Artesans of Albia

by Cas Peace

  Still staring at him, she shook her head. “Not secondary. I think the throne was vital. It would have been Rykan’s reward, the bait that won him to their cause. With the authority of the Hierarchy behind him and the enhancing properties of the Staff under his control, he would have had the power to compel every Andaryan Artesan to submit to his will. But if what you say about its creation is true, Rykan was not the architect of this plan. Once he had the throne, and had subjugated all the Artesans in your realm, he would surely have had to return the Staff to its maker. I think the backing of his challenge for rulership and his eventual inauguration as Hierarch was the price he claimed—or was offered—for the risks he would run.”

  She paused, giving them time to assimilate the true horror these deliberations had raised. Her face taut, her eyes wide, she continued. “Given these conclusions, our next question is: Who else is involved? Who is wealthy and powerful enough not only to have created such a terrible weapon, but also to be certain of controlling Rykan once he had the power he desired? And—oh, gods, Timar, to what lengths might they go to recover it now?”

  All eyes turned in renewed consternation to the shimmering device on the table. Taran and Bull had drawn farther away from it, as if it could steal their metaforce simply by being there. Marik, sitting close to Aeyron, shifted uneasily and cleared his throat. Sullyan turned to look at him. He returned her gaze unsteadily, plainly uncomfortable with what he had to say.

  She raised her brows, encouraging him.

  He swallowed. “During the time I was held at his palace, I did hear rumors about Rykan having powerful allies. There was always an undercurrent to the gossip, as if his actions, or the allies themselves, were not trustworthy. It was nothing more than furtive whispers. I never heard any names. And I had other things on my mind at the time, I’m afraid. I never paid the gossip much attention.”

  Sullyan smiled and shook her head. He could hardly be blamed for not obtaining information which only now turned out to be important. And she knew what had been on his mind at the time. Yet he still dropped his gaze and sat staring at his hands, no doubt wishing he had listened more closely.

  Robin stirred at the Major’s side, glancing from her to Pharikian. “I suppose these allies don’t necessarily have to be Andaryan, either. With Rykan’s false invasion of our realm in mind, maybe they are Albian.”

  Sullyan considered this before nodding. “We cannot rule it out. If Rykan did ally himself with outlanders, it would certainly generate resentment among his nobles. It could also explain why I was targeted. I am probably the best known Artesan in Albia, and there are some powerful people in King Elias’s court who would delight in the demise of the Artesan gift and the death of anyone who carried it. There was considerable opposition to my appointment as captain when I finished my training, and even more when I was promoted to major. We are fortunate that King Elias is sympathetic to our kind and supports our craft, but some of his nobles vehemently oppose his tolerance and protest our inclusion in military or state matters.”

  Rienne interjected, the subject overcoming her usual shyness. “But why should they? I’ve never understood this. Surely it would be beneficial to the realm if our rulers employed people with powers such as yours?”

  Sullyan gave her a smile. “Of course, Rienne, provided you trust them! But you must know that there are a great many devious and unscrupulous people at court. People with their own agendas, their own spies and networks. Artesans would be considered a threat because it is widely believed that we can read people’s minds. Why do you think our kind have become so reviled and mistrusted by the Albian populace? It is an understandable reaction, to fear those with powers you do not possess and cannot control. How much more would you fear them if you thought they were threatening your own position or rise to power? No, it is no surprise that there is such strong opposition.”

  Rienne frowned and shrugged, her every move betraying what she thought of such suspicious and power hungry people.

  Sullyan continued. “There must be some highly influential people indeed behind this plot. If the weapon’s components are as priceless as Timar says, then those behind it have access to almost unlimited funds. And that points to the involvement of some extremely powerful nobles—”

  She broke off and looked over at Pharikian, who sat watching her with admiration. “Timar, one thing is certain. We cannot permit this artifact to be used as its makers intended. It must be destroyed.”

  He nodded. “Yes. I’m not sure how it can be done, but you are right.”

  She considered this, her gaze resting blankly on the Staff. “Normal spellsilver will melt, and you said that the ceramic is formed by very high temperatures.”

  “That’s true. Very precisely controlled, extreme temperatures.”

  “Then maybe you and I acting together could destroy it.”

  He thought for a few seconds and was about to reply when her expression caught his attention. Her words had pricked her memory and another piece of the puzzle fell into place, a piece she should have understood long before. Speaking slowly, she said, “You say you know of no craft smith capable of building a furnace to manufacture the silicon-ceramic—no one capable of controlling a fire so precisely?”

  He frowned. “That’s right. Not in Andaryon, anyway.”

  She felt her face drain and her eyes cloud over. “Then there is only one kind of craft master who could.”

  He stared at her, shocked as he caught her meaning. Its full import staggered him. “No, Brynne! I can’t believe that.”

  “It must be so,” she replied. Realizing that the others were still puzzled, she turned to explain. “Any Master Smith who can forge a sword could probably have worked the silver. Maybe even the special ceramic, given time to study its properties. But not even a Master Smith would possess the type of forge necessary to control such extremes of temperatures. Neither would any other ordinary craftsman. There is only one way in which all the elements of this device could have been brought together so precisely. Only one type of craft master with the knowledge and skill to perform such a feat. This terrible device had to be created by an extremely skilled Master Artesan.”

