given me my yellow tunic and everything.

  I don’t have a red skirt yet, though—all they had on hand were kilts, and of course I want to wear something decent, not walk around with my legs bare. It must be cold in the winter, going around like that.

  Anyway, they didn’t have any proper skirts; they’re going to give me the fabric and let me make my own. And they didn’t have any breastplates that fit—naturally, one that was meant for a man isn’t going to fit me. I’m not shaped like that. The armorer is working on making me one.

  I asked why they didn’t have any for women, and everyone kind of looked embarrassed, so I kept asking, and…

  Well, Mother, you know we’ve always heard that the City Guard is open to anyone over sixteen who can handle the job, man or woman, and everyone here swears that’s true, so I asked how many women there are in the Guard right now
, and everyone got even more embarrassed, but finally Captain Dabran answered me.

  One.

  Me.

  There have been others in the past, though not for several years, and they wouldn’t mind more in the future, but right now, there’s just me.

  I guess it’s a great honor, but I wonder whether it might get a bit lonely. It’s going to be hard to fit in.

  I mean, right now, I’m writing this while sitting alone in the North Barracks. I have my own room here, since I’m the only woman in the Guard, but even if I didn’t, I’d be alone. Everyone else who’s off duty went out. I asked where they were going, you know, hinting that I’d like to come along, but when I found out where they were going I decided I’d stay here and write this letter.

  They’re going down to the part of the city called Soldiertown, where all the tradespeople who supply the Guard are. I’ve been down there—to Tavern Street, and Sword Street, and Armorer Street, and Gambler Street.

  Except tonight, they’re all going to Whore Street.

  Somehow I figured it would be better if I didn’t go along.

  Well, I guess that’s about everything I had to say. I’m a soldier now, and I’m fine, and I hope everything’s fine back home. Say hello to Thira and Kara for me.

  Your loving daughter,

  Shennar

  * * * *

  Dear Mother,

  I’m sorry I haven’t written sooner, but I’ve been pretty busy. The work isn’t all that hard, but we don’t get much time off.

  Well, I could have written sooner, but…

  Well, anyway, I’m writing now.

  Everything’s fine here. I got my uniform completed—the armorer had a lot of trouble with the breastplate, but he got it right eventually. Or almost right; it’s still a bit snug.

  I’ve been here for two months now, and mostly it’s been fine. I don’t mind standing guard at the gate, or walking the top of the wall, or patrolling the market, and so far I haven’t had to arrest anyone or break up any fights. Not any real fights, anyway—nothing where picking someone up and throwing him away didn’t solve the problem.

  And my time off-duty has been all right; most of the men treat me well, though they’re a lot rougher than I’m used to. I don’t mind that; I can be rough right back without worrying about hurting anyone.

  But I’m not sure I’m really fitting in. I mean, everyone’s nice to me, and they all say they like having me here, but I don’t really feel like I’m part of the company yet, if you know what I mean. I’m still the new kid.

  And it doesn’t help any that once every sixnight, all the men in my barracks hall go down to Whore Street, and the whole place is empty, and I can’t go along.

  The first time they did that I just sat here and wrote to you, and then tidied up the place, and kept busy like that, but the second time I was determined to do something.

  So I tried going downstairs to one of the other barracks halls—I’m on the fourth floor of the North Barracks—but I didn’t know anybody there, and they were all busy with their regular off-duty stuff. The only way I could see to get in on anything would be to join the game of three-bone going on in the corner, and I’m not very good at dice, so I didn’t.

  Then I tried going into the city, but I went in uniform, and the minute I walked into a tavern everyone shut up and stared at me. That wasn’t very comfortable.

  I thought maybe they’d get over it, so I bought an ale and sat down at an empty table and waited for someone to come over and join me, but no one did.

  It wasn’t much fun.

  When I finished my ale I came back here and sat around being utterly miserable. I felt completely left out; it was as bad as when the village kids wouldn’t play with me because I was so big and strong. I didn’t exactly cry myself to sleep, but I sniffled a little.

  The next day all my barracksmates were back, laughing and joking and feeling good. I made some remarks, and Kelder Arl’s son said, “Well, Shennar, at some of the houses there are boys for rent, too.” And everyone laughed.

  I didn’t think it was very funny, myself. And I certainly didn’t take it seriously. I don’t understand why the men all go to the brothels, anyway—they’re mostly decent people, and could find women elsewhere. Some of them have women elsewhere, but they go to Whore Street anyway.

  Men are strange.

  But it did get me thinking that what I needed was some nice young man I could visit every sixnight. It wouldn’t really do to bed with one of my fellow soldiers; I wouldn’t feel right about that. Besides, most of them aren’t that nice. I wanted a civilian.

  So I started looking for one. I wore my civilian clothes and went to the most respectable inns and shops and tried to act like a lady.

