"We'd hoped there was a small chance. Poor Iriana. Anya's in the north tower, they said. I haven't seen her since I brought her in. Messroom gossip says Velichkor will take her as part of the sacrifice."
It was my turn to curse. Kalia grinned and shook a finger at me. "Such language, young lady!"
She delivered me to another priest, presumably Master Kopos. Evil minions shouldn't look and sound like kindly old grandfathers, but this man did. He gave me a hellacious scare, for he just looked at me and said, "There is the smell of magic about you, girl. What is it?"
I said nothing and considered fainting or bursting into tears, as any properly frightened maiden would, but I couldn't quite manage it. Instead I just put my head down and trembled some more.
He stared at me intently. "Yes, definitely something magic. But not an illusion, not a bespellment. Not something you've done, or had done to you. Something you are."
Gods above, that scared me spitless! I could kill him, I knew, quickly and quietly and easily, but that wouldn't get me any further on with this damned-fool mission. Nothing to do but wait and see what he would do. He came toward me, still staring, took my shoulders, and turned me around. His fingers brushed my hair aside, exposing the back of my neck and the birthmark that I had been told about but had never seen. I heard the sudden hiss of his indrawn breath.
"Your mother was a sacrifice in her time, wasn't she?" he asked.
"Yes, my lord," I whispered meekly. "How did you know?"
"You bear Velichkor's own mark, child. He will be very pleased to see you. He always is, when one of His own begetting comes back to Him."
* * * *
I've let Anya talk me into some of the damnedest things, but this one had to beat them all. Lustful Lar locked up in a harem with dozens of beautiful naked maidens—and not able to do a blasted thing about it.
But after I got a good look around, I didn't want to. Yeah, laugh if you want, but any decent man would feel the same. Only about half of those girls were of proper beddable age, maybe fourteen to sixteen. The others were barely nubile, with slim childish bodies and just-budding little breasts. Some weren't even that. One exquisite little beauty couldn't have been more than eight or nine, just the age of my littlest sister. I thought about my own daughter, still safe in her mother's womb, in this room a few years from now, and I vowed then and there to kill Velichkor or die trying.
One group, about a dozen or so, sat apart, chattering as gaily as if they were at a village festival. The others sat or lay numbly on soft bright pallets, just waiting helplessly for it to be over.
"Lar?" Anya's voice whispered in my head. "I'm here."
"Hey, it works!" I thought back at her.
"Told you it would. Maybe next time you'll believe I know my magic."
"Are you all right?"
"Yes. They knocked me around and I've got bruises, but that's all. Her laugh sounded hollow. "They believed that old tale, that taking a witch's virginity makes her powerless. Kalia told them her partner raped me, but the bad luck I cursed him with killed him.
"Look around for me, Lar. Ah, yes. Elfi's the little dark-haired girl over there, on the purple blanket."
"I see her."
She was one of the young ones. I wanted to take the man who had chosen her and cut him into a few thousand screaming little pieces, starting with his privates. As I knelt beside her, I could see the tearstains on her little face. "Are you Elfi?"
She nodded without speaking.
"I'm Lara, and I'm here to help you. I have a message from your cousin Anya. She says to tell you it will be all right."
"Anya? You know Anya? And what she—" Elfi stopped and swallowed hard. "Don't let them hear you!"
"Who?"
"Them!" She indicated the happy group. "The ones that call themselves 'Velichkor's Brides'. They want this...what's going to happen...." Her lips started to tremble as she visibly fought her fear, then broke into fresh tears. So she knew, or thought she did, what Velichkor and his priests were going to do at their obscene ceremony. I did know. They would gang-rape these girls first, publicly, then use the power gained from their shame and fear and pain to feed their life force to Velichkor.
I couldn't stand it any longer. I sat down beside her and put my arm around her. She turned to me like the child she was, put her arms around my neck, and burrowed her face into my shoulder, her little body shaking with sobs. I just held her and stroked her hair while I talked to Anya. "Anya? Can other magic-workers talk to each other like this? Or look through someone else's eyes, to be spying on these girls?"
