FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  “My name is Jeid.” His voice was soft, lacking the cruelty of his brother. It was the voice of a healer, of a friend. “You’re hurt.”

  She smiled shakily at him. “I . . . I . . .”

  She wanted to say more, but she was too weak, too hurt; she had suffered too much. Her eyes rolled back and she tilted. He caught her before she could hit the ground.

  Barely clinging to consciousness, she felt him lift her. His arms seemed nearly the size of her entire body, and his chest was warm. He carried her down a rocky path, heading into a canyon that cracked the escarpment. Though wide and burly, he was sure-footed, easily hopping from one mossy stone to another. Finally they reached the canyon floor. The walls rose at their sides, green with vines and moss. Trees grew upon the canyon ledges above, barely clinging on. Caves gaped open in the walls, leading to shadows.

  “My father knows the art of healing,” Jeid said as he walked. “The old man’s out collecting herbs. I’ll do what I can for your wounds until he gets back.” When they reached a cave’s entrance, he placed her down gently. “You’ll have to crawl in. Can you do that?”

  She smiled wanly. “I made my way halfway across the world to here. I can crawl.”

  She climbed up a pile of stones—they creaked beneath her—and wriggled into the cave. It was dark and a tight fit. She wondered how Jeid, twice her size, would enter. After crawling down a tunnel, she emerged into a wide chamber and gasped.

  This was no mere cave.

  It’s a home, she thought, her eyes dampening. It’s the most beautiful home I’ve ever seen.

  Murals covered the craggy walls, depicting bison, deer, and dragons flying under the stars. Fur rugs covered the floor, strings of beads curtained passageways into other chambers, and clay pottery stood on a flat boulder. A tin brazier crackled with embers, its smoke rising to waft out a hole in the ceiling.

  “It’s not much,” Jeid said, “but it’s—“

  “Home,” she whispered.

  She wobbled and nearly fell again, her weariness catching up with her. She sat upon a bearskin rug and hugged her knees.

  Jeid—himself much like a bear—rummaged around, pulled herbs from pouches, and tossed them into a pot with water. A sweet scent filled the cave, a scent of spring, bringing vigor to Laira.

  “It smells nice,” she whispered. “Nicer than I do.”

  He muttered something under his breath, looking uncomfortable. He brought her a bowl of the steaming water. “Drink.”

  She held the bowl, blew upon it until it was cool, and drank. The tea flowed down her throat, sweet and healing, filling her with warmth. Jeid clattered about and returned with bowls of mushrooms, nuts, and wild berries. Laira’s stomach felt so weak. She could only nibble on a mushroom, feeling too sick for more.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I traveled for so long. For so many years, I didn’t know if others were real. I . . . I lived in a kingdom, and then a tribe, and . . . “ Her eyes stung and her tongue stumbled over the words.

  “Hush now,” Jeid said, but his voice was kind. “There will be time for tales. First we must do something about your wounds.”

  She looked down at herself. Her ragged cloak—a patchwork of rat furs—barely hid her body, revealing many scratches and bruises. Her wrists and ankles were still a raw mess. Her feet were the worst; the welts from the blazing pyre were infected and turning green.

  What must I look like to him? Laira thought, feeling ashamed. A scrawny thing barely larger than a child, clad in filthy rags, her jaw crooked, her hair sheared short, infected and foul—hardly the kind of weredragon he had dreamed of someday meeting, she reckoned. She half-expected him to toss her out into the cold.

  And yet he didn’t, and his eyes remained kind, and he brought forth clay bowls of ointments. When he smiled at her, it filled her with as much warmth as the tea, for it was a smile of relief, of goodness.

  He likes me here.

  “This should help the infection,” he said, dipping the cloth into the bowl. “It might sting a bit, but—“

  A loud voice boomed from the cave entrance.

  “Jeid Blacksmith! What in the name of sanity do you think you’re doing?”

  Laira leaped up and the bowl clattered down. She sucked in her magic, prepared to shift, to blow fire, to attack any enemy who approached. Had Zerra found her? Had her father’s soldiers tracked her down?

  When she saw the figure at the entrance, however, she tilted her head, keeping her magic at bay, not yet shifting.

