Treason Keep (26 page)

“I suggest you rethink your position, your Highness. Right now, you can wait on my mercenary pleasures, or you can go back to your husband. Neither prospect bothers me unduly.”

Adrina didn’t answer. She sipped her wine to hide her expression, afraid that Damin Wolfblade meant exactly what he said.

Nice
, she said silently.
I have to be nice to him.

“I have asked for your protection, my Lord,” she said with a demure smile. “Is that too much to ask?”

“The Kariens are prepared to go to war over the death of an Envoy, your Highness. I hate to think what they’ll do over their crown princess.”

“But you could protect me,” she suggested with wide-eyed admiration. In her experience, there were few men who could resist a woman who believed in him so ardently.

Damin Wolfblade was apparently one of them.

“Protect
you
? And while we’re protecting you from the wrath of the Kariens, your Highness, who’s going to protect us from you?”

Mounted on sorcerer-bred Hythrun horses, R’shiel and her companions reached the small village of Lilyvale in time for dinner on the first day. Joyhinia, Mahina and Affiana rode in a covered wagon, one Garet suggested they replace with something more auspicious as they neared the Citadel. Although the wagon slowed them a little, Joyhinia was incapable of sitting a horse safely, so they sacrificed speed for the assurance that the First Sister would reach the Citadel in one piece.

R’shiel rode with Brak for most of the way, letting the horse set its own pace as she listened to him explain the dangers of drawing on her power to bend others to her will. If he was trying to scare her, he succeeded, but he said nothing to change her mind. There simply wasn’t enough time to reach the Citadel and convince the Quorum to accept Joyhinia’s resignation and Mahina’s appointment any other way.

Garet Warner rode with them for a time. He had, somewhat reluctantly R’shiel thought, agreed with her plan, despite Tarja’s objections. The discussion
regarding this trip to the Citadel, held hastily and heatedly as the Medalonians prepared for the coming battle, had been strained. R’shiel was fairly certain that if she had waited until after the battle, Jenga and Mahina would have objected, and certainly Tarja, with Brak’s assistance, would have found any number of ways to prevent it. As it was, everyone was so distracted by the knowledge that the Kariens were on the move that her desperate plan was spared close scrutiny.

“The gods’ power is the power of all things natural,” Brak was saying, sounding just like Korandellan. “It’s at its most effective when used to enhance a natural occurrence.”

“A convenient way of getting around the facts,” Garet said.

“The gods are a natural force, Commandant.”

“So anything can happen, and you blame a god for your misfortune. Don’t you people have free will?”

Brak appeared to be enjoying the conversation with the atheist Defender. He seemed to forget about R’shiel. “Kalianah can make two people fall in love, but not against their will. Dacendaran can encourage a thief to steal, but he can’t easily make a thief of an honest man.”

“You truly are adept at seeing miracles in the mist,” Garet remarked.

R’shiel listened to the men and realised Brak had not forgotten about her at all. He was trying to remind her of the dangers of what she was planning to do. The gods could amplify a yearning or bring about an event that might occur eventually without
their help, but to use their power to force an unnatural event was akin to swimming upstream against the river of magic. In doing so, all the slime and filth that had sunk to the bottom of the river was stirred up and brought to the surface. That was why she had been nauseous when she felt the Karien priests working their coercion. She noticed Garet’s sceptical expression and turned to him.

“You don’t believe any of this, do you Commandant?”

“I believe that
you
believe every word. I never cease to be astonished at the facility of humans to rationalise perfectly natural events and award them divinity.”

“You’ve seen demons, yet you refuse to believe in them,” Brak pointed out. “Isn’t that your way of rationalising away something you don’t understand?”

“I’ve seen creatures I can’t explain and illusions that are masterful, but that is hardly enough to turn me into a pagan. Watch even a moderately talented illusionist in the markets of the Citadel and you will be convinced that a woman can be cut in two and then put together again. Believing a thing doesn’t make it real.”

“Yet you’re going to help us,” R’shiel said. “If you think this is just trickery, why bother?”

“My decision is based on logic, not faith, R’shiel. Medalon is facing an enemy that the Sisterhood is not in a position to deal with. I support Lord Jenga because we are more likely to survive with him in charge than a committee of selfish women grasping for their own political survival.”

