Bill Fawcett & Brian Thomsen - Masters of Fantasy
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- Chapter 1
From Category to Genre
in a Bookselling Sense
Or
When Sales and Popularity
Begin to Command Respect
We all have friends who might look at our reading tastes as being a bit eccentric.
You know who I mean—those who call it "sword and sorcery stuff" and seem to think that every fantasy
needs a Frazetta or Boris cover that will appeal primarily to adolescent boys in search of cheap thrills.
There was a time when their point of view was in the majority and fantasy titles were relegated to the
same level of respect afforded to other "category" fiction titles.
"Category" is a pejorative. For example, in category terms, westerns were "horse operas" or "shoot 'em
ups," romances were "bodice rippers," and fantasies were "that Conan stuff." And the principal venues
for sales were drugstore and gas station wire racks next to this month's issue of Good Housekeeping,
Popular Mechanics, or Playboy. Category books were sold at the bottom of the list and engendered little
respect from either the publisher or the bookseller.
Then, a funny thing happened.
Category books began to break out and sell like hotcakes, and not just at the truck stops but in the book
stores as well.
Louis L'Amour became a topselling author of western fiction (notice "western fiction"; that's a genre
designation, not just a category), romances became either "historical romances," "regency romances" or
"contemporary romances" (again, with genre-specific designations) and fantasies, well . . . let me tell
you what happened.
First, the powers that be began to split hairs.
Tolkien wasn't really fantasy; it was fiction, just like Richard Adams's talking rabbit novel, Watership
Down, and John Gardner's Grendel. Any new book that commanded an equal amount of respect like,
say, The Mists of Avalon, was also obviously fiction, and therefore not like those category fantasy titles
that appeared in paperback and usually were part of some large series like Conan (you know, just like
Mack Bolan except without the guns and gadgets).
They were considered a flavor-of-the-month sort of thing where the authors didn't really matter except to
a small but rabid fandom.
The truth was, however, that the fandom wasn't that small, and in no time at all their buying power
became more noticeable.
In 1982, Ogre, Ogre by Piers Anthony made the New York Times paperback bestseller list, something
category books were not expected to do.
Now, Ogre, Ogre was a paperback original (no hardcover edition), part of an ongoing series, with no
special movie tie-in (à la Star Wars) or critical prestige.
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- Chapter 1
It made the list solely because it sold or, more specifically, because enough people wanted to purchase it
as soon as it was available—and subsequent books in the series followed the same pattern.
Soon, other authors' works followed suit with successful paperback series making the list, such as
Foster's Spellsinger books, Weis and Hickman's Dragonlance and Dark Sword series and Lackey's
Valdemar books. And in no time at all every publishing house realized that a commercially successful
fantasy series was every bit as significant as a bestselling mystery or historical romance. Such books no
longer received a "category" treatment because there was the potential for even greater sales.
Such books became treated like "fiction" titles and, from a bookselling standpoint, fantasy went from
being a category to a genre.
As a result of these new sales and the attention they engendered in-house, science fiction and fantasy
lines sprang up everywhere, with independent new publishers specializing in the genre beginning to
command respect. Books that were formerly paperback originals became hardcovers.
Fantasy had become a force to be reckoned with.
It had gained the respect of booksellers and publishers alike, the same respect that its fans had had for
years.
This book contains brand new stories set in some of the series that were part of the bestselling
phenomenon that brought this about, written by the authors who earned their now well-deserved respect.
Enjoy!
—Brian Thomsen
Back | Next
Contents
Framed
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- Chapter 2
Out of the Deep
A Valdemar Story
Mercedes Lackey
Now this was a forest!
Trees crowded the road, overshadowing it, overhanging it. You didn't need a hat even at midday; you
almost needed a torch instead to see by. Herald-Intern Alain still couldn't get used to all of the
wilderness around him—trees that weren't pruned into symmetrical and pleasing shapes, wildflowers
that were really wild, ragged, and insect-nibbled. All of his life—except for the brief course in
Wilderness Survival—he'd never seen a weed, much less a wilderness. He kept expecting to wake up
and find that all of this was a fever-dream.
By all rights, he shouldn't be out here, league upon league away from Haven on his Internship Circuit.
