FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Did you really give those people fake memories?” she asked after the groom left to collect our things, pulling me out of thoughts I shouldn’t have been thinking.

  “In a way.”

  “And you made that magic hunter kill his brother before we met? That was you, wasn’t it?” She looked afraid to hear my answer. No use lying. Better that she know and keep her distance.

  “Yes.”

  “What were you doing to that man who just left? He looked strange. Dazed.”

  “What I had to do to get what we need. Nothing that will hurt him, so don’t worry about it.”

  She stepped away from me and rubbed her horse’s nose. “It seems wrong, though.”

  With that, my fears of liking her too much disappeared. “I didn’t see you jumping in to distract him and keep me from doing it,” I whispered back as the groom returned with new saddle bags filled with food and clean bedrolls to attach to our packs. “You’re benefiting from this at least as much as I am. If you don’t like it, find your own cure.” She held my gaze for a moment, then looked away and turned to saddle her horse.

  I understood that she was probably confused about everything that was happening, but I was exhausted and in no mood to feel like a villain for trying to help her.

  She was silent as we rode away from the inn, through the still-quiet village and past a faded sign that advised us to “Come Again Soon!”

  Not bloody likely, I thought. I’d be lucky to survive the next week if I couldn’t keep from being distracted or falling into a deep sleep. Keeping us safe was a far greater challenge than I’d anticipated.

  Rowan seemed to be turning things over in her mind for the next while, and it was well into the morning before she said anything. She didn’t turn toward me, but watched from the corner of her eye as she spoke. “Have you done that to me at all?”

  “No. Not once.”

  “How can I be sure of that? You could be making me think that I was making my own decisions but really you’ve been doing it for me, and making me not notice that what I was doing was strange, or—”

  Though I was frustrated with her and nearly too tired to think, she almost made me laugh. “Rowan?”

  “What?”

  “The pleasure of your company isn’t worth that much trouble.”

  A look of shock crossed her face that quickly changed to amusement when she saw that I was smiling. “I’ll bet.”

  “Doing something like that is extremely difficult—not only in knowing how it’s done, but in the amount of concentration and energy it takes. I do it when I have to, certainly more than is good for me, but I couldn’t have held onto you for this long. That’s if I could do it at all. Magic offers protection against it, and I can’t even see your thoughts. Like it or not, you’re here by your own choice.”

  “Or you could be lying about all of that, too, and making me believe it.” She smiled, but I doubted very much that she trusted me. “Sorry. This is all so strange. I want this to work, but…”

  “I know. I don’t think I’m actually qualified to act like a hero for anyone.”

  “I don’t know. You’re doing a pretty good job so far.”

  I tried to ignore the warming effect her words had on me. I wasn’t supposed to need kindness or praise, but it felt good.

  I shook it off.

  She squinted up at the sky. “We’d better find shelter soon. Those clouds are coming in fast.” The day had started out clear, but the sky was darkening, and gray clouds hovered in the sky ahead. A freezing wind whipped past us, and Rowan pulled her cloak tighter. I stopped to pull mine out from my pack. No sense getting drenched if I could avoid it.

  We’d nearly reached the end of the farmland that surrounded the town, and only a few fields remained between us and a return to the uneven, boulder-strewn landscape that surrounded them. A farmer watched us as we passed, but neither of us acknowledged him.

  Storm clouds rolled in, shutting out the sunlight until the sky became as dark as night. A light rain quickly changed to a freezing downpour that blew in our faces. Lightning flickered and thunder crashed immediately after, frightening the horses. Then the storm really started.

  Sheets of water fell like waterfalls, drenching everything and leaving the road little better than a shallow river. It became impossible to see ahead, but the horses hurried on.

  I hoped the rain would be our only concern, but danger loomed at the edge of my awareness. People on the road, following.

  Rowan kept pace beside me as the horses raced down the road, their hoofs sending up sprays of muddy water that were lost in the downpour.

  I looked back. Lightning flashed, revealing three dark shapes on the road, following hard behind us, close enough that there was no doubt that they were in pursuit.

  “Rowan!” I called, unsure whether she’d hear me over the rain. “Rowan!” When she looked, I motioned for her to ride closer. The road swung to the left, but we kept going straight, over the rough ground. The horses slowed.

  “What are you doing?” Rowan shouted. She sat hunched over her horse’s neck with water streaming off of her hood.

  “We’re being followed. The road’s not safe.” She glanced behind her, but it was impossible to see anything. I hoped our pursuers were finding the same.

  The rain let up slightly, but the darkness remained. I gave my horse freedom to choose her path, and Rowan’s fell behind. I didn’t particularly care where we went, as long as it was away from the road, and as quickly as possible. The land sloped upward, and we found ourselves in a tree-filled space between two rocky cliffs. The rain rolled off of the leaves and onto us, but it was some relief from the downpour. The horses grew cautious, slowing they walked against a river of rainwater.

  The land opened up, and we were no longer sheltered. A splashing noise behind me indicated that Rowan’s horse had stumbled.

  “We have to stop!” she called. “They can’t keep going like this!”