R’shiel frowned, but Brak seemed more than
satisfied with the commandant’s answer. “Assuming we succeed, how soon can the rest of the Defenders be mobilised?”

“Fairly quickly,” Garet assured him. “I’ll get things moving in anticipation of your success at the Gathering. If you achieve your goal, I can have the first of them under way in a matter of hours.”

“And if we fail?” R’shiel asked.

“Then I will turn those same men on
you
and claim I was simply playing along with you to gain your confidence and learn your plans,” he replied calmly.

“No wonder Joyhinia always thought you were dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” he shrugged. “I doubt that, R’shiel. But I am a survivor, and all the heathen trickery in the world cannot alter that.” Garet kicked his horse forward to the head of their small column, leaving R’shiel to stare after him thoughtfully.

“Now there’s a rare creature,” Brak remarked.

“What do you mean?”

“I think Garet Warner is the only truly honest human I have ever met.”

It was mid afternoon some days later when Dacendaran appeared. They were traversing the open plain, on a road that slowly wound its way south towards Cauthside, and the ferry that would take them across the Glass River. The day was overcast and chilly, with the sharp smell of impending rain hanging in the still air. R’shiel, with Brak and Garet on her heels, had ridden ahead of the wagon. The weather was making Wind Dancer
nervous and she wanted to give the mare a chance to stretch her legs.

She found Dace waiting by the side of the road, sitting cross-legged atop a large grey boulder. He waved as she neared him, his fair hair tousled, his motley clothing as mismatched and ill-fitting as R’shiel had ever seen it.

The God of Thieves had not been much in evidence while R’shiel was at Sanctuary. There was little amusement in those peaceful, hallowed halls for a god who thrived on larceny. Dacendaran preferred the company of humans. Although she knew he was a god—could sense it now that she knew what to look for—she found it hard to think of him as anything but the impudent lad who had befriended her in the Grimfield. She smiled as she reached the boulder, genuinely pleased to see him.

“Dace! What are you doing here?”

“I came to see how you were faring out in the big wide world. Hello, Brakandaran.” Brak reined beside her followed by Garet who glared at the boy suspiciously. The wagon and its attendant guards were still some way back.

“Dacendaran.”

“Who’s that?” Dace asked, pointing at Garet.

“Commandant Garet Warner, meet Dacendaran, the God of Thieves,” R’shiel said, smiling at Garet’s expression.

“
This
is one of your gods?”

Dace clapped his hands delightedly. “He’s an atheist!”

“And you shouldn’t be here,” Brak scolded. “Go away, Dace.”

“But I want to help! There are noble deeds afoot and I want to be a part of them!”

“If you really want to do something noble, go steal a few of Xaphista’s believers,” Brak suggested. “You are
not
going anywhere near the Citadel with us.”

Dace frowned. “Brakandaran, at some point in the past few centuries, someone
must
have mentioned that mortals do not dictate to the gods. I will go where I please!”

“Will someone please explain who this child really is?” Garet demanded.

“Ah, how I do like a non-believer!”

“Dace, listen to Brak, please,” R’shiel pleaded. “Do something to annoy Xaphista if you must help, but there is nothing you can do here.”

The god sighed melodramatically. “I suppose. I’m
obviously
not wanted here.”

“Stop being such a baby,” R’shiel said.

The god grinned. “I make a poor substitute for the God of Guilt, don’t I?”

“The God of
what
?” Garet asked incredulously.

Even Brak smiled. “Commandant. I suggest you either ignore this entire exchange or start believing in the Primal Gods.”

“I think I’ll ignore it,” he said with a frown. He turned his mount and rode back toward the wagon.

“Did I upset him?” Dace asked innocently.

“No more than you usually upset people,” Brak said. “Why did you let him see you?”

“All humans should have the opportunity to look upon a god every now and then. It’s an honour.”

“Not when they don’t believe you exist,” R’shiel pointed out.

“Well, now that he’s seen me, he’ll have to believe in me, won’t he?”

“Don’t count on it,” Brak warned.

“You always look on the dark side of things, Brakandaran. I was going to give you some news, but now I’m not so sure. You’re bound to think the worst.”

