Bells rang out from across the lawn.
“We should get dressed and look presentable before my adjunct comes in,” Danverth said with a melancholic smile. “Never enough time.”
Estin kissed him, one to sustain him for the months to come. It would have to.
Five minutes later they were both in uniform and sitting at Danverth’s table when the adjunct came in.
“Good morning, Colonel,” he said as he came in. “Or, colonels, rather.” He looked at Estin with awkward embarrassment.
“Morning, Endly,” Danverth said as the young man laid a tea tray on the table. “I thought Neills should be here for my morning brief, since by midday this will be his command.”
“Of course, sir,” Endly said. “I only brought tea for you, though.”
“I’m fine,” Estin said.
“What’s on the night report?”
“One of the ladies from the Royal First was injured last night.”
“Injured?” Estin asked. “But they were guests at a party.”
“Apparently it was attacked by radicals.” Estin did not like that, though he did hope Lady Mirianne’s household wasn’t too badly damaged. She had agreed to make herself a target for subversives to aim at, but he didn’t think decent people like the ladies of the Royal First would have gotten hurt.
“How badly?” Danverth asked.
“Not too badly. They’ll have to delay the start of their tour a few days, but she’s expected to recover.”
“Glad to hear it,” Danverth said. He sipped at his tea. “What say you, Neills? One last inspection of the cadets with me before you ship me off?”
“If one last inspection is all we have time for,” Estin said, forcing his heart down from his throat. He was sacrificing the only thing that mattered to him, for the good of the country, for the good of the throne. That was what a soldier did, after all.
He just hoped the Grand Ten were right.
Chapter 21
JERINNE WAS ONLY HALFWAY through the swing of her punch when Osharin wrenched her arm behind her and dunked her head into one of the baths. She struggled to get free of Osharin’s grip, but he was too strong and she had no leverage. She hadn’t had the chance to take a breath before she went under. Unable to pull herself up, she thrashed with her legs, hoping to kick him hard enough to release his grip, so she could get a gulp of air.
Her senses went gray, a calm washing over her despite her need to breathe. Before everything went black, she was pulled out and dropped to the ground.
“Begging your pardon, sir, but abusing the Initiates is my job.”
Jerinne panted to catch her breath, but even in her dazed, dizzy state, she could see Vien Reston near her in a defensive crouch.
“She attacked me,” Osharin said. “She went wild and—”
“And you decided to drown her?” Vien asked.
“Unbecoming.” Someone else. Mizarnis, Vien’s paramour. “You were at the party. Uninvited.”
“Also the raid,” Jerinne croaked out.
Vien glanced down at her, and in that moment Osharin struck, knocking Vien in the head, and then grabbed her to use her body as a shield against Mizarnis’s attack. Mizarnis had launched a whirlwind of punches, which all struck Vien as Osharin kept her between himself and Mizarnis’s fists. Osharin matched the Spathian’s speed, throwing a combination of punches, sending Mizarnis reeling.
Jerinne struggled to get to her feet, which felt like jelly, but Quinara leaped over the baths and got behind her, hooking both her hatchets around Jerinne’s neck.
“All right, hold it!” Quinara shouted. She drew Jerinne up by her chin with the hatchets. “You all step back, and we’re walking out of here, or the little girl will bleed all over the floor!”
Jerinne wanted to strike back, but she could feel the sharp points of the hatchets on her flesh. It would take only a flick of Quinara’s wrists to tear her throat out.
Osharin tossed Vien’s battered body on Mizarnis and stepped over to Quinara. While she stayed perfectly still, he slipped off his belt and bound Jerinne’s hands behind her. Jerinne didn’t dare struggle. She didn’t have the strength, and she didn’t have a position to gain an advantage.
“Vien,” she whispered. “You all right?”
“Fine,” Vien croaked, blood gushing from her nose. She looked up at Osharin, who was picking up his sword. “You will not walk out of here.”
“We will,” Quinara said. “Or she’s dead.”
Osharin opened the bathhouse doors, and grabbed Jerinne’s arm to pull her out while Quinara kept pace, hatchets still at her throat.
He guided them halfway across the courtyard, where a small group of Initiates in their sleeping clothes had gathered, as well as Master Nedell.
“Osharin,” Nedell said. “What in the name of every saint are you doing?”
“We’re walking out of here,” he said. He pointed to an Initiate—Enther. “You, go summon a cab, now.”
“But—” Enther said.
“We will kill her,” Osharin said. “And then more of you. Have no doubt.”
“You will do nothing of the sort,” Master Nedell said, taking a step closer.
“We’ll do it!”
“He doesn’t care,” Jerinne said, hoping to goad them into a mistake. “He doesn’t even like me.”
Master Nedell sprung, pushing Jerinne in the center of her chest, knocking her back. For a moment the blades weren’t pressed into her skin. He grabbed for the hatchets with one hand while drawing his sword with the other, but Quinara was faster. She slashed, and he screamed, blood gushing from his hand.
