by Cas Peace
His rhetoric skill warmed Reen’s core. Sofira sat entranced, her eyes fixed on his face. His zeal and utter belief in what he was doing, the sheer necessity of it, always captivated her. His self-commitment spoke to her soul, and he knew it.
Sensing Sofira’s defiance beginning to crumble, Reen smiled winningly and clasped her hands. “You are truly one of the great Queens, Madam,” he declared. “There will be ballads made of your noble sacrifice and selfless devotion to your people. Your name will go down in the archives as one of the principal architects of a new era in Albia’s history. I am so proud of you.”
Sofira’s last vestige of protest wilted under Reen’s flattery. Her expression resigned, she said, “Do what you must, Hezra. I am in your hands. But I warn you”—suddenly, the lioness instinct of a mother’s love bared its fangs at the Baron—“if any harm comes to him, you will pay dearly!”
He must never forget she was a Queen, he thought as he left her presence. Yet that was just as it should be, and he was quietly satisfied with his day’s work.
*****
Sullyan lay wakeful in the gloomy predawn light. She was not due out on patrol until late afternoon and would normally have welcomed the few hours respite. The last two days had been exhausting both physically and mentally. However, the necessity of facing Robin again and obeying Blaine’s command to put things right between them, at least to enable them to function without friction, consumed most of her waking energy. She felt drained and soulweary.
Never one to lie long abed, she sighed and slipped from the comforter. Padding into the living space, she put water to heat for fellan. In the small washroom, she refreshed her body, if not her mind. Once dressed in her usual combat leathers, she sat on the couch by the window and drank her morning fellan, devoid of enthusiasm. She had lost all sense of taste lately and took no pleasure in the bitter brew. It was normally the only thing that revived her, but today she doubted if standing under an icy waterfall could wash away the staleness pervading her mind. She fervently hoped she wasn’t sickening again. Certainly, she felt very odd.
Steeling herself, she searched for the right words to offer Robin. Tears came to her eyes. To think that the implicit trust they had shared could be so easily shattered. Had she really been so naïve at Port Loxton? Had she behaved so recklessly as to give rise to these vicious rumors? She didn’t think so. As far as she could recall, the only occasion when an observer might have been given cause to wonder was when Taran had entered her room late at night. Apart from that, they had hardly been alone. She had spent most of her time with the King, and Taran had been busy escorting Jinella about the fair.
Her stomach lurched as a piece of the puzzle suddenly fell into place. Why had she not seen it before? Jinella was Baron Reen’s niece, and her general behavior indicated that she shared her uncle’s haughty nature. As Taran had agreed to be her escort, she would have taken his undivided attention as a right. If she had suspected him of hiding a prior attachment to Sullyan, she would not have hesitated to run to her uncle. And Reen would have swiftly spread such a juicy tale.
Sullyan sighed, wishing she had warned Taran to be on his guard when dealing with Jinella. She cursed her own dismissive attitudes. It was all very well developing a tough skin against rumor when there was only herself to consider, but she ought to have been more mindful of the possible effects on her friends.
So much for her supposed diplomatic skills! Slow tears coursed down her cheeks as she realized that she alone was responsible for her current situation. How could she blame Robin for believing the rumors when she had allowed them to breed and circulate? His barbed words concerning Rykan were obviously born of insecurity, brought on by her failure to deal with the rumors.
Fully prepared to humble herself and beg his pardon, she rose to leave. Robin also was not due out again until later that day, but as she had no idea where he had spent the last two nights, she would have to seek him out. The delicacy of the situation forbade her from summoning him through the substrate. They only did that when there was no other choice.
Wrapped up in her thoughts as she was, the desperate call which suddenly crashed into her mind sent her reeling against the wall. She didn’t immediately recognize who it was, but once she removed her hands from her aching head and dulled the pain, she realized that the call was comprised of two signatures, not one. Both were distraught, both in urgent need of her.
Oh gods, Ty, whatever is it?
