Shield of the People

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  Threatening did not sound good. “Who are they now?”

  “Anti-Parliament radicals,” Hemmit said. “They think that Druthal should be for the king and the throne, and the Parliament should be disbanded or destroyed to give the power back to him.”

  Maresh handed the letter to Hemmit. “They are fond of bold proclamations, sometimes involving violence.”

  “And what does it say?”

  “It says they will stop the false election of unworthy leaders, by any means they must. Stop the poison before it enters the city,” Maresh said. That phrase rang a bell for Dayne, as it would any history student.

  “So what are they threatening?” Dayne asked.

  “They intend to capture the Acoran ballot caravans with the vote results, and destroy them.”

  * * *

  Dayne returned to the Parliament building, letter from the Sons of the Six Sisters in hand. This time, the marshals at the door gave him little trouble, waving him through as he went down to the offices below.

  “Dayne,” Marshall Chief Samsell said as he came in, not looking up from the papers he was consulting. “There’s no press briefing in the evening. How can I help you?”

  “I have some news,” Dayne said, holding up the letter.

  “You talked to the Open Hand and convinced them to leave the city.”

  “No,” Dayne said. “Well, I did talk to them.”

  “I know you did,” Samsell said. He slid a newssheet—Throne and Chairs—across the table. “Lovely story about you and Bishop Issendel chatting in front of Unity Stationhouse. You protected them.”

  “To keep things from escalating to more violence,” Dayne said.

  Samsell frowned, but nodded. “Fair enough. But you apparently also kept the constables from rearresting them.”

  “What good would that have done?” Dayne asked. “Made them martyrs? Created more unrest? If you want me to convince them to stand down, I need to reach them in dialogue. That takes trust.”

  Samsell looked up and put on a broad smile. “I do appreciate that you think about these things, Dayne. I’ll confess when you were first sent over here I expected little more than muscle and meat carrying a shield. So what next for this trust?”

  “I’m going to try to meet Issendel again tomorrow. We’ll talk, and hopefully I’ll get him to see reason.”

  “Good, good. Is that your news?”

  Dayne handed him the letter. “No, this was delivered to The Veracity Press today.”

  “Veracity Press and twelve others, I’m sure,” Samsell said, perusing the letter. “Ah, a threat against the wagons. Of course.”

  “I thought you should know.”

  “I’m aware. These things happen every year. Someone—Patriots or Deep Roots or Sons of the Six Sisters or some other group of agitators—they get themselves all fired up and write some letters and say they’re coming for the ballots.” He glanced at the letter. “Well, they name which one they’re attacking.”

  “So you can stop them?” Dayne said.

  “Nothing to stop,” he said, handing the letter back. “Idle threats. Nothing credible.”

  Dayne glanced at the letter again, noting the details. “So why isn’t it credible?”

  “Like I said, dozens of these a year. Not worth digging too deep on. Especially since every wagon has a marshal guard, so on the off chance that they tried something, they would fail.”

  Dayne turned his attention toward the maps on the wall. The Acoran ballots were scheduled to come on the Old Canthen Road, through the Miniara Pass. “Read the letter again. They mention stopping the ‘poison before it invades the city.’”

  “What of it?”

  “You’ve read your history, yes?” Dayne asked. “That phrase comes from the Incursion. It’s from Lief Frannel’s letter to Oberon when he went to ambush Tochrin’s second army. In the Miniara Pass!”

  “I don’t get what you’re driving at.”

  “Samsell, they know where the ballots are coming. Isn’t that worth noting?”

  “Not particularly,” Samsell said, taking the letter back. “Probably a coincidence. Whoever wrote it is as much a history buff as you are.”

  “You aren’t—”

  “The routes are secret. At best, that’s a lucky guess. And if not: guarded by marshals. I trust those men to do their jobs. You should as well.”

  Dayne frowned but said nothing.

  “You have a briefing in the morning, Dayne. You probably should settle in. Your apartment is ready for you. I did hear you went back to the chapterhouse last night. I understand the impulse, but you probably shouldn’t. Best to follow orders, right?”

  “Right,” Dayne said under his breath. He wasn’t convinced that Samsell took this situation seriously enough, but he had done what he could. “Nine bells tomorrow?”

  “That it is,” Samsell said.

  “Then make sure Veracity Press gets in,” Dayne said. That was the least he could do.

  “As you wish. Now, I have work to do.” Samsell’s attention went back to his papers.

  Dayne took one more glance at the map. The Miniara Pass would be an excellent place for an ambush; it had been a favorite of highwaymen from time to time.

  Samsell said it was handled, so Dayne forced himself to trust the man.

  With no further excuse to stalk around the election headquarters, he went to find his new apartment.

  * * *

  Dayne wound his way through the hallways in the bowels of the Parliament building to the residence to find his apartments. He wanted to be happy about this new arrangement—it was an important position, helping the government and the country. He was representing the Tarian Order. It should be grand.

  But walking through the cold stone hallway, it felt like exile.

