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

by Cas Peace

  Sullyan dropped her eyes. “It is Vanyr,” she murmured. “I fear he is dying.”

  Striding from the room, Sullyan called for servants to run ahead and order their horses saddled. There was no time to gather packs or supplies. The faint trace of Vanyr’s psyche was weakening all the time despite Sullyan’s soothing and strengthening hold. She was very much afraid she would lose him before she could reach him.

  On their way through the palace, they picked up Ki-en and Jay’el. The two young men fell in beside them without a word, and Sullyan merely nodded as they strode at her shoulder. Bull spared them a glance, no doubt keen to hear the full story of Sullyan’s sojourn at the palace, but he kept his thoughts to himself as they approached the horse lines.

  Drum and Bull’s horse were saddled and waiting and grooms hastened to ready mounts for Jay’el and Ki-en. Wasting no time, they mounted, the Major casting a covert glance at Bull to satisfy herself he was fit for the ride. She was unable to determine Vanyr’s exact location because the link was too tenuous, but she knew he wasn’t close by. In all probability they had hard ride ahead of them, and she could do without Bull having problems on the way.

  She led them at a fast pace down to the Citadel’s west gate and was recognized instantly by the sentries. They all knew Drum by sight now, and the gate was being opened before she could request it. Leaning over the big stallion’s neck as they passed through, she headed him west of the Citadel hill and urged him into a mile-eating gallop. The others followed suit, and soon they were among the trees. The spires of Caer Vellet disappeared behind them.

  Sullyan briefed Jay’el and Ki-en on what had happened, explaining why they were riding out just after dawn on an early spring day in pale, intermittent sunshine. Fear and concern shone in the young men’s eyes for Ky-shan and their comrades, but she could do nothing to reassure them. Her only thought was for Vanyr. The fading nature of his psyche was forcing her to expend more and more power to keep him alive.

  Following it like a beacon, she held a fast pace for the best part of four hours. The countryside to the west of the Citadel was more thickly populated than the east. There were more in the way of villages and towns, and there were open fields and farmlands instead of forests. These fertile lands supplied Caer Vellet with its staples, foodstuffs, herbs, cloth, wool, and leather. The craftsmen and workers were already out in their fields and workshops, and farmers were making the most of the better weather to get on with the spring planting. Many curious eyes were raised as the four riders galloped past, and more than once Sullyan felt the tentative touch of a trained or semi-trained mind probing hers. But her shields were down tight, as she needed all her concentration to follow that faint and frantic presence in her mind. He was still trying to reach to her, still calling her name. He was failing and desperate, and she was desperate to reach him in time.

  *****

  Someone was shaking his arm and Robin roused instantly, seeing Kester looming over him. Judging by the light, it was some time in the afternoon. Robin hadn’t intended to sleep so long. As he sat up his head began to throb again, and he spent a few minutes expending power to try to ease the pain. It was something of a trade-off because the more he used his power, the more his head hurt. Eventually, he felt he had achieved a balance of sorts and was able to stand.

  As he did so he met Cal’s dark eyes, the young man’s return to consciousness clearly the reason for Kester waking him. The mute knew Cal would be puzzled and maybe alarmed and would welcome a familiar face. As Robin stood, Kester gestured to the pot of fresh fellan on the dust-covered table and then withdrew.

  Robin poured himself a welcome cup and sat on the edge of the bed, noting Cal’s unhealthily pale face. Despite his low spirits he managed a grin. “I never knew you dark-skinned types could go that pale.”

  He was rewarded by Cal’s weak smile. “Neither did I.”

  “How are you feeling? You look awful, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  Cal gave a snort, and then winced. “Thanks, mate! I’ll remember that the next time you get beaten up and have your arm twisted half off. Who did this, by the way?” He indicated his bandaged arm. “And who the hell was that huge man? I take it he’s on our side? I seem to recall him from yesterday, but that was before all hell broke loose.”

  Now it was Robin’s turn to snort. Should he tell Cal, he wondered, that the hell which broke loose had been the Apprentice’s own doing? Maybe not, if the Staff was lost for good. He shied away from that thought—it was too raw. He would save the information for later. Instead, he spent a few minutes describing what had happened since dawn that morning while Cal listened, open-mouthed.

