by Cas Peace
Robin could barely hear Cal’s indignant voice. That’s a bit unfair on our side, isn’t it? Rykan gets two benefits while we only get one!
His smile widened as he caught Bull’s acid reply. You don’t consider putting an end to Rykan benefit enough, my friend?
Cal was wisely silent.
When Robin finally turned his attention back to the field, Anjer was Witnessing Rykan’s agreement of the conditions. The two parties then withdrew to their respective pavilions to ready themselves for combat. Robin drew closer to Sullyan as they walked, concerned that the donated life force wasn’t sufficient to protect her from the effects of Rykan’s presence. By her clear, hard eyes he could see she was expending no metaphysical power and he realized she was already drawing on their gifts. She gave him a tiny, reassuring smile, but it didn’t calm the frantic beat of his heart.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Despite his earlier flash of fear at seeing Marik alive and the knowledge that Rykan would make him suffer for the failure, Sonten felt confident as he turned to follow the Duke back to their pavilion. The two men who were clear candidates for Champion and who might, conceivably, have given Rykan trouble, had obviously stepped aside in order to give the human witch her chance at revenge. He snorted. Revenge! He could hardly believe that the Hierarch’s advisors had even proposed this ruse, let alone that Pharikian would actually try it. Did they really think his Grace would fall for such an obvious trick? While it was just possible that the girl possessed some sort of skill with a sword—this abominable thought made Sonten shudder—no one would be fooled into thinking she could be a match for the superbly talented Rykan.
This, he thought, was the reason why the Crown had stipulated combat by arms rather than by metaforce. They obviously thought that the witch’s presence, coupled with this ludicrous charade, would unsettle the Duke. They hoped he would be duped into believing he could defeat her easily. At which point, she would employ her Artesan powers and try to overcome him with metaforce.
The General smiled. How stupid did they think Rykan was? They had already made a serious error in allowing the witch to confront Rykan the day before, for it had given him and Sonten time to discuss the strategy and take countermeasures against it. Rykan had easily negated the threat of her metaphysical prowess by demanding the use of spellsilver. The Crown’s counter-condition of a Firefield was another desperate attempt to unsettle the Duke, but neither Rykan nor Sonten could see any real disadvantage in it.
Chuckling under his breath, Sonten threw one last satisfied glance over his shoulder at the retreating Hierarch. Pharikian’s time on the throne would soon be at an end.
He was about to turn back when a figure caught his attention. Eyes narrowing in shock, he halted abruptly. His heart hammering, his feverish gaze leaped from the young man accompanying the human witch to scan the other members of the Hierarch’s party. As he did so, a phrase, a parting remark, echoed loudly in his mind. It was Commander Heron’s voice, reporting his lieutenant’s suspicion of lookouts stationed on an ideal spot from which to observe the battlefield. Heron’s concern over reinforcements stationed there was unfounded. The Hierarch’s extra men had come from elsewhere, and Sonten now guessed that the witch had warned Anjer of Rykan’s true strength. Nevertheless, those words held vital importance.
Suddenly, with uncharacteristic insight, the General knew who had left those faint traces on the knoll. His certainty was borne out by his failure to find the face he sought among the Hierarch’s party. He was damned sure the cocky Albian who had murdered Jaskin wouldn’t have stayed in the Citadel when everyone else was here.
Flushed with urgency, Sonten cast a furtive glance at Rykan’s pavilion. The Duke was fully occupied within and Sonten hastened out of his line of sight. “You!” He beckoned to a soldier. “Find Commander Heron immediately. Send him to me.”
When the Artesan Commander arrived, Sonten curtly issued explicit orders. Heron didn’t like it and glanced swiftly at the preoccupied Rykan. “Get on with it, man!” rasped Sonten. “Do as I say!”
Heron left, vaulting onto his horse and galloping off toward the remnants of Rykan’s army.
* * * * *
Sullyan drew Robin aside so they could speak privately. She could see the anguish in his eyes and feel his terror for her. Taking his hands in hers, she smiled up at him, trying to give him some of her own calm strength.
