Artesans of Albia

by Cas Peace

  For a long time she sat there just holding his body, head lowered, eyes closed. Bull, Jay’el, and Ki-en left her in peace, for which she was grateful. She vaguely heard them tending the horses, setting out supplies, lighting a fire to brew fellan. Bull’s murmured request that Jay’el should relate the story behind her friendship with Vanyr did not disturb her, and neither did the lad’s soft voice as he complied. Memories swam gently through her mind to the cadence of Jay’el’s tale, slowly soothing her aching heart. Gradually, she brought herself up from her grief, passing through gratitude, and finally into acceptance of what had happened.

  Easing herself from under Vanyr’s cooling body, she wrapped him in his cloak, hiding his ruined face. She reluctantly took up the Staff and looked down at him for a little longer. Then she moved over to the fire, sitting cross-legged and accepting the steaming mug held out to her by Bull. She didn’t speak, and he watched her expectantly as she communed with the Hierarch, informing him of Vanyr’s demise. When she was done, she walled off her grief for the moment.

  “Pharikian asks that we bear Torman home,” she told him. “He wants to give him a full military funeral and has asked me to participate. We will camp here for tonight and return in the morning. An honor guard will be sent to meet us.”

  Bull nodded. “How are they all at the Citadel?”

  “Pharikian is well enough. He needs further attention but should quickly heal. Anjer is undamaged but weak. Ephan still has not regained consciousness but is expected to fully recover. Deshan and Rienne are caring for them.”

  She broke off and Bull waited for the rest. She was holding herself in check, but he knew what was troubling her.

  “Do you want me to go back?” he eventually asked. She knew he meant to Albia. “Ki-en and Jay’el could come with me.”

  She shook her head. “No, Hal. I thank you but … not yet. We must convey Torman home first. And I do not want to send you into what could be trouble.” She looked him in the eyes. “But I would ask you to try for contact, if you would. I cannot help but be worried for Robin.”

  + + + + +

  Aided by Dexter and forty of his command, Robin herded the Andaryans together at the far end of the main village street. Parren’s and Baily’s commands stood well back, leaving the clean-up until this was over. A few of the villagers had come to watch, but most stayed away. They were uncomfortable watching Artesans work.

  Having first made sure there were no stray villagers to get in the way, Robin opened a tunnel. He was heedless of where it led. His only concern was that it should not open anywhere he knew. Once it was stable, his men herded the prisoners through, many of the Andaryans complaining bitterly about the lack of horses or supplies. They only desisted when Dexter bluntly offered to ensure that they never needed either again. Robin didn’t care. He just wanted to be rid of them so he could get back to Sullyan. Time was passing and evening was drawing on, and he wanted to be back in Andaryon by nightfall.

  As soon as Dexter had shepherded the last stragglers through, Robin collapsed the structure, massaging his aching temples. His headache was making him snappy. It was just as well, he thought, that Parren had kept himself occupied elsewhere.

  He took his leave of Dexter and the men, promising to return sometime in the future, although he shied away from thinking about the circumstances that would enable him to keep that promise. Dexter understood and gripped his shoulder. “Tell her … well, just tell her, Captain.”

  “I will, Dex. Now I really must go. I’m sorry to leave you with all this. Take care of Cal, and watch out for Parren. I have a nasty feeling he’s going to try to make more trouble.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Dexter darkly, “I’ve got my eye on that one.”

  Giving Cal a final wave through the cottage door, Robin swung up onto Torka. The pirates were already mounted and moving out of the village. Taking them into the fields, Robin gathered his woolly wits and aching head and once more called up the power of Earth. Passing through the Veils without incident, they emerged onto the Plains below the Citadel just as night was falling.

  The tunnel’s grey shimmer slowly faded, dying away to nothing.

  + + + + +

  Sullyan sat fretting, her eyes on the flames of their fire. How she resented not being able to cast her senses through the Veils to contact Robin! She may have rid her body of the majority of Rykan’s poison, but that last tiny residue lodged deep in her soul meant instant agony if she tried to force even the smallest part of her mind through the barriers. So she had to rely on Bull, and after his recent exposure to the substrate blast, his strength was limited. He had also not completely recovered from his heart seizure, and the last thing Sullyan wanted was for him to have a relapse. So she accepted his failure to contact Robin with as much good grace as she could muster, which wasn’t much.

