FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  That answered that question. Not his daughter. Just another servant girl, then. Probably even a slave. “Yes, he did.” Darik pulled up a chair and sat at one of the tables. “He told me to get some food and drink.”

  “You came with two others,” she said, her voice high and excited. “A tall man and a wizard? The tall man is named Whelan?”

  Darik smiled. He knew how he must look to her, traveling with such men. He forgave the awe in her voice. “I did. Now, could I have some food, perhaps a little wine? And hurry, I’ve been on the road and I don’t think I’ll last much longer before my stomach falls out.”

  He tried to put a little humor into his voice, but the simple serving girl didn’t appear to catch it. She brought him bread and cheese quickly enough and a mug of drink. Unfermented grape juice, he was disappointed to note.

  “Have you traveled far with the others?” the girl asked, watching him drink.

  “Far enough.” He set down the mug and tore off a chunk of bread. Not bad, but nothing like they made in Graiyan’s kitchen. Still, he was so hungry that it tasted delicious. “I could tell stories, but the things I’ve seen would bring you the night terrors.” He took a long draught from his mug, thinking that it would be a little more dramatic if he were downing wine instead of grape juice. Still, a child like this would be easily impressed. “No, they’re not for little girls to hear.”

  “Is that so?” the girl asked, her friendly tone drying up.

  “Ninny!” Whelan called suddenly, stepping into the room.

  “Uncle Whelan!” the girl cried, throwing herself into the tall warrior’s arms.

  Whelan swept her around in delight. He set her down and turned to Darik. “I see you’ve met my daughter Sofiana.”

  Darik coughed. “Uhm, yes, I just did.” Daughter?

  Whelan beamed in pride, apparently not noticing Darik’s discomfort. “She once rode twenty miles while three bandits chased her, and I lay unconscious over the saddle. They never caught us, though.”

  Darik tried to disappear into a crack in the floor, but failed. Thankfully, Sofiana said nothing to Whelan, but clapped her hands in remembrance. “I’ve got Scree,” she said. “Let me get her.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Whelan said, giving her another hug. “I don’t want to let you out of my sight.” He followed her back to the kitchens. Why, if she was Whelan’s daughter, did she call the man her uncle?

  Markal came into the room, giving Darik a knowing wink. “Even the worst wizards have excellent hearing.”

  Darik groaned. “You heard that?” He tore off a piece of cheese with his teeth, wishing he’d spent more time using his mouth for eating.

  “Who do you think suggested we come down as soon as we did? I thought I’d save you before you made yourself into any more of an ass. Sofiana is coming with us, after all.” He laughed. “And believe me, that girl can make your life miserable.”

  “Is Whelan her father or her uncle?”

  “Both, in a way.” He raised a bushy eyebrow. “But that is Whelan’s business, as I’m sure he would remind me. My tongue wags too freely as it is without delving into that tale.”

  Whelan and Sofiana returned, a hooded falcon on the man’s wrist. He whispered in its ear and stroked its chest. Whelan and Sofiana pulled up chairs next to Markal and Darik.

  Ethan came in a moment later, then made his way back to the kitchen, returning with food and drink for the two older men. They tore into the bread and cheese much as Darik had earlier.

  Whelan eyed the wine and sighed. “No ale, Ethan?”

  Ethan shook his head. “Not much demand for ale or mead in the khalifates, I’m afraid. I’m trying to turn a profit here, remember. Every once in a while I find a passing merchant who has acquired a taste for good drink in Eriscoba and pay him dearly for a barrel or two. I had a casket of good dark stuff just last month.” Ethan grinned and patted his stomach. “But I’m afraid I didn’t save any for you, brother.”

  Markal gave Darik a wink. “Ah, don’t you love traveling with barbarians?” He took a long sip of the wine. “Now, if only he’d tasted of the Aristonian vineyards before the wars. A taste of those vineyards would convert even the most provincial of palates to its charms.”

  Ethan returned to the kitchen to stoke the ovens.

  Scree sat on Whelan’s left wrist, and he reached up his other hand to stroke it.

  “That’s a pretty bird,” Darik said.

