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

by Cas Peace

  At Elias’s questioning look, she explained who the traveler was. The King was intrigued. “He is reputed to be a bard of exceptional talent,” he said. “Do you think he could be persuaded to entertain us tonight, Brynne?”

  “I will ask him if you wish it, your Majesty, although I warn you, he will expect rich payment.”

  Elias grinned. “If he’s as good as they say he is, I’ll happily pay him his worth.”

  “Be careful, your Majesty,” she cautioned. “It is my opinion that no one, not even you, could pay Lord Fiann his worth.”

  “As good as that?” marveled the King. “This, I must hear.”

  “He has no equal,” she said, “but if I can persuade him to accompany us, you shall judge for yourself. With your permission?”

  Elias waved his hand and she touched heels to Drum. The big black leaped into a gallop and soon covered the distance between her and the Sinnian. Taran watched as the two of them greeted each other, only just catching the sneer of repugnance on the Baron’s face. They were too far away for Taran to hear their words, but he could see that the Sinnian didn’t immediately agree. Eventually, however, he inclined his head and turned his pony to follow Sullyan.

  Elias studied the outlander with interest as his Guard parted to allow the bard’s approach. Taran could see this didn’t meet with the Baron’s approval.

  Elias inclined his head, greeting the bard gravely. “My Lord Fiann.”

  Fiann’s eyes widened at this show of respect, although his strangely beautiful face betrayed no other expression.

  “Your Majesty,” he responded, his deeply resonant voice clearly surprising Elias, just as it had Taran.

  “My Lord, would you do us the very great honor of playing for us at the Manor tonight?” asked the King. “Brynne Sullyan has been telling us of your prowess and we are keen to hear for ourselves.”

  Fiann was silent a moment but then said, “It would give me great pleasure to be able to do so, your Majesty.”

  Taran frowned, struck by the man’s unusual choice of phrase. Sullyan seemed puzzled too, but Elias didn’t notice. “Then if it pleases you, my Lord, ride with us to the Manor, where you will be provided with refreshment.”

  “I will ride with you gladly, King Elias,” replied the bard, pulling his small mount and pack pony alongside the King’s roan charger. Sullyan placed herself on his right side.

  They rode on past midday, Sullyan and Elias deep in conversation with the milk-haired Sinnian. Master Ardoch occasionally joined in, and Taran alternated between listening to the bard’s mellifluous voice and watching Reen’s grim expression. He was concentrating so hard that he didn’t hear Denny bringing his horse up close.

  “Better put your cloak on, friend,” the young officer advised. “We’re about to get very wet.”

  He nodded behind him and Taran turned to see the sky a mass of purple-black clouds, their flattened tops towering high above. He thought he saw a flicker of lightning, although they were too far away yet to hear thunder. Not appreciating the thought of a soaking, he quickly unrolled his cloak and slung it over his shoulders.

  Others were doing the same, and he gave the seething clouds another glance, trying to assess when the storm might hit. He could see it advancing across the countryside and frowned at the dense curtain of rain racing purposefully toward them. It came faster than he would have thought possible, totally obscuring his vision of the land behind.

  His heart lurched. Something about the cloud mass and that wall of rushing water offended his senses. Concentrating hard, he brought his slowly strengthening powers to bear. He gasped. This was no natural summer storm. He pushed his stallion past Reen, who was also staring at the sky.

  Sullyan was deep in conversation with Fiann and the King, and Taran suddenly remembered her warning about communicating through the substrate. Instead of questing for her pattern, he rode up beside her and touched her arm.

  She turned. “What is it, Captain?”

  He indicated the approaching storm, pitching his voice low. “There’s something wrong there.” He watched her pupils dilate as she employed her metasenses to scan the clouds.

  Her eyes widened in alarm. “Well done, my friend,” she breathed. “You are right. That is no natural storm.” She turned in the saddle. “Your Majesty, there is something very wrong with this cloud mass behind us. We must be doubly on our guard. Whoever has raised this storm means us no good.”

