by JANRAE FRANK
"That is the past. You did the best you knew how." Josiah placed his weathered hand on Dynarien's shoulder. "If you need me, I will come. I did this to myself. Now I pay the price. It's paid willingly."
Dynarien felt overwhelmed by the strength and generosity of the mage's spirit and a welling of love for him, the kind that is felt by comrades who have gone through many battles together, trusting each other with their lives and knowing the other will not fail them. "Thank you, Josiah. I will remember."
* * * *
Yahni piled the first stack of books on the second, and had to fully extend himself to hook his chin onto the top. If he put too much pressure, the stack would buckle in the middle, sending everything flying out, and he still had to negotiate his way out of the library, across the grounds into the palace, and then around to the Guild Wing. He hoped he had not forgotten anything. Queiggy would be quick to send him back. Whatever Queiggy was researching had to be queer indeed. There were some fairly obscure items here and he had had to sign for several so that the librarians would know whose hide got tacked to the walls if they failed to come back.
"Let me help," said a soft voice as smooth hands closed on the topmost volumes.
Yahni looked into a pair of shy eyes, and his thoughts went round in a dozen directions. He tried hard to imagine what Lord Derryl would have said in this situation. Yahni had been imitating him for months, and he had memorized countless volumes of romantic verses, although he rarely used them since he had to first feel completely comfortable with a woman or have a certain mood on before he could even remember them. While his looks always attracted women, the involvements were always brief and unsatisfactory for Yahni. Although he could fake the rest and was good with his blades, he was a scholar at heart, which was why he was in records and research instead of out in the field. But he could not think for a moment and the very last thing he wanted was for Belyla to leave, much less feel hurt by anything he said or did. Belyla hesitated, releasing the books. "No," he said. "It's just, you can't enter the Wing."
"I know. But I could stand at the edge in plain view," Belyla said hopefully. "They could watch me close. See I didn't take anything."
Yahni blinked, nodded, and thought for a minute. "Okay."
They did not talk much, crossing the green, in an almost awkward silence. The night of the party it had been mostly a mood and a handful of Derryl's lines. A bit of a game he had taught himself to play; oh, he knew all the courtly arts, but they were not really part of his nature. Now here he was all unprepared, and not nearly so glib as a result. They reached the doors to the wing. The steel entry doors, which operated on a series of gigantic gears and wenches set in the basement, stood open and beyond that a desk sat, flanked by two long benches along the walls to either side.
Queiggy himself sat at the guardian desk that barred entry to the wing, although he had countless assistants to sit it for him. The querulous old chief clerk and wing master liked to man it himself in the mornings and showed up at odd hours throughout the day and night to check on those who manned it in his absence or to take over if it suited his whimsy. He never allowed himself to become predictable. He had pecan colored skin and his face was a gaunt web of folds and seams. Queiggy's hair, which hung in half-tangled disarray as if he could never get it combed through properly, was a brown barely two shades darker than his skin. Overall, he looked like a walking stick that had sprouted limbs with the currycomb's catch of discarded horse's hair on top.
"I was wondering..." Yahni began, setting a stack down and returning to take the rest from Belyla.
Queiggy watched him interestedly, but said nothing until the all of the books had landed on his desk. "If I had anything else for you to do? Be careful."
"I take it that I'm free?" Yahni asked hopefully, glancing at Belyla who smiled at him
Queiggy's expression made it clear that he did not approve at all. "Until tomorrow. Keep your eyes and ears open around that one. Understood?"
Yahni could hear the deep distrust in Queiggy's voice, and it irritated him. He refused to believe that anyone's worth should be judged by the actions of their parents – especially Belyla. "Of course."
Yahni walked quickly back to Belyla, his eyes shining. "There's this little eatery on the South Leaf..."
"I've never been to the Cloverleaf," Belyla said, her hand sliding into his.