Osharin was on him, grabbing Nedell’s sword arm and disarming him in a fluid motion. He hammered Nedell over the head with the flat of his own sword, and the old man crumpled to the ground. Jerinne’s head was spinning too hard to take advantage of the opportunity he gave her, and Quinara had her back in a grip with the hatchets at her neck.
“No one else test me!” Osharin shouted. “Get me that cab!” Vien and Mizarnis stumbled out of the bathhouse, joining the crowd of Initiates who were watching in horror.
Jerinne looked over the small crowd. One Candidate besides Vien. Vien battered. Mizarnis dazed. Master Nedell on the ground, bleeding. The rest, Initiates. Second- and third-years. Iolana and Enther looking terrified, Trandt’s hands trembling. Even Kevo, the old half-blind dog, was out there, growling at Osharin.
All of them unarmed, while Osharin and Quinara had swords and hatchets.
She couldn’t let them fight, let them risk themselves, not for her. She couldn’t let any of them get hurt.
You’re a Tarian. Protect them.
“Do what he says,” she said. She locked eyes with Enther. He, of all of them, should understand her. “It’s all right.”
Enther ran out of the courtyard, and Jerinne let herself be dragged along after him.
“Where do you think you’re going to go?” Vien shouted out.
“Don’t follow us,” Osharin called out. “Or she dies!”
Enther came running back. “It’s there. Just let her go.”
“We’ll let her go when we do,” Quinara said. “If we do.”
Jerinne was dragged past him, and only had the chance to say two quick words to Enther before being pulled into the cab. She made those words count.
“Get Dayne.”
She saw Enther nod as she was pulled up on the cab seat, tips of the hatchets still poised on her throat. Osharin jumped up to the driver’s seat and pushed the cabbie onto the cobblestone. He snapped the reins, and the cab sped off.
“You think someone’s going to save you, dear?” Quinara whispered. “I’m going to enjoy making you bleed.”
“Not yet,” Osharin snapped at her. “For now, we might need her.”
Jerinne didn’t say anyth
ing. She focused on her breathing, finding a calm center. Just like the nightly exercises in meditation. Let her head clear, wait for her moment. When the opportunity came, she would move.
* * *
The sun was up by the time Dayne made his way up to the north end of the Trelan Docks, and the streets were crowded with morning activity, including workers of all stripes repairing the damage from the revelry last night. But Dayne found it heartening how many people were just going about their day, not letting the ugly incidents deter their lives one bit. That spoke well of the character of the people of the city.
“Tea and cresh! Who needs a tea and cresh!” one woman called out from a shop stand. Despite the urgency, Dayne’s stomach growled at him, and his eyes were far too heavy. He hadn’t slept at all, and the doph was wearing off. The dull ache in his hip was creeping its way back into pain.
The Grandmaster had said to take care of himself.
“Three cresh rolls and tea with cream,” he said to the woman at the shop window. “As quick as you can.”
“Quick is what we do,” she said. She pointed to a bench on the side of the shop. “Sit there, twelve ticks.”
Dayne handed her a coin and took his place on the bench. In moments, she put out a cup of tea and a plate of cresh rolls—sausage and potato and egg wrapped in piping hotcakes. Dayne blew on them before taking a bite.
While he started on his breakfast, people sat on the bench on either side of him.
“Mister Heldrin,” one said quietly. “You’ve come with a purpose.”
He turned to the man. “Right now my purpose is breakfast, and you’ve got me at a disadvantage.”
“You didn’t charge out to the western docks just to get some cresh rolls,” the woman on the other side of him said. “I imagine you are here to investigate the headquarters of the Open Hand.”
“What do you two know of it?” he asked.
“Not that much, Mister Heldrin,” the man said. “But we do know the marshals arrested most of the Open Hand over the stolen Scallic votes. And that is very interesting.”
Dayne put down his cresh roll and turned sharply on the man.
“What are you getting at?”
“Let’s not make a scene, Mister Heldrin,” the woman said. “We’re just three people sitting for breakfast. No need for agitation.”
“I’m quite agitated,” Dayne said.
“But we’re confident you won’t do anything rash or violent,” the man said. “We’re well aware of who you are. That isn’t what you do.”
Dayne took a moment to breathe and find his calm. “So you’ve been following me?”
“We’ve kept our eye on you this past month,” the man said. “We’re aware of the missing Scallic votes, which is apparently getting blamed on the Open Hand. That is very interesting to us, especially in light of events earlier this week.”
The woman continued, “Namely, the thwarted attempt on the Acoran votes, which was blamed on the Sons of the Six Sisters.”
Dayne turned to the woman and raised an eyebrow at that. “That wasn’t made public. What are you, Intelligence?”
“No, Mister Heldrin,” she said firmly, looking into his eyes. “We’re with the Sons of the Six Sisters.”
Dayne started to jump off his stool, but the pain in his hip screamed at the sudden movement. “Then what are you—”
“We had nothing to do with either ballot robbery,” she said.
“And we never would,” the man said. “That would go against everything we believe in.”
“And what is that?” Dayne asked. “I thought you wished to destroy the Parliament.”
“Nothing of the sort. King Maradaine XI established the Parliament, and we are dedicated to what he built.”
