by Cas Peace
Chapter Eight
The sentry opened one of the large gates and let them through. After showing them where to tie their horses, he ushered them into a squat wooden building to one side of the track. It seemed to be a guard house, offering protection from the weather but not much more. He invited them to sit and then went back outside to resume his post.
While he waited, Taran tried to decide what he should say, but the more he ran it through his mind, the more nervous he became. Despite what Paulus had said, he knew no one here would understand the reasons behind his actions. He concocted various explanations but, although all were true, none sounded less than fantastic. Some were even downright implausible. And although the sentry’s dismissive reaction had met Taran’s expectations, he still felt flustered, embarrassed and out of place. He was going to make a thorough fool of himself but it was too late to back out now.
Before long, he heard galloping hooves. As the runner’s horse slid to a spectacular stop outside, Taran saw it was carrying two men. The one sitting behind the saddle slid stylishly down and slapped the beast’s rump.
He was a tall, young man with a handsome, fresh face, indigo eyes and a crop of dark, curly hair. He was lithe and muscular and Taran estimated his age at twenty-five or so. He wore the usual combat leathers and a captain’s insignia—a single gold thunderflash—glinted on his jacket.
He came smiling into the room and, despite his nerves, Taran instantly felt a strong liking for him. As he grasped the hand the Captain held out, Taran noticed a fleeting look in the young man’s eyes that he didn’t quite understand.
“I’m Captain Tamsen,” the young man said, in a light, pleasant voice. “I believe you’ve been asking to see Major Sullyan?”
“That’s correct,” replied Taran. He introduced himself and his friends.
The Captain’s dark blue eyes evaluated them. “What can we do for you? I’m afraid the Major’s unlikely to see you right now, our company’s not long back from the field.”
“Yes, we heard,” said Taran, “but it’s in connection with the raids that we want to see him. A friend told us to come. He said the Major might be able to help with a certain matter that could be affecting the situation.”
The Captain’s eyes narrowed and Taran thought he caught a hint of amusement in them. His heart fell.
“You’ll have to give me more than that,” the young officer said. “Who is this friend of yours?”
“His name’s Paulus and he’s both an elder and the keeper of our tavern. We live in a village down near Shenton,” said Taran.
A mixture of comprehension and wariness came into the Captain’s eyes. “Ah yes,” he said, “I remember Paulus. So he sent you? What did he tell you, exactly?”
“Not much,” admitted Taran. “Just your names and that the Major might find our information interesting.”
The young man considered this for a moment. “Very well,” he said, “maybe we should hear what you have to say, but I can’t guarantee you an interview with the Major. Come on, I’ll take you up to the Manor. I expect you could all do with some fellan.”
He smiled, his eyes lingering longest on Rienne, who colored slightly. He led them outside and left instructions with the corporal to have someone care for their horses and bring up their saddlebags.
“We’ll be in the Major’s office,” he called over his shoulder as they began walking up the track. Taran heard the corporal detail the runner to fetch stable boys and then the athletic horse and its young rider tore past them up the track, skidding around the corners and scattering mud everywhere.
“Mad fool,” said the Captain, smiling indulgently.
Rienne spoke, surprising Taran, as she was generally shy. “Were you out fighting the raiders with the Major’s company, Captain?”
He turned his dark-blue gaze on her. “Yes, ma’am. We’ve only been back a few days.”
“You weren’t wounded? We heard the officer in charge was injured.”
His expression clouded. “No, I was lucky enough not to be among the casualties this time. Others, though, weren’t so fortunate.”
Rienne colored, obviously embarrassed, and Taran thought he must have had friends among the dead and wounded.
The track they followed led through extensive grounds that were part wood, part pasture. As they turned a final corner, the Manor came into sight. Taran realized they must have entered the grounds from the rear; he could see an impressive driveway curving away from the porticoed main doors. If the grandeur of the building was anything to go by, it must have seen much pomp and ceremony when it was a private residence.
The Manor was huge and imposing. Constructed of the local sandy-gray stone, the house was three stories high. Built in a style that was a good two hundred years old, it was essentially square-fronted with wings on either side. Originally, it would have stood alone, but many modern buildings had sprung up around it and Taran supposed they were barracks and workshops that had been added as need arose.
They were led to a side door, where another corporal was on guard. He saluted smartly as the Captain passed him. Taran was asked to give him their names and this he duly did.
