Artesans of Albia: 02 - King's Champion

by Cas Peace

  The men rode off to alert the first patrol while the two women concealed themselves in a thicket with a good view of the land before them. The Major kept a link with Robin so she knew what was happening, and she relayed the information to Rienne.

  The first patrol, ten men strong, was pathetically easy to lure out. Seeing only five men on horseback riding, as they thought, unsuspecting toward them, they wasted no time giving chase. Robin gave the order to run and the enemy closed the gap, soon coming in range of the crossbows.

  Sullyan had no scruples about shooting Rykan’s men, and despite telling Rienne she didn’t have Robin’s level of expertise with the crossbow, she brought the odds down to seven to five in the patrol’s first pass across their position. Rienne’s distracting shots had the effect of breaking up the group, and Robin gave the order to engage the Andaryans hand-to-hand. This made it more difficult for Sullyan to pick them off, so she stopped Rienne from shooting and had her wind each crossbow in turn. The five men maneuvered the enemy riders so their backs were to the crossbows. Soon, it was over.

  Once the loose horses were rounded up, Bull tethered them out of sight. The others disposed of the bodies as best they could, so as not to warn the second patrol. Rienne took back her own horse and Marik took one of the spares. The Major also claimed one, and they rode cautiously toward the second patrol. The enemy seemed unaware that their comrades were dead, so Sullyan decided to try the same tactic as before. She guided Rienne into a nearby copse.

  The second patrol also had ten men, but their leader clearly had greater experience. He refused to be drawn out and waited for the Albians to come within range. This was inconvenient for Robin, as it meant revealing he knew where the patrol was hidden. He relayed this to Sullyan, and she immediately abandoned the ambush ploy. Telling Rienne to follow her, she leaped onto her borrowed mount and galloped off to join the others.

  As they pulled up alongside the men, Sullyan said, “We will have to do this the hard way. Marik, Bull, come with me. Robin, you take Taran and Cal. We will come at them from both sides at once. Let me know when you are in position. Rienne, stay close behind me.”

  Rienne watched uneasily as Robin took Cal and Taran off to the right flank. She kept her horse close on Sullyan’s heels as she, Bull, and Marik worked round to the left. On receiving Robin’s signal, Sullyan told Rienne to stay where she was, and the healer urged her horse behind a tree as the two groups charged the patrol.

  Unaware that their enemy had split forces and confused by the sixth rider, the Andaryans were slow to react. Their commander rallied well, but not before four of his men were dead. Unhorsed, he suddenly found himself facing Sullyan’s sword. Rienne sucked in her breath.

  * * * * *

  Up to this point, Sullyan had managed to suppress her shock and fury at Rykan’s abuse, using the practicalities of their situation to distract her. However, the look of stunned recognition that crossed the Andaryan commander’s eyes caused Sullyan’s control to crumble. He was, she realized, one of the guards who had restrained Marik the first time Rykan raped her. The suppressed boil of hatred within her abruptly burst, and a killing rage flooded her soul.

  Unable to stop herself, she attacked him ferociously, raining blows he couldn’t counter on his blade. Shocked, he fell back before her, his movements ever more frantic, until she disarmed him with a flick of her wrist. Her blade drove through his side and he fell, pinned to the ground while she stood over him, straddling his body and leaning on the sword embedded in his flesh.

  Sick with terror, he stared up at her, seeing his death in her eyes. In the turmoil of Sullyan’s mind, it was Rykan lying at her feet, exposed and helpless, just as she had lain. All the pain, horror, and madness that this sorry specimen had witnessed surged hotly into her breast. She wanted to torture and to terrify him, to use his pain to dull the anguish eating into her heart.

  He made a small whimpering sound, and it inflamed her further. For all the agony and desperation she had felt at Rykan’s hands, she had only allowed herself to scream at the most extreme pain. As soon as she recovered from the drug he had given her, she made up her mind not to betray a single sign of pain or terror, no matter what he did. Mostly, she had succeeded. She wasn’t shamed by the times she had begged, pleaded, and cried, for eventually her choices ran out. By that time, her hopes of rescue had vanished and it no longer mattered.