“But the attack on the Acoran votes was blamed—”
“Yes, it was,” the man said.
“But it wasn’t us,” the woman said.
“Six sisters hid and protected young Maradaine XI. We would never dishonor their memory by subverting the will of the Druth people.”
They both stood up, tossing coins on the counter. “We don’t know who stole those ballots, Mister Heldrin,” the woman said. “But they are an enemy to the people, and we wish you luck in finding them.”
“Wait a moment,” Dayne said, getting up.
“Don’t waste time following us,” the man said. “Think about who would want to sabotage the Acoran election.”
“The Scallic votes were taken.”
“After failing to capture the Acoran ones,” the woman said. She pointed to a building up the street. “There’s the Open Hand headquarters. I doubt you’ll find what you need there.”
“When you’re ready to talk to us,” the man said. “There’s a bookstore on Candolyn Way, in Fenton. We welcome your voice, Mister Heldrin.”
They both nodded and walked away, and Dayne wasn’t sure if he should chase after them, or continue with his original plan. His head was still far too clouded with fatigue to even make a meaningful decision. He swallowed down the rest of his tea, and picked up his cresh rolls, eating them as he walked to the headquarters. The time on the stool had started to make the joints in his hip and leg stiff. They howled at him as he started to walk.
The headquarters was exactly what he expected—a small office above a storefront, with a handful of desks, walls covered in maps of the city, papers and letters in disarray. A quick scan of the letters and documents confirmed Dayne’s instincts: These people did not plan any attacks on either the Scallic or the Acoran ballots. Every piece of paper showed him the character of the Open Hand. There were pamphlets and manifestos that matched Ret’s message: a desire for an independent Scallic nation, a restoration of the royal line of the Scallic queen, and the elevation of the Archbishop of Scaloi to Cardinal of the Scallic Church.
And one point was made over and over: it must be done through peaceful means.
These people were not the criminals the marshals wanted to make them into.
This was the wrong place to be. Those votes needed to be found, whoever took them needed to be stopped, and he was wasting his time here. He had to get back.
Each step brought more pain, but he forced his way down to the street, and then the slow walk east. It didn’t matter how much it hurt. Everything counted on him.
* * *
The chapterhouse was far too quiet this late in the morning. Amaya didn’t like it one bit. There should have been sounds of Initiates training, if nothing else, but when she came in the foyer was empty and no one was in the training room.
“Hello?” she called out. “What’s going on?”
Someone came running over in a rush. Iolana. Her eyes red, tears down her cheeks. “Madam Tyrell! You’re here! Thank the saints you are!”
“What’s going on?” Amaya asked. The girl was in a state. “Where is everyone?”
“Most of us are in the dining hall, those that are all right. Come on.” Iolana grabbed her hand and pulled her along.
“Those that are all right?”
“Master Nedell is in the infirmary, as is Miss Reston . . .”
“The infirmary?”
They reached the dining hall, where most of the Initiates, as well as the service staff, were sitting around with a sense of morose expectation. What was happening?
“Where’s the Grandmaster?” she asked, looking to Ellist. The head of the service staff looked like the closest thing to a responsible adult here.
“We’re not sure, miss,” Ellist said. “He left at first light with a few of the Adepts, and hasn’t returned yet.”
“But what is this about Master Nedell, and Vien?”
“There was an altercation in the bathhouse and the adjoining gardens,” Ellist said.
“Rutting Osharin!” Enther shouted. In three years Amaya had never seen him even
approach anger. Now he was red-faced and fuming. “He was a rutting traitor!”
“Osharin?” The new Adept from Porvence. “Wait, what did he do?”
“He was in league with that lady with the axes,” Tander said. “I don’t know all of what’s what, but Jerinne and some others caught him. Next thing, he’s laid out Vien, her Spathian friend, and Master Nedell, and he and that lady abducted Jerinne with an axe at her throat. And then they’re off in a carriage.”
“Where’s Dayne?” Enther said. “Jerinne said to find Dayne.”
“Wait, wait,” Amaya said. “Are you saying Osharin is working with them—the ones who attacked the ballots and the party?”
“Yes!” Miara said.
“It would seem to be the case,” Ellist said.
“And Jerinne?”
“Taken.” Amaya turned to see Vien in just her cottons, with Clinan from the infirmary right behind her. She was limping, her face blue and yellow with bruises, and fresh blood seeping from the bandages around her abdomen. “That bastard took her from us, and we need to get her back.”
“You need to get back to bed,” Clinan said. “You’re in no shape to—”
“Shut it!” Vien said. “Let’s track them all down.”
“Hold up!” Amaya said. “Where are the rest of the Adepts, or even the Candidates?”
“Some haven’t come in yet,” Ellist said. “Others went off in search of Mister Osharin.”
“Leaving only the Initiates here.”
“But we’re ready, Madam Tyrell,” Tander said. “You give the order, and we’ll arm up and go where you lead.”
“No,” Amaya said. “Saints, you kids—you’ve already been in two fights with these people, I’m not leading you into another. You all will stay here. Half of you haven’t even—I mean, blazes, Vien, look at yourself.”
Shield of the People Page 26
