by Cas Peace
The hook was in. Inwardly Reen was laughing, but he replied seriously enough. “The reward for loyal service would be great, although much would depend on the personal ambitions of the informant, as well as the quality of the information. But opportunities for advancement would be many, for our cause has some powerful adherents. Some of them hold—what shall I say?—exalted positions at court.”
As he said this, he looked Parren full in the eyes, completely capturing the young man’s attention. Lowering his voice, causing Parren to lean toward him, he added, “Where resides our greatest benefactress.”
Parren’s gaze was held long enough for him to fully realize the import of Reen’s words. Seeing shocked comprehension dawn in those pallid green eyes, the Baron continued. “As you see, Captain, I spoke nothing less than the truth. The potential for favor and advancement is bounded only by the limitations of the informant.”
He could see that Parren was well and truly caught. The implied lure of gold and power had done its work once more. Still the young man hesitated, and Reen had to admire his tenacity. There must be a core of deeply-seated distrust in Parren’s soul to make him still suspicious after all Reen had said.
“That’s all well and good, but you don’t know what these people are like. They’re powerful—they’re untouchable! They can read minds and sense things before they happen. How on earth can normal people fight against that?”
A valid point, thought Reen. If Parren had been even mildly nobly born, and able to overcome his selfish and abrasive nature, he might have made a useful courtier. Still, a sword didn’t have to be made of the finest steel to kill a man. Iron worked just as well.
Keeping his voice low, he said, “Do you think we haven’t thought about this? Do you think we don’t have plans in place? There are ways to fight arcane powers, you know. These so-called Artesans are not invincible.”
“But—”
“Do not presume to question me!” Reen deliberately let his anger show, knowing his quarry was caught. “It should be enough for you to know that there are ways. You are a simple Captain. Judging by today’s events, you are likely to remain so to the end of your days. Think yourself fortunate that you have been given an opportunity to rise far above your lot in life. Are you willing to take a stand for what you know is right, or will you creep cravenly away? Which do you want, Captain? Acclaim and glory, or a wasted life?”
Parren remained silent and Reen said no more, confident he had done everything necessary. He moved slowly away, but after a few steps he added over his shoulder, “Think about what you have heard. There is no doubt in my mind that you were unjustly slighted today, and that you deserve far more than you received. We could easily redress that situation, but the decision—and your future—rests in your hands. Should you wish to speak with me further, send a runner to Baron Reen.
“Captain,” he emphasized the title, indicating that it could easily be more impressive, “I bid you good day.”
*****
Before departing for Port Loxton early the following day, High King Elias had one more surprise for Sullyan. In a private meeting, much to her astonishment, he revealed his plans to build a college dedicated to the training of Artesans. The college would be situated within the Manor grounds, for the specific reason that Elias wanted Sullyan to be its administrator.
Once she recovered from her amazement, the prospect filled Sullyan with elation. Yes, it would mean extra duties on top of her other commitments, but Elias assured her he had already spoken with General Blaine and that he was willing to grant Elias his wish. She could hardly refuse when providing such training had been a long-held personal desire. Elias left, promising to begin work on the new college building as soon as possible, and also to give serious consideration to the theories he had heard concerning the Staff.
Elias was of the opinion that once news of the college was made public, some rats would be flushed from their holes. That is, if the Staff’s destruction hadn’t already accomplished this. He agreed to set up a network of informants to watch those nobles he considered most likely to rebel. Elias’s new and rapidly widening runner system—a stable of Oath-sworn and dedicated messengers answerable solely to the King—would ensure secure and private communications. Until they had some solid evidence to act upon, there was little else the King could do.
Pharikian and his entourage left at the same time, the two monarchs taking a most cordial farewell. The Hierarch took with him a list of possible trade items. He and Deshan bade Sullyan an emotional farewell, extracting a promise that she and her friends would visit before too long.