  An elderly man stood there, glaring at Jeid. He wore blue robes and a woolen cloak and hood. His beard was long and white, his eyes glittering blue, his eyebrows snowy and bushy. He held a staff formed of an oak’s root; the root split at the top into wooden fingers, clutching a blue crystal.

  “I am healing her—“ Jeid began.

  “You were about to burn her feet off.” The elderly man scowled. “Root of blackthorn? That’s used to heal frostbite, you fool. The lass is clearly suffering from infected burns. She needs greenroot, for stars’ sake.”

  The old man stepped forward and smacked Jeid on the shoulder. The big, burly bear of a man scowled and stepped back with a grunt.

  Laira gazed at the pair with wide eyes.

  “Ignore my dolt of a son,” said the old man. As he approached Laira, his scowl faded, and the kindliest, warmest smile she had ever seen creased his face and twinkled in his eyes. “Grizzly means well—that’s what we call him, you can imagine why—but he has the brains of a pebble. All muscle and no wit, that one. Call me Eranor, my dear, or Grandpapa if you like. I am a grandfather to any who enter my home.” He pulled a packet from his cloak and unrolled it, revealing green paste. “This will do the job much better.”

  Laira sat back down and stretched out her feet. Eranor gazed at her wounds, clucked his tongue, and began ordering his son about. Jeid—Grizzly, that was—though large as a great warrior, rushed about at every command. He fetched a bowl of steaming water, a cloth, and several needles and brushes.

  “Now get outside!” Eranor said to his son. “Go on. You know the rules. Somebody always stands on the watchtower and guards. Go!”

  Grumbling under his breath, the shaggy man shuffled outside.

  Eranor watched his son leave and sighed. “I remember when he was a bundle I could hold in one hand. Now look at the boy.”

  “He does look like a bear,” Laira said, remembering the bear she had fought in the forest.

  Smiling, Eranor got to work—washing Laira’s feet, applying ointment, and stitching up the open wounds.

  “I hope Grizzly didn’t frighten you. My son tends to do that. I’ve seen saber-toothed cats flee at the sight of him. I urge him to cut his hair and beard, wear wool instead of fur, and start to look like a proper person, but he won’t listen. Children rarely listen to their fathers.”

  “It’s true,” Laira whispered, thinking of her own father, a cruel king who had banished her. She wished she had a father like Eranor instead. “Thank you, Grandpapa.”

  A thought struck her, and she sucked in breath. But he’s Zerra’s father. A chill flooded her as the realization sank in. This kindly old man who was healing her . . . was father not only to Jeid, but also the cruel chieftain, the brute who had abused her for so many years. Would Eranor attack her now, tie her up, hand her over to the chieftain?

  But the man only smiled up at her, seemingly unaware of her distress. “Good! Call me Grandpapa from now on. I like the sound of that.” He moved to her ankles, applying more ointment to the cuts. “So, my dear, you are Vir Requis too? I saw you flying outside in the forest. I came back here as soon as I could. A beautiful golden dragon! Now there’s a new color.”

  At the talk of dragons, her fear eased, and she was able to push Zerra to the back of her mind.

  “Vir—what?” she asked. “Are you . . . a weredragon too?”

  Eranor paused for an instant, and his eyes seemed to darken. Then he smiled again and resumed his work. “
I do not like that word, my sweetness. It’s a crude word, a word those who don’t understand us use. We call this canyon Requiem, a name my son gave it. It was my granddaughter’s name. We call ourselves Vir Requis—people of Requiem.” He smiled. “And yes, I too am proud to count myself among our number.”

  He produced soft, cotton strands and began to bandage up her cleaned wounds. Laira lifted her bowl of tea and sipped, letting the warmth flow through her. For the first time in many days, she didn’t hurt.

  “But . . . proud? Grandpapa, it’s a disease. Like the one infecting in my feet.”

  “Nonsense!” Eranor tossed his beard across his shoulder. “Utter rubbish. Our enemies say such things, and perhaps you believed them. Sweetness . . .” He held her hands, kneeling before her, and gazed into her eyes. “You are not cursed. You are not diseased. You are blessed with a great gift from the stars. You are magic. You are wonderful.”

  More than the tea, the coziness of this cave, or the healing ointments, those words changed something in Laira. As Eranor had drawn the pus from her wounds, those words seemed to draw out all the pain, fear, and shame from inside her. She found herself trembling, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Oh, dear child,” said Eranor, his expression softening. He pulled her into his arms, and she embraced him, weeping against his chest.

