Treason Keep (43 page)

He spent the rest of the night organising the Defenders. Although they travelled in civilian clothing, every man had his uniform safely tucked away in his saddlebags. Sneaking into the Defender camp would be impossible, so Tarja planned to march through it openly. With luck, he could simply walk up to R’shiel’s tent, order her brought out, and then escort her away without a question being asked.

If
she was alone.

If
the guards on the tent didn’t recognise him.

If
the guards hadn’t been given any orders to the contrary.

If
she was guarded by Defenders, rather than Karien priests.

He forced himself to stop thinking about the ifs. There were too many of them for comfort.

Damin agreed with his plan, but was rather disappointed that he was not to be included in the rescue party. He consoled himself with the prospect of some useful sabotage. A small party of his Raiders would sneak into the camp and disable the coach, while the rest would attempt to scatter the horses. Pursuit was certain, once R’shiel was discovered missing, but they planned to make it as difficult as possible.

That left only Adrina, her slave and the thirty men left of her Guard. The question of what to do with them was rather hotly debated, mostly between Damin and the princess. She didn’t want to be left behind to wait, and Damin was understandably reluctant to lead her into the middle of the Defenders’ camp. In they end they compromised. Adrina would stay with the horses on the edge of the camp, ready
for a quick getaway. The Fardohnyans were more easily dealt with. With Damin as his interpreter, Tarja told the Fardohnyans they were free to go. He gave them maps to find their way home and enough supplies to see them to the Glass River. The young Lanceman accepted their release with quiet gratitude, following an assurance that the princess would be safe. The men would leave at dawn—one more scattered group in a landscape that would soon be crowded with them.

Their plans made, they settled down to rest until daylight. They would need to travel north tomorrow, shadowing the Defenders until they stopped again for the evening. Tarja hoped that Cratyn was far enough back that his troop wouldn’t run into the approaching Defenders. They had no real idea how far behind he was. Their estimates were based almost entirely on the assumption that Cratyn and his knights were probably armoured, and therefore unable to maintain any sort of sustained speed. The chances were good that the Karien force would not meet up with the Defenders until the day after tomorrow. Tarja needed to be well away by then.

Sleep eluded him, and he finally gave up pretending that he was getting any rest, just as the first of the stars winked out of existence with the onset of daylight. He walked to the edge of the camp, climbing a small hill to look out over their route for the next day. The sound of following footsteps alerted him to the fact that he was not alone, but he didn’t turn. He had a feeling he knew who it was.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Nor can you, I’d guess.”

Brak stepped up beside him and followed Tarja’s gaze.

“I don’t need sleep the way you do. One of the advantages of being half Harshini.”

They were silent for a time, each alone with his thoughts.

“How bad was it?” Tarja asked eventually.

“Bad enough,” Brak admitted. “You might get a shock when you find her. He cut her hair.”

Her glorious, dark-red hair
. Tarja felt his ire rising, but forced it down. It would serve no purpose here.

“Tell me the rest of it.”

“There’s not much to tell. It took a while before I finally convinced Dace to release me—it was a good thing you sent him, by the way. Zegarnald was quite happy to let me rot. Anyway, Terbolt had already left the Citadel by then. Joyhinia, or rather Loclon, is still nominally in charge of the Sisterhood, but he’s taking his orders from a Karien called Squire Mathen. I don’t know who he is, but he’s working to his own agenda. Loclon doesn’t have much freedom of action.”

“For as long as I live, I will regret not killing him when I had the chance.”

“Accept it, Tarja. Being consumed by your regrets is a bad way to live.”

Tarja was surprised by the bitterness in his voice. “You speak from experience?”

“Oh yes,” the Harshini replied with feeling.

Tarja glanced at him curiously. Brak’s eyes had returned to their normal faded blue, but they were full of pain.

“I killed R’shiel’s father, Tarja. In doing so, not only did I destroy a good friend and my king, I saved
her mother and allowed R’shiel to be born. Trust me, I have regrets that you couldn’t begin to understand.”

Tarja did understand though, more than Brak realised. “If R’shiel turns to Xaphista and the other gods want you to kill her, you’ll have destroyed your king for nothing.”

Brak nodded. “Nobody in this world wants her to succeed more than I do, Tarja.” Then he added with a sour smile, “and nobody has as much to lose if she does.”

“Will she succeed?”

“I wish I knew.”

