The Way of the Shield

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “No one here doubts you,” Dayne said. He needed to buy more time still, since Amaya hadn’t made her move yet. Keep him talking. “So now I’m kneeling before the great Tharek Pell, unjustly ousted from the Spathians, unarmed and bound. What more could you want?”

  “Pell?” It was Samuel Benedict who asked. “As in Lord Gilbert Pell, Duke of Oriem?”

  The twitch on Tharek’s face spoke multitudes. “We will not say that name here, good sir.”

  “Suits me fine,” Benedict said. “Man’s a right bastard.”

  The knife flew from Tharek’s hand, but he didn’t throw to kill. Instead it sliced the side of Benedict’s face, tearing through his left ear. Tharek laughed. “That explains how easily he could recognize me, bastard son of his youngest daughter.”

  “There’s your reason, Tharek,” Dayne said. “Benedicts hate your family.”

  Tharek turned back to Dayne. “You know, ever so briefly, I saw you as a kindred spirit. But seeing you debase yourself before me, as you said, bound and defenseless . . . well, now you just disgust me.”

  “I said I’m unarmed, Tharek,” Dayne said, smiling at him. “But I’m a Tarian.”

  Tharek’s sword shot forth to run Dayne through. Almost any other man would have been killed. Dayne had popped onto his feet and stepped to one side. With the chain of his irons, he parried the blade and pushed it away from his body.

  “I’m never defenseless.”

  Tharek twisted the blade, but Dayne kept the irons between it and his flesh. He slid the chain down the blade and hooked it onto the hilt. With a sharp pull, he jerked the sword from Tharek’s hands.

  Dayne took an elbow in the face in response. Tharek came up with another knife. He brought it in close to Dayne’s belly, but Dayne was able to pull away, grabbing Tharek’s wrist. He tried to pull Tharek and twist him around, but he was hampered by the shackles. Tharek used Dayne’s maneuver, flipping over and kicking Dayne in the face.

  Dayne fell back, taking Tharek with him. Tharek’s knife found purchase in Dayne’s arm. Dayne let himself scream, and pushed Tharek off of him before he could do further damage.

  Dayne hopped onto his feet as Tharek did the same.

  “Imagine how good you’d be if you weren’t bound,” Tharek said.

  Dayne pulled at the chains of his irons. That alone gave Tharek pause. Straining his powerful arms, Dayne put everything he had into that moment. For the Order, for Master Denbar, for the four dead members of Parliament. He would not be defeated again, not today. Not by Tharek and not by a few links of metal.

  The chain snapped.

  “Imagine,” Dayne replied. “Gentlemen, the podium is clear.”

  Tharek’s face fell, and he charged back to the podium. Dayne tackled him and the two of them went barreling into the flagpole, knocking it down.

  One member ran to the podium, and in a racing voice shouted, “If there are no objections from the august body, the session is ended, we are adjourned, this convocation of the Parliament has ended. We are in recess until after the next elections.”

  Men leaped from their seats like arrows from a bow and ran up the stairs in every direction. Tharek howled and drew his last two knives, going after the closest ones. Before he could throw them Dayne was on his feet with the Druth flagpole in hand. Spinning it over his head, he brought the head of the pole into Tharek’s chest, the flag fluttering over the man’s face. Tharek was knocked off his feet. Before he hit the ground, Dayne whipped the pole around and brought it down from above, forcing Tharek to land flat on his back. The knives clattered on the floor, and the flag draped across Tharek’s chest while he wheezed for air.

  Despite worrying about dishonoring the flag, Dayne leaped onto it and Tharek, pinning him under it.

  Tharek strained at the flag, but with Dayne keeping the cloth tight against his body, he couldn’t move at all.

  “And now you kill me, Tarian?”

  “Never,” Dayne said. “You have the right to be tried, remember?”

  A boot came crashing into Tharek’s head, knocking him senseless. Dayne looked up to see Amaya standing over them, holding up three sets of irons.

  “What did you do that for?” Dayne asked.

  “I owed him. Besides, how else are we going to get him into these? I doubt he’d go quietly.”