  “It’s not a bird,” Whelan said, looking up sharply. “It’s a falcon. I suppose if you saw a griffin, you’d call that a ‘bird’ too, would you?”

  Markal laughed. “You think he’s protective of Scree, just wait until you see how he is about his daughter.”

  Whelan smiled and put his arm around Sofiana, as if ashamed to be caught fussing over his falcon when he hadn’t seen the girl for so long. Whelan laughed, a welcome sound to Darik’s ears. “Sorry. I’ve been strung out like a bowstring all day. My girl by my side and a little food and drink in my belly helps the spirits, though.”

  Sofiana stroked the falcon’s neck. The girl smiled at her father. “I took good care of her.”

  “I’m sure you did. I just hope someone took as good care of you.” He looked up at Ethan. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I didn’t mean—”

  Ethan held up his hand. “Of course you didn’t. I’ve loaded your bags.”

  “Ah, yes,” Markal said. “The camels and the supplies. Will thirty dinarii do it?”

  “No need for that,” Ethan said. “I’ve got enough money.” He rose from the table to check the food in the ovens, then returned a few minutes later with goat meat on a skewer, fat chunks of meat interspersed with roasted onions.

  “I had some travelers last night who rode west in a hurry toward the mountains and had some food left over. Sorry I’ve got nothing fresher.”

  Darik gingerly pulled a chunk of meat from the skewer with his teeth. It tasted delicious, rubbed with butter and garlic. The bread and cheese had taken the edge off his hunger, but this was much better.

  “Who were these riders?” Whelan asked. “Veyrians?”

  Ethan shook his head. “Eriscobans. Brotherhood, I think. To be safe, I kept quiet about who Ninny and I were.” Ethan took a seat and picked up his own skewer. “But I suspect the time for silence has ended. Friend and enemy alike are sorting themselves into respective sides.”

  “Then you can come with us,” Markal said. “We could use an extra sword until we reach Montcrag and the mountains.”

  Whelan said, “But more than that, I need you to help me with the Brotherhood, help me win back their trust.”

  “I’m afraid Markal will have to help you with that. I’m going to stay here. Someone needs to keep an eye on the city, pass news to the khalifa, and let her know that she has the support of the Free Kingdoms.”

  “If you see the khalifa,” Whelan said between sips of wine, “and approach her as Prince Ethan, don’t tell her that I’m your brother. I spent some time at her palace several years ago and don’t want her thinking I had treacherous motives.”

  Ethan shrugged. “I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  “Prince?” Darik asked, confused.

  Whelan smiled, but there was a bitter edge to it. “We’re King Daniel’s own brothers, I’m afraid.”

  “Is nothing you told me true? What about the khalif’s captain in the Mascaras khalifate? A great warrior. Another lie?”

  Whelan shook his head. “Sorry.”

  Ethan said, “Part of that was true, anyway. Whelan is one of the greatest warriors across the breadth of Mithyl, from Veyre on the sea all the way to the Wylde. Captain of the Knights Temperate.” He hesitated. “Or used to be, anyway.” He turned back to Markal and Whelan. “When do you leave?”

  Markal rubbed at his beard. “Nightfall, I think. Too dangerous to travel before then. Do you have somewhere we can sleep for a few hours? Last night stopped short of restful, I’m afraid.”

  Sofiana rose from her seat. “T
he big room is still a mess from the men who came last night, but the well room has bedding.”

  She led them upstairs. The well room was a small room for travelers that overlooked the fields behind the innhouse. Darik looked down from the window and saw a small stone well off the back porch that had given the room its name. Three camels knelt in the shade of the house, dozing while their saddle bags lay stacked to one side.

  “Tell me the truth,” Darik asked when Ethan and Sofiana left the three of them alone. “Will riding a camel to the mountains end my hopes for Sanctuary?”

  Whelan nodded. “For now, yes. You are free Darik, now that you’re away from the city.”

  Whelan took off his boots and lay down on the second bed. Markal took a seat beneath the window and closed his eyes. Soft snores immediately came whispering from the wizard’s bearded face.

  Darik shook his head. “I still feel like a slave. I think I might always feel like a slave until—” he trailed off in frustration. “I don’t know. Maybe I don’t feel like a slave. But my family has been destroyed and dishonored and my sister is being raised by someone else. I thought if I reached the Citadel and begged Sanctuary—” His voice trailed off again.

