Shard & Shield

by Laura VanArendonk Baugh

  “The Black Mage,” breathed Soren. He watched as father and daughter embraced while the servant boy stood respectfully a few paces behind. “She’s come back alive. And she saved the slave, too.” He looked over his shoulder at Shianan. “You were telling the truth about that, at least.”

  Shianan could hardly breathe. Sweet Holy One, she’s safe. Thank you. She’d returned. She had really returned….

  “But to trade her for Caftford? Her life for the kingdom? What madness—” Soren stopped, observing Shianan. “Oh,” he said dryly. “That madness.”

  Ariana stood back from her father and explained something animatedly, gesturing once or twice to Tam. The preparatory action slowed, as Ariana presumably explained a Ryuven had come only to deliver her and depart. The other mages were listening intently. Shianan knew the real story would be explained once she and her father and Tam were alone.

  “And you knew you would be arrested and sentenced by the Court of the High Star?” Soren sighed. “Oh, you poor sop, you’ve got it bad.”

  Shianan tore his eyes from the scene below and looked at Soren. “I….”

  Soren gave him a steely glare. “So you let Ariana Hazelrig come home, I’ll grant that. And the slave boy, too, it seems. The Ryuven must really honor Ewan Hazelrig.” He moved closer. “But to do it, you murdered those in Caftford and you condemned others there to starve, unless we provide them from our own stores which should have been supplemented by theirs, shorting our own men. And, commander, you gave the Ryuven an easy victory, so they will return.” With abrupt force he drove his fist into Shianan’s gut, crushing him against the stone. “And you’ve brought Pairvyn ni’Ai into our world again. Every man who dies facing his command, you murder. And you killed them all for a pretty girl.” He struck again, making Shianan gasp weakly for air.

  Soren turned away, his throat working visibly, his profile to Shianan. “You did this alone?”

  Shianan licked his bloody lips. “Yes.” He hesitated, hardly daring to hope but needing to offer, “Since she’s come back—the shield is—I can retrieve the Shard….”

  “Oh, you will,” Soren snarled. “You will return the Shard, that’s certain. Where is it?”

  “It’s…not here.” Shianan didn’t want them to take Luca—a slave would fare even worse. But he did not know the exact location.

  Soren moved, raising his gloved fist again, and Shianan flinched away. Soren hesitated. “Bailaha, this is not a typical scene of interrogation. We have not even begun, by the standards of what lies in those chambers.”

  “I wasn’t lying. I was trying to—it is hidden, buried, outside of Alham. I cannot tell you how to find it.”

  “The men below could make you tell,” Soren replied grimly. “After they’ve plucked every fingernail and used them to peel the flesh off you, you’ll find a way to describe the hiding place.” He sighed. “But I hope it won’t come to that. At first light, as soon as you can see to dig, you’ll go for the Shard.” He stepped back. “In the meantime, you’ll spend the night here. And if the Ryuven do come—I hope Pairvyn ni’Ai finds you here. I hope he makes you beg, Bailaha, like those in Caftford begged for their lives. But I hope he does not kill you, because you need to find the Shard in the morning.”

  Chapter 57

  Shianan shivered and wished he had not; the movement jarred too many pains. The wind which had protected his conversation with Soren beat against him. He flexed his cold fingers in the shackles and leaned his head against his upper arm, trying to conserve heat.

  Chained overnight on a crenelated walk…. He had not thought of that in a long time. He tried not to think of it now.

  While mages had crowded eagerly around Ariana, Shianan had seen the White Mage step back. Shielded from most of the yard behind a wagon of supplies, he had embraced the slave boy, earnestly expressing his gratitude.

  For hours that image echoed in his mind. Hazelrig had not offered even momentary protest to Shianan’s arrest. Hazelrig had his daughter, and Shianan had a painful public execution to await.

  He leaned against the stone, wishing he could shift his arms. But Ariana was safe. Sweet Holy One, she was safe and at home.

  But Shianan was here, and he did not know where to find the Shard.

  The lamp beside him wavered and then guttered out. There was a subtle scrape of flesh against stone, and something moved through the crenelation where the dead light rested. Shianan blinked and the form resolved into the shape of a winged man. A Ryuven.