“What news?”

“I’m really not certain that I should…”

“Dace,” R’shiel cut in impatiently. “Stop teasing. If you have something important to tell us, then out with it!”

The god pouted. “You have been spending far too much time with Brakandaran, R’shiel. You’re beginning to sound just like him.”

“Come on, R’shiel,” Brak said, gathering up his reins as he glanced over his shoulder at the approaching wagon. “He obviously has nothing important to tell us, and the others will be here any moment. Goodbye, Divine One.”

“Xaphista has believers in the Citadel!” the god blurted out.

R’shiel stared at Dace with concern. “Believers? Who?”

“I don’t know,” Dace shrugged. “All I know is that the Citadel can feel them and he doesn’t like it one bit!”

Confused, R’shiel turned to Brak for an explanation. “What does he mean? He speaks as though the Citadel is alive.”

“It is, sort of,” Brak answered before turning to Dace. “Has anything happened yet?”

“No. You know what he’s like. It takes him a century just to remember his own name. But he can feel Xaphista’s taint and he’s not happy about it.”

Brak nodded slowly. R’shiel had absolutely no idea what they were talking about.

“Brak, has this got something to do with the power in the Citadel that Dranymire spoke of?”

Before he could answer, the wagon creaked to a stop behind them. Garet rode forward and frowned at Dace.

“I see your god is still with us. Are you two planning to sit here in the middle of the road blocking the way, or can we proceed? In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s going to rain soon. I’d like to reach Malacky before then.”

“These atheists really are an impatient lot, aren’t they?” Dacendaran remarked loftily. With that, he vanished, leaving Garet wide eyed.

R’shiel looked at Garet and wondered how the commandant would explain Dace’s sudden disappearance to himself, but after a moment’s stunned silence, he waved his men and the wagon forward as if absolutely nothing untoward had happened.

Mikel was separated from the princess and placed in the custody of the Defenders’ Master of Horse, a small, slender man with dark hair and an affection for the creatures in his charge which bordered on obsession. Captain Hadly had endless patience with his horses and none at all for defiant Karien boys. When one of Lord Wolfblade’s Raiders delivered him into Hadly’s care, he had glanced at the note Tarja had hastily scribbled then looked disdainfully at Mikel.

“Captain Tenragan says you’re to be placed in my care. He says that if you try to escape, or give me any bother at all, I am to inform him immediately. He also says to remind you about your brother. Do you know what he means?”

Mikel nodded sullenly. He had hoped Tarja might forget about Jaymes.

“Good, because I’ve no time to waste on infants. I’ve damned near two thousand horses here, boy, and now there’s the Fardohnyan mounts to take care of. Go find Sergeant Monthay. He’ll find something useful for you to do.”

With little choice in the matter, he did as he was told.

Besides being sick with worry over the princess, Mikel was desperate to discover his brother’s fate, but there seemed little chance here among the horses. The Hythrun mounts were corralled away from the Medalonian horses—something to do with the purity of the Hythrun breed that Mikel didn’t really understand—so there was no chance to question anyone about the Karien boy they held prisoner. Sergeant Monthay set him to distributing hay, an endless task with so vast a herd. He spent all day lugging haybales from the cart into the corrals, then running to catch up as Monthay moved the wagon on to the next enclosure. It was backbreaking work, but it kept him from thinking too much, and at night he collapsed into the bedroll Monthay had found for him in the tack tent, asleep almost before his head hit the saddle he used for a pillow.

On the fourth day of his captivity, the rain cleared and the weather grew even colder. The sharp smell of snow lingered on the wind and Hadly fretted at the lack of protection for his horses. He had commandeered a large force of workers from the followers’ camp and had them erecting canvas covered shelters in the corrals in anticipation of the coming inclement weather.

Mikel shivered as he went about his chores. Monthay was anxious to finish for the day and get back to the warmth of his tent. It was almost midday when they reached the corral where the workers were tying canvas over another sapling framework. The
cold sun did nothing to warm the day. There was a small fire burning just outside the corral, and several women were doling out hot soup as the workers took a break from their labour. Monthay glanced at Mikel, ordered him to keep working, and went to join them.

