Artesans of Albia: 02 - King's Champion

by Cas Peace

  “Well, my dear,” he said, breathing heavily, “here we are again. You really didn’t have to go through all that to gain my attention, you know. I’m quite willing to renew our acquaintance, and I can assure you that I, at least, will enjoy the experience.”

  His words froze her heart. She wouldn’t wager against him raping her again, even now, in full public view. In fact, she thought, it would probably heighten his arousal, especially with Robin looking on. The Firefield, which she herself had proposed and which Pharikian could not, in honor, remove until she formally yielded, would prevent any interference.

  Centering her fury, she let it strengthen her resolve. Anger was all she had left. She stared up at him, putting all her scorn and disgust into her eyes, hoping to infuriate him with her defiance as she had once before. He frowned and she felt momentary satisfaction. But then he leaned a little harder on his blade and it slipped beneath her skin, causing her to gasp with pain.

  “You’ll not escape me now,” he warned her, his yellow eyes frigid. “You’ve been defeated and must abide by the terms of our agreement. Your powers are forfeit and I claim my right.”

  He shifted his feet, planting one on each of her wrists to pin her down. She shrieked again, unable to bear the pain as the shattered bones of her left wrist shot needles of agony up her arm. A ripple of anger ran round the arena at this unnecessary brutality, but Rykan ignored it. Once she was securely pinned, he removed and sheathed his blade.

  Looking down on her, he said, “Well, witch? Are you ready to surrender? Are you ready to give up your power?”

  Cold despair flooded her and she closed her eyes. Rykan’s next words would seal her fate, and she was totally helpless, too exhausted even for panic. This was her worst nightmare come true, and she had sought it out all by herself. She felt great sorrow for the grief of her friends—especially Robin—and wished she could speak with them now. She desperately needed a friendly voice to help her through this.

  Suddenly, almost as if he had heard her, Marik’s furious voice rang clearly across the arena.

  “Don’t give in, Brynne! Don’t give the bastard what he wants! Remember how you held out before? You can do it again, I know you can! We trust you, Brynne. We love you! Don’t forget it!”

  Rykan’s face darkened in fury. His head came up and he screamed at Marik, his foot grinding on Sullyan’s wrist, wrenching another agonized cry from her throat.

  “Silence, traitor! I’m the victor here and I claim what’s mine by right! I’ll deal with you later, and when I do, you’ll wish Sonten’s blade had done its work properly that night!”

  Sullyan barely registered his face as he glanced back down at her. The agony of her shattered wrist drowned her in nausea and she felt herself slipping away. Rykan’s face blotted out the light as he leaned down, his voice a savage snarl.

  “Don’t you die on me before I get what I want, girl!”

  His weight shifted from her wrists and he reached closer, his fingers circling the spellsilver collar, arm tensing as he prepared to wrench her to her knees. The collar blocked his power as well as hers, and despite his reluctance to touch it, he had to remove it before the transference of power could take place. Limp and spent, Sullyan hung in his grip.

  * * * * *

  Taran’s sight faded to black as the spellsilver knife pressed in below his ear, shutting off every sense he possessed. Shocked and frightened, he tried to cry a warning to Cal or Bull, but a hand clamped painfully over his mouth, making speech impossible. Weakened, sickened by the spellsilver’s touch, he felt himself being hustled backward into the trees.

  “The General wants a word with you,” growled a threatening voice in his ear.

  The words sounded oddly muffled, and all he could see were vague, dark shapes. Coldly fearful, he could do nothing as his captors wrestled him away, leaving his companions oblivious on the hill.

  * * * * *

  She knew she had to be quick. As soon as Rykan’s hand tightened on the silver collar, Sullyan gave in to her terror. Fuelled by desperation, determination, anguish, and shame, she made a heart-straining effort. Denied the time to realize that the collar was of his own making, Rykan was unable to stop her as her mind breached the spellsilver, slipping past its effects to fasten on his. At the same time, her right hand shot out and gripped his wrist, preventing him from releasing the collar.

