Artesans of Albia

by Cas Peace

The lack of light forced them to use the main forest trails, but Rykan’s patrols had been coming and going over the previous weeks, as had Marik’s men, obeying the Duke’s call to arms. Rienne prayed that the tracks they were making would be lost among all the others. If they could get far enough away by dawn, surely they would be safe?

  She shied at shadows, her heart lurching at each unusual shape that loomed through the trees. Marik seemed in mortal fear of his life and rode hunched behind her in silence. She could almost feel him listening for the sound of pursuit and guessed he was thinking about his fate should Rykan’s men catch them. Only once so far had Bull sensed someone close on their tail. He had urged them on to greater speed, and Rienne prayed hard that her horse would find the strength to endure.

  Abruptly, she felt Marik’s body tense. She gasped as a dark shape arrowed toward her. She grabbed for the reins, trying to turn the horse’s head, but unaccountably, Marik fought her.

  “Let go!” she yelled, driving an elbow into his ribs. He whooshed out a breath and let go the rein, but it was too late. A large hand had already clamped onto her horse’s cheek strap and was hauling on it, slowing the frightened beast.

  “It’s me, Rienne! It’s alright, we can stop now.”

  Bull’s deep bass voice, harsh with strain, calmed Rienne’s shuddering heart. She managed to turn her head and smile as he brought her lathered horse to a walk.

  “Are we safe? Have we lost them?” She cursed the tremor in her voice.

  Bull frowned. “For the moment. I haven’t sensed anyone behind us for a while. Taran and I have dropped the shield. We’re too tired to maintain it right now. We still need to be cautious, but I think we can give the horses a rest. Killing them won’t help us.”

  He left her and dropped back, presumably to continue scanning the woods. Cal took his place, nudging his horse alongside hers. “Share with me for a bit?”

  Rienne nodded and awkwardly made the transition from her own mount to Cal’s. She ached in every bone and moving was both difficult and painful. Once she was sitting behind her lover, however, with her arms wrapped about his waist and her face buried in the back of his neck, she felt much better.

  After a few minutes she recovered enough to look behind her. “Cal, slow up a bit more, please.”

  Cal complied and they drew level with Robin’s plodding horse. Rienne glanced at the Captain, then at the limp form cradled in his arms. Sullyan lay unmoving, her head bowed against his chest.

  “Any change?”

  Robin raised red-rimmed eyes and she realized he had been weeping.

  “None.”

  She nudged Cal’s horse with her foot, edging it closer. “Let me see.” Reaching across, she drew down a corner of the velvet cloak the Major was wrapped in and put her hand to Sullyan’s neck above the silver collar, feeling for a pulse. Her fingers came away bloody. Robin’s eyes never left hers.

  “It’s difficult to tell,” she murmured. “The movement of the horse interferes. But I think she’s still with us. She’s terribly cold.”

  “I’m doing my best.”

  Robin’s voice choked. Rienne was shocked by his anguish. “Oh, Robin, I know you are. If not for you, she’d still be in that cell and almost certainly dead by now. At least she’s among friends, even if ….” She couldn’t continue.

  Robin closed his eyes. “That’s no comfort, Rienne.”

  She felt an uncharacteristic surge of anger and dug her heels into Cal’s horse, urging it alongside Marik’s. “Count, have we come far enough to think about stopping yet? We’ve been riding for hours. Your help in this rescue will count for nothing unless I can assess the Major’s injuries and give her some treatment.”

  “If we’re caught by Rykan’s men, no treatment in the world will save her,” Marik snapped. “We’ve a long way to go yet.”

  Bull heard the remark and brought his own horse closer. “Do you have a destination in mind, then?”

  “No,” snarled the Count, “I thought we’d just ride around in aimless circles until we disappear up our own backsides. What do you bloody take me for? Of course I have a destination in mind!”

  Muttering curses, he kicked his horse so hard that it lumbered into a canter again, forcing the others to follow.

  Rienne heard Cal’s murmur. “I wonder what’s eating him.”

  She glared at him. “I imagine you’d be tetchy too if you lost everything you ever had!”

  Wisely, Cal stayed silent.

