Artesans of Albia

by Cas Peace

  He sounded strained. “He followed me when I went back to my rooms. He never spoke, just gave me a mean look and ordered his guards to bring me. When I realized he was taking me to the cells, I was certain of a sword through my guts. But he had something even worse in mind. He went to Sullyan’s cell and opened the door.”

  Marik’s alien eyes were unfocused, dilated with remembered fear. Sweat beaded his face. To stop his hands from shaking, he clasped them so tightly round his cup that the knuckles turned white.

  “Sullyan raised her head as Rykan entered, and she saw me standing behind him. I fully believe, in that moment, she was more afraid for me than herself. Rykan stood over her, asking if she had reconsidered his offer. She didn’t speak, maybe she couldn’t, but when he saw the defiance in her eyes, he smiled.

  “I swear—I swear—I had no idea what he intended until I saw him unbuckle his sword belt. Either he sensed my horror, or maybe I made a noise, for he ordered the guards to hold me. They already had swords at my back, but one of them took hold of my arms as well. If he hadn’t, I think I would have tried to stop Rykan, even though I would have lost my life.”

  He stopped, unable to continue. Tears welled in his eyes as he stared down at his trembling hands. Rienne waited for him to compose himself, but he sat unmoving. Then a husky voice sounded behind him.

  “Go on, Ty.”

  He started like a frightened rabbit and spun round to meet Sullyan’s gaze. None of them had noticed her rouse. Rienne felt certain she had heard every word, despite appearing to be deeply asleep.

  The Count looked mortified, but Sullyan smiled gently. “You are doing very well, Ty. Tell them the rest.”

  She closed her eyes again. Marik swallowed awkwardly and resumed his narrative, using a detached tone.

  “Rykan forced himself on her in that filthy cell, cruelly and with no remorse. She cried out when he took her, but then made no sound until he was nearly done, which I think inflamed him even more. I could see how hard she fought to stay silent, although he was being deliberately brutal. When he finally pushed himself from her, he stood looking down at her with a self-satisfied smile on his face. He told her that it didn’t matter now whether she surrendered her power or not. He would continue taking his pleasure on her for as long as he wished. He knew, and more importantly, made sure she knew, what the consequences of his ravishment were.

  “He left then, smiling as he fastened his breeches, striding past me like I didn’t exist. He even took the guards with him. He just left me there, knowing there was nothing I could do to harm him, or help her.”

  Tears rolled down his face, but he didn’t notice. Rienne gulped back her own sorrow while the others sat with stunned expressions on frozen faces.

  “I sat holding her,” said the Count, “and that was the only time I saw her give way to what she was feeling. Then the jailor threw me out and I had to return to my rooms. From then on I was watched, and Rykan forced me to witness his abuse twice more. I think he got as much pleasure from my horror as he did from hers. Hearing her scream seemed to encourage his brutality. He always left me with her afterward, possibly hoping I would try to persuade her to surrender. He judged me rightly, for I wanted to. Short of killing her, it was the only way I could think of to help her.”

  He finally fell silent, his head in his hands, his whole body trembling.

  Sullyan cast aside the blanket, rose from the bed, and crossed to where the Count sat. Gathering him into her arms, she held him, tears glistening in her eyes.

  “Rykan did not judge you rightly, my friend,” she murmured, “for you did not seek to weaken my resolve. On the contrary, your comfort gave me the strength to hold out as long as I did. But let me tell you this. If he had threatened your life instead of brutalizing me, I would have given him what he wanted. So he can blame his own lustful nature for the failure of his plan.”

  This declaration of affection rendered Marik incapable of speech, so Sullyan raised her head and took up the tale herself.

  “I knew by then you would be trying to reach me, and I was desperate to slip past the effects of the spellsilver. That was when I thought of using the pain and horror of Rykan’s abuse to lend strength to my efforts. I especially thought of you, Rienne, because of your experience with Parren’s corporal that day at the Manor. I thought you might recognize the feelings for what they were.”

  Rienne gasped. “I never even thought of that! I knew the nightmares were something to do with you. I just didn’t consider that I might be able to ‘hear’ you. I wish now I’d paid more attention to what I was feeling.”

