by Cas Peace
With Drum and Vanyr’s liver chestnut in the lead, they descended the hill at a gallop, Sullyan following Robin’s trail in the substrate.
Chapter Three
All morning they rode hard, first across the rain-soaked Citadel Plains and then under the boughs of Haligan Forest. The trees in the forest grew dense and few trails wound between their tightly-packed trunks. This made tracking easier, and Sullyan followed Robin’s pattern in the substrate while Vanyr used his eyes on the ground. Early on, he managed to find the prints of Taran’s horse in a patch of muddy earth, confirming Sullyan’s suspicion that all four of her friends had headed in the same direction.
She found herself wondering when they would come across the place where Taran’s captors had ambushed Robin and Bull. It could not be far because they had failed to report to Anjer that first evening, and she knew they would not have ridden through the night. Robin would still have been exhausted, and he knew better than to push himself too hard. At least, she hoped he did. Maybe that was why he and Bull had failed to spot the danger, although Bull should have had more sense than to allow Robin to act so rashly. But then, she thought, Bull had disobeyed her express orders in bringing their friends through the Veils, and despite the tongue-lashing she had given him the night before the duel, she was still furious over that breach. Even more so now, for had he not disobeyed her they would not be in this predicament, and she would not be overstretching herself to find them.
Angrily, she shook her head, forcing down the fear surging through her heart.
Around midday she called a brief halt. She was surprised to find she was fitter than she had thought. She was only expending power to reduce the awful throbbing of her wrist and the sting of the sword slash in her side. The muscles that had ached earlier that morning seemed resigned to yet more activity and were not complaining. The stitches in her flank, though, were nagging, and she concentrated more power than was prudent on healing. She needed to be rid of them, although she could not imagine who among this rough band of men she could ask to perform that small favor.
When they resumed the search, she held them to a steadier pace, sure they were not far from where Robin and Bull had run into trouble. She and Vanyr took the lead again and rode well apart, she following Robin’s pattern and he the prints of Taran’s horse. After an hour or so they found a small clearing where Robin, Bull, Xeer, and As-ket had made their first night’s camp.
With a surge of anger, she saw that Xeer and As-ket were still there. Calling to Ky-shan, she dismounted, letting Drum’s reins drop. She moved to where the two bodies lay and kneeled beside the nearest, feeling a pang of grief as she gazed down at Xeer’s lifeless face. Judging by their terrible wounds, he and As-ket had put up a valiant fight. As-ket lay several yards away, his body punctured by crossbow bolts. Xeer was covered in sword cuts, his throat gaping in a gory grin.
Ky-shan stopped beside her and stared silently down at his friend’s immobile face. “I am so sorry, Ky,” she murmured, reaching out to touch Xeer’s cold hand. “Marik will be sorry, too. He thought much of Xeer for rescuing him.”
The pirate’s eyes glittered coldly as he turned back to his horse. “They did their duty.”
Vanyr nudged his mount closer. “Is this where the psyche trail ends?”
Her pupils dilated as she checked the substrate. “Yes. They used spellsilver again. But Robin and Bull are both experienced men. Maybe they left me a clue ….”
She quartered the campsite, studying what she could sense of the fight. It had happened swiftly, with Bull and Robin targeted instantly as hostages. They hadn’t stood a chance. Xeer and As-ket had sold their lives dearly but uselessly. There were no other bodies to indicate who was responsible.
Vanyr dismounted, and together they sought tracks leading away from the campsite. The Commander found Torka’s distinctive spoor immediately, still heading southeast. Sullyan swung up onto Drum again, stifling a gasp as her arm protested. This earned her a glance of concern from Vanyr, which she ignored. They had to travel slower now, as she could not track by psyche and the light was poor under the close-growing trees. At least the rain had let up, although the sky was still dark and the air much cooler.
They pushed on until it was too dark to see the tracks. Sullyan wanted to continue on foot with torches, but Vanyr overruled her. Unexpectedly, Ky-shan backed him up.