  Immediately, his senses flooded her psyche. Rykan’s shock at her impossible use of metaforce nearly overwhelmed her. He roared in pain as her mind clamped down, desperately latching onto his awareness. He still hadn’t realized the spellsilver was his, and so didn’t know how to counter it. Sullyan took advantage of his disarray to shoot needles of force into his brain, making him scream. He struggled furiously, momentarily blinded, fighting the draining of his strength. Sweat beaded his brow and his eyes bulged with horror.

  “But this is treachery!” His voice rasped with pain. “I defeated you! You accepted the agreement. You were Witnessed! You cannot break the Code!”

  She speared him yet again with hot needles of metaforce. “The Code stands, my Lord, as does the agreement. Do I look defeated? Did I yield to you?”

  He groaned as every portion of his mind was overwhelmed by her power. “Might of arms only, those were the terms!”

  Pain roughened her voice. “But did you not also agree to the use of a Firefield, within which all would be fair?”

  She felt his anger as he suddenly saw the implications of those terms. Slowly, his body gave way under her pressure and he fell to his knees. With her grip on his left wrist unrelenting, his right hand came to rest on the ground by her left arm. His white and sweating face hovered inches above hers.

  “But the silver?” he croaked. “How have you breached the spellsilver?”

  She held his stare. “I had plenty of time to learn about your spellsilver, my Lord.”

  “My ...?”

  His eyes widened, seeing the trick.

  “I had little else to do and so was forced to find new ways to resist you. I am afraid you underestimated me badly.”

  Merciless, she gave his captive brain another wrench, drawing a groan of agony from him. She held him immobile, pinned by her power to the spellsilver field. Slowly, painfully, she inched out from beneath him, ignoring the fresh flow of blood this brought from her wounds. Still gripping his wrist, as much for support as restraint, she raised herself to her knees. True to her vow, she would not lie helpless beneath him.

  “Yield, my Lord.”

  His yellow eyes, screwed up with pain, glared back at her. She saw defiance that echoed her own, and smiled. Inexorably, she tightened her grip on his mind. The muscles and tendons in his neck bulged as he fought not to cry out.

  “Yield!” she demanded, her gaze boring into his. The whites of his eyes slowly filled with blood at the pressure she was exerting. He wasn’t far from passing out and she didn’t want that. Easing her grip slightly, she sent hot needles into his nerves. This time, he couldn’t bite back the agony which escaped in a raw scream.

  Her voice hissed through clenched teeth, her own pain fuelling her fury. “One more time, my Lord. Will ... you ... yield?”

  Huge tears welled from his eyes as the pain became too much. She felt his spirit crumble. Almost inaudibly, he whispered, “Yes.”

  She gave him another wrench. “The Hierarch did not hear you.”

  Raising her voice as far as her waning strength allowed, she cried, “Rykan, Duke of Kymer, do you cede the field of combat?”

  She stabbed him again and his voice escaped in a hoarse cry.

  “Yes, damn you, yes! I yield!”

  A vast, triumphant roar erupted from the watchers round the Hierarch’s pavilion. Rykan’s admission was the cue for the heralds to blow a prearranged fanfare declaring the Champion’s victory. The resulting crescendo of sound from the assembled army and the Citadel behind was deafening.

  * * * * *

  The instant he heard Rykan’s words, Pharik
ian cut the Firefield. He ignored Robin’s frantic pleas for release and instead ordered Anjer to restrain him. Robin was forced to watch and listen as Andaryon’s ruler approached the pair on the ground.

  His face stern with worry, Pharikian took note of the blood on Sullyan’s body, the blue tinge to her lips, and the tremor of her hand which still gripped Rykan’s wrist. His eyes skated over the ruin of her left hand, but the smell of charred flesh was unavoidable. Robin’s eyes blurred with tears. He would never forget that stench.

  Neither combatant registered Pharikian’s approach. He had to touch Sullyan’s shoulder to gain her attention. Without slackening her grip on Rykan’s mind, she glanced up, and even Robin could see the feral hunger in her eyes. Pharikian reacted with shock. Sullyan dampened her fury, but Robin knew she couldn’t release it altogether. It was probably the only thing keeping her from flying apart.