Marik’s tone was flustered, his thoughts disorganized. Anjer, who had linked with Marik to allow him to reach Sullyan, was no less agitated. She felt a cold grip of fear tighten about her heart.
We need you, Brynne, Timar needs you! He’s collapsed, and Deshan fears for his mind. He’s calling for you. You have to come!
She was already moving; the desperation in Marik’s tone could not be refused. It didn’t take her long to reach the horse lines. She didn’t bother with Drum’s saddle, merely slipping the light bridle over his ears and vaulting to his back as soon as he was clear of the stable. Showering earth behind him, he responded to his rider’s need and charged recklessly down the lane.
She opened a trans-Veil corridor even as she rode. It was risky, as she didn’t intend to anchor it. She had only done this once before and would not have attempted it now but for the urgent pounding of her blood. She blessed Drum’s strange inborn sense that allowed him to cross the Veils by himself at need. It meant he would not spook at what she intended to do.
The tunnel’s shimmer opened before her and raced through the Veils only a couple of feet ahead of Drum’s coal black nose. She allowed it to close a few feet behind his streaming tail. She burst out onto the Citadel Plain not fifty yards from Caer Vellet’s southern gate.
The sentries were understandably startled, and one let fly a crossbow bolt before recognizing her. The current state of unrest and the morning’s cataclysmic events had made them all jumpy, and a huge black warhorse bursting out of nowhere was not to be tolerated without defensive action. Drum slithered to a halt before the gates and she identified herself to the sentries before he had fully stopped.
Once through, she raced Drum up the Processional Way, calling to Marik as she went. The palace gates were opened to her and she dismounted even as Drum barreled through them. She thrust his reins at a white-faced groom before her feet had touched the ground. Marik was at the doors to meet her. He looked dreadful. His face was a peculiar shade of gray, he was wringing his long hands, and it was almost more than he could do to keep from tugging her arm to hurry her. As they strode through the corridors toward Pharikian’s private apartments, he finally calmed sufficiently to tell her what was wrong.
“It’s the ransom, Brynne,” he panted. “Timar ordered his mine foremen to gather it at one of the northern mines prior to shipping it down here. They only just managed to scrape together the full amount, even though they’ve had the miners working nonstop. Yesterday, we heard they had filled the request and had it ready for shipping. Timar told them to bring it overnight and to make sure it was guarded well. He was desperate to have it here today for when the final instructions came.”
Marik glanced at her from red-rimmed eyes. “He’s been so distraught. He’s not been eating or sleeping, although Deshan’s tried his best. He’s been on the verge of breakdown ever since Aeyron was taken. And then, early this morning….”
He faltered.
Sullyan halted him with a gentle hand. “Tell me, Ty.”
Swallowing painfully, he said, “There was a message. At first light, the sentries saw a riderless horse bearing Tikhal’s colors come galloping out of the Forest. Timar’s largest and most profitable mine is on Tikhal’s land, and that’s where the ransom was being accumulated. The sentries caught the horse and saw that its saddle was smeared with fresh blood. Attached to the saddle rings was a pouch containing a small box and a parchment, both addressed to the Hierarch.”
Marik fell silent again, too overwrought to speak. But then he took a dee
p breath and carried on.
“The parchment was a letter, written in an unknown hand. There were only two lines of script. It read, ‘We have the silver. In return, we have sent you what remains of your son.’”
Sullyan felt tight bands clamp about her laboring heart.
“That’s when Timar collapsed,” continued Marik, his voice full of pain. “Deshan was already with him, as was Anjer. Idri and I had been called, and we arrived just as he opened the box. Idri’s in a bad way too, although she’s doing her best for her father. I’m so frightened for them, Brynne! Idri could lose the twins if we can’t calm her. And Deshan fears for Timar’s mind. He really needs your help.”
“Then let us go to them, Ty. The rest can keep.”
