King's Artesan: Artesans of Albia trilogy (Artesans Series Book 3)

by Cas Peace

  Drifting almost into sleep, Sullyan suddenly jerked awake. Her arm jarred and she gave a small cry of pain. Vanyr shot her a look of concern. “Are you alright, Brynne?”

  “Torman, what did you say the nephew’s name was?”

  “Jaskin. Why?”

  “Oh, gods. Sonten. It has to be.”

  She sank back against the tree, accepting Vanyr’s help with the throbbing pain. Once it subsided, she told them her suspicions.

  “The two men who were abducted from the hill came to me at our base in Albia a couple of months ago. One of them, Taran—he’s now an Adept, although he was only a Journeyman then—had been trying for years to raise his status. Frustration made him reckless and he crossed the Veils by himself, intending to find and challenge an Andaryan Artesan. If he won the challenge, he was going to demand instruction as his prize.”

  Vanyr snorted. “What? That’s insane.”

  She nodded. “So he found it, for he was captured by a young noble out hunting. When it became apparent that Taran was an Artesan, the noble challenged him. Surrounded as he was, Taran had to accept.”

  “Why on earth did the noble challenge him?” Vanyr asked. “Why not just kill him?”

  “He gave no reason. He did not even give his name, and Taran was in no position to ask. He fought this young man, but because he had no second or witness, the noble was not bound to the Codes of Combat. When Taran proved too good a match, the noble used his power against him.”

  “No second?” Vanyr was incredulous. “Is the man stupid as well as insane?”

  She smiled wearily. “No, Torman, just desperate. He knows better now.”

  “So I should hope!” The Commander shook his head. “Go on.”

  “This part is strange. The noble attacked Taran with some kind of artifact, something that channeled and magnified his metaforce. By all accounts, it was a terrible weapon. Taran was in desperate straits, and eventually his only option was to kill the noble. But then, of course, the man’s entourage attacked him, and Taran had to flee for his life. They pursued him, but he managed to escape through the Veils. When he recovered from his wounds, he discovered he had unintentionally taken the artifact through to Albia with him. Bands of Andaryan raiders then began to plague the region, and Taran feared his actions had brought them. We now know this was coincidence, that Rykan ordered the raids as a way of persuading King Elias to send me as envoy to Count Marik. Taran, though, was convinced of his culpability, and he came to me looking for advice. When he told me what he had done, I discovered that the noble he had killed was Jaskin.”

  Ky-shan grunted. “There’s your reason behind the abduction, then. Sonten must have been raging livid.”

  Vanyr looked doubtful. “Revenge? But how would abduction benefit Sonten? If he did want revenge on this man, why not just kill him? Why take him and the other one hostage, leaving two others behind? And why then take the Captain and your other friend as well? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I agree,” said Sullyan. “If it is Sonten—and I think it has to be—then maybe he knows about the artifact. Maybe he wants it back, although as he is not an Artesan he cannot use it. I was not aware before today that he was Jaskin’s uncle, or I might have suspected him sooner. But if Sonten is the connection, I still cannot explain how he knew it was Taran who killed Jaskin and took the weapon. They never met, and even if they had, how could Sonten know Taran was in Andaryon? From what Rienne told me, the men who came for Taran and Cal knew exactly who, where, and what they were. How can that be?”

  Vanyr pursed his lips. “If this Taran and the noble never exchanged names, how do you even know it was Jaskin he fought?”

  “Taran described him and I remembered Jaskin’s family colors. I had encountered him before. Robin and I ran into him a couple of times a year or so ago. He was a prolific raider into our lands, so we gave him a few good reasons to steer clear of us.”

  Vanyr smiled. “I bet you did. So, that solves one part of the mystery, if it is Sonten. The only thing we don’t know is exactly what he wants your friends for.”

  Sullyan shook her head, and they sat chewing over it a while longer. Without reaching a conclusion, they turned in to sleep, Vanyr and Ky-shan both insistent that Sullyan would not be woken under any circumstances for a turn on watch. She glared at them and used a few pithy words, but they remained unmoved. Grumbling at their amused expressions, she gave in and rolled herself carefully in her cloak to sleep by the fire.

