Artesans of Albia: 02 - King's Champion

by Cas Peace

  Sullyan left the battlements, taking Almid and Kester with her. She found Marik fretting in his bed. Glad of a reason to use her powers since they were useless on her own malady, she poured strength and stability into him as well as numbing some of his pain. The giants then wrapped him carefully in blankets and a huge cloak before lifting him into a solid padded chair. This they carried between them up the interminable stairs and out onto the Tower roof, positioning it so Marik could look over the walls and observe the scene below.

  What he saw was total carnage. There were dead and dying men and horses everywhere. The noise of battle was loud and the smells of warfare spiraled on the torpid air. Generals and commanders on both sides could be seen exhorting their tired and dispirited men, but those on Rykan’s side were having less success than those on the Hierarch’s. As Sullyan knew, many of Rykan’s troops were newly subjugated and had little or no stomach for this fight. Finding themselves on the losing side, they vanished from the battlefield like wraiths in the sun. Watching Rykan’s forces dwindle by the hour brought a grim smile to Pharikian’s face.

  Eventually, just as the light was fading, a distinctive horn-call blared across the Plains. Sullyan traded a look with Pharikian. Rykan’s heralds were signaling his intention to surrender. Robin hugged her tight and Commander Vanyr shook his sovereign’s hand. Sullyan simply felt numb.

  Suddenly, the Citadel’s curtain walls were thronging with people, all cheering their victorious army. The fighting men, too exhausted to cheer, watched as Anjer and his honor guard rode forward to meet Rykan’s emissary and receive the Duke’s token of surrender. He reported the news that Rykan would formally cede victory to the Hierarch and withdraw his personal challenge one hour after dawn on the following day. Pharikian sent his acceptance.

  To noisy acclaim from the populace, Anjer returned to the Citadel.

  * * * * *

  So it’s definite? He’s surrendered?

  It was evening, and Taran was listening in to Bull’s conversation with Robin. They learned that the Captain had finally persuaded Sullyan to rest once the furor of congratulating Anjer had subsided, but they were due to attend the Hierarch later to discuss Rykan’s formal surrender.

  Taran and his companions had heard Rykan’s horns without realizing their significance. On learning the truth, they shared mixed emotions; elation at the outcome of the war, but trepidation at the thought of what Sullyan must now face. Bull in particular was alarmed when he heard Robin’s account of how the Duke’s physical presence had affected her.

  So how will she cope with fighting him? he asked.

  Robin replied heavily. I have no idea. She’s going to have to tell the Hierarch tonight and I don’t know how he’ll react.

  Any idea when the duel will take place?

  I’d imagine the day after tomorrow. The Hierarch will issue his own challenge in the morning, and I expect Rykan will be given a day to rest and prepare after the fighting. Not that he took much part in it. He only crawled out of his tent this morning.

  What are the chances we can get closer to watch?

  Robin paused to consider. Not good, Bull. Both armies are still entrenched around the Citadel. You’d never get through Rykan’s lines unobserved. Even if you did, I doubt the Hierarch or Anjer would approve of what you’ve done. Best keep your heads down and stay where you are. I don’t even want to think how the Major would react to learning you’ve been there all along. She’s got enough on her mind right now.

  Bull conceded the point, although his heart railed against it. He broke the link and left Taran to tell the others what they had learned. This he did with a heavy heart, knowing how distressed Rienne would be.

  * * * * *

  Sullyan woke to Robin’s gentle kiss a couple of hours later. He was sorry to do it. She had been soundly sleeping, which was a rarity in itself, and he knew how badly she needed the rest. Yet they had to attend the Hierarch, and it wouldn’t do to be late. She gave him a soft smile and immersed herself in the bathing pool before accepting Robin’s offer of fresh fellan as she dressed.

  The meeting would be informal, attended by the Hierarch, Anjer, Ephan, Kryp, and Vanyr. Its purpose was to discuss the arrangements for hearing Rykan’s declaration of surrender and the promulgating of the Hierarch’s own personal challenge. It would be held in Pharikian’s lesser audience chamber with its more comfortable seating and roaring fire. By the time Sullyan arrived, Ky-shan and Jay’el still shadowing her, everyone was there with the exception of the Hierarch.

