Artesans of Albia: 01 - King's Envoy (42 page)

Taran dared to speak up. “Maybe Rykan doesn’t see it that way.” The others turned in their saddles to look at him and he flushed slightly. “I mean, if he intends to start a civil war here, the last thing he’d want is outside interference. An invasion is a very good way of keeping another realm’s forces fully occupied.”

Robin and Bull looked thoughtful. Encouraged by their lack of criticism, Taran carried on. “Maybe the Hierarch doesn’t know about Rykan’s plans, maybe the Duke’s hoping to catch him unaware. If the Major chose to warn him, Rykan would find himself challenged.”

“Good point,” said Robin, giving Taran a look of respect, “although if the invading troops are Rykan’s, then he’s playing a risky game. Committing that many men through the Veils is a huge gamble for a man who plans to start a war in his own realm. I can’t believe he commands so many that the loss of his invasion force wouldn’t hurt him.”

He glanced at Bull, who gave a lop-sided shrug. Robin turned his eyes back to the mansion. “Well, if he thinks he can raid our lands with impunity, keep his forces intact and pull them back when he pleases, we’ll have to make him think again. The sooner we oppose him, the sooner he’ll leave us in peace.”

He wheeled Torka around. “Come on, we need to get back. I think I remember a spot not far from here that should serve as a crossing. I hope you’re feeling strong, Taran.”

Before Taran could ask what he meant, he was leading the way off the ridge. Soon, though, Robin halted by a small stream they had crossed the day before. He nudged Torka to its edge and had Bull scout for raiders.

“No one around,” said the big man.

Robin nodded and turned to Taran. “Journeyman, can you recall the method for constructing a Water-based tunnel?”

Taran nodded, then stared hard at him. “Do you mean for me to make the whole structure by myself?”

“Only if you feel up to it,” said Robin.

Remembering Sullyan’s private talk with Robin earlier, Taran narrowed his eyes. “This was the Major’s idea, wasn’t it?”

The Captain merely smiled.

Taran suppressed his reluctance, taking a moment to compose himself. He remembered what Sullyan had shown him, but his many failures and embarrassments were too recent and painful to be ignored. However, he was certain he could do this and he owed himself the chance.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and reached for his psyche. Strengthened by Robin’s coaching, it glowed with untapped potential. Taran let it surround and suffuse his soul before building the portal.

The elemental force of Water answered his call and rose shimmering with power on two sides. Smoothly, he completed the arch. Bull and Robin were radiating approval as Taran gently pushed back on the power, forcing it through the substrate until it opened into the familiar landscape of their realm. Carefully, he anchored the structure at each point as he returned, then stood back with the others to inspect his work.

“Very good,” approved Bull. Taran grinned. He felt Robin shielding Bull as he rode his stallion confidently into the structure. Robin followed on Torka, and Taran came last, freeing the anchorage points and gathering the fabric of the tunnel as he did so.

When they were all standing on Albian soil, he collapsed the portal. He was about to ride on when he realized the other two men were watching him with huge grins.

“What?” he said, feeling his face redden. They didn’t reply and he frowned, his heart sinking. He must have forgotten something obvious. A quick glance round, however, revealed nothing out of place.

Bull and Robin were now openly laughing.

“What is it?” Taran said again, becoming irritated.

“You have no idea what you’ve just done, have you?” chuckled Robin.

“Come on, Captain, put him out of his misery,” said Bull. “Look at his face, he thinks he’s done something wrong.”

“Will you either tell me what it is, or shut up?”

Robin rode close and placed a hand on Taran’s shoulder. “Major Sullyan will confirm you herself as soon as she can,” he said, “but in the meantime she has authorized me to tell you this.

“Taran, that was your test of mastery over Water. You have achieved the rank of Adept.”

Morose and silent, Sonten rode hard by his overlord’s shoulder. He was in a contradictory mood.

On the one hand he was fearful and furious—once more in terror of his life, once more seething with impotent rage. The brutal way he had used the young courtesan who had failed him the night before had merely slaked the lust such fury often aroused in him; it had done nothing to relieve his anger. There had been no sign of her that morning, she might have died or crawled away somewhere to lick her well-deserved wounds. Sonten didn’t miss her and certainly didn’t care.

Yet on the other hand, he felt strangely relieved, as if a burden had somehow been lifted. It took him some time to realize why.

It was obvious, really. If the girl had succeeded in luring the Journeyman into an ambush, his disappearance would have been noticed. His friends had been too watchful to have missed him for long. The resulting confusion as they searched for him would have infuriated the Duke, and would probably have ruined his careful plan. If so, he would certainly have taken out his rage on Sonten. The General knew that Rykan was already enraged by the witch’s resistance to his charms, despite knowing that she probably would refuse his invitation to the palace. It was the reason the Duke had brought his own retainers, men and women who even now were about their master’s business.

Sonten sighed heavily. If he had succeeded in taking the Journeyman prisoner, he’d have been hard pressed to hide the man. And if he’d been discovered while in Sonten’s possession–dead or alive—then Sonten couldn’t have justified his actions without divulging his reasons. He couldn’t think of an excuse that would have satisfied Rykan.

