Shard & Shield

by Laura VanArendonk Baugh

  Tamaryl did another short roll. Daranai admired him, and that was a warming thought. That too was gratifying, after so many years of being overlooked or disdained.

  Tamaryl checked himself—Hazelrig had never disdained him. In fact, they had developed a strange friendship, a hidden respect between the human White Mage and the princely warrior Ryuven. Tamaryl could not complain of his stay in the mage’s house; he had played the demeaning role of a slave only in the public eye. He dove again through the rising wind. But, though she had always been more than kind, he had always quietly resented that Ariana had seen him only as a young slave.

  His wings cracked open audibly, but there was no abrupt pressure as they caught the air. Tamaryl felt a sickening lurch as he realized he had opened too early. He wrenched, trying to catch the wind with the forward crest, but the trailing edge had already caught and he dropped like a human soldier.

  Panic seized him and he thrashed in the air, clawing for something to break his fall, but there was of course nothing. With iron control he forced himself to be still, to curl into a ball of arms and legs, to fold his wings tightly against his back with only the tips trailing in the violent wind of his plunge. Then he flung himself forward, kicking out with his legs to right himself, and with arms and legs splayed wide he opened his wings again.

  The snap of resistance jerked at his torso and snatched his breath, but he gasped with more relief than pain. Then the ground rushed toward him and he barely had time to drop his legs before he landed with crushing impact, flattening his feet and jarring his teeth.

  He sank with the force of the fall, dropping to one knee as if greeting Oniwe’aru, and grunted with dull pain. For the first time he noticed the warm rain falling over him. He flexed his wings to check for damage and, finding none, he rocked backward to sit on the ground. His feet and ankles tingled with healing.

  That had been foolish, he thought ruefully. He rubbed at his neck, already stiff. He knew better than to allow himself distraction while playing at acrobatics. And he had no call to be thinking of his human mistress at all, not alongside thoughts of his bride.

  That was not true, either; it was only right that he should be concerned for Ariana’s welfare. She lay in a state which was hardly living, and he was duty-bound to return her to her own home world. This sense of obligation might understandably encroach on other thoughts.

  He sighed and stood gingerly, testing his prickling feet. His wings and torso ached with labor, and with chagrin he noted he was out of condition. He arched a wing to shield himself from the rain. He could rest a bit and still reach Aktonn well in time for a suitably impressive entrance.

  Rarn’sho had not been warned of Tamaryl’s coming. Any harbinger could have preceded him by no more than a few hours, and Tamaryl hoped his unexpected return would impress Rarn’sho.

  He frowned to himself. It had been merely Rarn’che when Tamaryl had gone out to that last battle, from which he had not returned. Some act of crazed bravado on the field had won him higher rank and the rule of Aktonn, and as Tamaryl had once warned, the new lords were more interested in personal promotion than in careful governing of their awarded lands. What exactly did Oniwe’aru expect Tamaryl to do in Aktonn? What could he accomplish in a single visit that would enrich Aktonn and make Rarn a more conscientious and knowledgeable lord?

  Maru was awakened by a small sound in the darkness. He lay still, listening, and it came again—a kind of gasping moan.

  He rolled from his bed and sparked a light for the candle he’d left nearby. As the wick flared to life a sharp cry came from the opposite bed. He eased forward. “Rika?”

  Ariana thrashed in the bed, throwing her arms before her face. “No! Get it away! Away!”

  He hesitated, lifting the light higher to see her. “Rika….”

  “Ow! It burns, it’s hot! Take it away, oh please!” She twisted in the bed. “So bright, so bright….”

  Maru, startled, pushed the light behind him. “Is that better? Rika?”

  She quieted a little. “Oh, don’t shout, please.” She clawed at her arms. “It bites me.”

  Maru set the candle on a low table and crept forward. “Can you hear me, rika?”

  “Shh! Please don’t shout.” She squinted at him. “It’s so bright….”

