Marion Zimmer Bradley's Sword and Sorceress XXII

by Cirone, Patricia B.

  Eventually evening rolled around, which signified the end of high tea. All the cooks were looking exhausted, there was very little food left in the storage cellars, and servants began to slink down to hide in the kitchen away from the dragon.

  I removed my banana puff cupcakes from the oven, popped them out of the pan, sprinkled them with cinnamon and sugar and arranged them on a platter using up the very last of my Wishes to make sure they were as perfect as they could possibly be.

  Then I whisked them up onto one shoulder and carried them into the banquet hall. A hush had descended upon the room in my absence. Everyone was looking at the dragon, who was polishing off the last of the raspberry parfait and muttering into his teacup between bites.

  "Where are they?" I heard him grumble into his tea.

  I inched up beside him and slid the cupcake platter onto the table in front of him.

  The dragon sniffed and looked up.

  He poked a claw into one of the puffy yellow cakes and delicately popped the confection into his mouth. He chewed for a moment, and swallowed thoughtfully. Then he closed his eyes and sighed contentedly.

  "Just as I remember," he muttered to the teacup in dragonish. The teacup chirruped back at him in the dulcet tones of my Aunt Twill. I couldn't hear exactly what she said but the dragon nodded vigorously and replied, "You have a deal."

  He poked a cupcake onto each of his front claws, leaving one behind on the platter (for Mr. Manners). Then he turned away from the table and slithered awkwardly out the front entrance, on his elbows to keep the cupcakes from dragging on the floor.

  He turned at the door to look back.

  "I await my Wishes, little fairy," he said looking directly at me.

  I realized what Aunt Twill had done. When a fairy reaches adulthood and trades in child's magic for the real deal, she has a choice as to who gets to keep her Wishes. (How else do you think human wizards got magic in the first place?) Obviously, Aunt Twill had promised my Wishes to this earth dragon.

  He left, moving awkwardly across the cobbled stone bailey, out the barbican and over the moat. Soon he was out of sight.

  The courtiers heaved a collective sigh, and then everyone, including the king and the princess, stared at me.

  I wasn't paying attention because something very strange was happening to my wings. I took off the jester's hat in order to concentrate better. Then I found I had to take off my whole uniform as my wings were starting to push against it. It was a good thing I always wore fairy garb underneath.

  Sure enough, in a very short space of time, there I stood in front of the whole court—with fully grown wings!

  I looked at the King. He was staring at me in wonder.

  "You saved my mother once," I said, "but she died without repayment. So I've been serving your daughter in secret in her stead." I flapped my wings experimentally, and they lifted me easily into the air. I was a little wobbly, but I could stay up and that was the important part. It was nice to look down on people for a change. "My cupcakes have saved your daughter from certain death, so my debt to you is fulfilled."

  I looked down at the princess fondly. "Goodbye, Princess Goob."

  She grinned up at me. "Goodbye, Cups."

  "But wait," said the king, "Don't you have to stay? Be her fairy godmother, make her beautiful and graceful and stuff like that?"

  I shook my head. "I could choose to stay if I thought she needed my help. But I think she'll do perfectly fine without me." I thought about all the gatekeeper's daughters Goob and I had met, and the miller's sons we'd laughed with, and the servants who'd helped us in the kitchen, and the goose-girls who'd gossiped with us. "I think there are others who need fairy godmothers far more than princesses," I said. And with one more wave to Princess Goob, I flew out of the castle and away into the forest.

  I sent the earth dragon my Child's Wishes by butterfly post the very next day. I also sent him the recipe for banana puff cupcakes. I understand he grew even fatter.

  I kept in touch with Princess Goob. Right up through the time when she became Queen Goob. She'd married by then. A rather nice young writer-fellow I found for her, named Adolfus Grimm. They had two children, both boys. I became a kind of adopted aunt, since I had far too many fairy godmother gigs by then to take them on as well. I did tell them about my exploits though, usually over Sunday tea. Fairy-tales, the boys called them. I had no idea they would write them all down. But that's another story.

