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

by Cas Peace

  Rand and Kethro occupied a small private room with space for only two beds. The Master Physician, the Hierarch, and their fathers were already there when Sullyan and the others arrived.

  Lord Corbyn looked up with a hostile glare. He had obviously calmed since his earlier outburst and his son’s recovery had helped dampen his anger, but he was clearly far from pleased to see her there. He dismissed her presence, pointedly turning back to his son.

  Both young men appeared pale and apprehensive. Kethro, the younger of the two, seemed especially nervous. Rand, who at eighteen was a year older than Kethro, was dealing better with his fear and was attempting to answer his father’s questions. Lord Tikhal was sitting on the bed beside his son with one arm around the young man’s shoulders for support. Pharikian stood at the foot of the bed, still alarmingly pale, and Deshan was at Rand’s other side, trying to persuade the youth to take one of his restorative potions.

  Rand drank off the potion. Kethro was subjected to the same treatment, and a measure of color came back to the boys’ pale faces.

  “Do you feel up to telling us what happened out there?” Tikhal asked quietly. “His Majesty is very concerned for Prince Aeyron. Anything you can tell us might be helpful.”

  Rand closed pale eyes and his brow creased in pain. “He fought them so well,” he whispered, and Pharikian leaned closer.

  “Tell me, Rand,” he urged.

  “We were asleep, sir,” the youth began, glancing at Kethro for support. “We’d had a good hunt and celebrated our catch that evening. We didn’t retire until late and so we were all sound asleep. There were two sentries on duty. There should have been four, but Prince Aeyron changed the orders, saying it wasn’t really necessary to have four on watch as we were so near the Citadel.”

  Sullyan frowned and shook her head. They might have been in friendly territory, but having only two sentries was risky, especially during the dawn watch. This was the worst watch, the duty most dreaded by soldiers. Their bodies were naturally at their lowest ebb in the small hours before sunrise, and it was easy to slip into the mistake of thinking yourself safe. The Prince’s escort would have been grateful for his thoughtfulness, but they should have overridden his orders.

  Rand went on. “We planned to spend another day hunting, after which we hoped to return to the palace with enough meat for a feast.” He stopped again and swallowed, his father encouraging him with a squeeze of his shoulders. Rand shot an uneasy look at Kethro before he continued.

  “We were woken before dawn by shouting, but it was already too late. There were twelve in our escort, as well as the three of us, but we were still outnumbered. The sentries yelled as soon as they saw the raiders coming, but they burst out of the substrate practically on top of us.”

  Sullyan gave a small gasp.

  “Two of the raiders came straight for me, and two went for Kethro. We were still in our blankets and didn’t even have time to stand up, let alone grab weapons. They leaped on top of us and pinned us down, then they used spellsilver cord to tie us up. Two others went for Prince Aeyron, but he was faster than us.”

  Rand glanced at his father, shamefaced. “Kethro and I had drunk quite a lot of brandy the night before, but Prince Aeyron didn’t drink as much. He was more alert than we were, and he killed the two men who were trying to subdue him. But the Guards had been taken by surprise and the camp was overrun, and he was being attacked on all sides. He just wasn’t able to concentrate for long enough to get a call through the substrate.

  “The raiders slaughtered the Guards. They fell all around us. They fought like heroes and Prince Aeyron was defended to the last, but then one of the raiders threw a knife at him and it caught his sword arm.”

  Pharikian went paler still and Sullyan could see him trembling. Without a second thought she reached out and lent him some strength. She saw him straighten slightly in response. Rand was still speaking, his eyes distant and his voice rough as he relived the terrifying ordeal. Kethro had his head bowed and stared silently at his tightly clasped hands.

  “When Prince Aeyron went down, there were only about five of the Guard left. It didn’t take the raiders long to finish them off, and then they stood over the Prince, laughing. They tied him up with the spellsilver cord. He was lying very quiet, but he was definitely alive. They wanted him alive. I heard them say so. I don’t think the knife wound was too serious. The raiders bound it with a cloth, and then they dragged him to his feet and slung him over one of the Guards’ horses.

