Treason Keep (18 page)

Jenga looked at Brak uncertainly. “You said he would tell his people what he’s seen here. Do you really want him to report what he’s seen here tonight?”

Brak shrugged. “The Karien priests will know we are here soon enough. It might even give them pause.”

“Or they won’t believe him,” Garet pointed out. “I certainly don’t believe what I just saw.”

A meaningful glance passed between the adults before Jenga turned on him. “Boy! Go get your gear packed. You’re leaving first thing in the morning. You will take our offer of peace back to Prince Cratyn, is that clear?”

Mikel nodded. Tears of joy, as opposed to fright, threatened to unman him. “And…my brother?” he ventured cautiously.

“He stays,” the Hythrun Warlord announced, before anybody else could answer. “He will be a hostage to your good behaviour. If your prince accepts our offer, we’ll send him home.”

It would have been too much to hope for any other answer, although he wondered if he’d waited and asked the Lady R’shiel when she was alone, the result might have been different. But it was too late now.

Mikel nodded and the Lady R’shiel smiled at him reassuringly. He was going home. The Overlord had finally answered his prayers—some of them, at least. By tomorrow evening, he would be standing before his prince and his priests and he could finally tell them of the evil that resided south of the border in the camp of the Defenders.

They sent him back to the Karien camp mounted on a nondescript dun gelding. Tarja Tenragan and Damin Wolfblade escorted Mikel as far as the earthworks that were constructed along the front. It was the first close look Mikel had got of the Medalonian defences. He tried to remember every detail to tell Prince Cratyn, but it wasn’t easy with Damin on one side of him on a huge golden stallion, and Tarja on the other on a sleek black mare. As if they knew the reason for his swivelling head and wide eyes, they began to point out various features of the defences to each other over the top of his head, describing in rather graphic and gory detail the affect they would have on any attacking Karien force.

The earthworks gave cover for a vast number of bowmen, Tarja explained cheerfully to the Warlord, which would decimate the vanguard of any Karien attack. Even if the knights were armoured, their horses would founder under the rain of arrows. Each archer carried around fifty arrows, and if they took their time, they could keep up the deadly hail for an hour or more. Being trapped under a dead warhorse
while it rained arrows was not a happy prospect, Damin agreed with relish. And, he added, if they were so foolish as to send unarmoured men to lead the attack, it would be a massacre. Mikel tried very hard not to listen to them. They were teasing him, he knew, and his courage was growing stronger the closer he came to the border. The Overlord was with him and he was on his way home. There was nothing they could do to him that would quell his growing excitement.

“This is as far as we go, boy,” Damin said eventually, reining his horse in as they reached the edge of the field that the Medalonians ominously referred to as the “killing ground”. He looked down at Mikel and grinned. “Just head north, boy. You’ll reach Karien sooner or later.”

“And carry this,” Tarja added, thrusting a broken spear into his hand, to which had been tied a scrap of white linen.

“My people won’t harm me!” Mikel said, quite offended by the flag of truce. “I am going home!”

“You’re going home wearing a Defender’s uniform,” Tarja pointed out. “I’m sure they won’t kill you if they know who you are, but you’re not going to get close enough to tell them, dressed like that. Take it.” He looked across at Damin and added with a grin, “Mind you, they’d never believe a Defender could be so short.”

Reluctantly, Mikel accepted the flag.

“You have the message?” Damin asked.

He nodded glumly and patted the bulge under his jacket where the sealed letter from Lord Jenga was securely tucked, as the two men he hated most in this
world talked to him like a small child. They would ask if he’d washed behind his ears next!

“Then scat!” the Warlord said, slapping the flank of the gelding. The horse surged forward and Mikel nearly lost his seat as he galloped headlong toward the border.

Not an experienced rider, Mikel clung grimly to the pommel until he remembered to use the reins. The slightest touch and the well-trained cavalry mount slowed his headlong rush to a more manageable pace. With a sigh of relief, Mikel remembered the flag, and propped it up against his thigh as he rode through the waist-high grass of the no-man’s land between the two camps. Although he didn’t know the exact location of the border, he knew that he would soon be in bow range of the Kariens, and he would be hard pressed to deliver his intelligence about the Medalonians with an arrow through his chest.

It annoyed him intensely that it had been Tarja who pointed that out.

