The Way of the Shield

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “I wish to apologize for making you wait so long, Dayne,” the Grandmaster said. “You understand that many things were occurring, and I needed to take time to contemplate. I recognized that originally I was going to make decisions based on anger. Those are decisions that we almost always regret.”

  “I agree, sir,” Dayne said.

  “So I considered my anger. You had defied me, but you had done it out of the belief that you had to act to save lives. You had, in essence, made the same choice of the Bridge that you gave during your Trials.” The Grandmaster mused. “Many people give that answer, mind you, though few ever phrase it with the same vehemence.”

  He reached into his desk and pulled something out. “Fewer still demonstrate that it is more to them than a mere answer to an ethical query. That it is how they will truly live their lives as a Tarian.”

  The Grandmaster placed the object in his hand on the desk. A third-year Candidate pip.

  “So I am to remain?” Dayne asked.

  “You are,” the Grandmaster said. “However, I have been troubled with what role you would fill as a third-year Candidate, or if you should serve your third year here in Maradaine. And then an answer was, quite literally, given to me from on high.”

  He tapped a paper on his desk, which Dayne noticed had a royal seal upon it.

  “It would seem the events of the past few days have attracted a certain degree of attention in the Royal Palace. And all over the city, as you might well imagine.”

  “It did affect the highest level of government,” Dayne said, trying his best to keep his voice from breaking. “I’m just happy to have been able to save lives.”

  The Grandmaster picked up the paper. “I’m certain. This, in fact, does not name you specifically, so you can relax. Rather, his Royal Highness notes that, and I quote, ‘In light of certain truths, far too much agency had been given to my royal marshals without oversight,’ while also speaking at length of ‘remembering our grand legacy where Tarians and Spathians and numerous other Orders and Circles defended our nation out of loyalty and determination, and we should not let that slip away so lightly.’”

  “The king is quite wise,” Dayne said.

  “Yes, well, liking us is good politics right now,” the Grandmaster said. It was, perhaps, the most cynical thing he had ever heard the Grandmaster say. “Anyhow, by the royal authority of the throne, His Highness King Maradaine XVIII, an appointed post will be commissioned for a qualified individual to serve in a capacity of oversight and liaison between the members of Parliament, the marshals, and the Tarian and Spathian Orders. On the sage advice of certain members of Parliament, the king has given me the authority to name this individual. Those same members of Parliament have indicated who they would wish to fill the post.”

  “Me?”

  “You’ve been paying attention, dear boy.” He sighed. “However, I can think of few others who would serve the post as willingly and ably. I could not make you an Adept this year, and I most likely will not be able to next year either. But this I can give you. This commission could extend beyond your Candidacy. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  “That even if I’m not to be a Tarian, I can still serve the Order.”

  “And that’s what I want for you, my boy,” the Grandmaster said.

  Dayne contemplated this. Of course it was enticing. He ran the words over in his mind. Something sounded strange. “Certain truths?” he asked the Grandmaster.

  “I believe his majesty is referring, however circuitously, to the traitorous acts of Chief Marshal Toscan. I understand you were aware of them.” There was a bit of edge to the Grandmaster’s voice.

  “I haven’t been given any opportunity to fully debrief you or anyone else regarding Chief Toscan,” Dayne said. “I would not hide such a thing. I will gladly—”

  “It’s fine, Dayne. We know everything we need to know regarding Toscan, the Patriots, and the events in and beneath the Parliament.”

  “But how?”

  The Grandmaster chuckled, and picked up the book he had been reading. “Truth, apparently, cannot be contained. At least, your friends seem to think so.”

  He tossed the book onto the desk. Dayne’s own face stared back at him, under the title Dayne, of the Tarian Order. Credit to Hemmit Eyairin and Maresh Niol.

  “Sir, I had no idea—”

  “Of that I’m certain.” He chuckled. “It’s quite all right. I’m glad to have some full disclosure. This city has . . . enough secrets.” He nudged the third-year pip closer to Dayne. “You better take that.”

  Dayne didn’t waste any time affixing it to his collar.

  “Now, Dayne, I imagine you are quite famished. And you probably have some questions for your associates. Why don’t you go find your way over to that place you like so much. What’s it called? The Nimble Rabbit?”

  “If those are my orders, sir.”