  Maru was unsettled. “There’s only the one candle, rika.”

  She twisted on the bed, raking her fingers over her clothing. “It bites, it itches, make it stop!”

  She felt things more keenly—too keenly. “I will give you some medicine to make you sleep.” Maru turned in the dark, seeking the packet of herbs Nori’bel had left. There was water on the table, and he emptied the packet into it and sloshed the water to mix it.

  “Quiet,” she protested from the bed, her hands to her head. “Make them be quiet.”

  “I’m sorry, rika,” Maru whispered. “Here is your tea.” He tiptoed to the bed and held it out carefully.

  Ariana twisted toward him and unshaded her eyes, apparently seeing him for the first time. She screamed and recoiled, thrusting her hands before her.

  Maru leapt backward, recognizing the angle of her hands. He would never dodge in time—

  But nothing happened. There was no crack of power, no sudden pain in his chest.

  Her jaw worked in shock, and then she looked at Maru. “Get away!”

  Maru held up a hand, the sloshing infusion between them like a shield. “Rika, listen,” he said, as if speaking to a child. “I am Maru. We met before, remember? Tamaryl’sho asked me to stay with you. You must remember Tamaryl’sho—Tam, he said you called him. You remember Tam?”

  She blinked at him, wide eyes shining in the dark. “Tam?”

  “That’s right. Tam asked me to look after you. You’ve been ill.” He held up the cup. “Will you take some medicine?”

  She looked around the room, shielding her face from the candle. “Where am I?”

  He slid forward and held out the cup at arm’s length, almost afraid she might touch him as she reached for it. Welts were rising where she’d clawed herself. “We are in the house of Daranai’rika.”

  She took the water. “The Ryuven world.”

  “Yes.”

  The cup of water shook in her hand. “Why does it hurt so much? The light hurts my eyes. And these clothes—they bite me. They have fleas, they itch, they hurt me.” She sipped at the tea, rubbing at her shoulder.

  “The medicine will help.”

  She made a face. “It scrapes my throat.” She looked around the room, her eyes wide. “The Ryuven world.”

  “Yes. It’s all right. I’m here to watch over you. You don’t need to worry.”

  But she was breathing faster. “I couldn’t—why couldn’t—I know there’s magic here. There has to be magic here. I can’t—I can’t be….”

  “Drink your medicine,” Maru repeated helplessly. “It will help you.”

  She looked distrustful, but she drank. “Where is Tam?”

  “Tamaryl’sho was called elsewhere. He asked me to stay with you until you recovered.” He started to reach for the candle and then remembered her earlier complaint. “Does the candle bother you?”

  “Candle? It feels like a bonfire.”

  Why was everything magnified so dramatically to her? “Tomorrow,” he said, “I will ask Nori’bel to look at you again.”

  Ariana muttered something into her tea and sipped a little more. After a moment she sagged, and then she drooped against her pillow. The cup fell from her hands and spilled across the bed and floor.

  Chapter 28

  The wind came howling down the passage, kicking dead leaves into the doorway where Luca pressed his arms more tightly across his chest and tucked his hands into his armpits. Shianan hadn’t asked him to wait outside the general’s door—had not, in fact, asked him to accompany him at all. Luca had followed him, explaining others would be less likely to interfere with him if they saw whose he was.

  Luca did not care if his master though
t he feared the soldiers. What did that matter? He needed to know his new master. He could not afford to lose this man.

  The door opened and Shianan emerged, carrying a stack of ledgers. Luca got to his feet, and Shianan frowned. “You’re still here?”

  “I thought I might be needed, my lord.” Luca gathered the stack of books from Shianan’s arms. “You see?”

  “Hm.” Shianan looked unimpressed. “Your insistence on standing in the cold will cost me money.”

  “Master Shianan?”

  “Because you must have a cloak.” Shianan gave Luca a small smile and started down the angled passage to the courtyard. “We have to go to market anyway, for the cuffs. It’s good no one’s noticed.” He glanced at Luca’s wrists, nearly hidden beneath the stack of books. “Today.”

