“She’s right,” Amaya said. “We can’t put her at further risk.”
They were right, and Dayne was ashamed he had even thought to ask Lin to put herself in further danger. She had been through enough today.
“Can you ride?” Amaya asked her.
“I can muddle along.”
“Get back to the highway. There should be a sheriff post about a mile or so farther east. We’re likely going to need backup.”
“Wouldn’t it make more sense to go back to the city?” Lin asked.
“The city is at least three miles away, and these horses are already tired. The mile to the sheriff post is about all either will have in them.”
“I’ll get back here as soon as I can,” she said, and turned her horse around to trot back up to the highway.
Dayne tied his horse to a tree while Amaya secured the two guards, binding and gagging them with their own shirts and vests.
“Resourceful,” Dayne said.
“I have a few tricks,” she said, collecting her shield and getting it back on her arm. “Let’s stick to the tree line, try to stay out of sight.”
The actual camp was on the river, consisting of three main buildings, a wide field with a series of wagon houses and stables on the east side, and docks down the slope. The biggest building had large bay windows and loading doors, likely the work floor and warehouse. From their vantage point at the edge of the trees before the open field, they could see some people moving about in that building.
“No one patrolling the outside here,” Amaya said. “But there’s no way to get to the buildings without just walking in the open. We’ll be spotted.”
“And we don’t know where Jerinne and the others are. If Jerinne is even here.”
“We should try to find her first,” Amaya said. “Maybe scout those other two buildings. One looks like barracks.”
“For all we know, those are filled with their people,” Dayne said. “We’re not going to fight our way through this, regardless. Even the two of us.”
“What do you have in mind?”
He unbelted his sword and handed it to her. “I’m going to walk right up to the front door.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Possibly. But maybe I can talk them into a peaceful resolution. And while all attention is on me, you can move faster and quieter on your own through the brush and get to those other buildings.”
“They could kill you, Dayne.” Her voice broke a little when she said it. “I—I can’t—”
“Hey,” he said, taking her hand. “I’m going to be fine. Because if something goes wrong, you’re here. You’ve got me.”
She squeezed his hand. “Yeah, I do. Now go do your stupid plan.”
“You find our people,” Dayne said. “I’m counting on you.”
She nodded and slipped into the underbrush. Dayne came back out to the road and walked into the open, arms raised high. When he was halfway to the large building, one of the bay doors flew open, and a dozen people armed with crossbows and bludgeons swarmed out, as well Osharin and that Scanlin fellow.
“Easy, Heldrin,” Osharin said, sword drawn. “The blazes are you doing here?”
“I’m just here to talk,” Dayne said.
“Drop the shield,” Osharin said. “I know what you can do with that.”
Dayne complied, dropping it to the ground. “I don’t want to have a fight at all.”
Scanlin snapped a whip at him. “You’re going to get one.”
“No, no,” Osharin said, waving Scanlin off. “We can talk, we can be civilized.” He glanced around. “You didn’t bring a cadre of marshals with you, hmm? Because we’re prepared to incinerate the ballots and the authenticators if that happens.”
Dayne kept his face calm. The Scallic ballots were here. The ballots, Hemmit and Maresh, and hopefully Jerinne—if she was still alive—all here. But he couldn’t give Osharin any sense of surprise on his part, and used the truth to his advantage. “No marshals. To be honest, they were certain the Open Hand was behind the ballot abduction, and are chasing a lead on the north side of the city.”
“Well, that’s fascinating,” Osharin said with a wry smile. He looked to his people. “Sweep the perimeter. And tell Quinara to get back here when you see her.”
Scanlin snapped a whip again, knocking Dayne’s shield a few feet farther away. “Let’s go, big guy.”
They brought him inside, where he immediately spotted the ten people—clearly the Scallic authenticators—stripped, bound, and gagged in the middle of the work floor, as well as the strong scent of lamp oil. Maresh tied up in a chair. No sign of Jerinne or Hemmit.
Right now the ballots were his priority, so he hoped Amaya was able to help Jerinne and Hemmit, wherever they were.
“Maresh, are you all right?” Dayne asked.
“Typical day at the office,” Maresh said. “They took Hemmit—”
“Hush,” an old man with a wild beard and fancy suit said. He was standing behind Maresh, one hand casually on the artist’s shoulder. “Who is this titan of a man?”
“His name is Dayne Heldrin,” Osharin said. “Surely you’ve heard of him, Valclerk.”
“Ah, yes,” the old man said. “You failed to save Parlin’s life.”
“Parlin?” Dayne asked. He let that sink in. The man had a certain fire in his eyes that told Dayne that Parlin’s death was something personal to him. “I should have done better that day. I’m sorry.”
The man stepped away from Maresh. “I appreciate you saying that, son. It doesn’t change the mess we’re all in right now, but it does mean a lot that you’ve said it.”
Dayne looked over at the hostages, ten terrified men and women lined up on their knees, each surely hoping he would save them. “You’re saying this is about Parlin?”
“It’s all about him,” Valclerk said.
Osharin came over to him. “That’s where it starts, Dayne. Our enfranchisement in Acora has been taken from us. We had to do something to take it back.”