  Tontine

  by Robert E. Vardeman

  Robert E. Vardeman is the author of more than 50 fantasy and science fiction novels, as well as numerous westerns under various pen names. ALIEN DEATH FLEET, written under the pseudonym Edward S. Hudson, should be coming out the same month as this anthology. For more of his work, see his website www.cenotaphroad.com. He is a lifelong fantasy/science fiction reader and a long-time resident of Albuquerque, New Mexico; he graduated from the University of New Mexico with a BS in physics and an MS in materials engineering, and he worked for Sandia Labs in the Solid State Physics Research Department before becoming a full-time writer.

  In this story, he takes the concept of the tontine—which started out as something that vaguely resembled life insurance—and gives it a very unusual twist.

  #

  "Let's get it over with," Captain Jonna el-Marran said. She forced her voice to remain level as she spoke to the wizened old tavern keeper, though she quaked inside. The Boar's Spit tavern had gone quiet when she walked in. Ignoring the soldiers in her training cadre had been easy enough. She held her head high, looked straight ahead, spotted the empty chair at the rear where she could have the wall to her back and strode to it as unerringly as one of her arrows. The silence passed quickly once she was seated. The soldiers were celebrating their victory over the Loee and protracted mourning held no place in their world. Better to laugh, joke, get drunk and deny that any of them could have died in battle. As a quarter of their company had before the armistice they now celebrated.

  Like Asenthena.

  "It is only right," the tavern keeper said, bowing his head to her until it hung under his hunched shoulders. He backed away as if in the presence of royalty and then shuffled to the locked cabinet behind the bar. Jonna had seen fights break out and bulky men slam into that cabinet over the years. It never so much as creaked. She thought that this might be the safest place in the entire country. Nothing could break the ironwood or breach the intricate brass lock. There might have been more to protecting the contents of the cabinet. A spell? Perhaps, considering the contents.

  Although she did not want to, she strained to look past the tavern keeper as he opened the cabinet door. On a single shelf within stood three bottles. The tavern keeper's arthritic hand curled around the middle one. Carefully drawing it out, he held it close to his frail body so as not to drop it. Jonna sucked in her breath as he shuffled back and placed the dusty bottle on the table in front of her along with an ordinary drinking cup. She had expected more. A goblet? A chalice?

  "You don't have to," the tavern keeper said when he saw her hesitation.

  "You want me to."

  "I only store the bottles. Nothing more. You are the one who took the vow."

  "Has any survivor refused to drink?"

  He nodded slowly, his rheumy eyes becoming sharper as memories poured back like a freshet.

  "Not many. It is an honor."

  "There's no honor in it," Jonna said sharply. She reached out and started to fling the bottle against the wall but stopped when she saw the faded label with four signatures alongside hers. The woman sagged a little, feeling the weight of the years on her. It had been in this inn more than thirty years ago that they had been young soldiers, full of arrogance, ambition and strength, sure they would live forever. It was more difficult for her aged eyes to focus now but the names were as vivid as if they were freshly written. Jonna had been the first to sign the label, then small, dark, powerful, cocksure Bellarine. Torian and Freda had jostled each other to be next and had
settled their never-ending argument by signing side by side. The last name caused tears to come to Jonna's eyes. Asenthena. She had been the last to affix her name and almost the last to survive.

  "You want anything more?" the tavern keeper asked, starting to back away to leave her to her decision.

  "Wait. How is it you were selected to keep the bottle of wine?"

  The tavern keeper shrugged and smiled faintly, the move almost vanishing in the wrinkles on his leathery face. "It is my duty to those of you who give your lives protecting us."

  "Against the Loee? They were only a problem crawling from their pits in the last year."

