by Cas Peace
“But if you’re convinced Elias Rovannon is behind these raids,” growled Anjer, “how do you explain the fact that he has also been threatened?”
Corbyn shrugged. “Perhaps one of his nobles has decided to take advantage of his preoccupation, Lord General. Such challenges to a sovereign are hardly unknown.” He looked pointedly at Sullyan. “After all, someone provided Rykan with backing, didn’t they? Who’s to say they were Andaryan? And just because their coup here failed doesn’t mean they wouldn’t try elsewhere.”
Corbyn’s shrewdness unsettled Sullyan. He was right, of course. If only she knew for certain that this was what Reen and his backers were after. But something told her it wasn’t that simple.
Pharikian stirred. “Gentlemen, I have no intention whatsoever of sanctioning military action against Albia. Even, and especially, after what has happened to my son. I will do nothing to jeopardize his safe return. And I warn you, Corbyn,” he fixed the fuming Lord with a baleful eye, “if I hear your name, or any of your vassals names, mentioned in connection with retaliatory raids, I will have no compunction in asking the Lord General here to enforce my decree. I trust both Colonel Sullyan and King Elias to do everything in their power to resolve this situation and uncover those responsible. Until we either hear from my son’s captors or apprehend them, Andaryon will not respond.”
Corbyn surged to his feet. “Then what am I to do? What am I to tell my nobles? That they are to sit and let these humans”—he spat the word—“do what they want with my lands? That we’re to let them rape our women and kill our men and rampage at will across the countryside? I tell you now, Majesty, they will not stand for it! I will not stand for it! This meeting is a travesty. You had no intention of acting on my grievances. King Elias has you in his pocket, and the whole of Andaryon will suffer for it!”
Purple with rage, Corbyn turned on his heel and stalked from the audience chamber. Anjer rose to his feet roaring, “Corbyn!” but the noble ignored him.
“Let him go, Anjer,” sighed the Hierarch, running a hand over his face. “He’s always been impetuous. He was never going to listen to reason after what happened to Kethro this morning.”
“That’s no excuse for ill-manners. He needs to remember who he is,” Anjer growled. “If it’s military action he wants, I can give him some. I’ll soon bring him back into line.”
“Sit down, Anjer,” commanded Pharikian. Anjer’s bluster faded. He was far from happy, but he obeyed his monarch and subsided, muttering under his mustache.
“Majesty, I apologize for Lord Corbyn’s rudeness,” said Tikhal. “The truth is, most of his vassals are intent on war and they’ve been badgering him for action. I’ve done my best to stall him, but I don’t know how much longer I can hold him off. He’s been much more determined of late, which isn’t like him.”
Sullyan didn’t like the sound of that. Nor did Anjer, although for different reasons. He spoke bluntly.
“If they try to overthrow you, Tikhal, what will you do?”
Tikhal frowned. “It won’t come to that.”
“But if it does, what will you do?”
Tikhal swallowed. “Try to stop him, of course. But if all his vassals stand with him, they may well defeat me.”
Pharikian sighed deeply. “I thought we were past all these petty feuds, gentlemen. I have worked all my adult life toward a more stable society. Have I wasted all that time? Did Morgan Sullyan’s selflessness acheive nothing after all?”
Sullyan bowed her head on hearing her sire’s name. He had sacrificed himself to broker the Pact that had seen an end to the constant raiding into Albia and the civil strife among Andaryon’s nobles. Now it looked as though he had died in vain.
She spoke softly. “Was Lord Corbyn party to the Pact?”
Pharikian shot her a glance. “His father was.”
“And was it binding on his descendants?”
Gaslek stirred. “Yes, Colonel, it was. If Lord Corbyn breaks the terms of the Pact, then he forfeits his lands and wealth, both for himself and his Heirs.”
“But if he gets enough backing from his supporters,” put in Tikhal, “the terms of the Pact will count for nothing.”
