The Challenge: Circle of Conspiracy Trilogy (Artesans Series Book 4)

by Cas Peace

  He held her gaze before drawing his own sword. “It’s been a few years since ye had any decent instruction. Ye’ll be out of touch with the latest moves. Let’s see if ye remember what I taught ye. Unless ye’re too busy, of course?” He glanced around the assembled men, most of whom wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  Taran didn’t miss the anticipatory gleam in Denny’s eye as Sullyan shrugged. There was concern in her tone as she said, “I am happy to oblige you, Master, but are you sure this is a good time? I would not want to tire you. After all, you have just finished a training session.”

  Another audible gasp ran round the men, and Taran gathered it wasn’t a good idea to talk back to Master Ardoch.

  “Don’t cheek me, girl!” he barked, waving Sullyan into the arena as she swiftly braided her hair.

  The men crowded the rail to watch, Denny again leaning next to Taran. He was grinning. “Now the old bugger will get a run for his money.” Taran raised his brows. “Sullyan was always the Master’s star pupil,” Denny explained. “She amazed everyone when Blaine relented and let her start weapons training. She was only thirteen! But what no one knew was that she’d been watching our lessons for months, practicing alone with some old sword she’d found. The beauty of it was that ancient sword was twice as heavy as someone her size should have been using, so when the Master gave her one the correct weight, she was already far stronger than he thought. And no one had ever told Sullyan that most people used only their right hand. She’d been practicing with both hands and the first time she switched, the Master was so surprised she nearly disarmed him! No one’s ever done that, and he’s never forgotten it. Now he holds her up to the rest of us as some sort of paragon, but you won’t hear him praise her to her face. Some say she’s his equal now, but you’ll never get him to admit that either. Watch and learn, my friend. Watch and learn and judge for yourself.”

  Taran did. He had seen Sullyan fight and fence many times, both with inferior opponents and those more worthy of her. Master Ardoch, however, was something else. Age had not slowed him; he was as supple as a man in his thirties. His sinewy arms were strong, his grip sure. He was as graceful and agile as Sullyan, and the similarity of their styles was immediately apparent to Taran. He watched in fascination as they tried all manner of tricks and maneuvers to get the better of each other, but they were too evenly matched. Many a stroke was loudly appreciated by their audience, and they seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely.

  “Ach, ye’re too slow, girl,” Taran heard Ardoch accuse her. She had just neatly sidestepped a vicious swing which would have sheared off an arm had she not been so quick.

  “Quiet, old man,” she replied, driving him relentlessly backward until he was forced to disengage and slide away. “You talk too much.”

  They circled each other a while longer, testing out various moves, until a bell sounded in the distance. “Evening meal,” explained Denny when Taran turned enquiringly. The two combatants ceased their bout and raised their swords in the traditional salute before strolling back to the accompaniment of loud applause. They were scarcely out of breath.

  Master Ardoch had his arm about Sullyan’s shoulders. “Ye need to watch what ye eat, girl. Ye’re getting fat.”

  She grinned. “And you are getting old, Master.”

  This drew another gasp from the men, and even Denny looked shocked. Taran gathered that the subject of the Master’s age was taboo.

  The swordmaster narrowed his eyes. “Witch!”

  She merely smiled, according him a mocking courtly bow. “I thank you for the compliment, kind sir.”

  He roared with laughter and walked off in the direction of the barracks. “See ye at the fair, lass. Don’t ye lose me my money!”

  Chapter Eight

  The large hall where the senior officers dined and relaxed was deserted except for the serving lads. Sullyan chose a table by the wall, away from the open window and far enough from the door so they would not be overheard. They waited, exchanging small talk until their food was served. Taran and Sullyan had missed their noon meal due to the fight with the brigands, but until the appetizing smells hit him, Taran hadn’t realized how hungry he was.

  They dealt quickly with the food, and then settled back with fellan. Taran followed Denny’s example in adding a glass of amber brandy, but Sullyan, as usual, refused.

  “So, Owyn,” she began, “tell me what you have heard at court.”

