Artesans of Albia: 01 - King's Envoy (27 page)

Slowly, still trembling, she regained her feet. Looking around, she realized she thought she knew where she was. Although she had approached it from the other direction, she was sure that the door up ahead was the one to Sullyan’s office. And while not exactly familiar, it was a sanctuary of sorts.

Without a second thought, she opened the door and slipped inside. The office was deserted. She closed the door with infinite relief and leaned back against it, trying to calm her thudding heart. He would never look for her here.

The trembling grew worse and her legs refused to hold her up. She slid to the floor, her mind replaying the frightening ordeal. She began to shake uncontrollably. Bringing her hands to her face, she let the tears come. Once she had opened the floodgates, there was no going back. Her body was wracked by huge sobs and she had to gulp in air. She bowed her head to her knees and cried out her heart.

After a few minutes, just when she was beginning to regain control, she heard a sound. Irrationally thinking that the sergeant had managed to find her after all, she looked up in alarm. Much to her embarrassment, she saw that the door to the Major’s private rooms had opened and Sullyan was standing in the doorway.

She had obviously been bathing as her only garment was a voluminous green shirt, probably a man’s, and she was toweling her wet mane of tawny hair. When she saw who was on her office floor, she dropped the towel and crossed swiftly to Rienne’s side.

Kneeling down beside her she asked, “Rienne, whatever is the matter?” Her golden eyes narrowed as they fastened on the front of Rienne’s shirt. “You are hurt.”

Struggling to control her breathing, Rienne shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“Then why is there blood?”

The Major reached out and moved aside the collar of Rienne’s shirt. She stared at Rienne. “This is a knife wound.”

Rienne had completely forgotten the nick in her skin but now that she noticed, it began to sting. She managed to say, “It’s not too bad, it’s just a scratch. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just got lost and this was the only place I recognized. I’ll go now.”

Sullyan frowned slightly. “You have not disturbed me and you can go nowhere in that state. Come inside. I have some fellan brewing and you need to sit down.” She rose, waiting for Rienne to come into her rooms.

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” protested Rienne. “It’s your day off. I’m alright now, really. I’d better get back before Cal misses me.”

The Major sighed. “You need not fret about your young man. He and Bulldog are sharing a bottle of firewater after a hard session in the arena. And I think it might be better if you washed and changed your shirt. He might panic if he sees that blood.”

“Oh.” Rienne looked down, surprised at how much the cut had bled. The younger woman was right, she could do with a hot drink and a rest before facing Cal and telling him what had happened. “Alright then. If you’re sure … ?”

The Major simply turned and led the way back into her rooms. Once inside, Rienne looked about as the room was quite different with the late afternoon sun slanting through the windows. Not quite as cozy as the previous night, but still pleasant.

Sullyan went into the cooking room and shortly returned with two cups of steaming fellan. She waved Rienne to a seat and passed her a cup. Then she sat down opposite on the couch, curling up with her slim legs beneath her. Looking tiny in the oversized shirt, with her damp hair curling around her face, Rienne thought she looked about ten years old. Quite unlike a major in the High King’s forces.

Rienne sipped her fellan. Its hot sweetness began to revive her but she still felt shaky. Delayed shock, said the healer in her.

“Can you tell me what happened?” asked Sullyan gently. “I trust it was not an argument with Cal?” She smiled, knowing it was no such thing.

“Oh no,” said Rienne. “He’d never do anything so … ”

She broke off and took another sip. The memory of her narrow escape brought the shakes back and tears of shock welled once more. She couldn’t speak of it yet, it was too fresh.

The Major watched her. Laying aside her own cup, she uncoiled from the couch and crossed to the low table by one wall. She picked up the bottle there and brought it over to Rienne.

“Here,” she said, pouring a good measure into Rienne’s cup, “Bull left this behind last night. He is always telling me it is for medicinal purposes, so perhaps it will help. I can see it is too soon for you to talk about what happened, so we will not. There, is that better?”

The healer sampled the laced fellan and managed a shaky smile. “I can’t comment on its medicinal properties, but it certainly tastes good.”

Sullyan set down the bottle, picked up her cup and folded herself back onto the couch. In doing so, the oversized shirt rode up, revealing her left leg to the hip. Rienne gasped: there was a long, ugly scar running down the leg from the point of the hip to just inside Sullyan’s knee.

“That was a nasty injury,” she said, her professional interest piqued. “I’d say you were lucky it wasn’t fatal.”

“Very lucky,” murmured Sullyan.

“How did it happen—that is, if I’m permitted to ask?” Suddenly, Rienne was overcome by shyness.

The Major smiled. “Of course you are permitted, it is hardly a secret.” She put down her cup. “My company and I were in the field, tracking one of the raiding parties. We pinned them down and I managed to block their escape through the Veils. Lower-ranking Andaryans are not usually so tenacious and often surrender once trapped. This band, however, was very determined. They succeeded in killing a number of my men before a small group of them broke away.”

Rienne’s imagination, quite without her volition, showed her vivid images of what the Major was describing.

Sullyan’s soft voice continued. “We pursued them and brought them to bay, but their commander refused to surrender. He came at me with almost desperate ferocity and a lucky thrust got past my guard. But the stroke unbalanced him and I repaid him for the wound.”

