Artesans of Albia: 01 - King's Envoy (35 page)

After a few moments he said huskily, “He never told me. He never once said he was proud—or even pleased, damn it. He certainly never, ever, said that he loved me.”

“Well he did, Taran, very much. I could see it in his heart. But I could also see the pain it cost him to tell me, for he was not comfortable with strong emotions. He knew he had not taught you well. He wanted you to continue learning after he was gone because there were gaps in your knowledge and he knew you needed guidance. He made me promise to try to change the General’s mind about accepting you at the Manor. If I could not, then he asked me to help you myself.”

Taran’s head came up like a hound scenting prey. “Are you saying he wanted me to enter the military?”

She smiled sadly. “No, my friend, and that was the heart of the problem. He wanted the training but not the commitment, which is why General Blaine would have none of it. I did keep my word to your father. I tried hard to persuade Mathias, but he became angry. He forbade me to speak to your father again or have anything more to do with him. In my position at that time, I had no choice but to obey. I am sorry for it.”

He shook his head, how could he blame her?

“I understand. You have nothing to apologize for.”

She leaned forward. “But I do, Taran, because I too know how hard it is to have no mentor. Like you, I spent my early years struggling alone with my power. Once I knew about you, I wanted to help you, but I could not disobey the General. I heard nothing more from your father and as time went by, I confess my promise slipped to the back of my mind. But I never forgot it entirely. Forbidden to go myself, I eventually sent Robin to your village, although this was long after Amanus’ visit. I feared he had died and you had moved away. I could not risk Robin asking for you by name so I instructed him to speak to one of the elders, plant the suggestion that if ever you were in serious trouble, there was someone you could turn to. It was all I could do without angering the General.”

Taran’s mouth was a hard line and he sat with his head bowed, thinking of what might have been.

“Do not think too badly of Mathias, Taran. Our position in the King’s forces is tenuous and he rightly fears the malcontents at court. Any hint of disobedience on my part would have elicited a swift reprisal, and I valued my position far too much to risk it. But perhaps I could have tried harder, found a way around the General’s veto. If I had, perhaps you would never have been forced to fight and kill Jaskin.”

Taran’s tone was bitter. “And we wouldn’t be in the middle of a demon invasion?”

She shrugged, spreading her hands against his pain. “We do not know for certain that the invasion is the result of your actions. Do not blame yourself until we know the facts.”

He remained unconvinced. “Is that why you brought me with you, why you’ve been so good to me? Because you feel guilty about your promise to my father?”

“Partly. And partly because Amanus was right. You have great potential and I do not like to see such talent go to waste.”

He colored at this praise even as a sudden thought struck him. “Does the General know who I am?”

She smiled. “He has not said so. And I have not told him.”

She rose and came to him, laying her hand on his arm. “Try not to worry, Taran. I am sure we will get to the bottom of this once we have spoken with Marik. He will know who is behind the invasion and the reasons for it. But you must not forget that Jaskin and his retinue were also at fault for breaking the codes and ignoring the contract, so we would have some bargaining power, at least.

“Now, I am going to rest. Contact Cal before you finish your watch and make sure you rouse Robin at the appointed time. Despite his training, my captain could sleep for his country, given half a chance.”

Nodding distractedly, Taran watched her cross to her cloak by the fire. She cast him one last thoughtful glance before wrapping herself in its heavy folds and lying down to sleep.

He turned back to staring out at the night and his thoughts were disturbed and chaotic.

In the wintry pre-dawn gloom, Commander Heron surveyed his men. He was pleased with them so far; they had obeyed his orders to the letter, ignoring the obvious temptations of the sacked towns. They knew they would get their due reward—Heron was known for his fairness and generosity in the face of a job well done.

Heron was an Adept-elite Artesan. He understood the value of discipline to the military and the metaphysical realm. He also knew the value of reward and although he was no soft touch—any man under his command who thought otherwise soon learned his mistake—he only used harsh methods when they were warranted. His men respected and understood him.

His eyes slanted sideways, fixing on his fellow commander who was poring over a pile of booty on the ground. Heron’s lip curled and he allowed himself a brief snort of disgust.

He knew Verris thought himself safe in his position as the Duke’s man, for he never failed to remind Heron of it. As if that counted for anything in a situation such as this, thought Heron sourly. Their forces were equal here in Albia, both dependent on each other for their safety and success.

Verris, however, was a greedy man, concerned only for his own welfare. He ruled his men harshly, permitting them no independent thought. Heron considered this a mistake. Men who were not afraid to think for themselves were often more successful in unexpected situations. Those who were loyal to their commander were much more likely to work together and help each other. Verris’ men, though, whenever they broke free of his draconian grip, could be trusted only to act in their own interests and leave their commander to suffer the consequences. Heron was very sure Verris would come unglued before much longer.

