Jerinne wiped the tears from her eyes, grateful that Madam Tyrell wasn’t looking.
* * *
Amaya peeked through a few dirty windows to get a bit of sense of how many people she was dealing with. Near as she could tell, there were about a dozen potential fighters in there, with Osharin and the half-naked fellow with the whips as the standouts. When she looked last, the whip guy had bound Dayne’s arms, though she suspected that would only last as long as Dayne tolerated it.
And Dayne seemed to be tolerating things in there. Hemmit had mentioned the hostages—ten of them, bound and gagged—were doused in lamp oil. That was probably why Dayne was biding his time. Though the clocks would be ringing on them soon. Lin went for sheriffs, and once they came, these people would probably light up the place. So she had to defuse the situation before that happened.
“All right,” she whispered to Jerinne. “We’ve got about a dozen folks in there. Most of them, I’d guess, are mercenaries. Former army or Constabulary. Trained, but not like you. The key thing is to neutralize them, fast and hard. As many as you can. Can you handle that?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said.
“All right. Don’t engage Osharin if you can help it. Once things move, Dayne will hold him off,” Amaya said, taking her shield off her arm. She handed it over to Jerinne. “If a fire starts, though, just get people out. Don’t worry about anything else.”
“Won’t you need a shield?” Jerinne asked.
Amaya pointed to Dayne’s lying on the ground. “I’ve got that covered. Be ready.”
Jerinne stayed crouched next to the window, while Amaya dashed over to the shield. As soon as she was spotted, things would break out, so the most important thing here was speed. When she reached the shield, she stomped on it, sending it flying up to her hand. Without a second of hesitation, she pivoted and charged the window, breaking through shield first, and aiming herself at the first of the mercenaries in her path.
He went down in a heap.
She didn’t slow down, landing on the shield and sliding across the floor to sweep the next one in her knees. A well-placed kick, a shift of her weight, and a hop later, she was standing on top of the mercenary, boot on her neck.
That was all the cue Dayne needed. With a yank of his arms, he ripped the whips away from the shirtless fellow. He put himself in front of Osharin, spinning the whips in a wide circle. Osharin dove into the fray with him.
Jerinne was in the room, sweeping through folks with skill and style, each block and takedown efficient and effective. The mercenaries tried to gang up on her, but she was too fluid, too fast; none of them could get around her.
The shirtless man dashed for a burning lamp, and Amaya kicked her last mercenary in the head for good measure before crossing the distance to him. She did a quick count of the room—there were four lamps in all. Once she dealt with this naked fellow, she’d douse the sources of fire.
She tackled him, but he was literally too slippery to get a hold of. This fool had actually greased up his body. He reached for the lamp, but she was able to get her shield in front of it, and then smacked him in the chest. With her free hand, she grabbed the lamp and threw it through the window.
While the slippery bastard was trying to wallop her, she noticed Dayne grappling with Osharin, keeping the man from drawing his sword, all the while still trying to convince the man to stop fighting. She had to admire him, even now wanting to talk Osharin down.
Jerinne blew out another lamp as she continued to clean her way through people, broad smile on her face. Saints, that girl was having fun. Amaya noticed two more players in the room. The old man behind Maresh was screaming and ranting at his people. He must be the leader of this outfit. Once she finished with grease boy, she’d deal with him.
Then she noticed the cloistress, standing out in her red habit. Jerinne had said something about a cloistress helping her. She wasn’t fighting, but crawling over to each of the hostages and cutting them free. Good. One less thing to worry about. She had already gotten one out, and was working on freeing a second.
Amaya’s opponent slipped away from her and made a break for another lamp. She spun around and hurled her shield at him, smacking him clean in the face, and closed the distance as he staggered, landing sharp punches in his sternum and tenders.
That was enough to take him out of the fight. She blew out the lamp while he moaned and crawled away. One lamp to go.
Dayne had Osharin in a lock, pinning his arms back. “Don’t make me hurt you!”