  Shocked and stunned, all Cal could say was, “Bloody hell! Taran’s going to be very grateful to Sonten for clearing out his cellar.”

  The young Captain sighed. “Then he’ll be the only one who is.”

  Cal struggled to sit. “What happens now?”

  Putting aside his cup, Robin helped him. “We’d better get you back to the Manor, I think. Unless you want to stay here, of course. This is your home, after all.”

  Cal stared around the ruined room, the glass, the dust, the mess. “Home? No, I don’t think so. Taran and I were only ever tolerated here, and that was mainly because of Rienne. After this, I don’t think we would be able to show our faces without someone spitting at us. None of the villagers would lift a finger to help me now, except maybe Paulus, and I wouldn’t want to burden him. So I’ll take your offer, if you don’t mind. I know Rienne would be happier if I was at the Manor. I take it she’s alright?”

  His tone was casual, but there was a plaintive note behind it, and Robin cursed himself for not thinking. “Yes, yes, she’s fine. She’s with Sullyan, Bull, and Taran at the Citadel. I’ll contact them later once I’ve made arrangements to get you back to the Manor. I’ll be going back to Andaryon myself soon, with Ky-shan and the rest, and I imagine that Bull, Taran, and Rienne will come back here.”

  Cal gave a huge sigh of relief. “They’re all alive then? I didn’t think Sonten was telling the truth, but ….”

  Robin suddenly remembered that Cal was totally unaware of everything that had happened since Sullyan’s duel with Rykan. He quickly related the events, and also told Cal the significance of the Staff and the reason why both he and Sonten had been so desperate to recover it. Cal was silent when he learned what had happened to it. Robin poured him some fellan and sat in silence while he drank it, not letting himself dwell on what would happen to Sullyan now that the Staff was lost. He was thankful when Cal didn’t ask.

  Robin went out into the street looking for Baily and Parren. He found Paulus instead, at the tavern surveying the damage his premises had sustained. Despite the mess, the innkeeper wasn’t too unhappy. The building had escaped relatively unscathed, and doors and windows were easily replaced. His liquor supplies were also largely intact, and both villagers and swordsmen alike would be happy to spend a few coppers drowning their sorrows in ale. He had fired up his big range and some of the women were busy organizing food and warm drinks for those whose houses had been destroyed. The tavern would be a welcome haven and place of comfort while the village was rebuilt.

  With approval, Robin saw some of the Manor swordsmen helping the villagers clean up. The dead were also being dealt with. The Albians—all Kingsmen—were being loaded onto a cart for transportation back to the Manor, but the demons were unceremoniously taken out to the marshlands around the pond and flung uncaringly into their sucking, brown depths. Ky-shan had identified his own dead and had made a large pyre out in the fields. Its smoke drifted lazily away from the village.

  Robin finally located Baily and Parren in one of the least damaged houses, where they were being fed by some of the women. They looked up as he came in, Baily with a tight smile and Parren with a look of undisguised hatred. Ignoring him, Robin addressed the smaller man.

  “Baily, will you see to it that Cal gets back to the Manor? He’ll need a litter or cart, I think, a
nd he’ll have to go slowly. I was going to come myself, but Ky-shan wants to get back and I have to report to the Major.”

  Before Baily had a chance to answer, Parren sneered, “Have to tell her you’ve failed, won’t you, Tamsen?” There was a sly grin on his sallow face. “The Queen of Darkness will have to stay where she is now, won’t she? To die among her own kind.”

  With a suddenness that shocked even him, Robin snapped. He lunged at Parren, slamming him to the ground, sending chairs and food plates flying. The women shrieked and ran from the house. Heaving himself astride Parren’s thrashing body, Robin used his knees to pin the man’s arms while his hands found Parren’s straining throat. He felt the pounding of the other man’s heart and drank in the fear and hatred in his blazing eyes. Robin wished he could find the determination to tighten his hands and squeeze the life from Parren, but his prior impetuousness was gone, replaced by a cooler head and more measured reactions. Had Parren only realized it, despair had made Robin a much more dangerous opponent.

