Shard & Shield

by Laura VanArendonk Baugh

  “Not even if I ask again under less cordial conditions?”

  Tamaryl’s muscles clenched. He started to move, to protest, when he heard Ariana’s hasty answer, “I cannot tell you what I do not know, my lord. A lesser mage is not consulted in the army’s deployment.” Her voice was unsteady, but she did not flinch.

  Oniwe grunted. “To my regret, I find that believable.” He glanced across the room. “Tamaryl’sho, have you repented yet of your negligence?”

  Tamaryl lifted his head. “Oniwe’aru?”

  “Rise, Tamaryl’sho. I think the point has been made. You were not one to abuse privilege in the past, and I mean you to exercise your privilege and rank now.” He gestured for Tamaryl to stand.

  Tamaryl’s pulse leaped through him. Not now, not before Ariana, not yet…. He shifted to one knee, paused briefly in the courtier’s position, and then got to his feet. “Oniwe’aru,” he ventured. “As to that…. If you would, I should like speak with you.” He swallowed. “Privately.”

  “Oh?” Oniwe raised an eyebrow. “I hope you do not mean to refuse me.”

  Essence and flame—Oniwe would see it as a second betrayal, a fresh rejection of his authority. That would end Tamaryl and Ariana both. Tamaryl shook his head. “Of course not.”

  “Good.” He looked back at Ariana, stiffly facing him. “So you know nothing of the army’s affairs. I accept that. But a Mage of the Circle must know something of the barrier erected between our worlds.”

  “Actually, my lord, I was not yet a member of the Circle when the shield was erected—”

  “Do not toy with me!” Oniwe snapped.

  Tamaryl glanced worriedly at Ariana. She did know most of the shield’s workings but would be reluctant to betray them.

  Oniwe faced her sternly. “What is this shield?”

  “It—it is a barrier….”

  “I know it is a barrier. I have seen its effects to that purpose, and indeed I called it a barrier myself not a moment ago. How is it done?”

  “I did not help to create it—I only observed—”

  “Keep in mind, please, only the mages died upon their arrival. Others died more slowly as we found ways to question them. You might not know the military situation, but you know of this. How is it done?”

  Ariana paled. “I—it is a barrier inhospitable to Ryuven—it is a magic woven by the entire Circle….”

  “It is powered by condensed starry ether, Oniwe’aru,” Tamaryl intervened. “The shield fueled by the ether is calculated to act upon the nervous system and the organs specifically. Any Ryuven attempting to pass through would leave his organs behind. It is a secure magic of overlaid bindings, mostly of what humans call the Tolemic type, and cannot be undone except at the source of its power, the condensed ether, what the humans call the Shard of Elan.”

  Oniwe’aru raised an eyebrow. “You know a great deal of this.”

  “It was of obvious concern to me.” And he had helped to create the method of it.

  “And you offer this information with interesting timing.”

  “I did not know you were in need. I assumed you would have already discovered the shield.” He kept his eyes from Ariana.

  “Discovered it, yes,” Oniwe answered sourly. “By accident, as half a hundred warriors tried to cross the between-worlds. The majority of our force was spared only by fortunate timing.” He crossed his arms. “You say it cannot be undone?”

  “It would require the Circle’s magic to be unwoven about the Shard itself. It is impossible to break from outside the barrier.”

  “Hm. But the shield is broken now. You are here.”

  Ariana was staring at Tamaryl. He ignored her. “Yes, Oniwe’aru. A careless, ignorant human altered the spell and collapsed the shield.”

  “And it has not been recreated. Once it was discovered, we knew what to look for, and we know that it has not been restored.” His voice became commanding. “Pairvyn ni’Ai!”

  Tamaryl straightened even as his stomach fell. “Yes, Oniwe’aru?”

  “Take a force to the human world. The area northeast of Alham, with fewer posts of soldiers—they have storehouses freshly filled with the harvest. Go and bring food for our people, and remind the humans we are better fled than fought.”

