by Cas Peace
Musicians played softly throughout the meal, and when it was over, they struck up a dance tune. Sullyan could hardly help remembering the last banquet she had attended as she danced in the Hierarch’s arms, and judging by the look on Robin’s face, he was remembering too. However, the handsome young man had little time for somber reflection, for he was soon claimed for dances by Anjer’s young wife Torien, Ephan’s Lady Hollet, and once, to his utter amazement and honor, by the Princess. Idrimar came alive when she danced, and Robin soon found himself entering into the spirit of the evening.
Sullyan also had her share of partners, and once saw Robin trying to suppress outright laughter at the expression on Falina’s face as the portly General Kryp escorted Sullyan around the floor. He was also highly amused by the look on Sullyan’s face as she was forced to dance with the unwieldy General.
When they were finally able to dance with each other, Robin asked her how she had enjoyed Kryp’s attentions. She shot him a look and was about to voice an acid reply when she spotted something that both amazed and amused her.
“Oh my, Robin,” she murmured, “will you look at that.”
Turning in the dance, she let him see the incredible sight of Count Marik and Princess Idrimar dancing closely together. Oblivious to the other guests, they were gazing deep into each other’s eyes.
Robin chuckled. “I do believe our dear Count is making an impression.”
Sullyan smiled and glanced at Pharikian, who was watching the pair with an unreadable expression.
The dancing finally ended. Sullyan had intended to excuse herself and Robin as they had an early start the next morning, but the Hierarch had one last surprise for her. Rising from his seat next to his daughter, who was still gazing down the table toward the Count when she thought her father wasn’t looking, he turned to Sullyan. He was holding out a sheaf of papers, and as she stood to take them, she saw that they were musical scores. Her heart started to pound.
“I promised you the music your father wrote, my dear, and while I wouldn’t presume to ask you to play it now, as you’ve only just seen it, might I prevail upon you to play something else?” His eyes were pleading. “I know you intend to take the field tomorrow, so I won’t keep you from your rest. But it has been too many years since this was played, and I thought—I hoped—you might care to have it.”
He gestured, and a servant approached Sullyan, bearing something covered with a blue velvet cloth. As soon as it was set on the table before her, she knew what it was. Fingers trembling, she drew the cloth aside and gasped with delight.
The harp was exquisite. Its rich, highly polished red wood was decorated with intricate gold and nacre inlay. The strings were gold and silver wires, and tiny diamonds adorned the tuning pins. It had been lovingly cared for and was in perfect tune when she ran a light hand over it. Tears standing in her eyes, she looked up at the Hierarch.
“It belonged to your mother,” he murmured, “but it was your father who played it. If you are not too overcome, I would love to hear it again.”
What could she do but take it in her arms? Robin placed a chair in front of the high table and she sat with the harp nestling into her lap as if it belonged there. She tried the strings, as much to compose herself as to test its tone.
Softly, she played a melody with no words. The last time she had played a harp was at Marik’s mansion before Bull, Taran, Cal, and Rienne had left, and the melody was a subtle lament which brought back painful memories. She changed the tune and the Hierarch sat straighter in his chair, recognizing what she played. It was the air she had played for Rykan at Marik’s banquet, and when she began to sing the words, the Count covered his face with his hands. He too associated the song with pain and loss.
Pharikian sat enthralled as Sullyan sang the words in the old High Language of Andaryon, a tongue no one spoke now. As the song shivered to a close, she felt a serene sense of completion, as if finally laying the bad memories to rest. She placed her hands on the strings to still their quivering, and the room resounded with applause. Even the sour Falina had found nothing to criticize in the Major’s skill. Sullyan didn’t react, simply sat with her head bowed over the harp while one hand stroked its wood. It wasn’t until Pharikian came round the table and put a hand on her shoulder that she raised her face, her eyes full of emotion.
“Where did you learn that song, Brynne?”
“I cannot say, Majesty. I feel as if I have always known it.”
