Artesans of Albia

by Cas Peace

  Once in position, she slipped from Drum’s back. The two men still guarding the prisoners were intent on what Sonten was doing and weren’t looking her way. Without giving herself time to think, she slid on her belly out of cover toward Robin, slitting the bonds on his wrists before he knew she was there. As the spellsilver knife fell away, she smothered his mind so he wouldn’t startle, then passed him her blade.

  Help is on its way, she told him, melting away again. She saw him move the knife toward his feet, hoping to slit the ropes that bound his ankles without alerting the guards. One of them must have heard him move, for he turned, eyes widening as he saw Robin’s unbound hands. With a yell, he leaped for Robin and the Captain rolled, the knife coming up under the guard’s ribs and plunging into his chest. He collapsed onto Robin with a gurgle of blood.

  The entire camp reacted to the dying guard’s cry and Sonten looked up from his grim work on Bull. The sound of galloping horses and the cries of approaching men filled the night. Rapping out commands, the General sent men flying for their horses. As they ran, Sullyan saw Ky-shan’s band, Vanyr in the fore, come crashing into the clearing, cleaving a path through Sonten’s scattering men.

  The General dropped Bull’s damaged arm and ran for his horse, leaping astride with surprising agility for such a heavy man. “Get him! Get him!” he yelled, indicating the unconscious Cal. The remaining guard grabbed Cal and slung him over his shoulder. Sullyan’s heart sank. Robin couldn’t stop him. He had only just managed to roll the dead man off his chest and still hadn’t freed his feet. She watched helplessly as Cal was dumped across a horse’s withers, the guard springing up behind. He spurred the animal toward Sonten.

  The General sat his fretting horse just at the edge of the firelight, his expression furious. As the first of his men reached him, he turned in the saddle and flung the hot knife toward Taran. Sullyan gasped as it flew end over end, hearing the dreadful wet thunk as it buried itself in the Adept’s shoulder, pinning him to the tree. Taran’s shriek of agony pierced her ears.

  Sonten dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks and it shot away, carrying him into the night. Ky-shan’s men thundered through the clearing, scattering sparks from the fire and mowing down those few men too slow to mount their horses. They too disappeared into the trees, chasing after Sonten. Robin gained his feet and sprang for Torka, leaping into the saddle. Sullyan ran into the clearing, heading toward Bull and Taran. Robin spotted her.

  “Major,” he yelled, “they’ve taken Cal! Will you be alright if I go after them?”

  She waved a hand. Go, Rob, but be careful.

  He wheeled the impatient chestnut and disappeared after the pirates.

  As the frantic sounds died away, Sullyan dropped to her knees beside Bull. She quickly slit his bonds and removed the spellsilver. His breathing was ragged, and he was close to passing out. She heard movement behind her and turned, drawing her sword from over her shoulder, but it was only Vanyr. He spread his hands and she dropped the sword.

  “Help him,” she urged, indicating Taran, who was groaning with the pain of the knife in his shoulder. Vanyr crossed swiftly to him. Laying a supporting hand close to the wound, the Commander eased the knife from Taran’s flesh. He hissed with pain, his face ashen. Once Vanyr cut his bonds, Taran collapsed. Vanyr had to take his weight and lower him gently to the ground. He promptly lost consciousness.

  Leaving Vanyr to tend Taran, Sullyan turned her attention to Bull. His normally florid face was a nasty shade of grey, his lips blue and bloodless. She didn’t like the sound of his breathing either, shallow and uneven. She reached into him to lend him some strength, but he didn’t respond. With cold horror, she realized his heart was giving out.

  She struggled with her jacket, desperate to free her left arm. “Quickly, Torman,” she hissed, “help me! I need both hands.”

  The lithe man rushed to her side and helped her out of her jacket. He deftly slit the bindings holding her left arm to her side. Once it was free, she threw herself across Bull’s hips. Ignoring the pain, she placed both hands on his chest and began pumping his heart with all her strength. He had stopped breathing, and she sobbed as she worked, desperate not to lose him. Vanyr looked on, helpless.

