Artesans of Albia: 02 - King's Champion

by Cas Peace

  Sullyan noticed the absence of the Journeyman-ranked Vanyr and pursed her lips. She was disappointed that the man hadn’t felt able to participate, particularly since she had assumed they were now on easier terms. Still, he had made her a gift of his teaching, and it would prove invaluable. She suddenly wondered if that was why he had offered it, knowing he wouldn’t be here today. She let it go, having no strength to waste on speculation.

  The Hierarch brought them all to order and Sullyan tried to compose herself. The assimilation of life force couldn’t be undertaken lightly. There were lives at stake, and she had never actually done this before. She hoped she was hiding her trepidation from the others better than she was from herself.

  Pharikian gestured her toward a chair in the center of the room. Settling comfortably, she closed her eyes. She didn’t need to see who was making the offer, and watching their reactions as she accepted would be a distraction she could do without. Silence filled the room.

  She heard Pharikian stir and expected him to be first, but it was Robin who approached and kneeled before her. He took up her hands and they effortlessly established their familiar link. She felt no hesitation in Robin as he opened himself unreservedly to her. Very gently, so gently that had he not known her so intimately he wouldn’t have been aware of her touch, Sullyan reached out and took what he offered. He felt no different, she knew. He already considered his life to be hers. Briefly, she opened her depthless eyes and smiled. Robin squeezed her hand and stood up.

  Pharikian came forward then, and his experience was as gentle as Robin’s. She sensed his amazement at the lightness of her touch. Assimilating his life force, however, was not as easy for Sullyan. The Hierarch was a Senior Master, a full level above her own skills, and his well of power was so vast that it took her breath away. She struggled to contain what he gave her and he stayed close, watching her carefully until she was stable. Then he broke their link.

  Her face felt white with strain and she wondered whether she had done the right thing. But then her eyes cleared. Pharikian was still watching her closely and she smiled, allowing him to see how she had managed his vast store of power. Compartments had been created within her mind, her own and Robin’s power on one side, Pharikian’s on the other. They were linked by the bond of her Andaryan blood, blood which originated with him. He nodded in admiration, and withdrew to one side.

  Anjer, a Master Artesan, was next, and now that Sullyan knew how to treat the Andaryan’s power, it was easier on her. After him came Ephan, and then Kryp. Despite the Hierarch’s earlier assurance, she insinuated a question into each of their minds, to satisfy herself that they were completely willing. The only one to experience a moment’s hesitation was Kryp. She was about to refuse him when she felt him give himself fully to the task, and so his gift of life force joined the others’.

  The pirates experienced less of the process than the rest due to their untrained status. They couldn’t have shielded themselves from her consciously, but had they not been willing, a natural barrier would have rendered their minds inaccessible to a whole battalion of Senior Masters.

  Once the process was complete, Pharikian indicated that everyone should remain quiet and still so that Sullyan could come to terms with what she had done. She had surprised herself in her ability to take them all. She knew she would have no trouble with Robin, and hadn’t been too surprised at her capacity to accept Pharikian, despite the scope of his powers. She had, however, expected to reach her limit after accepting Anjer. The fact that she had then been able to assimilate three more Adepts-elite plus four untrained minds was something she needed to think about.

  Finally, she came to terms, and only the fire opal pulsing in the hollow of her throat betrayed the rapid beat of her heart. Pharikian approached her and she sensed his dismay at the tears standing in her eyes.

  “What is it, Brynne? Is the pressure too great?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak. When her voice returned, it was husky with emotion. “Such selfless generosity, Timar. How can I possibly stand it?”

  Smiling gently, he took her hand and raised her. “Think of it as a gift between friends, child. A gift freely given, to show how we love you.”

  His words hit her like a punch to the stomach and she gasped. She stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, and he stared back, clearly alarmed. Rooted to the spot, she struggled to breathe. They were all staring at her, confused, and Pharikian took her by the shoulders. Through the urgency of his touch she could feel his concern, his fear that she was suffering another attack like the one that had hit her on the Tower. In a way, she was.

  Blindly, she stared at him. “A gift freely given!”

