Artesans of Albia

by Cas Peace

  Taran thought Sullyan looked tired, but she still spoke with and smiled at the Duke and laughed gently at some of his comments. He still held her fast by the hand and she no longer tried to extricate herself.

  Once all the guests were seated—Taran experiencing a moment of triumph when the rush to secure the best seats denied the now-frantic courtesan a spot by his side—there was movement by the doors. Three servants carried in a huge floor-harp and set it before the Duke.

  Taran had never seen a harp so large and wondered how one person could possibly play it. He soon had his answer when two minstrels moved forward and stationed themselves one on either side of the magnificent instrument. They played a set of songs that were alien to Taran’s ears, although the guests appreciated them loudly. Then, as a final piece, and after Rykan had sent a servant to speak with them, they played a love song that Taran recognized. He was disquieted by the look the Duke was giving Sullyan as the song was played, although she betrayed no emotion. He was also feeling rather proud of Robin, who was restraining himself admirably in the face of the Duke’s interest in his love.

  Once the song was over and Sullyan had shown her appreciation, Rykan at last released her hand. He stood, the room instantly going silent.

  “My dear Count Marik,” he began, his voice ringing deeply, “nobles and ladies all. It is late and we have been most royally entertained tonight.”

  The guests applauded loudly.

  “But before the evening draws to a close, I have a request to make of the lovely Lady Ambassador, who so graciously consented to be my consort tonight.”

  Taran saw the momentary start Sullyan gave at the word “consort” and the wariness that crossed her face. Beside him, Robin raised his head like a hound sensing danger.

  The Duke turned to Sullyan. “My vassal, Count Marik, tells me you have some skill with the harp, Lady. Would you do us the very great honor of playing the final piece tonight?”

  A murmur ran around the assembled guests. Taran heard astonishment, delight, and even pique from some of the other ladies. He saw the Major close her eyes momentarily as if overcome by weariness, but she stood with liquid grace and gave a small nod of acceptance.

  “The honor is mine,” she said and moved toward the harp.

  She positioned herself to one side of the vast instrument and spread her hands on the strings. Soft, liquid notes rippled around the room and the crowd fell expectantly still. There was a pause while she stood with her head bowed, her eyes closed. Then her hands moved on the strings and the first sweet notes of a melody filled the air.

  Taran recognized the tune—it was one of those timeless airs, ancient beyond knowledge of its origins—but when the Major began to sing, he could make no sense of the words. They had a profound effect on Lord Rykan, though. He seemed mesmerized by Sullyan’s skill, her mastery of the huge instrument a wonder to them all.

  As the last throbbing notes of the song faded, silence descended. Taran looked around at the rapt expressions on the guests’ faces, none of whom wanted to break the spell. Just when it seemed they would sit that way forever, Lord Rykan stood, leading an applause that swept the room and rang to the rafters, the entire audience surging to its feet.

  The Duke stepped forward and took both the Major’s hands in his. “I had no idea you knew the old high language, Lady. You have done us great honor tonight, for which we can only thank you.”

  Sullyan bowed her head and returned his smile. “It is I who must thank you, my Lord, for giving me an evening I shall never forget when I return to Albia.”

  Taran didn’t miss the double meaning of her words. The Duke however, was concerned by her mention of leaving and his predatory eyes narrowed. “Lady, it would please me greatly if you would accept an invitation to be my guest at Kymer. The comforts of my palace are surely far more conducive to diplomatic discussions than this poor place.”

  “You are too kind, your Grace,” replied the Major smoothly. “Under happier circumstances I would be honored to accept your invitation. However, at this time, I fear I must decline, as after the council meeting tomorrow I am constrained to return to my duties. I do trust I have given no offense?” She executed a deep obeisance.

  The Duke looked offended, but could say nothing in the face of her courtesy. His yellow eyes flashed in annoyance as he said, “Very well. I will excuse you this time, my Lady Ambassador, provided you do me the honor of promising to return soon to accept my hospitality.”

  There was steel in his gaze and hunger on his face. Taran shuddered.