“Someone will bring their bags up later, Wil,” said the Captain. “Have them sent to Sullyan’s office.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Captain led them deeper into the building through an echoing maze of stone-flagged halls and corridors studded with doors. Some of the doors were open, giving glimpses of offices and lecture rooms; some were closed, murmuring voices behind them. They passed few other people on their way and Taran remembered what the innkeeper had said about the place being nearly empty.
He found the Manor’s interior surprising. Its impressive external façade, suggestive of wealth and opulence, had led him to expect lavish ornamentation. Instead, there was a utilitarian air to the place, almost a coldness, as if its former life had been stripped away. The bare bones of the place were all that remained.
Eventually, after climbing an impressive flight of marble stairs and traversing a carpeted corridor, the Captain halted outside a solid wooden door. It was identical to all the others and Taran thought it must take weeks to learn which door was which.
The Captain opened the door and ushered them inside. He invited them to sit.
“I can’t promise the Major will see you,” he said, “but if you’ll wait here, I’ll find out. Someone will bring you refreshments.” He left, closing the door behind him.
Taran glanced around the room as Cal and Rienne took chairs in front of a heavy wooden table. The lack of personal items or military paraphernalia puzzled the Journeyman: if the room was an office, as the Captain had implied, then surely it was seldom used. All it contained was a heavy, dark wooden table, a few chairs, and rush matting on the floor. There was another door behind the table opposite the one they had entered, but it was firmly closed.
The austerity of his surroundings bothered Taran. He felt uneasy, almost abandoned, and the feeling heightened his anxiety over how his story would be received. He was suddenly convinced that coming here wasn’t such a good idea.
However, he couldn’t leave now. Resigned to the wait, he sank into a large, comfortable chair and tried to control his nerves.
The wait was interminable and Taran’s patience was quickly exhausted. The Captain had obviously forgotten them, even the promised refreshments hadn’t arrived. On the verge of anger, Taran was about to look for someone to complain to when the door finally opened.
A slender young woman entered the room and Taran glared at her, seeing a chance to vent his frustration. She was in her late teens or early twenties and was dressed in a loose-fitting white shirt and dark green breeches. There was no rank insignia that Taran could see; she was obviously some kind of secretary or aide. Well, he thought, at least they might now get the promised fellan.
The woman didn’t speak as she slowly crossed the room and Taran frowned. How small she was, he thought, the top of her head would only
just have reached his shoulder. Her delicately featured face was drawn and pale, and suddenly he noticed that she walked with a slight limp. The more he watched her, the more he revised his initial dismissive impression because despite her pallor and frailty, she was beautiful. A magnificent wealth of shining tawny hair rippled over her shoulders and back. This was eye-catching and unusual enough, but it was her eyes that captivated Taran. Set in her small, fine-featured face, they were huge and golden: very striking. He couldn’t recall ever seeing eyes quite like them.
As she reached the heavy table, she steadied herself with one hand and turned to face them. “I am sorry you have had such a long wait.”
Her voice was soft and low with a musical lilt, the likes of which Taran had never heard. She spoke gently, deliberately, without blurring her words together as most people did. Lovely as her voice was, however, Taran’s concern for his village and fear of embarrassment got the better of him. He was in no mood to wait any longer.
“We came here with potentially important information,” he said. “Is Major Sullyan going to see us or not? I appreciate he might be busy, but we’ve been on the road for two days. I’d rather not waste any more time.”
Her huge eyes fastened on him and a peculiar shiver ran the length of his spine. Before she could answer, however, the door burst open and a huge man, well over six feet tall, solidly muscled and florid of face, strode forcefully into the room.
At last, thought Taran, as the man he had been expecting finally appeared. The newcomer’s imposing presence and well worn combat leathers gave him a distinct aura of authority even though Taran couldn’t see any rank insignia. He stared at the man, expecting to be noticed, but the newcomer didn’t even glance at him.
“There you are,” the big man snapped, his deep bass voice filling the room. “I’ve been looking all over for you since Hanan told me you’d left the infirmary. What on Earth did you think you were doing, walking out like that? How the Void do you expect us to cope if we don’t know where you are? You know it’s far too soon to be resuming your duties.”
The woman turned her golden eyes on him. “Bull,” she said flatly.
Taran frowned; was the word a profanity? No, he realized, it had sounded more like a name.
Whichever it was, it was spoken with profound weariness. The young woman was now leaning against the edge of the table.
The big man ignored this and plowed on, his commanding voice indignant.
