FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  “C’mon My’pol, you need to eat.” Marc urged the bowl of gruel into Shanti’s hands. It had always been a running joke, the things Leilius came up with when his brain was short circuiting, thinking about something else. They had always loved that she didn’t care what she was called. It set her apart. It made everything seem lighter, more fun and less tedious. She usually smiled when they used the titles, in eyes if not in mouth, but now it didn’t help.

  “I’m okay, Marc. Thank you. And job well done. I hear you are excelling.”

  “Don’t worry about me. You need to eat. I made this special for you. Just one bowl. Please.” The gruel was full of nutrients, remedial herbs, electrolytes, and immunity building properties. The best part was that it tasted similar to broth. One bowl went a long way. So far the three sick men, including Commander Sanders, were doing excellently on it.

  “I’m not hungry, Marc, but I thank you. Why don’t you leave it beside me and I’ll eat in a while.”

  Shanti was sitting at the base of a tree, her body resting against the rough bark, nearly limp. Her eyes were lackluster and her speech came out nearly monotone. She was agonized. Anyone could see it. Whatever she had found inside the mind of that guy in the white shirt was eating away at her, and she wasn’t doing anything to revive herself. She was giving up.

  Marc looked around for help. They were removed from the city somewhat, the group of men hanging around the wounded taking a break and getting some rest. The three mind-wounded, which is what they were calling Sanders and the other two, dozed in the soft grass. The physically wounded were spread out, wherever they were comfortable, healing. Marc had seen to everyone. They had lost nearly two dozen men, and five more probably wouldn’t last the night. But based on the fact that they demolished the enemy, their numbers were excellent. At least, that’s what all the veterans were saying.

  Mark looked at Sanders, lying on his back with a grimace aimed at the sky, knowing the vicious battle commander could sometimes give the woman pause. But while he was healing quickly, which had something to do with Shanti, he was in no shape to talk sense into her, let alone get her to eat. Lucius was the next best option, but he was in the city, trying to reestablish their government and a sense of order. He had a mind for business and the Captain trusted him more than anyone else, so that made sense. But it didn’t help Marc at the moment.

  The only other person who would make a difference was the Captain himself, and Marc would rather chew his arm off before approaching that man. When the Captain looked at a guy it made him want to hide, or pee himself. It wasn’t that the looks were overly aggressive, either. Sometimes he was even half smiling—at least when Shanti or Lucius was around and not pissing him off—but he always had that alpha thing going on that made a guy realize he was nowhere near as tough and confident as he had originally thought. That really, he should just fall in line like everyone else. And Marc wasn’t even one of the tough and confident ones, so he just got scared straight away.

  But Shanti was wasting away. She was spending all her energy healing the mind-wounded and none on herself.

  “How is she?” Leilius asked as he walked up. He looked like a peacock dressed in rumpled clothes.

  Marc shook his head. “She won’t eat.”

  “I am sitting right here, and I am fine. Leilius, this was one easy battle. If you get over-confident, you will get dead. Popularity goes farther when you are modest. Women will come calling regardless, but the good ones will leave soon after. Get wise, keep your discipline, and stay alive.”

  “Yes, s’am.”

  “Oh, we are back to that title, are we? Well good, that one made the most sense.” Shanti leaned her head against the tree trunk and closed her eyes. A tear slid out of the corner of her left eye.

  Leilius jumped as if he’d been poked in the backside with a fire stirrer. He looked at Marc with wide eyes.

  “I am sad. Therefore, I cry,” Shanti said unabashedly. “I realize big strong men are trained not to show emotion in this land. It is a shame. It makes you brittle. But I am not from this land. And I am a woman, which your people have decided can shed a few tears in public. So…there you go.”

  “S’cam, it weirds me out that you can read my thoughts,” Leilius mumbled.

  “I cannot read your thoughts, Leilius, I can read your emotions. You are now embarrassed, but you were shocked and…freaked out, I think you say, a second ago. If you projected less, I wouldn’t be accosted by that information.”

  “Can you teach me to do that? Stop projecting, I mean?”

  Shanti sighed. “I have never heard of teaching anything to someone without the Gift. I don’t know that it can be done. But until I met the Inkna, I didn’t know of a few other things that can be done. It is worth a try, I suppose. We don’t have much time, however. I will be moving on as soon as my shoulder heals.”

  Marc said, “What do you mean?” at the same time as Leilius said, “Wha—err?”

  “I need to be on my way.” It was unclear if she was answering them, or just continuing with her monologue. “This battle will draw attention. The Inkna will wonder how someone beat their Sarshers. They will wonder if it was in-house. From what I heard over the last year, Sturgane was more ambitious than the rest. People might think the Graygual removed him, which will keep the Inkna quiet for a time. They will figure it out eventually, though. Then they will raise the alarm and the Graygual will be drawn here. They will search harder for me. That will lead them to you. Then to the discovery of Cayan. Then to war.