  “I didn’t see much more. Kethro and I were bundled onto horses too, but I passed out before I heard what they intended to do. I was dizzy from the effects of the spellsilver and the shock, and I don’t suppose the brandy helped either. I was terrified they were going to kill us.”

  Rand looked full at the Hierarch, the first time he had been able to do so. His eyes were full of shame.

  “I’m so sorry we couldn’t protect Prince Aeyron, Majesty. If only we hadn’t drunk so much the night before, we might have been more use. Both of us can use our swords, but we just didn’t get the chance.”

  Pharikian shook his head, unable to find it in his heart to blame either boy.

  “They were so quick, Father,” continued Rand, turning to Tikhal. “They must have known exactly where we were, and who we were. They knew Kethro and I were Artesans, and they knew which of us was the Prince. They were human, all of them, and they knew exactly what they were doing.”

  “My Lord Rand,” put in Sullyan, “you said you heard them say they wanted the Heir alive. Did you hear anything that might help us discover where they have taken him?”

  Rand stared at her. He knew who she was and that his father thought well of her, but she could see the suspicion in his eyes. Kethro stirred uneasily and glanced at his father. Corbyn’s eyes were fastened on Sullyan’s face and she could sense his hostility. Kethro quickly looked away again.

  “Answer the Colonel, Rand,” said Tikhal.

  Rand closed his eyes, trying to remember.

  “I was feeling very strange by the time the Prince was overpowered,” he said, “and I can’t remember exactly what happened. There was a lot of noise and it was difficult to hear. But one of the men said something like, ‘We’ve got him, lads, we’ve earned our pay. All we have to do now is deliver him alive to the King’s man and collect our reward.’”

  “The King’s man?” Corbyn’s voice cut across Rand’s like a sword thrust, making Kethro jump. “Did you hear that, Majesty?” He rounded on Tikhal. “I told you Elias Rovannon was behind all this, but would you believe me? You heard your son. They were all human and they knew exactly who the Heir was! Who else would have the authority and resources to arrange something like this? And he has Artesans who serve him!” He turned a vicious look on Sullyan and spat at her feet. “What do you say to that, Colonel?”

  He had gone too far for the Hierarch. Now that he knew for sure his son was alive and likely to stay that way until whoever had taken him chose to reveal their demands, Pharikian was more himself. He loomed over the enraged Corbyn and faced him down.

  “That’s enough!” he snapped, his yellow eyes fierce. “I will forgive your appalling manners because I share your distress, but I will not hear accusations against my ally, King Elias, and I will not tolerate you abusing Colonel Sullyan. Might I remind you that it was she who found your son? You would do well to reflect on how fortunate you are that he is not still in the raiders’ hands. We will not indulge in useless and unmannerly defamation, Lord Corbyn, and I will have no more of this disgraceful behavior toward a guest under my roof. Do not forget she is a King’s ambassador! If you cannot control yourself better than this, you can leave.”

  Corbyn went white, realizing he had gone too far. Even his son was looking at him with an expression of frightened anxiety, and this caught Sullyan’s attention more than Corbyn’s bile. Was Kethro’s fear for his father, she wondered, or himself?

  The black-haired lord subsided, mumbled an apology to
his monarch, and sat back down on his son’s bed. Kethro had uttered not one word throughout the proceedings, and Sullyan’s musings now led her to wonder whether the son shared his father’s views. Was Kethro keeping his counsel until they were alone?

  The Hierarch then gave Kethro the opportunity to add his recollections to Rand’s. His questions brought a flush of color to the boy’s pale face, but he didn’t tell them anything new. Pharikian studied his drained appearance and didn’t press him. He turned back to Rand.

  “I thank you for recounting this morning’s attack and for reassuring me that Aeyron is still alive. It can’t have been easy for you, and I regret you were caught up in it. It appears we can do no more for the moment other than wait for my son’s captors to make their demands. I suggest that you and Kethro get some rest.”

  He turned to Tikhal and Corbyn, although he refused to look Corbyn in the eye. “My Lords, you were invited here to present certain concerns to me. In the light of these events, do you still wish to do so?”

