No voice returned except Shianan’s own, reflected from rock walls and debris.
“Lady Ariana!”
If he returned without Ewan Hazelrig’s daughter…. Better to fling himself off the nearest ledge and save the time and pain. Mage Hazelrig’s own daughter….
When had the switch happened? Surely the White Mage would have noticed a Ryuven in his own household. But this explained Tam’s inconsistent aging, if a Ryuven had killed him and taken his place. He must have deceived the mage somehow. How long? What had he learned, and what had he passed back to the others?
Shianan had descended all through the night, feeling his way down tracks and ledges he should have hesitated to try by daylight, hoping he might reach them in time. The Ryuven could not carry Lady Ariana out of the valley; Ryuven could glide somewhat with additional weight but certainly couldn’t lift a human out of the mountains. If he had wanted Ariana dead, he could have let her die in the landslide, so that meant he wanted her for information or as a hostage. Shianan had to reach them before he had won whatever information kept Ariana useful and alive.
Or, if he had taken her across the between-worlds—
Shianan stopped and called again, turning to send his voice in all directions. “Lady Ariana Hazelrig!”
“I’m here!”
Shianan whipped around, straining his ears. “My lady?”
“Here!”
“Stay where you are! I’m coming!”
Her voice had been tight and worried. He drew his sword and ran.
It took him several minutes, and he lost time pushing through rocky, brushy tangle, but at last he could see her standing. She looked unharmed but nervous. Behind her lay the Ryuven, sprawled as if sleeping. Shianan scanned the area for other threats as he approached. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Has he done anything to you? What does he want?”
She took an uncertain breath. “He’s hurt. Pretty badly, but he’s recovering.”
Shianan nodded. “In the fall? They can’t handle human weight well. At least you’re safe.”
Lady Ariana only nodded.
That had saved her, then, if the monster were not strong enough to carry her across with him. The Ryuven sometimes took mages back to their own world, mostly grey mages captured on the battlefield. None had ever returned.
“He hasn’t harmed me,” Ariana said. “He saved my life.”
“For what purpose? Do you realize what a prize the White Mage’s daughter could be?”
Ariana stilled. Had she not thought of that?
“How long has he posed as your slave—how many years has he waited, observing and spying and plotting? That is why your Tam stopped aging, my lady. This Ryuven killed him and took his place.”
Her eyes widened in slow horror.
If the Ryuven were injured, he might be a good source of information himself. “Can you Subdue him?” Shianan asked.
She stared at him, surprised. “I—I suppose. But why?”
He stared back at her. “We have a Ryuven on our hands. Injured or no, do you want him unrestrained?”
Ariana hesitated, and Shianan wondered if she lacked the power and training.
Then the Ryuven moved, and they both turned to look. Tam—or whatever his real name was—got awkwardly to his feet, his eerily familiar face disturbing in the Ryuven shape. He held one hand near a crushed and mangled shoulder which would never have worked again, were he human. His face was wary. He held no weapon, but a Ryuven would not need one.
Shianan’s fingers flexed on his sword’s grip, but he did not raise it. “Why are you here?”
The thing that was Tam spoke slowly, as if afraid to startle the commander. “I’ve been with you all this time, and you’ve never had cause to fear me. Nor now.”
“That’s not an answer.” Shianan’s voice neared a growl.
“I’ve served Mage Hazelrig for the last fifteen years,” the monster answered. “He and I made a pact, and I still hold to it. Question him if you like, but know I am still bound to him.”
Shianan’s stomach lurched. Was the White Mage a traitor? But that was unthinkable. Yet what else could this Ryuven mean—unless he was here against his will, saving the mage’s daughter by magical compulsion instead of by his own scheming. “A slave in truth, then?”
“Near enough.”
Shianan blew out his breath sharply. “King’s sweet oats,” he muttered, pushed his hand back through his hair. “This just can’t be.”