“And what of all the other lords who signed their rights away?” demanded Gaslek, swinging on Tikhal. “Your father included, may I remind you, my Lord! You are all sworn to uphold the terms of the Pact. You are honor bound to come together against Corbyn and his followers, to defend the Hierarch’s will.”
“I am aware of that, Baron, and I would do my duty, believe me,” said Tikhal. “But, forgive me, Majesty, if Prince Aeyron’s captors use him to force the Hierarch to abdicate, what authority will the Pact command then?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The meeting broke up after Tikhal’s disquieting statement. Pharikian remained seated as the Andaryans took their leave, his eyes unfocused. Sullyan signaled to Bull, and he drew the others away. Ozella looked as if he wanted to stay, but he didn’t resist Bull’s hand on his shoulder.
Once the chamber door had closed, Sullyan moved round the table to Pharikian’s side. He still looked pale and old, and she knew how keenly he was feeling the loss of his son. She covered his cold hand with hers. He didn’t respond. His head was bowed, his eyes had closed, and his face was lined and gray.
Very gently, she touched his psyche and offered him comfort. He clung to it like a drowning man, the ferocity of his need taking her by surprise. In a flash of shared pain, she saw the decades of struggle he had endured simply to hold on to his rule, and she understood the sheer effort of will he had poured into controlling the innate hostility and competitiveness that was an Andaryan’s natural instinct. She saw how deeply he missed the loyalty and support her father had given him, and how intently he wished Morgan were still alive. Tears sprang into her eyes and her own heart ached with grief.
“Ah, child,” he groaned, “I did not mean to inflict that on you. I’m so sorry. It’s just that without Morgan and my beloved Idriana I am so very alone. I couldn’t bear to lose Aeyron too.”
She had never seen him break down so thoroughly before. Greatly daring, she took him into her arms and he suddenly let himself go, clutching at her like a child bereft, allowing his fear and emotion free rein. She gave him time to purge before lending him a measure of strength to ease the trembling of his aged frame.
He finally found some stability and released his tight grip. She gave him a watery smile. He managed to return it, albeit fleetingly. His voice rough with emotion, he said, “You are like a daughter to me, do you know that, Brynne?”
“And you are the nearest I shall ever have to a father, Timar.”
His eyes misted over. “I often wish you had decided to stay here instead of returning to Albia once you defeated Rykan. You will always have a home here, my child.”
The longing in his words touched her heart. “Thank you, Timar. That means more to me than I could ever say. I was sorely tempted to take your offer, believe me. Yet despite my part-Andaryan blood, I am essentially human and my place is in Albia. Besides, I had feelings other than my own to consider when I made my decision. Half my heart may reside here with you, but the other half, like my duty, lies elsewhere.”
She paused and took a breath. She had to do this now, although she hated to burden him further. “Timar, I have something to tell you about what happened today. Forgive me, but I have not been completely open with you.”
His eyes widened and he leaned back, the better to see her face. “Oh?”
“I decided to wait until we were alone, partly because I fear what it might mean, and partly because of my suspicions about our adversary being able to overhear us. After I located Rand and Kethro this morning, I used the circle to do a detailed sweep of the substrate.”
“I know. I felt you.”
She closed her eyes and took another deep breath. “I need to show you what I found.”
She offered him what she had shown Taran. His reaction was similar to the Adept’
s at first, but Pharikian was more experienced than Taran, and shrewder. He saw her concern.
“But how can that be?” he said, puzzling over the familiar pattern in the substrate. “You didn’t enter Andaryon through the Forest, did you? You came out on the Plain.”
“Precisely. So how did my pattern become imprinted on the substrate right over the place where the Prince was attacked?”
*****
By the time Baron Reen arrived at the Queen’s solar the morning was nearly over. She was waiting for him, an expression of concern on her face. He entered her presence confidently and went down on one knee, clasping her cold hand.
“We’ve done it, Madam,” he gloated. “It went even better than I hoped! I’ll give them some time to think about it and wonder what we want, and then I’ll send the messenger.”