Yahni could not conceal his astonishment, unable to imagine how anyone, especially someone their ages, had not been to the underground Cloverleaf of shops and eateries beneath the Ishladrim compound. He immediately thought of all the things he could show her and found himself wondering if maybe this time he had found someone more like himself. Someone who could appreciate him without trying to change him. The main entrance stairwell lay in the center of the Great Central Hall, once there you could reach the temple, the library, the university, and the music chamber from the underground. "You'll like it."
* * * *
Arruth crossed the green on her way to the training grounds, walking slowly, her shoulders hunched. When she reached the benches, she picked a spot as far removed from the other students as she could find, practically hiding in the shadows of a tree. She closed herself up with the contained, hyper-alertness of an injured animal. Arruth wondered how much longer she could manage even this much, just walking through the Great Central Hall and onto the training field had taken all the courage she could muster. Exhaustion settled through her – an exhaustion of the spirit manifesting in the muscles of her body.
She watched the others working out, some in small groups, others paired off, and still more simply moving through the exercises on their own. Arruth saw the armsmaster watching her and she huddled down further into herself, wishing he would leave her alone. She did not want to talk to anyone, but Yukiah would insist – he always did.
* * * *
Yukiah almost missed Arruth, for she had arrived quietly and seated herself as unobtrusively as possible. He could tell something was wrong, so he let her be for the moment. There wasn't a student he couldn't read to a fare-thee-well, and Arruth's body language required no effort to begin with. Yukiah started toward her, pausing to work with one of the thirteen year olds, a slender girl named Isen, one of the special-gifts who tended to slip into a rhythmic semi-trance state when she fought if they did not watch her. Isen's eyes followed him closely as he left her and her partner nearly knocked her down, but Isen deftly moved at the last minute and eluded the throw.
When he had gotten all the others working, Yukiah went and squatted in front of Arruth, touching her shoulder to get her attention. She winced sharply. He removed his hand. The armsmaster had never seen her react that way. It baffled and distressed him. He could be hard on his students, yet he was also intensely protective of them. Their lives would one day depend upon his training; for now he stood as guardian father to them, giving them a brief passage of safety into the dangers of adulthood – if he could. He was fifty-three years old, beginning to get a few strands of gray in his shoulder length brown hair, but still quite strong and hale – enough so that he remained a terror on the field.
"Arruth, what is wrong, child?" he asked with all the gentleness he could project into his voice. "Has someone hurt you?"
She stared at her hands, folding forward over them. "No."
"Yes, they have. I can see it. Talk to me, Arruth." He reached for her hand, the way he used to do, and hesitated, uncertain of what her reaction would be.
"No."
It made Yukiah ache to see one of his two precious Sharani rogues like this. The pair had been such a joy to work with when Talons first brought them to him last year. They had always gotten into trouble, but not in a mean or petty way. Everyone still laughed about the time Arruth had shoved the noodles into Bryndel Wrathscar's pants in the middle of the student-dining hall. And there was the time he had had to rescue both girls from off the roofs after their climbing ropes got tangled, trapping Jysy and Arruth on one of the spires onto which they had ad
ventured as a lark.
He observed the way she stared at her intertwined fingers. Whatever was wrong had to be bad. "Arruth, I want to help you."
"No one can help me. I broke the rules. I'm in trouble." She turned her head away, her tone listless.
"Everyone breaks the rules at least once. I'm very good at getting people out of trouble. Who did you kill?"
Arruth blinked. "Not that rule."
"What rule then?"
Arruth started to speak and stopped. She stared, with widening eyes, behind Yukiah. He followed her gaze.
"Lord Wrathscar wants to see the girl." A pair of soldiers rounded the grounds, coming swiftly toward them.
Arruth shrank back, her eyes reflecting a gathering panic.
If Wrathscar's hand is in this, Yukiah decided, I'll find out and put a stop to it. Fast. Yukiah straightened, stepping between the girl and the two soldiers who had come for her. "Lord Wrathscar has no business with one of my students."
"The Grand Master will not be happy that you interfered with Lord Wrathscar's wishes."
"I'll hear that from the Grand Master himself. Wrathscar does not speak for the Guild. The child is Guild."
