Treason Keep (39 page)

Adrina had just finished packing, if throwing her few meagre possessions into a sack could be called that, when the door flew open and Tarja appeared.

“If you’re leaving, your Highness, you’d better do it now,” he warned. “The Kariens are on their way.”

“How can that be? Damin said Jenga had agreed not to surrender until we’d gone.”

“I don’t know. Perhaps they know about the order from the Citadel. They may even have had a hand in it somehow. All I know is that there’s a whole troop of knights riding this way under a flag of truce.”

Adrina cursed in a most unladylike fashion. “Tam, go and find…no, on second thoughts, you’d better stay with me. Someone might recognise you. Are you certain they’re heading this way?”

“Yes.”

“How long do we have?”

“Not long at all, I’m afraid.”

“We’d best get moving then.” Adrina snatched up her sack and slung it over her shoulder. Tarja led them onto the landing. The guards were gone now. Lord Jenga had dismissed them days ago, when it
became apparent she was no longer using the quarters over the main hall often enough to warrant placing a guard on them.

She followed Tarja cautiously, Tam close on her heels. They were halfway down the stairs when he stopped suddenly and held his arm out to bar her progress. The Hall doors rattled as they were pushed open.

“Back! Now!” Tarja hissed.

Adrina didn’t need to be told twice. She raced back up the stairs, pushing Tam ahead of her. When they reached the landing, Tarja motioned them down. By the time they were stretched out on their bellies, looking down over the Hall, the first of the Kariens were clattering through the door.

Adrina recognised Lord Roache and Lord Laetho as they raised their faceplates. The other knights she didn’t know; they were more than likely an escort. The Dukes made their way to the end of the hall as Lord Jenga entered with Cratyn at his side. Following them were a dozen or more Defenders. None of the Medalonians looked very happy.

Adrina studied Cratyn for a moment. He removed his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair as he looked around the Hall. His eyes skimmed over the darkened balcony. He couldn’t see her, she knew, but she held her breath in any case. Jenga ordered wine served and turned to face Cratyn. The two opposing sides had unconsciously arranged themselves on either side of the long wooden table near the fireplace.

“You requested a parley, your Highness, and I have honoured your flag of truce. What do you want?”

Cratyn seemed a little taken aback by Jenga’s blunt manner. “I’m certain you know exactly what I want, my Lord. I want your surrender.”

Several Defenders, those officers who didn’t know of the order from the Citadel, gasped in surprise. Jenga silenced them with a look and turned back to the young prince.

“What makes you think I’m planning to surrender?”

Cratyn looked at Roache uncertainly. “I was led to believe, my Lord, that you had received an order to that effect some time ago.”

“Then you were misinformed, your Highness.”

Adrina was quite astounded to hear the Lord Defender lie so blatantly.
Isn’t truth supposed to be a virtue of the Defenders?
She glanced at Tarja, but he was engrossed in the scene below and his expression was impossible to read in the gloom.

“He’s lying, your Highness,” Roache assured the prince confidently.

Jenga turned on Roache. “You impugn my honour, sir?”

Before Roache could reply the doors flew open and Damin burst in, followed by Almodavar and a score of Raiders. Adrina smiled at Damin’s theatrical flair—every man with him must have been picked for his size, she thought. They were conspicuously armed and arrayed themselves across the doorway, blocking the exit.

Tarja groaned softly. “Founders, what’s he up to now?”

“My apologies for being late,” Damin announced as he strode into the Hall. He walked straight up to
Lord Roache and bowed extravagantly. “You must be Prince Cratyn.”

“I am Cratyn,” the prince announced in annoyance. Damin had walked straight past him. It was no accident, Adrina was certain. Roache was old enough to be his grandfather and Damin knew well how old Cratyn was.

“
You?”
Damin asked in feigned surprise. “Gods! You’re just a child. Ah, but you’re not a child, are you? I hear you’re married now. How is your lovely wife, by the way?”

Adrina cringed at the question.
What the hell was he playing at?
Cratyn glared at him, quite appalled by the Warlord.

“Who are you, sir?” Roache demanded angrily.

“I’m sorry, did I forget to introduce myself? I am Damin Wolfblade, Warlord of Krakandar, Crown Prince of Hythria, Prince of the Northern Marshes, and there’s another title or two that I can’t quite recall. And you would be…?”

“This is Lord Roache and Lord Laetho, my advisers,” Cratyn said, not having the wits to announce their full titles.

