by Cas Peace
The Captain smiled down at his rival, his voice low and deadly.
“I could do it, you know. It’s not fear of you or Blaine that stays my hand.” He exerted just enough pressure to cause Parren considerable discomfort. “I want you to know that. I am totally under control, and if I wished to take your life, I would. But I don’t. There’s enough blood on my hands, and I don’t want any more. Not even yours, you miserable excuse for a man.”
He leaned down, allowing his hot breath to warm Parren’s already sweating skin. “You’re right, I do have friends in Andaryon, friends who would defend me to the death and who I would defend in my turn. I’m not ashamed of that. I’m not ashamed to call them friends, even if they are from a different race. The very least of them is worth twenty of you, you sick bastard. So you can ride back to the Manor in triumph if you want, and you can spread your lies. Blaine will never believe you. I’m going to contact him before ever you get the chance, and he’ll hear the tale from me. Yes, even of my failure. Baily knows what happened here, as does Elder Paulus, so just you try denouncing me and see what happens. I no longer care.”
Giving Parren’s bruised throat one last vicious squeeze, causing the man to choke and cough, Robin rose. He ignored Parren’s spluttering curses and turned to Baily. “Sorry, Baily, I didn’t mean to sleep for so long. Will you be alright if I leave you here to clean up? Dexter and the rest of my command will stay too, and you can all go back together once you’ve done what you can.”
Baily nodded, watching Parren, who was still lying on the ground, making much of his bruised throat. “You go, Rob. He won’t give me any trouble.”
Robin thanked him and took his leave, disdaining to notice the thoroughly poisonous look Parren gave him as he rose from the floor. Returning to Cal, Robin told him about the arrangements.
“I’d rather come with you,” the Apprentice said.
“I know, Cal, but you’re not even fit to go as far as the Manor yet, let alone across the Veils. I’ll contact you as soon as I know what’s happening. Don’t worry, I’ll tell Rienne you’re alright.”
“Thanks.” Cal closed his eyes. “Tell her I miss her.”
“I will. She’ll be back soon.”
Going outside, Robin composed himself to report to General Blaine. He hadn’t intended to put it off this long. He walked away from where the pirates were getting ready to leave and sat on a pile of rubble. His quest for contact got the General’s attention immediately, and he ran through the events leading up to his arrival in Hyecombe succinctly. Blaine heard it all without comment. Then Robin described the battle for the Staff. He omitted any mention of Parren’s obstructive behavior, trusting Baily to bear him out. He managed to keep his emotions at bay until he reached the part where the tunnel collapsed. He got as far as describing the Andaryan General’s desperate scramble through the structure and Vanyr’s heroic pursuit. When he tried to continue, however, he choked.
There was a short silence before the General asked, What became of them, Captain? Do you have the artifact?
Shame and sorrow colored Robin’s tone. I’m afraid not, sir. They were all inside when the tunnel collapsed. It would have killed them, sir. I think the Staff is lost.
Lost? Do you mean permanently?
I don’t know, sir. I searched, but I couldn’t find any trace of Sonten, his Artesan, or Vanyr. If they were trapped inside the tunnel when it blew, as I’m sure they were, then it’s gone for good.
Blaine was silent. When he did finally speak, he sounded weary and old.
And Major Sullyan?
Robin sidestepped the question. He didn’t trust himself not to break down. I haven’t told her yet.
He heard Blaine sigh. Then you better had, Captain. I take it you’re going back?
With your permission, sir.
I’ve already told you you’re free to stay as long as she needs you. Just remember to report now and then.
Of course, sir, and thank you. By the way, I’m sending Cal Tyler back with Dexter and the others, once the village has been cleaned up. He’ll need medical attention, but he should be alright. I imagine Bull, Rienne, and Taran will return soon too.
Very well, Captain.
What do you want done with the prisoners, sir?
The General’s tone was hard. Herd them back through the Veils, Captain, and leave them. I don’t care where.
