Artesans of Albia: 01 - King's Envoy (13 page)

Ever since taking that last turn through the woods, he had been feeling increasingly uneasy. His mind kept replaying what Paulus had told him and the more he thought about it, the more uncomfortable he became. He now wished he had asked Paulus to explain himself fully before committing to this trip, but it was too late now to turn back or get answers to the questions crowding his mind.

How had Paulus known the young man he had mentioned, Captain Tamsen? Why had he been asked to keep it quiet? If there were people within the High King’s forces who were interested in outlanders, why not tell Taran sooner? Had his father known? Paulus’ enigmatic comment that Amanus hadn’t known everything pricked at Taran’s mind. His father had known everything—at least as far as Artesans were concerned—or so he had always told his son. Despite his father’s low opinion of Taran’s talents, Taran knew Amanus would never have kept something this important from him.

These doubts, coupled with Taran’s sense of shame, flooded the Journeyman’s mind, clouding his judgment and troubling his heart. He was more and more convinced he would find no help here. He was fully prepared to be rebuffed and was unsure what manner to adopt. But the sentry was waiting and so were Cal and Rienne. He squared his shoulders and took a breath.

“Afternoon,” he said. The sentry merely nodded, which did nothing to settle Taran’s nerves. He decided on the direct approach. “We’d like to see Major Sullyan, please.”

The man’s flat expression never changed. “What’s your business?”

Taran hesitated. “We have … information that may be useful to him.”

Amused scorn flickered briefly in the sentry’s eyes. “And what information would that be?”

His condescending attitude raised nervous irritation in Taran.

“It concerns the outlander raids in the south,” he said. “More than that I’m not prepared to impart to”—he scanned the man’s rank insignia—“a corporal.”

The sentry’s eyes narrowed sharply. “Major Sullyan has better things to do than gossip with civilians,” he snapped, “especially those not willing to state their business when asked.”

He was obviously off to a bad start, so Taran pushed down his nervous annoyance, took another deep breath, and changed tack.

“Alright,” he said, “we were recommended to come here by our village elder. He knows someone stationed here and thought our information would be of interest to the Major. If we can’t see him, can we at least see Captain Tamsen? Maybe he can decide whether our news is important enough to tell Major Sullyan.”

The sentry looked Taran over in silence. Then he said, “Wait here.”

He went back through the sally port and Taran saw him talking to a companion, a lean youngster, also dressed in combat leathers. He couldn’t hear the whole conversation but as the sentry turned back, Taran heard him say, “… and be quick about it.”

The youth flipped a salute, leaped into the saddle of a tall, thin horse, and set off up the track at a mud-spattering gallop.

The sentry sauntered back to Taran.

“I’ve sent a runner to the Captain. If he thinks it’s worth it, he’ll come speak with you. If not, you’ll have to be on your way. You can bring your party inside while you wait.”

The sentry opened one of the large gates and let them through. After showing them where to tie their horses, he ushered them into a squat wooden building to one side of the track. It seemed to be a guard house, offering protection from the weather but not much more. He invited them to sit and then went back outside to resume his post.

While he waited, Taran tried to decide what he should say, but the more he ran it through his mind, the more nervous he became. Despite what Paulus had said, he knew no one here would understand the reasons behind his actions. He concocted various explanations but, although all were true, none sounded less than fantastic. Some were even downright implausible. And although the sentry’s dismissive reaction had met Taran’s expectations, he still felt flustered, embarrassed and out of place. He was going to make a thorough fool of himself but it was too late to back out now.

Before long, he heard galloping hooves. As the runner’s horse slid to a spectacular stop outside, Taran saw it was carrying two men. The one sitting behind the saddle slid stylishly down and slapped the beast’s rump.

He was a tall, young man with a handsome, fresh face, indigo eyes and a crop of dark, curly hair. He was lithe and muscular and Taran estimated his age at twenty-five or so. He wore the usual combat leathers and a captain’s insignia—a single gold thunderflash—glinted on his jacket.

He came smiling into the room and, despite his nerves, Taran instantly felt a strong liking for him. As he grasped the hand the Captain held out, Taran noticed a fleeting look in the young man’s eyes that he didn’t quite understand.

“I’m Captain Tamsen,” the young man said, in a light, pleasant voice. “I believe you’ve been asking to see Major Sullyan?”

“That’s correct,” replied Taran. He introduced himself and his friends.

The Captain’s dark blue eyes evaluated them. “What can we do for you? I’m afraid the Major’s unlikely to see you right now, our company’s not long back from the field.”

“Yes, we heard,” said Taran, “but it’s in connection with the raids that we want to see him. A friend told us to come. He said the Major might be able to help with a certain matter that could be affecting the situation.”

The Captain’s eyes narrowed and Taran thought he caught a hint of amusement in them. His heart fell.

“You’ll have to give me more than that,” the young officer said. “Who is this friend of yours?”

“His name’s Paulus and he’s both an elder and the keeper of our tavern. We live in a village down near Shenton,” said Taran.

