Treason Keep (40 page)

The darkness into which R’shiel retreated was comforting at first. The memories of the Gathering and everything that had happened since that awful night could gain no toehold here. There was no pain, no unbearable guilt, and no despair. Just blessed emptiness. A nothing place where nobody could hurt her.

She had been here before. She first discovered it on the road to the Grimfield, when Loclon had chosen her as his instrument of revenge on Tarja. It welcomed her the night she had confronted Loclon and almost succeeded in killing him. For a time, on waking to find herself in Sanctuary amid the Harshini, she had fled there again, until Korandellan’s magic had suppressed her emotions and made it bearable to face reality. It was a tantalising, alluring place, and each time she retreated there, it became a little harder to leave.

A part of R’shiel still existed in the real world. A part of her responded when someone spoke to her, ate the meals she was served, and rode in the carriage each day staring blindly at the winter-browned plains
as they wound their way north. But it was a small part only. Just enough to pretend she was alive.

Within herself, R’shiel knew that she couldn’t stay here indefinitely. Comforting it might be, but it was her Harshini side that fled from the violence and the pain. Her human side hankered to return, to wreak havoc on those who had caused her suffering.

It was her human side to whom Xaphista spoke.

R’shiel didn’t recognise his voice at first. The sensuous, soothing tones seemed like a distant echo that she hardly noticed. It took a long time to recognise it for what it was. It took even longer before she bothered to respond.

You run from the pain, demon child. Let me ease it for you.

Calling her the demon child finally evoked a response. She had never liked that name.

Don’t call me that.

What would you have me call you?

Don’t bother calling me anything. Just leave me alone.

The voice did not reply and R’shiel didn’t particularly care.

Later, she had no way of judging time in this place, the voice returned. It was stronger, as if by acknowledging it the first time, she had given it strength.

I can help you, R’shiel.

How do you know my name?

All the gods know the name of the demon child.

Are you a god?

I am the only god. At least I will be, with your help.

She laughed sourly.
With
my
help? Why would I want to help you?

Because I can ease your pain, R’shiel. I can take away the hurt.

Can you turn back time?

Of course not.

Then you can do nothing for me. Go away.

The voice did as she bid, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

The living part of R’shiel vaguely noted the changing scenery as the days grew shorter; saw the silver ribbon of the Glass River draw nearer. For some reason, the sight of the broad waterway sparked a brief reaction in her, as if the thought of crossing it would take her beyond redemption.

You fear crossing the river?
the voice asked curiously.

I fear what it represents.

It brings you closer to me.

I can destroy you, Xaphista. Shouldn’t you be the one who fears my approach?

You need not destroy me, R’shiel. Together we would be invincible.

Together?

You would be my High Priestess. We could rule the world.

Suppose I don’t want to rule the world?

You are half human.

That doesn’t mean I crave an empire.

What do you crave, R’shiel?

Sanity.

Xaphista had no answer to that and it was a long time before he spoke to her again.

They crossed the river in a blustery, cold wind that chopped the mirror-like surface of the water into millions of glittering shards. The sun was high in a pale, cloudless sky, offering no warmth. R’shiel stood by the rail on the barge, oblivious to the cold spray that misted over her as the sailors hauled on the thick rope, pulling the barge across the river with grim determination. The current fought them at every turn. Although they professed to be atheists, the ferrymen muttered among themselves about the wrath of Maera, the River Goddess. They had never known a crossing like it. It was as though the Glass River was alive and determined to prevent them landing on the other side.

They made it eventually. R’shiel let Terbolt lead her onto dry ground and waited patiently for the rest of their party to disembark. The barge would be busy for two days or more, ferrying the remainder of the troops across. Aware of this, Terbolt commandeered the Heart and Hearth and settled in to wait. R’shiel paid no more attention to her surroundings at the inn than she had when they camped by the road each night on the journey here.

Garanus came to her at dinnertime and stood over her while she ate. When her meal was finished he sent the tray away and sat beside her. He did the same thing every night. He would talk to her as if she was listening, describing the power of the Overlord, preaching in a rasping, but impassioned voice that R’shiel found more irritating than comforting.