  Shianan’s voice caught in his throat. If he made a sound, the Ryuven would certainly kill him—but he had to raise the alarm—but no one would hear, on the walk above an empty yard….

  “My lord commander, don’t be alarmed.”

  The voice was vaguely familiar, but he could not place it. Shianan swallowed. “What do you want?”

  “I wanted to speak with you.” The figure came closer.

  It was Tam—or the Ryuven that was Tam, at least. Shianan felt relieved and foolish and angry. “What are you doing as a Ryuven? I thought you were Subdued.”

  “You don’t sound well, commander.” He came closer, and Shianan could just make out his features in the moonlight. He paused, near enough to see Shianan as well. “Oh.”

  Humiliated anger rolled over Shianan. “We don’t all heal so quickly.”

  The Ryuven folded his wings tightly, probably cold in his native form. “I am not Subdued, to answer your question. I was bound again, but Mage Hazelrig was good enough to open the binding just enough for me to assume this form.”

  “So you’re a Ryuven without power?”

  “For the time being.”

  “Why would you expose yourself to such risk? If anyone sees you, you’re a dead man.”

  He tipped his head to regard Shianan. “And why would you expose yourself to risk like this?” He paused. “I wanted to speak with you, and the tower stair is guarded.”

  Shianan waited. He was trapped here, but he did not have to speak. If the Ryuven wanted to talk, he could do the talking.

  “The house is very full tonight. My lady has not had a moment without questions since she arrived. But I was able to speak with the elder Mage Hazelrig, and he told me what you had done.”

  Shianan looked away. “What of it?”

  “Thank you.” The Ryuven’s voice was strangely quiet. “It must mean a great deal to you that—that she be safe.”

  Shianan was glad his reddening skin would not be seen in the moonlight. “She is my friend.” Defensively he added, “And your mistress. Did she give permission for her slave to go out tonight?”

  “As I said, my master released me to come here.” His voice was nearly as humble as a slave’s ought to be. He faced Shianan. “I do not think she knows.”

  Heat raced through Shianan’s cold limbs and he twitched against the shackles. “Nor will she,” he snapped. “What does it matter to you? Can’t I hang in my chains without your torment?”

  Tamaryl turned away. “If you will be executed anyway, why return the Shard at all?”

  “Because I am not a traitor,” Shianan snarled. “Because I do not want to see my people murdered and starved by yours.”

  “I do not want to see mine starved, either.”

  “And so mine must die?” Frustration made Shianan quiver in his shackles. “And they say Pairvyn ni’Ai was at Caftford. If that’s true, if he’s alive—”

  “They do?”

  “Is he?” Shianan demanded. “We thought him dead. It’s been since the Luenda battles—” He stopped, icy horror scorching through him. “No….” he breathed. “No, please, no.”

  But Tamaryl simply looked unhappily at him.

  Shianan lunged, hoping to kick him, shove him off the walk, something, but the shackles tore his wrists and he fell back hard against the wall. Impotent fury filled him. “I should have killed you when I first had the chance!”

  “And then where would my lady mage be?” Tamaryl answered quietly. “Do you remember I t
old you it was my choice to leave the fighting?”

  “Apparently it’s your choice no longer,” Shianan raged. “You’ll kill as many as ever and leave the rest to starve. And someday you’ll face the Circle and you’ll kill Ariana.”

  “No,” Tamaryl cut in firmly. “No, I will not.”

  Shianan sagged against his bleeding wrists, his muscles screaming for relief. “Ariana should never have touched that Shard. None of this would have happened. I should have killed you in the beginning. Hazelrig never should have brought you.”

  “I helped to invent the shield. I was as anxious for it to work as you.” He paused. “And what of the slave? Mage Hazelrig said you took him after the shield collapsed. Sparing him from the Gehrn was surely a good—”

  “Luca.” Shianan stared at the ground. He needed Luca if he were to recover the Shard.

  “Mage Hazelrig said you sent him for safekeeping after your arrest.”

  Shianan seized on this. “He’s at Hazelrig’s house now?”

