by Cas Peace
When they reached the perimeter road running the circumference of the Citadel’s curtain wall, the cheers of the guards stationed there swelled the clamor. Robin nudged Sullyan’s arm and she caught sight of the patrol commander who had escorted them to the Citadel gates so many weeks ago. She wondered what the man thought of them now. She soon forgot him as Pharikian looked back over his shoulder at Robin, indicating that he should begin concentrating on the shield protecting Sullyan. With an anxious smile, the young man complied.
At a nod from their ruler, the array of heralds on the curtain wall now began their fanfare. For some reason this made Sullyan think of Bull, and she suddenly longed for his comforting presence. Giving herself a mental shake, she turned her attention to the strong flow of metaforce coming from Andaryon’s ruler. As the guards slowly cranked the enormous Citadel gates wide, Robin’s strength was added to the shimmering web of power cast around her mind. His deft skill earned him her grateful smile, and he held her eyes for a moment to convey his loving pride.
As they rode through the gates, the townspeople’s cheering faded into the roar of reverent greeting that rose from the massed ranks of the Hierarch’s forces. Sullyan’s heart turned in her breast as she remembered similar occasions when she and Robin, returning from a victorious campaign, had been the ones so lauded. Glancing at the young man beside her, she knew he was wondering what she was feeling right now.
Feeling, however, was exactly what she was trying not to do. She rode in silence, looking neither left nor right, trying to think no further than her horse’s next pace. Her body’s unexpected reaction to Rykan’s physical presence had shaken her badly. She was not at all confident she could hide it today. The Hierarch’s protective flow of metaforce was doing its job at present, but they still hadn’t seen any sign of the rebel lord. Gathering what little strength she had left, she tried not to think what might happen over the next hour or so.
The party continued through the massed ranks of men, each commander saluting his warlords as they went. The Hierarch and Anjer acknowledged the acclaim with smiles and nods. They reached the edge of their forces and halted there, looking out over the no-man’s-land between the two armies.
The Plains were littered with the dead and alive with carrion birds and rats. A few tangwyrs stretched their enormous wings, circling lazily overhead. They were too big to be comfortable on the ground so near to living men. The stench of death was appalling. Everyone was grateful the fighting had not occurred in the summer heat.
They sat waiting, and Sullyan could clearly see how angered Pharikian and Anjer were by Rykan’s failure to meet them. There was no movement from his command post, although horses were ready, being held by grooms. Just as the Hierarch turned, no doubt intending to send Vanyr to demand the Duke’s attendance, Rykan’s escort emerged from the tent and mounted their horses. Riding the animals forward in line, they blocked the tent from view so no one would see Rykan mount his steed.
The Duke’s heralds blew their own fanfare as the little cavalcade moved forward. Lord Sonten was at its head, lavishly dressed in black, silver, and scarlet with pale blue trim. He was accompanied by two other commanders sporting different family colors. An honor guard of twenty surrounded them, all Rykan’s elite troops. As they drew nearer, the dark lord himself could be seen riding at the rear, mounted on a fine bay stallion. Peering between the pirates, Sullyan noted sourly that its sides were scarred from the spur, its mouth dripped red foam, and the veins stood out on its damp neck.
They advanced slowly, and as they neared, Vanyr rode forward with ten of his men. The commander of Rykan’s elite guard did the same. Sullyan saw Robin glance her way and she nodded, trying to appear composed and serene despite the pallor of her face. He seemed satisfied that the shielding was doing its work. What he didn’t see, because she was doing her level best to hide it, was the rising tide of panic she felt at the thought of meeting her ravisher face to face. Drawing desperately on years of independence and self-reliance, she schooled herself to calm. Despite her best efforts, she felt the fire opal at her throat jump erratically.
Having exchanged formalities, Vanyr and Rykan’s commander now reined back. Pharikian, flanked by Anjer and Ephan, rode forward to accept Rykan’s formal surrender. Halting their steeds a few paces in advance of their party, they waited for the Duke of Kymer to approach.
