Treason Keep (28 page)

Adrina gave the sorcerer-bred mount its head, relishing the feel of the cold wind in her face and the sure-footed beast beneath her, unable to stifle the laugh of sheer joy that escaped her as the horse thundered across the plain. She’d heard tales of the fabled breed, had seen them when she visited Greenharbour, but until Damin Wolfblade had first taken her riding a week ago, she had never been allowed close to one. She suspected Damin had provided her with a Hythrun mount, rather than her own Fardohnyan steed, to intimidate her. Adrina had taken to riding the notoriously difficult breed like a Hythrun born and bred.

Their first outing had been a strained affair. Damin was still angry with her and she was in no mood to put up with such an unpredictable brute. Three hours in the saddle had done much to ease the tension. Horses were a safe subject and Damin appeared genuinely impressed by her ability. They had finished the day not quite friends, but at least on speaking terms.

Since then Damin had taken her out every day, and for the most part he was tolerable company. He
usually allowed her to accompany him as he did a round of the vast camp, taking care of the myriad problems that cropped up in the course of the day with remarkable patience. Twice Tarja had accompanied them for part of their ride. He treated Adrina with respect but kept glancing at Damin as if something amused him greatly. It was proving onerous to be civil to Damin Wolfblade on a continuing basis. Tarja was a much more likely prospect.

Mindful of her need to learn as much as possible about him, she decided to question Damin. Her tactful and entirely innocent question regarding Tarja’s marital status had Damin roaring with laughter.

“Don’t waste your time even thinking about it!”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she declared loftily.

“Oh yes you do! I know exactly what you’re thinking. He’s young and good looking, in a position of authority, and you think he’ll be no match for your
court’esa
trained powers of seduction.”

“I thought no such thing!”

“Trust me, Adrina, nothing you could offer Tarja Tenragan could compare with what he’s already got.”

“You think I couldn’t steal him away from some rustic Medalonian peasant girl?” Adrina was insulted at the mere thought.

“I think you couldn’t steal him away from the Harshini demon child, your Highness.”

Adrina stared at him. “
The
demon child?”

“In the flesh. And rather nice looking flesh it is too.”

“I don’t believe you! The Harshini are gone. The demon child is just a legend!”

“The demon child is very real, Adrina. Her name is R’shiel té Ortyn, and she left the camp the same day you arrived. She’ll be back in a few weeks. You should find it an enlightening experience, meeting someone who is not in awe of you.”

Adrina was tempted to comment that he didn’t seem to be particularly in awe of her, either. But she held her tongue and wondered why, if the Harshini really had returned, the demon child would be fighting on the side of atheist Medalon.

Her plans for Tarja having met an unexpected hitch, Adrina turned her attention, somewhat reluctantly, to Damin Wolfblade. The more she saw of him, the more she realised she had misjudged him badly, a fact she found worrying.

He was not a younger version of his uncle. Nor was he a spoilt, figurehead Warlord. He was intelligent, surprisingly well educated, far too astute for her liking, and obviously enjoyed the respect of his men and the Defenders in equal measure. Not a man to underestimate. She needed to learn as much as she could about the Hythrun prince. She needed to discover what he liked, what he loathed, whom he admired and whom he despised, and, more importantly, why he was angry with her.

That she had done something to enrage him was obvious. The day he came to her room to announce she was to be given the freedom of the camp, he had come close to killing her. Her snide remarks had not been enough to provoke such a reaction. She had seen
enough of him since that day to know that he was generally even-tempered, at least around everybody else. But nothing she had done since her capture warranted the anger she felt simmering in him, even when he was making an effort to be civil. It puzzled her. Until she discovered its source, she had no hope of escaping this place.

They rode far south of the camp, toward a distant line of trees. She wondered what would happen if she turned her horse and tried to make a break for it, then glanced at Damin. He would run her down in a heartbeat and the fragile trust she had fostered among her captors would be destroyed. She sighed and let her mare follow Damin’s stallion.

They slowed to a walk as they entered the small copse of thin poplars. There were stumps littered about, the crude result of the Defenders’ need for shelter for their horses. The thick carpet of fallen leaves muffled their horses’ hooves and the sound of running water was the only thing that disturbed the silence. Adrina rode up beside Damin, assuming an air of nonchalance. It was time to start working out what made this man who he was, and she was never going to do that arguing with him.
Be nice
, she reminded herself.