“Lord Laetho?” Damin asked. “Now
you
I’ve heard of. What happened to that brat we sent back, by the way?”

“We are here to discuss surrender!” Cratyn declared, sounding more like a petulant child than a statesman.

As she watched Cratyn try to impose his will on the gathering, she could not help but compare her husband to her lover. Apart from the physical differences between the men—even the most
objective observer would agree that Cratyn fared a poor second—there was no comparison. Damin commanded authority without even trying. Cratyn had to
demand
it—loudly.

“
Surrender
?” Damin cried, as if it was the first time he had heard the word. “Surely you’re not going to quit after one measly little battle, Cratyn? I came here for a good fight and you want to surrender already? Have some balls, man!”

Even Jenga bit back a smile at Damin’s deliberate misunderstanding.

“Not me, you fool!” Cratyn snapped. Normally surrounded by men who treated him like rare porcelain, he was floundering in the face of Damin’s disrespect. “Medalon is surrendering to us!”

“You are?” Damin asked Jenga. “Since when?”

“No decision has been made as yet, Lord Wolfblade.”

“You claimed you knew nothing about this,” Cratyn accused.

“An unverified message has been received, your Highness. I do not consider that an order when dealing with an issue of such importance.”

“You require verification, my Lord?” Roache asked.

“Naturally. Would you surrender a strategically superior position without some sort of confirmation?”

Roache nodded solemnly. “Of course not. How long will this verification take?”

“I suppose that depends on whether or not the order is genuine,” Jenga shrugged. “I imagine the confirmation should arrive within the week, if it is.”

“And if the order is proved genuine?”

“Then I have no choice, your Grace,” Jenga conceded.

Roache appeared satisfied with the Lord Defender’s answer. He was the most experienced of Cratyn’s dukes. He understood the Lord Defender’s position, even admired his stance.

“Perhaps then, in anticipation of the verification you require, we could discuss the details of your surrender?”

“That is somewhat premature, is it not?” Jenga ventured.

“Not at all, my Lord. Given that we have also been advised of your imminent surrender, one could safely assume that the order is genuine. Given that neither of us wishes unnecessary misunderstanding, such an agreement would seem prudent, don’t you think?”

Cratyn had become superfluous in the face of the experience of the Lord Defender and the canny Lord Roache. Even Laetho seemed at a loss for words. But Damin wasn’t finished. Not yet.

“Well, I’m sorry, but if you’re going to surrender, I can’t condone it,” he declared. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

“The surrender includes all forces currently allied with Medalon,” Cratyn pointed out stiffly.

“Then consider our alliance at an end,” Damin announced. “I’m not going to surrender to this whelp.” He turned on Cratyn shaking his head. “Did you really marry one of Hablet’s daughters? Gods! I can’t
imagine
how you manage to keep her satisfied.”

Adrina would have thrown something at Damin, had she had a missile handy, but Cratyn did blush an interesting shade of red.

Damin turned to Jenga. “My Lord, I cannot countenance this farce any longer. I shall be leaving immediately. Kindly have my
court’esa
delivered to my tent at once.”

The Warlord tossed his head dramatically and marched from the Hall, his savage looking Raiders in his wake. Jenga purposely kept his eyes downcast.

“Aren’t you going to stop him?” Lord Laetho demanded.

“Lord Wolfblade is an ally, my Lord. I do not command him. Short of a pitched battle, I don’t see how I can stop him leaving.”

“The Hythrun is of no importance,” Roache agreed. “There is only one place he can go, and he might find more waiting for him when he gets there than he bargained for.”

“There is also the matter of Captain Tenragan,” Cratyn added, annoyed that the discussion was slipping from his control.

“Your Highness?”

“Don’t play the innocent, Lord Jenga. Tarja Tenragan murdered Lord Pieter and the priest Elfron. He is to be handed over to us for trial.”

“There was nothing mentioned about this, even in the unverified order.”

“I can assure you, verification is on its way. You must agree to hold him, pending your surrender.”

Adrina glanced at Tarja. He was torn between stepping forward and bolting, she thought. Duty
warring with survival. She placed a hand on his arm and shook her head.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Tarja,” she said softly. “There’s nothing you can achieve by going down there.”

Tarja looked at her for a moment. He nodded slowly, acknowledging her advice, then turned back to watching the Kariens.

“Should such an order be received, then of course I will honour it,” Jenga assured Cratyn.

“I should think so,” Cratyn replied, rather lamely. He really wasn’t handling this very well.