Robin thought the General had finished, but Blaine didn’t break the link. Robin waited, wondering. And then Blaine’s voice came again, as if from very far away, and Robin could barely hear the whispered words.
Tell Sullyan … tell her that I … oh, dammit, just take care of her, will you?
He broke off abruptly before Robin could reply.
+ + + + +
Sullyan had no time to wonder how or why Vanyr was dying way out here in the Andaryan countryside. She also didn’t know why he was so desperate to reach her. All she knew was that he needed her badly and she wasn’t about to fail him. She had come to value his friendship highly and acknowledged that without his expert tutoring she would never have been able to manipulate Rykan during their duel. If only she had been a bit stronger, held out a fraction longer, she might have saved herself considerable agony. But she couldn’t dwell on that now. She had to concentrate on reaching Vanyr in time, and so she pushed herself and her companions ever westward as they rode on into the afternoon.
After another couple of hours, she allowed them to slow. The trained and muscular stallions had kept the pace well, but they were blowing now and she wouldn’t risk their wind. She slowed Drum to a regular, easy trot and cast about with her metasenses, trying to pinpoint Vanyr’s location.
His presence was now a barely perceived spark in her mind. He had not called her name for some time, and she prayed this was because he knew she was coming. He was still conscious—just—and she kept up a soothing flow of metaforce, desperate to keep him from slipping away.
A smudge of smoke in the distance caught her eye and she pointed, drawing Bull’s attention. “Over there,” she said, urging Drum into a canter. How she knew this stain in the sky was significant, she couldn’t say. She only knew it marked Vanyr’s location.
They skirted a village, a very small one with only a handful of crude houses. At least, they had once been houses. Now only ruined, mud-spattered walls were left, along with clumps of old thatch and scattered debris. It looked as if a tornado had ripped right through it. There was no one in sight. Sullyan pursed her lips and forbore to comment, but the sight twisted her guts with fear.
Riding through the fields toward the faint column of smoke, they began to see bodies. The first one, a farmer, lay spread-eagled on his back, arms outflung. Blood had congealed where it had poured from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. He was a grim sight, and he wasn’t the only one. Stony-faced, Sullyan counted over twenty more peasants all in the same condition, some with expressions of extreme agony stamped on their frozen faces.
The dead villagers weren’t the only indications of disaster. Trees had blown down, all facing in the same direction. Hedges had holes blasted through them, and there were dead animals everywhere. Mainly rabbits, but one field was full of dead sheep, all tumbled over as if some vast wind had mown them down.
And then they saw the crater. It was huge, fully fifty feet in diameter and at least ten deep in the middle. From its charred center a pall of smoke rose lazily into the afternoon sky. They halted on its edge, Jay’el and Ki-en with their mouths hanging open. Under his breath, Bull muttered, “Bloody hellfire!” but Sullyan, tears standing in her eyes, stared urgently about her. Her metasenses picked over the area as she sought Vanyr’s almost imperceptible trace.
“Torman, I am here,” she called. “Where are you? Can you speak to me?”
Dismounting from Drum, she walked about the place, avoiding the huge crater, looking for traces of someone having walked or crawled away. Softly, she called again. “Torman, where are you? Guide me, if you can.”
&nb
sp; She opened her mind, sensitive to the merest touch. Bull and the two lads watched in silence, unwilling to disturb her. She stilled herself, so still that even the beat of her heart and the pulse at her throat were muted.
At last she heard it. The faintest trace of a call, the merest breath of her name. Swinging unerringly toward it, she followed it around the crater to a small copse of thin trees which had miraculously withstood the blast. Branches and shredded leaves lay everywhere, but as she came closer she could just make out a body lying huddled under the thin, whippy trunks.
“Bulldog!” she snapped, and the big man hurried over. Together, they approached the man on the ground. Lying on his right side, he was curled up as if at the last he had sought to protect himself from the explosion. His arms were wrapped tightly about his chest and his face was hidden from view, buried under leaves and dirt.