He was aware they were nearing the end of this campaign. Fresh troops were due that morning—hence his early rise—and the push they had begun four days ago would be consolidated over the next few days. He hoped it would not be much longer before they could go home. However, that was when the real conflict would begin and Heron was less than comfortable about his lord’s plans for the future. Not that Sonten had told Heron the details, of course. The commander knew how ambitious Sonten was—every bit as ambitious as the Duke—and he was sure Sonten had some self-advancing scheme that would involve him. He had hinted as much a few days ago when he gave Heron the order to intensify their campaign.

Knowing Sonten well, Heron was aware that something had happened recently to upset the General, but he had no idea what it was. All he knew was that after the incident in Durkos—Jaskin’s unfortunate murder—Sonten had been beside himself. Something had happened to make him afraid, even terrified. Something more serious than his nephew’s death.

Heron could only assume that what Sonten had so obviously dreaded had not come to pass. Yet he had still worn the air of a man under sentence of death. His mood was uncertain and his unstable temper shorter than usual. That however, was all in the past. Now, he was positively bullish. Now, he was back to his old scheming self. And now he had let Heron know that once this Albian invasion was over, he had plans that closely concerned his commander.

Heron was not pleased to hear it. He was loyal to Sonten but fearful of what those plans might be.

Sighing, he turned from his thoughts. Verris had straightened and was striding toward him.

“Got a good haul from that last town yesterday.” The man was gloating, clearly trying to irritate Heron.

“Good for you,” said Heron tonelessly.

His look of disgust made Verris’ grin widen. “How’ve you done?”

“I’ve had more important things on my mind,” snapped Heron, tired of the baiting.

“Oh, more important things, Heron, eh?” Verris imitated Heron’s voice with snide accuracy. “What’s more important than being rich, I’d like to know? Don’t you like gold? Or are you too good for wealth? I forget, you’re relying on your precious lord to see you alright, aren’t you? Well, I’ve got news for you. Your fat and ugly general doesn’t care a pig’s fart about you. I’ve heard him talking to his Grace. All he’s worried about is his own advancement. You make one mistake, Heron, one tiny little slip, and you’ll see that your flabby general is the same as the rest of us. Look after yourself, because no one else will.”

Heron stared into Verris’ pale, slitted eyes, knowing the insufferable man was right. He, Heron, was only valuable to Sonten as long as he obtained the results the General required. If he failed in his duties, he would be replaced. But that was only natural; a commander was only as good as his last successful campaign. If he couldn’t fulfil his orders, he deserved to lose his post.

However, he was spared the task of replying; the blank look on Verris’ face told him that his fellow commander was in communication with the Duke, no doubt getting ready to receive the fresh troops. Verris turned his gaze back to him with a predatory gleam.

“Here we go, Heron. Mark my words, I’m only a few days away from promotion into his Grace’s personal bodyguard. So you enjoy the war, my loyal friend, but don’t forget what I said.

“You’d better rouse your men. We have to make sure these Albian bastards don’t know what’s hit them. By the time our boys have finished, they won’t know which way to run. With any luck we’ll keep them guessing and stop them from hitting us all at once. And this time, Heron, I’m doing things my way. There’s no fun in running away all the time. My lads want a bit of action, not all this peasant-baiting.”

Heron stared in alarm. “Remember your orders, Verris, or you could jeopardize the entire campaign. Don’t forget, every available man is needed for the war. If you get your command embroiled in a pitched battle, you’ll run the risk of serious wounds. You know what that means.”

“Don’t be such an old woman, Heron, I know my duty. I just want some fun. Don’t worry, I won’t involve your lads, even though I’ve heard some of them moaning about all this soft stuff.”

Heron doubted that. His men understood why they weren’t supposed to engage the Albians. He gritted his teeth to stop Verris seeing his frustration. It never did to let the man know he’d riled you.

Just then, he felt the tingle that heralded the opening of the substrate. His argument with Verris was forgotten as both commanders concentrated on the fresh troops emerging into the Albian dawn.

The morning was gray and overcast with a wintry chill. Taran roused slowly, unsure of where he was. He was unaccustomed to sleeping in the open and his back ached fiercely from the hard ground. He looked around at the sleeping Bull and Robin before noticing the empty place beside Sullyan’s tiny saddle.

He sat up carefully, as much in deference to his tender back as to the others’ slumber. He saw Sullyan standing by the rock where he had kept watch the night before. She was braiding her glorious hair with quick, deft fingers. As she was turned away from him, looking out over the land, she didn’t see him watching.

He rose quietly and walked over to stand beside her. She turned her head and smiled, raising her brows in query.

During the night, he had come to terms with what she had told him, although he was still hurt that his father had hid the Artesans at the Manor from him. However, he had pushed it to the back of his mind. Now, he wanted to discuss his conversation with Cal from the previous evening.