Artesans of Albia: 02 - King's Champion (37 page)

Exhausted by the expenditure of power, Sullyan lacked the strength even to open her eyes. She sensed Robin moving away from the couch, his feet unsteady, and knew when Pharikian put an arm around his shoulders. She heard Deshan leave the room. Robin was trembling, giving way to his fear of losing his love. Sullyan yearned to comfort him, but her body wouldn’t obey her. She was so thankful when she heard the Hierarch take Robin into a close embrace. Leaving Pharikian to help her lover work some of the pain out of his system, she slipped into a deep, restorative sleep.

* * * * *

I
n his habitual curt manner, Lord General Anjer summarized the action so far.

“Our various companies in the field, under the direction of Generals Ephan and Kryp, continue to harry the flanks of Lord Rykan’s troops. Forcing small battles where they can, they draw his men ever nearer the Citadel. Ephan controls the movements of the left flank while Kryp commands the right. Between them, they are herding Rykan’s men into closer and closer formation, denying them the chance to slip around behind our forces and cut our supply lines.

“His Majesty’s extra troops have now arrived in full, and while we’re holding the majority of these in reserve so they’ll be fresh for the final confrontation, some have been deployed to drive the enemy from behind to ensure Rykan doesn’t fall back. Our tactics seem to be working, as neither Kryp nor Ephan has reported signs of retreat. It appears he’s committed to following his challenge through. He always was an arrogant man, he’d never risk losing face with his commanders or subject lords by backing down.”

Sullyan nodded and resumed her pacing. She, Anjer, and the Hierarch, accompanied by Robin, Almid, and Kester, had climbed to the roof of the Palace Tower where they had a panoramic view of the Plains to the east, the forests to the west, and even the small knoll where Sullyan, Robin, and Marik had had their first view of the Citadel. On emerging from the Tower doors, Sullyan’s gaze had rested briefly on that insignificant hill, recalling their journey. The weak winter sun glinted off the frost coating the stone battlements.

She stood looking eastward, as if she could see the two opposing forces already drawn up in their battle lines.

“Still no one has seen the Duke himself?”

Anjer hugged his heavy black cloak tighter around him against the bitterly icy wind, his black eyes roving the countryside. “No. Most of Rykan’s commanders have been sighted, driving their units from behind as usual, but so far no glimpses of either his generals or the great man himself. I shouldn’t have thought you so eager to see him again anyway, Brynne.”

They were on less formal terms now, at least when none of the other ranking officers were about, and Anjer had taken to using her given name. Despite this, Sullyan reacted forcefully to his casual statement, the barely controlled power blazing from her eyes causing him to step back in alarm.

“I should be very pleased never to set eyes on him again, Anjer! But it seems I have to be intimate with him one more time, whether I will it or no.”

Anjer traded a worried look with the Hierarch and Robin, both of whom gazed back helplessly. Chastened, the General was about to apologize, but Sullyan got there first.

“Forgive me, my Lord, you did not deserve that. I ask your pardon.”

He smiled wryly. “There’s nothing to forgive, Brynne. It was a stupid thing to say.”

She resumed her pacing, the outburst forgotten as her mind returned to their problem. “How soon before the main body of Rykan’s troops reaches the Plains?”

Anjer glanced at the Hierarch, who nodded. “About three days, if they keep up their present rate of advance.”

She turned to face him. “Could we hold them back now, if we chose?”

“Possibly.” He frowned. “But why would we want to?”

Sullyan rested her hands on the parapet, heedless of the frost coating the stone, and gazed out over the Plains. “We have to know for sure where Rykan is.” Her voice was a murmur, as if speaking to herself. “Force him to halt, make him regroup and rethink. Yes. Send units to attack the rear of his columns, see if they can flush him out. If so, well enough.”

In the silence Pharikian shifted, as if reluctant to disturb her train of thought. “And if not?”

She didn’t immediately respond. The watery sunlight shone into her eyes, sudden moisture blurring her view of the Plains.

“If not ....” She paused and drew a shaky breath. “If not, then there is only one course of action left.”

The Hierarch moved to stand before her. Taking her shoulders in both hands, he looked sternly into her misted eyes.

“No, Brynne! I won’t risk you again.”

Her breath came out as a sigh. “Ah, no, Timar, that was not my thought. I am not so eager to confront the Duke that I wish to ride out and find him myself.” She gave Anjer a small grin.

He stared back at her. “What then, Brynne? What more could we do to entice Rykan out?”

She glanced guiltily across at Robin, seeing her Captain’s sudden understanding. He knew what she meant and why she was so reluctant to suggest it. He couldn’t help her, though, and gazed sympathetically back.

The Hierarch’s grip on her shoulders tightened. “Well?”

She turned her eyes once more to the frozen Plains. Softly, she said, “There is someone else whom Rykan would be keen to recapture. Someone who has the Duke’s price on his head for rescuing me. Someone for whom he may well be tempted out of concealment. But it would be asking much of one who has already risked himself for me and who even now strives to recover what he has lost.”

She fell silent, disliking herself intensely for the suggestion. It was too late now, though. Anjer and Pharikian understood.

Anjer’s tone was kind. “It may yet prove unnecessary, Brynne. But under the circumstances, I think it would be wise to prepare.” Glancing around for a member of the Velletian Guard, who were never far from his presence, he snapped, “Send for Commander Vanyr. We need a runner to go into the field and recall Count Marik.”

* * * * *

E
vening was drawing on. Taran sat watching a pan of water heating over the campfire. Cal and Rienne had nearly finished feeding the horses, and Bull, who had dug the latrine, was already sitting on the other side of the fire, wrapped in his thick, warm cloak. He stared deeply into the flames, his eyes unfocused as he communed with Robin.

They were nearly there, thought Taran. According to Bull, they were now less than a day’s ride away from their destination, a small hill overlooking the Citadel Plains. From there, provided they were careful, they should be able to watch the final battle.

Bull had made them skirt several villages on this final stage of their journey. They had kept up a strict watch in rotation for any signs of either Rykan’s or the Hierarch’s men, but the woods were deserted. Bull had said that in such troubled times peasants and villagers kept as near to their homes as possible, so it hadn’t been hard to avoid detection. The big man was not as fearful for their safety as he was for secrecy; it wouldn’t do for rumors of a small group of Albians heading toward the Citadel to reach enemy ears. Despite the fact that it was winter and no one was working in the fields, Taran had seen some laborers out and about. Bull told him this meant the area hadn’t been disturbed by fighting and so they should be safe.

Given the reason for their journey, thought Taran as he poured steaming water onto the dried fellan seeds, they were all in surprisingly good spirits, even Rienne. Just being on the move had given her the sense of purpose she had lacked since leaving Sullyan. And Bull’s regular but short contacts with Robin were helping them feel included in what was happening. They now knew that the final day of battle, when the future of both realms would be decided, was drawing near.

Whether it was the fellan’s rich aroma or the natural ending of his conversation with Robin, Taran didn’t know, but Bull suddenly shifted, stretching his back and rubbing his hands. He smiled as Taran handed him a mug of fresh brew.

“What news, Bull?”

The big man glanced up as Cal and Rienne approached the fire. “Come and warm yourselves,” he said, “while I tell you the latest piece of gossip.”

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.

* * * * *

V
anyr’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.