  Chapter Four

  Dawn found them already mounted and moving through the dense trees. It was a crisp, cold day with only a few clouds crossing the weak sun. Vanyr and Sullyan once again took the lead, but this time they sent scouts ahead to keep watch for any sign of their quarry.

  Almid and Kester were Sullyan’s preferred scouts because she could track them through the substrate. If either of them found anything, they could alert her without returning. To save her energy, Vanyr tried to read them also, but his skills were not sufficient and he had to give up.

  They made good time, pushing on through the day without stopping for a noon meal, only eating a little bread and dried meat in the saddle. Sullyan found riding much easier without the stitches in her side, and even her arm was less painful. She tried moving it once or twice, but soon desisted. It was still too early.

  The hoof prints they followed hardly deviated from their southeasterly direction. The press of trees was clearly keeping their quarry to the trail. Vanyr found a spot where they must have stopped for food and rest, and Sullyan spent precious minutes searching the ground for any sign that her friends had been there. The prints of all the Manor horses were evident, but she could find no boot prints she recognized. She had hoped Robin or Bull might manage to leave her a clue, but there was nothing. She disliked the implications of that.

  Again, they rode late into the evening gloom until they were unable to see the tracks. Sullyan fretted, sure their quarry could not be far away. The tracks were fresh, their spacing and depth indicating the band was moving at an unhurried pace. She surmised they did not intend going much farther with their prisoners, and Vanyr agreed. Once they stopped for the night, she contacted Almid and Kester, calling them back from their scouting.

  After they had all eaten, she prepared to sweep the area with her metasenses. She was convinced Robin and Bull were close by and could not rest until she had searched as far as she could. Her reserves were still low, so she asked Vanyr to link with her in case she overtaxed herself. He readily agreed and sat beside her, staring into the fire to aid his concentration. Sullyan, buoyed by Vanyr’s strength, cast out her senses, following the southeasterly trend.

  The forest provided plenty of cover for anyone wishing to hide. With no pattern of psyche to follow, she was searching blind. Keeping the patterns of all four men firmly in her mind—it was possible that one of them might slip free for an instant or one of their captors make a mistake—she searched for signs of life.

  The forest animals, such as there were in late winter, were mostly going about their usual business, undisturbed. She sought as far as she could, yet found nothing. Dispirited, she prepared for another sweep, knowing Vanyr thought she had already gone far enough. She pushed his half-formed protest aside and suddenly, faint within the substrate, caught the unmistakable signature of Fire. In such dense woodland there should be no fire, unless from some charcoal-burner’s clamp. Yet the recent fighting would have frightened off any woodland workers, so she was sure she had found her quarry.

  Eagerly following this imprint of Fire, she inched closer. Soon she found a spot where the substrate was considerably disturbed. Expending a touch more power, she was able to sense a group of men camped within the trees, around twenty-five or so, she thought. Now that she was focused, she could see the unmistakable flare in the substrate indicating the presence of Artesans, although the patterns were unknown to her. What made her heart leap with hope, though, were faint traces of other psyche patterns. Barely detectable patter
ns. Refining her probe as far as she could, she caught the characteristic tang of spellsilver.

  Immediately, she withdrew, allowing Vanyr to provide the strength to bring them both back. As he did so, she examined what she had seen, convinced this was the group they sought. Once she and Vanyr broke their link, she related her find to the pirates.

  Ky-shan narrowed his eyes. “Twenty-five, Lady? Against our twelve?”

  “Four of them are ours,” she reminded him, “so sixteen against twenty-one, if we can free them. Surely not insurmountable odds?”

  He rolled his eyes. “So, what now?”

  Vanyr stirred, but Sullyan spoke first. “I need a proper look. I have to know what the situation is, how they are holding my friends, what their plans are. I will not be gone long.”

  “You’re not going alone,” said Vanyr. “Oh, it’s no good looking at me like that. I won’t try to stop you, but I’m not letting you go alone, and there’s an end to it.”

  “Listen to him, Lady,” urged Ky-shan. “I hate to admit it, but he’s talking sense.”