His face showed wonder. “Maybe you have, child, for Bethyn used to sing it to you before you were born. The melody is very old, ancient even, but those words were written by your father, as a loving tribute to his wife.”
Suddenly, Sullyan couldn’t breathe. Everywhere she turned here she found reminders of what she had lost. This was just too much. She laid the harp aside and covered it with the rich velvet. In a choked voice she said, “I cannot tell you what it means to have this, Majesty, but may I beg you to keep it safe a while longer? There is no place for it where I am going. And now, if it does not offend you, might I ask that you release us? Robin and I have much to arrange for tomorrow, and the hour grows late.”
Pharikian’s eyes clouded as he took her hand in farewell. He escorted them to the door and reluctantly let them go.
“Stay safe, Brynne,” he whispered. “I couldn’t bear to lose you too.”
Click here to listen to “The Ballad of Tallimore” written and performed by the author
Chapter Twenty
The early morning air was chill and Taran shivered as he drew his cloak tightly around him. He looked up, noting the glitter of the frost-spangled trees. It promised to be a beautiful day, but Taran wasn’t looking for beauty. His thoughts lay elsewhere as he strolled aimlessly, eyes unfocused and heart uneasy.
He had slept poorly the night before and had come out to clear his head. Too many thoughts were crowding his mind and he couldn’t stop their nagging. Uncertainties still plagued his life, and this dreadful waiting for bad news day after day was dragging him down. Cal’s elevation to Apprentice-elite had brought things to a head, and Taran had felt unsettled ever since. Not that he was unhappy for Cal. Quite the contrary, he was proud and delighted. He clearly remembered his own euphoria on gaining such a prize, and Sullyan’s recent ceremony confirming his Adept status still swelled his heart.
No. It was the future that bothered Taran.
The relative ease with which he had attained the rank of Adept after only a few hours’ guidance had brought forcibly home to him just what he might be capable of. It wasn’t something he had dared consider before. Sullyan’s masterly touch and confident air, even Robin’s forthright instruction, contrasted sharply with Taran’s memories of his father’s blunt and condescending comments. He couldn’t recall receiving a single word of praise from Amanus, who had obviously considered goading and humiliation to be the best forms of encouragement. At the time, Taran knew nothing else and did his best to progress. Now, he realized he had been trying to please his father rather than identifying and acting on his own strengths and weaknesses.
Sullyan’s method was to lead and encourage. Instead of highlighting failures and dampening spirits, she fostered understanding through experiment, praising each achievement on its merits. Taran knew he could only flourish under such gentle instruction.
That only made it harder to lose.
“Dammit to hell!”
He couldn’t believe he had discovered such talented people only to have their support snatched away just when he was making progress. His love for Sullyan, which refused to die despite his knowledge of her commitment to Robin, would make losing her distressing enough. To be also denied the training he so desperately desired would only deepen his misery.
Taran knew that once Sullyan was gone and Robin came back to the Manor, he, Cal, and Rienne would be forced to return to Hyecombe. They were only here on sufferance, and that was because of Rienne’s healer skills. Despite Sullyan’s parting words at Marik’s mansion, Ta
ran knew that once things were back to normal neither Robin nor Bull would be free to spend much time with him. He would be right back where he started—only worse, because now he would truly know what he had lost.
He really didn’t think he could bear it.
Eventually, cold air and a sad heart drove him to seek warmth and company. Rienne and Cal should be up by now. Perhaps he could persuade Bull to part with some of his time. It might help take their minds off what was happening beyond the Veils.
As he began the walk back, the sound of voices made Taran raise his head. One of the voices was Blaine’s, and Taran frowned. Why was he up and about so early?
He soon found out. Two men appeared from the direction of the training ground, and one of them was indeed Mathias Blaine. The General was more casually dressed than Taran had ever seen him, in a plain linen shirt and loose, black breeches, his sword belted at his side. His companion was the Manor weaponsmaster, Falkerk, and the two were strolling together, deep in conversation. Judging by their flushed faces and sweat-dampened clothing, they had been fencing.
