Artesans of Albia

by Cas Peace

  Taran flushed with renewed shame.

  “Rykan will be furious over Jaskin’s death. He will see it as a personal insult and will be avid for revenge. Your unfortunate failure to provide a witness to your contract with Jaskin and to place the customary restraints on Jaskin’s retinue at the outcome of the duel has left Rykan free to demand the right of redress from the Hierarch. He has been awaiting such an opportunity for years, although I am surprised he has been allowed to break the Pact so thoroughly.”

  Taran sat in silence, his guilt and fear building.

  “As for the weapon you brought through the portway with you,” she said, “here I have to confess I am at a loss. I have no personal experience of such a thing and cannot say why you were unable to return it. However, from your description of the pain it caused you when you used it, and also its reaction when you tried to touch it again, I would guess that it has somehow been imbued with the power of its owner. Since it is an Andaryan artifact, such alien forces would react adversely with yours. This would explain why the portway, which contained your own metaforce, reacted so violently when the Staff was inside it. It also explains the temporary damage to your mind and I suspect you were inadequately shielded when you returned after killing the tangwyr. You were fortunate indeed to escape permanent damage, my friend, or even worse.”

  Taran shuddered.

  “But I have no idea why, or how, such a terrible thing was created. It would need further study but that is something we will not have time for until this current crisis is resolved. At least we now have a clearer understanding of why the invasion has occurred.

  “And I have to tell you that it is very bad news, Taran Elijah. Very bad indeed.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Thoroughly shamed, Taran lowered his eyes.

  “Can anything be done?” he asked. “Can I do anything? I’ve been terrified that the Andaryans can somehow sense the thing and I know they would inflict dreadful suffering on my village if they came looking for it.”

  Sullyan regarded him. “If the artifact is buried deeply enough to need more than one day to dig out, as you have said, then I doubt even its creator could sense it. Certainly not from beyond the Veils. Besides, you killed its owner and there were no other Artesans in the party. So in that respect, I think you can be easy.

  “As to what can be done, well, that is another matter. Somehow, the Pact has to be restored and that could prove tricky, maybe even costly. I am not prepared to make any decisions until my scouts return from the south, but that will not be until tomorrow evening at the earliest. Probably even the day after.”

  Her gaze was stern. “You would have done better, Journeyman, to have told Robin everything when first he asked. It was what you came to do, was it not?”

  Deeply embarrassed, Taran hung his head.

  He heard her sigh. “Ah well, done is done and cannot be undone. I see no advantage in discussing it any further at the moment, not until I have evaluated what the scouts have to say.

  “Bulldog, why not distribute some of that evil liquor you insist on poisoning yourself with? We may as well enjoy the rest of the evening.”

  Glasses were produced for the men. Rienne declined the liquor, joining Sullyan in another cup of fellan. With the exception of Robin, who stayed resolutely silent, they sipped their drinks and indulged in conversation.

  Slowly, the atmosphere relaxed. It turned out that Bull was an unexpectedly good storyteller and he regaled them with some tales of the Major’s military exploits. Judging by the frequency with which she corrected him, they were not always accurate tales, but it soon became apparent that she was a gifted and respected commander.

  After a while, Taran sensed Rienne gathering her courage. He knew how shy she could be, especially in the company of someone as poised and confident as Sullyan. So he was surprised when she asked the Major about the lap harp they had noticed earlier.

  Sullyan eyed her with interest as she rose to fetch the instrument from the table. “Do you play?”

  “Not the harp,” admitted Rienne, adding timidly, “I’d love to hear it though. I’m sure it has a beautiful tone.”

  As she returned to her chair, Taran noticed Sullyan’s eyes rest briefly on Robin, who had not glanced at her the entire evening. She sat, cradling the harp on her lap.

  Bull winked at him. “We’re in for a treat,” he whispered.