“It must be hard for you, being Lernen’s Heir.”

He shrugged. “It can be a little trying.”

“You’re not much like him.”

He turned and looked at her. “Gods! Was that a compliment?”

She smiled. “Actually, I think it was. I must be slipping.”

Damin laughed. The first genuine laugh she had
heard from him since their embarrassing conversation about Tarja. “Don’t worry Adrina, we’re alone. I won’t tell if you don’t.”

His laugh was infectious. She began to understand what others saw in him. He was very hard to dislike in this mood. It made him doubly dangerous.

“Do you miss your family? So far from home?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted, which surprised her a little. “Medalon can be…trying at times, too.”

“I miss my family.” Perhaps empathy would work where sarcasm had failed.

“From what I hear, there’s quite a lot of them to miss.”

“My father is prolific, if nothing else. Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“In abundance. Although not quite as many as you can claim. You met my half-sister in Greenharbour, I believe.”

“Did I?”

“She’s the High Arrion.”

“Kalan is your sister?” She wondered why that nosy little toad, Lecter Turon, had never mentioned that the leader of the powerful Hythrun Sorcerers’ Collective was the High Prince’s niece. “I didn’t know.”

“She’s a couple of years younger than me. My father was killed in a border raid when I was only a year old, and my mother remarried with something close to indecent haste. Even more indecent when you count the months from the wedding date until Kalan’s and Narvell’s arrival,” he added with a grin.

“Narvell?”

“Kalan and Narvell are twins.”

“You mean your mother had a lover while she was married to your father?” The idea didn’t shock her—many noblewomen took lovers—but she was a little surprised that Damin seemed so complacent.

“She probably had several. It was an arranged marriage—Lernen’s idea—and there was little affection between them.”

“My father made an offer for the Princess Marla once.”

“I know. I think that’s why he married her to my father, just to annoy Hablet.”

“My father still hasn’t forgiven Lernen for that,” Adrina remarked.

“And you wonder why I don’t trust you?”

She was sorry she ever brought the subject up. Now was not the time to remind Damin of the conflict between their monarchs. She ignored the remark and smiled brightly. “You were telling me about your sister.”

Damin looked at her oddly for a moment then continued his tale. “Kalan’s father was the Warlord of Elasapine’s son. Mother returned to Greenharbour after he died, leaving Kalan, Narvell and me in Krakandar. But Marla kept finding husbands—and losing them. Every few years she would breeze in, introduce us to our latest stepbrother or stepsister, then vanish again for years at a time. I think Almodavar and my Aunt Bylinda raised us more than Marla did.”

“That’s dreadful!”

“On the contrary, I had a wonderful childhood. We had a whole palace to play in, no parents to
interfere and a staff that we chose ourselves for the most part.”

“
You
chose the staff? The children?”

“It was more a process of elimination,” he laughed. “If we didn’t like somebody we had ways of getting rid of them. Half a dozen children can be very inventive when the need arises.”

With a twinge of envy, Adrina recalled her own closely guarded childhood in the nursery of Hablet’s court in Talabar. Such freedom was almost beyond her ability to comprehend.

“Did your mother not fear for you? Alone like that?”

“We weren’t alone. Almodavar was my father’s closest friend and some of the people in Krakandar have been there since my grandfather’s time.”

“You’re lucky. At least you knew your mother. Hablet had my mother beheaded.”

It was Damin’s turn to look startled. “Why?”

“My mother was his first wife; a princess from Lanipoor, from a very ancient and noble line. He never loved her—he only married her for the prestige she brought him—and her very large dowry. He loved a
court’esa
, a Hythrun actually, named Welenara. She and my mother fell pregnant within days of each other. It was bad enough that my mother had to endure Welenara so blatantly carrying Hablet’s child, but then, to add insult to injury, it was Welenara who produced a son, while the best my mother could do was a daughter. She was rather put out, by all accounts. When Tristan was only a week old, she hired an assassin to poison him and his mother. The assassin failed, my father learnt of the
attempt and had her beheaded.” Adrina shut her mouth abruptly, stunned that she had told him so much. She was supposed to be trying to draw him out, not regale him with
her
life story. She never discussed her mother with anyone. It was a forbidden subject around Hablet.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Pity is the last thing I need from you, my Lord.”

