by Cas Peace
While they waited for her, Bull, revived by the hot drink and Sullyan’s ministrations, regaled Robin and Taran with tales of the banquets he had attended in the past. They were humorous accounts but they made both men more nervous than they had been before.
The Major eventually emerged from the washroom, toweling her mass of wet hair. She was wearing one of the robes provided, but it was so short that it left very little to Taran’s imagination. Robin saw his embarrassed flush and said, “Sullyan,” in a reproving tone.
Clearly startled, she stared at them until she realized what the problem was. Then she laughed at Taran’s discomfort.
“I beg your pardon, Taran. I am so used to the company of these two that I forget others are not used to me. I will try to behave more decorously.”
Taran reddened more. “Please don’t trouble yourself on my account.”
“Gallantly said, Journeyman.” She laughed again. “We will make a courtier of you yet.”
Crossing the room, she sat before the fire to dry her hair.
Taran joined Bull and Robin in using the hot water to freshen up. When he returned to the main room and saw Sullyan standing by the window, he simply couldn’t suppress a gasp of admiration.
The full-length, green satin gown she was wearing flowed over her slim figure like liquid beryl. She had braided part of her hair into a coronet around her head; the rest rippled down her back like tawny fire. Her fire opals spat sparks from her throat and ears, and her golden eyes were huge and lustrous. She was wearing a subtle perfume that just caught at the senses, and Taran knew he had never seen anyone so poised and beautiful in his entire life. His heart pounded at the sight of her.
She caught him staring and smiled. He blushed furiously.
“Why, thank you, Taran,” she said softly. “You look very handsome.”
That brought the color even higher in his face. To his relief, Bull saved him from replying by giving a loud snort.
“Enough, Major. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say the atmosphere was getting to you already. These two lads are going to have enough to cope with tonight without you making matters worse.”
Taran frowned and Robin, who had also been staring at the Major, turned on him. “What do you mean?”
Sullyan shifted, clearly about to speak, but Bull waved her to silence. “Let me, Sully, you’ll only confuse them.”
Taran raised his brows, expecting the Major to take offense at his tone. Surprisingly, she only smiled and turned away.
Bull sighed. “Andaryans are a very sensual people,” he said, “the nobility more than the rest. The stronger Artesans among them often use their talents to flood the atmosphere with … er, shall we say ‘erotic thoughts’ … on occasions like this, to make the game more enjoyable. Their object is to find a partner for the night, regardless of whether they’re wed or not.
“Young and handsome specimens such as you two are going to be the target of every lady’s desire tonight. They have little else to do with their time other than indulge their petty pleasures and they will be falling over themselves to see who can provoke the greatest … er, reaction … in you. Do you understand what I’m saying? It’s tiresome but it’s almost impossible to resist them, so don’t be too embarrassed if you find yourselves responding to them.
“But whatever you do, don’t make any promises to them. Especially don’t, under any circumstances, leave the hall with anyone. Sully and I will try and keep an eye on you but we’ll both be affected too—especially with her looking like that—so you’ll need your wits about you.”
Taran stared at him, apprehension flooding his heart.
“One other thing, gentlemen,” said Sullyan. “Do not touch or eat with any of the silverware. Some of it is likely to be spellsilver and if it touches your skin, it will cut you off from your power.”
“Spellsilver?” asked Taran nervously. “What’s that?”
“Spellsilver is an ore that occurs naturally in Andaryon. It looks the same as ordinary silver and can be worked in the same fashion. However, it has strange properties where metaforce is concerned, properties that make you feel nauseous, drain your strength and prevent you from using your powers. It works through contact with skin or blood and shuts down all metaphysical processes. Touching it is very unpleasant, although the effects only last as long as the contact continues. Being forced into contact with it—or worse, having it enter your bloodstream by, let’s say being stabbed with a spellsilver knife—is a dreadful and terrifying experience. I would not recommend it.”
Taran’s heart fell even farther. The feast sounded like an ordeal.
“Fortunately,” she continued, “it has never, to my knowledge, been discovered in Albia, so we have little cause to fear it. Here, however, where the acquisition of power is paramount and all means used to obtain it are considered justified, it is widely employed. Including it among the silverware of a feast is just another part of the power game.
“So, gentlemen, keep yourselves tightly shielded and do not attempt to contact one another through the substrate. It is too dangerous.”
Taran returned to his dressing, feeling more nervous than ever and reflecting that his father had left much that was important out of his son’s education. The only comfort the Journeyman could draw came from the equally uneasy look on Robin’s face. The Captain’s lack of experience in such matters made Taran feel marginally better.
They had just finished their preparations when they heard the second hour strike.
“Ready, gentlemen?” asked Sullyan. “Remember, shields up, be unfailingly polite even to the most persistent and obnoxious admirers, make no promises, and do not touch the silver.”
