by Cas Peace
When all was in place, she stood at the Albian mouth of the tunnel and watched as Pharikian strode into its center. Reaching the place of neutrality, he stooped and placed the artifact he carried gently on the ground. He straightened and caught her gaze, the intensity of his stare conveying his love and trust. There were no words this time—they had already been said. The only uncertainty was how the Staff’s destruction would affect its surroundings.
As soon as the Hierarch returned to his position beside Deshan and all the watchers were protected under shields of Earth, Sullyan entered the structure. When she reached the structure’s center, she bent down and picked up the Staff.
There was no flickering blue-green light. In fact, the Staff did not react at all. It contained very little in the way of energy because Sullyan had already drained it. It was now simply an empty repository for metaforce.
Not knowing how long the process might take, Sullyan sat upon the ground. She laid the Staff in her lap and briefly checked that Robin, Pharikian, and Blaine were ready. Then she cast her metasenses into the artifact. She had thought long and hard about the best way to do this. The Staff’s construction meant it would be almost impossible to break or damage by physical means, so the only sure way was to overload it, causing it to shatter from the inside from a surfeit of metaphysical forces. The heaviest and strongest element was Earth, and so Sullyan intended to draw on that power, pouring it into the Staff until she breached its capacity and it burst.
The advantage of this plan was that Earth was an abundant force. She could summon it from the ground almost indefinitely. The only restriction was her own limitations. As Master-elite, her control over Earth went back many years, and she was confident she would never lose her hold on the element, no matter how the Staff behaved. The only question in her mind was whether the materials present in the Staff would exert an influence over the forces that filled it. This influence, coupled with the risks involved in detonating that much power inside a substrate tunnel, was the only unknown Sullyan faced. She also had to defend herself against the detonation itself.
Reaching into her restored psyche, Sullyan surrounded herself in her pattern’s familiar folds. She experienced the same glowing feeling she always did when immersed in her own metaforce. Amber and puissant, it flowed around her, buoying her soul. She smiled, at one with her own existence. A tendril of power flowed out, connecting her to the ground beneath her. Immediately, she felt the thrum of Earth—the solidity of bedrock, the rhythm of molten lava deep, deep underground. Images flashed through her mind of great, volcanic upheavals, long periods of static inactivity, the sudden heat of a steam vent forming, and the tiny rustling sounds of roots through soil. This was Earth, this was the Power that shaped the World, and it was hers to command.
Unbidden, the memory of Taran’s reaction when he first experienced the level of power she controlled crept into her mind. She clearly recalled her own amazement at such dizzying feelings of supremacy. It was the glory and the danger of the Artesan gift, and it made the development of self-control so vital.
Having permitted herself that brief, savoring moment, Sullyan turned her attention to channeling the Earth power into the Staff. She envisioned it as a deep receptacle, one that could soak up immeasurable amounts of force. As the power levels rose, the familiar blue-green light began to flicker over the ceramic casing and the artifact grew warm in her hands.
*****
The Hierarch kept a close eye on what was occurring inside the construct. He felt Sullyan increase her pull on the element of Earth and saw with satisfaction how the Staff greedily accepted wave after wave of power. The light was increasing, causing the entire tunnel to glow, and he gestured for Deshan to step farther away. Blaine and Robin did the same for the onlookers at the Albian end.
As the minutes paced on, the thrum of Earth power grew stronger until it could be felt in both realms. The tunnel was beginning to resonate with the rising beat of Earth, and he wasn’t sure how this would affect its stability. Little coruscations of light flickered along its length, a sure sign of outward pressure, and he increased his grip, forcing it back under control. He had already anchored it deep into the rocks beneath the Citadel Plains, but he checked those ties again, shoring them up against any sudden pull. Satisfied, he turned back to Sullyan.