“And what of the… hostage?” Sofira’s voice held a note of fear. “I trust he is held securely?”
“I have not seen him yet, Madam, but rest assured, he poses no threat. Izack had strict instructions and I would have heard if anything was amiss. Even if he proved troublesome, it would not affect our plans if we had to incapacitate him, or even kill him. I would rather wait until the deal is done before dispensing with him, though. He may still prove useful as a means of persuading the demon King, should he be reluctant to answer our demands.”
“Do you think he will, Hezra?” she asked, anxiety still evident in her eyes.
“Oh no, my Queen, he will do exactly what we want. How could he not? Think, Madam. What lengths would you go to in his position, if it was your son?”
“Don’t,” she begged. “I don’t even want to think of that! I don’t know what I’ll do if this doesn’t work and we have to resort to the second part of your plan.”
His eyes narrowed and he rose. She looked up at him, suddenly unsure. He spoke sternly. “Madam, I have already told you that we may well have to implement it. And I have also assured you that you have absolutely nothing to fear. Do you not trust me?”
A frown appeared on her face. “Of course I do!”
He gave her a smile. “Then trust me to know what’s best.”
He reveled in the power he held over her, but had to be careful how far he went with it. She was no weak and feeble woman to need a man to make her decisions, no matter how she felt about him. Time enough to exert his authority when she was Regent. He took up one of her hands and kissed it, noting the faint flush of pleasure on her cheek. Women held no amorous interest for Reen, but he was more than content to have her look that way upon him.
“I know what I’m doing, my Lady. Nothing can now go wrong. You may have to be strong for a while, but I know you can bear it. Your understandable reactions will do much to lend credence to the tale, so do not try to hide them. For now, though, I must leave you. I must check on our guest and make myself known to him. It is only polite for the host to welcome his visitor, after all.”
“Is that wise, Hezra? Wouldn’t it be best if he never knows who we are? What if he should escape or be rescued?”
Reen laughed unpleasantly. “Rescue? Oh, there’s no chance of that, Madam! I have him secure in more ways than one. He will never live to return home, no matter what his demon father does. But I have to see him. There is a small task I need him to perform for me.”
There was a slight noise by the door and Reen turned his head. Furious, he whipped round. “Huw,” he roared, “what in Perdition’s name are you doing here? Get out!”
His menacing tone and threatening gesture made Huw yelp and sent him scuttling away. Huw had good reason to be terrified of Reen.
Sofira sent him a disapproving look. “I wish you would be gentler with him, Hezra. There’s no need to be so rough.”
Reen glared at the vacant doorway, his pounding heart beginning to slow. “He has to know whom to obey. You give him too much freedom, and we may regret that one day. You know what a mimic he is. What if he were to repeat what we say?” Reen shook his head, dismissing the lad from his mind. “Now, Madam, if you will excuse me, I must see to our guest. I will return to you afterward, for we must discuss our plans for keeping our admirable military forces occupied over the next few days.”
He bowed to her and Queen Sofira inclined her head. Anxiety still showed in her eyes.
The Baron returned swiftly to his chambers and called for Seth, ordering him to summon the Commander of Reen’s personal bodyguard. Seth bowed himself out of the room, and Reen collected the few items he needed while he waited for the Commander to appear. He knew it would take a while. The castle’s ancient dungeons were deep below the earth. Reen had no intention of going down there unescorted, as the passageways were dank, odious, and slippery. The Commander, however, must have been anticipating his master’s call, as it was not long before he arrived. Seth showed him in and he halted before the Baron, grinning.
Reen smiled back. “I take it all went well?”
The pale, stocky man grinned wider. “It went well for us, my Lord, but perhaps not so well for our guest!”
“I trust you didn’t hurt him?” There was mock concern in Reen’s tone.
Commander Izack’s eyes widened with innocence. “We treated him respectfully, my Lord, just like you said. I’m afraid he was less than cooperative, however, and I had to protect my men. You understand.”