  Chapter 26

  AMAYA WAS FAR TOO overzealous in chaining Tharek. His arms were wrapped across his body and then chained from behind, so he had no way to move them at all. She took off his stockings and put them over his hands so he couldn’t use his fingers. They double-chained his legs, so he wouldn’t be able to do anything but shuffle. She even removed his belt and strapped it around his mouth.

  “You’re enjoying this far too much,” Dayne said as she added that final touch. He collected his shield and sword. The rest of the Parliament floor was a mess, including blood and the dead man. This space should be the heart, the intellectual spirit of Druthal. Instead it was a slaughterhouse.

  “I saw him fight you,” Amaya said. “I’m not taking any chances.”

  Tharek roused as they were taking him out of the chamber, and tried to thrash his way out of his bindings. All this resulted in was falling over. Dayne hauled him back up to his feet.

  “That’s enough,” came a voice from the top of the stairs. Jerinne, holding herself up with a makeshift crutch. She had a crossbow in hand, aimed at Tharek.

  “Jerinne,” Dayne said. “We’ve got him. It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine,” Jerinne said, her voice and hand trembling. “He’s a monster. You think Quarrygate is going to hold him?”

  “I don’t know,” Dayne said. “But that isn’t for me to decide.”

  “You don’t have to,” Jerinne said. “Just get out of the way.”

  “Initiate,” Amaya said. “That isn’t our way.”

  “So we let him live? The man murdered members of Parliament, countless marshals? Does he need a trial?”

  “It doesn’t matter if he needs one, Jerinne,” Dayne said. He moved in between Jerinne and Tharek. “He gets one. Fair and just.”

  “You’d shield him? Die for him?”

  “Anyone, Jerinne.”

  Jerinne’s hand wavered.

  The doors burst open, and the Parliament hall was suddenly flooded with Constabulary and marshals. Yellowshields followed directly after, two going to Jerinne, another to Amaya.

  Then two men. One was Grandmaster Orren. The other Dayne didn’t know, but he bore himself with composure and dignity, and his uniform marked him as a Spathian. Dayne glanced back at Tharek for the confirmation he was looking for, plain on his adversary’s face. This was the Spathian Grandmaster.

  The Spathian Grandmaster spoke, a quiet gnarled whisper. “You once asked me, Mister Pell, how it was possible that you had not advanced to the rank of Spathian Adept. Seeing you now, the answer is quite clear.”

  Tharek’s whole body went limp, and Dayne grabbed at his arm. For a moment, Dayne expected it to be some sort of ruse, that Tharek would thrash out in an attempt to escape. But he truly hung low, broken.

  Dayne almost regretted gagging him.

  Grandmaster Orren stepped forward, coughing uncomfortably, as if he was afraid to interrupt his Spathian counterpart. The Spathian Grandmaster yielded to him.

  “Mister Heldrin, I still have much to understand about what has occurred here, and what, exactly, was your role in it. I am deeply troubled, however, that you have had a role at all, as my last recollection was assigning you to the armory. Were you abducted from there?”

  “No, sir. I was—”

  “And you, Miss Tyrell. When I left, you were the ranking member present.”

  “I had my own assignment, sir, as you are well aware,” Amaya said.

  “So Dayne was present when you left? Or were you aware that he had ab
andoned his duties?”

  “I was aware,” she said. “In fact, I encouraged it.”

  “I have much that I must contemplate,” he said. “Please, return to the chapterhouse, and . . .” He turned and saw Jerinne, still with the crossbow in hand. Her face was pallid and clammy. “Miss Fendall. You do not look well.”

  “No, sir,” Jerinne said. “I’m in quite a lot of pain.”

  “Yes,” the Grandmaster said lightly, glancing down at Jerinne’s leg. “I suspect Mister Heldrin was your field medic. It was always his weak area.”

  “Is this the moment for humor?” the Spathian Grandmaster asked. He grabbed Tharek by the front of his tunic, and despite his age, pulled the man to him with one hand. “This man has crimes to answer to, and I will attend to it.”

  “A trial,” Dayne said, stepping up to the Grandmaster. He suspected the Spathians would practice swift injustice. “A true, fair trial for him.”