He pleads my case most eloquently.

He’s a nuisance. If you truly want to ease my pain, getting rid of Garanus would be a good start.

As you wish.
Without warning, Garanus broke off mid-sentence and left the room.
I would give you anything you asked for, R’shiel.

So long as I promise not to kill you,
she added wryly.

That would be a reasonable expectation, don’t you think?

You can’t give me what I want, Xaphista.

I can give you anything. You have but to ask.

Free me, then. Take this collar from me. Let me feel the power again.

Ah! I’m not certain I trust you that much, demon child.

Then what do I need you for? You are the reason for my pain.

Not I, R’shiel. It is the Primal Gods who want you to suffer.

The Primal Gods created me.

And they live in fear of their creation. Who do you think allowed this to happen?

It is your followers who hold me prisoner.

For your protection, nothing more. The Primal Gods have interfered in your life enough.

What are you talking about?

Can you be so blind, child? They wish to destroy me. Why do you think you were raised in the Citadel? No child raised by the Harshini could contemplate killing, even with human blood.

Brak seems to manage.

He is as much a creature of the Primal Gods as you are.

Are you telling me the Primal gods made Joyhinia adopt me?

That’s exactly what I’m telling you. They picked the most ruthless, cold-hearted bitch they could find to raise you. How else could they ensure you had the skills to commit murder? They engineered your suffering, R’shiel. They have manipulated you since you were born.

You’re delusional, Xaphista, as well as power hungry.

It is you who are deluded. Do you think your love for Tarja is an accident? Or his for you? Of course not! Kalianah made it happen.

Why?

Just to make you suffer. Think what it has cost you. Loclon raped you because Tarja loves you.

The last time I looked, Loclon was on
your
side.
He misjudged her badly if he thought that was going to persuade her to his cause.

You will see the truth eventually, demon child. I pray that it will not be too late.

He left her then, leaving R’shiel with a puzzling thought. Xaphista was a god. To whom did
he
pray?

They left Cauthside and continued their journey north the third day after the river crossing. Outwardly, R’shiel showed no more interest on this side of the river than she had on the other. Garanus no longer came to her each night to aid her conversion, but little else changed. She woke, she ate, she rode in the carriage, then ate and slept where she was told. The routine never varied; it was unlikely she would have noticed if it had.

Her retreat was no longer peaceful, though. Her silent haven had been disturbed by Xaphista’s poisonous logic.

Was she really just a pawn, manipulated since birth to become a weapon the Primal Gods could use against their enemy? Was Tarja’s love for her simply imposed on him? Had the Primal Gods sat back and let Loclon do what he had done to her, hoping it would toughen her up? The idea seemed ludicrous at first, but the longer she thought about it, the more credibility it gained.

And what of Xaphista? Was he really so evil? And who was she to judge what was evil anyway? Xaphista had hurt her, there was no denying that; her current predicament was entirely attributable to him, but he was fighting for his survival. Were his actions any worse than those of the Primal Gods?

For the first time since retreating into herself, R’shiel began to hunger for release. It was no longer peaceful here. Memories she had no wish to confront began to plague her. Thoughts she had no wish to contemplate refused to go away.

You see? Everything you hold dear is a lie,
Xaphista told her seductively.
Tarja’s love is no more real than this place. The Harshini secretly despise you, else why would they let you leave Sanctuary? Even the Primal Gods fear you. You are a weapon, R’shiel, to be aimed and pointed by whoever holds your heart in his hands. Don’t let them use you.

You would use me just as soon as the Primal Gods.

I offer you something in return. I can ease your pain. I can help you.

How? By suppressing my emotions like the Harshini did? That was simply an illusion and it hurt tenfold when they released it. I’ve no wish to experience it again.

I can do better than that, demon child. I can take away the memories that pain you.

Those memories make me who I am.

Then perhaps you should think about who you would rather be.

I won’t be your pawn, Xaphista.

I offer you a partnership, R’shiel, not bondage.

Perhaps,
she thought once he was gone
. But when it comes to the gods, who can tell the difference?