  “Of course, Majesty!” stated Corbyn, denying Tikhal, as senior noble, his right to reply. Aeyron’s abduction notwithstanding, Corbyn clearly wasn’t going to lose the chance of voicing his displeasure and demanding satisfaction for his losses.

  Tikhal shot a look of disgust at the unrepentant Corbyn and sighed. “We don’t want to burden you further, Majesty, but it is why we came, after all. To my mind, today’s events only serve to reinforce the necessity.”

  Pharikian inclined his head. “Very well, gentlemen. I will receive you in the lesser audience chamber this afternoon. Colonel Sullyan, as ambassador to King Elias, will you also attend?”

  Corbyn started angrily, but subsided under Pharikian’s hard stare. Sullyan merely nodded and the Hierarch left the room. Deshan herded everyone but the two lords out also, saying his patients needed rest.

  Taran, Bull, and Ozella followed Sullyan back to their rooms, where she instructed them all to fetch their weapons. She had decided that after the morning’s distressing events what they needed was distraction. She found that nothing concentrated the mind as well as having someone come at her with cold, sharp steel. She eyed Ozella thoughtfully as the men returned with their blades.

  “You will partner me, Ozella,” she told him, frowning at the sudden paling of his olive skin. Fear crept into his eyes as she said, “You need sharpening up. You have not been paying attention of late.”

  She caught Bull smiling privately. He knew she really meant that she required sharpening up. It took much skill and concentration to fence effectively with novices without doing them harm, and it would require all her attention. She had thought to help Ozella by giving him some personal instruction, yet he seemed terrified by the suggestion. She had noticed his earlier strange distraction and wondered if he was sickening. She was beginning to wish she had not brought him after all.

  As they reached the training ground, Taran, who had been mulling over what Rand had told them, said, “Colonel, the raiders this morning may have been Albian, but surely Prince Aeyron is still in Andaryon?”

  “I seriously doubt it. Why do you say that?”

  “Because he was wounded. Doesn’t that mean he couldn’t have crossed the Veils?”

  “Ah, I see what you mean. No, it is my belief that the Heir was taken through the Veils immediately. The adverse effect of the substrate on a wound is transmitted mainly through the psyche, and spellsilver blocks access to the psyche. Prince Aeyron was not the one manipulating the substrate, and so would not have suffered its full effects. Lord Rand did say that it was not a particularly serious wound, so whoever opened the Veils would only have had to shield Aeyron, as you and Robin did for Bulldog when he had that shoulder wound before Marik’s banquet, remember?”

  Taran nodded.

  “The only real risk Aeyron faces from his injury,” she continued, “is infection. It is too soon for that to have set in yet, but if the wound is not tended and healed, then he will be unable to return until the infection is dealt with.” She eyed the Adept meaningfully. “Let us hope his captors understand his worth and the importance of keeping him healthy.”

  After two hours of weapons practice, she finally released them to return to their rooms. She had been as gentle and understanding with Ozella as she could, spending much time in coaching and guiding, yet by the end of their session he seemed more distressed than ever. At one point, she thought he was going to burst into tears. It was very puzzling, yet she could not spare the time to discover its cause. They all needed to wash and change and take a little refreshment before attending the Hierarch.

  At the appointed time they were shown into the lesser audience chamber, finding the Lords Tikhal and Corbyn already there, along with Anjer and Ephan. The two Generals and Lord Tikhal greeted the Albians cordially, but Corbyn refused to acknowledge them, staring covertly at Sullyan through baleful eyes.

  She directed Taran, Bull, and Ozella to seats at the edge of the chamber, and they all stood in homage as Pharikian entered the room. Baron Gaslek accompanied him. Sullyan was pleased to see that the elderly ruler appeared more rested and in control of himself. Rand’s assurance that Aeyron was alive had done much to ease his heart. He took the chair at the head of the table with Gaslek beside him. Anjer and Ephan took seats to his right, with Tikhal and Corbyn to his left. Sullyan took her place opposite him, at the bottom of the table.

  Pharikian placed his hands on the polished wood before him and looked around them all.

  “My Lords, General Ephan, Ambassador Sullyan. The purpose of this meeting is to discuss the state of relations between the realms of Andaryon and Albia and the effects of raiding into our lands by parties of unknown humans.”

