FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  Shanti shook her head. “Too many unknown words.”

  Marc peeked up from under his lashes. “It’s like eating fast when really hungry. You eat too fast for your stomach to process how full it is. Before you know it you are too full and feel sick. If you get nearly full, then slow way down, you’ll stop just as you hit the full line.”

  “Ah.”

  Cayan raised his eyebrows at Marc.

  “She understands food analogies best,” Marc explained.

  “Well,” Shanti said, taking stock of Sterling. He was now heading toward the west, which would not intersect with their practice. “Sterling—“

  “Commander Sterling,” Cayan interjected with a warning in his voice.

  Shanti turned her face to the Captain, met his stern gaze, and then turned back. “Sterling is either chasing Leilius, or taking him to a whipping post. We are good to stop for today. Thank the Captain for beating the stuffing out of Xavier.”

  Everyone clapped.

  “Give a nod to Marc, who actually gave an order based on his profession, to a superior officer, in front of the superior officer, and still had enough fornicas to insist.”

  Nods all around.

  “Hoenista.”

  Everyone did a slight bow and started wandering back toward the inner city. Except Cayan. He stood where he was, watching Shanti. Lucius, unsure, waited with him.

  Shanti, finished talking with Gracas about ways to practice, noticed the scrutiny, and furrowed her brow. “What?”

  Cayan waited for everyone to disappear before saying, “I need a favor.”

  Chapter XXVII

  THE DUNGEON SMELLED LIKE URINE and fecal matter. Sanders stood against the wall, trying not to inhale through his nose, eyeing the two recently captured prisoners occupying the cells. The large, dumb, lumbering Mugdock paced and swore, threatening the guards with pain and retribution, banging at the bars and kicking at the ground. The other, a foreigner, sat peacefully, watching his surroundings with calculating eyes.

  It was the foreigner who gave Sanders pause. The slight man sat as peacefully as could be, not at all worried about possible torture. Almost as if he had the upper hand.

  Delusion, that was. If left up to the prison guards, the torture would’ve started, asking questions of the stranger’s involvement in this land. None of Sanders’ men liked anomalies in general, and certainly not anomalies in league with their sworn enemy.

  Speaking of the sworn enemy, that filthy Mugdock was the reason for the incredible stink. It was like a farm animal that stayed out of the rain. It almost singed the nostrils it was so potent.

  Did they not have the ability to smell? How could they stand themselves?

  The Mugdock would’ve been tortured for a different reason—for revenge of comrades lost, of ancestors stolen, and material goods destroyed. Pretty simple, but the two Peoples had a long history.

  Sanders, of course, would just as soon kill them both and be done with it. He didn’t have the stomach for torture. Nor the patience, if he was being honest. A clean, fast death was the way to go. It’s what he’d want for himself, and what he would give to someone else.

  Wasn’t his show, though. He was just the grunt. And, unfortunately, in charge of the prison. And that was only because the men listened to him where they wouldn’t Sterling or Daniels. The Captain didn’t want these prisoners roughed up just yet, and Sanders was the man keeping everyone at bay.

  Sometimes he hated being good at his job. Especially when it smelled this bad.

  As if hearing the thought, the Captain walked in, an eraser wiping all Sanders’ thoughts from his head. Shanti stood right behind his boss, Lucius in tow. All the men already standing around the prison backed against the wall, giving ample room for the leader of the city.

  “Have they told you anything?” the Captain asked in that low, gravely rumble that could loosen a man’s bowels.

  Sanders shook his head. “We’ve done some light coaxing, but nothing too extreme.”

  The Captain turned to Shanti, who was staring at the occupant furthest from the door. The foreigner. Her face looked like a freshly peeled scab, pain dripping down her face. She didn’t notice the Mugdock, even though he was reaching through the bars at her. She didn’t notice Sanders or any of Sanders’ men. She only had eyes for that man in the far cell, silently gazing back.

