by Cas Peace
She gazed at it. “Is there any more of that sacking?”
Bull fetched a piece from the barn, and then looked horrified as she bent to pick up the silver. “Don’t touch it, Sully!”
She smiled gently. “I am intimately acquainted with the effects of this metal, Bull. It can do me no further harm.”
She took up the silver and wrapped it tightly in the clean sacking. Despite her words, she couldn’t quite hide the flicker of agony that touching it brought, and she knew Bull had seen. He understood that she was sparing anyone else the task of handling it, yet he still shook his head as he opened her pack so she could drop the bundle inside.
Preparations complete, they mounted up. Robin cleared the stirrup for Sullyan, and Bull helped her up to sit before him on Torka’s chestnut neck. She was still too weak to ride by herself, and snuggled into Robin’s arms, feeling his warm and vital body supporting her.
Rienne began the journey seated in front of Cal, and they left the safety of the drovers’ hut just past noon.
* * * * *
General Sonten strode heavily through the fear-haunted palace, for once immune to the panic waiting to strike. He grinned maliciously as he reflected on the reasons for the Duke’s latest fury. He was so gleeful at this second blow to Rykan’s plans that he could have laughed out loud. Only his sheer incredulity stopped him.
He was barely able to credit what had happened. Who would have thought the meek and cowardly Count had such bravery in him? Who would have guessed that such a long, melancholy face could conceal such desperate cunning? Not Sonten, that was for sure. And certainly not the Duke or he would have had the man chained, flogged, and tossed naked into the cells as soon as they had returned from Cardon. He certainly wouldn’t have been left alone with that damned human witch. She couldn’t have been as close to death and defeat as Rykan had thought. The two of them had clearly conspired together to cheat the Duke of his prize.
Unlikely as it seemed, the Count had managed to free her on his own, and in doing so he had done Sonten a favor, although he probably wouldn’t be pleased to hear it. He had been as fearful of Sonten as he was of the Duke himself, and Sonten had done nothing to soothe those fears. This was so ironic, thought Sonten, because had he known what Marik’s intentions were, he would actually have helped the man. Had he suspected for just one moment that the Count might have carried off such a risky rescue, Sonten would have joined forces with him and made the whole thing easier.
Yet Marik hadn’t needed any help, and once again Sonten was in the clear. The Duke had no reason to turn his insane fury on his general. Instead, he had taken out his rage on those more expendable. Sonten had spent quite some time overseeing the clean-up of Rykan’s killing spree, and the unfortunate remnants of Marik’s court who had survived would be among the first thrown to the Hierarch’s troops.
Emerging into the crowded compound, Sonten chuckled again. He just couldn’t help it. Capricious fortune had turned his way at last and was smiling on his plans. This was not the first ironic twist of fate to befall him since accompanying the Duke to Cardon.
He stopped, glaring at the chaos, at the preparations being made. Faces turned toward him, anticipating the order to move out. He had come to deliver those orders, for his Grace could wait no longer. Unable to give chase to the traitor due to the timing of his plans, the furious Duke had been forced to rely on Sonten’s patrols to intercept and apprehend the runaways.
Sonten had sent two units to Cardon in case the Count should run for his manor, although if the man was that stupid, Sonten would eat his horse. Surely no one who could snatch such a prize from under Rykan’s nose would be so simple as to run straight home. No, the Count wouldn’t rely on Rykan’s challenge to protect him from Rykan’s wrath.
Mind you, reflected Sonten with grudging respect, the Count had been surprisingly cunning there too. If his rescue had been cut any finer, Rykan would have caught him in the act. As it was, they could only have got clear with scant minutes in hand, judging by the residual warmth in the body of the jailor they had found in the cells.
Now that his formal challenge was issued, Rykan was committed to war, despite his failure to secure the witch’s powers. He couldn’t take the chance that the Hierarch’s forces would be sent to contain him, although even that eventuality had been planned for. Fortunately, the Hierarch’s generals were unaware of Rykan’s increased numbers and would be totally unprepared for the strength he could field. They would simply retreat behind Caer Vellet’s well-defended walls and rely upon its granite to protect them while Rykan threw his warriors at the stone.