  The Grandmaster raised an eyebrow to Dayne. “Do you take me for a savage, Tarian? Please do not color my Order by the behavior of this man. He will be treated by all the rights he is due. He is not a Spathian, but he is Druth.” He whistled to two of the Constabulary to follow him, and took Tharek out.

  “As I said, Mister Heldrin,” Grandmaster Orren said, all lightness gone from his voice. “You and Miss Tyrell, return to the chapterhouse. Bring Miss Fendall with you, and have her injuries properly attended. Then the two of you place yourselves in confinement until I attend to you.”

  “As you have said, sir,” Dayne said. He put one arm under Jerinne’s shoulder, and Amaya did the same. The Grandmaster was no longer noting them, instead walking around the shattered, desecrated Parliament.

  * * *

  Despite the emergent chaos of Constabulary, marshals, and Yellowshields running around the outer hall of the Parliament, Hemmit had stayed pressed up against the wall, watching the entrance he had led Jerinne to, waiting to see who would emerge. He had shed the ersatz marshal coat, so no one would mistake him for someone who could help out. Maresh had stayed right at his side. Hemmit was still groggy from his head injury, and truly needed time to regain his wits. He didn’t know why Maresh stayed there. Perhaps he was afraid to leave Hemmit alone again.

  At this time yesterday, Hemmit had been sitting in The Nimble Rabbit, nursing a bottle of wine and contemplating the nature of being a proper man. A romantic notion that involved drinking well, romancing a good woman, and diving into the thick of danger. Now he had had his fill of the thick of danger. It was for men like Dayne. Not that his courage had failed him, but . . .

  No, his courage had failed him. He had let himself get wrapped into the depths of Tharek’s madness, of the Patriot’s whole plan, because he was afraid to step forth when he needed to. Even Lin had been braver.

  Lin! He had no idea what had happened to her. If she had been badly injured, he’d never be able to forgive himself. He was about to go look for her, when four people came out the door. Tharek, being led off by a mighty man, a Spathian Master by his uniform. Two Constabulary followed behind. Tharek caught Hemmit’s eye, just for a moment, but his face was unreadable. Did he still see Hemmit as Wissen, his ally, who was still free? Or did he see a traitor, someone who he would have his revenge on?

  Hemmit couldn’t tell. And that terrified him.

  Before he could move, Tharek was gone, presumably to his incarceration. He had been taken alive. That simple fact resonated. Dayne had managed to take Tharek alive. How was that even possible?

  Then Dayne came out, half carrying Jerinne, while another Tarian—a dark-haired woman the same age as Dayne—was helping Jerinne on the other side. Hemmit guessed, based on the sketches from yesterday’s newssheets, that this was Amaya Tyrell, the Tarian who caught Lannic.

  “You’re still here,” Dayne said. “I thought I told you to get her out of here.”

  “She was persistent,” Maresh said.

  “You should have let me kill him,” Jerinne said, bitterness dripping from her voice.

  “Who, Tharek?” Hemmit asked.

  “It’s not like he didn’t deserve to die,” Jerinne said, aiming her invective straight at Dayne.

  “Maybe he did,” Dayne said. “But that isn’t for me to decide, or you. And it certainly isn’t ours to act upon.”

  “Why? Because it would have ruined me? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m already ruined.”

  “That isn’t true,” Amaya said. “That could heal just fine.”

  “I thought we were warriors!” she shouted. “Just like soldiers in war, we kill the enemy.”

  “Not if we can help it,” Dayne said. “We aren’t warriors, Jerinne. Or knights, no matter how often people try to call us that. We’re Tarians. That means we save lives. Every life.”

  Amaya added, “And if we do take a life, it’s only if there is no other choice.”

  Dayne’s face showed he didn’t agree with her, but he didn’t speak on that. “In there, with Tharek already bound and captured, you had all the choices. And that choice would have made you a murderer.”

  “And a thief,” Maresh added.

  Everyone was confused by that, Hemmit included.

  “Care to explain that?” Jerinne asked.

