FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  She yanked the door open and stared into the face of the boy she’d sent off hours ago.

  With the glare of a drowned rat, he thrust out the sheathed sword that he carried impatiently.

  “What took you so long?” she said, exasperated.

  The urchin glared at her. “You had people in and out of here like a doxy doing tricks all day. I had to wait until that last man left. I ain’t about to mess with Cormar and his men.”

  Sara grimaced. He had a fair point.

  “Did you speak with my mother?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?” she said. Getting words out of urchins was like trying to pull teeth. She pushed out of her mind how similar she was at that age, or still was.

  “She said ‘don’t get into no trouble and bring home raspberries,’” he said.

  Sara felt some relief. Raspberries was the code word between her and her mother that all was fine at home. It worked because neither of them could afford to buy such a rich fruit from the market themselves and therefore would never bring it up in casual conversation.

  “Here’s two more coins in payment and a third for your trouble,” she said, handing him the bronze shillings.

  He nodded. “Good doing business with you.”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  As he turned to leave, she asked, “Hey, kid, if I need you again, whom do I ask for?”

  He yelled back without stopping, “Rascal near the fourth garrison.”

  She rocked back on her heels and shut the door.

  “So where were we?” she said as she quickly checked the condition of the sword and its sheath. All was well.

  “You were about to tell me everything you know about being a battle mage,” said Ezekiel as he sat down on top of the crate with his legs crossed.

  She buckled her sword in place on her back and for the first time that day, she felt right. Having it rest along her spine was the most comforting feeling to her. As a fighter, she knew that she was ready to take on all opponents now.

  She sighed. But I’m not sure I’m ready to take this on. Telling someone about her gifts and what they meant was the hardest part. Because they never understood. Not really. Looking over at Ezekiel, she hoped he would be the first person to at least try.

  “Battle mages have innate gifts that work with our natural skills,” she said. “Our powers enhance our body and to some extent our weapons, rather than the area around us. Unlike a weather mage who can call on the elements like wind and rain, or a fire mage who can call heat and flame, our gifts aren’t really outwardly focusing.”

  She paused and looked at him. “You with me so far?”

  He nodded. “You have intrinsic gifts—they enhance your already formidable body and skills rather than something else.”

  “Yes,” she said with a quick nod. “We can make ourselves stronger, faster, and even harder to kill through our powers. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak.”

  “One point,” he said, interrupting.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  Nervously, he said, “Don’t take this the wrong way. But you’re essentially cheating in any fight or duel you commit to, then.”

  “Offense not taken,” she said dryly, “and any battle mage will tell you you’re dead wrong.”

  “If you’re enhancing your body and your skills with your power, I’d say I’m right,” he objected. “It’s like a runner in the coliseum games taking valierum to enhance their speed. It’s a plant that when crushed and chewed pushes up their adrenaline to allow them to out race their…”

  She cut him off with a frown. “I know what valierum is. If you’d let me finish I’d tell you why you’re wrong.”

  He shrugged. “By all means, do.”

  She snorted. “Well, any battle mage would tell you that we could use our gifts to defeat any opponents we come across in every fight. But we don’t. Why? Because the battle mage who does that will die a very early death.”

  His attention perked up. She could tell he didn’t like being wrong, but he probably liked learning new information even more. “What do you mean?”

  “Battle mages who tap into too much power on a continuous basis are overrun by an overwhelming urge to kill. It’s what makes us such effective fighters. Even in the small fights I’ve had in Sandrin, I get a high from defeating an opponent. The feeling of euphoria is greater still when I kill that person. When I use my gifts in conjunction with my fighting skill, the euphoria becomes overwhelming,” she explained.

  His eyes were wide. “Your own gift is drugging you in order to make you use more of the power? That’s really cool. Like a fight or flight instinct but set permanently to fight!”

  “It’s worse than that,” she said. “Eventually battle mages reach a point when they use so much power at once that their mental state permanently changes. They become berserk and are forever known as berserkers from there on out.”

  “That’s what you were afraid of?” he said softly while leaning forward. “You were afraid you were going to become one of those berserkers?”

  “I was afraid I was getting close,” she said. “Every berserker’s turning point is different. Mine could be as simple as fighting three goons in a row on the same day. I don’t know what it will be, but I know the turning point can vary based on who you are. If you’ve lived your whole life as a fighting slave, then of course it would take more to tip you over into that state.”

  “They would have a higher tolerance point,” he said.

  “Right. My father certainly did,” she said. “His whole life he used his gifts in the gladiator arena. He fought men every day. But he didn’t go berserk.”

  “Maybe you inherited his resistance.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know about that, but then again there’s no one else to ask. Berserkers don’t live long, and they’re not very communicative once they’ve reached that state anyway.”

  He raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Berserkers fight without ceasing from the moment they change over,” she said. “I’ve never heard of one living more than a few days after they go into that state.”

  “Wouldn’t they be invincible, though?” he said.

