The Way of the Shield

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  Other than Braning, he had no idea who was still free. The newssheet he read that morning only mentioned Lannic by name, though it said “was arrested with others.” Who? How many? Was Tharek out and about? The newssheet talked about Tarians helping capture the Patriots. Kemmer hadn’t known much about the Tarians before yesterday, other than the old fables, but from what he had seen, it would take a Tarian to bring in Tharek Pell.

  “Who’s that?” Gillem stood behind the old bar, crossbow aimed at the door.

  “Just Kemmer.” He held his hands up, so Gillem wouldn’t get too nervous.

  Gillem put down the weapon. “Been wondering if anyone was still around. Today’s newssheets are all about our boys being ironed up.”

  “Rather,” Kemmer said, closing the door behind him. “Only a handful of us free at best. Maybe just me and Braning. No one else came in yet?”

  “Not unless they were mouse quiet,” Gillem said. “Ever since I got word, I been keeping an eye on the door.”

  “Mouse quiet, indeed,” came a low growl from the corner of the room. Gillem and Kemmer both startled, Gillem grabbing the crossbow in a scramble. The shot fired uselessly against the wall.

  “Tharek, that you?” Kemmer asked. He knew the man was skilled, apparently skilled enough to be hiding in here without Gillem knowing.

  Tharek came out of the shadow, silent as a soft breeze. “You’re lucky it was me. Anyone else, and you two would be pinched.”

  “Saints, how long you been there?” Gillem asked.

  “Long enough to see you doddering about, thinking you’re guarding this place,” Tharek said.

  “I own this place, so don’t you treat me—”

  “Gentlemen, please,” Kemmer said, intentionally using the calmest voice he could muster. “The last thing we need is to argue amongst ourselves. We must be strong, and we must be focused. Agreed?” Perhaps mustering a little authority would help matters along. He wasn’t sure who was in charge now with Lannic gone, but he was reasonably certain it shouldn’t be Tharek.

  Gillem grumbled. “Agreed.” He put the crossbow down on the bar.

  “As you say, Kemmer,” Tharek said, crossing the room to pull the bolt out of the wall.

  “Very well.” Kemmer sat down. “Gillem, I could use a glass of whatever you have stashed back there. You, Tharek?”

  “I’ll stay sharp, thank you.”

  Gillem poured out two cups from a dusty bottle. Kemmer took a sip—a cheap attempt at Fuergan whisky, very poor. But he wouldn’t complain of it, not to Gillem.

  “What’s the plan?” Gillem asked. “Is there one?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” Kemmer said. He had no bluff to pull, not here, not even in front of Tharek. Lannic had wanted his spectacle at the museum, and then again last night, to draw the people to their cause. Clearly that was not happening. “Do we even know who’s still free? And have we heard from the Chief?” This was a bluff. Kemmer had never even met the Chief. For all he knew, the Chief was just something Lannic had made up, to give his orders an authority beyond himself.

  “Nothing yet from him,” Gillem said.

  “Nothing today?” Kemmer pressed.

  Gillem shrugged and gave a look at Tharek.

  “I’ve no idea,” Tharek said. “But I know how Lannic made contact, received instructions. I’ve left a message. We’ll see what instructions we get.”

  “When did you do all that?” Tharek had been busy. “But what would he want us to do? We did what we were supposed to, right? You got Parlin. People are scared.”

  “I don’t know if they are,” Tharek said. “They got Lannic, they see him as the leader. They may not fear anything more.”

  “What more can we do?” Kemmer asked. “Most of our people gone. And when the marshals put the screws, they’ll talk.”

  “No, never,” Gillem said. He paced behind the bar. “Those are good friends of ours.”

  Tharek shook his head. “Friends or not, between our men in custody and questions about how we got into the museum, someone will crack.”

  “They’re loyal to the cause!” Gillem snapped.