The Crown Prince of Karien was pious, noble and dedicated, but he was not stupid. He knew the Hythrun were better horseman, knew that they could travel much farther and faster than he could. So he broke with tradition and travelled without armour. He left his dukes behind and took only his good friend Drendyn, the Earl of Tiler’s Pass, and young Jannis, the Earl of Menthall. They were the only two men in his council he knew to be loyal to
him
, rather than to his father. The remainder of his force was made up of young knights who wanted to curry favour with the heir to the throne. Jasnoff wouldn’t reign forever, nor would the elder dukes. If he succeeded, these men would form the core of his personal support when he became king.

If he failed, none of them was so important or well connected that they would be missed.

Mikel learnt of all this the night before they left in pursuit of the princess. Cratyn was reluctant to let him out of his sight, so he lay in the corner of the prince’s tent pretending sleep, listening to Cratyn make his plans. The prince seemed consumed by a
cold determination that would brook no interference. Their force would travel light: no armour, no lances, no lackeys, he declared. They would travel from before sunrise until after sunset. They would eat on the run and each man would lead a spare horse so that they could change mounts frequently. They would catch the Hythrun before they reached the Glass River.

Mikel admired Cratyn’s determination, but a small part of him was beginning to wonder what he had done. The prince was justifiably angry with Adrina. She had betrayed him most foully, but Mikel hadn’t really thought about what Cratyn would actually do when he learnt of her treachery.

He had expected him to be angry, certainly, but he didn’t think the prince would decide to hunt her down personally. His own anger at Adrina’s betrayal had faded somewhat. He wanted her punished, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to witness her murder, and there was no question about it—that was
exactly
what Cratyn had in mind.

The journey south proved a nightmare. Mikel clung to his saddle through long days of endless hard riding, cold rations and freezing nights. Cratyn made no allowance for his age or inexperience, and worse, when they did finally stop each night, he treated Mikel as his page and expected him to unsaddle his horse and fetch and carry for him, just as if they were back in Karien. Mikel’s admiration was slowly turning into burning resentment.

On their fourth day out they finally stumbled across proof that they were on the right road. While looking for a campsite for the night, one of
knights discovered a small grove of trees with the remains of several fires scattered among the bare trunks. The ashes appeared to be quite fresh. Drendyn, the most experienced hunter among them, estimated that the Hythrun were only a day and a half ahead. The news invigorated Cratyn and the next day the pace he set was even harder. But, towards the evening of their fifth day on the road, they made a discovery that changed the whole nature of their mission.

Night had fallen, but the moon was bright. Cratyn judged it safe to continue, although he did slacken the pace a little and sent two knights out to ride in the van, a precaution he didn’t normally bother with. Mikel rode behind him, swaying in the saddle as fatigue threatened to unseat him. They had found no further sign of the Hythrun, but Cratyn’s determination was becoming an obsession. He would ride all night if he thought the horses could take it.

The sound of galloping hooves jerked Mikel fully awake. One of the knights sent to ride point was thundering toward them. Cratyn called a halt and waited for the man to reach them. Mikel leaned forward anxiously, hoping to hear what was being said.
Had they found the Hythrun?

“Sire! Lord Terbolt approaches!”

“Terbolt?” Cratyn repeated, sounding rather puzzled. “But he is supposed to be at the Citadel. My father dispatched him there at the same time we left for the border.”

“There’s nearly a thousand Defenders with him, your Highness. They are camped not more than two or three leagues from here.”

Cratyn nodded, but his brow was furrowed. “You saw no sign of the Hythrun?”

“No, sire.”

“Then we may have ridden past them. We’ll have to turn back.”

“But Cratyn, what about Terbolt?” Drendyn asked. The young earl rode at Cratyn’s side and was probably the only man in camp who dared address him by name. “Shouldn’t we at least pay our respects?”

“I’ve no time to stand on protocol,” Cratyn snapped impatiently.

“Perhaps, but a thousand pairs of eyes are better than two hundred.”

The prince thought about it for a moment then nodded. “Very well, we shall join Lord Terbolt. And then we’ll look under every rock and every blade of grass between the border and the Glass River until we unearth the traitors.”

There was a time when Cratyn’s words would have thrilled Mikel, but now they simply left him cold.

Cratyn and Mikel rode ahead of the troop and into the Defenders’ camp amid curious looks and sullen stares. Drendyn had been left in charge with orders to wait until Cratyn returned. Mikel was disillusioned enough to realise that his place beside Cratyn was earnt through distrust, not honour.

As they moved past countless small fires surrounded by red-coated troopers, Mikel wondered what the Defenders thought about surrendering to Karien. In his experience, they were proud men—
proud of both their reputation and their Corps. To be under the command of a Karien Duke must be galling. He was old enough to understand that it was only their discipline that kept them in line. The Hythrun had fled and Mikel suspected that the Kariens would have behaved no better, were the situation reversed. It seemed a tragedy that the very discipline that made the Defenders famous now placed them at the mercy of their enemies.