Her sudden change of mood had him shaking his head, but he said nothing. He rode on a little further and then dismounted beside a leaf-strewn pool. There was steam rising off the still water and the air tasted faintly of sulphur. Adrina dismounted beside him and looked around in surprise.

“The water’s hot!”

“Almost too hot to swim in,” he agreed. “It’s a thermal spring. The timber cutters discovered it. I hear Lord Jenga has already had an approach from some enterprising soul who wants to build a tavern here. For medicinal purposes, of course.”

“Of course,” Adrina agreed. She knelt down, peeled off her riding glove and dipped her hand into the pool, snatching it out quickly as the water seared her cold fingers.

“Your brother Tristan was killed in battle, wasn’t he?” Damin asked behind her.

Adrina stilled warily.
How had he known that?
“Yes.”

“And that’s the reason you ran away?”

She stood up and turned to face him. “One of them.”

“I see,” he said thoughtfully. He was standing by his horse, a good five paces from her, but she still felt
as if he was crowding her. “So the Karien boy was lying. You weren’t trying to sneak through Medalon to ask your father for his cannon.”

Mikel was lucky he was nowhere in reach at that moment. Adrina could have cheerfully strangled the little brat. “He’s a child. I told him that to keep him quiet. He would have run straight to Cratyn if he thought I was leaving for any other reason.”

Damin gathered up his reins and swung into his saddle. “I’m curious. Why did you order your troops to surrender?”

“Cratyn would have executed them when he discovered I’d left. I couldn’t think of anything else.”

He nodded, as if she had confirmed something he already knew. “A noble gesture, your Highness. Not something I would have expected from someone like you.”

Adrina remounted, glaring at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

But he didn’t answer her. He nudged his horse forward leaving her to ponder his words. She had a feeling that if she could figure out what he meant, she would understand the reason he despised her so much.

Still, she had made progress. It was the first conversation of substance they had ever had that hadn’t ended with him threatening to send her back to Karien. Or to kill her.

Adrina woke with a start, aware that something was different, although she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. She was sweating, her palms moist, her heart pounding. She had dreamt again, the same nightmare that had plagued her since she had left Karien—that Cratyn had found her, dragged her back across the border and forced her to dine with him on a meal that frequently turned out to be her dead dog. With a shudder, she pushed the memory away. It was a stupid dream. She refused to be cowed by an overactive imagination.

The chamber was filled with grey light—and silence. It reminded her of waking in the Karien camp the morning of the battle. The air had that same eerie quality, the same stillness, the same feeling of anticipation. Cautiously, she climbed out of bed. Shivering in the icy chamber, Adrina snatched up her cloak from the bed where it served as an extra blanket and threw it over her shoulders. She walked to the arrow-slit window and looked out, but as far as she could make out, the world had turned white. It took her a moment to realise what she was seeing.

When it hit her, she gasped, and hurriedly dressed in her riding habit, ignoring Tam’s sleepy question from the other pallet in the corner of the room. She pulled on her boots and was out the door, startling the guards with her sudden appearance. Running past them, down the stairs and through the deserted hall, she jerked open the heavy door to the Keep and stepped out into a wonderland.

There were a number of mounted Defenders in the yard and the men on the wall-walk stamped their feet against the cold, but Adrina took no notice of them. She hurried to the gate and looked out over the snow-covered camp in astonishment. The landscape had completely changed. Where there had been the panoply of war yesterday was now a silent, white vista as far as the eye could see. It was barely dawn and the soldiers were only just beginning to rouse. Thin smoke rose from the cookfires. The vast plain had been transformed from a war camp into a thing of beauty.

“You’ve not seen snow before, have you?”

Adrina turned at the voice to find Tarja riding up behind her with a sergeant and a number of troopers in tow. He dismounted, amused by the expression on her face.

“It’s…glorious!”