Osharin dropped to a knee and flipped Dayne over his head, sending him flying into the group of hostages. Amaya reclaimed her shield and charged at him as he went for the last lamp. He grabbed it just before she hammered into him, and when she connected, he tossed the lamp away. The two of them collided into each other, falling over a table with their momentum. It took her a moment to recover and see where he had thrown it.
The old man, holding the lamp high over his head.
“You right bastards!” he shouted. “You’ve ruined everything, and this is what you all deserve!” He threw the lamp on the ground by Dayne.
Flames leaped up all around them.
Chapter 27
FIRE BURST FROM the shattered lamp, and Dayne couldn’t waste a moment. He had been grappling with Osharin, but solely to keep the man out of the fight while Amaya and Jerinne neutralized the other threats. But with the fire spreading, the threat had changed, and the only thing that mattered was saving the hostages before they were incinerated in a horrible, fiery death. He heaved Osharin away from him and went to the hostages.
Sister Frienne—how was she even here?—tackled the closest hostages to the flames and smothered them with her robes, tamping down any flames before they grew, letting herself burn instead.
“Amaya!” he shouted as her ran to the covered lumber equipment. “Tarps!”
She cued into his idea and met him at the closest giant saw. Together they grabbed the great muslin cloth and yanked it off. With a wide swoop of the tarp, they covered the next two hostages as the lamp oil on their bodies started burning. Amaya went to work cutting their bonds, and Dayne tried to beat down the fire before it reached any of the other victims.
“Dayne!” Jerinne shouted.
That warning gave him the chance to dodge a thrust of Osharin’s sword. He was able to move away, pivot, and slam his shoulder in the man’s chest, picking Osharin up off the ground and driving him away from the fire, the hostages, and Amaya. Keep the fight off of her, let her save lives.
Osharin slammed the pommel of his sword into Dayne’s back, hammering it again and again until Dayne dropped him. He landed on his feet, sword at the ready, and Dayne jumped back to avoid getting skewered.
“This could have been a triumph for the people!” Osharin shouted as he made several attempts to run Dayne through.
“What people?” Dayne asked. “The ones you tried to silence?”
“We’re serving the silenced voices!”
Another flurry of attacks pushed Dayne toward the fire. He scrambled to one side to avoid getting burned, but his foot slipped, sending him tumbling to the ground. Landing on his back, he couldn’t move away in time to avoid Osharin’s sword.
Clang.
Another sword blocked the blow.
“Mind if I dance?” Jerinne asked.
She parried Osharin’s attacks, which were no longer angry and wild, but tight and focused. Jerinne’s only advantage was having shield and sword together, while Osharin had only his sword, but her intervention gave Dayne the chance to get back on his feet.
“Think this is yours,” Jerinne said, blocking one blow with her shield and tossing her sword to Dayne. She then rolled out of the way of Osharin’s next blow, which Dayne parried.
“We need to get these people safe!” Dayne said, partly for Jerinne’s benefit, but hoping he cou
ld talk some sense into Osharin. “You are a Tarian!”
“I am also Acoran!” Osharin shouted back.
Amaya and Sister Frienne had gotten most of the hostages out of the building, which was now starting to burn hotter and heavier. As Amaya pulled one hostage out, he pulled out his gag. “The ballots!”
The lockboxes were in the middle of the fire. Those were the Scallic votes, the will of those people. That had to be saved. Dayne blocked another blow from Osharin, and took the opportunity to grab the man’s wrist. He had no choice but to disable the man now.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, and twisted with all his strength.
“Ahh!” Osharin cried out as his arm made a definitive crack, and fell to his knees. Dayne left him on the ground and went to the lockboxes. But the fire was already too hot, impossible for him to grab the boxes.
“Help!”
Maresh. Still tied to a chair. Both he and Valclerk were trapped by the flames, and Valclerk was trying in vain to beat back the fire with his expensive coat.
“Jerinne!” Dayne called. “Shield!”