  “Thank you,” she whispered as he smoothed her hair. “Thank you, Grandpapa.”

  When the sun set, and only the light of the brazier filled the cave, Eranor stepped outside into the night for his guard shift. Laira asked to guard too, but father and son raised their eyebrows and told her to stop being so silly.

  Jeid cooked a stew of hares, mushrooms, and wild tubers. It was the best meal Laira had ever eaten. She sat wrapped in a great, warm cloak of bear fur, her body washed and rubbed with sweet-scented creams. For the first time since her mother had died, she was clean, well fed, and clad in warmth. Her eyes would not stop stinging.

  I am magic. I am wonderful.

  She wanted to tell Jeid about all her pain—about how her father had exiled her, how Zerra had burned her mother, how the chieftain had shattered her jaw and starved her, how she had crawled through the forest for so long, nearly dying. But she could bring none of it to her lips, and Jeid did not probe her, only fetched her clear water to drink, more food to eat, and even sang an old song to soothe her.

  That night they lay upon soft fur rugs. Laira watched the embers for a while, feeling warm and safe. She had not slept in a shelter since her mother had died, only in the dog pen, huddling and cold.

  This is safety. This is warmth. This is home.

  Soon Jeid was snoring softly, and the sound comforted Laira. She wriggled a little closer to him, feeling the warmth of his body, and lay beside him.

  Your twin hurt me, she thought, but you won’t. You protect me.

  Her true father was cruel. Perhaps, she thought, Jeid and Eranor could be like the father and grandfather she needed. She closed her eyes, smiled softly, and slept.

  In her dreams, yellow eyes opened and black wings spread wide. Hundreds of the rocs flew, slamming against the canyon, clattering at the caves, screeching for her blood, and Laira screamed and cowered as their talons ripped into her flesh.

  TANIN

  THEY FLEW ACROSS THE CITY at sundown, two dragons beating their wings and roaring fire, driving into a cloud of demonic fury.

  Aerhein Tower rose before them from a hive of devilry, a bone rising from a wound. Hundreds of creatures bustled around the old structure, rising like flies from a disturbed carcass, hissing and shrieking and buzzing and flapping their wings. The demons of the Abyss saw the dragons, and they howled, and they drove forward with clouds of rot and fire and smoke.

  “Shine your light, Issari!” Tanin shouted, diving upon the wind, the air whistling around him. “Scatter them!”

  At his side, Maev pumped her wings. Her green scales gleamed in the sunset, and she roared and blasted out fire. The flaming pillar spun, crackling, and crashed into a cloud of demons. The creatures—rotting winged horses with hollow eye sockets—burst into flames. Tanin added his fire, torching a cackling green creature with bat wings. Yet countless more demons flew beyond those they slew; they covered the sky, a tapestry of horns and scales and boils.

  “Issari!” Tanin cried to the princess who rode upon his back.

  He heard her chanting above in her tongue, speaking the name of her god. A soft light grew, pale as a moonbeam, subdued amid so much darkness. Several demons shrieked and scattered, but the others jeered and spat, mocking the light of Taal. A lumbering creature dived down, a rotting bull with leathern wings, a mockery of the city sigil. It opened its mouth and spewed down acid.

  Tanin dodged the rancid jet and blew more fire, torching the creature. The bull shrieked, blazing, and tumbled from the sky, only making room for a cloud of flayed women with feathered wings, their fangs long, their eyes flaming. Maev fought beside him, whipping her tail at swarming horseflies the size of wolves.

  “Issari, what’s wrong?” Tanin shouted. “The amulet’s light is dim!”

  “There are too many!” she shouted from his back.

  Tanin cursed, spat out a jet of flame, and torched a rising cluster of eyeballs and fingers.

  “Keep praying and shining what light you can!” he shouted back at her. “Maev!” The green dragon slew a festering cluster of rot, spat in disgust, and flew up toward him. Tanin pointed at the tower. “Maev, you break into that tower! Tear open the bars in the window. Issari and I will cover you.”

  She growled. “I’m a fighter. I’m going to kill them all. I—“

  “Do it!” Tanin shouted. “Go!”

