“Might be better for all of us if he were dead,” Bryer Avylyn said gloomily. “He’s going to be very angry when he wakes up.”
Sariana glared at the striking scion of the Avylyn Clan. “Don’t be ridiculous. What happened was an accident. I’m sure this Shield person, or whatever it is you call him, will
understand that when we explain what happened. How could we know that your Aunt Perla’s recipe for a mild hypnotic drug would have this reaction on him? It should have done nothing more than put him into a light trance. It was supposed to make him friendly and amenable. It wasn’t supposed to make him pass out.”
Bryer lifted his head to meet Sariana’s eyes. A lock of his brilliantly blond hair fell across his brow. Sariana knew that the charmingly sexy style in which Bryer’s hair arranged itself had been precisely calculated by a very fashionable hairdresser. The style highlighted Bryer’s dark eyes, making the contrast to his gilded hair that much stronger.
“Sariana, you don’t understand,” Bryer informed her with deep foreboding. “Shields are not known for their understanding and patience. You don’t seem to grasp the fact that this man is potentially very dangerous. He was raised on the frontier. He makes his living fighting the border bandits. He is not going to take kindly to what we have done. I’m telling you we should never have tried this trick. We should never have listened to you in the first place.”
Bryer’s mother, who was sitting at the other end of the glistening black stone table spoke firmly. “That’s enough, Bryer. This was a family decision. We all agreed with Sariana that getting a Shield to help us was our only chance.”
Indina Avylyn glanced at her husband who sat at the opposite end of the semicircular table. “Isn’t that right, Jasso? You yourself said it. We’re all in this together. We had no choice. We must go through with this wild plan for the sake of the Clan of Avylyn.”
Sariana couldn’t help but admire the stirring quality Lady Avylyn had infused into those last words. Lady Avylyn had descended from a clan of dramatists. Even though she had married into a jewelsmith clan, she had never quite abandoned her origins.
Lord Jasso Avylyn shook his graying blond head uncertainly as he stared down at the man sprawled on the floor. “I fear we have no choice now but to go forward with Sariana’s plan. We can only hope this Shield doesn’t wake up in such a towering rage that he decides to kill us all before he even listens to our proposal.”
“Father, he wouldn’t do that!” Mara, the Avylyns’ only daughter, sprang to her feet in an impassioned movement. She had inherited some of her mother’s talent. The skirts of her long, deep blue gown swirled around her delicate high-heeled slippers. Her chest, a great deal of which was exposed by the elegant gown, heaved dramatically. The motion of her chest caused the beautiful jeweled collar around her neck to shimmer. “I spoke to him last night, remember? I had a chance to talk to him in the tavern before I put Aunt Perla’s medicine into his ale. Admittedly he was somewhat drunk, but he certainly didn’t seem violently inclined.”
Bryer gave his sister a disgusted look. “Of course he didn’t seem violently inclined. He was trying to seduce you. And you were enjoying playing the role of loose woman, weren’t you? I’ll wager the only thing you talked about with him was sex. The last thing he was likely to do was show you his violent side when he was trying to talk you into bed. But he’s a Shield, Mara, never forget that. You have heard the legends about Shields. Violence is bred in their bones.”
“So is honor!” Mara was incensed. She whirled to confront her brother, her dark eyes flashing. “By the blood of the Ship’s Captain, Bryer Avylyn, don’t you dare call me names. I was playing the role I was assigned to play. No more, no less. This was all Sariana’s idea, remember? She’s the one who suggested I portray a tavern wench looking for a good time.”
“Children, please,” Jasso said anxiously. “This is no time to quarrel. Our goal is to regain the prisma cutter from the hands of those thieving Nosorians. We’ve gone too far to back out now.”
“But, Father ...”
Sariana decided to intervene before the situation got completely out of hand. A family quarrel was in the making and she had neither the time nor the patience to weather one tonight. All of the blond, handsome Avylyns had strong tendencies toward melodrama. In that respect they were typical of most of the inhabitants of the western provinces. Give any one of them a convenient stage, Sariana had learned, and one could expect an outrageous display of dramatic fireworks. Not to mention a lot of noise.
Sometimes the noise of the Avylyn Clan was too much for her. Sariana had been brought up in a far more civilized household. But the elegant, sophisticated, well-managed home of the Dayne Clan lay halfway around the planet of Windarra on the eastern continent. A year earlier Sariana had made the wrenching decision to leave her clan and journey across the seas to the wilds of the western continent. There was not only an ocean between her parents’ home in Rendezvous and her new home in the town of Serendipity; there was also a gaping abyss in terms of lifestyle. Sariana was still working on the problem of culture shock.
The artisans, craftsmen, designers and gemologists of the Avylyn Clan were technically Sariana’s clients. Officially she was their business manager. Although she was only a couple years older than Mara, there were times when Sariana felt more like a nanny than a business manager.
She coughed gently and tapped the table with the heel of the small fan she carried. The fan was a western affectation she had somehow acquired. It had its uses.
“If I may have your attention, please.” Sternly she regarded each member of the Avylyn Clan present at the midnight meeting.