Forcing down her grief, Sullyan tried to marshal her strength. She wasn’t in perfect health after the exhaustions of the past few days, but she could not worry about that now. As they entered Pharikian’s rooms, the Master Physician glanced up from the Hierarch’s side. His expression was one of unfeigned relief.
Sullyan stopped cold, shocked by Pharikian’s condition. He was lying in his bed and his tall, lean form seemed shrunken and old. He had lost weight, and his unresponsive face was more lined and gray than ever. His years, the burden of his responsibility, and the recent terrors of his son’s abduction were written plain on the papery skin. His cheeks were sunken and his lips blue.
Princess Idrimar sat next to the bed, tears tracking down her face as she clasped her father’s hand. She too glanced up at the younger woman, but with no great hope in her eyes.
Sullyan turned quietly to Marik.
“See if you can persuade her Highness to leave, Ty. She needs rest and can do no more here. Deshan and I are best left alone. We will call you if there is any news.”
Marik wrung his hands. “It’s no use, Brynne. I’ve already tried. She just won’t leave him.”
Sullyan pursed her lips and approached the Princess. Standing by her side, she looked down at the man she thought of as her foster father. She reached out to gently caress his cheek. He stirred slightly, causing the Princess to exclaim.
“Highness,” said Sullyan gently, “you must leave now. Deshan and I need room to work. Your father is exhausted and needs peace and quiet. He will be aware of your presence and also your distress. This is helping neither of you. You both need to allow your bodies to rest. Go with Ty. Trust me. Let your husband comfort you.”
Idrimar stared up at Sullyan and opened her mouth to protest. Sullyan played her trump card.
“Think of your unborns, Highness. They too can sense your upset, and it will do them no good. You know you can trust Deshan and me to do everything we can for your father. We can help him more than you at present. He will need you strong and calm when he recovers, so please let Ty take you to your rooms and help you sleep. Rest assured, we will call you if your father wakes.”
Unable to gainsay her, Idrimar reluctantly rose, giving her father’s hand a final squeeze. Tears still sliding down her face, she allowed Marik to lead her away, the Duke casting a grateful look at Sullyan over his shoulder. She turned her attention back to Pharikian, taking Idri’s place by the bed. With Deshan watching silently, she placed a hand on either side of Pharikian’s face and probed his psyche deeply.
She expected to find shock and exhaustion. She knew from personal experience what the mind could do to protect itself from assault. On two separate occasions she had walled herself away from friends who could have helped her, and one of those situations nearly proved irreversible. Instead of retreating to a place of safety and darkness within, however, Pharikian was doing something far more destructive. His mind, overloaded with grief, shock, and despair, was flailing toward annihilation. The jumble of chaotic thoughts and threats of self-injury almost drove Sullyan out when she sought to identify herself to him.
Eventually, defeated, she pulled out. She had been unable to reach him or make him hear her. He had even attacked her once or twice, although his powers, fluctuating in a maelstrom of self-recrimination, were directed primarily against himself.
She raised weary eyes to the Master Physician. “He refuses to hear me, Deshan. There is only one way to help him now. We must wall him off from his power.”
The healer shook his head, his expression betraying his dismay.
She glanced back down at the figure in the bed. “It will require every Artesan in the palace, and it has to be soon. He is beginning to burn up. If we leave him, he will destroy first his body and then his mind. He is caught in a loop of self-blame, and I could not break through it. To block off his power is our only option if we are to save him.”
Deshan stared at her. “I don’t think we can do it. There aren’t enough of us.”
“There have to be. The alternative is to watch him destroy himself, and I am not prepared to do that without a fight! Come now, you and Anjer are Masters, Ephan is Adept-elite, Barrin is a Journeyman, and I am Pharikian’s equal. We have to be enough. Call the others, get them here quickly. We do not have much time.”
Deshan did so, and they all arrived swiftly, save Barrin who had only just returned to the Citadel from patrol. While they waited for him, Sullyan told the others what to expect.
