The Way of the Shield

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  Ressin leaped in with his own sword, but before Jerinne could even react, Tharek effortlessly knocked the blade out of the way and ran the man through.

  “Ressin!” Jerinne slammed her shield into Tharek, attempting to pin him to the wall.

  “Now for Seabrook,” Tharek said.

  “Not while I live,” Jerinne returned.

  “As you wish.”

  Tharek’s foot smashed down on Jerinne’s knee, snapping the leg. Jerinne screamed in pain as she collapsed, despite herself. Before she hit the ground, Tharek’s foot connected with her skull, sending her into the opposite wall in a dazed heap.

  “You were told to run,” Tharek said.

  Jerinne struggled to keep her eyes open, keep her thoughts focused on the room, on Tharek, on Seabrook. Seabrook had his own sword out. “I fought Poasians at Hantal Bay, vandal.”

  “And so you judge me?” Tharek said. He knocked Seabrook’s blade away. “A soft man like you.”

  Jerinne’s leg was on fire, hanging at an unnatural angle, but she forced herself back up on her good foot, removing the shield from her arm. Using her sword to balance herself, she threw the shield as hard as she could at Tharek.

  It smashed into Tharek’s head.

  Tharek turned back to Jerinne.

  “With shield on arm and sword in hand!” Jerinne shouted, raising her blade up. “I will not yield but hold and stand!”

  “You’re a credit to your Order,” Tharek growled.

  Jerinne pushed herself forward, one agonizing step closer. “As I draw breath, I’ll allow no harm!” Keep Tharek’s attention. Give Seabrook a chance to run.

  Tharek smirked, and without even looking he struck backward, sending his blade through Seabrook’s heart.

  “Hold back that, Tarian whelp.”

  Jerinne struck ineffectually at Tharek, who was so unconcerned he knocked the blade away with his bare hand. He pulled his bloody blade out of Seabrook’s chest.

  Jerinne’s heart pounded, terrified, knowing she had seconds to live. She could barely stay standing another moment. But she wasn’t going to show Tharek that. She’d lost her charge, lost the fight, but she would hold that small bit of honor.

  Tharek didn’t take the killing blow.

  Instead, as racing footsteps came down the hallway, Tharek got on his knees and put his hands behind his head.

  The last thing Jerinne heard before she lost consciousness was the last thing she expected Tharek to say.

  “I surrender.”

  Chapter 22

  DAYNE EXPECTED ANCIENT INTRIGUE. He expected cobwebs, dust. He expected an entrance involving twisting a candle sconce or pushing a sequence of tiles in the fireplace. Instead the priest led him down the steps to an ordinary door, which revealed a clean hallway, lit with rows of candles.

  The disappointment froze him in his place for several seconds.

  “Wasn’t it pressing, Tarian?” the old priest asked.

  “Yes, thank you, reverend,” Dayne said. With a quick benediction on his head and heart, he left the priest and went down the hallway. He didn’t run this time, but he did move with urgency. He was amazed to find Maresh still at his side.

  “This is going to be dangerous, Maresh.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s the story.”

  Dayne stopped. “I don’t know what is going to happen, and I’m responsible for your safety.”

  “No, you aren’t,” Maresh said. “Yes, you’re a Tarian, sworn to defend. And I’m . . . terrified. But I’m not yours. I’m my own man.”

  “At least stay behind me,” Dayne said.

  “Where are we going, exactly?”

  “We’re going through the marshals’ headquarters to reach the Parliament.”

  “And what are the marshals going to think of that?”

  “Identify yourselves!”

  Two figures were ahead, marshals by their uniforms, if that could be trusted.

  Dayne put his hands up. “I’m a Tarian.”

  The two marshals came closer. One squinted at Dayne. “Yeah, you are. I know you.”

  “Is he the one?” the other one asked.

  “Yeah, that’s him all right. Who’s your friend?”

  Maresh held his head high. “Maresh Niol, Veracity Press.”

