Artesans of Albia

by Cas Peace

  A contingent of swordsmen had been hard at work creating the combat arena and arranging seating for those permitted to witness the duel. The arena itself was a large, flat, circular area of grass, marked out with gold and purple flags. A pavilion had been set up at the south gate end, draped in gold and purple cloth. Four standards bearing the Hierarch’s tangwyr crest marked the corners of the pavilion, and seats were arranged within it.

  Opposite this and facing it was a similar pavilion, this one draped in black and silver. As they rode closer, Robin could see the heavy figure of Sonten inside and a few of Rykan’s elite guard. Of the tall Duke there was no sign. He heard Sullyan take a deep breath and knew she was drawing on her donated strength to ward her against Rykan’s inevitable appearance. She would have to use it sparingly as the effects wouldn’t last for long. Robin had no idea how soon they would fade, never having experienced this before. He could only hope it would be enough.

  The late winter sun shone down out of a nearly cloudless sky. Following the Hierarch’s lead, Robin dismounted by the pavilion and allowed a groom to take his horse. Pharikian drew Sullyan and Anjer aside and Baron Gaslek joined them. Robin watched them talking quietly, going over what was to happen.

  Sullyan was dressed in the clothes the Hierarch had ordered for her, and Robin thought she looked calm and composed. It was more than could be said for him. Her eyes were hard when last he looked, and he hadn’t dared disturb her by speaking to her. He had no part to play in this and stood at the rear of the group, trying not to feel alone and forlorn.

  A movement close by drew his attention as Princess Idrimar brought her carriage up beside him, deftly handling the high-stepping little chestnut that drew it. Marik leaned down to grip Robin’s shoulder and the younger man looked up at him gratefully.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Ty.”

  Marik’s smile was grim. “I can’t wait to see Rykan’s face when he realizes I’m not dead.”

  Robin nodded. “Anything that puts him off balance acts in our favor.” Silently, he cursed himself for not being able to keep the tremor out of his voice.

  Marik looked sympathetic, but he didn’t have time to respond. The Hierarch’s herald blew three strident notes on his horn. Pharikian moved into the arena, followed by Sullyan and Anjer. Vanyr and the Velletian Guard flanked them. The Hierarch’s elegant robes—gold, purple, and white—swirled around him. He halted in the center of the arena and the herald called for Rykan. Robin craned his neck to see, an uncontrollable tremor beginning deep in his soul.

  The rebel Duke was dressed in his usual black and silver trimmed with scarlet. He stalked into the arena, no expression on his handsome face. Sonten attended him as his second, and his elite guard escorted him. He stopped a few paces from the Hierarch, insultingly close, and Robin saw Anjer’s face darken. Rykan saw it too and gave a small smile. Sullyan didn’t react, but Robin noticed that her face was stony, her eyes fixed upon Rykan’s.

  Hands on hips, the Duke addressed his rival. “Well, Pharikian, shall we agree on terms?”

  The Hierarch was furious at Rykan’s dismissal of protocol. “You’re here under sufferance, Rykan. Don’t overstep your mark.”

  Rykan refused to be intimidated. “I have accepted your challenge in my right as an equal. Once I win this contest, Majesty,” an insulting emphasis accompanied the title, “we shall see who is here under sufferance. Let’s get on with it.”

  Anjer and Sonten stepped forward. As seconds, it was their duty to agree on terms.

  “This trial of combat is for the right to Andaryon’s throne,” rasped Anjer. “The Hierarch, Timar Pharikian, hereby agrees to relinquish all hereditary rights due his House and his Heir should Lord Rykan win the day.”

  Sonten nodded once. “In his turn, his Grace, Rykan, Duke of Kymer, agrees to be bound by the Hierarch’s rule and will submit to his command should the Crown’s Champion be victorious.”

  Anjer paused before continuing. “As challenger, the Crown decrees that the challenge shall be settled by skill at arms. The chosen weapon is the sword.”

  Both Rykan and Sonten frowned. Given Sullyan’s Artesan status, they had clearly expected a metaphysical duel. Rykan’s yellow eyes narrowed and he whispered urgently to Sonten, who nodded before turning back to Anjer. “His Grace agrees.”

