Artesans of Albia

by Cas Peace

  “Bring them both.” Relief flooded Taran. “If nothing else, he might be useful as leverage. What one knows, the other probably does too. But don’t think you’re getting double the reward. Now get on with you, Arif. Take them to the General. And once you’ve done that, get straight back here. I’ve other duties for you.”

  Taran’s body jerked as his horse moved forward again. Nausea swamped him and he tried not to pass out. He caught a glimpse of Cal’s face and thought his Apprentice was out cold. He envied Cal the oblivion, but no matter how deeply he craved unconsciousness, he knew he must stay awake. With Bull and Rienne still safe, there might be a chance of rescue.

  + + + + +

  From their vantage point, Rienne and Bull watched the final, shocking move that ended Rykan’s challenge. Unaware of Sullyan’s desperate plan, Rienne hadn’t been prepared for it. She had been terrified, devoid of hope while Sullyan lay defeated at the rebel lord’s feet. She could hear Bull’s labored breathing, and knew he felt the same. He had all but crushed her to his chest, but she was too distraught to feel pain. Her heart nearly burst when she saw Sullyan play her trump card. By the time Sullyan forced the Duke to yield, both Rienne and Bull were exhausted, overwhelmed by strong emotions.

  As Sullyan struck off Rykan’s head, Rienne sobbed with relief. She couldn’t imagine how the Major was holding herself upright, let alone wielding a sword. The amount of blood she had lost worried Rienne deeply. She could almost feel Sullyan’s agony and was desperate to help her. Sullyan was too far away, though, and they were not safe yet.

  Closing her eyes, Rienne let herself sag. She and Bull were still locked in his feverish grip, and they clung to each other in relief. The big man’s breathing still sounded constricted, but the panting was easing. They watched as the Hierarch tended to Sullyan and saw Robin kneel to gather her into his arms. Seeing her safe brought a lump into Rienne’s throat.

  Bull huffed out a great breath. “Thank the gods that’s over!”

  Rienne knew it was far from finished. Sullyan had collapsed from blood loss, shock, and exhaustion and was lucky to be alive. Rienne knew her friend would receive the best of care in the Hierarch’s palace, but it was Sullyan’s last despairing words that bothered Rienne.

  “What did she mean, Bull, that Rykan’s power was not enough?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. It looked to me like she managed to absorb his life force before she killed him, although how she did it without his consent, I’ve no idea. He was a Master-elite, like her, so he should have had an equal amount of power. We’ll have to ask her what she meant by it not being enough.”

  Rienne turned pleading eyes on him. “Can we go down there now?”

  He smiled back, unlacing stiff fingers from around her waist. “I think we’ll be safe enough now, as long as we—” He stopped and glanced about the clearing. “Hello. Where have Cal and Taran got to?”

  Rienne spun round. “They were here a moment ago.” Softly, still mindful of possible danger, she called their names. There was no reply.

  “That’s odd.” Bull sounded strained. “I’ll just go and see if they’re with the horses. Stay here.”

  He walked off into the trees to where they had tethered the horses. His startled shout brought Rienne running, her heart in her mouth.

  “The horses have gone!”

  She went cold. “What? Why would Cal and Taran move the horses?”

  “They wouldn’t.” His expression frightened her. “Let me concentrate, see if I can pick them up.”

  She waited, wringing her hands, while he searched the substrate for any trace of their patterns. After a few moments, he shook his head.

  She stared at him, tears blurring her sight. “But they can’t just have vanished! They were standing right by us. Oh, Bull, I don’t like this.”

  His tone was grim. “Neither do I. The thought that someone has been here and lured them or taken them without me knowing is frightening. And the fact that the horses are missing means they don’t want to be followed.”

  He swore and punched a fist into the trunk of the nearest tree, making Rienne jump. “Why didn’t I keep better watch? This is all my fault.”

  She put her arms around him. “There were four of us here, Bull. It wasn’t just your responsibility.”

  “That’s not how Sullyan will see it. Gods, I’m in for a double roasting now.”