He was a Prince, after all, and Princes of Valdemar had never gone out of Haven for their Internships,
much less out into the furthermost West of the Kingdom, where there were no Guardsmen to rescue you
if you got into trouble, and often nowhere to shelter if nature decided to have a bash at you. He should
have been serving his Internship beside one of the Heralds who helped the City Guard, the Watch, and
the city judges.
There was just one teeny, tiny problem with that.
:Actually,: his Companion Vedalia observed, :There are seven rather tall and vigorous problems with
that. And four slender and attractive ones as well.:
Alain sighed. It wasn't the easiest thing in the world, being the youngest of twelve royal children who
had all been Chosen.
:It wasn't the easiest thing in the world trying to find things for all of those young and eager Heralds to
do,: Vedalia pointed out. :It wouldn't take more than a candlemark for any of you to figure out that he'd
been set make-work. As it was—:
As it was, it was just bad luck that Alain was not only the youngest of his sibs, he was the youngest by
less than a candlemark. Queen Felice was not only the most fecund Consort in the history of Valdemar,
she had the habit of having her children in lots. Three sets of twins and two sets of triplets, to be precise.
The Heir, whose real name was Tanivel but who they all called Vel for short, was the eldest of his set of
twins. Alain was the youngest of his. And in between—
:It is rather a good thing that your mother was never Chosen,: Vedalia observed. :I'm not sure her poor
Companion would have gotten much exercise, much less attention. . . . :
It was true enough that until after Alain had been born, no one in the Court could remember her in any
state other than expecting. The fact that she actually possessed a waist had come as a complete surprise
to everyone except the King. Everyone wanted to know—and no one dared ask—both the "why" and the
"how" of it.
The "how" was easy; multiples ran in her family. Felice was one of a set of twins, and not one of her
sisters had ever given birth to less than twins. Her family history held that it had something to do with a
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- Chapter 2
blessing placed on them, but by what—well, there were several versions.
The real question was "why"—having had Vel and Vixen (his twin's name was Lavenna, but no one ever
called her that) she could have stopped with the traditional "heir and a spare." Certainly most women
would have called a halt at the next lot, which were triplets. Not Felice. Rumor had it that she was trying
to fill all the extra rooms in the newly rebuilt Heralds' Collegium with her own offspring.
Only Alain had dared to ask his mother what no one else would. She'd hugged him then looked him
straight in the eye and said, "Marriages of state. You're Heralds, all of you. You don't need a spouse to
be loved."
Now, Alain knew his blunt-spoken mother well enough to read between the lines. Shockingly blunt in
this case . . . except . . . well Felice had not made a love-match with King Chalinel; she cared deeply for
him, but theirs had been a marriage made in the Council chamber. She knew very well that the way to
cement the loyalty of a powerful noble house was to marry into it; the way to ensure a foreign alliance
was to send (or send for) a bride or groom. Neither she nor the King would force one of their children
into a marriage he or she did not want; they would consent to any marriage, even to a beggar, where love
was. But this way . . . if an alliance had to be made, there would be someone available to make it at the
altar.
Vanyel Ashkevron had made his terrible sacrifice decades ago; Queen Elspeth was Alain's great-great-
grandmother. Valdemar's borders had expanded as more and more independent nobles sought to come
under the banner of those who had defeated the Karsites. Those nobles—some no better than robber-
barons—had no traditional ties to the Valdemaran throne, and no real understanding of what Heralds
(the backbone of Valdemaran authority) were and did. One of the obvious solutions was Felice's. After
all, it had worked for her family. Her father had gone from an uneasy ally to a doting grandfather who
would no more dream of a disloyal thought than jump off the top of his own manor.
And all of his grandchildren—Chosen. That truly brought it home to him and every one of his people
what Heralds were and what they did. The lesson was painless and thorough, and the Baron soon was
accustomed to having white-clad Heralds coming and going on his lands.
Both Heralds' Collegium and Valdemar had benefited by the arranged marriage with Felice—for now
eleven other Heralds, whose skills would be useful outside the capitol, would be freed up by Felice's
brood for those other duties while the Princes and Princesses took over.
