by Cas Peace
The pirate had remained silent throughout the Hierarch’s speech, his eyes growing wider and his expression more amazed. When Pharikian finished, the stocky seaman barked out his gruff laughter and grasped the Hierarch’s arm.
“By the Triple Sea, Majesty, I never expected this! You want me to turn legitimate and run your shipping business for you? Ha! I tell you, there would be many a frightened man on the high seas if I agreed to that!”
His rough and loud amusement turned many heads close by. The Hierarch’s face fell, but the stocky pirate wasn’t done. Eyes glowing with malicious humor, he grinned at the ruler of Andaryon. “By the Triton’s teeth, Majesty, I believe I’ll do it. There are some old scores to be settled and some favors to be called in, and more than a few noses will be put out of joint, believe me! But you couldn’t have found a more knowledgeable seaman to run your venture for you. And if I don’t turn a healthy profit in the first year, I swear you can toss me over the side and feed me to the fishes!”
Sullyan saw Pharikian sigh with relief as he offered the seaman his hand. “I hope it won’t come to that, Ky-shan. Welcome to my court.”
The festivities carried on well into the early hours of the following morning, but despite her pleasure in Ky-shan’s good fortune, Sullyan had lost all appetite for gaiety. She had tried hard to forget, just for one day, the sword of Fate hanging over her, but her conversation with Anjer had reminded her of it. The plain and simple truth was that she was terrified. Terrified she wouldn’t have the strength to do what her friends—and especially Robin—wanted her to do. She badly needed to talk with Deshan about the practicalities and, more importantly, the feasibility of using Rykan’s Staff. The terrible experience of purging his poison had made her all too aware of how precarious her hold on life was. She feared that an attempt to rid herself of it completely might well prove beyond her capabilities. She already knew that if she did it at all, she had to do it alone. Neither Pharikian nor Deshan could help her this time. She needed advice, needed someone else to make the decision for her, whether she should attempt it or not. So, after making her excuses to Pharikian and Aeyron, pleading her scarcely recovered health, she went alone to her chambers. In the uncaring darkness, she cried herself to sleep.
*****
The following morning, still feeling low and oppressed, Sullyan took Robin with her to the palace training ground. She needed to clear her mind of the depressing dreams that had crowded her sleep, and sword play was the only anodyne she knew. They had the arena to themselves as most of the revelers were still sleeping off the previous night’s excesses. She started slowly, using her father’s lighter sword and her right hand, giving herself time to recondition her muscles to the disciplines of sword play. She and Robin sparred gently for half an hour before Sullyan called a rest.
So absorbed had she been, sharp steel and exercise working its usual charm upon her mind, that she had not noticed the small group of people watching from the sidelines. Rienne, Taran, and Bull were there, along with Prince Aeyron, who had Norkis, the Hierarch’s young page, with him. As soon as Sullyan glanced his way, Norkis came running across the training ground toward her. Skidding to a halt, he grinned impishly and gave her a courtly bow.
“Good morning, Lady Brynne. His Majesty sends his compliments, and would you and your companions be pleased to join him and the Master Physician in his Majesty’s private chambers? He will provide you with refreshment.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Norkis. Please inform his Majesty that we will attend him once we have made ourselves presentable.”
The page scampered off, and they made their way back into the palace so she and Robin could change. Although the Hierarch’s invitation had included them all, Rienne asked softly, “Brynne? Would you rather speak to his Majesty alone?”
Sullyan glanced at her. “I would be very happy to have your company, Rienne. I may well need your support today.” She turned to Aeyron. “Highness, will you join us also?”
He seemed surprised, but looked pleased. “As you wish, Lady.”
When they finally gathered in Pharikian’s private chambers, Deshan was already there. After greeting both men, they ranged themselves around the room. Aeyron chose to sit by the large window, slightly apart from the rest. The Staff was lying on a small side table, but no one even glanced at it, concentrating instead on the food and wine brought in by servants. When they had all eaten their fill, the Hierarch nodded to Norkis and the young page brought the Staff closer. He then served everyone with fresh fellan and withdrew to his post by the door.
Pharikian leaned forward in his chair, capturing their attention.
“Brynne, my child, Deshan and I have been discussing your problem and we have examined this artifact in as much detail as we can. There are a few points we wish to make before we turn to the practicalities of your situation. First, my dear, are you aware of the properties of this artifact, and how it was made?”
Sullyan glanced at the innocent-looking metal rod on the table and tried to suppress a shudder. She shared a brief look with Taran, who was sitting as far from the thing as he could get while still being part of the group. He would know exactly how she felt.
She took a steadying breath. “I know that its main component is a form of spellsilver, which instead of nullifying or blocking metaforce actually attracts and amplifies it. I have not had a chance to examine it more thoroughly.”
Pharikian nodded. “It is mostly made of what is known as reversed polarity spellsilver. This in itself is remarkable, for despite the fact that spellsilver occurs naturally in our realm, it is extremely rare. Known stocks of the normal ore are closely and jealously guarded. I would have been amazed enough to learn that Rykan possessed a sufficient amount of positive spellsilver to make such an object, but the fact that he laid his hands on this quantity of reversed polarity ore is astounding. It does exist in a natural state, but it is extremely hard to come by.