His men gave ground before him, opening a corridor between them down which he rode his nervy stallion. Robin was staring at Sullyan’s nemesis, and she clearly felt the great surge of hatred welling up inside him. The darkly handsome Duke was dressed in black trimmed with silver and his sword belt was of scarlet leather. Tall, slim, and strongly built, he swayed easily with the stallion’s paces, one hand tight on the reins, the other resting on his thigh, close to his sword hilt. He wore an expression of haughty arrogance, undimmed by the surrender he would be forced to submit. His pale yellow eyes were fixed on the Hierarch, his sensuous lips parted in a faint smile.
Rykan brought his stallion to a snorting stop before the Hierarch’s mare. Hesitating just long enough for insolence, he inclined his head, causing the Hierarch to narrow his eyes. “Majesty,” he said, his deep and silky voice flaying Sullyan’s heart. The last time she had heard it she had been naked and helpless, lying torn and chained beneath his weight. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she struggled for calm.
“Rykan,” said Anjer curtly. The insult given Rykan by the Hierarch’s refusal to acknowledge his greeting caused the dark lord to frown. “Get on with it!” snapped Anjer, his massive frame towering over the slimmer man. The Duke’s face darkened further and he glowered at Anjer. Then the insolent smile returned, and he directed his reply to the Hierarch.
“Majesty, before these witnesses I cede the field of combat.” His ringing voice carried no hint of humility. “I withdraw my challenge to your right to rule, and with your permission will begin a retreat back to Kymer within the day.”
No one spoke. Pharikian held Rykan’s gaze so long that the Duke’s eyes shifted uncertainly. The Hierarch waited long enough to unnerve him before saying coldly, “I think not.”
The Duke started, clearly not expecting this development. Hooding his yellow eyes, he glanced around. Sullyan was suddenly grateful that she and Robin were at the back of the party, sheltered from his gaze. The pirates had closed tightly around them, hiding them from view.
“Majesty?” Rykan’s tone made it clear he was unsure how to proceed.
Capturing his gaze, Pharikian stated, “Lord Rykan, Duke of Kymer, you have committed an act of treason by leading forces against the Crown. Your admission of defeat is noted and the withdrawal of your challenge accepted. However, the Crown chooses to deny you your right of retreat.”
Rykan’s face paled at the charge of treason, although it was just. But the last statement was unprecedented. Sullyan knew there had never been an occasion when a defeated challenger had been denied the right to withdraw.
Rykan knew it too. Drawing himself stiffly erect, he demanded, “Why?”
His rudeness caused Anjer’s hand to drop to his sword hilt. Pharikian quelled him with a look. “Because, my Lord, the Crown chooses instead to issue its own personal challenge. Rykan, Duke of Kymer, consider yourself bound by the Codes of single combat.”
Someone in Rykan’s party gasped. Sonten recoiled in shock, and Rykan himself betrayed a momentary start of fear. But then the arrogance slipped back into place and he sneered. “Are you losing your wits, Pharikian? Both you and I know the Crown can’t engage in single combat.”
Smiling tightly, the Hierarch gestured to Gaslek. The fussy little secretary nudged his cob toward Rykan, a sheet of parchment in one hand. Clearing his throat under the Duke’s hooded gaze, he announced, “This codicil to the Codes of Honor reads thus, my Lord. ‘Subsequent to lawful challenge, and if it so desires, the Crown, on emerging victorious from the field of combat, shall hereby be empowered to likewise issue a challenge of single combat, said confl
ict to be conducted by a warrior designated by the Hierarch. This warrior shall be known as Champion of the Crown’.”
Startling them all, Rykan snorted, and then gave a roar of mocking laughter. “Gaslek, you pompous old booksnout! Where did you dredge that one from?”
The secretary gathered his dignity around him like a cloak. He sniffed, his unruffled manner drawing approval from the Hierarch. “Seldom used and obscure it may be, your Grace, but this law is well recorded in the annals of our realm.”
Rykan’s mirth ceased abruptly. “Show me this ridiculous law!”
Gaslek handed his parchment to Vanyr, who carried it to Rykan. The Duke snatched it, scanning it quickly. Realizing its validity, fury flooded his face. “Majesty, I protest! Where is the precedence for this?”
