by Cas Peace
Wrapping his heavy purple mantle even tighter about his lean frame, the Hierarch stared over the ordered ranks of his reservists and regular troops. Anjer stood massively beside him, studying the battlefield and the deployment of Rykan’s men. A movement by the Tower doors drew their attention. Almid and Kester appeared, both scanning the battlements. When they saw the two men standing by the wall, they moved aside to allow Sullyan to pass between them. Dwarfed by their stature, she seemed even tinier this morning, and as she came closer the pallor of her face caused Pharikian to gasp.
She was clearly exhausted. Enormous in the grey light of dawn, her golden eyes were accentuated by the dark rings beneath. She moved with less than her usual grace, and Pharikian remembered that she had been up all night helping Deshan with the wounded Count. He frowned. Surely she should have gone to rest before now?
Seeing his disapproving expression, she raised a defensive hand. “Do not reprove me, Majesty. I need to see this before I can rest.”
She sounded heartsick, and Pharikian’s rebuke died on his lips. Fearing the worst, he said, “How is the Count, Brynne?”
Pain creased her brows and her golden eyes darkened with worry. “He lives, Timar. We have repaired the shoulder, although it will be many weeks before it is strong. The punctured lung and broken ribs mended well. The surface swelling will heal with time. His spine was thankfully intact, but there is severe bruising. Deshan has tended the area and reduced the swelling as much as he can, but the nerves may have suffered irreparable damage. Until he wakes, we cannot know whether he will walk again. He slept throughout, and Deshan has administered a strong sedative to keep him unconscious. It is essential he remains still for as long as possible.”
She fell silent, and Pharikian saw her tremble as exhaustion and worry took their toll. Wordlessly, he gathered her to him and wrapped her warmly in the folds of his cloak. Feeling the gauntness of her beneath his hands, he said, “When was the last time you ate, Brynne?”
She wasn’t listening. Her eyes ranged out over the massed ranks of the two great armies. Pharikian felt her stiffen when her gaze fell on the standard of Rykan, Duke of Kymer. Her hands strayed unconsciously to her belly.
“He succeeded then?”
The Hierarch switched his gaze to the Duke’s men, leaving Anjer to reply.
“Oh yes, Brynne, the Count succeeded very well, as you see. Now it is up to us to continue his work, to engage Rykan in battle, fight him to a standstill, and force him to surrender.”
“And then ….” Her whisper trailed off.
Pharikian glanced down at her. She had looked exhausted before, but now she looked ill. Irritated by her stubbornness, he turned her face with one hand.
“You need rest, Brynne. Where is the Captain?”
She had the grace to smile wryly. “I sent him to bed, Majesty. He sat with me all night and I used his strength as well as my own.”
He stared in exasperation, expelling his breath in a huff.
“Very well,” she said, throwing up her hands, “I will go. But you must promise to wake me if there is any change in the Count’s condition or any developments out there.”
“You have my word, Brynne. Anjer is leaving now to oversee the battle, and I think we can leave that in his capable hands. I’m sure Deshan has stationed healers by the Count’s side who will call you if need be.”
She gave a sidelong smile. “Yes, Marik has the best of healers, Majesty.”
She turned to go, Anjer placing a comforting hand on her shoulder as she passed him. She made her unsteady way to the stairs, Almid and Kester following, and cast a last worried glance over her shoulder at the vast enemy army.
Pharikian watched the doors close behind her, Anjer silently studying his face. After a few moments the Lord General said, “She’s so small and frail, Timar. While I have the greatest respect for her tactical skill and don’t doubt the word of those who’ve fought with her these past few weeks, I confess I’m finding it hard to credit the truth of her reputation. Will she be capable of fighting Rykan when the time comes? You know how skilled and ruthless he is. Might it not be better to choose another Champion?”