At least, this was what Sonten had told his overlord, and he was confident he would be proved right. The Hierarch’s generals would expect a siege, and that expectation would play into Rykan’s hands. It would allow him to turn up his trump card—the ancient and obscure tradition that would lead to the Hierarch’s downfall.
Sonten grinned widely. The Duke didn’t need his despised Albian ally, the sly, self-serving Baron. He would realize that once the battle for Caer Vellet was won. This was Sonten’s field of expertise. Outright warfare was much more to his taste than consorting with and pandering to humans.
Feeling satisfied, Sonten cast about for one of the Duke’s commanders, the one who had replaced the late, unlamented Verris. “Reece!” he bellowed, summoning a bearded, dark-skinned fellow who scuttled to his side, fear showing in his face.
“My Lord?”
“His Grace has given the order. We ride within the hour. Muster your lieutenants and have them form their companies. Move them out by rote, and make sure you follow the marching order. His Grace is in no mood to be crossed, so keep the formations tight. Any news from the patrols?”
“Nothing, my Lord, after the initial trail went cold. The Count must have covered his tracks among ours, and in the dark—”
“I don’t need your excuses, Reece. His Grace will deal with their failure if and when they have the nerve to show their faces. Just hope he calms down before he asks for your report. I can do without losing another commander. They’re getting thin on the ground. Well? Why are you still here?”
Reece gave a hurried salute before turning away and yelling orders, his harsh voice betraying his fear. The general grinned yet again, thankful to be spared that heart-stopping chill. He hadn’t felt it for days now, not since the morning he had returned to Marik’s miserable manor with Rykan to discover that the murdering Albian Journeyman hadn’t been caught in the Duke’s clever trap.
What had become of him and his two male companions, Sonten didn’t know. They had probably returned to their own realm, abandoning the witch to her fate. It didn’t matter. The Duke’s only concern was the human witch, and he hadn’t noticed Sonten’s air of relief. The general had even ceased to think about exacting revenge for Jaskin’s death. That could wait until he was in a position to deal with it.
Then came Sonten’s second stroke of luck, and he had marveled at fate’s infidelity. For as soon as they returned to Kymer with the human witch at Rykan’s mercy, the Duke had discovered the theft of the Staff. His rage had known no bounds. Yet instead of suspecting Sonten as the general had feared, Rykan turned to him for aid and even charged him with hunting out the culprit.
Scarcely able to believe his luck, Sonten had happily conducted a thorough search, unearthing vague and misleading clues which of course led nowhere. Rykan’s apoplectic fury was directed away from Sonten, and the men he killed didn’t affect their preparations for war.
Trying to keep his mirth under control, Sonten pushed his way through the mass of men in the compound. He roared for Heron. His trusted commander appeared at a run, looking alarmed. Sonten threw a heavy arm across Heron’s slimmer shoulders.
“The time has come, Heron, my man!”
The Artesan commander frowned, made uneasy by his lord’s familiarity and also his strange, elated mood.
Sonten turned gleaming eyes on his commander and tightened his grip on the
man’s shoulders. “Saddle my horse and stand the escort by the gates. His Grace is ready to ride. And don’t you let me down, my valuable Artesan friend. Keep yourself well clear of the fighting and report to me every night. Keep your wits about you, and don’t forget where your gold comes from. There’s more at stake here than mere coinage, if my plans work out this time. Now go and join the formation and prepare our men to march. I’ve a good feeling about this, Heron. My fortunes are about to rise.”
* * * * *
According to Marik, it would take them just over a day to reach his mansion. In the wake of the rain, the wind was much colder. Rienne rode behind Cal, her cloak bundled tightly around her. The season was turning toward winter. The Count had predicted a frost.
The heavy folds of Rienne’s cloak warmed the horse’s back as well as her own. Sullyan had also drawn a cloak close about her and was sleeping in Robin’s arms. Rienne marveled that she could sleep at all with the motion of the horse, but supposed that her half-healed condition and soldier’s ability to snatch sleep whatever the circumstances must help.
