FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  After twenty minutes of circuitous walking, she almost gave up and went back to Ezekiel. He should know exactly where it was. But then an old woman tottered up to her. Small and hunched over, she looked like an old crone. Her white hair spilled out of a small bun and spectacles perched on her nose haphazardly. But on her breast was the patch of the mercenary guild. She worked here.

  “Sweetie, can I help you?” said the old woman while leaning on a cane and peering up at Sara hopefully.

  “Well,” Sara said nervously. “I don’t know.”

  The woman reached out with a pale hand spider-webbed with blue veins and patted Sara’s hand. “Don’t be shy. I’m here to help our patrons.”

  Sara nodded and decided to go for it. “My father died and I just wanted to see his records.”

  She left the sentence hanging. She didn’t want to give the woman too much information but she did prefer to give her a bit of the truth. After all, it was easier to lie if you didn’t actually tell a lie.

  “Ahh,” said the old woman, lighting up. “The death records room. It’s just over here.”

  As she tottered away, Sara followed behind at a slow pace. The woman said to Sara over her shoulder. “I’m so sorry for your loss, dear.”

  “Thank you,” said Sara, truly touched. The woman didn’t know it, but that was the first time any representative from the military or the mercenary guild had mentioned her loss and her father’s execution in the same sentence. If she had known she was speaking of a Fairchild, she probably would have held her tongue.

  They push through the crowds and the woman turned right abruptly to walk through the tiniest doorway Sara had even seen. The top of the door barely reached her throat. The words inscribed above the door were at her eye level.

  “Todeszimmer,” she said aloud. Room of Death.

  No wonder she hadn’t been able to find it, with the crowded nature of the records room this small doorway was hidden. Stooping, Sara ducked inside to follow her helper.

  “And here we are!” said the woman with a wide smile as they entered a spacious room with a ceiling that vaulted high above them.

  “Thank you,” said Sara appreciatively. “I never would have found it on my own.”

  “Of course, dear. Of course,” the woman said, beaming. “Now what did you say your name was? The files are in alphabetical order and I can find your father’s death records very quickly with his family name.”

  Sara hesitated and then prepared to lie, “It’s—”

  “Madame Sanze!” shouted a young man from just inside the doorway.

  Startled, Sara turned to see him just as the woman nodded.

  “Michael needs you,” said the boy who couldn’t have been a decade old yet. “A man in front is being horrible and wants only one mercenary when he must have two. Michael says customers are more likely to come back if we don’t have to call in the guards on them.”

  “Oh, poppycock,” said the old woman, tottering quickly away. “So many cheap bastards these days.”

  Sara blinked at the kind old woman’s language.

  Just before the woman disappeared into the crowd to deal with Ezekiel, she turned and said, “I’ll be right back, dear. Michael, you stay with her.”

  The little mercenary in training nodded and looked over at Sara with a stubborn look.

  “I will stay with you.”

  Sara gave him an uninterested look. “How old are you? Seven?”

  He stuck out his bottom lip. “I’m eight and a half.”

  As if that made a world of difference. She hated kids. Luckily, they tended to be afraid of her.

  “Well, I’m going to look for those records,” she said. She waited for fear to silence him into submission. A minute later a sound that she didn’t want to hear came from his direction. The sound of refusal. Not the silence of a child afraid to reproach her.

  “You can’t!” she heard his shout from behind her. “Guild rules.”

  Damn, thought Sara. All kids except for this one.

  She thought about it for a minute before turning around to look at him. She just wanted to get this over with—maybe they could strike a deal. “If I look, you can watch.”

  He shook his head quickly, not falling for it.

  “I’m getting Madame Sanze if you do that,” he retorted.

  She snorted. “Madame Sanze said you’re to stay with me, so you’re not going anywhere.”

  He opened and closed his mouth, flummoxed. But he couldn’t refute her logic. She almost felt bad for taking advantage of an eight-year-old. Almost.

