Fantasy For Good: A Charitable Anthology

by George R. R. Martin

  The winged horse obeyed, though his wing beats were already less powerful. As I had suspected, injury from that sword did more damage than a mere bloodletting.

  The specter chortled a horrid triumph and readied the sword for another slice.

  “Away, Halite!” I cried. “Your life depends on it! Up!”

  And that faithful heart strove to obey, I think, largely because Halite felt responsible for me, as ever does a good warhorse for rider. As the surge of his wings took him up, I decided to make it easier for him to get away. Pulling my legs free of their grip on his withers, I leaned. As my winged companion went up, I went down.

  I wasn’t planning on suicide—though I knew that was definite possibility. I figured that Myron and his awful steed were solid enough now that they could take another passenger. Holding my staff in one hand, I let myself fall. The flame-storm creature tried to dodge, but that armor of silk and spider web the specter wore proved tougher than I had imagined possible. I snagged one edge as I went by, then hauled myself up.

  Turns out I had been wrong when I told Halite that close quarters fighting was out. As soon as I landed, I battered at the specter with my staff. He cut at me with his sword. The flame-storm horse couldn’t join in without pitching his rider off.

  In a staff against sword contest, I usually give odds to the sword. Staffs, after all, are wood. Swords can cut them up easily. In this case, though, my staff had been magically hardened to resist attack. Moreover, my opponent’s sword had been created to eviscerate a relatively defenseless creature. Though very sharp, it wasn’t the best balanced sword and the specter wasn’t much of a swordsman.

  Still, he had the edge, there was no doubt about it. My footing wasn’t the best. I felt as if I was standing in mud that was simultaneously sticky and slick. Time came when Myron backed me to where I could back no further—not unless I wanted to see if I’d learned to fly. Worse, that armor of silk and spider web was providing good stuff. Many a solid blow I thought would sweep the specter into the abyss bounced off.

  My tablecloth wasn’t much shakes as armor, but the assortment of charms I’d put on before starting to triage Myron’s goodies offered some protection. Thing is, they weren’t meant to last long—more to ward off a single fireball if I set off a trap, than to soak up repeated slices from a sword. As the battle wore on, I accumulated cuts and bruises all over. At least my blood didn’t feed the monster as Halite’s would have done.

  I realized that I probably wasn’t going to live through this battle, but I didn’t feel all that much regret. I was dying as a knight should, protecting the innocent, punishing the wicked, saving the world from yet another power-crazed lunatic.

  And that’s when I heard the voices. Figuring it was the bats again, I tried not to listen, but the words got through anyhow.

  “We never blamed you.”

  “We’ve been proud of you.”

  “Knight errant… What’s wrong with that? More work. Less glory.”

  “You hold the Lance of True Valor, Sir Knight.” This from a particularly beloved voice. “Use it.”

  So I did. I stopped swinging that bit of bedpost like a staff. Shifting my grip, I thrust out as if I held a lance, imagining that the most powerful charger in the universe carried me through the lists, joining his strength to mine. Believing in my weapon, believing in myself, believing in my cause, I felt my blow meet, then pass right through, the center of the specter’s chest.

  My opponent didn’t scream, though he opened his mouth as if to do so. He vanished before the sound could come out. In less time than that, his steed became a memory. I was falling. Around me, storm clouds shredded and white doves flew where bats had been.

  Haloed in sunlight, my boon companion, the winged horse, Halite, rose to catch me upon his broad back. The impact knocked the breath out of me and sent fire through my myriad wounds.

  Aching and bleeding though I was, I felt better than I had for many long years.

  Part II:

  Fairy Tales

  FRANCES SILVERSMITH writes computer software for a living, and science fiction and fantasy stories for fun. She lives in a small town in Germany with her husband, seven guinea pigs, and an Icelandic horse. Her fiction has appeared in Daily Science Fiction and the Grantville Gazette.