Tarja set a gruelling pace as they fled the border. Jenga had promised to stall the Kariens as long as he was able, but even in Tarja’s most optimistic estimate that gave them a start of only a day or two. Adrina kept up and didn’t complain, despite the fact that her backside felt bruised to the bone and her inner thighs were rubbed raw. They ate cold rations when they stopped each night, and collapsed into their bedrolls under an open sky.

As a child Adrina had been entranced by the bards who sang long, romantic ballads about lovers on the run who spent all day galloping toward freedom and all night making love. What utter nonsense, she thought, dismounting gingerly in the small grove of trees Tarja had chosen for their camp that night. Damin proved to be more human than heroic. He looked tired and haggard and even he walked a bit stiffly, despite a lifetime spent in the saddle. For some reason his discomfort made her feel a little better.

Their numbers had thinned considerably since they left the border. Following Damin’s lead, Tarja had broken his men into much smaller groups and
dispatched them south with orders to muster at an abandoned vineyard south of Testra, where he seemed to think they would be safe until he could join them. There were barely a hundred men left, and less than half of those were Damin’s Raiders. The rest were Defenders and the remainder of her Guard. When they crossed the Glass River at Cauthside, they would split up once more. Tarja and his men would head for the Citadel, while Damin continued south for Hythria.

Adrina knew the reason for Tarja’s mission, although he rarely spoke of it.

Something had happened to R’shiel.

Adrina prayed it was nothing serious. Tarja would not rest until he discovered the demon child’s fate. It was a pity she would never meet her. Although she was careful not to broach the subject, R’shiel fascinated Adrina. Damin spoke of her in such glowing terms that she might have been jealous, but for two very good reasons. The first was Tarja. He was so completely besotted with the girl, that if he thought Damin’s motives were anything but honourable, he’d have killed the Warlord long ago. The second was Damin. Jealousy would imply she had some feeling for the man, and of course she didn’t, so there was nothing to be jealous about.

Adrina unsaddled her mount and dumped her gear near the small fire that one of the Defenders had started. Tarja had ordered at least one night with a fire and a hot meal. If he was feeling the strain of the pace he set, then he knew some of the others would be at the point of exhaustion. Adrina had tried not to look too happy when she heard the news, but poor
Tam’s expression had been pathetically grateful. The slave wasn’t accustomed to long hours in the saddle, and Adrina looked a picture of health compared to her faithful companion.

“Can I take your horse, my Lady?”

Adrina turned and smiled wearily at Damin’s captain. Almodavar was a fearsome-looking brute, but he was quite the gentleman underneath all that leather and chainmail.

“Thank you, Captain, but it’s every man for himself on this journey. I can take care of my horse. You have other things to do.”

“Aye, your Highness, but I have a few young studs with more energy than sense. I’ll see she’s cared for. You take the chance to rest while you can.”

Adrina was too tired to argue. “Thank you.”

Almodavar led the mare toward the picket line. He had sent someone for Tam’s horse too. She turned to find Tamylan by the fire, warming her hands and swaying on her feet.

“Sit down before you fall down, Tam.”

“I’ll stand, if you don’t mind. In fact if I never sit down again, it will be fine by me.”

By the time darkness fell completely, Adrina was feeling a little better. A hot meal and a warm fire eased her aching muscles. Damin and Tarja didn’t join them until long after they had eaten. Tam had already fallen asleep and Adrina’s eyes were drooping. The only reason she was still awake was her inability to find a comfortable position.

“Come on, sleepy. Time for some exercise.”

“Don’t be absurd. I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“I know, but trust me. If you stretch your legs now you’ll be much better for it in the morning.”

Damin reached down and grabbed her hand, hauling her to her feet.

“Leave me alone!”

“Stop complaining. You sound like a spoilt princess.”

“I
am
a spoilt princess,” she retorted.

“Who am I to argue with royalty? Are you coming, Tarja?”

“No. I have to check on the sentries. Enjoy your walk, your Highness.” She couldn’t see his face clearly in the darkness, but she could hear his amusement.

