Fantasy For Good: A Charitable Anthology

by George R. R. Martin

  She swallowed, nodded. She dropped her hands to her sides. “I’ve known all along.” It was an awkward moment and dueling visions battled over my imagination. Gilga-Yar would probably hunt me now—perhaps I would become someone else’s annual dues. Gods knew I had killed his renegades before.

  She stepped into my arms and I embraced my daughter.

  “Father, what have you done?”What had I done?I was solo now. A free agent. And a father. I felt her shoulders shake beneath my hand and arms.

  “There, there. It will be fine.” Her shoulders shook even more and she said something incoherent against my shoulder.

  “Besides,” I said, trying to make light of it all both for her and for myself, “Gilga-Yar now has room for another contract—if you’re willing to pay.”

  She looked up, smiling, teeth showing, and there were no tears—had never been tears.

  “I am willing to pay, Father,” she said, and I felt the knife slide into my back, rasp against my spine, pierce my heart. She laughed aloud now and I felt her quiver in my arms as she settled me to the ground. “I want to play.”

  New York Times number 1 Bestselling author,

  KELLEY ARMSTRONG is best known for the Women of the

  Otherworld and the Darkest Powers series. This popular Canadian author has written adult and teen novels, as well as numerous short stories and novellas. Her latest projects are the Cainsville modern gothic series as well as the Age of Legend fantasy series, which is the setting for her story here.

  You can find out more at www.kelleyarmstrong.com

  The Kitsune’s Nine Tales

  Kelley Armstrong

  “Does he seem resigned to his fate?”

  Senri stood in the small tea room over the Gate of the Crimson Phoenix as he looked down on the crowd thronging the Imperial Way below. Imperial guards led a man through the shouting onlookers in a slow march to the dungeons. The prisoner was taller than most, his dark skin shining under the summer sun, perspiration making the green eyes on his fox tattoos gleam. More sweat dripped, and blood too, where the manacles dug in. He shuffled along, his gaze down, letting the crowds pelt him with rotten fish and cries of “coward!” and “traitor!” and nodding with each, as if accepting it as his due.

  “Does he seem resigned to his fate?” the man behind Senri asked again.

  “He does.”

  “He is not.”

  Senri turned to the man. Broad-shouldered but not tall. Dark hair frosted with white. Dressed in a formal robe, which he’d pushed askew like a too-tight tunic. He’d shoved up his sleeves, and Senri could see battle scars dissecting the dragon tattoos that covered his arms.

  Emperor Jiro Tatsu. Ruler of the largest empire the world had ever known.

  “Who is he?” the emperor said, waving at the prisoner below.

  Senri frowned, thinking he’d misheard. Otherwise, the question was ridiculous—there could scarcely be a peasant child who’d not know the answer, and Senri was a warrior from a line stretching back beyond the First Age.

  “Who is he?” Emperor Tatsu asked again, patiently.

  “Alvar Kitsune. Former marshal of the imperial army.”

  “More than that.”

  “He’s a traitor. A coward who—”

  “No, no.” The emperor waved a hand, as if that was inconsequential. “Who was he?”

  “As marshal? The leader of the largest army in the world. The second most powerful man in the empire after your imperial highness.”

  “Yes, but more. To me. Who was he?”

  Senri faltered again. Was this a trick? Emperor Tatsu was not known for them. A blunt man, he was reputed to have little patience with the intricate machinations of court life.

  The young warrior replied carefully. “He was, I believe, a friend. That is, you knew him well, if you would not necessarily count him as—”

  “He was indeed a friend. The best I have ever known and, I fear, the best I ever will know. We grew up together. We won this empire together. We—”

  Footsteps tripped up the stairs outside the tea room. Too light to be a warrior’s tread. Too quick to be a woman’s. When no one appeared, the emperor sighed.

  “I would suggest, Tyrus, that you not consider a career as a court spy.”

  “I wasn’t spying, Father.” It was a child’s voice and, a moment later, a young boy appeared in the doorway. “I was waiting for a break in the conversation before I intruded.”

  “Yet you would still intrude.” The emperor tempered the rebuke with a smile as he beckoned the boy in.

