Shard & Shield

by Laura VanArendonk Baugh

  “You don’t know what may come. We’ll find another way.”

  Shianan exhaled. “You must think me an enormous fool.”

  “To the contrary,” Hazelrig answered carefully, “I think you somewhat impulsive, but not a fool. I suppose I should be flattered you find my daughter worth the risk of torture.”

  Shianan smiled bitterly. “I confess, I am not eager to prove that. But there are very few friends among whom I may count the lady. I would not want to lose her.”

  “I see.” Hazelrig shifted. “Your lordship—Becknam—neither she nor I would be pleased to have her home again at the cost of yourself. Please don’t make her carry that guilt.”

  Shianan flinched. “You argue unfairly, my lord mage. But I understand.” He inhaled. “Do you have other instructions for me?”

  “If I think of a way to stall the remaking of the shield, I will tell you. In the meantime, if you think you are under suspicion already….” Hazelrig looked solemnly at Shianan. “Be careful, Becknam—may I call you by that name?”

  “As I said, men who share secrets cannot stand on formality.”

  “And if you—I cannot say I would have chosen you,” Hazelrig said frankly, “but I am not distressed to hear of your interest, either. Let me—”

  Shianan shook his head quickly. “I have not professed anything, my lord mage. I am not fool enough—I say only that I would help a friend in any way I can.”

  “Of course.” Hazelrig sat back. “I apologize for speaking out of turn.”

  “Thank you, my lord mage.” There was a sudden brittle formality between them, both anxious to deny the unexpected exchange. “And now I’m afraid I must ask to leave you. I am not quite well, as you can see. Is there anything else?”

  “No, your lordship. I will let you know if I think of anything.”

  Shianan excused himself and went out into the cold wind, his cheeks burning with emotion and fever. The wind whipped at his face and tore at his hair. He pushed aside the mage’s conversation and thought anxiously of warm soup, a heated bed, undreaming slumber. He wanted to bury himself in blankets and escape in sleep.

  Chapter 35

  Oniwe nodded with an approving smile. “Restoring an old steward—very good. I wonder that Rarn’sho did not think of that himself.”

  “It was not difficult,” Tamaryl said modestly, before Oniwe heard it from another. “The che knew where to find him. But Rarn’sho was anxious to make the rule entirely his, and no one dared recall a relic from the previous lord.”

  Oniwe sniffed. “The previous lord turned his back in battle. Do not let your tone mock Rarn’sho too much.” He gestured for Tamaryl to rise. “So you think yourself finished there?”

  “I spoke at length with Unum’che,” he answered, “and I reminded Rarn’sho that depriving you of taxes and tributes was poor gratitude for such an honor. I think you should see a marked change within months, though it will need a year or two to recover, of course.”

  “And what will you do now?”

  Tamaryl gestured. “I have yet to visit Holbruc. But I thought first to report to you.”

  “In case I, in a fit of benevolence, restore you as well?” Oniwe smiled. “Not yet, Tamaryl’sho. Not yet. But I am impressed by your confidence after Aktonn. They listened so eagerly to you?”

  “I did not receive a warm welcome—as I expect you anticipated, Oniwe’aru.”

  The ruler chuckled. “It has been a long time.”

  “And you foresaw I would need to fight for recognition.”

  “And how better to know if you had degraded during your time in the human world? By the Essence, what if you had been tainted and could no longer comport yourself as sho?”

  “Our blood, Oniwe’aru, does not dilute so easily.”

  Oniwe raised his eyebrows and nodded in acknowledgment, smiling. “A worthy point, half-brother. You contend, then, you are the warrior you were? Even after your Subduing?”

  Tamaryl sobered. “It was a binding, Oniwe’aru, by a mage of exquisite power. I assisted in it. It was not a Subduing.”

  “I see.” Oniwe’s mouth curved. “What a sight it must have been, turning your own power against yourself.”

  Tamaryl ignored the sting of the words. Oniwe meant little by them, or he would have saved the insult for an audience.

  “So.” Oniwe turned to the low table beside him and poured a drink. “When will you bring this girl to me?”

  Tamaryl blinked. “Oniwe’aru?”