The need for secrecy had led Lord Jasso, the patriarch, to ordain that only the oldest and most immediate members of the Prime Family be present tonight. Even Luri, the youngest son, was not here. Needless to say, no one beyond the Prime Family had been notified of either the loss of the valuable prisma cutter or the plan for recovering it. Aunts, uncles, distant cousins and other assorted Avylyns were being kept in blissful ignorance, as were all business rivals. The responsibility for protecting the cutter was, after all, the task of the Prime Family of the Clan. Now that it had been stolen, Jasso’s duty was clear. He had to get it back, even if it meant dealing with a dangerous Shield.
In practical terms that meant Sariana had to find a way to retrieve the cutter. A business manager’s lot was often a difficult one.
“We are committed now,” Sariana said coolly. “There is no turning back. Granted, the fact that the drug didn’t work as it was supposed to has made things slightly more difficult, but we can adapt to the situation.”
“It’s because they’re different,” Lady Avylyn said with a sigh.
Sariana glanced at her, impatient with the interruption. “I beg your pardon, Lady Avylyn? What are different?”
“Shields. The members of the Shield clans are different,” Lady Avylyn explained gravely. “That difference is more than just a matter of customs and dress and manners. It goes all the way to the bone.”
Sariana blinked in astonishment. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Lady Avylyn.”
It was Lord Avylyn who tried hurriedly to explain. “It’s part of the legend, you know. Shields are—well, not quite like the rest of us. It’s difficult for you to understand because you don’t have any equivalent to the Shield class in the eastern provinces. Here the Shields occupy a special niche in society. They are living legends.”
Sariana glanced at the man on the floor with a mildly derisive expression. “That’s a living legend? He looks more like a frontier bandit who wandered into town and got drunk.”
Lady Avylyn was horrified. “Don’t ever call him a bandit, Sariana. Shields are very proud. They spend their time getting rid of bandits. You should hear some of the tales of frontier battles.”
“No offense,” Sariana said briskly, “but in my opinion, you weste
rners give entirely too much credence to your legends and tales.”
“Just because you easterners have forgotten all your First Generation tales doesn’t mean we have ignored our own history,” Mara exclaimed.
Sariana was annoyed. “The fact that we easterners didn’t bother to immortalize our history in a lot of silly ballads and plays doesn’t mean we have forgotten that history.” She resented the implication that the descendants of the colony ship The Rendezvous had not protected their history as well as the descendants of The Serendipity had.
“The descendants of the First Generation colonists from The Rendezvous,” she continued, “may have lost most of their technology and some of their records in the struggle to survive on Windarra just as your people did, but we didn’t invent a lot of wild tales to fill in the gaps. This is not, however, the time to be arguing over which group of colonists kept the best track of their history.”
“That much is true,” Lady Avylyn said and then dramatically lowered her voice. “But whether or not you choose to believe our legends, Sariana, please be careful when dealing with them. Especially this particular legend.” She indicated the man on the floor. “There aren’t many Shields. Never were. Their birthrate is very low and the offspring are always male which sometimes makes for some, uh, difficulties . . .”
“I don’t see why,” Sariana said with a frown. “Oh, you mean there aren’t any women in their social class except those who marry into it?”
“Their marriage customs are rather odd,” Lady Avylyn began awkwardly. “You see, they—” She stopped as the other members of the family stared at her. She cleared her throat and waved her fan in a gesture of impatient dismissal. “Never mind,” she went on hurriedly. “It’s rather complicated. Just take our word for it. Shields can be difficult. The last thing one wishes to do is antagonize them.”
“Shouldn’t you have mentioned that fact when you first told me a Shield might be able to help us get back the prisma cutter?” Sariana retorted.
“We did tell you that Shields are different,” Jasso reminded her. He sounded resentful and with good reason. When the plan to engage a Shield had first been proposed, Sariana hadn’t paid much attention to warnings of potential difficulties. “We explained they walk their own paths and tend to stay on the outskirts of society. They live on the frontiers for the most part. One doesn’t run into one in town very often. Fortunately.”
Bryer looked speculatively at the man on the floor. “But occasionally one finds a Shield useful.”
“Useful as a mercenary,” Sariana clarified dryly. “Let’s all stop snapping at each other. For better or worse, we’ve got our Shield and we managed not to kill him in the process. Barely. We must go forward from here. Our first priority is getting back that prisma cutter, and from everything you have told me, hiring a Shield is our best bet.”
“I’m not sure he’s going to consider this a valid employment contract,” Jasso said skeptically. “I wonder why he passed out from that tiny drop of hypnotic drug Mara gave him?”
“Because Shields are different,” Lady Avylyn said firmly. “I told you that.”
Sariana was amused more than alarmed by the Avylyns’ conviction that the man on the floor was somehow fundamentally different from other people.
Sariana eyed her captive. He certainly dressed differently than the members of most of the other social classes she had encountered in Serendipity. The truth was, she found his strictly styled, close fitting dark trousers and unadorned long-sleeved shirt something of a relief from all the showy fashions that were popular in the capital city of the western provinces.
He had on a severely cut waist-length jacket instead of the more popular flowing cape, and his boots and belt were made of untooled leather. There was nothing outrageous or ornate about his attire. No gems set in the heels of his boots or tracings of silver on the collar and cuffs of his shirt.
