by Cas Peace
Vanyr shot her a venomous look as he left, but she affected not to notice, busying herself with folding Anjer’s authority and stowing it inside her jacket. Ephan passed behind her on his way to the door, and he was the only one who spoke.
“It seems we’ll be seeing more of each other than I thought, Major. I wish you good fortune in your new command.”
She flashed him a brief but genuine smile. “I thank you, General. Let us hope for a swift and favorable outcome to this conflict.”
“Indeed.”
The Hierarch also dismissed Gaslek, and the little secretary hurried after the others. Pharikian remained behind, alone but for his page and the guards by the door. He watched Sullyan quietly for a few moments, studying her face now that the ordeal was over. She held his regard and he shook his head.
“That was very cleverly done, Brynne. You did well to get Anjer on your side so quickly.”
She looked down at her hands, trying to conceal their trembling. She was wearier than she wanted to admit.
“He was not as prejudiced as he might have been, Majesty. You are fortunate to have such a man at the head of your forces. He is not so blinded by tradition that he cannot see or consider new ideas.”
“Hmm. Not like Kryp, eh, Brynne? He couldn’t see a new idea if it sat on his nose and bit him!” They exchanged smiles. “But he will bear watching, child, as will his protégé, Vanyr. The man hates you, although why he should, I don’t know.”
She sighed. “I am unnatural in his eyes, Majesty. He sees me as a threat. I outrank him in both military and Artesan skills, and he will never have encountered a woman in such a powerful position before. He is eager to prove that his weapons skills are superior to mine, as they may well be. He looks like a dangerous man.”
“You are right, Brynne, he has a notorious and well-deserved reputation. So let me warn you. Don’t get trapped into fighting him. Not only is dueling forbidden within my forces, but in wartime it is punishable by death. I can make no exceptions.”
“I will remember that, Majesty. Let me assure you, I have no intention whatsoever of dueling with Commander Vanyr.” She cast a sly glance at Robin, who colored at her tacit reference to his fight with Parren.
The Hierarch watched the exchange, but said nothing. Suddenly he laughed, causing Sullyan to start.
“Oh, Brynne, you are a dose of spring water, and no mistake! It might have been your father standing there today, playing my generals as he played his harp. It was a joy to watch.”
He sobered. “Ah, but you look weary. Go and rest before commencing your duties. I’ll send Deshan to you. He tells me he has found something that should strengthen you.”
He turned to go, and then paused by the door. “Oh, I nearly forgot. I am hosting a small dinner party tonight, to give us all some relief from this uncertain situation. I would take it as a personal favor if you and your Captain would attend.”
She inclined her head. “We would be honored, Majesty. I thank you for your kindness.”
Then he surprised her again. “Count Marik will be joining your command in the field. Bring him to dinner too.”
Chapter Seventeen
Taran made his way back to his shared quarters, reflecting that this would be a memorable day for Cal if what he was planning went well. He had been working on it ever since their return to the Manor, but Cal had no idea. He smiled. Even Rienne seemed a bit more cheerful this morning, and considering how uncharacteristically listless and preoccupied she had been lately, it was a relief. Being forced to leave Sullyan had hurt Rienne deeply even though Taran and Cal had done everything they could to comfort her. Until today, her sorrow hadn’t lifted.
Following Sullyan’s request, Rienne had taken charge of the Major’s harp and guitar. Entering her abandoned quarters to fetch them had affected the healer profoundly. Taran could see how the memories of the happy evening the two women had spent there brought tears to Rienne’s eyes, and Cal had told him that she passed the rest of that day in their sleeping room, just staring at the guitar in her lap. Rienne hadn’t touched either instrument since.
Bull hadn’t been much help. He was even more melancholy than Rienne. He sat either in his rooms or in Sullyan’s silent office with a half-empty glass of firewater by his elbow and a bleary look in his eye. Worried that he was drinking too heavily, Taran had spent some time alone with him. Finally, the big man seemed to have thrown off the worst of his misery.
