Authors: Robin D. Owens
"P
lease return, Bastien," called Mace from the other side of the
Marshalls' Council Room door.
When Bastien reentered, he found Mace holding the atomball,
looking irritatedly at new holes in the door. "This ball carries your
blood. It is connected to you. It is yours."
Bastien took the ball. It hummed loudly in his hands, almost like
a purring cat. He hoped his flush didn't show. This was a little embarrassing.
On the other hand, whatever the consequences of his making the ball rested
squarely on the Marshalls' shoulders.
"Do you want the chain and club attached again?" asked
Mace.
In no scenario could Bastien imagine using a shooting-star.
"No."
"Very well. Remember that it is your weapon now," Mace
said, and opened the door wide.
As Bastien walked, the ball lifted from his hands to trail behind
him. At first it felt awkward, knowing something followed him
like a pony. Then, when people he met flattened themselves
against a wall, a swagger entered his steps.
A few moments later, Bastien and Johnsa stood ready to mount at
the southern edge of the Landing Field. She patted his shoulder.
"The Test is for a half hour only, before total night. Soon
this will be over and you'll be Choosing your baton. You've been very patient,
more than I expected." Her eyes sharpened. "You've matured, young
Bastien."
He grunted and checked his harness again.
She sighed. "We need more Marshalls. Perhaps having you will
prompt more Chevaliers to Test."
Since he wasn't done with the Test himself, he kept rash words
behind his lips.
His battle mare, Inqui, stamped and lifted her wings, restless to
fly. Bastien ran a hand down the arch of her neck. His main battle volaran
rested in the best stall of Horseshoe Stables. The best stall for the best
volaran. Inqui was for Alexa, when Bastien could get her on the mare—which
might not be for years. Now the flying horse would serve him well in the duel
with his father and uncle. She'd be as essential to the team as Johnsa and her
volaran.
Just outside the stable doors facing the Landing Field, he and
Johnsa mounted. Bastien swung up on Inqui and she stilled, flicked her ears. He
hadn't been atop her since Alexa had fixed the flaw that had made his magic
wild. Inqui seemed to sense the change in him. At one time part of him would
merge with her, the animal inside him flow with and amplify the animal in her.
It had been strange and oddly exciting, but now it wasn't necessary. They could
touch the surface of their minds, him guiding her with a light thought.
Johnsa looked at him and grinned, her teeth bright in the dim
evening light. "Ready?"
"Yes. I have good night vision, always have had."
"Me too." She grinned back.
"Ivrog doesn't," Bastien said.
"I know. Let us link physically to establish the
connection." She held out her square, calloused hand.
Inhaling and tempering his Power, Bastien placed his hand in hers.
Her grip tightened and her mind brushed his. He opened to her. A small latent
tune, a distant-family tune, rose to the fore.
"Fancy that," Johnsa rasped. "A connection I didn't
know we had."
"Me neither."
She dropped her fingers and laughed, drew on her gauntlets.
"We are very much in accord this evening, young Bastien." Her eyes
gleamed. "Let's ground Reynardus into the dust."
The hurt and humiliation he'd tried to suppress surged at the
thought. "Yes."
They took off and circled the Landing Field a couple of times,
stretching volaran muscles, testing their link. As they flew together, their
hesitation at the new mind-touch vanished and the connection strengthened. They
moved well together, Bastien first to one side, then slightly behind and to
Johnsa's left.
Well done, Shield. This feels right to me,
Johnsa
hummed in his mind.
He didn't answer, watching Reynardus and Ivrog take the field,
swing into the air.
First
strike, I think,
Johnsa said, lifting
her knotty wooden baton and firing a stream of brown Power at Reynardus.
They caught Sword and Shield off guard, but both had fought
together too long to be completely unprepared. Ivrog's Shield snapped into
place, but a second too late; Reynardus took a hit. The volaran pair wobbled,
Reynardus flicked his baton in riposte and ivory light speared to Johnsa,
flowing around the egg-shaped Power-Shield Bastien molded.
