Artesans of Albia

by Cas Peace

  “The raiding issue is one thing and needs some careful thought,” he said. “As for the Staff, if our friend here has told us the full story then I’d say he simply didn’t have the strength to return it. The procedure’s simple enough, although I’ve never come across a weapon like he’s described. However, that elder had a reason for sending him here and I don’t believe we’ve heard it yet.”

  The big man’s perception made Taran go cold. He still said nothing, using all his training to keep his secret hidden.

  Robin broke the silence. “Well, whatever we decide, it’s too late for today. I won’t disturb the Major now that she’s sleeping. We need time to think it through and consider our next move. I’ll speak with Sullyan in the morning.” He turned to Taran. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

  “We didn’t have time to arrange lodgings,” Taran replied. “Is there a tavern nearby?”

  Bull shook his head. “There are no taverns nearer than Milo’s, which is two hours’ ride if you don’t know the shortcut. It’s growing too late for that. I’ve got space in my rooms, if you don’t mind sharing.”

  Taran raised his brows. “Is that permitted? This being a garrison, I mean.”

  Bull’s eyes twinkled. “The Manor doesn’t always conform to military regulations.”

  Robin grinned. “If that’s settled, I’ll see you in the commons later. Perhaps we can get to know each other better under more comfortable circumstances.” He stood and the others followed his lead. “I’ll bid you farewell for now.”

  To Taran’s surprise, he turned and opened the door to the Major’s apartment. Once it closed softly behind him, Taran looked inquiringly at Bull. The big man ignored him. Gathering the spent fellan cups, he invited them to follow him.

  As they left the office, they collected their bags, which had been deposited outside. Bull led them down several identical hallways, passing a few people on the way, most of whom greeted him with a nod. Turning a corner, Taran saw the corridor stretching before them was carpeted, giving the place a more homely feel.

  “These are our personal quarters,” the big man explained, “those of us with sufficient rank, that is.” A knowing look entered his eye as he glanced at Taran and pointed. “Those are Robin’s rooms over there, and these are mine.”

  He pushed open the heavy door with his foot and led them into a spacious, comfortable suite. Once he had shown them where they could sleep, he said, “I have a few duties to attend to, so feel free to rest and refresh yourselves. There’s plenty of hot water for washing”—he indicated the hearth, smiling at Rienne—“and when I return I’ll take you to the commons for supper.”

  He left them, pulling the door gently shut.

  + + + + +

  After a couple of hours, Bull returned. His guests had bathed and changed into more comfortable clothing and Rienne had even washed the fellan cups he’d left in the small cooking room, as well as some other dirty plates that clearly indicated Bull’s bachelor status.

  They were lounging comfortably around the room’s stone fireplace, Taran watching Cal consume some fiery liquor he had daringly liberated from a bottle on a low table against one wall. Taran had refused the drink, feeling he ought to keep a clear head, but Rienne had accepted some. She sipped hers cautiously.

  Taran raised his head as the door opened. Bull entered, followed by Robin. He, too, had changed and was now dressed casually in loose shirt and breeches. He looked much younger out of combat leathers. He nodded at Taran and chuckled when he saw what Cal was drinking.

  “You’re in trouble, big man,” he said to Bull. “Here’s another connoisseur of fine liquor. By the looks of things, you’d better hide that bottle.”

  Cal colored. “Sorry, should I not have touched this? You did say to help ourselves.”

  Bull laughed. “No friend, you’re welcome, if you’ve the taste for it. Not many do.” He smiled at Rienne. “I have to say I’m surprised your lady likes it.”

  She blushed and put her glass down.

  “Don’t mind me, dear heart,” he chuckled. “I’ll go and change and then we can eat.”

  He disappeared through the door to his sleeping room and Taran heard the sounds of drawers opening and water splashing. He turned to Robin, who was lounging against the wall.

  “How’s the Major?”

  Robin’s dark eyes lost their focus and there was a momentary silence before he replied.

  “She’s still sleeping.”

  Taran stared in open admiration. “You can link that easily?”

