Shard & Shield

by Laura VanArendonk Baugh

  “Well spoken!” The king laughed. “Did you hear that, gentlemen? A philosopher as well as a soldier. Let’s drink in honor of that thought and of the recognition he has earned from his master.”

  The king continued to speak, but Luca, nearly wavering with relief, hardly heard. The king had not attacked Shianan, had not humiliated him and cut him. Luca’s work had not endangered his master but benefited him.

  Royal servants carried around beverages as the talk shifted to the problem of profit-minded purchasers and conspiring merchants, and Generals Kannan and Septime promised to pursue the wrongdoers. Luca’s feet began to ache, but he had long practice in waiting motionless before Ande and with less optimistic prospects. Finally the king dismissed them and Shianan bowed and backed from the room with the others, Luca scrambling on numb legs to follow.

  Shianan nodded to the other officers, made a few friendly comments and good-byes, and strode down the corridor. Luca hurried to match his pace, his legs tingling with pooled blood. They left the palace and went into the cold air, now dark with advancing twilight. Why did his master hurry so? Was he upset?

  But then Shianan reached a corner and turned abruptly. Luca followed and found him leaning against the wall, his head thrown back in ecstatic relief. “He was pleased,” he whispered, beaming at the stars. “Did you hear him? He was proud of me!”

  Luca’s shoulders slackened. “Yes, Master Shianan.”

  Shianan looked at him seriously. “I haven’t forgotten this was your doing. I know a slave’s work belongs to his master, but you sought that out on your own.”

  “I am happy to have been of service, Master Shianan.”

  Shianan laughed. “Do you know, I think this might be the first time I actually believe a slave saying that.” He reached out impulsively and seized Luca’s forearm, clasping over the cuff as he would clasp another man’s wrist. “Thank you, Luca.”

  Luca stared down at their hands. “Master Shianan,” he managed.

  “Luca, Luca, I have ruined you already.” Shianan sounded a little giddy. “I teach you to fight, I let you demand to accompany me. What is a handshake?”

  Luca looked at their overlapping hands and then seized Shianan’s wrist. “Thank you, Master Shianan.” He held the wrist tightly, clinging to the first sympathetic touch he’d had since Furmelle—since before Furmelle. “There is no one I would rather serve.”

  “Then you are a bigger fool than I thought, because even in my current rapture I still know that mere hours from now I will be the bastard again, but so be it. I will not argue with you.” He sighed and released Luca, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “I drank too much, I think. I couldn’t believe my fortune, and I had two or three glasses of that stuff. Four. I think. It’s headier than our common tap, anyway.”

  “I’ll build up the brazier when we return and bring some water to cut the drink.”

  Shianan shook his head, leaning backward against the wall. “No, no. Don’t cut anything. I want to savor this.” He grinned at the dark sky.

  Chapter 33

  Ariana woke, not screaming this time but befuddled with her drug-induced sleep. Maru left the candle—a mixed blessing in the windowless room—on the far side of the room and went to her, careful to avoid touching or jostling her. “Rika? How do you feel?”

  “Make it stop,” she mumbled.

  “I’m sorry, rika, there is nothing more—”

  “You made it stop.” She flexed her fingers slightly. “Doesn’t hurt so bad.”

  Nori’bel’s herbs were working. “Good. Good, rika. How do you feel?”

  “My name,” she said with a tone managing to be haughty even slurred, “is Ariana.”

  He smiled. “Ariana’rika, then.”

  “M’lady mage.”

  He chuckled. “You must be feeling better.”

  She moved her hand slowly across the bed. “Mage.”

  “Yes, I know. Tamaryl’sho told me you were a mage.” And you tried to strike me magically only last night.

  “No. Not a mage. That mage.”

  “What mage?”

  “Black Mage!” she snapped into the pillow.

  “You are the Black Mage, yes,” he repeated. “A member of the Circle.”

  Tamaryl had told no one else Ariana was the daughter of the White Mage. Every mage was a prize, and one of the Circle even more, but possessing the only child of the Circle’s highest mage might be a significant advantage. Tamaryl could never keep her.