Since returning from Andaryon, Taran and Cal had spent much of their time working on their Artesan skills. Now that he had gained Mastery over Water, Taran’s next task was to learn how to influence Fire. He would also have to initiate and control Powersinks, whatever rank the other participants held. Cal was working toward Apprentice-elite, which meant strengthening his communication skills and learning how to identify unknown Artesans just by the pattern of their psyche. Taran had been training him hard and was pleased with Cal’s progress.
That particular morning Taran had risen early, telling Cal he was going to talk to Bull. The Apprentice would be alone in their suite, as Rienne had resumed her duties in the infirmary. Cal didn’t mind, as it was the only activity that could prod her out of her sadness, if only for a while. He told Taran he would spend the morning playing his longwhistle or practicing his Artesan skills. Now, as Taran approached, he could hear the strains of a folk tune coming from the suite. He smiled and pushed open the door, feeling genuine pleasure in the day. Cal looked up from his whistle, his brows rising in query.
“Come on,” said Taran, “I told Rienne and Bull we’d meet them in the commons for a bite.” He turned without waiting for a reply, leaving Cal to pocket his whistle and follow.
There was a lively hum of conversation in the commons. Since the cessation of Andaryan hostilities, the Manor had become quite crowded. The various companies stationed there took turns at guard duty, exercises, and patrolling the countryside, but there were always two or three units resting. The commons always filled up at mealtimes and was a noisy, friendly place.
As he and Cal entered, Taran could see Bull sitting at his favorite table. The big man was talking to Sullyan’s company sergeant, Dexter. Taran and Cal had become acquainted with Dexter during their time fighting the invasion, but over the past few days they had gotten to know him much better. Dexter had quick wits and a cheerful disposition, and was thoroughly enjoying his spell as temporary commander of Sullyan’s company. With luck and hard work, he knew it could be his passage to promotion.
The two men had their heads close together, and from what Taran could see Bull was sober. As he and Cal approached, Bull looked up and smiled. Taran nodded with relief. The big man’s eyes were clear of the effects of drink. He took the chair Bull pushed toward him, and Dexter shoved one at Cal.
“Tad!” called Bull, over the din of conversation. The young lad sprinted over from the kitchens and took their order. Taran and Cal settled into their chairs, Cal appraising the big man openly.
“You seem more cheerful today, Bull.”
Bull grimaced. “I suppose I’ve not been the best company lately.”
Dexter snorted and leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. “That’s a fact! You’ve been a morose, old lush, mate.”
Bull lunged forward and swatted his arm. “That’s enough of your cheek, my lad. I may be retired, but I could still teach you a thing or two.”
Dexter grinned and rubbed his arm.
The commons door opened again and Rienne entered, accompanied by Chief Healer Hanan. The two women had grown close through working together, and Taran was glad Rienne had someone of her own gender to talk to. They parted at the door and Rienne came over. She looked tired and careworn, her grey eyes clouded, her long hair dull. She rarely smiled these days, which wasn’t like her, and Taran was pleased to see her face lighten when Bull got to his feet and kissed her cheek.
“You look better, Bull.”
He ducked his head. “Yes, I know I’ve been hitting th
e bottle a little too hard recently.”
She smiled. “You’re not the only one.”
Tad and two other boys arrived, deftly balancing plates of food, and Rienne spared the youngster a grin. They had all grown fond of the eager lad who never missed an opportunity to ask for news. Everyone knew he meant news of Robin, and Cal had remarked early on that the young lad had a terminal case of hero worship.
Now Tad hung back when the other lads returned to the kitchen, hopeful eyes fixed on Bull. The big man took a forkful of meat and chewed appreciatively. He looked round at the others, catching their attention.
“I’ve had some news.”
They all stopped mid-chew and Rienne dropped her eating knife. “It’s alright,” he added hastily, “it’s not bad news.”
