Shield of the People

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “I would have to clear it with the ranking member at the chapterhouse, which was me. So I’m saying it was fine. Where is the Grandmaster?”

  The question was answered for them as they entered the marshals’ offices in the Parliament. The Grandmaster was waiting in Donavan Samsell’s “war room” with two senior Adepts, and a man Dayne recognized as the Spathian Grandmaster, as well as a Constabulary officer and an archduchy sheriff.

  “There’s the man,” Samsell said when Dayne entered. “That took you some time, so you must have learned something.”

  “A few things,” Dayne said. He noticed all eyes were on him. “Grandmaster, we have a situation.”

  The Grandmaster gave him a dismissive wave. “I’m well aware of that, Dayne. What have you learned, and why did you bring Miss Tyrell with you? Surely she should be focused on the training regiments with Master Nedell.”

  “Master Nedell is in the infirmary, sir,” Amaya said.

  “How is that?”

  “Osharin,” she said. “He’s apparently in league with some group called the Deep Roots, who were responsible for the attack on the Acoran ballots.”

  “The Acoran ballots were attacked by the Sons of the Six Sisters,” Samsell said. “That’s what you told me, Dayne.”

  “I believed that at the time, but now I’m not sure. Members of the Sons of the Six Sisters reached out to me.”

  “They did what?”

  “They approached me and said they were not responsible for the attack on the Acoran ballots, or taking the Scallic ones.”

  “Well, we know that,” the constable lieutenant said. “It was those Open Hand people.”

  “I don’t think so,” Dayne said. “I went through the papers in their headquarters, and there was nothing that indicated their involvement.”

  Samsell scoffed. “Please, Dayne, don’t be naive. Of course they did.”

  “Sir,” Dayne said, looking to the Grandmaster. “There were detailed plans and letters for each of their campaigns—disrupting voters, the demonstration at Unity Stationhouse, their silent vigil last night. But nothing about stealing ballots.”

  The Spathian Grandmaster stepped forward, his dark eyes boring into Dayne. “So who do you suspect?”

  “Right now, these Deep Roots folks.”

  “Whatever they want,” Amaya said.

  Samsell dug through his files and threw one on the table. “The Deep Roots are Acoran revolutionaries who want to dismantle the entire nobility system and be run entirely as a democratic republic.”

  “A return of the Nation of Acoria,” Dayne said. “So therefore—”

  “Therefore they could not care less about Scallic ballots, Dayne,” Samsell said.

  Grandmaster Orren looked at both Dayne and Amaya with focused interest. “This is not why you came.”

  “Osharin fled from the chapterhouse,” Amaya said, “injuring Master Nedell and Vien Reston, and abducting Jerinne Fendall. He has her, somewhere.”

  “That is quite distressing,” the Grandmaster said. “I didn’t know much about the man, but Master Escanline in Porvence spoke well of him. We are certain of all this?”

  “We’re certain he’s with the people who attacked the Acoran wagons and the party,” Amaya said. “And he had Jerinne.”

  “Even if they had nothing to do with the Scallic votes, we need to find them and save her,” Dayne urged.

  Samsell came over, clapping Dayne on the shoulder. “I understand your concerns, but there are larger ones at play right now. If anything in that folder can be of help, you are welcome to it.”

  Amaya took that cue and starting thumbing through it.

  “In the meantime, Dayne,” the Grandmaster said, “while I am troubled by this development, right now we must be focused on the good of the nation. Shortly we anticipate having the intelligence we need, and then we will go to action. Together.”

  “What intelligence?”

  “Done.” A Spathian Adept strode into the room, with a woman in a gray Druth Intelligence uniform. Her smile was demure, subtle, but the Spathian had a grin as wide as the sky. “We know where the ballots are.”

  * * *

  Jerinne made no progress on the ropes, beyond rubbing her wrists raw. Escaping from bonds seemed like it was something Tarian Initiates should learn, but it was not part of the training curriculum. Jerinne certainly would have found such lessons useful now.