  “Of course,” said the Captain, “I’m an Adept-elite after all. You’re a Journeyman, surely you can, too?”

  Taran looked away. “Not like that.”

  There was a small silence.

  “Forgive me,” said Robin gently. “I find it too easy to forget that others are not as fortunate as we are. It must have been hard for you without a mentor. If you were going to be here long enough, I’d speak to Sullyan about training. One of us could surely spare you a few hours.”

  This casually worded statement set Taran’s whole body trembling. It was his deepest desire and he simply couldn’t help himself. His aura must have been all too easy for an Adept-elite to read because Robin’s voice was full of sympathy.

  “Has it been that hard for you?”

  Taran flushed. “You have no idea,” he said hoarsely. Gaining enough knowledge to raise his rank was what he’d been dreaming of for years, even before losing his father. He was incredibly jealous that Robin had a Master-elite to learn from.

  Fortunately, he was spared further embarrassment by Bull, who emerged from his chamber wearing similar clothes to Robin. Even off duty, Taran observed, the military couldn’t help but wear uniform.

  The big man smiled. “Who’s ready for supper? I could eat a horse.”

  “If Goran’s cooking, you might have to,” commented Robin. Bull laughed and led them back into the corridor.

  The commons was large and airy. Two vast stone hearths cast firelight into the room, which was mellow with the hum of voices, and a rather delicious meaty smell came from a door in one corner that led, Taran supposed, to the kitchens.

  As they entered, Rienne glanced at him, murmuring, “Not horse tonight, I think.”

  Her comment made Bull roar with laughter, which drew amused glances from many in the room. Despite her flaming face, he threw his arm around her shoulders. “I like your little lovely, Cal, my boy. You watch out, you might have competition for her affections.”

  Cal scowled and Rienne cringed but Bull didn’t seem to notice.

  He guided them to a free table not too close to the fire and called across the room. “Goran! Five more hungry mouths over here.”

  A couple of younger men seated at the next table sniggered. “Good job we were in here early tonight, lads. Looks like Bull has an appetite.”

  There was general laughter and other, more ribald comments about Bull’s appetites that had Rienne blushing furiously.

  “Now, now, boys,” reproved Bull loudly, “where are your manners? There’s a lady present tonight, so mind your language.”

  A quiet voice that dripped menace said, “A lady? That’ll be a change.”

  Robin, seated next to Taran, reacted viciously, startling the Journeyman.

  “That’s enough, Parren. I wouldn’t annoy me tonight if I were you.”

  Taran stared around, searching for the source of the comment. His gaze lit on a sallow-faced, lean young man seated across the room. His pale eyes were disturbingly empty and his cruel, thin lips formed a nasty smile.

  “Annoy you, Tamsen? I wouldn’t dream of it. Come on, lads, let’s find somewhere more comfortable.”

  He stood, his two companions rising with him, and left the room. A few men saluted as he passed but the sallow young man ignored them.

  Robin stared after him, his dark eyes hooded.

  “Forget him, Robin,” said Bull, “remember what she’s told you. Don’t let him rile you, he�
�s just itching to provoke a response. I thought you’d learned not to react like a cadet?”

  Robin dragged his attention back to his friend. “I have,” he said. “Mark my words, Bull. One day I’m going to make him pay for his spite.”

  Bull sighed theatrically, slapping a hand over his heart. “Oh, to be young!”

  He received a companionable punch on the arm and their attention was diverted from the unpleasant incident by the arrival of young lads carrying steaming plates of food.

  The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant haze of jovial conversation and good food. The crowd in the commons slowly dwindled to just a few latecomers lingering over their meals. Taran was feeling drowsy and contemplating retiring for the night when he saw the commons door open.

  An imposing man strode into the room. Tall and muscular, his angular face bore a stern expression. He wore casually smart clothing with an impressive array of rank insignia gleaming over his breast. He halted inside the doorway and every man in the room rose, saluting.

  Casually returning the homage, the man glanced around the room until his eyes found Robin. He strode over, casting his gaze around the Captain’s companions, noting the unfamiliar faces. Dismissing them, he addressed Robin.

