Table of Contents
The Map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
To Be Continued
Laura VanArendonk Baugh
The Shard of Elan, Book One
Text copyright 2019 Laura VanArendonk Baugh
Cover design by Damonza
ISBN 978-1-63165-010-9
Æclipse Press
www.Aeclipse-Press.com
Indianapolis, IN
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations as in a book review.
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For Alena, who bore with me and all our terrible jokes.
The Map
Chapter 1
Ariana spotted Shianan Becknam in the traffic almost immediately, but she pretended to search a moment longer. It was a guilty opportunity to study his features for telltale characteristics.
Beside her, young Tam pointed too helpfully. “He’s there, near the soldiers.”
Ariana crossed the road to the bench outside the public house, untangling a few dark strands of hair from her pack strap. Becknam gestured to waiting ales. “Was the market worthwhile?”
“I bought some chocolate.”
Becknam gave her a flat glance. “Only a few bites, I hope.”
Tam led the way inside and crouched to tuck their packs beneath a table. Ariana shook her head. “Not much.”
Not much for Becknam to carry, anyway, as the packet was in her bag. She probably shouldn’t have purchased the chocolate, as every pound would matter in the mountains. It would make a nice treat one night, though. She wanted something for Tam as well; he had not yet complained despite the difficult journey.
She glanced sidelong at Becknam. He, too, had made no complaint, but that was to be expected.
A smiling, stout man emerged from the kitchen, a child toddling curiously behind him. “Welcome! Suppers for all? Mutton and herbed roots tonight. Sing out if you find the bottom of your cup.”
Ariana began to reclaim her windblown hair into a braid. Watching Becknam across the table, she thought the line of his jaw was reminiscent of the king’s. She wondered if he had considered a beard to conceal that, or if he preferred the resemblance to be seen. She wondered if everyone wondered such things as they looked at him.
The room was filling with locals, and soon they were sharing their table and benches. Ariana sipped at her drink and traced a finger through its condensation on the table, drawing loose geometric designs. Idly she asked, “Did you know some ancient art includes winged men as icons of beauty? Not quite Ryuven, but wings, anyway.”
“Then it was ancient art indeed,” said Becknam, “from well before the Ryuven. Those monsters aren’t winged men, and they aren’t beautiful.” He cast a suspicious eye toward her. “If my lady had seen—”
“I am quite aware of what the Ryuven can do. I only—it’s odd that we should have imagined men with wings, don’t you think?”
“Artists have more imagination than sense, and more sense than usefulness.”
Ariana drew a bolder design on the table.
Tam shifted the ales to make room for cold mutton and warm turnips and parsnips, sprinkled with shredded herbs and chunks of butter. The landlord beamed at Ariana’s praise for the food and retreated to the kitchen, shooing the child ahead of him.
The man to her right was intent on a story for his other tablemates. “And so there was Sergeant Vanguilder, pulling his last arrow, and then out of the sky comes this Ryuven—”
“The Ryuven in front of him?” asked another.
“No, another Ryuven, come from above. And he strikes the sergeant like a lightning bolt and he goes face down—the sergeant—and I don’t have to say the arrow goes wide, and the Ryuven—the first one, now, the one on the ground—jumps for him like a terrier on a rat.”
One of the listeners rolled his eyes. “Maybe a stunted terrier. On a fat rat.”
“Eh? The sergeant ain’t fat.”
“Or maybe if the rat had a bow and a pike, and the terrier had a mace and magic.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” the storyteller demanded. “Stupidest thing I ever heard.”
“Well, that’s a stupid way to describe it, terrier and rat. You ever seen a Ryuven shake a soldier by the spine? Say plainly he went for the sergeant with his hammer or whatever he had. He didn’t use magic, I’ll guess, or you wouldn’t go on about terriers.”
“You done for a bit? Can I tell on?”
Ariana hid her smile behind her hand.
“So I use my sword and I cut a steak out of this Ryuven, and then over us comes this shadow, and—”
“And it’s Pairvyn ni Ai himself, right? Only he sees you and he runs for his life? And then King Jerome comes and says he wants you in his personal guard—” The rest of the listener’s heckling was drowned in a chorus of mocking laughter.
“Shuddup!”
“It wasn’t yet that the king asked him,” protested someone else, laughing hard enough to muddy his words. “He had to go and save His Majesty’s life first, right?”
“Shuddup,” repeated the storyteller, sullen. “I did so guard the king at Ason Field.”
“Right you are! Wait, I thought you said it was at Scout’s End?”
Ariana glanced at Tam with a conspiratorial smile and whispered, “The king wasn’t even at Scout’s End.”
