The Way of the Shield

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “Even a mercenary can believe in a cause,” Lady Mirianne said.

  Dayne conceded that point. Even still, it was worth learning more. Especially since Tharek was free.

  “What are you going to do, Dayne?” Lady Mirianne asked.

  “I don’t know. I just . . . I feel like there’s more that I could do.”

  “Not here,” she said. “Perhaps you should take Miss Fendall back to the chapterhouse before the marshals decide there is a crime to charge on you.”

  “Like killing that Patriot?” Dayne asked.

  “Hush,” she said, lowering her voice. “I know you blame yourself, and you just stop that.” She spoke normally again, leading him off the stage. “I’m going to have to spend the rest of my day arranging for the museum to be cleaned and reorganized.” She glanced up at the Spathian mannequin, a bolt shot into its face. “That won’t be inexpensive, you know.”

  “I will made reparations,” Dayne said.

  “Nothing of the sort. Take her home. And I insist that the two of you come to dinner tomorrow. You remember where the city household is?”

  “It is burned in my memory, my lady,” Dayne said.

  “Good,” she said. “Now be off.”

  They had only made it to the door before one of the marshals called to them.

  “Your swords and shields,” the marshal said, delivering their armaments to them.

  “Oh, good,” Jerinne said, sheathing her sword. “It was really important these were taken from us. Saints know what might have happened otherwise.”

  Chapter 9

  THE CHAPTERHOUSE WAS far too active for a Quiet Day, with Initiates, Candidates, servants, and even the dogs running about in almost a mad panic.

  “The blazes is this?” Jerinne asked. Her bruised face and body were aching. Tharek had gotten the drop on her, but she wouldn’t let that happen again.

  “Not sure,” Dayne said. The big guy was looking like his heart had been torn out of his chest. Jerinne couldn’t quite wrap her head around that. They had saved two members of Parliament and who knew how many nobles and civilians, and most of the perpetrators were being carted off for trial. On top of that, a gorgeous noblewoman who was clearly interested in Dayne had invited them for dinner. This morning was a victory, pure and simple. Jerinne didn’t understand how Dayne couldn’t see that.

  Frankly, Jerinne was ready to bask in it.

  “Will you look at this face?” Jerinne said to the first batch of Initiates who passed them. “Scars earned in battle!”

  “We’ve heard,” Vien said as she passed by. “What do you think’s happening?” No one else took much note of them.

  “Don’t crow,” Dayne said. “It’s unseemly.”

  “What is happening?” Jerinne asked. “Is this about what happened at the museum?” Everyone was in a frenzy, and it seemed to be leading most of them into the dining hall. Jerinne realized they hadn’t had lunch. What time was it, even?

  “Let’s find out.” Dayne followed the train of people into the dining hall. The room was filled with just about everyone who lived in the chapterhouse. Grandmaster Orren was pacing about, looking distraught. He approached them both as soon as they entered.

  “Dayne, dear boy . . . are you . . .”

  “I’m fine, sire,” Dayne said. “Though Jerinne could probably stand some time in the infirmary.”

  “Nothing that won’t heal, Grandmaster,” Jerinne said. She didn’t need to be coddled right now.

  “I’m sure, but healing is a process, young lady,” the Grandmaster said. “It’s best done with proper care. No need for hubris to impede that.”

  Jerinne accepted the rebuke. “As you say, Grandmaster.”

  “Well, as the two of you have been in the heart of this particular storm, I don’t need to get you up to speed.” He walked into the center of the room, all eyes on him. “As you’ve all heard, there has been an incident today, in which two members of Parliament were nearly killed. Fortunately—and truly, this was pure fortune—two of our own were on hand, ready to stand between them and harm. Lives were saved because we were there, even if it was of pure happenstance.”

  A smattering of applause came from the group of Tarians. Jerinne noticed Madam Tyrell looking over at Dayne, giving him a nod of appreciation.

