Shard & Shield

by Laura VanArendonk Baugh

  Luca nodded. “Yes, my lord,” he whispered.

  Shianan left, closing the door hard behind him. The world expanded around him again, whirling with worries of Ariana, of the White Mage, of Tam’s enemies in the hostile world of the Ryuven if they had even survived. And the shield was down, there could be a wave of Ryuven preparing even now, and the king would be angry, very angry.

  Little had changed in the Wheel’s cellar. Shianan saw Ewan Hazelrig at the edge of the group, his face resting heavily on one hand.

  General Septime found Shianan. “You were missing.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. What are my orders?”

  Septime frowned. “Nothing, for the moment. We will increase patrols for the time being, in case of Ryuven attack. The Shard will be placed under full guard until we are certain this was only accident.”

  “What about the shield?”

  Septime looked shook his head curtly. “It cannot be remade quickly. Something about the properties and the blood and the magic—I don’t understand it.”

  Then they can return! Shianan quenched the thought before it could show on his face. Even without the shield, it was unlikely Tam could—or would—bring Ariana back; if so, he would have done so immediately.

  “Probably the White Mage is part of the reason,” Septime continued, lowering his voice. “His daughter, poor man. But you were here.”

  “Yes,” Shianan said. “His daughter and their slave were trapped in it.”

  “Ghastly death, crushed like that. They’re probably pressed into the Shard somehow—maybe that’s the problem with the new shield.” Septime sighed. “Anyway, we’ve got to order out those patrols.”

  Chapter 20

  Tamaryl set Ariana on one of the reclining couches placed about the room. She had not stirred yet. He turned to the nim standing awkwardly near the door. Generally this room was used for entertaining guests, not for treating the ill. “I want Maru here. And the healer Nori’bel, as soon as possible.”

  The servant nodded and disappeared down the corridor. He had been gone only a moment when Tamaryl heard running footsteps. Maru spun around the corner. “Ryl’sho.”

  “Maru!”

  They moved together and embraced as brothers. “Is it true? You’ve really returned, Ryl? You’re here to stay?”

  “Oniwe’aru has allowed me to return.”

  “I am so glad!” Maru’s grin stretched wide. “I am so glad.” He looked toward the couch, noticing Ariana. “The rika?”

  “Ariana,” Tamaryl said. “My mistress in the human world.”

  “Your mistress?”

  “I will explain,” Tamaryl said. “But first she needs care. I’ve sent for a healer.”

  At that moment a woman came to the open doorway. “Tamaryl’sho?”

  He turned. “You must be Nori’bel.”

  She was slightly past middle age and had an air of competence. He liked her at once. She nodded. “Welcome home, Tamaryl’sho.” Her voice was deep and steady.

  “Thank you.” Tamaryl turned toward the couch where Ariana lay unmoving. “Can you treat her? She did not come well through the between-worlds.”

  “Most mages die almost immediately. I managed to keep one for an hour, but he was one of the Circle. Indigo.” She crossed to the couch.

  “She has already been here nearly that long.” Tamaryl’s stomach tightened. “She was in great distress, before she fainted.”

  “Screaming, thrashing?” Nori bent and laid her hands across Ariana’s forehead and cheek. “That is typical.” She frowned. “Nearly an hour is a long faint indeed, but she is doing admirably well beneath it.” Nori straightened and considered her next words. “Tamaryl’sho, I am a healer. I will do my best to save this woman. You are a prince doniphan of the Ai, and I will not question. But may I ask who she is?”

  Tamaryl hesitated, struggling for an answer, and then recalled in this world he was master. “Why do you ask?”

  “Powerless humans are affected by the journey here, but they are only weakened. Their mages die, most within minutes. This woman seems to be enduring. She is not well, but she is not near death.” Nori looked down at Ariana. “She must be a mage of great ability.”

  Tamaryl exhaled slowly. “What can you do for her?”

  “I am not entirely certain. I am not sure what she is doing for herself. I will try to ease her suffering, but other than that, she is already beyond what I can offer.”

