Artesans of Albia: 02 - King's Champion

by Cas Peace

  He was yelling something, but there was too much noise for Marik to hear what it was. The Count let his warhorse run before the enemy, not getting too far ahead. He was relieved to see Xeer and the pirates veering right and left through the trees, harrying Rykan’s guard and even cutting some down. The shrieks of the fallen and the roars of his pursuers filled Marik’s ears. He forced his attention back to Rykan and caught another glimpse of that dark, predatory face as Rykan urged his guard to capture the Count.

  Taking a brief moment to check his direction, Marik found he was heading too far southwest. He needed to turn now and run farther north while not letting the Duke close too soon with the rest of his troops. He hoped that Ephan’s commander had shepherded the column far enough north by now so he would have room to play cat-and-mouse. The last thing Marik wanted was for Rykan to lose interest or suspect an ulterior motive, so he swerved his men aside and had them melt into the trees, hoping to see Rykan and his guards go pounding past.

  To Marik’s annoyance, the Duke hadn’t entirely lost his caution. He had counted heavily on Rykan’s eagerness to capture him and hadn’t fully considered the man’s natural cunning. Rykan, it seemed, suspected a trap and was holding back.

  Marik now pinned his hopes on Nazir. His men were farther behind and wouldn’t have seen what had happened. They would only know that the enemy had faltered and would see their chance to wreak havoc among the rearguard. Soon, more screams and ringing steel told Marik his luck was in. By the sound of it, Nazir’s units had crashed full-tilt into the back of Rykan’s, scattering them like windblown leaves.

  Marik grinned in satisfaction and began leading his company back to where he thought Rykan might be. He circled to the south, as quietly as possible, his men riding cautiously through the woods. Those with crossbows held their weapons ready.

  A movement in the trees ahead caught Marik’s attention and he barked a command. The bowmen let fly and leaped forward. In that instant, Marik found himself to the rear of his group, but as he urged his horse onward to catch up, the animal gave a bubbling scream and crashed to the ground, a crossbow bolt embedded in its ribs. Marik was flung from the saddle, but the rest of his men went flying ahead, unaware what had happened to their lord.

  Marik hit the ground hard and bounced, coming to rest against a tree. He lay still, stunned by the fall. Slowly, his head cleared and he rolled groggily to his hands and knees, hoping some of his men were within call. There was silence all around as he kneeled in the slushy snow. The light was already beginning to fade as the short winter day waned toward evening. The mission had taken longer than he thought.

  A horse snorted close by and he heard its rider dismount, hopefully coming to his aid. Instead, to his everlasting horror, he heard a familiar, gloating voice, its deep, silken tones deceptively mild.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t the treacherous Count Marik. Who would have thought it, eh, Sonten? Only a few weeks ago this man was parading about my palace, taking my hospitality, and enjoying the entertainments I provided. Trying—quite successfully—to convince us he was a pathetic, whining coward. Yet all the time he was plotting to stab me in the back by ruining my plans and liberating a valuable captive.

  “Look at him now, Sonten, already on his knees before me, hoping, no doubt, to beg my forgiveness. What do you think? Should I forgive him for betraying me, his rightful overlord, and for depriving me of my quarry and throwing my careful plans into chaos? Should I welcome him back with open arms and allow him to help me obtain my victory?”

  Marik’s heart sank and he retched. Trembling in every limb, he raised blurred vision to the cruel, dark face towering above him. Looking his death full in the eyes, he vowed to follow Sullyan’s example and never give in to this monster, no matter what he did. In that terrifying moment, Marik fully appreciated how Sullyan had felt, lying naked and helpless at this brutal man’s feet. His admiration for her increased tenfold.

  Sonten, who hadn’t dismounted, sniggered. Marik saw Rykan smiling down at him, white teeth gleaming in the murk.

  “No, I don’t think I should, Sonten. I think I should just cut out his craven, treacherous heart and stuff it in his lying mouth. I think I should kill him where he kneels.”

  Marik spat bile onto Rykan’s boots. He never saw the kick aimed at his head, but he did feel it connect with his temple. It floored him instantly, drowning him in pain and darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Sullyan paced the Tower battlements constantly during the daylight hours following Marik’s departure, never resting, pausing barely even to eat, and then only when forced to by Robin or Pharikian. She knew both men despaired of easing her throughout this time, but couldn’t shake her looming sense of doom. Her inability to use her powers to watch over the Count only increased her frustration.

