by Cas Peace
The onset of searing agony ripped through her, shattering her dream. The force of a loud boom pressed against her ears. She thrashed and yelled, gripping her head in her hands to stop her skull from splitting apart. She instinctively burrowed into her psyche, blindly seeking refuge in the depths of her power.
It lapped about her, protecting her from the worst of the pain. Ignorant of its cause, Sullyan lay gasping. The sudden movement had made her injured wrist throb and she feared she had undone some of the healing. When she was certain her body had sustained no further damage, she opened her eyes, blinking and shying away from a dark shape looming over her.
She felt a hand touch her shoulder—Rienne’s hand. As her vision cleared, Sullyan could see the healer was speaking, but she still had her hands clamped over her ringing ears. She forced her hands down, wincing as the healer’s worried tones echoed in her mind.
“Sullyan, are you alright? What on earth was that noise? Surely it can’t have been thunder?”
Still struggling to recover, Sullyan didn’t reply. The blast—if that’s what it was—must have been truly huge if Rienne had felt it. Or maybe the healer was only getting an echo of what Sullyan had felt. Rienne’s arm slid around Sullyan’s shoulders, and she used the support to help her sit.
“What is it, Brynne? What’s happened?”
Soothed by her metaforce, the pain in her head was subsiding. Sullyan rose with Rienne’s aid, mindful of her throbbing left arm. “Pass me my robe,” she croaked. Rienne complied and helped her tie it around her waist.
“Please tell me what’s wrong!”
Rienne’s voice wavered with fear, yet reassurance would have to wait. Sullyan knew time was of the essence. If the shock was what she feared, others would be in desperate need of her aid. She had been lucky; her metaforce had shielded her.
“Oh,” she moaned, “I hope the others shielded in time!”
She staggered toward the door as Rienne grabbed her own robe to follow her out.
The passageway was in uproar. Servants with torches rushed about, and somewhere someone was screaming. Ignoring the confusion, Sullyan made straight for the room allotted to Bull and Taran. She flung the door open and rushed in. Both men lay collapsed in their beds, Bull moaning softly and Taran deathly still. Panting with exertion, Sullyan sought their minds, giving a huge sigh of relief when she found that Taran was merely stunned. Bull was in pain but essentially undamaged.
“Rienne, stay with them. They are alright, but if you have any willow extract to numb their pain, they will be in your debt forever. Save some for me, if you can.” She turned to leave the room.
“Where are you going?” cried Rienne, but Sullyan had no time for explanations.
She ran to Pharikian’s chambers, pushing past his page and barging in without ceremony. She went cold when she saw the ruler of Andaryon laid out on the floor, blood coming from his ears. She bent to examine him, immediately realizing that he had protected his mind at the expense of his body. It was only his eardrums that had suffered. Gently, she helped him back to consciousness and got him sitting up. The door swung open and his senior page appeared, white faced, shocked, and frightened.
“Norkis, tend to his Majesty. He will be alright in a few moments. Get him something to drink. Tell him I am dealing with it.”
Without waiting for his nod, she left.
Marik’s rooms were next, but neither he nor Idrimar were there. She ran on through the dimly lit corridors, wondering where she would find any of the generals at this early hour. Not all of them would have been abed, of that she was sure. The problem was solved for her when she suddenly saw one of Kryp’s lieutenants running toward her.
He skidded to a gasping halt. “Oh, Lady, can you come? General Kryp’s had some kind of attack. Ephan, too. I think they could be dead.”
She urged the man on and soon found Kryp and Ephan both lying silent and ominously still on the council chamber floor. Examining Kryp first, she could see there was no hope. The man’s brain was charred; clearly he had not been quick enough to shield. Ephan was another matter; he was in a bad way, but she thought there might be enough to salvage.
Working fast, ignoring the blinding, jagged migraine stabbing in her own head, she cocooned and sealed Ephan’s damaged mind within a protective barrier of his own metaforce. He would have to wait until she felt stronger before she could help him any further.