*****
The flow of Earth power moved faster and faster as it disappeared into the maw of the Staff. Sullyan was surprised at the amount the device had taken, was still taking. Like an infinite void, the small artifact drew in and swallowed every vestige of power she could raise. This was way beyond her experience, and she felt an almost envious awe of whoever had fashioned such a potent, voracious thing. What must their capacity be like if they were capable of envisioning such a device, let alone creating it? What control must they have to be able to manipulate such forces and shape them into such a delicate-looking object?
She wondered what that person’s mind would feel like. It could not be like hers, for she could never imagine a need or desire that would lead her to conceive such a weapon. Surely the Staff’s creator must be a monster, someone flawed, truly a renegade Artesan? Surely no sane person would be capable of bringing into existence such a terrible thing?
And still it sucked up power. Sullyan was beginning to tire. How much longer could this feeding go on? She was aware of the tunnel’s trembling, the deep shudders that rumbled through the ground. She trusted Pharikian, Blaine, and Robin to hold the structure firm, but spared a moment of concern for the wider effects of her work. How far would these tremors reach? She could not bear to think she might damage the Manor.
This worry gave her strength, and she made a strenuous effort to limit the field of her power stream. Obedient if sluggish, the Earth power responded, but its narrower stream rushed faster than ever into the Staff’s eager maw. Now she could see some effect. The weapon grew hotter, and its light began to blaze. This was closer to how it had felt when she had used it last time. Finally, she was reaching its limit.
The light flaring from the Staff was becoming too bright for her eyes. Taking it into her left hand, she held it away from her, shielding her sight. But the dazzling nimbus suddenly pulsed out from the weapon, blossoming to fill the entire length of the tunnel. She was caught in a space made of blinding white light.
The beat of her heart increased, gaining tempo with the rush of Earth power. She was connected to the stream pouring endlessly into the Staff, and her blood froze when she realized she couldn’t pull out. Refusing to panic, she reached for her psyche, the breath choking in her throat when she found she couldn’t touch it. Fear rose like bile, swamping her in nausea, and the panic that had threatened broke loose.
She struggled, straining to cut herself free from the element of Earth. But the force had subtly changed and she was no longer in control. Somewhere along the way the Staff had taken over and locked Sullyan’s personal forces into the stream. Now she was irretrievably linked, and nothing she did could break her free.
Her body gave a great judder and she realized she was floating. There was nothing beneath her and nothing above. A scream of sheer terror forced its way out of her throat, but there was nothing to hear. She was pure Earth power, primal element, and there was no destination but the Staff. Whiteness engulfed her, both inside and out, and her awareness bled into it until nothing was left.
*****
Rienne, watching from the circle of Taran’s comforting arms, saw the Staff flare brightly. She saw Sullyan hold it to one side, trying to shield her eyes. She watched, alarmed, as the tunnel turned opaque, cutting Sullyan off from their sight. She shivered. How she wished it were Cal here with her giving her comfort, but he was still recovering in their rooms at the Manor. She glanced up at Taran, but his attention was fixed upon Robin standing next to General Blaine. She felt Taran stiffen and followed the line of his gaze. The General and Robin had shifted slightly, the angle of their bodies suggesting great strain. Rienne’s heart began to thump, and
only then did she realize she could no longer feel the thrum of Earth power. What was going on?
“Watch out!”
The roar came from the General, and Rienne gasped as Taran spun her around and forced her to run. She had no time to protest or look back at what was causing the ominous creaking that grew shriller with every stride she took.
“Get down! It’s going to—”
A massive boom rolled over Rienne, throwing her to the ground. Taran tumbled on top of her, wrenching her arm as he was flung head-over-feet. The rushing sound turned into a whirlwind that whipped at her hair and clothes, pelting her with bits of twig, soil, and small stones, flinging bundles of shredded leaves in her face. She rolled onto her belly, raising her arms to cover her head, and prayed it would stop.
The ground bucked as another loud boom sounded, but then everything went quiet. Unsure if it was over, Rienne cautiously raised her head. When things remained still, she pushed herself to her knees and looked back over her shoulder. General Blaine and Robin were staggering to their feet, and she could see Bull helping Taran to rise. The Adept had a nasty bruise on his temple, but he seemed alright.
