Artesans of Albia

by Cas Peace

  He took her cold hand, his face pale with concern. “Maybe you shouldn’t have sent Rienne away.”

  “There was nothing Rienne could do, Robin. There is nothing anyone can do, except maybe Pharikian.”

  He frowned. “Who?”

  She could hear a hint of jealousy in his voice and tried a smile. It failed. “Timar Pharikian, the Hierarch of Andaryon.”

  The frown deepened, and she realized he had never heard the Hierarch’s name before. Then he raised his brows. “Are you telling me you actually know the Hierarch?”

  This time, the smile succeeded. “I have not been presented at Court, if that is what you mean. But I have seen him once or twice, and I know of him by reputation. He is the only Senior Master in existence, as far as I know, either in Andaryon or in Albia. It is possible that his greater power might be able to mitigate the poison’s effects for a while, before it grows too strong. Long enough, perhaps, for me to accomplish my task.”

  “Well, I hope so, love.” Robin’s tone was bleak. “Because if it leaves you like this now, what’s it going to be like when it’s really bad?”

  “Far worse.” She smiled again, unable to give him any real comfort, then reached up and drew his cooling body under the covers. “But we will not think about that now.”

  + + + + +

  They woke in the early dawn, the sky smudgy-grey through the thick-paned window. They lay twined together, Sullyan’s head cradled on Robin’s chest, one of her legs thrown over his and her wealth of tawny hair spread out like a glowing cloud. Neither one wanted to speak. Both were aware that the other was awake, both were aware of tear tracks on the other’s face. Neither wanted to stir and further the day.

  Eventually, the increasing daylight made speech inevitable, and Sullyan finally found the courage to move. She raised herself on one elbow, her small breasts brushing the smooth skin of Robin’s chest. Her lover’s deep blue eyes met her gaze. They were damp with grief, and she ran her free hand through the soft curls of his short, brown hair. Gently, she brushed away the moisture from his face and kissed a smile to his lips. He returned it hesitantly, not knowing how he would bear the day’s events.

  His profound unhappiness made Sullyan twist at the fire opal ring on her right hand. She drew it off and held it out on her palm. “My love, would you keep this for me?”

  He struggled upright. “No, Sullyan, I can’t take that from you. I know how highly you value it.”

  “I do value it, but not as highly as I value your love. Please, Robin?”

  He couldn’t refuse the look in her eyes.

  “Will you exchange rings with me, then?”

  It was tentatively spoken, for an exchange of rings was normally part of a betrothal contract.

  Her smile grew warmer and her gaze blurred as she watched him pull off the tiny gold ring he wore on the little finger of his right hand.

  “But that is Jessy’s ring, Robin. Are you sure?”

  Jessy, Robin’s beloved younger sister, had died of a wasting illness just over two years ago. Sullyan had tried her best to heal, and then soothe, the young girl and grew to love her in the short months she had known her as much as she did her tall and handsome brother.

  Robin’s gaze dropped to the tiny ring of gold.

  “Jessy would have been overjoyed to see us betrothed. She would have been so proud to see you wearing a ring that was once hers.”

  “Then I accept it gladly.”

  Sullyan reached out and placed her fire opal on the little finger of Robin’s left hand. She saw his eyes widen fractionally when he realized she had chosen the marriage hand. Then she held out her own left hand and smiled when he slipped Jessy’s ring onto her middle finger.

  Chapter Ten

  A couple of hours later, they finally emerged into the kitchen. Such an open admission of commitment and love had put all thoughts of the day from their minds. Marik had set out a light breakfast for them and water was heating over the fire. Robin made some fellan and the two lovers sat drinking it together in silence.

  The skin around Sullyan’s neck where the spellsilver had burned her was finally healed, so she was now wearing her fire opal necklace. She would probably carry the marks of those wounds forever, she thought, and then remembered with a lurch that she wouldn’t likely have the time to heal further.

