Artesans of Albia

by Cas Peace

  Bull and Cal had made their little corner as comfortable as possible and had lit a campfire, like many others had done. It was fully dark now and the seethe in the compound had settled. Bull broke open their supplies and they made a quick supper while Robin told them what he and Taran had heard.

  “What do we do now?” Bull asked when Robin had finished.

  “We’ll have to do some exploring. The servants’ quarters are over there and I’m sure we could get into the palace that way and have a look around. By the smell of things, there’s a kitchen in there, too, and soldiers are always hungry. It’ll look natural for us to be sniffing around the kitchens, especially with food in short supply. Taran and I will go, the rest of you wait here. Bull, I’ll contact you if we find anything useful.”

  He watched the compound a while longer, noting the movements of the servants by the kitchens. They were coming and going fairly frequently and Robin wondered whether there was a feast of some sort going on inside. “If I’m right,” he said, “it’ll mean less chance of encountering nobles strolling through the palace.”

  “I wouldn’t mind betting it’s in anticipation of the Duke’s return from his challenge to the Hierarch,” said Bull. “With any luck, they will be so far in their cups and so preoccupied with back slapping, they won’t have time for anything else.”

  Robin agreed. “Let’s not forget what that patrol said, though. Rykan’s got unfinished business and it’s likely he’ll pay Sullyan a visit when he returns. We have to get her out before then.”

  “Better get on with it, lad. You won’t learn anything sitting here.”

  Leaving Bull, Cal and Rienne huddled by the fire, Robin and Taran rose, making their way around to the servants’ quarters. As Robin had thought, there were plenty of swordsmen hanging around, hoping for scraps from the kitchen. He and Taran moved among them with familiar camaraderie, joking about being starved.

  Slowly, they edged farther in, past the great, steaming ovens and roaring spit-fires with their carcasses of cows, sheep and swine turning and crackling over the heat. Pot boys in greasy aprons, cooks in striped livery, all manner of serving men thronged the place, carrying food, wine, ale, empty plates and silverware. In the general melee, it was easy for Taran and Robin to slip out into the corridor.

  They turned away from the route taken by the serving men; there was nothing to be gained by heading toward the banquet. The hallways leading away were deserted and they prowled along, senses alert, ready to leap into one of the unoccupied rooms if necessary.

  Listening at various doors and opening them once convinced of their vacancy, they found themselves among the nobles’ private suites. Desperate to hear something that might direct his search for the Major, Robin hunted for signs of life. The halls were only faintly lit by torches which cast long and useful shadows around door lintels and statue niches. It was cold; no heat from the kitchen fires reached this far and the individual suites had their own fireplaces to warm them. The floor was flagged, giving ample warning of approaching feet, so when they finally did hear someone coming their way, it was simple to slip into a deep doorway and become lost in the velvety shadows.

  There were two people approaching, thought Taran, judging by the voices. The stone floor and plaster walls made sound echo and jump; there were no hangings to soften it. Despite this distortion, both he and Robin stiffened.

  One of the voices was familiar.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  From where he was concealed, Taran couldn’t yet see the two men. Nevertheless, he could tell they were walking slowly, ambling almost, and they were talking quietly about the forthcoming war. The owner of the unfamiliar voice, his tone oily but reasonable, was saying, “I understand your concern, but if your men make a good showing, you stand a better chance of reinstating yourself with the Duke. I know your people aren’t regulars but that doesn’t mean they can’t fight. All you need to do is be a good general, direct them well and be seen doing so. His Grace always rewards good service. Who knows? You might even win your manor back.”

  “Do you really think so, my Lord?”

  Taran and Robin exchanged a look. The familiar, weary voice belonged to Count Marik. Taran thought he sounded gloomy and dispirited.

  “After my last interview with his Grace I got the distinct impression he’s hoping I’ll lose my life in this campaign. It would save him the trouble of taking it later.”