  “Your mistress. I would like to see her. I want to know what kind of human could command a Pairvyn. When will you bring her?”

  Tamaryl hesitated. “I have not seen her yet, but she was not well when I left. I do not know how she fares.”

  Oniwe made a vague gesture. “If she has not died yet, she will probably live. Bring her tomorrow, before you go on to Holbruc.”

  Tamaryl bowed, his heart racing. Had Oniwe’aru guessed her identity? Or was he merely curious?

  Oniwe extended an arm, offering a cup to Tamaryl. “We shall see what kind of human can compel my finest warrior.”

  Ariana squeezed her eyes against the light, but the heat beat upon her face no matter how she writhed. “Sun….”

  The arms cradling her did not shift. “What’s that? Hush, it’s all right. Don’t squirm so. What is it?”

  “Sun…!”

  “Oh!” Tamaryl paused, her weight steady in his arms. “Maru, please?”

  Hands reached to adjust the wrap around her body and head, shading her face. She relaxed marginally.

  Tamaryl had returned the night before—she thought it was night, because she’d heard him say “supper” to someone, but it was difficult to distinguish night and day. Her room had no windows, for which she was vaguely grateful, and she could not track the passage of time in her drugged state. But Tamaryl had returned, and she had been glad to hear his voice and to sense him near her, looking over her, speaking to her. Maru had given her the stupefying drug again, which she craved and hated, but she had tried to tell Tamaryl she was glad to see him and that she wanted to go home. He had not understood, and she’d heard Maru explain that she was insensible but for brief periods, when she needed the drug again.

  That was not true. She did need the mixture, even begged for it at times. But the drug did not make her senseless, it only dulled her senses and deadened her movements and speech. She could still hear, could still see when she could make her affected eyelids obey her will. She could still think, when not pressed into unrestful sleep. She was incoherent, but not incognizant.

  But it was nearly impossible to tell them so when her words came out slurred and slow. She could not even manage to shade her own eyes; how was she to make them understand she was still herself?

  But she wasn’t. She had not been able to summon magic to her defense when startled by Maru. It was this place, the Ryuven world—it was foreign to her. Here magic was everywhere, as plentiful as air, and it did not heed her arcane training. It bombarded her, plagued her, made her feel the touch of every fiber in her clothing, the scrape of every hair across her skin. It magnified the sound of every footstep, the creak of every board, the whir of insect wings, the rush of breath as Maru slept across the room, the cutting breeze, the glare of a candle, the scorch of a light, until she thrashed and scratched and begged for the drink that made it all subside into a dull blur.

  Tamaryl was carrying her to Oniwe’aru, he’d said. Some part of Ariana not completely muted by the drug recoiled and shouted desperately that Oniwe’aru was the lord of the Ai, the most powerful clan of the Ryuven, and he could not have kind thoughts for a mage of the Great Circle. But she had not been able to articulate her fears, and no one had heard. And then Tamaryl had lifted her into his arms, and a comforting familiarity settled over her. Tam wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Tam was faithful, trustworthy. As long as she was with Tam, she would be all right.

  She knew she did not wholly believe that. Tam had lied to her. He had hid
den his true self for years. But she was lost and helpless, she needed to trust someone or she would go mad, and so she trusted Tam.

  They entered a building, cool with shade and carefully-directed breezes. Tamaryl spoke with a female guard and then handed Ariana to Maru. Maru was a little shorter than Tamaryl and the difference bothered her, though she wasn’t sure how she could even sense the height with her eyes tightly closed.

  “Oniwe’aru,” Tamaryl said in Tam’s voice, aged years.

  “Enter, Tamaryl’sho,” came a resonant answer.

  This was Oniwe’aru. This was the Ryuven who had nearly killed Tamaryl, who had killed thousands of human soldiers in invasions to her world. Ariana blinked her eyes open, trying to see, and then Maru fell.

  It seemed a dizzying plunge and she gasped as the air rushed past her. She thrashed for purchase, and Maru’s arms tightened as he caught his breath. “Ariana’rika!” he whispered, the sound loud in her ears. “Hush! Hush. I have you.”

