FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  “He may have taken my innocence, but I will always have this time, even if only because you were too weak to escape me.” Her voice measured equal parts anger and sadness.

  “No he didn’t, Penny. I’ve been trying to tell you for days.” I said.

  “What? How would you know something like that?” she replied, starting to become angry. I worried this was about to turn into a repeat of our conversation of the previous day. If only I could show her, to get past all the misspoken meanings and misunderstandings. Then an idea hit me. Looking back now, if I had known of the dangers, I would not have tried it, especially given my inexperience.

  “Let me show you Penny. I think I know a way, do you trust me?” I gave her my most emphatic look, unsure how she would react.

  “Magic?” she asked.

  I nodded, thinking she would surely refuse, but she didn’t.

  “Ok, what do I do?” she answered. I rolled over then, which made me ache all over, but I wanted to see her face. Being a complete novice in bed, I hadn’t thought of how our arms and legs would work in that situation. Naively, I had thought she would simply scoot back a bit to give us room to face one another without having to touch, as in the innocent days of our childhood. Instead she slipped one leg beneath mine and draped her arm across my waist. Thankfully the covers were still drawn, since I was starting to feel well enough that the intimacy caused me to feel a stirring below.

  I did my best to suppress those thoughts and took a deep breath. The ache that caused did an excellent job of returning my mind to business. I looked into her eyes before she said, “What next?”

  “I need to touch your face for a moment. I think that will be enough.” She nodded at me. I had only learned one word in Lycian regarding the mind, but I thought it might be enough to help me do what I intended. “Mirren,” I said, stretching my mind out to touch hers. I raised my hand to touch her face, but she didn’t wait for that, and as I moved she leaned in, kissing me suddenly.

  The world vanished. The sensation was similar to what had happened to me with Marc’s horse but different. There was no sudden plunge as I had experienced then, and I didn’t leave my own body. Instead, our minds melted together, co-mingling our thoughts and feelings. I could sense her body in much the same was as my own, but it was still ‘hers’, unlike what had happened before. In one sense, it was less complete, yet it was infinitely more gentle.

  Words were no longer effective. In our hearts, words are merely a veil that lies thinly over the reality of our experience. Instead I relived the memory of what had happened that night, what I had done, how I had found her, and the emotions flooded through me as if it were happening again. In turn she showed me her own memories, before and after, when she had awoken. The pain she had gone through afterward made me ashamed to have done so little to find her and explain, but I felt her telling me to let go and forgive myself. Her own feelings had shifted from the panic and terror of the experience to a warm acceptance of my part in it. In particular her mind kept returning to the point at which I had laid her gently within her bed that night. She was tasting it, feeling the emotion that had run through me as I looked at her that night, lying frail and beautiful in her bed.

  Vaguely, I was aware that we were still kissing. Throughout the entire experience, we had remained locked in that embrace, though we hardly moved, except to breathe. I could feel her awareness as well, and her heart quickened. Excitement built within me, such that I almost lost my link to her, but I adjusted quickly... I didn’t want to lose her yet. I could sense the changes in her, and she knew mine. The stirring in me before had grown beyond my control, yet she did not shrink away.

  She could feel the aches in my body as surely as my emotions. Carefully, she eased me over on to my back and worked her way up over me. The foolishness of what we were doing made me hesitate for a moment, but I felt her mind then, serious and intent. I need this Mort, I need to erase the fear he left in me. There weren’t words, but that was the meaning that crossed between us.

  I cast my doubts aside, and what followed was both painful and joyous. Ironically, I felt more pain than she did, which might have made a fine joke if there were ever anyone we could tell it to. The next hour was one I am sure neither of us will forget, for we kept our minds entwined throughout, until at last I became too tired, and sleep overtook me.