  “Hungry,” Ariana muttered.

  Maru glanced at the closed door, the luxury which kept Ariana from the rest of the household. “It’s the middle of the night,” he apologized. “I’ll bring something in the morning.”

  She mumbled something unintelligible in which he could distinguish only the word “Tam.”

  “Tamaryl’sho is away,” he said. “He’s been given a task from Oniwe’aru.” He seated himself on the side of the bed, adjusting his wings over the edge. “Ryl is in a difficult position, I think. That is why he left you to my care.”

  She made an effort to speak. “You call him Ryl.”

  “Yes, I do. Tamaryl is his given name, but I have called him Ryl since we were children.” He smiled. “I shouldn’t, though, at least not in front of others. It’s not fitting to make easy with sho names.”

  She opened her eyes unnaturally wide. “I’m not sleepy,” she told him urgently, her words slurred. “Not real me. My mind is awake.”

  He nodded patiently. “Of course.”

  “No,” she mumbled into the pillow. “I think. Body won’t move.”

  The soporific drug would weight her limbs. “It’s all right.”

  She closed her eyes again. “I want Tam.” A small circle of damp appeared on the pillow beneath her eyes. “I want home.”

  Maru felt a sudden sympathy. This young human female had been seized from her own world in a rush of betraying magic and dropped in an enemy atmosphere that was deadly to her. She could survive, but the cost was agonizing. Even as a human, she was owed his pity and his sympathy. “Hush,” he whispered, wondering if he dared touch her, whether it would soothe or hurt her. “Sleep again. Tamaryl will return, and he has promised to take you home again when he can.”

  He wished Tamaryl good fortune and speed on his journey.

  Tamaryl struck down the first Ryuven with ease, directing the powerful magic with a gesture that sent him flying to the side. The second he spun away and the third he used as a weapon to strike the fourth. The last hesitated, alarmed by the fate of his companions, and Tamaryl pinned him beneath a barrier, immobilizing him. Power coursed through him, invigorating him with the joy of magic which had been almost entirely denied him for so long.

  The Ryuven regarded him with wide, frightened eyes. “Tamaryl’sho!”

  Tamaryl scowled. “You did not think so a moment before.” He turned to face Rarn’sho. “Are we finished with this?”

  Rarn’s throat worked visibly. “Forgive me. I thought—it has been so long—and there was no word of your return….”

  “Only a fool would falsely claim a traitor’s name,” Tamaryl growled, releasing the remaining Ryuven with a magical shove that sent him sprawling. Around them the others were regaining their feet and regarding him cautiously. “That should lend some credence to my claim. Oniwe’aru has sent me to deal with you.”

  “Deal with me? Why? I have done him no wrong.”

  “Apparently that is not true,” Tamaryl returned. “Aktonn’s taxes and tribute have dwindled from what he once received.”

  Rarn’sho grew defensive. “How can I help that? The land is not as rich as it was. Is that my doing? Perhaps it was failing before he awarded it to me—does that make it my fault? Or did he intend for me to be a scapegoat?”

  Indignation ran hot through Tamaryl, and his wings flexed. “If you would not dare to say that to Oniwe’aru himself, do not say it to me.” He turned on the watching che, seeing them flinch. “Do you have here any of those who serve
d the former sho? An overseer, a steward?”

  They glanced among themselves. “Unum’che is left,” someone offered. “He is not here, but he lives near.”

  “Bring him,” Tamaryl ordered. “Perhaps he can make some sense of what you have done.”

  Rarn’sho frowned at this usurping of authority in his own hall, but he did not challenge Tamaryl’s order. Perhaps he sensed that Tamaryl was bathing in power, reveling in the magic inherent in the very air. The human world was sparse in magic, even in a mage’s home, and bound in the form of human boy without any mageskill, Tamaryl had starved for magic like one might starve for food.

