Free Artesans of Albia: 02 - King's Champion by Cas Peace Page B

did with it.”
    With a disapproving frown, Bull strode to the door and questioned Marik. The Count was alarmed by the query and stared narrowly at Sullyan. “I buried it,” he said, pointing to a spot behind the barn.
    “I am sorry, Ty, but I will have to ask you to undo your hard work.”
    He scowled, but went to fetch a shovel, unearthing a dirty sacking roll. Unwilling to touch it with his hands, he used the shovel to bring the exposed silver to her.
    She gazed at it. “Is there any more of that sacking?”
    Bull fetched a piece from the barn, and then looked horrified as she bent to pick up the silver. “Don’t touch it, Sully!”
    She smiled gently. “I am intimately acquainted with the effects of this metal, Bull. It can do me no further harm.”
    She took up the silver and wrapped it tightly in the clean sacking. Despite her words, she couldn’t quite hide the flicker of agony that touching it brought, and she knew Bull had seen. He understood that she was sparing anyone else the task of handling it, yet he still shook his head as he opened her pack so she could drop the bundle inside.
    Preparations complete, they mounted up. Robin cleared the stirrup for Sullyan, and Bull helped her up to sit before him on Torka’s chestnut neck. She was still too weak to ride by herself, and snuggled into Robin’s arms, feeling his warm and vital body supporting her.
    Rienne began the journey seated in front of Cal, and they left the safety of the drovers’ hut just past noon.
    * * * * *
     
    G eneral Sonten strode heavily through the fear-haunted palace, for once immune to the panic waiting to strike. He grinned maliciously as he reflected on the reasons for the Duke’s latest fury. He was so gleeful at this second blow to Rykan’s plans that he could have laughed out loud. Only his sheer incredulity stopped him.
    He was barely able to credit what had happened. Who would have thought the meek and cowardly Count had such bravery in him? Who would have guessed that such a long, melancholy face could conceal such desperate cunning? Not Sonten, that was for sure. And certainly not the Duke or he would have had the man chained, flogged, and tossed naked into the cells as soon as they had returned from Cardon. He certainly wouldn’t have been left alone with that damned human witch. She couldn’t have been as close to death and defeat as Rykan had thought. The two of them had clearly conspired together to cheat the Duke of his prize.
    Unlikely as it seemed, the Count had managed to free her on his own, and in doing so he had done Sonten a favor, although he probably wouldn’t be pleased to hear it. He had been as fearful of Sonten as he was of the Duke himself, and Sonten had done nothing to soothe those fears. This was so ironic, thought Sonten, because had he known what Marik’s intentions were, he would actually have helped the man. Had he suspected for just one moment that the Count might have carried off such a risky rescue, Sonten would have joined forces with him and made the whole thing easier.
    Yet Marik hadn’t needed any help, and once again Sonten was in the clear. The Duke had no reason to turn his insane fury on his general. Instead, he had taken out his rage on those more expendable. Sonten had spent quite some time overseeing the clean-up of Rykan’s killing spree, and the unfortunate remnants of Marik’s court who had survived would be among the first thrown to the Hierarch’s troops.
    Emerging into the crowded compound, Sonten chuckled again. He just couldn’t help it. Capricious fortune had turned his way at last and was smiling on his plans. This was not the first ironic twist of fate to befall him since accompanying the Duke to Cardon.
    He stopped, glaring at the chaos, at the preparations being made. Faces turned toward him, anticipating the order to move out. He had come to deliver those orders, for his Grace could wait no longer. Unable to give chase to the traitor due to the timing of his