  This profound unease had manifested long before he had ridden out to play his part, full of confidence. Had she been able to contact or watch him she wouldn’t have felt so helpless, yet it was vital that her presence be concealed from Rykan. She couldn’t risk him catching so much as a hint of her psyche. Even using Robin was a risk, as his pattern possessed a uniquely Albian aura. She felt thwarted, restrained as never before, save only when under the numbing effects of Rykan’s spellsilver.

  Anjer was still at the Citadel. He wouldn’t take the field until the final battle was joined. As his pattern of psyche was already known to Rykan, he had offered to relay the sequence of events. Having learned Marik’s pattern before the Count left, the Lord General was subtly tracking it, staying in the background so as not to disturb him. However, as he was in overall command, Anjer was also coordinating with Ephan and Kryp and couldn’t concentrate solely on Marik. After telling Sullyan of Marik’s successful engagement of Rykan’s elite guard, he had broken off to deal with a query from Kryp. By the time Sullyan’s hand on his arm urged him to regain contact, all he could sense was blackness.

  “Please, my Lord,” she begged, “try again.”

  Her heart beat frantically while she waited. When his eyes regained their focus and he reluctantly shook his head, she froze, a sense of helplessness overwhelming her. It was all she could do to restrain herself from running to the horse lines for Drum and riding out herself. Eyes filling with tears, she hugged her cloak tighter. Desperately, she whispered, “Can you tell if he lives?”

  Anjer nodded slowly. “Yes, his pattern’s still there. He’s unconscious, I think.”

  She bowed her head. “He should never have been allowed to do this. I knew something dreadful would happen.”

  * * * * *

  Robin watched Sullyan turn and move stiffly away, lost in sadness. Anjer glanced at Robin. “She’s not prescient, is she?”

  The young man shot him a look, dark eyes full of worry. “The truth is she’s been deeply unhappy about asking Marik to do this from the start. Just don’t go reminding her it was her idea, my Lord. You may regret it.”

  Anjer grunted and turned back to the battle. Robin followed Sullyan along the wall at a discreet distance, Almid and Kester doing the same. The twins were constantly on duty as bodyguards, although if the state of Vanyr’s face when he finally appeared was anything to go by, he had been taught a harsh lesson. He stayed well away from Sullyan, and Robin was thankful for this small mercy.

  * * * * *

  By the time Marik regained consciousness the light had faded fully from the sky. He ached in every limb and there was a dreadful throbbing in his skull. He felt sick, immediately regretting a rash movement which only served to tell him he was trussed like a felled boar. He stifled a groan, reflecting dismally that things could only get worse.

  As if to confirm this, a sharp kick in the ribs made him gasp.

  “Ah,” said a satisfied voice. “He’s awake, your Grace.”

  Marik heard soft footfalls and a pair of long legs, clad in black breeches trimmed with silver and scarlet, appeared before him. Raising his eyes to Rykan’s, he held the Duke’s gaze. Rykan smile
d, showing his teeth, and crouched beside his captive. “Tell me, Count,” he said idly, “what did you do with her?”

  Confused, Marik tried to think around the sickening throb of pain. Sonten’s boot landed once more, encouraging him to lucidity.

  “Gently, Sonten,” reproved Rykan, “he’ll remember in a minute.”

  The Duke held a naked dagger and he brought its point round to caress Marik’s throat. The Count swallowed compulsively, the movement causing the blade to nick his skin.

  “Oh, dear,” purred Rykan, “I seem to have drawn your blood, Count. Now, would you like to answer my question or shall we play a little first?”

  Staring up at the Duke, Marik forced a small, hard smile onto his face. Rykan’s frown was his reward. “You can do what you like to me,” he rasped, “but at least you can’t do her any more harm.”

