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

by Cas Peace

  “The device has been completely destroyed.”

  He lurched as nausea rolled in his guts, his fingers losing their grip. One hand flew to his mouth as bile suddenly rose in his throat. He doubled up, swallowing painfully, but the battle was lost. His plans, his world, maybe his very existence, had been wiped away by those simple, terrible words.

  “… completely destroyed.”

  Swaying to one side, Reen flailed for support. He was dizzy, he couldn’t focus his eyes. His legs refused to hold him as he stumbled toward the back of the pavilion. His stomach heaved again and he collapsed to the grass, explosively losing his lunch.

  *****

  The senior officers’ hall was a large and airy room. It occupied the entire width of one wing and boasted full length windows along one wall, giving stunning views of the Manor grounds.

  The wood-paneled room was comfortably appointed with plenty of easy chairs and couches. It boasted two large hearths, one at either end, which brought welcome warmth to the walls and flagged floor. A long refectory table laden with all manner of foods sat along the wall opposite the windows, and the spicy aroma of fresh fellan pervaded the air.

  The room was busier than usual as there were people present who would never normally be invited through the door. Robin had the right since his promotion to Major, but Bull, Cal, Taran, and Rienne had all been included at Sullyan’s request. Colonel Vassa, General Blaine, Timar Pharikian, his page, and Master Healer Deshan made up the full complement.

  Sullyan was feeling weak and had not been able to hide this from Deshan. She only got as far as the nearest couch before he firmly ordered her to sit. Bull and Robin waited on her hand and foot. Realizing the futility of protest, she accepted their attentions with good grace. Once everyone else was comfortably seated and served with fellan, General Blaine opened proceedings by formally introducing Sullyan’s companions, ensuring that Elias was aware of their talents and status.

  Since his unprecedented acceptance of her Oath of Allegiance at Loxton Castle eight years ago, Elias had followed Sullyan’s career with great interest and knew some of her history. The events of the past few months, however, needed fleshing out in greater detail, and Blaine quickly dealt with them, inviting comments from Robin as necessary. He glossed over their suspicions concerning the Staff and a possible plot against Artesans, as there was a pressing matter to be dealt with.

  Once Blaine fell silent, Elias glanced at Sullyan. She was curled on the couch beside him, Robin at her feet as usual. The sandy-haired monarch smiled warmly.

  “Colonel, are you able to recount your experiences now? We are all intrigued by what happened. We don’t want to tire you, but some of us have a most urgent curiosity.”

  He glanced at Pharikian, who nodded.

  Sullyan took a breath and placed her cup on the small table at her elbow. It was instantly refilled by Robin, who knew it would take a deal of strong fellan to get her through the next few days. Thanking him with a glance, she laced her hands around her knees while she ordered her thoughts. Then slowly, mainly to give Elias some points of reference, she recounted her experience of using Rykan’s Staff to purge his poison. Once Elias understood some of the Staff’s properties and capabilities, she told him the tale of its destruction.

  Elias was fascinated, and when she was done, he asked Rienne for her account of how she had found Sullyan’s psyche. The healer gave him a shy smile.

  “I hadn’t planned to go searching for Brynne at that moment, your Majesty. In fact, I wasn’t feeling too well. I’d had a bad night and was still suffering with a headache my herbs couldn’t cure. So when Deshan came to see me, I asked him for something stronger. It was while I was waiting for his potion to work that I somehow slipped …” She stopped and stared accusingly at Deshan. “You planned for that to happen! You didn’t give me a headache cure—you drugged me!”

  Cal rounded instantly on Deshan. “Is that true? Did you drug Rienne without her knowledge?”

  The Master Healer smiled calmly. “I came today with the intention of testing whether Rienne’s unique bond with Brynne could be used to track Brynne’s psyche.” He cocked his head at Rienne. “I apologize, my dear, for my little deception, but I needed you fully relaxed. I feared that if I told you, tension and anxiety would cloud your mind and prevent you from being open to your link with Brynne.”