  A couple of hours later Marik drew rein, letting them all catch up. The horses were lathered, their heads hanging low. Their riders were in no better shape. Lack of sleep and too much adrenaline had taken a hefty toll. Rienne could just make out their faces in the false light of dawn that was stealing across the sky.

  Marik stopped on the edge of a rise. Exhaustion had erased his foul mood. “We’ve come a little more north than west now. I’m not completely sure, but I think we’re about an hour away from an old drovers’ hut I know of, somewhere over that way.” He waved a hand vaguely to the left. “Has anyone sensed any patrols lately?”

  Bull shook his head. Rienne glanced at Robin, but he didn’t respond, preoccupied with his own worries. Taran must have realized this, for he offered to link with Bull to search a wider area. After a few minutes, Bull reported, “The nearest people are a good few hours away, and they seem to be asleep. I think we’ve shaken them off.”

  Marik nodded. “Right, let’s see if my memory serves me and I can find this hut. It isn’t much, but it should give us shelter and the opportunity for a fire and hot water.” He glanced at Rienne. “I take it that’s what you’ll want?”

  She gave a small smile. “Among other things, Count.”

  Rolling his eyes, he led them over the ridge.

  By the time they finally found the drovers’ hut, it was full daylight. Rienne, still sitting behind Cal, saw a low building with two windows, snugly nestled against a hillside. Its sod-covered roof glittered with hoarfrost, but it looked in good repair. To one side was a small corral with a drinking pool for the horses. There was a lean-to barn attached to the wall of the hut. Rienne wondered whether there would be fodder for the exhausted animals. They carried a small amount of grain in their saddlebags, but what the horses really needed was a warm mash and some decent hay.

  Bull rode cautiously up to the hut. There didn’t seem to be any recent tracks and the place appeared deserted. He swung down stiffly from his saddle and steadied himself against his horse. Then he passed his reins to the Count, pushed open the door, and disappeared inside.

  A few moments later, he re-emerged. “All clear. There’s wood for a fire and it’s relatively clean and dry. It’s even stocked with some supplies.” He turned to the Captain. “Robin, give her to me and I’ll take her inside.”

  He stopped short, making Rienne glance quickly at Robin. The Captain didn’t appear to have heard Bull. He was staring at the limp form cradled in his arms. Rienne felt herself go cold. There was horror in Robin’s dark eyes. Suddenly, he looked at her, his face white with shock. “Rienne, where’s all this blood come from?”

  She kicked Cal’s tired horse closer and Robin showed her his arm where the Major’s body had been held against him. His sleeve was soaked with blood, as was the velvet of the Count’s cloak. Rienne could feel waves of anguish flowing from him.

  Reaching out, she drew back a fold of the ruined cloak. The slim, bruised legs beneath were covered in bright red blood.

  The Captain gasped.

  “Alright, Robin,” soothed Rienne, trying to stay calm though her panic was rising. She was very afraid she knew the cause of the bleeding. “It’s just possible that it’s … natural, you know?” Sure that it wasn’t, she had to offer him something.

  “Oh!” Robin colored.

  Rienne let the cloak fall. “Let’s get her inside, get a fire and some warm water going, and then we can see what we’re dealing with.”

  Rienne felt half relieved, for the bleeding show
ed that Sullyan was still alive. However, losing more blood—even should it prove to be moon cycle blood—meant danger to the wounded Major. Hastily, Rienne slithered off the sweaty horse and stumbled after Bull.

  Wood lay ready in the hut’s large fireplace. Bull kneeled before it to coax it into life, while Rienne took in the rude surroundings. A solid wooden table and a few stools occupied one end of the simple room, and a trestle bed with a few folded blankets stood against the wall at the other. There were shelves over the fireplace stacked with wooden bowls and plates, and piled in a heap at one end were battered pots and pans. Crocks of preserves and dried herbs sat there too. Hard-beaten earth served as a floor, and the two windows, one either side of the door, were grimy with dust. Yet the place smelled clean and dry, and when the first crackle of fire lit the gloomy interior, a measure of cheer came to the place.

  Bull went back outside to help Robin while Rienne dragged the bed nearer the fire. She placed the folded blankets on the hearth to warm them. When Robin came in with Sullyan, she asked him to sit on the bed and hold the unconscious woman against him. The others stayed outside, presumably caring for the horses.

