Elementary
Authors: Mercedes Lackey
Praise for Mercedes Lackey's
Elemental Masters
novels:
“This is Lackey at her best, mixing whimsy and magic with a fast-paced plot.”
â
Publishers Weekly
“Fans of light fantasy will be thrilled by Lackey's clever fairy-tale adventure.”
â
Booklist
“Richly detailed historic backgrounds add flavor and richness to an already strong series that belongs in most fantasy collections. Highly recommended.”
â
Library Journal
(starred review)
“Mercedes Lackey fans will thoroughly enjoy this fun escapade into turn-of-the-century England. . . . I find Ms. Lackey's
Elemental Masters
series a true frolic into fantasy. . . . Witty and dry, the magic in her books is always so believable, as are her characters.”
âFantasy Book Spot
“The
Elemental Masters
novels are beautiful romantic adult fairy tales. . . . Master magician Mercedes Lackey writes a charming fantasy.”
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Midwest Book Review
“Once again, Mercedes Lackey has created a rich, lush depiction of England's Elemental Masters, combining elemental magic, fantastic creatures, coming-of-age elements, and the realities of war. . . . Lackey's elegant wordcraft combines humor with the knife edge of desperation. . . . I highly advise people to read this book, and I desperately urge Mercedes Lackey to keep writing the
Elemental Masters
novels.”
âFresh Fiction
TITLES BY MERCEDES LACKEY
available from DAW Books:
THE NOVELS OF VALDEMAR
:
THE HERALDS OF VALDEMAR
ARROWS OF THE QUEEN
ARROW'S FLIGHT
ARROW'S FALL
THE LAST HERALD-MAGE
MAGIC'S PAWN
MAGIC'S PROMISE
MAGIC'S PRICE
THE MAGE WINDS
WINDS OF FATE
WINDS OF CHANGE
WINDS OF FURY
THE MAGE STORMS
STORM WARNING
STORM RISING
STORM BREAKING
VOWS AND HONOR
THE OATHBOUND
OATHBREAKERS
OATHBLOOD
THE COLLEGIUM CHRONICLES
FOUNDATION
INTRIGUES
CHANGES
REDOUBT
BASTION
BY THE SWORD
BRIGHTLY BURNING
TAKE A THIEF
EXILE'S HONOR
EXILE'S VALOR
VALDEMAR ANTHOLOGIES:
SWORD OF ICE
SUN IN GLORY
CROSSROADS
MOVING TARGETS
CHANGING THE WORLD
FINDING THE WAY
UNDER THE VALE
Written with LARRY DIXON
:
THE MAGE WARS
THE BLACK GRYPHON
THE WHITE GRYPHON
THE SILVER GRYPHON
DARIAN'S TALE
OWLFLIGHT
OWLSIGHT
OWLKNIGHT
OTHER NOVELS:
GWENHWYFAR
THE BLACK SWAN
THE DRAGON JOUSTERS
JOUST
ALTA
SANCTUARY
AERIE
THE ELEMENTAL MASTERS
THE SERPENT'S SHADOW
THE GATES OF SLEEP
PHOENIX AND ASHES
THE WIZARD OF LONDON
RESERVED FOR THE CAT
UNNATURAL ISSUE
HOME FROM THE SEA
STEADFAST
BLOOD RED*
Anthologies:
ELEMENTAL MAGIC
ELEMENTARY
*Coming soon from DAW Books
And don't miss: THE VALDEMAR COMPANION, edited by John Helfers and Denise Little
Copyright © 2013 by Mercedes Lackey and Stonehenge Art & Word.
All Rights Reserved.
Cover art by Jody Lee.
Cover design by G-Force Design.
DAW Book Collectors No. 1638.
DAW Books are distributed by Penguin Group (USA).
All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may be stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated
DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED
U.S. PAT. AND TM. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES
âMARCA REGISTRADA
HECHO EN U.S.A.