  Carefully cocking his head around the lintel, Taran watched the two men around a curve of the hallway. Head lowered, Count Marik studied the floor as he walked, his dark mantle of maroon velvet dragging at his long legs. His companion, a much shorter and fatter man, was watching him narrowly. The faint torchlight flickered over the heavy gold chain circling his neck. His black robe with silver and pale-blue trim proclaimed him one of Rykan’s higher-ranking nobles.

  Taran saw him smile at Marik’s morose tone, although his pale-green eyes held no warmth.

  “My dear Count,” he said smoothly, “you only need make yourself useful and his Grace will be generous. He doesn’t throw away the lives of loyal subjects. He is unsure of you and your men, that’s all. Just prove yourself in the coming weeks, aid him in his bid for the Hierarchy, and your future will be guaranteed. No one who serves him well goes unrewarded, I assure you.”

  “Well, you’ve done alright for yourself, Sonten,” said Marik.

  Taran and Robin drew back as the men came abreast of their hiding place but neither glanced toward the doorway’s shadowy depths. They continued on and Robin indicated that Taran move to the other side of the door to remain out of sight in case either man turned around.

  Marik’s steps were faltering. “Do you know,” came his depressed tone, “I really don’t feel like feasting tonight. You go on, Sonten. I think I’ll go check on my men and maybe change some of my strategies. I want to be sure they’re well-prepared for tomorrow.”

  Sonten’s chuckle sounded nasty. “You do that, Count. Make sure your men are first in the battle lines. Impress my Lord the Duke. But if I were you,” his lowered voice was malevolent, “I’d not be absent from the Hall when he returns tonight. He just might misconstrue your absence.”

  Taran heard him saunter off, still chuckling under his breath.

  Marik clearly didn’t move for a moment but then the sound of his footsteps grew louder. Taran risked a swift glance. The Count was totally preoccupied, twisting his long-fingered hands together, muttering to himself. Striding back up the corridor, he glanced nervously behind him every few seconds and soon passed the Albians’ hiding place. He didn’t see Robin, or his dagger, until it was too late, until the Captain’s strong arm was about his chest, the sharp blade pressed high under his ear.

  Marik gave a startled squeak and Robin hissed for silence. Taran opened the door behind them and Robin shoved his captive into the empty suite.

  The Count’s face was a picture of terror, which told Taran just how safe he felt here in Rykan’s palace. Robin spun him to face them.

  “What’s the meaning of this? How dare you!”

  The Count’s indignation trailed away as Robin’s knife pricked his throat. His gaze flicked between his captors, a wary look coming into his pale gray eyes. “Do I know you?”

  “We have met,” said Robin, momentarily letting the disguise drop.

  Relief flooded Marik’s lean face. “Captain Tamsen. And … and … ?”

  “Taran Elijah,” said Taran.

  Robin, the knife still held tightly against Marik’s corded throat, growled, “You’re not going to do anything we’ll regret if I remove my knife, are you?”

  “Gods, it’s far too late for that,” hissed the Count. “I’ve already done too many things I regret. But if you mean am I going to give you away, then of course I’m bloody not! Where have you been? We’ve been waiting days for you to get here. What the hell took you so long?”

  Plainly taken aback, Robin said, “We?”

  “Sullyan and me,” snapped the Count. �
��Tonight’s her last chance. If we don’t get her away in the next couple of hours, it’ll be too late. Rykan’s issued his formal challenge and time’s running out. He’ll kill her for sure if he doesn’t get what he wants, but I think he probably will. She can’t possibly resist him any longer. Either way she’ll die, if she isn’t dead already. Are you alone?”

  The frantic jumble of words and sudden change of tack put Robin off balance. The Count’s urgency was infectious but Robin retained control.

  “No, there are three more of us here. We joined your forces, Count.”

  “You entered the compound?” The Count was dismayed. “What the hell did you do that for?”

  Robin bridled. “It was the only way we could get close. Do you have a better idea?”

  Marik glared at him. “Yes, but you have to be outside and free to move if it’s going to work.”

  Robin was about to argue when Taran touched his arm. “Do you have some kind of plan?” he asked.

