The Challenge: Circle of Conspiracy Trilogy (Artesans Series Book 4)

by Cas Peace

  Sullyan either ignored or was unaware of his chagrin. She slid gracefully down Drum’s shoulder, letting the reins fall. The huge stud immediately dropped his head to crop the grass. Taran also dismounted and she beckoned to him. “Come with me.” He followed her, leaving the horses to graze.

  Together, they walked into the space encompassed by the stones, an area roughly fifteen feet in diameter. The stones themselves were spaced about five feet apart, although two of them had fallen over the centuries. Rough-hewn and spotted with lichen, they still exuded an atmosphere of mystery and age. The closer Taran came to the circle’s center, the more he felt their majesty.

  Sullyan halted in the very center. In hushed tones, so as not to disturb the peace of the place, she said, “Look about you, Taran. What do you see?”

  Thinking he was missing something obvious, Taran studied the circle. There were eight monoliths, all set deeply into the earth, except for the two that had fallen, one outward, the other sideways, still with its base partially buried. Apart from the lichen and the weathering of the years, there were no markings that Taran could see. The space they enclosed was smooth and grassy, sloping slightly toward a depression in the center. To one side of this hollow was a much smaller block of stone, lying on its side, half-buried in the turf.

  Something about this area tugged at Taran’s memory. Sullyan smiled encouragingly and suddenly he had it. The space within the stones and the depression in the turf had exactly the same feeling as the cellar in his old house at Hyecombe. The place where he had first learned to influence the element of Earth.

  Seeing his understanding, Sullyan’s smile broadened.

  “Is that why they were built?” asked Taran. “As natural containers for the element of Earth?”

  “Well, if not, there was a very powerful coincidence at work,” she replied. “These stones are granite, which invokes a very powerful form of Earth element. It is also an effective Earth barrier. The soil beneath the stones prevents leakage, and the depression in the center captures and shapes the energy, as does the circle itself.

  “Each monolith is surrounded by its own sphere of power, so the gaps between do not matter. As you know, once called and activated, Earth element runs to itself, so as the power is raised it creates its own impenetrable boundary.”

  Taran caught the undercurrent of excitement in her voice as she added, “Come, Taran. This is one experience you must not miss.”

  She guided him to the small stone at the edge of the depression and bade him sit. Then she stepped back. “Just reach out and raise power. Place no restrictions on it. Do not seek to form a portway. Just let the raw power accumulate and watch what happens. Draw power from each stone in turn.”

  To aid his concentration, Taran closed his eyes. He still envied Sullyan and Robin their more casual grasp of power. Neither of them needed such preparation, but his essential lack of self-confidence and the knowledge of his own shortcomings worked against him, and often he had to enter a sort of trance before accessing his metaforce.

  Breathing deeply to calm his mind, he attuned his psyche to the element of Earth. Then he reached out to the nearest monolith and called on the power it contained.

  Nothing happened.

  Thinking he was perhaps not focused enough, Taran drew and held a breath. Then he tried again.

  Still nothing.

  Confused, he reached for the next stone. Although he could clearly sense the forces it contained, a blank wall met his efforts. Not a flicker of power could he raise.

  He drew back in puzzled embarrassment. Opening his eyes, he turned to Sullyan.

  “Oh, Taran,” she sighed, shaking her head, “if ever I doubted how patchy and incomplete your early training was, you have just convinced me of it.”

  He flushed crimson. It seemed he had once again made a fool of himself without even understanding how. He cursed under his breath and tried to turn away from her, but a strong grip on his forearms prevented him.

  He gazed down at the hands that gripped him, amazed as always by her physical strength, honed by years of discipline and training.

  “What happened just now was not your fault,” she said. “Strength and talent are useless without the correct guidance, and that you have not had. Blame for this lies mainly with your father, but some of it, I am ashamed to say, lies with me.”

  “You?” he objected. “How can you be to blame?”

