FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Why did I never hear of these intentions?” Rideon demanded.

  The outlaw scratched his shaggy beard. “I, uh, couldn’t say, Hand. I didn’t think it was nothing worth mentioning, and I guess the others didn’t either. Anyway, I wasn’t in on the discussion myself. All I know is Mabias, Brig, and Spearneck were going together with a handful of others. I guess Garad and Resid from Molehill were among them.”

  My stomach lurched at the mention of Brig. Surely he was mistaken—Brig couldn’t have been among those slaughtered. The possibility was too shattering too accept. I struggled after a shred of hope, anything to hold onto. None escaped according to Garad, I reminded myself, but hadn’t Garad been in such pain that even Terrac admitted half his words were senseless rantings? One other might still have survived—must have survived—I decided desperately. Brig was not a man to die easily.

  Rideon carried on with his thoughts, apparently unconcerned with the fates of his men. “Resid,” he mused, “was a new member. What does he know? Everything?”

  Kinsley stepped nearer. “He’s scarcely left Molehill, Hand. Never been to Red Rock and shouldn’t even know where it is. I keep the new ones in the dark until they’ve proven themselves trustworthy. The other men know that’s my rule and are usually pretty close-mouthed around new recruits.”

  “All except a select few who invited him into their secret plans,” Rideon snapped. “How many others has he wheedled confidences from, sidling his way into their trust until they volunteered more information than they should?”

  Kinsley said, “This is my fault for failing to search the new members carefully enough. I let a spy slip in among us.”

  “You did,” Rideon agreed. “But there’ll be time for whining about your carelessness later. We’ve more immediate problems to hand. We’ve got to evacuate Molehill if it isn’t too late. Red Rock too. I’ll take no chances on what Resid may or may not have discovered. We have to operate under the assumption the Fists and their spy now know as much about us as we do ourselves. There’s no saying how much time we have, so we must act quickly.”

  He spun on Terrac. “When did this ambush occur?”

  Terrac shrugged. “Garad didn’t say, but I imagine it must have taken a man in his condition a while to cover so much distance.”

  Rideon said, “Then let us waste no time. It appears we have little enough of it. Kinsley and the rest of you, come with me. Except you, Cadon. I want you to run up to Molehill as quickly as you can run. Spread the word to evacuate to the part of the forest where the trees don’t green. We’ll meet up and form our plans there.”

  I interrupted with the question no one else seemed concerned about. “But what of our missing men? What of Brig?”

  Rideon continued giving out instructions as if I hadn’t spoken. Only Terrac looked at me with sympathy. “I think it’s too late for them, Ilan,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” I said firmly. “Brig lives.” I refused to consider the alternative.

  Terrac frowned. “Garad was dying. It’s unlikely he would have dared lie to a priest, even if he had some unfathomable cause to.”

  I scarcely heard him. I was thinking that if I never saw Brig again, I’d never have the chance to mend our damaged friendship. All I wanted was a chance to explain myself to him, to return things to the way they once were between us. Suddenly, every sly act of disrespect, every insult I’d ever tossed at him, was a bitter memory to me, like a blade twisted deep in my gut. It would haunt me forever if I didn’t get the chance to take it all back.

  Rideon had finished issuing orders, and the others were dispersing to carry out his commands when I intercepted him, seizing the front of his jerkin and thrusting my face into his.

  I said, “What are you going to do for Brig and the rest? You cannot mean to leave them to their fates.”

  My captain looked down on me coldly. “Didn’t you hear the priest boy say they were dead? They’re beyond our aid. Now out of my way, hound. There’s important work to be carried out and little time in which to accomplish it.”

  “But maybe they weren’t all killed. We have only Garad’s word on that! I won’t believe anything happened to Brig until I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

  Rideon shook me off impatiently. “Then you’re doomed to a lifetime of wondering. We’ve more immediate problems to occupy ourselves with than worrying about what happened to Brig. Like getting all our people out of Red Rock and Molehill before they meet the same fate as Garad here. Now, I know what you’re thinking, but I forbid you or anyone else to go running off after a corpse. We’ve the living to defend, so let’s move on and do what we can for those who aren’t beyond saving.”

