Artesans of Albia

by Cas Peace

  “I am an Artesan of Master-elite rank, and these skills have also been proven in King Elias’ service. I hereby lay them at his Majesty’s disposal. Test them if you will. If that is not sufficient, gentlemen, and you require more of me, then I am more than willing to prove my skills with a sword against any you care to name. Even you, General Kryp. I wonder—when was the last time you used your sword in the field?”

  This last acerbic comment brought the General surging to his feet. He spluttered with outrage, his face flushing. The Hierarch removed the hand he had been using to cover a small smile and rapped it sharply on the table to get Kryp’s attention. Sullyan neither moved nor dropped her eyes, showing not the slightest sign of backing down in the face of Kryp’s anger.

  “General!” snapped Pharikian. Kryp struggled to bring himself under control. Vanyr’s face was thunderous and Ephan rolled his eyes, but Lord General Anjer leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed over his massive chest. He regarded Sullyan with what might have been respect awakening behind his jet black eyes.

  Once Kryp, still muttering, had resumed his seat, the Hierarch glanced at Sullyan. “Major, I am sure General Kryp meant no offence. I believe you owe him an apology.”

  She meekly bowed her head. “General Kryp, if you perceived my comment as a slur on your abilities, then I apologize unreservedly. It was not intended as such. I am sure you set the men of your command a splendid example.”

  The Hierarch again used his hand to cover a smile, and Sullyan thought she saw Anjer’s mouth twitch under his black mustache. The furious Kryp wasn’t pacified by her barbed apology, but had no opportunity to respond.

  The Hierarch continued. “It may interest you to know, gentlemen, that I have already done as the Major suggested. Not only have I seen the documents she spoke of, but I have also conferred by messenger with her King. As you know, I have always had the greatest respect for Elias of Albia, and he has confirmed everything the Major told us. Major Sullyan, you should know that I also contacted your General Blaine. He spoke glowingly of your capabilities and bade me make full use of your unique talents.”

  “I thank you, Majesty.” A faint flush stained her cheeks. This was unaccustomed praise from General Blaine.

  Ephan stirred in his seat, adding, almost reluctantly, “I too have heard reports of the Major’s prowess, Kryp. Unlikely though it sounds, I believe she has told us no less than the truth.”

  Sullyan was amazed that Ephan should support her and turned an evaluating look on him. Kryp remained unconvinced and brushed their comments aside.

  “That’s all very well, Majesty. She may have some standing among the Albians. We all know how weak their warriors are. But it doesn’t answer the question of how she has come by information concerning so powerful and ambitious a man as Rykan of Kymer. Why would he tell her his battle plans and then allow her to inform you of them?” His eyes narrowed and he shot her a venomous glance. “Unless it’s a trap, of course.”

  Robin’s angry gasp was clearly audible, as was the harsh scrape of his chair as he rose. “A trap? You think she’d work for Rykan? After all she’s been through? After all his—”

  “Robin!”

  Sullyan’s reprimand came out sharper than she intended but she had to stop Robin revealing too much. The anguished glance he shot her and the sudden pallor of his face showed he realized how near he had come. Slowly, he resumed his seat, color flooding back to his cheeks.

  The Hierarch ignored Robin’s outburst as if it hadn’t happened. “There’s no need for accusations, Kryp. I’m sure the Major can satisfy your doubts.”

  He gave her a look of regret for his inability to help her further. Sullyan accepted his tacit apology and turned to face Kryp.

  “It is no trap, General Kryp. My information is correct, and imparting it to you will seriously damage the Duke. I learned it in the cells of his palace, where he held me confined. It was not his intention that I should survive.”

  Ephan sucked his teeth and Anjer’s brows shot down over his eyes. Vanyr didn’t react, although his arch expression suggested disbelief. It was left to Kryp to ask, “And why was he holding you captive, Major?”