  “But who can have taken them, and why? What could anyone want with Cal and Taran? Why take them and not us? Rykan’s dead, his faction has lost, so it can’t be anything to do with him. Can it?”

  Bull spread his hands. “I don’t know. I can’t answer any of that. All I know is I can’t sense either of them, and that means spellsilver.” He passed a shaky hand over his face. “We can’t do anything about it now, not without horses. And I’m not going to put you in any more danger. I’m in enough trouble already. We need to get down to the Citadel and talk to Robin. Come on, lass, we had better start walking. Just pray that our bad luck’s over and we meet up with troops of the right side first.”

  + + + + +

  Robin lifted the unconscious Sullyan carefully, thankful she couldn’t feel her many wounds. He didn’t like to look at her burned left hand. He doubted even a Master-elite could completely repair such damage. Surrounded by sounds of celebration, none of which eased his fear, he carried her toward the pavilion. There was only one thought in his mind—get her to Deshan as soon as he could.

  No one paid Robin any attention. Pharikian was speaking with Sonten, giving instructions for the removal of Rykan’s body and the dispersal of his forces. Anjer was beside him, and none of the other war leaders were visible. Desperate for help, Robin glanced round.

  “Robin!”

  It was Marik, gesturing urgently. Thankful for his support, Robin carried Sullyan to the Count’s carriage.

  Marik turned to Idrimar. “Take her, Idri, and give me the reins.”

  Idrimar frowned. Marik was in no condition to drive.

  “Idri!” he barked, his sharpness making her jump. She obeyed, passing him the reins and taking Sullyan into her arms. Marik used his good hand to flick the little chestnut into a canter. Robin caught the back rail and vaulted onto the footplate. The carriage rattled back to the Citadel, the Princess casting admiring glances at Marik as they went.

  Robin’s heart ached. He couldn’t believe how quickly his relief at Sullyan’s survival and euphoria at her triumph could turn to despair. He would deliver her straight to Deshan so work on her wounds could begin, although if she was right and the power she had absorbed from Rykan was insufficient to counter the poison, all this urgency was futile.

  + + + + +

  After what seemed like an age of discomfort, Taran’s horse halted once more. He opened bleary eyes, unaware they had been closed. He could see only his horse’s hide, for the spellsilver rendered him too weak to turn his head. Remaining limp, he strained to hear through the metal’s nauseating buzz.

  He heard the swordsmen dismounting and their horses being led away. There seemed to be many men, and Taran guessed that he and Cal were now in the midst of Rykan’s army. The noise was muted, and this puzzled him. He knew these men had been defeated in battle, but surely the Duke’s victory over Sullyan was cause for celebration? Shouldn’t there be shouting and laughing? Shouldn’t there at least be the sounds of men drinking, the smell of cooking? All he could hear were vague and sullen murmurs, low voices, and the tramp of feet.

  He gave up. Perhaps they were too tired. Perhaps Rykan didn’t believe in celebration. Taran imagined there would be much work to do. Despite what Sullyan had told him of the Codes concerning rivalry among Andaryon nobles, Taran couldn’t imagine the Duke allowing his enemies to live. If he was now the new Hierarch, no one would dare task him with breaking the Codes, so perhaps his men had postponed their festivities until Rykan’s takeover was complete.

  “General Sonten? They’re over here, my Lord.”

  There was movement
close by, and the blurred image of two booted feet appeared before Taran’s eyes. He heard the rasp of a heavy man’s breath and smelled sweat. He glimpsed a cloak, black velvet trimmed with pale blue. The sight triggered a memory, but his head ached too fiercely to pursue it.

  “Oh, that’s good, Lieutenant, that’s very good. There are two of them, you say?”

  “Yes, my Lord. They were standing together, so we brought them both. The other one’s over here.”

  The feet disappeared and Taran tried to crane his neck, but his strength had gone and his muscles wouldn’t work. Then the feet reappeared.

  “Two Albian bastards, eh? In it together, do you think?”

  “Bound to be, my Lord.”

  “Hmm. Raise his head for me, I want to look in his eyes.”

