Artesans of Albia: 01 - King's Envoy

by Cas Peace

  Morose and silent, Sonten rode hard by his overlord’s shoulder. He was in a contradictory mood.

  On the one hand he was fearful and furious—once more in terror of his life, once more seething with impotent rage. The brutal way he had used the young courtesan who had failed him the night before had merely slaked the lust such fury often aroused in him; it had done nothing to relieve his anger. There had been no sign of her that morning, she might have died or crawled away somewhere to lick her well-deserved wounds. Sonten didn’t miss her and certainly didn’t care.

  Yet on the other hand, he felt strangely relieved, as if a burden had somehow been lifted. It took him some time to realize why.

  It was obvious, really. If the girl had succeeded in luring the Journeyman into an ambush, his disappearance would have been noticed. His friends had been too watchful to have missed him for long. The resulting confusion as they searched for him would have infuriated the Duke, and would probably have ruined his careful plan. If so, he would certainly have taken out his rage on Sonten. The General knew that Rykan was already enraged by the witch’s resistance to his charms, despite knowing that she probably would refuse his invitation to the palace. It was the reason the Duke had brought his own retainers, men and women who even now were about their master’s business.

  Sonten sighed heavily. If he had succeeded in taking the Journeyman prisoner, he’d have been hard pressed to hide the man. And if he’d been discovered while in Sonten’s possession–dead or alive—then Sonten couldn’t have justified his actions without divulging his reasons. He couldn’t think of an excuse that would have satisfied Rykan.

  No, thought Sonten, it was just as well his hasty plan had failed. Bitterly, he snatched a glance at Rykan’s face.

  The Duke rode at the head of their column. Dewed as he was by the morning drizzle, Rykan’s slim black-and-silver figure was impressive and commanding, as always. He rode his high-mettled bay stallion with instinctive ease, his expression habitually arrogant, his darkly handsome face and the carriage of his powerful body proclaiming both confidence and pride.

  This morning, his predatory gaze was tinged with excitement and menacing anticipation glowed behind his eyes. Sonten scowled and turned away, envy flooding his heart. Rykan had every right to his smug expectancy, for little went wrong for the influential lord. His brutal reputation and high standing meant that few dared disobey him. Fewer still failed in their duties once his wishes were known. Sonten knew that Rykan’s scheme would succeed, and the overlord would have his way.

  Well, let him, he thought venomously, careful to hide the hatred in his eyes. Let him enjoy the witch’s surrender; let him take his pleasures while he could. After all, there were other, and less risky methods by which Sonten could ensure the Journeyman didn’t give him away. Sonten had taken the time to think things through more calmly and had firmed up his own plans, which he was certain would see him through to success. He was content now to wait until they all returned to Kymer. Then let Rykan see who had the upper hand! There would be many opportunities in the confusion of the coming civil war; many chances there for the taking for one prepared to watch and wait in silence.

  Sonten could bide his time. Hadn’t he already done so these many frustrating years? He hadn’t risen to the post of general under the most powerful noble in the realm by mere chance. And, he reflected, it was no bad thing to be backing the next Hierarch, to be the one responsible for gaining him the Crown. He even thought it might suit him very well to enjoy the fruits of such a powerful victory until he was ready to make his move. It might behoove him to wait a little longer; to build up a good, strong power base and consolidate his plans.

  He allowed himself a bitter smile, comforting his ambitious soul by imagining the support he would receive from the new Hierarch, unwitting though it might be. The Duke rewarded those he trusted. Brutal and cruel he might be, and swift with vengeance, but he also valued faithful service and repaid his supporters well.

  Except that damnable Albian Baron, thought Sonten. That one would reap not gratitude but a swift sword in the guts, if Sonten knew his overlord. And it couldn’t come too soon. Their last meeting had made Sonten’s teeth itch, such was the Baron’s arrogance. How he dared believe himself on a par with the Duke of Kymer, Sonten could not fathom. Once Rykan decided he’d outlived his usefulness, the Baron would find that nothing could protect him from cold, sharp steel.

  A sharp pain in the ribs jolted Sonten out of his reverie. He gasped, glancing down at the dagger that was pricking his skin. The Duke was glaring angrily, the hand holding the dagger poised to ram the blade home.

  “Your Grace?” quavered Sonten, fearing Rykan had somehow divined his treacherous thoughts. The knife was slowly withdrawn, leaving a neat but sizeable slit in Sonten’s expensive robes.

  “I don’t like being ignored, Sonten,” growled the Duke. He fingered the dagger before ramming it irritably back into its sheath. “When I speak, I expect you to listen, not continue your irrelevant woolgathering.”

  “My apologies, your Grace.” Sonten struggled to calm his racing pulse.

  Rykan held his gaze just a fraction too long for the General’s liking. Then, dismissively, he turned away. “It’s time.”