“Brynne?”
The sound of her own voice surprised Rienne. She hadn’t intended to speak. She strained her eyes, but there was no sign of the trans-Veil tunnel. No sign of Sullyan, either. All she could see was Blaine and Robin standing there, staring at something on the ground.
No, not on the ground. As Rienne rose with Bull assisting her, she could just make out what looked like a depression in the earth. She stumbled closer, Bull and Taran trailing her. Just as she got close enough to see, Pharikian and Deshan appeared out of a portway some distance away. They sprinted toward the Albians, none of whom could believe their eyes.
A huge crater, its steep sides and smooth floor glittering with a blue-green sheen, had appeared where the tunnel had been. Rienne stared at the faces around her, each one mirroring her confusion and fear. A light pall of dust rose into the air from the crater, but of Sullyan there was no sign.
Chapter Nineteen
It was a grim party that assembled in General Blaine’s office later that morning. Pharikian and Deshan sat with their heads bowed, untouched fellan by their sides. Both had drawn faces, fatigue having taken its toll. The General sat behind his desk, taking refuge, Rienne thought, in the familiar. Bull and Taran sat close to Robin, both watching the stricken young man carefully. He was holding himself together for the moment, but Rienne could only wonder how long his strength would last. He had already pushed himself to his limits helping the two Andaryans scour the Veils for signs of Sullyan. They had found nothing, not even the tiniest clue, and when they had finally admitted defeat, Robin had had to be forcibly dragged back to the Manor.
For herself, Rienne took what comfort she could from Cal’s embrace. He was being very attentive. His presence was a support, but even his loving care couldn’t ease the ache in her heart. She couldn’t begin to imagine what would happen now.
The Hierarch spoke into the strained silence, his voice sounding harsh and old. “Will you send a runner to King Elias? Will he cancel his visit?”
The General lifted his head, his eyes unfocused. His hand strayed automatically to his mug, fingers wrapping around it as if seeking answers from the warmth.
“I have already sent a runner to intercept his Majesty’s party, informing him of today’s events. I don’t expect him to cancel, though. Major Sullyan’s … disappearance will not affect the Manor’s routine.”
“What?”
Robin’s sharp tone made Rienne jump. The young man had straightened from his slumped posture and now stared incredulously at the General.
“How can it not affect the Manor’s routine? You can’t seriously expect us to carry on as if nothing has happened? You can’t expect us to put on a show for the King, entertain him and line up for inspection, and just forget the fact that we’ve lost her?”
His words caused a lump to rise in Rienne’s throat. An image flashed in her mind, the memory of that empty, smoking hole in the ground. They had lost her. Sullyan was gone. It was impossible to believe.
Blaine cleared his throat and stood. Everyone gave him their attention. “Your Majesty, gentlemen, that is exactly what I expect. We have our duties. Major Sullyan would be the first to acknowledge that. The arrangements for tomorrow still stand. Once the day is over, we will resume our search for the Major.”
Robin leaped to his feet. “And in the meantime, she could be anywhere, suffering gods know what!” Bull tried to restrain him, but the Captain flung him off. “Well, I for one don’t intend to abandon her. I don’t care if it takes the very last ounce of strength I possess—I will not stop looking until I find her. Or die trying!”
Robin stalked from the room. He managed to avoid slamming the door, and Rienne was almost sorry. The noise would have been a distraction.
“I’ll go after him, General,” offered Bull. “The strain has affected his judgment. He didn’t mean that bit about abandoning her.”
Blaine made a weary gesture and Bull left the room. The General sat back down, lines of worry etched deep on his face.
Pharikian sighed and caught his eye. “No one will abandon her, Lord Blaine, not until we have done everything we can think of. We will not give up, I can assure you of that.”
Blaine nodded and his shoulders sagged. “Will you return to Andaryon now, Majesty? I am sure you need to rest. And Elias would understand should you wish to postpone tomorrow’s trade negotiations. He will be as disturbed as the rest of us by today’s events.” His gaze went to the door through which Robin had disappeared.
