Artesans of Albia: 02 - King's Champion (49 page)

Only a few more hours, she told herself. Only a few more, and then you can rest. Maybe forever.

Strangely, she was finding the thought of dying less terrifying than before. Her anguished struggles of the past few weeks now seemed as futile as trying to stop the sunrise. She suddenly realized she could actually welcome the thought of oblivion.

It wasn’t the first time. She had felt this once before, after Rykan’s final malicious rape. She had lain alone in the uncaring darkness, naked, broken, and strangely devoid of emotion. His triumphant revelation, grunting out his plans at the climax of his brutal passion, was the catalyst that finally pushed her over the edge. She had decided then that oblivion was preferable to this desperate struggle for survival. Now, knowing what she faced, it was once again an oddly soothing thought, and she let it flow through her mind.

Suddenly, unbidden, an image thrust this thought aside. It was an image of her mother, lying in this very room, fighting to give life to her child. Sharply drawn, it hung with startling clarity before her mind’s eye. Her mother’s face was ashen and etched with lines of pain, but her eyes held her daughter’s firmly. Sullyan’s lethargy began to recede and the thought that Rykan had already defeated her made her furiously angry. Who was he to hold such power over her? The image of her mother wavered and vanished as her skin grew hot with rage, and she stoked the fire of her anger with memories of Rykan’s evil. Whatever the outcome of their duel, she would somehow exact retribution.

The decision galvanized her. Rising, she dressed in her normal combat leathers. She had to cinch her sword belt much tighter than usual, and this also fuelled her fury. She had always been proud of her trim figure, honed and smoothed by years of physical activity. Now she was aware of prominent hip bones and angular shoulder blades and knew what Robin thought when he looked at her thin body. The deep and powerful love they had allowed themselves to embrace was far too precious for a man like Rykan to destroy, and the knowledge that his evil had already touched her love heightened her ire still further.

Striding purposefully from the suite, trailed by the faithful Almid, she went in search of distraction.

Around the barracks, the Velletian Guard went about their duties. The forces still beyond the curtain walls were occupied in burning their dead, raising huge pyres for the corpses. The Plains before the Citadel would be scarred for months—maybe years—to come.

Unremarked by the swordsmen, Sullyan stopped and leaned her back against the barracks wall. Resting her hands on her sword belt, she let the familiarity of their bustle wash over her like a balm. The mere normality of the scene reminded her of the Manor. It calmed her and strengthened her resolve. She stared at the ground, half-listening to the swordsmen’s chatter, lost in thought.

After a few moments, a sound made her look up. Commander Vanyr emerged from the barracks door and his white gaze swept over his men, checking they were not idle. Then he turned and his body stiffened as he saw her. Eyes narrowing, he seemed to struggle briefly with himself. Glancing round as if to check who was about, he made up his mind. With an eye to Almid, who stood some way off, he casually walked over to Sullyan. When he reached her, he turned round and leaned his own back against the wall beside her, careful not to come too close.

She didn’t speak. Uncertain of his intentions, she gazed at the ground and waited him out. The silence dragged on for a while before he broke it.

“Major.”

She raised her head but didn’t look at him. “Commander.”

There was another awkward silence, during which his eyes never left his men. Then he awkwardly asked, “Are you recovered now?”

Amazed that he should care, she answered as best she could. “I am well enough, I thank you.”

Clearly he had something on his mind, but she couldn’t begin to imagine what it was. This verbal maneuvering was a clumsy way of getting to the point and betrayed the history between them.

Vanyr stared at his hands. They were strong, long-fingered, browned from weathering, and marked all over with tiny, white scars, as were hers. He raised his eyes to his men again.

“So you’ll meet Rykan tomorrow.”

She stiffened. “It would seem so.”

“Are you well prepared?”

She was tiring of the game and turned to look him full in the face. “Just what is your point, Commander?”

His lips thinned, but he took a breath before answering. “I have fought Rykan before. I’m the only one here who has.”

Thinking he had finally revealed his thought, she said, “Ah! And you feel it should be you who confronts him tomorrow.”

“Hell, no!”

His alarmed reaction caught her off balance. She frowned. “Then what is the point of this? I wish you would speak plainly, Commander. I have enough to occupy my thoughts without playing guessing games with you.”