  “Come on, man, breathe!” she gasped, still pumping Bull’s heart. There was no response, so she cast her metasenses into him and forced his heart to beat, keeping the blood moving through his body and his organs alive. “Torman,” she panted, “can you assist with his breathing? I can only spare attention for one function, and if I leave his heart, it might stop again.”

  Vanyr moved closer to place a hand on Bull’s arm, the physical contact essential if he was to learn the man’s pattern of psyche. Once attuned, he was able to find the mechanics of Bull’s breathing and gently encourage his lungs to inhale.

  Sullyan continued her work on Bull’s overloaded heart. She wept openly, although she was only vaguely aware of it. The depth of her love for this huge, infuriating, wonderful, protective, disobedient man overwhelmed all else. Yet time was passing, and still he didn’t respond. Sullyan’s own breath grew harsh and ragged.

  “Come on, Bull, you bloody great ox!” she screamed, panting in time with her heart massage. “How dare you do this to me? You dare die on me, you bloody useless fool! I need you, do you hear me? I will not let you go! Come on, man, just … breathe!”

  The strain of keeping his heart going was draining her, as was the agony shooting through her damaged wrist. Sweat poured down her face and her strength was close to giving out. Yet she couldn’t let up. Couldn’t believe there was no hope. Wouldn’t believe it. She would keep him going on sheer faith if that was what it took.

  Just as despair was looming, just when she knew she would be forced to give up after all, his body gave a great lurch and he took a gasping breath by himself. Vanyr ceased his manipulation of Bull’s lungs and sat back, passing a hand across his haggard face. Sullyan ceased pumping Bull’s barrel chest, but remained sitting across his hips, her head hanging in exhaustion, sobbing from exertion and terror.

  She withdrew her power, but kept a wary eye on his heart in case it should falter. It was beating by itself now, regular and slow, and his color improved. Easing herself off his body, she collapsed to the ground, hugging her throbbing arm and crying with relief. Vanyr reached over to squeeze her shoulder and she managed a wan smile.

  “Well done, Brynne. I didn’t think you could do it. I’d have given up on him long ago.”

  She took a shuddering breath, trying to slow her own frantic heartbeat. “You do not know Bulldog. He is not a man to give up on. But I could not have done it without you, and you have my deepest thanks. I could not bear to lose Bull. He is my oldest and dearest friend, and I love him more than words can say.”

  “You love him? But I thought you and the Captain …?” Vanyr stopped, his face flushing.

  Sullyan wiped away the tears of her recent emotion. “Robin and I are lovers, yes, but Bulldog and I go back a long way. A very long way indeed. What I owe him can never be repaid.”

  She sat by Bull’s side, holding his hand, listening to his breathing and feeling very thankful.

  Chapter Five

  Once she was sure Bull was sleeping peacefully and in no danger of his heart giving out, Sullyan turned her attention to Taran. Vanyr found her some water and set a pan to warm by the fire, ready for cleaning.

  Taran was still unconscious, so she quickly cleaned the charred knife wound right below his collarbone, her damaged hand making her movements awkward. Taran would have cause to be thankful Sonten’s aim had not improved, she thought. She was certain the knife had been aimed at his heart. As it was, the muscle was badly damaged. The heated blade had burned it extensively. Fortunately, it had also cauterized the flesh, so there was very little bleeding.

  That task done, she set about checking the rest of him. With Vanyr’s help, she removed his jacket and shirt, seeing with dismay the extensive bruising to his chest and abdomen. He would be s
ore and uncomfortable for days. Luckily, nothing was ruptured or broken. Sonten’s bullyboys had known exactly what they were doing. She spared a thought for Cal, who would be in the same state, and hoped he would remain unconscious while slung over his captor’s horse. If not, he would suffer considerable pain.

  Thoughts of Cal led her to wondering about Robin. He and the pirates had been gone some time. She was about to reach for contact when his thoughts came to her.

  They managed to escape us, love. It’s too dark and too dense to go chasing after them now. We will have to wait for daylight.

  She felt his disgust at the failure and his worry for Cal. Alright, Robin. Bring them back here. You all need to rest, and we can discuss what to do when Taran wakes.

  He asked after Bull, but she didn’t want to tell him how close the big man had come to death.

