Artesans of Albia

by Cas Peace

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Taran woke with a start to find Bull standing over him. Taran squinted in the gloom, guessing it was just before dawn. Bull moved on to Cal and Rienne, shaking their shoulders urgently and hissing for them all to move.

  “What is it, Bull?” said Taran, hurrying to draw on his outer clothes against the cold drizzle. It didn’t take him long. They all slept fully clothed, wrapped in their cloaks for comfort.

  “Company,” rasped Bull, kicking over what remained of the fire and using a little water to make sure it was fully out. Stamping on the ash to stop the smoke, he pulled a small pile of dead leaves and twigs over the remains before covering everything with pine boughs left ready for the purpose. Then he ran for the horses and helped Taran saddle up.

  They had kept the camp tidy and free of refuse for just such an emergency. Even the horses’ droppings were scattered away from the site. Any evidence of their stay was quickly hidden, and the frozen ground bore few traces save what was there before they had arrived. Mounting swiftly, cold and tension making him tremble, Taran sent out his senses. Immediately he encountered what he guessed was a small party of Rykan’s men, probably foraging. There were about ten of them, and they were carrying hunting bows as well as longswords. Hastily, he showed Bull what he had found.

  “There’s no point trying to kill them,” hissed the big man. “Three against ten are bad odds. Leaving them alone is the safest option. We can’t risk capture or discovery.”

  Beckoning to the others, Bull led them away from the foragers and into the dripping woods.

  + + + + +

  The small band of Andaryan warriors moved stealthily through the bare trees. Commander Heron had given Lieutenant Arif orders to scout the area, but Arif was nervous this close to the Citadel and feeling vulnerable so far away from his fellows. He had no choice, though, as the meat ration allotted their section of the army was dwindling and the supply trains were either late or had been intercepted by the enemy. Commander Heron, unwilling to bother General Sonten with such trivial matters at this crucial stage of the campaign, had made the decision to send Arif and his group out overnight to bag what they could.

  So far the pickings were lean—a couple of small pigs and one scrawny deer—and the Lieutenant wanted to try the area around this small hill before turning back. He needed to have his men back under cover by full light, so he made only a cursory examination of the knoll. As he had feared, there was no game in sight. Frustrated, he was about to give the order to return when the faint smell of smoke caught his attention. Cautiously, suspecting a unit of the enemy stationed on this ideal lookout spot, he ordered his men to search.

  His eyes narrowed when they uncovered the doused fire, but there was no one in evidence and no sign of long term occupation. Eventually assuming that some village hunter had spent the night there, he called his men off. He would report the matter to Heron, but he doubted the Commander would pursue it. He led his band away, melting back into the forest.

  + + + + +

  “Well,” huffed Bull, his breath steaming in the chilly air, “that was a close call.”

  Nodding, Taran slid from his horse.

  Rienne’s worried grey eyes searched the trees. “Do you think it’s safe for us here, now?”

  “I think so.” Bull gave his horse’s reins to Taran and threw back his hood. “They were only hunting, and they won’t have found much game round here thanks to Cal’s success with that bow. I doubt they’ll be back. We’ll do the same as before, keep constant watches and make sure we can decamp at a moments’ notice. Well done, everyone, we managed that very smoothly. Now, let’s rekindle that fire. I need some fellan!”

  + + + + +

  Sullyan was thinking the same thing and was about to put the kettle over the hearth when a rapid knock sounded at the door. Crossing swiftly to open it, she found one of the Princess’ pages outside, hopping frantically from foot to foot.

  “Lady Brynne,” he panted, “Her Highness says please will you come?”

  She didn’t bother with questions. Luckily, she had thrown on a shirt and breeches before tending the fire so she didn’t need time to dress. Leaving Robin to follow if he chose, she waved the page on.

  Arriving at the infirmary, still in darkness and quiet from the night shift, she found the Princess in a rare state outside Marik’s room. On seeing her, Idrimar broke into sobs, causing the Major to fear the worst. Taking the older woman by the shoulders, she sent her calming thoughts. Idrimar had no control over her own metaforce, but Sullyan’s much deeper energies reached in to steady her.

