by Cas Peace
All around the battlemented walls were the signs of preparations for war. Sentries patrolled every section and guard tower, and the crust of frozen snow on the ground outside was churned with the hoof marks and boot prints of many troop movements. Cart ruts also ran through the gates, and Sullyan guessed they were laying up provisions in the event of a siege. It made her heart clench. She stared impatiently at the Lieutenant, who was fretting before the gates.
At length, the postern reopened and a single man emerged. He was tall, strongly built, and had pale grey eyes. His hair was black, lightly peppered with grey, and over his uniform he wore a heavy purple cloak edged with gold. A longsword rode at his left hip, and he walked with the confident air of command. On seeing him, the leader of the patrol immediately relaxed.
As the newcomer approached Sullyan, she swung elegantly down from Drum, her heavy riding cloak swirling around her. She gestured for Robin and Marik to do likewise. The tall Andaryan halted before her and she accorded him a formal salute, giving him the level of courtesy she would have shown Mathias Blaine.
“General.”
He returned the homage while appraising her, although his salute wasn’t as respectful as hers. When he spoke, his tone conveyed wary interest.
“Major Sullyan. I have heard of you.”
She inclined her head, hearing Robin’s surprised intake of breath before the tall Andaryan went on.
“I am General Ephan, overall commander of the Velletian Guard and responsible for the Hierarch’s security. We are currently under threat of war, as I’m sure you’re aware. The Citadel is closed to outsiders. However, in deference to King Elias of Albia, I will permit you and your Captain to enter and seek an audience with the Hierarch. But I warn you, he is a busy man and these are troubled times. He may not be inclined to see you.”
“We will take that chance, General Ephan. I thank you for your courtesy.”
The General’s pale eyes hardened and his voice became harsh. “I will not, however, admit traitors, no matter who speaks for them. The renegade Marik will be taken under arrest and held in confinement until such time as his Majesty decides his fate.”
Marik gasped and stepped back, but he was too late. The patrol tightened around him, crossbows raised. He looked desperately at Sullyan, his eyes a little wild. She made a calming gesture and turned back to the General.
“Count Marik is under my personal protection, General Ephan, and only accompanied me here at my insistence. I pledge you my word he is no traitor.”
Ephan brushed her protest aside. “That is not for you to say. While his overlord threatens the Citadel, I cannot permit this man to go free in the Hierarch’s domain.” He nodded to the guards. “Take him.”
Two of them grasped Marik’s arms. He struggled at first, but then thought better of it and subsided, his expression gloomy.
Sullyan gave him a reassuring smile. “I am sorry for this, Ty. Rest assured, I will do my best to resolve the situation. The Hierarch will understand once I explain why you are here.”
The General gave a grunt, and Marik hung his head as he was hustled away. Sullyan turned stiffly back to Ephan. “That was not well done, General. I do not extend my protection to traitors. The Count has much to offer his Majesty and has suffered greatly at Lord Rykan’s hands. He was coerced into supporting the Duke, as I suspect you already know. Be sure he is well treated while under your care.”
Ephan chose not to respond. Instead, he turned to the leader of the patrol, who was awaiting release. “Get back to your duties, Lieutenant Barrin.”
The man turned his horse and rode back through his men, leading them south along the road. Ephan strode to the postern gate and barked orders to the guardsmen behind. Grooms arrived to take the visitors’ horses, and Ephan indicated that Sullyan and Robin should follow him into the Citadel.
Once through the postern, Sullyan looked round with interest. The walls on the inside were lined with guard posts and towers, and scaled by laddered platforms leading up to the battlements. The interior road running round the perimeter was teeming with swordsmen, all of whom bore the purple and gold livery of the Hierarch’s elite corps, the Velletian Guard. Buildings nearby were obviously barracks, supply depots, and armories. There was one clear road running up from the gates, between these buildings, and on into the center of the Citadel.