  Leaving the pirates by the door, Sullyan crossed to Anjer, intending to give her personal congratulations on his victory. Instead of waiting for her to speak, however, he startled her by sweeping her into his arms. He was smiling hugely.

  “If it hadn’t been for you noticing Rykan’s sneaky little move, the battle might have had a very different outcome. Andaryon stands in your debt, Major Sullyan.”

  He set her on her feet again and she flushed, embarrassed by his praise. “I am sure you would have seen it for yourself, my Lord.”

  “Not soon enough, my Lady! Kryp wants to thank you as well, for his lines were weak on that side and Rykan might well have broken through if you hadn’t alerted me.”

  To her deepening mortification, Kryp heaved himself to his feet and held out a meaty hand to her. Unable to refuse, she took it and he clasped hers to his chest as he added his heartfelt thanks to Anjer’s. All traces of his former animosity seemed to have vanished. She noticed how he favored one leg and commented on it.

  “It’s only a flesh wound, Lady Brynne,” he said. “I was one of the lucky ones.”

  Ephan was wounded too and sported a bandage over one eye, his left arm in a sling. His smile of greeting also conveyed his gratitude. Vanyr bowed his head to her, although he didn’t speak. The Commander seemed to have put aside much of his former hostility, although he still seemed ill at ease in her company. She noticed his eyes on her more than once during the evening.

  The chamber door opened and the Hierarch, preceded by two pages, entered the room. To the delight of all, Marik followed him, the twins once again carrying the Count in his chair. Deshan and the Princess walked behind him, and they took seats on either side of Marik once the twins placed him at the oval table. There were congratulatory remarks all round for the heroics of the Count and his men.

  The meeting got off to a slow start as servants brought in a light meal. Anjer and Kryp devoured theirs as if they feared a famine, but the rest ate more sedately. The Hierarch watched Sullyan closely as the meal progressed, and she saw his lips purse at the small amount she ate. When the plates were finally cleared away, he turned to her.

  “Brynne, before we discuss the real reasons behind this meeting, I think we need to establish exactly what happened to you this morning. Would you mind?”

  Sullyan’s eyes darkened at the memory, but she couldn’t escape the necessity of his question. The fire opal at her throat leaped to the beat of her heart. Anjer, Kryp, and Ephan, all informed of the attack she had suffered earlier that day, turned concerned eyes on her. The Major took a moment to compose herself before speaking.

  “It was the Duke’s physical presence, Majesty. I never imagined it would cause such a reaction in me. My powers were useless against the pain, and I have no idea how to counter its effects. I very much fear it will compromise my efficiency in dealing with him on a personal basis.”

  Their concern was palpable and Anjer leaned forward. “Then what are we to do?”

  Pharikian held up a hand to ward off further queries. Sullyan watched him, suspecting he had a plan. She was right.

  “Yes, I thought that might be the case. Deshan and I have been discussing this, child, and we believe we have found a way to ensure your freedom from this pain when you face Rykan. On the day of the duel, just before you go to meet him, we will share life force with you. That should give you the physical strength, at least for a while, to ward off the poison’s effects. Hopefully it will last long eno
ugh for you to defeat him.”

  This was an unprecedented offer and Robin’s eyes widened. Sullyan shook her head. “I cannot take your life force, Majesty, it would be too risky! What if I should lose?”

  The Hierarch regarded her, eyes hard. “If you lose to him, Brynne, it will matter little that you carry our life force. Do you think Rykan will allow any of us to live if he takes the crown? You and I both know he will put us all to the sword, regardless of rank or Code.”

  She expelled a breath, capitulation in her eyes, and he saw it. “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow morning, when we ride out to accept his surrender and issue the challenge, I will shield you from his influence. Before you face him in the arena, those of us who are Artesans will share life force with you. We trust you, Brynne Sullyan, and if the fate of this realm is to rest with you, then surrendering life force is the least we can do.”

  She sat with her hands in her lap, her head bowed, not really listening to the rest of the conversation. She trusted Robin to relay the details later. She knew he appreciated how she was feeling and would realize the Hierarch was giving her time to assimilate his words.