Kneeling by his side, Sullyan placed her hands on his back. Gently she sent her senses into him, soothing, strengthening, cocooning. He had terrible internal injuries. How he had survived this long, she didn’t know. Barely conscious, he didn’t respond at first. She gently began to clear away the leaves and detritus covering his face. Jay’el and Ki-en came over to help, leaving the horses to stand.
When she finally uncovered his face, she went white and cold with shock. Jay’el gave a gasp of horror and Ki-en rushed behind the nearest tree, where they could hear him noisily heaving. Bull and Sullyan had seen many such sights on the battlefield and were hardened to gore, but even they felt their stomachs turn at the sight of Vanyr’s ruined face.
The all-white eyes were gone, only bloody empty sockets remaining. Their liquid had boiled down Vanyr’s face, melting and searing the flesh. He would have suffered unbearable agonies. His ears and nose had also bled heavily, and he was totally unrecognizable.
Her heart aching, Sullyan reached out her senses again, making very sure that he would feel no pain when his consciousness returned. She could feel him swimming up from the depths of his psyche toward her, every little advancement an effort to his damaged mind. Enveloping him in her own vast strength, she let him use her powers instead of his own. With Bull’s help, she gently took hold of his body, lifting and turning him so that he lay in her lap, his ruined head cradled to her breast.
He made a small sound in his throat and a shudder ran through his body. “Bull,” she murmured, “get him some water.”
The big man fetched a water skin from Ki-en’s saddle and managed to dribble a little liquid into Vanyr’s damaged mouth. He swallowed with difficulty.
“Brynne,” he croaked. “You came.”
“Of course I did, my friend. I would never refuse you, you know that.”
“I did my best,” he whispered, desperation coloring his tone. “I knew I had to save it for you, and I did my best. But it was too strong … I wasn’t quick enough. I don’t know if the others got out in time. I tried to hold it, but I couldn’t ….”
“Hush, Torman, hush,” she soothed. “You have been so strong. Can you tell us what happened? You do not need to speak. Only open your mind and let me see. Lie easy and let me do the work. Rest now.”
He sighed as she entered his mind, her presence a soothing balm to his hurts. Relaxing, he let her take control. She linked with Bull so that he too could see what Vanyr had experienced.
Chapter Twelve
Sullyan watched quietly as Vanyr’s mind replayed the scene. She saw him and the pirates battling with Sonten’s men, watched as Commander Heron was given the Staff and ordered to open the tunnel. She heard Robin’s shout and Vanyr’s reply as he pushed toward Sonten. Grimacing, she saw Sonten thrust first his men and then Heron into the unstable tunnel. Cal’s scream, both vocal and metaphysical, made her wince as it reverberated through the tunnel, rampant metaforce overbalancing its precarious existence. And she felt Vanyr’s agony as he valiantly tried to hold the tunnel together by channeling his own power through the Staff.
She shared his urgency as he sent Ky-shan and the seamen scuttling for safety, but she couldn’t tell if the pirates got out or not. Of Robin there was no further sign. Frowning, she saw both Sonten and Heron go down, Heron’s mind instantly obliterated by raging forces he couldn’t control. Sullyan gasped as she felt the power’s backlash rip through Vanyr’s body, destroying his face even as he doggedly clung to his lifeline. Large, bitter tears rolled down her cheeks as she realized that his feelings for her had enabled him to hold on, even through such unimaginable torture. Thoughts of her had caused him to reach out, trying desperately to grab the Staff as he hurtled past the lifeless Heron, pain wracking him as the tunnel imploded.
She was amazed he had found the strength to open the tunnel and release that final blast, but that strength had enabled him to shield a tiny portion of his mind as the soil of Andaryan exploded, sending the contents of the crater skyward and flattening the poor village. And then he had somehow found the will to call her, fulfilling his final self-imposed task, the one he had given his life for.
Feeling him stir, she looked down, her sight blurred by tears. She saw him unclench his arms, revealing the object he had been holding so tightly.