  Please visit her website: www.francessilversmith.com

  Languid in Rose

  Frances Silversmith

  Lilia I, Queen of Roses, reluctantly opened her eyes to yet another perfect day, courtesy of the Enchantment. The briar rose outside her windows threw moving shadows on the salmon-colored curtains of her four-poster bed. What a disgustingly lovely sight.

  Lilia forced her heavy limbs to a sitting position. Instantly, her maid appeared with a cup of hot chocolate–as she did every morning. When she was younger, Lilia had often tried to trick the Enchantment, getting up in the middle of the night, or staying prone in bed until long past her usual hour–to no avail; the maid always appeared on time.

  Lilia sipped the cocoa, wishing that she could decline the too-sweet drink. But Queen Rose I, Lilia’s great-great-grandmother and the Great Benefactress of the kingdom, had decreed that the queen should have a cup of hot chocolate upon awaking. And so the queen did.

  Queen Rose I had made a Great Sacrifice a hundred years ago when she cast the Enchantment to protect the kingdom and give its citizens peace and prosperity. Disobeying the Great Benefactress’ commands could not be risked, because nobody alive knew which of those commands were vital for the protective spell’s stability.

  After Lilia had forced down the last of the cocoa, her maid helped her into a silk gown of pale rose. Thus dressed, Lilia descended to the Fuchsia Parlor, which was decorated true to its name. The Great Benefactress had loved all shades of pink.

  Lilia’s aunt and uncle waited for her in the parlor.

  “Old Wartir passed away last night,” Uncle Ikan said as the servants put overfull dishes of food in front of Lilia. “He was the one to put you on your first pony, wasn’t he? I thought you might like to know.”

  Lilia’s eyes filled with tears. Wartir had always had time for a lonely princess, told her stories over his tack cleaning chores. She had not been down to the stables to visit him in too long, and now he was dead.

  “But–he wasn’t that old, was he? He was healthy, and still able to work. I thought he had many years left!”

  “His knees were starting to act up lately, and he often nodded off over his chores. So I suppose it was his time. The Enchantment gave him a peaceful end–he never woke from his sleep.”

  “But…”

  Aunt Bryonia interrupted her. “People die when they grow too old to work anymore. You know that, child.”

  Lilia sighed inwardly. Aunt Bryonia had reared Lilia from birth and would probably always treat her as a child.

  Lilia kept her voice carefully even. “So you taught me, Aunt. But Grandmother abdicated because she couldn’t even stay awake through a Court Day anymore, and she lived on for years afterwards.”

  “The Royal Family is different. You know that, too, Lilia. Now please stop being difficult and eat your breakfast.”

  There was no point in trying to argue, Lilia knew that from experience.

  Lilia’s grandmother had made her daughter-in-law Bryonia Lilia’s guardian. Aunt Bryonia was also the one Grandmother had told the secret of the Enchantment to, with the behest to pass it on to Lilia when she turned five-and-twenty. Lilia had another five years to get through, five long years of choosing her battles carefully and being meek and obedient at all other times.

  So she swallowed her tears and dug into her sumptuous breakfast. It tasted like ashes.

  *~*~*~*

  Today was an Open Court Day. Lilia sat erect on her throne and tried to concentrate on the problems her rose-clad subjects brought to her attention. Not that there were usually many important matters to deal with–the Enchantment took care of that. On a normal day, only a few people attended Open Court, bri
nging her minor squabbles to judge.

  Today was different. A stray wolf had made its way to a village in the outer reaches of her kingdom and had killed three sheep in the last two weeks. A farmer in the same village had broken a leg in a fall from a ladder, and a freak storm had destroyed several grain fields, again not far from that village.

  “The Enchantment’s been severely weakened in our region, Your Majesty,” said the mayor of the unlucky village. He’d brought several of the village’s elders along, as well as three sturdy-looking fellows who kept close watch over a frail youth. “We’ve caught the culprit, though. Bring him forward!”

  Two sturdy men grabbed the youth by the arms and yanked him toward the throne.

  “Your Majesty, this is Peitir. He’s always been a good-for-nothing dreamer, but lately, he’s turned to evil. Just look at this!”