  “With that comes an unintended consequence, which is why I’ve called everyone here. It is feared that this was not an isolated incident, and members of Parliament are remembering where to look when they want the best protection possible. As such, I am assigning Adepts and Candidates on escort duty, both at the Hall of Parliament and protecting the men themselves.”

  There was a murmur of approval amongst everyone.

  “Initiates, I know these are your Quiet Days, and we will do our best not to have these incidents disrupt your intended schedule. However, you may consider following Miss Fendall’s example, and seize the opportunity to prove what kind of Tarian you might be.”

  He walked around the room, taking moments to touch his fellow Tarians on the arm, or pat their shoulders. “This is a hard day for Druthal, but we are ready for it. There are those who need defending, and we will stand between them and harm.”

  A quick, brutish cheer echoed through the room. Jerinne had done it herself, almost unconsciously.

  “All right. Initiates, dismissed. I’ll speak to the Candidates and Adepts individually.”

  Dayne patted Jerinne on the shoulder. “To the infirmary, all right?”

  “All right,” Jerinne agreed. “But, really, I’m fine.”

  Dayne gave her a bit of a smile. “You did quite well. Good instincts.”

  “You were pretty clever, too.”

  Dayne’s brow furrowed. “Do you have another dress uniform for tomorrow?”

  Jerinne looked down at her uniform, realizing it was a mess of dirt and blood. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Good,” Dayne said, giving her more of a smile. Jerinne was glad to see whatever melancholy was affecting Dayne had broken. “We’re dining with a noble lady. Can’t have you embarrassing me.” He knocked Jerinne jovially on the shoulder and went over to the Grandmaster.

  Jerinne was barely out the door when Raila and Enther were on top of her.

  “You just happened to be at the center of one of the biggest crises the city has had this year?” Enther asked.

  “Really?” Jerinne asked, trying to maintain her nonchalance. “Was it that big?”

  “Huge,” Raila said, wrapping one arm around her shoulder. Jerinne felt her heart suddenly leap in her chest. Nonchalance was going to be very hard to maintain. “Two members of Parliament probably would be dead, if not for you and Heldrin.”

  “At least that’s the rumor,” Enther added.

  “Rumor’s pretty close to true,” Jerinne said. “At least by what you two are telling me.” Jerinne was mostly amazed that rumor had infected the chapterhouse so thoroughly in the time it took for her and Dayne to get back. A running dog couldn’t have beat them by more than half a bell.

  “So it’s true you stood up and dared all the Patriots to shoot at you?” Raila asked.

  “That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Jerinne said, though it was tempting to let the lie ride out. “I did stand up and draw attention to myself. But I never actually encouraged them to shoot me.”

  “And you clearly weren’t shot,” Enther said. “Despite the bruises.”

  Raila lowered her voice. “We heard you were tackled by four of them, while Heldrin drew their fire.”

  “Who did you hear these things from?” Jerinne asked. “Because I’m kind of amazed that anyone who was in the room came here so quickly.”

  “People did come here,” Raila said. “Like, lords and members of Parliament. I don’t know if they were in there at all, but they certainly were worked up about it.”


  “Like we said, they are saying it’s the biggest crisis this year!” Enther said.

  “Oh, come on,” Jerinne said. “Just a couple weeks ago there was the scandal over that south side gambling house. It nearly killed a few high and mighty when it burned down.”

  “No,” Raila said. “That was a freak accident. This was a deliberate attack! And you stopped it!”

  “Why don’t you two get me to the infirmary?” Jerinne said. “Because this is all making my head hurt.”

  * * *

  Dayne worked his way closer to the Grandmaster, who was now going about the room whispering brief messages to various other members. The Grandmaster was nearly at the door by the time Dayne reached him.

  “Grandmaster?” Dayne asked. “You’re making assignments?”

  The Grandmaster nodded, though he looked pained. “Indeed. Dayne, this will be hard to ask of you.”

  Dayne steeled himself. How hard could it be? Would he be asked to guard Benedicts? He would do so without hesitation. “I will do whatever is required of me.”

  “I know you would. This situation is going to push our resources, at what is already a challenging and hectic time for us.”

