Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

by Jasmine Walt

  She felt remarkably safe.

  The tent flap was flung open and a slave held it aloft so the great Yuri could stretch before he fully exited; Alaysha could tell, even from her distance, he'd chosen to be bare chested, all the better to display the muscled arms and huge girth of his torso. He had his riding leggings on, the ones with sewn-in amethysts that protected him from dishonesty. Around his head, he wore the Circlet of Conquest—a self-designed, hammered-bronze line that had three jagged points on the front.

  He was obviously dressed for intimidation.

  He strode forth with a wave of his hand to Bodicca. She neither bowed, nor knelt. Not this mighty woman. She was as much a guard as any of the muscled men that shifted their way around camp. She cooked for Yuri because she wanted to, and because she'd earned his complete trust. She picked up the platter and passed it to the slave who carried it towards Alaysha.

  She wished she could stop the drool collecting behind her teeth, and had to swallow repeatedly as the platter was carried close enough she could reach out and burn her fingers on the sizzling meat.

  Her hand was already midair when the slave dropped to his knees, placed the plate next to him on the ground, and then lowered his palms to the moss.

  Yuri was close enough for Alaysha to hear him bid another slave place the platter on the first's back.

  Could she really be about to break her fast with Yuri? After all these years? Perhaps it was a ploy. Maybe they'd found number nineteen—maybe even at her site—and now Yuri would ply her with false hospitality to get to the truth and how much she knew of it.

  The second servant threw the end of a hemp rope over one tree, and the other end over a second. Between the lines stretched a woven seat that, if pulled taut, could create the perfect rest for a weary warrior without him swinging in the air in an undignified way. Yuri settled into it and flicked a fringe of blond hair from his eyes. He pinned Alaysha to her spot with them, only letting go long enough to push his fingers into the hare's belly.

  He scooped stuffing into his mouth and chewed, never taking his eyes from hers. His hand found the rabbit's leg, tore it from its socket and went greasily to his mouth. Time after time, he tore the meat with his teeth, not once reaching for the tankard. Once, he paused long enough to consider a roasted egg. His lean fingers lingered over it, pressed into the seeds instead and went then into his mouth, scraping against his bottom teeth. He smacked loudly, then plucked the egg from its spot and bit into it.

  Alaysha knew better than to speak. Best she wait ’til he offered her some food.

  The hare was nearly gone, the stuffing spread over the plate messily, his chin shining from the honey and boar fat when she realized he planned to eat the entire thing in front of her. Even so, he had not once lifted the tankard from its spot next to the servant's foot.

  He burped once and held onto his stomach as though he was obscenely full. He went even slower then, and Alaysha could see the slave's thighs trembling. There was a rustling in the undergrowth close to the cook's tent, but she didn't dare even look away from her father to see what the noise was about.

  Twice her stomach complained in such an undignified manner it made Yuri grin through the mash of stuffing and eggs. He made a great show of swallowing even as he managed to make it appear as though he had no need of water or ale to wash down the meat—it was enough that he willed it move easily down his throat.

  He left the last leg on the plate with an egg next to it, and wiped his palm down his mouth and off his chin.

  "You did not have my consent," he said.

  She knew what he was talking about. "It wasn't intentional. Truly."

  "There is no such thing. There is only what I will."

  She couldn't keep her eyes from the meat. "I had a fright."

  "You have been trained not to fear."

  "Yes."

  "A witch is to feel nothing. You know this."

  "I know."

  "You know and yet you allow yourself to put us all at risk."

  She couldn't even nod.

  He made a derisive sound, one that sounded somewhere between a cough and a snort. "Your nohma made you soft. It's because of her failure that you're weak." He looked at her with an expression of disdain.

  Alaysha did her best to still the squirming that wanted to take over her belly. "It's not her fault."

  "Then it's yours."

  "Yes."

  "I let you live even knowing what you were, and you repay me with danger in my own camp? You will never outlive this shame."

