Shard & Shield

by Laura VanArendonk Baugh

  “What’s the difference?”

  Becknam glanced over his shoulder. “A mountain is taller.”

  “No, between a farm and a holding?”

  “A farm is a thin hide of arable land and a few hills of goats, and a holding is the shale ledge from which the farmer is trying to keep from falling.”

  Ariana frowned at his back. “I have either misheard or misjudged your lordship. Was that a joke?”

  He grinned over his shoulder, and the expression looked out of place on his face. “I may be out of practice.”

  The road narrowed to a cart track, still smooth but more flexible as it ascended the hills. They would leave it soon. Becknam knew a quicker route for those without wagons, and speed mattered during the Migrations.

  Ariana paused and turned, but the twisting road did not permit a view of the plain beyond. Would there be a clear sky for stargazing tonight? As Tam passed she started uphill again, muscles protesting. Or perhaps she would be too tired for stars.

  Ahead on the road, Becknam halted, extending one arm as if to block their progress. Tam stopped instantly, and Ariana glanced at him before looking back to Becknam and coming to a slow halt. “What?”

  He slid his pack to the road, slipping a sword from its wrapping as he straightened. “Wait here.”

  Ariana looked past him and saw a shape near the next curve, a dark mass lying at the edge of the road. Her arms tingled with sudden gooseflesh. “Is that…?”

  Becknam didn’t go to the body directly, but circled it, his eyes scanning the brush and the sky. After a moment, he knelt beside it. “Magic and mace,” he reported. “If this isn’t Ryuven, it’s meant to look like it.”

  Tam edged forward. Ariana moved with him. “Here? On the road? But there’s no reason….”

  Becknam shook his head as he rose. “A farmer, by the look of him. Probably had a place near here. He was trying to get out, for help or maybe just to run.” He sighed. “I suppose we ought to look. There are usually survivors.”

  Ariana kept her eyes on Becknam and away from the mass between them. “Survivors?”

  Becknam nodded, turning to look up the road. “The Ryuven are butchers, but they’re not stupid. You kill a farm’s people, you get one harvest. Raid and run, without killing more than you can help, you get a harvest once or maybe twice a year.”

  The body stank. Ariana glanced down, unable to stop herself, and stared in mute horrified fascination. The man lay face-down, for which she was grateful—she didn’t want nightmares of gaping mouth and dried-out eyes. His shoulder and back had been crushed with heavy blows, and magic had scorched his torso. He smelled of old blood and feces and flyblown meat.

  Tam reached for her hand, and she took it and squeezed reassuringly. She had to be strong for the boy.

  “Here,” called Becknam, ahead on the road. “Here’s the track to his place. Tam, bring my pack.”

  The turn-off led downhill, toward a natural basin where warmth might linger in the hills. Becknam kept his sword in his hand. “Stay behind me,” he warned. “That was a good two days ago, but we don’t want to startle anyone. Even farmers have weapons.”

  “And you have a mage.” A Mage of the Circle, she should have been able to say. “If they have arrows, I can shield us.”

  “Heh.”

  “What?”

  “Mages aren’t so free with their shields in battle,” he said gruffly. “Soldiers die by Ryuven magic while our mages stand on a hillside and watch.”

  “No!”

  He glanced back. “Do you contradict me on battle experience?”

  “No, of course not,” she amended. “But you have it all wrong. First, that’s an energy well, not a shield, and—”

  “I don’t care what—”

  “And the dissipation efficiency decreases with reach,” she continued over him, “putting the caster at increased risk, so a mage cannot hope to sufficiently cover a group of soldiers at a range of—”

  “Quiet!” Becknam snapped. “We’re close.”

  The track dipped toward a compact, well-tended homestead. The tidy image of a stone home with an attached stock shed was destroyed by the presence of two more corpses lying before the door. Becknam swore.

  Ariana caught her breath and stumbled; the chickens had been at one body. The other lay near a tethered brown and cream goat, which bleated anxiously at their approach.

  “No survivors,” Becknam muttered. “Not this.”

  The body near the goat was a child, younger than Tam. Ariana stopped. “What—what do we do now?”