  With a jerk of the reins, he turned his stallion’s head. The fine beast, blood spotting the foam at its mouth, tossed its head in discomfort. The Duke curbed it harshly. Sonten gazed at the terrain in surprise, he hadn’t realized they had come so far. His plotting had occupied him a while.

  They were on the west side of Haligan Forest, its fringes just visible on the horizon. When Sonten nudged his stocky horse level with Rykan’s slimmer beast, he could just make out the standard flying from the highest point of the Count’s dilapidated mansion. Its ragged huddle of peasant huts was invisible, hidden by the rise of the land.

  Rykan bore a sensual and considering smile. “Yes, more than enough time, I think, Sonten, if my instructions have been obeyed.”

  As if there’s a chance they won’t be, thought Sonten. “Whatever you command, your Grace,” he said, trying to conceal a worm of fear. He might have dealt with last night’s panic and made plans to eliminate the Journeyman’s threat, but there was still an element of risk. He was very far from safe.

  With a thump of his heels, he sent his ungainly mount plodding after Rykan’s pureblood bay. The rest of their column re-formed around them, ever watchful, ever alert.

  Enjoy your successes, my proud Duke, thought Sonten. Enjoy your diversions while you may. I have plans and information that will bring you to your knees, and the day you take the crown will be one day closer to your untimely death. His eyes bored into Rykan’s back as he followed the Duke, his heart full of bile.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The rest of the ride passed in a haze for Taran, who couldn’t quite believe he had attained the next level after only a few days of instruction. After his many failures since his father’s death, he hadn’t realized how close he’d been. It had only taken improving his psyche and a few lessons in merging techniques to give him the strength to master Water.

  He couldn’t wait to tell Cal; as soon as he, Bull and Robin had settled for the night in a wooded valley, he reached out to his Apprentice. Cal didn’t immediately recognize his master’s touch and Taran sensed Cal’s pleasure and pride when he shared his good news.

  However, Cal sobered when Taran asked what was happening at the Manor. Taran melded with Bull and Robin so they could hear Cal’s report.

  It’s organized chaos here, said Cal in his head. Every company except the Major’s has left for the front lines. They’re only waiting for Captain Tamsen so they can go, too.

  Taran inquired about Rienne and could picture Cal’s rueful smile.

  Oh, she’s in her element. I’ve resorted to helping her in the infirmary, it’s the only way I get to see her. I’ve never seen her so happy.

  Robin and Bull laughed.

  It was a shrewd move of the Major’s to get
Rienne involved in the infirmary, said Robin. She always recognizes a person’s potential. She must consider Rienne a very gifted healer, especially since she attached her to our command.

  Would Rienne be permitted to stay if she wanted to? Once this is all over, I mean, said Taran. In reality, he was thinking more of himself and Cal and the possibility of more training.

  Oh, yes, said Robin. Even if the General objected, though I don’t suppose he would, Sullyan would simply attach Rienne to her personal staff as she did with Bull. But what about you and Cal? You wouldn’t want to enter the military, would you?

  I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.

  Robin grinned but did not reply.

  He’d been instructed by General Blaine to return swiftly. Bull’s wound, aided by metaphysical healing, was mending and no longer gave him pain. The following morning they rose just before dawn and rode at a hand canter all day.

  Taran realized they were approaching the Manor from the northeast. They arrived in the mid-afternoon and Robin had time to rest and change before leaving.

  Cal was waiting for them and there was much greeting and back-slapping—and concern for Bull—before Robin left to repack. Bull reported to the General before heading for the infirmary and Cal took Taran to see their new quarters, which Rienne had made more comfortable.

  “We want to hear all the details,” Cal told him, “not just the little bits you were able to pass through the link.”

  Taran wasn’t really listening. He’d been full of thought since his elevation to Adept and had formed a loyalty to Sullyan completely separate from the strong physical attraction he felt. She was a Master-elite—the highest-ranking Artesan he was ever likely to meet—and she’d recognized and encouraged his talents. She’d given up some of her Captain’s time to help him and, despite the obvious inadequacy of his training, had treated him as an equal, something his father had never done.

  Yet what he felt wasn’t simple gratitude. In spite of her assurances and reluctance to judge—and their suspicions concerning Rykan—Taran felt more responsible than ever for what was happening in Albia. Without his interference, the Andaryans might never have invaded and Taran wanted to do whatever he could to atone for his mistake. Robin’s reference the previous evening to joining the military had him thinking.

  Ignoring Cal’s request, he said, “Cal, how would you feel about going out with the Major’s company?”

  Cal was startled. “Fight the invasion, you mean? Do you think they would let us?”