Gasps came from the ground.
Very powerful Shield you have there, Bastien. All that fighting
stood you well to become a Shieldmarshall. I am as safe as if I were behind a
dreeth.
Just the thought of the dreeth made Bastien shudder. Inqui neighed
and zoomed upward. Johnsa laughed.
All four volarans circled around each other, the Swords throwing
magical bolts, then nipping in to engage with weapons. Each moment drew
observers.
Bastien concentrated on protecting Johnsa. It was easier for him
than fighting, though in a fight he could enter a mind-space that slowed time
and his body reacted—he didn't think. This was different. Here he could stand
ready—even nudge Johnsa, who was in the fight-react mind-set, in a direction
that was strategically better for her, for them. He shifted his shoulders. This
felt right, the rhythm and the energy flow, the Power. Finally, he was doing
what he'd been created for—he was a natural Shield.
The thought still pinched, that his woman would be actively
fighting while he stood back, but he sensed that the Power itself would soon
cure him of the niggling blow to his ego. He'd be protecting her, even as he
protected Johnsa; he'd send her additional energy. There were all sorts of
advantages to being a Shield he'd never considered.
It was an interesting duel, since all were connected through him
by family. Orchestral chords sang between them all, in the sound of pounding
hearts, crafty thought note-sparks, a clashing tune. Inqui rose and fell, spoke
with Johnsa's volaran, leading the mare so Bastien and Johnsa had the advantage
of better light.
Johnsa was slightly ahead of Reynardus in "touches" on
his body.
Then Bastien's atomball, dark and unseen in the night, punched
through Reynardus's shield, one spike grazing his temple. He swayed in the
saddle.
Ivrog propped him up with Power, guided both volarans to the
ground. "We yield!" Ivrog cried.
"No." Reynardus's whisper was amplified with the merest
Power, but all heard.
Ivrog ignored Reynardus's protest. He jumped from his volaran and
went to his brother, then plucked him from the saddle and held him upright with
physical strength and Power.
Reynardus struggled feebly. "No."
"You be quiet. You can't see for blood in your eyes, your
mind is dizzy. I'm not so stupid as to let you get us injured further, or
worse, from stupid pride," Ivrog said.
Thealia glided onto the Field. "The duel is done as one of
the Pair spoke for both and yielded. The victory goes to Swordmarshall Johnsa
and Shield Bastien."
Faith joined Thealia, grinned at her mate, Johnsa, winked at
Bastien. "The Testing is over. To the observers, the teamwork between
Johnsa and Bastien was flawless. What say you, Swordmarshall Johnsa?"
Johnsa vaulted to the ground, left her volaran to her squire.
"Bastien is very smooth, as many women know." Laughter floated from
the watchers. "He is strong, capable, a natural Shield. I would work with
him in any fight from duel to battle." Her gaze picked out the other
Marshalls. "I believe he would be an excellent Shield for any
Swordmarshall."
Faith clapped once. It echoed throughout the Castle. "This
Testing is over. The applicant, Bastien Vauxveau, has passed and will receive
Marshall status."
Thealia gestured to Mace. "Let us adjourn to the Temple where
he will Choose his baton. Mace, please retrieve the unclaimed batons."
Mace faded into the night. "Partis, is Reynardus able to attend the
Choosing?"
"I think it would be best if he went to his rooms."
Partis's tones
were as even as ever. A pair of Medicas came and
helped Reynardus off the Landing Field. He stood straight, but walked slowly,
as if his vision blurred.
A whirlwind of emotions swept through Bastien. He hated his
father. He loved his father. He had always wanted, but had never received,
acknowledgment and pride for his accomplishments from the man. Reynardus had
humiliated him just an hour past, yet Bastien still wished his father were well
enough to attend the Choosing. His heart still felt that if Reynardus saw him
take a Marshall's baton, the man would respect him. It was futile. It was
foolish. But it was true.