She took a deep breath, the first sign of nervousness Taran had seen. “Shall we go?”
They left the suite and descended the long, twisting stairs. Sullyan led the way, her long gown flowing around her legs as she walked, surrounding her with an air of grace and stature. She paused at the bottom of the stairs to let the others flank her. Taran could hear music coming from the main hall along with the muted murmur of many voices. He walked beside Robin toward the brightly lit hall which, when he reached it, was packed with more people than he had expected to see.
The hall was decorated with colorful tapestries and banners, and was bright with the warm glow of countless lamps and candles. Here, Taran saw nothing of the shabby air pervading the rest of the mansion; the hall was a study in wealth and opulence. The mellow sound of minstrels blended with the noise of servants bustling among the tables.
Sullyan stopped at the doors and Taran saw her searching the throng, presumably looking for the Count. However, the Master of Ceremonies spotted them before she saw their host and struck the huge brass gong for silence. Every eye in the room turned toward them. Taran felt apprehensive as he suddenly became the object of many ladies’ scrutiny. Robin shifted beside him, clearly sharing his unease.
Sullyan appeared serene, outwardly unruffled by the attention her appearance was earning. When he risked a quick glance, though, Taran noticed the gem at her throat pulsing with the rapid beat of her heart.
The Master of Ceremonies announced them, giving their rank and Sullyan’s title, and as they followed her into the room, they were approached by a tall, thin man whom Taran thought was in his early thirties. He was dressed in maroon velvet trimmed with black and silver fur and he had very pale gray eyes with the characteristic slit pupils. Pupils that were, Taran saw, rather dilated, giving the man a febrile look. His face was pleasant in a lean, melancholy kind of way, and he was richly adorned with gold. It glinted from his ears, throat, wrists and fingers. On the middle finger of his right hand gleamed a huge ruby cabochon.
The man stepped up to Sullyan, smiling nervously.
“Lady Sullyan, my dear,” he said, as he took her right hand and raised it to his lips. “How good to see you again. Your companions are welcome in my hall.” He swept a dismissive look over the men and Taran felt Robin tense. Bull touch
ed the Captain’s arm and the younger man relaxed.
Sullyan frowned at the Andaryan but made a small and graceful curtsey as she replied to his greeting.
“Count Marik. I am pleased to be here, my friend, despite the circumstances behind our visit. I look forward to discussing matters with you in tomorrow’s council.”
The Count appeared none too pleased to be reminded of the council meeting. Ignoring Taran, Bull and Robin, he took Sullyan by the arm and ushered her through the throng of people. “There will be time for business tomorrow. Come, my dear, there is someone who desires to meet you tonight.”
Sullyan suffered herself to be led, although she glanced in puzzlement at the Count’s eager face.
Taran, watching the noble’s back as he escorted Sullyan, could sense the air of nervous apprehension swathing the man. It was, he thought, totally out of place for a noble in his own mansion surrounded by his own people. His preoccupation with the Count’s strange demeanor consumed him and he hardly registered the faces of the other guests.
The Count led Sullyan to the far end of the hall, where a tight knot of people surrounded a tall, regal-looking man dressed in black trimmed with red and silver. A fluttering group of young ladies appeared to be hanging on his every word and they parted reluctantly as Count Marik led Sullyan through.
The man in black turned to see who was approaching.
Taran felt the shock that ran through Sullyan when she saw his face. He sensed, rather than heard, her tightly hissed whisper in his mind—Beware!—before her mental shield snapped down. With amazement, he saw the very deep obeisance she accorded this arrogant-looking lord, and watched as he took her hand with a predatory smile. A strange light glowed in his pale yellow eyes.
The Count licked his lips and cleared his throat before announcing, “Most noble and gracious Lord, may I present the Lady Ambassador Sullyan, of whom you have heard me speak many times. Lady Sullyan, it is my privilege to present to you his Grace Lord Rykan, Duke of Kymer.”
The saturnine lord gazed intensely into Sullyan’s face. She had frozen her expression in a smile but Taran could feel tension radiating from her.
“My dear Lady Ambassador.” The Duke’s voice was deep, rich and silky-smooth, and his eyes looked as sharp as an eagle sighting prey. His darkly handsome face was perfectly complemented by an aquiline nose and the very pale gold of his slit-pupiled eyes. Despite his clear middle age, his slim and powerful body positively radiated strength and virility.
He smiled, showing white, even teeth, and held fast to Sullyan’s hand as his raptor’s eyes traveled her body, drinking in her curves.
“The Count has told me of your beauty, Lady,” he murmured, “but at his most effusive he did not do you justice. You are a flawless gem among women. No one here could outshine you.”