  “You are very quick to protest my innocence, but far too swift to deny your own. I should have gone over your early training once you decided to stay at the Manor, but I did not. Now I have caused you pain and shame, when this should have been one of the most glorious of Artesan experiences. I will never forgive myself for that.”

  He stared into her dilated eyes, sensing the love and pride she felt for him. But she was also berating herself, and he couldn’t bear that. He was ashamed for having distressed her.

  Her temper snapped abruptly. “Taran, stop that! Oh, if only your father were here now. I would make him pay dearly for your lack of self-esteem.”

  He was startled by her anger, which evaporated quickly. He was used to her mercurial moods, and thankful they weren’t often directed at him. He lived in dread of the day she really had a grievance with him.

  Giving herself a shake, she said, “Your pardon, Taran, but I cannot abide self-pity. Now”—she took up his hand once more, drawing him firmly back to the low stone—“sit. Look around and tell me, literally, what you see.”

  Although apprehensive of making a fool of himself yet again, he did as she asked. “A stone circle.”

  “Exactly. The key word being ‘circle.’ Now think of the element of Earth in connection with a circle. What does that tell you?”

  With another hot rush of shame, Taran understood. Every Artesan learned that the elements were tied to one of the four cardinal points of the earth’s magnetism. The element of Earth was linked to the western cardinal, and Taran knew, with a certainty which should by now have been instinctive, that had he begun with the monolith standing due west, the power would have flooded out.

  He closed his eyes, despairing.

  He heard Sullyan move to stand behind him and felt the gentle touch of her hands on his shoulders. She murmured, “Link with me, Taran,” and he opened his mind.

  The depth and vastness of her power engulfed him, taking his breath away. It was a warm amber glow suffusing the deepest parts of his soul, and it soothed his shame like a balm. It was impossible to hide from her when she caught him up like this. He felt her cast a shielding blanket over his self-doubt, covering it with approval, love, and pride.

  Too much humility will stunt your growth and prevent healing. Now come with me and I will show you what you have missed.

  He was drawn with her as their shared power reached out to the western cardinal stone. The raw forces of Earth sprang from it immediately, running sunwise around the other stones as she called on each in turn, creating a shimmering ring of power. Taran was pleasurably reminded of the confirmation ceremony she had performed for him when he had achieved the rank of Adept.

  Draw power into the bowl, Taran.

  He dutifully called the power to him. It rushed inward, flooding into the center of the circle, lapping them both in coruscating sparks. Calling to the element within their bones, it suffused their bodies with power and surged singing through their souls. Linked in a more fundamental way than ever before, they became one with the world and with each other. Feeling its untamed and mystical power, sensing lines of energy crossing the land, seeing twisting columns of elemental force rising over the terrain for miles around.

  See how they all link together?

  Sullyan’s lilting mental tone was saturated with the exultation of rushing forces. Taran knew he could not have contained such might if not for her controlling touch on his shoulder.

  All the ancient mystical sites where the raw forces of Earth naturally occur are connected. From here, we could speak across the entire world—a
cross the Veils, as far as we wished to reach! The power here is almost infinite, its use limited only by the ability of the wielder. Do you feel it?

  The question was rhetorical. He knew she could sense what he felt, and she shared his wonder and delight at such unfathomable potential. Yet she was strong enough to contain it where he was not, and she subtly tempered his reactions, guarding against the temptations of ultimate power. In undisciplined hands, such quantities of raw element could be immeasurably destructive.

  Linked in this way, they seemed to flow over the land, buoyed by the substrate through which the power moved. The landscape appeared to be fluid, its summer colors muted to shades of shimmering pearly-gray. Here and there were pockets of disturbance; peaks and spikes caused by the thoughts and emotions of people in villages and homesteads. Softer mounds and swirls showed where animals grazed. And through it all, majestic and puissant, soared the columns of natural Earth force.

  Taran was dazzled, overcome. Never had he seen such sights before. Sensing the gradual overwhelming of his spirit, Sullyan brought them gently down from the ecstatic heights to which they had climbed. She slowly released her hold on Earth, letting the monoliths reabsorb their power. This, Taran knew, was as important as controlling his responses, as any leakage of such forces could devastate a huge area.