The lieutenant was bending over Kryp, clearly distraught. Roughly, she pulled him upright, too urgent for soft words. “Kryp is dead, man, but Ephan needs your help. Keep him warm and comfortable and move him to his bedchamber as soon as you can. We will do more for him later.” She gave the traumatized man a shake. “Can you do that?”
He nodded dumbly.
“Where will I find Anjer?” she asked, but the lieutenant shook his head. She bit back a curse and left the chamber at a run.
Back out in the corridor the wall sconces were being lit. Clearly someone was trying to restore order. One of the calmer servants directed Sullyan to Anjer’s private chambers. Entering the suite without knocking, she opened the bedchamber door, startling a naked Torien who was weeping by her husband’s side. Anjer, also naked, lay unconscious in the great bed, and it was all too obvious to Sullyan what the two had been doing when the shockwave had struck.
Torien was hysterical and completely unaware of her state of undress.
“Oh, Lady Brynne, thank the gods!” she wailed, throwing herself into Sullyan’s arms. “Anjer’s collapsed! I don’t know what happened. We weren’t doing anything … excessive. He just screamed and went still. I think he’s dead! What am I going to do?”
Sullyan pushed her away and went to Anjer’s side, placing her hands on his sweat-sheened face. She shot Torien a sharp look. “Get a robe on.”
The young woman whimpered and stumbled toward her robe, one hand clamped to her mouth.
Turning back to Anjer, Sullyan had to probe deeply to find his consciousness. Because he had been otherwise occupied at the time of the blast, he had not shielded his mind and by rights should be dead. Sullyan’s probing, however, revealed a surprising fact. Anjer had been expending power to prevent Torien from conceiving as a result of their lovemaking. Unable to understand why he would—they were married, after all—Sullyan realized that this use of power had inadvertently protected Anjer’s mind. Although his consciousness was buried deep, it was still there.
She ran a weary hand over her face and sat on the bed, her mind still linked to Anjer. She absently covered Anjer’s rather magnificent body with the comforter. Torien had now belted her robe, which was just as well because the Hierarch suddenly entered the room. He was unsteady on his feet and looked haggard and old. Seeing that Sullyan was working he didn’t disturb her, but turned instead to the still-weeping Torien. Anjer’s wife flew into his arms and he murmured words of comfort.
Once Sullyan had done for Anjer what she had already done for Ephan, she turned to Pharikian. “How are you, Majesty?”
He managed a smile over Torien’s head. “I’m alright, Brynne. Or I will be, given time. How is Anjer?”
Sullyan glanced back down at the Lord General’s ashen face. “He will be well with expert care. Although I fear that none of the Artesans in the palace will be fit to give it for a while.” She paused. “Majesty, I regret to tell you that General Kryp is dead. He died instantly. Ephan is still with us, though. Do you know where I might find Marik and Deshan?”
The Hierarch’s face showed pain over the news about Kryp, but he replied steadily enough. “Deshan will be in the infirmary, I expect. Marik and Idri should be in their chambers. But what about you, Brynne? And have you any idea what caused all this?”
“I have a hellish headache, Majesty, as we all will for some time. As to what caused the shockwave, I very much fear that someone was attempting to use Rykan’s Staff, and lost control while working. They will almost certainly be dead, as will anyone else caught too close.”
She rose, try
ing to force down the pain. “I am afraid for Robin, Timar. Very afraid.”
As the Hierarch had said, Sullyan found Deshan in the infirmary. Because of the large number of Artesans in the Citadel, the infirmary was shielded by walls coated with spellsilver, just enough to block the effects of a substrate scream should an injured Artesan lose control. This protection meant that not only was Deshan unharmed, he was also completely unaware of events. Mercifully, Marik and Idrimar were also there, giving Deshan the opportunity to check Marik’s shoulder before the day’s work began.
Once Deshan learned what had happened, he abandoned his examination of Marik, gathered his healers, and went to tend the injured. He left strict instructions for Sullyan to stay there and rest, but she ignored him. She made her way back to Anjer’s chambers, this time knocking politely on the door.