  The child looked about seven summers of age. He was clearly his father’s son, though slighter of build and softer of face, a child more handsome than his sire, undoubtedly taking after his mother, whoever she might be. That was what Senri paused to decide—the maternity of the child before him. It was not an easy task. The emperor had two wives, three official concubines and five master courtesans, most of whom he’d fathered children on. The answer came when the boy smiled, a blazing grin that brought to mind the lovely First Concubine, Maiko. One of the bastard princes, then. Pity. Male imperial bastards had a habit of dying young, usually under mysterious circumstances.

  “What is so urgent that you had to interrupt my meeting?” the emperor asked.

  “I apologize.” The boy bowed. “But it is urgent. Marshal—I mean, former marshal—Kitsune will be exiled to the Forest of the Dead tonight, and Gavril wishes to see him.”

  Emperor Tatsu had not shown a flicker of emotion as he named Alvar Kitsune to Senri as his dearest friend, but now, while his face remained impassive, pain flickered through his eyes.

  “He isn’t down there, is he? Gavril?”

  Tyrus hesitated, as if considering a lie, but he nodded, and the two men walked to the window again. Senri saw the boy in a sweep. He was hanging back, dressed in a cloak with the hood pulled up. Half a head taller than Tyrus, though they seemed of an age. The boy watched his father paraded down the Imperial Way, his young face as stony as the prisoner’s, until he reached up to push back a stray braid. Even from where Senri stood, he could see the boy’s hand shaking. The braid fell forward again and the boy scowled, shoving it back angrily now.

  “Did Gavril ask to see his father?” Emperor Tatsu asked.

  “He wouldn’t,” Tyrus said.

  “I know,” the emperor murmured. “So you ask on his behalf. You’re a good friend, Tyrus. Gavril will need that now.”

  “He will need to see his father,” the boy said, his voice firm but his gaze lowered. “One last time.”

  The emperor sighed. “Bring him around to the prison gate. We’ll figure out how to do this.” He looked at his son. “Discreetly.”

  The boy look offended. “Of course.”

  “Off with you now. I’ll be there soon.”

  Once Tyrus was gone, Emperor Tatsu turned back to Senri and seemed, for a moment, to forget why he was there, before shaking his head sharply.

  “Yes, as I was saying, I know Alvar Kitsune better than I know any man alive. I am entrusting you to escort him to the Forest of the Dead and ensure he does not escape. It will be the most difficult task you will ever face, because Alvar will not meekly walk into that forest and accept his fate. You know his clan’s totem?”

  “The nine-tailed fox.”

  “Yes. The kitsune. The trickster. There are many ways Alvar will attempt to escape, and before you leave, I am going to tell you every one.”

  *~*~*~*

  Their destination was not called the Forest of Exiles. Or the Forest of Permanent Imprisonment. It was the Forest of the Dead. One could claim it was so named because it had been, in past ages, used for elder abandonment, but few truly believed that. Yes, the forest itself was dead—devoid of life—but that was only another excuse for the name. Excuses for those who liked to think their empire did not practice primitive customs. They were civilized. Their criminals were not forced to kneel, head on a block, before a sword sliced it from their neck. No, their worst
criminals were merely exiled for the winter to a forest… one surrounded by an insurmountable wall of lava rock, teeming with swamp fever, containing neither game nor clean water.

  Senri could not recall the last time an exile had walked out of the Forest of the Dead come spring. Yet, like most, he had no qualms over the punishment. It was, in many ways, worse than a quick death, and the prospect of such exile would give even the most hardened criminals pause. Those who committed their crimes despite the risk deserved the punishment.

  And Alvar Kitsune? Did he deserve it? That was the question that Alvar raised once they entered the Wastes, as Emperor Tatsu had warned he would.

  Five days hard walk across lava fields separated the forest from the rest of the empire. The Wastes were a remnant from the Age of Fire, when two volcanoes had erupted, wiping out entire villages. In fact, the only thing left standing in the entire region was the forest. The lava had seemed to rise up around it, as if stopped by the force of the spirits within, later hardening into a wall that encircled the Forest of the Dead.