He lugged another bale from the cart and dragged it along the ground toward the corral, cursing Medalonians in general, and Monthay in particular. He muttered a prayer to the Overlord, asking his god to strike down the men enjoying the hot soup with dysentery. It seemed only fitting.

“Xaphista’s far too busy to answer, you know.”

Mikel looked up and discovered a boy of about fifteen sitting on the top rail of the corral. He was dressed in an odd collection of clothes that looked like cast-offs from some bygone era. Mikel was not aware that he had spoken aloud.

“You should not speak the name of Xaphista. You’re an unbeliever.”

“Not at all! I know Xaphista personally! Can’t say that I speak to him much myself, mind you, but he does exist.”

Mikel straightened and stared at the youth, a little surprised to hear such an admission from an atheist. He supposed the boy was one of the workers erecting the shelters.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“Then leave me alone.” He grabbed the twine holding the bale together and grunted with the effort of dragging it over the rough ground towards the corral.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it
look
like I’m doing?”

The fair-haired youth laughed. “That bale is near as big as you are!”

“Then why don’t you help me?”

“Ah, now that would mean work. I don’t do work.”

Mikel let go of the bale and glared at him. “What
do
you do, then?”

“I’m a thief.”

The news didn’t surprise Mikel. The lad looked dishonest. “Thievery is a sin.”

“Don’t be absurd! Who told you that? Ah! Xaphista did, I suppose. Cheeky sod.”

“You shouldn’t blaspheme! That’s a sin too!”

“There is no such thing as sin…what’s your name?”

“Mikel.”

“Well, Mikel, let me put your mind at ease. There is no such thing as sin. A thief is not doing something wrong, he is honouring Dacendaran, the God of Thieves.”

“There is only one true god!” Mikel insisted.

The boy frowned and jumped off the rail. “You really believe that, don’t you? Are all Kariens like you?”

“Yes! Now go away and leave me alone!” Mikel made to reach for the bale, but the youth sat himself down on it and looked at him closely.

“Mikel, the only reason Xaphista invented the concept of sin was to stop his believers honouring the other gods.”

“There
are
no other gods!”

“I can see I’m going to have to educate you, young
man.” The youth sighed heavily, then suddenly brightened. “I know, I shall become your new best friend and lead you to the truth about the Primal Gods!”

“I already know the truth. Xaphista is the Overlord.”

“Xaphista is a pompous old windbag, actually, and I shall delight in stealing you from him.”

“Come on, boy! We’ll still be here at midnight at this rate! Get a move on!”

Mikel started as Monthay yelled at him. He turned back to the boy sitting on the bale and was even more startled to discover he was gone.

“Don’t just stand there talking to yourself like a fool,” Monthay scolded as he drew near. “Go get some soup, but be quick about it.”

Mikel ran towards the fire and the enticing smell of the hot soup, wondering where the youth had gone so abruptly. Then he remembered his rash prayer and hoped that the Overlord had not heard his request about the dysentery.

Mid-afternoon, two Defenders appeared in the corrals and told Monthay that Captain Tenragan wanted to see the Karien boy. Monthay muttered a curse and surrendered him reluctantly, glancing at the hay still to be distributed. The two Defenders took Mikel into custody and walked him back toward the Keep. They said nothing, even to each other, leaving Mikel plenty of time to imagine the worst.

When they reached the old keep, they took him into the main hall where Tarja was waiting near the huge fireplace. Damin Wolfblade was sitting at the
table, stabbing the tabletop with his dagger as if something vexed him. Captain Almodavar stood near Tarja and next to him, to Mikel’s astonishment, was his brother.

“Jaymes!”

Mikel ran the length of the hall, skidding to a halt a few steps from his brother, taking a quick inventory to check he had all his fingers. Jaymes grinned and crossed the small distance between them, hugging his younger brother warmly.

“They told me you were back, but I wanted to see for myself!”

“Oh Jaymes! I’ve been so worried about you! Are you well? Have they harmed you?”

“Of course not!” Jaymes laughed. “I’m the one who’s been worrying about you! What happened when you went back to Lord Laetho?”

Mikel glanced at the men and then back at Jaymes. His brother was taller, as if he had grown from a boy into a young man while in captivity. He looked well; much too well for a prisoner. “I’ll tell you later.”