  “Look for the survivors we know aren’t here,” Becknam answered wearily, “and bury these. We’ll tell the village on our way back, after we have the Shard, if no one’s noticed by then.” He nodded to Tam. “Turn the goat loose, and I hear sheep around back. They can fend for themselves until someone comes for them. And keep an eye for a shovel.”

  “I’ll get the sheep,” Ariana said quickly, wanting to be away from the dead.

  The outlying shed was open and empty of stores but for a few small burlap bags, a barrel, and two crates. The door creaked as it shifted in the breeze. Tam moved to unknot the goat’s rope.

  Ariana set down her pack and started around the house. Her heart jumped as she saw more bodies. One was a dead man, a slave by his wrist cuffs. The other was a dead Ryuven.

  Ariana crept forward, drawn by a morbid fascination. She had never seen a Ryuven before, alive or dead—not in person. She stepped around the slave and looked at the monster.

  It was almost less horrible because of its strangeness. Its shape was similar to a man’s, but leaner and lighter, as if made of birds’ bones. A pitchfork protruded from its chest, and dark blood stained its light leather armor around the puncture wounds. On either side lay crumpled membranous wings, set into the widened torso like a second set of shoulders.

  “Lady Ariana?” It was Tam’s voice, worried.

  “I’m all right,” she called. “But there are more dead.”

  Becknam came into view, holding a pick, and swore tiredly. “And one of the monsters, too. Well, no time to waste. Tam’s got a shovel; free the sheep and let’s get to work.”

  Ariana nodded and looked at the dead Ryuven again. Its face was the most unnerving aspect, narrow and fine and nearly human. It had died grimacing, pulling at the pitchfork.

  Ariana tore her eyes away and went to the sheep pen. Sheep skittered around and circled back, calling worriedly, and bunched together before bolting free of the pen and dashing across the yard, splitting neatly around the dead slave and Ryuven.

  Becknam looked down at the packed earth, tamped solid by generations of stock. “There’s not a chance of digging here,” he observed. “I’ll try the far side.”

  Tam came from behind the house and looked at the new bodies with wide eyes. He had likely never seen a Ryuven either, Ariana reflected. He approached with an awkward, jerking gait and squatted to peer at the dead thing.

  “Good strike,” he said softly, reaching out to touch the pitchfork. “Right through the heart. He never had a chance to heal that wound.”

  Ariana nodded. Ryuven could not regenerate something so devastating as a severed limb, but with enough time they usually could repair a cut or crushing blow—though not all, as human armies had learned and as this farm slave had demonstrated.

  Tam left the pitchfork and crouched nearer the Ryuven’s head. He seemed peculiarly still, as if the rigidity of death had spread to him.

  “Tam!” Becknam barked. “Stop poking at dead things and come dig. Lady Ariana, are you able to bring the ones out front?”

  Her stomach heaved, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “Yes,” she managed, worried more syllables might betray her. She opened her eyes, keeping her gaze above the bodies, and took a breath of death-flavored air.

  Tam rose and looked at her worriedly. “My lady….”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said more quickly than necessary.

  He nodded. “There wi
ll be blankets in the house.”

  She hadn’t thought of that and gave him a grateful nod. “You’d better go help his lordship.”

  Fortunately, the little house held no further gruesome discoveries. The tidy home felt suspended, between breaths, so oddly interrupted mid-routine. The fire had gone out beneath a pot, and a single chicken which followed her in pecked enthusiastically at a ball of over-risen dough. She snatched the chicken and left with the blankets, closing the door behind her.

  The goat pushed close, bleating insistently. She needed milking. Ariana didn’t know how to milk and shoved the goat aside.

  Metal chinked against rocky earth at the far side of the basin; Becknam’s guess about suitable ground had been good. Ariana held one blanket before her, high to shield her vision, and started toward the chicken-pecked corpse. The buzzing of flies told her when she was near, and she dropped the blanket over the upper half of the body. Somewhat protected, she steeled herself to roll the corpse into a concealing bundle. It had been a woman, stout and strong with work. Ariana flipped the body one more time over the goat’s tether and tied it tightly.