  Final Interlude

  THE GRAND TEN were assembled once more: The Parliamentarian, The Man of the People, The Lord, The Lady, The Priest, The Duchess, The Soldier, The Justice, The Mage, and The Warrior. It had taken them several days to all again be in the opera house, under The Mage’s protective weavings of light and sound. They again all wore their masks, all filling their roles. Everything was how it should be.

  As if their plans hadn’t almost gone completely wrong.

  “Things didn’t go completely wrong,” Millerson said. Barton imagined his smug face beneath his Man of the People mask. Millerson had been far too self-satisfied with how the whole affair panned out.

  Barton wanted to smack his colleague. “The only reason they didn’t is because Toscan had the good sense to get murdered before he could reveal where his marching orders were coming from.”

  “Toscan was out of control, in his own way,” Archduke Windall said from The Lord’s seat. “Though that made him seem like the originator of the events. Even that stupid book said he was the ‘chief’ of these Patriots.”

  “I found that quite suiting,” said the Duchess Leighton, wearing the mask that matched her title. “There is nothing quite as satisfying as seeing a small man hanged by his own overreach. Especially when his guilt obfuscates our own.”

  “That’s a very mercenary approach,” offered Major Altarn, the Mage of Druth Intelligence. “I’m quite proud of you.”

  “Well, we all have to do what we can,” said The Duchess.

  “And we all have.” Feller Pin, The Justice.

  “I don’t recall much from you at all, sir,” Colonel Neills, The Soldier said. He was right, of course, not that Neills had been particularly involved in the events himself. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He did help get the group to the Parliament that gave them a quorum. That had been quite critical, even if it had been in an emergency. Perhaps that was of even greater value to the cause: being able to take action when things went wrong.

  “He was not needed,” said Bishop Onell, in the position of The Priest. “Let us not forget why some of us are here: solely for our symbolic value. You need a Justice and a Priest, thus we are here.”

  “It isn’t symbolic at all,” Millerson said. “We all believe in the cause, we are committed to making it happen.”

  There was a scoff from The Warrior. “The symbolism is the main thing that matters to you.”

  Millerson turned to him. “And it doesn’t to you? And if anyone here is not committed to our cause, it is you. But yet you are here.”

  The Warrior shifted in his seat. “I do question the value of what we’ve done. Many lives were lost, and for what?”

  “For what?” Barton asked. “Let’s look what you’ve gained. A week ago your Tarian Order was a joke. The Parliament had pulled all of your authority, dictating who would be promoted, how many could be promoted. No one cared about them. Now, thanks to these events, once again the Tarians are respected
, honored. You are being taken seriously again, Grandmaster.”

  “That was hardly the intention of the plan,” Grandmaster Orren said.

  “But thanks to your man Heldrin, things worked quite well for you,” Barton said. “Well for all of us, so we should be grateful for his intervention. Thanks to him, no lives were lost in the Parliament that, frankly, didn’t suit our needs.”

  “And more important,” The Lady said, sitting coolly in her chair, “you were able to close the convocation of this Parliament without the Marriage Obligation Act being called to a vote. The result we wanted, without anyone we like in the Parliament losing political capital by voting against it. And without the act to compel him, our failed king will be content to wallow in his grief, heirless. Keeping the door open for the True Line to take the throne upon his death.”

  She then turned to The Priest. “And, yes, your role is symbolic, but the symbolism is crucial to the rightness of what we are doing. Just as the original Grand Ten protected the Druth throne in the eleventh century, we do the same today. Just as loyal servants of Druthal always have.”

  “You are the history expert, my lady,” Grandmaster Orren said coldly.

  “I am, indeed, Warrior,” she said. Lady Mirianne Henson was renowned for her passion for Druth history. That was why she had worked so hard to open the museum. “As I tried to remind our dear friend, there have always been those who shield this nation from the fools and madmen who find themselves on the throne. Even if Dayne didn’t understand at the time, he will see soon enough. We are all loyal sons and daughters of Druthal.”

  Epilogue

  THE NIMBLE RABBIT was busier than Dayne had ever seen it, with every table in the garden filled with customers, and even more standing around with wine in hand, talking and laughing. Two singers with fiddle and guitar were a focus of attention at one end of the garden, and at the other end there was the table Dayne was looking for.

  It turned out to be more populated with recognizable faces than he expected.