  The third sturdy fellow brought forward a flat object covered with a blanket. He pulled the blanket away to reveal a painting. A scandalized gasp ran through the court, and several people turned their eyes away from the abomination.

  Mesmerized, Lilia stared. The painting showed her castle, bathed in purple light, with a raging storm sending lightning from the sky all about it. The picture blazed in vivid colors, making Lilia’s heart sing. The piece was wild, dark, and threatening. Judging by every standard she had ever been taught, it was evil.

  It was also marvelously, heartbreakingly beautiful.

  Behind her, Uncle Ikan cleared his throat. Lilia tore her eyes away from the masterpiece, and faced its doomed maker. “Did you create this painting?”

  He gave her a defiant look. “Yes.”

  “Do you have anything to say in your own defense?” she asked, for formality’s sake. There was nothing he could say that would save him now.

  Peitir squared his shoulders and met her gaze, but said nothing.

  Lilia hesitated. Maybe she could exile him from the kingdom? She’d gotten away with that solution twice in the three years since she had nominally taken over the rule of the kingdom.

  But this time, Aunt Bryonia intervened before she could voice her decree. “Lilia–Your Majesty–there can be no question as to the judgment you need to make. This abomination and its creator need to burn, to protect the Enchantment and the kingdom.”

  Most of the courtiers nodded, and a murmur of “Abomination!” and “Burn him!” ran through the court.

  Lilia took a deep breath and yielded to the inevitable.

  “So be it. This is my judgment:

  You have succumbed to the dark and created a work of evil that might spread your darkness to others, thereby endangering the Enchantment and treating with contempt the Great Sacrifice Queen Rose the First made to create it.

  You have the rest of this day and the night to contemplate your sins. Tomorrow at dawn, you will burn at the stake, along with your evil painting.”

  Peitir did not react. He stared at her with such blazing contempt, she had to look away. But there was nothing she could do. Such a blatant attack on the Enchantment was unpardonable, especially in light of the recent disturbances.

  *~*~*~*

  Several hours later, Lilia was finally back in her chambers. She sent the maid away, pleading a headache. For a moment, she leaned back against the closed door, fighting tears. This morning had been too much like that fateful day three years ago, when she had condemned the love of her life to burn at the stake.

  Oh, Theiran.

  She squared her shoulders and pushed away from the door. Slipping out of her gown, she dug deep in the back of her wardrobe and came up with a set of clothing that nobody knew she possessed: A frayed shirt and a pair of linen trousers. She must find a way to replace these clothes soon, she thought as she slipped them on. They were growing so ragged they might call attention to her.

  She paused for a moment to recall the first time she had put these clothes on, to go on an adventure with their former owner. Theiran had always been there for her when she needed a break from being the kingdom’s well-behaved heir.

  Smiling wistfully, Lilia opened her bedroom shutters and climbed into the enchanted briar rose, which adorned the castle walls. The plant was part of Queen Rose’s protective spell, made indestructible by the Enchantment. Its branches easily held up under her weight.

  As a member of the royal family, Lilia was somewhat protected from the briar rose’s wicked thorns, but by the time she reached her destination two stories down, her arms and legs were bleeding, and her clothes had acquired several more tears.

  She slipped through a window into an empty store room, which held one of the more mysterious aspects of the Enchantment. No servant ever came here, and Lilia was the only person in the kingdom who knew about the trap door in the corner of the room. Even Theiran had been unable to see it, unless Lilia held his hand.

  Wondering once again why the Great Benefactress had needed a secret entrance into the dungeons, Lilia opened the door, slipped in, and silently closed it behind her.

  *~*~*~*

  They’d added a third guard. The men kept a close watch on the exit, unlike the last time she’d been down to the dungeons. Fortunately, they still had no inkling of the secret passage, which ended in a small chamber at the back of the dungeon. They were all in the guard room next to the exit.

  Next time she might not be so lucky.