Taran was mildly surprised to learn that Blaine still actively trained, but then reminded himself that the man was no great age. Bull was older, and he still trained regularly. As he thought more about it, Taran realized the General must have come out early to escape the curious eyes of his men.
He walked on, intending to greet Blaine politely as he passed. Before he got close enough, however, the General turned to Falkerk and made a comment. The weaponsmaster glanced briefly at Taran and nodded. He walked off down another path while Blaine came on, eyes fixed on Taran. He wanted to talk, Taran realized. What could be on his mind? Perhaps he had already had enough of them and wanted them to leave. After all, the reason they had come, the Andaryan artifact buried in the ruins of Taran’s cellar, had lost its significance in the tragedy of Sullyan’s fate. No one would be spared to deal with it until this sad business was over.
Schooling his features to hide his fear, Taran slowed.
Impassively, Blaine approached. His expression was as stern as ever, his demeanor gave nothing away. Taran often wondered whether he fostered this façade deliberately or whether it was natural to his character. He couldn’t decide. When the General stopped in front of Taran, he inclined his head.
“Adept Elijah.”
Taran returned the greeting, trying to suppress the urge to salute. He wasn’t under this man’s authority, yet Blaine’s natural air of command seemed to demand respect. Taran thought he caught a glimmer of amusement in Blaine’s hard blue eyes.
“Has that Apprentice of yours calmed down yet after his success?”
Taran was surprised. The General’s tone was conversational, his opening subject casual. This wasn’t what Taran had expected. Though Blaine was an Artesan and hadn’t taken much persuading to participate in Cal’s testing, Taran had always accepted that Blaine had no real interest in them. He was General-in-Command, personally responsible for all matters pertaining to the High King’s military forces. He had far more important concerns than three troublesome civilians. Yet, thought Taran, perhaps he was wrong? He decided to put his impressions aside and take this unexpected moment at face value. No doubt Blaine would get to the point before long.
“It took a while, sir, but I think so. It meant a lot to him to have a Master confirm his status. Neither of us has had much in the way of support or encouragement in recent years.”
“So I gather. It must have been very hard for you.”
Taran frowned. This conversation felt surreal. What was the man after?
“Yes, sir. Harder than I care to remember.”
“Still, you’ve made good progress, both of you. Neither of you took long to reach the next rank. It takes more than a talented teacher to bring powers along that fast.”
“We did our best, sir.”
Taran’s puzzlement continued to grow. He was sure Blaine was fishing, but for what, he couldn’t think. If there was something the General wanted to know, why didn’t he come right out and ask? He didn’t seem like the diffident type. Studying his face in the growing sunlight, Taran tried to read behind the expressionless eyes. The General’s next statement stunned him.
“So your father must have done something right.”
Taran gaped. He never had the slightest suspicion that Blaine knew who he was, and Sullyan had said she hadn’t told him. So had the General known all along, or had he since remembered his interview with Amanus and his reaction to the man’s request?
Blaine smiled at Taran’s reaction, his entire demeanor changing. Now Taran felt companionship radiating from him, and it threw him completely off-balance. This was turning out to be a strange conversation indeed.
“Ah,” said the General. “You thought I didn’t know who you were.”
Taran reddened. “You’re right, sir. How long have you known?”
“I have many responsibilities, Adept, and my attention is necessarily spread over many areas. One of the consequences of my position is the development of an excellent memory. I rarely forget a face or a name, and your family name is not common.”
Taran lowered his eyes. “You’ve known from the start, then. Major Sullyan gave me the impression you didn’t.”
There was a slight pause.
“Then she should have known better.”
Blaine’s voice had hardened and Taran glanced at him. The General’s eyes were bleak and cold and he turned his face away. The Adept remembered this same reaction when he had mentioned Sullyan’s name after Cal’s testing. He also recalled what Bull had told them of the General’s leave-taking at Marik’s mansion. Taran guessed that Mathias Blaine was a man who scorned to show his emotions. Perhaps it was another consequence of his post.