Her 'voice' hesitated. "Without the same kind of blood-link that we have through the baby, it would be very difficult, but it can be done. And the spy would have to be like you, a willing participant."
"So if there is a spy here, one of those Brides would be the most likely."
"Yes. What are you getting at, Lar?"
"I want to teach Elfi how to defend herself. Hell, I'll teach any of them that are willing to learn. Anything that will add to the chaos we've planned is worth trying."
"I knew I didn't pick you for your looks alone. Hm...relax your throat muscles and let me use your voice."
Everybody has had the experience of saying something without meaning to, almost as if somebody else has taken over your tongue, but hearing yourself singing without willing it is really weird. There weren't any real words, even, just the soft crooning sounds that a mother uses to soothe her child to sleep.
That must have been Anya's intent, for the Brides stopped chattering and drifted off to their beds. Soon they were all fast asleep.
Elfi stirred in my arms and raised her head. "That wasn't a very good lullaby," she said reproachfully.
"No? Anya seems to think so. Look."
She looked, and a faint smile came over her face. "Good. We can talk without those noseys sticking in where they aren't wanted."
"Right. Elfi, do you want to know how to fight back when the ceremony happens?"
"Yes," she said in a little voice. "I don't want to be a helpless little lamb going off to slaughter—but I don't know how."
"I'll teach you."
"You?"
I had to grin at the disbelief in her voice. "I'm older than I look. And I'm warrior trained, one of the best."
"Then teach me."
There was only time to teach the bare basics that day. You know, the kind of dirty tricks that don't take strength and work best when your opponent isn't expecting resistance. As they noticed what we were doing, most of the other girls came to ask for help too. I was proud of them. Young they might be, and scared spitless, but they were warriors at heart.
As I said, there wasn't a lot of time. I had my arms around Elfi, playing the part of her attacker as she practiced, when we were interrupted. The door opened, and a file of priests came in. "Playing girl-games?" one of them asked with a sneer. "That's not allowed, girls. You have to wait for men, tomorrow."
"The only games are in your filthy mind," I answered icily. "I'm trying to comfort these children who should be home in their own beds."
Little Elfi was no fool. When I released her she was already dripping with tears. "I w-w-wanna g-go home!" she wailed, and a chorus of girls burst into tears and joined her. The priests ignored them. Master Kopos made a sharp gesture and the noise cut off abruptly. "Now, no nonsense," he said sternly. "Line up, all of you."
I recognized the tingle of magic coercion, and did not fight it. No point to wasting strength you might need later, after all. They moved down the lines of girls, examining us closely and making their choice of victims for tomorrow.
About half of them, the most senior, had made their choice when another commanding voice spoke from the door. "A poor lot this year."
As one, every priest fell to his knees and bowed before the being they worshiped. Velichkor was beautiful, no denying that. White-blond hair, a sculpted face and body that belonged on a marble statue—and just as cold. The hair stood up on my neck and a
rms, and I shivered. Sheer, malevolent evil poured from him, and in that moment I believed every story that I had ever heard of his cruelty.
He looked bored as he surveyed the clusters of girls. My girls were still scared, and showed it. The Brides tried to flirt, fluttering their eyelashes and oozing adolescent charm. Blessed Lady, after a hundred years of frightened girls and simpering Brides, I'd be bored too!
And that gave me the hook to snare him with. When his eyes fell on me, I gave him back the look that has gotten me into trouble in taverns the kingdom over—the level challenging stare, the slow sweep of the eyes from head to foot and back again, and the amused insolent half-smile. Normally this causes my target to snarl, "Who're you lookin' at, little man?"
Velichkor, of course, did not. Instead, interest came into his eyes, and he reached out to finger a lock of my hair. "So. Even my own get don't usually have such foolhardy courage." He turned to the attending priest. "This one."
* * * *
There were no lessons the next day, at least not in unarmed combat. Instead, body-slaves were admitted to groom the sacrifices for that night's ceremony. Manicures, hair styling, baths, stuff like that. Now, I enjoy a bath as much as anybody, but not in milk! Ewww!