“In that case, gentlemen, I believe this discussion is at an end. I shall have Captain Alcarnen escort you to the border. Should verification arrive, I will send a message, advising my position.”

“Your cooperation in this matter is much appreciated, my Lord,” Roache agreed, before Cratyn could add anything further.

“Captain!”

Nheal Alcarnen stepped forward and saluted sharply.

“Would you be so kind as to escort our guests back to the border?”

“Sir!”

There was little else Cratyn and his party could do but follow the captain.

As soon as the Kariens had left the Hall, pandemonium broke loose, as the officers demanded an explanation. Tarja waited until Jenga had quieted his men and ordered them about their business. The last man was leaving as they descended the stairs. Jenga looked up at their approach. His face was haggard.

“You’d better get out of here, and soon.”

Adrina nodded. “I thank you for not betraying my presence, my Lord.”

Jenga shrugged. “A small victory over the Kariens, your Highness, even if there is nobody to share it with. I wish you a safe journey, although I suspect your future is as doubtful as mine.” He turned to Tarja. “I want you to go with them, Captain.”

“I won’t desert you, Jenga. Not this time.”

The Lord Defender shook his head. “I want your resignation then. I’m damned if I’m going to hand any man of mine over to the Kariens for some sort of farcical trial with a noose waiting at the end of it. Particularly for a crime he didn’t commit.”

Adrina looked at Tarja curiously.
If Tarja hadn’t killed Lord Pieter, then who had?

“I won’t run away, Jenga.”

“Now is not the time to be noble, Tarja. I lied to the Kariens. A courier delivered the orders from the Citadel this morning, signed by Joyhinia. Accompanying the orders was a warrant for your arrest.”

“Then you
will
surrender?”

“I have no choice.”

Tarja didn’t answer.

“Go,” Jenga ordered. There was more emotion in that one word than Adrina could ever recall seeing the Lord Defender betray previously.

Tarja hesitated for a moment then saluted smartly. “My Lord!”

He turned away, his expression determined and even a little disappointed. Adrina impulsively leaned forward and kissed Jenga’s weathered cheek before she and Tam hurried after him.

“Captain!”

They stopped and looked back. Adrina could have sworn there were tears in the old man’s eyes.

“Take as many men with you as you can. Just be quiet about it.”

Tarja nodded in understanding. “As you wish.”

“You’re the only one I can ask this of, you understand that, don’t you? No other man in my command has experience of this type of warfare.”

The comment puzzled Adrina. “War is war, isn’t it? Besides, you said you would surrender.”

“I’m surrendering my forces, your Highness. I have no say over what former officers do once they have resigned from the corps.”

“You’ll accept my resignation then, my Lord?”

The Lord Defender nodded.

“Make the bastards pay, Tarja,” he added. “Make them pay for every league of Medalon soil they claim.”

What could one man and a handful of renegade soldiers do, she wondered, to halt an army the size of the Kariens? Then she glanced at the captain and saw the look of quiet determination in Tarja’s eyes.

Cratyn was going to find taking Medalon a lot harder than he imagined.

There was no denying the rumours once the Kariens arrived under a flag of truce, and Lord Jenga didn’t bother trying. On the morning following the meeting with Prince Cratyn word was passed through the camp that Medalon would surrender. The following day a messenger was sent north through a miserable squall to request another meeting with the Kariens—this one to negotiate the details. Mikel heard the news with mixed feelings. The welcome thought that he would soon be back among his own people was soured by the knowledge he carried.

The Hythrun camp was dismantled with remarkable speed. Rather than move out as one large force, Lord Wolfblade dispatched his men in waves, a Century at a time. He was concerned that his fleeing force might prove too tempting to the Kariens. Cratyn wouldn’t be able to resist pursuing a thousand Hythrun across Medalon, but it was unlikely he would bother hunting down countless scattered bands of them.

Mikel overheard Monthay discussing the strategic merits of the Warlord’s decision with another
sergeant. He seemed to admire it. The Raiders left in platoons of one hundred, which would break into smaller groups once they were clear of the battlefield. They had been ordered to make their way home anyway they could. Some would ride straight for the Glass River, others would stay on this side until they almost reached Bordertown. It would be well nigh impossible to round them all up.