Ariana cleared her throat. “Ryuven can modify their appearance to a mild degree—”
“I don’t mean that!” snapped Shianan. “I mean there’s a double-dyed Ryuven standing in front of us! That the White Mage of the Great Council, charged particularly with protecting the kingdom from Ryuven, sent him in disguise in seeming full knowledge on what was supposed to be a secret task.” He shook his head. “Or is this even your Tam? Maybe this one did take his place and is lying about your father’s complicity. Maybe killing him would be best after all.”
“He just saved my life!”
“Because if you died, he might lose his position in the White Mage’s household and that would be the end of his spying.”
“But to save me he had to reveal himself, so that doesn’t even make sense.”
“What part of this looks like it should make sense?” Sweet oats, there was no way clear of this. Either he killed the White Mage’s slave in front of his daughter or he let a Ryuven invader live.
Ariana took a breath and pitched her words in a controlled voice. “I don’t understand it myself—I don’t know anything about it. But I trust my father. You know he would not risk harm to the kingdom, and I know he would not risk harm to me. If he sent Tam with us—if he let Tam stay with us at all—there must be a reason, and there must be a safeguard.”
“A safeguard,” repeated Becknam flatly. He raked loose hair back from his forehead again with a savage, frustrated gesture.
She held out a hand. “This isn’t a battlefield. He’s not threatened either of us. He saved me.”
“We don’t know why, and I for one am reluctant to trust a Ryuven’s altruistic impulses.”
Tam removed his hand from his wounded shoulder and met Becknam’s eyes. “I oppose the repeated attacks on your world. They are devastating to your people, of course, and do limited and unsustainable good for my own. Many are merely Ryuven political battles for favor upon your ground. Even the raids….” He shook his head. “They must be stopped.”
Becknam frowned. Court politics could explain many inexplicable situations. “You wish to bar the Ryuven from our world? To serve your political ends?”
“If it pleases you to say it in that language, then yes. But does it not also serve your purpose?”
“What is your political end?” Ariana asked.
One corner of the Ryuven’s mouth twitched upward. “I have no ambition but to see fewer Ryuven die and unworthy lords cease to win power merely for killing humans. They are too often incompetent at managing their newly-won lands and all suffer.”
“How high-minded,” Shianan observed dryly. “And you wish no place for yourself?”
“I was born to a high position.”
“But you lost it to a warrior,” Shianan concluded pointedly.
The monster looked uncomfortable. “No. I was a warrior myself.”
Shianan grunted. “But you lost your taste for battle, and so you want us to use the Shard.”
“I do.”
“And the White Mage—who has committed several varieties of treason by keeping you hidden—trusts you to assist us.”
“My father is no traitor!” Ariana cried. “You know that!”
“I know that,” Shiannn said, “or thought I did. But what I believe is irrelevant. It is the Court of the High Star which will judge him if this is discovered.”
“Then we won’t tell anyone.”
“My lady!” Shianan turned toward her i
n frank disbelief.
“You don’t have to say anything!” she pleaded. “Nothing’s changed, has it? He’s been here all my life and he’s done nothing. My father would not have endangered the kingdom, you know that. You can’t send him to the Court of the High Star!”
Shianan hesitated. “You ask me to betray my—”
“I ask you to betray no one! Just speak with my father first, please. Talk with him before you accuse him.”
“I never said I would accuse him,” Shianan said defensively.
“Talk with him. Please, my lord, speak with him first.”
Shianan turned hard eyes on the imposter. “I could not accuse him if there were no Ryuven.”
Ariana’s voice changed as her fear coalesced into anger. “You can’t kill my servant in cold blood. If I told—”
“He’s not a servant boy!” snapped Shianan. Sweet oats, could she not see beyond her family?
But when they looked, it was Tam again, short, blond, a little under-sized for his supposed age. His boyish face was frightened but steady.
Shianan’s lip curled. “You forget, I was at Furmelle. Killing a slave would give me no pause at all.” But he did not move.
He heard Ariana’s breath catch, and when he looked he saw how frightened she was—not of Tam, not of the Ryuven, but that Shianan would kill him.