“Well, it is for now. Give it a few hours and most of this will have turned into slush,” he warned with a wave of his arm. “It’s too warm for it to last long and too early in the year for a decent fall.”

“Oh,” she said in disappointment.

Tarja seemed to take pity on her. “Would you like to take a good look while it’s still in all it’s pristine glory?”

“Don’t you have something better to do?”

“I’ve got plenty to do, but nothing that can’t wait. Besides, It’s Founder’s Day. It’s supposed to be a holiday.” He waved red-coated Defender hurried forward. “Sergeant! Her Highness would like to borrow your horse. Tell Hadly I’ve been delayed then go find some breakfast. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

The man saluted and retrieved his mount for Adrina, holding it for her while she mounted. Tarja swung into his saddle and walked his horse forward.

“Ready?”

“This is very noble of you, Captain.”

They moved off at a slow walk, letting the horses pick their own way through the camp.

“Being noble is vastly preferable to discussing the riveting topic of horse feed with Hadly, your Highness.”

She smiled at him, wondering if Damin had lied to her about Tarja. He seemed anxious for her company. Maybe he was feeling the loss of the absent demon child. A lonely man was a vulnerable one.

“Well, I still think you’re being noble, Captain. You have rare good manners.”

“For a Medalonian?” he teased.

“That wasn’t what I meant. I just meant that compared to some people around here…”

Tarja laughed. “Ah! You speak of our Warlord. I thought you two were starting to get along quite well.”

Adrina frowned and reminded herself that this man was Damin’s friend. It would be inadvisable to tell him what she really thought of the Hythrun.

“Lord Wolfblade can be tolerable, when he’s not trying to be abrasive.”

He looked at her oddly. “Well, you can’t really blame him, can you? Not after what you did.”

“What did I do?”

He refused to answer her question. Instead, he kicked his horse into a canter.

“Captain!” she called as she raced after him. “I believe that statement demands an explanation!”

“The sun will be fully up soon,” he remarked as she caught up with him, admiring the scenery with determination. “Most of the snow will be melted by midday.” They had ridden past the northern edge of the camp and crossed into the deserted training grounds.

“Don’t ignore my question! What did you mean by, ‘not after what I did’?”

He glanced at her and shrugged. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s none of my business. You and Damin should sort out things between yourselves.”

“I’d be happy to,” she snapped. “If I had any idea what you were talking about!”

“You really don’t know?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I did!”

Tarja reined in his mount and turned to face her. “He claims you tried to kill the High Prince of Hythria.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

Tarja shrugged. “I’m just telling you what he told me. He said you hired some boys to do the job, but they killed themselves rather than carry out your orders.”

Adrina felt her fury rising like a volcano. All her plans to be nice evaporated in the face of such a terrible accusation. “That arrogant, lying…”

“I take it you have a somewhat different opinion?”

“How dare that…that…degenerate…even think such a thing! Let me tell you about your pet Warlord, Captain! He’s a savage, unfeeling monster who doesn’t deserve to breathe! I never tried to kill his damned uncle, although I wish I had! I gave those boys my knife to spare them from the twisted lust of a depraved old man.”

Tarja was taken aback by her fury, but seemed determined to believe his friend’s version rather than hers. “Yet you kept the collars as a souvenir. Why?”

“To remind myself why his whole damned family should be destroyed!”

He frowned, then suddenly wheeled his horse around. “Come on, there’s something I want to show you.”

He led her north toward the battlefield. Adrina urged her horse to follow, wishing for a sorcerer-bred mount, rather than this sturdy, but uninspiring beast. She no longer felt the cold. Her anger warmed her better than any cloak, better than any fire. As they neared the snow-covered mangonels, he veered right, away from the field. The soldiers manning the front paid them little attention as they rode by, their attention focused on what lay north of the border. This was the closest she had come to the border since escaping from Karien and she allowed herself a moment to wonder what Cratyn was doing. He and that damned Hythrun would have made quite a pair.

Tarja led her east, away from the field until they reached a low stone wall that encircled a large snow covered mound. Adrina looked about in puzzlement.

“You brought me here to show me this?”

“It’s a grave.”

“Whose grave?”

“Your Fardohnyans. The men who died on the battlefield.”