  The young officer regarded her as he sipped his brandy. “There isn’t much,” he admitted, “and I’ve not heard anything specific. I do have a strong suspicion, although I wouldn’t mention it to anyone but you.”

  He hesitated, glancing apologetically at Taran. “I don’t mean to insult you, Captain, but I need to be sure. Sullyan, how far do you trust him?”

  Her eyes widened. “Taran? I trust him with my life, and have done on several occasions.” Taran colored at the vehemence of her tone. “Whatever you say, you can be sure that none of it will ever be broadcast from Taran’s lips.”

  Denny nodded. “That’s good enough for me.”

  He was silent a moment, considering his words. Sullyan held her peace, waiting him out. Eventually, he raised his eyes.

  “There’s one man here at court who makes no secret of his hatred for Artesans, and that hatred includes outlanders—all outlanders. He’s not alone in his opinions, I’ll grant you, but this man is more outspoken and influential than any of the others. He says what he likes with no fear of censure, and he’s doing his best to persuade the other nobles to his point of view. He’s gaining supporters and even has the backing of the clerics. He’s a prominent lay speaker at the Matria Church here in Loxton, and you must know that many Churchmen consider Artesans to be practitioners of witchcraft.”

  Sullyan nodded. “You speak of Baron Reen.”

  “Yes,” said Denny, “I thought you might already know about him. But what you might not know”—he leaned forward, lowering his voice—“is where he gets his power from, and why he’s immune to Elias’s anger. Reen is the Queen’s man through and through, and it’s widely accepted that his opinions are also hers. We call him the Queen’s Kitten, although not to his face, of course! He’s her countryman and was her personal advisor when she lived at her father’s court. Word is she refused to be parted from him, and so he came here with her retinue when she wed Elias four years ago.”

  “Owyn, are you suggesting that the Queen is actively opposed to Artesans? How can that be, when Elias so openly supports us?”

  Denny shrugged. “She would never publicly speak against him, of course, but her mouthpiece can. And Elias can’t touch Reen without implicating her. That’s how the Baron gets away with voicing his opinions, and it’s why he follows Elias everywhere. He’ll be among your party when you return to the Manor, mark my words. He’s the Queen’s spy, and he makes sure she knows everything Elias does or says.

  “Elias hates him, of course, but he has to tolerate him. The Queen relies on Reen for everything, and he never leaves her side, except to accompany the King. Elias has learned to accept it. After all, it’s much better to know the spy in your camp than to be wary of everyone.”

  Sullyan clearly didn’t like what she was hearing. “We had already guessed some of this. The Baron was extremely uncomfortable when he attended the Hierarch’s confirmation ceremony with the King last year. I believe he even had to sit with some of the Andaryan nobles at dinner that night. Given his hatred of outlanders, it is no wonder his stomach rebelled. It would have been interesting to see his face.”

  Denny snorted. “I’d be amazed if he managed to eat anything at all. The man’s so prejudiced he wouldn’t accept water from an outlander if he was dying of thirst. But weren’t you at that dinner? I thought you dined regularly with royalty these days?”

  Sullyan’s face hardened at his lighthearted reference to that painful time, but she carried it off well enough. “The food was a little rich for me that night, Owyn. Does the Baron have many suppor
ters among Elias’s counselors?”

  “There are those who share his views, though they don’t voice them openly. He doesn’t really need supporters as long as he has the Queen. Sofira thinks so highly of him that she even permits him his own guardsmen.” The young officer grimaced and sipped his brandy. “He doesn’t flaunt them under the King’s nose, though. They’re quartered at his mansion just outside the city.”

  He leaned forward to whisper once more. “The Queen is not widely liked at court, you know. Even Elias doesn’t seek her company. It was a political alliance, a marriage of convenience. There’s no love there, believe me.”

  “But they have children, don’t they?” asked Taran. “Surely they can’t hate each other that much.”

  Denny rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course they have children! A girl of three and a boy born last year. But what does that have to do with anything? If Elias didn’t do his duty and give her children, her father wouldn’t think it much of an alliance, would he? And Elias has to have an heir. Anyway, you don’t need to like someone to lie with them and get children.”

  “No,” murmured Sullyan, her face pale. “You do not.”