  She knew it. “Very well, Torman. I just hope you are a silent tracker.”

  Mounting their horses, they rode cautiously into the darkness. Sullyan kept a link to Almid, so the pirates would know what was happening. She cast her senses forward, following the echo of Fire, and Vanyr kept his eyes open for scouts from the party ahead.

  It took them over an hour to reach the camp, riding carefully through the dark woods. When they finally drew near, Vanyr was disgusted to find no proper sentries posted, just two men keeping a half-hearted watch and drinking from what looked suspiciously like ale cups. Whoever was leading this band did not expect to be followed.

  Leaving the horses concealed behind a thick stand of hazel, Sullyan and Vanyr effortlessly skirted the sentries, creeping noiselessly toward the camp. For all Vanyr’s height, he was slim and agile and he moved as silently as Sullyan. Eventually, they worked themselves into a position from which they could see the camp, but were not quite close enough to hear what was said.

  There were twenty-one men in the group, including the careless sentries. As Sullyan had guessed, their leader was Sonten. She could see the General clearly, illuminated as he was by a huge roaring blaze. She shook her head. It was foolhardy to build such a large fire in enemy territory. The fact that he was still on Pharikian’s land obviously didn’t bother Sonten, who was lounging on a heap of his men’s cloaks, eating from a plate piled with meat and bread. His men were scattered around the clearing and four were sitting by a smaller fire, as if guarding the dark shapes that lay on the ground.

  Sullyan didn’t yet try to establish whether those shapes were actually her friends. Her attention was fixed on what Sonten was watching while he ate his meal.

  The General sat facing a large tree. Bound securely to it, his arms wrenched cruelly behind him and his feet lashed together, was Taran. His face was purple with bruises—he had clearly suffered repeated beatings—but Sullyan’s professional instincts also noted that he bore no wounds. Whoever had administered the beatings had taken exquisite care not to damage him severely.

  Taran was conscious, but from the way he half-hung in his bonds it seemed he was unable to bear his own weight. He was also uncomfortably near the fire, and Sullyan could see sweat drenching his face and clothes. Around the bruises his face was pale, and fear shadowed his darkened eyes. Looking closely, she could see a knife bound against the naked skin of his right arm. She guessed it was made of spellsilver. This gave her some hope, for ropes could loosen and knives fall to the ground. If each captive had been restrained in this manner, there might yet be a chance.

  Gesturing silently to Vanyr, she withdrew. When it was safe, he asked, “Do they have your friends?”

  She nodded. “The one bound to the tree is Taran. I think the others are across the clearing. Torman, I need to get closer to them to see what condition they are in. Poor Taran has been beaten pretty thoroughly, and Sonten is obviously not finished with him. If the others are in the same state … or worse … I need to know. If we are to rescue them, we have to let them know that help is at hand.”

  “How on earth are you going to do that? You’ll never get close enough to speak to them.”

  She smiled grimly. “There are more ways open to me than speech, my friend. Will you stay here and keep an eye on those lazy sentries?” She shook her head. “They would not last a day under my command.”

  “Nor mine,” he agreed, and laid a hand on her arm. “Go carefully, Brynne.”

  Leaving him to return to their earlier vantage point, she slipped away into the darkness. Slowly, careful of her arm and mindful that with it strapped across her body she was not properly balanced, she circled the clearing. It was a simple matter to keep to the shadows cast by that huge fire, yet she kept her eyes and senses open for any sentries they might have missed. Encountering no one, she moved gradually to where the four guards sat. She crept as close as she dared, and could soon see three bodies on the ground, all bound hand and foot. Their guards were sitting across from them, not really watching them. Thankful for this sloppiness, she edged closer.

  Now she could tell which man was which. Cal lay on the right, and he had also been severely beaten, bearing the same carefully administered bruises as Taran. His eyes were closed and she thought he was probably unconscious. Bull lay next to him, and she could see no signs of brutality on the big man. Even so, something about him bothered her, and she looked him over carefully. There might have been a faint blue tinge to his lips, but the light was poor and she couldn’t be certain. His eyes were also closed, but she thought he was awake.