  The door opened and Osharin came in purposefully. He knelt down in front of her and put a cup to her lips. She twisted her head away, not that she’d be able to resist for long.

  He sighed, and took a drink from the cup. “It’s water.”

  She was absurdly parched, and this room was dry and dusty. “Fine.” He put the cup to her lips and let her drink it all down. It helped, but it was hardly enough to slake her thirst.

  “Sorry to get you mixed up in all this,” he said. “I overreacted when you came across Quinara and me.”

  “You tried to drown me,” Jerinne said.

  “I overreacted. And I apologize.” He said this like it was impolite of her to not accept his apology. “And I’ve kept Quinara and the others from killing you. That’s not something I want. Please understand that.”

  “Thank you so much,” Jerinne said, letting the condescension drip from her voice.

  “You’re angry, of course you are. You have every right to be.”

  Jerinne couldn’t believe this fellow. He actually thought he was giving her permission to feel angry. “What do you want?”

  “I want the future,” Osharin said, as if that was response enough. Jerinne didn’t give him the satisfaction of asking for clarification, and he frowned at her for a short while before going on. “Look, this country is in shambles, thanks to puffed-up nobles shutting down the voice of the people. That’s what we’re supposed to be supporting. That’s what this uniform is supposed to mean.”

  “How is stealing ballots or attacking a party supporting the voice of the people?”

  “That’s just it! The voice of the people has been suppressed. The election is a joke! Pretense all around like it gives a voice to the people, when all it does is create a puppetry for the nobility to control.”

  “So you want to, what, get rid of the Parliament?”

  “No, you silly child,” he said, standing up and pacing off. “I mean, yes, but only because this Parliament is a sham, and we should not give it honor or credence. What we need is a true congress of the people, like Acoria had before it was destroyed.”

  “Saints, more of this,” Jerinne muttered. “So why attack the party?”

  “Because all of you Tarians in Maradaine were far more interested in sucking up to those swells instead of respecting this!” He beat his chest and grabbed his uniform. “All of you in dress uniform, rubbing elbows with the nobles and fancy folk, instead of being on the street, shield high!”

  “So you brought the fight to us?”

  “I reminded you who you are! We aren’t supposed to get accolades from those people! The Tarian Order was always supposed to protect the common man from those people. I thought if anyone would understand that, it was Heldrin.”

  “Dayne knows what it means to be a Tarian.”

  “But he’s being poisoned by that . . . woman. I hoped that if we got rid of her, he’d be free. He’d see what we needed to be.”

  “All right, you’ve lost me,” Jerinne said. “Is all this about freeing Druthal or freeing Dayne?”

  He shook his head in disgust. “I should have known better than to explain this to a stupid girl like you. The two are one and the same. The cause is the same, be it for the nation or just one man.”

  “Dayne will never side with you on this,” Jerinne said. “Though, he’d be the one who’d defend your right to say it.”

  “No, Dayne is going to unde
rstand. You all will.”

  Jerinne strained at her bonds to lean forward. “There’s nothing to understand besides your mania.”

  He jumped at her and grabbed her by the chin. “Maybe next time I won’t argue so hard to spare your life. Remember that, Initiate. Remember your place.”

  “My place is standing with a shield between you and the people of Druthal. And Dayne will be right by my side.”

  He cracked her jaw with the back of his fist and stormed off. Jerinne spit out blood, but getting under his skin was worth it. Now alone, she started again on the ropes binding her. Even if she rubbed her wrists raw to the bone, she would get out of here, and do whatever she needed to stop Osharin, Quinara, and the rest of these bastards.

  “Come on, Saint Julian,” she whispered. She rarely prayed to any of the saints in any seriousness, but in this moment it made sense to call on the shielded pilgrim. “I could use a bit of blessing right now.”

  Hands touched hers from behind. “We all could, child.” A cold blade touched her skin, and then it cut through the rope. Free from her binds, she got to her feet and turned to her rescuer.