  His metasenses fully functioning now that the Firefield had gone, Robin felt the Hierarch reaching out to Sullyan through the breach in the spellsilver. His soothing flow of metaforce relieved the pain of her wounds as well as Rykan’s poison. With a sigh of relief, she slumped, dropping Rykan’s wrist. The Duke’s hand fell from the collar and Robin could clearly see where it had burned him.

  Pharikian reached down and freed the collar from Sullyan’s throat. She gave an agonized cry as it dropped away. Her head fell forward and he had to support her to keep her from falling. Using a little more power, he halted the flow of her blood, but Robin knew she had already lost far more than she could afford.

  Gradually, he saw her rally until she was able to support herself. She remained kneeling, though, lacking the strength to stand. The Hierarch stood looking at Rykan, whose mind was still not his own. The Duke’s yellow eyes glared hatefully back.

  Pharikian raised his voice. “Rykan, Duke of Kymer, you have failed to resist my challenge and have yielded before witnesses. I hereby declare the Crown’s Champion to be the victor. In accordance with the terms of your agreement, your life is forfeit. I hereby grant it to Brynne Sullyan to do with as she will.”

  There was another roar of approval from those loyal to Pharikian. Rykan glared venomously at Sullyan, but the Hierarch wasn’t finished. Once the noise abated, he continued.

  “If you wish it, you may yet have a chance to redeem your life, although your rank and lands will still be forfeit to the Crown. Will you hear the terms?”

  Sullyan glanced at the Hierarch and slightly shook her head. A sly look crept into Rykan’s eyes, and Robin guessed he had realized he might not be completely powerless. If the Hierarch was prepared to discuss terms, Rykan might yet have some leverage. He remained silent, however, pretending to consider.

  Pharikian grew impatient. “Well?”

  Through his pain, Rykan smiled. “I’ll hear your terms, Timar.”

  Past caring about formalities, the Hierarch ignored the insult. “Your brutal and unforgivable abuse of the Lady Brynne has left a lethal legacy.”

  Rykan’s gaze switched back to Sullyan and his eyes narrowed. She didn’t react, her eyes dark with the strain of holding him captive. Robin’s heart ached to hold her, to soothe that strain away.

  Pharikian ignored the Duke’s speculative look. “You have the power to remedy the situation, and this is the means by which you could redeem your life. Make no mistake, Rykan, Brynne Sullyan doesn’t ask for this. She was ready to die if necessary and quite willing to take you with her. I have granted her your life, but if you agree to do this, she will agree to spare you.”

  The momentary flash of anger in Sullyan’s eyes clearly stated her disapproval of this plea-bargaining. Robin’s heart sank. Rykan will milk this for all it’s worth, he thought. After all, he has nothing to lose.

  “And what will my life be, Majesty, without the means for living?” snarled the Duke. “If my rank and lands are forfeit, what use is life to me?” Staring at Sullyan, he smiled nastily. “It might just be possible to persuade me to do this favor for you, but it will cost you more than my life!”

  Sullyan’s eyes turned black and hot as she sent agonizing needles of pain deeper into Rykan’s skull. He screamed and cowered back.

  Pharikian was furious. “How dare you bargain with me, Rykan? Those are the terms, accept or refuse. Your life for hers. That is what I offer. Give me your answer!”

  Rykan gasped for breath, his burned fingers clawing the air. “I refuse!” he shrieked. “I wouldn’t give either of you the dirt from under my feet, let alone save her life. You can both go to Perdition for all I care, and I’ll be waiting for you! By the looks of her, I won’t have long to wait.”

  He stared at them, chest rasping as he tried to laugh. The terrible sound tore through Robin’s heart as he struggled in Anjer’s arms. Tears poured down his face as his last hope for Sullyan disappeared. Slumping, spent and exhausted, he sobbed brokenly, arms clasped around his aching chest.

  * * * * *

  Pharikian stared at the rebel lord and at the small, slight figure on her knees. Sullyan was holding herself stiffly upright by might of will alone. He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “Forgive me, Brynne, I had to try. If you still think you can do it, if you still have the strength, use it now with my blessing. Do with him as you will.”

  Turning away, he came back to stand beside Robin.