He was still half a league or more from the camp when the Karien sentries found him. The sight of Lord Laetho’s purple pennant, with its three tall pines worked in red, brought tears of relief to his eyes, which he hastily brushed away as the knights approached. The Overlord was truly with him, he knew now. Not only had he been released, but he had sent his own people to meet him. Mikel was giddy with relief as the tall knight in the lead lifted his faceplate. It was Sir Andony, Laetho’s nephew, newly knighted last summer and enormously proud of the fact. Andony studied him for a moment, waving away the drawn swords of his three companions.

“Sir Andony!” he cried, urging his horse forward.

“Mikel?” he asked in astonishment. “We thought you long dead, lad!”

“They sent me back. I have a message for the prince.”

Andony frowned. “You seem remarkably well fed for someone kept prisoner these past months, boy. And you wear the uniform of the enemy.”

Mikel glanced down at his rolled up Defender’s trousers and the too-big, warm red jacket they had given him in the Medalonian camp. “They took my clothes and burned them. You must take me to the prince! I’ve seen so much, Sir! I have to tell him!”

Andony nodded, not entirely convinced. “Well, we’ll see if Lord Laetho wants you to speak with his Highness. Come!”

Andony wheeled his big horse around and fell in beside Mikel. One of the other knights took station on his left and the other two fell in behind. Mikel rode into the Karien camp, not in triumph as he had dreamt, but a barely disguised prisoner.

“They offer peace,” Prince Cratyn announced, throwing the parchment Mikel had delivered onto the long table in the command tent. Smoking torches threw tall shadows on the canvas walls, which made Mikel’s eyes water. The braziers did little to warm the big tent.

“They offer nothing!” Lord Laetho corrected, pointing at the document with scorn. “They ask us to pack up and go home! They offer no compensation! They do not even apologise for murdering Lord Pieter!”

Mikel couldn’t read, but even if he had been able, he had not been given an opportunity to examine the contents of the sealed document he had delivered. He wondered at Lord Laetho’s interpretation of the offer. Sister Mahina had been quite hopeful that a peaceful solution might be reached.

“I wouldn’t go quite that far,” Lord Roache corrected. “But you’re right, in that it is somewhat arrogant in its tone. The Medalonians appear to think they might prevail.”

The full war council had convened upon hearing of the letter from the Defenders, even though it was the middle of the night. Mikel had spent the day being questioned by Lord Laetho and now stood just inside the flap of the command tent, chewing his bottom lip nervously. In his dreams, when he faced the war council, he had not been nervous, or cold, or afraid. Mikel glanced around, rubbing his eyes and trying not to yawn. The movement caught the eye of the tall Fardohnyan captain who stood opposite him on the other side of the tent, near the Princess Adrina. The man winked at him solemnly. The small gesture gave Mikel a much needed morale boost.

Princess Adrina had obviously dressed in a hurry. Her long dark hair was tied back with a plain blue ribbon and she wore a simple dress of fine grey wool, covered with a warm fur cloak. Mikel watched her, thinking that she was just as pretty as the Lady R’shiel, which was only proper, since she was married to Prince Cratyn. But she did not look at Cratyn the same way Lady R’shiel looked at Tarja. There was no warmth in her eyes at all, except when she addressed
the fair-haired Fardohnyan captain. And Prince Cratyn’s gaze didn’t linger on Adrina, the way Tarja’s lingered on R’shiel.

No, he decided, his prince and princess knew how to behave in public. Nobody would ever come upon
them
kissing where anybody could see them. The princess was far too well bred to lean back suggestively against her husband, while she talked of war to her council, or dress in skin-tight leathers, or ride astride like a man. It was comforting to be back among people who acted with decorum and restraint.

“It is a sign of their weakness,” Earl Drendyn announced, leaning back in his chair. “They have seen the force we have gathered and are afraid!”

“Even the lowest creature can fight savagely when it’s frightened,” Duke Wherland reminded them. His eye-patch looked decidedly ominous in the sputtering light. “I learnt that in the navy.”

“It may be a ruse,” Duke Palen agreed, scratching at his greying beard thoughtfully. “A delaying tactic, perhaps?” He turned in his seat, his gaze falling on Mikel, who gulped nervously. “What say you, boy? Laetho tells me you were there when they decided to make this offer.”

Mikel swallowed again, his mouth suddenly dry.

“The boy knows nothing useful,” Duke Ervin scoffed, pulling on the ends of his waxed moustaches. “I don’t know why you bothered to bring him here.”

“My Lords,” the princess intruded cautiously, her eyes lowered demurely. She was such a perfect lady. “Children, like women, are frequently overlooked in a war camp. You may find he knows more than the Medalonians realise.”

