“No, of course not,” Orren said. “You said Samsell ordered you to do this?”
“He asked me, I suppose, rather than actually ordered me.” Dayne sipped his tea—rich and smoky. Not quite to his taste, but he wouldn’t complain to the Grandmaster about that.
“Well, yes. He’s in no position to order you. He has no formal or informal authority over you, nor do any of the marshals.” He shook his head. “The reason behind your role there is to provide some sort of oversight, to work with the marshals and make sure that they are operating within the bounds of legality and morality.”
“What authority do I have to do that?”
“Few men have the moral authority you do, Dayne. I would think—”
“Me?” Dayne couldn’t believe that. “I’ve failed again and again.”
“Exactly, boy. You fail, you say so, and then you try again. When you’re in the wrong, you’re usually the first to say so. Usually.”
“Am I now?”
“I really don’t know. But I think you are panicking. Which is typical when starting something new and uncomfortable.”
“Right,” Dayne said. “So I shouldn’t take orders or even ‘suggestions’ from Chief Samsell?”
“Well, take suggestions with your own judgment. He doesn’t have authority over you, but he might have good ideas. I actually like the idea of you talking with the press on behalf of the Parliament offices, and on our behalf. I think that’s a good role for you, and good visibility for us. That’s important.”
“If you say so, sir.”
“So what else is happening? You are supposed to liaise with us, so tell me.”
Dayne relaxed a little. “Well, Lady Mirianne—you know I am—”
“Yes, I’m familiar,” the Grandmaster said with a bit of unease. “What about her?”
“She’s hosting a party in her city home to celebrate the Revels of Liberation tomorrow night. She had extended invitations to Jerinne and Amaya, but then decided that anyone in a Tarian uniform was welcome. She asked me to spread the word.”
“Hmm,” Grandmaster Orren said. “I am normally loath to accept such things—especially since we’ve only just started the new cycle of Initiacy and Candidacy. It would encourage a lapse in discipline. But it also is an opportunity for visibility, without putting lives at stake. I will post notice that Tarians are welcome, but I don’t know how many will actually attend.”
“Of course,” Dayne said. “I was also concerned, with my contacts with The Veracity Press—”
“Another reason why you being a press contact is an excellent idea.”
“Yes, through them, I learned of a possible threat to the ballot wagons. I had brought it to Marshal Chief Samsell, but he dismissed it as not credible.”
“Well, that’s his business. Just as you shouldn’t take instruction from him—but heed advice if it’s sensible—you need to give him the same trust. He knows what he needs to do as a marshal, and you know what you need to do as a Tarian.”
Dayne bit his lip, deciding not to say that he had asked Amaya to help him in that regard. She hadn’t told the Grandmaster, obviously, and while he wasn’t sure why she didn’t, he felt he needed to respect that.
“You’re right, sir,” he said as he stood. “I should probably go back to the Parliament and figure out what I need to be doing next.”
“That isn’t too different from the rest of us, you know.” The Grandmaster got to his feet in a fluid motion, sipping his tea as he rose. He paused for a moment, looking at his cup. “Those are the challenges we face. But I want you to trust that the things we must do, Dayne—the things I ask of you—are always to serve the best interest of the Order. Always. I hope you know that.”
“Trust and hope, in all things,” Dayne said, handing over his empty teacup. “Will you be joining us for the Revels?”
“Ah, no,” the Grandmaster said. “That’s for those much younger than I. But I want you to enjoy it. And I’m sure the Initiates will relish it after their adventure.”
“Adventure?” That meant Amaya followed through. Dayne would have to thank her.
Assuming it wasn’t a waste of time. Or a disaster.
* * *
One small grace was keeping Jerinne alive right now: Pria could fly around and throw fire at her, but he was a terrible shot. Blasts of fire scorched patches of ground all around her, while she continued her dance with Quinara and her flipping, spinning axes.
“Liana, Trandt, take him down!” she yelled out. Quinara was pummeling at her with multiple blows of her hatchets, and while Jerinne had kept up, parrying every blow, each time another chunk of her quarterstaff was chipped away. The thing was hacked to bits, and at this point, even if Jerinne landed a solid hit on the woman, the staff would more likely shatter than do anything to hurt her.
She couldn’t even glance away to see what Liana or any of the others were doing. She could hear plenty of skirmishing still going on—fortunately whatever was happening kept the rest of the thugs off her back—but she had no idea how her friends were doing.
Another blow came raining down from Quinara, and when Jerinne blocked it, the staff snapped in two. Left with two battered handsticks, Jerinne swept the hatchets to the side as she danced a few steps out of the way from both Quinara’s next attack and another volley of magic fire.
She pivoted toward him and hurled one stick as hard as she could at him, cracking him in the nose. He cried out, and for a moment plummeted as his wings vanished.
She turned back to see Quinara charging at her full bore.
“Jer!”
Tander tossed his shield over to her, which she caught easily and braced herself as Quinara’s sprint brought her hatchets right on her. The hatchets clanged on the shield as Jerinne dropped to one knee, pushing the shield up into Quinara’s gut, sending her flying.