  She hung her head. "I know."

  He sat quiet for a minute letting her feel the weight of what had happened. She saw again the weeping woman, the small babe. She had only to scan the area around her to see how the water had dried up overnight so that no one could slake their thirst. She had only to notice the tankard that still sat empty, next to the plate.

  "You need to bring the rain."

  "I know that, too."

  "Then why do you wait? Why do you do nothing while your tribe suffers?"

  "The rain comes of its own power."

  "That isn't true."

  She knew she'd never convince him.

  "What else can I do, Father?" She held her hands out, supplicating. She was as powerless to her thirst as the rest of them. More so, even. She'd had nothing to drink and less to eat, and she was weak. A faint headache throbbed behind her eyes.

  He leaned sideways, letting the weave of his seat creak as it relaxed. He noticed the slave's trembling thighs and lifted the platter from his back. "Take this to my night hound," he told him. "She has only had a raw squirrel this morning."

  He pushed the slave to his belly and kicked him in the stomach until he got up and retrieved the plate.

  Yuri regarded Alaysha coolly. "You don't know everything, witch. You only know pieces, and even with those small bits you would argue that you know better than me."

  "Then tell me."

  He regarded her with a queer expression. "Why would I tell a tool where it came from, what it is to do, where I choose to put it when I'm done?"

  "Is that all I am?" She didn’t believe it. He was just punishing her. He couldn't be so cold; she'd seen him with his new favourite. He did love. He did.

  "You are too sharp a blade to be of any good to most men. My tribe would have me believe you're too sharp even for your maker. Are you, Alaysha? Are you too sharp for even your maker to use without danger?"

  Encouraged by his use of her name, she dared: "If a man is to wield a weapon, he must know it, Father."

  He muttered something unintelligible in answer and picked up the empty tankard. He shook it and peered inside thoughtfully.

  "If a blade could score the sky and fill this vessel with rain, it might beg careful tempering."

  He got up and passed her the tankard. "’Til then, we have much work to do. The village you ended was not the village of our search and we need to regroup. While I travel to Sarum, you and Drahl will continue the search. If he finds it, do nothing. I want to be sure it is the correct village before we take it."

  His attention was taken by a crackle of twigs in the brushes nearby. "And take the vermin girl with you; I'm tired of her stealing my hounds' food. The two of you will stay well away from Drahl and his scouts at night. If you are to kill without intention, better it be something of your own."

  He turned from her with a lifted brow of warning and started toward his tent.

  She peered into the tankard as her father disappeared beyond his tent flap and the little ferret eased into view from behind a tree. She was chewing on the hare's leg she'd obviously stolen from the hound's dish. She offered Alaysha the half egg Yuri had left with her other hand.

  Saying nothing, Alaysha popped it into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. It was incredibly delicious for a simple roasted egg, spiced with something she'd never tasted. The smell of honey and cinnamon was strong; coming as it did from the grease Ferret's hand had left on the egg. Such were the things
her father ate every day while she rooted for ferns and boiled her own scavenged eggs. Even in Sarum she'd fared no better.

  She had a room, yes; she had food. The first was in the hall that should have been used for dungeons, except there'd been no need to hold captives for years—not since Yuri had been on his latest campaign and had begun to use his daughter to decimate any enemy. Down within the sanctity of dank earth, past the dozens of tunnels hewn by laboring hands, with stone on three sides and torches to light the gloom was her room. She wasn't a prisoner, exactly, but neither was she welcomed. The only time she felt anywhere near normal was on campaign, and the less she was in Sarum, the more sure of herself she grew.

  So, no, she fared no better, and yet the best she could do on campaign was to eat the leavings from Yuri's plate and the left-for-dogs.

  She deserved more.

  "Wait for me here," she told the girl, and headed toward her father's tent.

  She got only as far as Bodicca's fire before the cook herself barred the way.

  The woman shook her head.