  Bull appeared, carrying a large pail of fresh water drawn from the drinking pool in the paddock. Rienne asked him to boil some, both for washing and for sterilizing her medical kit. Wordlessly, he obeyed her.

  She laid her medical bag on the bed and rummaged in it for clean cloths. Delicately, she pulled back the blood-sodden cloak, exposing the poor, battered body beneath. Robin averted his eyes, but she heard Bull’s gasp of shock. She grimaced. Of course, he hadn’t seen Sullyan in the cell and she knew she ought to have warned him. He would have to get over it, she had more pressing concerns.

  Gently, she moved Sullyan’s left leg and bent the knee. Her uncontrolled gasp of outrage at the torn and abused flesh between the slim legs clearly told Robin all he needed to know.

  “It’s not … natural … is it?” he whispered.

  She stared up at his pinched, grey face, her horror matching his. She felt sick.

  “Dear gods, Robin. No, it’s not.”

  + + + + +

  The door opened, admitting a waft of icy air, and the others came in, smelling of horse sweat, grain, and hay. Rienne turned and beckoned to Cal, who dumped his pack on the table. She was using cloths to stem the worst of the bleeding, muttering as she worked. Sullyan’s injuries had clearly been aggravated by the roughness of their ride. She heard Cal’s exclamation as he saw what she was doing. The others glanced over but stayed out of the way, giving her room to work. They could surely tell by the look on Robin’s face that the news wasn’t good.

  “Cal, I need to do some stitching. Will you be able to assist me?” He had helped her back at the Manor and was the nearest she had to a trained assistant. He nodded a tad reluctantly and started to lay out what she would need.

  She turned to the Captain, but he seemed lost in his grief and she had to speak his name twice. He started and glanced at her. The pain in his eyes nearly overset her professional calm and she had to breathe deeply. “I want you to stay alert,” she said. “Sullyan needs our help right now. We can deal with our grief and anger later. Alright?”

  For a moment, she thought he might snap at her, but then he nodded. Looking over her shoulder, she spoke to the Count. He was sitting by himself with his head in his hands. Like a kicked dog, he startled at hearing his title.

  “Count. Do you still have the jailor’s keys? Is there one for these manacles?”

  He searched his jacket. Producing the bunch, he indicated a small silver key. “I think it’s this one.”

  Covering Sullyan once more, Rienne said, “Robin, can you turn her without disturbing those cloths?”

  Robin helped her bring Sullyan’s arms out from under the cloak, exposing the silver manacles. She took the keys from Marik, using another cloth to hold the one he had shown her. Without touching the spelled metal cuffs, she managed to insert the key in each and release them. They fell to the floor. Marik kicked them viciously, sending them tumbling toward the door.

  Rienne clicked her tongue in dismay when she saw the burns inflicted by the spellsilver. The injuries were bad but not life threatening. They could wait. Turning her attention to the collar, she was about to try the key in its lock when Marik suddenly grabbed her arm. Panic showed on his face.

  Robin frowned. “What is it, man?”

  The Count’s eyes shifted warily.

  “Tell us,” urged Rienne.

  He pulled back and his voice was hoarse. “Do you remember me saying she wasn’t completely sane the last time I spoke with her? She’d lost all hope of rescue by then and knew she couldn’t hold out against Rykan any longer. She said … she told me that … when he came to her again”—there was a catch in his voice and Robin’s eyes narrowed—“she was going to feign surrender. If Rykan wanted access to her metaforce, he’d have to remove the spellsilver. She told me that when she felt it go … as soon as she felt him in her mind ….” He stopped and licked his lips.

  Robin glared. “What?”

  The Count closed his eyes. “She said she’d destroy herself and take him with her.”

  Robin gasped. “No!”

  The Count flung up his hands as if to ward off Robin’s fury. “It was her one last defense. She had nothing left!”

  Bull lowered his head to his hands and groaned. Rienne stared at the frightened Count. “Are you saying that when I remove this collar, she’ll kill herself?”

  Marik nodded miserably. Rienne rounded on Robin. “Can she do that?”

  The Captain had his eyes closed, his face pressed to Sullyan’s hair. Rienne only just heard his whisper.