  He was only kneeling, like Tamaryl. Like anyone might do before a monarch. It was only her sensitivity which made it so frightening. Ariana turned her head, feeling foolish.

  “Quiet,” he whispered, his lips barely moving. “I nearly dropped you. Be still. Nothing will happen.”

  Why did he feel the need to reassure her?

  “Rise, Tamaryl’sho,” the rich voice said. “And Maru, bring her forward. I want to see her.”

  Ariana worked her fingers into position to cast a defense, but only empty air hung between her fingertips. She grasped at the wrap, absurdly wanting to shield herself.

  “She is still unwell,” Tamaryl was explaining. “Nori’bel has kept her alive and with us, but our atmosphere afflicts her and she must be kept drugged.”

  “Drugged?” Oniwe’aru stood enormous over her, staring down. She felt his eyes, heavy and burning, and even with her own eyes tightly shut she felt him, felt his hot breath touching her skin, felt the weight of his gaze—

  “It burns!” The heat of his breath, the warmth of Maru’s skin, it was too much, it reached through the wrap and her soft clothes and burned her. She twisted, sweating, and tried to shield herself with her hands. “Go—let go—let me go…!”

  “Ryl’sho,” Maru said, and her head vibrated with the sound. Tamaryl took her and the weight of her body pressed the weave of her clothing against her like a thousand needles into her flesh. She moaned and pushed at him, and in the dark of her mind’s eye she saw a bright glowing reservoir of power hanging above her. But it was unreachable and she turned away, seeking relief, and then Maru slid a hand beneath her hair, cradling her head, and offered her the drink.

  It was bitter as always, as if it would peel her tongue, but she drank it eagerly, and only a moment later the torment began to ease. She sighed and felt her muscles loosen.

  “Well.” Oniwe’aru sounded surprised. “This is the female who kept you for so many years?”

  “It was another who first bound me,” Tamaryl answered. “But she was my human mistress.”

  Oniwe’aru chuckled. “I wish I could have seen you kneeling before her, begging forgiveness for some negligence. All is forgiven, Tamaryl’sho. I could not demand a harsher penalty than what you inflicted upon yourself.” His voice grew formal. “Return to your former place and take again your champion rank.”

  “Oniwe’aru…!”

  “Do not be so amazed. Have you not wondered why no one had taken the title? There were some who tried, of course. But none of them were your equal. In truth, I felt I could not award it to anyone inferior, and I waited to see who should rise in your stead.” He chuckled. “I never imagined it would be you again.”

  “Thank you, Oniwe’aru.” Tamaryl handed Ariana to Maru again, where she lay dreamily, only half-hearing, and knelt. “My pleasure is always to serve you.”

  “Rise, Tamaryl’sho.” Oniwe moved a few paces. “I return to you your position, your rank, your title, and your friend—Maru was of course bound to the nearest lord of obligation, but I return him now to your service.”

  “Thank you, Oniwe’aru.”

  “And this human.” Oniwe’s voice grew amused. “I see she is not likely to be of much use. She does not look very much in control even of her own speech.”

  Tamaryl cleared his throat. “Actually, Oniwe’aru, she may speak—Maru has talked with her.”

  “Yes?” Oniwe looked at Maru and Ariana.

  Maru nodded tightly. “When the drug is wearing away, I speak to her, and she answers. She tries to tell me things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  She could feel Maru’s breath shorten. “She says she can feel the cold. She says she wants to go home.”

  “That is all?”

  “If I speak to her, she will usually respond. Rika, can you hear me?”

  Oniwe laughed. “Rika?”

  Maru stiffened. Tamaryl shifted forward. “She is a mage, which is a position of some standing in her own world. Maru acknowledges her personal rank.”

  “Of course. I’d forgotten mages are accorded rank for their rarity. Maru, do you think she could offer any useful information?”

  Maru hesitated. “I cannot pretend to know what would be useful knowledge. But she is not well, Oniwe’aru, and she cannot sustain rational speech.”

  Oniwe’aru sighed. “Well, then. What do you intend to do with her, Tamaryl’sho?”