  “Against another battle mage, no,” she said. “But even against a regular human, a berserker can be brought down by a normal weapon. The problem is that it would take an extraordinary human to do so.”

  “Then how?” He left the question hanging.

  She answered. “The ones I’ve heard of turning always changed in the middle of war, surrounded on all sides by the enemy. There’s power in numbers.”

  He nodded. “If they killed dozens, then…”

  “There would still be dozens more to face,” she finished. “Do you understand now?”

  He swallowed loudly. “Yeah, I do. That’s an immense weight to live with.”

  She nodded. “One more reason I want to know how my father died and if possible to get back my family’s journals.”

  “What journals?”

  “My father and his father both wrote down their exploits. My father carried both wherever he went. They were never returned to my mother, and I intend to find out why. The shame of desertion is one thing. But to keep this from us is outright cruel.”

  Ezekiel nodded and knocked on the wooden bench in a nervous tic before getting up.

  “So,” he said, standing and stretching, “how about some dinner?”

  She grinned. “I think we have some boxes to unpack first. Besides, at least one of us needs to stay here to guard the artifacts.”

  “Yeah, true,” he admitted, crestfallen.

  “Which means you should be going to get the food,” she said.

  He nodded. “What do you want?”

  “Whatever the tavern next to the fishery is serving,” she said, fumbling for her coin pouch.

  He nodded and waved her off when she tried to hand him a few coins. “I’ve got it. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done tod
ay.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Besides,” he said with a grin as he backed out of the door, “it is your first day on the job, after all.”

  “And second to last,” she shouted as he exited.

  When the warehouse was empty except for her and a bunch of artifacts, she looked around.

  “Better check the interior perimeter,” she murmured to herself. She did a quick jog around the sides and saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  Staring at the new shipment in the front, she checked the balance of her sword on her back just in case, and then grabbed the crowbar to pry each crate open. With her own strength, careful to not use even a hint of her battle magic, she pried the top off of each crate. She had used her gifts before because she had to. To shift the weight of the crate off Ezekiel and get the heavy box to the floor without damaging the contents inside. Cormar seemed to expect it as part of her job after all.

  They were packed to the brim with straw, and she couldn’t see any of the ten new artifacts that they supposedly held.

  Setting the crowbar down, Sara went to the heavier crate first. She was careful to remove the straw from the top section-by-section and set it aside until she could see the five objects nestled in the depths. They didn’t look like anything remarkable and there was no shipment manifest that she could see. To her practical eye, the most useful object was a ship’s oar finished in dark teak. A very expensive wood from the isles, and one she wouldn’t expect an oar to be made out of. But she didn’t pick it up. She didn’t pick anything up. She remembered Ezekiel’s caution the first time around when she’d asked about the warehouse’s artifacts. If one little statue could turn her to stone, she hesitated to think what these new ones could do.

  Sara turned to look at the contents of the other crate when she heard the door open behind her. “Back so soon?”

  She was speaking to Ezekiel, and out of reflex she had gripped the tip of the sword sheath that sat at a sixty-degree angle on her back, the handle poking out just above her left shoulder. Gripping the hilt allowed her to steady the weapon and draw the sword at a moment’s notice. And she was very glad she had.

  Because from one moment to the next, she heard the whoosh of a sword carving through the air—straight for her neck. Sara ducked and rolled. As she came up on her feet with a bounce in her step, she drew her sword and faced her enemy. Three people had come into the warehouse. All three carried swords and every single one’s face was covered. They were big and brawny enough, though, with their forms outlined in black leather, that she knew they were men.

  Sara didn’t speak. There was no point. It was clear they were after one of Cormar’s treasures and just as clear they would kill her to get it. Silently, she ran at the first and didn’t even bother exchanging blows. She cleaved that person into two without any effort. The body fell behind her and she watched warily as she stood between the two remaining thieves. Sword upraised, Sara prepared to take them on.

  They didn’t waste any time and came at her in unison. The one on the left lowered his sword to strike a death blow while the second came in high to distract her from her opponent.

  Frustrated, Sara ducked closer to the one in the left, reached out, and kicked him with a burst of battle strength that sent him flying across the room. It wasn’t enough to kill him. Just enough to get one opponent out of her hair while she dealt with the other one. Turning with a harsh grin, Sara put her remaining opponent on the defensive. She came up with a cross-slash that was inches from his chest before he jumped to the side and she was forced to turn to keep him in her sights. Their swords met again and again as they danced across the room. She heard her other opponent rise up before long and hoped she could finish this one off before the other engaged with her.

  Dancing forward, Sara feinted right to trick her opponent into leaving his side open to her blade. It didn’t work. She started to gain some respect for this one. He was smart. But not smart enough. She saw eagerness flash in the man’s eyes as he pressed forward. That together with the almost silent steps she heard behind her told her they were trying to trap her between them.