“Be brave for me, Robin,” she murmured. “I am ready for this now. I feel no fear and have no pain. I can do what I came to do, and it is thanks to you that I can. I could not have endured these past weeks if not for you, and I want you to know how much I love you.”
He closed his eyes in pain and she took a deep breath. “Remember what I said. You must trust me, Robin. I will do whatever I can to destroy Rykan, and I will preserve my own life if at all possible. But you need to know, my love, I cannot let him win. He may well defeat me by might of arms—that is a separate matter and I cannot guess the outcome—but I cannot allow him to win the day. Do you understand me?”
He gazed down into her golden eyes. “I understand that I must trust you, love, though I can’t pretend to know what’s in your mind. I especially don’t understand why you agreed to the spellsilver. I have to admit that I’m very frightened for you—I’ve tried not to be but I just can’t help it—but you know that you have my total support in whatever you do. Every ounce of my strength and love is yours, you know that too, and I will be here for you whatever happens.”
She smiled, feeling the tears that spangled her eyes. “Then do something for me, my love.” Holding his gaze, she drew the gold band he had given her from her finger. “Keep this safe for me. I do not want it to be lost should things go awry. Never fear, I will claim it back from you later.”
He took it wordlessly, trembling fingers closing about the band.
She turned her head and dropped her voice as Pharikian glanced toward her. “Now hold me tightly, Robin, and wish me good fortune.”
He took her in his arms and hugged her tightly. Then he released her, and walked beside her back to the pavilion.
* * * * *
Soon, far too soon for Robin, the page that the Hierarch had dispatched to the Palace once Sullyan had accepted Rykan’s spellsilver condition returned. He was bearing a wrapped package which he gave to his monarch. If the expression on Pharikian’s face was anything to go by, thought Robin, he was very much against this condition. Sullyan saw his discomfort and spoke privately with him for quite some time. Eventually, he sighed and turned away. She came back to stand by Robin, watching Pharikian with a calm, if slightly sorrowful, expression.
The Hierarch gestured and the heralds blew three strident blasts. With a final clasp of Robin’s hand, Sullyan joined him, and together they walked out of the pavilion. Robin followed, halting by one of the arena’s gold and purple flags. A deep bass voice echoed through his mind as Bull prepared his companions for what was to come.
Here we go.
Through the link with Bull’s psyche, Robin knew that Rienne had a hard, tight knot in her stomach. She feared she might be sick. Taran and Cal seemed empty and helpless. He knew how they felt. All any of them could do now was watch.
His heart sank further as Rykan and Sonten, the latter bearing Rykan’s sword naked across his hands, entered the arena. They marched to the center where they stopped. Rykan stood insolently, hands on his hips. His expression showed unconcern, but his yellow eyes were hot.
Sullyan, accompanied by Anjer, approached him slowly. The massive Lord General bore Morgan Sullyan’s polished blade almost reverently in his large hands. The two of them came to a halt opposite the Duke, and Robin twisted his fingers anxiously. He moved closer to Marik’s carriage, suddenly feeling in need of support and friendship. In a short while he might very well lose everything that made his life worth living, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to bear it.
The Hierarch, escorted by Vanyr, approached the four in the arena. He came between the
two combatants and studied their faces carefully. Rykan stared back at him but Sullyan’s attention was riveted on her opponent’s face.
“My Lord Rykan,” said the Hierarch, “do you agree to be bound by the Witnessed terms and conditions of this contest?”
“I do,” said Rykan, only adding an insulting ‘Majesty’ when Pharikian refused to continue until he did so.
“Should you emerge the victor in this bout, what is your claim over your opponent?” The Hierarch’s tone was reluctant, already knowing what the rebel lord would say.
“I claim the right to her power,” declared Rykan, everyone within earshot hearing his intent.
“Major Sullyan?” The Hierarch turned to her, inviting her to accept or refuse.
Her eyes never left Rykan’s as she replied.
“Should my Lord Rykan be the victor today, I will accept his right of claim over my personal power.”
With a grim smile, Robin acknowledged her clever phrasing. She had neatly avoided granting Rykan access to the donated life force within her. He saw Rykan’s eyes narrow, pondering her words, but as he was unaware of her augmented state, he could find no reason to challenge them. Impatient to start the contest, he nodded curtly.