  I wouldn’t listen. “I’m telling you, I can bring Brig back. I can and I will!”

  “And where do you expect to find him?” Rideon asked. “Do you think the Praetor’s men just leave the bodies of outlaws lying out on the roads for carrion? Do you never pay attention to anything that happens around you? No, the Fists bring their victims, alive or dead, to Selbius, where the crowds may witness the Praetor’s justice. Brig’s remains will be displayed on the city walls or hung up in the market square alongside the rotting bones of anyone else who has ever dared to flout the Praetor’s rule.”

  I stood stupidly, factoring this new information into my plans as he shoved past. I was scarcely aware of his leaving. What he said changed nothing. I needed to see for myself whether Brig was truly dead. And even if he were… I couldn’t allow his corpse to be dishonored in the way Rideon described. One way or another, I must save him, and next to this, Rideon’s orders meant little.

  I said, “Terrac, how far to Selbius from the way huts on Tinker’s Path?”

  Terrac must have been following my thinking, for he looked uneasy. “You know these woods better than I do.”

  I said, “I think it’s about a half day as the raven flies, but it’ll take longer for them.” There was no question as to who “they” were. “They’ll follow the road, and that’ll cost them time. There’d be no taking their horses straight through Heeflin’s Bog. And if I know Brig and the rest, I suspect the Fists will also have injured men of their own, which will slow them down further. But they’ve a good head start on us, so we’ve no time to waste. Come on, I’ll need your help.”

  “No.”

  The priest boy’s refusal drew me to a halt before I had gone three steps. I wasn’t much surprised by his response and had my argument prepared.

  “Brig saved your life when you came here, nursed you back to health as much as I did,” I reminded him. “You can leave him to his fate now? Is that the kind of honor your old priests taught you?”

  Terrac shook his head. “I know what you have in mind, Ilan. But there’s only the two of us against an unknown number of them. As a man of the robe, I cannot fight, even to save my life, so I’d be useless to you. I’m sorry for you and for Brig, truly, but Rideon has given his orders, and for once I am in agreement with him.”

  I was furious but could waste no more time attempting to argue him out of his cowardice. “I see. Well then, may your friends ever be as faithful to you.”

  I turned my back on him and set off into the underbrush without another look. I sensed I had shamed him and he was undergoing some internal struggle, so it was no surprise when, after a short pause, he came running after me.

  We kept silent as we strode together through the thick trees. I set a brisk pace, and neither of us could afford to waste breath speaking. Every instinct within me screamed at me to run, to hasten to Brig’s side as quickly as my legs could speed me, but I restrained myself. We had a long distance to cover, and there was no sense in spending all our strength this early.

  Chapter XII

  IT WAS MIDAFTERNOON WHEN WE came upon the traveler’s way huts along the Tinker Path. It was easy to see the evidence of what happened in this place. The ground around the buildings was blood-soaked and churned with the prints of men and horses alike. There must
have been a dozen or more Fists here, but I didn’t share that fact with Terrac. His resolve was weak enough.

  Behind the way huts we found our men, or what was left of them. I saw Mabias, Spearneck, and a couple others I didn’t know as well. The Fists hadn’t troubled themselves with carrying the whole remains back to Selbius, but every corpse had been beheaded, the decapitated bodies left where they fell. I identified the dead mostly by clothing or distinctive markings on their bodies. Of the traitor, Resid, there was no sign, and I could only assume he had ridden away with the Fists.

  Resid was not the only man missing. My heart climbed back out of my throat as I realized Brig was not among the dead. I searched the sheds and the surrounding area, thinking he might have crawled, injured, a short distance, but all I found was his bone-handled hunting knife lying behind one of the sheds. My search here done, I slipped the knife into my belt and hurried a protesting Terrac off the road.