ISBN 9780698143371(eBook)
Version_1
Samuel Conway
Diana L. Paxson
Kristin Schwengel
Fiona Patton
Elizabeth A. Vaughan
Dayle A. Dermatis
Louisa Swann
Elisabeth Waters
Cedric Johnson
Jennifer Brozek
Tanya Huff
Ben Ohlander
Michele Lang
Jody Lynn Nye
Stephanie Shaver
Rosemary Edghill and Rebecca Fox
Ron Collins
Gail Sanders and Michael Z. Williamson
Mercedes Lackey
Samuel C. Conway
As he did every day, Octli poked his nose first from his burrow to sniff for the scent of blood. He found none, so next came his eyes, scanning the landscape for telltale shadows. Next came his long, long ears, and only when they detected no lurking hunters did the rest of him follow.
He sat motionless for some time, smelling, watching, listening, until at last he felt safe enough to forage for his breakfast. With so many eager fangs waiting out there to sink into his pelt, Octli could ill afford to be careless.
Still, as careful as one might be, the world has a way of doing what it will. Octli had just enjoyed some tender clover and was about to start digging up a wild yam when the sun winked at him. Instinctively he froze, becoming one with the landscape. The sun winked again, a shadow, a circling hunter.
Octli bolted for his burrow but was too slow. Something crashed down upon his back and drove him to the ground. Its weight held him down, his middle squeezed tightly. A cloak of feathers fell over him and blotted out the sun. A savagely hooked beak descended to Octli's ear. He closed his eyes tightly.
“Peace,” the beak's owner said. “I will not eat you.”
Octli's eyes flew open. “You won't? Is this a trick?”
“No trick.” The bird lifted his foot from Octli's back and allowed the rabbit to stand. “I am not here for food.”
“What, then?” Octli said nervously, backing away from the bird's fiery gaze.
“I have come to ask for your help.”
Octli had expected to hear any one of a number of things, but that had certainly not been among them. “Me?” he sputtered. “How could I do that?”
“I do not know.” The bird sighed. He ruffled his feathers and shook them all out, first his body, then his head, and finally his tail. “But I hoped that you would.”
“Well . . . I . . . I suppose that I must. You did spare my life.”
“Your life was never in danger from me.”
Now that his terror had subsided, even if only a little, Octli looked more closely at the bird and realized that was true. The long, lanky and naked legs meant this bird was not the sort to eat a rabbit, although if hungry enough, anyone with a beak like that would hardly be fussy. No, this bird was the sort who preferred fish for his supper. “I am grateful for that,” Octli said, still eyeing the long, long, long talons upon which the bird rested. “You will forgive me, though, if I continue to shake for a while.”
“If you must.” The bird settled his feathers once more. “Will you help me?”
“I ought to,” Octli said warily, “but I still do not know why you are here.”
The bird glanced over one of his shoulders, then over the other. “I am here because of my Master.”
“He sent you to me?”
“No.” The bird stared at the ground. “I am here
because
of him. If he knew, he would be very, very angry.”
Octli peered at the bird, who, standing with his head bowed and his wings drooping, looked far less horrifying and far more miserable than he had before. Octli began to pity him. “I . . . would like to help you, yes . . .”
The bird raised his head hopefully.
“. . . but first you must tell me what troubles you.”
“It is my Master.” Again the bird glanced furtively about. “We are of the Water, you see, and my Master has declared war on one who is of the Fire. They are in constant battle, and the land suffers for it. Water floods where it should not, Fire rages where it must not, and nothing comes of it but misery for all. Their hatred for each other has made them blind to the suffering they are causing.”
“Why, though?” Octli asked. “Why do they hate each other so?”
The bird shrugged his wings. “They are Men. Who can guess why they hate each other? I imagine that they themselves do not even know why.”
“I see. But what can I do?”
“You are of the Earth,” the bird said eagerly. “I thought perhaps if another Elemental were to intervene, we could put a stop to the fighting.”
“What about your brothers of the Air?” Octli asked.
The bird clicked his beak and shook his feathers out again. “Them!” he snorted. “There is no talking sense to them. I have always found them so . . . so . . .”
“Flighty?” Octli offered, but when the bird drew himself up and glowered, he hurriedly added, “Yes, I can see that you need help. I do not have any such power myself . . .”