  Sullyan smiled gently. “Do not reproach yourself. I was not even certain that my call had gone further than the walls of my own skull. As the days passed and Rykan kept up his abuse, I knew I could hold out no longer. He knew it too, and on the final occasion he took great delight in telling me, at the height of his pleasure, that he was bound the next day for Caer Vellet, to issue his formal challenge to the Hierarch. In doing so, he made a fatal mistake. By telling me his plan, he gave me courage to form my own, although I did not want to use it. When next I saw Marik, I told him I intended to feign defeat when Rykan returned. It would not be much of a feint, my resistance was almost gone. I think my sanity was not what it should have been. I believe I frightened you, Ty.”

  From the circle of her arms, Marik smiled. “I don’t mind admitting it.”

  She carried on. “I had lost all hope that you would reach me in time. I never doubted you would come eventually, but I was so weak that I knew I could let go of life if Rykan pushed me further. My only concern was whether I could convince him to drop his guard long enough for me to catch his mind, and hold on while I destroyed us both. In the event, of course, I did not have to, for you did come in time, and I am very grateful. You put yourselves in grave danger, and I can never repay you.”

  There was an awkward silence. To end it, Rienne rose from her chair and gave Sullyan a brief but fierce hug, mindful of her sore ribs. She then did the same to Marik, adding a kiss on the cheek for good measure. He colored and ducked his head.

  Robin also stood. He held out his hand to Marik, who took it with a bashful grin. The Count found all this sudden approval hard to accept.

  Sullyan crossed to the fire and poured herself a cup of fellan. She had been so dehydrated that she couldn’t get enough. Then she sat heavily on the bed and Rienne frowned. The Major was still very weak. How would she possibly find the strength to do what she had planned?

  Chapter Six

  Sullyan sat watching while the men busied themselves cutting and stacking firewood, returning the hut to the condition in which they had found it. Rienne packed their food supplies and cooking gear. With Taran’s help, Bull scouted the route back to Marik’s mansion and reported nothing unusual. The area seemed as deserted as when they had left three days before. Sullyan felt relief.

  The worst of the rain had passed by the time they were ready to leave. The Major permitted Rienne to examine her, and the healer declared herself satisfied that Sullyan could cope with the ride. The Count, who had gone outside to saddle the horses, came back looking as if he had something on his mind. He approached Sullyan where she sat on the bed and stopped before her. She gazed at him as he extended his hand, palm upward. He held a small leather pouch, closed at the neck by a thong. Embarrassed, he was unable to meet her eyes. He spoke tersely.

  “I managed to save these for you. The jailor, Calder, had stolen them. He’d have been killed if Rykan found out, and anyway, I didn’t want Rykan to have them.”

  Hardly daring to hope, Sullyan took the pouch. She loosened the tie and tipped it up. A little cascade of gold and fire opals tumbled into her waiting hand. She gasped. She hadn’t expected to see them again, and it had hurt her deeply to think they were gone. She was certain Rykan had taken them. They were a part of who she was, and she had missed them as much as she would a hand or a foot.

  She sat staring at the gems through a blurred mist. The
n she rose and threw her arms around the thoroughly embarrassed Count. Releasing him, she placed the ring on her middle finger and the studs in her ears. She put the necklace back into the pouch. Her neck where the spellsilver had burned her was still too sore to wear it. She handed the pouch to Robin for safekeeping.

  “Ty, this is one more debt I need to repay,” she said, but he waved her gratitude away.

  Taran, Cal, and Marik went outside to secure the packs while Bull and Rienne swept out the hearth, folded the blankets, and checked that all was as they had found it. There was nothing they could do to replace the hay and grain their horses had consumed, so Sullyan instructed Bull to leave some coins on the table. He was about to leave when she stopped him, one hand on his arm.

  “Bull, what happened to the spellsilver?”

  The question puzzled him and he raised his brows. “I think Marik disposed of it. Why?”

  She closed her eyes, pain and weariness swamping her. “Apart from not wanting it to cause anyone danger, there is a faint possibility that I might find a use for it. Please ask Ty what he did with it.”