  The Lord General inclined his head and was about to step back, but Sonten wasn’t done. “We have a condition.”

  Anjer glanced over his shoulder at the Hierarch. “A condition, Sonten? What gives you the right to demand conditions?”

  Sonten looked smug. “It is written in the Codes.”

  Robin saw Pharikian confer briefly with Gaslek, who was holding a sheaf of parchment. The little secretary shrugged and nodded. “Very well,” said Pharikian. “One condition.”

  “Well?” snapped Anjer. “What is it?”

  The General’s fat lips quirked. “His Grace, Lord Rykan, doesn’t trust the Champion not to use her metaphysical powers once it becomes clear that she cannot defeat my Lord.”

  His arrogant phrasing brought an audible gasp of outrage from the Hierarch’s supporters. Robin stiffened indignantly. Sullyan didn’t react, but Robin saw her eyes dilate as she passed someone a message. Pharikian turned and stared at her. Rykan watched her intently, a predatory look in his eye. Robin knew he was trying to unsettle her.

  “So what’s the condition?” said Anjer.

  Sonten smirked. “The condition, my Lords, is that for the duration of the contest, the Hierarch’s Champion wears spellsilver.”

  That provoked a general outcry, the loudest coming from Marik, who leaned out from his carriage to yell, “Rykan, you evil bastard! Have you no courage? You’re only doing this because you know you can’t win!”

  His voice carried easily, and Rykan’s face flushed with fury as he suddenly noticed the Count. He turned and cast a venomous look at Sonten, who paled, clearly realizing his knife hadn’t done nearly as much damage as he thought.

  “Marik, you treacherous coward!” roared Rykan. “There will be no hole deep enough for you to hide in once I’m the victor here. I’d start running now, if I were you.”

  “That’s an empty threat,” retorted Marik. “You’ve already lost. Give up now.”

  Rykan was about to make some foul reply when Sullyan’s calm, clear voice cut through the uproar.

  “Majesty, my Lords, I will accept the Duke’s condition providing he grants us the right to propose our own.”

  This earned her a glance of alarm from Anjer and quiet resignation and a shake of the head from Pharikian. Rykan’s attention snapped back and his face resumed its predatory smile. Robin, who once again was left out of Sullyan’s plans and feeling useless, reached for Bull’s psyche. He badly needed the big man’s comfort and knew that he and his companions would be desperate to know what was happening. Contact came immediately and Bull’s psyche flooded Robin’s mind.

  He could tell that Bull had his arms wrapped tightly around Rienne so she could share what he was seeing through Robin’s eyes. Although she was no Artesan, the healer’s empathic abilities would enable her to sense Bull’s thoughts. Taran and Cal, also linked to Bull, were standing close by, Cal’s hand resting on Taran’s shoulder. Bolstered by their presence, Robin opened his mind fully to his friend and turned his attention back to Sullyan.

  Anjer had moved closer to her and was whispering fiercely in her ear, the Hierarch at his side. Sullyan shook her head and replied firmly, but Robin couldn’t hear what she said. It didn’t please Anjer much, that was clear, but then she added something which mollified him a little. He drew back, glanced across at the overconfident Rykan, and smiled. The dark lord saw it and his yellow eyes tightened. Anjer stalked toward him.

  “The Crown proposes a counter condition.”

  Rykan frowned, but he could hardly refuse if he wanted his own terms accepted. He feigned indifference. “What is it, then?”

  “The Crown proposes that the duel be conducted withi
n the confines of a Firefield. This will be cast by his Majesty, who pledges not to break it until the defeated challenger yields. Whatever takes place within the Firefield is to be deemed valid within the terms of the contest.”

  Rykan scowled, looking for the catch. Robin was puzzled. He knew that a Firefield meant that no outside interference—whether physical or metaphysical—could reach the combatants while the field was active, but he failed to see what advantage it gave Sullyan. Unless, of course, she feared that one of Rykan’s men would shoot her should she gain the upper hand. Rykan would know that Pharikian couldn’t break his word. There were far too many witnesses for that. Robin watched him staring at Anjer and Sullyan—whose face was unreadable—before glancing at Pharikian. Andaryon’s ruler stood conversing quietly with Gaslek, pointedly ignoring his rival. Rykan held a low, hasty conversation with Sonten, who nodded heavily before stepping forward again.