The meals they served were only fit for invalids. More milk, this time served up in creamy custards, eggs, chicken simmered in almond milk, all of it white, all of it intended to tempt delicate appetites.
I ate it anyway. Years ago I learned that if I go into battle on an empty stomach, I get the shakes and want to puke. This stuff settled down as happy as a kitten by the hearth.
It was an endlessly boring day, and yet all too soon the golden light slanting through the windows high in the walls told us that sunset was near. The little slaves returned, and the priests directed them in their final preparations. The girls' hair was given a final smoothing, and husky male slaves brought in heavy chests filled with jewelry. The assorted priests took great delight in picking out just the right pieces to adorn their chosen victims.
And me? They arrayed me like a queen. Except, as I understand it, queens usually have clothes on. All I got was jewelry. A band of gold set with emeralds and tiny diamonds went around my forehead. A matching necklace circled my throat, and they pierced my ears for earrings that were thumb-sized drops of green fire. Wide gold bands set with diamonds and emeralds in swirling patterns clasped my wrists and ankles. (Any sell-sword worth his pay would have given his eyeteeth for any one of them, and for a moment I pondered the possibility of making off with them.)
* * * *
As they took us in torchlight procession to the city's amphitheater, we could hear the cries running before us. "Make way for the Chosen Ones, the Brides of Velichkor!" People lined the streets, open-mouthed with awe and fear. Although a few faces reflected the naked obscene lust of the priests that accompanied us, many more glittered with tears as they grieved for their daughters.
At the amphitheater, guards ringed the upper walls and the banks of seats were packed with unwilling spectators. They too had been seized off the streets, and forced into this place to witness the might and power of Velichkor. The pounding of drums and the wailing of flutes cast a pulsing spell as down on the stage dancers swayed in erotic postures, miming the ceremony that would follow.
As the dancers fell, the drums stopped dead without finishing the pattern of their beat. A soft groaning sigh swept over the crowd as we were dragged to the raised stage, each girl held firmly in the grasp of the priest who would torture and rape her. Good girls; they were following orders, pretending to be scared witless and helpless. Some of them probably were, poor things.
The 'god' was already standing there, waiting for me. He was arrayed like a king out of legend in scarlet and gold. A diadem crowned his head and jewels winked from his clothes. The ceremonial sword swinging at his side blazed in the torchlight with rubies as big as hen's eggs. An evil smile curled across his face as the two High Priests, those who would share Velichkor's Chosen, threw me to my knees before him. He beckoned, and slaves came forward to slowly and ceremoniously divest him of his clothes. The sword he handed to a guard, anonymous behind her armor and helm.
Velichkor took my hands, raised me to my feet, and put his hand under my chin, forcing it up so that my eyes met his. "So, little one. It will be more than pleasure to break you. You are very lovely, my daughter."
I smiled oh-so-shyly up at him and let my own hands stray coyly up his arms. "You may be my father, but I'm not your daughter."
"Riddles, child? Not now." He bent forward, intending to—what? I don't know. Kiss me, I guess, or bite me.
His mouth never touched mine. That was when I grinned and jabbed both thumbs into the nerve centers in his throat. "No. I'm your son."
If he wasn't dead then, he certainly was after I broke his neck.
All hell broke loose behind me. Light splashed like sunrise, strong enough to blind me if I'd been looking that way, as Anya's mental 'voice' cried words I didn't know. Kalia's voice was no quieter as she gave a shrill war cry. Several girls screamed; one of them might have been me.
No, dammit, not because I was scared! Change had hit me, faster and stronger than it ever had, and this time so agonizingly painful that it drove me back to my knees. When it was over, I was sweating and shaken and male again—and bare-assed naked on a stage full of fighting women where anything male had just been designated as 'target.'
At least, that was what I thought was my immediate problem. It turned out I was wrong. When I raised my head, he was still standing there above his broken body. He looked at me and grinned vaporously as his voice sounded in my head. "How thoughtful of someone. My son, right here when I need a new body. And already a shape-shifter, too."