  With a disapproving frown, Bull strode to the door and questioned Marik. The Count was alarmed by the query and stared narrowly at Sullyan. “I buried it,” he said, pointing to a spot behind the barn.

  “I am sorry, Ty, but I will have to ask you to undo your hard work.” He scowled, but went to fetch a shovel, unearthing a dirty sacking roll. Unwilling to touch it with his hands, he used the shovel to bring the exposed silver to her.

  She gazed at it. “Is there any more of that sacking?”

  Bull fetched a piece from the barn, and then looked horrified as she bent to pick up the silver. “Don’t touch it, Sully!”

  She smiled gently. “I am intimately acquainted with the effects of this metal, Bull. It can do me no further harm.”

  She took up the silver and wrapped it tightly in the clean sacking. Despite her words, she couldn’t quite hide the flicker of agony that touching it brought, and she knew Bull had seen. He understood that she was sparing anyone else the task of handling it, yet he still shook his head as he opened her pack so she could drop the bundle inside.

  Preparations complete, they mounted up. Robin cleared the stirrup for Sullyan, and Bull helped her up to sit before him on Torka’s chestnut neck. She was still too weak to ride by herself, and snuggled into Robin’s arms, feeling his warm and vital body supporting her.

  Rienne began the journey seated in front of Cal, and they left the safety of the drovers’ hut just past noon.

  + + + + +

  General Sonten strode heavily through the fear-haunted palace, for once immune to the panic waiting to strike. He grinned maliciously as he reflected on the reasons for the Duke’s latest fury. He was so gleeful at this second blow to Rykan’s plans that he could have laughed out loud. Only his sheer incredulity stopped him.

  He was barely able to credit what had happened. Who would have thought the meek and cowardly Count had such bravery in him? Who would have guessed that such a long, melancholy face could conceal such desperate cunning? Not Sonten, that was for sure. And certainly not the Duke or he would have had the man chained, flogged, and tossed naked into the cells as soon as they had returned from Cardon. He certainly wouldn’t have been left alone with that damned human witch. She couldn’t have been as close to death and defeat as Rykan had thought. The two of them had clearly conspired together to cheat the Duke of his prize.

  Unlikely as it seemed, the Count had managed to free her on his own, and in doing so he had done Sonten a favor, although he probably wouldn’t be pleased to hear it. He had been as fearful of Sonten as he was of the Duke himself, and Sonten had done nothing to soothe those fears. This was so ironic, thought Sonten, because had he known what Marik’s intentions were, he would actually have helped the man. Had he suspected for just one moment that the Count might have carried off such a risky rescue, Sonten would have joined forces with him and made the whole thing easier.

  Yet Marik hadn’t needed any help, and once again Sonten was in the clear. The Duke had no reason to turn his insane fury on his general. Instead, he had taken out his rage on those more expendable. Sonten had spent quite some time overseeing the clean-up of Rykan’s killing spree, and the unfortunate remnants of Marik’s court who had survived would be among the first thrown to the Hierarch’s troops.

  Emerging into the crowded compound, Sonten chuckled again. He just couldn’t help it. Capricious fortune had turned his way at last and was smiling on his plans. This was not the first ironic twist of fate to befall him since accompanying the Duke to Cardon.

  He stopped, glaring at the chaos, at the preparations being made. Faces turned toward him, anticipating the order to move out. He had come to deliver those orders, for his Grace could wait no longer. Unable to give chase to the traitor due to the timing of his plans, the furious Duke had been forced to rely on Sonten’s patrols to intercept and apprehend the runaways.

  Sonten had sent two units to Cardon in case the Count should run for his manor, although if the man was that stupid, Sonten would eat his horse. Surely no one who could snatch such a prize from under Rykan’s nose would be so simple as to run straight home. No, the Count wouldn’t rely on Rykan’s challenge to protect him from Rykan’s wrath.

  Mind you, reflected Sonten with grudging respect, the Count had been surprisingly cunning there too. If his rescue had been cut any finer, Rykan would have caught him in the act. As it was, they could only have got clear with scant minutes in hand, judging by the residual warmth in the body of the jailor they had found in the cells.