The bird hung his head.
“. . . but I know of one who does. An Earth Master.”
The bird perked up. “Do you think he will help me?”
“She,” Octli corrected. “That I do not know. There is only one way to find out.”
 â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â
It took a long time to travel to where the Earth Master lived. Octli's legs were built for speed, but he needed to rest frequently. He refused all of the impatient bird's offers to carry himâthose talons were just a bit too long and a bit too sharp and a bit too frightening for such a trip. The sun had sunk very low, then, before Octli arrived, panting, at a little stone house sitting all by itself at the base of a mountain.
“Mother!” he called. “Earth Mother!”
She emerged slowly, one carefully placed foot at a time, but Octli knew that it was not because of her age; she simply never had any reason to hurry. Mother smiled down at the rabbit and brushed a long white wisp from her eyes. “Well, hello, little one,” she said in a voice that was both as soft as sand and as powerful at the mountain that loomed above them. “Have you come to share my supper?”
“Well, I . . . no . . . but . . .” Octli fidgeted, his nose catching the scent of something very rare inside the house. “But if you had more than enough for yourself, I would not refuse your kindness.”
With a chuckle the old lady turned and disappeared into the shadowy interior of her house, returning a moment later with the tender and delightful fruit called
tomatl
. “Now tell me,” she whispered as she set it down before Octli's nose. “What is it that bird wants of me?”
Octli froze in midbite and almost spat out his treat. “I . . . he . . . you . . .” he said in astonishment.
She laughed. “His shadow crossed over you twice, but you never even blinked. I know that even a
tomatl
could not entrance you so much as to make you blind, so you and he must be friends.”
“Well . . . sort of . . .” Octli said sheepishly.
The old lady smiled and stroked Octli's ears. “Eat your supper. Let me speak to your friend.” With that she stood and pointed up at the circling silhouette, then pointed to the ground before her feet.
The bird tucked his wings and plunged, rocketing toward the sand and only stretching his wings at the very last moment before he thumped down and sprawled out submissively, his beak on the ground. “Please, Earth Mother,” he squawked, “do not punish me. I came to plead for your help. Terrible things are happening: the Fire splits the rocks, the Water drowns the fields! Rivers boil and rage!”
“Would you like a
tomatl
?”
“I . . . what?”
“A
tomatl
. Would you like one?”
“Er . . . I . . . no, thank you.” The bird gave Octli a dumbfounded look, which Octli could only answer with a shrug.
“No, I did not think so. Please forgive me that I have nothing else to offer you. Welcome to my home, Son of the Air.”
Bewildered, the bird rose to his feet and shook the dust from his wings. He gave Octli another uncertain glance, then said, “It is, um, Water, actually, Lady. I am of the Water.”
“Oh! Please forgive me,” Mother said, throwing up her hands. “I did not recognize you, all flapping about in the dirt as you were.”
The bird cleared his throat and looked down, but said nothing.
“Now,” Mother said as she hunkered down on her heels. “Tell me, what is the matter?”
Never taking his eyes from the ground, the bird recounted the tale of the dreadful fight between his Master, who really was just a mage but who insisted on the loftier title, and the Fire Mage, who also liked to be addressed as “Master,” and how the fight was scarring the land and harming everyone nearby, be it Man, Beast, or Elemental. Mother listened to it all while chewing thoughtfully on a bit of dried
tomatl
. When the bird had finished, she pondered the story for a while before she said, “I can see that you have quite a problem.”
“Yes, my Lady.”
“So answer me one question. Why is it that I should help you?”
The bird opened and closed his beak, but no words came out.
“Answer me. Why should I help you?”
One yellow eye opened and glanced pleadingly at Octli. “I . . . please . . .” he began.
“Answer me. Why should I help you?”
The bird sagged, defeated. “I do not know, my Lady.”
“I see. Then I will tell you the answer.”
“My Lady?”
Mother reached down and hooked her finger beneath the bird's beak, gently lifting the reluctant gaze to hers. She smiled. “Because you asked me to.”