She nodded and tossed it to him, and then following his eye line, ran through the fire to Maresh. She would get Maresh out, he had to trust that.
Dayne focused on the lockboxes, and took a few deep breaths before diving in, shield first. He couldn’t touch the boxes, hot as they were, but he could push them with the shield. It made a wrenching scraping sound as he slid the boxes across the ground, even as the flames licked at his arms and legs. Didn’t matter. He needed to get them out. He could barely see anything, behind the shield, smoke filling the room, and he was hopeful he was heading toward the door.
Another few feet and his uniform was burning.
Above him he heard a groan and creak, and then great crack and tumult. The fire had reached some of the support beams and the roof was coming down. No more time. He needed to get out.
Then there was a whoosh as he was walloped with the heavy cloth.
“Let’s go!” Amaya shouted, battering at the flames.
“The ballots!” he said. She threw the tarp over them, and helped him pull them out into the sunlight. Coughing, he looked about. Jerinne had dragged Maresh—chair and all—onto the grass. “Is that everyone?”
Amaya helped him to his feet. “All the hostages. Most of the mercenaries as well.”
“Where’s the Sister?” he asked. “And Osharin? And Valclerk?”
Amaya paused for a moment, and nodded. They went back in together.
“Osharin!” he called out, despite the smoke and haze. He could barely see a thing. “Where are you?”
“Here!”
They followed the voice to find Osharin, pinned under a fallen burning beam. “I can’t move!” he cried, and then he saw who had come to him, and his face fell. “I guess you won.”
Dayne pulled his sleeves over his hands. “Get ready to pull him out.”
Osharin looked in surprise, then chuckled. “That girl wasn’t kidding about you.”
Dayne got his hands under the beam and pulled. Heavy and hot as all blazes, but he couldn’t let that stop him. “Only . . . need . . . a . . . few . . . inches.”
Amaya grabbed Osharin by the shoulders and dragged him out from under. As soon as he was clear, Dayne dropped the beam. He was about to ask Osharin if he could walk, but the answer was clearly no. The man’s leg had been thoroughly crushed.
“Get him out, I’ll find Valclerk.”
Amaya said something back, but the roar of the flames had grown too loud. Dayne couldn’t hear her. Nevertheless, she grabbed Osharin and pulled him out of sight. Dayne, half from memory, worked his way toward the part of the work floor where he had last seen Valclerk. Pushing his way through the heat and smoke, he saw two figures, one pinning the other to the floor, knife in her hand.
“I won’t kill you!” Sister Frienne shouted. “I swore to God that I wouldn’t kill again, but I can keep you here and let the fire take us both!”
Dayne couldn’t get close; a wall of fire blocked him from them.
“Sister!” he shouted. “Sister, you need to let him up! You both need to get out of here!”
“She’s crazy!” Valclerk shouted.
“It doesn’t matter!” Sister Frienne said, looking to Dayne through the fire. “My soul is already lost, and his should be as well! We will be damned together!”
“You’re not lost, Sister!” he said. “You both can still—” He looked about. There was a clear path from where they were to the far door. They still had a chance. “You need to run now!”
“Help!” Valclerk said.
“I can’t—” she said. “He’s evil and I can’t let him live! I will suffer for it, but I will give my soul for Scaloi!”
“The ballots are safe!” Dayne said. “Everyone is safe except you two! You can get out now!”
“No!” she shouted.
What had Ret told him? “Sister! I need you to help me. Ret told me to tell you—”
She looked up at that.
“What did he say?” Her knife hand trembled.
“That helping me—that would be your penance.”
She stood, dropping the knife, and stumbled backward. “My . . . my soul isn’t lost?”
Valclerk grabbed the knife. “It is now!”
Dayne had to act, despite the fire and smoke. He dashed through the wall of flame, ignoring the pain for now. It didn’t matter. He would bear it, he would survive. He managed to close the distance and grab Valclerk by the wrist as he tried to bring the knife down on Sister Frienne’s back.
