Shard & Shield

by Laura VanArendonk Baugh

  “That is why my master couldn’t tell you he was innocent.” Luca’s mind whirled. “He did not know if it were a single hired man or a conspiracy within the guard. He let you believe he was guilty so they would be at ease. They weren’t expecting him to follow, and he could find the Shard. He was bringing it back!”

  The guard captain looked from Luca to each of the three disabled swordsmen. “He was following them?”

  Luca would have said anything. “He took the Shard back from them. He was bringing it back to Alham.”

  “Who? Who wanted to kill him?”

  Torg, listening beside them, was pale and wide-eyed. Luca ignored him and stared earnestly at the guard captain. Not the king who hated his bastard son—the guards wouldn’t dare to cross that. It had to be someone they did not fear, someone they already mistrusted…. “A merchant,” he blurted. “One who was cheating the army when my master exposed the fraud…. You have the Shard! Please!”

  The guard captain stared at him for a long moment. Luca hardly dared to breathe. Then he turned toward Shianan. The guard with the stick across his throat had loosened it, letting him breathe, but they still held him pinned firmly. The guards watched their captain, waiting.

  The captain took Luca’s shirt collar and dragged him forward. He stopped beside Shianan, helpless with a stick across his throat and a knee in his kidney and a sword on his gut, and pitched Luca to the ground again. “Is this true?” he demanded.

  Luca looked desperately at Shianan and held his breath. If only his master would—he had seemed so determined to surrender himself, but if the guard captain believed for only a moment….

  Shianan’s eyes rolled to find him. “Luca,” he croaked, “you stupid, obstinate, disobedient piece of Furmelle refuse.” His throat worked against the stick as he drew his next breath. “I told you to stay silent on that.”

  Luca sagged forward on his palms, shoulders dropping with relief. The guard captain stared for an eternal moment and then rocked abruptly to life. “Get that off his neck! Let go of the man.”

  The guards released him as if he were heated steel, and Shianan fell awkwardly into a sitting position on the rutted road. Luca made himself stare at the ground. Shianan was supposed to be angry with him, so he should not endanger their frail lie, and there would be nothing he could offer his master at this moment, anyway. He heard Shianan cough.

  “Commander,” began the captain in muted awe, “you didn’t—we didn’t—how were we supposed to know?”

  “You weren’t,” Shianan answered hoarsely. “I wanted the conspirators to think their plan had worked. You shouldn’t have known even yet, if my idiot fool of a slave had the wits to recognize what was best for him.”

  Luca allowed himself the faintest of smiles as he dropped his head lower in mock contrition.

  “But….” The captain was clearly disturbed. “I’m sorry, sir. I hope you’ll understand….”

  Shianan chuckled weakly. “Don’t worry, captain. If you really believed I had taken the Shard, what you did was probably justified.” He coughed again.

  The captain turned. “What about the others?”

  “That one’s never getting up again,” reported one guard, pointing to the second attacker. “Something’s broke, he’s dead.”

  “Vagus isn’t breathing!” called the guard crouching beside him. “I—I don’t think he’s going to. His neck….”

  The guard captain faced Shianan. “Commander….”

  “We’ve got this one, sir,” said the guard standing beside the third attacker. “He’s got no arms, but he’s living.”

  Luca rose, afraid their fragile reprieve might be ended. The third attacker sat rocking in the road, one arm dangling uselessly and the other cradled in his lap. The guard captain walked around Shianan to the crippled swordsman, who made a small moaning sound as he lifted his head.

  “Vagus couldn’t squirt in a ditch without a map and luck,” the guard captain said. “I know this wasn’t planned by the three of you. Who hired you?”

  “I don’t know his name.”

  The guard captain sighed and squatted to take hold of the man’s twisted arm. For one instant the swordsman looked at him with wide, white-rimmed eyes. “No—”

  The captain lifted the arm and rotated it. The man gasped and twitched, lifting his other arm as if to help himself but it swung limply. The captain spoke over the man’s sound. “Does he pay you enough for this, too? What is his name?”

  “I don’t know!”