  He had almost unconsciously limited himself while in and near the Palace of Red Sands, not wanting to appear flagrant before Oniwe’aru. Now, really dipping into power for the first time since his return—since his departure—the temptation to simply play with it and thrill in its kinetic vibrancy called intoxicatingly to him. But Tamaryl could not afford to show childlike wonder to Rarn’sho, and so he resisted firmly.

  He turned back to Rarn’sho. “It seems we will have some time to wait while this Unum’che is summoned,” he said evenly. “May I prevail upon your hospitality?”

  “My hospitality?” Rarn’sho seemed to come to himself, realizing only now how fully he had trespassed. He looked uncomfortably at his remaining che and then lowered himself to both knees, placing his hands flat on the floor before him. He spread his fingers so that the tips of the forefingers touched, wincing a little with the humiliation of the gesture. “I offer you my apology,” he said uncomfortably. “Your welcome was—not at all proper. Please accept my hospitality for your stay.”

  Tamaryl nodded graciously toward Rarn’sho. “I am pleased to accept both your apology and your hospitality. Thank you.”

  Rarn’sho rose and quickly called for a meal and drinks. Tamaryl took an offered seat and sampled a fruit he had not tasted in years and years.

  He was no longer the human slave boy.

  Chapter 34

  Shianan slept late, and Luca was already taking down the dry clothing when he woke. “Good morning, Master Shianan.”

  “Hm.” Shianan sat up groggily and pushed a hand through his hair. “I did not think I had drunk so much last night, but…. No, I’m not quite ill with it. Ow.” He looked around the room. “Bring some water?”

  Luca went to the stand. “There’s only a little here.”

  “Bring what’s there—my throat is scratchy. Why isn’t there fresh? It’s not as if there’s too much for you to do.”

  Luca stopped moving.

  Shianan shook his head. “I didn’t mean anything by that,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t feel quite centered. That drink was certainly different from the ale in the serving hall or even the potent brew at the Brining Tankard. Don’t hold to anything I say.”

  It wasn’t the drink. By evening, Shianan was irrefutably ill. He complained of cold, shivering even after Luca roused the brazier to open flame and brought him a blanket as he worked—an act which irritated him. “I’m no old man to be bundled and carried,” he grumped, rubbing his arms. “Leave me alone.”

  Luca said something about fever and brought a small pot of broth from the kitchen, keeping it warm in the brazier. “I’ve brought something warm to drink. And it’s growing late. Shall I lock the door?”

  “One more,” Shianan said hoarsely. “I have to see the White Mage yet, about the shield.”

  “Are the mages raising it?” Luca’s voice was taut. Shianan felt guilt for his suggestion that the blood which had destroyed the shield might be thought useful in remaking it.

  But the thought of the shield frightened him too. “They cannot,” he answered. “Not yet.” He clutched his mug of broth close and shook his head. “Bring me a heavier tunic. It’s chill out there.”

  He swayed as he pulled the tunic over his head and reached for the wall’s support, cursing the fever. He had no time for illness. Weakness frustrated him. He tugged his cloak over his shoulders. “I doubt anyone will come this late, but if so, say I’ll see them tomorrow.”

  Shianan stepped out into the dark, and the cold seeped through his cloak. It did not take long to reach the White Mage’s office in the Wheel.

  Hazelrig looked unhealthy, leaning on his desk as Shianan let himself in. He got to his feet hastily. “Your lordship!”

  “Please, my lord mage, let’s sit,” Shianan said, looking at the chair longingly. “Two men with such a secret cannot afford to stand on ceremony.”

  “As you say.” Hazelrig returned to his chair and looked at Shianan, clearly trying for a more normal conversation at least to start. “How is the slave?”

  “Luca?” Shianan shrugged. “He’s recovering. But, king’s sweet oats, he’s—I don’t know.”

  Ewan raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

  Shianan sighed. "Have you ever offered a scrap to a street dog? And even while you're tossing the meat, it's cringing away from you, certain you're going to kick it? And it's so—frustrating, you’re half-tempted to throttle the thing anyway?"

  One corner of Ewan’s mouth shifted. “That might hamper earning its trust, perhaps.”

  Shianan made an irritated sound. “I know. But sweet all, it’s annoying.”