Just before the King’s departure, Baron Reen received a hastily worded request. Smiling malevolently, he managed to find time to meet once again with a certain disaffected young Captain. They spoke in secret, conducting a curt but mutually satisfying interview at which a certain amount of gold changed hands. They parted, one more than satisfied with a weighty purse tucked into his jacket, the other feeling more optimistic about the future of his plans.
Reen just had one more act to accomplish. He deliberately sought out the newly promoted Major Tamsen. Robin was surprised when the swarthy, dapper Baron chose to congratulate him on his recent successes. He was more surprised when the man made a point of shaking Robin’s hand, nearly crushing it in the process. The Baron unnecessarily prolonged the handshake, and his expression was curiously intense. When he finally clapped Robin on the back and moved away, the Major stared after him, a frown on his face. But then he was called to attend his duties and soon forgot the strange encounter.
The Baron rejoined the Albian royal party in his customary position at Elias’s elbow. He could not precisely be described as pleased by recent events, but he was at least sufficiently satisfied to be his usual caustic self as Elias’s entourage set off for the three-day return journey to Port Loxton.
*****
Two days after the King’s departure, a visitor came to Sullyan’s chambers. Robin was about his new afternoon duties as a Major, so she was alone when Taran tapped deferentially at her door. She welcomed him and took him through to her private rooms, where sunshine slanted warmly through the windows and the sounds of men drilling could faintly be heard outside. She could guess what was on his mind. She had been waiting for this, and had he not come to see her, she would have sent for him before the day was out. She would not preempt him, however, and was content to let him speak his mind in his own time.
Sitting opposite him, she sipped her drink. She knew he was watching her. She could clearly feel the strong undercurrent of desire that he always tried so hard to suppress. It seemed that his feelings for her were as deep as ever. There was nothing she could do about that, and she hoped that his emotions—and his embarrassment over them—would not get in the way of this conversation. Sensing him gathering courage, she dragged herself out of her thoughts.
Taran took a breath and said lamely, “You’re looking much better now.”
She resisted the impulse to laugh. “Why, thank you, Taran. I feel much improved.”
He glanced down before forcing himself to look at her. His aversion to what he had come to say was so strong it was almost visible. “I suppose it’s about time we left the Manor.” He was unable to hold her gaze and his eyes slid away. “Our part in all this is over now. There’s nothing more we can do to help. We shouldn’t presume any longer on the General’s goodwill.”
Falling silent, he stared down at his cup.
Sullyan sat very still. Casually, she asked, “Would you return to Hyecombe?”
His shoulders sagged and moisture gleamed in his eyes. “I … I don’t think we could. I’m sure Rienne would be welcome, but I doubt if any of them would be pleased to see me or Cal. Not after what happened.”
She tucked her legs beneath her. “Then where would you go?”
Taran looked thoroughly miserable. “I don’t know. We’d have to look for somewhere else, somewhere we’re not known. It won’t be easy, but Rienne’s skills
will help. I expect we’ll find somewhere.”
She remained silent for a moment longer before saying softly, “So, Adept Elijah, with no place to go to, why would you want to leave?”
His head snapped up and he frowned, his eyes still limpid with tears.
She was unable to curb her grin any longer. “Oh, Taran! Have you learned no better of me than that? You are a loved and a dear friend, as I have told you more than once. Did you not believe me? I owe my life to you and Rienne, even to Cal for his great courage in holding out against Sonten’s torment. Had he not, the Staff might well have been lost. Did you think I would not reward such sacrifice, such service? Did you really think I would abandon you, especially now, when the King has given us such support? But perhaps I have read you wrong. Do you not want to stay here and learn?”
His jaw dropped and he stared dumbly at her. Her smile grew wider, her amusement rising, and suddenly she was laughing almost helplessly. He hurriedly shut his mouth, shaking his head with a rueful grin. On impulse, she rose from the couch and crossed to him. Before he could react, she kissed him on the cheek. Startled, he responded, but she quickly drew back.
