by Cas Peace
They arranged themselves as close to the flames as they could, Cal throwing an arm about his love. Taran handed out more mugs and then placed some cuts of wild pig over the fire. The meat’s gamey smell began to rise into the air.
Bull had a playful expression in his eyes. “Alright. Judging by what Robin’s told us so far, who would you say was the least likely person to take on the role of hero?”
Rienne frowned. “What do you mean, Bull?”
“Well, no one’s seen tip nor tail of Rykan since the fighting started, and apparently it’s vital that he be present on the Plains in person. So who would you choose to go and flush him out?”
“Someone who knows what they’re doing, that’s for sure,” said Cal. “But from the look on your face, that’s not what they’ve done.”
Rienne reached out and turned a piece of meat in danger of burning. “Who is it, Bull? Not that young seaman, the one who caused such trouble?”
Bull shook his head. “No, not him. It’s Marik.”
The healer sucked in a breath and Taran raised his brows. He said, “Is that wise? Didn’t Rykan put a price on his head?”
Bull nodded. “That’s precisely why Sully suggested him. Apart from her, Marik’s the one person the Duke might be tempted out of hiding for. They’re hoping to use him as bait.”
“But what if Rykan kills him?” said Rienne. “Poor man, he’s lost so much already. Has he agreed to do it?”
“I doubt he has much choice, dear heart. But they haven’t asked him yet, the messenger only left today. And it might not be necessary—Anjer’s still hoping his troops can flush Rykan out. They’ll only send Marik if everything else fails. You know, it’s funny, really. A short time ago, Robin didn’t have a good word to say for Marik. Yet now they’re on first name terms and Robin speaks of him like a friend.”
Rienne’s voice carried an acid edge. “Then let’s hope Rykan doesn’t kill him. There’s far too much talk of death at the moment as it is.”
Her sobering words silenced them all.
+ + + + +
Vanyr’s runner found the Count’s command easily enough once Kryp had told him Marik’s location. The Lord General’s dispatch was placed in Marik’s hands, and the Count was on his way back to the Citadel within the day. The other dispatch, the one addressed to both generals requesting them to do all they could to force Rykan’s columns to halt, was being implemented before Marik and his escort reached the Citadel.
They rode in to general acclaim around noon the next day. The Velletian Guard saw to their horses and gear, and the Count was given time to refresh himself before being summoned to the Hierarch’s presence.
All this Sullyan learned in an interview with the Hierarch that morning, an interview she had requested and during which she voiced a particular wish. When he heard what she was asking, Pharikian granted it willingly, though he failed to see her reasons.
“Why do you wish to speak privately with Count Marik before he comes to me, Brynne?”
She regarded him openly, her dislike of the situation plain in her eyes.
“I want to give him the opportunity to turn us down, Timar. He would never refuse you or the Lord General, and I want to make sure he thinks very carefully about what we are asking before he accepts.”
Robin, by her side as always, made to comment, but she forestalled him. “Yes, I know, Robin, he is unlikely to refuse me either, but at least in private, between the two of us, I can do my best to dissuade him.”
“Dissuade him?”
Pharikian frowned and Sullyan smiled sadly. “It is a gesture only, Timar, a sop to my conscience. Yet it will help me through the next few days if I know I have done all I can to keep him safe. Ultimately, it will be the Count’s decision, but I am not the only one who values his safety.”
The Hierarch pursed his lips, clearly understanding her meaning. She gave him an impish grin which he mirrored. He was aware of his daughter’s unexpected feelings toward the Count.
Later that afternoon, Sullyan sent a page to show the Count into the small room she had chosen for their meeting. When he walked in, he was clearly surprised, confused to find himself facing her rather than the Hierarch. However, his pleasure at seeing her again soon took over.
“Sullyan!” He crossed to where she stood and embraced her warmly.
She looked him over. “How are you, Ty? I have heard glowing reports from Anjer of your successes. You are gaining quite a reputation.”
He ducked his head and grinned. “I owe you a deep debt of thanks for the opportunity to do so.”