All of the ten eldest had done well in their classes. Alain and his twin sister Alara had run through the
Collegium curriculum like a hot needle through ice. How not? They'd listened to ten siblings as they
recited their lessons, they'd practiced weapons-work and archery with ten older siblings, watched and
listened with ten siblings. King Chalinel often said that intelligence in the family just kept increasing
with each set of children and culminated with Alain and Alara. Alain didn't know about that—all of his
sibs were clever . . .
:But you and Alara made it through a year early, and Kristen, Kole, and Katen lagged behind because
they lost a year to the scarlet fever. With five of you going into Internship at once, there was something
of a problem, since we don't like to Intern relatives with relatives,: said Vedalia.
Which was, of course, why he was out on Circuit in the wilderness. No one wanted to risk the health of
the triplets after that near-miss with fever, which meant they had to stay within the confines of Haven.
And there were only four Haven Internships available. The four Haven Internships had gone to his other
siblings, yes, because of the triplets' uncertain health, but also because they all had Gifts that were useful
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- Chapter 2
in those internships. To create a new position just for Alain would have been wrong—
:Yes, well my so-called Gift probably had something to do with why I'm out here, on the edge of the
Kingdom, and not somewhere else,: Alain observed.
Vedalia's tone turned sharp. :There is nothing wrong with your Gift,: he said. :It's as strong as anyone in
the Collegium has got, and stronger than your sister's.:
:And a fat lot of good Animal Mindspeech would have been, Interning with the Lord-Martial's Herald,:
he retorted. :What would I do, interrogate the Cavalry horses? What else can I do? Nothing that a
weakly Gifted Herald can't. I don't even have enough ordinary Mindspeech to talk to Herald
Stedrel—and he's got the strongest Mindspeech of any Herald anyone's ever heard of!: He couldn't help
it; a certain amount of bitterness crept into his thoughts. He hated not being able to MindSpeak other
Heralds—when he could Hear a tree-hare chattering at ten leagues away.
Vedalia was silent so long that Alain thought the conversation was over.
:Look around you,: Vedalia said. :Listen to the birdsong in the trees. Feel that free wind in your hair.
Take a deep breath of air that no human has been breathing but you. Think about all you're learning
from the wild things. Are you really so unhappy that your Gift brought you here?:
Well, put that way. . . .
:Hmm. I suppose not.:
:And admit it; it's a relief to be away from Alara for the first time in your life.:
Alain laughed aloud; Herald Stedrel looked back over his shoulder and smiled at him, then turned his
attention back to the trail ahead.
It was a relief to be away from Alara, who thought she had to have the last word in everything they did,
who bossed him as if she was five years, not half a candlemark, older than he. It was a relief to be away
from all of his siblings, and from the Court, and all the burdens of royal birth. And so far, although no
one could call circuit-riding in the hinterlands a pleasure-jaunt, he'd been enjoying it. He would probably
change his mind as soon as winter set in and they were riding with snow up to Vedalia's hocks, but right
now, he was enjoying it.
Out here, no one knew he was a Prince. He could flirt with pretty village girls, he could swim naked by
moonlight, he could dance at fairs and sing rude songs and no one would make a face or take him aside
to remind him that he must act with more decorum. Stedrel actually encouraged him to kick up his heels
within reason. He might even try the experiment some time of getting really and truly drunk, though he'd
have to wait until he was pretty sure he wouldn't be needed.
:You'll regret it,: Vedalia laughed.
:Probably. But at least I'll have tried it. And maybe I'll try a few more things, too—:
:Tch. Sixteen, and delusions of immortality,: Vedalia teased.
:Doesn't that go with being sixteen?: he retorted.
No, on second consideration, he wouldn't trade being out here for any of the Internships his sibs had. He
wished Alara joy of the Lord Martial, who thought that women in general were useless and good only as
decoration, and female Heralds in particular were a nuisance. She wouldn't get around him by speaking
in a slightly higher, more breathy voice and acting hurt, or by turning bossy either.
Maybe that was the point. Internships were supposed to teach you about really being a Herald.
He wondered just what he was supposed to learn out here.
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- Chapter 2
:A good question. Now find the answer to it.: Vedalia tossed his head and Alain smiled.
Then he asked Vedalia to move up alongside of Stedrel's Lovell. "Is there anything I should know about
the next village, sir?" he asked respectfully, drawing a smile from the taciturn Herald.