  He is sleeping. He will be well enough.

  She broke the link, knowing Robin would return as swiftly as he could. She needed his strength right now.

  Vanyr was sitting by the fire, brewing fellan. The welcome aroma pervaded the clearing and Taran began to stir. Sullyan laid her hand on him to stop him moving, but he woke with a startled cry and began to struggle.

  “Easy, man, easy,” she soothed, using metaforce to reassure him. “You are safe now and among friends. There is nothing more to fear. Rest easy.”

  He slowly relaxed, a small sigh escaping his lips as she numbed some of his pain. She was too drained to do more. Her arm was throbbing and her exertions over Bull had left her empty of strength.

  Taran opened his eyes. The lids were puffy and swollen from the beatings, and the whites were bloodshot. He looked truly dreadful. He obviously felt dreadful too, for moisture came into his eyes and his breath rasped painfully. Stretching out her hand, Sullyan smoothed perspiration from his brow. He moved his head away, refusing her comfort.

  She frowned. “What is it, Taran? You are safe now, have no fear.”

  He gave his head a slight shake, refusing to look at her. Vanyr cast her a puzzled glance, which she could not answer. Instead, she rose stiffly to her feet, crossed to the fire, and poured a mug of fellan, adding a small dash of ale to it. A wry smile quirked her lips. Despite her disapproval of strong liquor, what she really needed was Ky-shan’s brine rum, but right now there was none to be had. Ale would have to do. Coming back to Taran, she sat beside him, easing her right arm behind his shoulders for support. Holding the mug to his lips, she encouraged him to drink. For some reason he seemed reluctant and drank slowly, the closed expression still on his face.

  When he was done, she asked, “Better now?”

  He refused to answer, but he was still shuddering. She could feel it as he lay against her. She realized then that its root was deeper than the pain of his wounds. Leaning into him, she took his hand with her left. He gave a small sob.

  “What is it, Taran?” she murmured. “Something pains your heart. Tell me what it is.”

  She felt him swallow, and when he spoke, his voice was harsh and raw with emotion. “I don’t know why you’re being so good to me.”

  “Because you are my friend. I care for you.”

  His trembling increased and she wondered at it.

  “Well, you shouldn’t. I don’t deserve it. I’ve brought you nothing but trouble right from the start. All of this is my fault, and now Cal’s life is in danger because of me and there’s nothing I can do about it. What am I going to say to Rienne? She’ll kill me for endangering him. And it’ll only get worse. It’ll start all over again when Sonten gets his hands on that bloody Staff. That’s what he’s after, and I told him where it is. I told him, Sullyan, even though I swore I wouldn’t! I suffered the beatings and watched Cal go through the same, all for nothing. I should have told him straight away. I should have known it was useless to hold out. What he did to me was one thing, and I probably deserved it, but I couldn’t bear what he was doing to Bulldog, what I knew he’d do to Robin. I had to tell him!”

  Sullyan’s eyes widened and she stared at Vanyr over Taran’s head. Memories of their earlier conversation showed clearly on his face, and he nodded.

  “Easy, Taran,” she soothed, still holding his hand despite his feeble attempts to free it. “Go over it slowly. Tell me everything he said. Leave nothing out. This could be very important.”

  Taran was still trembling and it increased as he tried to order his thoughts. Putting aside all considerations for her own pain, Sullyan reached into him again and eased his aching body. She was surprised and gratified when Vanyr, unsolicited, did the same for her. She smiled her thanks.

  Under this ministration, Taran calmed a little and drew a breath.

  “It’s that artifact, the one I came to the Manor to tell you about, the one I brought back through the Veils with me.” His weakened voice was taut with shame and urgency. “Sonten calls it the Staff. It belonged to Rykan, and it’s what Sonten’s after. It can be used as a weapon, as I found out, but it was originally made as some kind of inanimate Powersink. Apparently, it can absorb indefinite amounts of metaforce and store it until the wielder requires it.”

  He took another breath. “But that’s not all, as if it wasn’t enough. Sonten said it is also capable of stealing life force. Sullyan, he says that terrible thing can drain life force and absorb it whether the victim is willing or not!”