  Shock and horror radiated almost palpably from the human figure beside him. He could not look at her. Instead, he nodded once. “As you command, Oniwe’aru.” He left the room, knowing Ariana would follow.

  She did. “Tamaryl!” She choked. “It—it isn’t so. It can’t be.”

  He stopped but did not turn.

  “It’s not true. Pairvyn? Tell me it’s not true.”

  He could not.

  She circled and faced him. Fire lanced her voice. “You killed thousands! We lost so—entire villages! All of Luenda, scorched after the fighting, and it was all, all you!”

  He closed his eyes against her furious hurt. “It was empty glory. We advanced worthless power-hungry maniacs who cared nothing for those they killed, human or Ryuven, and we let conditions worsen here as we relied more and more on raids. I told Oniwe’aru I would no longer lead his warriors.”

  “And he cast you out.”

  Tam shook his head. “No. If he had believed me, he would have killed me then. But he thought I was only angry at some of the che.” This should have been Ewan Hazelrig’s task. This was not how Tamaryl would have told her. “I did not fight. I stood and waited to die. But even so I outlasted the nim around me, and Oniwe’aru heard. I was waiting for them to find me, but your father found me first.”

  “And everyone supposed Pairvyn ni’Ai dead.”

  “I was no longer Pairvyn ni’Ai.” He stepped around her and began walking.

  “Until now!” His long strides made her run, but they did not leave her behind nor take enough breath to stop her protests. “You can’t do this!”

  “I must, Ariana’rika.”

  “You’re going to attack us?”

  “I am going to retrieve food for my people.”

  “You’re going to kill and steal!”

  “I can take you home.”

  “I don’t want to go home to a battlefield!”

  “It is your chance to go home and mine to take my place here.”

  Ariana snatched at his arm and pulled him around, drawing herself to her full height. “Tam, I forbid it. I order you not to do this!”

  “In your world, my lady, I would obey you. But here, I am Pairvyn ni’Ai.” His chest ached. “Ariana’rika, I promised your father I would take care of you. I must return you home.”

  She stared at him with wide, pained eyes. “You were Tam, my Tam, my sweet-natured boy. I never—you killed so many people.” She gulped. “I don’t want you to kill more people.”

  Her impending tears ripped at him, clawed his stomach and made him want to hold her and weep with her. But that of course was impossible. Instead, he swallowed hard and flexed his wings tightly against his back. “I don’t either, my lady.”

  “Then—”

  “You are a Mage of the Circle,” Tamaryl said sharply. “What will you do when you are ordered into battle?”

  She stared at him, her mouth open but saying nothing. He turned abruptly and walked away, hating her, hating himself, hating Oniwe’aru and Daranai’rika and King Jerome and everything.

  Chapter 54

  Shianan ran his hands through his hair, dimly aware of the fidgety gesture but powerless to stop it. He was unhappy with his update on the failing search for the Shard. He wanted to speak with Ewan Hazelrig but dared not. And at any moment Jarrick Roald might walk through his door, and Shianan could not decide whether to throttle the man or drag him into the next room to shove him face to face with Luca.

  The door burst open and Shianan glanced up angrily, almost glad of a chance to vent some of his frustration. “You will knock—”

  “Urgent dispatch, sir!” barked the soldier, his face pale beneath the sweat of exertion. “Ryuven attack!”


  Shianan rose, reaching for the extended paper. “Where?”

  “Caftford, sir.”

  “Does General Septime know yet?”

  “I’m just on my way to him now, sir.”

  “Then go!” Shianan gestured the man out the door and scanned the dispatch. The words struck him like physical blows. Caftford had been raided and their winter stores stolen. There had been no warning.

  He read and re-read the final sentence, as if it might somehow change: Pairvyn ni’Ai has returned to battle.

  Pairvyn ni’Ai—they had thought the fearsome Ryuven warrior dead. They had not been foolish enough to believe they had somehow killed him; it was thought he had died in some inter-Ryuven conflict, a political scuffle which cost their best asset. But if this report were correct, and Pairvyn ni’Ai had returned to fight once more….