"This'll be our first fishing village, Alain," Stedrel told him. "Do you remember your classes about the
Lake Evendim fisher-folk?"
Alain nodded, but not because he recalled his classes as such; one of his yearmates had been from Lake
Evendim, and had regaled them all with stories about "home." "Not exactly Holderkin, are they, sir," he
responded tentatively.
Sted just snorted. "Not exactly, no. But at least if one of the girls sneaks you off into the water-caves you
won't find yourself facing a father, a priest, and a wedding next day." He grinned when Alain blushed.
"And unless you have the stamina of a he-goat," the older Herald continued wickedly, as Alain's flushes
deepened, "You won't flirt the way you have been with more than one girl at a time."
"They—wouldn't!" Alain choked.
"They would, both together," Sted replied. "Or even three—if you're monumentally stupid enough to put
that to the test. With the men out on the boats so much, and fishing being the hazardous occupation that
it is, the girls get—"
"Lonely?" Alain said, tactfully.
Sted laughed.
:Thinking of another experiment to try, Chosen?: Vedalia asked innocently.
Alain spluttered, but held his tongue—not the least because he was thinking that very thing. And none of
his sibs would be around to tease him and cross-examine him about it afterwards, either.
But when they finally came out of the woods—abruptly, for the trail ended on a rocky cliff-face that
dropped steeply down to the gray-green waters the lake—any tentative plans he might have been making
vanished abruptly.
The little village that they were making for was built in a river-valley cutting through the cliff, making a
narrow and gravel-strewn perch for the Evendim longhouses he'd heard so much about, and a harbor for
the fishing boats. The boats should have been out this time of day; instead, they were pulled up on the
gravel beach, and the place was in an uproar. They must have been expected, because the moment they
came into view, someone spotted them and set up a shout.
Shortly the two Companions were surrounded by what seemed to be every ambulatory person in the
entire village. The anxiety in the air was as thick as the smoke from the fires where great racks of fish
were being smoked and preserved. Alain hung back, sensing that someone a great deal senior to him was
who was called for at this moment, but he needn't have bothered with such diffidence. It was clear that
the villagers knew the senior Herald here, and two of the more prosperous-looking men fastened
themselves to Companion Lovell's reins and began babbling a confused tale of raiders. . . .
Alain couldn't make head or tail of it, but Sted seemed to have no trouble. Then again, this was his
circuit, and he knew these people. To Alain's ears, their accent, thick enough at the best of times,
rendered excited speech incomprehensible.
Then Vedalia came to the rescue.
:Some sort of bandits or raiders have destroyed the next village up the coast,: Vedalia supplied. :The
indications are that the bandits came in by water rather than overland, which is something new, and did
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- Chapter 2
so while the men were out fishing. The men returned to find their houses burned out, their women and
children gone, and anyone older than forty or younger than four dead in the ashes.:
Alain felt the blood drain from his face. This was over and above a mere raid. This was an atrocity. And
why kill anyone they didn't take? Unless it was to prevent the survivors from telling something?
:The folk here just got warning from the men, who took their boats up and down the coast to warn
everyone else. They're afraid to go out fishing now.:
But if they didn't, it wouldn't be long before they were all starving. Without fish, there was nothing to eat
and nothing to trade to the farmers farther inland.
:Exactly so—: Vedalia shut up, as Stedrel began speaking calmly, confidently, and his manner soothed
some of the agitation. Alain paid close attention; this was a master at work.
"This happened yesterday? Is there any attempt at pursuit?" he asked.
"Half the men—but it's a big lake—" said one of the men at Lovell's reins, waving at the water.
Big lake? That was an understatement. Even from the top of the cliff it had been impossible to see the
other side, and the curve of the shore was imperceptible.
"Defenses first, then," Sted said firmly—turning attention to that without making it obvious that he felt
the captives were beyond help.
:They are. There's nothing we can do for them,: Vedalia said glumly. Alain bit his lip; his heart wanted
to launch some sort of rescue, but how? With no troops, and no ships—out on a trackless expanse of
water—
:The only way to track them might be to FarSee—neither of you have that Gift.:
So they would have to wait until a Herald with that Gift could reach them.