  Tamaryl looked mildly surprised. “He’s serving the guests come for Lady Ariana.”

  “Then he will be safe.” Somehow he felt a little relieved knowing Luca was with the mage—though he could never say now Luca knew where to find the Shard. It would implicate Mage Hazelrig, even if the Pairvyn didn’t take Luca first.

  “You think Mage Hazelrig is safe?”

  Shianan eyed him coldly. “Even knowing what you are, I won’t betray him.” He breathed slowly, gathering his strength. “It was Caftford that did this. They had no real evidence against me, but Caftford demanded a scapegoat. And the reappearance of Pairvyn ni’Ai—that’s what upset them. They weren’t asking questions.”

  “I am sorry, your lordship.”

  “Don’t call me that! I’m no one’s lord commander now—just a traitor. But I am still loyal for all that, and I won’t see my people murdered!” He stepped forward as far as he could, arcing backward against the shackles, and kicked hard at the Ryuven. Tamaryl was caught unprepared and deflected the kick as he stumbled at the edge of the walk. Shianan caught his breath as the Ryuven flailed and then the great wings snapped out, curving into a powerful thrust which pushed him onto solid footing again.

  Shianan shouted, “Ryuven! Ryuven, here! Pairvyn ni’Ai is here—”

  Tamaryl’s hand clamped over his mouth, stifling his warnings. Shianan struggled but the Ryuven was strong for his kind, and Shianan had no leverage chained against the wall.

  “I will leave you, my lord commander. I am sorry for your state, but I can do nothing. Yet again, I thank you for what you did.” Tamaryl withdrew his hand and vaulted over the wall into the open air.

  Shianan screamed in rage and pain and humiliation until his voice broke into sobbing cries, but the wind whipped it all away and no one heard.

  Tamaryl slipped into the mage’s house and found Hazelrig waiting for him. “You knew I was coming?”

  Ewan Hazelrig smiled. “It is not enough power to draw attention,” he said, “but if one knows to look for it, you can be sensed.”

  Tamaryl concentrated and began to reshape his body, molding it into that of a human boy. He held out his wrists, and Hazelrig took the cuffs in his hands. “You found him?”

  The binding closed on Tamaryl again. It was not painful—Hazelrig had not undone it, so it did not need to be remade, and he was, after all, the White Mage—but it was an eerie, unsettling feeling. “I did.” Tamaryl shivered involuntarily as the great lock sealed. “I spoke with him.”

  “How is he?”

  “He said they were angry over Caftford and the Pairvyn.” Guilt twisted in his stomach. “They’ve beaten him.”

  Hazelrig’s jaw clenched. “Is there any hope?”

  “He’s confessed. He said he is to return the Shard in the morning, and then he will be executed.”

  Hazelrig crossed the room. “I haven’t been able to think of a way to save him. Even if I confessed everything myself, he would still be held as a complicit traitor.”

  “Being rescued by a Ryuven wouldn’t help him in the end, either.” Tamaryl glanced down. “I think he’s given up. He confessed, but they had not forced it from him. He’s chosen.”

  “Fool,” snapped Hazelrig. “We might have—he had no reason to kill himself.” He worked his fingers in frustrated energy. “And when Ariana learns, she will blame herself.” He paced. “If we had the Shard…. If we could bring it, would there be enough evidence against him? Why don’t you go to him and—”

  Tamaryl barked a bitter laugh. “Oh, no. He will not tell me where to find it, not even to save his life. He guessed who I am.” The thought hurt, oddly.

  “Oh.” Hazelrig slumped into a chair. “He just might listen to me, but I cannot reach him there.” He clasped his hands. “And so we wait.”

  Chapter 58

  Dawn’s cold light had just come when the tower door rasped open. Torg was with them.

  Shianan lifted his head, shooting pain through his arms and neck. Soren stopped and appraised him, his expression closed. Torg, waiting with the guards, looked unhappily away.

  “Here we are,” Soren said finally, his voice pitched low and vicious. “You’ll want to know, the Black Mage is whole and well. She’s spent the night being welcomed home and answering questions from the Circle. And you’re probably dreaming she’ll throw her arms about your neck, gushing with gratitude and pledging her undying love. But no, it was all for nothing. She hasn’t even asked after you.”