  Ewan leaned back in his chair, his voice light. “So why feed the street dog at all?”

  “I don’t know,” muttered Shianan, regretting saying anything. “I just thought, you know, it might be a good dog.” He rubbed his eyes. And stray dogs pack together. “Have you heard more from them?”

  “No,” answered Hazelrig unhappily, leaning again on his desk.

  “So we have to stall.” Shianan gestured. “You can’t let them do it!”

  “I know that, but how? There are debates on how Ande caused its failure, but there’s no question whether we can recreate the shield itself.”

  “Can’t you say it might just collapse and harm someone again?”

  “These are mages, your lordship. Of the Circle. They understand magic. They know human blood catalyzed the shield against human flesh. They know human blood alone should not have affected the shield without something from the original spell to unmake it. You understand? They suspect Ande of sabotaging the shield.”

  Shianan stared. “To what purpose?”

  “Right now, the supposition is that he planned to seal off the city of Alham and seize power for the Gehrn. Some are presenting evidence that—”

  Shianan groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “That will be the final knot to secure the millstone about my neck.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Shianan waved weakly. “I’m sorry. Go on.”

  The mage looked at him a moment before continuing. “I cannot see any way to stall the recreation of the shield without drawing suspicion. And yet of course we cannot allow that.”

  Ariana would be trapped forever among the Ryuven. “Then we must do something else.”

  “You could steal the Shard.”

  Shianan blinked. “I’m sorry—what did you say?”

  Hazelrig looked at the desk, disassociating himself from the words. “If the Shard is missing, we cannot remake the shield.”

  “You want me to steal the Shard of Elan? How? Where would I hide it? And—why me?”

  Hazelrig sighed. “There must be someplace a military commander could hide an object. A rarely-visited outpost, or a warehouse crate marked ‘bedclothes.’ And it should be you, because you can travel with less suspicion.”

  And because the bastard has less to lose, Shianan thought. The king has already half-accused me of conspiring with the Gehrn. His hand moved to his sore ribs. If the Shard disappears, it will be my fault anyway. Why not at least earn the blame?

  “I’m sorry. I know it’s an enormous risk—”

  “It is no risk,” Shianan interrupted. “It is certain arrest.”

  “What?”

  “The king has already chastised me for bringing the Gehrn within our walls,
even before the shield fell. If he hears now the Gehrn planned the failure of the shield….” Shianan shook his head. “Someone will accuse me of accepting a Gehrn bribe along with the Shard itself, and the only witness to what happened in Davan is not here to speak.”

  “Then….”

  “Then I will be arrested and made to confess.”

  Hazelrig stared. “He would not turn on you so quickly. There would have to be evidence.”

  “Would anyone need evidence?” Shianan could hear stark bitterness in his voice. “But I won’t confess to knowing about Tam. I’ll only admit I was paid by Ande to allow access to the Shard. That should allow you time enough to hear from Tam again, I hope.”

  “You can’t mean you’d allow yourself—”

  “I won’t have much choice in the matter, will I?”

  “But, your lordship, you could plead ignorance.”

  Shianan gave him a frank look. “That will not be enough. If the king can be angry that I did not prevent the shield’s collapse, he will be far more so that I allowed the Shard to be stolen.”

  Hazelrig shook his head. “If you believe that’s so, then forget it. We will find another way.”

  Shianan took a breath. “No, I will do it.”

  “Your lordship! You’ve just said—”

  “I will do it. I want—we have to give them every chance. Tam—Tamaryl will return her if he can, right? We have to give them as much time as we can.” He placed his hands flat on the desk to still their fidgeting. “Will you take care of Luca? He deserves better than the block after I’m taken.”

  “Your lordship, I don’t want to see you arrested. There must be another way to help her.” Hazelrig leaned over the desk. “This is for her, isn’t it?”

  The words hit solidly in his stomach. “You—what do you mean?”

  “Your lordship… Do not throw yourself away for her. None of us want that.”

  Shianan dropped his head, his fevered eyes burning. “I have nothing else to offer.”