  Shianan sank slowly to his chair. They would suffer devastating losses as they had not seen since Luenda, when Shianan was a boy and terror of the Ryuven immense in his mind. Hundreds, even thousands would fall to the Ryuven, because the shield which should have protected them had been sabotaged by a desperate bastard.

  Caftford’s warehouse had been emptied. Ryuven raids would leave the countryside to starve, and as the army requisitioned grain to feed patrolling soldiers the villagers and farmers would grow more and more resentful of those who beggared them to save them. Riots would injure those the Ryuven left unharmed. And the Shard which could have prevented all was buried leagues away.

  Shianan dropped his head to the desk, welcoming the dull pain which flashed through his skull. The search for the Shard would intensify, and even without evidence, they would demand a scapegoat. It would not be long now.

  He sighed and pushed aside some papers, uncovering a contract. Roald had not had the courage to bring it to Shianan’s face but had left it on his desk. Shianan’s knowledge of Luca’s history had been unsettling, indeed.

  He forgot the contract on hearing the gathering of voices outside. He stepped onto a chair and peered through the high window, seeing a clot of soldiers arguing among themselves with frequent glances toward his office.

  It’s here.

  “Luca!” He tore open the top right drawer, seizing a sealed document. He whirled and nearly stumbled into the slave, still holding a broom. “Keep this with you. If anyone comes for you—soldiers, I mean, or slavers or anyone—use it.”

  “Master Shianan—”

  “Quiet! There’s no time.” Luca could not escape with the angry soldiers outside. “Get underneath the bed.”

  “What?”

  “Do it! Under the bed and stay. That’s an order.”

  Luca folded the sealed document into his shirt and obediently dropped to the floor beside the bed, slipping beneath it. Shianan wanted to speak but could not think of anything before the door opened without a knock.

  “Commander Shianan Becknam,” said one of the half-dozen that pushed their way inside. “We are here with a warrant for your arrest, for questioning in relation to the theft of the Shard of Elan.”

  Shianan faced them. “I will go with you.”

  They stared uneasily at him, uncomfortable with the task of arresting their commanding officer. “Sir….”

  “I’m coming.”

  But before he could reach for his cloak, more men shoved into the office. “Is it true?”

  Shianan remained very still. “I am going to answer questions about the Shard.” No resistance, no excitement, do not antagonize them….

  But another man stepped forward. “They say you maybe stole the Shard.”

  “They say you took it because you were jealous and wanted to try for the throne yourself.”

  The group shifted toward him. “You were the one who brought the Gehrn to destroy the shield!”

  Shianan held up his hands in a calming, submissive gesture. His sword lay across a table in the far corner, and he did not want to fight. Some of these were his own men. “Wait. I’m wanted for questioning, I understand, but—”

  “My people live in Caftford!” snapped a man on his left.

  Shianan dropped backward and struck the man’s arm as it swung, but the motion triggered the others. A fist caught him from the other side as he stepped backward, driving through someone, and they flowed around him, entrapping him. A dizzying rush of movement came from all sides and he could not defend himself from everything.

  He tried to shield his head but they hammered him down. Before he reached the floor the group had closed, seizing him and dragging him through the door. He tried to regain his feet, but they were still hitting him as they shouted. “You took it! You killed those people! You let the Ryuven in! Murdering bastard!”

  There were more now, he thought, but it was hard to tell. They threw him from one side to another, hitting him and shouting. He whirled and hit the ground hard as someone’s boot caught him in the ribs. Someone else kicked his head. Sound and vision together swirled into a dull dark blur.

  Dimly he realized no one was kicking him, the jeering had slowed. There was another voice instead, an angry, familiar voice, and as it cut across the group he recognized General Septime speaking, though he could not understand what was said. Then hands pulled him from the paving stones and jostled him forward though the hurts.

  Septime’s voice faded away, and the air became the clammy cold of underground. He vaguely recognized the dim corridor. Cold metal shackles were fitted on him and then he was dragged again and dumped roughly to the ground. Foul-smelling straw prickled at his face, surprising him with the sharp sensation through his hazy consciousness. A door slammed and it was dark.