  That reply told Taran all he needed to know. “I’m not sure, but I intend to ask. Cal, the Major’s been left behind in a potentially dangerous situation, and she’s on her own. It is partially my fault, no matter what anyone says. Now, you and I can both handle weapons and take orders, and we have our other talents. I want help. Are you with me?”

  “Of course,” said Cal. “Though I don’t know what Rienne will say.”

  They found out at some length what Rienne had to say after Taran had offered their services to General Blaine. They had been accepted on a temporary basis.

  Robin was delighted to have them. Rienne, however, was not happy. She’d been dealing with some of the wounded from the front lines and knew what Andaryan weapons could do. Taran’s assurances about their shielding skills and swordsmanship didn’t comfort her one bit.

  “You didn’t see the horrendous scar Sullyan sustained in that last battle,” she snapped. “And what about poor Bull’s shoulder? They’re trained and experienced fighters. If they can be hurt that badly, what chance have you two got?”

  “Thanks Rienne,” said Cal. “It’s nice to know you’re confident in me.”

  She burst into tears. “Don’t be such a fool,” she cried. “The last thing I want is to see your bodies brought in here for me to sew up.”

  “Look, Rienne, I promise we’ll stay out of the worst of the fighting,” said Taran. “We’re novices and we know it. Robin won’t want us getting in the way. We’ll be pushed to the back, likely as not, so we don’t cause him any problems. All we’ll be doing is mopping up the stragglers.”

  “Just see that you are,” she sniffed.

  She made Taran promise to talk to Bull each day. The big man was acting as contact and coordinator as he usually did; his shoulder, although healing, precluded him from anything else. She returned to the infirmary, unable to watch them leave.

  Robin made sure they had all the field equipment and weapons they needed, then led the way to where the rest of the company was waiting. There were at least four hundred mounted men drawn into formation behind their sergeants and every one of them cheered as Robin took the saddle. Taran and Cal accepted their horses from the stable lads, Cal suspiciously eyeing his fiery little chestnut.

  Robin addressed the men, his voice betraying none of the apprehension Taran guessed he was feeling at assuming his first solo command.

  “You all know Major Sullyan is unable to lead us this time,” he called, his voice ringing clearly, “so it’s up to us to make her proud. We’ll turn the invasion back, drive the demons south, back to the rat holes they crawled from. Show them they have no hope of victory here. Sullyan’s waging her own diplomatic battle beyond the Veils and she’s relying on us to buy her the time she needs.

  “What do you say, lads?”

  The cheers crescendoed as Robin took the head of the column and moved them out. Taran and Cal fell in behind.

  The company moved fast through the chilly autumn evening, not halting until several hours had passed. It was dark by the time they were settled and Taran was glad for the campfire he’d made. Robin had offered to share his tent as it was easier than them taking one of their own. He showed Taran and Cal the routines of field camp: caring for the horses, laying out and inspecting all their gear and cooking an evening meal. They accompanied him while he made his tour of the men, introducing them to the members of the company. Taran was pleasantly surprised to find how easily they were accepted.

  Once the tour was complete, he and Cal followed Robin back to the tent, which was little more than an oiled leather sheet stretched over a pole. They drank a last cup of fellan before turning in. Robin contacted Bull to get an update on how Sullyan was faring and Taran noticed his worried expression as he broke the link.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  The younger man answered slowly, concern plain in his eyes.

  “No report from the Major.”

  “Maybe there’s nothing to report?” said Cal.

  Robin shook his head. “We always report. It’s one of our firmest rules. Like the one about never leaving each other alone beyond the Veils.” He stared moodily into his fellan. “I knew I should never have left her.”

  Taran slept poorly, wrapped in blankets on the ground, and woke to Robin shaking his shoulder. Stiffly, he climbed to his feet, immediately inquiring after Sullyan. The Captain shook his head, his face haggard as he supervised the breaking of their camp.

  There followed another hard day of riding before they received any news of the fighting. One of Robin’s scouting parties encountered some wounded swordsmen making their way back to the Manor and brought one of them to speak with Robin. The man, his right arm crudely wrapped in a blood-stained bandage, slid awkwardly from the scout’s horse and steadied himself against the beast’s shoulder.

  “Get this man some water,” called Robin, dismounting. Once the swordsman had taken a few swallows from the water, Robin asked, “What news of the invasion?”

  “No good news, Captain.” The swordsman was hoarse. “They crossed Loxton’s border to the east of the Downs and are still pushing hard northward. We’d manage to hold them for a bit but then they’d come back at us stronger than ever and sometimes broke through our lines. They’re losing fighters all the time but they don’t seem to care. It’s strange. I’ve never known demons fight so hard.”

  The news was sobering and once Robin got the enemy’s last known location from the wounded man, he urg
ed his company onward. Knowing the Andaryans were being unusually dogged caused him to call battle formations well in advance of where he expected to find them. He also doubled the number of outriders.