  Sara quickly dove to her left, out of range of both of their swords, and ended up on the ground with her back to the crate. One opponent was coming from her left. The other from her right. She caught the blade of her opponent on the right with her upraised sword in a jarring clang that had both of their hands vibrating from the clash. But she couldn’t stop the sword on her left with an already occupied blade. So she surged up and twisted at lightning speed using her gifts. She knew she was using too much battle magic, but she had no choice.

  Slipping her sword out from under the other, she managed to bring up her blade as her opponent fell forward. It didn’t really matter whom she killed first. So, with a yell, Sara cut off the head of the opponent who now stood on her left and turned immediately to face the remaining one. For a moment they stared at each other, then both started running straight toward the other with swords extended horizontally in front of their bodies. Without stopping, she jumped over his sword aimed at her chest and front flipped in the air. By the time she had turned, he was already turned around, and coming at her again. He was too close for a sword fight. So she bounced straight up and grabbed for his hair, intending to bring him to his knees. Her hand grabbed the face mask on his head instead and tore it off in her descent.

  Damn, I forgot he was wearing that, she thought.

  It only made her madder. She whirled again and grabbed a head of hair before he could get away. With a wrench of her arm that made her wonder if she had dislocated it, she yanked him around so fast that they had moved in a circle before he realized it. With a scream, she thrust his face forward until it connected with the sharp corner of the crate. Heaving up twice more and slamming it back down assured the end of her final opponent.

  She dropped his smashed head with an exhausted sigh and let go of her battle magic. She was still on edge, but not over it.

  Then the door banged open and Sara whirled around with blood all across her clothes, her sword hilt clenched in her fist, and a look of fury on her face.

  Ezekiel stood in the center of the room. Astonishment written in the lines of his face as he gasped. “What in the seven devils happened to you?”

  “What do you think?” Sara said as she let the point of her sword rest on the floor for the first time since she’d removed it from its sheath.

  Chapter X

  TWO PLATES OF HOT FOOD steamed in his hand as Ezekiel took in the bloody mess with his mouth agape. Three bodies in various conditions met his eyes. An upper torso lay against one crate comically, arms splayed as if he was trying to raise himself up. A head had rolled close to the doorway and the face of one man had been completely obliterated. He gulped, put down the food, and quickly said, “Excuse me!”

  As Sara watched, emotions dulled, he ran back the way he came and threw up outside while standing just inside the doorway. She heard his wretches from where she stood. That and the smell of the fish stew he’d brought effectively snapped her out of her blood haze. At least enough to get her mind to calm down as it recognized Ezekiel as a non-threat and everyone else as dead.

  Sara watched curiously as Ezekiel walked past the plates of food to the cot where she was supposed to sleep. He ducked his head with a splash into a large barrel standing nearby and came up quickly with his head soaking wet.

  Dripping, he turned around.

  She said, “Feeling better?”

  “A little,” he admitted.

  “You realize that’s the water we’re supposed to drink out of, don’t you?”

  He turned to look at it and back at her. “Sorry. Shock.”

  “You’re refilling it.”

  He nodded still dripping as he looked around. “Tough business, being a watcher.”

  “It’s a tough life no matter what you do,” she said quietly.

  He looked at her. Trying to keep his eyes from wandering to the pieces of body littered aroun
d the warehouse. She could tell because he would flinch every time he caught sight of one.

  “Never seen a dead person before?” she asked.

  “Not like this,” he said with a shudder. “If Cormar tore pieces off of someone, he would do it privately.”

  She nodded. She could understand his shock, then. She’d been seeing pieces of bodies scattered to the wind since she was a toddler and her father fought in the arena. When she’d come of age, she’d started practicing with her own practice dummies, then trainers, then human partners, and finally simulated kills with pigs before she’d been picked to do the real thing in the militia training corps.

  “Well, tell you what,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Why don’t you get cleaned up and…um…I’ll try not to faint at all the bloody corpses.”

  Before she could speak, he hurried to say, “I mean…I would help you clean up. It’s just…”

  “The sight of the bodies makes you faint,” she said wryly. It was a common excuse from her friends outside of the training school when growing up.

  That or, “Eww, why are you covered in blood?”

  He nodded.

  She said, “Its better if I clean up these bodies first, then.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “There’s no point in rinsing myself of blood if I’m going to get drenched in it anyway.”

  He gulped and nodded.

  “But first I’ll take care of my weapon,” she said as she moved the sword that rested like an extension of her arm. Grabbing a cloth from a work bench she came to the bucket and wiped it down with some water. Making sure no trace of her opponents rested on the blade or hilt, she sheathed the sword.

  Then she grabbed the legless torso with a grunt. Heading out the door, she said, “Don’t think me using that water gets you off the hook for refilling that barrel,” she said.

  “Of course not!”

  She heard the guilt in his voice.

  Coming out to the cliff overlooking the sea, Sara halted for a moment. She took stock of her senses and her surroundings. The smell of blood rose in her nose, the heaviness of the corpse in her arms made them cramp, and the stiff sea air blew across her face, which stung from cuts she’d endured in the fight. With a grunt, she threw the torso over the cliff wall. “So long.”