  “His Grace accepts these terms on the understanding that it doesn’t affect the personal claims of each combatant.”

  This puzzled Robin even more, but he was momentarily distracted by Bull’s voice in his mind. Then he smiled, for the big man was clearly replying to someone who was as puzzled as he was.

  I’m no expert on the intricacies of Andaryan combat codes, so I can only surmise that as Sullyan and Rykan are representing factions rather than acting on a personal basis—although in Rykan’s case, of course, it’s the same thing—they are entitled to personal claims on the outcome.

  Robin could barely hear Cal’s indignant voice. That’s a bit unfair on our side, isn’t it? Rykan gets two benefits while we only get one!

  His smile widened as he caught Bull’s acid reply. You don’t consider putting an end to Rykan benefit enough, my friend?

  Cal was wisely silent.

  When Robin finally turned his attention back to the field, Anjer was Witnessing Rykan’s agreement of the conditions. The two parties then withdrew to their respective pavilions to ready themselves for combat. Robin drew closer to Sullyan as they walked, concerned that the donated life force wasn’t sufficient to protect her from the effects of Rykan’s presence. By her clear, hard eyes he could see she was expending no metaphysical power and he realized she was already drawing on their gifts. She gave him a tiny, reassuring smile, but it didn’t calm the frantic beat of his heart.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Despite his earlier flash of fear at seeing Marik alive and the knowledge that Rykan would make him suffer for the failure, Sonten felt confident as he turned to follow the Duke back to their pavilion. The two men who were clear candidates for Champion and who might, conceivably, have given Rykan trouble, had obviously stepped aside in order to give the human witch her chance at revenge. He snorted. Revenge! He could hardly believe that the Hierarch’s advisors had even proposed this ruse, let alone that Pharikian would actually try it. Did they really think his Grace would fall for such an obvious trick? While it was just possible that the girl possessed some sort of skill with a sword—this abominable thought made Sonten shudder—no one would be fooled into thinking she could be a match for the superbly talented Rykan.

  This, he thought, was the reason why the Crown had stipulated combat by arms rather than by metaforce. They obviously thought that the witch’s presence, coupled with this ludicrous charade, would unsettle the Duke. They hoped he would be duped into believing he could defeat her easily. At which point, she would employ her Artesan powers and try to overcome him with metaforce.

  The General smiled. How stupid did they think Rykan was? They had already made a serious error in allowing the witch to confront Rykan the day before, for it had given him and Sonten time to discuss the strategy and take countermeasures against it. Rykan had easily negated the threat of her metaphysical prowess by demanding the use of spellsilver. The Crown’s counter-condition of a Firefield was another desperate attempt to unsettle the Duke, but neither Rykan nor Sonten could see any real disadvantage in it.

  Chuckling under his breath, Sonten threw one last satisfied glance over his shoulder at the retreating Hierarch. Pharikian’s time on the throne would soon be at an end.

  He was about to turn back when a figure caught his attention. Eyes narrowing in shock, he halted abruptly. His heart hammering, his feverish gaze leaped from the young man accompanying the human witch to scan the other members of the Hierarch’s party. As he did so, a phrase, a parting remark, echoed loudly in his mind. It was Commander Heron’s voice, reporting his lieutenant’s suspicion of lookouts stationed on an ideal spot from which to observe the battlefield. Heron’s concern over reinforcements stationed there was unfounded. The Hierarch’s extra men had come from elsewhere, and Sonten now guessed that the witch had warned Anjer of Rykan’s true strength. Nevertheless, those words held vital importance.

  Suddenly, with uncharacteristic insight, the General knew who had left those faint traces on the knoll. His certainty was borne out by his failure to find the face he sought among the Hierarch’s party. He was damned sure the cocky Albian who had murdered Jaskin wouldn’t have stayed in the Citadel when everyone else was here.

  Flushed with urgency, Sonten cast a furtive glance at Rykan’s pavilion. The Duke was fully occupied within and Sonten hastened out of his line of sight. “You!” He beckoned to a soldier. “Find Commander Heron immediately. Send him to me.”