  Sullyan froze, her eyes fixed blankly on Vanyr. The Commander’s brows drew down and he stared back, appalled. Neither of them spoke, and eventually Taran went on, unburdening his soul of its weight of blame.

  “Sonten didn’t say where Rykan got it from, but I do know it’s very important to him, and he’ll do anything to get it back. You remember that noble I told you I killed—Jaskin? Well, he was Sonten’s nephew. The two of them had been working with the Staff without Rykan’s knowledge, and Jaskin managed to figure out how to control it. Their next step was to see if they could use it to steal someone’s life force. Sonten didn’t say this outright, but he hinted they were going to use it on Rykan once he’d taken over the throne. Then Sonten would have been the Hierarch, with Jaskin to back him up.”

  Taran’s voice caught and he coughed. Sullyan felt the jolt of it before he continued.

  “That’s why Jaskin challenged me that day instead of simply getting his huntsmen to kill me. If he had won that duel … if he had defeated me … he would have used that dreadful thing on me. I’d have ended up a drained and mindless shell. It appalls me even to think of it! They did it that way because they wanted to make sure their first victim didn’t suspect what was coming. They wanted to test the Staff’s power. And, like a complete fool, I walked into their clutches. Like some idiotic, willing sacrifice! I could hardly have made it easier for them if I’d tried. It was only pure luck that I managed to kill Jaskin and grab the Staff. I only held on to it because I was frightened someone else would use it on me. I never intended to steal it. Sonten must have been foaming at the mouth when he realized I’d escaped the tangwyr and taken it through the Veils.”

  He took a sobbing breath and Sullyan knew it wasn’t over. She could feel the weight pressing on Taran’s soul and willed him strength to tell her the rest. After a short pause, he did so.

  “My killing—murdering—Jaskin that day ruined Sonten’s plans. Part of the reason he took me was for revenge. But it seems I didn’t ruin them enough. Sonten has another Artesan with him, a man called Heron who I think is one of his commanders. I don’t know what his status is. Sonten intends for him to use the Staff now. He still has his sights on the throne. But what terrifies me, Sullyan, is that if he gets his hands on that terrible thing, no Artesan in the world will be safe!”

  Taran’s voice broke under the weight of his shame, and tears spilled from his eyes. “Oh, if only I’d had the courage to tell you everything from the start! But I was so concerned for my pride. I was so arrogant, thinking no one would understand my problems. I have caused all this, and now poor Cal could lose his life. He might already be dead for
all I know. You really should have sent us packing once I finally told you about the Staff. You should have sent us away from the Manor, back into obscurity where we belonged. But you didn’t, you befriended us. You spent precious time teaching me where I was going wrong, and then you raised my status. How undeserved was that? I’m not fit to be an Apprentice, let alone an Adept! It would have been better if you had never set eyes on me. No wonder my father never told me about you. I’ve been a failure all my life and he was right not to trust me. Hell, I don’t trust me, and I don’t think I’ll ever use my powers again. If we get out of this alive, that is.”

  His shuddering increased once more as the emotion and self-pity flooded out.

  Vanyr sat in stunned silence, and even Sullyan said nothing at first. Her heart had turned to stone when she heard what the artifact could do. How it existed, who had created it—certainly not Rykan!—she did not know. What she did know were the reasons behind some of Rykan’s actions. His challenge made perfect sense now, and she also understood Sonten’s determination to regain the Staff. He might not possess Artesan powers himself, but with a gifted subordinate under his control, he could easily revive his plans for advancement. In fact, she mused, this scenario might even work better for him, as he would not have to contend with Jaskin’s own power and ambition. The young noble might well have decided to dispense with his uncle at some point, and even with the Staff Sonten would have had no defense against him.

  With the Staff in his possession, however, and the Artesan wielding it firmly under his control, Sonten would be all-powerful. The mere threat of its use would buy him respect, and there would always be Artesans willing to serve him, even if it were with an eye to the main chance. A cold tremor ran through Sullyan. She had to stop Sonten at any cost. Not only for Pharikian’s sake, a man she was growing to love, but for the sake of every Artesan in the five realms.