  “Masters have that power.”

  “Then what can we do?” she cried. “How can we tell her she’s safe? There has to be something!”

  Bull rose from his seat by the fire. He put out a hand, tenderly stroking the matted, tawny hair. “We can try preventing her.” He cocked his head at Robin. “I know we’re all tired, but if you can reach her, lad, she’ll recognize you. I’m sure of it. Even like this. We have to try. We can’t leave that thing on her. It’s killing her anyway.”

  Robin nodded and blinked his tears away. “I’ll need help,” he said hoarsely. “Even then I’m not sure we’ll have the strength to stop her. I might not be able to reach her in time ….”

  “You will,” said Bull. “You have to.”

  “What can I do?” said Rienne.

  Bull patted her arm. “Just leave this to us, dear heart. She’ll need your strength in other ways, and so will we. This will be very draining. Taran, Cal, can you gather round? If we all sit close together, it’ll be easier on Robin. Marik, what about you?”

  The Count looked startled, frightened even. He backed up a pace. “Don’t think I don’t want to, but I’d better not.” He ducked his head, hiding his expression. “She might associate me with that place, with pain. I don’t think it would be helpful.”

  His manner and his refusal gave birth to a dreadful suspicion in Rienne. She was about to speak, but Robin cut her off.

  “You saw it, didn’t you? You watched him!”

  Horror spread over the Count’s face. He began to perspire. “He forced me. There were two guards with swords at my back. What could I do?”

  Robin’s body shook. There was murder in his eyes. “You stood there? You stood and watched him rape her, and you did nothing?”

  Everyone stared at the Count except Rienne. She dropped her face to her hands, sobs burning her throat.

  The Count was shouting. “There was nothing I could do! I couldn’t stop him! I swear I wanted to, but I’d have been killed out of hand, and what use would I have been to her then?”

  “Use?” Robin yelled the word. “You’ve been no bloody use all along! It was your stupid, spineless behavior that let all this happen. If you’d only warned us at that bloody banquet, we never would have left her there. I can’t believe she looked on you as a friend!
You’re nothing but a bloody traitor!”

  The Count gasped. Rienne looked up through her tears, seeing his shocked, white face.

  “Get out of here!” Robin sounded dangerously close to hysteria. “Go on, before I run you through. Haven’t you done enough damage? GET OUT!”

  Marik bolted from the hut, the door slamming shut behind him. Robin buried his face in Sullyan’s hair, sobs wracking his body.

  There was shocked silence, broken only by the sound of Robin’s grief.

  Bull sighed and placed his hand on the Captain’s shoulder. “Come on, lad, we need you. You can’t let go now. Sullyan needs you. Don’t let her down.”

  Robin raised his face, his indigo eyes deep pools of guilt. “I’ve already done that, Bull. I should never have left her at the mansion. I knew it was wrong.”

  Rienne wiped her tears and took a deep breath, her healing skills and practical good sense coming to the fore. “Done is done and can’t be undone. We have to concentrate on now. Sullyan’s still alive, Robin. She needs you to fight for her. We all need to fight for her. There’ll be time for recriminations later.”

  With a visible effort, Robin composed himself. “You’re right, of course, we have to try. Cal, Taran, bring three stools over, will you? Right, if you’ll all lay a hand on me and open your minds, I won’t have to reach for the power. Ready?”

  Unable to participate, Rienne watched as the three men each laid a hand on Robin’s arm or shoulder and closed their eyes. She didn’t feel anything when they linked, but her skin tingled into gooseflesh as Robin formed what she presumed was a Powersink. The air seemed to hum, and she vaguely felt him take hold of the power and weave it around himself and Sullyan. Fascinated, she sensed his revulsion as he met the vast blankness of the spellsilver field that encased Sullyan’s mind. Rienne knew she couldn’t experience its full effects, but even so, a revolting metallic taste had entered her mouth. She couldn’t begin to imagine how it was affecting Sullyan.

  Robin’s eyes were vacant as he murmured, “The shield is in place. Rienne, I want you to unlock the collar, but don’t remove it until I tell you. Hold it so that just one end is touching her skin. Maybe then I can slip past it to reach her. When I say, you can take it off, but not before. Alright?”