  Her thoughts were churning, assessing the offer. The sharing of life force between Artesans was an intimate and risky thing. Simply put, it was to give control of one’s very existence into another’s hands, and once given, it couldn’t be taken back save by the willing release of the holder. It gave the holder, for a finite period, total access to whatever powers the donor possessed, both mental and physical. If the donor died before their life force could be returned, then their metaphysical powers became part of the recipient’s psyche. But if the recipient should die, so would the donor. Understandably, it was a rarely proffered gift.

  Sullyan knew that it often took a lifetime of practice for someone born with the Artesan gift to learn how to use it effectively. She was a rare exception in her level of Mastery at such a young age. To suddenly be given control over powers as mighty as the Hierarch’s, however, could be extremely dangerous, even for her. One slip, one lapse of concentration, and lives would be lost. And that was not the only risk.

  In this situation they were hazarding everything, gambling their lives and the fate of the realm on Sullyan’s ability to overcome Rykan. If she defeated him, his threat disappeared and the Hierarch reaffirmed his sovereignty. Yet if Rykan won, he stood to gain much more than mere sovereignty. If victorious, Rykan would almost certainly stipulate access to Sullyan’s intimate power as his prize, and with the donor life forces within her, he would instantly control more power than anyone had ever possessed before. He would become invincible, truly omnipotent.

  Sullyan knew she couldn’t allow it.

  Should the unthinkable happen—should she fail to defeat Rykan—there was only one way she knew of to prevent such a terrifying outcome. Unfortunately, it depended on the Duke’s respect for the honor codes surrounding the challenge they proposed to issue. Like the Hierarch, she had absolutely no faith in Rykan’s honor.

  She was still brooding on the subject when the meeting broke up. The others were leaving and she stood, Robin beside her. Pharikian came over to her and held out his arms. Wordlessly, she entered his embrace and they stood motionless for a while.

  Eventually, he released her and stepped back, looking closely into her small, pale face. “Never fear, dear child,” he murmured, cupping her chin with one hand, “you will not fail if our strength and love can do anything to prevent it. Now go and rest, both of you. Tomorrow will be a difficult day, and you need whatever strength you can summon. Try not to brood, Brynne. What will be, will be.”

  Kissing her brow gently, he sent her away.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Despite her fears that sleep wouldn’t come, Sullyan and Robin spent a dreamless night. Lying entwined and unmoving, exhaustion quickly claimed them. They were woken an hour before dawn by servants bringing food. The fire in their suite was stoked to a bright blaze and they took fellan together by its comforting warmth before Sullyan disappeared into the bathing room. A few minutes later she heard a knock on the outer door, followed by a surprised exclamation from Robin. She frowned—it clearly wasn’t the Hierarch. Before she could call to Robin, the door of the bathing room swung open and Princess Idrimar strode in. She held a bundle of clothing over her arm, and she smiled at Sullyan before firmly closing the door behind her.

  A short while later Sullyan followed the Princess from the pool room. She was pleased to see that Robin was now fully attired in his dress uniform, the one bearing the Hierarch’s colors. He was sitting by the fire, eating bread spread with honey, and he stared admiringly as she approached him, appreciating what had been done. The Hierarch must have expressly ordered the clothes, as they fitted Sullyan perfectly. Her own combat leathers and the new jacket in the Hierarch’s colors were too big for her now she had lost so much weight. The new uniform hugged her slight figure intimately and was obviously designed to assist movement.

  The leather was soft and supple whilst still affording some protection. It was very dark purple—almost black—with gold buttons on the linen shirt and jacket, and a gold buckle on the soft leather sword belt. The shirt and jacket collars were trimmed with imperial purple, and Sullyan’s array of rank insignia and battle honors gleamed above the jacket pocket. Lying across a chair was a flowing cloak, designed as much for show as for warmth. The Princess picked it up, draping it about Sullyan’s shoulders. The Major was uncomfortable at having Andaryon’s Princess serve her like a maid, but she accepted her attentions as best she could. Eventually, Idrimar stepped back to survey the effect. “Very good,” she approved. She then gestured for Sullyan to sit and served her bread and honey, encouraging her to eat while they waited for the Hierarch’s summons.