  The captain half-stood, changing the angle of the arm. Luca shrank back as the man cried aloud, a sound too familiar from Furmelle and other places. “You don’t know?” pressed the captain.

  “He met us in a pub!” shrieked the swordsman. “The Dancing Maid! He paid us five hundred pias and promised as much again if we’d kill him!”

  “Kill who?”

  “Him! The commander! Please, I don’t know his name!”

  “And what about the Shard?”

  “I don’t know about—” The captain shifted and he screamed. “Oh, no, sweet Holy One, no! Please, yes, we took the Shard, it’s all as you said!” He writhed but could not withdraw his torn arm. “We took it! Please, for the love of all that’s—”

  The captain lowered the arm but did not release it. “Where was the Shard? Where were you taking it?”

  The swordsman whimpered.

  The captain sighed again. “I tell you, man, he’s not paying you enough—”

  “It was buried,” cut in Shianan. “I think these men were only to retrieve it. You’ll find a hole not a quarter mile from this spot, marked by two oaks and two hemlocks.”

  “Birches, my lord.”

  “Shut up, Luca.”

  “Yes, master.”

  The captain turned back to the crippled swordsman. “And you were taking it to him again?”

  “Yes!” he offered quickly, before the captain could move his arm again. “Yes, yes, at the Dancing Maid again, tomorrow night. He was going to pay us then.”

  “You’re sure?” The captain moved.

  The man wailed. Shianan’s voice cut across the sound. “Captain.”

  The captain looked startled and released the twisted arm to drop to the ground. “Yes, sir.” He stood, ignoring the man who reached for one injured arm with another and rocked with pain. “You, Holzer, make up a sling for this man’s arms so we can get him back. Hollan, throw Vagus over your shoulder, and somebody put the other corpse on the slave, and—”

  “No,” said Shianan.

  “Sir?”

  “He’ll be helping me.”

  The guard captain looked uncomfortable. “Oh. Right. Somebody else get that body, then. Commander, I—you weren’t….”

  Shianan shook his head. “We already dismissed that. And don’t flatter yourself, it wasn’t all you.”

  “Right, sir.” The guard captain’s eyes landed on Torg. “You! You help the commander, too. Trevor, come here—I want you to carry a message back.”

  Luca crawled forward to Shianan. “Master Shianan,” he whispered, “are you injured?”

  Shianan looked at him with flat incredulous eyes. “Nothing new,” he said finally, as Luca squirmed. “Nothing that a strong dose of willow bark, a dozen poultices, and a week of sleep won’t cure.”

  Torg came to crouch beside them. “Commander….”

  Shianan smiled weakly. “I’m sorry about your jaw, captain.”

  Torg shook his head tightly. “A boyhood fantasy of yours, I’m sure. Commander—you’re sure it’s a merchant who wants your death?”

  “Did you find someone else?”

  “No. It’s only….” He exhaled, looking agitated.

  Shianan shifted uncomfortably. “Get me up.”

  Chapter 60

  They stopped after an hour or so at a little inn beside a minor crossroad. The Two Sisters had a painted sign of dubious character, but the public room was freshly-scrubbed and the smells from the rear kitchen were delici
ous.

  As Shianan limped upstairs, Luca turned to Torg. “My lord.” This was difficult, asking a favor of a soldier, and Shianan had called Torg strict. But he could see no other option. “My lord, if you please—could you lend some coins? There’s an herbalist just there, you see, and I thought I’d buy willow bark for my master.”

  “Good man.” Torg reached into the pouch at his belt and shook out a few coins.

  “Thank you, my lord!” Luca bowed and darted for the door.

  The herbalist was working with a preparation, but she called a slave from chopping wood behind the shop and had him measure out the willow bark for Luca. He bought a healthy supply; his master would be wanting it for days, and Luca thought he might offer some to the crippled prisoner, if allowed. The man had tried to kill him, but he was in pain now and would not see a healer for another day, if at all. Luca had seen too many unattended injured.

  Shianan was in a chair at the room’s only table, his arms crossed over his torso in what was probably intended to be a casual posture but which betrayed his chill and discomfort. There was a curtain against the wall which could separate the single bed from the rest of the room, providing a lord with privacy from his servants. The landlord had provided an unoriginal stew, not elaborate, but nourishing and warm.

