Artesans of Albia: 02 - King's Champion

by Cas Peace

  As soon as the basic tasks were done—horses picketed and fed, latrine sited, fire started—Bull asked Taran to help search the woods around the campsite. Taran readily agreed. Using their metasenses, both men made sweeps of the area. Neither found signs of recent activity by either faction, although there were indications that patrols from the Citadel had passed that way before the war began. It was, after all, one of the obvious routes to the few small villages close by. Taran had learned that the majority of the population lived further northwest. According to Robin, and fortunately for the locals, Rykan’s troops were concentrated in the Haligan Forest to the east, which was largely uninhabited save for some charcoal burners’ and hunters’ huts.

  Bull set about showing his companions how to make the camp, and their occupation of it, as invisible as possible. Everything was organized with a swift departure in mind, in case they should be discovered. He asked Cal to gather kindling and firewood and showed him how to store it so that it looked natural but was near enough to the fire to dry. Taran helped Rienne drag pine branches closer, for screening the fire as well as their sleeping places. The latrine was sited a good distance from the main camp, and there were plenty of dead leaves nearby to cover it. Such precautions wouldn’t fool a practiced eye looking for a camp, but they would be effective against any locals brave enough to come foraging this way.

  Once the watches were organized, Bull asked Cal to take his crossbow and go hunting. The young man went on foot and returned an hour later, just as the last light was draining from the sky. He had managed to bag a couple of the small wild pigs that roamed the woods. That amount of meat would last them some time. Each of them had brought a fair amount of dried fruit, cheese, and some corn meal in their saddlebags. Bull wasn’t anticipating being there for more than a few days, so Cal’s contribution ought to see them through.

  Taran took their water jars down to the stream running not far from the bottom of the hill. It was frozen over, but he found a deeper section where the ice was thin, the water flowing just fast enough to resist the freeze. He broke through and filled the jars, trusting that the ice would reform overnight.

  Once Bull was satisfied with their precautions, he advised Cal and Rienne to get some sleep. Then he joined Taran, who had drawn first watch, by the fire.

  “I’m going to try for contact with Robin before I sleep, Taran. Do you want to listen in?”

  The Adept nodded and melded his psyche with Bull’s once again. Robin noticed the big man’s questing thought almost immediately and indicated that it was safe for them to talk.

  What’s been happening, Robin?

  We’re entering the final stages now, Bull. Anjer’s best efforts to flush Rykan into the open have failed. The Duke’s hiding behind his commanders, letting them direct his men. Anjer doesn’t want to reveal his true strength, so he can’t send any more men to force Rykan out. He’s also worried that Rykan will find out on his own about the Hierarch’s extra troops. It would only take one quickwitted scout to evade Ephan’s patrols and discover the reserves. If Rykan realizes too soon that we’ve matched his numbers, he might decide to retreat, give himself time to come up with another strategy. It’s vital that he doesn’t learn he’s lost his advantage before he has committed to the final battle. If he does, our efforts will be wasted. I can’t imagine what that would do to Sullyan.

  Taran could clearly sense Robin’s distress and knew that Bull felt it too.

  So what about Marik? the big man asked.

  He’s our final arrow. He’s leaving tomorrow. All we can do is hope he succeeds.

  * * * * *

  The dawn light woke Sullyan as usual, and she and Robin breakfasted in their suite. They took their time. Neither felt like talking. After a while a page arrived, bringing an invitation from the Hierarch to join him and the Lord General on the battlements. Once they had bathed and Robin had changed the dressing on Sullyan’s arm, she opened the door and stepped out into the passage. She stopped, astonished to find both Almid and Kester stationed on either side of the door, looking as if they had been there all night.

  “Why—?” she began, but stopped short when she noticed the deep bruising on their faces and the bloody knuckles on their hands. With hard eyes she studied them, waiting for one of them to explain. Neither spoke. While she debated whether to press them, Ky-shan, Jay’el, and Ki-en arrived, all three also bearing the unmistakable signs of having been in a fight. The pirate leader grinned at Sullyan and nodded to the twins, both of whom left. It was so obviously a change of guard that Sullyan stared in exasperation. Ky-shan merely raised his brows, daring her to comment.