  “Unknown?” interjected Corbyn rudely. “We all know who sent them!”

  Gaslek rapped on the table. “You will have your chance to speak, my Lord, when his Majesty invites you to do so. Pray keep silent until then.”

  Sullyan silently applauded Gaslek, who rarely emerged from his fussy exterior to show the steel beneath.

  Pharikian glared at Corbyn but refused to be ruffled. “I deliberately postponed this meeting in order to include Ambassador Sullyan among our number. Albia has also experienced outland raiding, and King Elias himself has been put at risk of his life. This is of deep concern to me, as it was my express command that the terms of the Pact brokered twenty-four years ago by Morgan Sullyan should be honored and that raiding into Albia would remain forbidden. High King Elias and I have entered into a treaty of trade and cooperation, and anything that damages this also damages our realm. If any of you have any knowledge or suspicions as to who is behind these hostile activities, I charge you to voice them.”

  He turned to Tikhal, forestalling Corbyn’s rush to speak. “My Lord Tikhal, would you begin by telling us what depredations your province has suffered?”

  Tikhal glanced at each person in turn, his eyes resting longest on Sullyan. “Majesty, I first began hearing reports of raiding around three months ago. They were only small raids and did no real damage. Groups of five or six men would descend on a village or manor in the dead of night and carry off what they could. There were no fatalities and no wanton destruction.”

  “Three months, my Lord?” said Ephan. “Why didn’t you mention something sooner?”

  “Because, General, I was unaware that the raiders were human. They came at night and none were killed, so I assumed it was only the young bloods.” He spread his hands. “In common with most provinces, many of my nobles have younger sons who are hot-headed, and they yearn for an outlet for their energies.” He smiled indulgently over the vagaries of younger sons. “With the realm of Albia denied them, they have been amusing themselves by raiding their neighbors’ lands.”

  Ephan snorted and Sullyan smiled inwardly. Andaryans were well known for their love of dueling and warfare, and she was not at all surprised to learn that they still routinely predated on each another. It was a characteristic of the race.

  Tikhal went
on. “However, about a month ago I received a visit from Lord Corbyn. He informed me that he had recently repulsed two raiding parties that had been terrorizing some of his smaller settlements. In doing so, some of the raiders were killed. I regret to tell you”—he looked at Sullyan—“they were all human.”

  “They did a lot of damage, Majesty, and many of my people were left homeless,” said Corbyn. He cast Sullyan a look of pure hatred. “My vassals have had enough, Majesty. They are demanding action.”

  Anjer glared at the black-haired lord. “Just what are you saying, Corbyn?”

  Corbyn chose to ignore Anjer, continuing to address the Hierarch. “I’m only telling you how they feel, Majesty. They want revenge for what they’ve suffered, they want to retaliate, and I for one don’t blame them!”

  Tikhal looked worried. “Calm down, Corbyn.”

  Sullyan watched the two lords with interest. It was evident that although Tikhal was of higher rank than the black-haired Corbyn he had little or no control over his fellow lord. She wondered how Tikhal would cope if Corbyn decided to challenge him.

  Pharikian appealed to the commander in charge of the Velletian Guard. “Ephan, what is your opinion?”

  “The situation is serious, Majesty. I can’t deny that. But condoning wholesale raids into Albia is not the answer. We need to establish who our enemy is, and, in the light of this morning’s events, sooner rather than later.”

  Pharikian turned his yellow eyes on Sullyan. “What do you say, Colonel?”

  She regarded him openly. “I agree with General Ephan, Majesty. We can do nothing at present for fear of endangering the Heir, but even once he is safely returned, there is nothing to be gained from unconsidered retaliation. It would only engender more of the same, and both our realms would suffer. My Lord Corbyn, would you see the progress made so far, and the obvious benefits to both our races, swept away by one prejudiced faction?”

  Their eyes turned to Corbyn. “All I know,” he said hotly, “is that my lands and people are suffering at human hands! I find it highly suspicious that no sooner do we have agreements in place to trade with Albia and stop our young men from raiding than Albians start to raid us. It’s too convenient, too coincidental, for my liking!”