  "Get out of my way," Alaysha said.

  "You're too young to dispute me, even if you are trained," the woman said.

  "I don't mean to try to best you," Alaysha said. "I just forgot to tell him one important detail."

  The woman stared at her suspiciously. "I will have him return to you."

  Ferret approached then, darting toward the fire and lifting the stick that held Bodicca's meal from the rotisserie: three wild potatoes sandwiching scraps of something that looked like meat. The cook's rage was evident even before the girl had leapt over a fallen log and had pushed her way into the trees and up the hill.

  "I'll wait," Alaysha told Bodicca, trying on her best somber expression.

  The woman grunted and leapt to pursuit, her long legs traversing the distance in seconds, the jangling of teeth rattling in her wake. If there was to be a time, Alaysha knew it was now.

  She knew as soon as she took flight, several more guards would be upon her, so she casually lifted a cauldron from the fire and made a great show of lugging it as if it were laden with food toward Yuri's tent. A foot away, she kicked at the flap and ducked in.

  He was seated on the bench to her left, his three-month-old heir lying on his lap, being rocked side to side. Alaysha expected him to show alarm at the sudden intrusion; instead, he smiled slowly.

  "You take such unexpected chances with your life."

  "Do I?"

  He shrugged unconvincingly.

  "I want to know," she said. "I have a right to know."

  He sighed and passed the boy over to his mother, a frail looking blonde Yuri had rescued from her abusive father. Alaysha couldn't remember if the man's widow still lived. Right then, she didn't care.

  "Tell me about those people"

  "What do you need to know that would bring them back?"

  She kept his eye. She had one good tool, now would be the time to use it.

  "Those crones were all marked with tattaus."

  Only his lower jaw moved and that so subtly Alaysha could have imagined it.

  "Yes?" He said.

  "Yes. Just like mine."

  He nodded. "And you lied to me."

  "I needed to."

  "You don't trust me."

  "I lied because I knew number nineteen was alive and I was afraid you'd send me to kill him."

  "I would have."

  "Why?"

  Yuri paused a moment to wave away each and every servant. To the mother of his heir, he gave a brief kiss on the forehead and whispered in her ear. She left with the boy pressed against her bosom, and as she brushed past, Alaysha could see the drawn look to the skin of the babe's hands. Dehydrated.

  She thought she would be sick.

  Yuri caught her staring at the frail boy.

  "She has no milk for him," he said, and he looked pained.

  "Still, he must be strong," Alaysha told him—not wanting to add that if he'd escaped her power, he certainly had to be so.

  "He is his father's son." Yuri turned to the table beside the bench and placed his fingertips on it, spread apart, bracing. "It's time you knew," he said.

  Alaysha let go a breath she wasn't sure she had been holding. Finally.

  "Those people?"

  "Those people are your enemies, make no mistake." He tapped all his fingertips once, twice against the wood. "And they are the enemies of this tribe. They would take my realm and break it back into the tiny fragments I pieced together."

  "Is that so bad?"

  One bright brow lifted scornfully. "You are young. You wouldn't remember what it was like, and you would never know how it was before you were born."

  "So tell me."

  He shook his head and eased down onto the bench, put his massive hands in his lap. "No sense to. The story would take too long. No rules, no laws. No respect for life."

  He glanced up at her. "It was darker than despair, those times."

  "And what of those people? Is this their darkness?"

  He chuckled. "Those people were your mother's people. And your mother's people were the worst of the lot. They traveled from place to place, taking what they wanted. Your mother—" he stopped, swallowed. "Your mother was a woman down the line of power, a shaman's daughter not come to her own."

  It was painful to hear anything about the woman she'd never known, and thrilling too. Alaysha wanted to prod him, but was afraid he'd lose his train of thought. She waited impatiently for him to continue, drew her toe across the dirt in front of her.