  “Oh, Veracity Press,” the first marshal mocked. “I keep that in the water closet.”

  “Real useful there,” the other said.

  “You have an intruder in the Parliament,” Dayne said. “We need to—”

  “I know we have an intruder,” the first marshal said. He drew his crossbow and leveled it at Dayne’s chest. “So how are you going to come?”

  “We’re here to help.”

  “You’re trespassing in marshal headquarters. That’s a Royal offense, Tarian.”

  The other followed suit with his crossbow. “So choose how you’re coming. You’ve embarrassed my fellows, and I’m itching to put you in your place.”

  Dayne put up his hands.

  * * *

  Lannic’s cell in the marshals’ root-cellar facility was unassuming enough. It could even be considered humane, which surprised him. He wasn’t locked off in some lightless hole, chained to the wall. The cells were iron cages, lined up next to each other in a wide chamber. It was airy and well lit. Lannic had certainly slept in worse places.

  There was something pleasing, even proper, about being imprisoned in the very same cells where political prisoners of corrupt regimes had languished. Even Haltom himself had been down here. Possibly in this very spot, when he organized the Yenley Rebellion.

  Perhaps Lannic would have a similar impact.

  His friends had been with him at first, but most of them had been taken elsewhere, probably for quick sham trials, and then shipped off to Quarrygate. Lannic suspected that his fate wouldn’t be as simple. He would be the center of his own circus.

  Several marshals came in, the first ones carrying injured people. One of them was in marshal uniform, the other was a Tarian.

  No, it was that Tarian child who taunted him in the museum. Someone had given the girl a proper thrashing. Her leg was broken, and the child was no longer mocking her betters. They dropped the two injured people in one cage and left them alone. Lannic wondered how these two had earned such disdain from the marshals to be left there, their injuries untended. Of course, these were the marshals; it wouldn’t take much for them to ignore the needs of their fellow man.

  Then they led in Tharek, in chains. Tharek’s head was proud, even smug, as they took him to another cage across the chamber from Lannic.

  “Tharek!” Lannic cried out. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Tharek said. “It’s good to see you.”

  They locked Tharek in his cell and backed off from him. All the marshals looked as if they were expecting a bobcat to jump out of Tharek’s mouth.

  Tharek stood peacefully in the middle of his cell until they left.

  “What’s happening, Tharek?” Lannic asked. “Are we lost?”

  “Not at all,” Tharek said. “Right now . . .”

  The door opened again, and two more people were led in. A small man in spectacles and another Tarian.

  That Tarian.

  He locked eyes with Tharek, whose face was unreadable. They were about to put him in his own cell, but when the Tarian saw his young friend on the ground, he rushed into that cell.

  “Jerinne, what—”

  The girl mumbled something, far too faint for Lannic to hear. While the Tarian attended to the girl, the spectacled man looked at the injured marshal. He tried to hide it, but there was a spark of recognition on his face. The marshals locked them in that cell and left.

  “You did this, Tharek?” the Tarian asked.

  “The girl fought decently, a credit to your
Order,” Tharek said. “Allowing for the fact that she is merely an Initiate, she was not a complete dissatisfaction as an opponent.” Tharek chuckled. “Of course, how rude of me. I didn’t know we were using familiar names. It is Dayne, yes? Second-year Candidate?”

  “You killed Seabrook?” Dayne asked.

  “It was most fortunate. He was practically handed to me.”

  Dayne grabbed at the bars of his cell, as if he wanted to rip them open and pummel Tharek with them. “Parlin, Yessinwood, Seabrook. Why?”

  Lannic was surprised by that. “You’ve killed three members of Parliament?”

  “I did what was needed,” Tharek said. “As I will continue to do.”

  The girl started screaming. Lannic had to feel for her, as she must be in agony. Even she didn’t deserve to suffer on the floor of some cell.

  “Do something for her, Tarian,” Lannic commanded.

  Dayne glared at Lannic, but he knelt back down next to the girl just the same. He examined the girl’s leg quickly. “Maresh, I’ll need you.”