  The thin man nodded. “I know where she is. I’ve been secretly visiting her when I can, taking her food and water. Rykan hasn’t bothered with either since he’s had her and she’s very weak. She’d have died of thirst by now if I hadn’t been able to get water to her. Luckily, one of the jailers is sympathetic and turned a blind eye whenever I could get down there. The last couple of days though, I couldn’t get near. Rykan’s given her no rest, he’s been with her the whole time. Since he’s been gone, I’ve been watched. I’m sure he suspects something.”

  Marik paused, giving them a strange look. “I fear what he’s done to her, gentlemen. Rykan’s neither a patient nor a gentle man and what he can’t get by persuasion, he gets by violence and abuse. He had her flogged, she was in a bad way and … well, I fear for her life.”

  Taran felt sick and Robin was bone-white. “We can’t just whisk her away through the Veils?” The Captain’s voice was hoarse and Taran realized that their most favored course of action was lost.

  The Count reacted violently, surprising them both. “Hell, no!” Hastily, he modulated his tone. “No, she’s too injured for that. I have something else in mind but we have to hurry. We’ve wasted too much time already.”

  Robin stared at him. “We’d better get on with it. What do you suggest?”

  “First, we need to get you outside, with your horses and gear. I’ll come down with you, I’ve already told Sonten I was going to check on my men. The patrols will be in now except for the honor guard on the main gate. They’re waiting to welcome his Grace home. I’ll order the guards to let you out—I’ll say you’ve brought word that some of my men are injured and are waiting for you in the forest. They wouldn’t let me out but there’s no reason why they should stop you. Make your way westward around the perimeter wall. That’ll keep you in the trees and bring you around to the back gates from the dungeons. You’ll find them easily enough. It’s where they haul the bodies when Rykan’s torturers are done with them.”

  “Won’t they be guarded?” asked Robin. Taran could sense he felt his authority was being leeched away. Clearly, he was unwilling to place his trust in a man who had already betrayed Sullyan once.

  “Of course they will be guarded,” snarled the Count. “I trust you can use that sword?”

  Robin nodded and rolled his eyes, gesturing for the man to continue.

  “Maybe one of you should come with me. If my friendly jailer isn’t on duty, we’ll have to kill whoever is. I doubt anyone would go down to the cells before Rykan comes, but you never know. The jailer will have the keys to the chains on him, at any rate.”

  “Chains?” said Robin.

  The Count seemed about to snap again when he saw Robin’s stricken look. “Yes,” he said tersely. “He has her in spellsilver, too.”

  Robin gasped in sudden understanding. “That’s why I couldn’t sense her. Was it on her all this time?”

  “Yes, of course, he wouldn’t risk her power without it. She’s his equal, a Master-elite. Why do you think he wanted her in the first place? If he can force her to surrender her power to him, he’ll be bloody unstoppable.”

  Robin’s face suddenly flooded with understanding and the Count snapped again, his pale eyes sparking with fury. “For the Void’s sake, didn’t you know? Hadn’t you worked it out? Rykan had the whole thing set up. The invasion into Albia was purely to force your general into sending her here as ambassador. Rykan was counting on it. For four days he crouched in my house, him and that fat pig, Sonten. Forced me to wait on them hand and bloody foot. Crouched like a bloody great spider, just waiting for her. He’s planning civil war, gentlemen. He’s going to challenge and depose the Hierarch. If he can force Sullyan to surrender her powers, he’ll be the Hierarch’s metaphysical bloody equal!”

  He paused, his voice losing some of its strength. “If he wins the throne, he’ll kill the Hierarch, as well as Prince Aron, his Heir and only son. None of the other nobles are strong enough to stop him. Once in power, he’ll rescind the Pact and recommence raiding Albia, targeting any Artesans who oppose him. There’s a rumor he’s got an influential ally, someone who’s been supplying him with funds, although I don’t know the truth of that. I’m not in his inner circle like Sonten, privy to his personal dealings.”

  Robin glanced at Taran; this was a serious piece of information that could have far-reaching consequences. His startled expression angered the Count even more.