  The door of his apartment was open, warm, flickering candlelight spilling out into the hallway. Dayne wasn’t sure who could even be there. Even he hadn’t been there yet. There was likely no need for caution; it was far too likely it was someone on the staff preparing his apartment for him.

  He went in, knocking on the door in polite reflex. “Hello?”

  Sitting at the table, pouring wine while surrounded by candles, was Lady Mirianne. A smile leaped to his face, and the coldness that had been creeping into his heart melted away.

  “I was wondering when you would come home,” she said.

  “Have you been waiting here for me long?” he asked.

  “Oh, saints, no,” she said with a trill of a laugh. “I was told that your new assignment meant moving to the Parliament residence, and I thought I would bring some cheer to you.” She approached and kissed him gently. “Was it too forward of me?”

  “Not at all,” Dayne said. “I’m thrilled to see you.”

  She gave another kiss. “And I you. I also took the liberty of bringing you some things to stock the icebox you have here.”

  “I have an icebox?” Dayne asked.

  “You do,” she said. “No proper stove here, though I’m given to understand there is a communal commissary or kitchen or something for all the residents. Do you cook?”

  “Never,” Dayne said. He had always lived either on her family estate or in the chapterhouses. In either place, meals were handled by staff.

  “You may be frequenting the Rabbit even more now,” she said with a smile. “But I do have a few things for you.” She went back over to the table and produced a large basket from behind it. Dayne was impressed she was able to lift it.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

  “Nonsense,” she said. “I love and adore you, and I am in a position to care for you. So I will. Sit.”

  Dayne did as he was instructed, and she pushed one of the glasses of wine to him. “I appreciate it.”

  “Now, first,” she said, producing
a jar out of the basket. “We have the family pride, the Jaconvale mustard. Because of course I put that in there.”

  “Of course,” he said.

  She pulled a few more things out. “A variety of cheese, mostly of the Maradinic or Patymic varieties. Though this one is a lovely Monic cheese that I find delightful.”

  “How will I eat all this cheese?”

  “I’d be shocked if this lasted the week for you, dear,” she said. “Pickled vegetables and fruit preserves—I know you like the apples.”

  “I do,” he said, remembering more than a few incidents from their childhood where they had absconded with bread and apple preserves from the kitchens and devoured them in the stables.

  “A few cured meats, and bread,” she said. “So we can have a proper simple feast tonight, you and I.” She produced a knife and began slicing meat and cheese and bread.

  “I’m very impressed,” he said.

  “That I’m doing this myself?” she asked. “It’s an uncommon experience for me.”

  “No, that . . .” He sighed. “It’s been a strange day, and I’m very happy to see you.”

  She put the knife down and clasped his face. “And I you.” She gave him a few more kisses, and then returned to preparing plates for each of them. “Especially with how busy things have been, and are. The opening, the party—you are coming, yes?”

  “Of course,” Dayne said, though he wasn’t entirely certain what his current duties meant for evenings or social engagements.

  “And make sure the Veracity boys and Lin come. I fear they thought I was merely being polite. I am fond of them, and I really want them there.”

  “I’ll let them know.”

  “And of course, Jerinne. I would even say Amaya, though I know she is not fond of me.”

  “I’ll make sure they all know.”

  “Saints, I want to be grand, and spectacular, and unique, and historical. So, frankly, anyone in a Tarian uniform is welcome. Or Spathian. Can you spread that word?”

  “I’ll do what I can,” he said, though he wondered why he should worry at all about party logistics at this time.

  “Something is weighing on your mind, though,” she said, sitting down next to him.

  “A threat on the election,” he said. He took a piece of the cured spiced pork and some of the Monic cheese and spread some mustard on it.

  “Election is complete,” she said.

  “Voting is. The ballots from the other archduchies are on their way here for formal certification.”

  “So what’s the threat?” she said.

  “Someone claimed they would ambush the Acoran ballot carriages.” He added some pickle to his meat and cheese, and then bit into the concoction. It was all quite delicious. As usual, Miri’s tastes were exquisite.

  “Goodness,” she said, sipping her wine. “And what’s being done?”

  “I talked to the marshals in charge,” he said. “But they don’t take it seriously.”

  She mused for a moment. “And you, Dayne Heldrin, hero and Tarian, want to charge off with your shield on your arm and stop it yourself. Am I right?”

  “Guilty,” he said.

  “And because you are expected to be here, fulfilling your duties, you cannot.”

  “I’m already one foot out the gate with the Order,” he said. “Blazes—if you pardon—being here feels like both feet.”

  “I can imagine,” she said. “So you feel useless, not being able to help.”

  “Right,” he said.

  “Then the answer is simple,” she said. “If you cannot act, and the marshals won’t, you have to tell someone who can and will.”

  “Who is that?” he asked.

  “I can’t tell you that, darling,” she said, nibbling at her cheese. “Though I suspect you have someone in mind already.”

  She was right again. He knew exactly who he needed.

  Chapter 9

  AMAYA HAD ENDED the day with her share of bruises. Several of the third-years had done quite poorly at the arrow exercise, despite the stellar example that Jerinne had set. Amaya had noted well who allowed her to get hit. Paskins, in particular, had failed spectacularly. That was a shame, because throughout the first two years of his Initiacy, he had performed quite strongly. He had been ranked fourteenth, and that must have shaken his confidence.