  The Captain stared at the Mugdock, a small nerve pulsing in his jaw. He spoke to Shanti. “We need information out of them. They won’t tell us anything. I would rather not torture, but that is the next step. Can you…convince them to give us anything?”

  Shanti’s arm drifted toward the Captain, her gaze still locked with the far prisoner. “Touch lightly but keep within yourself. Don’t reach. Lucius, don’t wait so long if we lose ourselves.”

  Lucius shifted nervously, shuffling closer to the two as if it was the last thing he wanted to do. The Captain stared at Shanti’s outstretched hand with determination, probably the only pretty girl he was afraid to touch. The Captain reached out tentatively and touched her arm with his pointer finger. His face strained immediately; hers cleared. Both of their eyes started glowing faintly, which was Lucius’ cue to step closer, his hands reaching for their shoulders. In a few seconds it was over, Shanti stepping back quickly and the Captain reaching for the wall to steady himself. Sanders just shook his head.

  “Better,” Shanti said distractedly, her gaze finding the man in the last cell again. A small smile played on the prisoner’s face.

  “Start with the Mugdock. It won’t matter if you kill him,” the Captain said gently, his face all kinds of compassionate. “Hopefully you won’t be so keyed up by the time you get to the other.” Without looking away, he addressed the cluster of men in the room. “Everyone besides Lieutenant Lucius and Commander Sanders, clear out.”

  Sanders took two steps toward the door, watching the retreating backs of the prison guards with envy. Being in the same room with the Captain and the foreign woman was enough to get a man stabbed. Or worse. Much, much worse, in fact. Even though it might feel good. Which made it even worse still.

  Shanti approached the Mugdock slowly with that panther’s grace, her gaze often straying toward the man in the last cell.

  “So you do exist,” the foreigner said. His thick accent curled the words at the ends like burnt paper. His trickle of a smile was just visible in the gloom.

  Shanti didn’t stop at the Mugdock’s cell. Instead, she kept stalking toward the smug foreigner. “Yes. You have found me.”

  “And you found a mate. We thought it was impossible.” His gaze flicked toward the Captain.

  “No. No mate. Not your master, nor anyone else.”

  “He is only my master when it suits. Until now, it has suited. But now I have found you, and you have found a mate. The legends say that once you find a mate, your power will increase. I like to be on the side of the winner. And you have a wealthy mate with knowledge to turn rocks into treasures. I could be an asset to you. I know how to multiply treasures.”

  Shanti squared her shoulders at the man in the cell. “The legends are wrong. I had a mate before, and I did not get stronger. Your kind killed him.”

  “I do not think you understand how I use the term mate.”

  “Maybe not, but it doesn’t matter. You’ll play both sides if allowed. But you will not be allowed. I will kill you long before then.”

  The man tilted his head, his light eyes filled with humor. “Confident, I see. But what if I escape?”

  “You aren’t fast enough to outrun my reach.”

  “You think you are that strong.”

  “Yes.”

  From his seat on the stone floor, the man leaned forward to analyze the girl. His pale eyes started to glow faintly, a smug smile crossing his face. Those sickly eyes turned to look directly at the Captain. “Maybe we should kill another one of your favorites. Or have you grown used to it?”

  The Captain sucked in a noisy breath, his whole body flexin
g. His fists curled into tight balls, his face started to turn red from pain or anger, Sanders couldn’t tell.

  The prisoner’s lips curled in a smile. “He is untrained. Amazing turn of luck.”

  “Cayan,” Shanti said quietly, studying the foreigner. “Think of a shade behind your eyes. Envision the shade closed. If it is too hard, then envision using both hands to reach up, grab the shade with all your strength, and bring it down over your eyes.”

  The prisoner squinted, the curl of his lips dwindling. The smugness dripped off his face as he stared at the Captain.

  “Yes, he learns fast. Shocking, I know,” Shanti said conversationally. “In related news, that is a neat trick. Can you all do that?”

  The foreign prisoner leaned back with a startled release of breath, then stood in a rush. He backed against the wall until his back slapped stone. Shock and incredulity warred on his face…until fear took over.