  With a grunt, Maev turned and drove forward, barreling into a cloud of cackling creatures—they looked like old men with canine faces—knocking them back with tail and claw. Aerhein Tower rose ahead from the smoke and flame of the creatures, its window peering like an eye. Tanin flew at his sister’s side, blowing fire, clawing, biting, slaying demons of every size and shape.

  A flying, flaming snake wrapped around his neck, and Tanin screamed in pain. A desiccated, winged giant of a man—ten feet tall and flapping bat wings—grabbed Tanin’s wing and tugged off the claw at its tip. Tanin howled as the claw came free, showering blood. A rotting glob of boils drove into his belly, its skin acidic, sticky and burnt, and Tanin bucked as he clawed it off.

  “Taal! Shine your light!” Issari shouted upon his back. Her amulet’s beam drove forward, gaining some strength. The flaming snake hissed, loosened its grip on Tanin’s neck, and fell. The lanky, winged giant covered its eyes, and Tanin sent it tumbling down with a swipe of his tail.

  “Issari, clear a path for Maev!” Tanin shouted. “Shine your light around her. I’m fine. I—“

  Before he could complete his sentence, more creatures slammed into him, great flying jaws with no bodies, and he roared as their teeth dented his scales. He kept flying, the creatures clinging to him. Balls of claws landed upon his wings, digging, cutting, and he roared and flapped madly, scattering them, flying on, blowing fire. Atop his back, Issari kept chanting, shining her light, a single beam nearly drowning in the clouds of darkness. The sun faded. Night fell and countless red eyes burned.

  Pain flooded Tanin. Blood coated him. But he had to keep flying. This was the flight of his life, the battle he’d been waging since that day years ago. Jaws clamped around him, and acid rained against his scales, and as the pain flooded him, he was flying there again in the darkness, flying away from Oldforge, away from his beloved, away from the only home he’d known. And still he sought a home. Still he fought for his family, for his people—for Requiem.

  “For you, Requiem,” he whispered. “For my fallen sister and for the nation we will build in your name.”

  He blew his fire. He burned them down. He cut and bit and roared with fury, and finally he drove through the horde, and Aerhein Tower rose before him. He landed upon its crest, tossed back his head, and h
owled to the night sky. The city of Eteer rolled below him, two hundred thousand souls, countless lights, and beyond it the sea—beyond it Requiem, that distant tribe, the heartbeat of his lost, cursed, forsaken people, the people he would raise to greatness. He blasted his fire in a ring, beating his wings, burning down the forces of the Abyss that still clawed and swarmed toward him.

  “Tanin, hold them off!” Maev shouted below, her maw full of blood, her wings pierced with holes. “I’ll tear the damn bars open.”

  His sister, a green dragon with chipped scales, clung to the tower. As she began to bite at the bars in the window, demons swarmed and landed upon her back, biting and clawing.

  “In the name of Taal, you are banished!” Issari shouted. Clinging to Tanin’s back, she shone her light down onto Maev. As the beam hit the green dragon, the demons hissed and fell, tumbling down to the courtyard. Yet hundreds more were flying toward the tower now, rising from every roof and alley in the city. Tanin leaped off the tower top and hovered by Maev, protecting her with his body, blowing his fire.

  Arrows slammed into him.

  He roared in pain.

  Soldiers of the city stood below, nocking more arrows into their bows. Tanin sucked in breath, prepared to burn the men.

  “Tanin, no!” Issari cried. “We cannot kill humans. We—“

  Tanin growled. He spewed down his flames. The jet crashed into the courtyard ahead of the soldiers, sending them scurrying back. One man caught fire, fell, and rolled. The others leaped behind columns. Another blast of flame sent them scurrying away from the courtyard.

  “Maev, damn it, hurry up!” he shouted. Glancing behind him, he saw her still gnawing at the bars. She had tugged only one out from the window. A prisoner stood inside—it must have been Prince Sena, for he looked like his sister Issari, his hair dark and his eyes green. Maev began tugging the second bar.

  “Maev, for goodness sake, can you do this a little faster? I—“

  Before Tanin could complete his sentence, demons swooped from above, shaped like hairless, eyeless moles the size of bears. Their tongues lashed out, as long as their bodies, slamming into Tanin. Their drool burned, and the tongues wrapped around his neck and limbs, tugging him away from Maev.