  “Thank you.” Tamaryl nodded. “Do what you can, please.”

  A polite clap sounded from the open doorway. “Tamaryl’sho?” A boy stood wide-eyed in the entrance. “I have this for you….” His voice trailed off as he stared.

  Tamaryl frowned. “Yes?”

  The boy came to himself and extended a folded page. “Here, Tamaryl’sho.” He blinked in solemn awe as Tamaryl took it.

  The missive bore Oniwe’s stamp in bright ink. He wasted little time. Tamaryl unfolded the textured paper, scanning.

  “What is that, Ryl’sho?” Maru asked.

  “I am leaving,” Tamaryl answered. “I must go to Aktonn and Holbruc.” Oniwe’aru had specified two estates which suffered under poor overlords.

  Maru started to speak and then caught himself, glancing toward Nori’bel crouching over Ariana. “When?”

  “Immediately.”

  This time Maru did not censor himself. “I will go with you.”

  Tamaryl did not answer him directly. “Nori’bel, will you watch over her for a time?”

  “Of course, you have only just returned,” she said. “I will take care of her.”

  “Thank you.” Tamaryl caught Maru’s eye. “Walk with me.”

  As soon as they were safely out of earshot, Maru pressed, “Why Aktonn and Holbruc? Why is he sending you away?”

  “I am to repair the damage I once warned of,” Tamaryl answered flatly. “I suppose this is both my test and my punishment.” He refolded the missive. “I leave tomorrow.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Tamaryl shook his head. “I am going to be very unpopular in Aktonn. And there is something else—the more important reason, if I am honest.” He nodded back toward the room they’d left. “I cannot take her with me, but I do not want to leave her unprotected. I want you to stay with her.”

  “Stay with the rika?”

  Tamaryl smiled. “See, you call her the rika. To everyone else, she is the human, the mage, the prisoner.”

  “Perhaps it’s that I have seen her awake. She is a mage, and plainly powerful.”

  Tamaryl nodded. “I do not want any harm to come to her. When I return, if she is well enough, I will return her to her world.”

  Maru looked at him seriously. “You said she was your mistress.”

  Tamaryl grinned. “I was her slave.”

  “Ryl!”

  “I will tell you everything, I promise.”

  “You’d better. Tonight. I will have bottles of philios ready.”

  Maru’s fingers were loose about the philios bottle. “You took a human shape? For years?”

  Tamaryl had to laugh at the shock and disgust on his friend’s face. “Yes— even more, a human child. A slave child. It was a nearly-perfect disguise; a slave is virtually invisible, and a slave child even more so.”

  “A slave!” Maru’s horror outweighed his disgust. “Ryl, no!”

  Tamaryl shook his head soothingly. “No, no—my nominal master knew my true self, and he was a good man. Opposed to slavery, even. Yes, I played the role of a slave, for appearances and my safety, but I did not experience the slavery typical of that place.” He shrugged, anxious to dispel his friend’s worry. “And behind closed doors, I was able to study human magic, which is somewhat different than ours, and their traditions, and much else of their people. Yes, it was exile, but—parts of it were even fun.”

  Maru made a face, imagining. “But as a human. All disfigured and a monster, Ryl.” He hesitated. “But—could you….”

  Tamaryl laughed.
“Oh, yes.” He pointed to a carved wooden desk, ornate with slim winged figures captured mid-dance. “As the boy Tam, I might have lifted half that desk myself. With muscle, not magic.”

  Maru glanced to the desk and back. “But—a boy!”

  “Yes, even as a child. In the mountains, before I was revealed, I carried a pack which would have crippled you.” Tamaryl took a drink of philios. “It was a long while before I became accustomed to their casual strength and how they used it. And I confess I took some pleasure in my new power.”

  Maru shook his head in faint awe. “It would have been something, to have that kind of strength….” His eyes widened. “Could a female human lift the whole desk?”

  “No, no.” Tamaryl shook his head. “Their women are not so strong. In fact, they’re called the weaker sex.”

  A quiet clap from the corridor interrupted them. Maru made a sound of annoyance. “I told them you did not wish to be disturbed.”