  Sunlight glared into her eyes as Marik opened the door and entered. He stamped a light dusting of snow from his boots. She saw his eyes swivel toward the full packs lying on the table. He raised his gaze to her face and she regarded him calmly, knowing he could see the pallor of her skin and the hint of dark bruises under her eyes. The obvious marks of Rykan’s abuse had almost disappeared, but she knew he was wondering if she could survive the four days of hard riding it would take them to reach Caer Vellet. Although she would never admit it, the same thought had crossed her own mind.

  To distract them both, she smiled. “I trust you have everything you need, Ty? Bull should return sometime late this afternoon, and we must be away soon after.”

  From the corner of her eye she caught the paling of Robin’s face and the expression of pain which flitted across his features. So, she thought, his outward calm did not extend very deep.

  Marik crossed to the fire and helped himself to fellan. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. It’s perishing out there. Do you have enough warm clothes?”

  “Bull will bring what I need.” Sullyan squeezed Robin’s hand as she sensed the clenching of his heart. There was nothing more she could do or say to ease him. He would have to find his own strength now.

  She turned back to the Count. “What is the state of your armory, Ty?” Marik’s head came up at the unexpected question. “Did Rykan’s men loot it when they took us away?”

  The Count shrugged and she realized he hadn’t bothered to check the arms store. “I’ll go and see if you like,” he offered. “Why?”

  “I need an Andaryan longsword, if you have a spare. The Hierarch’s forces use heavier blades than my Albian steel.”

  Marik cocked his head. “Can you wield a longsword?” He sounded dubious, as if he couldn’t imagine her even holding such a heavy blade, let alone using one effectively.

  Robin snorted and Sullyan smiled. “Perhaps you could give me some pointers, Ty.”

  He fell for it. “Well, I will if you like, but I warn you, it’ll be very different to what you’re used to.”

  He left the room. When he returned, he carried his own blade, plus two more. They all went out into the bitter sunlight of the early winter day. The mansion’s training ground was more sheltered than the kitchen yard, and no snow had settled there. Marik offered Sullyan the two blades to test and she weighed each in her hand for balance. Satisfied with her chosen blade, she took it in her right hand and faced Marik, ready to fence.

  His face showed concern. “Just let me know if you get too tired,” he advised. “Use a double-handed grip if it’s easier.”

  She smiled sweetly at him, a look that would have put Robin instantly on his guard. He moved to one of the benches surrounding the training ground to watch.

  Marik began the bout gently and didn’t press her too hard. She responded in kind, testing her agility and stamina against the unfamiliar feel of this heavier weapon. After a few minutes of what she regarded as a gentle warm up, she was comfortable enough with the balance of the weapon and her own reactions to practice some advanced moves. Marik suddenly found himself harder pressed. Sullyan saw his eyes narrow.

  She had already noted that his attention often wavered. Unlike most well-trained swordsmen whose eyes never left their opponent’s upper body, Marik didn’t seem capable of making up his mind which part of her to watch. His focus often flickered from her eyes to her upper body, even to her sword arm. This was a grave mistake, for by the time the sword arm moved, it was far too late to take evasive action. Watching anything but the body—and especially the eyes—was a complete waste of time, and in fencing, as in most things, Sullyan never w
asted time.

  A sharp twisting movement of her longsword sent Marik’s blade skittering across the ground. He stood dumbfounded, staring at her.

  “You evil witch! You’ve bloody done it to me again, haven’t you?”

  Hearing Robin’s dry chuckle, she smiled, remembering her first meeting with Marik and the duel that had resulted in a humiliating defeat for the Count. Retrieving his weapon, she handed it prettily back to him, giving him a small bow. He shook his head and grimaced as he accepted it.

  She switched the sword to her left hand. “So, shall we do it properly now?”

  Marik looked both annoyed and alarmed. “I think I’m the one who needs lessons!”

  A lesson is exactly what she gave him for the next hour or so, leading him with painstaking precision through the various moves and improving his technique. Robin shouted helpful comments about his footwork from the bench, comments which were not always gracefully received. The three of them were so engrossed in what they were doing that Sullyan only belatedly realized she could feel a familiar prickle in her mind. Someone was opening a substrate tunnel nearby.