“There won’t be a later, lad,” Almodavar warned. “Jaymes has work to do.”

“He’s right. I have to get back. My training keeps me pretty busy. But I’ll try to see you now and then, if I can get away.”

“Training?”

“I’m learning to be a soldier.”

Mikel took a step backwards. “With the Hythrun?”

“Of course, with the Hythrun.”

“You’re a
traitor
?”

“I warned you,” Damin muttered to no one in particular, stabbing the table to punctuate his words.

Jaymes sighed. “It’s not like that, Mikel…”

“Have you turned from the Overlord, too? Do you worship the Primal Gods now? How
could
you?”

“The Overlord? What do I care about the Overlord! I want to be a soldier, Mikel! I can’t ever be a knight in Karien. I’m a commoner. Good for nothing but a pikeman. But the Hythrun don’t care about that. They judge men by their ability, not who their father is.”

“Our father is the Duke of Kirkland’s Third Steward!”

“Which is worth shit, and you know it!”

Tears of anger and betrayal clouded Mikel’s vision. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“What have you done to him?” he demanded of Tarja, although the Medalonian had not had charge of his brother. Tarja had, however, been responsible for most of his woes these past few months so it seemed reasonable to blame him for this, too.

“Your brother made his own choice, boy.”

“You’ve done something to him! Jaymes would never betray Karien! He would never renounce the Overlord!”

“Grow up, Mikel,” Jaymes sighed. “The Overlord doesn’t care about the likes of you and me. He’s the God of Lords and Princes. All he ever did for us was make us work for
them
. You believe in his generosity if you must, but I plan to follow those who can teach me what I want to learn.” Jaymes turned to the Warlord and bowed. “May I be excused, now, my Lord?”

“You can go.”

Jaymes glanced at Mikel and shook his head. “I’m sorry, little brother…”

Mikel refused to look at him. “I have no brother.”

“Maybe when you’re older, Mikel, you’ll understand.”

He turned his back as Jaymes and the Hythrun captain walked the length of the hall. When he heard the door shut, he wiped his eyes and looked up at Tarja.

“Can I go, too?”

“No, you may not. You’re going to tell us about the princess.”

Jaymes’ betrayal was suddenly forgotten. He glared at Tarja, drawing himself up to his full height. “If you have harmed one hair on her head…”

“Oh for the god’s sake, child, settle down!” Damin snapped. “Your precious princess is fine.”

“I shall not betray my Lady!”

“Nobody is asking you to,” Tarja pointed out reasonably. “We just want to know how you came to be in her company.”

“I was appointed her page. By Prince Cratyn himself!”

“I see. That’s quite a position of trust.”

“Prince Cratyn trusts me.”

“He must trust you a great deal, to ask you to escort her Highness through Medalon when your nation is at war with us.”

Mikel was still young enough that flattery, even from a man he despised, made his heart swell proudly. “Prince Cratyn knew that I would not betray him. No spy…”

“Spy?” Damin asked, glancing up from the tabletop. “What spy?”

Mikel took a step backwards, frowning warily. “I said nothing about a spy.”

Damin looked at Tarja and shrugged. “Send him back to the horses, Tarja. Adrina has already told us everything we want to know. She was trying to escape to Fardohnya to get away from Cratyn and stop her father joining in the war.”

“That’s a lie!” Mikel shouted, horrified that they would think such a thing of the noble princess. “You’re making that up!”

“Not at all,” Tarja told him. “Adrina told us everything.”

“You must have tortured her!”

“If you call mulled wine and a warm fire torture,” Damin said with a faint smile, “Quite the opportunist, your princess, Mikel. She changes sides more often than most people change their clothes.”

“Princess Adrina is the most noble, pious, beautiful woman in the whole world! She’s brave, too!”

“Brave?” Tarja scoffed. “She was running away.”

“She was not! She was going to see her father to get him to send the cannon! So that you would all die!”

Tarja and Damin glanced at each other as Mikel realised what he had blurted out. He wanted to cry. He wished the cold flagstones would open up and swallow him whole. First Jaymes had betrayed him.

Now he had betrayed Adrina.