  “Uh oh, now you can’t get away.” Shanti chuckled darkly, pain never having left her face. Her voice dipped an octave, hoarse with feeling. “You see, when you use little tricks like that, I learn them. Then I adapt them. Then I exploit them. Now I have you, little mouse. Where will you hide? Shall I make you dance?”

  “No! That is impossible!”

  “You have very little power, mouse. You were so confident before, but I bet you see now why I am sought. Do they know there is another? He is just as strong and his power hasn’t even opened fully. He is raw power, and I am excellent at finesse. You see?”

  The man started screaming, clawing at his face. He began swatting away invisible flies from his back and arms, terrified of something he couldn’t see. Shanti leaned forward ever so slightly, her eyes glowing more now, her mouth turned down at the corners.

  “Your people should not have killed someone I loved, little mouse,” she said softly. “It makes for very little pity.”

  “No! It was not me. I did not touch him! ”

  “But you know who did. You were there,” Shanti whispered, her face cracking, revealing visions of death. Of loss. Of misery so intense it sucked all the happy thoughts from the room and corroded their memories.

  Sanders took a step forward even as the Captain did, not knowing exactly what to do, but wanting to cure this woman of that pain. The sight of it broke his heart. No one deserved to see a loved one killed, and then get confronted with it like this. No one.

  He flinched when the prisoner yelled, stopping his advance. With a terrified expression, the foreigner jumped up and circled the small cell like a trapped animal. Panicked grunts escaped his mouth. Then whimpers. He turned toward the wall and started running with his head bent. He was trying to knock himself out to get away! After two steps, his legs lost their locomotion. He fell over sideways, crying in huge wracking sobs on the dirty floor.

  “I can’t let you kill yourself, little mouse. Not yet. I need you. I need more tricks. You will die soon, though. All of you. For the things you have done. And the things you have allowed to happen.”

  The man started screaming again. A high-pitched pronouncement of the utmost level of anguish. Lucius started forward, but the Captain was there before him, placing his hand on Shanti’s shoulder.

  “How extraordinary, I can keep him from blacking out. Do you feel that, Cayan? His life is literally in my hands. What a nasty little mouse to think that up.”

  “That’s enough, mesasha,” the Captain said softly.

  Alarm caused Sanders to turn away from the charged scene to stare at the Captain. Then at Lucius, who had just stepped forward in concern, hands reaching toward their shoulders again.

  “If I’ve landed in a lover’s triangle of some sort, I am going to quit,” Sanders muttered. He scratched the center of his chest where the lump had formed. “And if I develop a soft spot for that fool girl, I’m going to throw myself down a cliff.”

  His muttering cut off as Shanti swayed. The Captain scooped her up as if she weighed ten pounds. Then those fierce blue eyes were looking at Sanders. “Make sure that man doesn’t kill himself. Talk to the Mugdock again. Tell him we will spare him the pain if he answers our questions.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sanders answered crisply.

  They swooshed out of the room, plunging Sanders and the prisoners into thick, syrupy silence, only broken by the occasional whimpers of the foreign man.

  The Mugdock said, “You ask, I answer.”

  Chapter XXVIII

  IT HAD BEEN THREE DAYS since Shanti had started on the Inkna man. She had learned a handful of torture techniques the man was very familiar with, but nothing else of value. He didn’t know what the plans were concerning the trading, only that he was in charge of killing the Captain. It seemed he allowed himself to be taken to this end. He hadn’t thought anyone in the city had mental abilities.

  His mistake.

  Unfortunately, for the fact that he understood how important Cayan was to the city meant his kind did, too. If they knew, it was only a matter of time before the Graygual knew. A timer had started on Cayan’s life. On the lives of everyone in the city, actually. Shanti had prolonged the inevitable, but eventually Black Death would come calling, trying to snatch another soul for the Underworld.

  Her duty was growing by the day.