  “Where is she? I hear she’s left the infirmary.”

  Robin saluted again before replying. “In her rooms, sir, still very weak. She needs more rest.”

  His tone was neutral but the older man’s eyes narrowed. “Are you implying some criticism, Captain?”

  Robin stood his ground. “Not at all, sir. I believe she intends to see you first thing in the morning.”

  “You’d better be right,” the tall man retorted. “First thing, understood?”

  He turned on his heel and strode from the room. As the door swung shut behind him, Robin hissed out his breath and sank to his chair.

  Bull rolled his eyes and Taran broke the silence.

  “I take it that was General Blaine?” he asked.

  Bull nodded.

  “Our illustrious leader,” spat Robin, echoing his earlier statement. “Gods, why can’t he leave her alone?”

  “Robin,” warned Bull, shooting a glance at the others. “Come on,” he said suddenly. “It’s late and we’re all tired. I think a good night’s sleep is what we need. We can start fresh tomorrow.”

  He led the way out of the commons and back to his apartment. Outside the door, he laid a hand on Robin’s shoulder. “Get some sleep, lad,” he advised kindly. “She won’t need you before morning.”

  Robin’s glance was weary. “I expect you’re right. Good night to you all, I hope Bull’s snoring doesn’t keep you awake.”

  He crossed the corridor and disappeared into his room. Taran saw Bull smile and shake his head as he ushered his guests through the door.

  Chapter Ten

  The corridor’s deep carpeting muffled Sonten’s footsteps as he strode toward his chamber. It was late and he was tired, having spent many hours communing via his messenger with the commanders of the Duke’s raiding forces.

  It galled Sonten that his weak Artesan powers forced him to use an intermediary to communicate his orders. His messenger, however, a youth named Imris who had joined the Duke’s household earlier that year, was far too timid to question Sonten’s lack of power.

  Unlike some, he thought sourly.

  Heron, the commander of Sonten’s personal bodyguard, never voiced personal opinions. Sonten was under no illusions about Verris, though. He often caught a gleam of contempt in the man’s eyes and was well aware that Verris maligned him behind his back. If not for the fact that Verris was the Duke’s man, Sonten would have been rid of him long ago.

  Unfortunately, his Grace paid far too close attention to what occurred among his forces for Sonten to fabricate a serious misdemeanor. No, for the moment Verris was safe and the ambitious commander knew it.

  “My Lord?”

  Lost in thought, Sonten jumped and swore, feeling sweat prickle him before he’d identified the speaker. He cursed his lack of control and for maybe the hundredth time since returning to the palace deplored his damnable misfortune. If only his Artesan gift was stronger, he could have concealed his terror. But of course, if it was, he wouldn’t be in this dreadful position, forced to constantly fear for his life.

  For seven nightmarish days, since watching his precious dreams burn on his nephew’s pyre, Sonten had dreaded this summons. Seven days of jumping at shadows, of sudden cold sweats, of erratic heartbeats whenever he heard the Duke’s voice rise above its normal, silken tones.

  But no summons came. Incredible as it seemed, his Grace hadn’t discovered the theft of the Staff. Sonten had fully expected to return to a palace in uproar, turned upside down in the hunt for the thief. He’d fully expected to be accused of the crime, to be seized, chained and thrown into the cells, there to await his Grace’s brutal pleasure.

  Instead, the Duke had received the news of Jaskin’s death with gratifying sympathy. He’d even offered to help Sonten punish his murderers.

  The rebelling peasants—Sonten’s excuse for the two-day trip to Durkos and on whom he’d conveniently blamed Jaskin’s death—would have been slaughtered by his Grace if not for the Albian raids and the unalterable timing of his schedule. Sonten would have found the whole situation amusing if not for his precarious circumstances.

  The reminder of those circumstances made Sonten speak viciously to the hapless servant who’d hailed him.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? How dare you creep up on me like that? You imbecile! You might have given me heart failure.”