  “If my General so wishes it, your Grace, I will indeed return,” replied the Major, keeping her head bowed demurely to avoid his furious eyes.

  She curtseyed again as Rykan stamped away, followed by his retinue.

  The rest of the guests drifted off to their rooms. Taran sighed with relief as the courtesan who had been vying for his attention all night left as well, not daring to come near while Sullyan was with them.

  The Major was the subject of many envenomed glances as she left the hall. She was obviously exhausted and remained silent as they climbed the stairs to their suite. Once the door shut, she collapsed onto the bed.

  Robin sat beside her and gathered her into his arms, stroking her hair. Taran watched in quiet concern. After a while she revived a little and, pushing herself away from the Captain, sat up.

  “Oh, gods,” she said wearily, “I never would have come if I had known he would be here. No wonder Harva told me to beware. Curse Marik. What was he thinking of, why didn’t he warn me?”

  “What’s Rykan doing here, Sully? Did you get any idea what he’s up to?” asked Bull. The big man was occupying an overstuffed chair, trying to ease his shoulder.

  Sullyan’s eyes narrowed at this display of pain and she moved toward him. “I have a nasty suspicion that he intends to go against the Hierarch.”

  “Bloody hell,” said Bull. “Civil war? Is he strong enough to risk such upheaval?”

  She placed her hand over the wound in his shoulder, clicking her tongue at the heat in it.

  “Ordinarily I would say no.” Closing her eyes, she gave Bull more healing. “For all his wealth and standing, I think he has neither the power nor the might to challenge the Hierarch openly. However, something is happening here that I do not like. For all his faults and reluctance, Marik and I are friends. He would not normally allow me to walk into such a trap. The fact that he said nothing tells me something is badly amiss.

  “But although I dislike the coincidence of finding Rykan here while an invasion force attacks our lands, I cannot, at present, see a connection. The Duke is a skilled tactician, well known for taking personal command of his troops. I would not expect to find him attending the banquet of such a minor vassal as Count Marik while his warriors were laying waste to our realm. Even if the Count is known to be our friend.”

  Bull’s face was losing its pained expression under Sullyan’s touch. Taran saw him begin to relax.

  “It is not as if the Duke would fear Marik coming to our assistance,” she continued. “The Count cannot afford to maintain a force of trained fighters and the levies he could raise would pay for land laborers, at best. Neither does he hold knowledge that might be of use to the Duke. He was never a prolific or a successful raider, and I would wager that Rykan has a far greater knowledge of Albian defenses than Marik does. It is a puzzle I do not yet understand. All I can do is try to find out more tomorrow.”

  She nodded at Bull and removed her hand. Taran felt envious fascination; he had never seen anyone capable of using power for one thing while talking about another.

  “Will Rykan be at the meeting tomorrow?” asked Robin, his tone a touch too casual.

  Sullyan smiled. “No, Robin. He intends to leave for Kymer before first light. I am relieved, I do not think I would have the strength to resist him again.” She headed for the washroom. “Come, gentlemen, we are all tired and I know you had your hands full of your own problems tonight. You did very well,
by the way. I was proud of the way you resisted such temptation.” She grinned at their sudden embarrassment.

  “Tomorrow will be a busy day and in the light of the evening’s events, I feel we should be on our guard tonight. Taran, will you take first watch again? Robin and Bull will take the later, and I the dawn watch. Let us see what tomorrow’s meeting brings.”

  + + + + +

  Most of the day was spent carrying out lightning raids. Heron’s company—like Verris’, augmented by the extra men he’d received—pushed relentlessly northward, firing villages throughout the provinces of Arnor and Rethrick, reaching the southern borders of Loxton.

  Heron kept in touch with Verris through the substrate, coordinating their companies’ efforts while keeping the forces sent to oppose them from organizing an effective defense. He knew the Albian swordsmen had caught only rare glimpses of them; their orders to inflict damage and flee meant they posed a frustratingly elusive target. By the time news of their presence in a particular area reached the local defenders, they had vanished, only to resurface somewhere else.