“You’ve gone white, Lady,” he said. “You need to rest. If we stop now, we’ll make better time in the morning. It’ll do us no good if we miss their tracks in the dark.”
“Who appointed you my nursemaid?” she grumbled, but she allowed Ki-en to see to Drum and accepted the mug of fellan Ky-shan gave her once the fire was lit. There was a generous measure of brine rum in it, and she shot him a hard glance.
He stared unrepentantly back. “You need the strength.”
She decided not to refuse. Once seated by the fire, she realized how terribly weary she was. Two solid days of sleep, which either Deshan or Pharikian must have had a hand in, had gone a long way toward restoring her strength, but she was battling weeks of illness, strain, and worry, not to mention the subtler effects of taking and using Rykan’s life force.
As she sat, silently cradling her cup, she became aware of Vanyr’s eyes upon her. Because he lacked the definition of colored irises, it wasn’t always easy to tell where the focus of his attention lay. Raising her face, she invited him to speak. He looked away immediately and she sighed.
“Speak, Torman, if you will. We are friends now.”
He gazed resolutely into the fire. “Are we?”
She frowned, wishing he would stop playing games. “Are we not, then?”
He looked up and she realized he was harboring some doubt, some anxiety, over their relationship. She cocked her head in query.
“Will you answer me a question?” he asked.
She nodded, adding, “If you will do the same.”
“Very well.” He took a breath. “Why didn’t you see Rykan’s last move in the duel? We practiced it so much I thought you surely must see it. And yet, he caught you with it.”
She glanced down, aware that he had a more important question than this. He was stalling, yet she chose to answer anyway.
“I did see it. You taught me well.”
“You did? Then why …?” His expression changed to incredulity. “You never deliberately let him knock you down? That would have been a terrible risk!”
She sighed. “I know. It was not something I wished or planned to do, let me assure you. He was just too strong. He was fitter than I, taller, healthier, and faster. He was just too damned good!”
He stared at her. “So you took a gamble.”
“What else could I do? What would you have done?”
He considered this. “I would never have had the skill to make use of him like that.”
She snorted. “I think you belittle your own talents, man. But I had it in my mind before we began that I might need to do something desperate if I could not defeat him outright.”
“Desperate is right! He could have killed you out of hand.”
“No. I knew he would not do that. He coveted my powers too badly to kill me. And in that lay my second plan, the most desperate plan. The one I intended to use should he force me to yield.”
“Which was?”
“To cast us both into the Void.”
Understanding caused his face to turn pale. “I’m not sure I could have found the courage to do that.”
She shrugged. “If you had been his captive for two weeks and suffered what I did, courage would have come, believe me. It would have been my only choice. As it was, Count Marik’s timely distraction made Rykan forget the vital declaration of surrender, leaving me free to legitimately use my power.”
Vanyr mulled over what he had heard. Then he raised his head again. “You have answered my question. What would you ask of me?”
Now it was her turn to look away. She hadn’t planned to ask him this at all,
let alone in company. Their easier relationship could be all too quickly spoiled if he took it the wrong way. She chose her words carefully, studying her hands as she did so.
“After your invaluable coaching before the duel, I thought we had made some sort of peace. I was a little surprised not to see you among the Artesans in Pharikian’s chambers that morning. For the sharing of life force.”
She let the small silence continue before glancing at him. He was staring at her oddly. Then he said, “I was told my contribution would not be required.”
She frowned. She had hit an open wound. This was the matter behind his discomfort. “Who told you that?”
“Anjer.”
“Anjer told you? What reason did he give?”
Vanyr’s eyes were cold. “He said you didn’t want anyone to contribute who was not completely willing.”
“And were you willing?”
His head jerked up. “Of course I was! Like you said, I thought we had made our peace and put the enmity aside. Then you told him you didn’t want me involved. Why did you do that?”