Rienne frowned. “How long ago was this?”

“A week.”

“What? That can’t be right. You must be mistaken. That scar’s much older than a week.”

“I am not mistaken, Rienne. It was exactly seven days ago.”

Rienne re-examined the scar. “How is that possible? It’s healed so well. After such a serious wound most people would still be bed-ridden.”

Sullyan smiled slightly. “Ah, but most people are not Artesans, Rienne. You are a healer, so I understand your confusion. But I assure you, it was last week.” Seeing Rienne’s lack of comprehension she added, “Those of us who can control our metaforce can use the power to influence healing. You live with two men learning the craft, surely you know this?”

Rienne thought for a moment, choosing her words so as not to sound disloyal. “Taran and Cal haven’t had the benefit of much training, as you’ve heard. I don’t think they’re fully aware of what’s possible. But I do remember Taran saying that his father used to do some healing.”

“Much is possible when one has the right guidance,” said Sullyan, “but even with trained power such as mine, these things have their price.”

She watched Rienne’s face as her meaning became clear.

“Oh. Is that why you looked so ill when we first met you?”

“That was the first day I was able to stay on my feet. I had expended so much strength in healing that I had precious little left.” The Major smiled, as if at a private memory. “The infirmary was very happy to see the back of me, despite the Chief Healer advising against it. Even Bulldog thought I had left too soon, hence his concern for me that day.”

“You didn’t seem too pleased by his concern.” The words slipped out before Rienne could stop them and she bit her lip in embarrassment.

Fortunately, Sullyan only grinned. “Bulldog and I have been together thirteen years. He has seen me take such injuries before and ought to trust me to know my own strength. A gentle reminder like that is good for him now and then.”

Rienne tried to imagine what Sullyan considered a reprimand if her flash of temper that day was a “gentle reminder.” Shaking her head, she changed the subject.

“Why do you call him Bulldog? That surely can’t be his name.”

Sullyan regarded her over her cup. “It suits him though, does it not? His real name is Hal Bullen and he was originally Mathias Blaine’s sergeant-at-arms. After Blaine’s appointment to General-in-Command, Bull became the Manor’s sergeant-major. He was responsible for recruiting and training the extra men required by the King to make this a fully operational garrison. Throughout his military career, he was known as Bull because of his size. When I arrived, he and I became friends right away. I was very young and he looked out for me. He was so tenacious and loyal that the last bit came quite naturally.”

“So is he still a sergeant-major?”

“Under certain circumstances,” said Sullyan. “Officially, he has retired, but Bull is not the sort of man to thrive on retirement. I fear boredom would lead him to drink himself to death and I still find him useful. Now he is a permanent member of my personal staff. He accompanies me on diplomatic missions and helps me whip the Captain into shape.”

Rienne frowned.

“When I said he used to look out for me,” the Major said, “I meant he stood for me. You understand what that means?”

“Bull explained it to Taran that first day,” said Rienne, smiling at the memory. “He was absolutely disgusted that Taran didn’t know.”

Sullyan snorted. “Yes, he would be. But despite Bull’s fitness and size, he has a weakened heart. I feared that neither his physical nor his metaphysical strength would be able to cope with the demands I might make on them, so we decided to look for a replacement. Bull eventually found Captain Tamsen in Lychdale, a remote and poorly run garrison in the far west of Garon Province. Robin has great potential and could attain a much higher rank than Bulldog. He will only do so, though, if he can learn the proper discipline and control.”

Without thinking Rienne said, “He tries very hard to please you.”

Sullyan shot her a glance. “So he should.”

Rienne thought that a little hard. “It’s obvious he’s very much in love with you.”

She blushed, realizing the liquor in her finished fellan had made her bolder than usual.

The Major rose, plainly unwilling to continue this line of conversation. “I am well aware of his feelings, Rienne, thank you. More fellan?”

She gathered the cups without waiting for an answer.

This sudden change roused Rienne’s curiosity. She was feeling quite comfortable and relaxed, the terror of her earlier ordeal having faded in a haze of liquor-laced fellan. Even her natural timidity was easing. She was warming to Sullyan and it felt good to have another woman to talk to, especially one who understood Taran and Cal so well.

The Major returned with refilled cups and offered Rienne the liquor bottle once more. Rienne nodded. She smiled as the Major poured a measure into the steaming brew. “Aren’t you joining me? I happen to know that Bull has another bottle, so he won’t miss this one.”

“I am sure he has, Rienne, but I do not drink.”

“Not ever?” Rienne was amazed.

Sullyan shook her head, her now-dry hair rippling like dark waves of amber in the fading light. “I am a senior officer in the High King’s forces, Rienne, as well as a Master-elite Artesan. I have mastery over Earth, Water and Fire, and I can also influence Air. With that amount of power at my disposal, I can never risk losing control.”

“Well, that must get very boring.” Rienne was feeling more confident by the second. “Surely you can let your hair down now and then? Come on, you’ve had a day off and the evening is in front of you. Aren’t you are entitled to a little enjoyment? Here, just a tiny bit won’t hurt you.”