  The frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

  Marik let his disgust at what this brutal man had done to the helpless Sullyan color his reactions. His eyes filling with tears, he spat, “She died of your cruelty, Rykan. Yes, I rescued her. Yes, I took her out of that awful cell you threw her in.” His voice rose, anger fuelled by the fear of death. “You’d more than half-killed her anyway, but I wasn’t going to let you complete what you started. I only wish I’d had the courage to do it sooner. Perhaps then I could have saved her life. But at least I saved her from having to give her powers to you!”

  Gathering his strength, he spat in Rykan’s face.

  The Duke cursed and reared back. Curtly, he motioned to Sonten and the stocky General laid in with his boot again. In despair, Marik felt his shoulder blade break under the repeated vicious kicks. His breath was forced from his body and he was unable even to scream as the toe of Sonten’s boot thudded home again and again. Rykan stood watching, his expression thunderous.

  Too badly injured for lucidity, the growing commotion in the trees didn’t mean much to Marik, but he did see Rykan’s head snap round and heard him barking orders at his men. Hastily, they ran for their mounts.

  “Finish him!”

  Rykan flung the words at Sonten. Already halfway to his horse, the command forced the General to turn back. Drawing his sword, he lumbered toward Marik, only to stumble to a halt as a large group of yelling men burst into sight, crossbows thumping as they came.

  Barely conscious, Marik saw Rykan wheel his bay stallion, cursing Sonten’s hesitation. Still swearing, he spurred the nervous animal toward Marik, deliberately setting the horse at the Count. Yet despite the raking spurs and dragging reins, the battle-trained stallion leaped over the Count instead of trampling him. Roaring his fury, Rykan yanked cruelly on its mouth before kicking the beast away.

  Forcing his eyes wider, Marik recognized the pirate Xeer leading Ky-shan’s men in pursuit of the Duke. Desperate to stop Rykan escaping, Marik gathered his waning strength and yelled hoarsely at the top of his lungs.

  “She’d never have given her powers to you, Rykan, but before she died, she passed them on to me! And I intend to see that you never win this war.”

  Dimly, Marik registered Rykan’s furious face as he spun round in the saddle to glare at him.

  Caught on the ground as Xeer’s men rushed closer, Sonten heard Marik’s words. Drawing his dagger, he threw it as hard as he could at Marik’s prone body before scrambling clumsily onto his horse. Even as the blade thumped home, ripping an agonized scream from his throat, Marik heard Rykan’s enraged roar.

  “Sonten, you lackwit! NO!”

  His vision red and blurred by pain, Marik was only vaguely aware of horse hooves trampling next to his head. Spiking agony prevented him from protecting himself. Fortunately, the horse belonged to Xeer, who had stayed behind while the others engaged Rykan’s guards. Slithering down, Xeer grasped the hilt of Sonten’s blade and yanked it from Marik’s back, throwing it after its retreating owner. Then he roughly hoisted the helpless Marik and slung him over his horse’s withers. The violent movements tore at the Count’s wounds and he shrieked, close to passing out.

  Xeer leaped into the saddle of his curveting horse yelling, “I’ve got him, lads! Quick, follow me!”

  The pirates abandoned their attack and crowded after Xeer as he turned and galloped for the Plains. Marik felt the pirate’s hand gripping the back of his jacket, steadying him as best he could over the horse’s neck as they pelted dangerously fast through the dark forest. The yelling of men and pounding of hooves was loud in Marik’s faltering ears.

  For all his agony and fear, Marik felt a strange satisfaction. He had managed to taunt Rykan with the one thing guaranteed to make the Duke pursue him. Thoroughly enraged by Marik’s resistance and convinced that he had now been twice deprived of the power he so obsessively desired, Rykan’s pursuit showed he was determined to take the Count at all costs. Marik had convinced him that if he could just recapture the Count he could still have Sullyan’s powers, and their acquisition would set the seal on the outcome of his challenge. This, Marik felt, was worth dying for.

  In total darkness, it was a nightmare ride. They were all riding blind, although Rykan’s men would have the slight advantage of hearing their quarry ahead. Fading in and out of consciousness, praying to die while pain tore at his body, Marik was aware of the pirates forging on at whatever speed they could hold, only their sense of direction guiding them. As the yawning chasm of the Void finally came to claim him, Marik vaguely heard them yelling for reinforcements. He desperately hoped the rest of his command was nearby as they galloped recklessly toward the Plains.