  “Slowly, Highness,” she soothed. “Tell me what has happened.”

  Idrimar took a couple of deep, sobbing breaths. “He’s in such pain, Lady! He woke about an hour ago, but he’s been moaning and crying out for much of the night. The healers gave him pain relief, but it’s not working. He doesn’t know anyone and he won’t keep still. I’m so afraid he’ll damage himself. Deshan was here until the early hours, and I didn’t want to wake him, he’s so worn out. You did say you’d come, Lady, but I know you’re exhausted too ….”

  “You were right to call me, Highness. I told you I would come if you needed me. Now, you say he has great pain. Do you know where?”

  “What? No … no.” The Princess was wringing her hands. “But he was muttering in his sleep about his legs hurting and I—”

  “His legs?” Sullyan stepped quickly past Idrimar and entered Marik’s dimly lit room. The healer by his bed was trying desperately to calm the Count, who was barely conscious. His body streamed with sweat and his face bore an agonized look. Despite the poor light, Sullyan could see that his skin was grey from pain and he was trying to thrash around, although a strapped shoulder and tightly bandaged torso made that difficult. Sullyan moved to his side.

  The healer glanced up. “I’ll have to send for Deshan, Lady. I’ve given him pain relief, but it’s having no effect. If I can’t calm him, he’s going to damage himself.”

  “Let me try.” Gently, Sullyan moved the woman away. Idrimar approached the other side of the bed, fingers gripped tightly together. Sullyan placed one hand on the Count’s sweaty brow and took his left hand. She felt her eyes dilating as she reached to Marik’s psyche. The Count’s eyes, which were darting frantically about the room, suddenly ceased their movement and locked with hers.

  “Easy, my friend, you are safe now. I am here and you are safe. Be easy now, rest quietly.”

  Talking softly all the while, she eased some of his pain. It was impossible to tell where it was coming from, but hot agony was searing through him, and in his semi-drugged state he couldn’t deal with it. The sedative the healer had given him was also blocking Sullyan to some extent, and she wished the woman had called someone before administering the dose. Finally, she eased Marik enough to allow his consciousness to surface. Retracting her mind, she sat on the bed and used a cloth dipped in cool herbal water to wipe some of the sweat from his face. Looking into his pale grey eyes, she smiled.

  “Hello, Ty.”

  She said it softly, giving him time to recognize her. The Princess, watching anxiously, held her breath. The Count seemed to struggle for a moment. Then, weakly, he said, “Hello, yourself.”

  Idrimar immediately dissolved into tears and Sullyan was glad she wasn’t a noisy weeper. Marik hadn’t noticed she was there. His head was turned toward Sullyan.

  “How is the pain now, my friend?”

  He thought before replying. “Better, but it still feels like someone’s pushing red hot needles into my legs.”

  She grinned and he glared. “It’s nothing to smile about!”

  “Ah, but it is.” She rose. “I am sorry, my friend, this might hurt a little. Do you think you can bear it?”

  A look of fear came over his face. “I don’t know! What are you going to do?”

  Idrimar stopped crying long enough to protest, “Hasn’t he been hurt enough? Leave him alone. I’m not going to let you touch him!”
Coming round the end of the bed, she advanced threateningly on Sullyan.

  Marik saw her. “Idri!” He held out his hand and the Princess pushed Sullyan out of the way so she could take her place at Marik’s side. Unnoticed by either of them, Sullyan moved down to the end of the bed where she slid her hand under the bedclothes. Swiftly, she pinched each of the Count’s feet. His squeak of pain told her what she wanted to know.

  Idrimar rounded angrily on her. “What do you think you’re doing? I said leave him alone!”

  Deshan came into the room and stopped, staring at the infuriated Princess. Not noticing her father right behind him, Idrimar pointed at Sullyan. “Get her out of here!”

  Both men looked at the Major, who grinned unrepentantly back.

  “What are you smiling at?” snapped Idrimar.

  Sullyan ignored the overwrought Princess. “Your pardon, Ty. It was the only way to test whether you could feel your feet.”