  Elias glanced up and was about to respond when the advancing wall of water hit them, rushing over them with unexpected force. Wind came howling out of the clouds and sheets of stinging rain battered their faces, half-blinding them. Those who had not donned their cloaks in time found themselves struggling with folds of wind-torn wool. They were unable to react as swiftly as they should when Denny’s loud shout shocked them.

  “We’re under attack! Form up! Defend the King!”

  The guardsmen drew their weapons and closed raggedly into prearranged positions around the King. Glancing wildly about in the blinding rain and whipping wind, Taran saw what Denny had seen: a group of about fifty armed and mounted men bearing down on them from behind the concealing wall of rain. The King’s Guard swung round to meet the threat, forced to face right into the teeth of the storm.

  Lightning tore the sky in two and thunder blared.

  “Taran!” yelled Sullyan as she used Drum to shepherd Fiann’s pony alongside Elias. “Do what you can with that storm. I must protect the King.”

  Taran nodded and took himself to the back of the group, trying to keep out of the guardsmen’s way. It wasn’t possible to concentrate on fighting and use his metaforce at the same time. This unnatural storm was also part of the attack and needed an Artesan to counter it, so it was up to Taran to divert or disperse it. He gathered his will and tried to concentrate. Then the wave of attackers hit them, and the shock of the ambush doubled.

  They were Andaryan.

  The raiders attacked; yelling, hacking, and screaming; but Elias’s Guard were the best trained fighting men in the country and they were defending their King. Led courageously by Denny, they repulsed the first assault and threw the raiders back, allowing themselves room to regroup. Sullyan and the Master fought side by side, flanking the King, allowing no enemy even close to Elias. Fiann and the Baron were to the rear of the King, also protected by this defense. The Baron’s green and yellow cloak was almost luminous in the pouring rain.

  Taran managed to shut out the noise and confusion around him, but even so he was struggling. He had mastery over Water, but the elements of Fire and Air were also raging within the storm. Rain poured down in torrents and the wind howled directly into the Albians’ faces, stinging and blinding their eyes. Taran strove his utmost to ease the conditions.

  The Andaryans regrouped and came again, a spearhead of fighters making straight for Elias. Denny rallied his men, barking commands that were barely audible over the tumultuous roar of the storm. Once again the attackers were repulsed. Sullyan and Master Ardoch worked in a perfect harmony of strokes to provide deadly and effective cover for their sovereign. Elias was no mean swordsman himself and had his own weapon ready, but none of the enemy had yet breached the cordon to trouble him. Fiann sat his nervous pony behind the King, a strange expression on his unhuman face.

  The Andaryans surged forward again and lightning forked the skies. The storm seemed to lash all the heavier just as the raiders’ might was thrown against the King’s Guard. Taran desperately pitted his strength against the elements but he was getting nowhere and tiring fast. Just when he thought he would have to admit defeat and pull out, he became aware of Sullyan’s presence in his mind.

  Taran, link with me! I am making my power available to you. Her mental tone was tight with split concentration. Use it to push that storm away. Concentrate on Water. Use your mastery and my strength together. You can do it!

  Her presence vanished as she engaged another of their attackers, driving the man relentlessly away from his target
.

  Stunned by the gift of her fathomless power, Taran rallied. He tried to forget the weight of trust she had placed in him, and instead merged his pattern with hers. He was hit by a force every bit as strong as the gale-driven torrent and had to take a deep breath to steady himself. His blood singing with power, he hurled his vastly augmented strength against the element of Water. Finally, he could make some headway! He thrust down the thrill of controlling Sullyan’s power and schooled himself to concentrate on the storm, bringing his will to bear on the rain, lessening its effects and slowly abating the downpour.

  *****

  From his position of shelter behind the King, Baron Reen sat his fidgeting pacer. He jerked irritably on the reins to stop the beast trying to turn its head away from the rain, and his struggle to control it concealed his satisfaction. This was just as well, for he knew it was essential to appear suitably afraid. He was angry with Taran for noticing the storm’s unnatural nature before the raid began, but his ire was tempered by an unforeseen opportunity to be rid of yet another undesirable outlander. Completely unheard in the welter of sound around him, Reen muttered under his breath.