  A hand grabbed Taran’s hair, painfully forcing his head up. He tried to stifle a moan, but failed. A dark shape appeared, and he had the impression of a thick, fleshy body and a wide, leering face. Something about the face pricked Taran’s brain, but the memory wouldn’t surface. He screwed up his eyes against the discomfort and the buzzing as he tried to remember.

  “You don’t recognize me, Albian, do you?”

  It was the voice rather than the face. He hadn’t clearly seen the man during the duel with Jaskin, and only fleetingly at Rykan’s palace with Marik. Yet that thick, imperious voice brought memories flooding back, memories of killing, pain, and death. Only then did Taran realize that this man was connected to the noble he had killed. The blood that had run to his head now drained completely away, and he stared, helpless, into Sonten’s triumphant eyes.

  “Ah, now you remember.” The General thrust his face unpleasantly close, and Taran felt spittle as he hissed, “You took something from me, you murdering scum. You destroyed my plans and damn near cost me my life. Do you have any idea what you put me through? Any idea of the chaos you caused? Well, now you’re going to pay. You’re going to tell me what you did with it, and you’re going to help me get it back. If you do, your death will be swift. Refuse and you won’t believe how slow it will be. And in case you think that’s an idle threat, just remember I also have your dark friend here. We’ll see how cooperative you are when it’s his screams you’re hearing.”

  The man holding Taran’s hair let go abruptly. For the second time, Taran’s head fell against the horse’s shoulder and agonizing pain shot up his nose. He cried out.

  He vaguely heard Sonten snap, “Get the others and mount up. I want to be out of here before dark. We’ll make for the forests and find a suitable spot to camp. Make sure none of Rykan’s bloody rabble see you. I’m damned if I’ll be responsible for their retreat now that Pharikian’s annexed Kymer. Let his blasted men deal with Rykan’s body! Now, where’s that idiot messenger boy? Imris? Imris! Dammit, someone go find him. I want him to contact Heron. Well? What are you waiting for?”

  Taran’s horse stumbled into motion and the nightmare began again. The spellsilver sickness returned, but it was nothing compared to the sickness in Taran’s heart. Torture and death awaited him now, and even if he managed to work out what his captor wanted, he doubted Cal would be spared. His Apprentice would die merely for being Taran’s friend, and Taran knew he couldn’t bear it.

  + + + + +

  It was much later in the afternoon when the Major finally woke. Mercifully, she had remained unconscious while Deshan worked on the shattered bones of her wrist. He had done what he could, although the injury would need further attention. The damaged flesh needed time to settle before the more delicate work could begin. He had strapped the arm as firmly as he could without restricting her circulation.

  The burned flesh of her hand had been cleaned, salved, and wrapped, and needed no further treatment for the moment. The wound in her side was long and deep, and had bled freely. It too had been cleaned and stitched, and would be sore and inflexible for days. Her other injuries were relatively minor, and all were now bandaged and clean. Her most serious problem was blood loss, and both Pharikian and Robin had donated some of theirs, while Deshan monitored Sullyan carefully for signs of adverse reaction to unfamiliar blood. The giving of blood was still an uncertain process, both here and in Albia. Physicians still didn’t fully understand why some patients worsened and died when given someone else’s blood. Fortunately, Sullyan showed no such symptoms and now lay conscious, although exhausted, against the pillows of the huge bed. Robin sat by her side, holding her undamaged hand, while Deshan and Pharikian looked on.

  Noting the dullness of her eyes, the Captain felt deeply concerned. She really should be sleeping, but he and Pharikian had questions, and she was aware of their confusion. She could not rest while that confusion remained.

  Robin squeezed her hand gently. “I don’t pretend to understand much of what happened today, love. Can you explain it to me?”

  She gave a weak smile. “I will do my best. What do you want to know?”

  He tried to remember what had occurred in the arena. So much had happened so quickly that he found it hard to order his thoughts.

  “Why did you agree to the spellsilver? When we left that drovers’ hut, you couldn’t possibly have known any of this would happen. Yet you made us bring it, and you had obviously told his Majesty about it before we left the Citadel today.”