  He frowned, uncomprehending. Robin stepped forward, also frightened by her demeanor, and she knew she wasn’t making any sense. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and clutched at the Hierarch’s arm. “Majesty, I must speak with you!”

  Bemused, he let her lead him out of the audience chamber and she closed the door firmly behind them.

  * * * * *

  Robin stood alone, completely at a loss. He had no idea what had just happened, and his feelings were in turmoil. The Major had clearly remembered something important, but whether it was good or bad he didn’t know. All he could do was wait and trust she would tell him in time.

  After a few moments, the door opened and he heard the Hierarch’s voice summoning one of his pages. A young boy went to him and came back in seconds. He sped through the chamber and out into the opposite corridor. Five minutes later, he returned at a dead run, carrying something Robin thought he recognized but couldn’t immediately identify. He could see that everyone in the room was watching him as if he knew what was happening, but like them he was totally baffled.

  The blare of a horn from outside made everyone jump. Robin’s heart thudded painfully. Surely it wasn’t time already? But Anjer was rising and moving to the door, ready to inform his monarch if Pharikian hadn’t heard the signal. The Hierarch reappeared immediately, Sullyan following. Both wore grim expressions, but Robin thought he detected a gleam of triumph—or at least hope—in Sullyan’s golden eyes.

  Pharikian was speaking to her as he strode into the chamber.

  “... you’d have to be very careful. I don’t like it, Brynne, and I can’t publicly condone it, but if you think you can do it, then you have my blessing.”

  She gave him a brief glance. “I thank you, Majesty. That is all I need.”

  Robin kept his voice low as he fell into step beside her. “What was that all about?”

  “Not now,” she murmured, and squeezed his arm.

  He heard the honor guard approaching down the corridor and his heart thumped sickeningly. Pharikian gave the box containing Sullyan’s sword to Anjer, who as her second had the right of arming her. Surrounded by the honor guard, they left the audience chamber, Pharikian leading and Sullyan next, flanked by the massive Anjer, who dwarfed her completely. Robin and the others followed in their turn.

  In the courtyard, the horses were ready. This time Drum was present, looking fit and sleek. He stood quietly awaiting his rider, but Robin could see his muscles quivering as he sensed the tension in the air. They mounted up, and once again the entire royal household turned out to watch them leave. This time the acclaim was for Sullyan, and she raised a hand in acknowledgement. Commander Vanyr led the honor guard, and Robin saw Sullyan regarding him closely. Vanyr steadfastly refused to look at her and his eyes were hard. Robin frowned. What was his problem? He let it go. He had more pressing matters to worry over.

  On leaving the courtyard and emerging onto the white-paved Processional Way, Robin noticed a small carriage waiting to one side. Drawn by a single pony, it held two people, and he smiled when he saw who they were. Idrimar waved at Sullyan as she passed, and Marik lifted his thumbs in encouragement. She acknowledged their support gratefully, and Robin nodded their way.

  Once again, the heralds’ fanfare sounded and the Citadel gates swung open as the c
avalcade reached them. The guards manning the walls, the sentries, the Velletian Guard, and the forces outside the gates all added their voices to the roar of approval that met ruler, warlords, and the Champion of the Crown. Robin felt a lump come into his throat and suddenly thought of Bull and the others up on their hill. As soon as he did so, the big man’s presence flooded his mind, comforting, bolstering, encouraging. Robin thanked him silently and set his gaze firmly ahead as the party rode around the perimeter wall toward the south gate, the same gate that he, Sullyan, and Marik had entered by all those weeks ago.

  A contingent of swordsmen had been hard at work creating the combat arena and arranging seating for those permitted to witness the duel. The arena itself was a large, flat, circular area of grass, marked out with gold and purple flags. A pavilion had been set up at the south gate end, draped in gold and purple cloth. Four standards bearing the Hierarch’s tangwyr crest marked the corners of the pavilion, and seats were arranged within it.

  Opposite this and facing it was a similar pavilion, this one draped in black and silver. As they rode closer, Robin could see the heavy figure of Sonten inside and a few of Rykan’s elite guard. Of the tall Duke there was no sign. He heard Sullyan take a deep breath and knew she was drawing on her donated strength to ward her against Rykan’s inevitable appearance. She would have to use it sparingly as the effects wouldn’t last for long. Robin had no idea how soon they would fade, never having experienced this before. He could only hope it would be enough.