  Shianan felt kicked. But—but it wasn’t for nothing. She’s safe.

  Soren raised his voice. “Unchain him. We need the Shard.”

  Torg looked sick as he approached Shianan, but he dutifully reached for the shackles. Every small movement made Shianan’s shoulders scream, and then suddenly the iron bars released him and his arms fell. The sudden drop made him gasp and he stumbled as he tried to balance, his bruised torso aching.

  “These men will accompany you to the Shard. They will make sure you do not waste time or fail. Then you will bring the Shard, and your trial will begin.”

  Shianan’s heart would have sunk, had it not already been at its lowest reach. “Your Highness.”

  Soren left then, and the guards stood about Shianan. One reached for his skinned wrists. “Can’t have you running on the road,” he said, fastening the shackles onto him again.

  Shianan did not care. He was exhausted, cold, hungry, pained. He did not care if his wrists were free.

  “Move.”

  The stairs were difficult, his legs stiff with kicks and the night of standing and shivering. Shianan stumbled down, braced against the guard before him. Torg was somewhere behind him. He was clearly not in command, and this was a good way to demonstrate his loyalty was to the king and not his traitorous commander.

  The yard’s early traffic stared at Shianan with angry, accusing eyes. He tried not to look at them and when they stopped at the main fortress gate, he sagged gratefully against a post.

  “Which way from here?” asked the guard captain.

  He had sent Luca to Fhure. “Northeast.”

  “That way, then.” The captain took a handful of Shianan’s vest. “There won’t be any delaying or putting off. Every time you name a place where the Shard isn’t, we’ll every man take our belts to you. Buckle ends. Understand?”

  There was no choice, and he couldn’t reach Luca now even if he wanted. Shianan nodded and started stiffly down the steep hill.

  They had gone only half the distance to the northeastern city gate when someone ran across the street, skidding to a halt beside Shianan. The guards tensed, ready to defend their only hope for the Shard against an angry citizen, but Luca offered no threat. He stared at Shianan. “Master, I’ve come.”

  Luca—! Shianan felt simultaneous joy and guilt. Luca could save him pain, but in the end they would both die.

  “Get out of the way!” snapped a guard. “Keep moving.”

  Luca simply started walking, trying gamely to hid
e his dismay at Shianan’s battered face. “I’m coming with you.”

  “What?” A guard cut in before Shianan could respond. “Get on!”

  “I can dig!” protested Luca with more vehemence than Shianan had seen from him. “Look at him—he won’t be quick. I can dig for you.”

  Shianan shook his head desperately—Luca was betraying himself—but the guards seemed pleased to have a slave for the labor. “Move on, then. If he wants to break his back, let him.”

  They left Alham and started down the road, weaving through the heavy morning traffic of merchants and vendors and buyers and pickpockets entering the city. Luca stayed close to Shianan, saying nothing.

  Tam slipped behind an overloaded wagon in the morning traffic and fell into step beside a hooded man, who glanced down at him. “What have you found?”

  “They’re outside the northeast gate. And you were right, Luca is with them.”

  “I thought that must be so.” Hazelrig paused. “I don’t know that we can follow all the way. We don’t know how far they have to go.”

  “We don’t have to follow them to the Shard. We can separate them and let Shianan Becknam make his escape from there.”

  “If he has the sense to do it.” Hazelrig nodded to himself. “I’ll take charge of that. Go back and keep the door while Ariana gets some rest, and by all that’s holy, don’t tell her of this.”

  It would have been quite a sight to see the White Mage running down the road against the morning traffic, white robes flapping against his legs, but almost no one noticed the man in typical burgher garb, possibly looking for a wayward child or a lost friend. He alternately walked and jogged along the road, one hand on the bag slung across his chest.

  Shianan stumbled frequently. His sleepless night of muscle fatigue and shivering had sapped him, and the limited use of his arms affected his balance and movement. But he kept going, though Luca stayed close and once or twice reached to steady him when he tripped.