  Sullyan ran her fingers over the strings and liquid silver notes rippled around the room. Taran was no musician and could detect no fault in the tuning, but Sullyan used a harp-key on a couple of the ivory tuning pins. The next glissando was undeniably richer in tone. Laying her cheek against the warm satin wood, she closed her eyes and began to play.

  They were all transfixed by the music. The airs were unknown to Taran but Bull obviously recognized them. After a while, she switched from the gently lilting sounds and the room was filled with the melody of a familiar folk tune. Taran smiled; it was one of his favorites.

  Another sound insinuated itself within the music and he glanced around to see who else was playing. Bull saw him, grinned and indicated the oblivious Sullyan. With a start of delight, Taran realized that what he could hear was Sullyan humming the melody line. Because her cheek rested so intimately upon the wood of the harp, her voice had taken on the instrument’s thrumming quality. He was captivated.

  And then she began to sing.

  She pitched her voice low so it fit perfectly with the harp. Running through the folk tune she then played several others, some known to Taran, some not. Then, glancing at Bull, who nodded, she switched to a martial air. She and Bull sang a marching song; the big man’s deep bass voice a pleasant counterpoint to Sullyan’s lighter lilt. Taran would have thought the harp ill-suited to a military air but surprisingly, it didn’t sound out of place.

  All through the song, he saw Sullyan watching Robin, obviously hoping he would join in. He didn’t. The song came to a close and Bull grimaced. He traded another glance with Sullyan and she switched tempo once more.

  This time the air was a sweet lament, a simple song of love found and love lost. Her voice thrummed with the sound of the harp, as if the instrument itself was singing. Taran noticed that Robin’s eyes had filled with tears, although he still stared stubbornly into his glass. He thought Sullyan had seen it, too, for the tune of the lament changed again and became, if possible, sweeter and even more poignant.

  She began to sing the words.

  When Springtime’s freshness found you,

  tiny blossoms made you fair.

  The young sun shone, the warm winds blew

  so gently through your hair.

  Come eventide the shadows grew,

  we watched them cast their shade.

  Farewell, my heart, in dreaming dwell;

  so must all beauty fade.

  Robin stirred and when he spoke, his voice was full of anguish. “Don’t, Sullyan. Please.”

  But she would not stop. “Hush, Robin. It will be good for us both.”

  Then Summer came, its golden days

  our growing love revealed.

  Upon your face that early trace

  your youthful joy concealed.

  But noontide passed and all too soon

  the twilit evening fell,

  its purple gloaming dimmed your sight.

  Farewell, my heart. Farewell.

  With Autumn’s gold and slanting sun

  your smile lit waning days.

  On gentle spirit, bravely borne,

  the shadow cast its haze.

  And then we knew, with heavy heart,

  your path would turn away

  from ours, and we must part,

  as night-time follows day.

  Now Winter’s icy tempests blow

  across an empty space,

  but Springtime’s warmth awaits its chance

  to take white Winter’s place.

  And though fond hearts are filled with pain

  our grieving cannot la
st,

  for soon the Wheel will turn again

  and Love unite the past.

  When the song ended, tears poured unchecked down Robin’s face. The last heart-rending chord rippling around the room slowly died, but no one moved or spoke. Taran saw that Sullyan’s eyes were filled with tears also and looked away, feeling like an intruder.

  Robin bowed his face to his hands and Sullyan rose from the couch, gently laying down the harp. She kneeled before him and held his trembling body, rocking him like a child. She whispered into his ear.

  Taran saw Bull jerk his head toward the door. He stood, catching Cal and Rienne’s attention. Quietly, and with relief, they left, leaving the pair by the fire to mend their fences.

  In the corridor, Bull closed the office door. “Thank the gods for that,” he said. “I thought the little fool was never going to break.”

  Taran thought that a bit heartless. “He seemed in genuine pain.”

  Bull nodded. “That lament always gets to him. Sully composed it when his sister died two years ago. He loved her very much and it always has the power to move him.”

  “Not a nice trick to play on him, though,” said Rienne, her gray eyes narrowed in disapproval.