  Robin felt the prickle too. She could see him looking around. Surely, she thought, it was far too early for Bull to return? Although, judging by the angle of the winter sun, it was mid-afternoon. How could the hours have passed so quickly? Tears stung her eyes. Her time with Robin was nearly over. Suddenly, she resented the time she had spent coaching Marik, although it made sense if the Count was going to be guarding her back from now on.

  She broke off their bout by sweeping her blade to the salute. Marik was panting and sweating heavily, but Sullyan felt healthier than she had since emerging from Rykan’s cell. Robin hissed her name and she went to his side.

  By the mansion gates, about a hundred yards from the training ground, the familiar flowerlike end of a trans-Veil structure blossomed. Bull rode his stallion through, leading another horse by the reins. It was a huge, coal-black beast with no white markings whatsoever. Even to someone who knew nothing about horses, its relationship to the Manor’s lead stallion, Mandias, was unmistakable. It had the same fine head and small ears, the same strong-boned legs with profuse feathering, the same silken wealth of ebony mane and tail. If anything, it was even larger than Mandias by about a hand’s height. It bore a small, light saddle and a plaited leather bridle with no bit. It tossed its magnificent head against Bull’s hold, snorting and dancing surprisingly lightly for such a huge animal.

  It wasn’t the horse, though, that drew Sullyan’s eyes and provoked an indrawn breath. Following Bull through the tunnel on a dark bay stallion was the imposing figure of General Blaine.

  Sullyan’s hand went to her mouth. “Mathias?”

  She could hardly remember the last time Blaine had used his Master level powers, let alone travelled the Veils. Frozen, she watched as he and Bull rode nearer, the General looking round with interest.

  A sudden squeal rent the air, breaking Sullyan’s shock. The coal-black stallion wrenched the reins from Bull’s hand and reared, then came thundering toward her. The ground shook under his massive hooves, and Marik dived for safety behind the benches. As the horse charged nearer, Sullyan gave a soft, trilling whistle. The big beast flung up his head, and with a snort, skidded to a dust-showering stop in front of her. Gently, he lowered his nose to her hair, blowing and snuffling. Then he buffeted her shoulder.

  She stroked the side of his face, murmuring, “Oh, Drum, you big show-off.”

  Bull and the General dismounted, and Bull lowered a full pack to the ground. Blaine passed his reins to the big man and approached Sullyan, who watched him around the stallion’s sleek neck. She saw Robin glance at Bull and the big man’s cryptic answering look. The General’s expression was impassive as he approached, and although Robin snapped him a salute, Blaine ignored it. Sullyan could feel the waves of Robin’s despair.

  Turning to the stallion, she pushed at his neck, sending him ambling away. Calmly, she faced the General, came to attention, and saluted. He stopped in front of her and flipped a casual hand back. He studied her for a long moment in silence while Robin fretted on the verge of tears and Bull stood alone, holding the reins of the two horses.

  At length, the General spoke. His voice was low, carrying a tone she had never heard before.

  “Major Sullyan. So it’s true, then?”

  Moisture started in her eyes, but she managed not to flinch. “I fear so, General.”

  He briefly looked away. She saw lines of pain on his stern face and was amazed. Turning back, he said, “Can nothing be done?”

  She took a deep breath. “Not that I am aware of, sir. The Hierarch may be able to help, but it would only be temporary.”

  Blaine stood in silence a moment more, digesting the news. Then he squared his shoulders and became once more the familiar, impersonal commander. He held out his left hand and Sullyan saw the gleam of gold. This time she couldn’t hide her start of astonishment.

  He spoke formally, his voice rough and stern. “Major Sullyan, I am charged to tell you that your resignation has not been accepted. The King will not release you.”

  Her eyes widened. “The King? But, General—”

  “Major!”

  She fell silent.

  Blaine removed a parchment from within his jacket and passed it to her. “I am instructed to pass these orders on to you. You were already the temporary Albian Envoy to Count Marik, and now King Elias has decided to make the appointment permanent.”