  That, or Vien’s training regimen had pushed him to exhaustion. Amaya chuckled a bit to herself over that. She had no idea where Vien had gotten that particular bit of fire, and it was far more brutal than it had been for previous third-years, certainly. But Amaya approved.

  She had taken note of the reduced number of Candidates named Adept this year. She knew the Initiacy programs in the other chapterhouses had been shuttered.

  She knew the Tarians were dying.

  So an even higher standard might just be the best thing for them right now. If there were going to be fewer Tarians in the world, then by every saint and sinner, they would be the best damned Tarians she could make them into.

  After supper she had bathed and taken a session with the Order’s muscle man, Clinan. He was an odd little man, but his hands were healing, to the point Amaya wondered if he had some form of magic. She had quietly asked him to call Jerinne in for a session, but not to let the girl know she had called for it. Jerinne needed rest and healing, but Amaya knew well enough that girl would push herself until her legs fell off.

  And Amaya was almost tempted to let her.

  Or at least let Vien do it.

  She went up the steps to the Grandmaster’s study, where he was sitting in quiet conversation with Master Nedell.

  “Ah, Amaya,” Grandmaster Orren said as she came in. “I trust you are well.”

  “Sore,” she said. “It was a good first day, I think.”

  “A bit aggressive,” Master Nedell said. “Though perhaps it’s warranted.”

  “Vien is . . . enthusiastic,” Amaya said.

  “Yes, well,” Grandmaster Orren said with a small cough. “Her methods were unorthodox, and I thought it worth a conversation with her. She has, apparently, taken up something of a romantic liaison in the past weeks. With a Spathian Candidate.”

  “Oh, she has?” Amaya asked. Not that Vien’s romances were any of her business, but she was surprised to learn of this from the Grandmaster.

  “She’s spent a bit of that time learning their conditioning regimen, and has implemented it in her own life. And thus, brought it to the third-year Initiates.”

  “I’ll have her tone it down,” Amaya said.

  “If you wish,” Orren said. “I was skeptical, but I think it merits playing out for a few days. We can always learn new things from our fellow Orders, especially with only one other to learn from.”

  “All right,” Amaya said.

  “But of course, regimen for third-years is at your discretion. They have the fundamentals, and I trust you can find the best way to blossom their talents.”

  Master Nedell handed her a sheet of paper. “The rankings for tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” Amaya said, surprised. She thought she would have to have given them input on the rankings. She had been the one tracking all the third-years during the day, while Master Nedell and Grandmaster Orren had been in and out. “If you’ve already worked it out . . .”

  “Rather simple, really,” Nedell said. “Nothing today showed any significant changes.”

  Amaya glanced over the list, and it was largely unchanged. A couple drops, and couple rises, and that all tracked with what Amaya thought. Paskins was now at fifteenth.

  And Jerinne was still last at sixteenth. That didn’t seem right at all.

  “Are we sure about this?” she asked. “I mean, Miss Fendall pushed herself impressively today. To keep her on the bottom—”

  “Miss Fendall is a unique case,” Grandm
aster Orren said. His lips went tight, like he was troubled by what he was saying. “While she has a strong drive and ambition, I . . .” He trailed off. Amaya wasn’t sure he really believed what he was saying.

  “What the Grandmaster is saying, is that Miss Fendall advanced despite an unorthodox Second-Year Trial. She was injured, and in the line of duty, and we accommodated that in our considerations for her advancements.”

  “She was worthy—” Amaya said.

  “Undoubtedly,” Master Nedell said, holding out a hand to stop Amaya before she said more. “We knew that before the trials began. But it created a circumstance where some considered her to be given special treatment. There was already resentment amongst her cohort for being assigned a protection duty when no other Initiate was.”

  “The point being,” Grandmaster Orren said. “She needs to be pushed, and she is the type who responds best to negative pressure.”

  “So it’s not that she’s last,” Amaya said. “It’s that you think you’ll get the best out of her by making her last.”

  Grandmaster Orren nodded. “Everyone responds to pressure in different ways. In your cohort, you and Dayne responded best to competing with each other for the top slot. And as a result, everyone else stepped up to try to match you. This is the same principle, but inverted.”

  Amaya wasn’t convinced, but it wasn’t her place to say otherwise. “If you say so. If there’s nothing else?”

  “Yes, thank you. Rest well.”

  Amaya folded the list and put it in the crease of her pants, nodded to the both of them, and left.

  She hoped they were right about Jerinne. Maybe it was Dayne’s influence on her, but the girl fundamentally understood what the Order was supposed to be, which most others missed.

  Amaya went around the Initiate barracks, making sure lamps were blown out and all were asleep, or at least quiet. Then she went to Vien’s room, leaving the list for her to put up on the slateboard in the morning. Despite the hour, Vien wasn’t around. Perhaps she was in the bathhouse now, or perhaps meeting her Spathian lover. It didn’t matter: Vien got her job done, and well.