  Maresh pointed to the door Tharek was taken out of. “They’ve arrested him, right? He’ll get tried and sent to Quarrygate, I presume?”

  “That’s right,” Dayne said.

  Maresh nodded and looked hard at Jerinne, his thin finger pointing accusatorially at the girl’s chest. “If you had killed him, it probably would have felt pretty good. For you. But what about the rest of the city, the rest of the country? After all this, they’ll need something to grasp onto, to heal. A trial, that man getting his punishment in public, by the public. And a fair punishment, not the barbarous executions of centuries past. That will give people what they need. But you would take it for yourself, selfishly.”

  Jerinne looked at the lot of them, and then to Dayne. “Can we go back home now? I’m ready to get out of here.”

  “Come on,” Dayne said, and led them all out. Parliament Plaza was in devastation. Many of the people had been cleared out, but there were still remnants of the riot: blood on the stones, shredded banners, torn clothes, and burned carts. There were still small clusters of people, mostly Constabulary and Yellowshields, but also the Parliamentarians, sequestered apart from the rest by a group of marshals, as carriages came to pick them up and shuttle them off to safety.

  “There he is!”

  A score of people came running over. Hemmit recognized many of them—newsmen from the larger publications. High Maradaine Gazette. First News Maradaine. Throne and Chairs.

  “You, sir! Tarian! You’re the one who stopped the madman who held the Parliament hostage!”

  “You seemed to know him. Were the two of you close?”

  “How did you know him? How long has he been plotting against the Parliament?”

  “Is he responsible for all the horror of the last three days?”

  “Are you the same one who fought them in the museum?”

  “Please, please!” Dayne shouted. “We have injured people here! This isn’t the time!”

  “She’s the girl from the museum!”

  “And that’s the one who captured Lannic!”

  “Why are the three of you at the center of all of this?”

  “Enough!” A woman’s voice cut through the din of newsmen from below the stairs, shouted with authority and clarity. It was enough to get them all to be silent, which was quite an impressive feat.

  The woman, a blonde beauty, clearly of noble bearing, ascended the stairs with both grace and speed, going directly to Dayne. Looking as if no power in the world could stop her, she leaped up to him, grabbed his face, and kissed him with a passion Hemmit had never seen a woman of noble birth exhibit in public.


  The newsmen were all too stunned to react.

  She broke from Dayne and turned back to the newsmen, utterly in control, utterly a lady, holding on to Dayne’s hand warmly. “People of the press, I am Lady Mirianne Henson, and I will, for the time being, act as liaison for Mister Heldrin and these other fine people. Mister Heldrin and the others here have been through an immensely traumatic experience, and I ask in the name of dignity that you refrain from pouncing upon them all like a pack of wild dogs. If you require questions answered immediately, I suggest you direct them to the Grandmaster of the Tarian Order, who is inside the Parliament House right now. Further harassment of Mister Heldrin and his associates at this time will result in legal action taken by my estate upon your respective newssheets. Am I clear?”

  “You can’t do that!” one of the newsmen—Harns, from Throne and Chairs. “We have rights!”

  “As does Mister Heldrin.” The warmest honey smile emerged. “I’m asking you for patience, nothing more. Isn’t a bit of time worth the trouble for the proper story?”

  There was a grumbling of agreement.

  “Now be off,” Lady Mirianne said. “You can contact my valet if you have need for further comment from me.”

  They all shuffled off, Harns giving Hemmit an ugly scowl as they walked away.

  “Thank you, my lady,” Amaya said coldly, though the bow of her head was perfectly polite. “If you will excuse us, we must get young Miss Fendall to proper medical care.”

  “My carriage,” Lady Mirianne said, with a snap of her fingers. “That will be the fastest way along.”

  “As my lady desires,” Amaya said. Her tone conveyed the opposite feeling, though Lady Mirianne ignored that.

  Dayne hadn’t spoken since she arrived, nor had he pulled his hand away from hers. “Thank you,” he said quietly as they led Jerinne down the stairs.

  “Of course,” she said. “I had to do something for you, what little I can.”

  “It means a lot,” he added. “I . . . may be in some trouble with the Order. It may take some time to straighten out.”