  “Don’t worry, kid,” she said as she walked over to the storage shelf with a metal F hanging above it. “I won’t do any harm to your files.”

  She began thumbing through files of stacked parchment paper, looking for the one most important to her.

  Glancing behind her, she saw the boy standing in the middle of room with his arms crossed and the glare of death on his face. It would have been funny if she wasn’t in a hurry.

  Murmuring to herself, she said the names aloud. “Faine. Farst. No, that’s too far.”

  And then she found it. Her eyes lit up as she pulled the only record with the label Fairchild on it. Quickly she cast a sight shield so that the human boy wouldn’t suspect anything and grabbed the file folder labeled Farst as well. Opening the Farst file, Sara dumped the entirety of her father’s record inside with not a moment to loose.

  Madame Sanze came in at just the moment Sara dropped the sight shield and turned around.

  The old woman cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes in speculation at Sara.

  “I told her she shouldn’t touch the records!” Michael exclaimed.

  Sara quickly smiled and waved her hands. “I just thought it would be faster for me to grab the Farst file while you dealt with that customer. With it being so busy out in the records room and you being so kind to me, I thought the least I could do would be to help out.”

  Sara held her breath tightly, wondering if she had laid the sugar on too thick. She also wasn’t sure if Madame Sanze, a mage, had seen her conjure the sight shield. If she had, the jig was up. If she hadn’t, then Sara would live to see another day.

  Slowly, Madame Sanze nodded. “Well, if that’s all. Farst, you said?”

  “Yes,” said Sara, smiling so brightly her teeth hurt.

  She walked forward, hoping the woman wouldn’t raise the alarm. As she passed a glaring Michael, two other guests ducked into the death records room through the small doorway.

  “Is this the death records room?” asked a grieving woman whose eyes were red, tears still dotting her cheeks.

  Madame Sanze leapt into action. “Yes it is, you poor dear. Can I get you some tea?”

  Sara escaped out the door and into the main records room. With no time to lose, she caught the eye of Ezekiel standing next to the door and jerked her head to indicate they should leave.

  Getting out was much easier than getting in, and as they rushed through the halls, he pointed to a small courtyard. “We’re meeting our first watcher here.”

  “First?” she murmured, clutching the records labeled “Farst” tightly in her hands.

  He nodded. “The second will show up on shift relief day.”

  “Right,” Sara said, distracted by the thoughts racing through her head.

  Five minutes later, their leather-clad mercenary arrived and Ezekiel announced, “The quickest exit’s through the training yard.”

  “Great, let’s go,” murmured Sara.

  They came down the stairs to see dozens of men and women battling opponents on mats, in sand, and on rough terrain. It was quite interesting to watch, but Sara was too worried about getting outside in one piece to be fascinated with their training methods.

  “Hey, girl,” shouted a man.

  They walked faster.

  “Sara,” shouted the man. “Sara Fairchild, I’m speaking to you.”

  Ezekiel and Sara froze.

  They had no choice.<
br />
  “Oh shit, that’s the captain of the Corcoran guard,” Ezekiel said.

  Every man and woman in the training yard had turned to look at them. They all were sweaty from their workout and carrying some sort of weapon—she spotted swords, staffs, glaives, and throwing stars in just one glance.

  Sara looked over at Ezekiel, surprised. “You never curse.”

  “First time for everything,” he whispered as he looked over his shoulder to confirm.

  “Don’t turn around,” she snapped.

  “Too late.”

  She snorted as they turned to watch the company captain approach.

  When he reached them he towered over Sara, and she realized that she knew him. From a long time ago, before her father had died, actually. He looked different. Where he had been spindly like Ezekiel before, the captain now had muscles stacked on his abs and his forearms bulged. She could tell because he was shirtless. She was looking because he was more than likely going to be the first person she had to kill to get them out of here.

  Too bad he was a battle mage. That would make this first fight a lot harder.

