FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  All these warriors were head and shoulders taller than she was. They were the Captain’s height at least, easily his brawn or bigger. Nowhere near as quick or agile, thank the Elders their sympathy.

  An hour in and she was more than warmed up. She was starting to work now. Still smooth, still killing like a knife carving through cream, but hitting her peak. It was too early. She should not be so tired so early. There was still a horde at her gate, with a pile of bodies for them to clamber over, and there would be many more. Many, many more.

  Dying in battle was an honorable death.

  Chapter XVII

  BOOM!

  THE GATE KNOCKED INWARD. Dust sprayed the air. Wood creaked.

  “It’s holding!” someone shouted.

  And it would hold, Sanders reflected, walking along the trembling wall. A flash of sun on metal pierced his eye. The men held their breath as the giant metal fish came barreling forward.

  BOOM!

  Archers scattered their arrows into the amassed crowd of Mugdock, trying to throw up their ladders to climb over the wall. Not a chance—Sanders’ men were fast and good, taking down anyone who got close. Arms swung back, grabbed more arrows, and loosed. And again. Again.

  BOOM!

  “Courage, men! It will hold!” the Captain shouted somewhere among the men.

  Ignoring the screaming of the night, Sanders walked away from the main gate, seeing to the men. The archers were going at full speed, shooting, loading, shooting, loading, someone bringing them more arrows. He gritted his teeth at the next crash of ram against the gate.

  They had worried—this gate was untried. It was a new design and not up long. But it was holding. The Captain was right—this was an excellent use of resources. The main bulk of enemy worked away, trying to get through what had once been nothing more than a mild deterrent.

  Thank God that had changed.

  Sanders walked on. To the smallest entrance. The most vulnerable.

  Had the enemy figured it out, yet? They were stupid, but even a dumb beast could get lucky.

  Barely keeping his hands away from his sword, trying to portray steadfast confidence, Sanders walked on. The men were antsy and skittish, shifting constantly, trying to stay grim but waiting with barely suppressed trembles. They were green. Even the ones who had seen battle out in the Dead Forest were nervous. They weren’t good at playing defense and no amount of training could prepare them for the constant thumping of the giant Metal Fish against their gate. But their enemy wouldn’t get through here…

  He walked on. The first two, the Eastern Gate and Rear, were holding, but barely. The archers and knife throwers were doing their job, but the men standing by were getting ready to get their hands dirty. The Mugdock were getting just as scared, though. After close to two hours, seeing nothing but your own company’s death, and only a few fallen enemy archers, the Mugdock were having second thoughts. The Captain hadn’t thought they’d last this long. He had a suspicion something was driving them, but he didn’t know what. Sanders did—poverty and desperation. It would bring a man to the brink.

  On to the fourth and last gate. He was about to battle—they’d be about ready for reinforcements.

  A horse clattered below, causing Sanders to glance down. Daniels raced by, urgency on his face. Sanders pulled his eyes back up. A thrill went through his body. He picked up the pace.

  As he approached the corner he heard the roar of men in battle. Metal clanging, shouts. Excitement spiked his chest, tingling down his arms and out through his fingers. One of the boys bringing arrows startled from the gleam in his eye and the crazed grin on his face.

  Battle. He was good at battle. Battle and sex, two places where he felt the most alive.

  Sanders started to trot, unable to maintain his calm. The men at this gate were all his best. They were veterans, one and all—as much as they could be in a time of prosperity—and they had the best sword work. They would hold this gate. They had to. He had a wife and baby to protect.

  Hopefully the Captain was working on getting more men to change out. Give these guys a rest.

  As Sanders rounded the corner, sword in hand, he saw the last few lines of men standing, shifting uneasily from side to side, looking on, but not fighting. Waiting.

  Sanders stepped around Jaos, unleashing arrows as fast as he could, and stopped dead. The gate was not torn down; it was pulled open. In the middle of the open space stood two figures, fighting for all they were worth, taking the brunt while the men behind them formed a semi-circle and took the rest. Both covered in blood, one with short, matted brown hair, the other with a long braid down her back, red and white-blond.