  She knew that Bull was aware of her feelings. They were so used to each other that, despite her prowess in guarding her expressions and thoughts, she was doubtless being all too transparent to him. It was the price you paid for such closeness, and even Robin didn’t know her as well as Bull did. The brilliance of the swaying flames before her sent many vivid images into her mind, some painful, some bitter, some pleasant.

  Bull watched her sitting there in silence, drinking yet another cup of fellan and staring into the fire as if it was a window on the world.

  “Sully?”

  She didn’t take her eyes from the dancing flames. “Mmm?”

  “Can you summon images in Fire the way you can in Water?”

  Bull had always been wary of Fire. He was an Adept-elite, and so could influence the element, but deep down Fire frightened him. It touched something primal in his soul and he had never been able to overcome his fear. It was one of the reasons he had never been able to progress above his Artesan rank, one of the reasons Sullyan had gone looking for someone like Robin. Bull would never sit as she could and watch his memories come to life in the flames.

  Her gaze flickered but did not leave the fire. “Sometimes. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, just wondering. You’re staring so hard, I wondered what you were seeing.”

  “Nothing important, Hal,” she sighed. “Just keeping warm.”

  She could tell he wasn’t sure whether to believe her, but he didn’t press the point. He was about to speak again when she suddenly stiffened, her eyes dilating wide in the dusk. Then Bull stiffened too.

  “Robin!” she exclaimed, linking with Bull so he could also hear the Captain.

  They sat immobile while Robin told his tale. Both could hear Robin’s despair as he related what had happened to the tunnel and the village, and how he believed the Staff was lost. Sullyan sensed Bull’s pride in the young man for the forthright way Robin told them about his failure to secure the weapon. She immediately put his mind at rest, telling him of Vanyr’s heroic sacrifice. Despite his sorrow at Vanyr’s death, Robin couldn’t disguise his relief and elation on learning that she possessed the precious Staff.

  We will return to the Citadel tomorrow, she told him. We are bearing Commander Vanyr home where he will be sent off with full military honors. We will start out early in the morning. You get back to the Citadel and reassure Rienne about Cal. She and Taran will be pleased to see you. We will be there by late afternoon, I think. And, Robin?

  Yes?

  I am very proud of you, my love. It was no fault of yours that you could not secure the Staff. If it had been lost, you would have borne no blame. Do you hear me?

  I hear you, replied Robin, although they all knew the young man would have blamed himself for the rest of his life had the artifact been lost for good.

  Breaking the link, Sullyan sighed. Jay’el held a plate of meat out to her and stared hard at her until she accepted it. Smiling ruefully, she began to eat.

  + + + + +

  Vanyr’s body was returned to the Citadel in somber style. The honor guard, led by a recovered Anjer and Vanyr’s lieutenant, Barrin, comprised some fifty Velletian
Guardsmen. All had volunteered for this sad duty and were soberly resplendent in ceremonial dress. Sullyan and her party met them around midday. Bull, who had been carrying Vanyr’s wrapped body in his arms, gave his burden to the Lord General, who placed Vanyr carefully on the bier they had brought with them. It was drawn by two white horses and draped with a sumptuous purple banner bearing the Hierarch’s tangwyr emblem. They all formed up around it, Anjer and Sullyan riding beside the bier with Bull, Ki-en, and Jay’el just behind.

  On entering the city, they were greeted by a rousing fanfare from the heralds and a clashing of weapons from the swordsmen thronging the battlements. It seemed the entire population had turned out to witness the homecoming of the Commander of the Velletian Guard. Sullyan, seeing tears and sorrow on many faces, thought how amazed Vanyr would have been to see such signs of respect. Knowing intimately how they felt, she bowed her head.

  The cortege slowly mounted the Processional Way, trumpets marking its progress, and came to rest in the palace courtyard. From there, Vanyr’s body was taken away to be prepared for his funeral and Sullyan and Bull were reunited with Robin.