  “Well, the lackwit had it coming,” snorted Bull. “He may be hot-headed and stubborn but he ought to know by now that he’ll never get the better of her. The sooner he realizes it, the less pain he’ll suffer … Oh, bugger!”

  They all started at the expletive and he had the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry, but I’ve left my bottle of firewater in there.”

  He contemplated the door but Taran wasn’t surprised when he shook his head. Certainly, he could conceive of no reason that could induce him to go back in.

  “Come on,” said Bull, “I’ve another in my rooms. Let’s polish off the evening in style.”

  He turned, jumping half out of his skin as he came face to face with General Blaine. Coming to attention, he saluted smartly.

  Once again, the General ignored Taran and his friends, and fixed Bull with a gimlet stare.

  “So, he’s back in her favor, is he?”

  Bull gave a small smile. “I expect so, General, by now.”

  The imposing man stared at Bull and folded his arms implacably across his muscular chest. “And does he know how fortunate he is? It took all her powers of persuasion to convince me not to transfer him, and that was the least I wanted to do. Fortunately for him, she can be very persuasive.”

  Bull’s cheery manner faded.

  “You warn him, Bull,” growled the General, “he’s had his final chance. I’ve had enough of his childish ways. One more slip and he’ll be turned out of this garrison, no matter what she says. If I have my way, he’ll be out of the King’s forces altogether. So you can tell him I suggest he reviews his behavior to date and makes some changes, fast. Is that clear?”

  Bull frowned. “I’ll tell him, sir.”

  “See that you do.”

  The General stalked away and Bull led his guests back to his rooms in silence. The mood had radically changed and no one felt like drinking. Bidding Bull goodnight, Taran and his friends retired.

  + + + + +

  It was quiet in the commons the next morning. In fact, the place was deserted except for the cook and his serving lads. According to Bull, most of the men had risen much earlier and were already drilling under their sergeants. In the wake of the news of the invasion, they were waiting to take the field.

  They had settled at a table by the time Robin appeared. He gave Bull a brief wave but didn’t come over. Instead, he approached the cook and Taran saw him ask the man some questions. The cook then disappeared into his kitchen and returned with one of his serving lads—the youngest, by the look of him.

  The boy was trembling, and Taran saw him flinch when Robin came closer. The Journeyman glanced at Bull, wondering what was going on, but the big man was also intent on the tableau. When he looked back, Robin had one hand on the boy’s thin shoulder and was talking to him. He clasped one of the lad’s hands and shook it, a very adult gesture. The boy stared up at the handsome Captain and the fear on his face was suddenly replaced by wonder. He straightened, visibly puffing out his chest, and as Robin turned to make his way to their table, Taran saw what could only be hero worship shining in the young boy’s eyes.

  Robin reached the table and sat down.

  “Saved by a kitchen boy, eh?” said Bull.

  “Poor lad was terrified,” replied Robin, glancing over to where the boy was struggling to carry a tray laden with five plates of food. “He overheard Parren planning that little trick during the duel and didn’t know whether to keep quiet or tell someone. He thought Parren might kill him for betraying him. Lucky he decided to take his chances with the Major.”

  “Lucky’s one word for it,” said Bull, turning to smile at the overburdened lad who had arrived without dropping anything. “What’s your name, boy?”

  The lad put the tray on the table, his eyes still shining.

  “Tad, sir. Tad Graylin.”

  “Well, young Tad, in recognition of your attentive service this morning, tell Goran that we commend you and suggest he gives you extra rations tonight.”

  “Oh … thank you, sir,” stammered the boy and, stepping back, he gave them a fair approximation of a military salute.

  To his evident joy, both Bull and Robin came to their feet and returned his salute. Eyes brimming and cheeks burning, the boy dashed off. The two men sat down again, laughing.

  “Well, that’s one fan you’ve made today,” grinned Taran, glancing over to where the boy was being feted by his envious peers.

  “You certainly know how to turn on the charm,” said Rienne.

  Robin turned playful eyes on her. “Have I charmed you, fair lady?”