The Hierarch turned back to Sullyan.
“Major Sullyan, do you agree to be bound by the Witnessed terms and conditions of this contest?”
“I do, Majesty.”
Pharikian then asked her the ritual question and Robin expected her to lay claim to the Duke’s power should she win.
She didn’t.
“Majesty, I claim this man’s life, to do with as I will.”
A ripple of exclamation ran round the arena and Robin clearly felt Bull’s puzzlement through their link. Rykan was frowning. He knew that simply claiming his life wouldn’t give her access to his power if he wasn’t willing to surrender it. Robin couldn’t imagine the circumstances under which Rykan would be willing, and felt his anxiety rise. If only she had confided in him ... but her face was closed, as was her mind, and Rykan had no choice but to agree to the claim.
Stepping closer to Sullyan, the Hierarch flipped the covering from the package he held. With a shudder, Robin saw that it contained a silver collar much like the one she had worn in Rykan’s dungeons. Careful to hold it by the cloth, the Hierarch unclasped it in order to lock it about her neck.
Sonten’s harsh voice stopped him.
“Majesty, we claim the right to inspect this collar as we would our opponent’s weapons.”
Robin immediately noticed the sudden paling of Sullyan’s face. There was concern in her eyes that she was trying hard to conceal.
Rounding on Sonten, Pharikian said, “Do you insult me, General? Do you doubt that this is spellsilver?” He thrust the collar into Rykan’s face. “Would your Lord care to handle it?”
The Duke’s insufferable smile never wavered, although he did step back a pace.
“Of course not, Majesty.” His voice was silky smooth. “It is a formality only. My second merely asks to observe the protocols.”
Grimacing, Pharikian almost threw the collar at Sonten. The General weighed it in his hand for a moment before finally nodding to Rykan. The Duke’s smile widened.
“Check the clasp, Sonten. We wouldn’t want it mysteriously coming undone halfway through the duel.”
The Hierarch narrowed his eyes but didn’t speak. Anjer fumed silently at his side. Sullyan appeared relaxed. Finally satisfied, Sonten returned the collar and the Hierarch stepped up to Sullyan once more.
“I am very sorry for this, my dear,” he said, and quickly fastened it about her neck.
Her face went white and her breathing faltered as she adjusted to the spellsilver’s terrible numbing effects. Rykan watched her closely. Robin could see Sullyan drawing strongly on her donated life force as she slowly regulated her breathing. Her face regained some color, but Robin’s hands trembled with tension. He gripped them tightly together.
Both seconds then made a show of examining each sword. Anjer moved in front of Sullyan and placed his hands on her shoulders, looking down into her eyes. She smiled at him and even Robin could see that she was now calm. Only the pallor of her face and the blue tinge to her lips betrayed her discomfort at the spellsilver’s touch.
She shed her jacket, giving it to Anjer. Rykan did the same. After a moment, and despite the chill air, the Major also removed her shirt, leaving only the light, sleeveless chemise she wore beneath. Pharikian drew in a breath when he saw the long, red scar that marred her forearm. Under normal circumstances, Robin knew, she would have spent more time on it. Although it was healed, it hadn’t faded. The Hierarch cast a grim glance over his shoulder at Vanyr, but the Commander wasn’t looking. Robin knew that Anjer had convinced his ruler to say nothing about the incident, especially as Vanyr had already been disciplined. Once the pirates had taken out their rage on the man, Anjer felt there was nothing more to be gained by raking it over again.
Robin’s attention switched to Rykan, who was watching Sullyan disrobe. He stood at ease, his sword point grounded before him. There was a leering look on his face and he suddenly leaned forward.
“Why stop there, witch? You have nothing I haven’t already seen and used as I wished!”
Sullyan didn’t grace him with a reply, didn’t react in any way.
Rykan’s lips thinned. “Once I have won this travesty of a duel,” he snarled, “you know what to expect from me, don’t you? I will have what I want, girl. Powers and pleasure both! There will be no friends to rescue you this time.”
Slowly, she raised her golden eyes, her expression full of scorn. She spoke clearly and coldly.
