Treason Keep (47 page)

Denjon led Adrina and the others away from the Infirmary tent, obviously glad to be gone from such blatant proof of the continuing existence of the Harshini. R’shiel had obviously been acquainted with the captain and he seemed to know Tarja quite well, too. It was more than likely the reason he had not struck them down when they emerged from Terbolt’s tent. On the other hand, if Jenga’s reaction had been anything to go by, surrender was an alien concept to these men. Perhaps R’shiel had merely provided them with the excuse their training and their oath denied them.

Whatever the reason for their cautious cooperation, three other captains awaited them outside Terbolt’s tent. Denjon introduced them as Dorak, Kilton, and Linst. The men all wore that same serious, wary expression that she had come to associate with the Defenders. Between that and their identical uniforms, she found it hard to tell them apart.

“The Karien prince is dead,” Dorak told Denjon, casting a wary eye over Adrina and Damin as they approached. “He was stabbed. Terbolt’s dead too,
although there’s not a mark on him. It could have been poison.”

“It wasn’t poison,” Denjon replied. “Are they still in there?”

Dorak nodded.

“Let’s talk in the mess tent. I’d rather this wasn’t overheard.” He glanced at Mikel meaningfully.

The child followed Adrina like a faithful shadow, afraid to let her out of his sight.

“Mikel, why don’t you go down and join Captain Almodavar and the others. I’m sure he’ll look after you until we finish here.”

“Am I a prisoner now?”

“No. Just go down and tell him everything will be sorted out soon,” Damin added, with surprising gentleness. “Your brother’s down there somewhere too. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

He nodded doubtfully. “Is he all right?”

“Why don’t you go and find out?”

With one last cautious look, the boy turned and ran towards the picket lines.

The captains led the way to another long tent. The only difference between this one and the infirmary was the interior. The mess tent was lined with collapsible tables and benches rather than beds. The smell was marginally better, too. Once inside, Denjon dismissed the cooks and waited until he was certain they were gone before he turned to the others.

“We have a decision to make, gentlemen.”

“Then perhaps you’d like to tell us what’s going on?” one of the captains said. It was Linst or the other one. Adrina really couldn’t remember which one was which.

“I would if I knew. Perhaps you could enlighten us, your Highness?”

After so long among the Kariens, who considered the input of a woman no input at all, Adrina wasn’t really expecting to be included in the conversation. But these men served the Sisterhood. They suffered no illusions about the ability of women. She glanced at Damin who squeezed her hand in encouragement.

“I want to know what happened to my slave, first.”

“What slave?” Denjon asked.

“The young woman who was with me when we were captured.”

The captains glanced at each other and shrugged. “There were no other women captured, your Highness. She probably escaped in the confusion.”

“Could you send some men out to find her, Captain? She’s alone in a foreign country and not equipped to survive on her wits. Not in the wilderness, at least.” Denjon nodded to Linst, who left the tent to issue the order. That worrying detail taken care of, Adrina felt a lot more secure about her future among these men. “Thank you. Now what did you want to know?”

“Let’s start with what you’re doing here,” Denjon suggested.

“I fled Karien. The Defenders offered me their protection and when the order for the surrender came from the Citadel, I decided to leave, rather than return to my husband. Lord Wolfblade kindly offered to escort me.”

“Did you kill Cratyn?” Kilton asked curiously.

“No. R’shiel did.”

“No offence, ma’am, but I can’t say I’m sorry. He was an obnoxious little bastard.”

Adrina immediately warmed to the captain. Cratyn must have made quite an impact in the short time he was in the Defender’s camp.

“No need to apologise, Captain. You merely demonstrate that you are an excellent judge of character.”

“Where are the rest of the Hythrun?” Denjon asked Damin, anxious to stick to the business at hand, although he did allow himself a small smile at Adrina’s comment. None of these men seemed the least bit bothered by Cratyn’s demise. “Rumours in the Citadel had it that you had near a thousand men on the border.”

“I don’t share the Lord Defender’s enthusiasm for following orders, Captain. The bulk of my men left as soon as I realised Jenga intended to surrender. We were the last to leave.”

“And Tarja?”

Damin smiled at the Captain’s expression. “He was following Jenga’s orders. I believe the plan was to make life as difficult as possible for your new masters. The Defenders he took with him were all he thought he could sneak out without the Kariens noticing.”