“It was the least I could do, after what you gave up for me.”
They stood looking at each other in sober silence before she drew him to the two easy chairs by the blazing fire. While he made himself comfortable, Sullyan poured fellan for them both.
Marik took a few mouthfuls, savoring the bitter richness. “So what’s all this about, Sullyan?” When she didn’t immediately reply, he glanced at her sharply. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
She faced him, letting him see her discomfort. “I have something to ask of you, Ty, but I want you to understand that it is only a request. There is no compulsion for you to undertake this. No one will think less of you if you refuse.”
He gave a wry smile. “Alright. Now that you’ve ensured my interest, tell me what you need.”
She laced her fingers round her cup and leaned back. Briefly, she outlined the problem concerning Rykan’s position and the necessity of enticing him onto the Plains.
“It is essential that he be there in person to receive the Hierarch’s challenge. The Lord General has ordered his commanders to halt Rykan’s advance and is sending units to the rear of the columns where we suspect Rykan to be hiding to force him into the open.”
“And if he doesn’t oblige?” Marik cocked his head when Sullyan didn’t immediately reply.
She flicked him a guilty gaze. Never one to back down from an awkward situation, she was finding this harder than she had imagined. Luckily, comprehension dawned and Marik rescued her once again.
“Ah! I understand. You need to offer him a reason to show himself. You want me as bait.”
She cringed at his frank choice of words. The fact that he obviously relished the prospect did nothing to lessen her guilt.
“You are not to feel constrained in any way to accept this, Ty,” she said. “I wanted to be the one to ask you, to give you the chance to refuse if you wished. This is a serious matter, my friend. We both know what Rykan is capable of, and should he manage to capture you, your life would be less than worthless. You have been through enough already, and you are very dear to me. I would not see you endanger yourself unnecessarily.”
Marik sat staring at her throughout this speech, his expression grave. When she was done, he put down his cup, kneeled on the floor beside her, and took one of her hands. Gazing into her eyes he said, “My dear, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. You should know that by now. You have already repaid me ten times over for my help when you needed it, but friendship isn’t about giving and receiving favors. It’s about being there for someone whatever the circumstances. You knew very well I wouldn’t refuse to do this, but I appreciate your giving me the choice. Don’t forget, I have scores of my own to settle with Rykan, and this is just the chance I need. Come on, take me to the Hierarch. You can tell him I’ve been reluctantly persuaded to be his hero.”
“Oh, Ty!”
She laughed, rose, and embraced him once again. “It is good to have you back.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The interview with Pharikian was short. Afterward, Marik left to brief his men and Sullyan took her leave of the Hierarch. She felt restless and troubled, and there was only one thing that gave her any ease when she felt that way. She went in search of Ky-shan, hoping to convince the brawny pirate to fence with her.
On her way through the Palace’s private section she caught a momentary glimpse of the Count, who had been waylaid on
his return to his men. The Princess Idrimar was currently engaged in showing Marik how deep her feelings for him had become and was encouraging him to be careful. She seemed to be employing her lips and hands rather more than her voice, and Marik was proving a good listener.
Sullyan smiled as she moved on, feeling lighter for that privileged glimpse of someone else’s happiness.
Wrapping her heavy cloak around her, she emerged into the frosty air and headed for the barracks where the seamen were most likely to be found. When she located them, Ky-shan seemed suspiciously reluctant to accede to her request.
“I don’t know, Lady,” he said. “We don’t want to fuel any more speculation about dueling, do we?”
She stared in disbelief. “Oh, come now, Ky-shan. That is not the real reason, is it? Has someone said something to you about protecting me?”
His reluctance to answer told her the suspicion was correct. She spat a vicious barrack room obscenity, causing Ky-shan’s eyes to widen, Jay’el to blush, and the twins to grin. Then, a smooth, clipped voice behind her made her freeze.
“Well, Major, if these men won’t oblige you, I’m sure I can. No one’s said anything to me about protecting you.”