  The Count’s eyes widened. “Feel my …? Well, why wouldn’t I?”

  She came closer, keeping the bed between her and the Princess. “You have had a nasty spinal injury, Ty, and we were not sure whether it would permanently affect your legs. It seems it has not.” Turning to Idrimar, she said, “I am sorry I frightened you, Highness, but it was necessary. At least we now know the Count will make a full recovery.”

  Dissolving into tears once more, Idrimar sobbed an apology. Sullyan stood smiling down at Marik, who was just realizing what a close call he had had. He reached out his good hand. It was shaking.

  Sullyan clasped it. “Deshan did all the hard work,” she said, ignoring the physician’s snort, “and you must be patient, rest as much as possible. You have other hurts which also need to mend. We will leave you in peace. Her Highness will tell you the outcome of your bravery, but then you must sleep again. I will see you later, my friend, but right now I need some strong fellan.”

  + + + + +

  “Why in the Void are you telling me this now, Heron?”

  Sonten glared at his Artesan Commander, who stood in the light of the spitting fire. “Don’t you think I have more important things on my mind than some raw lieutenant’s jumpy nerves?”

  The penetrating chill, the constant light rain, and the tense anticipation of the day’s events were playing on Sonten’s temper. Knowing how the Duke’s volatile mood had affected all his military leaders, Heron ignored the General’s anger.

  “Lieutenant Arif isn’t given to nerves, my Lord. It would be a mistake to dismiss his information. He might not have seen evidence of prolonged occupation, but that doesn’t mean Anjer hasn’t stationed reserves nearby. The light was poor and he was pressed for time, but he saw enough to convince him that someone had been there recently. He said it was an ideal spot from which to observe the battlefield.”

  Sonten scowled, irritated by the delay yet unwilling to dismiss this incident completely. If Arif’s suspicions were correct and Anjer had stationed reserves in the woods to the west of the Plains, then it was something to bear in mind. Yet Sonten was sufficiently familiar with the terrain to know that the land in question wasn’t ideal for concealing troops. There was too much open farmland and the woods were far too sparse. Any reserves coming from Gwayeth in the west would be on a forced march and unlikely to waste time by circling so far round. Sonten couldn’t imagine Anjer directing them away from the battlefield when the final offensive was in full swing.

  Trusting his judgment, he made an instant decision. He was due in Rykan’s command tent to receive his final orders for the day’s battle and any delay would inflame the already irritable Duke.

  “Keep a close eye on our western flank, Heron, and be alert for the possibility. I can’t spare a unit to investigate right now. Post a lookout to the west, that’s the best we can do. If word arrives of a flanking attack, send some of our boys to deal with it. Don’t rely on his Grace’s conscripts, they’re far too flaky. Now get back to your command and listen for the trumpets. There’s precious little time before dawn.”

  Snapping a salute, Heron turned on his heel. The General heard Rykan’s angry voice and hurried toward the command tent, his own nerves strung tight. He dismissed Heron and his suspicions to the back of his mind.

  + + + + +

  Sullyan met with Robin on her way back from Marik’s room. The young man had taken time to dress properly and carried both their cloaks over his arm. He fell into step beside her and smiled as she told him the good news. Steering her away from their apartment, he said, “There have been developments outside, Major. I knew you’d want to see so I’ve asked them to bring food up to the battlements. Doubtless the Hierarch will be along soon.”

  Taking the Tower steps two at a time, they emerged into a miserable, grey, drizzly morning. The clouds hung low over their heads, almost touching the tallest spire. The Hierarch’s standard hung limp and dripping from its pole. There wasn’t a breath of wind and it was depressingly cold. Servants brought braziers out to warm them, along with pots of fresh fellan and plates of hot food. They erected a canopy for shelter from the dreary rain, and Sullyan huddled gratefully beneath it, drinking from a steaming mug and eating warm bread dripping with honey.

  The Hierarch soon joined them and raised his brows at the civilized arrangements. Robin glanced up at him. “I hope I didn’t overstep the mark, Majesty.”