Tam pursed his lips. “Was so.”
“How would you know?”
“Same as you—I’ve listened to your father’s stories.”
“And my father said the king wasn’t at Scout’s End!” Ariana laughed.
Tam’s grin vanished and he started up from the bench. Ariana caught a flash of movement and then the storyteller’s hand twisted into her shi
rt collar, pulling her off-balance. “You calling me a liar, girl?”
She blinked and struggled to find words. “No! No, I wasn’t even—”
The storyteller curled his lip, glad to vent his frustration. “We fought and bled and died there, and you got no call to be mocking those men who—”
“I’m sorry.” Ariana gathered power into her palm, just enough to knock him off his feet if necessary. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I have only the highest respect for—”
Becknam appeared beside them, his eyes on the soldier. “Let her be.”
“I won’t be mocked by a piptit not old enough to—”
Becknam’s hand rested lightly on Ariana’s shoulder, very near the soldier’s. “Let her be.”
For response, the man released Ariana and pivoted, driving a fist toward Becknam. Ariana ducked and Tam seized her, pulling her into a stumble.
Becknam parried the fist outward with his left hand as his right jabbed the end of Ariana’s wooden spoon deep into the attacker’s bicep. The man’s fist recoiled, and Becknam slid the spoon beneath the storyteller’s upper arm and over the wrist, pressing his arm back. The storyteller stuttered back a few steps but could not reclaim his balance, and Shianan eased him backward to the floor, pinned by the spoon on his wrist and a knee on his chest.
The room went quiet.
“Now, she’s said she was sorry and wished no harm,” Becknam said, “and I’m sure you mean the same, so let’s all be neighborly.” He rose and offered the man a hand.
The soldier frowned and didn’t take the hand. “That was too slick to be farm work.”
Becknam shrugged. “Farms need defending.”
“You’re in?”
Becknam nodded, and Ariana caught her breath. But he added casually, “I’m posted at Stoneship, on leave to visit home.”
“Stoneship?” The soldier held out a hand, and Becknam pulled him to his feet. “That’s where I did two years.”
“No joking?”
“And Edgar was there, too. Hear that, Edgar?” The soldier slapped Shianan’s shoulder. “That was a slick turn, but you’re lucky I didn’t see it coming.”
Becknam laughed and turned into the group, nodding and smiling and clasping wrists like old friends.
Ariana sighed and sank down on the bench. “I could have defended myself,” she murmured to Tam. “I was ready.”
Tam was irritatingly practical. “Magic would have been harder to explain than fisticuffs, and less soothing than trading soldier stories.”
“Maybe. But I was ready.”
Tam scooted onto the bench beside her, watching Becknam accept an ale. “It was Steward’s End.”
“What?”
“The king went back to Alham before Steward’s End, not Scout’s End.”
Ariana clenched her jaw; her history error had nearly cost a great deal. “You’d better not let his lordship hear you correcting your betters so lightly.”
Tam barely suppressed his usual grin. “Right, my lady.”
The landlord appeared beside her. “You’re all right, I think?” he asked with concern. “They’re not an unfriendly bunch, though they can be loud.” He nodded toward the group, still exchanging eager anecdotes with Becknam. “But your friend seems to know his way around old soldiers.”
She nodded. “Did he say we wanted two rooms for the night?”
“I told him I’ve only the one. We don’t see much traffic here. The merchants mostly use the south pass, it being open all the year.”
“One room,” Ariana repeated. She couldn’t expect the Count of Bailaha to sleep in a public room, even if they were traveling covertly.
“It has two beds,” the landlord offered, though his face betrayed surprise at her hesitation.
“That will be fine,” Becknam said, returning.
Ariana nodded. They would do without social niceties like walls once they were beyond inns.
“I’ll just take up fresh bedding after I get ales around, then, if you’ll wait a bit. Or send the boy back with me now, and I’ll send him up with the linens.”
Tam followed the landlord to the kitchen, and Becknam leaned an elbow on the table. “You trust him to run about on his own?”
“What?”
“Will he talk?”
“Tam’s a model of discretion.” Ariana nodded toward the kitchen door. “He’s a servant of the White Mage—a famulus, even. There isn’t much Father’s hidden from him.”
“So I saw when I met with your father.” He gestured. “I just don’t feel settled.”
That was understandable. It had happened so fast once her father had announced his discovery. He had introduced Ariana to Commander Shianan Becknam, Count of Bailaha, a man she had always heard of and never known, and barely a day later, they had set out to retrieve the Shard.
The landlord passed again, trading a folded blanket for Ariana’s empty plate. “Your boy’s gone up now, so whenever you’re ready. Here’s an extra blanket I found. You’ll want breakfast?”