The pieces fit together. “Parlin’s chair, going to someone else. That’s what you mean.”
“It shouldn’t.” Valclerk went over to the ballot boxes, looking at them with burning contempt. “And they have no right to take it away from the people.”
“All right,” Dayne said. The old man, despite his refined accent and expensive suit, had a sense of madness and danger about him. Dayne quickly assessed the rest of the room. Scanlin was bristling with nervous energy, anxious for a fight at any moment. The other dozen men and women, they looked organized and competent. The way they held their weapons, held their bodies, told Dayne he wasn’t dealing with amateurs. And they were spaced out around the hostages in such a way that there was no easy way to subdue all of them before the situation turned deadly.
It would only take a spark to send the whole thing up in flames. Any of the four lamps currently burning in the room could provide it.
Osharin was the calm center. Even though this old man was obviously the leader, Osharin was who the rest looked to. Dayne had to hope that the man was still Tarian enough that he could be reasoned with.
“Let’s assume I accept that,” Dayne said. “Aren’t you doing the same to the people of Scaloi?”
“We don’t mean them harm,” Osharin said. “It’s tragic, I know, but it’s just what needs to be done.”
That was almost enough to snap Dayne’s temper. “You have them bound and terrified, man! How are you—”
He stepped forward, and in that action Scanlin and all the mercenaries snapped into movement. Muscles tensed, crossbows up. Dayne eased down.
“How are you holding to your oath as a Tarian by being the harm?”
“I’m sorry, Dayne,” Osharin said. “But you have to see that sometimes you need to do a little harm to protect the people. Like amputa
ting an infected limb to save the body.”
“I don’t accept that,” Dayne said. “It’s not too late to clean these people off, turn yourselves in, and end this.”
“End this?” Valclerk said. “This is just the beginning. Not just saving Parlin’s chair for the people, but cutting the puppet strings the noble class uses to yank the Parliament around. What right do those people have to determine the fate of free men of Druthal? Because they came from the right woman’s belly?”
“Dayne,” Osharin said, pleading. “Can’t you see this is about more than a few votes cast by people a thousand miles away, and a few petty officials?”
“A few votes?” Dayne asked. “Those people, the officials, the voters, they are us, Osharin! Every one of them matters.” He pointed at Osharin for emphasis, and that gesture was a step too far. With two resounding cracks, both of Scanlin’s whips ensnared Dayne’s arms.
“Enough of that, big fella,” Scanlin said.
Dayne instinctively flexed, about to yank himself free, but he knew that would trigger a full fight, if not inspire one of these people to start the fire. He couldn’t have that. He relaxed his arms, letting Scanlin think he was subdued.
“We’re wasting time,” the old man said. “Where’s Quinara with that reporter? It’s time to send him back to the city with our demands.” He gave a signal, and two of the mercenaries went outside. Still ten in here. Too many.
So Hemmit was alive, and part of their plans. That was good. And if they were going to send demands back to the city, that gave Dayne the time he needed to find a way to save these people and get them safe. That was the most important thing. And Jerinne.
* * *
Hemmit couldn’t see anything, but he could smell, and what he smelled was the most vile stench of sewage and rot he had ever encountered in his life. He had been dragged outside by Quinara and two of her goons, and taken into another building, where he was dropped into a pit, landing in a pool of olfactory horror, deep enough that with his hands still bound, he could barely keep his mouth and nose above the water line. In as much as this was water.
It was all he could do not to vomit into the sack that covered his head.
“How long he got to stay down there?” one of the goons asked from above him.
“That should be enough to sever the magical connection,” Quinara said. “Really, as soon as he was submerged in the septic slop, it probably snapped. But let’s let him marinate a bit down there.”
“How do you know about how magic works?” the goon asked.
“Took a couple theory classes at the Acorian Conservatory. There was the one girl in my dormitory. Mage. Pain in the ass, always giving me the business. So I took theory classes to learn how to wreck her day up. And I gave her some business, let me tell you.”
“Nice.”
“Useful stuff to know when I was hunting mage bounties.”
“Should have gone to school,” the goon said.
“You wanna come up now, pretty beard?” she called out.
“Yes,” Hemmit managed to say without releasing the contents of his stomach.
“Fish him out,” Quinara ordered.
The goons grumbled, but in a few moments he was hooked under his arms and pulled out. As soon as he was on his feet on solid ground, he couldn’t hold back any longer, and threw up in his sack. Quinara pulled it off his head.
“Not very pretty now,” she said. She exhaled sharply and stepped away. “Take him down to the river and rinse him off. He can’t be completely disgusting when he delivers our message.”
Hemmit was too weak to respond as the goons grabbed him, or even to lift his head. He stared at the ground as they carried him by his arms out of the backhouse. They stopped after just a few steps out.
“You’re going to let him go.”
Hemmit looked up to one of the most glorious sights he had ever seen.
Jerinne Fendall, still in her dress uniform from the night before, which was torn and stained with blood and dirt, stood in front of him armed with a boat oar. Her face told an entire story, one of anger and determination, an expression that made it clear she had walked to the blazes and back and was not going to brook any more nonsense.
Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the oar tighter. “Or do we have to make this hard?”
Chapter 26
JERINNE TOOK THE LACK of immediate surrender as a sign, and whipped the oar around to knock down both goons at once before they called out.
“Hard it is,” she said as they dropped, Hemmit collapsing on the ground with them.
“You want it hard?” Quinara came out of the backhouse twirling her hatchets about. “I’m more than happy to give that to you, girl.”
She swung one hatchet down to crack open Hemmit’s skull, but Jerinne whirled her oar into position to block it. “I owe you all sorts of hard.”
“Then let’s give each other what we owe,” Quinara said, and with a wink, spun into action.
In their previous fights, Quinara had been nimble and vicious, but now she was an absolute whirlwind of limbs and axes. Quinara’s every move, every jump, kick, flip, and swipe was precise, and each blow would be a killing one. They would have been, had Jerinne not been on her game, ready eye on every attack, dodging and parrying. With each strike, every block, she heard Madam Tyrell in her head.
“You need to move, Initiate! If you don’t move, if you stop for a second, you are dead! Push harder, strike quicker!”
She took the blows, letting Quinara hack the oar up with each swing of her hatchets. With each one of those, Jerinne dodged away, remembering her footwork, minding each step down the hill to the river. She was giving Quinara the higher ground, and the woman was using it, but the most important thing was that she drew her away from Hemmit.
Quinara hammered both hatchets down from high, and Jerinne brought up the oar above her head to block them both at the same time. As the hatchets embedded into the wood, Quinara hopped up and slammed both feet into Jerinne’s chest. The oar was wrenched from Jerinne’s hands as she went rolling down the hill to the water, stopping herself before she reached the bank.
“I’m going to carve poems on your bones, girl!” Quinara yelled, tossing the oar to the side. She twirled the hatchets and stalked down the hill.
“Get up, Initiate,” said the voice in her head. “You need to breathe and get your feet under you and keep fighting.”
Jerinne pulled herself up as the woman came down at her with the hatchets. She might be unarmed now, but she was a Tarian. And that meant she was never defenseless.
She dodged to one side as the next flurry of attacks came, Quinara now purely on the offensive.
“Stay in it,” the voice told her. “Wait for the moment.”
Quinara was a machine, relentless. Never giving an opening.
“Initiate!” Madam Tyrell shouted.
That wasn’t in her head.
Jerinne heard a familiar whistling sound of metal cutting through the air, and took her moment. She jumped backward to dodge the next swipe, going as high as she could as she reached out to catch the shield that was flying to her. She spun with the force of the throw, and used its momentum to hammer the shield right into the shocked expression on Quinara’s face.
Quinara was laid out on the dirt, and Jerinne kicked both hatchets away as she stood over her. The woman didn’t move as Madam Tyrell ran over.
“Satisfactory maneuver, Initiate,” she said.
“I was certainly satisfied with it.”
For once, Madam Tyrell smiled. “You’re well enough?”
Jerinne handed over the shield. “I still have fight in me, if that’s what you’re asking, ma’am.”
“Good,” Madam Tyrell said. She had two swords, one in her hand and another on her belt, and handed one of them over. It was a bit heavier than Jerinne care
d for, but she wasn’t going to complain. “There’s still quite a few goons out here, and we’re probably about to get swarmed.”
“Hemmit’s over there, and he’s not looking good,” Jerinne said. “And there was a cloistress, she helped me, but . . . I don’t know. She ran off, but . . . something was off with her.”
“Lin went for sheriffs, and Dayne . . .” Madam Tyrell shook her head. “Dayne went in there to talk them down.”
“That’s all we have?” Jerinne asked as they approached Hemmit. He was sitting up, wiping filth and sewage off his face.
“I’m just going to stay at the Rabbit and write stories from now on,” he said.
“What’s going on?” Madam Tyrell asked. “Maresh is here somewhere?”
“He’s in there,” Hemmit said, looking like he could barely breathe. Given how he smelled, Jerinne couldn’t blame him. “But they have the Scallic ballots and the election officials, and they’re all covered in lamp oil. They’ll burn everything—everyone—if—”
“Sweet saints,” Jerinne said. She looked to Madam Tyrell. “We have to—”
“We will,” Madam Tyrell said. “Let’s move, Initiate.”
They both turned toward the building just as two more goons came around the corner. Madam Tyrell launched herself at them with impossible speed and grace, and before either could properly react, she laid them both down. During Jerinne’s whole Initiacy, she had heard whispers about Madam Tyrell, how she must have cheated somehow to advance to Adept after one year of Candidacy, but in those moments of brutal efficiency, she saw exactly how incredible Amaya Tyrell truly was.
“Rutting amazing,” Jerinne muttered.
“Hemmit,” Madam Tyrell said as she came back over. “Go up that road to the highway, look for Lin and any other help she’s bringing. Jerinne, we need to move fast. Eyes on me, follow my lead. Lives are counting on us.”
“I won’t let you down,” Jerinne said.
“I know you won’t.” Madam Tyrell turned away and stalked toward the building like a cat.
Shield of the People Page 30
