by Cas Peace
If you enjoyed this first trilogy, watch out for the next one: Circle of Conspiracy, coming soon!
The Challenge:
Circle of Conspiracy
Book One
By Cas Peace
Chapter One
Taran Elijah stood in the warmth of the evening sun, contemplating the building before him. High King Elias’s new Artesan College was finally finished and today the last of the workmen had left. The Adept sighed in contentment as he watched the setting sun gild the soft gray stone of the College walls.
He still found it hard to believe that a bare fifteen months ago he had been a directionless drifter, desperately seeking the unobtainable. Yet now here he was, a founding member of what would hopefully become the foremost center of learning for every Albian Artesan. He knew his good fortune was due to one very special person.
As if summoned by his thought, he heard her musical murmur. “Do you still find it as incredible as I do, Taran?”
He had not heard her come up behind him. The feather light touch on his arm made him smile, although the contact was fleeting. She knew that the merest brush of her hand could set his senses tingling with reactions he could barely control, and she would never deliberately cause him distress.
He turned to look at her and the sight made his heart leap, as always.
Since wedding Robin Tamsen, her soul mate, nine months ago, Brynne Sullyan had grown in both presence and beauty. Now that she was back to full fitness after her ordeals in Andaryon and with Rykan’s Staff, she exuded a glowing vitality. As usual, her wealth of tawny hair was braided around her head. Her soft, cream-colored shirt was tucked loosely into her combat leathers, and her sword rode at her right hip. Her battle-honors, triple-thunderflash rank insignia and King’s Envoy shooting star glittered over her left breast, catching the sun’s last rays. The fire opal at the open neck of her shirt spat red sparks in time with her heartbeat.
Taran’s breath caught in his throat and he knew she could sense his desire. She had told him it wouldn’t be easy, working so closely together, and she was right. Yet he would bear the pain of knowing she could never be his and take what she could give him: her friendship, her loyalty and her training. He could bear much for that.
He smiled down at her—she was so small her head only reached the level of his shoulder—and replied, “I could never have dreamed things would turn out like this. I only wish my father had lived to see it. It was his dream too you know, a recognized training center where Artesans could learn in safety. Had it existed when he was alive, I would have been spared a lot of pain and anguish.”
She flashed him a knowing glance. His desperate foray into Andaryon, the Fifth Realm, before he had known about her or the Manor, had set in motion a chain of events that had led, through darkness, danger and death, to this point. Friendships had been forged and lost, lives imperiled and saved, battles fought and won. And now they, as Artesans, had the sanction of Elias Rovannon, High King of Albia, and the support of a new royal institution in which to learn and grow.
“Ah, but Taran,” she reminded him gently, “without that pain
and anguish we might never have met. Think what we would have missed.”
He grinned. The events of the previous year’s winter were far enough in the past for them to reminisce over without the sting of fear they engendered at the time.
“True,” he said. “But I still wish my father had swallowed his pride and told me about his visit here all those years ago. If he had only been able to admit he had asked for help, things might have turned out quite differently.”
She gave a small shrug. “We could ponder the ‘what if’s’ all night, my friend. Things have turned out well enough and I for one am happy to accept them. Now, will you help me check that the College is ready for the King’s visit next week? The General will have my hide if Elias finds fault with our preparations.”
Taran feigned outrage. “He wouldn’t dare!”
Sullyan laughed, not bothering to ask whether he meant the King or the General.
Taran followed her into the single story College and they began checking the rooms with their smell of fresh plaster and new paint, taking in the quiet air of contemplation and study they already seemed to exude. Sullyan hoped that more and more people would get to hear of the College as the King’s endorsement of Artesans became more widely known. Maybe then Albians would begin to send sons and daughters who showed early signs of the Artesan gift to the College for training, instead of ignoring or suppressing their talents.
Despite its recent completion, the Artesans at the Manor had already benefited from the College, which had also welcomed its first outside student. The previous week, the King had sent Lord Ozella to the Manor. Aged just twenty-one, the olive-skinned Ozella was a noble of Beraxia, a hot and dusty country far across the southern seas. Taran had learned that the young man was on
secondment from his government and had come to Loxton mainly to learn more about the Artesan craft. Ozella had the beginnings of power but there were even fewer gifted people in Beraxia than in mainland Albia. The Beraxian masses had little in the way of education and superstition was rife. Any peasant child showing signs of emerging power was immediately killed, and only those born to privileged families had any chance of reaching maturity. Even then, they were rarely taught.
Ozella’s father, it seemed, was a more enlightened individual who had traveled widely in his role as ambassador. He recognized the advantages available to the trained Artesan and had begged his own Chief Minister to send Ozella, his second son, to Elias in search of training. Taran could only assume that this had fueled Elias’s resolve to build the College. He felt sympathy for Ozella who, despite the Manor’s warm welcome, was shy and plainly out of his depth.