  “Are you all right?” asked Denny, noticing her sudden pallor. Taran sympathized, wondering if she would ever get over what Rykan did to her.

  She shook herself. “Yes, I thank you. Your words have given me much to think on. I hesitate to ask this, but would you keep your eyes and ears open for us at court? Any information you might pick up could be very useful.”

  “Of course I will, you don’t need to ask. You helped me often enough when I needed it. I’m happy to return the favor.”

  Leaving Denny to his brandy, Taran and Sullyan strolled back to the castle in the dusky light. The sunset’s pink glow promised a fine day for the fair. Mounting the castle steps, Taran turned to Sullyan and asked about Denny’s reference to needing her help.

  Sullyan smiled at a private memory. “Owyn Denny has done well for himself since transferring to the castle, but he was not a natural soldier. He was among my cadet group, and his good nature often made him the butt of practical jokes. Denny is a master of such tricks himself, so they did not trouble him, but he did fear he might not pass the training course if some of his more serious rivals sabotaged his efforts in the final tests. I helped him where I could and ensured that those who plotted his failure did not achieve it.”

  Something in her manner, coupled with Denny’s remarks at the training ground, gave rise to a suspicion in Taran’s mind. “Was one of his rivals a cadet named Glinn Parren?”

  Sullyan’s eyes hardened as they always did on hearing that name. She treated Taran to a penetrating look that advised him to pry no further. “Yes,” was all she said.

  They entered the castle, nodding to the sentries. The wide entrance hall was warmly lit by fragrant lamps, its stone walls hung with tapestries, its flagged floors covered with colorful rugs. Sullyan hailed a servant, requesting directions to their rooms. The man offered to take them but before they could accept, Taran heard his name called. Having forgotten the Baron’s message, he didn’t immediately recognize Lady Jinella gliding toward him, followed by Lily, her maid.

  The young noblewoman had bathed and changed her gown. Her hair was artfully arranged, with tendrils of blonde curls framing her face and coiling about her neck. Her gown was of dark green satin trimmed with gold, and her hands glittered with rings. She had applied a soft blush to her cheeks and her shining green eyes were darkly outlined.

  The effect was dazzling and Taran held his breath. He waited for her to approach and took her outstretched hand, bowing courteously over it. “My Lady,” he murmured.

  Jinella cast down her eyes. Sullyan moved a little way off out of courtesy, and Taran shot her a pleading glance. She ignored him.

  “Captain Elijah,” said Jinella, “did my uncle find you earlier today?”

  “Yes, my Lady, and I must thank you for your insistence of recompense for our rescue. I assure you, it was totally unnecessary.” Taran tried to release her hand, but she tightened her fingers and he was too much the gentleman to insist.

  “Oh, no,” she said warmly, “it was the least I could do. You were so gallant and brave. I hate to think what might have happened had you not come along when you did. Lily and I owe you our lives, and we will never forget your heroism.”

  Taran blushed furiously, especially as she was pointedly ignoring Sullyan’s part.

  Jinella smiled at his discomfort. “Captain, I would never presume on your good nature, but I wonder... would you consider doing me another favor?”

  Trapped by her eyes and her hand, Taran had nowhere to go. “Of course, my Lady. Please name it.”

  She lowered her gaze again. Speaking hesitantly, she said, “I am a recent arrival here at court, Captain, and I am alone apart from my uncle. I would dearly love to attend the fair tomorrow, but that dreadful experience in the forest has left me more than a little nervous. As my uncle will be attending the Queen, I have no escort. I fear to go abroad in the crowds all alone, attended only by my maid.”

  She turned her head away, as if shamed by her admission. “Oh, you must think me a very faint-hearted creature.” She raised her eyes so suddenly that she caught Taran with the full force of her gaze. But he was already cornered, and Jinella was simply making sure he was firmly on the hook before reeling him in.

  Taran tried a last, desperate struggle.

  “Not at all, my Lady, anyone would feel nervous after such a terrible ordeal. I would deem it an honor to escort you, but I may not be free. My duty is to attend the Colonel.”