  “If Rykan becomes Hierarch, none of the realms will be safe,” he hissed. “He’s ruthless, ambitious and kills without pity. And for the past two weeks, he’s been stymied by a little chit of a human woman who’s been locked away from her powers. Can you imagine how furious that’s made him? She’s resisted his every move, no matter how violent. If he can’t overcome her bloody-minded stubbornness tonight, he’ll kill her. And if he finally succeeds in ripping her powers from her, she’ll still die.”

  He thrust his face close to Robin’s. “Now do you see? Now can we stop wasting time? We have to get her away from here!”

  Robin took a deep breath and laid his hand on the Count’s arm. “Alright. I’ll go with you to the cells. The others will go and wait by the dungeon gates and deal with whoever’s guarding them. What then?”

  “Then we ride as fast as we can for as long as we can,” snapped Marik. “When Rykan discovers she’s gone, this whole place will be in uproar but he won’t be able to turn out more than a few patrols because of the arrangements for tomorrow. At least that’s one thing in our favor. Now that he’s issued his challenge, he can’t back out. That should make our escape easier.”

  “Our?” Robin was plainly still unwilling to trust the Count. “Are you planning on coming with us?”

  “Of course I bloody am! Do you think I’m here for my health? Do you think my life would be worth the effort of taking it once Rykan realizes what’s happened? The best I could hope for would be a sword in the guts, but it’s more likely he’d brick me up behind a wall and leave me to rot.”

  “Wouldn’t your men defend you?” asked Taran.

  The Count shook his head. “If I had men capable of defending me against Rykan I wouldn’t be here now. Even the Duke’s personal bodyguards are greater in number than the few trained swordsmen who are loyal to me. They would make pig-slop of us. Now for pity’s sake come on, we’re wasting what little time we have.”

  He strode to the door, opened it and glanced out. With a nod to Taran and Robin, he stepped into the hall. They followed, Robin making sure their disguise was firmly in place.

  “Walk behind me,” Marik hissed. “Don’t speak unless you have to.”

  He led the way toward the kitchens but turned into another hallway before he got there. There was no one around except a few servants who Marik ignored. As they approached a door at the end of the hall, he said, “I don’t suppose you have any medical knowledge? The last time I saw Sullyan, she was in a very bad way. After two more days of Rykan’s abuse, who knows what state she’ll be in, if she’s still alive.”
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br />   Robin went white but replied levelly. “One of our group’s a healer. Shall we take her with us?”

  “Wouldn’t do any harm. A woman, though? You Albians are strange. Is she combat trained?”

  “No,” said Robin. “She has no weapons skills.”

  The Count sighed. “We’d better keep her out of the way when we reach the cells. We’ll be incredibly lucky if my friendly jailer’s on duty tonight.”

  He reached the door at the end of the hall and flung it open. It led to the compound directly opposite their campsite. Taran could see that Bull had noticed them immediately for he nudged Cal with his foot. Rienne had her head down as Robin had advised; she seemed to be feigning sleep.

  Directed by Robin, Marik strode toward their camp. As he came nearer, he started yelling orders. “On your feet. I need a patrol to collect some injured men. Saddle your horses, you need to leave at once. Take remounts for the wounded.”

  As Bull and Cal scrambled to their feet, Robin reached them. In a few terse words, he told them what was happening.

  “You,” barked Marik, pointing to Rienne. Startled, she looked up. Taran saw Robin make a covert signal and was relieved when Rienne seemed to understand. “Come with us,” snapped the Count. Robin pointed to Rienne’s medicine bag and she grabbed it as she rose to meet them.

  She looked pale and Taran didn’t like the idea of leaving her inside the compound. He had no choice though, and took his horse’s reins from Cal. They led their mounts, as well as Robin’s and Rienne’s, into the center of the compound. Quickly, they mounted.

  “Guards, open the gates,” yelled Marik. The gate guards had changed, the ones Robin had insulted were nowhere in sight. Still, they hesitated. Marik, clearly nervous, used his fear to good effect, threatening them with dire consequences should his Grace the Duke learn they had delayed the arrival of more troops. They finally did as Marik bid, although Taran saw suspicion in their eyes.