  "The Loee. All the others. The corridors of time are long and dangerous." The tavern keeper turned and shuffled off, leaving Jonna in a curious bubble of silence. She saw the other soldiers celebrating their victory, yet she heard none of it. Her strong fingers closed around the dusty bottle and then she drew her knife. A quick slash took off the red wax seal around the cork. She bit down on the protruding end of the cork, tossed her head and yanked out the stopper.

  Jonna had no idea what she expected to happen. Ghosts rising from the bottle? A sudden rush of cold shouldering away the heat building inside the crowded tavern? Never had she spoken with or even heard tales of those in other tontines. They had to exist. Hers did. And there were two other bottles in the tavern owner's cabinet.

  Jonna realized she was procrastinating. She spat the cork onto the table. It bounced once and jumped to the floor. She did not bother retrieving it. There was no need for a stopper since she would finish the contents tonight. Hand shaking just a little, she poured a full glass of wine. The heady aroma made her nostrils flare and brought back memories of the day they had sealed the bottle.

  For a moment she stared into the ruddy depths of the wine, then took a deep drink. After all the years, the wine retained its body and color. It slipped easily over her tongue and down her throat. As she leaned back and closed her eyes, the world began to fade about her and she became...

  ...Bellarine.

  Jonna tensed when she realized she no longer looked through her own eyes but those of her dear friend and sworn blood-sister. Bellarine turned slowly, missing nothing—not even the faint outline Jonna made in her hiding place.

  Jonna wanted to cry out, but she dared not. The scene was as acid-etched now as it had been just twenty years ago when she and Bellarine had gone on patrol. Only now she saw it through her friend's eyes. Bellarine had been promoted to sergeant and was in command of the scout unit hunting for the invaders infiltrating from the northland. No one knew who they were but they were deadly, fierce fighters. None had been taken alive for questioning to learn their home country, much less their intentions. Did they come to conquer and occupy or were they simply freebooters?

  As Bellarine, Jonna moved forward like a ghost. In spite of her muscular body she disturbed not a single leaf. No twigs snapped under her broad booted feet. Even the birds and other wildlife in the forest accepted her as one of theirs as they continued mating calls and loud barks and yowls proclaiming their territory.

  Jonna was startled to realize that she—Bellarine!—was uneasy with her promotion. It had been well deserved and obvious to all in the company. But Bellarine felt Asenthena was a better choice. Jonna wanted to tell her it was not so, that Asenthena was hot-tempered and prone to make poor decisions in combat. Only her skill with a sword kept her alive. But Bellarine was exactly what made a good leader. Calculating, cool under pressure, skilled.

  None of that came through to Jonna now. Bellarine saw soldiers moving through the woods and panicked. Bellarine dug her toes into the soft forest detritus to flee. Bellarine crashed full into a northlander and instinctively grappled with him.

  Jonna did cry out now. The northlander had been crawling up to kill her. Bellarine flushed him and fell on him, rolling over and over as they fought. Jonna tried to look away but could not because she saw through Bellarine's eyes. She felt hot blood on her belly and reached down to wipe it away. It was not hers but Bellarine's. She smelled fetid breath in her face and felt the knife slicing painfully up into her until she abruptly died.

  Shaking in reaction, Jonna thrust the empty glass from her and stared at the wine bottle. Four portions remained.

  Jonna had always thought Bellarine had given her life that day to save her. Jonna remembered how she had scrambled to her feet and driven her short spear into the back of the northlander who had killed Bellarine. She had evaded the rest of the northlander patrol, returned and told how Bellarine had not only saved her but had prevented a massacre. Even the company commander had not known the northlanders were so close. They had barely strengthened their defensive line when the enemy attacked. Bellarine had been credited with so much. And she had fled out in the forest to save her own life.

  Or so Bellarine thought. Jonna was not sure after peering into Bellarine's thoughts and memories of that death day where lay the truth. She poured another glass and drank it down so fast her head spun. Jonna poured another glass and swallowed it, going more slowly this time only because her throat constricted against the onslaught of alcohol.

  The world had spun before. Now she felt completely transported, body and spirit, to a day not ten years prior.