She spoke firmly, holding his gaze. “I did no such thing.” Here was the reason for his doubt, she thought. She was surprised he had befriended her at all with this hanging over them. “I did ask his Majesty to make sure everyone involved was willing, but I did not ask Anjer to preclude anyone who wanted to participate. When will that man stop trying to protect me?”
Vanyr stared at her, clearly unsure what to believe.
“I would never have refused you, Torman,” she said, her tone reflecting her sincerity. “I regret that you received that impression.”
He averted his gaze and shook his head. “Maybe I just convinced myself Anjer was blaming you. Maybe it was all part of his punishment for what I did to you that day.” He stared into the fire, his face flushed. “I deeply regret that now.”
She waved it away. “I have forgotten it, it is not important.” A mischievous thought occurred to her and she eyed him. “Although … there is a way you could atone for it, should you feel the need.”
He looked at her sidelong. “Oh? And what would that be?”
“How steady is your hand with a small, sharp knife?”
He had no real choice. The pirates grinned, but turned their heads at Sullyan’s pointed glare. Carefully, she shed her cloak, jacket, and shirt before the fire. Vanyr unbound the wrappings holding her left arm to her body, and then helped pull up her chemise, exposing the line of neat sutures. He sat cross-legged beside her, valiantly trying not to let his eyes stray from the stitches he was slitting. Sullyan smiled when she realized his trouble.
“Torman, my whole life has been lived among men. Your regard does not bother me.”
He refused to meet her gaze. “That’s as may be. It’s not necessarily your feelings I’m thinking about.”
Her brows shot up and her grin broadened. “Commander Vanyr, you amaze me at every turn!” She laughed, making him smile. “Do you not have a wife, then?” she asked.
His smile disappeared. “No.” His terse tone warned her to pry no further.
When he was done, he helped her back into her chemise, clicking his tongue in dismay at the scars on her back made by Rykan’s whip. He began to re-bind her left arm across her body, but stopped when he saw the pain in her eyes. “Do you need help with that? I may be only a Journeyman, but I do have strength. You need all yours at present.”
Gratefully, she smiled. “It would be a relief.”
He cast her cloak over her shoulders to keep her warm while they worked, then kneeled by her side, carefully unwrapping the bindings on her wrist. The pain was intense and her pupils dilated widely as she tried to block it. Beneath the wrappings, the skin was dark with bruising, but whole. The bones had splintered within the flesh rather than breaking through. Sullyan laid the arm across her lap and, ignoring the flesh of the hand for the moment, reached out to link with Vanyr. She said nothing, but what she saw within him surprised her.
They worked for some time, Vanyr allowing Sullyan to use his strength as she would. When she was done, the arm was throbbing anew but the bones were very much stronger. He lent her a little more strength to numb the pain before strapping the arm once more.
She was loath to expose the hand. It had been a mess the last time she had seen it, and she wasn’t sure she had the nerve to look at it now. If it was to heal at all, though, she couldn’t neglect it. Taking a deep breath, as much to brace against shock as pain, she let Vanyr unbind it.
It was as bad as she feared. Vanyr’s face turned pale at the sight of it and Sullyan herself felt sick. Nevertheless, she schooled herself to deal with it, and once she was done, there was just the tiniest hint of healthy pink skin beneath the blackened scabs. Vanyr applied a fresh dressing and then strapped the entire arm across her body again. He helped her back into her shirt and jacket before replacing the cloak over her shoulders.
She felt drained, but smiled up at him in grateful thanks. “So, Torman, when will the Hierarch perform your confirmation?”
Arrested in the act of sitting down, he stared at her. “What?”
“Surely you know you are ready to become Adept?”
His jaw dropped. “Ready to …? Are you serious?”
“Did you not know? Do you not take note of your own status? Or maybe you do not wish to advance?”
“Of course I do! But lately, what with the threat of war and all our preparations, I haven’t given it a thought. Anjer usually coaches us, but he’s been busy, too.” A sudden thought struck him. “You’re a Master, Brynne, could you …?” He stopped, took a breath. “Would you be willing …?”