  The landlord had water boiling, too, and Luca set the willow bark to simmer. Then he sat down with his own bowl.

  “Luca.” Luca almost missed Shianan’s quiet voice in the low babble of the guards’ conversation. “The room is going black around this chair. Help me to bed before I humiliate myself.”

  Luca hurriedly set his stew aside and offered a arm as Shianan pushed himself upright. Shianan put a hand on his shoulder and tossed a casual wave to the two captains. “I want sleep. You’ll trust me to bed?”

  “Of course,” the guard captain said, anxious to assuage his offenses. “We’ll have a guard at the door for the Shard, sir, that’s all. Good night, sir.”

  “Good night, sir,” echoed Torg, looking as if he’d rather say more.

  Luca drew the curtain behind them, blocking the men’s conversation, as Shianan sank gratefully to the narrow bed, pale and strained. “I have willow bark,” Luca offered. “That will help.”

  As Luca turned away, Shianan caught his arm. “Luca,” he whispered. “I meant what I said. You are a stupid and obstinate slave, stubborn and disobedient, conniving and lying, and I owe you too much.”

  Luca felt a quick warm surge of emotion. “I….”

  “You really don’t know what’s best for you.”

  Luca shook his head. “I’m not sure about that.”

  “Idiot,” breathed Shianan, letting his head fall against the wall. “The White Mage doesn’t even condone slavery, and you could have been there instead of risking torture and death here.”

  Mage Hazelrig is not my own friend. But Luca did not answer aloud.

  Shianan’s hand moved and closed on Luca’s cuff. “In all truth, Luca, I owe you more than I can pay. Ask me what you will.”

  Luca was taken aback. “Master Shianan….”

  “Whatever is not limited by law, Luca.” His face was shadowed in the single candle’s light. “You know I would free you if I could…. But despite my bravado at the slavers, I don’t have the power. You… well, you missed your chance, Luca. But whatever I can give. We can even go to the slave market and you can woo yourself a pretty girl who’ll have you.” He smiled tiredly.

  Luca smiled at the feeble joke, too. “I don’t know that anyone would have me.” He swallowed, sobering. “But there is one thing I would ask, master.”

  “Don’t you dare speak to me as you would that Gehrn pig,” Shianan warned, his head against the wall. “What is it?”

  Luca’s stomach clenched. What was in his mind was something slaves did not ask. “Master, please don’t—don’t sell me. I don’t want to go to the block again, and I—I’ll never do better. I want to stay here. I know a slave can’t speak for his future, but I—”

  “Luca.” Shianan gave him an exhausted but honest smile. “I said the Vandogan could not afford your price. No one can.”

  Everything cold poured out of Luca in a blinding rush. He opened his mouth, had nothing to say, and realized he was crying.

  “Don’t.” Shianan’s cheeks were damp, too. “‘Soats, Luca, it’s no surprise. You should know we’re two of the same. We need each other.”

  Luca nodded, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “Thank you, Master Shianan.”

  Shianan exhaled. “No, Luca, thank you.” He swallowed visibly himself. “Do you—you said you had willow bark?”

  Luca rubbed at his face, glad of the distraction. “Yes! I’ll fetch it. One moment.”

  He went to the pot and poured a cup, noting it was cooling. The decoction should be strong enough to be effective. “Here, Master Shianan.” He watched his master move gingerly as he drank. “Do you need me to help with your clothes?”

  Shianan shook his head. “I spent one night in these already. What’s another?” He drew his arms close. “And I want to be warm this night. King’s sweet oats, I want to be warm.”

  Luca slipped outside the curtain and poured a second cup. He wiped his face again with his sleeve, shoving away the last of the tears, and carried it to the crippled prisoner. “Willow bark. It will help the pain a little.”

  The injured man looked at him with wide eyes. “I didn’t even hear,” he said in quiet horror. “What did he do to you?”

  Luca shook his head, embarrassed. “I’ll be all right,” he said. He gave the man a tentative smile. “I’ll be all right.”