  “It can’t be helped. There’s fifteen years of details to be caught up, and Fasi’bel hasn’t arrived yet.” Tamaryl rose and stretched. “Let me answer these burningly urgent matters, and then we’ll hide ourselves and talk the rest of the evening. There are fifteen years of stories to be caught up, too.”

  Chapter 21

  Shianan pulled his collar close and ducked against the harsh wind as he returned to his quarters. He had not understood most of the mages’ discussion, which lasted long into the night, punctuated with anger at the Gehrn, worry over the shield, horror at the loss of the Black Mage.

  Ewan Hazelrig had somehow maintained composure, though he spoke little. Shianan wasn’t sure either of them really believed Ariana was alive. Even if she were not crushed by the failing shield, they could not hope she would survive in the Ryuven world. Tam had feared for his life; his enemies would kill the girl he brought as well. Shianan only hoped they did not learn who she was, and that her death would be swift.

  The thought broke through his mental guards and bore down hard. Ariana, dead.

  He shoved the inner door open, cold fingers fumbling at the latch. His hands moved mechanically, unbuckling his sword belt and tossing the weapon at a table before stripping off his outer tunic. He wanted to fall into bed and disappear into oblivion, if possible. He dropped onto the sturdy mattress, pulling at his boot.

  The figure across the room caught him by surprise. He had nearly forgotten the slave. Luca, his name was. “What are you doing over there?”

  “Sleeping, my lord. I didn’t….” His voice had improved a little.

  Shianan waved dismissively. “Why are you on the floor?”

  Luca glanced around him, barely lit by the low brazier. “Where else?”

  Shianan dropped his boot to the floor and left it there, too weary to care. “You can’t sleep there, idiot. With that back? You need a mattress and blankets.”

  “But there—”

  “You’ll share for tonight.” Shianan stood and drew another blanket from the chest. “Here.” Without waiting for a response, he shed his outer clothes and flung himself onto the mattress, facing the wall and squeezing his eyes tightly shut. The shield, the shield had fallen, and the Ryuven would certainly take advantage, their pride pricked by the attempt to withstand them….

  The bed shifted as weight eased onto it. Something brushed Shianan’s foot and he felt Luca settle at the foot of the bed. He opened his eyes and tried to peer through the dark. “It will be warmer—”

  “No, my lord.”

  Shianan closed his eyes. It did not matter.

  He slept poorly, his dreams full of menacing Ryuven with flashing wings and wicked weapons, of the king’s voice cracking like a whip through the cellar, of Ariana falling, falling from the mountain as he watched helplessly. He turned restlessly, grasping at pillow and blankets, and once he woke when he kicked something. Memory came, and he drew away from the slave. He turned again, seeking a place on the pillow not damp with sweat, and dropped back into nightmare.

  He woke at the first hint of dawn, not at all rested. He slid out of the bed, careful not to kick the slave again, and ran his hands through his hair, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. His muscles dragged in protest as he drew on his clothes.

  At the foot of the bed, the slave moved inside the cocooning blanket. Shianan sighed. “You awake?”

  “Yes, master.”

  Shianan pulled a fresh shirt over his head. “Get up. We need to see to your back again.”

  Luca straddled the chair again, clenching it as Shianan unwound the encrusted bandages. Shianan stared at the ropy wounds, seeing nothing but torn, swollen flesh. He opened the jar of ointment and dipped his fingers. This would be painful. “Talk to me,” he said to the braced, stiff form. “What did you do for the high priest?”

  “I served him at meals and—” Luca caught his breath as Shianan first touched his back. He gulped and continued. “And I kept his quarters, and his articles for the rituals, and—” His fingers flexed on the chair back. “I had been with him for eight months.”

  “I did not think the Gehrn kept slaves.” Shianan smeared ointment down a long stripe.

  “My previous master died while visiting the citadel,” Luca answered tightly. “So I passed to the high priest.”

  “By rights, you should have gone to your master’s family. Did they make no effort to contact his kin?”