  A Cloistress of the Red—a woman of middle years and haunted face. Not just any cloistress.

  “You were at the stationhouse,” Jerinne said. “You’re with that Scallic group.”

  “Sister Frienne,” she said, sheathing the knife at her belt. Her hands were shaking as she touched Jerinne’s face. “I needed to look to you, and I found you. Now we need to get out of here before they notice you’re gone. Come.”

  * * *

  “What did you do?” Dayne asked, looking to the Spathian and back to Samsell. “You didn’t torture Ret or his people, did you?”

  “Saints, Dayne, you’re far too excitable about these things,” Samsell said. “But, no, we didn’t hurt them. Did we?”

  “It’s amazing what some people will do when they believe you will hurt them, though,” the Spathian said. “All I did was get in the cell with one of them, and start unloading a bag of tools. In thirty seconds he started talking.”

  “It’s true,” the Intelligence colonel said. She handed a paper over to Samsell. “A series of warehouses in North Druthal. I find the information credible, and therefore actionable.”

  “Who is she?” Amaya asked.

  “Colonel Silla Altarn,” Samsell said. “The marshals and Druth Intelligence openly cooperate in situations like this.”

  “So you’ll be heading out with your men?” she asked. “Or perhaps a joint operation with our Elite Order friends would be good fodder for the newssheets.”

  The Grandmaster sighed. “That wouldn’t be why I would suggest it, but I would be honored to assist the marshals here. And the Spathians?”

  “Yes,” their Grandmaster said tersely.

  “But, sir—” Dayne started.

  “Dayne,” the Grandmaster said, taking his arm and pulling him aside, almost snarling in anger. “I recognize that you are feeling left out of these decisions, and that your position here—”

  “I don’t care about the position!” Dayne snapped. “Jerinne is in danger.”

  The Grandmaster’s face fell a bit. “Of course. That seems to be independent of these other matters. We will handle the troubles of the nation, rescue the ballots and their escorts. If you wish to be excluded, you can focus on rescuing the Initiate from whatever trouble she’s found herself in.”

  “I do,” Dayne said. Something else burst forth from his gut. “And we were supposed to keep them from torturing the prisoners, sir.”

  “And no torture occurred,” the Grandmaster said. “Untoward and unorthodox, but Colonel Altarn assured me . . .” He stopped and pursed his lips, and when he spoke, all the harshness in his voice had gone. “I recognize the discomfort here. But trust that what I am doing is what’s best for the country. And the Order.”

  “And for Jerinne?” Dayne asked.

  “For that, I count on you to handle it as best you can,” he said. “I’m sorry I—that’s how it has to be today.”

  Dayne nodded and walked away. He didn’t even want to look at the Grandmaster right now. That he would be so dismissive about the life of one of his charges was appalling.

  He was out of the war room and down the hall before he realized that Amaya was right by his side.

  “I don’t even recognize him right now,” she growled.

  “So we’re alone in this,” Dayne said. “You have the file?”

  “I do, for all the good it will do us. Some names, some information on properties and money and suspected supporters. We’re going to have to do real legwork for this to pay off.”

  “Then let’s not waste time.”

  They emerged from the Parliament to the bright daylight, and Lin Shartien on the steps, half-crawling her way up. Her hands were trembling as lights and sparks popped off of her.

  “Lin!” he shouted, running to her. “Are you all right?”

  “H-h-had to f-f-find you,” she stuttered out. “F-f-for Hemmit and Mar . . . mar . . . Maresh.” Now that he was close, he saw she also had several bruises and scrapes on her face.

  “She needs food,” Amaya said, and she dashed over to a street cart.

  Dayne scooped Lin up and carried her over. Amaya had bought a couple of lamb sausage sandwiches, which Lin scarfed down with no decorum.

  “More?” Amaya asked.

  “Please,” Lin said. Amaya went for another pair of sandwiches.

  “What happened?” Dayne asked.