  Much as I regretted the necessity, we had to leave the rest of our men where they lay. There wasn’t time to deal with any kind of burial. I still had no way of knowing whether it was a live prisoner or a cold corpse I was chasing after, but as long as there was any hope for Brig, I couldn’t give up. We pushed on through the wood, making for the shortcut through Heeflin’s Bog. I had to catch the Fists before Selbius. Once Brig was within the city walls, there would be little chance of getting him back.

  We were weary and wet to the waist from our trudge through the bog when we came again onto the path the Fists took to Selbius. I was as dejected as I was exhausted for I knew too much time had been wasted in the crossing of the marsh and I feared we couldn’t hope to catch our quarry, let alone cut them off before they reached this point. But I wouldn’t admit this to Terrac, nor would I give in to his continual requests to turn back. We pushed on, following in the tracks of the company that had already passed this way.

  It was past sundown when we approached a cluster of buildings looming ahead out of the darkness. We were still within Dimming’s borders, but only just, and I recognized the ramshackle buildings set a little aside from the road as one of the abandoned woods-folk farms. Thunder rumbled overhead, and a few cold sprinkles began to fall as the holding came into view.

  The last of the Fist’s tracks were being washed from the road but not before I saw their horses had turned off the way, veering into the direction of the abandoned hold buildings. I caught the dim glow of light filtering out the shuttered windows of the hold house and felt a surge of hope. If the Fists had stopped here to take shelter from the storm…

  Terrac was less pleased than I to have caught up to our enemies, but I wouldn’t hear his warnings. I struck off for the hold buildings, and he reluctantly followed. I shushed his protests as we neared, and we made several careful, silent circuits around the property, wary of sentries. When I was satisfied our enemies were oblivious to our approach, we crept closer. The rain and the dark were our allies, shielding us from unfriendly eyes.

  We moved in as near as we dared, then dropped to our bellies in a little stand of weeds on a gentle rise overlooking the hold house. My heart was beating fast, and I expected discovery at any moment. Terrac parted the grasses and peered ahead. Seconds passed before I felt him stiffen beside me.

  He said, “There’s a man circling the outer sheds. He doesn’t stop to look around, just keeps his head down and moves with purpose. Nothing else stirs.”

  “Is he one of the Praetor’s men?” I whispered.

  “Now how can I know that?”

  I craned my neck, but Terrac was slightly ahead of me and I couldn’t see past him without the commotion of rearranging myself.

  I said, “Does he look like a fighting man? Is he armed? Outfitted in the Praetor’s colors? A Fist would have a bear’s head worked into his breastplate.”

  “At this distance do you think I can see a breastplate, let alone a bear’s head on it? It’s too dark even to make out his colors. Besides, he’s gone now, disappeared into the barn.”

  I sighed and risked repositioning myself for a clearer view. My movements made the tall grass rustle, and I hoped no one was near enough to notice. I now had a good look at the hold house and its dilapidated outbuildings. I could see no movement below. No men, no sign of horses. The only evidence anyone was down there at all was Terrac’s claim to have seen someone—that and the spill of light issuing from the open doorway and windows.

  I located the barn, an old leaning structure beyond the house. I waited and was at length rewarded when a lone figure wandered out its doors. I couldn’t make out any particulars about him. I followed his progress as he ducked his head against the falling rain and hastened to the dry shelter of the hold house. Not a sentry, then, just a man checking on his horse. For a moment he was outlined in the doorway as he stepped into the house, and I caught the glint of light falling across the steel at his hip and a quick glimpse of black leather over scarlet.

  “A Praetor’s man, all right,” I whispered to Terrac. “There must be more of them inside the house or in the outbuildings.”

  A plan began to take shape in my head as I scanned the shadowy rooftops.

  “And how are we to discover whether Brig is with them?” Terrac asked.

  I pushed aside my qualms. I would do whatever I must to get Brig back, and if that meant using Terrac as unwitting bait, so be it.