  The spectacled man came closer. “What do you need?”

  “We’re going to set her leg. Fortunately, it seems to be a clean break.”

  “Of course it is,” Tharek said.

  “Dayne, Dayne,” the girl said, reaching up and grabbing Dayne’s tunic. “Just get me on my feet. I can keep fighting.”

  The girl was clearly delirious with pain.

  “I’ll hold her down, and you put her leg back in place.”

  “Dayne, I’ve never done anything like that,” Maresh argued.

  The Tarian touched his shoulder. “Then today’s your first. You have a good eye. I believe in you.”

  While the two men got in position over the girl, Lannic’s heart went out to them. It was a shame that they were enemies, because the Tarian was a decent soul. He cared about his people. Lannic imagined under different circumstances, they might have argued as friends.

  “This is going to hurt a lot, Jerinne,” Dayne said.

  “Fine, fine,” the girl said. “Talk to me. Tell me about the bridge.”

  “Of course. Do you know about the mine carts in the Briyonic Mountains? They ride on tracks, loaded with ore, from the mountain towns down to the cities at the base. Every cart has a brakeman to keep it from going too fast. Do you understand?”

  The girl nodded. Lannic noted that Tharek was paying this story some mind as well.

  “Good, now imagine that there is a cart coming down the track, but the brakeman has become too ill to operate it. It’s out of control and coming to a bridge, where a family is crossing on a mulecart. Mother, father, and three children. They’re right on the track, middle of the bridge, and there’s nowhere they can go. That ore cart will smash into them and kill them.”

  “I’m ready, Dayne,” Maresh whispered.

  Dayne nodded. “You’re at a safety switch. Turn the switch and the ore cart goes on another track into a crash wall. The family will be safe. But the brakeman will be killed. So, Tarian Initiate, what do you do?”

  He gave a nod to Maresh, who pulled the girl’s leg. The scream was unbearable. Lannic had never heard anything like it. And then it stopped. The girl was out cold. Dayne took the girl’s coat off and used it to splint the leg.

  Lannic’s mind was on the bridge. It seemed clear to him, the switch must be pulled. The family were the common people. Pulling the switch was a sacrifice, but a necessary one. The good of the people was paramount.

  “I will tell you how a Spathian would answer,” Tharek said. “You do nothing. The brakeman is soft and the family is soft, and if none of them can save themselves, they deserve their fate.”

  “They deserve it?” Dayne asked.

  “I’m sure you have a better answer, Tarian.”

  Dayne was too worked up to respond to that. “Did the people you murdered deserve it? The ones you maimed? The ones caught in the riot outside?”

  “There’s a riot?” Lannic wasn’t sure if he was excited or afraid. Many things had happened since his incarceration, but if innocent people—people who might be part of the cause—had been hurt, that was the last thing he wanted. The Parliamentarians, though, they deserved it, every one of them, for failing the people. Even if the ones Tharek had chosen were certainly . . . odd choices.

  “It’s fine, it’s part of the plan,” Tharek said. “We will burn out the corruption. We will show them that the soft cannot make choices for the strong!”

  A flash of understanding crossed Dayne’s face, but before he spoke his thoughts, the door to the holding chamber opened, and someone clapped slowly as he entered. “Well said. So well said. Like a true believer.”

  It was the Chief.

  * * *

  Dayne didn’t recognize the marshal who came in at first, until Lannic spoke.

  “Chief!” Lannic came over to the bars of his cell. “What are you . . . how?”

  Then the face was clear. Marshal Chief Regine Toscan. The same man in charge of security at the museum. He would have arrested Dayne that day. He gave only the barest of glances into Dayne’s cell, not even noting Jerinne, Maresh, or even Hemmit. How and why Hemmit was there, unconscious in a marshal’s uniform, was the least of Dayne’s concerns at the moment.

  “The Tarian,” Toscan said. “This is a pleasant surprise. A loose end that shows up to resolve itself.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Dayne asked. Was Toscan involved with these Patriots?