  He turned in appeal to Sullyan, who was fighting to compose herself. Jinella also turned to her, a glitter in her soft green eyes. “Colonel,” she wheedled, “surely you do not expect the Captain to attend you the entire day tomorrow?”

  Sullyan ignored Taran’s pointed look. “No indeed, my Lady. Taran Elijah is off duty tomorrow, as I have already told him. Had you forgotten it, Captain?”

  He gave her a flat stare.

  Turning back to Jinella, she continued, “As this is his first time in the capital, I am sure he would welcome such agreeable company on his day off. And you will find him a most attentive and interesting escort. Now, if you will both excuse me, I intend to retire. I wish you both a good night’s rest.”

  She turned away, gesturing the servant onward.

  Irritated by her refusal to help him, Taran gave up. “Where and when shall I call on you, my Lady?”

  She smiled. “Any of the servants will show you to my rooms, Captain. I will be ready by mid-morning. I bid you good night.”

  He made a small bow as she left him and Lily threw him a sly smile as she followed her mistress.

  *****

  The morning of the fair dawned misty with the promise of a fine day. The seabirds were up early, their raucous cries echoing about the rooftops. Taran rose and dressed himself with care, not knowing whether to feel anticipation or trepidation. It wasn’t that he disliked Jinella, truly, he had no feelings for her one way or the other, but he had been looking forward to another day in Sullyan’s company. He was now denied that pleasure, and he hoped Jinella wouldn’t spend too much time browsing the craftsmen’s stalls. Taran had no intention of missing the horse race, which was scheduled for mid-afternoon.

  Sullyan’s rooms were next to his but there was no response to his polite tap on her door. He wasn’t surprised. She would have been up at dawn, as usual, probably checking on Drum. Ensuring he had sufficient coinage tucked away inside his jerkin, he made his way toward the aroma of breakfast.

  He entered the rather grand dining hall, a little intimidated when all eyes turned on him. There were a surprising number of people in the hall, all dressed in their fair finery. Taran’s own clothes, although perfectly presentable, were plain by comparison. He tried to ignore the stares and helped himself to meat and bread.

  He was just finishing a delicious selection of exotic fruit when he realized that
the darkly dressed man coming toward him was Baron Reen. Taran hurriedly stood and made the Baron a bow. The swarthy man halted in front of him, regarding him with unfriendly eyes.

  “Captain Elijah, I trust these will be satisfactory?”

  The servant who followed him handed Taran a wrapped bundle. The Adept laid it on the table and uncovered a sumptuous dark green cloak of thick wool, an expensive-looking leather jacket, and a soft linen shirt. Stunned by the quality of the material, he stammered his thanks. Reen ignored him and stalked away. Taran just stood there fingering the jacket, which was silk-lined and would fit him very snugly. He was so engrossed that he didn’t sense or hear anyone coming up behind him, and jumped when Sullyan touched a fold of the cloak.

  “This is top quality, Taran,” she said, glancing up at him. “Better even than King’s issue.”

  The Adept was shocked by her appearance. Her eyes were wide and feverish, her pallid cheeks sunken.

  “Sullyan, you don’t look at all well. What’s happened?”

  She shook her head. “I am well enough, Taran. I am a little tired, that is all. Maybe I ate something yesterday that did not agree with me.”

  Taran stared at her, unconvinced. “Do you think you ought to ride in the race today?”

  A hint of color came to her cheeks and she grinned at him. “Of course I shall ride! I cannot let Owyn and Master Ardoch lose their money, can I? Now, is there any fellan?”

  *****

  The Lady Jinella was also in two minds about the day. Her uncle had visited her before she retired the night before, and what he had told her threatened to color her enjoyment of the occasion. She went over it in her mind while Lily brushed out her hair and dressed it for the day.

  Jinella was the daughter of Baron Reen’s older brother. He had married a Loxton woman and took her to live on the family estate in Bordenn. The province was in the southwest of Albia and was ruled by client king Lerric. Albia’s provinces had been governed by client kings for generations, and when Elias succeeded his father as High King, he did nothing to change the arrangement. It worked very well and relieved the Crown of the burden of governing each separate province. Provided each client king embraced his policies and obeyed his dictates, Elias was content.