  Shanti and Lucius.

  Sanders couldn’t help but stare. He had seen Lucius fight. The man was damned good. Aside from the Captain, Sterling, and himself, Lucius ranked above all others. Sanders had thought it was a waste that he had been assigned to the foreign woman. Now he was more than thankful. Any other man would’ve been cut down by now, but Lucius was moving through a pile of bodies, creating more every second. He had a large red line down his arm and was limping slightly, but he was not slowing.

  For all his excellence, he was outdone. Next to him was the foreign woman. Words could not describe how thoroughly Sanders had underestimated her. How they all had. She moved as if in some elaborate dance. Every nuance of her body was in perfect harmony as she glided through her fighting postures, slicing and cutting, weaving in and out. Even her sword was part of the dance, moving like an extension of her arm. She was breathtaking. And extremely deadly.

  Her pile was larger than her male counterpart’s. It was neater, too. One cut, maybe two, and they were brought down. Appendages sliced off, heads, limbs, incapacitated, then she moved on. Every so often she would throw a knife, hitting someone in their head, heart, or, most often, their neck.

  He had never seen anything like it.

  But she was flagging. She was barely staying ahead of her attackers. More were getting past her, quickly dying at the hands of the men fighting right behind her. She wouldn’t last much longer, but there was no one who could keep the Mugdock off the gate like she was. There was still a horde trying to get through.

  In the next instant Sanders was running, nearly falling down the steps. He barely paused to get a message carried to the Captain by the first man he ran into. Then he was running again, pushing people out of his way, trying to get to Shanti and Lucius.

  As he ran through the waiting men, shifting their weight in antsy anticipation, they surged forward, wanting to be in the fight. Wanting to do what they could. Sanders led them like an arrow straight at the surging Mugdock. Without slowing, crazy-eyed with a fanatical smile, he slammed into a wall of them. He stabbed the first man through the stomach and pushed him out of the way, growling. He grabbed another with one hand and yanked him closer, sticking his sword through the swine’s chest.

  “Get in there and drag out that girl. Get the Lieutenant. Get them out!” Sanders hollered.

  He cleared the shocked faces in front of him and launched himself at two more, both topping his size, and bigger around. He didn’t care. He stabbed one through the eye. He pulled the other’s hair and sliced his neck, hands everywhere. Battle rage taking over. The glory of battle!

  He shoved forward, slicing and killing. Bashing and ripping off whatever he could get his hands on. Some rotten pig got too close, trying to grapple. Sword arm hanging uselessly at his side. Sanders threw him a head butt and the pig’s nose cracked before Sanders’ knife lodged in his face.

  “Get in there!” Sanders hollered, trying to push forward. He could barely see Lucius, struggling against the tide. There were just so many. He’d barely be able to make it to Lucius.

  “Someone help the girl!” Sanders screamed.

  Chapter XVIII

  LEILIUS WAITED BEHIND THE WALL, deep in a pocket of shadow. The echoes of screaming, of men dying, rolled through the alley like tumbleweeds. He could almost see the blood splashing agains
t the ground. His hands trembled as he held his knife, trying to block out the battle and focus on his circle. That’s what Miss Shanti always said, right? Focus only on what he was doing. Focus on his circle.

  A dribble of sweat quivered down his nose. He wiped it away silently, hearing the sound again.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and remembered to breathe. He was always supposed to breathe. That’s what Miss Shanti said. Breathe slowly. Deeply. He was doing that.

  Why were his hands shaking so hard?

  The scrape of a soft sole echoed against the walls, louder than someone screaming right next to his face. Louder than the banging of the battering ram. Louder than the gurgling death at the gates. The enemy was creeping toward the shadow, a quiet step at a time.

  He was hiding in the shadow. Waiting. Knowing the enemy would stay to the dark places. That’s what he always did when he got in trouble and was trying to hide—he knew where they’d go.

