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

by Cas Peace

  “I suggest we expand on last night’s tactics. If we detail about a third of our strength to mount an attack at the eastern end of the village, the Andaryans will have to counter it. Once they’re committed, the rest of us will make an all-out assault on the western end, forcing Sonten to split his men. With any luck, we’ll capture the tavern before they can stop us. If we do, I think the villagers will lend us their support by fighting back. It’s a gamble, but if we time it right, I think we stand a good chance of success. Any thoughts?”

  He glanced around, inviting comment. Parren remained silent, and Robin suppressed a sigh. The man was going to keep any thoughts, helpful or otherwise, to himself. Judging by his expression, he was still seething, and probably hoping either that Robin would be killed in the fighting or that the plan would fail, causing Robin to lose face with Blaine. Either way, Robin knew, Parren would be happy. He certainly wouldn’t lose any sleep if they lost the Staff.

  By the look on Baily’s face, he was going over the plan in his mind. Naturally cautious, he was not given to spontaneous action. While his courage was never in doubt, he wasn’t known for making quick decisions. Robin suspected the man would never rise higher than captain, but he knew Baily wasn’t worried. He was quite content with his life. He eventually shook his head, seeing no flaws in the plan.

  After giving the Albians time to speak, Vanyr voiced his thoughts. “Captain, it occurs to me that the house where Cal is being held is some distance from the tavern. As the villagers are your first objective, might I suggest that Ky-shan and I make the house our target? If Sonten has not yet recovered the Staff then he’s likely to use Cal against you. And if he gains it over the next few hours he’ll want to slip away as quickly as possible. He may very well kill Cal once he’s served his purpose. If Ky-shan’s men and I head directly for the house, using your attacks as cover, we can be in a position to prevent Sonten’s escape and hopefully offer Cal some protection as well.”

  Robin glanced at Ky-shan, who nodded, before turning back to Vanyr. “That sounds good to me, Commander. You and Ky-shan will hold yourselves in readiness. Wait for us to gain you access to the village. You will then concentrate on the cottage. Baily, how many men do you think you would need to cause a good diversion at the eastern edge of the village? If you circle north round the fields and come up through the trees, you can get pretty close to the end of the main street before you risk being seen. Remember, we need enough to make them think you’re a decent attack-force.”

  Baily thought about it while Robin suppressed his impatience. “I’ll need them all, Robin. To make it look like there’s more of us, some could cut south and come up through the orchards as well, although we’ll have to take care to avoid the marshes and the pond.”

  Robin nodded, indicating the marshes on his drawing. “We should all avoid that area, although if we can get Sonten on the run, we can push his men that way. They don’t know the terrain, and the ground looks solid enough until you step on it. Right then, Baily will split his command and come at the eastern end of the village from the trees and the orchards. The rest will come with Parren and me. Torman, it might be better if you and Ky-shan go through the fields to the north and approach Taran’s house from the back. Once you hear the fighting start and the cordon begins to fragment, you can make straight for the house. And if Sonten’s men don’t all leave their posts, you should still be able to slip through by working your way closer to the tavern and driving in with us. But the field route would be better because it would save you having to cut through the mêlée. Are we all agreed?”

  There were no objections, so it only remained to decide the timing of the attack. Parren wanted to go in straight away, and Baily recommended waiting until the evening. Robin and Vanyr, however, were both in accord.

  “Unless Sonten finds the Staff beforehand and shows signs of trying to leave,” the Andaryan Commander said, “I recommend just before dawn tomorrow. They’ll be cold, hungry, and sleepy. We’ll have the advantage of knowing it will get lighter, so if the fighting’s fierce, we won’t have to worry about losing them in the dark. The last thing we want is for Sonten to slip the net.”

  Parren’s eyes betrayed his thoughts on that, but he kept his counsel and no one but Robin noticed.

  “We should mount occasional raids on the cordon throughout the rest of the day and night,” continued Vanyr, “to keep Sonten unsettled and hopefully account for a few more of his men. Even the odds a little before we strike.”