  “I need to get help. I also need to be on my own. It is better. For me. I have lost most of my people already, and the others will stay lost unless I can get help. I do not want to make friends just to lose them. I will never again have the one I loved. He didn’t go with them. And my Chance died. So I’m a nomad until I get help. Or I am dead. I feel dead already. I’m not sure which I dread more—alive with this pain, or dead and answering for my sins. It’s all the same, maybe. I will eternally get no rest. What a terrible job, this Chosen.”

  “Does the Captain know?” Marc asked, not sure what to say about the rambling. She was, without a doubt, spilling secrets. Marc knew that. But he didn’t know how they were important. Or why.

  She shrugged. “Not from my mouth, but I’m sure he suspects I must go. Or maybe that I will go. Who’s to say what goes on in that head of bricks?”

  Marc got up slowly. He didn’t know much, but he knew that if she died or left, they were sunk. That Inkna army would have taken them down without her battling with her mind. She needed to train the Captain to do it. If there were more people that used that type of fighting, which it sounded like there were, she had to stay on their side. She had to. Or they would end up like the people here—poor, distraught, or used for unspeakable things. Marc wouldn’t see his sister handed over, or his father starving. He wouldn’t!

  “Leilius, watch her. I’ll be back,” Marc said as he turned.

  “But—“

  With her eyes still closed and her head leaning back against the tree, the sun sprinkling her face through the leaves, a smile soaked up Shanti’s face. “I only bite during sex, Leilius, and you are too young for that.”

  Marc paused when he finally found the Captain. The man was sweat-stained and exhausted, but he wasn’t giving up. He was helping the townsfolk with the manual labor, right alongside his men, cleaning up the destruction that the battle caused. The strength of the man was awe-inspiring. He could lift twice what the man next to him could manage, and could work for longer. That fact didn’t help Marc’s desire to be somewhere else besides where he was, stiffly walking up to the large man with a plea on behalf of a foreign woman that the Captain probably didn’t care about in the least—other than to laugh at her clumsy execution of their language and confusion of their customs. Marc had never understood his leader’s humor where it concerned S’am, but then, he had never understood the Captain, full stop. It was best to just steer clear.

  But here he wa
s, tremors from head to foot, wringing his hands like a maid caught stealing, shuffling up and clearing his throat. “Sir?” he said weakly.

  After a moment, watching the Captain wrestle a giant beam to the side, Marc tried again. “Captain, sir?”

  The large man turned and looked down at him. He wasn’t that much taller, but it certainly seemed that way now, or any time Marc had been stupid enough to get a dose of the Captain’s full attention.

  He felt like a worm watching a giant boot descend.

  “Cadet, yes. How are the wounded?”

  “Um, okay, I guess. Sir. Five are dying. Shanti—uh, S’am, the foreign woman—is easing their troubles somehow. She doesn’t say how, but it seems to help. They look peaceful.”

  “And you can do nothing for them?”

  “No, sir. I tried. They have wounds that cannot be sewn or otherwise healed. Too deep or internal, with too much blood loss. If we had a full hospital it would only make a difference to one of them, and that would probably still be a losing battle.”

  “I see. And what of Sanders and the two others?”

  “Sh—the foreign woman, um—“

  “Calling her by her name is acceptable, Cadet.” The Captain’s voice softened, if a steel sieve could be called soft.

  “Yes, sir. Well, she is doing something with them, too. It is sapping her energy, though, sir. She is fading. Visibly fading.”

  The Captain’s eyes glowed faintly for a quick moment. It was eerie and a little scary. The man didn’t need any more ways to freak Marc out, but he kept finding them. “Yes, I see. I will monitor that, Cadet. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

  The Captain went to turn away but Marc didn’t leave. It was not why he had come. Not the only reason, anyway. Sometimes he truly hated his life. “Uh, sir?”

  He was met with that stare again. He wasn’t being rushed; the Captain always had time for everyone, but a guy didn’t have to be prodded to want to walk away. Not with those hard eyes trapping him. “Yes, Cadet?”

  “Um, well, two things. One, she won’t eat. She just keeps saying she’s not hungry. She’s only had a small amount since the end of the battle yesterday. Lucius is busy, and I know you are too, but Commander Sanders can’t help because—well, he’s…you know—and no one else will probably be any good. Her body is trying to heal, she is trying to heal others as well…she needs to eat or she’ll get sick. Or worse.”

  The Captain was walking before Marc had finished. Since he hadn’t gotten to the second problem, and he hadn’t been told he was excused, he jogged to catch up.

  “And the second thing?”

  Oh good, following had been the right decision.

  He cut off a sigh as the impatient blue gaze swept his way. “And, uh, maybe you don’t care, or are glad, but she said she’s leaving after her shoulder heals. It’s not a bad wound—it won’t take long to heal. Not with her accelerated rate, anyway. She says she is better off alone. She also made a comment that she would have no people unless she got help—“

  The Captain stopped abruptly and turned to him. “Tell me exactly what she said.”

  Marc’s legs started to tremble. Oh God, he should have written it down. He relayed as much as he could remember and did broad strokes for the rest. He tried not to stammer, but his brain was having a hard time refraining from telling his legs to run. When he was done the Captain was silent for a beat.

  “Who else heard?” he finally said.

  “Leilius. That’s it.”