  Now that his formal challenge was issued, Rykan was committed to war, despite his failure to secure the witch’s powers. He couldn’t take the chance that the Hierarch’s forces would be sent to contain him, although even that eventuality had been planned for. Fortunately, the Hierarch’s generals were unaware of Rykan’s increased numbers and would be totally unprepared for the strength he could field. They would simply retreat behind Caer Vellet’s well-defended walls and rely upon its granite to protect them while Rykan threw his warriors at the stone.

  At least, this was what Sonten had told his overlord, and he was confident he would be proved right. The Hierarch’s generals would expect a siege, and that expectation would play into Rykan’s hands. It would allow him to turn up his trump card—the ancient and obscure tradition that would lead to the Hierarch’s downfall.

  Sonten grinned widely. The Duke didn’t need his despised Albian ally, the sly, self-serving Baron. He would realize that once the battle for Caer Vellet was won. This was Sonten’s field of expertise. Outright warfare was much more to his taste than consorting with and pandering to humans.

  Feeling satisfied, Sonten cast about for one of the Duke’s commanders, the one who had replaced the late, unlamented Verris. “Reece!” he bellowed, summoning a bearded, dark-skinned fellow who scuttled to his side, fear showing in his face.

  “My Lord?”

  “His Grace has given the order. We ride within the hour. Muster your lieutenants and have them form their companies. Move them out by rote, and make sure you follow the marching order. His Grace is in no mood to be crossed, so keep the formations tight. Any news from the patrols?”

  “Nothing, my Lord, after the initial trail went cold. The Count must have covered his tracks among ours, and in the dark—”

  “I don’t need your excuses, Reece. His Grace will deal with their failure if and when they have the nerve to show their faces. Just hope he calms down before he asks for your report. I can do without losing another commander. They’re getting thin on the ground. Well? Why are you still here?”

  Reece gave a hurried salute before turning away and yelling orders, his harsh voice betraying his fear. The general grinned yet again, thankful to be spared that heart-stopping chill. He hadn’t felt it for days now, not since the morning he had returned to Marik’s miserable manor with Rykan to discover that the murdering Albian Journeyman hadn�
�t been caught in the Duke’s clever trap.

  What had become of him and his two male companions, Sonten didn’t know. They had probably returned to their own realm, abandoning the witch to her fate. It didn’t matter. The Duke’s only concern was the human witch, and he hadn’t noticed Sonten’s air of relief. The general had even ceased to think about exacting revenge for Jaskin’s death. That could wait until he was in a position to deal with it.

  Then came Sonten’s second stroke of luck, and he had marveled at fate’s infidelity. For as soon as they returned to Kymer with the human witch at Rykan’s mercy, the Duke had discovered the theft of the Staff. His rage had known no bounds. Yet instead of suspecting Sonten as the general had feared, Rykan turned to him for aid and even charged him with hunting out the culprit.

  Scarcely able to believe his luck, Sonten had happily conducted a thorough search, unearthing vague and misleading clues which of course led nowhere. Rykan’s apoplectic fury was directed away from Sonten, and the men he killed didn’t affect their preparations for war.

  Trying to keep his mirth under control, Sonten pushed his way through the mass of men in the compound. He roared for Heron. His trusted commander appeared at a run, looking alarmed. Sonten threw a heavy arm across Heron’s slimmer shoulders.

  “The time has come, Heron, my man!”

  The Artesan commander frowned, made uneasy by his lord’s familiarity and also his strange, elated mood.

  Sonten turned gleaming eyes on his commander and tightened his grip on the man’s shoulders. “Saddle my horse and stand the escort by the gates. His Grace is ready to ride. And don’t you let me down, my valuable Artesan friend. Keep yourself well clear of the fighting and report to me every night. Keep your wits about you, and don’t forget where your gold comes from. There’s more at stake here than mere coinage, if my plans work out this time. Now go and join the formation and prepare our men to march. I’ve a good feeling about this, Heron. My fortunes are about to rise.”