  It was an emotional time, especially for Robin and Sullyan. The young Captain had returned to the Citadel before full dark the previous evening and wasted no time in telling Rienne and Taran the tale of the siege. He also gave Rienne the message from Cal, which caused the healer to break down in sobs. They eventually managed to calm her, once Robin had reassured her that Cal should make a full recovery. He even offered to contact Cal and pass on a message for her, but Rienne demurred with a mischievous smile, saying she didn’t think Robin was capable of passing the sort of message she wanted to give. His blushes finally made her laugh.

  Now, gathered in Sullyan and Robin’s chambers, they sat gazing at the Staff which lay on the table, innocently gleaming in the firelight. Rienne shuddered at the sight of it. Taran could hardly bear to look at it, no doubt remembering how he had felt when using it.

  Robin, however, saw things in a very different light and sat staring hungrily at the artifact. “So, what happens now?”

  Sullyan sighed, not sharing Robin’s optimism. “For the moment,” she said, “I am not thinking past Vanyr’s funeral. Once that is over, I will have much to discuss with Timar and Deshan. And Taran.”

  The Adept started then flushed. Robin frowned at him before turning back to Sullyan. “But what do you need to discuss? Surely you can use the Staff as you did Rykan’s life force? Why should you need to talk to Taran?”

  Hearing the tiniest hint of jealousy in his voice, Sullyan closed her eyes. “Because Taran is the only person living who has used the Staff. I will need him to tell me everything he can remember. This final process will not be simple. You recall how difficult it was for me to purge the poison? Well, that was the easy part.”

  Robin turned pale, memories of the agony and anguish she had gone through passing across his features. She smiled ruefully at him, understanding his confusion.

  “The rest of the poison is lodged deep in my soul. It has become part of my being. I do not know if it is possible to remove it now, and even if it is, there is a danger I might damage my psyche.”

  Robin looked shocked. “What? You never told me that! I thought once you had the Staff—”

  “It would be a simple matter of using it to burn out the poison? No, Robin. I wish it was, but the truth is, it might not be possible at all.”

  An uneasy silence fell.

  Holding Robin’s dark and troubled gaze, Sullyan said, “I did not tell you this before because I do not know what will happen. Something like this has never been done before. I might not even be strong enough to make the attempt. If it is possible, it will be very arduous. And there could be other … complications.”

  “Complications? What complications?” Robin’s optimism drained away. He had clearly thought that gaining the Staff was the final battle. Now she was telling him the war was far from over.

  She shook her head. “I do not know yet. I must discuss it with Timar and Deshan. Let us not dwell on it now. Tomorrow will be a sad day. Let us honor a good man and a true friend and leave the other matter for later. It will keep.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Vanyr’s funeral was a state occasion held on a bright, clear day with the promise of spring. Sullyan and Robin were to be part of the honor guard accompanying the bier and felt privileged to be so included. The Major had also been asked to participate in the ceremony itself, along with Pharikian, Anjer, and Barrin. She had demurred at first, protesting that it was Ephan’s place, but he had been more than happy for her to represent him as he was not fully recovered from the substrate blast.

  At midday they gathered in the courtyard. Vanyr’s body once again lay on a bier drawn by two white horses, the Hierarch’s standard covering his form. Sullyan and Robin, mounted on Drum and Torka, fell in beside Pharikian, Anjer, and Barrin. Rienne, Taran, and Bull were traveling with Marik in Idrimar’s carriage while Ephan and Baron Gaslek, the Hierarch’s secretary, traveled together in another. The rest of the palace household followed.

  As the cavalcade passed through the north gate, the horns of the Velletian Guard resounded in honor of Torman Vanyr. To the north of the Citadel a small hill could be seen, crowned with an ancient ring of standing stones. Within this ring a huge pyre had been built, and toward this hill they wound their way. The towering monoliths dwarfed even the tallest mourners. Those with the power to sense it could feel their elemental puissance singing through their souls.