A mixture of comprehension and wariness came into the Captain’s eyes. “Ah yes,” he said, “I remember Paulus. So he sent you? What did he tell you, exactly?”

“Not much,” admitted Taran. “Just your names and that the Major might find our information interesting.”

The young man considered this for a moment. “Very well,” he said, “maybe we should hear what you have to say, but I can’t guarantee you an interview with the Major. Come on, I’ll take you up to the Manor. I expect you could all do with some fellan.”

He smiled, his eyes lingering longest on Rienne, who colored slightly. He led them outside and left instructions with the corporal to have someone care for their horses and bring up their saddlebags.

“We’ll be in the Major’s office,” he called over his shoulder as they began walking up the track. Taran heard the corporal detail the runner to fetch stable boys and then the athletic horse and its young rider tore past them up the track, skidding around the corners and scattering mud everywhere.

“Mad fool,” said the Captain, smiling indulgently.

Rienne spoke, surprising Taran, as she was generally shy. “Were you out fighting the raiders with the Major’s company, Captain?”

He turned his dark-blue gaze on her. “Yes, ma’am. We’ve only been back a few days.”

“You weren’t wounded? We heard the officer in charge was injured.”

His expression clouded. “No, I was lucky enough not to be among the casualties this time. Others, though, weren’t so fortunate.”

Rienne colored, obviously embarrassed, and Taran thought he must have had friends among the dead and wounded.

The track they followed led through extensive grounds that were part wood, part pasture. As they turned a final corner, the Manor came into sight. Taran realized they must have entered the grounds from the rear; he could see an impressive driveway curving away from the porticoed main doors. If the grandeur of the building was anything to go by, it must have seen much pomp and ceremony when it was a private residence.

The Manor was huge and imposing. Constructed of the local sandy-gray stone, the house was three stories high. Built in a style that was a good two hundred years old, it was essentially square-fronted with wings on either side. Originally, it would have stood alone, but many modern buildings had sprung up around it and Taran supposed they were barracks and workshops that had been added as need arose.

They were led to a side door, where another corporal was on guard. He saluted smartly as the Captain passed him. Taran was asked to give him their names and this he duly did.

“Someone will bring their bags up later, Wil,” said the Captain. “Have them sent to Sullyan’s office.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Captain led them deeper into the building through an echoing maze of stone-flagged halls and corridors studded with doors. Some of the doors were open, giving glimpses of offices and lecture rooms; some were closed, murmuring voices behind them. They passed few other people on their way and Taran remembered what the innkeeper had said about the place being nearly empty.

He found the Manor’s interior surprising. Its impressive external façade, suggestive of wealth and opulence, had led him to expect lavish ornamentation. Instead, there was a utilitarian air to the place, almost a coldness, as if its former life had been stripped away. The bare bones of the place were all that remained.

Eventually, after climbing an impressive flight of marble stairs and traversing a carpeted corridor, the Captain halted outside a solid wooden door. It was identical to all the others and Taran thought it must take weeks to learn which door was which.

The Captain opened the door and ushered them inside. He invited them to sit.

“I can’t promise the Major will see you,” he said, “but if you’ll wait here, I’ll find out. Someone will bring you refreshments.” He left, closing the door behind him.

Taran glanced around the room as Cal and Rienne took chairs in front of a heavy wooden table. The lack of personal items or military paraphernalia puzzled the Journeyman: if the room was an office, as the Captain had implied, then surely it was seldom used. All it contained was a heavy, dark wooden table, a few chairs, and rush matting on the floor. There was another door behind the table opposite the one they had entered, but it was firmly closed.

The austerity of his surroundings bothered Taran. He felt uneasy, almost abandoned, and the feeling heightened his anxiety over how his story would be received. He was suddenly convinced that coming here wasn’t such a good idea.

However, he couldn’t leave now. Resigned to the wait, he sank into a large, comfortable chair and tried to control his nerves.

The wait was interminable and Taran’s patience was quickly exhausted. The Captain had obviously forgotten them, even the promised refreshments hadn’t arrived. On the verge of anger, Taran was about to look for someone to complain to when the door finally opened.

A slender young woman entered the room and Taran glared at her, seeing a chance to vent his frustration. She was in her late teens or early twenties and was dressed in a loose-fitting white shirt and dark green breeches. There was no rank insignia that Taran could see; she was obviously some kind of secretary or aide. Well, he thought, at least they might now get the promised fellan.

The woman didn’t speak as she slowly crossed the room and Taran frowned. How small she was, he thought, the top of her head would only just have reached his shoulder. Her delicately featured face was drawn and pale, and suddenly he noticed that she walked with a slight limp. The more he watched her, the more he revised his initial dismissive impression because despite her pallor and frailty, she was beautiful. A magnificent wealth of shining tawny hair rippled over her shoulders and back. This was eye-catching and unusual enough, but it was her eyes that captivated Taran. Set in her small, fine-featured face, they were huge and golden: very striking. He couldn’t recall ever seeing eyes quite like them.

As she reached the heavy table, she steadied herself with one hand and turned to face them. “I am sorry you have had such a long wait.”