  Chapter XVI

  THE VARIOUS RULERS AND LORDS of men, kings and nobles alike have long had an uneasy affiliation with wizards and mages. They cannot easily ignore such power in the hands of an individual. Such men of power are a duel edged blade, as likely to cut the hand of the lord who wields it, as to destroy their foes. Wise rulers are wary of this, for they cannot easily do without the advantages a wizard affords, yet they must always be suspicious of one with the power to kill with a word.

  ~Marcus the Heretic,

  On the Nature of Faith and Magic

  The sun was shining through the clouds as Timothy worked, weeding the garden near the kitchen yard. It was a small garden, nowhere near large enough to serve all the people that the castle fed each day. Most of the food was brought in on carts. Instead the cook used this garden to grow herbs and spices, and small things that were best fresh. Timothy frequently got the task of making sure it was weeded properly, but the cook did all the harvesting himself when he needed something from it.

  Most of the other boys living in and around Lancaster Castle disliked weeding, but Timothy never minded the job. He was an orphan and only had a few friends among the children nearby, so he often had too much free time, even with the tasks he was given. The garden was full of growing things and dirt, not to mention all manner of insects and small creatures, like frogs. He quite liked frogs. Since there was no rush for him to finish, the cook never complained if he took hours to complete the task, so long as he didn’t damage the plants. So he weeded, and talked to frogs, weeded some more and then got diverted by the appearance of a grasshopper. Small boys are easily distracted, and Timothy was no exception.

  He looked up as a shadow passed over him, Father Tonnsdale stood there, smiling at him. “There you are! I’ve been looking high and low for you Timmy!”

  “I was right here the whole time, Father! Cook likes me to weed, and he don’ mind if it takes a while,” he gave Father Tonnsdale his best smile.

  The old priest tousled his hair, smiling at him, “It’s alright boy. I just needed you to fetch something from town for me.”

  “Sure Father, I can finish this later,” Timothy replied, dusting himself off.

  Father Tonnsdale gave him directions to a house in town that had what he needed. He told Timothy it would be a small but heavy package, possibly jars. He was to fetch it straight away and bring it back to the chapel.

  “What’s in the package?” Timothy asked curiously.

  The old man gave him a conspiratorial wink, “It’s a secret; a surprise for Mordecai when he gets better. Something like an heirloom, he’ll be glad when he gets it. Just remember, don’t tell anyone until after you get back to me with it. We can tell him together, if he’s better tomorrow.”

  Excited Timothy took off at a run, full of the endless energy of youth. He liked Mordecai and had worried that he might not recover from his fall. Being given something he could do to help made him feel better.

  The morning after the hunt Devon found himself waiting outside the Duke’s chambers. He had been summoned at dawn, and although he had arrived within a quarter of an hour, he had been waiting for at least an hour since then. It was a sign of the good Duke’s displeasure that he left him in the sitting room for so long, and Devon knew it.

  A man stuck his head into the room, “The Duke will see you now.” Devon took a deep breath and followed, sure this would be unpleasant. Inside the room, the Duke sat at a small table, having just finished his breakfast. There were no other chairs, although Devon was sure he had seen several there just a few days before. Another subtle hint—he would be kept standing.

  “Y
ou called for me, Your Grace?” he spoke, since James Lancaster seemed disinclined to start the conversation.

  “I wanted to speak with you regarding yesterday’s events,” James was not one to beat about the bush once a conversation was underway, and he looked tense. Devon noticed there were two armed guardsmen within the chamber, which was close to an outright insult. Surely the Duke did not plan to arrest him?

  “Ah, I expected that, Your Grace. Young Dorian seemed most upset after we parted ways.” That was an understatement, but Devon wasn’t going to put words in the Duke’s mouth.

  “If by most upset, you mean he stormed up here and demanded your immediate arrest, trial and execution, then yes, he was considerably perturbed.” The Duke’s face left little doubt how he felt about the matter.