  I said, “I see no sign of a watch, meaning either they haven’t set any or their sentries are too well hidden to be seen. The first, I think, for I’ve pretty good night vision and I can’t make out anyone hiding in the shadows.” I tried to sound confident because I didn’t want him turning tail right when I had use for him. “But we won’t risk everything on that supposition. We’ll go down just as if there were lookouts.”

  Here was where I must slip in the crucial point and pray I could convince him of it. “You’ll go first,” I said. “One is less conspicuous than two. Slip down to the house and try to get close enough for a look in the windows. Don’t come back until you can tell me how many Fists there are and if Brig is among them. I think it would be best if I wait here for you.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you do,” Terrac said, frowning. “How is it I’m the one handling the dangerous part when this was your idea in the first place?”

  How, indeed? I scrambled for a plausible excuse. “Because you’re the quicker of us and have the best chance of slipping back and forth unseen.”

  His expression showed he wasn’t buying that horse, so I struck out with a better lie. “And because I’m, um, afraid.”

  “Afraid?” The mingled surprise and disbelief in his voice made me wish I had thought of something better.

  I hurried to elaborate. “I mean, I’m afraid for Brig. You know how close we were, and you’ve seen what the Fists do to their enemies. I’m afraid of what we could find down there and of how I’ll react. I might go mad and do something foolish to get us captured or killed.”

  I inwardly blessed his gullibility as I saw the disbelief fade from his face. He nodded and said, “I suppose there is sense in what you say. Maybe it would be for the best if I’m the one to go. I’ll bring the news back to you, whether good or bad.”

  Suffering an unexpected stab of remorse, I caught his arm as he started to turn away. I opened my mouth to confess, but what came out instead was, “You’re a good would-be priest, Terrac. An honest man. You can tell that to anyone.”

  I couldn’t be sure if he detected the instruction behind my words, but he seemed to catch the seriousness of my tone. “I don’t know how good I am, but I think any friend would do as much. Now I’d best do this thing quickly if I’m going to do it at all.”

  A part of me felt relief that he hadn’t understood. “Yes, of course,” I said. “Thank you, Terrac.”

  He gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and then he was away. I kept my head low, watching his awkward progress as he moved off. Slithering down the hillock on his stomach and scrambling to his feet at the bottom, he ran doubled ov
er in the direction of the hold house in the clumsiest stealth approach I’d ever seen.

  I returned my gaze to the sentry I had previously observed lurking beneath the shadowed eaves of the house. I could only hope he would take my friend in for questioning, rather than killing him on the spot, but there was little I could do to ensure that, and my conscience smote me. Terrac was my friend, and here I was betraying him for my own schemes. But when I thought of Brig, my guilt was instantly silenced. For me, Brig came ahead of any other, and this was the only way I could think to keep the Fists busy while I searched for him.

  From here on out, speed was important. I slithered quickly through the grass until I made it down the brow of the hill and then kept low to the earth as I circled to the back of the hold yard. The looming shadow of the barn was my goal because, if Brig was dead, I imagined the Fists would have stowed his corpse in just such a place. I had to cancel out that horrible possibility before I could lay any rescue plans. I reached the barn without being seen and kept to the shadows, creeping around to the front entrance. The door was rotten and protested softly when I tried it so that I hesitated to test it further.

  Abruptly, a strangled cry rang out across the yard. Although I’d been expecting it, I started anyway. The shout was immediately followed by sounds of a struggle, and I dropped flat to the ground, training my gaze on the house. I made out two dark silhouettes scuffling in the shadows. The smaller of the two was actually giving a fair account of himself, but inevitably, his larger opponent soon drew something from his belt, possibly a knife. I was too far away to be certain. He hooked his arm around Terrac from behind, pressed the object against the boy’s throat and Terrac immediately stiffened and fell still. I held my breath, praying he would have the sense to heed the Fist’s orders. Apparently he did, and I watched as he cooperatively allowed the knife man to drag him backwards toward the entrance of the house.