“I need your strength to be passive and available. No resistance, no suggestions. Just be open to my needs. I will do the work and I will shield you. I will also bear the brunt of his anger should he try to stop us. I warn you, he is very far gone and bent on destruction. It may take me some time, but once I gain entry I shall take your energies swiftly in order to seal his power.
“I know this is extreme, but once it is done Deshan will be able to treat his body as he would any ungifted patient. He will be able to concentrate on healing Timar without the constant threat of him committing suicide.”
The moment Barrin arrived he was sucked into the group with no explanations other than to do as he was told. Gathering them round the bed, Sullyan reached out to each man in turn, linking their psyches together. Once they were all present in her mind, she turned to the Hierarch. Stilling her own fears, suffusing her thoughts with serenity, she approached his consciousness once more. As before, he refused to acknowledge her. This time Sullyan ignored the frantic rush of self-blame and destructive desires which threatened to swamp her. She slipped around his attention to seek the seat of his power.
She had done this once before, and the memory almost broke her concentration. Compelled to take Rykan’s life force once she had defeated him, she had extracted the very essence of his metaphysical powers against his will. Although this time the source was very different, her avenue of access to Pharikian’s power was much the same. Years ago, Pharikian had donated lifeblood to her mother, blood which was somehow passed on to Sullyan in the womb. She already carried part of his essence within her, and this prevented him from denying her by sheer will alone.
The strength of his power, however, was something else.
As soon as his tormented psyche realized what she meant to do, his full and frightening might was unleashed against her. She was ready for him. Forming a barrier of her own forces, which were the equal of his, she set herself against his will, refusing to be overcome. Frustrated anger shrieked around her, battering her shield. Then, while his whole attention was bent on fighting her, she called on the combined strength of those gathered in her mind and swiftly cast a net of force around his psyche, sealing it away before he could divert power to thwart her.
She steeled herself to ignore the frantic howls of betrayal coming from the depths of Pharikian’s soul. Deprived of what he so desperately sought, his psyche thrashed and writhed. Without the strength of his metaforce to sustain this destructive resistance, though, the sedatives Deshan had given him earlier were able to take effect. His anguished mental tones gradually faded into drugged sleep.
As the awful pressure of Pharikian’s powerful will was snuffed out, Sullyan almost fainted with relief. Despite her mighty shield, he had burned her. She slumped to the b
ed, releasing the captive minds that had provided her with strength. Each man sagged with the shock of the ordeal. Their labored breathing was loud in the chamber.
Deshan was the first to move, and he wasted no time in checking Pharikian’s body. No one had to ask whether Sullyan had been successful. They could all sense the unnatural quiet within the silent man on the bed. The absence of such a fundamental part of the ruler they all loved was deeply disturbing.
“You will be able to get him back?”
It was Barrin, voicing the one question no one wanted to ask. Sullyan couldn’t be irritable at his implied lack of trust. It was love that drove his fears, not suspicion. She smiled at him.
“Once he has had time to heal, I will release him. For now, he needs rest. With strength of the body comes strength of the mind, and he will be well.”
She rose wearily and Deshan grasped her hand in grateful thanks. The others filed from the room to leave their ruler in peace.
“I will go to the Princess,” Sullyan told Deshan. “I need to tell her what has occurred. I expect Marik will be along to see you later.”
Deshan nodded and Sullyan turned to go, pausing briefly to caress Pharikian’s lined face with tender fingers. She was very sore where his betrayed fury had burned her mind, and she could only hope he would forgive what she had done.
Making her way to the Princess’s apartments, she gained access once the guard on the door sent a maid for Marik. She was ushered into a finely appointed sitting room and smiled at the welcome aroma that greeted her. She felt drained, and fellan was just what she needed. When Marik appeared, he handed her a steaming cup and indicated a chair. She sank gratefully into it, and he sat opposite.
“I finally got Idri to sleep,” he said. “Deshan gave me some pills and I managed to slip one into her drink. She’ll never forgive me, but it’s done now.”