  The light outside increased as a pale, watery sun nudged its way over the rooftops. A page appeared at the door and Idrimar turned to Sullyan. “Are you ready?” Sullyan inclined her head, not trusting herself to speak. She and Robin followed the Princess along the corridors, Ky-shan, Jay’el, Ki-en, and the twins walking behind. Clearly they weren’t going to miss this if they could help it, and Sullyan couldn’t refuse them. She nodded as she passed them but didn’t speak.

  When they reached the outer courtyard, there was already quite a crowd. Horses had been readied, their hides and gear gleaming, warm breath steaming faintly in the cool dawn air. Sullyan looked for Drum, but although she could see a groom holding Robin’s chestnut Torka, there was no sign of her big black stallion.

  The entire royal household had turned out to see the party ride off, and the ladies Falina, Hollett, and Torien were all in attendance on their lords. Kryp and Ephan, still sporting bandages, were dressed in their battle uniforms, but Sullyan suddenly noticed that Anjer wore clothing identical to hers. She frowned.

  A stir by the doors to the royal apartments heralded the arrival of the Hierarch, who was followed by his secretary, Baron Gaslek. Sullyan heard Robin’s gasp of admiration and could scarcely blame him, for the tall, patrician ruler was dressed magnificently. His state robes were white, gold, and purple, and he wore a long, flowing cloak of gold gauze trimmed with white fur and purple velvet. It shimmered strangely in the watery sunlight as he crossed the courtyard. Coming over to where Sullyan waited, he beckoned Anjer to him. The two men halted in front of her and as she was about to make an obeisance, Pharikian took her hand.

  “We’ll dispense with the formalities today, child, there’ll be enough of that outside very shortly. Now, Brynne, you will doubtless have noticed that your enormous warhorse isn’t here. That’s because we thought it best to keep your presence concealed from Rykan until we choose to reveal the Crown’s Champion. You would be all too visible aboard that huge beast, so I have provided another mount for you today. Stay at the rear of the party, if you will, until we call you forward.”

  “As you wish, Majesty.”

  He turned to Robin. “As for you, young man, your duty this morning will be to direct the flow of my shield
ing toward Brynne, as I may well become distracted once we meet Rykan face to face. There’s never been any love lost between us, and there’s even less cause for it now. So don’t allow your attention to wander.”

  Robin nodded and the Hierarch turned back to Sullyan.

  “My child, the Lord General has claimed the right to be your second, both today and tomorrow. Under other circumstances, the Champion’s lot would have fallen on him, so I think this is fitting. Do you agree?”

  “Of course, Majesty. I would be honored.” She smiled up at Anjer’s massive, comforting form. He placed his hand on her shoulder.

  “Then I believe we are ready.”

  A groom brought the Hierarch’s horse forward. It was a stately golden mare with a nearly white mane and tail. Her coat was burnished and gleaming, her gear polished brightly and glittering with golden fittings. She was decked out with a cloth of gold trapper, and purple bunting adorned the reins. Belying his age, Pharikian swung easily into the saddle, his back straight and strong as he nudged the mare toward the gates. His generals mounted their warhorses and Sullyan settled herself into the saddle of the dapple-grey pacer the groom brought her. It was much smaller than her familiar Drum.

  They formed up in the courtyard, Pharikian in the lead with Anjer by his side, Kryp and Ephan following, then Gaslek, and finally Sullyan and Robin. The pirates ranged themselves around her, and no one commented on their presence. A full contingent of Velletian Guard, all wearing purple and gold ceremonial uniforms and led by a brooding, hard-eyed Vanyr, surrounded the party. The Hierarch raised his arm and the many trumpeters stationed on the Palace walls brought their horns to life. To the resulting bellow of sound, the courtyard gates swung open and the party rode onto the Processional Way. With the pale sunlight gleaming off polished swords and gold cloth, they rode in stately fashion, acclaim from the populace ringing in Sullyan’s ears. The noise was deafening as they entered the lower town, and flowers and petals were thrown under the horses’ feet.