  The smaller body was easier to handle, if she kept herself from thinking of a little girl. Becknam had said the raids killed few, and there could be no advantage to killing a child. Had she fought? Had these Ryuven been particularly bloodthirsty?

  It wasn’t too difficult to lift the girl, and she carried the body to the pit the others were digging. They were making surprisingly good progress; the narrow hole was already knee-deep. “Here’s the first.”

  The goat butted her from behind, sending her stumbling toward the grave. She caught herself and whirled to shove it away. “Shoo!”

  Becknam threw a clod of dirt which struck the cream-colored flank. The goat tossed her horns and trotted away, bleating reproachfully.

  “She needs milking,” Ariana said unhappily.

  “These need burying.” Becknam rubbed sweat from his forehead.

  A fly buzzed around the blanket, seeking the dead girl’s face. Ariana’s stomach heaved and she twisted away, fighting the burning at the back of her throat. She folded her arms tightly to her abdomen and tried to force slow breaths.

  “Keep moving, keep breathing,” Becknam suggested dryly. He dropped the pick. “Here, Tam, take this. My lady, use his shovel to clear what we break out. I’ll bring the other bodies, including that fellow from the road.”

  Tam traded tools, and Ariana began clearing the loosened dirt, ashamed. A Mage of the Circle would need a stronger stomach.

  By the time Becknam had returned with both the man and woman, Tam was panting behind the pick. The commander motioned him out and took the pick himself. Tam stood at the edge for a moment, breathing hard, and then moved away.

  “He’d better not think he’s done here,” Becknam growled.

  But a moment later, Tam reappeared, dragging the dead slave. He paused a moment, panting, and then started off again.

  “Wait.” Becknam straightened. “We’ll bury the slave, but don’t you dare to bring that monster.”

  Tam hesitated. “But—”

  “No. We’ll not take time to dig for him, too. He invaded, he died, he has no right to expect us to do for him. Let the beasts have him.”

  Tam’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing. Becknam turned and tore into the earth.

  Ariana didn’t know how long they worked, she and Tam taking turns while Becknam opened the ground. It became harder and harder to toss the dirt out as the hole deepened. “Can’t get too deep,” Becknam observed. “Still frost here.”

  When it was her turn again, Tam disappeared. Ariana thought he had just gone to the farm’s privy, but he didn’t return. “What’s taking him so long?”

  Becknam, now down to his shirt, straightened and shrugged. “He’s tired, he’s lazy, he’s gone back to peer at the dead Ryuven. I’ll help clear; this is nearly finished anyway.”

  They cleared most of the loose dirt and then Ariana tried to climb out of the pit. Her trembling arms wouldn’t hold her weight, and she slid down twice. Becknam bent and extended an arm. “Come on, then.”

  His arm was damp with sweat, but he pulled her steadily upward and she was able to scrabble over the edge. She dropped to the ground, breathing hard, and didn’t realize for a moment she was sitting beside the bodies.

  “Where is that boy?” Becknam moved to the other side of the bodies. “Let’s get these in. Drop them straight, or they won’t all fit.”

  Ariana took the feet, and they swung in the bodies one by one. Becknam handed her the pick. “Rake what you can; I’ll shovel.”

  Ariana looked down at the tangled limbs. “What about end-rites?”

  “Wouldn’t do much for them.” Becknam kept working. “What do the priests say of it?”

  “They say the dead made their choices in life, and the rites comfort the living.”

  “So, then.”

  Ariana swallowed. “I’m one of the living.”

  Becknam’s rhythmic motion slowed, and after a moment he straightened. He didn’t look at Ariana, but he held his right hand over the open grave, palm down, and closed his eyes. “You have fought well and done well, and your trouble here is ended. May the Holy One remember all that was sacrificed for you, and may you be welcomed into your eternal reward. May you be remembered and honored for all you have done.”

  It was the shortest end-rite Ariana had heard, efficient and military, but it seemed appropriate and familiar in Becknam’s voice. She wondered how often he had recited it.

  He began shoveling again, and Ariana joined him.