Throughout the dark afternoon, the wind grew steadily colder and stronger. Marik led the way, Bull, Taran, and Robin taking turns to scout their surroundings. They saw nothing but wildlife and heard nothing but birds. As true twilight began to dim the countryside, Rienne suggested that Cal use the crossbow he had taken to carrying and try his hand at bringing down some game for supper. She was worried about Sullyan’s lack of appetite and thought a good, warm stew might tempt her. The others agreed, and Marik took Rienne onto his horse. He told Cal to look out for a small species of woodland pig that made especially good eating.
The creatures were plentiful but shy, so Cal had to move apart from the group to stalk them. Instructed to keep in touch with Taran, he disappeared into the deepening gloom. Half an hour later Taran reported his success, and soon the Apprentice reappeared ahead of them, a small carcass slung across his stallion’s withers.
Marik found a sheltered spot to make camp in a clearing in the woods through which they had been riding for the last couple of hours. Stars were shimmering in the crystal clear sky, the wind had begun to die, and the horses’ breath steamed in the frosty air. Robin roused the Major, who seemed much improved as Bull helped her down from the Captain’s horse. She stretched cramped muscles with only a tiny wince at the pull on her damaged ribs. Rienne guessed she had been using her vast powers to aid her healing while she slept, because the bruises on her face and arms were fading fast.
The two women skinned and dressed the meat while the men kindled a fire and saw to the horses. Marik found some herbs that would complement the pig’s gamey flavor, and the resultant stew was welcome and heartening. Sullyan still didn’t eat very much. Rienne commented on it, trying to encourage her. Sullyan’s manner was vague and distracted, and her face was very pale. She sat in silence as the others consumed their meal, and Rienne noticed Robin watching her, concern in his dark blue eyes.
Once the food was finished and cleared away, they sat around the fire for warmth, cradling steaming cups of fellan. Bull reported the area clear of people, and Cal took his longwhistle from his pack, playing softly into the night air. Smiling, Rienne recognized one of the folk tunes she and Sullyan had giggled over during the evening they had spent together. The Major, who was sitting to her right, had also recognized the tune. Her head was turned toward Cal, and her golden eyes glittered with tears that reflected the jumping firelight.
When she noticed Rienne’s regard, she smiled warmly. The healer experienced a sudden rush of companionship, friendship, and pleasure in another’s esteem, such as she hadn’t felt since falling for Cal’s dark good looks. Then she heard Sullyan’s voice in her mind.
I shall never forget your care, help, and friendship, Rienne. I could never thank you for what you have done for me.
Rienne’s vision blurred and she had to turn away. Overwhelming grief welled inside her. Knowing what she would soon lose was too much to bear. She heard Sullyan give a tiny gasp and knew she felt it too.
The Major turned to Robin, her voice husky in the peaceful night. “I need you to do something for me, Robin. I need you to find out where Rykan’s forces are. I dare not do it myself. Rykan is far too familiar with my psyche, and I would rather not reveal my whereabouts until I am ready. He may even think I am dead, and that sits well with me. If you look for his pattern in the substrate and read the emotions it contains, you should be able to glean some information without alerting him. Will you do this for me?”
Robin nodded. “Of course. You’ll have to show me his pattern.”
She did so, and they all waited patiently. Robin’s eyes lost their focus as he flung his metasenses out to search for Rykan’s psyche. After a few minutes, he came back to himself. His gaze found Marik’s with an expression both grim and amused. The Count raised his brows in query.
Robin said, “I don’t know whether this will please you or not, my friend, but it seems your reputation has gained notoriety among Rykan’s forces.”
The Count looked puzzled. “Oh?”
“Rykan has issued a death warrant in your name for abducting the Lady Ambassador here.” Robin grinned at Marik’s expression, then related what he had learned about Rykan’s movements.
Sullyan nodded in satisfaction. The Duke had acted according to her expectations.
“Can he win a pitched battle by strength of arms alone?” Taran asked her.