  “You could join the Brotherhood?”

  Darik nodded. “Maybe even join the Knights Temperate. There is honor in that.”

  Whelan said, “Great honor. And discipline, too. The problem is, there’s no way you’ll make it through the mountains by yourself on foot. Two days from now it will be too late to make it by horse or camel. It may already be too late.”

  “Are you telling me the truth?”

  Whelan nodded. “I am now. And I’m truly sorry about all of the lies to get you out of the city. We should have been honest, but I couldn’t be sure how well you could be trusted to keep your calm in danger. Now try to get some sleep.”

  Darik thought it impossible that he would fall asleep, but as soon as he closed his eyes, he fell into sleep, exhausted. He dreamt of the wights in the Slaves Quarter, who chased him through the narrow alleys, scrabbling at his robes with claws that burned with ice.

  Darik woke some time later to an insistent shaking. He sat up to find Ethan standing over him. Whelan and Markal were lacing up boots, while Sofiana stood at the door, a crossbow in her hands.

  Ethan lifted a finger to his lips to warn Darik to silence.

  “What is it?” he asked in a low voice. The sun slanted in through the window at a low angle. He must have slept most of the day away and felt as though he could have kept sleeping right through the night.

  Ethan said, “Soldiers! They’re at the house. Hurry.” He held Whelan’s falcon on his fist, a hood over its eyes.

  Darik pulled on his boots, fear penetrating his grogginess.

  “How many?” Whelan asked. “And how are they armed?”

  “Heavily armed and armored with Veyrian scale and good Eriscoban leather. Too many to fight. Come, we’ll take the back staircase.”

  “But I don’t understand,” Darik said, still trying to shake the sleep from his head. “Why are they here? I thought the dark wizard wanted to take the city first.”

  “Balsalom?” Ethan asked. “It’s already fallen. The khalifa is dead.”

  Chapter VI

  WHELAN’S FACE TURNED PALE. “KALLIA? Cragyn killed her? How?”

  “I have no idea,” Ethan said. “That’s what they said. Hurry. I need to get more wine for the soldiers. They’re devouring the rest of the goat. They’re hungry bastards. Another minute and they’ll come looking, demanding more food.”

  The back staircase was a rickety thing on the opposite side of the converted farmhouse. Ethan stored barrels of wheat and oats on the planks and the stairs, thinned and dusty from dry rot, complained noisily with every step. At last they all reached the bottom of the stairs and made their way into the back of the inn, where the three camels dozed in the sun. Ethan untied their leads and pulled them to their feet.

  Ethan handed a glove and Scree to Sofiana then helped Whelan struggle the heavy packs on the camels. Markal cinched the packs tight and then Markal and Sofiana scrambled onto the first two camels.

  Darik looked at Whelan and at the final camel, unsure what to do.

  “You ride with Sofiana,” Whelan explained, pulling her camel’s bridle until the beast lay on the ground. It bellowed once in irritation, and Darik winced at the sound, sure it would attract attention. Whelan dropped his own camel’s neck and scrambled on top. He pulled his sword from his saddle bags and slung the scabbard over his shoulder.

  Darik made to slide in place in front of the girl, but she shook her head and gestured over her shoulder. “You ride in back. Just hold on.”

  “I can ride a camel,” Darik protested, heat rising in his cheeks.

  “Darik, ride in back,” Whelan said. “Don’t argue.”

  He obeyed and climbed behind the girl. She jerked on the reins to pull the camel to its feet then fell in behind the others. Sofiana handed Scree, hooded and tethered, to Whelan.

  Ethan said, “The Brothers guide your path. Take care in the Desolation.”

  At word of the Desolation, Whelan’s face darkened. “We will. Thanks, brother.” He reached down and clasped his brother’s arm, then they rode.

  Whelan led them northwest for the next two hours. They soon moved beyond the fields, making good time across the sandy ground, but slowing where the ground was rocky and ill suited for the camels. The wind blew prickles of sand against the skin.