“Look at you, for the Void’s sake! You can hardly stand, let alone resume your duties. Be reasonable, Sully, even you must realize you’re not well enough yet. You’re drained and exhausted. Hanan says you should still be resting.”
The woman held up a hand and a glinting stone set within a gold ring on her middle finger spat fire. “Bull,” she repeated, a little louder.
Taran could hear a warning in her tone but the huge man chose to ignore it. Mistake, he thought.
The blustering tirade continued, the man’s military bearing and deep commanding voice used to full effect. Eventually, the woman held up both hands as if to ward him off and her captivating eyes snapped sparks. With an effort they could all see, she pushed herself from the table, drawing her slight body up to full height.
“BULLDOG!”
The word held real power and its echo caught the edges of Taran’s mind, causing him to shift uncomfortably. She gestured toward him and the large man’s head turned sharply, only now, it seemed, registering the presence of strangers.
His florid face went quite pale. He took a step closer to the woman, holding out a hand in apology.
“Sully, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean … ”
She leaned against the desk again and waved a slender hand. “Oh Bulldog. If you want to be forgiven, bring us some fellan. Make it strong. And send Robin along, will you?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” The big man hastily quit the room, casting a shame-faced glance over his shoulder.
The young woman walked unsteadily around the table and sank into the chair behind it, facing her guests. Cal and Rienne glanced at Taran in bemusement but the Journeyman thought he understood. He caught the woman’s gaze.
“That man, Bulldog,” he said, “he called you Sully. You’re Major Sullyan, aren’t you?”
A wry smile came to her lips. “I am. Are you disappointed?”
“I don’t know yet.” He frowned. “You’re certainly not what I expected.”
“No,” she replied, still smiling. “Bulldog was.”
Her perception made Taran blush but he was spared the embarrassment of admitting she was right because Captain Tamsen entered the room. He crossed to the table and perched on the edge, swinging one long leg. He gave Taran a brief glance before bending his head to the Major’s.
“Whatever did you say to Bull?” Taran heard him murmur. “He seems flustered.”
Her lilting voice sounded weary. “He overstepped the mark, Robin, and I will not nursemaid his sensibilities. He ought to know better. He of all people should know to trust my judgment.”
The Captain smiled. “I’m sure he’ll get over it. He’s on his way with the fellan.” He raised his head, looking inquiringly at Taran. “Now then, what was this information you wanted the Major to hear?”
Taran was feeling increasingly unsettled. He’d screwed himself up to admit his mistakes to a scornful senior officer; the last thing he’d expected was to be faced with a woman. He hadn’t known there were any serving in the High King’s forces. This shock only underlined his certainty that he shouldn’t be here. The Captain’s casual manner was one frustration too many and suddenly, Taran didn’t want him to hear what he’d come to say.
Directing his reply to the Major, he said, “I’d rather talk privately, if that’s possible.”
She gave a small sigh. “Robin is the captain of my company and Bull is my aide. Both would be involved if a response to your information was necessary, so you may speak freely in their presence.”
The door was pushed open once more as the big man, Bull, returned. He placed a tray of steaming cups on the table, giving the Major a shame-faced grin as he did so. She smiled back wearily. Her Captain reached for a cup and passed it to her, pursing his lips as she accepted it with trembling hands.
The big man then served Taran and his friends and there was silence while they all savored the hot, strong fellan. Taran frowned as Bull seated himself across the room from the Major, but he made no comment. His erroneous initial impressions had rattled him badly and he was feeling more uncomfortable by the minute.
“So,” repeated Robin eventually, “what did you wish to discuss?”
Taran glanced at Major Sullyan, but she seemed lost in her fellan, her eyes closed. He sighed; if he had to parade his shame he might at least be granted the Major’s attention.
A prickling sensation shot through his body and he glanced back at her face. Her eyes had opened and she was studying him closely. He frowned, surprised he should feel her gaze so strongly. He was sure there was a hint of amusement in her eyes.
The young Captain was waiting for a response. Taking a deep breath, Taran tried to control his nerves. He had not counted on having to explain himself to three people—one of them an extremely beautiful young woman—but as he let his breath out, he began his tale, addressing the Major.
“My name is Taran Elijah and my friend here is Cal Tyler. This is his partner, Rienne Arlen. She’s a healer.” Taran thought he heard a sharp breath from the Major as he mentioned his name, but she didn’t speak. “A friend of ours recommended we come to you.”
Interrupting him, Robin spoke casually to the Major. “The village elder, Paulus. Near Shenton.”