He stiffened, clearly offended, and she suddenly realized that incredible as it might seem—and clumsy as it was—he was actually trying to offer her something. She sighed and touched him lightly on the arm before he could stride away.

“Your pardon, Commander. I meant no offence. I was preoccupied and forgot my manners. Please, what did you wish to say?”

Her soft tone and frank apology mollified him. She imagined he was finding this interview difficult enough and probably had Anjer’s vicious tongue-lashing uppermost in his mind. Her curt manner hadn’t helped.

Tersely, he said, “Rykan is a superb swordsman, but he is not without flaws. I know his style and a few of his tricks. If it would help you, I could tell you of them.”

Sullyan remained silent and Vanyr shot her a glance, worried she thought he was insulting her skills. Her amazement at his generous offer had softened her eyes, and her lips held a smile of unmistakable friendliness. Unable to help himself, he smiled briefly back.

“That would be helpful indeed, Commander, and deserving enough of my thanks,” she said. “But I would appreciate it even more if you showed me.”

Wariness came into his eyes. He was doubtless remembering their last fencing session. Sullyan, however, had already pushed away from the wall and was waiting for him to accompany her to the training ground. Unable to retract the offer, he nodded.

Watched carefully by Almid, the two sparred for half an hour or more, Vanyr remembering more and more of Rykan’s favorite moves as they worked. Sullyan found him an excellent teacher, and in turn she impressed him by the speed with which she learned. Having fenced with her before and experienced her skill, he was expecting to find her arrogant and unwilling to take criticism. He was surprised when she had him show her each move many times over, and then asked him to assess her execution of them before she was satisfied with her competence.

They were working on the final, very complex, charging maneuver which enabled a skilled fighter to disarm and down an opponent of equal or greater skill when Robin came looking for her. The time had passed so swiftly she hadn’t noticed the fading light. She could sense Robin’s concern at finding her fencing yet again with the untrustworthy Commander, but before he could protest, she sent him an abrupt command for silence. Obediently, he stood beside Almid, watching.

Using Vanyr’s momentary distraction at Robin’s arrival, Sullyan put her learning into practice. She used Rykan’s charging move against Vanyr, and it worked perfectly. The surprised Commander found himself lying in the dust at her feet, minus his sword, and with her foot resting lightly on his empty hand.

As she retrieved his sword, she asked, “Was that correct, Commander?”

He rubbed his wrist where the concussion of her blow had numbed it and looked up without rancor. “You know damned well it was.”

She grinned and held out a hand to help him regain his feet. “I am deeply in your debt, Commander Vanyr. I cannot thank you enough. Your teaching could prove invaluable tomorrow.”

Clearly embarrassed, he brushed her thanks and her hand aside, got to his feet, and stalked off. Robin watched him leave, a speculative look in his eyes.

“What was all that about?”

Raising her head, she stared after Vanyr, who was swearing loudly at one of his men.

“A peace offering, I think, Robin.”

She turned to smile at the handsome young man. She could see him studying her and was aware of the healthy flush to her skin, which was lightly sheened with sweat. Her whole body tingled with welcome vitality and she knew Robin could sense it. Something fundamental within her had changed, yet he was unwilling to be grateful to Vanyr. Hesitantly, he smiled back.

They made their way to their suite to change for dinner. The Hierarch had asked them to dine with him that night and Sullyan had been dreading it. Before, she had felt it was too much like feasting the doomed, but now, in the light of her more determined mood, she found she could approach it with pleasure. It was, after all, a gathering of friends, all of whom shared a common aim.

She and Robin, wearing more comfortable clothing, went to join the party. Everyone seemed determined to enjoy themselves, and for Ephan, Anjer, and Kryp, it was a chance to relax after their labors in the field. Their forces on the Plains were being relieved in rotation, and most were either on funeral detail or guard duty against the depleted ranks of Rykan’s army. Despite the uncertainty over tomorrow’s duel, a pleasant atmosphere prevailed.

All three generals had brought their ladies, and even Falina seemed disposed to be civil. Her husband had clearly told her that Sullyan had probably saved his life, so she was more gracious than before. Hollett was amiable, Torien as friendly as ever, and Idrimar was merry and laughed frequently.