  When the Artesan Commander arrived, Sonten curtly issued explicit orders. Heron didn’t like it and glanced swiftly at the preoccupied Rykan. “Get on with it, man!” rasped Sonten. “Do as I say!”

  Heron left, vaulting onto his horse and galloping off toward the remnants of Rykan’s army.

  + + + + +

  Sullyan drew Robin aside so they could speak privately. She could see the anguish in his eyes and feel his terror for her. Taking his hands in hers, she smiled up at him, trying to give him some of her own calm strength.

  “Be brave for me, Robin,” she murmured. “I am ready for this now. I feel no fear and have no pain. I can do what I came to do, and it is thanks to you that I can. I could not have endured these past weeks if not for you, and I want you to know how much I love you.”

  He closed his eyes in pain and she took a deep breath. “Remember what I said. You must trust me, Robin. I will do whatever I can to destroy Rykan, and I will preserve my own life if at all possible. But you need to know, my love, I cannot let him win. He may well defeat me by might of arms—that is a separate matter and I cannot guess the outcome—but I cannot allow him to win the day. Do you understand me?”

  He gazed down into her golden eyes. “I understand that I must trust you, love, though I can’t pretend to know what’s in your mind. I especially don’t understand why you agreed to the spellsilver. I have to admit that I’m very frightened for you—I’ve tried not to be but I just can’t help it—but you know that you have my total support in whatever you do. Every ounce of my strength and love is yours, you know that too, and I will be here for you whatever happens.”

  She smiled, feeling the tears that spangled her eyes. “Then do something for me, my love.” Holding his gaze, she drew the gold band he had given her from her finger. “Keep this safe for me. I do not want it to be lost should things go awry. Never fear, I will claim it back from you later.”

  He took it wordlessly, trembling fingers closing about the band.

  She turned her head and dropped her voice as Pharikian glanced toward her. “Now hold me tightly, Robin, and wish me good fortune.”

  He took her in his arms and hugged her tightly. Then he released her, and walked beside her back to the pavilion.

  + + + + +

  Soon, far too soon for Robin, the page that the Hierarch had dispatched to the Palace once Sullyan had accepted Rykan’s spellsilver condition returned. He was bearing a wrapped package which he gave to his monarch. If the expression on Pharikian’s face was anything to go by, thought Robin, he was very much against this condition. Sullyan saw his discomfort and spoke privately with him for quite some tim
e. Eventually, he sighed and turned away. She came back to stand by Robin, watching Pharikian with a calm, if slightly sorrowful, expression.

  The Hierarch gestured and the heralds blew three strident blasts. With a final clasp of Robin’s hand, Sullyan joined him, and together they walked out of the pavilion. Robin followed, halting by one of the arena’s gold and purple flags. A deep bass voice echoed through his mind as Bull prepared his companions for what was to come.

  Here we go.

  Through the link with Bull’s psyche, Robin knew that Rienne had a hard, tight knot in her stomach. She feared she might be sick. Taran and Cal seemed empty and helpless. He knew how they felt. All any of them could do now was watch.

  His heart sank further as Rykan and Sonten, the latter bearing Rykan’s sword naked across his hands, entered the arena. They marched to the center where they stopped. Rykan stood insolently, hands on his hips. His expression showed unconcern, but his yellow eyes were hot.

  Sullyan, accompanied by Anjer, approached him slowly. The massive Lord General bore Morgan Sullyan’s polished blade almost reverently in his large hands. The two of them came to a halt opposite the Duke, and Robin twisted his fingers anxiously. He moved closer to Marik’s carriage, suddenly feeling in need of support and friendship. In a short while he might very well lose everything that made his life worth living, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to bear it.

  The Hierarch, escorted by Vanyr, approached the four in the arena. He came between the two combatants and studied their faces carefully. Rykan stared back at him but Sullyan’s attention was riveted on her opponent’s face.

  “My Lord Rykan,” said the Hierarch, “do you agree to be bound by the Witnessed terms and conditions of this contest?”

  “I do,” said Rykan, only adding an insulting ‘Majesty’ when Pharikian refused to continue until he did so.

  “Should you emerge the victor in this bout, what is your claim over your opponent?” The Hierarch’s tone was reluctant, already knowing what the rebel lord would say.