Artesans of Albia: 01 - King's Envoy (40 page)

He heard her gasp and shot her a look. She was staring across the room but he couldn’t see the reason for such a reaction. “Come on,” she said, tugging at Taran’s arm. Resigned, he joined her on the dance floor.

The evening faded into a haze of female faces, a tangle of women’s bodies. Their perfume, their greedy clutches, their aggressively amorous looks, Taran found them nearly impossible to resist. More than once he had to steer himself and his partner away from the doors leading out to the darkened balconies as all of them, and especially his increasingly desperate little temptress, seemed determined to drag him out there. If any of them had succeeded in getting him alone, he only had his imagination to tell him what trouble there would have been.

Only a handful of times did he get a glimpse of the Major, monopolized as she was by Rykan. Not even the Count, it seemed, was allowed a dance with her and no one was foolish enough to try. Eventually, and to Taran’s immense relief, the musicians finished their sets. During the polite applause that followed, servants brought seats and arranged them in a ring around the room. He, Robin and Bull secured seats near the head of the ring where they could see Lord Rykan and the Major clearly.

Taran thought Sullyan looked tired, but she still spoke with and smiled at the Duke and laughed gently at some of his comments. He still held her fast by the hand and she no longer tried to extricate herself.

Once all the guests were seated—Taran experiencing a moment of triumph when the rush to secure the best seats denied the now-frantic courtesan a spot by his side—there was movement by the doors. Three servants carried in a huge floor-harp and set it before the Duke.

Taran had never seen a harp so large and wondered how one person could possibly play it. He soon had his answer when two minstrels moved forward and stationed themselves one on either side of the magnificent instrument. They played a set of songs that were alien to Taran’s ears, although the guests appreciated them loudly. Then, as a final piece, and after Rykan had sent a servant to speak with them, they played a love song that Taran recognized. He was disquieted by the look the Duke was giving Sullyan as the song was played, although she betrayed no emotion. He was also feeling rather proud of Robin, who was restraining himself admirably in the face of the Duke’s interest in his love.

Once the song was over and Sullyan had shown her appreciation, Rykan at last released her hand. He stood, the room instantly going silent.

“My dear Count Marik,” he began, his voice ringing deeply, “nobles and ladies all. It is late and we have been most royally entertained tonight.”

The guests applauded loudly.

“But before the evening draws to a close, I have a request to make of the lovely Lady Ambassador, who so graciously consented to be my consort tonight.”

Taran saw the momentary start Sullyan gave at the word “consort” and the wariness that crossed her face. Beside him, Robin raised his head like a hound sensing danger.

The Duke turned to Sullyan. “My vassal, Count Marik, tells me you have some skill with the harp, Lady. Would you do us the very great honor of playing the final piece tonight?”

A murmur ran around the assembled guests. Taran heard astonishment, delight, and even pique from some of the other ladies. He saw the Major close her eyes momentarily as if overcome by weariness, but she stood with liquid grace and gave a small nod of acceptance.

“The honor is mine,” she said and moved toward the harp.

She positioned herself to one side of the vast instrument and spread her hands on the strings. Soft, liquid notes rippled around the room and the crowd fell expectantly still. There was a pause while she stood with her head bowed, her eyes closed. Then her hands moved on the strings and the first sweet notes of a melody filled the air.

Taran recognized the tune—it was one of those timeless airs, ancient beyond knowledge of its origins—but when the Major began to sing, he could make no sense of the words. They had a profound effect on Lord Rykan, though. He seemed mesmerized by Sullyan’s skill, her mastery of the huge instrument a wonder to them all.

As the last throbbing notes of the song faded, silence descended. Taran looked around at the rapt expressions on the guests’ faces, none of whom wanted to break the spell. Just when it seemed they would sit that way forever, Lord Rykan stood, leading an applause that swept the room and rang to the rafters, the entire audience surging to its feet.

The Duke stepped forward and took both the Major’s hands in his. “I had no idea you knew the old high language, Lady. You have done us great honor tonight, for which we can only thank you.”

Sullyan bowed her head and returned his smile. “It is I who must thank you, my Lord, for giving me an evening I shall never forget when I return to Albia.”

Taran didn’t miss the double meaning of her words. The Duke however, was concerned by her mention of leaving and his predatory eyes narrowed. “Lady, it would please me greatly if you would accept an invitation to be my guest at Kymer. The comforts of my palace are surely far more conducive to diplomatic discussions than this poor place.”

“You are too kind, your Grace,” replied the Major smoothly. “Under happier circumstances I would be honored to accept your invitation. However, at this time, I fear I must decline, as after the council meeting tomorrow I am constrained to return to my duties. I do trust I have given no offense?” She executed a deep obeisance.