  The armed escort and the prisoner set out into that wasteland, tramping across the uneven lava rock, peering into a landscape without a single tree or bush to enliven the view. They’d been walking half a day before Alvar Kitsune spoke his first words since leaving the imperial city four days earlier.

  “You do not truly think I did it,” he said, his face forward, as if he addressed the wind whipping past, burning their faces. “You seem a bright young man. I hope you understand what has happened here.”

  Senri said nothing. The three other guards glanced over. Alvar’s voice was loud enough to carry, intentionally so. He will single you out as the leader, the emperor had said. But he will appeal to all four.

  “I hope every warrior in the empire understands what happened here,” Alvar continued. “Two decades of power has dulled his wits. He’s so arrogant he didn’t even bother to trump up plausible charges against me. Fleeing a losing battle? Abandoning my men under cover of magic? I don’t know which is more outrageous: Accusing me of cowardice or sorcery.” He looked at Senri. “As for the latter, I trust you are no superstitious peasant.”

  He was not. Yet one had only to look into Alvar’s green eyes to consider the possibility. Sorcerer’s eyes. Unnatural in color.

  “As for cowardice?” Alvar shook his head. “You have not served directly under me, boy, or I’d remember you. But I’ll presume you have served in an army I’ve led into battle.”

  “I am not yet battle-tried,” Senri said. “None of us are.”

  The former marshal looked at the four young men, and Senri was certain he cursed under his breath. Emperor Tatsu was no fool—he’d chosen loyal and distinguished guards, but ones too young to have served in battle, ones who knew Alvar Kitsune only as a distant figure at the head of victory parades. Ones who would have no reason to believe him innocent of the charges.

  Senri smiled to himself, and they continued on in silence.

  *~*~*~*

  Their second day in the Wastes brought the former marshal’s second attempt to win his freedom.

  It was an ice-cold morning, one that would soon turn into a blistering hot day made worse by the black lava under their feet, reflecting the sun’s rays back on them. For now, Senri walked with his cloak pulled tight. One of the other men tugged up his hood. Senri grunted at him and the young warrior lowered it. Nothing could impede their vision on this journey.

  He will have hired men to waylay you, the emperor had said. But I doubt they will attack. They will see I have men of my own following at a distance, ready for trouble. Take care, though. Sleep in shifts and keep your eyes open.

  Indeed, that very morning Senri spotted a distant mercenary scout… And saw an arrow fly as if from nowhere and take the man down. No other scouts appeared. The second play had failed.

  “Are you married?” Alvar asked that afternoon as they walked.

  Senri shook his head. The former marshal gave a wry smile. “I presume none of you are?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Naturally. Old enough to be trusted with my care, but not old enough to have wed. Children, then?”

  “I am not wed.”

  A sly grin. “One is not required for the other.”

  “I have no children.”

  None of them did. Again, the emperor had taken precautions, knowing what tactic Alvar would use next.

  “Brothers? Sisters?”

  Senri shook his head, and when he did, he saw those green eyes gleam, the fox spotting a mouse peeping from its hole.

  “You are an only child then. I know what that is like. I myself have two brothers, but only one child. My son, Gavril. Perhaps you’ve seen him.”

  Do not lie, Emperor Tatsu had said. He will smell a lie.

  “I have. He is a fine-looking boy.”

  “Indeed he is.” A wide grin. Then he lowered his voice. “I only wish his mother was more… capable. She was my third wife. Young and pretty, well-born, and at the time that was all that mattered. She has lived a pampered life and I fear, in my absence, my son will suffer.”

  “You said you have brothers.”

  The faintest flicker of chagrin, as if Alvar wished he had not mentioned that. “True, but neither is posted in the imperial city, and both have sons of their own. Many sons.”

  Senri shrugged. “They are still his uncles. Nothing is more important than family, particularly for warriors. Your brothers will watch over him and train him, and he will have a good life. The emperor has made it clear that your wife and son will not suffer for your crimes.”

  “And you take him at his word?”

  “I do.”

  “Then you are a fool.”