  “It was better, he said, that I stay at the citadel where I would be useful.”

  Shianan began re-bandaging the wounds. “Who was your former master?”

  “A man called Renner, a sort of tinker and singer and dancer all in one. I pulled the cart, set the fire, did the wash, cooked, all the sorts of things a man keeps a slave to do. I am a good worker, my lord.” It was almost a plea.

  Shianan nodded. Most who could afford a slave kept one to help with the drudgery or field work. “This Renner, how did he die? He was ill?”

  “He tried to hide it, but yes, for a long while. We stopped in Davan, and he was asked by the priests to repair some tools and articles for them. He died there.”

  Shianan smoothed the final wrap and tied it. “You’re finished. You’ll want to move if you can, to ease the swelling.” He turned away.

  “My lord,” Luca said with the faintest of hesitations, “whom do I now serve?”

  Shianan blew out his breath. “Flamen Ande is imprisoned and awaiting questioning. There’ll be no record of your arrest. I have stolen you, no doubt an abuse of my rank. But I suppose that means you’re now in my service.”

  “But, my lord—I do not know my master’s name.”

  Shianan began to laugh with bitter humor. “You may be the only one in this city. I am Shianan Becknam, Count of Bailaha and Commander in the King’s Army. But most of the time, people call me the bastard.”

  Luca plainly could not think of a safe response.

  Shianan shook his head, chuckling grimly. “I’m afraid you’ll find—”

  A banging at the door interrupted him. Shianan pulled the door open. “Yes?”

  “Your lordship, His Majesty requires your presence immediately.”

  Shianan’s joints melted to water. “I shall be there directly,” he heard himself say, and somehow the door closed. He stared at the solid unyielding grain.

  He swallowed. Delay would accomplish nothing. He breathed deeply and turned back to the room. “And that,” he said, wishing his voice had more strength, “is the lot of the bastard. I will likely be away for some time.”

  Luca nodded silently. Shianan shaved, hardly noticing when he nicked himself, and then scrubbed his teeth. He reached for his cloak and started for the door, not allowing himself to pause before plunging through it.

  Chapter 22

  Luca should have wanted food, but the pain in his back dulled any hunger. That was just as well, since there was nothing in the commander’s quarters.

  Commander…. Count…. He did not know the proper terms for his new master’s position, and there was no
one to overhear. At least his new master had not seemed too exacting thus far. He swallowed carefully against his swollen throat. Had he found himself in a better place?

  As long as you breathe, Luca, there is hope. Don’t forget that.

  Luca closed his eyes against the memory. Liar.

  Still, at least he was no longer with Flamen Ande. But he had come to a soldier. He brushed the collar and the bruising beneath it. His new master had been at the revolt in Furmelle, too.

  Luca lowered his head against the back of the chair. He was thirsty, but he did not want to move. With miserable dread, he realized the torture was not only the horrific moment when the whip flayed him, but the hours and days of swollen, aching pain which would plague his smallest movements.

  He did not know how long he sat before the knock sounded at the door. He jumped, wincing at the movement, and sighed. Stripes or no, he must serve. “One moment,” he called, his throat straining.

  In his filthy leggings and bandaged torso, he was an embarrassment of a servant. He unfastened the lock and cracked the door. “My master is not at home.”

  The White Mage stared flatly at him. “You.”

  Luca hesitated. Had he been wrong to answer?

  But the mage’s face softened a fraction. “He took you?”

  Luca nodded uncertainly. “He is not here, my lord. He was called by the king.”

  The mage looked over him, taking in the bandages and bruising. “Has someone treated you?”

  “He cleaned my—wounds, yes.”

  But the White Mage was already coming through the door. “Sit,” he ordered. Luca backed toward the chair at the foot of the bed. “So help me, if I cannot undo all he has done, I will undo this. Turn away and let’s have these bandages off.”

  Luca did not understand as he slid across the chair.

  But the mage did not touch him once the clinging bandages were peeled away. Luca shivered in the cool air, not daring to turn. Better to sit quietly and take what came. It ended more quickly that way.