  He stepped closer to her. “She saved my life by releasing the binding when we were about to be killed, and I saved hers by bringing her here. I mean to carry her again to her own world.”

  “You would return a mage to them? To fight us in the future?”

  “As she returned your Pairvyn to you.”

  Oniwe’aru laughed. “Well spoken, Tamaryl’sho. Though, I do not think she looks capable of withstanding the between-worlds in this condition. If she improves, I would like to see her again, but she is yours to do with as you will.”

  “Thank you, Oniwe’aru.”

  A word pricked at Ariana, a vague urgency, but she was drifting in a soft place where there was no itching clothing, no blaring noise, no burning heat…. She dimly recognized the movement of Maru’s kneeling once more, and then she was asleep.

  Chapter 36

  The first merchant caught Shianan and Luca off their guard. “Just a drink together,” he suggested with a smile, and as Luca poured the wine he’d brought, he made small talk about the advancing season, and the state of trade, and then he began detailing his reliable and cost-effective supply of spearheads.

  Luca worked it out before Shianan, of course. Though Commander Becknam wasn’t procuring supplies for the army, as the officer credited with exposing the fraud, his approval and endorsement were logical assets in the fight for the newly available military market. The second merchant brought a smoked ham one evening and explained how his house had come to be a respected provider in Alham and elsewhere.

  The food and drink surprised Shianan. “I can’t be seen receiving gifts,” he protested, and Luca knew he was thinking not of his position as commander, but as bastard. “Thank you, but I must—”

  “Oh, it is nothing more than a gift,” interrupted the latest merchant smoothly. He drew a bottle of wine from a bag. “Honest men such as you cannot be influenced by material goods. But it is important you trust our supplies, and so you must have a sample. Here is an excellent vintage, suitable for officers like yourself—so you may know our product, of course.” He smiled broadly.

  “Of course,” Shianan repeated, his smile less broad. “Thank you for your consideration.”

  The next had the decency to appoint a time for dinner in Shianan’s office. As Luca admitted him he noted the bright red sash crossing his chest. From Vandoga, obviously, and probably anxious to sell leather goods.

  “Good evening,” Shianan offered. “Please have a seat. Luca, the drinks?”

  The conversation began on pleasant, neutral topics—the changing weather, the happy reprieve from fighting the warlor
ds, the new southern market. And then, as Luca served, the Vandogan skillfully turned the topic to the provision of military goods. Luca had been right, he had leather harness to sell as well as hardened leather armor.

  As they spoke, Luca waited a few paces away, ready to supply more wine as the cups ran low. Vandoga’s vast grazing ranges lay between their mercantile and industrial cities and the profitable markets of Alham and others. They relied on sea trade to deliver their goods. Luca’s father had been negotiating a profitable deal shipping Vandogan cargo when the loss of the Alamar had lessened confidence in their house….

  Luca respectfully retreated a few steps and then turned toward the other room. They would be ready for bread and honey soon. He checked over the tray and brought it to the table.

  “Your prices do appear reasonable,” Shianan acknowledged. “And your proposed delivery does seem efficient.”

  “I know you have several others seeking this same arrangement,” the merchant said modestly. “May I pour you a drink?”

  Luca felt a prick of guilty apprehension that he had not been quick enough to refill his master’s wine. But the Vandogan added only an inch to Shianan’s half-filled cup. Shianan reached for it automatically, and as the Vandogan raised his own wine a tingle of recognition ran through Luca.

  “Master!” he burst. “I—a message has just arrived for you, my lord. An urgent message, by the other door.”

  Shianan paused, his wine halfway to his lips. Luca kept still, counting that the merchant did not know there was no second entrance to Shianan’s rooms and that Shianan trusted him enough to accept the interruption.

  At last Shianan spoke. “Urgent, you say?” He set down the wine. “I hope the patrols haven’t been seeing imaginary Ryuven again. Will you excuse me?” He nodded to the merchant and rose, and Luca followed him into the other room.

  Luca closed the door behind him as Shianan turned to face him. “I suppose you have something important to justify this.”

  Luca nodded eagerly. “That merchant is Vandogan.”

  “I know that.”