by Cas Peace
Sullyan made no reply, her eyes soft and unfocused. Taran was irritated by the interruption but took hold of his temper; he didn’t want to antagonize anyone.
He continued, “I’ve known Paulus all my life and have often confided in him when no one else would listen. Normally, listening is all he does, but this time his advice was to come to you, Major. He felt you might have some interest in the problem.”
Robin interrupted again. “Paulus knows a little of what we do here. He knows not to bother the Major with trivia so he must think your problem worthy of her attention. You’d better get to the point.”
Already uncomfortable, Taran was growing increasingly irritated by the Captain’s high-handed manner. He’d given the Journeyman an initially favorable impression. Since then, his attitude seemed to have changed.
To steady his nerves, Taran took a mouthful of fellan. The hot liquid ran through him, reminding him of the awful heat as he’d fled the Andaryan huntsmen. Once again, he realized that Major Sullyan was watching him, her startling eyes hooded and unreadable. At that moment, Taran decided to keep some parts of his humiliating tale—including its fatal outcome—to himself, at least until he knew a bit more about these people. He could always add it later.
He placed his empty cup on the tray and glanced at Robin. The younger man was still perched on the edge of the desk, hovering protectively by the Major’s side. There was a plainly fake expression of polite interest on his face and Taran felt a sudden urge to replace it with respect.
“I am an Artesan,” he stated abruptly. “I hold the rank of Journeyman.”
He watched for a reaction but was disappointed. The polite interest didn’t waver and the young man didn’t speak.
Annoyed, Taran proceeded.
“I was taught by my father, who reached the level of Adept-elite before his death two years ago.”
There was a moment of silence. Then:
“Your father was Amanus Elijah.”
The soft voice was Major Sullyan’s and Taran gaped at her. Her gaze had sharpened and her eyes were now huge and golden and, he thought, faintly sad.
“How do you know that?” he gasped. “Did you know my father?”
To his astonishment she dropped her eyes. “I met with him once. He is dead? I am sorry. He was a good man and a capable Adept.”
Despite his shock, Taran bridled. Her casually dismissive assessment of his father’s talents caused him to miss the obvious. “Capable? He was highly skilled,” he snapped.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Captain smile faintly, but Sullyan didn’t comment.
Stung by their less-than-respectful attitudes, Taran blundered on. “There are very few people left now who possess his level of knowledge. He might even have been the last Adept-elite.”
He saw Robin open his mouth and even heard Bull stirring.
“Be still.”
The command, though softly spoken, was instantly obeyed by the two military men. The Major raised her eyes to Taran’s. “You did not come here to discuss your father, I think, and we are all now aware of your status. To the point?”
Taran had the distinct impression his outburst had done him no favors. Mention of his father—whom he’d adored but could never please—always put him on edge.
With an effort, he thrust his indignation aside, deciding to gloss over his many failed experiments. They would never understand, so what was the point in relating them?
“Since his death,” he continued, “I have been trying to raise my rank to Adept. I knew I’d never find another tutor in Loxton, so eventually I decided my only option was to cross the Veils into Andaryon, the Fifth Realm. I knew from my father that Artesans were plentiful there and the notes he left suggested there was a way of persuading one of them to teach me.”
Glancing at Robin, Taran saw the polite interest replaced by a frown. Of course, he thought, they don’t understand what I’m talking about. He only had Paulus’ word that they might help him, although the Major’s astonishing revelation about his father seemed to bear that out. However, given most people’s fear and mistrust of Artesans—and the military’s understandable attitude toward raiding Andaryans—he knew his fears were correct. He should explain and leaned forward in his chair, readying what Cal called his ‘lecture voice’.
“Those of us born with the Artesan gift can learn to control our personal power, known as metaforce. We can use this to influence and even master the four elements,” he said. “We raise ourselves through several levels of competence by study and experiment, mostly learning from those of higher rank. That’s why I needed to find another teacher. There are hardly any Artesans left in Albia now, and my father was probably the most experienced of his kind.”
“Enough.”
The abruptly spoken word startled Taran. The young Captain rose from the desk, turned to face Major Sullyan, and snapped, “Major, these people have no idea who you are. I can’t just sit here and let him preach like this.”
“Peace, Robin. You cannot blame them for their ignorance.”
