Free Shield and Crocus by Michael R. Underwood

come home. Every hour without word made it more likely he’d been hurt, captured, or worse.
    Be present, old man. They don’t need to know about that, he told himself.
    “Yes, Aegis, champion of the Shields. There have been five people to carry the Aegis, you know, starting with the first of Shields of Audec-Hal. No matter what happens, the shield always finds its way to another champion.”
    Wonlar knelt, putting his hand on the shoulder of a girl, a friend of Dom’s. “I like to think that it’s the City Mother, struggling against Yema’s control and trying to help us however she can.”
    He rose, knees creaking. “Aegis trained two of the other Shields. Which two?”
    Yara raised her hand again, but Wonlar waited to see if any of the others would answer. A beat passed, and he called on Yara.
    “Ghost Hands.”
    “Of course, Ghost Hands! She’s been with them since the beginning, reading the minds of guards with Qava telepathy and knocking bolts out of the air with her telekinesis.”
    “And who is the other one?” Wonlar asked.
    “First Sentinel,” said a boy with a strong jaw and light-brown hair. He held his squirming sister, ignoring her hand as she pawed at his face.
    “First Sentinel, the mastermind. He fights with gadgets and potions, knives and staves.” he waited a beat. “You know, some say that First Sentinel is strange because he doesn’t seem a likely hero. He’s not strong like Sapphire, fast like Blurred Fists, doesn’t control stones like Sabreslate. He’s just an Ikanollo like any other.” That was a lie. He had a power, granted by the Spark. But it’d brought him more pain than anything in his life and was best forgotten.
    “But others say he’s the most dangerous of the all, because he fights using the most powerful weapon we can have,” Wonlar knocked the side of his head like a door. “He fights with his mind. It’s a weapon you should all learn to use, as well.”
    More laughter.
    When he first started visiting the children, Wonlar downplayed his own importance—it felt wrong. Rova and Bira called him on his humility, asked him to turn it into a teaching opportunity. Ever since, he’d tried to throw in a bit of humor all the same. “Who here goes to school?”
    Barely half of the children of age raised their hands, then a few more when prompted by siblings and parents. Not nearly enough. I’ll have to see if I can do something about that.
    “Not everyone can afford school, but Rova and I have some friends who want to make sure bright young children like you have the best chance at a good life. When I come back next week, maybe I’ll have some good news.” Wonlar moved to the door to pick up his coat, waiting to see if the children would protest.
    “One more story!” called Yara.
    Wonlar turned on his heels, hiding his pleasure. “Really? You’re not tired of old Man Wonlar?”
    A large girl, no more than six summers old but already four feet tall, said, “Tell Red Vixen and the Winter Lady.”
    A boy named Arno Drives said, “no, tell Aegis and the Automata.”
    The room burst into pleasant chaos and chatter. More children called out for their favorite tales. Toddlers slipped out of sibling’s arms and dashed across the floor. Parents shushed children and chased after squealing youths.
    Wonlar drank it all in. He stored the hope and energy away in his heart as armor to protect him from the long nights, the defeats, and the despair . Without days like these, the simple dinners with Selweh … I don’t know what I’d do.
    Wonlar had been visiting Rova’s once a month for three years and still hadn’t run out of new stories to interject when the popular tales grew too familiar. He had fifty years of adventures to recount, not to mention the myths and legends of six races.
    If I’d known I’d become a children’s entertainer and recruiter for a revolution, I’d have taken better notes in Dr. Hansen’s class back in the Academy.
    Back then, he’d been more