  Rienne waved a hand, dismissing his apology. Cal, however, wasn’t mollified. She ruffled his hair and he subsided. Then she related how she had used the music she had heard to help her find Sullyan’s psyche.

  Elias shook his head. “I see that there is much I do not understand, and probably never will. We shall leave it at that, and simply be thankful for the strong ties of friendship.” He leaned back on the couch, appreciatively sipping the fresh fellan Bull handed him. Then his gaze fell on Pharikian. “So then, tell me about this artifact—the Staff. How did your Lord Rykan get hold of it? Where did it come from?”

  Pharikian pursed his lips. “We cannot fully answer that, Elias. We have no clear evidence as to its origins, only guesses. And we only have theories as to how and why it was made.”

  “Tell me your theories then, if you will.”

  The Hierarch relayed all the information and discussions he and Sullyan had had before the Staff’s destruction. He finished by telling Elias how certain he was that no one in Andaryon had created the device.

  Elias’s sharp blue eyes narrowed in displeasure. “Are you saying the Staff was devised and made here, in Albia?”

  Pharikian spread his hands. “It is pure speculation. We offer the theory simply because it is the only one making any kind of sense. None of the other realms have ever given us cause to think they would conspire against Artesans, and I doubt whether any of their nobles would be wealthy enough to afford the raw materials. In Albia, however, not only do you have many wealthy and influential nobles capable of funding the device, but also—and I beg your pardon, Elias—Artesans are generally reviled. It would be perfectly possible for such a powerful Artesan to exist here without anyone’s knowledge. I can easily credit that Rykan found, or was found by, an Albian ally.

  “Those are our theories, and only one question remains. Do you have any thoughts on who could be behind such a plot? We need to identify them quickly, for they will likely be furious at the collapse of their plans, not to mention the destruction of such a rare and costly artifact.”

  Elias’s eyes hardened. He clearly didn’t like what he had heard. Sullyan could see that Pharikian’s all-too-plausible theory had put him on the back foot. He had not expected such a hypothesis and was unsure how to respond. Yes, there were plenty of self-serving and ambitious nobles in Albia and although the King bestowed close—and unwelcome—attention on some, he could not keep an eye on each one. This was precisely why he had appointed Blaine as his General-in-Command after the civil war, ordering him to inspect, shake up, and re-fortify every garrison in every province. Elias quite rightly didn’t intend to suffer his father’s fate, and was not so naïve as to believe that every lord who had been involved—or had approved of—King Kandaran’s murder had been killed, bound over by treaties, or rooted out and exposed.

  Although Elias could name no immediate suspects, he would know that Pharikian’s theory could quite easily be fact. He could express his willingness to accept it in principle, but she thought he probably wasn’t quite sure yet how far to trust his brother monarch. Their respect and liking for each other, mutual and instant though it was, was young. She hoped he had no wish to jeopardize its growth, yet she could see he wasn’t inclined to discuss any of his realm’s underlying problems.

  She turned to Pharikian. “Majesty, King Elias needs time to assimilate what he has heard and, if he feels it politic, make some discreet enquiries of his own. After all, this is a delicate matter which requires careful handling. In the meantime, we, as Artesans, need not be idle. If there is a highly ranked and undiscovered Master Artesan in Albia, we need to find him. We have ou
r own resources for that. And if, as we suspect, he was coerced, then he might need our help. Nothing more need be decided at present.”

  Elias regarded her, his face slowly clearing to reveal a smile. “Colonel Sullyan, I can see why you are valued as a diplomat. I am fortunate indeed to have found such a talented Envoy. That was very tactfully put.

  “Timar, I beg your indulgence. I do not wish to belittle the problem or seem unconcerned, but I have received no hint of a threat to Albia or its Crown. You are suggesting that someone with great political power as well as vast wealth has thrown their weight behind this plot, if that’s what it is, and we need to establish that before we go looking for culprits. I need time to consider the implications of such potentially damaging investigations.”

  Pharikian inclined his head with no trace of disappointment. Sullyan thought it was what he had expected, and that he would have said the same himself.