“However, that is not the weapon’s only remarkable aspect. The silver is encased by a type of ceramic which is notoriously tricky to manufacture. It requires a highly sophisticated method of construction. It must be combined with a particular type of silica and melded in a furnace which must be controllable to a precise and extreme temperature. Not only do I have no knowledge of anyone possessing such a furnace, but if one did exist then the cost of its hiring would be prohibitive. Add to that the incalculable cost of the raw materials—not to mention the almost unimaginable skill necessary to combine them so precisely—and what you have is an artifact not only beyond Rykan’s skills to create but also worth the price of several kingdoms.
“Wealthy as he was, there is absolutely no possibility that Rykan could have funded such a device.”
Everyone except Sullyan bore expressions of confusion and astonishment. She was staring at the Staff with a contemplative look. Then she raised her eyes to Pharikian’s face.
“You are saying that Rykan had allies. Rich and powerful allies who were prepared to put their weight and wealth behind him in return for … what?”
She cocked her head at Andaryon’s ruler, her eyes widening as her thoughts raced ahead. Silently, he waited for her to answer her own question.
“Timar, if what you say about the rarity and value of this artifact is true, then we have been looking at far too narrow a motive for Rykan’s actions. Taking into account the more sinister aspects of the Staff’s capabilities, we must conclude that his allies, whoever they are, created it for a very specific reason. Surely they would not beggar themselves simply so Rykan could usurp the throne?”
The aging monarch remained silent, his yellow eyes locked on hers. Sullyan held his gaze, and he frowned as she drew a slight breath.
“The crucial question here is what was Rykan’s—and his allies’—true objective? Was the throne of Andaryon their ultimate goal, or was it their intention to place him and themselves in a position where they could dominate or—oh, dear gods—eliminate every other Artesan in existence?”
There were gasps of horror. Clearly none of them, except maybe Pharikian, had thought of this before Sullyan voiced it. Reluctantly, the Hierarch nodded. “The throne was secondary, I think.”
Still staring at him, she shook her head. “Not secondary. I think the throne was vital. It would have been Rykan’s reward, the bait that won him to their cause. With the authority of the Hierarchy behind him and the enhancing properties of the Staff under his control, he would have had the power to compel every Andaryan Artesan to submit to his will. But if what you say about its creation is true, Rykan was not the architect of this plan. Once he had the throne, and had subjugated all the Artesans in your realm, he would surely have had to return the Staff to its maker. I think the backing of his challenge for rulership and his eventual inauguration as Hierarch was the price he claimed—or was offered—for the risks he would run.”
She paused, giving them time to assimilate the true horror these deliberations had raised. Her face taut, her eyes wide, she continued. “Given these conclusions, our next question is: Who else is involved? Who is wealthy and powerful enough not only to have created such a terrible weapon, but also to be certain of controlling Rykan once he had the power he desired? And—oh, gods, Timar, to what lengths might they go to recover it now?”
All eyes turned in renewed consternation to the shimmering device on the table. Taran and Bull had drawn farther away from it, as if it could steal their metaforce simply by being there. Marik, sitting close to Aeyron, shifted uneasily and cleared his throat. Sullyan turned to look at him. He returned her gaze unsteadily, plainly uncomfortable with what he had to say.
She raised her brows, encouraging him.
He swallowed. “During the time I was held at his palace, I did hear rumors about Rykan having powerful allies. There was always an undercurrent to the gossip, as if his actions, or the allies themselves, were not trustworthy. It was nothing more than furtive whispers. I never heard any names. And I had other things on my mind at the time, I’m afraid. I never paid the gossip much attention.”
Sullyan smiled and shook her head. He could hardly be blamed for not obtaining information which only now turned out to be important. And she knew what had been on his mind at the time. Yet he still dropped his gaze and sat staring at his hands, no doubt wishing he had listened more closely.
Robin stirred at the Major’s side, glancing from her to Pharikian. “I suppose these allies don’t necessarily have to be Andaryan, either. With Rykan’s false invasion of our realm in mind, maybe they are Albian.”
Sullyan considered this before nodding. “We cannot rule it out. If Rykan did ally himself with outlanders, it would certainly generate resentment among his nobles. It could also explain why I was targeted. I am probably the best known Artesan in Albia, and there are some powerful people in King Elias’s court who would delight in the demise of the Artesan gift and the death of anyone who carried it. There was considerable opposition to my appointment as captain when I finished my training, and even more when I was promoted to major. We are fortunate that King Elias is sympathetic to our kind and supports our craft, but some of his nobles vehemently oppose his tolerance and protest our inclusion in military or state matters.”
Rienne interjected, the subject overcoming her usual shyness. “But why should they? I’ve never understood this. Surely it would be beneficial to the realm if our rulers employed people with powers such as yours?”