Rienne retrieved her knife with a hand that shook, and Bull continued. “I finally sobered up enough to receive a message from Robin this morning.”
Rienne stared at him, her heart in her eyes. “How is she?”
“She’s fine ... well, as fine as she can be. Listen, I’m going to tell you all an incredible tale. You might find it hard to believe. I know I did. Robin assures me it’s true, though, and it might just give us some hope.”
Eyes wide, Rienne urged Bull to continue. While they ate, he related everything Robin had told him about the journey to Caer Vellet, their reception at the Citadel, and Sullyan’s subsequent collapse. When he reached this part, Rienne’s face went pale. “I thought you said it wasn’t bad news!”
He patted her hand. “Wait till you hear the rest.” He went on to tell them what the Hierarch had revealed about Sullyan’s parents.
Taran was stunned. “That’s incredible. She can really claim kinship with the Hierarch?”
“It seems so, although it’s more of a blood bond than true kinship.”
Rienne’s face relaxed as she took in Bull’s words. “Brynne,” she murmured, trying the sound of it. “It’s an unusual name. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before. I have to say it suits her.”
Bull grinned. “Knowing Sully, she won’t know what to do with it. She’s lived with just one name for so long it’ll take some getting used to.”
She nodded. “What did you mean about giving us some hope?”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “According to Robin, the Hierarch says that it’s possible for Rykan to remove the poison from Sullyan’s body, undo the damage it’s done. His power put it there, so his power can remove it.”
Rienne gasped and Bull held up his hand. “He has to do it of his own free will, though. He can’t be coerced.”
She slumped, her optimism dashed. “What kind of hope is that, Bull? There’s no way he’ll do it.”
He shrugged. “I agree, it looks unlikely. But would any of us ever have thought she would end up related to the Hierarch or find out about her parents? Come on, Rienne, there’s a bit of hope here, surely?”
She gave a wan smile.
Taran thought it was time to change the subject. “Bull, have you thought any more about what we discussed a couple of days ago?”
“Going back, you mean? I’m still thinking about it. I didn’t mention it to Robin when we spoke. I think we should wait a little longer and see how things turn out. Now that Robin is reporting more often—or will do if I remain sober—we can monitor the situation and make a decision when we know more.”
Tad went back to the kitchens, and they finished their food, relaxing with cups of fellan and mulling over what they had heard. Dexter left them to attend to his duties, and slowly the commons emptied. Taran saw Cal glance at Rienne, expecting her to return to the infirmary, but she let Hanan leave without her. A subdued air of expectancy hung about the place.
Taran scraped back his chair. “Come on, Cal, I feel like doing some work. Let’s go into the arena. It’s not too cold out there yet.”
Bull stood too. “I might come with you. I could do with a workout myself. Get some of that firewater out of my system.”
Rienne shot him a sideways look. “It’s about time.”
He grinned sheepishly and threw an arm about her shoulders. Cal merely smiled, no longer threatened by Bull’s protective behavior toward Rienne.
They collected their cloaks, for despite Taran’s words it was frosty outdoors, and made their way to the arena. Some men from the Major’s company were already there, and Cal looked surprised. Taran hid a smile. He and Cal were on nodding terms with most of these men since the invasion, but they had rarely seen so many training in one place at the same time. A few gave them friendly waves. Even Dexter was there, talking to one of his corporals.
Taran found a free space for them to work in. The regular swordsmen, accustomed to Artesans, knew to keep well away, and Taran soon had his Apprentice building portways by himself, anchoring them, and then dismantling them. Once he had done a few to Taran’s satisfaction, he moved on to shielding. He was fast becoming strong and proficient.
Taran was impressed. Cal was working well, totally engrossed in what he was doing. He told Cal to go over his psyche, looking for weak spots and strengthening them. The younger man was concentrating so hard that he didn’t notice General Blaine’s arrival. The man walked quietly to the benches, sat down, and nodded to Taran. Had Cal seen him, he would have been amazed by the swordsmen’s lack of response to their highest-ranking officer. He might even have realized they had been expecting him.
