by Cas Peace
“Timar, I beg your indulgence. I do not wish to belittle the problem or seem unconcerned, but I have received no hint of a threat to Albia or its Crown. You are suggesting that someone with great political power as well as vast wealth has thrown their weight behind this plot, if that’s what it is, and we need to establish that before we go looking for culprits. I need time to consider the implications of such potentially damaging investigations.”
Pharikian inclined his head with no trace of disappointment. Sullyan thought it was what he had expected, and that he would have said the same himself.
Stirring beside Elias, her soft murmur broke the silence. “There is yet another consideration. One which has not yet been raised or discussed.”
Both monarchs sharply turned their heads. Regarding each, reluctant to voice her thought, she said carefully, “Due to the enormous cost and rarity of its components, we have assumed that the artifact I destroyed was unique.”
Pharikian’s face paled and Elias frowned, still not fully aware of the Staff’s significance.
Staring into the Hierarch’s wide yellow eyes, she said, “What if there is another?”
It was the one question none of them had even considered, and she almost regretted voicing it. Up to now, only she had felt the full force of the artifact. Taran had handled and used it briefly, and had experienced the pain and terror of its alien forces, but his experience had been fleeting. Now that they knew more about the device and its potentially lethal purpose, however, the possibility of a second weapon affected almost everyone in the room. There was an instinctive, almost physical, drawing-together, as if for protection.
“We must find out who is behind this,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was some minutes after the monarchs had left that the Baron emerged from behind the pavilion. White-faced and shaking, he glanced in disgust at the square of finely-worked linen in his hand. Once pristine white, it was now soiled with vomit. He cast it to the ground before wiping his hands fastidiously on his robe, brushing bits of grass from the rich fabric.
They had destroyed the Staff! It was unthinkable. Rykan, damn his lying tongue, had told them the Staff was indestructible. Well, that just served them right for trusting the word of demons and outlanders.
Reen took a few cautious breaths and straightened his back. This was a complete disaster, and he wasn’t quite sure yet just how bad it might be. The Queen would have to be told, and he winced as he imagined her frightened and furious reaction. She would be distraught at the thought that Elias might discover her involvement. But he wouldn’t. They had been clever. The letter was safe, all their safety measures firmly in place. Elias had no reason to suspect his Queen.
So. How to salvage something from this dreadful mess? Reen still had his master plan, the plan he had devised once they had learned of Rykan’s death. He also had his secondary plan, much more important now that the Staff was gone for good.
He cast about the arena, where all who remained were men on cleanup detail. The one he needed to speak to was nowhere in sight, but thanks to Vassa’s tour earlier, Reen had a good idea where he might be found. Slowly at first, but then with steadier steps, he moved away from the pavilion.
There was only one figure at the horse lines when Reen arrived, and the Baron gave a small smile. As he had thought, his quarry was not in the mood for company. That was all to the good. He waited silently, not troubling to hide himself but not intruding either. He was a man who knew how to bide his time.
The object of his scrutiny was unsaddling a grey stallion at the picket rail, his rapid, jerky movements and muttered curses betraying his anger. He tugged at the cinch buckles, giving the stallion’s belly a punch when they wouldn’t come loose. The horse grunted and sidestepped, and the lean man yanked on its halter rope, cursing aloud. Reen smiled and subtly shifted his body.
The movement alerted the man, who raised his head, staring straight into Reen’s gaze. He frowned. “What do you want? I’m busy.”
The Baron didn’t reply. Rudeness was nothing less than he had expected. He chose not to take offence at the young man’s attitude or reprehensible lack of manners. This embittered young man might just hold the key to success, so his initial interview had to be conducted with care. Despite his crushing disappointment, overwhelming anger, and justifiable fear, Reen was not about to throw this opportunity away by allowing his emotions to rule him.
The man went back to unsaddling his horse while Reen eyed him. He was now patently ignoring his noble visitor. Having decided on his opening gambit, Reen said, “Captain Parren, would I be correct in thinking that you were unjustly slighted today?”
Parren’s head came up sharply, his strangely empty eyes narrowing. The Baron, who was affecting interest in the grey stallion, flicked him a glance, pleased he had succeeded in capturing the young man’s attention. Absently, he brushed the stallion’s nose.
“How do you know my name? Who are you?”
Once again, the Baron chose to ignore Parren’s rudeness. He also ignored the question. “I had heard that the liberation of those poor villagers was mainly your doing, yet you barely received the King’s recognition for such a courageous act. Was it then not true?”
Parren drew in a breath then paused. Instead of the angry retort Reen was sure he wanted to make, he replied tersely. “I was involved in the relief of the village, yes.”
Reen wanted to shout for joy, but calmed his leaping heart. He looked Parren in the eye. “Oh, come now, there’s no need to be modest with me. You did all the hard work and took all the risks, yet received no reward. Why should that be?”
Parren leaned against the stallion’s flank, his saddle over one arm. He regarded Reen suspiciously. “Why are you asking? What is it to you?”