“None of that, sir,” Dayne said, pulling the man up off the ground and plucking the knife out of his hand. Valclerk dangled in the air, kicking uselessly. This was no moment to gloat or dally, as the heat and smoke were oppressive. They only had moments. He slung Valclerk over his shoulder. “We need to—”
Another part of the ceiling came down, bringing with it a wave of smoke and ash. Dayne was engulfed in darkness, not seeing where to go or how to get out anymore.
A hand found his and pulled him forward. He let himself be guided, doing his best to keep his sleeve over his mouth and nose while still carrying Mister Valclerk, who had gone limp. Dayne couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, and had only that hand as a point of reference, until suddenly there was light and a rush of cool fresh air. Dayne managed a few more steps before he dropped to his knees, gasping and wheezing, and deposited Valclerk on the ground.
He looked to the hand holding his.
Jerinne.
“You all right?” she asked. “It was a miracle I found you.”
“You—you found—but where is Sister Frienne?”
“The cloistress?” Jerinne pointed to the woman on the grass. “She came out and collapsed. That’s how I realized you were still in there. You even went back for this jerk.”
“It’s what we do. Stand be—” He coughed hard before he could say anything else.
“I know,” she said. “I get it now.” She dropped to the grass, and pointed to the moaning and wheezing mercenaries Amaya was pacing among. “But it was pretty satisfying to wallop those guys around.”
Dayne started to laugh, which triggered another coughing fit.
“Easy,” she said. “Just rest and—”
She was interrupted by the drum of horses thundering down the road: Lin with a half-dozen sheriffs, and a lockwagon trailing behind. Right now, that was a beautiful sight.
* * *
Dayne had to hand it to the sheriffs, they were very good at their jobs. With incredible efficiency, they assessed the situation and had more people come with horses, carriages, and supplies. Acting as constables, Fire Brigade, and Yellowshields all at once, they ironed up the Deep Roots members, put out the fire, and tended to the injured. They even brought a cask of beer and several loaves of bre
ad, which Dayne deeply appreciated.
Within an hour they had lockwagons loaded with Valclerk, Quinara, Osharin, and the rest of the Deep Roots. Only Scanlin was unaccounted for, apparently having slunk off into the woods before the sheriffs arrived.
“Not surprised,” Osharin muttered when he heard. “He was just hired muscle, not part of the cause.”
Sister Frienne did not wake up, so they arranged to bring her to the nearest hospital ward on the edge of the city. As she was being loaded on a wagon, Dayne noticed that the scars on her arms had receded, no longer angry red welts. Was that part of Ret’s power, or was it just that Sister Frienne believed she had served her penance? He wasn’t sure what it meant, and also wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.
More carriages, as well as blankets and clothing, were provided for the authenticators, who were mostly grateful and in good spirits.
“We owe you and yours more than we can say,” Mister Beninaugh, the ranking member of the authenticators, told Dayne. He was holding one of the lockboxes stained with scorch marks. “We’ll have to see how extensive the damage to these was, but I have faith that the most important records are intact. Thanks to all of you.”
“Can’t you open it and check?” Jerinne asked.
“Not until we get to the Parliament,” he said. He held up one of the keys the sheriffs had found once they put out the fire. “Double lock, takes two sets of keys to open each box.”
“Then we should get there in haste,” Dayne said. He called out to the master sheriff, a stout man named Indlebrook. “We need to get to the city, get these people to the Parliament. And the marshals will probably claim jurisdiction over the arrests—”
“They’re welcome to it,” Indlebrook said, approaching. “Let’s get you all loaded up and back home.”
“Are we all going to the Parliament?” Maresh asked.
“I need the longest bath ever,” Hemmit said. He had already jumped in the river and put on the clothes the sheriffs provided, but he still smelled decidedly rank. “But I will see this story to the end. We earned this, and we’ll print the whole thing.”
Shield of the People Page 31