  He and Verris had roused their men just before dawn as usual. By midday, they were drawing closer together. Their routes brought them on converging lines and by the time Heron’s scouts caught sight of Verris’, they were well into the remoter districts of Loxton Province, territory controlled by the personal forces of Elias Rovannon, High King of Albia.

  Heron knew Loxton was an open province, consisting mainly of grasslands and rolling hills. The vast forest surrounding Port Loxton, Albia’s capital city, was far to the north and the few wooded areas of the south offered little cover for raiders who wished to remain hidden. However, he was anticipating changes to their orders very soon and open countryside would better serve their needs.

  Shortly after noon, he and Verris had finally met and they were allowing their men a breather under the scant protection of the only tree cover for miles. Abruptly, with no warning, Verris received the message they had both been waiting for.

  He dropped the chunk of cheese he was eating and his eyes lost their focus. Heron stopped chewing his strip of meat and watched his rival. The huge grin that appeared on Verris’ face told Heron that all was going to plan. He was both relieved that their initial task had been successfully completed and anxious about the next stage.

  He knew there would be major casualties this time, it was inevitable. The Albian forces were every bit as well trained as his and they would be fighting for the protection of their people. They would be intent on inflicting serious injury, while his and Verris’ orders were to preserve their men and keep as many fit for action as possible. Knowing how skilled Albian swordsmen were, Heron was fearful this instruction was going to prove impossible to obey. He could only do his best.

  “Well, that’s it, Heron,” said Verris suddenly, smug satisfaction coloring his tone. “Now the real work starts. I’m going to enjoy this. No more running away like frightened sheep, now we get to show these peasants just how well we can fight.”

  “Just remember the reason we’re doing this, Verris,” cautioned Heron, disliking the gleam of menace in his eyes. “Lose too many of your lads and you’ll be called to account. That won’t advance your career or endear you to the Duke.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” Verris sneered. “Think I’d jeopardize my position? I’m not going to throw my lads away on the real fighters, I’m not stupid. No, I’m going to target the ones who can’t fight back. I’m fed up with burning houses and cow byres, it’s time to show these Albians what we can really do. And what better way to lure out the human forces? How much quicker do you suppose they will respond when they see their precious peasants dying?”

  “Yes, but that’s my point, Verris. You get them really angry and you’ll have to stand and fight them. That’s what we’ve been instructed to do. Keep up the pressure, intensify the action. If we’re to convince them we mean business, we can’t turn away when they send out their strength. That’s when our lads will begin to pay.”

  Verris scowled. Heron knew that caution was not in his nature. Verris knew their orders as well as Heron did and he was not under Heron’s command. If anything, he probably thought Heron should be answering to him; he was part of the Duke’s forces after all, while Heron merely served under Sonten. And everyone knew Verris had no respect for Sonten. In his eyes, the General was nothing but a lump of lard with no expertise. Verris thought Sonten held his rank through political skill, not tactical. He had said on many occasions that he could do a better job on both counts. The coming conflict, thought Heron, would give him the opportunity to prove it to the Duke. The rank of general, he knew, would suit Verris fine.

  “You do what you feel comfortable with, Heron,” said Verris. “You carry on as you always do, stay within your boundaries and take no risks. That way you’ll keep your rank. Just don’t get in my way and don’t countermand my orders. You may be happy to remain a commander but I have higher goals. I suggest you rouse your men because we have a war to wage and I, for one, intend to enjoy it.”

  He took to his feet, scattering the remains of their makeshift meal, and strode toward his men. Heron watched him go before gaining his own feet, frustrated and angry. Verris was a good leader, no matter Heron’s reservations. He could wish the man was less abrasive, but that was just his nature. Irritatingly, he was as likely to succeed in his ambitions as anyone Heron knew. Sometimes, Heron wished the man would fall over his huge ego and suffer the same humiliations everyone did. The day he did would be the day Heron began to like him.