  “Loyalty doesn’t matter,” Tharek said. “They are men of principle, but they don’t have steel in their bones. They’re far too soft.”

  Kemmer considered this. He had to admit, as loyal as he considered his friends to be, he held no illusions about whether or not they would break under pressure from the King’s Marshals. He would probably break, himself. Surely the marshals would have no compunction breaking the Rights of Man to get the information they wanted. Humane treatment, indeed. That was a lark.

  Gillem kept bickering with Tharek. “They won’t betray us!”

  “Is there an us? I didn’t see you at the museum. Or Talon Circle.”

  “You know what I meant,” Gillem said. “I do my part.”

  Kemmer stepped up. Nothing would be gained by letting these two get heated. “You do, Gillem, and everyone knows it.”

  “Point is, they’re going to start digging around and they will find this place and the rest of us.”

  “This place, of course, being your primary concern,” Tharek said.

  “I live here, Tharek! Where am I going to go when they come pounding? And who will they keep looking for?”

  “He’s right, Tharek,” Kemmer said. “Right now, his risk is greater than ours. We can’t count on the safety of the clubhouse, not after last night.”

  “Agreed,” Tharek said. “That’s why I have a safe house for us. A contingency in case things did not go as planned.”

  Kemmer didn’t like that. Tharek was taking a lot of liberties. He was taking charge. But who else was going to take charge? Braning? Gillem? Himself? Kemmer was dying to actually meet the Chief, hear a plan from the man’s own mouth. “Lannic and the others don’t know about it?”

  “No,” Tharek said, his head hanging low. “I see what you’re thinking, Kemmer, and you’re right. It wasn’t my place to do such a thing. I’ve stepped over my bounds. But it will be safe. Our friends cannot be forced to betray what they know nothing about. Isn’t that what we need right now?”

  “It is,” Kemmer admitted. Tharek Pell was still a new man with the group, but he had shown himself to be very valuable. Lannic had trusted him. Perhaps Kemmer should trust him as well.

  “Very well,” Tharek said. “We’ll move ourselves to this new safehouse. And then we need to rally, bring our friends out, whoever is still free.”

  “Braning is resting in an inn a few blocks away,” Kemmer said.

  “Anyone else?” Gillem asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Kemmer said.

  “If anyone else is out of irons, I’ll find them,” Tharek said.

  Kemmer looked to Gillem. “Do we have any allies who weren’t part of the museum or last night’s events?”

  “I’ve might’ve heard from a few folk,” Gillem said. “People who are interested, now that they know this isn’t just talk.” He poured himself another drink, and looked to Tharek. “So we move to your new place, and wait to hear from the Chief?”

  Tharek pulled the cup out of his hand. “First, we stay sharp.”

  “Right,” Kemmer said. He didn’t need anything more to drink. Gillem’s mash wasn’t doing his head any favors, and it was still pounding from that clocking the Tarian had given him. “What about weapons, supplies?”

  “Don’t worry about that, Kemmer,” Tharek said, flashing a wicked grin that looked entirely unnatural on his face. “I’ve got that taken care of. The thing we need to do next is get our message out.”

  Kemmer twitched. He wasn’t sure that he and Tharek were on the same page in terms of message. “What message is that, exactly?”

  “Simple,” Tharek said. “Free Lannic.”

  * * *

  Dayne launched a series of attacks on Vie
n Reston, who held her ground admirably. Of course, he wasn’t trying to actually hurt her, but was doing his best to score a touch upon her with the practice sword. She was good, she had absorbed the lessons well, although the gnawing distraction of hunger and thirst kept him from giving her his best.

  The day had been a blur of Initiates coming in and out, but from what he had seen of the third-years, Vien was the one with the least to worry about in terms of advancing to Candidacy.

  “I’m still holding my arm low,” she said after she stepped back.

  “Not appreciably,” Dayne said. “You shouldn’t worry about that.”

  “Right,” she said. “Should I be worried about the Question of the Bridge?”

