sharpen them up, not imply any lack of faith.
She followed him through and Tad brought up the rear, collapsing the structure behind him. He received her approving nod and turned to repeat the process. This time, Sullyan overlaid her psyche with his and he had to contain himself firmly as he experienced the momentary disorientation such profound depths of power always caused in those of lesser rank. His developing psyche had a long way to go before it matched the complexities of a Senior Master’s.
Through the blossoming structure they saw the snow-covered hillside that was their destination. Sullyan knew the garrison nestled at the foot of those hills, sheltered by them from the worst of the weather. The three companions rode swiftly through the tunnel, emerging once more onto Albian soil.
They were now hundreds of miles north of the capital and the weather was harsher than in Albia’s more temperate regions. The snow was deeper and it was frozen solid. The horses’ weight broke the surface, but it had been frozen for so long they only sank up to their fetlocks. The three riders pulled their cloaks even tighter and expended a little power to keep warm. Sullyan nudged Drum into the lead and led them in the direction of the garrison. They came within sight of the small outpost an hour before midday.
Sullyan was gratified to see the sentries were alert even in this poor weather. She heard the horn call that attended their sighting, and a guard awaited them as they rode up to the gates.
The little garrison consisted of a few stone buildings huddled against the hillside, with stabling and storage barns carved into the face of the hill itself. The whole enclave was surrounded by a stout wooden palisade wall, breached by a single gate. The outpost was manned by only twenty men, relieved every four weeks by their fellows, all of whom were drawn from local villages. The duty captain came forward to give his name and greet his unexpected visitors.
Sullyan swung down from Drum and threw back her heavy cloak to reveal her rank insignia. She introduced herself and her companions. The captain was a rough-looking fellow in his late forties, with silvering brown hair and shrewd green eyes. Those eyes stretched wide when she spoke her name and he accorded her a very respectful salute, although his expression betrayed anxiety over the reasons for her coming.
“Colonel Sullyan, you are very welcome here, but I confess I’m surprised to see you. We had no foreknowledge of your visit. Is there some problem in the area? I’ve had no word of any unrest …”
“Be easy, Captain Giel. It is not trouble that brings us here and we will not trespass upon your hospitality. We are bound for the island housing the Order of the Wheel and will trouble you only for directions to the fishing village that services the needs of the clerics.”
Giel’s expression intensified, but then cleared. “Ah, would this be in response to the message sent by Patrio Ruvar to the King?”
“That is correct. The King wishes me to speak to the Patrio concerning the circumstances surrounding the traitor’s death. I take it there have been no sightings of his body along the coast?”
“None, Colonel, and I’ve had my lads scouring the shores daily ever since we heard of the Baron’s suicide. We’ll not find him now, though. The tides will have swept him right out to sea. They’re fearsome fast round here in winter.”
Sullyan nodded. “All we need then are directions to the fishing village, if you would be so good.”
“I’ll send one of the lads to show you the way,” offered Giel, but Sullyan shook her head.
“Thank you, but we cannot wait for you to detail one of your men. We need to reach the village quickly. I wish to be on the island by nightfall.”
Giel’s eyes widened. “Tonight? I’m afraid that’s not possible, Colonel. There won’t be any craft left in the village. They’ll have gone out at dawn to make the most of the light
She followed him through and Tad brought up the rear, collapsing the structure behind him. He received her approving nod and turned to repeat the process. This time, Sullyan overlaid her psyche with his and he had to contain himself firmly as he experienced the momentary disorientation such profound depths of power always caused in those of lesser rank. His developing psyche had a long way to go before it matched the complexities of a Senior Master’s.
Through the blossoming structure they saw the snow-covered hillside that was their destination. Sullyan knew the garrison nestled at the foot of those hills, sheltered by them from the worst of the weather. The three companions rode swiftly through the tunnel, emerging once more onto Albian soil.
They were now hundreds of miles north of the capital and the weather was harsher than in Albia’s more temperate regions. The snow was deeper and it was frozen solid. The horses’ weight broke the surface, but it had been frozen for so long they only sank up to their fetlocks. The three riders pulled their cloaks even tighter and expended a little power to keep warm. Sullyan nudged Drum into the lead and led them in the direction of the garrison. They came within sight of the small outpost an hour before midday.
Sullyan was gratified to see the sentries were alert even in this poor weather. She heard the horn call that attended their sighting, and a guard awaited them as they rode up to the gates.
The little garrison consisted of a few stone buildings huddled against the hillside, with stabling and storage barns carved into the face of the hill itself. The whole enclave was surrounded by a stout wooden palisade wall, breached by a single gate. The outpost was manned by only twenty men, relieved every four weeks by their fellows, all of whom were drawn from local villages. The duty captain came forward to give his name and greet his unexpected visitors.
Sullyan swung down from Drum and threw back her heavy cloak to reveal her rank insignia. She introduced herself and her companions. The captain was a rough-looking fellow in his late forties, with silvering brown hair and shrewd green eyes. Those eyes stretched wide when she spoke her name and he accorded her a very respectful salute, although his expression betrayed anxiety over the reasons for her coming.
“Colonel Sullyan, you are very welcome here, but I confess I’m surprised to see you. We had no foreknowledge of your visit. Is there some problem in the area? I’ve had no word of any unrest …”
“Be easy, Captain Giel. It is not trouble that brings us here and we will not trespass upon your hospitality. We are bound for the island housing the Order of the Wheel and will trouble you only for directions to the fishing village that services the needs of the clerics.”
Giel’s expression intensified, but then cleared. “Ah, would this be in response to the message sent by Patrio Ruvar to the King?”
“That is correct. The King wishes me to speak to the Patrio concerning the circumstances surrounding the traitor’s death. I take it there have been no sightings of his body along the coast?”
“None, Colonel, and I’ve had my lads scouring the shores daily ever since we heard of the Baron’s suicide. We’ll not find him now, though. The tides will have swept him right out to sea. They’re fearsome fast round here in winter.”
Sullyan nodded. “All we need then are directions to the fishing village, if you would be so good.”
“I’ll send one of the lads to show you the way,” offered Giel, but Sullyan shook her head.
“Thank you, but we cannot wait for you to detail one of your men. We need to reach the village quickly. I wish to be on the island by nightfall.”
Giel’s eyes widened. “Tonight? I’m afraid that’s not possible, Colonel. There won’t be any craft left in the village. They’ll have gone out at dawn to make the most of the light
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