  “He’s the Chief?” Tharek asked.

  “You really didn’t know, Mister Pell? Oh, that is rich. I should say, though, well done on your part. At this time yesterday I wasn’t sure if my grand scheme was going to work, but then you left a sign at the drop spot, like a gift from the saints. You followed orders blindly and did a wonderful job. Even surrendering down here, just as ordered. Perfect.”

  That confirmed it. Dayne had questions, but Tharek did as well.

  “What?” Tharek shouted.

  “Now, mind you, I wasn’t pleased with the deaths of Yessinwood and Seabrook, but I can make that work. Actually, they might help things work just fine. I can make it work.”

  “Make what work?” Tharek asked.

  “You planned this?” Dayne asked. “Why?”

  “I’ve won. Does the why really matter?”

  “The why always matters,” Maresh said. “The truth always matters.”

  “Well said,” Lannic returned.

  “Shut it.” Maresh wasn’t going to take compliments from Lannic, it seemed.

  Toscan burst out laughing. “The truth. This is fabulous. You’re all such idealists. Which made you perfect. Even you, Tarian, in a strange way. Why else would you even be here, unless you thought you could make a difference?”

  Dayne didn’t have a response. Toscan was right about that: being in this cell, and all the mistakes that were going to get him cashiered from the Order, came from thinking he was the only one who could make a difference. Again he had failed the Question of the Gate. Again he had fallen prey to his own pride.

  “He has made a difference,” Jerinne said groggily. Dayne didn’t know how long she’d been awake. “Was this really your master plan?”

  “This, exactly?” Toscan mused. “Honestly, no. But it works for me. Because right now, between my men and Constabulary, the riot is being quelled, so the immediate problem is solved. And I’ve more or less eliminated or arrested a huge swath of subversives and radicals. I will be praised. I will be promoted. The Parliament and the Crown will thank me for it. And since so much damage was caused by the atrocities of a failed Spathian and the ineptitude of a rogue Tarian, both your antiquated Orders will fall into further disgrace. The lingering funds and attention which give your Orders their final wheezing breaths will be cut off, and the King’s Marshals will be able to do their jobs without distraction!�
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  The speech had started lightly, even amused, but when he finished he was nearly in a red-faced rage. It was clear this monologue had been stewing in him for some time, now finally released.

  “So that’s why,” Dayne said. Jerinne had drifted back out while Toscan had ranted.

  “Indeed.” Toscan reclaimed his composure. “And now, the only people who can name me as the one pulling the strings are here in this room. I could concoct an elaborate story, but I think I can simply kill you all and claim you did it to each other.”

  “Chief,” Lannic pleaded, grabbing onto the bars of his cage. “I don’t understand. You’re the one who pushed me to lead our movement to action.”

  “Of course I did,” Toscan said, approaching Lannic’s cage. “On your own, you might have fermented into a legitimate movement. You might have caused real trouble then. Now you’re all felons and fools. Completely impotent.”

  The Chief drew a knife from his belt and shoved it into Lannic’s belly.

  Chapter 23

  NOTHING COULD HAVE prepared Dayne for Tharek’s reaction to Lannic’s death. The man howled as if his very soul had been torn from him.

  “I’ll kill you! I will split you like a rabbit and feed your own heart to you!”

  “I hardly think so,” Toscan said. Pulling the knife from Lannic’s body, he turned to Tharek. “You’re already locked in a cell, unarmed.”

  Tharek’s voice turned into an icy growl. “I am a Spathian. I’m never unarmed.”

  His fingers darted to the front of his uniform and tore one of the brass buttons off the coat. Before Toscan could even blink, Tharek threw the button and buried it in the man’s eye.

  Toscan screamed, his free hand going to his eye. He stumbled in the direction of Tharek’s cage. As the man wailed, Tharek removed his belt in a single fluid motion and whipped it around Toscan’s knife hand. A moment later Toscan’s arm was yanked through the bars, and Tharek took the knife from him.