  She edged forward until she had stepped in front of Ezekiel. She might not be able to take them all on, but she could at least give the curator a fighting chance to run. Their new hire stood off to the side with his arms crossed, unimpressed.

  When the red-headed captain with green eyes met her defiant orange ones, he grinned.

  Think I’m amusing, do you? Sara thought to herself. I’ll show you funny.

  Then he looked around at his gaping mercenaries and said something she didn’t expect to hear. “At ease! Get back to your practice, you lazy lot.”

  Quickly the staring men and women began sparring with their opponents again or training with their weapons. Some of the mercenaries were good enough to fight their partners and watch their captain at the same time. Sara felt mild envy at that, but she kept her focus on the man in front of her.

  “Can I help you?” Sara said coldly.

  “Barthis Simon,” said the captain. “I’m the captain of the Corcoran guard.”

  “We know,” piped up Ezekiel from behind her.

  She didn’t turn around to Ezekiel. Neither did Captain Simon spare him a glance. He kept his eyes firmly pinned on hers.

  She nodded.

  “I’ll be honest, Fairchild. I’ve heard of your exploits on the streets and know of your sterling record in the training school. I don’t believe in superstitious nonsense and I’m looking for good mercenaries to have my back in the war.”

  Her back stiffened. A mercenary was offering her a job. He had to be joking. Fairchilds never took merc gigs, and for good reason.

  Stiffly she said, “What are you asking me?”

  He watched her with a calm demeanor. “I’m offering you the chance to join the finest mercenary company in the empire. If you take the offer, you’ll be fighting beside two seasoned battle mages, including myself, and will become a Corcoran.”

  She didn’t want to insult the man, but there was no way she would join the mercenary guild with either company. She had problems with the two separate mercenary companies of the Red Lions and the Corcoran for entirely different reasons. But mostly she knew that she couldn’t leave her mother. She couldn’t leave the city of Sandrin. And she wouldn’t tarnish the family honor any more than it already had been.

  Files held tight in her hand, she said, “I’m going to have to decline.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going to accept your pass so easily. You have a little more than twelve hours to think it over. If you want to join us, my company is leaving out of the city through the west gate at dawn’s rise. Be there and we’ll fill out your paperwork then.”

  He turned and left to go over to a practicing mercenary pair.

  She watched as he laid into the men without pause.

  “You call that a block, Smith?” the captain yelled, swiftly grabbing the staff and upending Smith on his bum. “I’ll show you a block!”

  “Wow,” said Ezekiel.

  “What?” Sara said as she watched the captain demonstrate some impressive talent.

  “I wish I had that kind of luck,” he said.

  She turned and looked at him in amazement. “I’m not taking the offer. Let’s get out of here.”

  He nodded and they left, their new watcher trailing behind them.

  After leaving the medallions at the front, Ezekiel asked, “Why wouldn’t you join? Decent benefits and square meals.”

  She gave him a cutting look. “Family and honor.”

  “Family and honor don’t put food on the table,” he muttered.

  She ignored the comment as she said, “Besides, why now?”

  “He told you.”

  “No, he told me what I wanted to hear. An honorable place in an honorable company, but there’s more to it than that,” she said testily. “None of the fighters in this city wanted me in their ranks. Why now? Why right after we came to the mercenary guild?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ezekiel as they emerged on the steps that descended into the plaza. “But at least you have what you came for.”

  As they walked down the steps, she murmured, “At least there’s that.”

  She shaded her eyes from the blazing morning sun as they crossed the central plaza and came up the stairs to exit into the city opposite the south entrance to the imperial palace.

  Turning when they reached the peak, she said, “Well, I guess this is it.”

  “What’s it?” said Ezekiel, oblivious.

  She watched him with amusement. “This is goodbye, Ezekiel.”

  He turned to look at her with wide eyes. He opened his mouth and closed it again. “I suppose it is. We’ve accomplished what we set out to do.”