Adrina swallowed an uncomfortable lump in her throat. It was so
big. Had there been so many?
She wiped away bitter tears that suddenly stung her eyes.

“I thought Medalonians cremated their dead?”

“We do. Burial is illegal in Medalon but Damin refused to allow the Fardohnyans to be cremated. He had his own men dig the grave. He buried them with their weapons, to honour your War God. Your captain was buried separately because he was of royal blood.”

“Tristan! Where? Where did they bury him?”

Tarja pointed to a small rock cairn on the southern side of the mound. Adrina flew from the saddle and ran to it, no longer caring if Tarja saw her crying.

Tristan! Oh, Tristan!

Tarja dismounted and followed her slowly, leading her mount with his. He waited patiently as she knelt by the cairn, not caring that her knees were being soaked by the snow, her face in her hands, as she let go of the grief she had so tightly controlled until now. She sobbed until her throat was raw. She sobbed until she had no more tears to shed.

Finally, she had no idea how long, she sat back on her heels and wiped her eyes, the scabbed over
wound of her grief lanced and washed clean by her tears. It was then that she noticed the position of the cairn in relation to the mound. It was facing southwest. Toward Fardohnya.

“They buried him facing home.”

“That’s your savage, unfeeling monster for you.”

She turned and looked at him sharply. “Don’t try to tell me this proves anything! Cratyn is the most devout man that ever lived, but it doesn’t stop him from being a bastard!” She sniffed inelegantly and climbed to her feet. “I’ll grant you I’m surprised, but it hardly makes Wolfblade a saint.”

“Perhaps not,” he conceded. “But I think you do him an injustice.”

“I’m the one falsely accused of attempted murder.”

“Then take it up with Damin, your Highness,” Tarja said wearily. “We should be getting back. Hadly’s waiting for me.”

He handed her the reins of her borrowed horse before swinging into his own saddle. Adrina stared at the mound for a moment, marking the place in her memory, before mounting the dun gelding.

“How did my brother die?”

Tarja hesitated for a moment before he answered. “He died in battle, your Highness. Isn’t that all you need to know?”

“I want to know who killed him.”

“To what purpose?”

Tarja’s reluctance to give her a straight answer made her suspicious. “It was Wolfblade, wasn’t it? That’s why you’re looking so uncomfortable. Damin Wolfblade killed my brother then buried him here as
some sort of barbaric boast, so he could come and gloat over his grave.”

“No,” Tarja replied, looking even more discomforted. “Damin didn’t kill your brother.”

“How can you be certain?” she demanded. “You said yourself, he died in battle. How do you know this burial mound isn’t some sick Hythrun ritual to mock the dead? How do you—”

“He died by my hand, Adrina.”

His admission stunned her into silence. He met her accusing eyes with genuine regret.

“I’m sorry, Adrina. But this
is
war and he
was
trying to kill me at the time. If it’s any comfort, his last thoughts were of you.”

Tarja gathered up his reins and turned his mount toward the camp. She stared at his retreating back wishing she could somehow take vengeance on this man who had robbed her of her beloved brother. But she had not expected this. Not his confession, nor the pain it had cost him to make it. Confused and troubled, Adrina followed Tarja back to the camp in silence, not even seeing the glorious snow-covered plain.

When they reached Treason Keep Tarja helped her dismount without a word and turned to lead her horse away.

“Tarja?”

He looked at her over his shoulder.

“Why did you tell me? Why not let me think someone else had killed him?”

“A Defender is honour-bound to speak the truth, your Highness.”

“You could have said nothing.”

“I could have,” he agreed. “But you’re determined to think the worst of Lord Wolfblade. We could have sued for peace weeks ago. Were it up to me or the Lord Defender, you would have been ransomed back to your husband the day we found you. Damin is the only thing standing between you and the husband you seem so determined to desert. It didn’t seem right to let you blame him for that too.”

Tarja led the horses away and left her standing there. She wondered for a moment why she felt no burning urge to avenge Tristan. The man who killed him was right here, within reach.

Then the reason came to her. It was not Tarja who was responsible for Tristan’s death. He may have wielded the blade, but it was Cratyn who had killed him. Cratyn and his sick priests.

Cratyn was the one who would pay.