The General sighed and faced him once more. “I have to say you’re not much like your father.”
It was such an obvious avoidance of a painful subject that Taran’s opinion of the man underwent a radical change. He smiled. “I’m glad to hear you say so.”
“If you had been, I doubt I’d be so willing to allow you and your friends to stay.”
Taran’s heart skipped and he shot the General a look, not wanting to take his meaning for granted. Blaine correctly interpreted the look and smiled again, although coldness still lingered in his eyes.
“I don’t suffer fools gladly, it’s true, but neither am I completely insensitive. I am aware of your feelings, Taran Elijah, and I’m not just talking about your desire for training.”
Heat rose in Taran’s face. He hadn’t imagined that Blaine would know anything at all about his personal feelings. The General carried on, ignoring Taran’s discomfort.
“We also have unfinished business in the matter of your artifact, and I wouldn’t have asked you to leave until it’s been resolved. With Captain Tamsen absent”—his voice caught, but he plowed on—“we can’t make headway there, so I wanted you to know that you’re all welcome to stay until he returns. The Major told me you’d be concerned about the future. It seems she was right.”
Taran stared, stunned yet again. “She said that? When was this?”
Blaine’s eyes clouded, and Taran knew he was forcing down painful memories.
“The last time I saw her.” He moved swiftly on before Taran could speak again. “Be free with our facilities while you’re here, Adept, and don’t hesitate to ask Hal Bullen for guidance or instruction. Your Healer Arlen has more than compensated us for any costs your stay might incur. She’s very talented, so Hanan tells me.”
“But she’s being paid, sir. She’s drawing a captain’s pay.”
“I am aware of that, Adept! The offer stands. It’s up to you how you use it. Now I must go. It’s cold out here and I need to wash. No doubt we will speak again.”
The General stalked away and Taran stood staring after him, his thoughts chaotic. He shivered. The rising sun had stirred a bitter wind. The movement brought him back to himself and he shook his head, mulling over what he had heard.
The General’s words might not have solved the problem of his long-term future, but at least his mind could rest easy for the present.
Eager to tell his friends the good news—and to see Rienne smile again—Taran hurried back to their rooms.
+ + + + +
Dressed for combat and wearing heavy cloaks against the freezing wind, Sullyan, Robin and Marik carried their packs down to the horse lines. The lower Citadel was buzzing with activity. Theirs wasn’t the only company leaving that day. Lord General Anjer had come up with a strategy to cause maximum damage to Rykan’s marching troops with minimum losses to the Hierarch’s. Sullyan and her band were to head out toward the southwest flank of Rykan’s forces and stay there as long as they could. Three supply trains were already in the field, although each band would carry as much as they could.
On arriving at the horse lines, Sullyan was pleased to see Ky-shan and his men already there. There seemed to be an argument going on, so she and Robin strode over to see what was wrong. The stocky pirate was swearing at the horse master while repeatedly jabbing a thick finger at some of the beasts selected for his band. He turned furiously to Sullyan as she approached.
“Lady, this idiot has let Vanyr take back some of the mounts you selected for us. He won’t listen to me.”
The horse master, a small, slight man with a receding hairline and harassed demeanor, spread his hands. “I can’t gainsay the Commander, Lady, not without a direct order from the Lord General.”
Sullyan faced him coldly. “You have already seen the Lord General’s authorization, man. What more do you want?”
“I want you to be here when Commander Vanyr comes looking for his horses!”
She rolled her eyes. She didn’t need obstructions like this. “Where are the horses I chose?” When the horse master indicated a corral, she realized that the horses in question were the largest of those she had selected, large enough to carry Almid, Kester, and Ky-shan himself. “Saddle them,” she said. When the horse master opened his mouth to protest, she snapped, “Send Vanyr to me if he complains! That is, if he knows where the front lines are.”