  “We have to!” I pulled back on the reins, though, and waited. When I focused my awareness on the space around us, there was nothing. No one but me and Rowan. Lightning flashed again, silhouetting the crumbling remains of a massive stone building. I turned my horse’s head toward the structure. The roof was gone, but it would be better than nothing.

  We reached what might once have been a courtyard and found the space occupied by an encampment. A massive tent surrounded by smaller ones took up much of the space, with several hard-topped wagons parked nearby. I pulled my horse up. I hadn’t felt anything. No danger, no human presences at all. If the people here were dead, we’d want nothing to do with this place.

  Horses huddled beneath an awning affixed to one of the stone walls, their backs to the wind and rain. A few human faces peered out from the largest tent, letting a sliver of warm light out into the darkness.

  That’s impossible. And worse than if they’d been dead. I didn’t trust it. I was about to turn back when a tall woman in a red cloak stepped out into the rain and waved us down. “Welcome, fellow travelers,” she called in a lilting accent. “It’s a poor time to be out on the road. Would you honor us by coming in for a meal?”

  “Yes, and thank you!” Rowan called. She rode toward where the horses sheltered, and two younger men dressed in heavy rain gear came out of the tent and helped her dismount. I followed reluctantly, and allowed one of the men to take my horse.

  “I don’t like this,” I said in a voice pitched so only she could hear me.

  “They’re just Wanderers,” Rowan said, exasperated. “They’re not road bandits.”

  “I remember. But I can’t get a sense of them. It’s like they’re not here.” One of the men handed me my knapsack and bedroll, and they both ran back toward the tent, not waiting to see if we’d follow.

  “Maybe you’re just tired,” she said, and pushed her dripping hair out of her eyes. “And didn’t you say you did something to keep Severn from locating you? Maybe they’re doing that. Or maybe they’re ghosts. Who
cares? They’re offering a warm place to stop, and we’re not getting any drier out here.”

  She reached under my cloak and threaded her arm through mine, and pulled me toward shelter. A blast of warmth hit us as we stepped between the tent flaps. The inside of the large tent was crowded. Adults sat on cushions scattered in groups around the floor, most of them finishing meals and conversing in low voices. Several ragged-looking children ran around yelling, weaving a path between groups of people who barely seemed to notice them. People turned to look at us, but went back to their conversations a few seconds later. A tall man resumed playing a stringed instrument, and one of the children broke away from the pack to pick up a small drum to play along.

  The woman who had greeted us held out a hand. She was older than most of them, silver-haired and with deep lines around her eyes and mouth, but there was no hint of frailty about her. She radiated calm and confidence, and a hint of low-level magic.

  I’d have to watch this one. Her magic didn’t seem significant enough to be a threat, but that depended entirely on what she could do with it.

  “Jein Hammus,” she said. I realized we hadn’t come up with identities for ourselves. I’d paid for our room at the inn without giving names.

  Rowan reached past me to give the woman’s hand a firm shake. “Penelope Jones,” she said, then laughed nervously. “I mean, Anderson.” She gazed up at me with a sickeningly sweet expression and smiled. “Sometimes I still forget, it’s all so new. This is my husband, Doug.”

  Jein Hammus smiled. “Well, how nice. Terrible time to be traveling, though.”

  “Autumn?” Rowan asked.

  “That, too. Please, sit with my family. Have something to eat.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” I said, “but perhaps we should just—”

  Rowan interrupted me. “Oh, don’t be silly, darling. It would be rude of us to refuse such generous hospitality. Thank you, Missus Hammus.”

  “Jein, please.” She led us toward the rear of the tent, pausing to speak quietly to a few people along the way. The ceiling was high, held up by tall posts. Flaps in the walls indicated either exits or connections to the other tents I’d seen outside. Rowan took my hand. Her skin was icy cold. We needed the shelter, there was no question about that, and the spiced meat stew smelled wonderful. The horses needed the rest, too. I just hoped we weren’t going to become trapped again. Now that we were inside the tent, I could read most of these people better. They seemed curious, but not hostile at all. The Hammus woman remained a mystery.

  She introduced us to her husband Johen and their son Frans, who looked to be twelve or thirteen years old.

  “Our daughter Patience is here somewhere,” Johen said. “Probably with the other children.” He offered Rowan his seat, and I took an empty cushion next to her. Frans watched from behind the curtain of dark hair that covered his eyes and said nothing.

  “I’m sorry if we’ve interrupted something,” Rowan said. She accepted a plate of stew from Johen.

  “Oh, not at all,” Jein said, and settled onto another seat. She indicated that we should go ahead and eat. “We accept hospitality where we find it, and we’ve yet to turn away an honest soul we’ve met on the road who was hungry or weary.” She glanced at our clothes. “Or damp.”

  “Is this wise, Mother?” Frans asked, glaring at me. “With things the way they’ve been?”

  Jein sighed. “Perhaps not.” She turned to us. “Are you trustworthy?”

  Rowan glanced down at her plate, thinking. She looked up and grinned. “Bildich rohmnen, pesha,” she said.

  Jein raised her eyebrows. “Not a stranger at all, then!” she said, and returned Rowan’s smile. Frans scowled and wandered off.