Torien opened it, her face blotchy and streaked with tears. She ushered Sullyan into the room. “Oh, Brynne, he’s no better.”
“He will not be, Torien, not yet,” she soothed. “I had to shut him away inside himself for protection. Come, sit with him and take his hand. Let us see if we can wake him. Poor man, he will have a fearsome headache for days.”
The young woman anxiously followed Sullyan into the bedchamber and sat on the bed beside her husband, looking tiny and frail beside his massive frame. Sullyan sat on his other side, placing her hands on his temples. Probing deeply into Anjer’s mind, she let loose the bonds of his psyche and reached down to his consciousness. She could sense he was holding memories of the sudden, searing pain and was unwilling to surface. Sullyan coaxed and led and, eventually, he opened his eyes.
Torien immediately covered his face with kisses. “Oh, my love!”
Anjer looked bemused, then startled when he realized Sullyan was sitting next to him. She smiled faintly as she saw him glance down, relieved to find the bedclothes in place.
“You will be well,” she told him gently. “Sleep now. Let me help you. When you wake, you will have nothing more than a sore head. Do you understand?”
He gave a slight nod, and she turned to Torien. “Lady Torien, he needs to rest. You can stay by him, but let him sleep.”
Anjer’s tiny wife moved away as Sullyan effortlessly sent Anjer into a deep and healing sleep. She stood up to leave but then, struck by a thought, said, “Lady Torien, might I ask you a personal question?”
Torien nodded hesitantly.
“I do not mean to pry, but I confess I was surprised to learn that Anjer is preventing you from conceiving. Why is that? Do you not want children?”
Torien flushed in embarrassment and wrung her hands. “Anjer says I’m too small.”
“To bear his child?”
Torien nodded unhappily.
“But you both want children?”
“Oh, yes, Lady Brynne! I want to give him a son more than anything. I told him we weren’t suited when we wed, but we were so much in love. We still are, but now I feel I’m letting him down. And he’s not getting any younger, and I’m so afraid that he …” Blushing brightly, she trailed off.
Sullyan gave an indelicate snort. “You need have no fear for your husband’s capabilities, Torien. He will remain lusty for many years yet.”
The young woman flushed even deeper and looked away. Sullyan smiled. “Forgive me for being so forthright, but I have lived among men my whole life. Such things hold no embarrassment for me. Let me assure you, it would be perfectly safe for you to bear the Lord General a child. It would likely be a robust child, especially if it was male, but it should not be too much for you. Deshan could have confirmed this for you had you asked. My advice would be for you and Anjer to pick up where you left off, this time without the restrictions. Tell him so when he wakes, Torien. It might just take the edge off his headache!”
She left, an image of Torien’s flaming face and blissfully happy smile in her mind. It gladdened her to think that someone in this Citadel would find happiness today.
She returned to Bull and Taran, who had both taken Marik’s old suite across the passage. When Sullyan entered, Rienne was mixing a concoction of willow extract. The healer glanced up as Sullyan appeared, took one look at her, and wordlessly handed her the cup. Sullyan took it and regarded the mixture dubiously. She knew how bad it would taste.
“Go on,” growled Bull from where he sat propped and pale among the pillows. “We’ve all had to. Why should you be different?”
Knowing he was right, she swallowed the cup’s contents in one go. The flavor caused her to glance in startlement at Rienne. The healer and the two men burst out laughing, although Taran groaned afterwards.
“You should see your face!” said Rienne.
Sullyan grinned ruefully. “At last someone has found a decent use for that firewater you love so much, Bull. I have never heard of medicine tasting pleasant. Rienne, you must give Deshan the idea. Most of his potions taste foul.”
She sat on Taran’s bed while the willow took effect, her metasenses helping it through her system. As she waited, she explained what she thought must have happened. She was unable to hide her fear for Robin, which prompted Bull to ask, “Do you have any idea who was using the Staff at the time?”