“What’s your problem, Rykan?” said Anjer. “His Majesty makes his own precedent, as well you know. It should be enough for you that the protocol exists. You have two choices. Accept the challenge or renounce your rank.”
Rykan glared, trapped into a situation he had not foreseen. His rage at being thwarted yet again spiraled dangerously. Just then, Sonten leaned forward and whispered in his overlord’s ear. Rykan’s temper cooled visibly. He regarded Anjer, a calculating look in his eye. The unpleasant smile reappeared as he addressed the Hierarch.
“And what will you wager on this challenge, Majesty?”
Pharikian studied the arrogant man. His lips quirked. “Andaryon’s throne, of course.”
Eyes narrowing in hungry triumph, Rykan said, “Then I accept your challenge.” He cast a satisfied glance at Sonten before turning to stare at Anjer. “So, Anjer, you and I are to meet under arms at last, eh?”
The Lord General shook his head. “Regrettably no, Rykan. Much as I would appreciate the chance to put an end to your arrogance, I must forego that pleasure. However, I declare your acceptance of his Majesty’s challenge duly Witnessed.”
Rykan frowned and Sonten’s brow also creased. Sullyan felt herself tense and knew her face was white, her eyes huge as she anticipated the Hierarch’s call.
Rykan stared round the party, dismissing both Ephan and Kryp with disdain. Then his eye fell on Vanyr and his assurance returned. “Well, well, Vanyr, don’t tell me you volunteered for this position? I thought you stayed comfortably behind your Citadel walls these days after that last beating I gave you. As I remember, I sent you running like a whipped cur.”
Vanyr’s face paled dangerously and his whole body stiffened. Sullyan saw Robin’s start of surprise. He glanced quickly at her, but she didn’t react. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
Despite his anger at Rykan’s taunt, Vanyr mastered himself enough to reply levelly.
“I’m afraid I must disappoint you also, my Lord, for there is one here more worthy than I to be your opponent.”
His choice of words amazed Sullyan and she eyed him. But Rykan was losing patience with the game and he rounded angrily on the Hierarch.
“If not Anjer or Vanyr, then who? Who else in your forces has the skill at arms—not to mention the metaphysical prowess—to stand against me?”
The Hierarch spoke calmly and Rykan suddenly stilled.
“There is one among my court whom you have deeply wronged, Rykan. One who is your equal both in power and sword skills, one who is deserving of the chance for retribution, and one I am very proud to name my Champion.”
This speech clearly puzzled Rykan, aware as he was of the skills of the men in the Hierarch’s court. When Pharikian turned in his saddle to beckon Sullyan forward, both pirates and Velletian Guard parting to afford her passage, Rykan failed to recognize her. The dark uniform she wore and the hood of her cloak covering her tawny hair disguised even her sex until she came closer. With a veneer of serenity hiding the rising tide of panic within her, she rode forward to confront her most visceral nightmare.
She walked her horse toward the dark lord, her eyes never leaving his. Mercifully, the Hierarch’s shielding held even this close, and she could concentrate on hiding her panic. Halting before him, she made herself relax, one hand lightly on the reins, the other resting on the pommel of her saddle. Drawing back her hood, her expression unreadable, she said, “My Lord Duke, I am the Hierarch’s Champion.”
The puzzlement on Rykan’s handsome face changed swiftly through suspicion to recognition and fear. His eyes wide with shock, he glared from Pharikian to Sullyan. Hissing through his teeth, he snarled, “You, you little witch? That traitor Marik told me you were dead!”
She allowed herself a tiny smile. “As you see, my Lord, he lied.”
Rykan gathered himself with an effort, barely controlling his fury at seeing her alive and still in possession of the powers he coveted so.
“Well, you obviously can’t keep away! Did you so enjoy my hospitality and favors that you’ve come to beg for more? I know you never had a man before I took you, so is that it, girl? None of these men can satisfy you like I did, eh?”
She heard Vanyr’s shocked gasp. The white-eyed Commander was one of the few who hadn’t yet heard the truth of Rykan’s abuse. His face went tight with fury and muscles jumped along his jaw. Although her own eyes darkened with remembered pain, she was able to hide her rising disgust.