  Too weary to hold her smile, Sullyan took a painful breath. “It was a gamble, my love. You are right, I had no foreknowledge that the spellsilver would play a part in Rykan’s defeat. But as I had managed to breach its effects once already, it would have been foolish not to bring it. Do you remember what I said last night on the Tower? That I was trying to remember something? Well, when Timar said ‘a gift freely given,’ I suddenly knew what a potent weapon against Rykan the silver could be. One he would be powerless against even if he managed to win the duel. I realized how I could make use of it, for I suspected he might propose a condition stipulating that I wear it.

  “My only worry was that his second would sense that the collar was Rykan’s. Thankfully, he did not. I knew Rykan would not handle it himself, and as he had no idea I had managed to breach it while in his dungeon, it would give me an edge against him. Perhaps the only means I would have of saving my own life should he defeat me.”

  Her bloodshot gaze turned to the Hierarch. “You knew, of course, that I had no intention of abiding by the terms of the contract. Had I not been able to overpower Rykan’s mind, I would have cast us both into the Void. The only thing that saved my honor was Rykan’s failure to force me to acknowledge defeat before he took hold of the collar. I have Marik to thank for that, for distracting Rykan at the crucial moment.”

  Pharikian inclined his head, his lack of reaction telling Robin that he had known of her willingness to sacrifice herself in order to deny Rykan his victory.

  Robin, though, was still confused. “So why did you insist on the Firefield? What good did that do you?”

  The ghost of a smile crossed Sullyan’s face. “As Rykan did not trust me, my love, so I did not trust him. But I was more concerned about his supporters, many of whom would not have scrupled to shoot me once they realized their lord was defeated. The Firefield guaranteed we would not be disturbed, whatever the outcome of the duel. It left me free to concentrate on absorbing Rykan’s life force. I also gambled on being able to sense it during the duel, even through the spellsilver, and to use this against Rykan. Fortunately, that one paid off too.”

  Robin gave her a grim look. “It seems to me the whole affair was one huge gamble.”

  Again, she smiled. “Oh, my love! Of course it was. I thought you understood that.”

  Pharikian stirred. “It was a gamble that paid off handsomely. Every man, woman, and child in my realm is in your debt, Brynne. We could never—I could never—repay you, or thank you enough.”

  Her voice was a whisper. “Gratitude is neither necessary nor appropriate. It is I who should thank you, for allowing me my vengeance.”

  He moved closer, his expression sorrowful. “But has th
at vengeance gained you redress, child? From what you said on the field, I fear it has not.”

  Robin felt the blood leave his face as Sullyan closed her eyes. He knew she didn’t want to think about this just yet, but her suspicion that the power she had stolen from Rykan was insufficient to save her life was tearing Robin apart. It would be the ultimate irony should Rykan triumph by default.

  Her eyes opened and she gazed at the Hierarch. “I do not understand it, Timar. I took every last shred of his life force, every particle of his power. That he was a Master-elite is evident, and I can feel the skill and the strength. But the core of his power is missing, as if he had given fully half of it away. This puzzles me, because he was so sure of himself while gloating over me at the palace. How did he think he would overcome my skills, let alone defeat you, while laboring under such a disadvantage? I can think of no reason why his strength should be depleted, but I wish I had known it before. I need not have been so circumspect with my own metaforce on the field of battle.”

  No one had a viable theory, and Robin could see exhaustion overcoming her. He caught Pharikian’s eye. Taking the hint, the Hierarch tried to convince her to rest.

  “Not yet. I must return the donated life force,” she said. “Please understand. Hosting Rykan’s power is taxing what strength I have left. I cannot risk the poison overwhelming me before the life force is returned.” She gazed up at the Hierarch. “I cannot rest until this is done.”

  The Hierarch immediately sent for those who had shared their life force. When they had gathered, Sullyan returned the borrowed power as gently as she had taken it. As she did so, Robin sensed an increasing lightness in her soul. Once it was over and the participants had left, he thought she would surely sleep. Yet there was one more task she was desperate to perform, and when she told him, the Hierarch studied her with grave concern.

  “This is really not a good idea, Brynne.”