  Sourly thinking that the day would never come—some men seemed immune to paying for mistakes, no matter how obnoxious they were—Heron dismissed the man from his mind and began planning his forces’ deployment. The rest of the day and night would be exhausting enough without concerning himself over Verris.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Dawn was chasing away the shadows as Taran woke from a vague and disturbing dream. He moved his head to ease the kink in his neck and as his eyes opened, he saw the Major sitting cross-legged on the bed. Her eyes were open, huge and black but unseeing, and Taran guessed she was communing with General Blaine. He wondered how the General would take the news about Rykan’s presence and Sullyan’s suspicions.

  The Major had obviously been awake for some time; she was fully dressed in her combat leathers and her hair was partially braided. The rest of her things were neatly folded on the bed, her sword lying beside them. As Taran watched, her eyes returned to normal and she shook her head. She noticed him and smiled. “Wake Bull for me, Taran,” she asked softly.

  He rose and shook Bull’s good arm. Sullyan leaned over Robin and gently touched his shoulder. Both men woke easily, the result of their training and instincts. Taran envied their lack of yawning and eye-rubbing that accompanied his own return to wakefulness.

  As they dressed, Robin asked casually, “Any news from the Manor?” Sullyan closed her eyes and the Captain caught her expression. “What?”

  Bull looked sharply over. The Major regarded them all before she spoke.

  “The news is not good, gentlemen. The invasion has intensified and the fighting has crossed the borders into Loxton Province. It seems the Andaryans have changed their tactics. They are no longer content with burning and destroying buildings, now they are taking a heavy toll on the people. This is an act of outright war.”

  Taran went cold and the two military men stared in horror.

  Sullyan continued. “Vassa and his men are doing their best and the Colonel has mobilized all the local garrisons, but it is not enough. He has requested support from the Manor. The General wishes to deploy my company, gentlemen, and so you are recalled.”

  “We are?” said Robin sharply. “Not you?”

  She shook her head. “I cannot leave yet. I must stay for the council meeting and maybe a day or two longer to do what I can to alleviate this situation. I must find out the reason behind the invasion and see what diplomacy can do to re
ctify it before I return. You must lead the men for me, Captain. You are ready for command and they will follow you. Use your judgment and training to deploy them. General Blaine ordered it and I told him I have every confidence in you.”

  Robin was clearly not impressed by this show of trust; his concerns were more immediate than the prospect of assuming his first solo command.

  “I can’t leave you here alone,” he said. “Especially not with that predator Rykan.”

  Sullyan glared at him. “You have no choice, Captain. The orders are given and we must obey.” Seeing his anguished look, she softened. “Besides, Lord Rykan has already left. I watched his train move out at first light. You need have no worries on that score. I am well on my guard now, he would not trap me like that again. Gentlemen, I suggest you pack and be ready to leave as soon as possible. I will send for the horses. The sooner you return, the sooner my company will be in the field.”

  They finished their preparations and a light breakfast that was brought by a maid. Sullyan had hoped to see Harva again, but the elderly woman was nowhere to be found. A servant tapped at the open door and announced the horses were ready. Taran trailed the others as they filed down the stairs. None of the ladies or nobles from last night’s festivities seemed to be up and about yet, much to his relief.

  They emerged into drizzly gray daylight and began shrugging into their riding cloaks. The air was much colder and the heavy clouds threatened serious rain. The horses were waiting by the gates, held by grooms. Before he mounted up, Robin turned to Sullyan.

  “I really don’t like this, Major. Will you be alright here on your own? It goes against all our training to leave you like this. At least one of us should stay with you.”

  She smiled, the gentle expression warming Taran’s heart even though it wasn’t directed at him.

  “I know, Robin, but we have no choice. The General needs you to command my company. Bulldog is wounded and I will not risk his weak heart by keeping him here. And Taran is not one of us, for all that he is an Artesan. I will be well enough here. I will stay only today and perhaps tomorrow, but no longer than is necessary. When I return, I will join you and the men in the field. Meanwhile, I will be reporting to the General, and Bulldog can pass the information on to you.”