Sullyan’s lilting voice contained a note of exhaustion that countered Robin’s annoyance. Concern flooding his handsome face, he bent to her. The big man, Bull, also came to his feet, the three guests obviously forgotten.
Robin spoke softly. “You ought to rest.”
Sullyan waved him away. “Leave be, Robin. I am well enough.”
As he watched her, Taran suddenly noticed that Sullyan’s startling eyes were no longer golden. They had turned black, the pupils so dilated that no sign of the iris could be seen. This was so strange that his fascination momentarily eclipsed his discomfort.
He saw the young Captain place a hand on her shoulder.
“Sullyan,” he repeated, “go rest. I insist.”
Taran imagined that such an order would provoke the same reaction that had upset Bull earlier. Yet where the big man’s bluster had earned him a power-filled reprimand, Robin’s gentle insistence brought compliance.
Slowly, Major Sullyan stood. She turned to Taran.
“Taran Elijah, I ask your pardon. Robin is right, I need more rest. If you will, remain and discuss your business with him and Bull. I shall hope to speak with you later.”
She turned toward the door behind the desk and Robin opened it for her. Taran caught a momentary glimpse of a comfortable apartment beyond with all the personal touches that were absent from the office.
The Captain turned to face him before following the Major through.
“I won’t be long,” he said. “While I’m gone, Bull will explain the situation. There are things you should know before we hear the rest of your tale.”
Then he was gone, closing the door behind him with a definite thud. Taran heard the gentle murmur of voices for a moment, then all was quiet.
Chapter Nine
A new sound caught Taran’s attention. It was the big man, Bulldog, chuckling.
He came around Taran to take the seat vacated by the Major.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse Robin,” he rumbled. “He’s very young and takes his duties extremely seriously.”
“He seems very protective of the Major,” said Rienne. Taran glanced at her, once again surprised that she had spoken.
The big man smiled. “Yes he is, and with very good reason. You see, Robin’s in love.”
Rienne flushed crimson. “Oh.”
“Don’t worry, dear heart,” he soothed, “we’re all in love with Sullyan. You would be too, if you spent any time with her.”
Taran knew he’d caught the slightly indignant expression on Cal’s face, for he turned to him and laughed. “Oh yes, young man, even you.”
Cal bridled. “I have a love of my own,” he stated, and took Rienne’s hand. She blushed again.
The huge man grinned. “So I see. Nevertheless, we all fall in love with her one way or the other. You’ll see.”
“Well she can’t love you very much or she wouldn’t have yelled at you earlier.”
Taran glared at Cal for this show of bad manners but Bull’s good humor was undented.
“Young man, that just shows how little you understand us. I had better do as Robin suggested and explain the situation.”
He looked back at Taran. “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, my friend. Your little lecture just now was quite wasted. You see, Major Sullyan is also an Artesan, and a powerful one. She holds the rank of Master-elite.”
Taran’s eyes widened in horror as this incredible news sunk in. His blood froze; he had actually had the temerity to lecture a Master on the rudiments of the Artesan craft. He couldn’t believe he had failed to recognize the aura of her power. Now that he knew the truth, he understood Robin’s outburst.
The memory of what he had said, plus a growing suspicion, completely drained his face of color. He felt so stupid.
“Oh, gods,” he groaned. He forced himself to ask the next question, although he didn’t really want the answer. “And the Captain? I suppose he’s an Artesan too?”
The huge man nodded. “Adept-elite.”
Taran blinked. Faintly, he asked, “And yourself?”
“Also Adept-elite. I’m retired, though.”
Cal spoke up. “Retired? How can you retire from being an Artesan?”
Taran heard the disbelief in Cal’s voice and would have smiled if he wasn’t feeling so dreadful. He knew that if Cal ever reached the illustrious rank of Adept-elite, he wouldn’t be able to imagine ever giving it up.
Bull smiled. “Only in a military sense. The Manor is one of the High King’s largest garrisons but it’s also a training center. Old soldiers, and especially old Artesans, never die, but sometimes they have to retire.”
“Major Sullyan might be a powerful Artesan,” said Rienne, “but she’s not in the best of health. What’s wrong with her?”
The big man shook his head. “She’s not ill, dear heart, just exhausted. She was recently wounded—quite badly—and has drained herself trying to recover.”
He looked across at Taran, who could feel his face still flaming in an agony of deep embarrassment. “As a Journeyman, I presume you know what it’s like to overexpend your power?”