  Now, seeing this reminder of what she had endured lying so craven before her, the crushing despair came back. The man’s palpable fear and whimpering pleas disgusted her, and a ferocious need for revenge overwhelmed her. If she could not yet have Rykan, then one of his men was almost as good. An enveloping surge of fury rose within her and she grasped the hilt of her sword, intending to twist it in the wound.

  A restraining hand clamped onto her arm and she spun round, staring into Robin’s dark eyes. He recoiled from the savagery in her face. She tried to shake him off, enraged at being held back from her prey. The others were staring, not sure what was happening. Robin stood his ground, radiating unease. He almost didn’t recognize her.

  A flash of movement caught her attention. She swung round just in time to see Marik bend and slit her prisoner’s throat. The Andaryan died in a gurgle of blood, and the Count stood up to face her.

  “How dare you?” she hissed.

  Marik shrugged and stared back at the dead man. “I was owed that. Besides, you’d already killed him.”

  He walked away. Wordlessly, she stared after him. His undeniable right to vengeance—as urgent and valid as hers—drained her anger and resentment, leaving her lost and empty. She gazed down at the dead man, scarcely seeing him. Abruptly, she pulled out her sword and thrust it at Robin. When he took it, she stalked away.

  * * * * *

  Rienne’s heart was in her mouth as Robin moved over to the horses. He shrugged off her questioning look, cleaned the sword blade, and returned it to Sullyan’s pack. Then he sent Cal to collect the other horses while he, Bull, and Taran unsaddled the remaining Andaryan mounts. When Cal returned, all the riderless horses were set free with a slap on the rump.

  Finally, Robin approached Rienne. “Would you go talk with the Major?” he said. “I’ve never seen her like this before. It was as if a kind of madness went through her. I hardly recognized the look on her face. She isn’t armed at the moment, so she’ll do you no harm.”

  “Surely she wouldn’t ...?” Rienne stopped when she saw the tears in Robin’s eyes. “Very well,” she said, “I’ll see what I can do.” Moved by his distress, she added, “Try not to worry, Robin. Remember what she’s been through and what she carries inside her. She isn’t the person she was before Rykan raped her.”

  Robin hung his head. Rienne moved over to where Sullyan was sitting on a fallen log some distance away, staring out into the woods. She made sure the Major heard her coming and tried to project feelings of friendship and understanding as she approached. She stopped a few feet away, unsure of her reception.

  “Oh, Rienne, you are quite safe. I would never hurt you.” Sullyan’s husky voice radiated grief.

  Rienne sat down. The Major turned to face her.

  “It is beginning to erode my control, Rienne.”

  The healer was under no misapprehension as to her meaning. In the pallor of the Major’s skin, her golden eyes seemed feverishly bright.

  “If I am to succeed in thwarting Rykan’s plans, then I shall need all the control I can muster. I cannot give in to it yet, it is far too soon.”

  Rienne knew she had to quell the rising panic in Sullyan. Taking her hand, she spoke calmly.

  “We’re nearly at the mansion now. Once we’re there, perhaps Marik and I can do more to help you seal it away. The others will help too, you know that. We’ll do everything we can. And you’re still exhausted. You’re nowhere near full strength. Perhaps that’s affecting your resistance too.”

  Sullyan returned the pressure of Rienne’s hand, tears sliding down her face. “What have I done to des
erve such good friends?” she whispered.

  Rienne smiled. “Given as much, if not more, than you’ve ever received.”

  Sullyan released Rienne’s hand and rose to her feet. “I am going to miss you all so badly. But I know that all the healing in the world will not avail me now. I shall have to find the strength to deal with this myself.”

  * * * * *

  The incident with the Andaryan commander had shaken them all. Taran was as silent as the others as he rode alongside Cal for the rest of the way to the mansion. When the gates came into sight, he saw Marik regarding his home with tight lips, doubtless wondering if he would ever be its rightful lord again.

  The Count led everyone round to the servants’ entrance by the kitchens and showed them the stables. Although the servants had been driven off and all Marik’s people taken by Rykan, the building itself had not been looted. There was grain and hay for the horses, and Taran did his share of work as they were fed, rubbed down, and bedded on fresh straw. Then he followed the others inside the smallest of the mansion’s three kitchens and helped Bull attend to the great hearth. Soon a roaring blaze cheered the room and the familiar aroma of fellan filled the air. Sullyan’s earlier fey mood seemed to have lifted and she was almost restored to her old self. Following Bull and Robin’s lead, Taran allowed himself to relax.