Ephan spotted a servant wearing the livery of the Hierarch’s personal service and hailed him. “You, man. Take Major Sullyan here and Captain …?” He raised a brow and Sullyan supplied Robin’s name. “Captain Tamsen to Baron Gaslek. Tell Gaslek the Major is an Ambassador from King Elias of Albia, and that she desires an audience with his Majesty.” The servant’s eyes widened, but he didn’t speak. “Have him assign them quarters while they wait.”
Ephan turned back to Sullyan. “Major, you will excuse my not escorting you, but as you see, we are preparing for war. The Baron is his Majesty’s secretary. He will present your petition and see to your comforts. I wish you good fortune. If his Majesty is gracious and grants your request, maybe we will meet again.”
He swept away. Sullyan watched him go, a small smile on her lips. Then she turned to the servant, who was hovering anxiously at her elbow. “Please, Lady,” he said, as he turned to lead them through the town.
The servant guided Sullyan and Robin up the straight road leading through the center of the Citadel. They passed shops and houses, the dwellings and business places of the lower town. The Caer was thronging with people, all going about their daily lives despite the insecurity of their future.
Sullyan studied the faces of the people they passed, most of whom didn’t pay the party any attention at all. A few of the men, mainly swordsmen, glanced their way. Without exception, they regarded Robin with professional interest and were openly startled when they realized Sullyan was armed. They stared at her with varying expressions. Chief among these was plain disbelief, but some were blatantly hostile.
Occasionally, they passed groups of women, all escorted by either household servants or guards wearing the Hierarch’s colors. The servants’ liveries were trimmed in whatever color their noble had adopted, and the resulting clash of color made Sullyan feel sick.
The highborn women, gaudily dressed in court finery and with lavishly made up faces, were open in their condemnation and scorn for Sullyan’s attire. Their snide comments, outraged gasps, and sniggers behind fluttering fans made Sullyan’s hands itch to slap. Yet she moved serenely through them, never giving a sign that she heard their wounding remarks. Much as she could appear refined when she chose, as at Marik’s feast, she always felt more comfortable in her leathers. Such sentiments, she knew, would scandalize these chattering, painted parrots.
The silent servant led them through the town toward a steeper rise in the land. They emerged onto the Processional Way, the state road leading to the ornately wrought gates of the Imperial Palace. Ornamental trees, bare of leaves yet still graceful, lined the avenue, and the gleaming white river cobbles underfoot had been swept clear of snow. The crowds were absent now. No one approached the Palace save servants and military officers.
Their guide didn’t lead them through the huge main gates, but turned left before reaching them. Guards patrolling behind the gates watched the two Albians with cold and wary eyes. Following the pale stone wall surrounding the Palace gardens, the servant took them through a much smaller gate. The two sentries stationed there stared with unfriendly curiosity and whispered to each other as Sullyan passed. If the gaudy gossips in the town had not already spread it, she thought, news of their arrival would soon be common knowledge.
The servant now took them through a pleasant but winter-bare rose garden, toward a wing of the vast and sprawling Palace. Opening a pair of fancy, carved wooden doors set with glass, he ushered them inside. A young maid standing close by scurried forward to take their heavy cloaks. Her pale yellow eyes nearly started from her head when she saw Sullyan’s combat leathers. The Major smiled at her, but she didn�
�t respond.
“Please, Lady,” said their guide, beckoning them on. They followed him through a succession of large, empty reception rooms, their ceilings heavy with gilded bosses, the door lintels ornately carved. The furniture was solid and impressive, yet none of it looked comfortable. Expensive woven carpets covered the floors and scented bowls of flowers stood in every room. Robin frowned as he smelled their heady perfume, and Sullyan guessed he was wondering where the Palace got such flowers in winter. He was still frowning as they arrived at a green baize door. The servant stopped and rapped sharply on the wood surround. At the response from within, he opened it and ushered them through.
Chapter Twelve
The room they entered was plainer than any they had yet seen. Clearly an office, it held only a fruitwood table with a matching chair, and several other chairs ranged around the walls. A large window overlooked an inner courtyard where a fountain of marble nymphs played over an icy pool. There was an overriding smell of beeswax, as if someone had recently polished the furniture.