  * * * * *

  Sullyan couldn’t leave the battlements. Robin, Almid, and Kester stayed with her the whole day, but with the final battle so close now, Anjer had gone to rest while he could. He needed to be fresh for the following day when he would personally lead the Citadel’s defense.

  Pharikian replaced him as Sullyan’s eyes. She protested at Andaryon’s Supreme Ruler acting as her liaison, but he brushed her objections aside, saying he was as concerned for the Count as she was. He stayed by her as darkness fell and was able to tell her that Marik had regained consciousness as Rykan’s captive. Her heart shriveled inside her, hope for the Count’s survival diminishing fast. Yet Pharikian also sensed the pirates come charging into Rykan’s camp, and they realized all was not yet lost. When he relayed the words Marik yelled at Rykan, Sullyan smiled grimly.

  “We could not have thought of a better way to convince him to follow.”

  Pharikian nodded and tightened the arm he had placed around her shoulders. “If the Count comes out of this alive, I’m going to make him a Lord of the Realm.”

  She stared up at him, a proper smile slowly forming. “That should please your daughter.”

  He grinned, glad to see her somber mood lifting. “It would rather neatly solve the problem, wouldn’t it?”

  “He has to reach the Citadel first,” said Robin, and Sullyan sighed.

  Turning to his guard, Pharikian instructed that Anjer be fetched from his rest. “Alert the Velletian Guard to incoming troops,” he added as the man hurried off.

  When Anjer learned what had occurred, he swiftly ordered Kryp and Ephan to give the pirates every support. It would be a delicate balance, because they couldn’t afford to lose Rykan now. With the enemy so close to the Plains, darkness had not brought the usual cessation to the fighting, and the Hierarch’s hitherto secret reserves were readying themselves to form the Citadel’s last line of defense. Both generals reported fierce fighting and a savage push by Rykan’s men to force their way onto the Plains. Anjer gave the order to slowly fall back and encourage them on. Dryly, Ephan remarked that encouragement wasn’t necessary. He had only just been able to hold them that extra day as it was.

  Pharikian relayed all this to a tight-lipped Sullyan. They remained on the battlements, anxiously awaiting the pirates’ and Marik’s arrival. Xeer was no Artesan, and Marik seemed mercifully to have lost consciousness, so they had no contact with them. After about an hour of constantly scanni
ng the darkness, Sullyan stiffened. Robin felt it and leaned forward, straining to see in the darkness. They could just make out movement through the closest trees.

  The Hierarch saw it too. “Here they come,” he said, and sent a command through the substrate to Vanyr, who was waiting with a full contingent of Velletian Guard to shepherd the pirates home. Sullyan watched intently as Vanyr’s well-trained men charged the pirates’ pursuers, causing them to veer back into the protection of the trees. Xeer on his overburdened horse, followed by the remnants of his band, thundered on toward the Citadel.

  Sullyan didn’t wait to see them in. She was already running for the Tower stairs, leaping recklessly down them, desperate to tend to Marik’s hurts and see him safe. Robin followed.

  Knowing that Xeer would reach the Palace courtyard and be relieved of his burden before she reached the Tower base, Sullyan made straight for the infirmary. As soon as she burst through its doors a Healer waved her to one of the smaller rooms. With Robin shadowing her heels Sullyan entered the room, seeing the Count’s body already laid on the bed. Coming straight to his side, she took in his grey, sweat-sheened face, blue lips, and slack features. Deshan was bending over him, removing the Count’s bloodstained clothing. Silently, Sullyan helped. When they had finally stripped the Count, the extent of his wounds became clear. Sullyan sucked in a breath.

  The right shoulder blade was broken clean in two, one half sticking out through mangled flesh. Rykan’s boot had made a mess of the left temple, where there was a huge and spreading bruise. Sonten’s enthusiastic kicks had also broken and cracked a few ribs, and Deshan suspected a punctured lung. The worst wound, however, had been inflicted by Sonten’s knife. The serrated, nine-inch blade had entered Marik’s back and lodged against the spine, and Xeer’s hasty removal had done yet more damage. They would need to probe deeply to assess the extent of the harm, but Sullyan already knew by the look in Deshan’s eyes that he feared the Count might never walk again.