  Stirring beside Elias, her soft murmur broke the silence. “There is yet another consideration. One which has not yet been raised or discussed.”

  Both monarchs sharply turned their heads. Regarding each, reluctant to voice her thought, she said carefully, “Due to the enormous cost and rarity of its components, we have assumed that the artifact I destroyed was unique.”

  Pharikian’s face paled and Elias frowned, still not fully aware of the Staff’s significance.

  Staring into the Hierarch’s wide yellow eyes, she said, “What if there is another?”

  It was the one question none of them had even considered, and she almost regretted voicing it. Up to now, only she had felt the full force of the artifact. Taran had handled and used it briefly, and had experienced the pain and terror of its alien forces, but his experience had been fleeting. Now that they knew more about the device and its potentially lethal purpose, however, the possibility of a second weapon affected almost everyone in the room. There was an instinctive, almost physical, drawing-together, as if for protection.

  “We must find out who is behind this,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It was some minutes after the monarchs had left that the Baron emerged from behind the pavilion. White-faced and shaking, he glanced in disgust at the square of finely-worked linen in his hand. Once pristine white, it was now soiled with vomit. He cast it to the ground before wiping his hands fastidiously on his robe, brushing bits of grass from the rich fabric.

  They had destroyed the Staff! It was unthinkable. Rykan, damn his lying tongue, had told them the Staff was indestructible. Well, that just served them right for trusting the word of demons and outlanders.

  Reen took a few cautious breaths and straightened his back. This was a complete disaster, and he wasn’t quite sure yet just how bad it might be. The Queen would have to be told, and he winced as he imagined her frightened and furious reaction. She would be distraught at the thought that Elias might discover her involvement. But he wouldn’t. They had been clever. The letter was safe, all their safety measures firmly in place. Elias had no reason to suspect his Queen.

  So. How to salvage something from this dreadful mess? Reen still had his master plan, the plan he had devised once they had learned of Rykan’s death. He also had his secondary plan, much more important now that the Staff was gone for good.

  He cast about the arena, where all who remained were men on cleanup detail. The one he needed to speak to was nowhere in sight, but thanks to Vassa’s tour earlier, Reen had a good idea where he might be found. Slowly at first, but then with steadier steps, he moved away from the pavilion.

  There was only one figure at the horse lines when Reen arrived, and the Baron gave a small smile. As he had thought, his quarry was not in the mood for company. That was all to the good. He waited silently, not troubling to hide himself but not intruding either. He was a man who knew how to bide his time.

  The object of his scrutiny was unsaddling a grey stallion at the picket rail, his rapid, jerky movements and muttered curses betraying his anger. He tugged at the cinch buckles, giving the stallion’s belly a punch when they wouldn’t come loose. The horse grunted and sidestepped, and the lean man yanked on its halter rope, cursing aloud. Reen smiled and subtly shifted his body.

  The movement alerted the man, who raised his head, staring straight into Reen’s gaze. He frowned. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

  The Baron didn’t reply. Rudeness was nothing less than he had expected. He chose not to take offence at the young man’s attitude or reprehensible lack of manners. This embittered young man might just hold the key to success, so his initial interview had to be conducted with care. Despite his crushing disappointment, overwhelming anger, and justifiable fear, Reen was not about to throw this opportunity away by allowing his emotions to rule him.

  The man went back to unsaddling his horse while Reen eyed him. He was now patently ignoring his noble visitor. Having decided on his opening gambit, Reen said, “Captain Parren, would I be correct in thinking that you were unjustly slighted today?”

  Parren’s head came up sharply, his strangely empty eyes narrowing. The Baron, who was affecting interest in the grey stallion, flicked him a glance, pleased he had succeeded in capturing the young man’s attention. Absently, he brushed the stallion’s nose.

  “How do you know my name? Who are you?”

  Once again, the Baron chose to ignore Parren’s rudeness. He also ignored the question. “I had heard that the liberation of those poor villagers was mainly your doing, yet you barely received the King’s recognition for such a courageous act. Was it then not true?”