  She growled under her breath, “For the Void’s sake!” and stalked off, heading for the Palace Tower. Robin shook his head and fell into step beside her, the pirates shadowing them.

  When she reached the Tower roof, Pharikian and Anjer were already there. They were standing side by side, both gazing over the parapet down toward the lower town. Pharikian turned when he heard her approaching and held out his hand.

  “Come stand by me, Brynne. It’s nearly noon and Count Marik will soon be leaving with his men.”

  As she leaned on the parapet beside him, following his downward gaze, she saw the tiny figures moving around in front of the Citadel’s southern gates. Men and horses together; the sun glinting occasionally off harness and weapons. A brave sight, she thought.

  Anjer, on the other side of the Hierarch, turned to regard the pirates. None of them replied to the directness of his gaze, and Anjer’s brows drew down over his snapping black eyes.

  “Would those bruises and cuts have anything to do with why Commander Vanyr is unable to rise from his bed this morning?”

  Ky-shan shrugged. “I know nothing about Vanyr’s sleeping habits. Perhaps he isn’t as fit as he should be. Or maybe his little fencing session with Major Sullyan yesterday took more out of him than he thought.”

  Anjer opened his mouth, but then shut it again. His lips thinned and he shot Sullyan a look. She gazed back. There was nothing she could say. They both knew that once Ky-shan had set his course, nothing short of a full-blown gale would make him veer. He had clearly meted out his own form of justice, and she now had a bodyguard rather than companions. In the light of Vanyr’s malice, she didn’t feel like refusing them.

  Turning her back on Anjer’s irritation, she concentrated on the scene below. Another friend was about to hazard his safety, and she wasn’t sure how she would cope if he didn’t return. Her heart offered silent prayers to the gods.

  * * * * *

  Count Marik walked down to the lower town lighter of step than he had felt for years. No thoughts of death troubled his mind. He had absolutely no intention of sacrificing himself. Just an hour earlier he had taken an emotional farewell of the Princess Idrimar, and was still in a state of shock at finding that her feelings for him were not just a passing fancy. Indeed, he was having trouble coming to terms with his own emotions. He had been more than half in love with Sullyan for some years, despite knowing it was hopeless. His melancholy nature was well suited to thoughts of doomed love. Yet this love—the Princess’ love—might actually be attainable, and he was finding such good fortune hard to understand.

  When the Princess had waylaid him in the Palace, she had made it clear that she would not tolerate him dwelling on the past. He quickly understood that she was determined to have him when the war was over, and if in the meantime he covered himself with glory, well, so much the better. As he walked out into the sunlight with Idrimar’s blessings in his ears and her kisses on his lips, Marik’s soul soared like a tangwyr. Suddenly, he felt capable of achieving whatever his heart desired.

  On joining his small escort in the lower town, Marik mounted his horse. Followed by his men, he galloped through the Citadel’s southern gate. Cheers from the battlements sounded in his ears as he led his little company back toward the forest. Once under the trees, he quickly met up with Nazir and the remainder of his command. They were waiting for h
im where Anjer had told him they would be. They flocked around him, greeting him, eager to learn their orders. Marik explained the new strategy and the role they were to play.

  “Remember, lads, we are not to engage Rykan in combat. Our purpose is as decoys. We will only fight if absolutely necessary, to retain his interest and fuel his anger. We are not to engage him before he reaches the Plains. The Hierarch has other plans for him—vital plans—and we’re here to help them succeed. Is that understood?”

  They roared their agreement and Marik grinned, wheeling his horse to lead them deeper into the forest. They would have to strike southwest for quite a way in order to skirt the main troop column and avoid the skirmishes that frequently broke out on its flanks. For Marik to succeed in his task, he would have to be quick. Anjer didn’t want news of the Hierarch’s reserves reaching Rykan before this maneuver had a chance to work. Knowing this, the Count and his band made all possible speed through that day, resting only briefly. They made a late and hasty camp, and before he slept, Marik quested for contact with Ephan.