  Judging by the way they watched her, both Robin and Pharikian wondered what she would tell them. She took a deep breath. “General, he intended me to be an integral part of his plan to topple Andaryon’s ruling House.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He tried to force me to yield my powers, General, in order to augment his own. If he had succeeded, he would have been strong enough to overpower his Majesty, leaving him no choice but to abdicate. Fortunately for me—and for you—I was rescued before it could happen. But not before his arrogance and confidence, and my weakened state, led him to boast of his plans in my hearing. This, gentlemen, is the reason why he has waited so long before bringing his troops to bear. He was cheated of his primary weapon—my powers—and was forced to rethink his strategy.”

  This caused a buzz of concerned conversation. Wondering if she would get away with her gloss over the whole truth, Sullyan was waiting for someone to ask the obvious; namely, how had Rykan tried to force her to yield. Instead, Vanyr spoke up.

  “Would the … Major … then care to explain why she has brought this news to us? As the Duke didn’t succeed in taking her powers, he can’t challenge the Hierarch’s Artesan skills. And as General Ephan has already pointed out, neither can he field sufficient trained numbers to trouble the Caer. The forces he can raise from Kymer are not nearly enough to defeat us. So why bother his Majesty with such trivial matters? Have you come to complain of the Duke’s behavior, girl? To demand redress? If so, you’ll be disappointed. Why should we care if Rykan takes Albian captives? It’s hardly a crime, and it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Vanyr’s discourtesy and vicious tone caused the Hierarch to frown in displeasure. Sullyan had been expecting something of the sort from either Vanyr or Kryp, and the Commander’s scornful comments at least diverted attention from what she would rather keep hidden.

  “Commander, I have ‘bothered’ his Majesty because if Rykan does succeed in his challenge, either now or sometime in the future, he intends to rescind the Pact and resume full-scale raiding into Albia. That is very much my concern, as I think you would all agree.”

  Anjer nodded once. Ephan then raised his voice, having gained Pharikian’s attention.

  “Majesty, interesting as this is, I don’t see how it affects our traditional response to a force the size of Rykan’s. Commander Vanyr is correct. The Duke cannot match our numbers, and sitting tight is still our best option. Let him spend his men on the Citadel walls. His best force of five or six thousand would never break us in siege.”

  Planting her hands very deliberately on the table, Sullyan leaned forward. Her menacing stance surprised Ephan and made him turn his head.

  “Maybe not, General. But a force of fifteen thousand might.”

  There was a slight pause before the room erupted. Ephan, Kryp, and Vanyr all rose their feet, shouting. Kryp’s face was an angry shade of red, Vanyr’s pale with fury. His voice was sharp with disdain. Anjer sat in silence, arms still folded on his massive chest, eyes flicking alternately from Sullyan’s calm expression to the Hierarch’s. He clearly deserved his post at the head of his ruler’s forces, thought Sullyan, a shrewd man who considered his options, not scorning any information which might help him protect the Caer.

  The Hierarch raised his hand for silence, but it was a few moments before they noticed. Subsiding angrily, they resumed their seats. Pharikian turned to Sullyan.

  “Major, are you certain of your facts?”

  “Completely, Majesty.”

  Before she could continue, Kryp interrupted. “It’s ridiculous, there’s no possible way Rykan could field so many men! This must be some kind of trick. And if it’s not, if she’s right, where have the extra numbers come from?”

  Once again, the Hierarch deferred to Sullyan, and she saw Anjer take note. />
  “From the boasts he made, it would seem that the Duke has been covertly annexing land for the past few years. Two minor nobles were relieved of their holdings on the pretext of bad management. I do not know their names, but they are almost certainly dead. Three other lords lost their provinces. Two were infirm and unable to defend against the Duke. They have either been bribed or coerced to join his cause. The third he murdered. My estimation of his strength is probably conservative. In all, he may be able to field more than fifteen thousand.” She glanced at Anjer. “My Lord General, what is the sum of the forces loyal to his Majesty?”

  Anjer considered this and glanced briefly at Pharikian before replying.