Taran ended their session by having Cal compare his psyche with Taran’s. He asked him to identify the differences between them, and point out where Taran’s was stronger. Again using his Apprentice’s distraction, Taran glanced at General Blaine. He noted Cal’s puzzlement as another glowing pattern suddenly insinuated itself into his consciousness. The younger man frowned at Taran, but he only gazed back in silence. Understanding grew in Cal’s eyes and he grinned. The swordsmen around them had ceased their sparring, and both Bull and Rienne wore smiles.
Taran planted himself squarely before Cal, arms folded across his chest. “Apprentice Tyler, are you feeling strong today?”
He sensed the thrill that ran through Cal as he recognized the ritual phrasing. The young man’s grin widened. “Yes, Adept Elijah, I am feeling strong today.”
“Then your final test before becoming Apprentice-elite is to identify the Artesan behind this pattern.”
Cal paused. This wasn’t as simple as it sounded. He knew there were only a few Artesans at the Manor, but it didn’t follow that this complex and subtly glowing pattern belonged to someone he knew. It could be someone from Taran’s past. It could be someone Bull had once known. It certainly wasn’t anyone Cal recognized.
Taran watched as Cal set to work, sensed him examining the pattern’s component parts, getting glimpses of its owner through its characteristics. He knew Cal would think it might belong to Rienne, for although she was an empath rather than a full Artesan, she still had a pattern of psyche. On his first pass through it, though, Cal realized its owner was male, and silently Taran applauded his skill. Gradually, Cal built his picture. Male, middle-aged, maybe a touch older. Fairly powerful, Master-level at least. He smiled as the Apprentice suddenly caught an echo of infrequent use and saw him snatch at the clue. After one more pass Cal was convinced. He grinned at Taran, and reaching out to the person behind the glowing pattern, touched the mind it belonged to. They both felt the congratulatory response.
General Blaine dampened his psyche, came over to Cal, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well done, Apprentice-elite.”
It was the first normal smile Taran had ever seen the General display. Cal managed a hasty “Thank you, sir” before the men in the arena surged around him, all wanting to slap his back in congratulation.
Blaine turned to Taran. “Well done to you also, Adept. You’ve done a good job with him.”
Taran inclined his head. “It was the Major who showed me what to do, sir. She really deserves the credit for this.”
The General’s face clouded and he turned
abruptly to Bull. “I believe you have some news for me?”
“Yes sir. I heard from Captain Tamsen earlier today ....”
The two moved off together, and Taran stared after them, contemplating the change in the General’s demeanor. Then Rienne came over, put her arms around him, and leaned her head on his shoulder.
“Thank you, Taran. This means a lot to Cal, and to me. I wish I could feel happy for him, but I seem to have forgotten how.”
Taran’s heart lurched. “I know what you mean. I wish there was more we could do.”
“So do I,” she murmured. Releasing him, she stared at the throng surrounding Cal. “So do I.”
* * * * *
Sullyan and Robin made their way back to their suite. Once he was sure no one could overhear him, Robin asked, “How on earth did you know this Ky-shan was a pirate? I’ve never even heard you mention the eastern seaboard, let alone anything about sailing.”
She gave him a straight look, but there was a sparkle in her eyes. “Lucky guess, Robin.” He hissed in shock and she shook her head. “No, you misunderstand. What I told them was true. I have been to the eastern seaboard and I did spend time aboard a vessel whose captain and crew turned out to be free traders. It was Ky-shan’s ‘profession’ I guessed at. The style of his name gave it away. It abounds among sailors in that region. Besides, the man is obviously someone who has given much trouble. Vanyr would not have suggested him otherwise. That told me he was not just a minor noble, but someone with his own authority. There was only one obvious possibility left, so it was not really much of a guess.”
Robin didn’t look convinced. “But if he’s given so much trouble, why are you so keen to take him on?”