  Maybe they should have seen it sooner, but her suggestion that the Staff had been created with the destruction of Artesans in mind had deflected them from the obvious. Once the initial shock died down, Rienne said, “I can understand Rykan’s desire to usurp the throne. I can probably even understand why he might wish to control other Artesans. But why would one Artesan want to destroy others?”

  “A very good point, my dear,” said Pharikian, “although we cannot answer it yet.”

  “Ultimate power,” murmured Sullyan. “That was Rykan’s obsession. And if there is one who craves such dominance, you may be sure there are others. There is, however, another possibility.” She paused, gazing at the Hierarch. “The possibility that the Staff’s original creator—whoever it was—did not want to control or destroy the others.”

  Pharikian looked thoughtful. “Someone was forced to create it, you mean? I suppose it’s possible.”

  “So it is also possible that he had no idea what his creation was intended for,” she said. “If he was coerced, he might well be blameless. Having created it, he might then have been killed. But if not ….” She trailed off, apprehension in her eyes.

  “If not,” said Pharikian grimly, “then we have an unknown renegade Artesan on our hands.”

  “A rare and powerful one, Timar. Senior Master at the very least.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  When the implications of this discussion finally sank in, the talk turned to the matter at hand. Namely, whether Sullyan was physically capable of using the Staff to rid her soul of contamination. Pharikian and Deshan exchanged glances, causing Sullyan to wonder what was on their minds. Deshan seemed uncomfortable, and even the Hierarch appeared unsure of himself. This, she could do without.

  “Gentlemen, I beg you to speak plainly. I am in no mood for guessing gam
es.”

  If Andaryon’s ruler was offended by her tone, he showed no sign. His yellow eyes flicked from her to Robin, and he took a steadying breath before he replied.

  “My dear, there is a particular aspect to your problem which has taxed both Deshan and myself. But before we tell you what it is, Deshan has a request for you.”

  The Major turned to the Master Physician, who gave her a smile.

  “It has been two weeks since you defeated Rykan and used his life force to purge your body, and it has been well over two months since you were last in Albia.” He paused as she nodded. “The effects of Rykan’s maltreatment aside, your body could already be showing signs of deterioration due to Andaryon’s alien environment.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “I fear you are right.”

  “Therefore, I feel it would be prudent to ascertain the exact state of your health before discussing how, or if, you can make use of the Staff.”

  “Deshan,” she sighed, “that is a very roundabout way of asking me to agree to an examination.”

  He grinned wryly. “Do I take it you are amenable?”

  Rolling her eyes, she held out her right hand. As he took it, she afforded him access to her psyche and her state of health. Everyone sat in silence while the Master Physician conducted his examination. When he finally released her hand, Deshan exchanged a glance with Pharikian. “It is as I suspected, Timar. There is no discernible change.”

  Pharikian’s expression betrayed hope at these findings. Sullyan, however, wanted clarification. “Deshan, are you saying that my protracted stay in Andaryon has had no adverse effect on my health?”

  He nodded. “None whatsoever.”

  “But that should not be possible.”

  Rienne was frowning, intrigued by the medical turn to the discussion. “So why has this happened?” she asked, eagerly leaning forward. “And what does it mean for Brynne’s chances with the Staff?”

  Robin held his breath, and both Bull’s and Taran’s eyes were fixed on Deshan.

  “As for her chances of ridding herself of contamination, there is nothing to prevent her except her own strength and determination.” The Master Physician flicked a glance at Sullyan. “As to the how or why, Pharikian and I have had several discussions on the subject. What we have been forced to conclude, Brynne, is that the blood Timar gave your mother all those years ago somehow affected you in the womb. It became part of your physical being. It is unprecedented in any records I can find, but the theory is supported by the color of your eyes, which are so like Timar’s. I cannot fully explain it, but it seems that you are a hybrid, and your blood, which is partly Andaryan, is protecting you from harm. If that is so, then I cannot see any reason why it should not continue to do so indefinitely. Living in our realm should affect you as little as living in your own.”

  He fell silent. Sullyan was silent too, a strange mix of emotions surging through her. Her skin felt taut and drained, and she knew her face was white. Seeing this, Pharikian leaned forward in his chair and took hold of her damaged left hand. He stroked the soft new skin and looked deeply into her eyes, eyes that but for their round pupils could be his own.

  “Brynne, my dear,” he murmured, “we had to tell you. We wanted you to know that you do not have to risk your life yet again. There is no reason for you to suffer the undeniable agonies which must accompany any use of the Staff, irrespective of failure or success. You have an alternative, and I urge you to consider it carefully. Child, there is a place for you here, in my House and in my heart, should you wish to remain among us. You have become as dear and close to me as my own daughter, and my whole family would be happy to welcome you into our midst. I know it is what your father would have wanted, but I offer you this out of my love for you, not just the love and friendship I felt for Morgan.

  “If you are concerned about your career then I can put your mind at ease there too. Anjer has asked me to say that he would value your experience and professional skills, and indeed there is a military post vacant now that we have lost General Kryp. What do you say? Will you think about it?”