  The Captain smiled down at his rival, his voice low and deadly.

  “I could do it, you know. It’s not fear of you or Blaine that stays my hand.” He exerted just enough pressure to cause Parren considerable discomfort. “I want you to know that. I am totally under control, and if I wished to take your life, I would. But I don’t. There’s enough blood on my hands, and I don’t want any more. Not even yours, you miserable excuse for a man.”

  He leaned down, allowing his hot breath to warm Parren’s already sweating skin. “You’re right, I do have friends in Andaryon, friends who would defend me to the death and who I would defend in my turn. I’m not ashamed of that. I’m not ashamed to call them friends, even if they are from a different race. The very least of them is worth twenty of you, you sick bastard. So you can ride back to the Manor in triumph if you want, and you can spread your lies. Blaine will never believe you. I’m going to contact him before ever you get the chance, and he’ll hear the tale from me. Yes, even of my failure. Baily knows what happened here, as does Elder Paulus, so just you try denouncing me and see what happens. I no longer care.”

  Giving Parren’s bruised throat one last vicious squeeze, causing the man to choke and cough, Robin rose. He ignored Parren’s spluttering curses and turned to Baily. “Sorry, Baily, I didn’t mean to sleep for so long. Will you be alright if I leave you here to clean up? Dexter and the rest of my command will stay too, and you can all go back together once you’ve done what you can.”

  Baily nodded, watching Parren, who was still lying on the ground, making much of his bruised throat. “You go, Rob. He won’t give me any trouble.”

  Robin thanked him and took his leave, disdaining to notice the thoroughly poisonous look Parren gave him as he rose from the floor. Returning to Cal, Robin told him about the arrangements.

  “I’d rather come with you,” the Apprentice said.

  “I know, Cal, but you’re not even fit to go as far as the Manor yet, let alone across the Veils. I’ll contact you as soon as I know what’s happening. Don’t worry, I’ll tell Rienne you’re alright.”

  “Thanks.” Cal closed his eyes. “Tell her I miss her.”

  “I will. She’ll be back soon.”

  Going outside, Robin composed himself to report to General Blaine. He hadn’t intended to put it off this long. He walked away from where the pirates were getting ready to leave and sat on a pile of rubble. His quest for contact got the General’s attention immediately, and he ran through the events leading up to his arrival in Hyecombe succinctly. Blaine heard it all without comment. Then Robin described the battle for the Staff. He omitted any mention of Parren’s obstructive behavior, trusting Baily to bear him out. He managed to keep his emotions at bay until he reached the part where the tunnel collapsed. He got as far as describing the Andaryan General’s desperate scramble through the structure and Vanyr’s heroic pursuit. When he tried to continue, however, he choked.

  There was a short silence before the General asked, What became of them, Captain? Do you have the artifact?

  Shame and sorrow colored Robin’s tone. I’m afraid not, sir. They were all inside when the tunnel collapsed. It would have killed them, sir. I think the Staff is lost.

  Lost? Do you mean permanently?

  I don’t know, sir. I searched, but I couldn’t find any trace of Sonten, his Artesan, or Vanyr. If they were trapped inside the tunnel when it blew, as I’m sure they were, then it’s gone for good.

  Blaine was silent. When he did finally speak, he sounded weary and old.

  And Major Sullyan?

  Robin sidestepped the question. He didn’t trust himself not to break down. I haven’t told her yet.

  He heard Blaine sigh. Then you better had, Captain. I take it you’re going back?

  With your permission, sir.

  I’ve already told you you’re free to stay as long as she needs you. Just remember to report now and then.

  Of course, sir, and thank you. By the way, I’m sending Cal Tyler back with Dexter and the others, once the village has been cleaned up. He’ll need medical attention, but he should be alright. I imagine Bull, Rienne, and Taran will return soon too.

  Very well, Captain.

  What do you want done with the prisoners, sir?

  The General’s tone was hard. Herd them back through the Veils, Captain, and leave them. I don’t care where.

  Robin thought the General had finished, but Blaine didn’t break the link. Robin waited, wondering. And then Blaine’s voice came again, as if from very far away, and Robin could barely hear the whispered words.