  Robin lay at the far end, nearest the guards’ small fire. She caught a glitter of reflected light from his eyes and felt a twinge of relief. He was the one she planned to alert.

  As all three lay on their backs with their hands tied uncomfortably behind them, she couldn’t see any more spellsilver. She knew it was there, though; she could taste it in the substrate. Keeping her eyes on the guards, she drew in her strength.

  The four men sitting round the small fire were eating their supper, only occasionally glancing at their captives. One of them ripped the final piece of meat from a rabbit leg and tossed the bone into the fire. The flames flared and spat as if he had thrown alcohol, the sudden inferno causing him to scramble backward.

  “What the hell?”

  His companions laughed and told him not to be so careless. “It was only a bloody rabbit bone,” he grumbled. “It shouldn’t have done that.”

  To jeers and insults from the others, he moved farther away from the fire, farther away from Robin. Sullyan studied her lover’s face to see if she had gained his attention. She had been wondering how to prick his soldier’s senses, and the guard’s careless bone-throwing was a piece of pure luck. Now, she was pleased to see that he was watching the guards, contempt on his features but no suspicion. She would see what she could do to change that.

  The men soon tired of heckling their comrade and one of them produced some ale, passing it around to the rest. Sullyan waited until they had all taken a good swallow and were talking about something else. Then she reached out and made the fire flare again, although not as violently as before. The man closest to it jumped and swore, glaring irritably at the one who had thrown the bone.

  “Moxy, you lackwit, what have you done to this fire? Put a spell on it or something?” Grumbling, he shuffled farther away.

  Once again, Sullyan studied Robin. Come on, love, think, she urged silently. The incident had caught his attention, she could see that, but he wasn’t puzzled enough by the fire’s behavior to look for an outside source. Sighing, she decided to try another tack.

  This time, it was not Fire she had to control but Air, the most capricious of all the elements. It had the whole world to move around in and was subject to all sorts of pressures and external influences. Being able to Master Air was the pinnacle of an Artesan’s skill.

  As Master-elite
, Sullyan had been working on the complex nature of Air for some years now. She understood the paradox of working with this element. It needed a firm touch, not a light one, or it would simply slip away. Reaching out, she attuned her psyche and sent a faint zephyr to caress Robin’s face before directing it to flare the fire again.

  “What the bloody hell’s the matter with this Void-damned fire?”

  This time it wasn’t the guards’ reactions that caused a frown to appear on Robin’s face. Sullyan exulted. Yes, Robin! Come on, you know there has been no breath of wind all night. To reinforce his growing suspicion, she caressed him with another breeze, this time leaving the fire alone. The last thing she wanted was to rouse the camp.

  That final whisper of Air did it. She now had his full attention, and was thankful for his quick wits. It was fortunate that he had not been beaten senseless like poor Cal. He glanced around as unobtrusively as possible, trying to see where she was. Reaching out again, she caused a breath to brush at him from her direction. His gaze followed unerringly and she gently ruffled the dead bracken of her hiding place. She was relieved to see his tight smile.

  Having alerted him, she sent a thought to Vanyr, telling him what she had done. Then she contacted Almid, asking him to have Ky-shan quietly bring the men. Backing carefully away, she circled the camp to rejoin the Commander and collect her horse.

  *****

  Robin wasted no time wondering what Sullyan’s plan was or how she had found them. She had made her presence known, and he knew they had to be ready. Careful not to alert the disgruntled guards, he nudged Bull with his bound feet. The big man was resting, but the Captain knew he was awake. At his touch, Bull’s eyes opened. They were dull and bloodshot, and Robin felt a pang of anxiety as he saw Bull’s discomfort. He knew Bull’s chest had been giving him trouble. Casting a cautionary eye-roll toward the guards, he mouthed, “Sullyan!”

  Hope sprang into Bull’s eyes, but having alerted him there was nothing else Robin could do. He had already tried loosening his bonds to no avail, and he couldn’t even begin to slip past the spellsilver’s dreadful effects. He had tried until he made himself vomit, and he now fully appreciated how desperate Sullyan must have been when she managed to breach Rykan’s collar when he held her captive. All he could do was wait.