  While the light outside faded, they all sat round the large kitchen table partaking of what unspoiled food they could find. As the meal ended, Taran realized that the Major had grown increasingly withdrawn and was studying their faces, as if committing them to memory. Rienne had seen it too, for she put her hand on Sullyan’s arm.

  “Are you alright?”

  It was a trite question, but Taran knew she was offering what comfort she could. The warmth in Sullyan’s eyes and her smile were answer enough, although Taran could still see the underlying grief and sorrow.

  Looking past Rienne to Cal, Sullyan said, “Do you have your whistle about you, Cal? I am in the mood for some music.”

  Cal, who never needed persuading to play, grinned and produced his beloved silver longwhistle from his pack.

  “Marik,” said Sullyan, startling the Count from a morose reverie. “I know you kept musicians. Would their instruments still be here?”

  The Count shrugged and rose to his feet, returning with two guitars and a lap harp. Bull passed the fellan round before producing the bottle of firewater. Sullyan covered her cup as he uncorked it, but everyone else—including Taran—accepted the liquor.

  The Major took the harp and indicated that Marik give one of the guitars to Rienne. Taran was mildly surprised when the Count kept the other for himself. Sullyan tested the harp strings and Taran thought it sounded inferior to her own instrument back at the Manor. Yet it sounded pleasant enough, and she gazed round at her friends.

  “This may well be the last night we spend together.”

  Taran felt his heart lurch, and Robin took a sharp breath as if he would speak. He remained silent, though, and the others just stared at her or at their hands, too full of emotion to say anything.

  “Tomorrow,” she said, “you will return to Albia while the Count and I make our way to Caer Vellet. Bull, I want you to run a few errands for me. There are some things I will need. But we will speak of that later. Tonight, let us make the most of this evening and try to enjoy ourselves.”

  Robin made a small sound of protest, but no one else spoke. Taran saw Bull’s eyes fill with tears and Rienne’s were red-rimmed. He dropped his gaze to his hands and left Cal to lighten the mood. Raising his whistle to his lips, Cal played exactly the right sort of melody, a saucy little folk tune that banished morbid thoughts. He ran through it once, and as he began it again, Sullyan started to sing, playing a soft accompaniment on the harp. Rienne picked up the chords on the guitar, and then, surprising them all, Marik added his voice to Sullyan’s. They sang the folk song through.

  By tacit agreement, no one played any laments that night. The only poignant note came from Marik, who had a light and pleasant voice belying his melancholy nature. His offering was a song about a handsome young man who fell in love with a fairy girl, only to see her turn into a butterfly and fly away. The way his eyes kept straying to Sullyan left Taran in no doubt of his meaning.

  Bull and Robin sang some marching songs, the Captain’s light tenor blending nicely with Bull’s rich bass rumble. Then Rienne and Cal sang a couple of lover’s songs, and had everyone laughing as they lampooned two love-struck youngsters. Rienne and Sullyan even sang a couple of the songs they had shared during their evening together at the Manor—with the proper words this time—and the warmth and friendship flowing between them was plain for all to see.

  Eventually, the hour grew late and the fire died down in the hearth. Bull’s supply of liquor was exhausted, and their fingers and voices were sore from use. They lay the instruments aside, and Taran suddenly noticed that both Bull and Robin had blank looks on their faces. Turning to Sullyan, he saw the dilation of her eyes, a sure sign she was communing with the two men. He wondered why they were being so secretive, but before he could speculate further, the contact was broken.

  Sullyan smiled and nodded at Robin, who stood, drawing their attention. Bull remained relaxed, a small smile on his face. Taran waited to see what was coming and was surprised when Robin turned to him, inclining his head.

  “Journeyman, are you feeling strong tonight?”

  Taran was startled. He hadn’t thought of himself as a Journeyman since opening the tunnel through the Veils, since Robin told him he had passed the test of Water. Then he remembered Robin saying that Sullyan would confirm him when she could. Something his father once said suddenly slipped into his mind, and he could hear Amanus’s pedantic tones as if he were present in the room.