  Sanders had been gone for two days on the first trade run. Knowing that one of the Inkna wanted to kill the Captain was enough to make Shanti advise cancelling the trip. Sanders and the other blockheads decided, however, that it would be best to act like they had no idea of the treachery. They had brought plenty of guys, they were going to an open location, and they doubted anything more serious than failure to pay could happen.

  It had not helped her rapport with the Captain and his top tier of men that she cursed them all and told them how absolutely stupid they all were.

  “You look wonderful.”

  Shanti came out of her reverie to notice Molly standing over her, holding a strand of green, sparkling gems. It was a half an hour until the ball, which was mainly for the city’s elite. Apparently anyone with some power wanted a reason to pat themselves on the back. She had no idea why the Captain insisted she go.

  Shanti threw a quick glance down at her silk dress, which clung and flowed over her peaks and valleys, like a cascade of water over glistening rocks. She’d been asked to dress in something appropriate for her people, and so she’d given specifications to a dressmaker for the design. She had not specified a color. What she received back was almost exactly the shade of green she’d worn and discarded in front of the Captain at their first meeting. She had a suspicion the dressmaker had a sense of humor. Also that Molly was a gossip.

  “Wearing paint on my face isn’t a great idea,” Shanti declared. “When I rub my eyes, I’ll smear it down my face.”

  “Yes, dear, but it makes you look glamorous. Very exotic.”

  Exotic. That was Molly’s favorite descriptor. That, or striking. In other words, not beautiful, but well appreciated for putting in the effort.

  Shanti didn’t care. She wasn’t here to find suitors.

  She pulled her long, blond hair off her shoulders so Molly could fasten the necklace. “A necklace is a great way to allow someone to choke you without having to bring their own supplies,” she muttered.

  Molly tsk’ed. “Hush, now. The Captain won’t let anything happen to you.”

  She stepped back and turned Shanti around. Her gaze glided over Shanti’s form. “I do wish you would’ve worn something a little more…usual. I can see the outline of your thighs!”

  Shanti ignored her.

  “Anyway, the buggy is here. You look striking, dear.”

  A jostling ride in a horse drawn cabbage cart later—why she wasn’t allowed to walk was beyond her—she and Molly, who was going as something called a chaperone, walked into Cayan’s large mansion in the middle of the city. The residence was ablaze with candles, showing off spacious rooms with large windows and high ceilings. The furniture and decorations expressed the utter wealth of the ci
ty and the many extravagances they took for granted: metal stands holding candles, huge canvas tapestries on the walls, wood and leather furniture. The Inkna had a good eye for such things. It was only a matter of time before they showed up again, like sea foam before the tide.

  They entered a spacious main room with candles hanging from large, shining metal and gem contraptions that looked like upside-down spiders. Candles on stands, like in the streets but more delicate, stood on tables and graced the walls. There were flames everywhere. Apparently no one realized how dangerous fire was.

  “This mansion is a family heirloom,” Molly said conversationally, gesturing around them at the finery of the large mansion. “It has been in the family as long as the family has been in charge of running the city. Way back when they were called kings. Now they are Captains. That change came with our Captain’s great-great-grandfather, of course.”

  “Uh huh.” Shanti didn’t care. She also had no idea why she said she’d come.

  “Oh look, there he is now.”

  Cayan was standing across the room dressed in a black, long sleeved shirt that hugged his upper body. His cloth pants moved and sighed with his body, proving men’s fashion, unlike women’s, was reasonably comfortable. His features were straight and bold, softened by his blue eyes and luscious mouth, especially when he dared smile and reveal the dimples. The shadow of raven facial hair had been removed for the occasion.

  He cleaned up well.

  Which was an understatement.

  He lounged next to a willowy woman with slim shoulders, a long, delicate neck, and hair pulled up in weaves and twists accented with small flowers and buds. Her breasts heaved out of her cream colored dress in a display of cleavage most babies would reach for, and her waist cinched down in fashionable torture. Her skin was a hair darker than Cayan’s bronze, and her hair a touch lighter than Cayan’s wavy dark brown. She was distractingly beautiful.