Pharikian and Deshan stood, the Hierarch seeming to have lost some of his vigor. “We will return tomorrow as agreed, my Lord. You were right; Brynne Sullyan would not thank us for allowing this situation to interfere with improving relations between our realms. Especially if this was the intention of the Staff’s creator. We cannot permit renegades to dictate our actions.”
“I agree, Majesty, and thank you. I know King Elias will appreciate your dedication. All will be ready for you on your return. The Manor is honored to host this most auspicious occasion.”
Blaine summoned an honor guard and left with the two high-ranking Andaryans, personally escorting them from the Manor. Rienne, with Cal and Taran, made her way to their suite of rooms, heart sore for Sullyan and wondering what would become of them now she was gone.
*****
Baron Reen sat his pacer just to the rear of the King’s horse. Elias’s honor guard ranged around them, alert as ever for signs of danger. They had made good time since leaving Loxton Castle, cutting the normally three-day journey down to two. There was an eagerness to Elias that had been absent at the Castle, and Reen could only assume that the Queen was right, that Elias enjoyed his visits to the Manor. The Baron supposed any excuse to take a break from the everyday business of ruling Albia was welcome, and Elias was bound to feel gratitude toward the man who had helped him quell the civil rebellion ten years ago. By all accounts, Prince Elias, as he was then, might well have been killed along with King Kandaran had Mathias Blaine not championed his cause.
What favors might Blaine secure from a grateful King? What liberties might such a favored man take? What influences might he exert? Surely those influences could extend to gaining the King’s tolerance toward those with arcane and blasphemous powers? Or was it Elias’s own inclination to tolerate them?
These thoughts took the Baron’s mind from the tedium of the journey. He preferred a carriage to riding horseback. It was far more dignified. Why Elias felt the need to expose himself to the weather like this, Reen could not understand. But then, he understood little about Elias. His Queen, on the other hand—ah, she was a different story.
Just ahead of the Baron, the thirty-year-old King Elias sat his charger with ease. He was dressed soberly, his dark red riding cloak only subtly trimmed with gold. His left hand held his reins lightly, while the other rested on t
he pommel of his sword. He glanced about him constantly as he rode, adding his vigilance to that of his Guardsmen. Although he had lost some of the tension he often exhibited at the Castle, his body still radiated alertness. Reen might have his suspicions concerning the piety of Sofira’s husband, but he knew he should not underestimate Elias’s lively mind.
When the young Elias unexpectedly succeeded in reclaiming his murdered father’s throne, Reen knew that many influential lords were dismayed by both the acuity of the new King’s mental faculties and the liberality of his attitudes. Some of these lords had been involved in Kandaran’s murder, and many of them came to regret the untimely death of his father. Elias discounted nothing that might be useful to him, refused to be blinkered by prejudice, and laughed in the face of superstition. He was also a shrewd judge of character. Most of his closest councilors supported him wholeheartedly, and those who did not learned very quickly to guard their tongues if they wanted to keep their positions.
Yet the machinations of lords and councilors interested Reen very little. He needed no other support than that supplied by his position as Sofira’s mentor and confidante. No. Reen’s interests lay in protecting and promoting Albia’s foremost religion, the Faith of the Wheel. He was a regular visitor to Port Loxton’s Minster, the seat of Albia’s Matria Church, and counted Arch-Patrio Neremiah among his closest friends. He and the Queen attended every service the Arch-Patrio led, and Sofira did her best to see that Elias attended too.
It seemed to the Baron that Elias found far too many excuses not to attend. Surely Albia’s High King should set a better example to his people? How were they to convince the populace to attend services if their King rarely did? And how could the Church encourage faithfulness, loyalty, and piety in its followers if the King showed favor to those who practiced blasphemous and arcane arts?
His horse snorted and snatched at the reins, and Reen made an effort to unclench his fists. He hadn’t realized he had let himself go that far. He really ought to be more careful. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the anger in his breast.