The Hythrun weren’t the only ones departing in haste. The followers’ camp was a frenzy of activity as some hastened to leave and others dug in, hoping for even more business once the countless Kariens arrived. Mistress Miffany’s brightly striped tent was gone even before the Kariens had paid Lord Jenga a visit, as was old Draginya’s tent. Mikel had no idea what happened to his eggs but he cared little for them now. He had more important things to worry about. More adult things. He had not seen Dace or Kali for days and assumed his new friends had left too.

The last of the Hythrun to leave was Lord Wolfblade’s party, and the size of it puzzled him. He was certain nearly all of the Hythrun Raiders had left already, yet there seemed far too many men gathered on the edge of the camp waiting for the order to move out. Then Mikel realised that over half the men riding with the Warlord were mounted on sturdy Medalonian horses, not the magnificent golden horses of the Hythrun. There were even men mounted on the captured Fardohnyan steeds. His suspicions were confirmed when Damin appeared with Tarja at his side. The soldiers wore nondescript civilian clothing, but they were Defenders, sure as Xaphista was the Overlord. Tarja was abandoning the field and taking
hundreds of his men with him, including the captured Fardohnyans.

Mikel watched from the top rail of the corral nearest the Hythrun stables. He couldn’t see the princess, but she was there somewhere, he was certain. Nor could he spot Jaymes in the milling crowd. He had anxiously studied every troop leaving the field and was sure that his brother was still in the camp. Perhaps Jaymes had seen the light; or perhaps the Hythrun had abandoned him once they knew they were heading home.

It was just on dawn when Tarja gave the order to move out. He and Damin waited off to the side, their heads close together as they discussed something of import, as the men moved off. Several other riders waited behind then, but from this distance, Mikel couldn’t identify them.

“Mikel!”

Jaymes broke away from the host and cantered toward him. He was mounted on a Medalonian horse—he was too raw to be trusted with a valuable Hythrun mount, but his saddlebags were full, his bed roll tied to the saddle.

“Have you come to see me off?” His brother’s eyes glittered with the excitement of his adventure. He sat his horse as proud as any Defender.

Mikel glared at him reproachfully. “Traitor.”

Jaymes’expression hardened. “You’re a child, Mikel. You don’t understand.”

“I understand plenty. You’re betraying your country, your lord and your prince. Just like her.”

“Just like who?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He was not going to share his
knowledge with Jaymes. He didn’t deserve to know the truth.

His brother sighed. “I have to go, Mikel. Will you give mother and father my love?”

The audacity of the request made Mikel’s blood boil. “I’ll do no such thing! I’ll tell them you’re dead. Better they think that than know the truth!”

He jumped off the rail and ran back toward the Keep, ignoring Jaymes’ frantic calls for him to return.

When he finally stopped and looked back Jaymes was gone.

The next time Prince Cratyn arrived, a long and frustrating day after the Hythrun had departed, it was with a much larger party and there was no white flag in evidence. The prince knew he had won and was in no mood to mind the tender feelings of his vanquished foe. He marched into the Keep, his dukes at his heels, with all the assurance of one who knew he had nothing to fear.

Mikel hung around the yard, trying to be inconspicuous. It proved to be a relatively simply task. Neither the Defenders on guard nor the Karien escort spared him a glance. They were too busy eyeing each other warily to be concerned with one small boy.

Mikel had no idea how he was going to get near the prince. He knew none of the knights waiting outside with the horses, and he was fairly sure that he looked like nothing more than a Medalonian urchin. They wouldn’t spare him a copper if he was starving, let alone take him to see the prince. The meeting dragged on for hours as the cold sun climbed high in
the sky. Mikel missed lunch and his stomach growled in complaint as the sky darkened toward dusk.

His chance came just as he was on the verge of giving up. Sir Andony emerged from the hall to speak to the knights waiting outside. Mikel swallowed his apprehension and hurried forward.

“Sir Andony?”

The young knight glanced at him, his eyes widening in shock.

“Mikel? What in Xaphista’s name are you doing here?”

“I have to see the prince, Sir Andony.”

“Don’t be absurd! What could you possibly need to see the prince for?”

“It’s about Princess Adrina.”

Andony was not renowned for his intelligence, but even he understood the implications. He nodded slowly.

“Wait here.”

Mikel fidgeted impatiently under the scrutiny of the Karien knights as Andony disappeared inside. In a surprisingly short time, Lord Roache appeared. He grabbed Mikel by the collar and dragged him aside, out of the hearing of the knights and the Defenders alike.

“What do you know of the princess?” he demanded without preamble.

“She was here, my Lord.”