“I understand perfectly. Is he more inclined to be helpful now?”
“Perhaps you would like to come and see for yourself, my Lord? He has been complaining about the facilities and I would hate unfavorable reports of my hospitality to reach your ears.”
Reen chuckled, a guttural sound. “Lead on, Commander! You have more than earned your reward. I trust you paid our associates well?”
“They got what they were promised, my Lord. You should receive the other item you requested very soon now.”
“Well done, Izack. With any luck we won’t need it, but I prefer to be cautious. You never know when these things will prove useful.”
The Baron followed Izack as they began their descent to the dungeon levels. He was obliged to hold a scented cloth to his nose long before they reached the deeper cells. Sunlight never touched these damp and noisome caverns with their dripping walls, iron-studded doors, chains, and instruments of pain. They had been constructed many hundreds of years ago and had once seen extensive use in the days before King Kandaran established the High Kingship. In those days, the petty-kings and nobles held their power by might of arms and fear alone. The dungeons had been abandoned since Kandaran’s time, however, and were now in disrepair. Few people even knew of their existence, as wrongdoers were now held either in the civic cells or in the lock-ups of the Minster’s beadle.
Ironically, it was through the Minster’s records that the Baron first learned of the dungeons. After his arrival in Loxton with the Queen, he spent some time in the Minster’s library researching Loxton’s theological history, keen to find out why the Church held so little authority here in the north. What he found angered him, and the people’s lack of respect for their Matria Church was something he intended to address once this heretical Artesan nonsense was dealt with.
The Commander led him to a stout oak door, quite new, and produced a bunch of keys, inserting the shiniest one into the huge iron lock. It turned with a satisfying clunk, and Reen heard the faintest scrape of movement. Izack pushed the door open. By the light of the lamp he held, Reen could just make out a man half-lying on the filthy floor.
Long and lean, the man raised his head to the light, trying to make out who stood there. The outlandishness of his pale yellow, slit-pupiled eyes made Reen shudder, and he noted the bruises on the man’s face and the soiled cloth covering the wound on his arm. Both arms were bound tightly behind the man’s back, the soft gleam of silver just visible among the cords. There was pain and discomfort on his face, and Reen was pleased to see it. He stepped forward, attracting the demon’s attention.
“Who are you?” the prisoner asked, his voice husky with pain a
nd fear. “What do you want with me?”
Reen removed his scented cloth, nearly gagging on the stench in the cell. He didn’t attempt to hide his revulsion and lashed out with his foot, catching Aeyron on his wounded arm. The Prince hissed with pain.
“Do not speak unless I command it!” spat Reen. “You are lucky to be alive, demon, and if you want to stay that way, you’ll do as I say.”
Aeyron stared at Reen as he walked around his prisoner, studying him. His past dealings with such unnatural beings had been conducted under a veneer of respect. He had needed something from them and was unable to show his true feelings. This one, however, was powerless, and as he had no intention of releasing it alive, it hardly mattered what he did or said to it. It was less than human, after all, less even than an animal, and no guilt would accrue should he treat it cruelly.
“You have been brought here for a reason,” stated Reen. He had not intended to tell the demon anything, but the satisfaction of his success was too intense. He wanted to gloat. After all, the demon wouldn’t live to repeat what it heard.
“There is something I want, something only your father can procure for me. Once I have it, you will be released. If you refuse to do as I ask, you will be killed, and not swiftly. My Commander here has no love for your kind, as I’m sure you have discovered, and he will be happy to carry out my instructions.”
The Prince shot Izack a fear-filled glance. Izack smiled nastily, showing his teeth.
The Baron carried on. “If you do decide to refuse us and force us to kill you, know that we will not deprive your father of your body. We will send it back to him piece by piece, just to show our good intentions. He can then conduct whatever meaningless rite you outlanders use.”
Aeyron blanched. “What do you want me to do?” he asked hoarsely.
That insolence earned him a violent blow which slammed his head against the wall. Groaning, he struggled to retain consciousness.