  “That woman with the axes, she took Hemmit and Maresh.”

  “Them too?” Amaya asked, bringing more food.

  “Too?”

  “She already kidnapped Jerinne. What are they about?”

  “And what happened to you?”

  “Imach coffee,” Lin said between bites, now eating in a bit more civilized manner. “It and magic do not play together well. Which that woman knew. But it doesn’t matter . . .”

  “Imach coffee did that to your face?”

  She touched at the bruises. “That . . . the patrons of the coffee shop were not well disposed to me once I started bursting with magic. But none of that matters.”

  “Now we need to find all three of them,” Dayne said. “We can’t waste any more time.”

  Amaya started thumbing through the folder. “Maybe there’s a property they might have gone to. Did you see which way they went?”

  “I don’t need to see it,” Lin said. “Just listen, you fools. Before they took Hemmit, I was able to tether myself to him. And even with the magic going haywire from the coffee, and the beating, I held on to that. Despite the fire and pain it all put me through, I held it. I wasn’t about to lose him.”

  She turned her hand over, showing a faint spiderweb of light spun from her fingers, forming a taut line heading to the east. She let it fade, almost invisible, as she took the last bite of her fourth sandwich.

  “Let’s stop wasting time, all right? We’ve got people to rescue.”

  Chapter 24

  SISTER FRIENNE LED HER through one of the doors to a darkened corridor.

  “Where are we?” Jerinne asked.

  “Sawmill and log camp, about three miles east of the city. It’s empty or abandoned for some reason.”

  “And how did you get here? When you ran from the Constabulary station you were—”

  “I was wild when I ran from there. Mad with pain, punishment from God. But in that pain, God showed me the path to you. I felt a call in my soul that brought me to you. And . . . these people . . . these people had . . . and I wanted to—” Her voice had darkened with rage, but then she stopped and dropped to her knees. “I will abide, God, I will hold my sacred oath and harm no one else. I will be strong for you.”

  “Sister,” Jerinne said. This was probably not the moment for prayer, es
pecially prayer directly to God, as opposed to asking a saint to intercede on one’s behalf. Even with minimal religious instruction in her past, Jerinne had always understood it was prideful to presume to speak directly to God. But perhaps in Scaloi, perhaps for their clergy and holy orders, the rules were different.

  “I will stay true and not harm another soul. I will not raise my hand in violence. I will stay true and not harm another soul.”

  The woman was in a reverie. Jerinne needed to break her out of it, grabbing her shoulder. The cloistress’s hand went for the knife at her belt as if it was an instinct, and Jerinne let go. She noticed that the woman had dried blood on her knuckles, and her arms were covered in tally mark scars, angry and red.

  Perhaps the sister needed to pray right now. Perhaps she needed to convince herself to hold this oath of hers.

  “How do we get out of here?” Jerinne asked cautiously.

  “This leads out to the barracks, and then from there we can cross the field to the backhouses and make our way to the river. There might be rowboats or rafts there and we can get downstream back to the city. As long as they have no guards there.”

  “So there are guards,” Jerinne said.

  “They have quite a few people here. I couldn’t count them all. At least twenty.”

  That was quite a lot for the two of them, especially if Sister Frienne was swearing to do no violence. That was not a helpful oath in this situation.

  “And that’s not even counting the ones they’re holding captive.”

  “Captive?”

  Frienne nodded. “The Scallic ballots. Several people in the warehouse, as well as carriages, horses.”

  “They took the ballots from Scaloi? Why?” Though perhaps it made perfect sense. These people tried to take the Acoran ballots. In failing that, they captured another set.

  “We can do nothing for them. But I can get you out. I had to save you. My charge, my penance.”

  Jerinne wasn’t sure what that meant. That priest who had touched her when he was yelling at the sister had said something about looking to her. Perhaps Sister Frienne had taken it too literally. But perhaps she was right as well. If they could get back to the city, she could bring Dayne, Madam Tyrell, marshals, everyone. Going for help was the best thing.