And no codpiece, Sariana noted with a flash of humor. She found that fact oddly reassuring.
The only item of the Shield’s apparel that could be called decorative was the black leather pouch he wore attached to his belt. The pouch itself was made of the practically indestructible hide of the legendary snake cat. Sariana had never actually seen a snake cat, but Luri, the Avylyns’ youngest, had regaled her with hair raising tales of the beasts. Apparently they favored swamplands and could swallow a man in one gulp.
Sariana had no idea how accurate such tales were, but on the whole she was happy to forego the experience of encountering a live specimen. She wondered if the man on the floor had actually hunted for the leather to be used in his pouch or if he’d bought lt.
It was the clasp on the leather pouch that constituted the man’s one item of adornment. But that single item was a major exception. The pouch was sealed and locked with an intricate mechanism fashioned from pure prisma.
Sariana had learned enough about the jewelry business from the Avylyns to recognize the strange silvery crystal when she saw it. She had also learned something of its value. The clasp on the pouch was worth a fortune. Prisma was the rarest and most expensive of all jewels. The man sprawled on the floor did not look as if he could afford such an expensive closure for his pouch. Perhaps he’d stolen it.
“My apologies if I offend the Clan,” Sariana said firmly, “but to be honest, the man does not appear to be all that dangerous. That’s the problem when one puts too much credence in First Generation myths and legends. One forgets to deal in facts. I see no reason why we can’t continue with our plan just as soon as he wakes up.”
Lord Avylyn was troubled. “Do you really think you can deal with him, Sariana? How are we going to explain what happened in the tavern?”
“Don’t worry,” she assured him confidently. I’ll do the talking.” She glanced again at the black leather kit attached to the Shield’s belt. Something made her very curious about it. On impulse she rose to her feet and strode briskly around the table to where the man lay motionless.
“Sariana!” Lady Avylyn gasped. “What are you doing? Don’t touch that.”
“Nonsense. It might be useful to know what the Shield considers valuable enough to decorate with prisma.” Sariana knelt down beside the man and examined the leather strap that held the pouch to the belt. She put out her hand to undo the fastening and then paused uncertainly. Behind her she could practically hear the others holding their collective breath.
Up close like this, the Shield appeared larger and infinitely more solid than he had looked from across the room. A man lying sprawled on his back fooled the eye slightly and looked smaller than he actually was. But now that she was kneeling beside him, Sariana got a whole new perspective. She began to sense why the Avylyns were so wary of the Shield they had captured.
There was a smooth, well-muscled strength in his shoulders and the lines of his thighs were sleek and powerful. He was lean and tough looking, and the arrogant set of his features—even when unconscious—only served to emphasize his other hard qualities.
Sariana realized she was forgetting to breathe. She found herself inexplicably and acutely aware of the man in a way she couldn’t explain. She was suddenly, intensely interested in him. No, it was beyond that. She realized that for some reason she was fascinated by him. If she had any faith in western tales of goblins and fairies, she might have believed she was under a small spell. But that was a crazy notion.
Her fingers hovered above the fastening that held the leather pouch to the Shield’s belt, but she didn’t quite touch the object. Instead she found herself examining the man’s face more closely.
His hair was black, as dark as a midnight sky. He wore it much shorter than the fashionable men in town. Sariana’s gaze moved quickly over his closed eyes. She speculated briefly about their color and decided they would probably be dark. Dark eyes were common on the western continent. Then her gaze went to his sharp nose, took in the well etched but grim shape o
f his mouth and went on to the hard lines of his jaw.
The Shield could not be deemed handsome, but Sariana knew with a sense of shock that this man would never need to trade on his looks. It was clear to her that he would make his way in the world on his own terms, even though he moved on the fringes of respectable society.
A tiny shiver went through Sariana as she crouched, gazing down at the man on the floor. She realized that she had been staring at him much too long. She had to break the strange sense of enthrallment.
Angry at the effect the unconscious Shield had had on her, she quickly jerked open the leather catch that held the pouch to the belt.
Lady Avylyn took a deep, shaky breath and Mara gave a soft cry as Sariana lifted the pouch free. Jasso and Bryer just groaned.
In that instant the Shield lifted his dark lashes without any warning and Sariana had the answer to her earlier question about the shade of his eyes. They were an unfamiliar blue-green. She had never seen eyes quite that color before in her life. They locked immediately on her face. Sariana was gripped by the unnerving conviction that she suddenly knew far too much about him.
He could be dangerous.
An implacable enemy.
He would be a fiercely possessive lover.
Sariana felt the breath catch in her throat at that last, unbidden thought. For a few shocking seconds she questioned the fundamental intelligence behind the plan she had initiated and talked the Avylyns into accepting. She wondered if she had just made the biggest mistake of her short career as a business manager.
But as she had told her clients, there was no turning back.
Gryph Chassyn focused painfully on the woman standing above him, the one who had had the breathtaking arrogance to actually separate him from his weapon kit. No sane westerner would have risked such an act, unless the fool was looking to get his or her throat slit.
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