The man seated behind the desk rose to greet them. He was small, stout, and fussily dressed, and he sported a pair of thick spectacles which perched precariously on the end of his small nose. Peering shortsightedly at them, he came around the table to get a better view. He wore the purple and gold of the Hierarch’s personal staff, and his short, thick fingers were covered in rings. His robes had the appearance of hampering his movements, and his hands constantly twitched at his clothing.
The servant bowed. “My Lord Baron, may I present Major Sullyan, Lady Ambassador and Envoy of King Elias of Albia. Also, her escort, Captain Tamsen. They seek an audience with his Majesty. General Ephan asks that you see to their comfort.” He turned abruptly and left the room as if well pleased to be rid of his duty.
Sullyan stood at ease and studied the Baron. She immediately noticed his pale grey eyes flicking nervously from her face to the sword at her back and guessed he had never seen a woman go armed before.
The little man cleared his throat before speaking. “I am Baron Gaslek, his Majesty’s secretary. I bid you welcome, Major Sullyan. To what do we owe this honor?”
His voice was light and ineffectual, yet she had to give him his due. Despite this unprecedented situation, he was faultlessly polite.
She smiled. “I seek an audience with his Majesty on urgent matters of state, and we would appreciate the chance to rest and refresh ourselves as we have travelled a long and weary way. But first, my Lord Baron, I must make a request.” She saw the little man’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “I wish to see Count Marik, who was summarily imprisoned by General Ephan. I must be convinced of his comfort and welfare before I can consider my own.”
He made a disparaging gesture. “I’m afraid that will not be possible, Lady. The Count is under the General’s authority. He commands the garrison here.”
Sullyan’s eyes hardened. She was weary and in pain, in no mood to be thwarted. She took a step toward the Baron, and although her hand never reached for her sword hilt, the little man glanced at the weapon. With the faint smile still on her lips, she murmured, “My Lord Baron, it is my intention to see the Count with or without your help. Notwithstanding General Ephan’s authority, the Count is still under my personal protection. Now, may I suggest that you arrange for us to be taken to where he is being held? If not, I will find my own way. And I think you would not want us wandering the Palace unescorted. That would not reflect well on the Hierarch’s hospitality.”
The thought of the two of them walking through the Palace, alone and armed, clearly unsettled the Baron. He decided to humor her, although his displeasure showed in his tone. “Very well, Lady. I will arrange for you to be escorted to the cells. But authority for you to see the Count will have to be gained from General Ephan.”
Sullyan smiled coldly. “I thank you, Baron.”
Swallowing nervously, he picked up a small gold bell and rang it with a practiced flick. Sullyan’s eyes never left his, and she saw a glint of moisture on the man’s upper lip. Robin was regarding him too, and she felt her Captain’s amusement at the Baron’s discomfiture.
A liveried servant arrived promptly and was given instructions to convey the two of them to the cells. Afterwards he was to take them to a suite of rooms where they could be comfortable. “I trust you will find the accommodation satisfactory, Lady,” said the Baron as they made to leave.
Sullyan turned a smile on him, prepared to be gracious now that she had what she wanted. “I have no doubt of it, my Lord. You have been most helpful. I am sure we will meet again.” Briefly, she gave him her fingers before sweeping from the room.
As the door closed, she was sure she heard the Baron sigh with relief.
This new servant took them through the Palace once again, a different route this time, and they came out under a colonnaded walkway leading to a low, functional building attached to the rear of the Palace. There were sentries patrolling here, all of whom stared narrowly at the two armed Albians as they were led to a pair of solid wooden doors. Guards stationed there stepped toward them, barring their entry.
The servant turned to Sullyan. “I’m sorry, Lady, but without General Ephan’s express command, you can’t enter here.”
She planted her feet, making it obvious she wasn’t going to leave. “Then I suggest his express command is obtained immediately.” The servant shrugged and turned to one of the guards who, noting the Major’s stern expression and alert attitude, decided to duck the arrow.