  When the power had fully dissipated, she came round to face him, and he saw the echo of his own joy in her eyes.

  He hardly knew what to say. Breathless, unable to articulate the true effect of the experience, he whispered, “Such strong feelings.”

  She nodded. “A powerful Artesan would be well-nigh omnipotent within such a circle.”

  For an instant her eyes narrowed, but then she smiled.

  Taran shakily took her hand, his recent almost orgasmic experience too strong, too fundamentally thrilling, to shrug off lightly. “Thank you,” he said, unable to convey what he truly felt.

  She gazed at him. “Taran, I want you to promise me something.”

  Her tone was serious and it made him wary. “What?”

  “I want you to promise me that if ever I show signs of becoming arrogant or overbearing where my skills are concerned, you will instantly remind me of this afternoon.” He began to protest but she growled, “Promise me!”

  Shaking his head, he agreed.

  *****

  By the time they approached the inn where they would stay that night, the cloud cover had increased and the first splashes of rain were falling. The temperature hadn’t dropped, however, and Taran eyed the clouds, looking for signs of a storm.

  It didn’t materialize, and their clothes were only slightly damp when they drew rein behind the inn. It was a much larger establishment than Jed’s and, judging by the noise, it was already nearly full.

  Leaving their horses in the care of stable lads, Sullyan and Taran entered the inn. The landlord took their packs before showing them to the last vacant table in the taproom, where they sat studying the inn’s many customers while waiting for their food.

  “Did you expect it to be so full?” asked Taran, surprised by the noisy throng.

  Sullyan nodded. She was keeping a wary eye on the crowd, some of whom were showing signs of drunkenness.

  “Most of these will be heading for the fair,” she replied, reaching for her cordial. Taran had already consumed one tankard of ale, although its brown sweetness was nothing like Jed’s malty brew. “There will be rich pickings for Loxton’s footpads over the next few days,” she added, nodding to the bulging coin pouches many of the revelers wore openly at their belts.

  “Isn’t the capital safe, then?” asked Taran. “What with the King’s Guard and, I presume, a city constabulary, I’d have thought thieves would have a very hard time there.”

  “Loxton is a large and busy port city. It is a major center for trade. People come and go all the time, and not even the King’s Guard can keep track of them all. We will need to keep our wits about us during our stay.”

  The evening passed with no trouble from the crowd other than rowdiness. As Taran and Sullyan stood to make their way to their rooms, she gave the drunks a look of deep distaste.

  Heavy and incessant rain rattled the roof as they climbed the stairs, audible even above the noise from the taproom. Taran didn’t allow it to disrupt a good night’s sleep.

  Chapter Six

  It was still raining heavily the next morning, the clouds dark and low. Odors of wet wool, wet leather, and wet horse assailed Taran’s nostrils as he and Sullyan set off from the inn two hours after dawn. They rode with their hoods and cloaks wrapped tightly around them, blankets protecting the horses’ backs. Sullyan was riding Darius again, Drum following biddably behind.

  After a few miles, Taran saw a deeper darkness ahead. This gradually resolved into a tight mass of trees, and he guessed it must be the forest Sullyan had pointed out two days ago. From what he could see through the gloomy rain their road ran straight through it. He frowned. It would be as dark as night in there unless the rain let up.

  “Do we have to ride through that?” he asked.

  She nodded. “That is Loxton Forest, and it extends right up to the city walls. From this direction it is the only way into Port Loxton. To ride around it would take too long. Be warned, though, it is a notorious haunt of footpads and highwaymen. Ready your sword and keep your eyes open. I doubt we will be troubled, armed as we are, but you never know.”

  Taran had already noticed that Sullyan’s sword was at her hip, not strapped across her back as usual. Now he knew why. He made sure his cloak was not fouling his sword hilt as he followed her toward the forest.