  The office had been empty over an hour, but Luca had not yet moved from beneath the bed.

  He had seen them attack Shianan, seen them drag him outside where there were more cries of rage, and Luca had been too easily able to picture the mob, tossing Shianan from abuse to abuse, perhaps ripping him apart in the street just as in Furmelle….

  He squeezed his eyes tightly closed. He did not want to go and see Shianan’s body in the yard. He did not want to be seized by the angry soldiers. He did not want to think of what would come next.

  Shianan would not return. He had known what he plotted, he had known what would come. But Luca could not remain in hiding.

  If anyone comes for you…. Shianan’s last act had been a final instruction. It was too much to hope—if he could save his slave, he would have saved himself—but perhaps it held the key to escape. Luca withdrew the paper. The seal, softened with his body heat, opened easily.

  It was a bill of sale, that was all. It was dated a few days past, documenting the payment of a low average sum for a serving slave, a transfer of ownership to Mage Ewan Hazelrig.

  Luca stared, his mind working slowly. Shianan could not legally free him except by his death-will, and if convicted of treason his property would be forfeit to the crown. Luca would be assigned to the army warehouses or sold at market, common labor to be prodded until exhausted and useless.

  But if sold, Luca was safe from the law’s seizure. And it was Mage Hazelrig who had kindly treated Luca after his scourging. Shianan had found his slave safety and comfort.

  Luca was crying. He wept for Shianan, killed by the mob or soon to be killed by the king, and for himself, losing his master and—and his friend.

  He slid from beneath the bed, rubbing tears from his eyes, and tucked the precious bill of sale away again. It did not take long to gather his few belongings and stuff them into a soldier’s bag. He hesitated a moment and then pulled a few of Shianan’s shirts from the chest. They would only be taken, and Luca could use them as well as anyone, and he would at least think kindly of the man who had worn them before.

  He took a deep breath, rubbed the last of the damp from his face, and steeled himself to open the door. There was no red pulpy mass. The mob had not killed him, at least not here.

  Luca pulled the bag over his shoulder and ducked his head, hoping no one would recognize him as Shianan’
s servant, and hurried toward the Wheel. He arrived without incident and found his way to the White Mage’s office.

  The white door was open. Luca swallowed and knocked at the frame. “My lord?”

  Hazelrig looked up from his writing. “Yes? Oh—you’re Becknam’s servant, yes?”

  Luca hesitated. “They’ve taken him, my lord. They arrested him.”

  Hazelrig’s expression fell. “Did they.” The mage was not surprised.

  Luca withdrew the saving paper. “My master gave me this.” He shuffled across the office, his eyes respectfully lowered, and extended it across the desk.

  Hazelrig pursed his lips over the bill of sale and then looked at Luca. “Clever.” He dropped the paper to the desk. “Then you’d better come home with me.”

  Luca clutched his bag of clothing. “Yes, my lord. Master.”

  Chapter 55

  Ariana glanced up irritably as Maru entered the open archway without knocking or speaking. Before he could speak she complained, “I know there’s not an actual door, but—”

  “I’m sorry, Ariana’rika,” Maru interrupted, “but Ryl sent me for you. He’s coming to carry you over.”

  Ariana’s chest tightened. “Let’s go, then.”

  Maru led her down a mostly-empty street and out of the city, to a field of tall grass recently trampled. There was no one else; whoever had stomped the grass flat had gone. Maru stopped a third of the way across the green and sat.

  “What is this place?” The wind pulled at Ariana.

  “This is the Leaping Plain. It’s easier to cross the between-worlds from here.”

  Ariana was intrigued, and she quested into the magic around them, but it slipped past her, elusive as ever. Frustrated, she formed a little ball of smoke, just to prove she could.

  “Ariana’rika?”

  She let the smoke dissipate. “Why this place?”

  Maru shrugged. “I’m only nim. I can tell you only there is something different here.”