She dropped her eyes, sighing with genuine regret. “I ask your pardon, Torman. It is not my place. Not only is the Hierarch a level above me, he is also your ruler. We both owe him allegiance as Artesans. It is his duty. I cannot usurp his place.”
Vanyr’s disappointment showed. “I think you’ll find you’re his equal. I could feel it through our link just now.”
She kept her voice firm but gentle. “Even if that were true, you are still his subject. You must speak to him on your return.”
With that, he had to be content.
*****
Ky-shan’s men prepared the evening meal, and then they all gathered companionably around the fire, watches set in case there were stragglers from Rykan’s forces still around. As they settled with their food, the talk turned to a discussion over who would take control of Kymer and what Sonten’s future might hold.
Vanyr’s voice conveyed his disdain. “Sonten’s always been ambitious, and he doesn’t care who he tramples on to gain what he wants.” He scooped up the last of his meat with a lump of bread. “His father was a noble, but Sonten’s no Artesan, so he’s had to fight to maintain his position. I’ve heard stories concerning his callousness, and he’s made many enemies among his peers. He even managed to upset Lord Corbyn, one of Tikhal’s nobles, a while ago. The man was angling for his own son to be declared Rykan’s Heir, and he might have succeeded had Sonten not squeezed him out. Corbyn was livid and put the Lord of the North under severe pressure to exact revenge. In the end, Tikhal managed to convince Corbyn to drop it, but resentment like that is never forgotten. Sonten won’t care. He’s a conscienceless bastard, and he’ll survive Rykan’s demise. He might even welcome it. It isn’t the first time he’s had to change his plans.”
“Why’s that?” mumbled Ky-shan through a mouthful of food. He was losing his animosity for Vanyr in the light of Sullyan’s trust.
The Commander took a gulp of fellan laced with brine rum. The pirates seemed to have an inexhaustible supply and they distributed it with liberal benevolence. Sullyan, who was feeling drowsy and mellow due to the liquor in her own fellan, was sitting comfortably with her back to a tree, rubbing shoulders with Jay’el. The men’s low voices washed over her.
Warming to his tale, Vanyr went on. “As I said, Sonten doesn’t have the Artesan gift, and this has plagued him all his life.
His father, who was gifted, cast him off because of it. He went mad and eventually died a broken man. He never formally disinherited his son, though, so Sonten took over the province on his father’s death. By this time, Durkos was badly in need of funds. Sonten’s own marriage—which wasn’t prestigious, for what lord wants his daughter to marry a powerless noble?—brought little in the way of wealth and nothing in the way of sons. Ironic, really, that Sonten’s wife should prove as barren in her way as Sonten was in his.”
Her eyes closed, Sullyan smiled at Vanyr’s malevolent satisfaction.
“Sonten embarked on some very underhanded dealings in order to acquire capital. He married his sister off to a wealthy noble, but the man abused her dreadfully and she died of it. The poor woman had, however, managed to produce a son, and the child turned out to be gifted. Sonten, caring family man that he is, murdered the boy’s father and took over his lands, holding them ‘in trust’ for his nephew. The boy, so I heard, had great potential as an Artesan, and under his uncle’s devoted guidance”—Vanyr’s voice dripped sarcasm—“he developed an ambition every bit as strong as Sonten’s. I imagine the two of them were hoping to gain a leg-up on the back of Rykan’s take-over, but I have no doubt that once the youth reached his full potential, he and his loving uncle would have found a way to remove Rykan and take his place. Just like Sonten ousted Lord Corbyn.
“Unfortunately for Sonten, his nephew was killed a few months ago. Rather suspicious circumstances too, in my opinion. The account I heard claims it happened during a peasant uprising in his province, but Sonten’s peasants are far too downtrodden. They wouldn’t have the strength to revolt. No. It’s far more likely the young blade was raiding, or maybe dueling with an opponent too skilled for him. Sonten would have invented the story to save face.”
He chuckled derisively. “Serves them both right. Sonten’s a self-serving, vicious bastard, and Jaskin was turning out the same.”