  Hemmit and Maresh were there, as was Lin. She was in good spirits, despite the thin scar across her forehead. She was even wearing her blouse half unlaced, proudly displaying her Circle tattoo. Today she was letting everyone there know she was a mage. Among the other members of Hemmit’s larger entourage were very familiar faces: Jerinne and a few other second-year Initiates. Dayne corrected himself: all three were third-year.

  “Finally, the man arrives!” Hemmit shouted when he looked up and saw Dayne. He leaped up from the table and took Dayne in a great embrace.

  “Hemmit—” Dayne started, but allowed the moment of jubilation.

  “You have three pips,” Jerinne said from her seat.

  “As do you,” Dayne returned. A glass of wine was suddenly in his hand, and one of Jerinne’s friends was on the table. A shrill whistle—louder than a human being could possibly make, which made Dayne suspect Lin was involved—quieted the establishment.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the Initiate said, raising her glass. “The hero of the Parliament and the Tarian Order, Candidate Dayne Heldrin, third-year!”

  “Hoorah, third-year!” Jerinne and her friend responded.

  “Hoorah, third-year!” the entire crowd mimicked.

  All wineglasses went up, all drank.

  “I’m pretty sure that was out of protocol,” Dayne said, taking a seat between Jerinne and Maresh.

  “My apologies,” the Initiate said, offering her hand. “Raila Gendon.”

  “And this is Enther,” Jerinne introduced the other.

  “I wasn’t expecting . . . this,” Dayne said. “Really I came because—”

  “Because you are owed apologies,” Hemmit said. “Mostly by me.”

  “I’m not owed anything.” Dayne took the book out of his pocket, “But I do have some . . . concerns.”

  “I thought you might.” Hemmit snapped to the server to come over.

  “It’s a very good likeness,” Lin offered.

  “I know what your concerns are, Dayne. You wanted to be out of the news. But that wasn’t possible. You have to understand that.”

  “But to go this far?” Dayne asked. He remembered all too well the initial laudations from the Lacanja press, reversed when Master Denbar was killed.

  “This was how far it had to go, my friend. The newssheets were about to paint you in the same colors as Tharek and the Patriots. I could smell it in the air. So we had to get the truth out there. Big and hard. The truth about you. About Tharek, Chief Toscan, and Lannic. All of it.”

  “It was the best choice,” Maresh said. “And it was the truth.”

  Dayne sipped at his wine. Perhaps they were right. He couldn’t avoid infamy, not with what he had done.

  “You protected us, fought for us,” Hemmit said. “Being your shield was the least we could do.”

  “Isn’t that our way?” Jerinne asked.

  Dayne looked to Jerinne, sitting with one crutch resting next to her, a good-humored smile hiding the guilt in her eyes. “It is, indeed. How’s your leg?”

  “They tell me it’ll heal,” Jerinne said. “I’ll walk, even run.”

  “And hold and stand?” Dayne asked.

  “With shield on arm.”

  “Good,” Dayne said. “I’d be proud to have you by my side.”

  A server came and put a plate of lamb and crisp in front of Dayne. He hadn’t even ordered it.

  “Compliments of the chef,” the server said.

  “Could you get used to that?” Jerinne asked him.

  “I better not,” Dayne said. “We don’t do what we do for the adulation.”

  “But it’s nice,” Jerinne said.

  “The man dines with noble ladies,” Enther said. “A free meal here is hardly spectacular.”

  Dayne turned to Hemmit, holding up the book again. “I haven’t read this yet. You . . . you didn’t include Lady Mirianne in here at all, did you?”

  “I included the truth, Dayne. I wrote what mattered. And if you ask me, the private matters between the two of you only matter to the two of you.”

  “Thank you,” Dayne said. He had no idea what was going to happen between him and Lady Mirianne, in the next few days or over the following year, but he didn’t need the gossip and newssheets putting further pressure on it.

  “No, thank you, Dayne,” Hemmit said. He raised his glass to Dayne, and the rest of the table did as well. “To Dayne, of the Tarian Order.”

  Dayne raised his own glass once more and accepted the toast.

  No matter what the future brought, this moment was all the acknowledgment he needed.

  About the Author

  Marshall Ryan Maresca is the author of the Maradaine novels, which now consist of four series set in an interconnected world. His work has appeared in Norton Anthology of Hint Fiction, and Rick Klaw's anthology Rayguns Over Texas. He also has had several short plays produced and has worked as a stage actor, a theatrical director, and an amateur chef.

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