“I’ll bet he doesn’t laugh at R’shiel,” she grumbled as Damin pulled her along beside him. It was bitterly cold and the uneven ground made her muscles cry out in protest.

“Would you laugh at someone who could fry you with a look?”

“How can you possibly be in such a good mood?”

“I’ve still got my head on my shoulders. In this business that’s daily cause for celebration. Take longer strides. The idea is to stretch your legs out, not mince along like you’re at court.”

“I do not
mince
, thank you.”

“I do beg your pardon, your Highness.”

“Don’t patronise me either.”

“You’re in a right temper tonight. I thought you’d be happy to be free.”

“I’m cold and I’m tired, Damin. I feel like someone’s tied me in a sack and beaten me with a pole for an hour or two. I don’t have the energy to be happy about anything.”

He slowed his pace a little and put his arm around her shoulder. “I’m tired too. And I’m cheerful because I’m a Warlord and nothing is supposed to bother me.”

“I’m not one of your hired hands, you know. You’re not morally obliged to keep my spirits up.”

He laughed softly, but didn’t answer. They kept walking through the darkness away from the fires, although they stayed within the ring of sentries posted around the camp. Adrina could make out the silhouette of a guard every fifty paces or so, their eyes fixed on the open ground beyond the trees.

It was much warmer with his arm around her and after a time her legs seemed to loosen up a little. The respite was temporary, though. Tomorrow they would resume their killing pace.

“How long till we reach the river?” she asked after a long period of companionable silence.

“Seven or eight days, I guess. Tarja could tell you exactly.”

“Are we going to keep this pace up for another
eight
days?”

“No. The horses couldn’t take it, even if we could. We’ll ease up in a day or so.”

“You think Cratyn will come after us, don’t you?”

He nodded, all trace of his previous good humour gone. “Jenga won’t tell him where you are, but there are plenty of people who know you were in the camp. We have to assume he’ll hear about it, sooner rather than later.”

“What if he catches us?”

“He won’t. We’ve got too big a head start and we’re not stopping for anything. Once we’ve crossed
the Glass River, he’ll have no chance of finding us.” He stopped and pulled her to him, kissing her forehead lightly. “Stop worrying about it.”

She lay her head on his shoulder and stood in the circle of his arms, surprised at how comforting it was. It was a real pity he was a Hythrun. She could easily grow accustomed to this. To feel so secure, so…

“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me,” he chided. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to carry you all the way back.”

She drew back from him, annoyed that he had disturbed her pleasant, if rather unrealistic, daydreams. “You are so rude sometimes! I’m sure you do it just to aggravate me.”

“Rude I might be, but I’m still not going to carry you,” he said with a grin.

“A true nobleman would.”

“That’s because most true nobleman are inbred morons with more brawn than brains. I could cite your husband as a prime example.”

“I didn’t choose him, you know.”

“Which says something for your good taste, I suppose. Come on, we’d best get back before Tarja sends out a search party.”

Stifling a yawn, Adrina took his hand and they walked back towards the fire and the welcome prospect of a good night’s sleep. She glanced at him as they walked back through the darkened trees and reminded herself sternly that Damin Wolfblade might be very disarming when he wanted, but he was, first and foremost, her enemy. His desire to keep her from Cratyn was nothing more than political, and she had better not forget it.
They were on the move by first light the next day. Poor Tam was on the verge of tears as she struggled to mount her horse, but Adrina found she was much better than she expected. Although she would have preferred to ride with Damin or Tarja, she took her usual place in the very centre of the column surrounded by Raiders, Defenders and Fardohnyans who had orders to die before any harm was allowed to befall her.

They kept to the road that wound south towards Cauthside, in part because it was the fastest route, and in part to disguise the size of their group. They had left the border in significant numbers and there was no need for any pursuing force to think that had changed. Scouts ranged ahead and behind them, scouring the countryside for signs of pursuit, or unexpected danger. Now that Medalon had surrendered, any Defenders they met heading north would be enemies and both Tarja and Damin agreed that in this case running was more prudent than fighting.