The Hierarch sighed deeply, his expression anguished. “You’re watering a dead tree, my friend. I can’t choose another Champion, no matter how much I might wish to. I gave her my word and I can’t take it back. Besides, the reasons for accepting her are still valid. Would you trust that man to adhere to the Codes? Even if we had someone capable of matching his skill with the blade—no offence, my friend!—there’s still the question of his metaphysical rank. As I am prohibited from meeting my challenger in person, there is no one else qualified to face him. Like Brynne, I have no doubt he would use his metaforce if he found himself losing the duel. As she pointed out, why should he feel constrained by the Codes if he plans to put us all to the sword? None of his followers would dare task him for it. No, Anjer, I’m afraid there’s no other way. Brynne Sullyan is my chosen Champion and she will meet Rykan on the day of the duel. But I wish to all the gods she didn’t have to.”
“Is there truly no other way to end this man’s threat?” Anjer’s question was rhetorical, and he returned to his scrutiny of the battlefield, his large hands braced on the wall.
“I can’t see one,” said Pharikian. “I can’t break the Codes, and even if I could, an arrow through the heart would only end Rykan’s ambition. Others would take his place. And killing him won’t help Brynne. Don’t forget, Rykan’s her only hope of cheating death now. We can’t deny her the chance of persuading him to undo the damage he’s done.”
Anjer snorted, his black glare fixed on the Duke’s streaming banner. “How realistic is that chance? Even if he could be … persuaded to help her, could she physically stand the strain? Deshan seemed to think the damage irreparable.”
The Hierarch groaned and bowed his head. In the short time they had known her, they had both come to deeply respect—and in Pharikian’s case to love—the slight, tawny-haired young woman. Pharikian felt very close to her due to his special relationship with her parents. He still missed Morgan’s support and strength, the only person who had ever been his metaphysical equal. To finally find the man’s daughter, grown so beautiful, so skilled, so accomplished and confident, only to lose her to the spite and brutality of one of his own subjects, was a pain he wasn’t sure he could bear. The one thing keeping him from despair was the fragile hope that Rykan’s power could undo the damage. Despite Sullyan’s own determination never to place herself at his mercy by asking for it, Pharikian was going to make damned sure Rykan knew he must help her or die.
Raising his head, yellow eyes glittering dangerously, he said, “We must make sure she can. Come, Anjer, the sun is well up. We will not allow the Duke any more leisure to plot against us. The sooner we best him, the sooner this will be over.”
The two men and their escort made their way back down the Tower stairs. Within thirty minutes Anjer was galloping through the Citadel gates, riding to join his men on the Plains.
+ + + + +
Robin woke midmorning. No one had disturbed their rest since Sullyan came in, and now he stood looking down at her sleeping under the goose down comforter. She had unbraided her glorious hair before undressing, and the tumbled mass of it about her sleep-smoothed face made her look very young.
As silently as possible, the Captain dressed and left the suite. He was hungry, but he wanted to check on Marik before finding breakfast. Nodding to Ky-shan and Jay’el stationed outside the door, Robin made his way to Marik’s sickroom. There he found the Princess Idrimar still sitting in the huge chair someone had found for her last night. She was fast asleep, her hand still clasping Marik’s. The Count lay in drugged slumber on the bed.
Seeing one of the healers, Robin drew the woman aside. “How is the Count?”
She glanced at the pair over her shoulder. “There’s no change, I’m afraid, sir. We’re keeping him deeply asleep and so have no way of knowing whether there’s any
improvement. Only Deshan, the Hierarch, or the Lady Brynne could tell if his nerves are recovering at this moment. We just have to hope.”
Robin looked at Marik’s face, which was turned toward him. The Count was lying on his left side to ease the shoulder blade and keep his spine aligned. Robin frowned in concern. Having long put aside the guilt, jealousy, and rage which had colored his earlier dealings with the man, he now counted him a friend and was as worried for him as he would have been for Bull. Sighing, unable to do any more, he left in search of breakfast.
Once he had eaten he felt stronger, more capable of coping with what was happening outside. Passing the suite on his way to the battlements, he noted wryly that Ky-shan and his son were no longer at their station, meaning that Sullyan was up and about. He had hoped she would sleep for longer, but he wasn’t really surprised she hadn’t.