It lay gleaming, totally untouched by the ruin it had caused. Shimmering blue and green along its length, it was innocuous, quiescent, beautiful, and strange. She was loath to touch its deadly beauty, but he had wrecked himself for this, striven for it, endured agony for it, and she must not show her revulsion at touching something that was still such an intimate part of Rykan. Accepting the artifact from Vanyr’s nerveless fingers, she could almost feel Rykan’s hands upon her naked body, experienced the sick helplessness she had felt as he forced himself inside her time and time again. Biting back a sob, she accepted that the consequences of Rykan’s brutality were far from over.
She managed to hide this from the dying man she cradled so tenderly. Suffusing him with her love, she let him see how proud she was, how highly she valued him. She told him how they would revere him back at the Citadel, and how carefully they would tend him once she got him home.
He stirred again.
“No, Brynne.” His voice was a harsh murmur. “There is no home for me now. Yet I am content. The Staff would have been lost forever, and it is enough for me to know that you have it safe.” He sighed, his chest barely rising. “I’m dying. I know that. It doesn’t matter. I don’t wish it any different. If I have one regret, it’s not being able to see your face again ….”
She blinked, tears rolling freely. As she looked in mute appeal toward Bull, the big man guessed what she was asking. They were still linked, so he sent her image into Vanyr’s fading mind, a peaceful image of her smiling serenely down at him as he lay in her arms. Tactfully, he omitted showing the Commander’s ruined face.
Vanyr’s bloody lips moved, trying to form a smile, and Sullyan’s heart nearly broke. She sat in silence, gently stroking Vanyr’s hair, letting her friendship and pride wash through him. With his hand clasped in her good one, she tried to ease his discomfort as best she could.
“Brynne?” His voice was so faint she could hardly hear him. “Will you do me one last favor?”
She took a trembling breath. “Anything, my friend. Just ask.”
“Will you open the way for me?”
Feeling the blood drain from her face, she closed her eyes. Bull gave a sharp intake of breath. What Vanyr was asking for was the ultimate gift, the most precious gift one Artesan could give to another, although it took nothing less than a Master’s skill. To open the Void, the Gateway to death, to help the consciousness slip slowly and painlessly through in dignity and in peace. For the dying it was a welcome release, but for the giver it was hard. It left such scars on the soul as would never fade away. Such an intimate thing could only be asked of the most loving and faithful friend. Or, perhaps, the bitterest enemy.
Sullyan bowed her head. Unbeknownst to any of them, she had already done this once before. Even Robin didn’t know that this was how Jessy, his beloved sister, had left th
e world. Harrowing as it was, she knew what it felt like.
“Of course I will, Torman, if that is truly your wish.”
“It is,” he said. His breath rasped. “Brynne, I do regret that we were not friends sooner. Can you forgive me for what I put you through? I can’t believe how petty I was. I couldn’t see what you were, couldn’t believe you could do what you claimed. I was blind then, but now, when it is too late, I can see. Will you forgive me?”
Through her tears she whispered, “Hush, my friend, you were forgiven long ago. Today you have given me a wonderful gift, the gift of hope, and I love you for it. You have nothing to reproach yourself with, and you have the gratitude of all those I love. Your name will be remembered forever, and you will be accorded the highest of honors for what you have done. I was right when I told you that your strength was greater than you knew, but today you surpassed even my expectations. You are a very powerful Artesan, my friend. Not many could have done what you did.”
Biting back sobs, she squeezed his hand. The tall Andaryan smiled faintly, his lips oozing fresh blood. “I am ready now,” he breathed, and she could feel him relaxing, opening his soul and life force fully to her, giving himself up to her control. Taking a deep breath, she reached her senses into him, surrounding his soul with a cocoon of his own psyche.
“Farewell, my friend,” she whispered, and bent to place a soft kiss on his ruined lips. As she did so, the Void of oblivion opened to her command and she helped him slip slowly through, watching with silent tears as the glowing pattern of his psyche flared briefly and then faded, falling down into darkness until she could see it no more.