“Your Grace is too kind,” responded Sullyan, casting down her eyes. She tried to reclaim her hand but the Duke was having none of it.
He turned, obliging her to fall into step beside him, and moved toward the highborns’ feast table at the far end of the hall.
“Marik.”
The Count scuttled nervously after him.
“Your Grace?”
“It is my pleasure to be the lady’s escort tonight. Make other arrangements for her … companions.”
“Yes, your Grace.”
With much flapping of his long hands, the Count ushered Bull, Robin and Taran to tables at the long side of the hall. Bull and Robin went reluctantly, the Captain clearly unhappy at being separated from the Major. Sullyan, when Taran glanced back at her, seemed to be coping with her shock, for she sat and talked with the dark lord while the other guests found their seats.
“The Duke of Kymer?” hissed Robin. “What the hell’s he doing here?”
Bull shook his head.
“I’ve no idea. All I know is that we’ve been warned about him before. Leaving aside our suspicions as to who’s behind the invasion, Rykan’s probably the most influential and dangerous person in the entire Fifth Realm. He has a reputation for ruthlessness and cruelty and I’ve heard he has an insatiable appetite for women.
“Coincidence it may be, and nothing to do with the raids, but his presence here means there’s something afoot. He’s got under Marik’s skin too, by the looks of things. The Count may be gloomy by nature but he’s not normally so nervy, although I’d expect him to be on edge with Rykan here. The Duke’s a harsh overlord and Marik’s not wealthy.
“Keep your wits about you, lads. Sullyan’s in no danger at present but if Rykan takes a fancy to her, she’ll need all her diplomatic skills to wriggle out of it without giving offense.”
There was one guest in the hall whose thoughts were not occupied by the Duke’s sudden interest in the Lady Ambassador. This man stood glaring at the floor, his unwieldy bulk quivering with anger. Lord Sonten’s fleshy face had turned purple and the bustle of the guests as they competed for seats gave him the space he needed to calm himself. The unexpected and totally shocking appearance of the Albian Journeyman—Jaskin’s murderer, the man responsible for all of Sonten’s troubles—sent conflicting emotions surging through him. He was finding it hard to breathe.
He couldn’t believe it. After days of panic and terror, and the rage of seeing his ambitions die with his nephew, Sonten had finally regained some composure. He had even resurrected his plans, altering them most cunningly to compensate for Jaskin’s death. Accepting that he would never be able to avenge the murder, he had recalled the huntsmen set to watch for the Journeyman’s return. Yet here he was, the murdering bastard, cocky as a cat. Strolling about right under Sonten’s nose, threatening to wreck his ambitions all over again! Sonten’s face flushed with outrage, for under these very public circumstances, there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t afford to draw the Duke’s attention to this man and certainly couldn’t do anything that might jeopardize his Grace’s plans. He glowered at the Duke, sitting so smugly at the highborns’ table, drooling with disgusting eagerness over the young human witch.
Sonten felt sick. If the Duke’s plans should succeed –and there was no reason to believe they wouldn’t—there was a high risk of the Journeyman revealing his fatal meeting with Jaskin; even worse, Jaskin’s use of the Staff. If that happened, then Sonten’s life would be forfeit and the General knew his overlord well enough to realize that his execution for treachery would be neither swift nor painless.
He fumed. It was imperative that Rykan didn’t get his hands on the murdering outlander. If Sonten could only spirit the man away, he could ensure his eternal silence. And maybe, he suddenly realized with a jolt, just maybe he could also learn what had become of the precious Staff.
The thought sent his pulse racing and he wracked his brain for a plan. There had to be something he could do; some way of quietly removing the Albian while also avenging his nephew’s death and recovering that damned Staff before the Duke discovered it was missing!
Sweat prickled his skin; time was running out. He was sure the Journeyman wouldn’t recognize him; he had been very careful to stay concealed during the duel. Jaskin had been right to insist on that. He simply couldn’t stand here, powerless, doing nothing. It ate at his soul and he quivered with rage. Surely he could think of something? He couldn’t let the man fall into Rykan’s clutches; the risk would be too great. No matter how much Sonten might enjoy watching Rykan torture the man.
Yet those risks were not the only consideration, he realized abruptly. If he could recover the Staff, he could also revive his original plans, if not improve on them now that he had Heron to work with instead of his independent nephew.
His eyes narrowed. What if he could recover the Staff but keep it for himself? What if he didn’t return it to his Grace? Why should the Duke suspect his general even if he did discover the priceless artifact was missing? Maybe Sonten had been worrying unnecessarily. If that was so, then what advantage was there in returning the Staff to his Grace? Its possession would guarantee the success of Sonten
’s plans, for no matter what Heron’s Artesan rank, even the vastly more experienced Rykan would be powerless before the mighty weapon.