The Seven-Petaled Shield Read Online Free Page A

she found a whirlwind of activity. The area just inside the outer gates had been cleared of the dead and wounded. People rushed up and down the walls, archers and servants with baskets of stones and quivers of arrows. Drovers sorted and secured animals, and the most vulnerable shops and dwellings were already in the process of evacuation. In the marketplaces, women incloaks of sand-pale cotton bargained with vendors for lentils and salt. The scene, Tsorreh reflected, resembled a festival in the fervor and pervasiveness of the preparations. Not an aspect of the city’s life was undisturbed.
    A man in the striped head garb of a Sand Lands caravaneer was pleading with a guard. He slipped one hand into the folds of his belt and brought out something Tsorreh could not see. “A family treasure,” he said. “I would not part with it to any lesser man. It is one of the fabled
alvara
—the enchanted gems from Khored’s own Shield. Yes, yes, hidden away all these centuries. It holds the key to undreamed power. But what are riches compared to the love of one’s children? Seventeen little ones and their mothers! How will they survive without me? I must get to Gatacinne on the Isarran coast, and quickly!”
    One of Tsorreh’s maids exclaimed in dismay, quickly hushed by the other, “Is the situation so desperate? Must we all flee for our lives?”
    Tsorreh had not the heart to scold her. Perhaps she ought to release the girl from service, to find whatever fragile comfort might lie with her own family.
    As Tsorreh expected, the guard shook his head and gestured the trader back with the others. Every few years, some merchant claimed to have discovered one of the
alvara
, the magical petal-shaped gemstones of the Shield. Tsorreh was of the line of the great king himself, but had never heard of such an heirloom. The centuries had obscured the lineage of Khored’s brothers. The descendants of the original Benerod were long gone, and those of Eriseth had disappeared a generation ago. The fate of the Shield was so shrouded in mystery, some now claimed the
alvara
had never existed except as mystical symbols. If they were real, Tsorreh thought, they would certainly not be bargained away so casually at the hands of a Sand Lands trader. Those offered for sale were usually ordinary gems, topaz or quartz or poor-quality emerald.
    Tsorreh found Zevaron in the practice field outside the armory, surrounded by a group of children. Part of the areahad been tented over for an infirmary. The soldiers there looked to be not so badly injured; a few of them were exercising.
    She paused a short distance away and noticed that Zevaron’s group included several girls. One was about her son’s age, silent and lanky, with tiny bones tied to her single thick braid. Some of the boys were as young as seven or eight, for the teenagers had already been conscripted for heavier tasks. Most wore the clothing and rough sandals of goat herders, but a few were clearly city children, although barefoot. She supposed that even a beggar child could kill a rat with a sling.
    Zevaron had not yet seen her. His expression was intent and animated as he spoke. Instead of armor, he wore a long fitted vest, belted at the waist over loose trousers and suede ankle boots. He raised his arms to gesture, his skin smooth and taut over muscles she had not noticed before. For a terrifying instant, Tsorreh saw that same golden skin slashed by Gelonian swords and washed in blood.
    Her heart ached. She pressed one hand over her breast, willing herself to silence. No hint of her own fear must show.
    Zevaron’s gaze met hers. An expression she could not read flickered over his features, solemn and distant. As she approached, he bowed formally to her, as an officer to his
te-ravah
. The herder children watched with open mouths.
    “You’ve done a fine job with them,” she said.
    “They need something they can do, not just wait helplessly while their fathers fight.”
    And die
, he