She turned slowly, seeing the tall form of Commander Vanyr. He stood loosely, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His stance suggested unconcern, but she read his eagerness in the lines of his body and the avid look in his eyes.
She clamped down on her irritation. She could not let him goad her. Vanyr was a man to take seriously. One didn’t become the commander of the Hierarch’s personal guard without being a consummate swordsman. Nonetheless, total concentration on an unknown but skilled opponent was just what Sullyan needed. This confrontation was inevitable, so why not conduct it before witnesses?
Vanyr was waiting. Slowly, she removed her cloak and jacket, handing them to Jay’el. His eyes on the commander, he said, “Be careful, Lady.”
She smiled. “There is no call for concern, Jay’el. We are only fencing for exercise.” Glancing at Vanyr’s faintly superior expression, she added, “We are not in competition here, and there is no intent of bloodshed. Is that not so, Commander?”
“Of course.” Moving economically, he stepped back into the larger space of the barracks training ground.
Sullyan observed how he moved and placed his feet, realizing immediately that he would be a difficult opponent. He was much taller than she was and had a greater reach. His lithe body might well cancel out any advantage her smaller size and agility usually gave her. Briefly, she entertained the notion of starting with a right-handed grip, but then remembered he had observed part of her fight with Ky-shan. A man like Vanyr wouldn’t forget such talent. She abandoned the idea and slipped her sword free of its scabbard using her stronger left hand. She would watch for an opening to change grip if one presented itself.
The pirates moved to one side so they could watch the bout. Ky-shan was clearly uneasy. A couple of off-duty Velletian Guardsmen also strolled over to see what their commander was up to. Ignoring them all, Sullyan concentrated on the lithe man before her.
Vanyr stood lightly balanced, his gaze assessing her. He was probably the most dangerous fighter she had yet to meet. The prospect of learning his fighting style and testing her skills against him suddenly made her smile. It was what she wanted, to feel the purpose of her life again, to pit her strength and cunning against a worthy opponent, to be able to block everything else from her mind. It was what made her come alive, and she loved it.
This change in her demeanor clearly puzzled Vanyr. She saw his momentary confusion and used it to make the first strike. He failed to anticipate the move and was forced to parry. It was a clumsy stroke and was also, she thought, what he had intended to force out of her. His eyes showed a flash of ire, yet he was too fine a swordsman to allow irritation to affect him for long. Soon, they were fencing in earnest.
+ + + + +
Robin was growing restless. During Sullyan’s interview with Marik and subsequent meeting with Pharikian, she had asked him to remain in their suite. He didn’t mind. He knew what she was doing and appreciated the chance to rest. After a couple of hours he began anticipating her return. When she didn’t appear, he started to worry that the meetings hadn’t gone well. Another uneasy half hour passed before he finally decided to go look for her. First, he made his way to the small office where she would have spoken with the Count. As expected, the room was vacant, all signs of occupation removed by the servants. Thinking she might be discussing the battle with Pharikian, he walked through the corridors toward the Hierarch’s more intimate audience chamber, the one he used for less formal interviews. Yet the Captain quickly realized the room wasn’t in use as there were no guards outside. Even within his own Palace, the Hierarch was constantly shadowed by the Velletian Guard.
Robin was puzzled and stood a moment in thought before shrugging and turning back. Sullyan would either have returned to their rooms by now or perhaps be up on the battlements with Anjer. However, just as he began the walk back he saw the Lord General emerge from a corridor ahead.
Anjer saw him and turned. “Captain!”
Robin waited for Anjer to approach and accorded the huge man his due salute. Anjer had no time for formalities. “I need to find Brynne, Captain. Where is she?”
“I don’t know, my Lord. Isn’t she with the Hierarch …?”
“Their meeting ended over an hour ago. Can you find her, Captain? There have been developments and I need to speak to her.”
Closing his eyes to aid his concentration, Robin searched for her familiar pattern. Finding it immediately, her total lack of response told him what was happening. He opened his eyes and grinned.