The Baron damped his growing irritation at Parren’s abrasive and disrespectful manner. He had found the right person, and it was up to him to handle the situation correctly. One wrong move and he could lose this potentially valuable ally. A much-needed lesson in good manners and respect for his betters could wait.
He gave a casual shrug. “I recognize injustice when I see it, that’s all. The other two Captains received honors and promotion for their part, yet you were blatantly and publicly passed over. Why would the King do that?”
Parren’s expression soured and he spat in the dirt. Had his commanding officer seen him, the offense would have been punishable by the removal of privileges. Considering Reen’s rank, it might even have merited more stringent disciplinary action. Clearly, Parren was beyond worrying about disciplinary action.
“My face doesn’t fit,” he said harshly. “They stick together, these witch-lovers.”
Reen eyed the livid scar running down the side of Parren’s face. “Ah, yes,” he murmured, feigning comprehension, “I have heard this before. They conspire together to further their own interests and deny those who are more deserving.”
Parren frowned, showing the beginnings of a reluctant interest. “I gather you’re not in favor of these so-called Artesans, then?”
Certain of his man now, Reen threw caution away. “Artesans! That’s nothing more than a fancy name for practitioners of evil, of unnatural crafts! There are those who would see every last one of them eradicated from society, especially from any position of power. But it is very difficult to discredit them when they can sense they are being watched. You have seen for yourself how they have beguiled the King. He is completely under their spell.”
Still wary of the Baron’s intentions, Parren continued to stare. Reen, however, knew he had hooked his quarry. All he needed to do was prime him.
He deliberately held Parren’s gaze. “Would you count yourself among those who feel that Albia would best be served by eradicating these abominations—these Artesans?”
Parren’s expression shut down immediately and he turned his head away. “That’s uncomfortably close to treason, and whatever my personal feelings, I’m no traitor.”
�
��Of course you’re not, and you’ve nothing to fear from me.” Reen hid a private smile. This abrasive young man was so suspicious! “I’ve already told you what I think, and I have much more to lose in my position than you do in yours, believe me.”
“What do you want?” Parren’s irritation surfaced once more.
Reen leaned forward conspiratorially. “What we need, young man, are like-minded and intelligent people prepared to watch and report to those in a position to act. People who will help stamp out this cult of witchcraft before it spreads once more. You have seen for yourself today that our King does not know his own mind. He has been manipulated into giving them his support. He is not to blame. He was very young and impressionable when Lord Blaine helped him regain the Crown, and it is natural that he should feel gratitude toward the man. But Blaine has already been more than adequately rewarded for his support. General-in-Command of the King’s fighting forces ought to be sufficient for anyone, let alone someone of the middle nobility. But in exerting his evil influence to gain the King’s endorsement of the Artesan cause, Blaine has overstepped the mark and shown his true allegiance. We feel this is a dangerous development. Who knows how much further he might persuade Elias to go?
“No, Captain, this state of affairs cannot be tolerated. We who are loyal to the Crown are obliged to do our duty, however uncomfortable it may be. Anyone who helps release our King from his thrall will eventually win his gratitude, and the gratitude of all Albia besides.”
As it was designed to do, this impassioned speech reassured Parren, whose essential nature now reasserted itself. “And apart from gratitude, what reward might there be for someone willing to undertake such a dangerous mission? It would be extremely perilous considering how powerful some of these people are.”
The hook was in. Inwardly Reen was laughing, but he replied seriously enough. “The reward for loyal service would be great, although much would depend on the personal ambitions of the informant, as well as the quality of the information. But opportunities for advancement would be many, for our cause has some powerful adherents. Some of them hold—what shall I say?—exalted positions at court.”
As he said this, he looked Parren full in the eyes, completely capturing the young man’s attention. Lowering his voice, causing Parren to lean toward him, he added, “Where resides our greatest benefactress.”
Parren’s gaze was held long enough for him to fully realize the import of Reen’s words. Seeing shocked comprehension dawn in those pallid green eyes, the Baron continued. “As you see, Captain, I spoke nothing less than the truth. The potential for favor and advancement is bounded only by the limitations of the informant.”
He could see that Parren was well and truly caught. The implied lure of gold and power had done its work once more. Still the young man hesitated, and Reen had to admire his tenacity. There must be a core of deeply-seated distrust in Parren’s soul to make him still suspicious after all Reen had said.
“That’s all well and good, but you don’t know what these people are like. They’re powerful—they’re untouchable! They can read minds and sense things before they happen. How on earth can normal people fight against that?”
A valid point, thought Reen. If Parren had been even mildly nobly born, and able to overcome his selfish and abrasive nature, he might have made a useful courtier. Still, a sword didn’t have to be made of the finest steel to kill a man. Iron worked just as well.
Keeping his voice low, he said, “Do you think we haven’t thought about this? Do you think we don’t have plans in place? There are ways to fight arcane powers, you know. These so-called Artesans are not invincible.”
“But—”
“Do not presume to question me!” Reen deliberately let his anger show, knowing his quarry was caught. “It should be enough for you to know that there are ways. You are a simple Captain. Judging by today’s events, you are likely to remain so to the end of your days. Think yourself fortunate that you have been given an opportunity to rise far above your lot in life. Are you willing to take a stand for what you know is right, or will you creep cravenly away? Which do you want, Captain? Acclaim and glory, or a wasted life?”