The meal passed pleasantly, and even Pharikian could not complain about the amount Sullyan ate. Her new lighter mood had affected her appetite, and the tasty offerings of game, fish, and fowl were too delicious to resist. She even accepted a little red wine, much to Robin’s amazement, and he whispered a warning in her ear. Laughing at his caution, she allowed him to taste her glass. It was almost half water.

“I do not intend to let anyone down tomorrow, my love,” she murmured, “least of all myself.” Then she drew him onto the dance floor with the others.

Later in the evening, Sullyan slipped away from Robin and spoke quietly to Almid. The bearded giant nodded once and left the room. He was back shortly with a small packet which he gave to Sullyan. She then accosted one of the Hierarch’s pages—the one who reminded her of young Tad—and he grinned and scampered off. He too returned swiftly, bearing a covered object which Robin, who was puzzled by all these errands, now recognized as the harp that had belonged to Sullyan’s mother.

After placing it on a table, the page went to speak to the musicians. Once they finished their set they laid their instruments down, the unscheduled silence making Pharikian look round in surprise. Sullyan, who had taken the exquisite harp into her lap, caught his eye. She had a few sheets of parchment spread out before her, and after testing the strings, softly began to play.

The melody was simple yet evocative and it brought tears to Pharikian’s eyes. The room fell silent as all the guests found chairs in which to listen to the softly rippling music. Sullyan forgot them all, losing herself in the melodies her father had written. She played three pieces through, and then stilled the strings. There was no applause. They were all too deeply affected by the long-silent music.

His eyes shining, Pharikian rose and crossed to where Sullyan sat. Leaning down, he kissed the crown of her head. “Thank you, my dear,” was all he could say. She laid the harp aside and stood, then motioned for the minstrels to strike up again. Thankfully, they played a completely different set of tunes, so as not to break the mood she had created.

The party broke up shortly afterward. The next day would be momentous for all, and no one wanted to keep Sullyan from her rest. As she and Robin made to leave, Pharikian and Deshan approached her.

“Will you be able to sleep, child?” asked the Master Physician gently.

She smiled, letting him see deep into her eyes. “Yes, Deshan, I believe I will. And if I cannot, well, I have Robin beside me. If anyone can help me, he can.”

Pharikian looked sidelong at Robin, at the younger man’s arm draped about her shoulders. “Yes,” he mused, “I expect he can.”

Robin flushed. Amused, Sullyan said, “He has many uses, Timar.”

The two older men smiled. “We will send for you just before the appointed hour, Brynne,” said Pharikian. He kissed her hand in farewell and clapped Robin gently on the shoulder. “Make sure you both take time to rest,” he added as they left the room.

They obeyed, but not before reaffirming the depths of their love.

* * * * *

I
t was nearly pitch dark inside the room, the soft glow of the banked fire barely visible. Robin woke abruptly from a deep sleep and lay quiet, trying to identify what had roused him. Gradually, and with a growing sense of unease, he realized that his was the only breathing he could hear. Sullyan was always a quiet and unmoving sleeper, but the regular rhythm of her slumbering breath was usually just audible. Turning carefully over in the huge bed, he put out a hand and touched nothing but cooling bedclothes. Alarmed, he sat up, every sense searching the lightless room. On discovering he was completely alone, he cursed and swung out of bed. With their military training, it was never easy for either of them to leave without waking the other, but they could use metaforce to cover their movements. She must have done just that, he thought. Annoyed, he cast farther out for her pattern.

He touched it but couldn’t sense where she was. Her shield was down tight, a sure sign she didn’t want to be disturbed. Normally he would have respected that wish, but tonight was different. He couldn’t leave her alone tonight. Dressing hurriedly, he grabbed both cloaks from the rail. She hadn’t taken hers, and he was pretty sure where she was she would freeze without her cloak.

As he left the suite he saw that Ky-shan was standing guard alone. Softly he asked the pirate where Sullyan and Jay’el had gone, but the stocky man only shrugged and smiled. Irritated, Robin made his way through the sleeping Palace to the Tower and quickly climbed the steps. He knew his guess was correct when he saw the huddled form of Jay’el just inside the Tower doors. Nodding to the young man, who was shivering within his cloak, Robin cracked the door and slipped outside.