  *~*~*~*

  None of the other guards fell for that “think of my son” ploy. Alvar did not surrender the cause there, naturally. He had more angles, each one following exactly as the emperor had predicted. Nine tales, Emperor Tatsu had said. Like his clan totem. Each was subtly done, half a day passing between, the former marshal gradually becoming more talkative, as if not only resigned to his fate, but determined to make the most of his final days, enjoying what little company he had. He would raise topics that were simply conversational, and then take advantage of useful ones that rose naturally.

  Senri was from the Inugami clan—that was obvious from his dog tattoos. But who was his father? No, Alvar admitted, he did not know him, but did his father not have a brother who’d served as a palace guard? Yes, Alvar knew him very well. How was his uncle’s daughter? Alvar recalled that she had been ill, and his own wife had sent ointments. Had they helped? Senri had heard nothing of it? Oh, well, still, was the child well? She was? Excellent.

  And another guard, Hiraku, was from the Okami clan. Did he know Goro Okami? A cousin? Wonderful. Alvar recalled the Gray Wolf fondly. They had fought side by side with the emperor at the battle of Ashawan. Ah, there was a battle. They had freed the locals from the tyranny of a mad warlord, and the people had been so grateful that Alvar, Goro and Emperor Tatsu had scarcely been able to take a step without some noble or peasant offering his pretty daughter. They’d been young then, both of them, and yes, they had indulged, perhaps more than they ought. To be so young again. Young and strong and healthy. Rich, too. Wealth and power. What every young man dreamed of. These young warriors did, did they not? No? Well, they should, and they would be wise to snatch any opportunity.

  The four ignored Alvar’s hints. When they finally reached the end of the Wastes, the same could not be said for one particular guard in the village of Edgewood.

  As the name suggested, Edgewood guarded the only break in the wall surrounding the Forest of the Dead. It was the only settlement in the Wastes and the last stop on their journey. Traditionally, convicts spent their last night in Edgewood’s livestock enclosure. Alvar seemed to expect better. He got better, of a sort. He did not need to stay with the animals. Their group wasn’t stopping in the village.

  Give your regrets to t
he commander of Edgewood, the emperor said. But do not overnight there. Do not speak to the villagers. In particular, do not allow anyone to bring the Seeker and Keeper to bless Alvar, though he will request it. They are but children, yet he is not above using them to his advantage. Refuse his request, then move quickly or he will find a guard willing to accept a very generous bribe.

  Alvar did humbly request a final blessing from the young Seeker. The request was refused.

  Then, before they entered the forest, Senri turned to the youngest warrior in their party. Odon was barely into his second decade, but a renowned swordsman and son of the captain of Emperor Tatsu’s private guard.

  “You will stay here. The village will deal with you.”

  He did not feel pity as Odon sputtered in panic, asking what he had done, please tell him what he had done. The answer was, simply, nothing. Senri had spoken privately to the commander and no punishment awaited the young warrior. Emperor Tatsu had insisted on the ruse for two reasons. First, it would put the other guards on alert, warning them not to succumb to Alvar’s final pleas. Second… Well, there was another reason, more personal, and while the emperor had not given it, Senri had understood.

  They paused only briefly to replenish supplies. As they prepared to part from the village guards who’d escorted them to the second tower, Senri saw one secret a dagger to Alvar.

  Senri walked over and held out his hand. Alvar gave the dagger to Senri, who in turn passed it back to the village warrior. The man hesitated only long enough for Senri to draw his sword. He did not wave it in threat. That was not its purpose. When Senri withdrew it, the village guard nodded, satisfied. Then he knelt and plunged his dagger into his own gut. Senri swung his sword and cut off the man’s head, granting him mercy as swiftly as possible.

  They left Edgewood’s guards standing—some stone-faced, others shame-faced—beside the headless corpse of their traitorous comrade, as Senri escorted his remaining two men and Alvar Kitsune into the forest.

  *~*~*~*

  When you enter the forest, he will become desperate. He will no longer attempt to befriend or bribe you. Like a fox in a trap, he will do what it takes to escape, bite any hand that tries to ease his situation. The curses will come then, as he finally admits to sorcery—true curses, against you and your family. He will rage and he will threaten, and that is the time when you must watch your men most closely, when they are most likely to break.