  "You're not going to make it back to camp," Torian said, kneeling down to stare into Freda's eyes.

  "Go on. Fetch help."

  "No! I won't leave you. The rebels will find you for certain sure."

  "I can't walk," Freda said, "not with an arrow through my thigh."

  "It missed the big artery. You can hobble."

  "Oh, so you'll support me?"

  "Don't I always?" Torian said.

  The bickering went on until Jonna's head felt as if it would explode. She saw and heard everything her friends did from within their heads. The rapid changes as they swung about made her giddy, but deep down she knew that under their perpetual argument seethed fear that knew no bounds. Torian was afraid she would fail her friend and Freda feared being less than heroic, in spite of the pain. Jonna almost gagged when a new wave of giddiness struck her—struck Freda.

  "I won't lose you to scum like that," Torian said. "They're not worthy of killing you. Only I can do that."

  Jonna/Freda looked into her friend's eyes and saw the anguish. The pain from her thigh spread downward so that her entire left leg was little more than a lump of dough baking in an oven. Worse, her loins burned with a fire that refused to die down. The arrow had been poisoned, as so many of the rebel weapons were.

  "Then do it," Freda said, her voice low but firm.

  Jonna cried out as the words slipped from her lips—from Freda's. With a gasp, she swung from Freda to Torian. Torian looked up and saw the ring of rebels closing in, faces grim with murder and weapons already dripping with blood.

  "I can't escape. You can." The words rang in Torian's ears. "Kill me. Don't leave me for them. You know what they do to prisoners. Then escape and slaughter them all!"

  Torian looked into the forest and saw movement as the rebels worked to close a circle around her and Freda. She looked down into Freda's anguished face.

  "Forgive me, Freda, forgive me! I can't kill you. They'll only take you prisoner. They won't kill you. I swear, I'll rescue you before anything harms you."

  Torian saw that she gave no false hope to Freda.

  "For once," Freda said softly, "stop arguing. Please."

  "By all that's holy, forgive me," Torian said. She slid her dagger free and drove it expertly into the armhole of Freda's armor. The woman died with a gasp. Pink blood foamed her lips, then nothing. Jonna felt the resolve steel Torian and she tried to cry out, to tell her friend not to fight, to run, to find the rebels another day when they were not so strong.

  A shriek of hurt and pure rage ripped free from Torian's lips as she drew her sword and rushed at the nearest rebel. With sword and dagger she slew four rebels before an archer cut her down.

  Jonna stayed with her—as her—until Torian d
ied. The berserk rage faded, leaving only suffering that she had killed her friend and had hardly begun to avenge that death.

  "Are you all right, Captain?"

  Jonna swiped the seat from her forehead and looked up. For a moment her eyes refused to focus. Then she saw one of the new cadre she trained. Leah of Obregsdon. One of the finest, though still filled with the impetuosity of youth. Couldn't she see that Jonna wanted to mourn alone?

  "I...I have had too much to drink," Jonna said weakly. The visions of Torian dying were less vivid and lingering than the bloody dagger in her hand that had stolen away Freda's life. How necessary it had been! And how utterly awful. The rebels had fought like rabid dogs for more than three years until the last of them had been brought down. Not once in those years had Jonna heard of a rebel taking a prisoner. Their captives were all tortured to death.

  She held up her empty hand—and saw a ghostly dagger dripping Freda's pale blood. There must have been some other way. Torian had not seen it. Neither could Jonna.

  "You look the worse for wear, if you don't mind my saying so," Leah said. "You need some company, eh?"

  Jonna rubbed at her eyes and stared at the empty cup in front of her. Only two measures left. Her hand shook as she poured, leaving one in the bottle.

  "I want to drink alone. For the moment," she said in a voice that almost cracked with strain. She looked up sharply at her trainee. Leah and her four friends had proven themselves against the Loee and were the best of the recruits. Just as Jonna had declared herself and her four friends so many years ago as the best of the best.