Roache’s expression betrayed nothing of what he was thinking. “Are you certain?”

He nodded. “I fled Karien with the princess and her servant. The Hythrun captured us the morning after we left. The princess has been here ever since.”

“And where is her Highness now?”

“I’m not sure. I think she left with Lord Wolfblade.”

“I see.”

“My Lord? There…there is something else you should know.”

“What?” Lord Roache sounded impatient, as if his mind was already on other things.

“The princess and Lord Wolfblade…they’re…well…”

“Out with it, boy!”

“She was kissing him, my Lord,” Mikel blurted out.

Roache’s eyes narrowed. “Who else knows of this?”

“Nobody, my Lord! I—”

“Come with me,” Roache demanded, not in the least interested in what else Mikel had to say. He pulled Mikel along in his wake and thrust him at Andony.

“Take the boy back to our camp. Now!” Roache ordered. “You are to stop for no one. Nor must you allow anybody to speak to the child. He is to be held in my tent until I return.”

Andony nodded, too well conditioned to question his orders. Before he truly understood what was happening Mikel was sitting in front of Andony on his big warhorse, riding away from the Medalonian camp and heading for home.

It was close to midnight before Roache returned and when he did, he had Prince Cratyn with him. Mikel’s determination to reveal the true depth of Adrina’s treachery wavered in the Prince’s serious presence.

“Tell his Highness what you told me,” Roache ordered, waking Mikel from a light doze. The boy jumped to his feet and brushed his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair.

“The Princess is with Lord Wolfblade,” Mikel told Cratyn. The young prince’s expression was shadowed in the light from the smoking brazier.

“Then she fled to Medalon, not back to Yarnarrow as we thought.”

“She told me she was going to Fardohnya, your Highness. To seek aid from her father.” Mikel thought it important that he establish his own innocence as soon as possible. “I thought I was following your orders, Sire.”

“Lying bitch,” Cratyn muttered. “What else?”

Mikel glanced at Lord Roache uncertainly.

“Tell him the rest of it, boy.”

“I saw them kissing, your Highness.”

“You mean Wolfblade was forcing himself on her?”

Mikel shook his head sadly. “No, your Highness. She was…well, she didn’t seem to mind at all. She called you…”

“What? What did she call me?”

Mikel stared at his boots with determination. “Prince Cretin the Cringing.”

“I see. And what else did she say?”

Mikel looked to Lord Roache desperately for help. He didn’t want to repeat what he had heard, despite his promises to himself.

“The prince must know the truth, boy,” Roach said, almost sympathetically. “Tell him.”

Mikel nodded and told him everything he had heard. He told him of the meeting on top of the tower. He told him of what he had seen and heard in the stables. He told him everything he knew, although it broke his heart to be the bearer of such dreadful news.

Cratyn swore under his breath and then turned to Roache. “This is intolerable! I will send a party out to hunt her down. By Xaphista, I will see the bitch burn!”

“We’ll hunt her down,” Roache agreed. “But do you really want it made public that the wife you couldn’t satisfy turned to a Hythrun for comfort?”

Cratyn paced the tent angrily. “She can’t be allowed to get away with this!”

“Nor shall she, but there are other things to consider.”

“What other things? She has publicly humiliated me!”

“And she will humiliate you even more, should the truth get out. You do
not
want to put her on trial, Cratyn.”

The prince glared at Lord Roache. Mikel seemed all but forgotten.

“You’re surely not suggesting that I take her back?”

“Of course not! I am suggesting that you do everything in your power to rescue your wife from the clutches of the barbarian warlord who has kidnapped and raped her. It will be unfortunate, but she will be killed in the attempt.”

“We’ll have no chance at an heir if she’s killed.”

“She has been sullied by another man. No heir could come from your union in any case.”

Cratyn nodded, savagely pleased with the duke’s suggestion.

“I will lead the rescue party, myself.”

“That would be most heroic of you, your Highness. Your grief, on the discovery of your wife’s fate, will be inconsolable, of course. But I’m sure you will recover. In time.”

Cratyn smiled coldly. “I’m sure I will. And what of the boy?”

Lord Roache glanced at Mikel for a moment before turning back to the prince.

“Perhaps he should accompany you, your Highness. He can, after all, give testament to your wife’s…indiscretions.”

The prince nodded. “It would be most unfortunate if something were to happen to him.”

“Most unfortunate,” Lord Roache agreed.

Mikel studied the prince and the duke, not at all certain he understood.