Unfortunately, both for Quinara and Jerinne, they were far too close to the edge of the ravine. Quinara went over, falling down to the valley floor. Jerinne lost her balance and started to slip over the side as well.
A pair of hands slapped onto Jerinne’s arm, pulling her up and back onto solid ground. Trandt, looking pale and ready to vomit, held on to her arm with an iron grip.
“That—you—was incred—I’m sorry—”
She pulled him into a friendly embrace. “Thank you, man.”
Liana was at their side, her face gushing with blood. “Look!” she cried, pointing upward.
High in the distance Pria had reformed his wings and was carrying Quinara, flying them both away from the fight.
“Come on,” Jerinne said, forcing herself to her feet. “We need to help Tander.”
But Tander and Chrinten didn’t need help. Several of the goons were on the ground, some with dreadful injuries, and others were running off into the forest. Perhaps seeing their leaders thrown off the cliff killed their morale.
“You all right?” she asked.
Tander spun to them, sword raised. She noticed it had quite a lot of blood on it. “What do—oh. Did. . . . Did we win?”
“We’re alive,” Jerinne said. “That’s something. Chrinten?”
Chrinten stood dazed, and his bloody sword fell carelessly out of his hand to the dusty ground. He didn’t react until Liana touched him on the arm. “I—what? I just—” He glanced about nervously, took a few steps and threw up.
Jerinne looked across the ravine, to see Vien and the others in her squad tying up archers. She whistled a signal to Vien to let her know they were clear on this side. Then she looked down to see the chaos below. Five wagons, many of them singed or charred, but fortunately none of them were actively burning. There were several injured people on the ground, mostly marshals and a handful of men dressed the same way as the people on the ridge. Madam Tyrell and the rest of the Initiates were helping a couple of marshals subdue the thugs
, tend to the injured, and clear the road.
“Madam Tyrell!” Jerinne called out. “All clear?”
She looked up. “Initiate! You seemed to have dropped your shield.” She pointed to the shield, lying on the valley floor.
“A tactical necessity, ma’am.”
“Injured?”
“We’re all on our feet. Most of our opponents fled, but a few are—”
“Dead, ma’am,” Tander said, coming to the edge. “I’m afraid we had no choice.”
“I understand, Initiate,” she called up. “I’ll be around to check on you. Plenty to be done before we can get this caravan back underway, and then make camp for the night.”
“Come on, Fendall,” Tander said, patting her on the shoulder. “You did damn fine out there today.”
“So did you.”
“Bah,” he said quietly. “Gormless mooks, barely knew what to do with their weapons. And I . . . I killed them.” He suddenly grabbed at her shoulders and buried his head in her neck, weeping. “I had no idea, Jerinne.”
“Hey, hey,” Jerinne said, putting her arms around him. “We did what we had to.”
“Is this what it’s always like?” Chrinten asked. “The fighting?”
“What was this even about?” Liana asked. “We almost got killed, and for what?”
“For?” Jerinne asked. “Hey, listen here. There are five wagons down there, with people in them. Those are all safe because we were here. We did what we needed to do—be the shield between them and harm. Madam Tyrell told us to be Tarians, and we were.”
“You were,” Trandt said. “I don’t think I was.”
“Come here,” she said, calling the other three over. “If not for you, Trandt, I’m over that cliff, dashed on the rocks. Liana, you warned me when I needed it. We were there for each other, fighting together, and saving lives.”
“Taking lives,” Tander said.
“When we have to,” she said. “But for the sake of protecting those who can’t protect themselves. To stand and hold.”
Chrinten chuckled mirthlessly. “You make it sound . . . like you mean it.”
“Don’t we all?”
“I didn’t—I do, but—” He shrugged. “I didn’t really know what it meant.”
“People are still alive right now because of us, innocents who needed us. Remember that.”
Tander suddenly pulled away, straightening himself up and wiping the tears from his face. “Ma’am.”
Jerinne turned to see Madam Tyrell standing up there, obviously having climbed up the slide-down to reach them.
“All of you, get back to our packs, gather our supplies. Fendall, hang back.”
Tander and the rest went back to the path, Chrinten picking up his abandoned sword as he went.
“Ma’am?” Jerinne asked.
Amaya handed over the shield. “This was Dayne’s, wasn’t it? The one from his trials?”
“You recognize it?”
“It’s fitting, Initiate,” she said. “He . . . he told me this might be happening, but—do not tell the rest about this—he didn’t have anyone else who he knew could handle it, who would help.” She looked across the valley. “I swear to every saint, that man infuriates me, but his heart . . . it’s the purest damn thing in the world.” She clasped Jerinne on the arm. “I think he’s been a good influence on you.”
“If you say so, ma’am.”
“I don’t know all that went on up here, but . . . some of it is very clear, Initiate. Well done, Jerinne. Well done.”
Jerinne let herself smile.
“Go, keep helping the others. I think they’ll need you.”
Chapter 13
DAYNE LEFT THE CHAPTERHOUSE, hopeful but confused. He had faith in Amaya leading the Initiates. In the past month, he had gotten some sense of the third-years, and they were all skilled and capable. Jerinne, of course, was a credit to them. He didn’t understand why she had been ranked last, and he hoped it was merely due her injuries during Second-Year Trials. He hoped, but he was far from certain.