Urvey hurried up. "I'll care for Inqui—what a noble volaran
she is." His voice fell into the lilt of a true horseman as he led the
volaran away.
Bastien eyed the teenager. He could very well make a Chevalier,
win some land of his own.
Barking came from near Bastien's feet. He stared down at the
strange little dog—a type of dog not known in Lladrana—that was the
shapeshifter Sinafin.
I will accompany you to the Temple.
"Thanks," he said. She'd reminded him that it was time
to move.
Alexa will be there too.
Bastien's gut tensed. "She shouldn't—the dreeth—"
The memory of the dreeth is fragmented. This moment she is very
pleased and proud of you. She is dressing in the Gold Robe the Marshalls gave
her, and fussing like a woman.
He liked that image, and smiled. As he walked, his muscles
stretched, the stiffened aches from the morning fight easing. Alexa would be in
the Temple to see his triumph.
She was so much more important to him than Reynardus. Bastien
whistled.
As he drew near the Temple, he saw her dress gleaming in the
light, the pale smudge of her face and her silver hair. She
stood to the right of the Temple door, calm and dignified. In her right hand,
her baton glowed green, with muted flames flickering just beneath the metal
ones.
On a woman of Lladrana, the golden gown would complement skin
tone, but on Alexa it contrasted. She looked all silver and gold. He walked
faster, and her features became clear—huge green eyes in a pale, pointed face,
lips pink. She was his. His partner, his woman. His to fight alongside, his to
protect. So many facets of her and him to mesh or spark each other. He wouldn't
have it any other way.
He hurried to her, scooped her up and took her mouth in a hungry
kiss, needing to hold her, this reason for the turmoil of Testing for the past
few hours. Her body was soft and yielding against his, her arms twined around
his neck, her mouth opened willingly. Their mental and emotional Song picked up
pace. Her unspoken comfort soothed the hurt his father had inflicted.
I
am very proud of you,
she said mentally.
Bastien sensed the shadow and thought that she'd heard that very
little in her own life—so she'd make sure to say it to him. When the floral
scent of her teased his nostrils, he recalled he must smell of volaran and
sweat. He turned the kiss tender, brushing his lips against hers, and set her
on her feet. Her gown fell back into severe folds, but her complexion had
turned rosy and she held herself more lightly.
"Thank you for your words," he said. "I cherish
them." He lifted her fingers to his mouth for a kiss, then placed her hand
on his arm.
Castle soldiers held the door open for them, as the little dog
Sinafin trotted in after them. When they were inside, Thealia gestured to
Alexa.
"Swordmarshall Alyeka must join the rest of us in a
semicircle to observe the Choosing."
Once again the fact that she was a Sword and he a Shield tweaked
his ego, and he hid his reaction from Alexa.
Alexa rolled her eyes, and to Bastien's surprise, took the end of
the line in a place next to Ivrog. She reached out for Ivrog's hand. He smiled
at her and took it, then offered his left hand to Thealia. Her brows raised,
but she joined hands with him and took her mate's, Partis's. The Marshalls all
linked.
Bastien stared, and thought they might be as surprised as he that
Alexa preferred standing by Ivrog, of all people. Then he shook his head. Above
all, the tradition of the Marshalls was as a single unit; every one of them
would put the security of the whole above all individuals. He wondered if Alexa
felt that too. Wondered if she needed that. Wondered if he could live with that
thought-pattern.
Sinafin, sitting on Alexa's feet, barked once.
Make it what you
will.
Wasn't that just like wild magic personified in a feycoocu, giving
advice in enigmatic words.
Sinafin grinned a doggy grin, tongue lolling.
You will hear.
Mace strode through the doors, cradling a large bundle. Bastien's
heart thumped harder in anticipation. He locked his knees against the
trembling. He was about to Choose a baton—he, a scorned black-and-white, would
claim the highest honor of Lladrana. He shifted his stance for maximum balance,
evened his breathing, lifted his head in pride.