  His tone was soft and pleading, but her eyes were blank and lost. It was clearly all too much, and he sighed. Releasing her hand, he said, “We have given you much to consider. Perhaps you should leave us now, take some time to discuss this with your friends. Even your general, should you wish. Return to us once you have made your decision. Deshan will be happy to advise you about the procedure should you decide to use the Staff. Just—please—assure me that you will give full consideration to what I have said.”

  She looked him full in the eyes, unable to hide the turmoil his astonishing offer had stirred in her. She simply could not comprehend the consequences of what she had heard, and found herself unable to speak. She had to leave, had to be alone with her thoughts. She stood, nodding dumbly. Without a word, she left, her gaze unseeing.

  + + + + +

  Rienne had tears in her eyes. With shaking fingers, she fumbled for a handkerchief. The Hierarch’s words were echoing round her head, like a chant with no meaning, and she realized she was holding her breath. Sullyan had just been handed the answer to all their prayers, but Rienne had no idea what the younger woman would do. How could she turn her back on her life at the Manor? Yet what Pharikian was offering was the love of a true family, something Sullyan had never known. Surely she would accept?

  Taran and Bull were rising, preparing to follow Sullyan, and Rienne hastened to clear her vision. Before she could stand too, Robin moved in front of her, his body stiff and tense.

  “Let her be.”

  Forgetting her handkerchief, Rienne stared at him. His gaze was fixed on the door through which Sullyan had passed, lines of deep concern on his face. Turning, he faced the Hierarch. There was a moment of silence within the chamber before he spoke again, and his tone carried a sadness and maturity she had not heard from him before.

  “Majesty, that was not well done. I wish you had spoken to me before placing such burdens on her. I might have been able to prepare her, and I too would have appreciated some forewarning. This affects us all and will change our lives. After what she’s been through, it was unkind to place the responsibility solely on her shoulders.”

  Without waiting for a response he headed for the door, casting a glance at Rienne, Bull, Taran, and Marik. “Come. We’ll leave her to think for a while, but she’ll need us later. We ought to talk about this among ourselves before that happens.”

  The men followed without question, but Rienne hesitated. Pharikian was staring at the open door, his face pale and his mouth slightly open. She could tell he was devastated. Noticing her, he shook himself and gave her a pale smile.

  Aeyron spoke quietly into the awkward silence. “That’s a very mature young man, and one who is deeply in love.”

  Pharikian sighed, slumping back into his chair. “I know, I know. I value him highly too, and now I have unwittingly given them both unnecessary pain when I sought only to give them hope.”

  He bowed his head into his hands, and Rienne crept softly from the room.

  + + + + +

  With no real knowledge of what she was doing or where she was headed, Sullyan made her way up the Tower stairs. She didn’t register her surroundings until she opened the heavy double doors and felt the strong westerly wind catch at her hair. It was chilly up here and she hadn’t brought a cloak. Hugging her arms about her body as if to contain her pain, she leaned against the battlements and stared unseeing over the landscape.

  She didn’t know what to think. Before Deshan’s startling revelation and Pharikian’s totally unexpected offer, she had swung uncomfortably between the desire to return to Albia and terror in case she could not. Now she had a third choice, and it was hard not to jump at such an easy solution. Yet that had never been her way. She had always met trouble head-on, and besides, staying in Andaryon was not the easy option it might at first seem—not while there was Robin to consider. He had no Andaryan blood and could not remain here wit
h her, and she knew now that her life would not be complete without him.

  Yes, she could continue her military career in Andaryon—if she had fully understood, Pharikian had actually offered her the position of general—and she knew she could serve the Hierarch as wholeheartedly as she had served Albia’s High King, Elias. Moreover, the Hierarch was the nearest she would ever come now to having a father. He had opened up a whole new aspect to her life with his tales of her parents and the history that existed between them. This, coupled with his care for her, had birthed an embryo love in her heart, and his offer to accept her into his family proved that he felt the same.

  Friendship—Anjer’s, Marik’s, Idrimar’s, and Aeyron’s—would provide her with the companionship she would need until she felt more at home. Yet friendship could never replace the love she had found with Robin, and she could only imagine what it would do to him should she decide to stay. She understood the depth of his love for her. They might not have had the most promising of starts, but once he had recovered from his sister’s tragic death and come to the Manor, they had been virtually inseparable.

  She sighed, deeply regretting that it had taken Rykan’s abuse to make her fully appreciate the importance of Robin’s place in her heart. Her irresolution, however, didn’t seem to have caused any lasting damage. Simply put, she couldn’t conceive of life without him, and she knew he felt the same way.

  Yet that brought up another matter, one she would have to discuss with him openly and honestly before they made any binding commitments. She knew she had been permanently scarred by what Rykan had done to her, and this damage had been exacerbated by the poison of his seed. If—or when—she used the Staff she would run the risk of further damage, quite aside from the question of success or failure—or death. She didn’t know how Robin felt about the possibility of having children, but she did know she was now incapable of conceiving. It would be unfair not to tell him. He had a right to know.