“Early, if you please,” Becknam answered. “We don’t want to lose daylight.”
The guest room was small but comfortably heated by the kitchen chimney. Becknam dropped the blanket on the sheets Tam was tucking into place. “Extra bedding for you tonight.”
“How nice.” Tam pulled a sheet tight. “I carried his lordship’s bedding, and he carried mine.”
Becknam stiffened. “Few would confuse a commander with a slave.”
Tam shrugged. “You take orders just as I do.”
“I give them as well.”
“Tam!” Ariana said. “That’s enough. I’m sorry, your lordship.”
Becknam shook his head and sat on the other bed, his muscular frame making the ropes creak. Tam looked away.
It was not like him to be rude. Ariana took his wrist, the metal cuff cool against her fingers, and drew him to the other side of the too-small room. “You were out of place,” she warned softly. “Think on what you say.”
“But he shouldn’t—a prince might become a slave. It’s happened, it’s in stories. And a slave might be—”
“You are not a prince!” She checked herself. “Tam, you know better than to fixate on stories, and saying such things could get us all into trouble. You would reflect badly on Father, and someone might demand you be punished. Do you understand?”
Something unreadable crossed Tam’s face. “Yes, mistress.”
She sighed. “Don’t be like that, Tam. I’m saying this for your own good.”
Tam was an intelligent boy, too old to imagine himself a lost prince. She sighed. They were both on edge, nervous around Becknam and the enormity of their task. It had been a long time since she’d exchanged a joke with the boy.
She watched Tam finish the bed. If their journey tired her, what strain must it be on him? That might have been weariness speaking.
The room was too quiet. “I should confess,” Ariana offered, “I’m excited to reach the citadel. This is an adventure of sorts. So many tales start with a quest for a wondrous artifact: Kalen and the Forgotten Diamond Diadem, Gabriev and the Sword of Light….”
Becknam gave her a flat look. “Think less of stories and more of duty, my lady. There’s little connecting a taproom tale and a true battle.”
Ariana stiffened, but her eye caught Tam’s before she could retort. Stories, he mouthed.
She fluffed her pillow.
Becknam lay back and turned to face the wall. Tam made a nest of blankets beside their beds and curled into them like an animal, leaving only his blond hair visible.
Ariana considered Tam’s choice. There was space between the foot of her bed and the wall, where he could have slept without danger of being trod upon. Yet Tam always slept between her and Becknam—did he think to protect Ariana from dangerous intentions? The thought made her stifle a giggle. Becknam might be a commander and now a count, but Ariana was the daughter of the White Mage Ewan Hazelrig. And as a grey mage, she could defend herself.
And Tam was a mere boy—how could he hope to stop a soldier?
Still, there was something endearing about the gesture. And Tam would soon relax. They couldn’t afford suspicion or friction if they were to travel efficiently and quietly.
“Wake, Tam. Time to go.” Ariana frowned at the curled drape of blankets on the floor. “Tam?” She flipped the end she guessed covered his head, ruffling his fair hair, and he protested inarticulately. “Tam, up. Now.”
The boy shielded his eyes. “Morning?”
“Morning,” she confirmed. “His lordship woke early,” she added, trying not to sound as resentful as she felt. “As always.”
Across the room, the commander’s mouth quirked upward. “I had an effective education—each dawn, my mattress inverted. I learned to wake in the dark.”
Ariana was not sure how to respond. “That’s not….”
He looked away. “I’m sorry. It was an awkward thing to mention to a lady.”
“I am not so naïve as that, my lord.”
“I wasn’t my lord then.”
His embarrassment embarrassed her, and now Tam sat smugly concealing his smile at the two of them embarrassing themselves before a slave boy.
Becknam pointed at Tam. “Up and ready,” he said gruffly. “We’re losing daylight.”
After a quick breakfast they were on the road again. “No more inns,” Becknam said as he shouldered his pack. “We’ll sleep under the stars tonight.”
“We always sleep beneath the stars,” Tam offered. “Whether we have a roof makes no difference to their place.”
Ariana stifled her chuckle when Becknam frowned. Stick-in-the-mud.
The mountain terrain, just beginning to green, dazzled Ariana’s urban eyes. Spring melts had filled every rivulet to a run, and they never escaped the plashy sound of running or falling water. The air took on a tang of spicy cold which had nothing to do with the temperature, energizing Ariana. “I never knew mountains were like this! It’s—amazing.”
“You’re not properly in the mountains yet,” called Becknam from his place at the front. The brown hair bound in a tail down his back was not so dark as the king’s. “These are just foothills; there are still some farms and holdings along here.”
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