  “I had not realized he seriously considered me at fault. I thought his temper might cool after hearing my explanation.” Devon thought nothing of the sort, but he wouldn’t be caught giving even a hint that he might consider himself at fault. He knew from long experience that once the hounds caught the scent of blood nothing would satisfy them but more.

  “As he told the tale, he nearly took your head from your shoulders before you did something to help Mordecai. What was done to him before, and what you did to help him, were unclear. That hardly sounds like a man who might be ready to forgive and forget.” The Duke’s eyes never left Devon’s.

  “Your Grace, in all honesty, I had nothing to do with the accident, and I was hard pressed to think how to help him once I reached his side. He had struck a tree and wasn’t breathing. Dorian assumed I was at fault without proper cause. If I was not so considerate of his hot blood, I might challenge him for the insult,” he projected an aura of righteous indignation.

  “You would be a fool to do so. Ge would have your guts on the ground within the first minute,” James paused for a moment, “If you did nothing to cause the accident, what was it you did to save his life?”

  “If I may be frank, Your Grace, I am ashamed to admit that young Dorian had me in such a state that I did not know what to do. He seemed ready to remove my head and had me at a serious disadvantage. So I pretended I had some way to make him breathe again. In fact, it was the grace of the gods themselves that Mordecai began to recover when he did, else I am sure I would not be here now,” Devon projected embarrassment.

  “It is convenient no one saw the fall. My men also report no sign that the horse was injured before it threw him. Dorian claims you are some sort of sorcerer.” James was pulling no punches today.

  “If I were, I would not resort to such crude means—but to answer your question, no, I am not a sorcerer. To my knowledge there are none of any noteworthy power left,” half-truths came as easily to Devon as breathing water did to fish, and he smiled inwardly.

  “It seems there is no proof of wrongdoing then,” the Duke sighed as if disappointed. “There are however, other things that have reached my ears. Things which have made me wonder at your character, Lord Devon.”

  “I would be happy to answer your questions, Your Grace. It is difficult to defend oneself when one’s accusers are absent and unknown.” Devon replied.

  The Duke stood then, and Devon noticed he wore a sword; highly unusual in his own chambers. Clearly the Duke was prepared in case Devon might incriminate himself, “I am told that you accosted one of my staff, rudely forcing yourself upon her.” James’ eyes flashed as he said this.

  Devon’s mind raced. What did he know? What had he been told? And by whom? The crime would not be enough to do more than fine him, and possibly send him packing; his station protected him from more than that. Within a second he decided that the Duke would be unlikely to press the case, he meant to embarrass him. “Who said this, Your Grace? It is unfair to accuse me with what seem to be baseless rumors,” he kept his face smooth.

  “Baseless rumors?” James laughed, but it was a dark sound, “Think you I would put this before you with naught more than unfounded gossip? There are at least three direct witnesses to your action. Tremont’s son or not, your word would not carry enough weight to deny all of them.” James Lancaster did not in fact have three witnesses, but he had Dorian’s word that if Mordecai awoke there would be three, should the matter come to light.

  “I am not even sure who the young lady is that I am supposed to have made these advances upon,” Devon answered.

  The Duke’s face turned red and his jaw clenched. Advancing on Devon, it seemed he might draw his sword before he stopped, his face inches from the young lord’s. “Do not test me, Tremont! Your father’s reach will not protect you here if I lose my temper. If you so much as touch another of my maids, it will not be a paltry fine you face, I’ll string your liar’s head up from the gallows and war be damned!” He spat these words as if he were chewing nails.

  Devon drew back, uncertain before the Duke’s fury, but he did not surrender the point, “You would do well to remember the tenets of courtesy while I am under your roof! If you seek to accuse me openly, then do so, otherwise you cheapen your honor.”