It must have been terrifying, first the fall and then the sight of a Ryuven and then the realization that her boy Tam was nothing like he seemed. And while his other injuries might have been suffered in landing with additional human weight, the Ryuven’s shoulder hadn’t been crushed in landing. It didn’t look like magic, but Lady Ariana must have snatched up one of the stones and bashed him off her. And now Shianan had cast suspicion upon her revered father. She was inexperienced and frightened and confused, and she would defend what was known and dear to her, even her slave boy Tam.
And Shianan could not raise a hand against her, not without clear evidence of her treachery. Besides, she may have failed her entrance to the Circle, but she was Mage Hazelrig’s daughter and charged with the Shard’s mission, and he was not keen to pit himself against her in battle even without a Ryuven standing spectator ready to pounce upon the victor.
King’s sweet oats. Shianan sighed and chose his next words. “Our first priority is the Shard. Then we can think of what to do with him.”
The Ryuven, once more in his natural form, frowned. “There is little need to do anything with me. I will return to Mage Hazelrig as before.”
Shianan grunted and turned to Ariana. “We can’t have him traveling like that,” he said, gesturing at the tall, lean body and membranous wings. “Can you disguise and bind him as your father did?”
Lady Ariana hesitated. “I do not know exactly how my father accomplished it,” she said. “To conceal his true essence, that is unusual—completely different from anything I’ve done. And his cuffs are broken; they housed the work. We would need something similar to seal him.”
“My lady,” the Ryuven said, “I will help you to perform the binding.”
Shianan was surprised and suspicious. “Why would you submit to that?”
“I helped Mage Hazelrig then,” the Ryuven said mildly. “It was the only way for me to remain here.”
“Or the mages would note you,” Shianan said. He shook his head; nothing mattered more than convincing Lady Ariana to bind the Ryuven again. “We’ll ask Mage Hazelrig about him. Keep him secure until then. Lock him back in whatever keeps him a boy, and make sure he can’t get out of it.” He turned on Tam. “And if you so much as speak out of turn, I will push your false face through the back of your fragile Ryuven skull. Is that clear?”
“He won’t,” Lady Ariana said quickly. “He won’t be any trouble. Come here, Tam…aryl.”
Shianan heard the strung-out word and wondered if it were the Ryuven’s true name. It did not matter. He looked hard at the Ryuven.
The monster nodded to Shianan. “I understand.” Then he walked to Ariana’s outstretched hand.
“You can Subdue him?” Shianan confirmed.
The Ryuven gave her a quick, shuttered look. Ariana seemed to consider and then nodded. “I can, yes.”
“How long will it take?”
She shook her head. “I can’t be sure. A few minutes.”
“Good. I’ll pack while you work.” Shianan started on their blankets and food with an unkind energy.
Chapter 7
Ariana led Tamaryl a little further away. “He thinks you were hurt in the fall.”
“Good. That’s simple enough. You know this won’t be a true Subduing.”
“The commander won’t know the difference. How does it feel?”
Tamaryl started to shift his shoulder and aborted the attempt. “It will heal in time.”
“That’s good.” She hesitated. “And, er, how does it feel to be… another shape?”
“Oh.” He considered. “You know when you have to hold a smile you don’t mean, for a long while? It’s a bit like that, only over the whole body.” He gave a small shrug with his intact shoulder. “Many Ryuven do it regularly, just as you might use colors and dyes, but those are small modifications. Holding something so encompassing for more than a breath or two is nigh impossible, even when hale and hearty.”
She frowned. “Then how did you?”
He held out his wrists to display the slave cuffs with their small, integral rings. A hairline crack ran down each. “There’s enough of a reservoir yet to let me shift for a moment. Your father and I made it together.”
She touched it gingerly. “Together?”
“It took some craft, I’ll admit. But our magics blended and synthesized far better than we expected. Another question on his list, but one we haven’t had liberty to explore in my time here.”