  Pharikian smiled. “No indeed, young man, it was a very thoughtful thing to do. We’ll probably be spending much time up here over the next couple of days, so a bit of comfort won’t go amiss.” Glancing at the Major, he said, “Brynne, my dear, this is a very considerate young man you have.”

  She grasped Robin’s hand as he blushed. “Yes, Timar. I think so too.”

  Moving closer to them beneath the purple canopy, Pharikian accepted fellan from Robin. He turned to Sullyan and cocked his head. “How are you, Brynne?”

  “As well as I can be, Timar.”

  He pursed his lips at the pallor of her face and noted the hand that had unconsciously strayed to her belly. Flicking a glance at Robin, he put an arm about her shoulders and drew her closer. She didn’t resist. “Maybe we should allow Rykan to withdraw his challenge after all. You don’t have to do this, child.”

  She started beneath his hands and drew a sharp breath. “I wish your words were true, Timar, but it is my only hope. Even if the hope is forlorn, I would rather die knowing that Rykan is no threat to Albia and that I did all I could. There is no other way for me now.”

  She turned back to the battle unfolding on the Plains, just catching the Hierarch’s glance at Robin, whose handsome features wore an expression of grief and pain. She was struck by sudden sadness as Pharikian reached to Robin’s psyche, giving him what strength and comfort he could. Silently, Robin accepted.

  Preliminaries over, the fighting on the Plains intensified. Anjer, Kryp, and Ephan could be seen directing their own battalions, and there were also other generals, unknown to Sullyan, commanding the Hierarch’s reserves. The noise became deafening as the various units clashed, cavalry and foot troops all playing their part. The three on the battlements, joined after a short while by a taciturn, hard-eyed Vanyr, watched the struggle unfold before them.

  + + + + +

  On their small hill, Taran, Rienne, Cal, and Bull also stood in the drizzle, watching the drama playing out on the Plains. Taran didn’t need Robin’s eyes to see that the war was now raging in earnest. He could clearly hear the cries of the dying, the wounded men and horses, and see the black carrion birds and huge tangwyrs circling the skies above. Occasionally one would land, only to flap clumsily aloft again, carrying some dripping morsel in beak or talons.

  Sharing watches with Bull, on constant guard against the threat of capture or discovery, Taran awaited the outcome of this war.

  Three days later, it came.

  Chapter Thirty

  The weather turned milder. The bitter easterly winds dropped and the temperature climbed a few degrees above freezing. The ground on the Plains
turned to mud with the constant churning of horses’ hooves and men’s boots. The armies slogged through its clinging stickiness as they fought, neither side gaining the upper hand for more than a few hours.

  Anjer and his generals were tiring, as were their men. From the battlements, the Hierarch sent encouragement and support where he could. The healers were stretched to breaking point, as there were terrible losses on both sides and there were always more wounded than healers. Sullyan and Robin helped where they could, the Major feeling ever more useless as time went by.

  She was unused to watching events unfold from afar and disliked having to rein in her powers and stay in safety. Had she not needed his comforting presence and strength so badly, she might have released Robin to join the fighting. She knew he was torn between his desire to fight and his need to stay close to his love.

  The days of constant fretting were also taking their toll on Sullyan’s health. She tried hard to resist it, but she was losing vitality by the day. She set aside a few hours every morning for sword practice, and that helped to a certain extent. She even managed to cajole Ky-shan, Jay’el, and even Xeer into fencing with her, the challenge of new opponents doing much to engage her concentration. On Pharikian’s strict orders they used training foils instead of steel blades. She knew this was just as well, for she was often distracted and there would have been injuries had they used edged weapons.

  Marik continued to improve, thanks largely to Deshan’s and Sullyan’s healing sessions, but he wasn’t yet well enough to rise from his bed. Idrimar was his constant companion, and there was a steady stream of other visitors when the infirmary wasn’t too frantic.

  On the fourth day since the two armies clashed, Sullyan went up to the Tower walls at dawn, Almid and Kester by her side. Robin had gone to visit Marik, as the Count became irritable and restless if he didn’t receive constant updates on the battle’s progress. Commander Vanyr was also pacing the battlements that morning, but he kept a healthy distance from Sullyan.