  The late winter sun shone down out of a nearly cloudless sky. Following the Hierarch’s lead, Robin dismounted by the pavilion and allowed a groom to take his horse. Pharikian drew Sullyan and Anjer aside and Baron Gaslek joined them. Robin watched them talking quietly, going over what was to happen.

  Sullyan was dressed in the clothes the Hierarch had ordered for her, and Robin thought she looked calm and composed. It was more than could be said for him. Her eyes were hard when last he looked, and he hadn’t dared disturb her by speaking to her. He had no part to play in this and stood at the rear of the group, trying not to feel alone and forlorn.

  A movement close by drew his attention as Princess Idrimar brought her carriage up beside him, deftly handling the high-stepping little chestnut that drew it. Marik leaned down to grip Robin’s shoulder and the younger man looked up at him gratefully.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Ty.”

  Marik’s smile was grim. “I can’t wait to see Rykan’s face when he realizes I’m not dead.”

  Robin nodded. “Anything that puts him off balance acts in our favor.” Silently, he cursed himself for not being able to keep the tremor out of his voice.

  Marik looked sympathetic, but he didn’t have time to respond. The Hierarch’s herald blew three strident notes on his horn. Pharikian moved into the arena, followed by Sullyan and Anjer. Vanyr and the Velletian Guard flanked them. The Hierarch’s elegant robes—gold, purple, and white—swirled around him. He halted in the center of the arena and the herald called for Rykan. Robin craned his neck to see, an uncontrollable tremor beginning deep in his soul.

  The rebel Duke was dressed in his usual black and silver trimmed with scarlet. He stalked into the arena, no expression on his handsome face. Sonten attended him as his second, and his elite guard escorted him. He stopped a few paces from the Hierarch, insultingly close, and Robin saw Anjer’s face darken. Rykan saw it too and gave a small smile. Sullyan didn’t react, but Robin noticed that her face was stony, her eyes fixed upon Rykan’s.

  Hands on hips, the Duke addressed his rival. “Well, Pharikian, shall we agree on terms?”

  The Hierarch was furious at Rykan’s dismissal of protocol. “You’re here under sufferance, Rykan. Don’t overstep your mark.”

  Rykan refused to be intimidated. “I have accepted your challenge in my right as an equal. Once I win this contest, Majesty,” an insulting emphasis accompanied the title, “we shall see who is here under sufferance. Let’s get on with it.”

  Anjer and Sonten stepped forward. As seconds, it was their duty to agree on terms.

  “This trial of combat is for the right to Andaryon’s throne,” rasped Anjer. “The Hierarch, Timar Pharikian, hereby agrees to relinquish all hereditary rights due his House and his Heir should Lord Rykan win the day.”

  Sonten nodded once. “In his turn, his Grace, Rykan, Duke of Kymer, agrees to be bound by the Hierarch’s rule and will submit to his command should the Crown’s Champion be victorious.”

  Anjer paused before continuing. “As challenger, the Crown decrees that the challenge shall be settled by skill at arms. The chosen weapon is the sword.”

  Both Rykan and Sonten frowned. Given Sullyan’s Artesan status, they had clearly expected a metaphysical duel. Rykan’s yellow eyes narrowed and he whispered urgently to Sonten, who nodded before turning back to Anjer. “His Grace agrees.”

  The Lord General inclined his head and was about to step back, but Sonten wasn’t done. “We have a condition.”

  Anjer glanced over his shoulder at the Hierarch. “A condition, Sonten? What gives you the right to demand conditions?”

  Sonten looked smug. “It is written in the Codes.”

  Robin saw Pharikian confer briefly with Gaslek, who was holding a sheaf of parchment. The little secretary shrugged and nodded. “Very well,” said Pharikian. “One condition.”

  “Well?” snapped Anjer. “What is it?”

  The General’s fat lips quirked. “His Grace, Lord Rykan, doesn’t trust the Champion not to use her metaphysical powers once it becomes clear that she cannot defeat my Lord.”