  *****

  Sullyan was panting hard. Another pulling back, another chance to regroup. A few of Elias’s Guard were injured, although none fatally. Four of the raiders were dead and a few more were out of action due to serious wounds. Denny yelled encouragement to his men and they braced themselves for the next assault.

  When it came, it concentrated wholly on Elias. Heedless of loss or injury, the Andaryans threw themselves against the King’s defenders. Many were cut down as the Guards closed about them, trapping them in a noose of warriors. Sullyan and Ardoch were hard-pressed in the center of the mêlée as the Andaryans fought madly to reach Elias. The King now had to help defend himself.

  Denny fought toward them with ten or so of his men, and the attackers fell back once more. But now the Guards were losing more of their own. Sullyan heard a warning shout and twisted in her saddle. A small group of Andaryans were winning through to Elias from behind. She dealt swiftly with her current opponent and wheeled Drum to engage another.

  Two of the raiders urged their mounts forward, lunging straight at the Baron. He screamed as a blade whistled past his head. Another came slashing at his mount’s legs. The pacer, not trained for combat, shied violently to the left, dumping the Baron out of the saddle. He crashed to the ground and curled into a ball, his screams rising higher in pitch.

  Sullyan had no time for the Baron, as his attackers were now heading for the King. Pressing Drum onward, she moved to block them. As one engaged her sword arm, the other dodged past her, his weapon aimed straight at Elias’s back.

  “Ardoch!” she screamed, but he was already occupied.

  Too many things then happened simultaneously.

  Taran, having caught his breath after pushing the storm far enough for the rain to ease, threw himself into the fight. He reached Denny’s side where the young officer, beset by more opponents than he could handle, was overpowered. Taran dealt with one of Denny’s assailants and Master Ardoch another, but they were too late to stop the blow which shattered Denny’s sword arm and pierced his side. Taran heard Sullyan’s gasp as Denny gave a great cry of pain, fell from his horse, and lay still.

  The Andaryan who had dodged Sullyan’s attack drove straight for Elias’s unprotected back. Only the Sinnian bard stood in his way. The King, unaware and fully occupied with a frontal assault, had no hope of defending himself. Sullyan dispatched her attacker and screamed a warning, but swung far too late to reach the raider whose sword was about to pierce the King’s back.

  *****

  The fighting had moved past where the Baron lay protectively curled-up, and he straightened with care. Bruised muscles and shattered dignity did nothing to suppress his triumphant grin as he watched the most heroic act of the battle. He could not have planned it better himself. Seeing the King’s imminent danger, but unable to engage the raider because he was unarmed, the Sinnian bard suddenly kicked his pony so hard that it reared up. Fiann threw his body into the path of Elias’s attacker, and received the raider’s blade through his breast. He slumped with a moan and fell to the ground. Sullyan was on the raider in an instant, but too late to save the bard.

  With their covering storm retreating and many of their number killed or severely wounded, the raiders broke off the attack. Less than twenty galloped off, unpursued by Denny’s men as they swung round to check that their sovereign was unharmed.

  Where before there had been shouting, the clash of steel, howling wind, and booming thunder, there was now a deathly silence, almost more shocking than the previous welter of sound. Then, the agonized gasps and moans of the injured made themselves heard.

  Sullyan flung herself from Drum and fell to her knees, cradling the fallen Sinnian’s head in her arms. Tears slipped down her cheeks and her eyes were vast and black as she put out all her power to try to reverse the inevitable. Bloody froth flecked his lips, his dark and liquid eyes gazing blindly. His hand tightened briefly on her arm as he whispered, “Remember.”

  Then his head fell back and he lay still. She bowed her head in grief.

  *****

  Taran dismounted and ran to where Denny lay gasping on the soaked and bloody ground. The young officer’s face was gray and pinched, his lips blue. His right arm looked badly shattered, and the sword’s tip had pierced his ribs. Working swiftly, Taran wadded up the bulk of Denny’s cloak and packed it tight against his side to staunch the blood. The man groaned, barely conscious. Taran glanced up as Master Ardoch knelt beside him.