Parren remained silent and Reen said no more, confident he had done everything necessary. He moved slowly away, but after a few steps he added over his shoulder, “Think about what you have heard. There is no doubt in my mind that you were unjustly slighted today, and that you deserve far more than you received. We could easily redress that situation, but the decision—and your future—rests in your hands. Should you wish to speak with me further, send a runner to Baron Reen.
“Captain,” he emphasized the title, indicating that it could easily be more impressive, “I bid you good day.”
+ + + + +
Before departing for Port Loxton early the following day, High King Elias had one more surprise for Sullyan. In a private meeting, much to her astonishment, he revealed his plans to build a college dedicated to the training of Artesans. The college would be situated within the Manor grounds, for the specific reason that Elias wanted Sullyan to be its administrator.
Once she recovered from her amazement, the prospect filled Sullyan with elation. Yes, it would mean extra duties on top of her other commitments, but Elias assured her he had already spoken with General Blaine and that he was willing to grant Elias his wish. She could hardly refuse when providing such training had been a long-held personal desire. Elias left, promising to begin work on the new college building as soon as possible, and also to give serious consideration to the theories he had heard concerning the Staff.
Elias was of the opinion that once news of the college was made public, some rats would be flushed from their holes. That is, if the Staff’s destruction hadn’t already accomplished this. He agreed to set up a network of informants to watch those nobles he considered most likely to rebel. Elias’s new and rapidly widening runner system—a stable of Oath-sworn and dedicated messengers answerable solely to the King—would ensure secure and private communications. Until they had some solid evidence to act upon, there was little else the King could do.
Pharikian and his entourage left at the same time, the two monarchs taking a most cordial farewell. The Hierarch took with him a list of possible trade items. He and Deshan bade Sullyan an emotional farewell, extracting a promise that she and her friends would visit before too long.
Just before the King’s departure, Baron Reen received a hastily worded request. Smiling malevolently, he managed to find time to meet once again with a certain disaffected young Captain. They spoke in secret, conducting a curt but mutually satisfying interview at which a certain amount of gold changed hands. They parted, one more than satisfied with a weighty purse tucked into his jacket, the other feeling more optimistic about the future of his plans.
Reen just had one more act to accomplish. He deliberately sought out the newly promoted Major Tamsen. Robin was surprised when the swarthy, dapper Baron chose to congratulate him on his recent successes. He was more surprised when the man made a point of shaking Robin’s hand, nearly crushing it in the process. The Baron unnecessarily prolonged the handshake, and his expression was curiously intense. When he finally clapped Robin on the back and moved away, the Major stared after him, a frown on his face. But then he was called to attend his duties and soon forgot the strange encounter.
The Baron rejoined the Albian royal party in his customary position at Elias’s elbow. He could not precisely be described as pleased by recent events, but he was at least sufficiently satisfied to be his usual caustic self as Elias’s entourage set off for the three-day return journey to Port Loxton.
+ + + + +
Two days after the King’s departure, a visitor came to Sullyan’s chambers. Robin was about his new afternoon duties as a Major, so she was alone when Taran tapped deferentially at her door. She welcomed him and took him through to her private rooms, where sunshine slanted warmly through the windows and the sounds of men drilling could faintly be heard outside
. She could guess what was on his mind. She had been waiting for this, and had he not come to see her, she would have sent for him before the day was out. She would not preempt him, however, and was content to let him speak his mind in his own time.
Sitting opposite him, she sipped her drink. She knew he was watching her. She could clearly feel the strong undercurrent of desire that he always tried so hard to suppress. It seemed that his feelings for her were as deep as ever. There was nothing she could do about that, and she hoped that his emotions—and his embarrassment over them—would not get in the way of this conversation. Sensing him gathering courage, she dragged herself out of her thoughts.
Taran took a breath and said lamely, “You’re looking much better now.”
She resisted the impulse to laugh. “Why, thank you, Taran. I feel much improved.”
He glanced down before forcing himself to look at her. His aversion to what he had come to say was so strong it was almost visible. “I suppose it’s about time we left the Manor.” He was unable to hold her gaze and his eyes slid away. “Our part in all this is over now. There’s nothing more we can do to help. We shouldn’t presume any longer on the General’s goodwill.”
Falling silent, he stared down at his cup.
Sullyan sat very still. Casually, she asked, “Would you return to Hyecombe?”
His shoulders sagged and moisture gleamed in his eyes. “I … I don’t think we could. I’m sure Rienne would be welcome, but I doubt if any of them would be pleased to see me or Cal. Not after what happened.”
She tucked her legs beneath her. “Then where would you go?”
Taran looked thoroughly miserable. “I don’t know. We’d have to look for somewhere else, somewhere we’re not known. It won’t be easy, but Rienne’s skills will help. I expect we’ll find somewhere.”
She remained silent for a moment longer before saying softly, “So, Adept Elijah, with no place to go to, why would you want to leave?”