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

by Cas Peace

  Earlier in the evening, he, Bull, and Taran had watched in helpless rage while the guards beat Cal senseless. They had carried out Sonten’s orders with relish. The punishment seemed to have no purpose other than to render Cal unconscious, or perhaps it was meant to intimidate Taran. Cal had passed out quickly, and Robin knew there was no point trying to rouse him now.

  He was very worried for Taran, though. The man had suffered the same treatment without breaking for two days. Robin was fearful of what Sonten had in mind. Until now, the four captives had been kept well apart, not even able to communicate by eye, and Robin had no idea what Sonten’s goal was. It hadn’t been lost on him that neither Cal nor Taran bore wounds that might prevent them from traveling the Veils, and he wondered if this was what Sonten intended. There was no guarantee, however, that the General’s plans included Robin or Bull, and he might not be as restrained when dealing with them. Hoping desperately that Sullyan’s rescue would succeed, and quickly, Robin turned his attention to Sonten. The bulky General had placed something in the blazing fire at the foot of Taran’s tree.

  *****

  Sonten was beginning to lose what little patience he had. While needing to put some distance between himself and Rykan’s unpredictable, leaderless men, he hadn’t wanted to wait too long before questioning his captives. Time was limited because he knew they would be missed.

  His first choice of campsite had been too close to the Citadel and was too easily discovered, much to his rage. The capture of Robin and Bull during the resulting skirmish was an unexpected bonus for which Commander Heron and his eagle-eyed scouts would be rewarded. Now, Sonten had all three of the men who had accompanied Sullyan to Marik’s banquet, and he was certain of attaining his goal.

  The human witch, Sullyan, held no great interest for Sonten, as he could not be sure she possessed the information he required. Besides, he was doubtful she had survived the duel with Rykan. Taran, however, certainly did possess this knowledge, and Sonten intended to enjoy himself extracting it. He felt again the satisfaction of seeing the sick look in Taran’s eyes when he learned just what the Staff could do. The beatings his men had administered were only the preliminary stages of the damage Sonten was fully prepared to inflict.

  The General had never even imagined gaining an opportunity like this after he had returned with Rykan to Marik’s mansion to find that Taran had slipped the Duke’s cunning net. Although this was probably for the best, Sonten was disappointed. The Albian’s constant meddling in Sonten’s delicately balanced plans had caused the General much suffering and fear. Sonten intended to repay Taran many times over for the torment he had endured.

  Ruthless and conscienceless he might be, but unlike the late, unlamented Lord Rykan, Sonten wasn’t wantonly cruel. He only used torture when it was necessary or justified, but he couldn’t deny the enjoyment he found when inflicting it. If only Rykan had controlled his lust and allowed the General his way, Sonten knew he could have forced Sullyan to yield what Rykan craved. Yet, despite his deep misgivings and his contempt for the Baron, Rykan’s so-called Albian ‘ally,’ it hadn’t been in Sonten’s interests to interfere with Rykan’s plans. The Duke made it perfectly plain that he placed no value on Sonten’s opinions, so the General held his peace and left Rykan to enjoy his brutal pleasure.

  He huffed to himself. They all knew how that had turned out, and he wondered what the Baron would do now that Rykan was dead. He didn’t think the Duke had communicated with the Baron since beginning his disastrous challenge, and Sonten reckoned the Baron would be apoplectic by now. Would he even know of Rykan’s demise? What would his reaction be when he learned that Rykan’s nemesis was none other than the very woman he had charged the Duke with killing?

  Sonten grinned. Hadn’t he said all along that the entire thing—the Albian invasion, the trip to Cardon, Sullyan’s imprisonment—was a total waste of time? If the Baron had only waited until a victorious Rykan used the Staff to absorb the Hierarch’s powers, then the young Albian witch would have stood no chance against him. Rykan could have stolen her metaforce and then slaked his lust for as long as he pleased. And the Staff would never have been stolen.