  The desert stretched in all directions like a vast, lumpy rug streaked with different colors of brown. The occasional sage brush clumped in the lee of a boulder, or a desert thorn gnarled its way defiantly from a crack in the rock. Far to the west, the mountains shimmered against the heat, and Darik thought he could see a hint of white at their crowns. As the sun set, it turned the desert brown to a deep, brooding red. It grew difficult to see.

  At last Whelan brought them back onto the Tothian Way. It was fully dark by now, with the barest crescent moon in the sky. The camels settled down as they plodded west along the road. None of them spoke, and Darik found himself drifting to sleep. He fought it, not ready to surrender consciousness. He leaned back in the saddle while Sofiana lead.

  The stars shimmered overhead. His mother used to tell him they were the souls of the dead scattered across the sky by the Harvester. “For everyone knows,” she said, “that you must sow before you can reap. The heavens are his fields and souls are the seeds he plants.”

  The image was comforting. Darik thought of the rich fields of irrigated grain outside of Balsalom, waving in the desert wind. He thought of the smell of desert in the Grand Bazaar early in the morning, before the smells of the souks awakened to the day’s business. That smell came from here, the vast southern desert that only crept this far north in the extreme western khalifates. It was the Desolation of Toth that allowed the desert to spread, his tutor had told him once. His peaceful thoughts evaporated as he thought of crossing that hellish waste.

  He closed his eyes until sleep washed over him. As he did, his hand drifted down to his saddle bags and rested upon the steel book.

  Darik woke to an insistent tapping on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and found Sofiana leaning over him looking annoyed. He sat up, disoriented, but the girl put a finger to his lips. A pain shot up his back where he’d slept at a crooked angle. Other muscles also complained, from his calves to his shoulders and arms.

  Whelan pulled his camel next to theirs, face shadowed. His sword lay across his lap. Markal’s camel sat empty. The wizard was nowhere to be seen.

  Whelan leaned over and whispered, “Markal heard something. He thinks someone is on the road ahead.”

  Darik’s stomach clenched with memory of the battle in the Slaves Quarter. “Wights?”

  “They won’t be out on a night like this. The Harvester is abroad. Listen.”

  Darik listened. At first he heard nothing but the wind and bugs chirping. And then, in the distance, a hun
tsman’s horn. Baying hounds. The sound was gone as soon as it had come. He shuddered. A moment later, the horn and the baying hounds again, this time further east. Darik sighed in relief. So the Harvester didn’t mark their own deaths. It didn’t necessarily mean they would live to see the morning, but it was an encouraging sign.

  Whelan sounded grim. “If the Harvester is hunting souls, there must be killing aplenty. My guess is, Cragyn’s army has sacked the city.” He pulled his camel away and they waited for the wizard.

  Darik’s thoughts turned to Balsalom, to Kaya. By the Brothers, let her stay safe.

  Markal returned shortly, approaching so silently that none of them heard him until he was on them. The others dismounted and held a brief counsel with the wizard.

  “We’re on the edge of the Desolation of Toth,” Markal said, not bothering to whisper. “I thought at first I heard the Famine Child whispering in my ear.

  “But no,” Markal continued, “It’s definitely men I heard. A Veyrian cavalry unit—ten of them—has set up camp on the edge of the Desolation. They’ve got a fire, and no perimeter sentry, so they’re not expecting company. About half of them are asleep, in fact, and I suspect the rest would be too, if they weren’t afraid to be so close to the Desolation. I think they’re here not to fight, but simply to stop traders or spies from getting through.”

  “Did you hear anything about the khalifa?” Whelan asked. “How she died?”

  Markal shook his head. “If something happened yesterday, these men wouldn’t know. My guess is they split from the army before it reached the Great Gates. The problem is, what do we do? We don’t want to leave the road in the Desolation.”

  “If they’re so unprepared,” Darik said, “can’t you cast another thunderclap or something and kill them?”

  “Thunderclap? I’d be hard pressed to snap my fingers. I have no magic in me whatsoever right now. Apart from that, we’re not at war with these men. I don’t want to kill them if I don’t have to.”

  “The Free Kingdoms might not be at war,” Darik said, “but I’m from Balsalom, and they’ve just killed my queen.”