Prince Cratyn looked up sharply as the Princess spoke, but it was Lord Ciril who answered her. “Her Highness shows remarkable insight for a woman. Come forward, boy!”

Mikel stepped forward hastily, although his throat was so dry it felt as if somebody had sandpapered it. “My…My Lord?”

“You were there when they composed this message?” Duke Roache asked.

Mikel shook his head. “No, my Lord. But I heard them discussing it.”

“Well? What did they say, boy?” Duke Ervin demanded impatiently.

“Sister Mahina, she said we could win…”

“There! What did I tell you!” Drendyn laughed. He took a long swig from his wine cup. He looked very pleased with himself. “They know we will defeat them!”

“Shut up, fool!” Palen snorted, before turning his ruddy peasant’s face to Mikel. “Carry on, boy.”

“But she said it would be an expensive victory,” he finished, gaining a little confidence in the face of the elder Duke’s support. “Lord Jenga…he said it might…give you pause. He said an attack in winter…in the mud or the snow…would be hard for armoured knights.”

“Any fool knows that,” Roache muttered

The Fardohnyan captain said something Mikel couldn’t understand, and the others turned to the princess expectantly. “My captain asks if the child heard what the Hythrun Warlord had to say.”

Eleven heads turned to look at him expectantly. Mikel suddenly remembered all the horrible things
Damin Wolfblade had said about the lovely princess and paled. He couldn’t repeat that!

“He said…he said that if you accepted the peace offering he would be very disappointed. He said you have too much at stake to withdraw now.” The princess smiled at him before she translated the answer for her captain and his heart fluttered. This was how a true lady should look and behave. Decorous, elegant and modest. And Damin Wolfblade said she had the heart of a hyena! How dare he!

“The Medalonians don’t appear to be suffering under too many false illusions,” Lord Wherland remarked, “if what the boy says is true.”

“Aye,” Lord Palen agreed, “and they are correct about the snow. It would seriously hamper the knights.”

“Then we need to attack before it snows, gentlemen,” Prince Cratyn announced. Mikel’s heart swelled with pride as he watched the young prince. He was so noble and serious. He didn’t joke about death or make lewd comments about women. He was renowned for his piety. And he would
crush
the Defenders, Mikel thought fiercely. The Overlord was with him and he had the most beautiful, well-mannered princess in the whole world by his side. Nothing could defeat them.

“Aye,” Palen agreed. “We’ve sat on our backsides too long. It is time to teach these atheists a lesson. Only a fool would wait until winter to attack. Do you have anything else to tell us, boy?”

Mikel faced a moment of indecision. Should he mention the Harshini? Should he say he had seen a demon? Lots of demons? If he did, would they believe
him? Or would they send him to the priests for Absolution Through Pain for lying? Should he tell them that Jaymes would only be released if they agreed to the peace offering? It had all seemed so clear when he was a prisoner among the Defenders. But now, faced with the war council and their stern expressions, his courage deserted him.

“My Lords, the child is exhausted,” Princess Adrina said, saving him from having to answer. “It is the middle of the night and he is almost falling over with fatigue, as am I. Perhaps I could take the child and see him settled for the night while you make your plans? After all, a war council is no place for a lady,” she added, bringing nods of agreement from the men. Mikel thought she was beyond perfect. She was the embodiment of Karien femininity. “Once he’s rested, I am sure he will remember more. In fact, I would be happy to take it upon myself to interview the child, thus freeing my Lords for more important business. It would be my small contribution to your war effort.” The gathered Dukes nodded, as impressed by her words as Mikel was. “Do I have your leave to depart, your Highness?”

Prince Cratyn waved his agreement with a furrowed brow, as if something concerned him, but he was probably just worried about the princess. She should not have been dragged from a warm bed at this hour of the night.

“Then I bid you goodnight, my Lords,” she said, rising gracefully from her seat. “May the Overlord be with you as you make your plans, so that your victory is quick and decisive. Come, child.”

She held out her hand and Mikel took it in wonder. He didn’t notice the cold as they walked from the tent. He barely even noticed the tall Fardohnyan following them outside. The princess said something in her own language to the captain, who nodded and disappeared into the darkness, then she turned and looked down at him.

“You must be the bravest young man in all of Karien,” she said with obvious admiration. “To have spent all that time in the heart of the enemy and remain so true to your faith. I want to hear about every single moment of the time you spent with those nasty Defenders.”

“I’ll try to remember everything, your Highness,” he promised her. For the Princess Adrina he would walk to the Sea of Despair and back.