  Honestly, Mother, you’d think that in a city this size, it wouldn’t be hard to find a good man, but I certainly didn’t manage it. For sixnight after sixnight I looked, and I found plenty of drunkards and foul-smelling wretches, and big stupid oxen, and men who might have been all right if they weren’t so small I was afraid that I’d break them in half if I ever hugged them.

  And, well, I gave up, and here I am writing this letter while the men are at the brothels again.

  What is it that makes them so eager to spend all their money there?

  Mother, you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to seal this up for the messenger, and then I’m going to go down to Whore Street and ask someone. Not one of my barracksmates, but someone who works there. I’ll just ask why the men all go there every sixnight.

  Maybe if I can figure that out, it’ll give me some idea what I should do!

  Love,

  Shennar

  * * * *

  Dear Mother,

  I met the most wonderful man! And you’ll never guess where.

  I’d gone down to Whore Street, the way I told you I was planning to, and at first I just walked up and down the street—it’s only seven blocks long—just looking at the brothels and listening to the people. But after awhile that wasn’t getting me anywhere, so I got up my nerve and went up to one of the doors and knocked.

  This woman who wasn’t wearing anything but a chiffon skirt and a feather in her hair answered, and took one look at me, and said, “I’m sorry, but you must have the wrong place.” And she tried to shut the door.

  Well, I wasn’t going to give up that easily; I was afraid that I’d never be able to get up the nerve to try again if I once backed down. So I put my foot in the door and pushed back.

  I tried to tell her I just wanted to talk to someone, but she wasn’t listening; instead she was calling, “Tabar! Tabar, quick!”

  I pushed in through the door and I tried to catch her by the arm, since she wasn’t wearing any tunic I could grab, but I couldn’t get a solid hold, and then this voice deep as distant thunder said, “Is there a problem?”

  And I looked up—really up, Mother! And there was this face looking down at me with the most spectacular mustache and big dark eyes.

  “She wouldn’t let me in,” I said, and I let the woman go. She ran off and left me face to face with this huge man—we’d have been nose to nose if he hadn’t been so tall.

  “We don’t accept women as customers here,” he said. “You could try Beautiful Phera’s Place, two doors down.”

  “I’m not a customer,” I told him.

  “If you have a complaint you can tell me,” he said. “Though I don’t promise we’ll do anything about it.”

  “It’s not a complaint, exactly,” I said, “but I’d like to talk to you.”

  He nodded, and led the way to a little room off to one side.

  And while we were walking there I got a good look at two things.

  One was the front room. It was amazing. Silk and velvet everywhere, and beads, and colored glass, all in reds and pinks and yellows.

  And the other was the man I was talking to. Mother, he was taller than Father! And much broader. I’d never seen anyone close to that size before! He had lovely long
black hair, and these long fingers, and that wonderful mustache. He was wearing a black velvet tunic worked with gold, and a black kilt, and he moved like a giant cat, Mother, it was just gorgeous.

  Anyway, we went into this little room, which was very small, and pretty ordinary, with a little table and a couple of chairs, and we sat down, and he looked at me, didn’t say anything.

  I couldn’t help asking, “Why aren’t you in the Guard?”

  He smiled at me. “You must be new around here,” he said. “Think about it. A guardsman—or guardswoman—has to be big and strong enough to stop a fight, preferably before it starts. You’ve probably seen a guardsman stop trouble just by standing up and frowning, or by walking in the door and shouting—guards hardly ever have to draw their swords.”

  “I’ve done it myself,” I admitted.

  “Well,” he said, “this is Soldiertown. Most of the customers here are guardsmen. If they start trouble, Rudhira wants to have someone around who can stop guardsmen the way guardsmen stop ordinary tavern brawls. So she hired me.”

  He wasn’t bragging, Mother. He turned up a palm, you know what I mean. He was just stating a fact.

  “But wouldn’t you rather be in the Guard?” I asked.

  He looked at me as if I had gone mad, then laughed.

  “Rudhira pays better,” he said. “And there are extras.”

  “Oh,” I said, and then I realized what the extras probably were, and I blushed and said, “Oh,” again.

  “Some houses use magicians to handle trouble,” he said conversationally. “After all, we all need to have the magicians in sometimes to make sure nobody catches anything, and some of the girls want magic to be sure they don’t get pregnant, so why not use them to keep things peaceful? But if a customer’s drunk enough he might not notice a magician right away, and magic takes time, and can go wrong—and besides, I cost more than a guardsman, but not as much as a wizard! So Rudhira keeps my brother and me around, and we make sure everything stays quiet and friendly and no one gets rough.” He leaned back, and asked, “So why are you here?”

  So I explained about how all my barracksmates would disappear every sixnight, and how tired I was of being left with nothing to do, and I asked why they all came here, instead of finding themselves women…I mean, finding women who aren’t professionals.