  You owe allegiance and duty to anyone of higher rank than yours. But above all, you owe duty to the Masters. Anyone of higher status can confirm you in the next level, but Masters hold the right of confirmation over all. To be acclaimed by a Master Artesan is the ultimate accolade.

  At that time, of course, Amanus had never believed his son would ever be so acclaimed, let alone by an Artesan as exalted as Sullyan. Taran felt a shiver of apprehension down his spine. Thoughts of his father always sapped his confidence. Yet the smile on Robin’s face and the warmth in Sullyan’s eyes reminded him that he had already passed the test and had nothing to fear from his friends. Taking a steadying breath, he rose.

  “Yes, Adept-elite. I am feeling strong tonight.”

  Robin’s grin told Taran that he had answered correctly, entering into the spirit of the occasion. Sullyan then rose, as did Bull, who indicated that Cal and Rienne do likewise. Rienne looked puzzled, but did as he asked with no question.

  Marik moved off into a corner and sat watching while Robin and Bull moved the large wooden table, clearing an open space before the fire. Bull found a silver basin and filled it with water, placing it in the center of the floor. Sullyan moved to stand with her back to the fire. Robin joined her, standing on her left side. Bull took her right, and directed Cal and Rienne to complete what became a large circle with the silver bowl in the center. Taran remained on the outside.

  He stood alert, not knowing what to expect. During their time fighting the invasion with the Major’s company, he and Cal had listened to Robin’s tales of life at the Manor. The Captain described some of the promotion ceremonies he had seen, both military and metaphysical. They fascinated Taran, but he had never expected to witness such a ceremony himself. Now he was the focus of one.

  He realized he was trembling. Whether it was from nerves or anticipation he couldn’t tell, so he kept his attention on Sullyan. Her eyes were huge and black, and he could sense her calling on her metaforce. He watched as she stretched her cupped hands out, palms upward. To his amazement, an amber glow blossomed in the bowl of her palms. Golden radiance lit her face, lending luminosity to the room.

  She separated her hands, each still glowing, and held out the lef
t one to Robin. The amber light extended toward him, becoming a thin line, and as the Captain reached out his right hand, the power touched his fingers, flowing up his arm and into his body. When it reached down his left arm, he held out his left hand to Rienne. Confused, she looked to Sullyan for reassurance.

  “Do not fear, Rienne, my power will do you no harm. Just accept it in your hand as Robin did and pass it on to Cal.”

  Rienne did so, and Taran could feel her awe the moment Sullyan’s power filled her body. She smiled, as if at a joyful memory. Cal accepted it from her, his expression turning to amazement, and Rienne had to remind him to pass it on to Bull. The circle was closed by Bull passing the power back to Sullyan, and she gathered it once more into her two cupped hands. The members of the circle stood joined in friendship and in power.

  The Major stood wreathed in her own amber metaforce, her tawny hair shimmering in its glow. A warm breath of air moved gently in the room, stirring her hair and bringing the fire back to life. Taran was stunned—she had manipulated Air! He saw Robin frown, and even Bull, who must have known Sullyan’s strength better than anyone, was startled by her skill. Awe flooded Taran. Control over the four elements was an Artesan’s final test of Mastery.

  Sullyan took no heed of their surprise. She merely gazed across at Taran, saying quietly, “Artesan Elijah, what rank do you hold?”

  Despite his awe and mounting excitement, he managed to answer her calmly.

  “I hold the rank of Journeyman, confirmed by the late Amanus Elijah, Adept-elite.”

  Approving this with a smile, she said, “Artesan Elijah, what is your wish?”

  Her psyche radiated tranquility and reassurance as he gazed at her from behind Cal’s right shoulder. “It is my wish to be confirmed in the rank of Adept if the level of my skill permits.”

  She inclined her head. “Very well.”

  She raised her cupped hands, still cradling the aura of her extended power. When her hands reached the level of her eyes, the water in the silver bowl stirred and rippled. A fine mist rose from it, catching in her web of power like tiny, glittering spiders. The rope of metaforce changed from amber to an opalescent shimmer. The color change flashed through everyone in the circle, returning once more to its maker.