He believed in her, though.
“You look troubled, friend.”
Standing across the street was Ret Issendel, still out of his priestly vestments. He approached Dayne and offered his hand, which Dayne took in good faith.
“You came seeking me out?” Dayne asked.
“Guilty,” Issendel said. “Can we walk?”
“I’m heading back to the Parliament. You’re welcome to join me.”
“Gladly,” Issendel said. As they made their way toward the Parliament, Issendel continued. “I’ll confess, something you said today laid on me, and I couldn’t shake it.”
“What was that?”
“You talked about our methods inspiring violence, even if we, ourselves, are not acting violently.”
“You have to see that it’s a problem,” Dayne said.
“I do, and it tasks me. In this fight, I wonder, are we doing the right thing? Is our cause just if we perform unjust acts? And isn’t blocking good citizens, at least in spirit, a form of imprisonment? To force them to hear our message?”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say imprisonment,” Dayne said as they crossed the street. “But it is troubling. And, if I may, very self-involved and shortsighted.”
“Really?” Issendel asked, though he didn’t sound offended. If anything, intrigued.
“Well, you’re presuming that your message, the hardship of your situation, is more important than whatever those people are going through. Not to mention, most of those people are powerless to help your cause.”
“All good points,” Issendel said. “I’ve been taking your words to heart, Dayne, which is why I’ve crafted a new plan.”
“Your Grace—”
“Ret, please.”
“Ret,” Dayne said, even though he was a bit uncomfortable. “I do not want to be a party to your stratagem. I do not support your cause.”
“We differ in our goals, my friend. But I think we are one when it comes to means. Neither of us believes that violence, that causing injury, is worthwhile or just. You are a protector of life, every life. Is this right?”
“It is,” Dayne said.
“I have heard that you wept when a man you had to stop was accidentally killed.”
Dayne stumbled a bit on hearing that, almost tripping and falling down in the street. He stopped walking, leaning against the storefront to brace himself. “Sorry,” he said. “That’s true, but I don’t really talk about it.”
“I understand, and I apologize. I shouldn’t have pressed.”
“It’s all right,” Dayne said.
“But this is what I wanted to talk to you about. A new plan for a demonstration. Fully peaceful, no chained arms or blocking access. No targeting powerless people.”
“What do you intend?”
“Tomorrow night we will have a candlelight vigil, a march through the streets. Each of my people will walk through the streets, candle in hand. Far enough apart from each other that anyone can walk between us. No tying up traffic or blocking pedestrians.”
“And you think it will help you?” Dayne asked.
“I think people will notice it,” Ret said. “I hope it will make them think. What more can I ask for?”
Dayne started walking again. “It feels like you are asking my approval.”
Ret caught up. “Yes! Of the methods, not the message. I understand we will not agree on that. But we can respect each other, and how we choose to act.”
Dayne found himself reluctantly moved by that. “Agreed. I’ll happily argue every point of your mission with you, but . . . I honor your right to pursue that mission.” He stopped and grinned. “As foolish as it is.”
“And here we have a miracle,” Ret said, returning the wide grin. “May we have such m
erry arguments for days to come, my friend.” He patted Dayne on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you to your business, as I have much arranging of mine to do. Which will include a formal statement of intent for you to share with the press. If you choose.”
“That’s asking a lot,” Dayne said.
“If you choose. But you will be armed with information, and one certainly wants as much of that as one can fit in one’s quiver.”
“Agreed,” Dayne said. Ret nodded and went off down the road. Dayne returned to the Parliament and his new quarters. Hopefully, he could have a quiet evening and get some rest. Tomorrow was shaping up to be a busy day, and a busier night.
* * *
Physical injuries among the Initiates had been minimal, a point that astounded Jerinne. Mail shirts made a real difference. They kept Tander and Chrinten from being skewered even when deeply outnumbered, let them focus on putting down their opponents. Liana’s busted nose had been one of the worst. Vien had taken medic duties on herself, setting Liana’s nose and patching up whatever other injuries anyone had received.
“I think this will make an excellent scar,” Haden said about the gash on his cheek.
Once they had escorted the wagons out of the valley and to the next post station, everyone got to work bedding down for the night, preparing supper, making camp. No one actually assigned tasks, or bossed anyone around. Everyone got to work, just doing what needed to be done. Madam Tyrell and the surviving marshals took the prisoners into the Post House, which had a small lockup cell for marshals and archduchy sheriffs to use in cases just like this.
For a moment there was no ranking, no competition, no hazing. Just Tarians working together as a unit.
There were dueling undercurrents to the evening—a nervous, excited energy from some of the Initiates, and a quiet, jagged one from the others. Jerinne understood both things—she was still intoxicated from the fight, her hands almost shaking with anticipation. But also that dread, that filled her down to her center, of what she had done and was willing to do. What almost happened to her.
She had sent both Pria and Quinara over the cliff with intent. She had no idea that he could fly, or that he would catch her. It was a fight for her life, and she did what she had to, and she knew in the same situation she would make all the same choices.
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