  “The Caer retains eight thousand fighting men, Major. If we were to call in all our available reserves, we could match your estimation of Rykan’s numbers.”

  She held his gaze. “Then given your previous expectation of Rykan’s strength, my Lord, how quickly could those reserve troops arrive? How many lords keep such numbers ready to march?”

  Anjer’s eyes narrowed and she didn’t press him. Instead, she swept her eyes around the table.

  “So, gentlemen, the last thing you want is to allow a superior force to pin you inside the Caer. That would give Rykan control, and that would spell your defeat. He will not risk coming under attack from your reserves, and neither does he intend to starve you out under a protracted siege.”

  She paused, capturing their attention. The Hierarch knew what was coming but was caught up in her compelling gaze. Even Robin, who had seen her dominate a room like this before, sat in awe.

  She stepped back from the table, drawing their eyes.

  “Instead, he will challenge his Majesty to single combat.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  This time they all rose to their feet with angry shouts. Anjer’s black eyes were blazing. Sullyan remained still while the wave of their ire washed over her.

  Unable to gain silence by raising his voice, the Hierarch gestured at Gaslek. The fussy little man seemed stunned by the noise and Pharikian had to dig him in the ribs to gain his attention. Startled back to awareness, the Baron slapped the table with his hand. Silence fell, and they all sat slowly, the atmosphere charged with indignation. Four pairs of eyes glowered at Sullyan.

  Eventually mastering his temper, Lord General Anjer spoke, his tone once more patronizing.

  “Major Sullyan, what you’ve suggested is impossible and shows your ignorance of our customs. The Codes preclude anyone from challenging the Supreme Ruler to single combat. Rykan knows this, so the whole idea is ludicrous.”

  She regarded him steadily. “You are correct, of course, Lord General. His Majesty is not personally bound to accept a challenge of single combat. But if you consult your ancient records and Codes, I believe you will find that if a formal challenger gains a controlling position and challenges the Supreme Ruler upon a field of combat, then the Crown is obliged to appoint a Champion to fight on its behalf.”

  Anjer stilled. He stared at her and then the Hierarch, who sat contemplating the table over steepled fingers.

  “Is this correct, Majesty?”

  The Hierarch glanced up as if only now registering the debate.

  “Oh yes, Anjer. The Major mentioned it to me earlier and I had Gaslek check it. It goes right back to our oldest records. I was aware of it before, but it has never been used to my knowledge, so it had slipped my mind.”

  Kryp’s face was purple with anger. “Then how does she come to know of it?”

  Sullyan regarded him with hooded eyes. “It pleased Rykan to taunt me with it, General. I thought it worthy of verification.”

  Kryp subsided, still muttering. While he had been venting spleen, however, Anjer had been thinking. “If such a thing were to happen, Majesty, who would you appoint as your Champion?”

  The Hierarch turned his yellow gaze on Anjer. Massive and muscular though he was, the man was in his mid-forties and past the flush of his prime. As the Hierarch’s deputy on the field and overall commander of his forces, Anjer was the obvious choice. Before he could speak to accept or refuse, Sullyan raised her voice.

  “Majesty, gentlemen, a word of caution, if I may. Be aware that whoever is chosen must be a match for Lord Rykan on more than a physical level.”

  Anjer swung round on her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Lord General, that if the Duke of Kymer gains a controlling position, then the method of combat is his choice by right. But the choice is not made until the Champion is declared, and it is by no means guaranteed that Rykan would choose the sword. Even if he did, his ambition is so great that I would not place any faith in him standing by that choice, Witnessed or not. None of his faction would dare protest if he broke the Codes, and if he emerged victorious, then no one on his Majesty’s side would live to tell the tale.

  “So, my Lords, the question should be who among you is a match for his metaphysical prowess?”