“Ah, forgive me, Taran, I should not have done that. Listen, my friend, and hear me well. I love you much as I love Rienne and Bulldog. It is a deep love, a true love, but it is not quite the love you desire. I am an emotional creature. All Artesans are, as well you know. We cannot help but sense the thoughts and desires of those closest to us, and your desires are very clear to me. No, do not be embarrassed. True love should be treasured, not suppressed, however inappropriate. But it should also be channeled and controlled.
“So let me speak frankly. Should you decide to stay with us, your life would not be easy. We would have to work very closely together, and you would have to remember that my heart is already pledged. I would never betray Robin, and you would have to accept that. But if it helps you, then let me say that the true love of my friendship is yours. It is my dearest wish to have you stay and help me run the college, for I think we could be a good team. I have already spoken to Rienne, and she has given me her answer. Now it is your turn. What do you say?”
Taran continued to stare at her, his hands trembling. It was clear he could barely believe what he was hearing. His breath rasped in his throat as he spoke.
“This is … overwhelming. Only a few months ago, I was a directionless drifter, untutored, afraid. Now, everything I ever wanted is being offered to me. Well, almost everything. Sullyan … Brynne, I—” His voice broke, his emotions spilling over. Unable to finish, he buried his face in his hands.
Sullyan regarded him with quiet sympathy before fetching him a clean cloth and a fresh cup of fellan.
“Shall I take that as a yes, then?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
There was one final occasion of note that summer. A few weeks after work had begun on the new college building, a formal message arrived for Sullyan from the Hierarch. Bearing his royal seal and also the seal of Duke Marik, it informed her of the coming marriage of the Princess Idrimar to Duke Marik. All their friends were invited to attend, and Sullyan, Robin, Rienne, and Cal were also invited to share the festivities in the most personal way possible, by agreeing to take their own life mate vows on the same day.
Overwhelmed by the generosity of this offer, there was no refusing.
It lacked but a week to Midsummer Day when the party from the Manor rode out. Sullyan and Robin led the way on Torka and Drum, followed by Cal and Rienne, both mounted on horses gifted to them by the General. Rienne’s was a pretty spotted mare with a gentle mouth and even paces. Cal’s was a tall iron-grey with a black mane and tail. They were followed by Taran, Bull, General Blaine, and Captain Dexter, and they were surrounded by twenty men from Sullyan’s own company.
To his unconfined delight, young Tad, who had recently been accepted as a cadet, was also there. His official title was squire, but he had been included because Sullyan had sensed the first stirrings of an Artesan’s power in his adolescent mind. On hearing this, Robin had stared at her in astonishment. He was even more surprised when she added, “I do believe you have your first Apprentice, Major.”
The young lad nearly fainted with joy when Robin told him the news. Already bursting with pride at becoming a cadet, Tad could hardly believe his good fortune. He would be the college’s first student, but more important to Tad was being chosen as Robin’s Apprentice, as he would now spend much of his time in his hero’s company.
Riding in a happy daze, Tad watched Robin construct the trans-Veil tunnel over the river. The party passed through in good order, emerging into scorching summer heat on the Citadel Plains.
Commander Barrin greeted them formally, personally leading the honor guard which escorted them to the Citadel. The lower town had been forewarned of their coming, and the Albians—Sullyan and Robin in particular—were greeted with great acclaim. Hearing their cheers, some even chanting her name, Sullyan could not help contrasting this entrance with her first arrival, when she and Robin had been subjected to suspicion and unfriendly stares. Now, it seemed that most of the trades people and residents had left their tasks to greet them, and the noise of their welcome followed the Albians through the streets.
Three days were spent in preparation before the wedding procession finally wound its way out of the Citadel gates, heading for the stone circle on the hill. The gnarled and ancient monoliths were adorned with garlands of summer flowers and wreathed with twined leaves. Their majestic heads reared toward the sky, looking like venerable wise men spreading approval over the party. Flowering branches were positioned by each great stone, and the gently convex lawn was strewn with bright petals.