  “I agree,” Robin said, “although I hate the thought of leaving Cal so long in Sonten’s hands. I dread to think what state he’ll be in. Zolt, do you think there’s any chance of you getting back into the village and passing a message to Cal? At least to alert him to the possibility of rescue? It might just give him the strength to hold out.”

  Zolt shook his head. “I could get back in alright, but there’s no way I can guarantee getting a message to your mate without jeopardizing the whole operation. Not in daylight, anyhow. He was pretty closely guarded last night and, from what I could see, he was in a bad way. I’d have to risk entering the house to make sure he saw me, and that would have been tricky enough last night. Nothing will have changed today to make it any easier. I think you should stick to the plan, Skip. Keep them on their toes today to let them know we’ve not given up. With any luck, and if he’s conscious, your friend will hear us and know help is at hand. Let Sonten think he’s held us off successfully, then drive in hard and fast at dawn.”

  Still unhappy about Cal’s precarious situation, Robin couldn’t improve on the plan. They parted, Parren still muttering about wasting time.

  Throughout the rest of the day the Albians subjected Sonten’s men to sporadic raids. Although this kept them awake and alert, it didn’t do much else. Robin tried to curb his impatience by going over the plan again and again in his mind. He felt frustrated that he was unable to do more. He tried contacting Cal on more than one occasion, but spellsilver was still blocking his mind. All Robin could glean from his efforts was that the dark-skinned young Apprentice was alive and, for the most part, conscious.

  Chapter Eight

  At that moment, Cal would have been more than happy to be thoroughly oblivious. His broken right arm was in agony, and his entire body was one vast bruise. He knew that if they started on him again, he would have no strength left for resistance. He wasn’t even sure why he was bothering to resist at all. According to Sonten, Taran, Bull, and Robin were dead, as was Sullyan. She had been killed by Rykan, who even now was lording it over the Hierarch, whom he had deposed and would soon execute. Sonten would be his right-hand man once he returned to Andaryon with the Staff, a priceless artifact that Taran had willfully stolen from Sonten’s nephew, murdering him most foully in the process.

  Cal might be dazed and confused from the pain, but he knew very well that the last two statements were false. Taran had never stolen anything in his entire life—unlike Cal himself—and the young man was well aware of the story behind Jaskin’s killing. So, he reasoned, if these two things were false, what about the rest?

  He didn’t know. All he did know was that after Sonten’s men had taken them, he and Taran had been severely beaten. Then Robin and Bull had been captured too, and Sonten had tormented Taran with graphic descriptions of what he would do to his friends if Taran didn’t tell him what he wanted to know.

  Now Cal was on his own, so Sonten’s story about the others being dead could very well be true. And from what he had seen of the duel between Rykan and Sullyan, well, none of them had held out much hope for her survival. Sonten was here, in Albia, and clearly in control. If the Major had triumphed, surely Sonten would now be the Hierarch’s prisoner.

  Bewildered, in pain, and afraid, Cal very much feared that most of what Sonten had said was true. He knew the General would see the killing of his nephew as murder no matter what the circumstances, and Taran must somehow have been persuaded to give Sonten the information he wanted, because the General hadn�
�t needed Cal’s assistance to find their village. When they had arrived, Cal was dismayed to find that Sonten’s men were already in control of Hyecombe, and that the villagers had all been imprisoned. This had very nearly broken what remained of Cal’s spirit. There seemed little point in holding out any longer.

  Only … one piece of the puzzle didn’t quite fit. Despite the rubble in Taran’s cottage and the energetic searching Sonten had forced his men to perform, Sonten didn’t yet have the Staff. He clearly didn’t know exactly where it lay. Maybe Taran had tricked him at the end—maybe he had been rescued before Sonten pried the final bit of information from him. Or maybe he had died under Sonten’s torture.

  If any of those were true, then Cal didn’t feel like giving up that vital piece of information without a fight. He owed it to Taran. He had come this far and held out this long, why not a little longer? Perhaps help would come. Surely some of the villagers had managed to escape and alert someone? Surely someone had noticed that all was not right in Hyecombe? Cal knew he had to hold on to that hope and pray that Sonten didn’t start on him again.