  Stunned, her hand shaking, Sullyan accepted the orders. She opened them and read them swiftly. When she looked back up at the towering General, her gaze was blurred by tears.

  “I am to be King Elias’ Envoy to the Hierarch?”

  She saw Robin’s start. The post of permanent Envoy was a prestigious one, very seldom bestowed.

  Stepping close to her, the General pinned the double thunderflash insignia of her rank above her left breast, where it belonged. Then he added another badge; the King’s Envoy shooting star.

  She shook her head, unable to speak. Robin’s mouth was hanging open and Bull was grinning widely, his eyes full of tears. She thought she saw a gleam of moisture in the General’s eye, but she must have been mistaken, for when he turned toward Robin his expression was as hard as ever. Robin’s fists clenched and she knew that her own face was as pale as his.

  As the General turned to him, Robin came to attention, trying vainly not to look in his superior’s hard blue eyes.

  “Captain Tamsen, I trust I’m not going to have any trouble from you?”

  Robin turned despairingly to Sullyan, but she could offer him no comfort. He had given her his promise to obey the General, but now that the moment had arrived, she wasn’t sure he could do it. She sensed him gathering his courage and hardening his resolve, and she silently begged him not to rebel.

  His voice came out as a croak. “No, General.”

  “Well, that’ll make a change.” Blaine studied Robin’s pinched face before continuing. “Your orders, Captain—and I trust you’ll obey them to the letter?” He paused, forcing Robin to nod his unhappy acceptance. “You are to remain here with the Major, to stand for her, aid her in her new duties, and guard her back until such time as she … no longer needs you.”

  Robin stared, taking a few moments to assimilate what the General had said. He had been so sure of a recall. His face flushed and then paled again as he struggled to control himself. Bull was openly weeping, and Sullyan lowered her face to her hands.

  Trembling with reaction, Robin managed to stammer, “Th-thank you, General. You can rely on me to follow your orders implicitly, sir.”

  Blaine frowned. “Yes, I expect I can. But, Captain?” He captured Robin’s gaze again. “I want you back the moment your duties here are completed, do you understand? Sergeant Dexter has temporary command of the Major’s company, but you will be required to take over when you return.” His voice lost some of its gruffness. “Despite my reservations, I find that you
are too good an officer to lose, even allowing for your past … indiscretions.”

  Robin gave a feeble grin and Blaine’s face twisted wryly. “Major,” he said over his shoulder, “see if you can instill a bit more discipline into this young man, will you? He could certainly do with it.”

  “I will do my best, General, but I fear it will not be easy.”

  On hearing her voice, Blaine’s expression changed. Now, as he came toward her and took her hands, Sullyan could clearly see the unshed tears in his eyes. She followed as he guided her out of earshot of the others. She was still wrestling with the unexpected turn of events and was grateful for the respite. He stopped and she looked up at him.

  “I hardly know what to say, Mathias, except to thank you. I was trying not to think how I would cope without Robin. And as for the orders from the King ….” She shook her head, unable to finish.

  Blaine took her shoulders, turned her to face him, and looked down into her eyes. “You’ve never realized how highly Elias and I value you, have you? The King has followed your career with great interest. Yes, I admit, I had to be persuaded at first, and I know our relationship hasn’t always been easy for you. I can be stern and uncompromising, I know, but you always went out of your way to observe the proprieties, and for that, I thank you.”

  “You have no need to thank me, Mathias. If not for you, I would never have found my place in life, would never have come to know the profession I love or fulfill my reason for being. You have been my commanding officer, but also, as much as your duties allowed, my friend. I hope you know that I love you.”

  He ducked his head and she could feel him struggling for composure. When he was able to look at her again, he said, “Bull tells me that you and that hot-headed Captain of yours have finally decided to acknowledge what the rest of us have known for months.”

  “Oh, has he?” She glanced archly at Bull, who grinned and shrugged. “Well, he had no business to.”