“As you well know, my Lord, I experienced no pleasure whatsoever in the duress of your company, unless you count my extreme gratification at denying you what you so brutally tried to take.”
Her words inflamed Rykan, and Anjer moved forward to protect her should the need arise. However, the infuriated Duke contented himself with words.
“You should have died at my hands, and I should have slaughtered that whining traitor Marik when I had the chance! You would never have escaped without his help.”
“On the contrary, my Lord, it was your overweening confidence that allowed my friends to rescue me, and it has brought you to this pass. I shall take great pleasure in acting as his Majesty’s Champion tomorrow.”
This statement froze Rykan’s temper. Glaring furiously, he decided to try another tack.
“Majesty, surely you can’t be serious in appointing this ... this ... girl ... as your Champion? Look at her! She’s not half my height, she’s female, and she’s not even from our realm!” Grasping at this loophole, he stated, “I’m sure I am not bound by Andaryan law to accept an opponent not of our race.” He glared at Gaslek, daring him to refute this assertion from his parchment.
The Hierarch was silent. They hadn’t discussed this valid objection and he had no ready answer. Sullyan saw Gaslek frown and knew Rykan was right. There was nothing in the Codes to cover this. It was up to her to save the situation. Forestalling whatever reply Pharikian might have given, she caught Rykan’s attention again.
“My Lord, would you be so kind as to give us your definition of ‘race’?”
He swung back to her, fury sparking in his eyes. “Well, obviously, someone who was born in this realm and has Andaryan blood running through their veins!”
Very deliberately, she leaned forward. “And you would accept a Champion who fulfilled those criteria?”
He laughed. “Of course!”
She turned to Anjer and he responded.
“Heard and Witnessed.”
Rykan scowled, suspecting he had somehow been outmaneuvered but was unable to see the joke. Sullyan enlightened him.
“My Lord Duke, I fulfill your criteria on both counts. I was born here, in the Citadel behind me, and I have the blood of Pharikian’s House running through my veins. I trust that satisfies you?”
There was deathly silence from Rykan, who stared at Sullyan in shock. Then he rounded furiously on the Hierarch.
“I refuse to believe this! How is it possible? She’s Albian. It is a trick of some kind!”
“It is no trick, my Lord,” snapped Sullyan, more confident now that Rykan’s veneer of calm was shattered. “How it happened is none of your concern. What matters is that it is true. Your acceptance of my position as Champion has been Witnessed, therefore it re
mains only to settle the time and the place. My second will finalize the details. I bid you good day.”
Wheeling her horse, she showed Rykan her back and rode stiffly through the ranks of Velletian Guard. The pirates once more closed around her, murmuring their approval. As she returned to his side, Robin gripped her arm, clearly worried by her pallor and the way her body trembled, but he was the only one who noticed. She turned to watch the final scene of this act.
Fuming and helpless, Rykan was left facing the mildly enquiring look on Anjer’s face and the outright satisfaction on the Hierarch’s. Once again, he was defeated and he knew it. But his eyes were coldly calculating as he allowed Anjer and his own second, Sonten, to set a time of one hour before midday on the morrow, agreeing to conduct the duel outside the Citadel’s southern gates. Sullyan shivered as his gaze tore through her once more. Then, summoning Sonten, he viciously neck-reined his stallion and spurred it back to his tent.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Safely back inside the Palace courtyard, Sullyan dismounted and clung to her stirrup until her legs felt they might hold her again. The trembling reaction that had set in once the confrontation with Rykan was over hadn’t abated, and she felt dizzy and weak. She saw Robin fling Torka’s reins at a passing groom and hurry over to help her. Gently, his arm slipped about her waist.
“Are you alright?”
She shook her head, trying to stay upright as Anjer and Pharikian approached.
“That was very well done, Brynne,” said the Hierarch, taking her hand and studying her face. “The shielding obviously worked.” At Robin’s unspoken protest he said, “No, Captain, she’s only exhausted. Where are those huge twins?” He looked about for either Almid or Kester and beckoned one of them over. He could never tell them apart, but it was Almid who swept her off her feet and carried her toward the Palace doors. She vaguely heard the Hierarch telling Robin to let her rest, saying they would meet again that evening to talk over the preparations for the next day.