Taran nodded, thinking of his own pain-filled recovery after his terrible experience with the Staff.
“That’s why we were so worried about her, and why Robin went with her just now.” He cocked his head at Taran. “He stands for her.”
Taran regarded him blankly and Bull raised his brows, pointing at Cal and Rienne. “I presume one of these stands for you?”
Taran was bemused. “Stands for me? I don’t understand.”
The big man’s geniality disappeared. “Don’t tell me you have no one to stand for you? What are you thinking of, man? One of the first lessons you learn as an Artesan is never to use power without having someone to stand for you.”
Taran’s incomprehension continued and Bull snapped, “Surely your father taught you that? As Adept-elite, he must have passed that on?”
Taran shook his head, frowning at the criticism.
“Who trained Amanus?” demanded Bull.
“I don’t know,” said Taran. “My father never spoke of it. Training wasn’t something he enjoyed.”
“Well that’s obvious. He certainly didn’t do a great job with you.”
Taran stared in dismay, not wanting to argue with an Adept-elite, two full levels above his own rank. His heavy heart sank even farther. His every concern about his reception was being fulfilled, in an even worse way than he had imagined.
Bull pointed a large finger at Cal. “I can sense this one has some latent power. Are you training him?”
“Yes, he’s my Apprentice,” replied Taran, expecting more censure. His answer however, seemed to pacify Bull.
“Well then, he’s the one who should stand for you. Whenever you expend power, you have him by your side to provide reserves in case you overtax your strength.”
“Like when I pulled you out of the portway?” said Cal.
Taran flashed him an irritated glance. Cal was only trying to help, but now that Taran knew how skilled these people were, his dread of explaining himself was growing. They were bound to condemn what he’d done.
Apprehension suddenly shot through Taran. “If the three of you here are all Artesans,” he said, “then is everyone … ?”
The man barked a harsh laugh. Quickly he sobered, casting a guilty glance at the inner door.
“No, my friend. That really would be too much for you, wouldn’t it? No, there are only a few of us here. At present.”
That enigmatic statement hung in the air as Robin re-entered the room. Soundlessly, he closed the apartment door, walked around Bull and resumed his seat on the edge of the desk. His handsome face was paler than before.
Replying to the look Bull gave him, he said, “She’s sleeping. I’ve done what I can, I hope it’s enough. She really could do without this fool’s problems on top of Blaine’s demands.”
“Captain,” said Bull warningly, “don’t overstep yourself.”
The young man accepted the reprimand calmly. “I’m sorry,” he said, turning to Taran. “I didn’t mean to be rude. We nearly lost her this time and I’m still worried about her. Has Bull explained things to you? Do you understand why I got so upset at your little speech earlier?”
“Yes, of course,” sighed Taran. “I just wish Paulus had been a bit more explicit, he could have saved me a lot of embarrassment.”
Robin’s chuckle lightened the mood. “Elder Paulus was told only as much as was good for him and not enough to have warned you.” Taran frowned but Robin didn’t explain. “Bull, will you make us more fellan? Then we can hear what these people want to tell us.”
Bull rose, removing the used cups. As he left to refresh them, Taran asked the Captain, “You mentioned Blaine just now. Did you mean Lord Blaine?”
Robin’s face darkened and his voice was full of disdain. “He’s General Blaine now. Our illustrious leader. He’s in overall command of the High King’s forces and this garrison is his home.”
Taran gathered there was no love lost there and thought he understood why. “Do I take it that General Blaine’s not an Artesan?”
Robin shook his head. “No. He is.”
Taran went cold. “But … does that mean the General is a Senior Master?” He was aghast; surely two Artesans of such high rank couldn’t live so close to his home? Surely his father would have known … ?
“No,” said Robin curtly. “Blaine’s only a Master.”
Only, thought Taran. “But that means the Major outranks him by far. How does that work?”
Robin snorted. “High King Elias Rovannon’s military forces are promoted solely based on achievement in the field. Artesan rank counts for nothing, Blaine sees to that. Gods, he doesn’t even use his own talents. He’s too afraid of censorship, of upsetting Elias’ nobles, of … ”
He pulled himself up, cutting off what threatened to become a rant. “As you can see, Journeyman, I don’t like the situation. But the Major accepts it, so I would be obliged if you kept this to yourself. Military politics are a complicated and a very dirty pond. I don’t recommend you step in it.”