He was also unsurprised to find her on the battlements. What did surprise him, however, was that one of her companions was Commander Vanyr. Vanyr stood stiffly on the opposite side of the Hierarch, who stood next to Sullyan, and the atmosphere between the two was decidedly cool. Not so strange, thought Robin, considering that Vanyr’s face still bore evidence of the pirates’ justice. Barrack gossip said he had also been thoroughly chewed out by Anjer and threatened with demotion should he ever do anything so vicious again. Robin wondered why he was here. Over by the Tower doors, he could see both Ky-shan and his son watching the Commander as a tangwyr watches a dying beast.
If Pharikian had noticed any frostiness in the air, Robin thought, he had probably put it down to the animosity he knew Vanyr bore the Major. The Commander remained firmly on the Hierarch’s other side, keeping what distance he could.
With a perfunctory nod to the sullen man, Robin moved to Sullyan’s other side. Gazing out across the Plains, he was amazed at the size of the two armies and began to have serious doubts about the Hierarch’s ability to force Rykan to surrender. Sullyan smiled wearily at him and briefly touched his arm. Placing it around her shoulders, he held her close.
The preliminary moves of the battle were being played out before their eyes. The archers and crossbowmen on either side were currently trying to reduce their opposite numbers while the foot and mounted troops behind them stirred restlessly. Robin could see Anjer in his dark, gold-trimmed uniform, sun glinting off his rank insignia and array of battle honors as he rode to and fro along his lines, encouraging, planning, and bestirring his men to action. The Captain could also make out the forms of Kryp and Ephan, both rallying their men and holding them in readiness for the main assault.
Guiltily, Robin’s eyes strayed southwest over his shoulder, toward the knoll where Bull, Taran, Cal, and Rienne had made camp. He wondered if he could get away with a tight link to Bull without Sullyan’s knowledge. His skills were sufficient for the task, he just wasn’t sure how focused she was at present and whether she might notice his distraction. Regarding her closely, seeing how intent was her concentration, he decided to risk it.
Bull?
The call was as soft and tight as he could make it, and there was an instant response from the big man. He must have been aware of the start of the fighting and was waiting for Robin’s call.
Robin! What’s happening?
The Captain swiftly told Bull about Marik’s heroic venture and its consequences. Bull’s concern was plain through their link, but there was nothing Robin could do to alleviate it. He gave quick details of the Count’s care and treatment, and then told Bull how the battle was shaping. But Bull had more immediate concerns.
How’s Sully?
Robin glanced at her as she stood talking quietly to the Hierarch. She was very pale, and the way she kept pressing her belly worried him. It was as if the old pain was gnawing at her. He was deeply afraid that the poison in her soul would claim her life before she could fulfill her self-imposed task.
Bull clearly felt Robin’s fear despite his shielding. Can’t the Hierarch and his physician do anything more to help her?
They’ve done all they can, said Robin sadly. They’re afraid that if they try again they’ll impair her own powers, and that would be disastrous. I’m terribly worried for her, Bull.
Then let’s hope this battle is over sooner rather than later. Remember, lad, don’t hold the wake before the bloody funeral!
Bull broke the link abruptly, but Robin sensed his despair. Smiling a little at Bull’s favorite phrase, he hugged Sullyan to him.
+ + + + +
The Major stood encircled by her lover’s strong arms, his warmth easing the tension in her belly. Presently, she noticed Vanyr stirring. The man had remained silent unless asked a direct question by his monarch, and now he made his excuses to Pharikian and turned to depart. In Ephan’s absence, he was in full command of the Velletian Guard and he had duties to attend to. Before he could leave, however, she stepped away from Robin and addressed him.
“Commander Vanyr, would you do me the courtesy of granting a private word?”
He froze mid-stride. Both Robin and the Hierarch turned their heads, as startled as the white-eyed Commander, but they made no comment. Unable to refuse in their hearing, Vanyr replied stiffly.
“As you wish, Major.”