  They rode beneath dripping boughs. The road was wide and well-traveled, but the press of trees along its edge was dense, the undergrowth of tangling bramble. Taran thought there would be many places to stage a good ambush, if one had a mind to.

  Riding in silence, they remained alert, their hands never far from their weapons. It was still early, but footpads did not keep regular hours. After half an hour or so, a sound from behind made them turn. An expensive-looking coach drawn by four matched chestnuts was approaching at a good clip. The coachman, well wrapped against the weather, showed no signs of livery. Next to him on the box was a large man who held a drawn sword across his knees.

  This man examined Taran and Sullyan as they drew aside to let the coach pass. Taran glimpsed two cloaked and hooded figures inside as it rumbled by. The smell of wet harness-leather and crushed leaves washed over him.

  From the corner of his eye he saw Sullyan make a curious hand gesture. The guard on the box turned to stare, and Taran was even more amazed when he made the gesture in return. Once the coach was well ahead, he commented on this.

  “He was one of us,” said Sullyan. “King’s Guard. There are times when it is politic for us to travel inconspicuously, such as when guarding nobility, as I imagine he is doing, but there are still methods by which we can identify ourselves.”

  “How did you know he was King’s Guard?”

  From within her hood, she smiled. “His bearing was unmistakable. It is quite common for members of Elias’s court to have an escort of Kingsmen when they travel the Forest. As you have seen, it is an ideal hideout for brigands, and any footpad worth his salt would know that a coach of that quality could only be carrying gentry. It would be too tempting a target to miss.”

  As they rode on the rain gradually eased. The air began to soften and, very slowly, the temperature increased. Steam rose from wet leafmold whenever the cloud cover broke enough to let the sun through.

  Suddenly, Sullyan stiffened. She hissed Taran’s name and he drew rein beside her, straining his ears. She raised her hand for silence, but the gesture was unnecessary. They both heard it quite clearly. The sound of men shouting, and a woman’s shrill scream.

  Sullyan threw him a dark glance and drew her sword. Taran did the same. Nudging the horses, they rode on at a cautious trot. They halted just before a blind bend in the road, hearing the clash of st
eel and the occasional high-pitched scream. The screaming seemed to hold more outrage than pain, but fear was also evident. Sullyan’s face was grim. Taran knew that her brutal experience at Rykan’s hands had given her an intense hatred of men who abused women.

  “Slowly, Taran,” she cautioned, and they edged carefully around the bend.

  In the clearing before them was the coach they had seen earlier. The horses were loose and wandering, having been cut free of the traces. The coachman was lying on the ground, but the Kingsman was fighting for his life. Two men had engaged him and a third had herded the coach’s occupants out onto the grass, where he stood menacing them with his sword. They were both women and they clung together for support, fearfully watching the desperate fight before them.

  Before Taran and Sullyan could act, the Kingsman was cut down, collapsing lifeless to the ground. He had sold his life dearly but to no avail. One of the women started screaming hysterically while the other stared fearfully but defiantly at her tormentor.

  “Taran,” hissed Sullyan, “you take the one by the coach. Make sure he has no time to use the women as a shield. I will take the other two. Ready?”

  Swallowing, Taran nodded. Swords in hand, they sidled out of the trees, trying to move as quietly as possible. Fortunately, the brigands were intent on their prize and didn’t immediately see the approaching pair. Easing forward, Taran and Sullyan picked their targets, choosing lines of attack. When one of the men finally saw them and barked a warning, the battle-trained stallions leaped into a flat-out gallop, sending the brigands scurrying to defend themselves.

  Taran aimed straight for the man by the coach, who retreated, putting his back to the vehicle. As his horse rushed between the brigand and the women, Taran yelled at them. “Get behind the coach!” He wheeled Thunder round, slashing at the man on the ground.

  At first the women seemed too terrified to move, but then one grabbed the other’s hand, yanking her behind the coach. Panicked shrieks sounded and Taran heard a woman’s voice snap, “Shut up, Lily!” Then his opponent’s sword was slashing at Thunder’s legs, and he needed all his concentration to keep them both alive.