She had heard them discussing their plans late into the night as she lay by the fire, her head resting in Damin’s lap and he unconsciously stroked her hair. She drifted into sleep listening to Tarja explain his plans for the men who waited for him in Testra.

She understood now why Jenga had wanted Tarja to resign from the corps, why he wanted him to escape the border while he still could. It had little to do with the Lord Defender’s affection for him. Tarja was an expert guerilla fighter and Jenga wanted him to do to the Kariens what he had done to the Defenders when he led the heathen rebellion. He didn’t have the men
to take on the Karien invaders directly but he would make life very difficult for them.

Adrina fell asleep and dreamt of ambushes, and sabotage, and hit-and-run raids on places she had never heard of.

They stopped just after midday at a small brook that tumbled over moss-covered rocks beside the road. The water was icy, but the horses seemed grateful. Adrina stood by her mare as she drank her fill, munching on a wedge of hard cheese, when one of the forward scouts came thundering through their midst. He skidded to a halt in front of Damin and Tarja, turning his mount sharply to avoid barrelling them over.

“Defenders!” he panted. “A thousand at least. Headed this way.”

“How far?” Tarja demanded.

“Five leagues. They’re not moving very fast, but if we stay on the road, we’ll ride straight into them.”

Tarja grabbed his mount and swung into the saddle. “Show me.”

The scout turned his mount and galloped off with Tarja on his heels.

“Almodavar!”

“My Lord?”

“Get everyone off the road. Make camp in that stand of trees we passed a league or so back. No fires, no noise. You know what to do.”

Damin was mounted and racing down the road after Tarja before Almodavar had a chance to acknowledge the order.

Adrina patted her mare with a weary sigh then climbed back into the saddle. Almodavar got them
organised in a very short time, the urgency of their situation not lost on a single man. They rode back along the road at a canter, until Almodavar called a halt when they neared the trees.

The copse was a fair way back, separated from the road by a broad stretch of long brown grass. The captain studied the tree line for a while then stood in his stirrups to look over the surrounding countryside. Then he turned and cantered back in the direction they had come from.

“What’s the matter?” Adrina asked the guard on her left.

“If we ride through that grass, your Highness, we might as well put up a sign telling them where we are. The captain’s looking for a way to reach the trees without leaving any tracks.”

Adrina nodded, rather impressed by the Hythrun eye for detail. They waited for another few minutes before Almodavar returned.

“There’s a gully back that way that leads toward the trees,” the captain announced in Medalonian, for the benefit of the Defenders among them. “But we’ll have to lead the horses, it’s too treacherous to ride through. Once we clear it, we’ll have a bit of open ground to cover, so we’ll cross it in single file.”

He didn’t ask for questions, or expect any. Adrina followed her guards and picked her way through the gully after the young man who had told her of Almodavar’s intentions. A bubbling stream coursed through the centre, perhaps a tributary of the brook where they had stopped earlier. The rocks were slick and the icy water splashed over her boots. She was dressed in trousers and a warm jacket, as was Tam—
there was no point in advertising their presence by dressing like ladies—but her feet were starting to numb by the time she led her mare out of the gully and mounted for the ride to the trees.

There was no respite when she reached them, either. Almodavar ordered no fires to betray their presence so she settled down for a long cold wait until Damin and Tarja returned.

Adrina was sitting with her back to a tall poplar, Tam’s sleeping head resting on her shoulder, when the sound of galloping horses woke her from a light doze. Expecting to find Damin and Tarja returning, she gently moved Tam’s head onto the cloak they were using as a rug and struggled to her feet. She found Almodavar waiting at the edge of the trees as a Defender and a Raider galloped toward them through the grass, making a mockery of his effort to conceal their hiding place.

“That’s not Damin and Tarja,” she pointed out as the horsemen drew nearer.

“The Raider is Jocim, one of the rear scouts,” Almodavar agreed. “I don’t know the Defender.”

They waited until the men had almost reached the trees before waving them down. Jocim stayed in his saddle, but the Defender jumped down, almost collapsing with exhaustion as he hit the ground. Almodavar reached out an arm to steady him, but he waved it away.