  She watched him lick his lips. Considering, it seemed. "Still," he said after a time. "Once I realized that to conquer them was to conquer all, I knew I had to go to war. Both to save the outlying lands from their pillaging and to join the other tribes together."

  Alaysha thought of the battles she'd been on with him, the deaths she'd caused. "But they didn't come easily, did they? None of them did."

  "I had to continue the campaign to remind them," he said with a deft shrug.

  "Ruling by fear," she murmured.

  He looked at her, surprised. "Is there a better way?"

  "And the shamans?"

  "Yes, the crones. They had the power to destroy you, and so me."

  It was pale, as stories went. Such base motivation for killing an entire tribe, but then would she have expected anything grander from Yuri, Conqueror of Hordes? Sure, the continuation of the things he built, the ego and pride of simply having been powerful was enough to keep him on the same dogged path for all his days.

  He didn't seem so big.

  "And number nineteen?"

  He shrugged. "The last of his line, and so all hope of the power continuing is gone."

  "Except for me."

  He searched her eyes for something and seeming not to find it, went on. "Except for you."

  "Why not tell me before?"

  "An Emir who must explain is a poor leader at best. I rule from fear, remember?"

  "And if I refuse to find Number nineteen?" She knew find meant kill, and she knew neither of them would have to say it.

  "Drahl will find him."

  She didn't want to guess how he knew nineteen was a man. Yuri had his ways. "And what will happen to me?"

  His face turned cold and he looked at her without compassion. "You know only pieces, young witch, but I know it all."

  She regarded him as coolly, refusing to show emotion either. "You mean you know how to finish me."

  He tapped a finger to his temple. "Make no mistake, I am not a mere father; I am Yuri—Conqueror of the Hordes—and of the crones." He grinned, but there was no humor in it. "Men fear me."

  She swallowed, and tried not to let her knees shake. "Men might, Father, but Father, you taught this woman not to fear."

  She spun on her heel and lifted the flap of the tent. Several of his guards stood around the perimeter, near the fire, close to the tent. Bodicca stood at the center of the guard, right where her spit waited, empty without its
roasting stick. They were all expressionless, arms crossed, staring at Alaysha as she stepped into the light.

  She lifted her face to the sky, thinking how good a breeze would feel against her flushed skin, and noticed with some relief, it had begun to rain.

  Ferret was nearly stepping on her heels as Alaysha did her best to leave her father's camp as sedately as she could. She didn't want him or any of his guard to know how it all had affected her. Ferret, on the other hand, couldn't seem to get away fast enough and when stepping on Alaysha's heels failed to propel her faster, she took to darting in front, running ahead, then having to come all the way back.

  At one point, Alaysha tried to wave her off. She really wanted to be alone. She'd always known number nineteen was supposed to die, and she'd always killed for her father without question, but now it seemed wrong. A warrior—man or woman—did as was bid in war; it was what they did. It was their duty. The Emir called them to service and the thing was done. There were no questions, no regrets. Some died in service, some lived, and some retired to teaching the craft to the young. Alaysha had trained the same as the rest, except her lessons had, of necessity, been private. Several skilled men and women went down in service to training while they tried to teach the young witch the ways of offense and defense.

  She let Ferret skip ahead, dodging a loose hound returning from the hunt, and watched her halt suddenly, slink to the side, and disappear into the trees.

  Several of Drahl's scouts had gathered around the fire pit, lifting their open mouths to the light rain. The fire sizzled next to them, sending puffs of smoke heavenward. Alaysha paused to watch them and to brood over the dozens of people who came from their tents with hollowed gourds to collect the water. They, like Yuri, would think she had brought the rain purposely and they still wouldn't be grateful. And their lack of gratitude was still solidly set in fear.

  She'd trained as a warrior over years, and in her first months, she killed daily because she couldn't control the fear that brought the power. Each day in a tilt yard past the South wall she practiced. Two men went down the first day, then two more, the next. Yuri realized after that to tell his warriors to go easy on the six-year-old and they might live.