  That silenced them. From her earlier interview with the Hierarch, Sullyan was aware that Anjer, the most powerful of Pharikian’s generals, was a Master Artesan. The other two were a rank lower at Adept-elite, and Vanyr was only a Journeyman. She watched the play of emotion across their faces as they considered her words. She was sure of Anjer and Ephan now. However reluctantly, both recognized and accepted her rank and experience. Kryp was entirely prejudiced but would ultimately follow the Lord General’s orders. Vanyr was the only one who might obstruct her if he felt he could do so without incurring his superiors’ wrath. He would bear watching.

  She waited them out, as did Pharikian. They had discussed some of this prior to the meeting, and he had given her some idea as to how each was likely to react. Still, she wondered how they would take the next phase of the plan. Not even Pharikian would bet against Rykan somehow utilizing his superior metaphysical powers to win a sword fight. The Champion had to be someone who could match Rykan’s powerful Artesan skills.

  As Pharikian had predicted, Anjer reacted first.

  “So, Major, what would you suggest?” His voice lacked any trace of its former condescension.

  “As you do not have the numbers to defeat Lord Rykan outright, you must employ some subtlety, my Lord. He has no idea of my whereabouts and is unaware that I survived his brutality. Indeed, I was fortunate to do so. He will be expecting what you first proposed, that you will be confident of your security and will retreat into the Citadel. You must allow him to believe that this is the case while preventing him from consolidating his position and besieging the Caer. You should not, under any circumstances, reveal your knowledge of his true strength.

  “He will wish to conceal his numbers until he is ready to surround you, so he has no option but to approach through the forests. You can use this to your advantage. Send out small mounted units to harry and scatter his forces. Isolate pockets of his men. Many of his troops are recent acquisitions. Given the chance, their leaders might even slip back to their own lands, hoping Rykan will suffer defeat. Considering the size of his forces and the absence of his Majesty’s reserves, it is highly unlikely that you can beat the Duke in open battle. Not without severely depleting the Hierarch’s resources, which would leave him vulnerable to anyone with similar aspirations. So, if you are to avoid such a bloodbath and adhere to the Codes, yet still remove the Duke’s threat to both Andaryon and Albia alike, you must hold Rykan to a stalemate, force him to retract. This will put his Majesty in the controlling position. He can then issue his own challenge to single combat.”

  This statement brought another flurry of angry objections. Content to go along with the first part of her plan, Anjer now grew irate.

  “You’re not making any sense, Major! You know very well that his Majesty cannot involve himself in single combat. You said as much yourself. And in order to make a challenge of his own, he must still appoint a Champion who can stand against the Duke. As you also pointed out, we have no one suitable. You’re talking in circles, girl!”

  He turned his fa
ce away and the others added their agreement, Kryp being loudest in support.

  Softly, Sullyan said, “Lord General?”

  He turned back, a retort on his lips. When he saw her slight smile, he frowned.

  “With the greatest respect, my Lord, you have missed the point. If Rykan makes the challenge, he has the right not only to choose the method of combat, but he also has a measure of veto over his opponent. Yet if his Majesty holds the controlling position, then the Duke would be forced to accept the Crown’s choice.”

  “So?” Anjer threw his hands in the air. “What use is that if there’s no one qualified to face him?”

  “Ah, but there is.”

  His black eyes narrowed, then suddenly widened. Sullyan swept the assembled men with her gaze.

  “My Lords, my skill with the sword is sufficient to match Lord Rykan in a duel, as are my metaphysical powers. I will be his Majesty’s Champion.”

  The stunned silence was profound. They stared at her while she stood at ease, her hands clasped behind her back. She could sense Robin’s amazement and realized that even he hadn’t seen this coming. To cover his lack of intuition, he was studying the generals’ faces. In order to gauge their reactions, she did the same.

  Despite his obvious opposition to the very thought of it, Anjer was going over the plan for flaws. He leaned back in his chair, arms on the table, one hand tapping absently on the wood. There was more speculation and respect in his eyes than anyone else’s.

  General Ephan was also chewing over what he had heard, no doubt recalling what he knew of her reputation. His eyes remained unfocused, but his expression held no censure. He sat forward in his chair, elbows on the arms, hands clasped beneath his chin.