"I wouldn't think that this village is very defensible," Sted began, giving orders—cleverly phrased as
suggestions—to safeguard the people of this place.
:Solenbay,: Vedalia supplied.
"Have you anywhere that people can go to hide if raiders appear?" he wanted to know. "These raiders
won't know the lay of the land, they won't know where to look, and I doubt if they would linger very
long to search."
The babbling died to whispers, and anxious eyes were locked on Sted's face.
"The water-caves," suggested one girl promptly, from the back of the crowd, and blushed.
"Good. If there are any that are particularly hard to find?" Stedrel prompted.
The girl giggled nervously, and Alain had a shrewd notion that she knew the location of every water-
cave within walking distance of the village. "Reckon I know some that no one else does," she offered,
turning such a deep crimson that she looked sunburnt.
"That be why we can't find you, half nights, Savvy?" asked an older woman—not unkindly, but
knowingly.
"Perhaps if you moved all your valuables and stores there now, you'd have only yourselves to get into
hiding," Sted suggested, and got nods, some reluctant, all around. "Obviously the main thing is to save
you, but I doubt these raiders are going to appear over the horizon within the next day or two, and we
should save as much as we can from them."
"I can't see us fighting them off," said one of the other men (who seemed to be one of the village
leaders) with a defeated air. "We're fisherfolk, not fighters."
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"So save everything that you can in the caves," Sted agreed.
"The ones farthest from here?" Alain ventured. "That way the ones nearest wouldn't be crammed so full
people wouldn't fit."
"Good thought," Sted seconded. "Now, I suppose there's no reason why you couldn't spare the young
women and children with the swiftest feet and keenest sight to keep watch along the coast?"
"With a horn for each—or something to build a signal fire?" added Alain, and got another approving
glance from Sted.
"But the chores—" objected one of the men. "The cleaning, the cooking—"
But the ones who were at risk here were nodding vigorously. "No reason why we can't eat common out
of the big fish-kettle 'till this is over," pointed out one old man. "Only takes one set of hands for fish-
stew, cooking all day." "And if the choice is dirty floors and unmade beds or being carried off, dirty
floors we'll have, Matt Runyan," said another woman sharply. "As for the rest—well, we'll barrel up the
fish as it's finished smoking and move it into hiding. Let 'em have a few racks of fish, I say. Better fish
than our children."
"And when they come, find no one, and burn the place out?" the same man objected.
"They'd do that anyway!" shouted a haggard-looking fellow who Alain realized must be one of the now-
bereft fisherfolk from the village that had been destroyed. "What's more important, your things or your
people? You can rebuild housen. You tell me how to bring back your wives and kiddies!"
"I'll be sending word of this to Haven anyway," Stedrel pointed out. "As soon as I've got a moment of
quiet."
That quieted some of the agitation, as they all recalled that Stedrel was so powerful a Mindspeaker he
could send directly to Haven itself, and every receptive mind along the way. Help would not be far
off—two or three fortnights at most.
"The King will send troops, and when they get here, you'll be able to go back to life as usual. And we'll
be able to scour the coast for the missing." That last as a sop to the men from the destroyed village. They
surely knew it was an offer unlikely to bear fruit, but they looked hopeful anyway.
"Soonest begun's soonest done," one of the women said briskly. "We've only got two wagons for the
whole village. Let's get our traps moved before sunset!" Within moments, the women, young and old,
were heading purposefully towards their family longhouses, followed a little reluctantly by the men.
"Savvy!" Sted called after the girl who had confessed to knowing where most of the water-caves were.
She turned back abruptly.
"Sir?" she responded.
"Go to that longhouse over there—" Sted pointed at one where a bevy of women were already moving
bundles, barrels, and boxes out briskly to be piled beside the door. "When they're ready to take a load
out, guide them to the farthest cave you know of—"
"I'll take her up behind, pillion," Alain offered quickly. "That way we can come back for the next load
while the first is still unloading."
"Good. I want you to keep each longhouse's goods in a separate cave, that way when this is over there
won't be any quarrels over what belongs to who." Sted smiled encouragingly at her, and the girl returned
his smile shyly.
There was some objection to the choice of cave as the wagon-load set off: "We're ready first," grumbled
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