  James was livid and he leaned forward, “You dare speak to me of hospitality!? You trespass upon my bondsmen, you abuse those I protect, and then you claim the protection of hospitality! Mark my words, if I have cause to suspect you have harmed another person in these halls, I’ll have you gelded—as your father should have been before he lay with your mother. Get out of my sight! You have until the week’s end. Once that is done I will have you gone. Save your whoring ’til you return to Tremont!” The Duke finished and strode away, standing with his back turned until Devon left the room.

  Once he had gone, Genevieve entered the room, she had been listening. “Are you sure it is wise to risk this? His father may call you up before the assembly of lords.”

  “He’s a fatherless son of a whore!” James was shouting now that Devon had left. It took her a few minutes to calm him down, but inwardly she agreed wholeheartedly. Her husband rarely lost his temper, and never without good cause. It was a point of pride to her that he would risk everything over an abuse to one of his people.

  Later in the day, before the lunch hour, a knock came on the door to my room. I had eaten a huge breakfast earlier and my strength seemed to be returning, but I still didn’t feel like walking about to answer doors. Luckily Penny was still with me, dressed now. She had been discussing the merits of having a bath brought in to get me truly clean. I wasn’t too keen on it, but she seemed very attached to the idea. She rose and answered the door for me.

  Father Tonnsdale stood in the hall. “May I come in?”

  Penny started to turn him away, but I waved her off, I was beginning to feel like a bit of company. He came in and moved a chair to face the bed, then took a seat, “I spoke with the Duke yesterday, before your accident. And he told me that we had something in common.” He gave me a meaningful look, glancing toward Penny.

  “Don’t worry Father, she already knows,” I replied. As a result of our...linking, among other things, Penny now knew an awful lot about me. Mostly regarding recent events, our feelings, and anything we had thought about during that one blissful hour. I couldn’t tell you for example what her mother’s birthday was, or even what she looked like. It hadn’t come up during that time.

  “Ah, very good then. The Duke thought you might like to know about the events of that dreadful night,” his face was a mixture of sadness and nostalgia as he said this.

  “Yes, whatever you might tell me. I was only an infant, so anything that might help me to understand would be appreciated,” I truly felt grateful to be in the presence of someone, anyone, who had actually been there.

  He spent the next hour relating the events of that terrible night, which from his perspective had been pretty boring. He had been fasting in preparation for the special spring dedication to be held the next morning. It was a yearly holiday celebrated by all the adherents of Millicenth, the Evening Star. The Evening Star was one of the more popular goddesses in Lothion, and had been venerated
by the Cameron family as well as the Lancasters.

  Because of his fast, he had been in the chapel all that evening, skipping dinner, which had ultimately saved his life. When the fire started in the main keep he came out to see what was going on, but once he saw the strangers in black garb he knew he had best stay hidden. Even so, they beat down the door to the chapel after he locked himself in, but he had hidden himself in a secret storeroom used to keep the church’s relics safe at night. He was one of only a small handful that survived the night. The rest died of poison, fire, or were butchered when the assassins found them.

  After that he described my parents to me, but none of it was really new. The one thing that surprised me was the small silver star he gave me. “I helped with their burials. Another priest came to assist since we had so many, but I dressed the bodies of the Cameron family before they were buried. Your father’s body was never found and your mother’s was lost as well, but this belonged to your grandfather, the Count di’Cameron. I’m sure he would have wanted you to have it.”

  I was touched to say the least. Raising the small symbol to my lips, I kissed it and put it over my head. Like his own symbol, I could see that it held a faint golden radiance, a sign of its connection with the goddess herself. I thanked him as best I could, and he left shortly after.

  I sat staring at the silver star for a short while, and Penny sat down beside me. “Does it make you sad to think on it?” she asked.

  “A bit,” I answered. “I’ve never met either of my grandparents, and know even less of them than I do my parents. At the same time, as of a few days ago I had no knowledge of any of them. It all feels sort of made up. Inside I’m still Mordecai Eldridge, and I feel guilty that I don’t feel more for these people who are gone.” Penny was a good listener, and we talked for a while, until another knock came at the door.