  Parren drew in a breath then paused. Instead of the angry retort Reen was sure he wanted to make, he replied tersely. “I was involved in the relief of the village, yes.”

  Reen wanted to shout for joy, but calmed his leaping heart. He looked Parren in the eye. “Oh, come now, there’s no need to be modest with me. You did all the hard work and took all the risks, yet received no reward. Why should that be?”

  Parren leaned against the stallion’s flank, his saddle over one arm. He regarded Reen suspiciously. “Why are you asking? What is it to you?”

  The Baron damped his growing irritation at Parren’s abrasive and disrespectful manner. He had found the right person, and it was up to him to handle the situation correctly. One wrong move and he could lose this potentially valuable ally. A much-needed lesson in good manners and respect for his betters could wait.

  He gave a casual shrug. “I recognize injustice when I see it, that’s all. The other two Captains received honors and promotion for their part, yet you were blatantly and publicly passed over. Why would the King do that?”

  Parren’s expression soured and he spat in the dirt. Had his commanding officer seen him, the offense would have been punishable by the removal of privileges. Considering Reen’s rank, it might even have merited more stringent disciplinary action. Clearly, Parren was beyond worrying about disciplinary action.

  “My face doesn’t fit,” he said harshly. “They stick together, these witch-lovers.”

  Reen eyed the livid scar running down the side of Parren’s face. “Ah, yes,” he murmured, feigning comprehension, “I have heard this before. They conspire together to further their own interests and deny those who are more deserving.”

  Parren frowned, showing the beginnings of a reluctant interest. “I gather you’re not in favor of these so-called Artesans, then?”

  Certain of his man now, Reen threw caution away. “Artesans! That’s nothing more than a fancy name for practitioners of evil, of unnatural crafts! There are those who would see every last one of them eradicated from society, especially from any position of power. But it is very difficult to discredit them when they can sense they are being watched. You have seen for yourself how they have beguiled the King. He is completely under their spell.”

  Still wary of the Baron’s intentions, Parren continued to stare. Reen, however, knew he had hooked his quarry. All he needed to do was prime him.

  He deliberatel
y held Parren’s gaze. “Would you count yourself among those who feel that Albia would best be served by eradicating these abominations—these Artesans?”

  Parren’s expression shut down immediately and he turned his head away. “That’s uncomfortably close to treason, and whatever my personal feelings, I’m no traitor.”

  “Of course you’re not, and you’ve nothing to fear from me.” Reen hid a private smile. This abrasive young man was so suspicious! “I’ve already told you what I think, and I have much more to lose in my position than you do in yours, believe me.”

  “What do you want?” Parren’s irritation surfaced once more.

  Reen leaned forward conspiratorially. “What we need, young man, are like-minded and intelligent people prepared to watch and report to those in a position to act. People who will help stamp out this cult of witchcraft before it spreads once more. You have seen for yourself today that our King does not know his own mind. He has been manipulated into giving them his support. He is not to blame. He was very young and impressionable when Lord Blaine helped him regain the Crown, and it is natural that he should feel gratitude toward the man. But Blaine has already been more than adequately rewarded for his support. General-in-Command of the King’s fighting forces ought to be sufficient for anyone, let alone someone of the middle nobility. But in exerting his evil influence to gain the King’s endorsement of the Artesan cause, Blaine has overstepped the mark and shown his true allegiance. We feel this is a dangerous development. Who knows how much further he might persuade Elias to go?

  “No, Captain, this state of affairs cannot be tolerated. We who are loyal to the Crown are obliged to do our duty, however uncomfortable it may be. Anyone who helps release our King from his thrall will eventually win his gratitude, and the gratitude of all Albia besides.”

  As it was designed to do, this impassioned speech reassured Parren, whose essential nature now reasserted itself. “And apart from gratitude, what reward might there be for someone willing to undertake such a dangerous mission? It would be extremely perilous considering how powerful some of these people are.”