A canopy of rich purple silk had been erected at the center of the circle, where Timar Pharikian stood. He was clothed in ceremonial robes, the gold gauze cloak he wore shimmering in the sunshine. His golden crown with its tangwyr crest glittered with fire opals on his brow. He smiled warmly at the three couples standing hand-fast before him, and the musicians and cheering fell silent.
Pharikian approached his daughter and her lord, taking up their right hands. He spoke traditional words of binding, loyalty, and acceptance, and they repeated his words for all to hear. Turning to each other with clasped right hands, they proclaimed their vows. Then they knelt and Pharikian called on Baron Gaslek, who approached bearing two gold rings, one set with amethysts, the other with fire opals.
Taking the fire opal ring, Pharikian gave it to Marik. The amethyst he gave to Idrimar. Ty Marik, Duke of Kymer, was confirmed in his position as second Heir to the Throne as he slipped the fire opal ring on Idrimar’s finger. He then accepted the amethyst from his bride and the marriage was done. While they stood and embraced, the whole Citadel could be heard voicing its pleasure as the horns of Pharikian’s heralds proclaimed the royal marriage.
Then it was the Albians’ turn. Robin and Sullyan, Cal and Rienne approached Pharikian together, listening while he spoke a variant of the traditional vows. These they repeated and then spoke their own personal vows, each to their partner. Then they knelt before Pharikian, and he laid hands on their heads in blessing as rings were exchanged.
The heralds’ silver horns rang out again, the people’s cheers added to their clarion voices. Three couples embraced, celebrating their union with kisses under the summer sun.
There was much feasting and celebration that night, for the royal wedding was as much a state occasion as a personal commitment, symbolizing not only the joining of two people very much in love, but also the unification of Cardon and Kymer with Caer Vellet.
There was, however, one among the invited guests who did not wish any of the happy couples well. A tall, black-haired noble from the north, this man did not approve of the proposed trade agreements between Andaryon and Albia, and he certainly was not well disposed toward the Albians present. Standing with his son on the edge of the crowded ballroom, he tried to hide his disapproval. Now was not the time to draw attention to himself.
He needed to think very carefully about his next move now that both men responsible for the rebellion were dead.
One of these he mourned, even though Rykan had slighted him. The other, he most certainly did not. Sonten had been a sycophant and a usurper, and the northern noble had rejoiced on hearing of the General’s demise. Death by the very artifact Sonten had tried to control was a fitting fate for so grasping a man. Yet, despite losing his most powerful rival in this power game, the noble had also lost a potential source of income. This displeased him. It would have given him much satisfaction to force Sonten to pay him for keeping his treachery secret. The General’s gold would have filled the hole in the noble’s coffers left by Rykan’s untimely demise.
However, that opportunity was gone. Of more immediate concern was the loss of contact with Rykan’s Albian ally, the Baron. The northern lord was desperate to re-establish the link, and his continuing failure had darkened his already sullen mood.
Glancing sourly at Kethro, his Artesan son, he wished for the thousandth time that the boy had inherited his father’s quick wits and ambition. One or the other might have sufficed, but the boy seemed to lack both. Rather, he had his mother’s insipid nature, and this angered the noble. Why, he thought irritably, couldn’t his son have been more like Tikhal’s heir, Rand? Now there was a young man whose attributes matched his inheritance.
This festive occasion, however, was not the time to allow his grudges to get the better of him. Tearing his gaze away from his son, who was watching the dancing and probably trying to screw up enough courage to ask one of the young ladies to partner him, the Lord beckoned imperiously to a wine bearer. He was forced to swerve abruptly aside as a laughing pair of dancers whirled past him, nearly colliding with his arm. He cursed and scowled in disapproval, barely acknowledging Cal’s apologetic nod. His outraged expression drew a curious glance from Cal, but the young Albian was apparently enjoying the day far too much to allow a stranger’s disgruntlement to depress him. With Rienne giggling in his arms, Cal continued the dance.