  Tell Sullyan … tell her that I … oh, dammit, just take care of her, will you?

  He broke off abruptly before Robin could reply.

  *****

  Sullyan had no time to wonder how or why Vanyr was dying way out here in the Andaryan countryside. She also didn’t know why he was so desperate to reach her. All she knew was that he needed her badly and she wasn’t about to fail him. She had come to value his friendship highly and acknowledged that without his expert tutoring she would never have been able to manipulate Rykan during their duel. If only she had been a bit stronger, held out a fraction longer, she might have saved herself considerable agony. But she couldn’t dwell on that now. She had to concentrate on reaching Vanyr in time, and so she pushed herself and her companions ever westward as they rode on into the afternoon.

  After another couple of hours, she allowed them to slow. The trained and muscular stallions had kept the pace well, but they were blowing now and she wouldn’t risk their wind. She slowed Drum to a regular, easy trot and cast about with her metasenses, trying to pinpoint Vanyr’s location.

  His presence was now a barely perceived spark in her mind. He had not called her name for some time, and she prayed this was because he knew she was coming. He was still conscious—just—and she kept up a soothing flow of metaforce, desperate to keep him from slipping away.

  A smudge of smoke in the distance caught her eye and she pointed, drawing Bull’s attention. “Over there,” she said, urging Drum into a canter. How she knew this stain in the sky was significant, she couldn’t say. She only knew it marked Vanyr’s location.

  They skirted a village, a very small one with only a handful of crude houses. At least, they had once been houses. Now only ruined, mud-spattered walls were left, along with clumps of old thatch and scattered debris. It looked as if a tornado had ripped right through it. There was no one in sight. Sullyan pursed her lips and forbore to comment, but the sight twisted her guts with fear.

  Riding through the fields toward the faint column of smoke, they began to see bodies. The first one, a farmer, lay spread-eagled on his back, arms outflung. Blood had congealed where it had poured from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. He was a grim sight, and he wasn’t the only one. Stony-faced, Sullyan counted over twenty more peasants all in the same condition, some with expressions of extreme agony stamped on their frozen faces.

  The dead villagers
weren’t the only indications of disaster. Trees had blown down, all facing in the same direction. Hedges had holes blasted through them, and there were dead animals everywhere. Mainly rabbits, but one field was full of dead sheep, all tumbled over as if some vast wind had mown them down.

  And then they saw the crater. It was huge, fully fifty feet in diameter and at least ten deep in the middle. From its charred center a pall of smoke rose lazily into the afternoon sky. They halted on its edge, Jay’el and Ki-en with their mouths hanging open. Under his breath, Bull muttered, “Bloody hellfire!” but Sullyan, tears standing in her eyes, stared urgently about her. Her metasenses picked over the area as she sought Vanyr’s almost imperceptible trace.

  “Torman, I am here,” she called. “Where are you? Can you speak to me?”

  Dismounting from Drum, she walked about the place, avoiding the huge crater, looking for traces of someone having walked or crawled away. Softly, she called again. “Torman, where are you? Guide me, if you can.”

  She opened her mind, sensitive to the merest touch. Bull and the two lads watched in silence, unwilling to disturb her. She stilled herself, so still that even the beat of her heart and the pulse at her throat were muted.

  At last she heard it. The faintest trace of a call, the merest breath of her name. Swinging unerringly toward it, she followed it around the crater to a small copse of thin trees which had miraculously withstood the blast. Branches and shredded leaves lay everywhere, but as she came closer she could just make out a body lying huddled under the thin, whippy trunks.

  “Bulldog!” she snapped, and the big man hurried over. Together, they approached the man on the ground. Lying on his right side, he was curled up as if at the last he had sought to protect himself from the explosion. His arms were wrapped tightly about his chest and his face was hidden from view, buried under leaves and dirt.

  Kneeling by his side, Sullyan placed her hands on his back. Gently she sent her senses into him, soothing, strengthening, cocooning. He had terrible internal injuries. How he had survived this long, she didn’t know. Barely conscious, he didn’t respond at first. She gently began to clear away the leaves and detritus covering his face. Jay’el and Ki-en came over to help, leaving the horses to stand.