 â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â
They set off at first light, but even so, the sun was nearing its peak before they reached the battleground. Mother never hastened her thoughtful and deliberate pace and stopped quite often to sniff at flowers or to comment on the beauty of the clouds, while the bird who rode on her shoulder did not dare to make any impatient noises. His gaze darted about with increasing agitation, however, as the signs of war became more obvious. Here a field buried in mud, there a shed burned to ashes. Each time Mother stopped, leaning on her stick, and surveyed the scene grimly. “This,” she muttered, “will not do at all.”
The bird pointed the way to a hilltop overlooking a village that had clearly seen happier times. Some of the fields were swamped in water as deep as a man's ankles, while others had been blackened to dust. People struggled to coax what crops they could out of the few little patches of green earth that remained. As Mother frowned, a column of white steam gushed skyward in the distance.
“They are at it again,” the bird said mournfully.
“So I see.” Mother glanced down toward Octli, who had been following at her heels. “Little one, would you do me a kindness?”
“Of course, Earth Mother,” Octli said eagerly.
“I need to get their attention, those two,” she said, nodding toward the geysering steam. “Could you give me a thump?”
Octli blinked and peered down at his long hind foot. “A thump, Earth Mother?”
“Yes. You know, something to make them take notice.”
Octli was skeptical, but he did not question the old lady's wisdom. Planting his forepaws firmly on the ground, he stamped his hind leg as hard as he could. To his astonishment, the entire hillside rocked as a wave rushed through the soil and down through the village, leaving the people staggering about in alarm.
“A few more, please.”
Octli obeyed, watching with amazement as the little taps of his foot rocked the world to its heart and turned the village into a disturbed anthill. He was even more amazed when he saw the soil itself shift and roll, rise and dimple, shaping itself into the very semblance of a faceâhis face, ears, whiskers, and all.
“There,” Mother said brightly. “I think they ought to notice that.”
Octli shivered. All of the villagers were gaping and pointing at his image on the hillside, and Octli's instincts began to whisper urgently in his ear. “Should I hide, Earth Mother?” he said shakily.
“Hide?” She laughed. “Don't be silly, little one. You would miss all of the fun.”
It did not take long before two glowering figures appeared, stalking in the same direction but quite far apart, each refusing to acknowledge even the breath of the other. The fat one boiled with rage while smoke rose from the skinny one's ears.
“What is this?” the fat one shouted, jabbing his finger at Mother. “What do you think you're doing here, you old goat?”
Mother smiled and began drawing some little pictures in the dirt with the end of her stick. “I only came to watch,” she said sweetly.
“Be on your way!” the skinny one growled. “Your trick has interrupted a very important duel. I was just about to defeat this tub of fatâ”
“Shut up, Stick Man!” the fat one barked back. He raised his hand, and water bubbled from the ground at his feet, only to be rendered to steam by a blast of flame from the skinny man's fingers.
“Now, now, boys,” Mother said. “Pay no attention to me. Just go about what you were doing.”
The Water Mage clenched his fists and squinted, but his piggy eyes flew open wide when he realized who was perched on the old lady's shoulder. “You!” he bellowed. “Where have you been? What is all this?”
The bird cowered, but the old lady said, “This one? He came to tell me that his Master was the most powerful man in all the world. I simply had to come and see for myself.”
The Water Mage was taken aback, and drew himself up. “Well, then,” he grunted.
“And this one,” Mother continued, nodding down to Octli, “he told me that there was a Fire Mage here who was of such might that he was one with the gods.”
“What?” the skinny man said, his mouth falling open. “I mean, yes, naturally. Er, who is he again?”
“Insolent little pest!” the Water Mage roared toward Octli. “You will drown!”
“No!” the Fire Mage shouted. “Leave the little one alone! I like him.”
Mother held up her hands. “Now, boys, settle down, both of you. I can see that there is only one way to prove who here is the greater Master.”
“How?” they both asked at once, then squinted ruefully.
Mother stood up and adjusted her shawl. “A duel!” she said.
“But that's what weâ”
“To the death!” She raised her stick high. “The greater power will destroy the weaker!”