  Dayne wasn’t sure how he should answer that. “Worried isn’t the right way to think about it. You should be thinking along the lines of what the Question of the Bridge is asking you.”

  “I thought about that all last night. Could hardly sleep.”

  “And what did you conclude?”

  “That there isn’t a right answer.”

  This was on target. “How so?”

  “If you do nothing, people will die. So leaving the switch alone is all wrong.”

  “So therefore?” Dayne prompted.

  “But if you pull the switch, you kill the man on the cart. So you can’t do that either.”

  “It’s a hard choice, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not a fair choice.”

  She was almost on it. “No,” he admitted. “Were you expecting it to be? More to the point, do you expect being a Tarian involves easy, fair choices?”

  A slight gleam lit up in her eye. Then she stepped back and regarded him. “You’ve been in here all day. Almost ten hours so far.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re being punished for last night, for rushing to the Circle.”

  “I’ve been given orders for today,” Dayne said. “And a stern reminder that I did not follow orders last night.”

  “Blazes,” Vien said. “There isn’t an Initiate here who isn’t kicking themselves today, wishing they chased after you.”

  “You see?” Dayne offered, casually pointing at her with his sword. “Hard, unfair choices. And consequences will fall on you no matter what you do.”

  “Like spending all day in here?”

  “The trick . . .” He paused, not wanting to give away too much to her before her final Trials. “The trick is accepting whatever consequences come your way. Because the choices you make—the important ones—are about doing the things that you have to, or you can’t live with yourself.”

  Of course, that had been the very choice he had made in Lacanja. He had done what he thought he had to, and he was living the consequences now. As much as he wanted to blame that Sholiar for it—and it was Sholiar, there was no denying he had engineered a trick for Dayne to walk into—it still was on Dayne’s shoulders that he had fallen for that trick, and it had a cost.

  Vien nodded, and she seemed to be absorbing this. “Next time, I’m running out into the night with you.”

  “If that’s the right choice for you,” Dayne said. Maybe that was exactly what the Grandmaster was trying to impress on him, that he didn’t need to charge in. That he needed to trust, he needed to wait and assess the situation.

  But if Dayne had done that last night, more lives might have been lost. And charging in, that was exactly what he had—

  He shook himself out of the reverie, seeing that Vien was still looking to him for some words of wisdom. He noticed in the corner of the room a first-year struggling with basic stances, trying to work them into his muscles. “Why don’t you give him a spar, and I’ll note your style.”

  Vien went to the first-year, and after a bit they were engaged.

  “She’s my champion this year, you know,” Amaya’s voice whispered in Dayne’s ear. Cool and detached, no intimacy betrayed in her voice.

  Dayne turned to her, standing just a few feet behind him. She must have come into the room like a mouse. “So you’re saying she’s this cohort’s you.”

  “I should be so lucky to think I was where she is,” Amaya said. She produced a cup of water. “I imagine you need this.”

  Dayne took it gratefully. “This won’t get you into trouble?”

  “None that I can’t handle.” She watched him with an odd regard while he greedily drank the water. It did little to ease the gnawing need in his stomach, but it gave him some relief at least. Once he finished, she added, “I need to apologize about yesterday.”

  “You do?” He was pretty sure she was not apologizing for storming off from the bathhouse. She wouldn’t do that, not here. He doubted she would even admit what happened in the bathhouse.

  “I accused you of seeking glory in the press,” she said.

  “I don’t think you said that, exactly.”

  “Maybe not those exact words, but that was my meaning. But it was entirely foolish.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” Dayne paused, watching Vien draw in the first-year, then he turned back to Amaya. “Why, exactly, do you think so now?”

  “You’ve been in here all day, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you haven’t seen any newssheets from today.”

  “I’ve seen nothing but swordplay today,” Dayne answered. “Though I recall a certain number of newsmen paying you some mind last night after events calmed down.”