  He wiped the sweat out of his eyes. His breath trembled like a leaf as it crept out of his mouth.

  Another footfall. So close. A shoe scrape against the cobblestone. He wouldn’t even hear the footfall if it hadn’t been for Shanti. She always snuck around and hid from him—he hated when she scared him. It shocked his system when she jumped out of nowhere.

  This was like that. Just like that. Except he had to jump out.

  He wasn’t afraid. He didn’t know why, but he wasn’t.

  So why was he shaking?

  Another step. Two more and Leilius would jump out and stab. He would do it. He had to. Shanti said so. For his family. To protect everyone.

  He’d never killed anyone before.

  Focus on the circle. Focus on what you can control, Leilius.

  His breath thundered in his ears.

  He closed his eyes, listening. His hand gripped the knife blade, the sweat from his palm soaking into the leather. A tear of sweat dripped down his face. A line of moisture soaked through the crease between his shoulder blades, down his back. Focus on the circle.

  Another footfall.

  Leilius burst out from behind the wall. With one hand he gripped a thin, brown shoulder. With the other hand he brought his knife down with all his might. Sharp, hard metal slid into a soft, wet eye socket. A strangled scream cut off at its zenith as the knife pierced the enemy’s brain. Lights out.

  Leilius stood trembling over the slight body crumpled at his feet. Adrenaline grabbed hold of all his organs and shook. But at least he was still alive. No one would have to know about that.

  He stared down at what he’d done. Dazed. Two things flapped at his thoughts. The first was all the blood. There was so much. It was oozing in thick red rivers, leaking over the ruined eye socket and pooling in the cobblestone around the enemy’s head. Gross and fascinated, Leilius stared, transfixed, until the second thing shoved in and demanded attention.

  It wasn’t a Mugdock. Thin, shorter than him, and wiry. The man looked like he had muscle, but it wasn’t defined. He had a wicked sword, too. It was curved and very wide toward the end. The hilt had a weird yellow and gold rope hanging off of it. Plus, this man wasn’t dirty. His brown jump suit was clean except for the blood and some light scrapes, probably from climbing the wall, and it was a little lighter than the normal Mugdock color.

  He was an enemy, though.

  Leilius quickly grabbed the hilt of his blade and yanked. He let out a formless “huh” sound at the suction of knife leaving eye socket. He wiped off the blade immediately.

  Focus on the circle. Keep your family safe!

  He would. He would make Shanti proud. Focus on the circle. Only what he could control.

  Limbs quaking, stomach queasy, he drifted back into the shadows to wait.

  Chapter XIX

  SHANTI SUCKED AIR IN, PANTING with fatigue. She’d heard Sanders yelling a while ago, his vicious body ripping and tearing his way out toward her, but he couldn’t get far enough. She was cast off in a sea of filth, disgusting Mugdock creatures all around her. Even Lucius had been forced back, trying to stick with her, but under siege and unable to hold his ground.

  She was actually happy. She was tired of this life, tired of overwhelming odds. She wanted to do her part and let the sea take her under, to die in battle, like her parents and grandparents. She would go down, but first she would take as many as she could.

  Summoning all her remaining strength, Shanti cut off the connection with Lucius and her Honor Guard, hoping they wouldn’t be overcome by the fear she was keeping hidden from their brains. She brought her mental net tight to her surroundings, then rezoned it out in front of her, aiming for the largest mass of enemy. There wasn’t much she could do with those behind her—she was too tired to pick out individual mental paths. She might accidently hit some of her own, and that would defeat the purpose.

  She blocked a thrust headed toward her head, turned another to the side, and grabbed the two minds in front of her as if her hands were made from needles. Mugdock released their swords immediately and clutched nasty, matted hair. Dirty faces screamed in agony as they fell.

  Now was the time.