  His Artesan skills were scarcely even Apprentice strength, so Marik had to rely on Ephan recognizing his psyche. As soon as the General realized who it was, he immediately accepted the link. Ephan wasted no time on pleasantries.

  Count Marik. How soon can you and your men join us?

  Sometime before nightfall tomorrow, General. I’m pushing as hard as I can, given the terrain, the weather, and the bad light.

  Make sure it’s no later or we risk losing this chance. Kryp’s troops are holding Rykan for now, but they can’t do it much longer. I can spare you fifty men, Count, but I’ll need to send the rest to reinforce Kryp. Otherwise Rykan could break through and destroy our advantage.

  I understand, General. We’ll be moving before first light. I’ll contact you again tomorrow.

  Ephan broke the link and Marik checked his sentries. Then he went to get what rest he could.

  He and his men were moving before the sun was fully up, the forest dark and still under a covering of snow. The going was tricky, treacherous for the horses, and they had to skirt sporadic outbreaks of fighting between small units of Ephan’s men and outriders from Rykan’s forces. By midafternoon, however, Marik was nearly ready to position himself for his risky but essential undertaking.

  Using his feeble Artesan powers, he contacted Ephan, showing the General where he was. The pale-eyed man rode into the camp at nightfall, bringing Marik his extra men. He was accompanied by the commander of one of the units detailed to effect the pincer movement. The three leaders, plus those Marik had chosen to help him coordinate his swelled forces, sat down to discuss the minutiae of their strategy.

  The temperature was dropping and a light snowfall began. Marik hoped it would last. A good covering of snow would conceal his troops and aid their surprise move on Rykan. Ephan’s units would begin their push just after dawn, as soon as there was enough light to see by, hopefully catching the enemy before they were fully alert. A good overnight freeze would slow everyone’s reactions, so it was essential for Marik’s and Ephan’s men to be up and limbered well before dawn. Warm men and horses would move faster than those still cold from their blankets.

  “Drive your men in fast and sure, Count,” said Ephan as he took his leave. “Force Rykan as far south as you can. My units will harry the rest of the column northward, where they’ll naturally run to close ranks with their fellows. A good, fast execution should see Rykan well out of touch with his men inside a couple of hours. Then let him chase you back toward the Plains. Kryp and I will give you all the support we can. I wish you good fortune.”

  Marik grinned and flipped Ephan a salute. He had a good feeling about this and went to his rest well content.

  He had his men up long before dawn. They were tense with anticipation and quickly had the camp dismantled and the horses saddled. Marik rode through them, as much to keep warm as to give final instructions. Xeer was at the head of Ky-shan’s band, and Nazir was in charge of Ephan’s troops. All knew their place in the general plan. Marik and his own men, each one a trusted retainer, were the spearhead. They would drive deepest into the enemy in search of Rykan.

  Finally, Marik received Ephan’s instructions to proceed to their positions where they would await his signal telling them the drive had begun. The snow had continued to fall during the night, but dawn brought rising temperatures and the wind was noticeably warmer. This meant melt water dripping off trees and down necks, and the going underfoot would turn slushy. Those on horseback wouldn’t have much trouble, but the majority of the enemy was on foot and would find the going treacherous.

  As he moved his men into position, Marik did his best to keep warm. The grey light slowly penetrated farther into the trees, and finally he heard the sounds that told him the assault had begun. Screams and roars and the clash of steel echoed through the forest. His men were fidgeting, anticipating the command to move, and Marik’s own stomach curdled with tension. He was more excited than afraid, more avid for revenge than fearful of the consequences.

  He signaled his men to draw swords, waiting impatiently for Ephan’s command. When it came at last the sun was well up and so was Marik’s blood. Eagerly, almost joyfully, he yelled, “On, lads!” and his entire unit forged ahead, the horses straining at the rein. The forest resounded with the clamor of fighting and it all seemed horribly close. The cold air conducted sound well, and Marik kept his eyes alert as he rode toward his goal.