  Unfortunately, his hope was in vain.

  *****

  “Bloody damned Albians!”

  Sonten’s patience was running out. His foresight in having Commander Heron take the vast majority of his company through the Veils well in advance of Sonten’s own arrival was a stroke of genius, although it had left him dangerously vulnerable when Sullyan and the pirates unexpectedly attacked him. The outcome of that skirmish might not have gone Sonten’s way had Sullyan brought more men with her. The General knew he had been fortunate to escape, especially as Taran had divulged the name of his village scant seconds before Sullyan’s arrival.

  Both Sonten and his Commander, Heron, were well aware of the swordsmen stationed at the Manor. Any Andaryan commander worth his pay found out early in his career where the enemy’s garrisons were and what their strength was. Plus, Heron had already fought Manor swordsmen during Rykan’s feigned invasion. These facts had led Sonten to order Heron through the Veils into Albia with instructions to head for the Manor’s vicinity. His reasoning was that as Taran was associated with Sullyan, his home village should not be too far away. Admittedly, this was a gamble, but it had paid off. Once Sonten had shaken Robin and the pirates off his tail, he had instructed his young Artesan messenger, Imris, to contact Heron and tell him the name of the village. It was then a simple matter for Heron to learn its exact location. As soon as Heron relayed this information to a jubilant Sonten, he received the General’s orders to take control of the village and wait for Sonten’s arrival. If he found the Staff before Sonten got there, he was not to touch it.

  Heron had performed his task well, the only slip-up being the escape of two villagers. The pair, surprised in the middle of a romantic liaison in one of the outlying hay barns, had somehow managed to slip the cordon Heron threw around Hyecombe and raise the alarm.

  Now, much to Sonten’s fury, the village was surrounded by angry Albian swordsmen. He had cursed freely when told of their arrival, as he had planned to be in and out before the province’s defenders learned of his occupation. Sullyan’s earlier attack on his camp meant he hadn’t had time to torture the Staff’s exact location out of Taran, and his current captive was proving reticent, despite vigorous persuasion.

  Frowning with impatience, Sonten dropped heavily into a comfortable chair by the fire, just across from Cal. He regarded the half-conscious young man with a calculating eye. Should he apply more pressure to the man himself, or should he use one of the villagers? He decided on the latter merely as a matter of expedience. He didn’t want the young Albian to die just yet.

  He was aware of the sporadic attacks from outside the village, but Heron had held them off with very few losses. Sonten wasn’t worried about being overrun. Had the defenders of this area wanted to send more men against him, they would surely have done so by now. He had only fired a few houses and wasn’t threatening anyone else, so they were obviously content to keep harrying him and watch what he did. They must think they had him pinned down. This made Sonten smile. How surprised they would be when he and his men disappeared from under their noses overnight!

  Sonten decided he had waited long enough. He snapped his fingers at one of Cal’s guards. “Fetch one of the younger village women. Make sure she doesn’t scream before you get her here.”

  He gave the order in a low voice so Cal wouldn’t hear. He was pretty sure the dark-skinned young man was too confused to make sense of what he might hear, but he didn’t want his surprise revealed too soon.

  As the guard left, Sonten sauntered over to Cal. He was bound securely to the high-backed chair, both arms wrenched behind him. Naked to the waist, his upper body showed the signs of Sonten’s persuasive methods. His eyes were closed, the lids puffy and swollen, his dark skin unhealthily pale. His head was hanging, but Sonten could tell by his breathing that he was conscious. He leaned over Cal and rested his hands on the arms of the chair. Cal groaned.

  “This is your last chance, lad,” said Sonten, his tone reasonable. “Why hold out any longer? It’s only a matter of time. All your friends are dead, and I know the Staff’s here somewhere. You have nothing to lose by telling me where it is. You might even save your own skin. And why not—haven’t you suffered enough? Why prolong this? What use is the Staff to you, anyway? You can’t wield it, you haven’t the skill. It’s obviously wrought some damage here. Do you want to leave such a dangerous item loose where anyone might pick it up? Who knows what could happen? Why not let me take it back to its rightful owner, and get it out of harm’s way?”