  His arrogant phrasing brought an audible gasp of outrage from the Hierarch’s supporters. Robin stiffened indignantly. Sullyan didn’t react, but Robin saw her eyes dilate as she passed someone a message. Pharikian turned and stared at her. Rykan watched her intently, a predatory look in his eye. Robin knew he was trying to unsettle her.

  “So what’s the condition?” said Anjer.

  Sonten smirked. “The condition, my Lords, is that for the duration of the contest, the Hierarch’s Champion wears spellsilver.”

  That provoked a general outcry, the loudest coming from Marik, who leaned out from his carriage to yell, “Rykan, you evil bastard! Have you no courage? You’re only doing this because you know you can’t win!”

  His voice carried easily, and Rykan’s face flushed with fury as he suddenly noticed the Count. He turned and cast a venomous look at Sonten, who paled, clearly realizing his knife hadn’t done nearly as much damage as he thought.

  “Marik, you treacherous coward!” roared Rykan. “There will be no hole deep enough for you to hide in once I’m the victor here. I’d start running now, if I were you.”

  “That’s an empty threat,” retorted Marik. “You’ve already lost. Give up now.”

  Rykan was about to make some foul reply when Sullyan’s calm, clear voice cut through the uproar.

  “Majesty, my Lords, I will accept the Duke’s condition providing he grants us the right to propose our own.”

  This earned her a glance of alarm from Anjer and quiet resignation and a shake of the head from Pharikian. Rykan’s attention snapped back and his face resumed its predatory smile. Robin, who once again was left out of Sullyan’s plans and feeling useless, reached for Bull’s psyche. He badly needed the big man’s comfort and knew that he and his companions would be desperate to know what was happening. Contact came immediately and Bull’s psyche flooded Robin’s mind.

  He could tell that Bull had his arms wrapped tightly around Rienne so she could share what he was seeing through Robin’s eyes. Although she was no Artesan, the healer’s empathic abilities would enable her to sense Bull’s thoughts. Taran and Cal, also linked to Bull, were standing close by, Cal’s hand resting on Taran’s shoulder. Bolstered by their presence, Robin opened his mind fully to his friend and turned his attention back to Sullyan.

  Anjer had moved closer to her and was whispering fiercely in her ear, the Hierarch at his
side. Sullyan shook her head and replied firmly, but Robin couldn’t hear what she said. It didn’t please Anjer much, that was clear, but then she added something which mollified him a little. He drew back, glanced across at the overconfident Rykan, and smiled. The dark lord saw it and his yellow eyes tightened. Anjer stalked toward him.

  “The Crown proposes a counter condition.”

  Rykan frowned, but he could hardly refuse if he wanted his own terms accepted. He feigned indifference. “What is it, then?”

  “The Crown proposes that the duel be conducted within the confines of a Firefield. This will be cast by his Majesty, who pledges not to break it until the defeated challenger yields. Whatever takes place within the Firefield is to be deemed valid within the terms of the contest.”

  Rykan scowled, looking for the catch. Robin was puzzled. He knew that a Firefield meant that no outside interference—whether physical or metaphysical—could reach the combatants while the field was active, but he failed to see what advantage it gave Sullyan. Unless, of course, she feared that one of Rykan’s men would shoot her should she gain the upper hand. Rykan would know that Pharikian couldn’t break his word. There were far too many witnesses for that. Robin watched him staring at Anjer and Sullyan—whose face was unreadable—before glancing at Pharikian. Andaryon’s ruler stood conversing quietly with Gaslek, pointedly ignoring his rival. Rykan held a low, hasty conversation with Sonten, who nodded heavily before stepping forward again.

  “His Grace accepts these terms on the understanding that it doesn’t affect the personal claims of each combatant.”

  This puzzled Robin even more, but he was momentarily distracted by Bull’s voice in his mind. Then he smiled, for the big man was clearly replying to someone who was as puzzled as he was.

  I’m no expert on the intricacies of Andaryan combat codes, so I can only surmise that as Sullyan and Rykan are representing factions rather than acting on a personal basis—although in Rykan’s case, of course, it’s the same thing—they are entitled to personal claims on the outcome.