  “Do you know what it means? What she meant?”

  “Uh-mm, I assume it meant that some of her people made it to safety and are awaiting her return with help. She must have stashed the best and the brightest if they hope to have a chance, right? And that she had thought this man that she loved was going to safety with them, but he didn’t. And even though she just killed the man who killed him, then well, if that’s true, it’s bringing the grief right back up to the surface, I would guess. And someone who was paired with her, to protect her, like Lieutenant Lucius does, died. So probably for her, right? Probably to help her escape? She’s obviously as powerful as everyone seems to think she is, so she’s the jewel that everyone wants to claim to win the war, right? And now there is you…um…”

  Something had changed in the Captain’s face. His eyes turned hard and intense. Marc lowered his eyes and tried to shrink out of the way, hoping the Captain left him standing there and moved on.

  “Insightful.” No such luck. “Do you have reason to believe Leilius put any of that together?”

  “Uh, n-no, sir. He was too worried about the tears.”

  “Whose? Shanti’s?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Marc heard a deep breath and a slow exhale. Then, “I’m sure I don’t have to impress upon you that that is information you are not to share?”

  “N-no, sir. You are the one I thought should have that, uh, knowledge. Sir.”

  “Correct. Well done.” His feet didn’t move, and since that was all Marc could see of him, he didn’t really know what was going on, and he didn’t want to look up to find out. So he waited quietly.

  “So she does have people.” The Captain sounded like he was half talking to himself. “They must have saved some, knowing they couldn’t win. What a decision to have to make. She had to send her people to their death, hide those that gave them the best chance for their future, and save herself. She had to play God with those she had known all her life—deciding who lived and who died. Even had to track down the captured and kill them in an act of mercy. Could I have done that?”

  Rhetorical? Probably. Marc continued to stare at the ground and pretend like he couldn’t hear the conversation spoken to the top of his head.

  “This man she speaks of was not a soldier,” the Captain went on. “Lucius has heard that from her nightmares. He was good with children. He stayed behind, which means the children were taken to safety. He was probably trying to buy them time so they could escape. Noble. So they saved children, caretakers, and their best soldiers. Interesting. I wonder where they were hidden…”

  “They saved those with fighting skills and the mental part, too, sir.” Marc flinched. Why did he have to speak? And now he’d caused silence. That couldn’t be good.

  “And they followed her ruling. They valued her leadership. They had faith that she should go alone to get this thing done. They thought a young woman was the best choice to walk across the land in search of an ancestor a hundred or more years removed with nothing but weapons and her father’s ring. And she almost made it.”

  “She thought our forest was still intact. If not for that, she would be long gone,” Marc said in resignation. If the Captain was determined to make him a sounding board, he might as well move the thoughts along.

  “We are not alone in this, either, Cadet.”

  Marc didn’t know what he was talking about, so he said nothing.

  “But she has to go—I see that now.”

  “But sir, you can’t let her leave!” Marc said in desperation. “We cannot withstand those Starchars, or whatever they are. You have power, I hear, but you can’t heal with your mind. Or cause pain. Or whatever else she does that helps the army. You can’t—“

  “That is enough, Cadet.” The Captain’s deep, graveled voice set Marc’s bones to vibrating. Marc could feel a warning tingle in his ball sack that said he was probably about to be bodily thrown somewhere. He was prepared for flight and was not ashamed to admit it.

  “She has to leave,” the Captain went on, walking now, “but you are right, she has valuable skills we need to harness. For right now, though, she needs to stay alive, and her spirit needs to heal. You are in charge of monitoring that, and reporting to me whenever she suffers a blow. The rest of what she said you will not speak of to her or anyone else, save me. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Suck your emotions deep within you. She does not seek them unless it is dire, so if you keep your thought
s close to your chest, she should glean nothing of this conversation.”

  Mark had no idea what that meant, either, but it was always wise to agree with the Captain. “Yes, sir.”

  As they walked up, Shanti grimaced, eyes still closed. “Marc, you are a tattletale.”

  “See, that’s weird,” Leilius mumbled, scooting around the tree.

  “It’s not weird. Marc’s brain is all soft and squishy and caring. The other one’s brain looks like the ugly rugs he is so fond of. I am not reading his thoughts, just that he is unhappy about something. As usual.”

  “You two boys can leave now,” the Captain said, his gaze trained on Shanti.

  Neither Marc or Leilius wasted any time.

  Chapter XLVIII

  SHANTI WAITED FOR THE PROBING mental contact she knew would come. When it did, she gave it a tug, then gave him the mental equivalent of a kick. “You need to ask before you try to look in on someone’s thoughts.”

  “You seem to have no qualms about it,” Cayan replied, sitting down beside her.

  She still hadn’t opened her eyes, but he smelled dirty. And sweaty. “I don’t look. I maintain a connection with my head like people do with their eyes. I monitor to make sure everyone is alive, is okay, and is not in need of help. I cannot help, and really do not appreciate, that your people seem to constantly advertise their every damn emotional feeling.”

  “Do you even know what damn means?”

  “No, but I know how it is used, and how people respond to its use, which is really all slang is anyway.”