  Staying out of the guards’ sight, she slipped into the corridor and went over to the one occupied cell. The prisoner came to his feet and opened his mouth as if to say something, but at her frantic wave for silence he closed it again.

  Keeping a wary eye on the guard room, Lilia slipped a hair pin into the cell door’s lock. It took an eternity, but finally the lock sprang open.

  She beckoned for Peitir to follow her. He frowned, but obeyed in silence, thank the Enchantment. Once they were safely back in the store room, he demanded, “Who the chance are you, and what do you want from me?”

  Lilia turned to him and removed the piece of cloth she had used to hide her distinctive golden curls.

  “Queen Lilia? What the…!” He stopped himself in time to avoid a second expletive.

  “We don’t have time for explanations,” she said, but he was not content with that.

  “What do you want from me?” he repeated, crossing his arms.

  “I want to save your life,” Lilia snapped. “There is no time to lose. The guards might raise the alarm any moment. Do you want to escape, or not?”

  “What’s your price for my freedom? And what about my painting? You’re not going to burn it, are you?”

  “There is no ‘price’. And yes, your painting will be burned in the morning, I can’t prevent that.” She frowned at him. “Please don’t make a fuss that would cost your life–and my freedom to ever help anyone else ever again–over a painting, magnificent as it may be!”

  He did not look convinced, so Lilia put on her best imitation of Aunt Bryonia.

  “Please stop arguing now. You need to climb out this window. The briar rose will bear your weight–but beware its thorns, they have a will of their own.” She had once seen the remains of a man who had attempted to climb the trellis without royal blessing. It had not been pretty.

  She walked over to Peitir and put her lips to his forehead before he could flinch back. “This will protect you from the worst of it, but the rose will still do its best to scratch you bloody. There is no other safe way out, though. Climb straight down and swim the moat to the other side. There’s a little hut where you can hide for the day. Nobody goes there any longer.”

  He touched his hand to the spot she had kissed and frowned at her. She could see his stubborn distrust fight with dawning curiosity. Curiosity won. “How do you know all this?”

  “I’ve been down that route before, many times.” She smiled at the memories that thought evoked.

  The smile seemed to be infectious–Peitir returned it. “I would like to know the story behind that statement. Maybe I’ll paint the scene one day. The Queen Climbi
ng the Briar Rose.”

  Lilia had to grin at that. “You do that, as long as you do it outside the kingdom’s borders. Now please leave, before the guards catch us in here.”

  Peitir hesitated for a moment longer, but then he bowed to her. “Thank you, my Queen,” he said, and was gone.

  Lilia made her way up to her chambers, again paying a tribute in blood to the briar rose. Once there, she busied herself washing out her cuts and hiding all other evidence of her excursion. Thank the Enchantment that long sleeves and gloves were all the rage at Court this season.

  *~*~*~*

  There was a tremendous outcry over the prisoner’s escape. Rumors sprang up in droves, some telling of evil sorcerers having spirited the delinquent away, others attributing witch powers to Peitir himself. Still others told of a conspiracy inside the castle, bent on destroying the Enchantment and sending the kingdom into chaos.

  Tidings of little accidents, minor storms, and other disturbing incidents trickled in. The Enchantment seemed to be weakening, might even be on the brink of breaking. Lilia sat in the Fuchsia Parlor, picking at her breakfast while her aunt and uncle discussed the disturbing news.

  Is the Enchantment really breaking? Would that be such a bad thing?

  She was startled out of her thoughts when the door flew open with a crash, and a pair of castle guards rushed into the room.

  “There is an intruder in the castle!” The guard sounded breathless, and his face was the color of a well-ripened tomato. The other guard didn’t look much better.

  “What?” Uncle Ikan exclaimed. “No intruder can make it past the briar rose. The Enchantment has always prevented such a thing!”

  “I know, my lord, but somehow, an evil sorcerer has made it past our protections. We must keep the Queen safe at all costs.”

  The guard walked up to Lilia and urged her to her feet. “Come, Your Majesty, we will take you to your chambers. Nothing must happen to you.”