  “I am here to serve, sir,” Dayne said.

  “And you will. Right here.” He sighed. “You’ve done your part out there.”

  Dayne was confused. “What is my assignment?”

  “The rest of us will be out there, defending the lords and members of Parliament as we have been asked. But that means that those who would be serving to supervise the Quiet Days, organize the Trials . . . they will be occupied. I need you to take up their duties here.”

  “You need me to . . . take charge of the Initiates?” He didn’t mean to sound put out. He would do whatever task was required of him, including this. But he was expecting a more meaningful assignment, a chance to show his worth. The Grandmaster clearly heard that in his voice.

  “Please do not take this as a punishment, Dayne. You have done your share. It’s in our—this will sound mercenary and crass, but we have an opportunity to show the city, the whole nation, how much value our Order still brings to Druthal. But that means we need to be seen, as many faces as we have. I fear . . .” He spoke in hushed tones. “I fear the possibility of this becoming more about one man—you—instead of the Order. So I would like you here. At six bells, you will be the ranking member on Watch.”

  Dayne understood the dangers. Master Denbar had attained fame in Lacanja. Courted it, even. And that had drawn the attention of Sholiar, which led to his death and Dayne’s own doom. Repeating that could be disastrous. “Of course, sir. I want you to know that I would not seek glory for myself beyond that of the Order.”

  “Too late.” Amaya’s voice pierced from behind. She stalked over to the Grandmaster, handing him a newssheet. “Glory has already been bestowed upon you.”

  The Grandmaster glanced at the sheet, shaking his head. “It is an excellent likeness, Dayne.” He handed Dayne the newssheet and walked off.

  “I did nothing to seek this,” Dayne said to Amaya. “You know I wouldn’t.”

  “Of course not,” Amaya sneered. “It’s just that the press loves you. How could they not, with your pretty face?”

  She left. Dayne looked at the newssheet. At the center was an excellent sketch—Dayne in his dress uniform with a gleaming shield, standing in front of Barton and Parlin, who were drawn more in caricature. “Tarian Hero Saves Museum” was writ large across the top, under the newssheet’s banner, which was the part that stood out the most to Dayne.

  The Veracity Press.

  * * *

  The infirmary sent Jerinne on her way with only a foul-smelling poultice wrapped around her head. That was more medical care than she really felt she needed, and she argued that point, loudly, but to no avail. Her bruises would heal, and she felt fine. Now she felt fine with a reeking head.

  Raila waited for her outside the infirmary. “So, what does the conquering hero want to do now?” She gave an impish smile that, under any other circumstances, would lead Jerinne to think she might be interested in stealing a private moment away in the bunks. But there was no way anyone could intend that with the poultice plastered to her face.

  “Too late for lunch, too early for supper,” Jerinne said.

  “You’re hungry?”

  “A bit,” Jerinne said. “I did miss lunch in the excitement. But it can wait.”

  “This was really a crossbow hitting you in the face?” She touched at the poultice gingerly. Brave girl.

  “Embarrassingly enough,” she said. “Bruises I can handle. Indignity takes longer to heal.”

  Raila laughed, patting her on the face. “Poor dignity. Next time, duck.”

  “In my defense, he was clearly a soldier or something. He had moves.”

  “Of course he did,” she said. “You want to hit the training room? Maybe work on some Dodge Sequences?” Now Jerinne knew she was teasing her. But it wasn’t a terrible idea.

  “Let’s get down there,” she said.

  “We should have it to ourselves,” she offered. “Almost everyone is either gone, assigned to protection details, or getting ready for them.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?”

  They had only gotten halfway there when one of the house servants chased them down. “Miss Fendall, miss. You’re needed in the lobby!”

  “In the lobby?” Jerinne asked. “Why?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know, sir. The Grandmaster and the gentleman asked for you.”

  “Gentleman?” Raila asked. “You are having a busy day, Jerinne.”

  “Let’s go see.” Jerinne went off without seeing if she was following or not.

  The Grandmaster and a very well-dressed gentleman were speaking in low voices when Jerinne approached. “Can I be of service, Grandmaster?”