  “How bad is it?” the Torlander asked, wiping sweat from his face.

  “Bad enough,” said Taran, “but maybe not life threatening if we can get him some attention.”

  Ardoch grunted and rose. He approached Elias, who was talking to the men, praising them for their valiant defense. Before the Master could speak, however, everyone’s attention was drawn to the sound of Baron Reen’s voice raised in anger.

  Reen was berating Sullyan. She had gently laid Fiann down and was staring at his body, anguish plain on her face.

  “What on earth do you think you’re doing, Colonel?” ranted the Baron. “You have duties to attend to, yet you spend valuable time sorrowing over a dead outlander! What are you thinking of? Your King could have been killed today, and if you hadn’t brought that… creature… among us, the attack might never have happened. This is what you get for befriending those who have no right in our lands!”

  Stung out of her grief, Sullyan turned on him, golden eyes blazing with anger. “Strange, is it not, Baron, that of all of us you come through this untouched and unscathed? We had no need to defend you, did we? Why is that, I wonder?”

  “Just what do you mean?” he spluttered. “I was in as much danger as anyone! Didn’t you see those raiders attack me? I fell from my horse! Had they turned back just then…. Well, let’s just say I was fortunate to escape with severely bruised ribs.”

  “Fortunate indeed, my Lord, not to have to lift a finger in your own defense,” she snapped. “I do not recall you raising a blade against your attackers! Had it not been for the swift reactions and self-sacrifice of this ‘creature’”—she spat the word in Reen’s face—“your sovereign lord would even now be lying dead upon the field. I very much doubt whether you would have tendered his Majesty such selfless service!”

  Reen’s face turned purple and his eyes bulged. He had his hand on his sword hilt, the blade half-drawn. Sullyan made no move toward her own weapon, but her attitude suggested imminent violence. Taran knew the Baron would stand no chance if she attacked him.

  Elias’s strident voice cut across them. “Baron, Colonel, that’s enough! There will be time for recriminations later, if you must. For now, we have more important concerns.”

  Sullyan visibly controlled her fury. “My apologies, your Majesty.” She turned away from Reen, fortunately not seeing him spit on the Sinnian’s body. White-face
d, she approached Elias. “Are you well, your Majesty? Did you take any hurt?”

  “I’m fine, Colonel,” he said bluntly. “Others, however, are not.” He indicated the stricken Denny. The young officer had by far the worst injury of those left alive.

  Sullyan immediately crossed to Taran, who was still supporting the wounded man. Kneeling down, she assessed Denny’s injuries.

  “These are serious wounds, your Majesty, and require urgent attention.”

  Reen stalked up beside Elias and looked down coldly. “There’s no time, your Majesty. It’s far too dangerous to remain here in the open. How do we know those brigands won’t return?”

  Elias swung round on him, hard-faced. “Then what do you suggest, Baron? That we leave him here to die, or be finished off by raiders?”

  Reen shrugged. “Let one of his men stay by him, or the Colonel, if she wishes. We can send a wagon back when we have gained the safety of the Manor. Your security must come first, your Majesty. It is what the Queen would wish.”

  Elias glared at him, his expression clearly saying he doubted the Baron’s last words. “And what if it was you, Reen, lying there wounded and helpless? Would your advice be the same? Leave you behind to be picked up, or picked off, later?”

  Unfazed, Reen stared at his sovereign. “But it isn’t me, is it, your Majesty? So the question doesn’t arise.” He turned and stalked away.

  Elias stared at his retreating back before kneeling down beside Sullyan and Taran. He kept his voice low. “Should we ever find ourselves in a similar situation, Colonel, you have my express permission to run that slimy bastard through while my back’s turned. In fact, I would take it as a personal favor.” Then he shook his head and indicated Denny. “Can you do anything for him?”

  She looked grave. “I can try, your Majesty.”

  “Do your best,” he said curtly. “If you can render him able to ride, even pillion, I’ll be well pleased. I really don’t want to leave him behind, but we have no way of making a litter. Let me know what you decide.”