  Grinning, staring into Cal’s bloodshot eyes, he waited for the Albian to answer.

  *****

  Cal heard Sonten’s voice as though through muffling fog. He couldn’t think straight. Hadn’t he and Taran tried to return the Staff? Wasn’t that what Taran had wanted? So why shouldn’t he do exactly as Sonten suggested and let the demon take it? He was on the verge of opening his mouth to do just that when an image of Rykan came into his mind. He remembered that Sonten was Rykan’s man, and whatever he could do to inconvenience Rykan had to be good. Why else had Sullyan fought him and given her life, if she had indeed died? Could he do any less?

  Thoughts of Rienne flooded his mind, and his heart clenched. He had no idea what had become of her after he and Taran had been taken. His fervent hope was that Bull had left her safely at the Citadel. Yet even if she was at the Citadel, with Sullyan dead, as Sonten claimed, Rienne would be all alone in an alien environment with no means of returning home. Cal simply had to survive this and deny Sonten his desire, if only to protect Rienne.

  His intended revelation concerning the cellar died in his throat. Instead, he groaned again.

  He saw the cottage door open, revealing the guard who had been sent to the tavern. He was accompanied by a girl of about fifteen, who he was dragging by the arm. She was struggling, but Cal didn’t immediately realize what her presence meant. She gave a gasp of shock when she saw him, and froze. Sonten took her arm, not too roughly, and propelled her toward Cal’s chair. She stood looking down at him with fear-widened eyes, one trembling fist held to her mouth. Cal stared at her, bewildered, then cried out as Sonten kicked his leg.

  “Well, lad,” said the General, his voice maddeningly cheerful, “what do you think? Is it a fair trade, her safety for your cooperation? What will her mother think if you allow her to be beaten and abused, all for something that is useless to you and belongs rightfully to me? Speak up. Do you understand me?”

  Cal understood only too well. He knew the girl, now that he could see her clearly. She was one of his neighbor’s daughters, and this was his worst nightmare come true. Watching Sonten torture Taran and being beaten himself was one thing. To let it happen to this innocent girl was another. He just couldn’t do it. He had been dreading this ever since waking in this familiar room with an aching body and sinking heart. The fact that it had taken Sonten so long to get around to
it only meant that the man wasn’t wantonly cruel. That was something, at least. Cal could hope that if he told Sonten where the Staff was, the girl might be released unharmed.

  “You’re taking too long,” warned Sonten. He ran a meaty hand over the girl’s breasts. She cried out and struggled, but he held her firm.

  A heavy despair descended on Cal. He couldn’t let Sonten go on. He moistened dry lips, but still could not speak.

  Sonten scowled. “Get him some water!”

  One of the guards hastened to obey. Once the dribble of water had eased his parched throat, Cal managed to rasp, “In the cellar.”

  Sonten grunted. “There! That wasn’t too hard, was it? You could have saved us both a lot of time and trouble, my friend. Now, where’s the access to the cellar?”

  “Under that lot,” rasped Cal, nodding painfully toward the mess of rubble in the hall.

  Sonten swung round. “What? Are you telling me the truth?” He slapped the girl’s face, causing her to scream in terror.

  “Yes, yes!” croaked Cal. “It was the Staff brought the ceiling down. We couldn’t touch it, and the backlash caused the cellar to cave in.”

  He collapsed back, his energy spent. With a vicious oath, Sonten flung the terrified girl at one of his men. “Take her back to the tavern. Get as many men as Heron can spare and find spades, shovels, whatever you can. It’s going to take hours to clear this bloody lot. Go on. Get on with it!”

  The man leaped to obey, dragging the sobbing girl with him. Sonten lunged toward Cal and gave his broken arm a vicious twist. Cal screamed.

  “I’ll teach you to play games with me, lad!” the General hissed. “Don’t think you’ll get out of this with your life. I’m not finished yet, either with you or your pox-ridden village!”