  “Calmed down,” she said with a scoff. “When was that?”

  “In the sense that the perpetrators were under irons. That’s when Price and Aldric dragged me back here. Was there more trouble?”

  “Not trouble, but plenty of work for the Yellowshields.”

  “What were the final reports?”

  “Depends who you ask. But most of the papers say seven dead in all, including Good Mister Parlin. Two others beaten to death by the Patriots, two drowned in sewage in the Talon, one trampled by a runaway cart, and one killed in a fire. Injuries are in the dozens.”

  “Blazes,” Dayne cursed. “Most brought to Saint Katri’s Ward?”

  “Saint Katri and Redborne. I spent a good portion of the morning with some of the Adepts down at Redborne, helping with whatever scuttle they needed.”

  “I should have done the same,” Dayne said. That would have been a far more fitting penance, being forced to care for those he hadn’t saved.

  Amaya must have read his mind. “The Grandmaster knows that the best way to punish you is to keep you from there. Besides, by noon they kicked us out, said we were underfoot.”

  “I should have stayed last night, helped then.”

  “There was plenty of help already. You had done enough.” She gave him a slight, sly smile. “What I want to know is how you managed to sleep last night.”

  Dayne parroted one of Master Denbar’s favorite aphorisms. “‘A rested mind is vital to a Tarian’s success.’”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “Master Denbar made sure I learned how to sleep in any situation. Compared to some nights under him, last night was easy.”

  “Easy for you, maybe. You got left alone all night.”

  Dayne almost choked. “Your night . . . wasn’t alone?”

  She smacked him on the arm. “Not like that. Why do you care?”

  “I seem to recall you celebrating victories—”

  That earned him another smack. A much harder one.

  “I came here to apologize.”

  “Because you realized how easy it is to be lauded by the press?” Dayne asked. “I imagine they’ve sketched you in a stunning portrayal on the front of the newssheets. Proudly triumphant with Lannic caught in the crook of your arm.” He didn’t realize until he actually said it how upset he was, bitterness dripping from every word.

  “Yes,
that’s it exactly,” she replied, her voice rising. “In fact, I was thinking of going out tonight to pose for a few artists.”

  “Really? Portraits, or for your eventual sainting statue?”

  “Sainting?” she screeched. “Why would I do that, when clearly I should pose as Sinner Jessalyn?”

  “I’m sure that’s exactly what you would do!” he returned, just as loud and indignant.

  “Well, I need to do something with my evening,” she said, pulling a note out of her jacket and slapping it against Dayne’s chest. “Since you already have an engagement, it really shouldn’t concern you!”

  She stormed out.

  Dayne looked at the note—from Lady Mirianne, of course, reminding him that he and Jerinne were to join her for dinner that evening at her home, and that her carriage would come for him at five bells.

  Dayne’s empty stomach soured. Amaya had that in her hand, yet she had come to apologize.

  He wanted to chase after her, apologize himself, say he had been an idiot.

  But he couldn’t leave the practice hall. Not for another hour. And then it would be time to go to Lady Mirianne’s. He’d barely have a chance to get ready.

  * * *

  Jerinne had to give credit: Raila’s cousin was a miracle worker. Both dress uniforms were impeccable. Vien grunted in approval when Jerinne returned her uniform, clean and repaired. When Jerinne put her own on, she imagined that it even fit better than it had yesterday. Though perhaps she was remembering wearing Vien’s.

  The carriage from Lady Mirianne was waiting when she came down to the lobby, as were several Initiates.

  “Two nights in a row!”

  “Think you’re a big star, Fendall?”

  “Going to skip the rest of Initiacy, and go right to Adept?”

  “Hey, hey,” Jerinne yelled at the lot of them. “It’s not my fault people think I’m incredible.”

  Someone landed a playful punch on Jerinne’s shoulder. “You’re taking the hot spot in evening contemplation for a week, Fendall.”