The Duke looked offended, but could say nothing in the face of her courtesy. His yellow eyes flashed in annoyance as he said, “Very well. I will excuse you this time, my Lady Ambassador, provided you do me the honor of promising to return soon to accept my hospitality.”

There was steel in his gaze and hunger on his face. Taran shuddered.

“If my General so wishes it, your Grace, I will indeed return,” replied the Major, keeping her head bowed demurely to avoid his furious eyes.

She curtseyed again as Rykan stamped away, followed by his retinue.

The rest of the guests drifted off to their rooms. Taran sighed with relief as the courtesan who had been vying for his attention all night left as well, not daring to come near while Sullyan was with them.

The Major was the subject of many envenomed glances as she left the hall. She was obviously exhausted and remained silent as they climbed the stairs to their suite. Once the door shut, she collapsed onto the bed.

Robin sat beside her and gathered her into his arms, stroking her hair. Taran watched in quiet concern. After a while she revived a little and, pushing herself away from the Captain, sat up.

“Oh, gods,” she said wearily, “I never would have come if I had known he would be here. No wonder Harva told me to beware. Curse Marik. What was he thinking of, why didn’t he warn me?”

“What’s Rykan doing here, Sully? Did you get any idea what he’s up to?” asked Bull. The big man was occupying an overstuffed chair, trying to ease his shoulder.

Sullyan’s eyes narrowed at this display of pain and she moved toward him. “I have a nasty suspicion that he intends to go against the Hierarch.”

“Bloody hell,” said Bull. “Civil war? Is he strong enough to risk such upheaval?”

She placed her hand over the wound in his shoulder, clicking her tongue at the heat in it.

“Ordinarily I would say no.” Closing her eyes, she gave Bull more healing. “For all his wealth and standing, I think he has neither the power nor the might to challenge the Hierarch openly. However, something is happening here that I do not like. For all his faults and reluctance, Marik and I are friends. He would not normally allow me to walk into such a trap. The fact that he said nothing tells me something is badly amiss.

“But although I dislike the coincidence of finding Rykan here while an invasion force attacks our lands, I cannot, at present, see a connection. The Duke is a skilled tactician, well known for taking personal command of his troops. I would not expect to find him attending the banquet of such a minor vassal as Count Marik while his warriors were laying waste to our realm. Even if the Count is known to be our friend.”

Bull’s face was losing its pained expression under Sullyan’s touch. Taran saw him begin to relax.

“It is not as if the Duke would fear Marik coming to our assistance,” she continued. “The Count cannot afford to maintain a force of trained fighters and the levies he could raise would pay for land laborers, at best. Neither does he hold knowledge that might be of use to the Duke. He was never a prolific or a successful raider, and I would wager that Rykan has a far greater knowledge of Albian defenses than Marik does. It is a puzzle I do not yet understand. All I can do is try to find out more tomorrow.”

She nodded at Bull and removed her hand. Taran felt envious fascination; he had never seen anyone capable of using power for one thing while talking about another.

“Will Rykan be at the meeting tomorrow?” asked Robin, his tone a touch too casual.

Sullyan smiled. “No, Robin. He intends to leave for Kymer before first light. I am relieved, I do not think I would have the strength to resist him again.” She headed for the washroom. “Come, gentlemen, we are all tired and I know you had your hands full of your own problems tonight. You did very well, by the way. I was proud of the way you resisted such temptation.” She grinned at their sudden embarrassment.

“Tomorrow will be a busy day and in the light of the evening’s events, I feel we should be on our guard tonight. Taran, will you take first watch again? Robin and Bull will take the later, and I the dawn watch. Let us see what tomorrow’s meeting brings.”

Most of the day was spent carrying out lightning raids. Heron’s company—like Verris’, augmented by the extra men he’d received—pushed relentlessly northward, firing villages throughout the provinces of Arnor and Rethrick, reaching the southern borders of Loxton.

Heron kept in touch with Verris through the substrate, coordinating their companies’ efforts while keeping the forces sent to oppose them from organizing an effective defense. He knew the Albian swordsmen had caught only rare glimpses of them; their orders to inflict damage and flee meant they posed a frustratingly elusive target. By the time news of their presence in a particular area reached the local defenders, they had vanished, only to resurface somewhere else.

He and Verris had roused their men just before dawn as usual. By midday, they were drawing closer together. Their routes brought them on converging lines and by the time Heron’s scouts caught sight of Verris’, they were well into the remoter districts of Loxton Province, territory controlled by the personal forces of Elias Rovannon, High King of Albia.