She moved farther away from the other men and he followed at some distance. Ky-shan and his son still watched his back like hungry sharks, their glances as piercing as daggers. Seeing this, Sullyan imagined Vanyr’s shoulder blades crawling with tension. She stopped just out of their earshot and faced him, raising her open gaze to his pale, hard eyes. Refusing to come too close, he stood staring, balanced lightly on his feet as if expecting attack.
She sighed. “Commander, I know you bear me no love, nor would I expect it. I wish you to know, however, that I hold no grudge against you for your actions the other day. Nor did I have anything to do with, or knowledge of, the beating you received. I do not condone it and would certainly have stopped it had I known.”
If this little speech affected Vanyr, he showed no sign.
“Yes, Major, so I was told.”
She raised her brows. At least Ky-shan had made sure Vanyr knew exactly who was responsible for the retribution he had received.
Coldly, he added, “Was there anything else?”
She might have said more, but his tone forbade her. “No, Commander, I will not waste any more of your time.”
He stared at her for an instant before turning on his heel and stalking to the Tower stairs. The pirates made a show of watching him depart, but he studiously avoided their eyes. Returning to her study of the battlefield with a closed look on her face, Sullyan chose not to respond to either Robin’s or Pharikian’s enquiring looks.
The battle proper commenced later that day. The archers and crossbowmen had done their work, and now both sides let loose their mounted troops and infantry. The noise of the two forces coming together was clearly audible for miles around.
By nightfall, little progress had been achieved. The fighting was fierce but tactical, neither side committing to an all-out push, merely trying each other’s strengths and employing subtle feints here and there to draw out pockets of men where they could be surrounded and cut off. All that day, the watchers on the Tower saw no sign of Rykan himself. The Duke stayed concealed in his command tent, issuing orders through his general, Lord Sonten.
As night fell and the battlefield slowly vanished under the smothering winter darkness, both armies retreated to their own lines. All that could be seen from the Citadel were the thousands of flickering campfires dotting the Plains with their firebug glow. Briefly, Sullyan entertained a wicked desire to tamper with Rykan’s fire and set his tent alight, but there was no wind, and although she could influence Air, she did not yet have full Mastery. Pharikian did, but as Supreme Ruler he was constrained by the Codes not to interfere in a metaphysical sense in the outcome of this battle.
Exhausted by the constant worry, they went to rest, Sullyan deciding to check on Marik before she retired. On entering the infirma
ry, she and Robin found the situation unchanged save for the presence of Deshan, who was doing his rounds. There was a steady stream of wounded coming in to the healers, and they were overwhelmed. Seeing this, Sullyan offered an hour or so of her time. Robin worked alongside her, using his powers to soothe nerves, numb pain, and begin healing where he could.
Looking up from a gut wound she feared would not repair, Sullyan glanced at her lover as he worked. She smiled, knowing that his skills and strength of mind were well able to support Master Artesan status. It saddened and gladdened her both, for it was unlikely she would see him confirmed. At least she could rely on Mathias Blaine to accomplish that for her. The sudden blur of tears in her eyes brought her back to the task in hand.
Eventually, Deshan thanked them and shooed them away. Before leaving to rest, they looked into the small room occupied by Marik and the ever-present Idrimar. Bowing her head to the Princess, who looked pale and careworn, Sullyan crossed to the bed and looked down on the sleeping face of her friend. Idrimar stared at her pleadingly, hoping for some confirmation of improvement, but Sullyan was loath to probe Marik while he was drugged.
Gently, she bade the Princess be patient. “You can call me any time of night or day, Highness,” she added. “If you are worried or need anything, just send someone for me. I will always come to you.”
“Thank you, Lady Brynne,” said Idrimar, her deep voice tight with tears. Her eyes were damp, but her face wore a wan smile. “If he doesn’t fully recover, it won’t be for lack of care.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” said Sullyan, stroking Marik’s hand where it lay outside the covers. “We can only hope now, Highness. Deshan and I did all we could. The rest is up to the Count.”
Trailed by Ky-shan and Ki-en, she and Robin returned to their rooms. Consoling themselves in each other’s love, they eventually fell into an exhausted sleep.