Sullyan gave her a smile. “Of course, Rienne, provided you trust them! But you must know that there are a great many devious and unscrupulous people at court. People with their own agendas, their own spies and networks. Artesans would be considered a threat because it is widely believed that we can read people’s minds. Why do you think our kind have become so reviled and mistrusted by the Albian populace? It is an understandable reaction, to fear those with powers you do not possess and cannot control. How much more would you fear them if you thought they were threatening your own position or rise to power? No, it is no surprise that there is such strong opposition.”
Rienne frowned and shrugged, her every move betraying what she thought of such suspicious and power hungry people.
Sullyan continued. “There must be some highly influential people indeed behind this plot. If the weapon’s components are as priceless as Timar says, then those behind it have access to almost unlimited funds. And that points to the involvement of some extremely powerful nobles—”
She broke off and looked over at Pharikian, who sat watching her with admiration. “Timar, one thing is certain. We cannot permit this artifact to be used as its makers intended. It must be destroyed.”
He nodded. “Yes. I’m not sure how it can be done, but you are right.”
She considered this, her gaze resting blankly on the Staff. “Normal spellsilver will melt, and you said that the ceramic is formed by very high temperatures.”
“That’s true. Very precisely controlled, extreme temperatures.”
“Then maybe you and I acting together could destroy it.”
He thought for a few seconds and was about to reply when her expression caught his attention. Her words had pricked her memory and another piece of the puzzle fell into place, a piece she should have understood long before. Speaking slowly, she said, “You say you know of no craft smith capable of building a furnace to manufacture the silicon-ceramic—no one capable of controlling a fire so precisely?”
He frowned. “That’s right. Not in Andaryon, anyway.”
She felt her face drain and her eyes cloud over. “Then there is only one kind of craft master who could.”
He stared at her, shocked as he caught her meaning. Its full import staggered him. “No, Brynne! I can’t believe that.”
“It must be so,” she replied. Realizing that the others were still puzzled, she turned to explain. “Any Master Smith who can forge a sword could probably have worked the silver. Maybe even the special ceramic, given time to study its properties. But not even a Master Smith would possess the type of forge necessary to control such extremes of temperatures. Neither would any other ordinary craftsman. There is only one way in which all the elements of this device could have been brought together so precisely. Only one type of craft master with the knowledge and skill to perform such a feat. This terrible device had to be created by an extremely skilled Master Artesan.”
Maybe they should have seen it sooner, but her suggestion that the Staff had been created with the destruction of Artesans in mind had deflected them from the obvious. Once the initial shock died down, Rienne said, “I can understand Rykan’s desire to usurp the throne. I can probably even understand why he might wish to control other Artesans. But why would one Artesan want to destroy others?”
“A very good point, my dear,” said Pharikian, “although we cannot answer it yet.”
“Ultimate power,” murmured Sullyan. “That was Rykan’s obsession. And if there is one who craves such dominance, you may be sure there are others. There is, however, another possibility.” She paused, gazing at the Hierarch. “The possibility that the Staff’s original creator—whoever it was—did not want to control or destroy the others.”
Pharikian looked thoughtful. “Someone was forced to create it, you mean? I suppose it’s possible.”
“So it is also possible that he had no idea what his creation was intended for,” she said. “If he was coerced, he might well be blameless. Having created it, he might then have been killed. But if not ….” She trailed off, apprehension in her eyes.
“If not,” said Pharikian grimly, “then we have an unknown renegade Artesan on our hands.”
“A rare and powerful one, Timar. Senior Master at the very least.”
Chapter Fifteen
When the implications of this discussion finally sank in, the talk turned to the matter at hand. Namely, whether Sullyan was physically capable of using the Staff to rid her soul of contamination. Pharikian and Deshan exchanged glances, causing Sullyan to wonder what was on th
eir minds. Deshan seemed uncomfortable, and even the Hierarch appeared unsure of himself. This, she could do without.
“Gentlemen, I beg you to speak plainly. I am in no mood for guessing games.”
If Andaryon’s ruler was offended by her tone, he showed no sign. His yellow eyes flicked from her to Robin, and he took a steadying breath before he replied.
“My dear, there is a particular aspect to your problem which has taxed both Deshan and myself. But before we tell you what it is, Deshan has a request for you.”
The Major turned to the Master Physician, who gave her a smile.
“It has been two weeks since you defeated Rykan and used his life force to purge your body, and it has been well over two months since you were last in Albia.” He paused as she nodded. “The effects of Rykan’s maltreatment aside, your body could already be showing signs of deterioration due to Andaryon’s alien environment.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I fear you are right.”
“Therefore, I feel it would be prudent to ascertain the exact state of your health before discussing how, or if, you can make use of the Staff.”
“Deshan,” she sighed, “that is a very roundabout way of asking me to agree to an examination.”
He grinned wryly. “Do I take it you are amenable?”
Rolling her eyes, she held out her right hand. As he took it, she afforded him access to her psyche and her state of health. Everyone sat in silence while the Master Physician conducted his examination. When he finally released her hand, Deshan exchanged a glance with Pharikian. “It is as I suspected, Timar. There is no discernible change.”
Pharikian’s expression betrayed hope at these findings. Sullyan, however, wanted clarification. “Deshan, are you saying that my protracted stay in Andaryon has had no adverse effect on my health?”