“I might have known.” Seeing Anjer’s puzzlement, he added, “She’s having her mind diverted. She always does this when she’s worried. I just pity the poor man she’s chosen to distract her. She’s out on the training ground, my Lord.”
Anjer scowled. “Who with?”
Now it was Robin’s turn to look puzzled. “I don’t know. She’s too committed to let me see, and I don’t want to risk disturbing her. It must be someone very skilled or it wouldn’t take up all her attention.”
Anjer’s face darkened, his whole body radiating anger. “Come with me.” Turning, he strode toward the Palace’s outer doors, moving so swiftly that Robin had to trot to keep up.
+ + + + +
Vanyr and Sullyan circled each other warily, looking for weaknesses. To Sullyan’s delight and the Commander’s clearly displayed annoyance, they were evenly matched. Vanyr had tried several times to disarm her or slip through her guard, but instead of proving easy to vanquish, Sullyan had forced him to employ every defensive maneuver he knew in order to avoid her lightning-fast strikes. She was lighter and more agile than he thought, and as he had never fought a woman before, he hadn’t expected her strength. Sullyan had also developed other, subtler techniques to overcome her lack of height and mass, and she never allowed Vanyr into a position where he could use his greater weight against her. Instead, she kept him on the move, forcing him to spend his energy in lunge, parry, and dodge, while she danced lightly around him, looking for openings in his defenses.
Had he been less annoyed, she thought, less frustrated, less eager to humiliate her, he might have enjoyed the bout. Sullyan herself was enjoying it greatly. Her muscles felt strong and alive and her skin tingled with the energies flowing through it. She never felt as vibrant as when using her physical skills against a competent opponent and in the pure pleasure of the moment she completely forgot the animosity between them.
When Anjer’s battlefield voice suddenly reverberated around the training ground—“Commander!”—Vanyr’s reaction took her completely by surprise.
Sullyan broke off her attack instantly, but Vanyr did not. Intensely annoyed by his failure to master her, he neither retracted his lunge nor attempted to turn aside his blade. As Sullyan lowered her guard and stepped back, the tip of Vanyr’s sword
laid her left forearm open almost to the bone. Gasping in pain, she clamped her right hand over the wound and sank to one knee.
Robin sprinted over to help her. Vanyr stood towering over them both, a nasty smile playing on his lips. Anjer strode furiously up to him, black eyes blazing.
“I saw that, Commander, it was a deliberate strike! You heard me call you, man. Why didn’t you put up your sword?”
Vanyr stood sullenly, unwilling to answer. Anjer turned to Sullyan, who had risen shakily with Robin’s help, her hand still clamped about the bleeding wound. Her face was white and her eyes dilated wide as she expended power to slow the bleeding and ease the shock.
“I’m sorry, Major.” Anjer’s voice was gruff with concern. “I’ll see he pays for that.”
Sullyan dampened her power and turned some of her attention on Anjer. Calming her breath, she allowed a small, humorless smile to quirk her lips. “Never mind, my Lord.” Her eyes turned hard as she regarded Vanyr. “You must not blame the Commander. He was overpressed and mistimed his stroke. Is that not so, Commander Vanyr?”
Vanyr’s eyes narrowed angrily. She had backed him into a corner. He had to either admit a mistake, which would gall him intensely, or reveal that his last action was deliberate, in which case he would suffer Anjer’s wrath. Either way he was shamed in front of both her men and his, and she knew he would never forgive her. The fact that his predicament was entirely of his own making wouldn’t sway him.
Anjer was waiting, clearly not believing Sullyan’s version. He stared Vanyr in the eye. “Well?”
The Commander shot Sullyan a malicious glance and gritted his teeth. “The Major is correct, my Lord. A mistimed stroke, that’s all.”
Anjer wasn’t satisfied. “And?”
Color flared on Vanyr’s pinched face and he sheathed his sword with an angry snap. “Major. Please accept my apologies.”
She glanced up from hooded eyes, her hand still clamped about her injured arm. “I hear your gracious apology, Commander. We will say no more about it.”