  “I was telling Doug not too long ago that I used to play with a little boy named Romul when his family stopped at my home,” Rowan told Jein. “They brought interesting things to sell, and Romul’s mother made the most amazing cookies.”

  They talked for a while, and I tried to act like I’d heard at least some of these stories before.

  A thin-faced girl with bright ribbons braided into her white-blond hair stumbled out of the crowd of running children and dropped onto the cushion between me and Jein. “Will we have a show, Mother?”

  “I think not tonight, my love. We haven’t unpacked here, and our guests are weary from their travels. Another time.” The girl pouted, and when the children passed by again she flounced off to join them. Jein sighed. “Sometimes I wonder why we name our children before we know them well. I’m not holding much hope of that one growing into hers.”

  When Rowan mentioned that there had been other people on the road, following us, Jein excused herself. “Don’t worry about anything,” she said, and laid a hand on Rowan’s shoulder. “We haven’t let enemies find us before, and we won’t now.” She and Johen, along with many of the other adults, bundled into their shawls, capes, or jackets and headed out into the storm. I wanted to follow, but couldn’t without being seen. I stayed on-edge, aware, but nothing seemed dangerous. Perhaps these people were what they seemed.

  No, I thought. No one is.

  Two white-haired old women stayed behind, huddled close to a cluster of burning torches, and half a dozen other adults cleaned up after the meal, occasionally sending curious glances our way. The children continued their game, racing in circles until someone shushed them. Patience gathered the children close and spoke to them, and they all raced outside, yelling. The tent smelled of damp wool and burnt wood, but it was far more pleasant than being outside.

  Rowan scooted closer to me. “How was your meal, dear?”

  “Just wonderful, Penelope, oh light of my life,” I replied dryly, and she stifled a giggle behind her hand. “Nice names. Where did those come from?”

  “I once had a goat named Penelope.”

  “And Doug?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “And Bindig Row—”

  “Bildich rohmnen, pesha. It means something like ‘We are friends, dear one.’ Romul’s mother taught it to me, said it was a good phrase to know, especially if I needed help from the Wanderers. I had forgotten all about it.”

  I didn’t want to talk too much about what we were doing, not with other people possibly listening, but we couldn’t avoid it completely. “We can’t stay here. We know nothing about these people.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Do you think everyone is after us? They’re Wanderers. I really doubt they’re working for your brother. They obviously don’t know who we are, anyway. You’re being too suspicious.”

  “And you’re too trusting.”

  “Well, I guess that evens it out then, doesn’t it?”

  I didn’t know how to answer that. There wasn’t time to, anyway. A woman we hadn’t met yet was coming toward us with brightly-colored clothing folded over both arms. “Hello, my dears. I’m Alys. Jein thought you might like to borrow some clothes while your own are drying by the fire.” I reached into my pack. Everything was damp.

  “Thank you,” I said, and she nodded.

  “If you go through the flap over there you can get changed in the storage space. It’s small, but I don’t suppose that will be a problem.” She winked, then walked toward the old women. Rowan flashed me a smug smile and carried both piles of clothing toward the storage room.

  Rowan changed her clothes first, emerging in an orange sweater with a wide neckline and a reddish-brown skirt that fit tight through the hips and fell in loose folds to her ankles. I took my turn, nearly tripping over the piles of boxes and sacks piled on the floor as I struggled to get out of my wet trousers. The smells of onions and spices tickled my nose. Alys had brought me a blue shirt that slipped over my head and laced at the front, far more colorful than I liked, but I wouldn’t complain.

  I took my dagger from my bag and slipped it into the deep pocket of my borrowed pants. When I returned to the main room, Rowan was waiting nearby. Alys took our wet things and disappeared through another flap in the side of th
e tent, returning moments later.

  “This place must be huge,” Rowan said, stretching to try to look through the other doorway.

  “I’m sure when you spend most of your time traveling, you figure these things out. You never saw anything like this in your extensive dealings with the Wanderers?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say extensive. I only met them twice, and not this group. Ours only came out in the summer.”

  Patience dashed in out of the rain wearing a pink dress that she had to hold up to keep out of the mud, and a floppy red hat that dripped rainwater everywhere. A motley band of seven other children followed her, the youngest just a few years old, all dressed in wild and colorful clothes. “Ladies and gentlemen and extinguished guests!” she bellowed, and Alys chuckled. “Preeeeeesenting the finest show in the entire world!”

  “Oh, I love the theater,” Rowan said, and joined in the scattered applause that was nearly drowned out by the rain.

  Patience’s voice had no such problem. She bellowed out a rough program that sounded like it would drag on for hours. When she finished, Rowan clapped again, then stood. “Come on,” she said. “We should get better seats.”

  “You’re joking.”

  She frowned down at me. “Douglas Anderson, are you telling me that you’re too important and busy right now to enjoy a show performed by the great actors of the future?”

  Once again I didn’t know how to argue with her. A few of the adults who had left earlier returned, and though they smiled at the children, none of them took seats with us. I stretched my awareness, but still felt nothing dangerous, and none of these people paid particular attention to us. I decided to stay alert, but went with Rowan to find seats close to the area the children were clearing for their show.