“He has to try now he has issued a formal challenge,” she replied. “The Andaryan Codes of Combat do not permit a lord to recant once such a challenge has been accepted. He must either win or concede defeat, and if he concedes then he submits to the victor’s will. But Rykan has been circumspect, and he did not pin his entire strategy on forcing me to surrender my metaforce. It is my duty to make sure he cannot win by might of arms, no matter how many men he fields.”
She didn’t elaborate further and Taran didn’t press her. Rienne thought she knew why. Taran feared that the three of them would be sent back to Albia once they reached Marik’s mansion. He would be trying to deal with his feelings about that. She caught his eye and saw that he knew she was aware of his turmoil. He turned his face away.
They retired to sleep soon after that, the men agreeing on watches. None of them would wake Sullyan until morning.
Chapter Seven
It froze hard overnight, but a glorious morning met their eyes as the sun climbed a brittle, blue sky, striking sparks from the frosted trees. The ground crunched under the horses’ hooves as the animals foraged beneath the boughs.
After a warming breakfast and copious amounts of fellan, Sullyan astounded Robin by asking him to fence with her. He protested, but she growled at him and he fetched his weapon with no further comment. Rienne strongly suspected that Sullyan had spent the night in healing rather than sleeping, for her face was paler and thinner than ever and she gave no sign of feeling the ribs that had only been set two days before.
She made a good showing against Robin and chastised him for going easy with her when she wanted his full commitment. After she nearly disarmed him with an unexpected move, he made no further concessions. Rienne surprised herself by watching the graceful, agile, but deadly moves with delight and some envy. She had intended to monitor Sullyan’s condition, but instead found herself admiring the Major’s skills. For the first time in her life, Rienne thought it might feel good to be able to handle a blade that well.
Both Robin and Sullyan were perspiring by the time the Major ended their bout. Panting, she dropped to the ground. Robin was only marginally less winded, and he leaned on his sword, regarding her with exasperation.
“Did you really have to push that hard? You’ll do yourself some damage if you’re not careful.”
She glared at him, and Rienne thought she would deliver a hard reply about it being far too late to worry about damage. Instead she said mildly, “I thought you needed the exercise, Captain. I believe you are growing a touch lazy.”
This was so patently untrue that Robin snorted. He held out a hand to help her rise. Sullyan’s fingers brushed his face gently as she walked past him to stow her weapon. Robin watched her, an intense expression in his eyes.
Soon they were on their way again, Marik estimating that they should reach the mansion by mid-afternoon. As before, Sullyan slept in Robin’s arms, and they didn’t bother with a noon meal as they were so close to their goal. Once they were within a few miles of the mansion, Sullyan roused and looked around.
“Robin, will you scout the area? If Rykan is as avid for the Count’s blood as you suggest, then he will have sent men to watch his home.”
Robin glanced at Bull, and the two men merged their power to search the area for patrols. As the Major had expected, they found two units of Rykan’s men stationed to guard both approaches to Marik’s mansion. There were no other signs of life. The servants who had been chased off had sensibly stayed away.
Sullyan paused before regarding them all. “I cannot afford for any of those men to report back to Rykan. They will have to be dealt with.”
Robin and Bull were unfazed by this, but as Marik, Cal, and Taran were not under her authority, she needed their acceptance before commanding them. Taran and Cal were more than happy to follow Robin, and Marik was fatalistic about his future.
“I’m caught between Rykan and the Hierarch anyway,” he muttered. “Either one is entitled to kill me on sight, so what do I have to lose?”
As Marik knew the terrain best, they took his advice on how to lure the patrols out. It was decided that Sullyan and Rienne would be left in ambush with a crossbow apiece, and the men would draw the patrols into range of their bolts. Sullyan seemed satisfied with this plan, but Rienne was far from happy. She wasn’t at all sure she could aim a weapon at another living being.
“Do not try, then,” said Sullyan. “Aim for the ground in front of the horses. Knowing you are shooting at them will be enough to distract the riders. Leave the killing to me.”