  The servant cringed. “Forgive me, my Lord,” he whispered, “I meant no harm. The Duke sent me to find you. He wants to see you urgently.”

  Sonten turned cold. The moment he’d been dreading had come. His Grace had discovered the Staff was missing and now Sonten’s life was forfeit. He swayed with shock, steadying himself against the wall.

  “My Lord? Are you well?”

  He fixed the terrified man with a bloodshot eye. “Of course I’m not bloody well,” he spat. “But you’ll keep it to yourself or suffer a beating. Now be off with you, I can find his Grace without your help.”

  The servant bowed and scuttled away. Sonten knew they all feared him. It wasn’t unusual for him to have a servant flogged in order to relieve the tension of a difficult day.

  However, it would take more than a pleasurable flogging to help him now. He must face his fate, meet death as bravely as he could. He drew a breath and pushed away from the wall. Wiping sweat from his face, he made his way to the ducal chambers.

  + + + + +

  “Ah, Sonten, there you are. Come in and close the door, we have arrangements to discuss.”

  Taken aback, Sonten stared at the darkly regal figure seated by the fire. Pale yellow eyes glared impatiently while he hesitated. “A … arrangements, your Grace?”

  “Yes, Sonten, arrangements. What’s the matter with you, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. For the Void’s sake, shut the damned door.”

  Stung by the Duke’s irritation, Sonten obeyed and approached his overlord, feeling confused by his lack of rage and air of tense anticipation. He didn’t dare believe his luck had held once more.

  “I’ve just had a message from Verris,” the Duke said. “I take it you’ve heard how successful the raids have been?”

  Sonten had to swallow his anger. Verris had deliberately flouted his commands in reporting directly to the Duke. “Yes, your Grace, I spoke to Commander Heron not an hour ago. It seems the men are doing everything you asked.”

  “They know damn well what will happen if they don’t.” The Duke’s deep voice was full of menace. “In the light of this, Sonten, I think it’s time to leave for Cardon. I want everything ready tomorrow. Contact Heron, tell him to intensify the action. I want them hit at dawn and hit hard. Tell them to concentrate on destroying the buildings, causing as much damage as possible. They’re not to get sidetracked into h
and-to-hand fighting, their original orders stand. I’ll need every available man when the real offensive begins, despite those extra levies. Verris knows my intentions, make damned sure Heron does, too.”

  Indignantly, Sonten said, “Heron is a good man, your Grace, and an able commander. He knows his orders just as well as Commander Verris. I’d even say he’s less likely to allow his men to stray. Verris has his eye on plunder, unless I miss my guess.”

  The Duke tilted his aristocratic face up to Sonten’s and there was a sardonic gleam in his eye. “You don’t like Verris, do you, Sonten?”

  The General bridled. “My personal feelings don’t come into it, your Grace. I’m only concerned for how well the man carries out his duties.”

  The Duke’s predatory smile widened. “Of course you are, Sonten. Rest assured Verris will carry out his duties to the letter. He knows what will happen if he doesn’t. I trust you’ve already given orders to ready the carriages?”

  “I have,” replied Sonten, offended by the implied slur. His irritation, added to his relief at not facing imminent death, made him bold. “Your Grace, are you sure this is wise? You’re courting unnecessary danger by making this trip to Cardon. Can’t you rely on the Count to follow your instructions? Surely this whole plan of the Baron’s carries more risk than the rewards can possibly justify?”

  The Duke’s saturnine face darkened. Fluidly, he rose from his chair, deliberately towering over the shorter man. The anger in his eyes shot straight to Sonten’s heart and the General cursed his own brazen criticism.

  “Are you questioning my judgment, Sonten?” The Duke’s deep voice dripped menace. “I didn’t summon you here to voice your opinions. I haven’t supported your ailing province all these years so you could parade your craven reservations. What do you know of the rewards I shall reap, what do you know of the risks involved? You have no idea.

  “You’re impotent, Sonten, a metaphysical eunuch. Concentrate on my battle plans, prick those Albians ’til they bleed. Leave the power and the politics to those who know what they’re doing.”