  She seized everyone in front of her, out for fifty spans, all those bundles of emotion and intent flashing in her mind’s eye. She focused her power, called up her strength, pulled at the life-force in the surrounding wood, and flashed.

  A huge jolt of power ripped from her, dropping her to her knees. Sinking into hundreds of minds. Boiling spires with searing edges. Burning out their minds.

  The battlefield erupted in tortured screams. Swords dropped, falling into the mud with a soft thud. Dirty nails dug into temples, the pain unbearable. Consuming. And, finally, killing.

  Shanti allowed a relieved smile as she fell, face first, into the bloody mud. It was finally over. This life filled with pain and loss could finally be forgotten.

  She was pushed ahead of him, roughly. She didn’t want to go. She couldn’t. Her grandfather had been cut down ten feet from where she worked. Her Chance had felled the man, but there were more coming. Tens of hundreds of thousands running up the slope. They were beaten. She was beaten. They had lasted longer than expected, but the inevitable had come to pass. She had a destiny to fulfill.

  “Go, Chosen. Go!”

  She was pushed again, large hands steering her, forcing her to move away. Forcing her to retreat. Moving her to the path that would lead into the hills. She had her map and supplies hidden. She would start on her journey.

  Chance pushed at her. Harder now. She stumbled through the narrow lane of her village, the place deserted. Everyone had been evacuated to either join the fight or get the children away. Some had to knowingly sacrifice themselves so that others might live.

  Past the village they saw the first signs of struggle. Some of the enemy had snuck in the back, probably trying to ferret away anyone they could. The Graygual wanted specimens and promised a handsome payment for any living captures. They didn’t care the sex or age; they wanted examples. They would pay more for young women, however. Women exactly Shanti’s age and description. They wanted the woman that could kill from thirty paces away. They wanted her alive. They wanted to tame her. Then breed her. Then use her and her offspring as their ultimate weapon. The safe guard against the new empire.

  Chance pushed her along until she was stumbling into the small clearing behind her village. Into the pleasant green meadow where she had gone often with Romie. Her first kiss had been next to that old shed. She had lost her virginity to him just under the tree at the edge. It had been the site of some of her best memories.

  The breeze of the afternoon gently disturbed the green blades of grass. The flies disturbed the dead bodies.

  Shanti hesitated with surprise at the sea of limbs piled together, sticking out at grotesque angles.

  Chance shoved her forward, steered, and shoved again, working around the sightless eyes, the sagging faces. She felt like a wooden puppet held together with cable pulled too tight. Her legs and arms wouldn’t work properly,
her head bobbing animatedly on her wagging shoulders.

  From a bloody patch of mud, brown eyes stared at her, rims outlined in blood. She staggered, a sob ripping from her throat.

  They hadn’t told her Romie was one of the Sacrificed. He hadn’t told her. He’d said he would be safe! He would be there when she got back. He was going to look after the children, he said. He wasn’t one of the best, but he was well liked. They had agreed to let him go.

  She crumpled to her knees beside him, pawing at his blood stained chest. Strong hands grabbed her shoulders, trying to drag her away. Her cries reverberated across the dead meadow.

  Romie had offered to die for their people. For her duty. For his own.

  He was leaving her to a world devoid of his spirit. Of his earthen eyes. He had left her forever, and she had no choice but to continue. Now alone.

  “You must go, Chosen. Go! Keep going!”

  Chapter XX

  SHANTI OPENED HER EYES IN the dim light. Agony flared through her body.

  Pain meant she wasn’t dead. Now how did that happen?

  She wiggled her toes. It felt like two might be broken. She moved her fingers. They worked just fine. Each knee lifted with incredible muscle pain, but nothing deeper. Arms the same. Ribs felt like someone was sitting on her chest. One or two were probably cracked. She’d gotten a good blow by a fleking colossal. She’d ensured he died slowly with a puncture to the stomach, but still, it hadn’t been her finest moment.

  She was in a sterile-looking room, all white except for the furniture, which was metal. So much metal. This place was so rich it was almost disgusting.