Lord Terbolt met them in the centre of the camp, a little surprised to find his prince so far from the border. Cratyn dismounted but to Mikel’s relief one of Lord Terbolt’s men led his horse away. Mikel jumped to the ground wearily, somewhat pleased to find his own mount being catered for in a similar manner. Cratyn waved him forward and he followed the prince into Lord Terbolt’s tent, wondering if the Duke would think to feed them as well.

“I must say, I didn’t expect to find you out here, your Highness,” Terbolt said as he poured two cups of wine. As an afterthought, he glanced at Mikel and jerked his head in the direction of a barrel in the corner of the tent. “There’s water over there. Drink if you wish.”

Mikel bowed and hurried over to the barrel, dipping the ladle into the chill water gratefully as Cratyn settled into Terbolt’s only comfortable chair.

“I didn’t expect to find you either, my Lord.”

“My work was done at the Citadel. I’ve left Mathen overseeing things.”

Cratyn frowned. “A commoner?”

“He may be a commoner, your Highness, but he’s about the smartest man I’ve ever met. And the most
ruthless. I trust him completely. I believe you’ll find him eminently qualified for the position.”

“And the demon child?”

“She is here. I’ll have her brought to you if you wish, although if she truly is destined for great things, I can’t see it in her myself. But who are we to question our God, eh?”

“Send for her.”

Terbolt nodded and went to the entrance. He pushed back the tent flap and issued the order then returned to his wine.

“You’ve not told me what brings you out here, your Highness.”

“Adrina has been kidnapped by the Hythrun. They left the border just before Jenga surrendered.”

Terbolt looked genuinely horrified. “Gods! How did they get across the border? Wasn’t she guarded?”

“I believe my wife may have…contributed…to her own capture,” Cratyn said cautiously. He didn’t want to admit to Lord Terbolt that she had run away.

The duke frowned. “I was never happy with this arrangement, Cratyn. You know that. I would far rather you had married my daughter.”

“And I would much rather have married Chastity, my Lord.”

“There’s not much we can do about it now, I suppose,” Terbolt said with a sigh.

“Not much.” Cratyn sipped his wine and studied the duke over the rim of his cup. “Unless of course, something were to happen to my wife.”

“Your Highness?”

“She
has
been kidnapped by the Hythrun, after all. You know what barbarians they are. They might
do anything. For that matter, they may even kill her.” He had heard Cratyn express the same sentiment to Drendyn, but never so coldly, so calmly.

“That would be a great shame,” Terbolt agreed, with the same, bland expression. If Mikel had not heard it for himself, he wouldn’t have believed the duke could agree to such a thing so easily. “Are you sure they came this way? We’ve seen no sign of them.”

Before Cratyn could answer the tent flap was thrown open and a Defender stepped inside. He saluted sharply before speaking.

“R’shiel is not in her tent, my Lord. If you would tell me where she has been moved, I will have her brought here immediately.”

“What do you mean she’s not in her tent?”

“She was moved a short time ago, sir. The captain who collected her said that it was at your request. I thought perhaps—”

“I gave no such orders! Who was the captain?”

“I don’t know, sir. The troopers on duty didn’t recognise him.”

Cratyn leapt to his feet, knocking over the chair in his haste. “It was Tarja Tenragan! I’d stake my life on it!”

“I don’t see how—”

“He was with them! Don’t you see? That’s why we’ve found no sign of the Hythrun. They’ve been hiding, waiting for their chance to rescue the demon child. Who else could it be?”

Terbolt thought about it for less then a minute. “How long ago did they take her, Captain?”

“A quarter of an hour, perhaps, my Lord, no more.”

“Then they’ll still be in the camp somewhere. Rouse your men, Captain! We have intruders among us. R’shiel must not be allowed to escape. And I want Tarja Tenragan. I don’t particularly care whether he’s dead or alive.”

The Defender saluted sharply enough, but it was clear, even to Mikel, that he did not care for his orders. Cratyn was pacing the tent impatiently. As soon as the Medalonian had left, he turned to Terbolt.

“If Tarja is here, then Wolfblade is out there somewhere too. And that means Adrina is with them.”

Terbolt nodded and reached for his sword. “Then the hunting should be good tonight. Tarja Tenragan’s head will make an excellent trophy.”

“You can mount it over the gates of Yarnarrow Castle,” Cratyn agreed with bloodthirsty enthusiasm. “Right next to that bitch Adrina’s.”