She shook her head, and then wished she had not. The pain was abating, but she was still very sore. “It was not Robin, that is all I can say. Bull, I hesitate to ask this—your head must be as tender as mine—but can you sense him at all? Anyone who was in close proximity to that blast must surely have been injured, at the very least. And if it occurred within a substrate structure …” She trailed off, too appalled to say it.
She watched as Bull gathered his wits and tried a tentative call to Robin. He shook his head; no response. Breathing heavily, he tried again while Sullyan absently massaged her aching left hand.
After a few minutes, he grimaced. “No, there’s nothing. Wait! Was that a glimpse of his pattern?”
He closed his eyes to aid concentration. Sullyan held her breath.
Bull’s urgency showed on his face as he stretched himself to the limit. “It’s gone. Maybe I imagined … No! I’ve got it. He’s there. But he’s not conscious. And I can’t tell if he’s damaged or not.”
Relieved, Sullyan nodded. At least he was still alive.
Rienne fidgeted in her chair. “Bull? Any trace of Cal?”
“Oh, dear heart, forgive me! I should have thought. Let me just …” After a few more minutes, he smiled. “Yes, Rienne, I can sense him. He’s unconscious too, though. Sully, what the Void has happened?”
But Sullyan could only speculate. She hated feeling so intensely helpless.
*****
Only three people in the entire village of Hyecombe were undamaged by the implosion of Heron’s tunnel. One of them was the man responsible for the catastrophe, and he was in no state to worry about it.
Following his calamitous expenditure of power, Cal had once again lapsed into unconsciousness. He was totally unaware of the devastation he had caused. The tiny portion of his mind that had retained the ability to reason had been surprised by the depth of power he had managed to call up. Had he been lucid at the time, he would have realized it wasn’t his own. However, as well as dampening his pain and protecting his mind, the intense rush of metaforce had put him to sleep, so Cal was blissfully unaware of the destruction around him.
The twin giants, Almid and Kester, were protected by their proximity to Cal. They had ducked to the floor when the windows blew in and were showered with glass and rubble, but due to Cal’s instinctive blanket shield they were otherwise unharmed.
After shaking dust and debris from their backs and releasing Cal from the rest of the ropes binding him, they lifted him carefully from the chair and carried him into Taran’s sleeping room. Almid cleared glass shards from the bed and Kester laid Cal down. Then they went outside to look at the carnage. It was not quite daylight, but they could see that the street containing Taran’s house was not as damaged as the main street. Sonten’s wall of rubble had collapsed,
and all the houses had broken windows, but only one of the buildings had come down.
The main street was another matter. Those houses directly in the path of the blast had been completely destroyed, and all the rest had lost doors, windows, and most of their roofs. There was dust, rubble, glass, and splintered wood everywhere. A gritty, musty smell hung in the air. There were also bodies, some lying still, some twitching or staggering to their feet. There was the sound of groaning, coughing, and spluttering. Some of the bodies were buried or half-buried by fallen masonry.
With unspoken agreement, Kester returned to the cottage to watch over Cal while Almid searched for Ky-shan.
Frowning in confusion, Almid picked his way toward what looked like a large crater in the ground. This marked the center of the blast, and there were dead horses and dead men inside it. All of the men were Andaryans, but none of them were seamen.
Almid turned away. Walking gingerly up the street toward the tavern, he suddenly heard a shout. Looking up quickly, he saw a crowd of villagers and half a dozen soldiers coming down the street toward him. As they came closer, he recognized Captain Parren at their head. The man was grinning savagely.
Baring his teeth, Almid reached for his sword.
*****
Parren could hardly believe his luck. He, along with some fifty of his men and a handful of villagers, were inside the tavern at the time of the blast. Though they had all been blown to the floor, they had all suffered only temporary deafness and pain. Ears still ringing, Parren had led them outside and saw that things could have been much, much worse. He smiled at the thought. With any luck, the troublesome Robin Tamsen had been caught by the blast and might already be dead. And if he wasn’t, then who was to say that the hole in his hide—the one Parren intended to give him—had not come from an enemy blade? There would be no witnesses to gainsay Parren’s account.