  She nodded in agreement.

  “Remember, you go in first and open the warehouse’s door,” she said. “Once you do that, the death’s touch spell will falter and it’ll be like it was before.”

  He gulped and raised his hand as if to embrace her before dropping it just as quickly.

  “Goodbye, Ezekiel,” she said softly.

  He looked as if he wanted to say something but changed his mind.

  He backed away slowly, waving his hand as he followed the new watcher back to the warehouse. “Goodbye, Sara.”

  When he tripped and quickly righted himself, she was careful to hide a grin.

  Sara made her way home slowly with a bag of coins for her service in her pocket. Her mind was awhirl with thoughts. Concern for Ezekiel, relief that they had made it out, and wary anticipation for what the records of her father held for her.

  When she walked into the front door, she did as she always did—put her weapons on the side table and called out to her mother.

  “Mother?”

  As always, her mother answered, “In the kitchen, dear.”

  With a smile Sara came forward, happy to see her again. She couldn’t see her puttering around at the fire and thought she was in the nook reserved for their makeshift table. Just before Sara turned the corner, she felt her battle instincts warn her. But she didn’t drop into a crouch or duck back out the door. No matter what was on the other side of that corner, her mother was definitely there.

  So she warily took the next two steps and turned to view the kitchen nook.

  To her surprise, three people stood there—two alive and one dead.

  The dead person was her mother.

  Standing upright with stiff posture and pasty skin, her mother wasn’t alive. Sara stared at her mother’s neck as horror filled her mind and tears filled her eyes. A red grin of death gaped on her mother’s throat where her head had been almost severed from its body. It was still attached by grisly muscle and bone. As well as the force that Sara could feel emanating from the necromancer standing behind her mother with dead eyes.

  Sara took it all in. She could see his arm on the back of her mother’s head. She knew that he was using his gift of death magic to contro
l her mother’s body and her vocal cords. In effect, causing the dead woman to speak out to her living daughter. He had even accessed her mother’s memories to know just what to say to Sara to get her off-guard.

  What a special touch.

  Chapter XIII

  BESIDE HER MOTHER’S DEAD BODY and the necromancer who controlled it stood a man. A man she didn’t know, but she did recognize something about him. The metal badge he wore on his lapel was shaped in the figure of male lion with its paw raised to strike. Sara knew that the rampant lion was the badge of the Red Lion guard. A mercenary company that was based out of the ancient city of Baen to the west and only loosely affiliated with the Corcoran guard. Affiliated in the sense that they both paid dues to the mercenary guild, that is. They were more like rival businesses.

  Sara still hadn’t spoken. She stood frozen. Waiting for this nightmare to end. For her mother’s body to not stand there in such a grisly display in the midst of their kitchen with two strange men behind her. For once, Sara Fairchild wished she could just dream away her current life. She hadn’t broken when her father’s ashes had been handed to her. Hadn’t broken when everyone from the lamp lighter to the carrier had turned their backs on her and her family. As they said it was shameful that she and her mother had elected to stay in Sandrin and not retire to the countryside in shame.

  Whatever that meant, Sara thought ruefully. Who retires from shame?

  She had held her head high no matter what. When things got bad, she didn’t wish away her situation, and when the whispers of the family’s shame had only grown louder, she had taught the naysayers a thing or two about respect. Her father had done one thing wrong in his entire life. One. He had paid with it with his life. In Sara’s mind, that didn’t entitle the crowds of Sandrin to mark her entire family and her father’s legacy as one to be smeared. But at this moment she couldn’t help it. She wished her whole life was dream. That she would wake as someone else. With parents whole and alive. At this moment she would give anything for wishes to be reality and dreams to come true.

  For the moment, silence reigned. The three in front of her eyed her standing before them and she watched them, until she couldn’t take it anymore. The stench of blood in her home became overwhelming.