The thought made Taran grin, for the College’s second official student was anything but shy. Sullyan herself had recognized the stirrings of power in Tad Greylin, the tow-headed former kitchen lad who had attached himself so firmly to Robin Tamsen. Tad, now a proud cadet, was already making progress in the influence of Earth, mastery over which was the first skill an Artesan learned.
He forced his thoughts back to the present. At this hour the College was silent. Most of the Manor’s residents were taking their evening meal, either in the commons, the barracks, or the senior officers’ hall. Those not eating would be on patrol—there was always at least one company on guard-duty—or in the infirmary, tending the sick or wounded.
Thoughts of the infirmary brought Rienne’s image to his mind. The dark-haired healer—no Artesan but a strong empath—had agreed to Sullyan’s request that she become the College’s
physician, in addition to her more familiar role as Sullyan’s personal healer. While it was rare for Artesans to be injured in the course of their training, it was not impossible. As the College was the first of its kind, where students of all ages and levels of experience would be thrown together, accidents were bound to happen. With this in mind, Sullyan had specified that spellsilver should be incorporated into the walls of the healer suite. This should ensure that any inadvertent substrate surges would be contained, protecting the other students.
Taran was aware that the idea for this precautionary measure had sprung from the siege of Hyecombe, his home village. Delirious from torture, Cal’s unconscious use of metaforce had very nearly destroyed the entire hamlet. Sullyan didn’t want any such accidents happening here, not when spellsilver could prevent it.
Her voice brought him out of his thoughts. “Check the rest of the study rooms, will you, Taran? I want to test the spellsilver in the healer suite. Let me know if you catch any hint of my psyche while I am there.”
He nodded as she left him and he continued checking the rooms, finally pausing in the one devoted to the understanding of Fire. This was his current area of study. As Artesan Adept he had mastery over Earth and Water, but if he wanted to raise his status to Adept-elite, he had to learn to influence Fire.
A year ago
he had watched Robin pass his test of Fire to become a Master Artesan. The test was the breaking of a Firefield, but Taran had never even heard of a Firefield much less seen one before coming to the Manor. Shortly after his arrival he had witnessed Robin and Sullyan demonstrating their skills, and had envied Robin’s control over Fire ever since. Having felt Robin’s strength for himself that day, Taran hadn’t believed he would ever wield that much power.
Under Sullyan’s careful teaching and Robin’s guidance, however, he was growing in skill and confidence. He was reaching a point where he felt that mastery over Fire might not actually be beyond him. The technique of creating a Firefield was his next goal.
****
Leaving Taran Elijah to his musing, Brynne Sullyan passed the empty study rooms and moved toward the rear of the building. She trod silently as was her custom, and so the thin young man standing just inside the healer suite didn’t hear her approach. As she stepped through the doorway he seemed to be contemplating the walls, deep in thought.
She frowned. One hand lightly touched the hilt of her sword as she said, “Captain Parren, what are you doing here?”
He spun round. The color drained from his face, making the long scar down his right cheek stand out starkly. Never a handsome man, the scar gave him a rakish air that gained him no favor with the ladies. It was yet another of the grievances he harbored against Sullyan and she knew he yearned to exact revenge.
He recovered his composure and replied stiffly. “I was merely indulging my curiosity, Colonel. I was not aware of any restrictions regarding entry.”
He managed to look her in the eye as he spoke, although she could sense his courage wavering at the flatness of her stare. She felt him trying to overcome this fear but it was too deeply rooted, went back too far. The fact that she knew this inflamed his hatred even more.
She regarded him silently before asking, “And have you satisfied your curiosity, Captain? Do you have any questions?”
He flushed. He had clearly not intended to be discovered, thinking himself safe at this hour. Something sly surfaced in his
eyes and her heart leaped, wondering—unthinkably—if he was going to attack her. But then it faded and he backed down as best he could. “I have no questions, Colonel. I wish you good fortune in this new venture and I hope all goes well with the King’s visit. Now if you will excuse me, I have duties to attend.”
He gave the obligatory salute and stalked past her, nearly colliding with Taran in the doorway as he left. The Adept stared after him before giving Sullyan a quizzical look. “What did he want?”
Her eyes narrowed. “A good question, my friend. Morbid curiosity? Who can say with that one?” Her gaze fell on him. “He will bear watching,” she warned. “I fear his dissatisfaction and hatred are growing, especially after being passed over for promotion last summer.”
“From what I heard he only has himself to blame for that,” the Adept replied. “But why does he hate you and Robin so much?”
Her eyes flickered. “Parren is ruled by ambition and envy, Taran. His animosity is rooted deep in the past and is not something I wish to discuss. Now, will you go outside and close the door and tell me if you can sense any contact through the spellsilver?”
Summarily dismissed, Taran obeyed, but she knew his curiosity had been piqued.