No, thought Sonten, it was just as well his hasty plan had failed. Bitterly, he snatched a glance at Rykan’s face.

The Duke rode at the head of their column. Dewed as he was by the morning drizzle, Rykan’s slim black-and-silver figure was impressive and commanding, as always. He rode his high-mettled bay stallion with instinctive ease, his expression habitually arrogant, his darkly handsome face and the carriage of his powerful body proclaiming both confidence and pride.

This morning, his predatory gaze was tinged with excitement and menacing anticipation glowed behind his eyes. Sonten scowled and turned away, envy flooding his heart. Rykan had every right to his smug expectancy, for little went wrong for the influential lord. His brutal reputation and high standing meant that few dared disobey him. Fewer still failed in their duties once his wishes were known. Sonten knew that Rykan’s scheme would succeed, and the overlord would have his way.

Well, let him, he thought venomously, careful to hide the hatred in his eyes. Let him enjoy the witch’s surrender; let him take his pleasures while he could. After all, there were other, and less risky methods by which Sonten could ensure the Journeyman didn’t give him away. Sonten had taken the time to think things through more calmly and had firmed up his own plans, which he was certain would see him through to success. He was content now to wait until they all returned to Kymer. Then let Rykan see who had the upper hand! There would be many opportunities in the confusion of the coming civil war; many chances there for the taking for one prepared to watch and wait in silence.

Sonten could bide his time. Hadn’t he already done so these many frustrating years? He hadn’t risen to the post of general under the most powerful noble in the realm by mere chance. And, he reflected, it was no bad thing to be backing the next Hierarch, to be the one responsible for gaining him the Crown. He even thought it might suit him very well to enjoy the fruits of such a powerful victory until he was ready to make his move. It might behoove him to wait a little longer; to build up a good, strong power base and consolidate his plans.

He allowed himself a bitter smile, comforting his ambitious soul by imagining the support he would receive from the new Hierarch, unwitting though it might be. The Duke rewarded those he trusted. Brutal and cruel he might be, and swift with vengeance, but he also valued faithful service and repaid his supporters well.

Except that damnable Albian Baron, thought Sonten. That one would reap not gratitude but a swift sword in the guts, if Sonten knew his overlord. And it couldn’t come too soon. Their last meeting had made Sonten’s teeth itch, such was the Baron’s arrogance. How he dared believe himself on a par with the Duke of Kymer, Sonten could not fathom. Once Rykan decided he’d outlived his usefulness, the Baron would find that nothing could protect him from cold, sharp steel.

A sharp pain in the ribs jolted Sonten out of his reverie. He gasped, glancing down at the dagger that was pricking his skin. The Duke was glaring angrily, the hand holding the dagger poised to ram the blade home.

“Your Grace?” quavered Sonten, fearing Rykan had somehow divined his treacherous thoughts. The knife was slowly withdrawn, leaving a neat but sizeable slit in Sonten’s expensive robes.

“I don’t like being ignored, Sonten,” growled the Duke. He fingered the dagger before ramming it irritably back into its sheath. “When I speak, I expect you to listen, not continue your irrelevant woolgathering.”

“My apologies, your Grace.” Sonten struggled to calm his racing pulse.

Rykan held his gaze just a fraction too long for the General’s liking. Then, dismissively, he turned away. “It’s time.”

With a jerk of the reins, he turned his stallion’s head. The fine beast, blood spotting the foam at its mouth, tossed its head in discomfort. The Duke curbed it harshly. Sonten gazed at the terrain in surprise, he hadn’t realized they had come so far. His plotting had occupied him a while.

They were on the west side of Haligan Forest, its fringes just visible on the horizon. When Sonten nudged his stocky horse level with Rykan’s slimmer beast, he could just make out the standard flying from the highest point of the Count’s dilapidated mansion. Its ragged huddle of peasant huts was invisible, hidden by the rise of the land.

Rykan bore a sensual and considering smile. “Yes, more than enough time, I think, Sonten, if my instructions have been obeyed.”

As if there’s a chance they won’t be,
thought Sonten. “Whatever you command, your Grace,” he said, trying to conceal a worm of fear. He might have dealt with last night’s panic and made plans to eliminate the Journeyman’s threat, but there was still an element of risk. He was very far from safe.

With a thump of his heels, he sent his ungainly mount plodding after Rykan’s pureblood bay. The rest of their column re-formed around them, ever watchful, ever alert.

Enjoy your successes, my proud Duke,
thought Sonten.
Enjoy your diversions while you may. I have plans and information that will bring you to your knees, and the day you take the crown will be one day closer to your untimely death. His eyes bored into Rykan’s back as he followed the Duke, his heart full of bile.

The rest of the ride passed in a haze for Taran, who couldn’t quite believe he had attained the next level after only a few days of instruction. After his many failures since his father’s death, he hadn’t realized how close he’d been. It had only taken improving his psyche and a few lessons in merging techniques to give him the strength to master Water.