  The General almost giggled. The Staff was as surely lost to the Baron as Rykan was to life. For should Sonten succeed in recovering the thing—and it was a virtual certainty now, he thought, mentally rubbing his hands—he certainly wouldn’t make the Baron a gift of it. Although, he mused, he might be amenable to a deal, should the Baron put forward a sufficiently tempting offer.

  Satisfied, Sonten dragged his thoughts back to the present. He might not casually indulge in torture, but right now, knowing Taran possessed the information he so desperately needed as well as Artesan powers which could be used to feed the Staff once he had it, Sonten wouldn’t hold back.

  Heron had explained why he must keep Taran whole if he wasn’t to die when they crossed the Veils into Albia, so when Lieutenant Arif presented him with two captives, Sonten quickly realized that Cal was the ideal sacrifice. However, as Taran’s companion, it was possible that Cal also possessed the information he wanted. Insurance was a useful commodity, so when Bull and Robin fortuitously fell into Sonten’s hands, it gave the General other expendables to work with. Taran might not talk to save his own skin, but Sonten was pretty sure he would talk to save his friends.

  Wheezing as he bent over the fire, the General removed the broad blade he had placed in its heart, holding it by its cloth-wrapped handle. It was glowing nicely. Stepping forward, he thrust it under Taran’s nose, causing the man to twist his head aside and gasp in fear.

  Sonten laughed. “Oh don’t worry, my friend! This blade’s not for you.”

  He turned to the guards round the smaller fire and snapped his fingers. They stood and laid hold of their largest captive, dragging the big man nearer. Despite the man’s weakened state, it took three of them to do it and four of them to hold him down once he realized Sonten’s intentions. The General merely smiled, waiting as his men subdued the captive.

  *****

  As Taran watched the greed and pleasure grow in Sonten’s eyes, anguish swelled in his heart. He had taken the taunting, the beatings, and the awful numbing effects of the spellsilver, and he had watched in desperate silence while Cal endured the same brutal treatment. The younger man’s dark eyes had warned Taran not to cry out or protest, asking him to trust that Cal could take the punishment just as well as Taran. Yet what Sonten intended for Bull was another matter entirely.

  Taran knew he couldn’t watch Bull being tortured or mutilated. He struggled vainly to dislodge the spellsilver. Yet even if he could get free of the knife, he didn’t know who he could contact for help. During his first night as Sonten’s captive, the General had told him that Sullyan was dead. However, when Robin and Bull were brought in, a swift glance from Robin gave Taran the impression she lived. He was sick and confused, beaten and frightened. He didn’t know what to believe.

  Sonten’s leering face snatched him from his wretched thoughts. Smiling at the fresh sweat beading Taran’s face and the abject terror in his eyes, the General brandished the red-hot knife. He indicated the struggling Bull. “Well, Albian? Are you going to tell me what you did with it? Or shall I play awhile with your big friend, here?” He brought the knife toward Bull’s face.

  The big man made a violent upward lunge, nearly dislodging the guards. “Don’t tell him!” he panted at Taran. Two of Sonten’s men wrenched his arm against its socket, and he let out a yell.

  Taran struggled harder, staring in horror at the blue tinge to Bull’s lips. “For the gods’ sake, Sonten, don’t do this!”

  Sonten just smiled and laid the hot knife on Bull’s arm. A harsh scream rang out across the clearing.

  *****

  Sullyan heard it from where she waited on Drum and her heart froze. She sent a searing thought to Almid, Forget stealth, man. Come quickly! She urged Drum forward, leaving Vanyr to rendezvous with the pirates. At a gallop, it should only take them minute
s to reach the clearing.

  Ducking her head to avoid low branches, she drew her long knife from the scabbard on her belt. She had to block out Bull’s harsh roars of pain as Sonten once more applied the hot knife. She could hear Taran screaming, presumably trying to make Sonten stop, but she couldn’t make out the words.

  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 damag
ed. 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 sore 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.”