  The bier drew to a halt beside the pyre. Six Guardsmen lifted Vanyr’s body and placed it on the platform above the logs. The Hierarch’s standard was removed and Sullyan saw that Vanyr had been well-prepared for this farewell. Someone had carefully washed his damaged face, making it as presentable as possible. A light strip of cloth covered the ruin of his eyes, and his face appeared calm. He was dressed in ceremonial uniform, his sword lying on his breast. One of the honor guard reached up to remove it but Sullyan held up her hand. “Let it be.”

  The guard frowned at her. “Lady, it won’t burn. And we can’t leave it here. It will be taken to be melted down by the swordsmith.”

  Sullyan glanced at Pharikian and received his nod. “Let it be,” she repeated, and the guard shrugged, removing his hand.

  The honor guard stationed themselves around the crest of the hill just outside the circle, enclosing the pyre and those who stood near it. The Hierarch, Anjer, Sullyan, and Barrin took their places, one at each corner of the pyre, with the four Cardinal Stones at their backs. After a reflective pause, Pharikian raised his head and addressed the assembly. He spoke of Vanyr, telling how he had come to be in his ruler’s service and what that service had meant. The Hierarch told them that in honor of Vanyr’s bravery, he was posthumously awarding him the rank of Artesan Adept. Sullyan saw many heads nod in recognition.

  Anjer took up the tale, speaking of Vanyr’s military career and training, his leadership and battle strategy, and his weaponry skills. Barrin followed the Lord General, and he spoke of serving under Vanyr; how the commander had discharged his duties and trained his men, and how he was respected by all who had served with him.

  Then it was Sullyan’s turn, and she spoke of friendship and loyalty, trust and love. She made no effort to hide her feelings, and there was many a damp eye when she was finished. There was a final stirring fanfare from the trumpeters, and Vanyr’s warhorse, a large liver-chestnut stallion which had been brought back from Albia by Robin, suddenly raised its head and pealed out a long call to its fallen rider. The trumpets fell silent and the Hierarch gestured for Barrin to begin.

  The Lieutenant stood at the western Cardinal, representing Earth. Raising his arms, he said, “Torman Vanyr, tutor and Commander. By the power of Earth, we honor you.”

  Barrin called power from the stones and it thrummed through them, rumbling under the mourners’ feet. Pharikian nodded his approval and Barrin lowered his arms.

  Anjer stood at
the northern Cardinal, representing Water. He too raised his arms. “Torman Vanyr, Commander and battle leader. By the power of Water, we honor you.”

  Anjer’s hold and control caused a great wreath of mist to form in the air around the pyre. Glittering in the sunlight, it slowly settled onto Vanyr’s body, bedewing him with pearly drops. They shimmered in the light before fading. Bowing his head, Anjer lowered his arms.

  Sullyan stood for the east, representing Fire. Lifting her clear voice, she almost sang the words. “Torman Vanyr, true friend, giver of life by your sacrifice. With the power and force of Fire, I honor you.”

  Sullyan’s power rushed through the circle as she summoned Fire from its source. Tiny flames appeared in the air over Vanyr’s body, slowly settling to touch his face, his hands, his breast. Fingers of flame appeared at each corner of the pyre, dancing around the logs but not yet consuming them.

  With Sullyan’s Fire unquenched, the Hierarch raised his voice. “Torman Vanyr, Artesan Adept, loyal and true subject. We bid you farewell. We send you on your journey buoyed by the powers of Earth, Water, Fire, and Air. We honor your memory and commend you to the powers that be. Torman Vanyr, with the power of Air, we honor you!”

  A great roaring assailed their ears as the Hierarch of Andaryon, Senior Master Artesan, called Air. A warm, strong wind raced toward the hill at great speed, flowing through, around, and over the mourners. It caught at Sullyan’s Fire as it danced among the logs. All at once, with a vast, hungry roar, the wood ignited. Fanned by Air and fed by Earth, flames rocketed into the sky. It was spectacular but confined as the flames fed hungrily on the seasoned logs. The power of Earth, drawn from the western Cardinal Stone, roared sunwise around the ancient circle, the ground shuddering and quaking with force. The air within wept a fine mist.