  But when they reached Shianan’s quarters, he sat at his desk with the ledgers. “My just punishment, I suppose,” he said unhappily.

  Luca, lacking instruction, began to clean the office. The shelved maps were full of dust and grit that would shower onto the floor when removed, so he began wiping those. Shianan spread the ledgers over the wide surface of the desk, opening some to compare with others, and scowled over the neat columns of numbers. “This writing! How does anyone read these ant prints without going blind?”

  Luca grimaced as a particularly large cloud of dust billowed. “Master Shianan, would you rather I finish this when you are away?”

  Shianan grunted, bent over the desk.

  Luca was uncertain of his meaning. “Master Shianan?”

  “Go ahead,” he said wearily. “A little dust is appropriate to this.” He sighed and set a stack of surplus books on the edge of the wide desk, fanning a sheaf of letters on the top. Then he moved his chair to the far end, giving himself more work space as he squinted from one book to another.

  Luca moved to the next map and his stomach tightened. The Wakari Coast. He glanced at the familiar shape of the coastline—there had been many maps in their office—and gingerly brushed the dust from it.

  Behind him, Shianan began drumming his fingers on the desktop. Luca replaced the final map and began to sweep the floor made filthy with dust.

  “This makes no sense,” Shianan muttered. “Why did we need another five hundred spears so soon? Hadn’t they just two weeks before—? Where’s that other book….” He drew another ledger to him and flipped to the end.

  Luca gathered the first pile of dust. When some trickled to the swept floor he almost expected Ande’s sharp reprimand, but Shianan only stared at the ledgers.

  “Bah.” Shianan rapped his knuckles on the table in frustration. “This is like trying to trail a rat through a warehouse. Everything is entered in three different places, and they don’t always agree. Hand me Morn’s letter of requisition, will you?” He gestured to the fanned letters at the far end of the desk, where Luca stood. “Oh, let me think, it will be, um, the third one—”

  But Luca had already selected the correct letter. He held it toward Shianan, but the commander looked over it at him without taking it. Luca froze.

  His master appraised him. “You can read, can’t you? And fluently?”

  “I can….”

  Shianan took the letter, still looking at Luca. Luca hardly breathed. There was no reason for guilt, he had done nothing wrong, but few slaves were educated. Ande had laughed once to find Luca cutting his scraps in the proper fashion and had confiscated his utensils, making him eat from a bowl on the floor that night to remind him of his position.

  “You were a freeman’s son, you said,” Shianan mused. “An educated one, it seems.”

  “Yes, master. Ours was a merchant house. We were all taught to manage the shipping affairs.”

  Something sparked in Shianan’s eyes. “You managed the office.”

  “Yes, master.”

  “Bookkeeping?”

  “Yes.”

  Shianan fairly leapt from the chair. “Then sit, please, and take this! I am making no headway at all.” He gestured to the chair. “Sit.”

  Luca hesitated and then moved behind the desk. “Master?”

  “This is the standard yearly approval, only this year it’s fallen to me, no accident. I should just sign the thing, as I’m sure the generals do each year, but….” Shianan took the broom from Luca’s hand. “Just check over it, make sure nothing is glaringly wrong, and then I’ll sign it as completed.”

  Luca nodded mutely, surprised, and surveyed the ledgers before him. There was one for each month, another master ledger, and an unwieldy collection of requisition letters, merchant invoices, shipping logs, and other miscellany.

  “Go ahead.” Shianan moved to the far end of the desk and began sweeping.

  Luca leapt to his feet. “Master! I will finish—”

  Shianan glanced from Luca to the broom and back. “Oh, this? King’s oats, man, who do you think cleaned this place before you came? I’d rather sweep than slog through that mess, anyway. Now sit down and do it.”

  “But….”