"Are you refusing to give us the child?"
Yukiah ran his thumb along the burn scar on his neck as he always did when something bothered him, and the massive ruby ring on his middle finger flashed in the sunlight like an angry red eye. "I am."
The soldier reached for his sword. Yukiah's hand snapped back from thumbing the scar, closed into a fist, and caught the man in the face decking him. The other two soldiers rushed Yukiah who gave them a small smile and let them come. The armsmaster spun suddenly into a solid roundhouse kick. Several students and teachers had quietly gathered as they spoke and a brawl ensued between Guild and non-Guild.
* * * *
Yahni and his friend, Jajinga, a part-Fae Guildsmon finished their match at the farthest edge of the field, which abutted on the Stalking Grounds. Jajinga was dark brown to the edge of black, like his human sire, and had his half-Fae mother's silver eyes. He extended his hands for the work out blades. "I'll put them away. I'm certain you've no wish to keep your ladies waiting." Jajinga gave him a small smile and a wink, tucking both blades under his arm in their sheaths as they headed for the nearby benches where Belyla and Terrys waited.
Ceejorn Osterbridge sat with them. He was the quietest of the three young myn, a follower, not a leader. Yahni led and the others followed; that was the nature of their friendship. They were all three clerks in records and none of them were the bold adventurers that populated the other branches of the Guild, but Yahni came closest to it. That came of being a lord's son who had been born and bred to the sword and court.
So far as Osterbridge was concerned, Yahni was god. Yahni had taken him under his wing the way an older student would and befriended him, although they were the same age. Yahni had helped Osterbridge study – both of them then just boys – had taught him to research and tutored him in blades, passing on what he learned from his armsmasters and private tutors provided by his family in edition to his Guild training. Jajinga came in a close second to Yahni in Osterbridge's opinion and the three were very close, eventually adding Terrys as another buddy. However, they had also subjected Yahni to endless rounds of smug, friendly harassment when they discovered Yahni had gotten laid by Terrys the first time. Terrys had eventually tasted all of the three myn's wares before deciding that she would rather just be friends with them all.
Yahni took his shirt off, used it to mop his sweating face, and tossed it onto the bench beside Belyla. Belyla and Terrys sat looking up at his fine unblemished body. They had come there to watch him training as he did each afternoon with his two friends.
Voices raised in anger caused the young myn to pause and stare at the far end of the field.
"I wonder what that is all about?" Yahni asked, watching the fight. He drew Belyla to her feet, slipping a protective arm around her shoulders. "You should leave while no one is looking. It appears that your father's soldiers started this one."
"They always do," Jajinga said.
"Think we ought to have a look?" Osterbridge asked.
Belyla must have sensed Yahni's decision to investigate the fighting, because she caught hold of him, clutching desperately to his waist. "Don't go. I'm afraid for you."
Yahni grinned, saying impulsively, "I love you, Belyla." He held her tightly then, kissing her deeply and felt the way she pressed her sweet body into his in response.
Jajinga stepped close to Terrys, giving the young pair privacy by turning his back on them. Osterbridge grinned and looked the other way. Each time Yahni became involved with a woman, his friends always hoped that she would be the one to catch him.
"Make love to me," Belyla whispered in Yahni's ear and he realized she was offering herself to lure him away from the strife to safety.
Jajinga's keen hearing picked that up and he pulled at his pointed ear with a bemused lift of his eyebrows at Terrys and Osterbridge. Terrys shrugged, smiling and accepted his hand up so that they could move further from Yahni and Belyla.
"Belyla ... there are things a man must do," Yahni replied stubbornly. He ran his fingers through his hair as he frequently did when he was trying to get something clear in his mind.
"Please!" She worked her leg along his crotch and he knew then that he was lost.
"Quickly!" Terrys said. "Belyla, I see your father."
"Yes." Yahni said, feeling Belyla's hand tremble. He wondered at both her terror of her father and her desire to offer herself to protect him. He would have to think about it. While he would leave with her, he would not ask her to make good on this exchange.