  When they caught sight of men fighting, Marik gave a prearranged signal. Smoothly, his own unit surged to the fore while Nazir’s split left and right. Xeer’s command brought up the rear. Putting heels to their mounts in this diamond formation, they charged at full speed into the gap between Rykan’s men and Ephan’s. The commander in charge of Ephan’s units now turned his men northwest to herd the column after their fellows. Marik was left to complete the sundering and force Rykan to turn southwest.

  As expected, there was fierce resistance. Rykan’s elite guards, identifiable by their black and silver uniforms, were experienced warriors, trained by the Duke himself. Fearlessly, they came at Marik’s men, determined to beat them back. Once or twice during the mêlée, Marik caught sight of an officer in black and scarlet, but he saw no sign of the great lord himself.

  Marik and his spearhead concentrated on driving their wedge deeper into Rykan’s position, leaving the other units to distract and engage his men. Marik fought hard while his warhorse helped with hooves and teeth. His men crowded close around him, protecting him, more intent on advancing than killing the enemy. Although resistance was stout and continuous, they made good progress, and suddenly Marik caught sight of someone he had been watching for, as his presence was a sure indication that Rykan must be nearby.

  The man was dressed in the black, silver, and scarlet of a general, but his cloak bore a pale blue trim. Ungainly and fat, he sat astride a powerful, stocky warhorse. He was wheeling the animal about, trying to see what was happening. Although he held a naked sword in his hands, Marik knew he wasn’t much of a swordsman. He drove straight for him, roaring his name.

  “Sonten, you slimeson! Stand and fight, you miserable coward! Where’s your master, running safe somewhere? Tell him I’ve come looking for him. Tell him I’ve a score to settle!”

  Even as Marik roared his challenge, other members of Rykan’s elite guard converged on him. Madly, he drove them off, still heading directly for Sonten. He saw the General turn pale at the sight of him and spur his horse away, running from Marik’s onslaught.

  Not quite as reckless as his words suggested, Marik checked he was not alone before kicking his horse after the frightened General. His other units were doing their work, forcing Rykan’s guard further away from their fellows and preventing them from hindering Marik. This left the Count free to follow Sonten, who was sure to lead him straight to Rykan.

  Sure enough, through the press of trees Marik soon made out a core of men, all mounted, all wearing the colors of Ryka
n’s elite guard. Sonten galloped straight for them, yelling, “Your Grace, your Grace! We must ride, we are surrounded!”

  You miserable excuse for a man, thought Marik, remembering Sonten’s condescending manner when they had spoken in Rykan’s palace. He had been so superior, so confident, when Marik was trapped and in fear of his life. Now the sword is in the other hand, thought Marik. Now we’ll see what sort of general you are!

  The men Marik could see were huddled together, gathered around a central figure mounted on a fiery bay stallion. He heard a deep, commanding voice yelling orders and recognized those silken tones. He smiled grimly. Then he saw the bank of crossbows leveled at him and his men and abruptly yanked his warhorse to a squealing, dirt-showering halt.

  He screamed, “Back, BACK!” and his command veered away, scattering wildly as the multiple ‘thunk’ of bows sounded, heralding the deadly bolts. One grazed Marik’s sleeve, tearing the fabric but missing his skin. He heard the harsh cry of a stricken horse and saw one of his men go down. Unable to help, he left the man to fend for himself, knowing he would sell his life dearly.

  Desperately gambling that there was no second bank of bowmen, Marik roared at his men to wheel and charge before the bows could be re-armed. They abandoned their flight immediately and followed the Count as he reversed direction and came at Rykan once again.

  Marik’s other units were now approaching from two different directions, driving the enemy before them. Rykan saw them and yelled to his men, suddenly advancing to meet Marik. Unwilling to engage him directly, Marik swerved his horse, drawing Rykan’s guard with him and forcing the Duke to follow or be left unprotected. He caught the malevolent yellow glitter of Rykan’s eyes as the Duke briefly locked gazes with his most despised foe.