"Oh no, you don't! There's only room in this body for me!" I backed up hastily and almost fell off the stage.
"That can be arranged."
Then—how do you describe something when everything happens at once? He raised his hands and I saw a tongue of mage-flame lick from them. Two voices, one inside my head and another outside, screamed, "No!" in chorus, and somebody tackled me from the side. As I went down, a sword swished over my head, and the mage-fire caught the priest wielding it instead of me.
"Lar!" Anya's mental voice screamed. "Channel us, now!"
Huh? Channel? I really, really wish Anya would explain magic stuff to me before things like this happen. Something that felt like tiny hands grabbed me from inside, at the base of my spine, and heat flared up my back and down my arms. Mage-flames started to stream from my hands. They fried another priest before I knew what was happening.
"Don't waste Power on them! Get Velichkor!"
Now, this was more like it! Give me a weapon, and I'll happily use it. I aimed blue-green lightnings at Velichkor; they flashed and crackled uselessly, as if he had an invisible shield around him. He grinned and reached for me again. I knew if his power touched me it would be worse than rape, worse than dying.
A body threw itself at Velichkor, swinging a sword madly. Light glinted off the rubies of the hilt and pommel—Kalia, wielding Velichkor's own sword. It caught him about where his waist would be, if he'd still had a body. His shields faltered, just for a heartbeat, and I threw everything that Anya and the Sisterhood could feed me. He stiffened and began to glow, blue-green building to blue, to blue-white, to a blinding white that made tears stream down my cheeks.
Something popped, almost noiselessly, and he vanished. There was nothing where he had been, not a puff of smoke, not a drift of ashes, just...nothing.
"Master! He's gone!" screamed one of the few priests still standing. He screamed even louder when the little girl who had been his intended victim kicked him in the crotch.
"You got him, Lara, you got him!" a little voice said in my ear, and the person who had tackled me, who was still sprawled half on top of me, hugged me from behind.
"Elfi-child, we got him!" I turned and started to hug back.
Her eyes widened and she
blushed bright pink. "But—but—you're a man!"
"Damn right he is!" Kalia crowed joyfully. She hauled me to my feet just in time for Anya to nearly knock me over again. She'd been back in the wings offstage, held by guards to await her turn to die.
"Lar! Lar! We did it, we really did it!" She hugged and kissed me enthusiastically. Not that I minded, but I'd prefer to be either clothed or in private the next time, so that my...ah... response wasn't quite so noticeable.
* * * *
You know the rest of the story. The remaining Priesthood lost most of the magic powers they had when Velichkor died. Rioting spread from the amphitheater to the streets of the city, and from there into the countryside. Within three months we had taken back our land from the usurpers.
We're a trio sword-and-sorcery team now, Anya, Kalia and me. Elfi threatens to make it five just as soon as she turns fourteen.
Oh, the fourth? She's due to be born any day now.
I can hardly wait to meet her.
Child of Ice, Child of Flame
by Marian Allen
Marian Allen has had three novels published in electronic form, and her stories have appeared in on-line and print publications, on coffee cans, and on the wall of an Indian restaurant in Louisville, Kentucky. She writes a food history column for the electronic recipe magazine Worldwide Recipes and teaches a non-credit Creative Writing course at Indiana University Southeast. She is a member of the Short Mystery Fiction Society and of the Southern Indiana Writers Group, and is a regular contributor to the SIW's annual anthology. For free stories, surrealist poetry, recipes, and links to novel excerpts, please visit her at MarianAllen.com.
This story demonstrates that a swordswoman may have a lot more to worry about than how well she fights.
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Now Casilda squatted in the crisp air and weak sunlight, covered in another woman's blood, as the townspeople cheered and laughed. She had killed their champion, and they cheered her. They laughed at their champion's cooling body. She was certain this meant trouble.
Marion Zimmer Bradley's Sword and Sorceress XXII Page 19