"Come on," Jajinga said, taking Terrys' arm and heading into the Stalking Grounds where they would not been seen. "Your lady doesn't need this, Yahni."
Yahni and Belyla followed them with Osterbridge trailing protectively.
* * * *
Arruth fled when the fighting broke out, glancing frequently over her shoulder. She ran across the quad heedlessly, wanting only to be away from it all. Twice she nearly stumbled into the manicured bushes before reaching the library steps. Her breathing was labored, more from stress and fear than exertion, and she paused looking up at the doors to the library. The great, white stone building with its spring coat of ivy thickly covering the walls beckoned. It was one of the few places she felt safe, other than her rooms or Talons' suite. Arruth sucked in a breath to fortify her, to help still her racing heart and put her foot on the lowest step.
"Hello, little slut."
Arruth stopped dead still in her tracks, her body tensing like whipcord, ready to run again. The one mon she most dreaded stepped in front of her and she quailed: Lord Wrathscar. Although Wrathscar was barely as tall as she was, the maturity of his presence and his heavier body dwarfed her, making her feel every bit her age. She shrank and dwindled in his presence, losing all sense of herself. He grasped her wrist, twisting it painfully. He had several of his guardsmyn about him. She could not move for the merest instant it took his guardsmyn to surround her.
They threw a robe and a veiling headdress over her, and propelled her along with firm hands on her arms. Wrathscar's carriage waited near the gates of Ishladrim Castle. He shoved Arruth in and, with his myn riding before and behind, they rolled out into Havensword heading for the principal mansion he maintained in addition to his rooms in the palace. Wrathscar had spent many years acquiring properties in Havensword: warehouses, shops, and small industries – usually through proxies set up with care. Several of the noble houses maintained dual residences in the form of a house in the city and apartments in Ishladrim palace – and some like Derryl Tormuth had well guarded hunting lodges within a three days' riding.
* * * *
"Where's Arruth?" Yukiah asked as a group of priests broke up the fighting.
Mikkal brought matters firmly under control, parting the combatants, and taking down the names of those who had participated.
>
Yukiah separated the Guild students from the non-Guild students in a curt, expeditious manner, signing them over to one side. "Where's Arruth? Did anyone see her?"
"She ran off," said one.
"I saw her going in the direction of the library," Isen said, touching Yukiah's arm to get his attention. "Arruth hides in the library sometimes."
Yukiah looked down into Isen's large dark eyes with flecks of gold around the edges. The girl's eyes reminded him of swans in a way he could not exactly describe, triggering images in his mind. She made him reach for another face in his memories, but even there the armsmaster was stymied. He knew very little about her, despite the fact that she came from the same large village as he had. The church had sponsored her to the Guild and school because of her gifts, while giving out no facts about her family. So Yukiah had assumed she was either an orphan or born on the wrong side of the blankets.
"I'll take the library," Yukiah told them, earning himself a small smile from Isen. "But, I want her found. I think she's in trouble. That's what started this. Wrathscar's soldiers came for her. You, you, you," he pointed at them as he told them off into little groups. "Check her rooms, the heir's apartments. Someone find her sister. The rest of you spread out across the grounds. Stay in groups of at least three. Four of you come with me. We're going to the library."
They searched until dark and found no sign of Arruth. Finally the students began to trickle back to the dorms, and found Yukiah waiting for them in the common room. As he took their reports he grew increasingly uneasy. He knew Wrathscar's tastes and habits, being a cautious mon who studied what he hated or sensed a potential threat in. Wrathscar, to Yukiah's knowledge, had never taken a Guild student before, but there was always a first time. Tomorrow he intended to go to the Grand Master.
* * * *
Bryndel moved away from his window at the knock on his door, he had been watching the students still making a few hopeless searches of the quad and training grounds for Arruth as the day lengthened toward night and his stomach clenched tighter and tighter. He would pull himself away, only to return. He knew what had happened even if he would not quite let himself say it.