Ariana nodded without understanding; there was too much to think on, and she had a daunting task before her. “We’d better get started.” She took a deep breath to steady herself; she needed to be calm and centered to work the binding. She shoved aside her worry over her father and Becknam. “What must I do?”
Tamaryl settled on his knees, his back to Becknam. “The cuffs can be repaired; you will not have to create it completely anew.”
Ariana swallowed. “How?”
Tamaryl smiled a little, almost shyly. “You are your father’s daughter and skilled in his training. Look, and I think you will see it.” He nodded toward his wrists. “You must start by diverting all of my own power and drawing it from me.”
“Like a Subduing?” Ariana asked before thinking.
He hesitated only an instant. “Yes, that is the beginning. Then you must compress it as if you would store it away in the metal housing.”
“The reservoir.”
“Exactly. Only instead of saving this for later use, we are sealing it. I will do my best not to resist and you will be able to draw more than mere power. It is my essence…”
“Something of your soul,” Ariana supplied quietly.
He nodded. “That must be sealed as well. It will conceal me.”
“And make the binding strong and resistant to you.” She glanced at his wrists. “It must have been nearly impossible to get free of it.”
“I helped your father to create the cuffs, but the magic must be your doing. I cannot seal myself.” He paused. “It will hurt a little,” he said quietly. “Hurt me, I mean. Don’t think about that. Just recreate the binding.”
Ariana inhaled and exhaled once more. “All right, let’s begin.”
Tamaryl extended his hands to her, palm up. He looked pale. She wrapped her fingers around the cracked cuffs and he clasped her wrists. “Your lordship,” she called to Becknam, “I know you are aware, but please do not interrupt us. This will be difficult.”
Becknam was staring. He was used to the sight of mages, but of course he had never seen one work magic in alliance with a Ryuven.
Ariana closed her eyes and began to explore the metal wristbands. They we
re very well crafted; there was no outward sign of their true purpose, no telltale aura of power that bespoke a magicked item. Another mage could stand beside or perhaps even handle these without recognizing them.
She began to pick apart the exterior camouflage, uncovering the binding within.
Mages perceived magic distorted though one of the five usual senses. Ariana was a seer, one who visualized magic as she worked. Powerful sources might appear as bright lights, if she concentrated with her mind’s eye, and she often visualized functional magic as gears, hooks, arrows.
This was a tapestry of overlapping strands—threads, cables, chains, all glowing in the darkness. She picked through them, noting which were strong and intact and which were severed. The chains were solid, which relieved her; she didn’t think she could have repaired them. She picked out the broken threads and the lighter cables, working them gently. A frayed thread became a light hook; one cable was unraveled, ready to be woven again with another.
It was startling how much of the binding remained. He had burst just enough of the seal to be able to take his natural form, but he had still been mostly restrained. Something in that worried her, but she could not dwell on it as she worked.
The binding was at last remade; it needed only sealing. She waited, knowing he would be able to sense when she had finished. A heartbeat later, she felt a soft pull as he drew power, absorbing it and making it his own. It was an odd, ticklish sensation, as if someone were inhaling from her lungs. The wristbands shifted slightly in her hands. She would have liked to watch him change form, but she kept her eyes closed; the real task lay ahead and she could not afford distraction.
The draw stopped, and she could not sense any air of illusion. He had truly shifted. Now she must close the binding and seal him. This time she quested into him and found his power, bleeding it from him.
He gave the power freely, and it poured from him first like water and then like blood. She took more and more, visualizing a deepening puddle into which she collected his energy. She felt him falter; magic was a Ryuven’s natural strength and without it they were far weaker than a human.
She must take it all. As the flow ebbed, she delved deeper, seeking where the shining power puddled within him in tiny reservoirs. She squeezed him, pressing power from him like oil. He began to fight her, an involuntary resistance to protect himself, but she had taken so much that he could hardly withstand her, and she crushed his feeble defenses and scraped him dry, leaving nothing of his inborn ability.
Shard & Shield Page 6