“May I suggest you save your energy for your sword arm, my Lord? You may have some skill with that weapon, but before witnesses I declare that you have none whatsoever with the one between your legs.”
There was a ripple of derisory laughter and even a few cheers. Rykan went purple with rage. He raised his sword as if to strike her, but Anjer whipped his weapon protectively across Sullyan’s body before Rykan could lunge. Breathing heavily, the Duke forced himself to calm.
Sullyan didn’t react, and Robin admired her air of control. He knew she was centering herself, drawing her skills and knowledge to the fore, and planning her strategy. In that state, she wouldn’t have reacted had a whole swarm of tangwyrs come swooping through the arena.
Once calm was restored, Anjer presented Sullyan with her father’s sword. The two seconds then withdrew, leaving only Rykan, Sullyan, and the Hierarch in the arena. Pharikian studied both combatants before speaking.
“You are about to commence combat for the right to Andaryon’s throne. You have agreed to the terms of this contest and have been Witnessed by all present. Any deviation from those terms will incur the penalty of disqualification and defeat. In such an event, the victor’s claims will be honored. Do you understand?”
They nodded and Pharikian stepped back. “The contest will begin once the Firefield is in place. I wish good fortune on you both.”
Despite his words, his gaze was on Sullyan. She didn’t notice. Her attention had remained fixed on Rykan since accepting her sword from Anjer. She brought it up before her face, the keen edge giving a shiver of steel song. Rykan locked eyes with her.
Andaryon’s ruler moved to the sidelines and Robin felt the Hierarch’s hands come to rest on his trembling shoulders. He could clearly sense Pharikian gathering his will and power and knew he was preparing the Firefield. Those with the Artesan gift gasped as the glittering, sparking cage of elemental energy crackled into life.
* * * * *
Due to the spellsilver’s leaching effects, Sullyan couldn’t actually see the Firefield. Her skills and her power, however, were so much a part of her life, and her Mastery over Earth established for so long, that she could feel the echo and throb of the field where it emanated through the ground. Her nerves tingled with the proximity of Fire and she felt a stab of relief. At least one gamble had paid off
. It would have been a severe handicap—although one she had been willing to risk—if her senses had failed her. Her earlier weeks of intimacy with Rykan’s spellsilver had prepared her for what to expect. Still, it was reassuring to have those expectations confirmed. She had experienced a bad moment when Sonten insisted on inspecting the collar, but she had also gambled on Rykan’s reluctance to touch it. That too had paid off. Rykan would have realized instantly, but Sonten had no way of knowing that the silver was actually Rykan’s. Her hunch in bringing the collar from the drovers’ hut had been borne out.
Capturing the Duke’s predatory gaze, she concentrated on gathering the strength given her by those who had pawned their life force.
Rykan assumed a defensive posture as soon as the field became active. She never took her eyes from him and saw with satisfaction that he was unsure how to treat her. Vanyr’s instruction had been invaluable and she intended to make good use of it, but she also intended to use her own judgment and not take anything for granted. It was some years since Vanyr had fought Rykan. A person’s style could change.
They circled each other slowly. Rykan was right-handed so Sullyan was also using her right hand. She hoped that the long, red scar down her left forearm would give the Duke a false message. Watching him intently, she continued to gather donated strength until she felt her skin would burst.
Rykan watched her as a cat watches a rat, knowing its prey has teeth but thinking itself superior in strength and size. She saw his eyes flick to her hand, noting how she gripped her sword, and then to her feet, checking her balance. After a few moments of circling, she knew he was ready. His gaze sharpened and his lips parted in a faintly feral smile.
That slight change in expression was Sullyan’s cue. It signaled a momentary distraction, a change in thought processes. It was what she had been waiting for. With a loud cry—“Hau!”—she gripped her sword in both hands and charged her opponent, allowing her gathered energy to explode in a flurry of furious strikes. Metal rang harshly on metal. Sparks flew from the blades. Her shocking scream, coupled with the sheer ferocity of her unexpected attack, caught Rykan off guard. Driving hard, her father’s blade ringing incessantly on his, she forced him back relentlessly toward the sparking Firefield. Within two minutes she had drawn his blood, to the approving roar of her supporters.