  From where he half-lay on the bloody ground, Rykan stared into Sullyan’s face, his eyes filled with loathing. He was clearly expecting a swift, knifelike thrust into his brain, followed by oblivion. She could sense him preparing for it. She didn’t oblige. Meeting the hate in his eyes, she allowed the pressure of her grip to slacken. Immediately, he shot out a probe to test her control.

  She easily countered this sally. “Oh no, my Lord, you will not be released. Not yet, anyway.”

  Infuriated by her hesitation, he frowned. “Are you playing with me, witch? My life is yours. Have you the courage to take it or not?”

  She cocked her head. “Ah, you were expecting me to kill you. Well, you may believe me or not as you choose, but I care very little whether you live or die. Killing you is not my purpose. I have claimed your life because I require utter and ultimate power over you and all that you possess.”

  His frown deepened, not understanding the distinction. She held his gaze, deliberately silent, while she began the process she had been planning. Gradually, almost gently, she insinuated her mind deep into his, gathering, stealing, working her way toward the intimate seat of his power. His psyche and the sum of his metaforce, right down to his spirit and ultimate essence; this was what she intended to suck from him, what she prepared to take into herself.

  Suddenly realizing what she was doing, he shrieked, “NO!” and tried to clamp down his shield. Yet he couldn’t force her out. She had twined her psyche around his innermost soul and was inextricably linked to him now. With the pain of her violation wringing a hoarse scream from his throat, he almost passed out.

  Grimly, Sullyan held on to his consciousness. Denied the release of oblivion, Rykan began to struggle physically, as if that could help him. She let him use his strength, knowing he could hurt her no more.

  Feeling the continuing leach of his powers, he cried, “But you can’t do that! I’m not willing! I refuse to surrender my power! You can’t do it!”

  “Oh, but my Lord,” she hissed, “I believe you will find that I can.”

  “How?” he groaned, the terrible pain growing as his inner being slowly tore apart. “How is this possible?”

  She gazed at him, all the while drawing out the heart and core of his power, filament by agonized filament.

  “Do you really not know? Why do you think I laid claim to your life instead of just the sum of your power? I knew you would never help me willingly, and your metaforce alone would not suffice if you refused the Hierarch’s terms. No, my Lord, I need your very soul for this task, and it was you who gave me the means to take it. Do not think to complain. You would have been spared this pain had you ac
ceded to the Hierarch’s request, but it is too late now. Do you not remember the words of the ancient bargain?”

  “Bargain?” he rasped. “What bargain?”

  “I will explain. When someone willingly gives their essence to another as a gift freely given, they also give influence over their psyche. You are a Master-elite, my Lord. Surely you have heard this?”

  “What are you talking about?” He was almost screaming. “I gave you no gifts, freely or otherwise!”

  “Oh, but you did, my Lord. On four brutal occasions, as I recall. Count Marik even watched you. Surely you remember?”

  His eyes bulged as understanding crashed upon him.

  Her gaze was hot and vengeful, her voice a hiss. “By the power of your seed within me, seed that you gave with such savage pleasure, you gave me your essence. With it I was able to work past your spellsilver, and with it I am able to reach within you now and take what you would deny me.”

  She extracted another strand of his soul, causing him to gibber in horror and pain. The import of her words and the agony of this appalling rape sent shockwaves through Rykan. He trembled violently like a dog with ague. The consequences of her actions clearly terrified him, and with good reason. His body might not immediately die without its soul, but his mind would suffer irreparable damage. He would become a husk—a helpless, drooling, mindless husk—and she knew that to a vital, virile man like Rykan, this was a fate far worse than death. A swift, clean death by either sword or metaforce he could have borne, but to linger on for days, maybe months if she chose, as an object of scorn or pity to his enemies? No, that he could not bear.

  Desperation entered his eyes and he pleaded with her. “I beg you, Lady, don’t do this!”

  “Oh, is it ‘Lady’ now, my Lord? Is it begging?” she snapped, her eyes hot with remembered pain and shame. “I seem to remember begging you when you forced yourself upon me time and time again! My voice went hoarse with pleading, but what good did it do me? What mercy did you show?”