  “Why yes, gallant sir,” she simpered, her eyes sparkling. “How could I fail to be charmed by your stimulating company last night?”

  “Ouch!” said Robin, clamping his right hand over his heart. “You have wounded me, fair maiden, and I might never recover.”

  “Not as deeply as you’d have been wounded if young Tad there hadn’t had his ears open,” she retorted. “And I’m not a maiden.”

  “And she’s also attached,” said Cal firmly. Taran could see he was uncomfortable with Rienne’s flirting with the handsome young Captain.

  “Never fear, my friend,” said Robin, “my heart is committed elsewhere. And speaking of the Major, I have to tell you the General has ordered her to take a rest day today. She left instructions for the rest of us, though.”

  “Isn’t that a bit unexpected?” said Taran, trying to hide his disappointment. Robin’s earlier comments about training had led him to hope for something in the way of instruction today.

  The Captain smiled. “I may not always admire the General but he does have his uses. Don’t worry, you and your friends need not be idle today. Bull and I have some duties to attend to this morning but you will have our attention this afternoon. Might I suggest that you and Cal here spend some time practicing your link? You might also want to review your psyche’s structure, see if you can spot the weak areas. Don’t attempt to strengthen them until I can give you some guidance, though; you might do more harm than good.”

  Taran looked at him, feeling deflated.

  Robin must have sensed this for he said, “Cheer up, Journeyman. I have a feeling that once your psyche’s as strong as it should be, your elevation to Adept won’t be long in coming. In some other areas, you’re very advanced. Now, I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse us. Duty calls.”

  He and Bull pushed back their chairs. They strode together out of the room, Bull murmuring to Robin as he went. Taran heard the name “Blaine” and saw Robin’s back stiffen. His attention was distracted by Cal slapping him on the shoulder.

  “How about that? Didn’t expect that when we were pouring out our tale of woe to Paulus, did we?”

  “Definitely not,” replied Taran, smiling at Cal’s delight. �
��When we get back we’ll have to remember to thank him. I also want to ask him if he knows why my father never mentioned knowing someone here. Especially an Artesan of such elevated rank.”

  Ever since the Major’s astonishing revelation, Taran had been feeling puzzled and more than a little hurt by his father’s failure to mention their acquaintance, however brief it might have been. To allow his son to believe—no, to tell him—that there were no other Artesans in the province smacked painfully of mistrust and evasion. The Journeyman fully intended to ask Paulus about it when he got the chance.

  “We’re not going back just yet, are we?” asked Cal. “I got the impression we might be able to stay here and study. There are no opportunities like this at home.”

  Despite sharing Cal’s sentiment, Taran was doubtful. “This is a military garrison, remember? No matter how unconventional they are, they’re hardly going to let us stay and study. We’re lucky they’ve been as good to us as they have considering the mess we’ve caused.” He caught Rienne’s sharp look. “Alright, the mess I caused. I imagine that once they decide what to do—how to put this right—we’ll be sent packing.”

  Cal shrugged.

  “So, let’s take advantage of what’s on offer while we’re still here,” said Taran. “What about you, Rienne, what are you going to do? Are you in a hurry to go home?”

  Rienne’s expression, which had shown alarm at Cal’s suggestion they stay, softened. “No, not really. I suppose I could spend some time going through my medicinal supplies. I’m still short of a few items, despite our trip into Shenton. They must have an infirmary here. I wonder if I could buy fresh stock from their stores?”

  “We’ll ask Bull later,” promised Taran. “Let’s go back to his rooms, it’ll be quiet there.”

  They spent the morning in Bull’s suite. Cal and Taran sat quietly in a corner, generally with their eyes shut, working on their linking technique. Taran had been envying Robin’s casual control since the Captain had checked on Sullyan the day before and was keen to see if he could emulate it. It called for total concentration and after a couple of hours, he felt he was making some progress. He and Cal began moving about the suite to test the link, going into separate rooms to stretch themselves further.