  The Grandmaster looked up. “Ah, Miss Fendall. How are you feeling?”

  “As fit as I can be, sir,” Jerinne said. “Ready to serve as needed.”

  “Excellent,” said the gentleman. He was young—barely a few years older than Jerinne—but his suit was impeccably tailored, including a cravat of Turjin silk. That had to have been expensive. “She’s the one, indeed.”

  “Do I know you, sir?” Jerinne asked him.

  “I was at the museum this morning, though you probably wouldn’t have noted me.” He extended his hand. “Mason Ressin, personal attaché to Jackson Seabrook, the 10th Chair from Sauriya.”

  Jerinne took his hand. She wasn’t familiar with Seabrook at all, but if he was the 10th Chair, that was no surprise. Chair rankings were based on seniority in the Parliament, so he was one of its newest members. “How can I serve?”

  “As you are aware, the incidents of today have left members of Parliament . . . trepidatious. Many of them have secured the services of your fellow Tarians.”

  “And what does that have to do with me?”

  “I saw your performance at the museum, Miss Fendall. Needless to say, I was impressed, and I conveyed my thoughts to the Good Mister Seabrook. We are in agreement that you would be the ideal candidate for his personal security.”

  “But she’s just an Initiate!” That was Raila, hanging back at the lobby entrance.

  The Grandmaster gave her a hard stare. “Miss Gendon, I’m sure you have other places to be.”

  Raila scurried off.

  The Grandmaster turned back to Ressin. “Her interruption may have been unseemly, but her argument was valid. Miss Fendall is only an Initiate. All others assigned to such duties were Adepts or Candidates. It would not be appropriate for an Initiate . . .”

  “Are you denying the Good Mister Seabrook protection?”

  “Of course not,” the Grandmaster said. “This Order will do its utmost to maintain the safety of every member of the Parliament who asks
for it.”

  “Then let me make something clear. Good Mister Seabrook craves the skills of Miss Fendall, regardless of her rank. We know quality when we see it. She is our choice.”

  “I can do it, Grandmaster,” Jerinne offered. Despite the strange feeling she had about the way Ressin phrased the offer, Jerinne wasn’t about to let an opportunity like this pass her. Even if it was with a 10th Chair.

  “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Miss Fendall. But you must prepare for your Trials.”

  “We are in Quiet Days, sir,” Jerinne said. “What better way to prepare than by serving?”

  “And the Good Mister Seabrook—as well as his friends in the party—would not forget this boon, Grandmaster.”

  The Grandmaster opened his mouth, looking as if he would object, but then he waved it off. “Very well. Miss Fendall is, as she said, in her Quiet Days. She is free to spend them as she sees fit. However, when her Trials begin, she will need to attend to that.”

  “Of course, Grandmaster,” Jerinne said.

  “We are ever so grateful, sir,” Ressin said.

  The Grandmaster clapped Jerinne on the shoulder. “Serve the Order well, Jerinne.” He stalked off down the hallway.

  “Well then, Miss Fendall,” Ressin said. “I will wait here while you prepare yourself. We should be off by five bells. And you should . . . clean yourself, appropriately.” His hand went to his own forehead, as if to point out what, exactly, Jerinne should attend to. Jerinne matched the movement, touching the poultice.

  “Of course, yes. I will be presentable shortly.”

  “And a bit of face paint would not be remiss,” he said. “But just a hint.”

  “Of course,” Jerinne said. Not that she had any on hand; she never used it. But if that made Ressin and Seabrook happy, fine enough. Someone must have some. Vien Reston probably would.

  “Excellent,” Ressin said. “We must not waste time. Mister Seabrook is at his home currently, and will need escort to the Talon Club by six bells.”

  Jerinne nodded and, with a few polite words, went off to the bath chambers. She hoped she had hidden her excitement. No one she knew had ever been inside the Talon Club. That alone made the pain of bathing and face painting worth it. Her entire day was certainly shaping into something very different from what she thought it would have been when she woke up.