“Wait here,” he said, and strode off.
They stood in the frosty air for some minutes, the remaining guard watching Sullyan as closely as she watched him. The other man returned, bringing with him a senior officer in the now familiar uniform of the Hierarch’s personal guard.
Instantly, Sullyan shifted the focus of her attention to the newcomer. He was lithe and loose-limbed and walked with one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Tall and spare, he moved with purpose. Yet it wasn’t his body which arrested her gaze, but his eyes. Dead white with slit pupils, they gave nothing away. They were a killer’s eyes, emotionless eyes, the eyes of an implacable warrior.
He came to a fluid halt before her and swept her casually with a flat gaze. She knew he had dismissed her as a woman and therefore powerless. Your first mistake, she thought grimly.
“I am Commander Vanyr of the Velletian Guard,” he announced. “What is your business here?” His insulting omission of her title, plus his curt tone and clipped speech, conveyed his annoyance.
She refused to be cowed by his menacing stance and answered in the same terse manner. “A simple enough request, Commander. I wish to satisfy myself as to the wellbeing of one who is under my personal protection.”
Unaccustomed to such boldness from a woman, the Commander allowed irritation to flash in his eyes. Yet she was an Ambassador, the Albian High King’s Envoy, and he grudgingly gave way.
“Very well … Lady.” He gave the title a slight, disparaging emphasis. “But you will not enter the security building armed.”
He held out an imperious hand for their weapons, and it was with only the slightest hesitation that Sullyan unhooked the sword from her shoulder harness and passed it to him. Robin did likewise. The man seemed surprised to feel the weight of Sullyan’s weapon, almost as if he hadn’t expected it to be real. He handed their blades to one of the guards and turned on his heel to lead them into the building.
Bare and functional, this place would offer no distractions to those carrying out whatever security measures might be necessary, thought Sullyan. The taciturn Commander stalked past various rooms and offices, leading them deeper into the building. He finally halted outside a door with a single guard and motioned the man aside.
The door, which wasn’t locked, opened onto a small but pleasant room. It was warmed by a fire and lit by two tiny, barred windows set high into the walls. There was a table and chair, and a small settle drawn close to the fire. Another door led off into a sleeping room. T
he suite’s occupant, who had been lying listlessly on the settle, started to his feet as they entered. He looked a little strained around the eyes, but brightened when he saw who his visitor was.
Sullyan crossed the room and took his hands. “Are you well, Count? Have they treated you fairly?”
He glanced over her shoulder toward Vanyr, who stood brooding in the doorway. “I’m fine, Sullyan. I could do with something to eat and drink, though.”
She turned to the Commander and raised her brows. He stared back before saying, “It will be arranged.”
“I thank you, Commander.” She turned back to Marik. “I am truly sorry about this, Ty. It will be resolved once I have spoken with the Hierarch. Can you be patient until then?”
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” he muttered. “It’s only what I expected, and better than I deserve. I’ll be alright.”
He gave her a wan smile. She pursed her lips and squeezed his hand.
They collected their weapons from the guard by the outer door and walked away under Vanyr’s hard stare. The waiting servant led them to a sumptuous suite of rooms on the ground floor of the Palace. He bowed them into the suite, only leaving once he had seen that their packs had been brought up from the stables and their heavy riding cloaks had been brushed and hung to air.
With a sigh of relief, Sullyan removed her sword and placed it on the rack provided. She looked round with appreciative eyes. On a low table in the lavishly furnished living area sat a tray of various meats, bread, wine, and sweet rolls. There was a roaring fire in the hearth, and the heavy drapes at the two floor-to-ceiling windows had been closed against the early evening cold. Trimmed lamps flickered brightly along the walls.
She crossed to one of the doors that opened off the living area and discovered a sleeping room, a vast bed occupying most of the floor space. Robin glanced in over her shoulder. “Looks comfortable,” he murmured. “Want to try it out?”