  Finally the dirt was mounded over the crude grave, and Ariana dropped the pick in relief. “Thank the Holy One that’s done. I don’t think I could move any more dirt.”

  Becknam smiled tiredly. “Not so squeamish now? That’s what happens, burns it right out of you.” He collected both tools, a soldier’s habit to be careful of his gear, and turned toward the stone house. “Where’s that boy? If he’s been hiding to shirk—”

  But Tam was coming around the house now, dirt-stained and slumped with weariness. They must all look so, Ariana guessed.

  “Where have you been?” demanded Becknam.

  Tam’s eyes shifted. “Digging.”

  Becknam scowled. “You buried the Ryuven? You left us to bury the farm folk while you wasted time on that monster?”

  Tam’s jaw protruded slightly. “He was just as dead.”

  “Through his own bloody actions.” Becknam blew out his breath sharply. “If you were mine and I had the strength left…. Put these away and get the packs. There’s still an hour or more of daylight.”

  Ariana’s heart sank. “More climbing?”

  “We could stay the night here,” he allowed, “but we’ve lost much of the day already, and we’ve had ample reminder of the urgency of our errand.”

  It was hard to counter his argument. Becknam went back for his tunic as Tam headed to replace the tools. Ariana started toward the packs.

  Near where they had entered was a steep embankment of eroded earth, now with a fresh mound at its base. Tam had set the Ryuven in the eroded trough and torn down the exposed dirt as cover. It wasn’t so safe a grave as that given the farmers, but it was some protection from the scavengers.

  Becknam returned, fully-clothed, and shouldered his pack, the sword safely wrapped once more but convenient at the side of the pack. His eyes flicked over the makeshift grave and then to Ariana. “Let’s go.”

  “Tam’s still coming.”

  “It’s a clear road. He’ll catch up.”

  Chapter 2

  They’d made good progress despite their weariness and the time lost to the slave boy’s digression, Shianan Becknam decided. He chose an open place and halted. “Here for tonight,” he said, sliding his pack from his shoulders.

  “What I’d give for a hot bath.” Lady Ariana dropped to the ground, her face flushed, and stretched her legs before her. “Enough of climbing. I’ll be g
lad to be into the pass.”

  “We’ll have other worries there. Supper?”

  Tam was already bending over his pack. “It’s coming.”

  “I’m not worried about the pass,” Ariana said.

  Shianan looked at her. “Not worried about the pass? The Migrations?”

  Though this pass was easier than the steeper one to the south, none but the desperate or foolhardy crossed here during the Migrations. The great beasts which had long retreated into the mountains were rarely encountered these days except by foolhardy hunters in search of hides and tusks to bring riches. But during the seasonal Migrations, the beasts used the northern pass.

  Ariana shrugged. “We’ll be careful, and if we meet something I can defend against it.”

  Shianan shook his head. Another gentle-born know-nothing mage, and mine to bear on this fetch-and-carry. “If I may say so, Lady Ariana, I think you’re overconfident. We must take all precautions.”

  “I’m only saying it won’t be as dangerous to us as to merchants or farmers.”

  “And I’m saying I saw twenty men die in this pass!”

  Ariana blinked and twisted her raw fingers into the short growth under her. “Those men—those men had no mage.”

  “I beg your pardon, but they did. He slowed one beast for a moment as it savaged him.”

  “But surely that was not a skilled mage—not one highly trained.”

  He set his jaw. “With respect, Lady Ariana, you failed your entrance to the Circle.”

  Ariana twitched. For a long moment she did not speak. Finally she forced, “That is the reason I am here now. Excuse me, please.” She rose and made her way into the brush.

  Shianan watched her go, unable to call her back. Heat burned his face. He had not meant to speak so harshly—but he had been a sergeant then, too young for the post, and felt keenly his responsibility to those who died. Still, there must have been a gentler way to remind her of the risk. He squeezed his fists.

  It was difficult enough being a royal bastard by birth. He didn’t have to make himself one by deed as well.

  Tam cleared his throat behind Shianan. “She was very disappointed to have been denied.”