  “That is an order,” Shianan said firmly. “What’s the point of having a slave if I can’t have him do the things I don’t want to do? Get to work.”

  Luca fell silent and sat at the desk again. He tried to ignore the soft sounds of Shianan’s sweeping as he scanned down the first column.

  Shianan had been right, it was a difficult system to track. Luca wasn’t sure why the accustomed notation was so complex, but he supposed it had always been so and would not be easily changed in so unwieldy an entity as the military. It wasn’t long before he found the habit of correlating letters, logs, invoices, and receipts, and he began making a running list of transactions on a spare sheet for simpler reference.

  Shianan finished sweeping the floor and moved into the next room, stripping the bed and the smaller mattress on the floor. Luca blew the ink dry and started a new column of transactions.

  The light had shifted considerably through the window when Shianan returned and stood beside the desk. “You didn’t have to put that much effort into it.”

  Luca stood and rotated his notes. “I thought a master list would be simpler to review. The primary ledger, with all the year’s transactions, is not itemized.”

  “So I noticed,” Shianan answered dryly. “Why do you think you’re doing it?” He looked down at the sheet. “Still, this is considerable work for something no one will ever examine.”

  “I don’t mind. I’m happy to do it.”

  Shianan snorted. “I thought I’d told you not to grovel.”

  Luca shook his head but remained silent. In truth, he had found a kind of solace in transcribing the numbers. He had not even held a pen for so long, much less exercised his previous training.

  Shianan picked up the sheet. “What does this mean, here, this SW mark?”

  “Swords,” Luca supplied. “And these are spears, and these are wagon wheels, and axles, and harness for the draft slaves, and raw metals for repair, and smithing equipment, and—”

  “You do enjoy this, don’t you?” Shianan looked surprised.

  Luca half-grinned, embarrassed. “This was my special province. My father and brothers met with clients and captains, wrote the contracts, arranged the payments. I was the primary bookkeeper, though of course we all did parts of all of it.”

  Shianan stared at him and then looked away. “Clear this away for now. We need to go to the market for your cuffs.”

  Luca nodded, hiding the twinge—though he had known better, some part of him had hoped he might remain unfettered. But even a commander and count could not risk defiance of the law. He tucked his notes inside the master ledger and stacked the books.

  They descended to the market, navigating hilly streets less crowded with the chilling weather. When they reached the slavers, Luca exhaled against the hard lump in his throat and followed Shianan inside.

  The merchant needed reminding, but the smith took a single glance at them and nodded. “I have them right here, lordship. Slimmer than he had,
but still plenty functional.”

  Shianan nodded approval, and Luca reluctantly approached the fastening table. The smith, impatient with his slow approach, reached for Luca and pulled him forward. “Hurry up. Won’t change anything, so don’t even think about it.” He slapped Luca’s wrist onto the table. “Hold still.”

  Luca turned his head and closed his eyes. The process shouldn’t be painful, but he had seen it already.

  The cool metal cuff slid around his wrist and the smith rotated it, checking the fit. Then he riveted the cuff into place, making it a permanent part of Luca’s arm. Luca flinched at each bang of the hammer. Then the smith pulled at the cuff, testing whether it could be greased to slide over Luca’s hand. Luca braced himself against the table with the other hand, remembering his first fitting, but this smith was more easily satisfied, and there were no abrasions on the arm he dropped. “Next.”

  Shianan began counting out coins, and Luca retreated from the table. The cuffs were already familiar against his skin.

  “He gives you trouble,” the smith said, “bring him back. There’s a man here who can—”

  “Thank you,” Shianan said, handing the last coin to the trader. “Have a good day.”

  Shianan went down the windy street without looking back, for which Luca was grateful. He felt weak as they left the slavers, passing under the carved sign. It was far too easy to slip into that place, waiting again for the bidder with the deepest purse to take charge of Luca’s destiny.

  “Keep up.”

  Luca quickened his pace. “Yes, master.”