  Chapter 61

  Ariana continued to talk as the two senior mages took rapid notes—the Ryuven city, the worsening blight on their crops, the demographic shift as the nim indentured themselves to che and sho for bread.

  “Ariana,” interrupted her father with blessed perception, “I think we may break for a few minutes here. I’m sure Elysia’s hand is nearly as cramped as mine, and I could use a breath of fresh air as surely as you could use a space to breathe.” He smiled. “I’ll have Tam bring something to eat, as well. It’s been some hours already since supper.”

  The White and Silver Mages left her father’s workshop, and Ariana slumped tiredly over the table. She did not feel up to a brief walk outside, though it would probably do her good. She was not unwell; it was just difficult to consider her answers to Elysia Parma’s questions while responding promptly enough that it did not seem she was filtering. Her father was careful not to press where she gave incomplete information, or to ask after other details, but the Silver Mage was a thorough woman. Ariana sighed.

  “My lady? I brought tea.”

  “Thank you.” Ariana reached numbly for the cup Tam offered her. Then she lifted her eyes and glanced at him, her hand hesitating mid-air. “Tam….”

  He smiled. “Tea, my lady?”

  She could not see him as the slave boy. “Tam, you….”

  He set the cup on the table. “I will leave it for you, then.”

  “Tam—wait.”

  He did. “My lady?”

  “Stop that.” When she looked at Tam she saw both his human form and his Ryuven shape. She saw a boy of perhaps twelve, a cheerful and attentive servant, and a monster who might have professed an attraction to her. “You—you aren’t a servant.”

  “To the contrary, my lady, that was part of the bargain your father and I made. I could not appear to be anything but a slave, if we wished to avoid drawing attention.”

  She sighed. “But now…. Tam, when you said—you hoped I would see you as more than a slave boy…. Did you mean you wanted me to know you were a Ryuven? Or Pairvyn ni’Ai?”

  He glanced down. “I had not thought about my rank.”

  She toyed with the tea cup, knowing she was fidgeting but unable to stop. “What—”

  “Tam,” said Hazelrig as he passed through the door, “would you bring something to eat, please? And tea looks
wonderful. Bring some for us as well, if you would. Thank you.”

  Elysia Parma took her seat again and glanced at her notes. “Ariana, I know you must be exhausted. Thank you for answering our questions.”

  Ariana shook her head. “I only wish I had been able to see more. I spent so much time in a drugged sleep, I was hardly any use at all.”

  “You are the first human to return from the Ryuven world. I would not call your experience useless.” She slid aside the sheets dark with notes and straightened a fresh page. “And now we’ll have the Shard back, and perhaps with your information we can work out an end to this.”

  “Back?”

  Her father gave Parma a quick glance, but the Silver Mage did not notice. “It was stolen a few days ago—fortunately for you! But the bastard has been arrested now, and we’ll have it returned soon enough.”

  The bastard…. The erudite Mage Parma did not often choose coarse language, but she couldn’t have meant Shianan. Ariana looked at her father, who turned to his workbench for more ink. Beside her Tam slid a plate of finely ground oat cakes onto the table. She looked at him and saw him glance quickly away. Her pulse quickened. “Who was—”

  “Tam, mind the tea,” her father snapped in uncharacteristic irritation. “Leave the cakes and go. Ariana, you—”

  “Who stole the Shard?” Ariana looked from Mage Parma to her father. “When? What happened?”

  “We have it back now,” her father said firmly, and he threw the Silver Mage something very near to a warning glance. “What happened will be sorted out soon.”

  Ariana looked back at him. “What? Father—”

  “Later. There’s no urgency, you can hear about it later, and we need to get as much detail from you as soon as we can, while memory is fresh. Now, you were telling us how you met Oniwe’aru.”

  Ariana caught her breath and checked her answer. If her father wanted to avoid the topic, there must be a reason. He had kept secrets from her before, but always for cause—and she would be able to ask again in private, when Mage Parma had gone.

  Ariana took a breath and an oat cake. Tam bowed without speaking and retreated. Ariana glanced after him, wondering, and then her father’s gaze and Parma’s expectancy prompted her to continue.