Denjon nodded, looking rather relieved. “Following the Lord Defender’s orders, you say? Well that makes our decision somewhat easier.”

“Making life difficult for the Kariens does seem a rather noble cause,” Kilton agreed with a grin.

Linst returned from arranging Tamylan’s rescue party and looked at his brother captains with a shake
of his head. “You can’t seriously be considering joining him?”

“I doubt Tarja will live long enough to join anything,” Dorak added. “But if the Lord Defender ordered him to undertake a special mission, aren’t we duty-bound to pick up where he left off?”

“There’s a thousand men in this camp! How many of them do you think will want to follow you on such a damned fool mission?”

“Most of them, I imagine,” Kilton shrugged. “Bring me one man in the camp, from the lowliest kitchenhand to the highest ranked officer, who was pleased to be marching anywhere under Karien command.”

Linst nodded in agreement, albeit reluctantly. “Aye. But if we follow the Lord Defender’s orders, aren’t we disobeying the Sisterhood?”

“Ah, but there are no Sisters of the Blade here. In the absence of orders to the contrary, we have no choice but to follow the orders of the Lord Defender.”

Adrina smiled at Kilton’s rather liberal interpretation of the law.

“That seems fairly cut and dried,” Denjon agreed. “And what about you, Lord Wolfblade? Are you still allied with Medalon?”

“You’re holding my men prisoner, Captain.”

“Then you should consider your answer most carefully, my Lord.”

Damin smiled faintly. “Much as I hate to turn down a good fight, I’m afraid I must return to Hythria. The Fardohnyans will be standing at my border come spring. I plan to discourage them from crossing.”

“Pity,” Kilton sighed. “Your Raiders are quite good in a fight.”

Judging by the surprised look on Damin’s face, such an admission was high praise indeed.

“You and your men are free to go, Lord Wolfblade. If you stay clear of the Citadel, you should be able to make it home by spring,” Denjon told him. “You were right when you said the bulk of our forces are in the north. By the way, I heard that the Warlord of Elasapine withdrew from Bordertown as soon as he heard of the surrender.”

“Narvell’s no better at following orders than I am,” Damin said. “It’s a pity, though. He’ll be too far into Hythria to call him back, by the time I get there.”

“Then we have to stop my father attacking Hythria,” Adrina said.

“How?”

“By offering him an alliance.”

“He’s already allied with Karien.”

“The alliance was dependent on my marriage to Cratyn. As that is no longer the case, the treaty can reasonably be assumed to be null and void.”

If Kilton could twist the law to suit the outcome he desired, there was no reason Adrina couldn’t do the same thing.

“I doubt if Hablet will see things quite so clearly,” Damin warned.

“Then we’ll have to make him see.”

“Marry her, Damin, then he won’t have a choice.” The demon child’s unexpected entrance gave Adrina a chance to recover from the shock of her suggestion. R’shiel had finally shed the power she had used to
destroy Terbolt and intimidate the Karien priests, and her eyes had returned to normal. They were an unusual shade of violet, wide set and clear. She was very tall—almost as tall as Damin—and she carried herself with an unconscious aura of power. The comatose, uncertain child who had been led into Terbolt’s tent had emerged a woman, sure of her power and certain of her purpose.

“Is Tarja…?” Denjon ventured cautiously.

“Dead? No. He’ll live. Brak is with him. He’s not to be moved, nor is anyone to approach him until I say so. Is that clear?”

Denjon and the others nodded their agreement. Adrina doubted anyone would deny her when she used that tone. She then turned to Damin and smiled. It was obvious R’shiel was fond of the Warlord and the thought sent an unexpected spear of jealousy through her.

“I wasn’t kidding, Damin. If you marry Adrina, and Hablet still wants to attack Hythria, he’ll have to go over the Sunrise Mountains. Fardohnyan law demands a peace treaty between both Houses in the marriage. It may not keep him out of the rest of Hythria, but at least he won’t be able to take the easy road. He’ll be unable to set foot in Krakandar Province until he figures a way around the marriage contract.”

Damin nodded thoughtfully. He seemed to accept the suggestion with remarkable composure. “It would delay him, I suppose, assuming I was willing to go along with such a ludicrous plan. But he could just as easily deny the marriage had taken place and carry on regardless.”

“I’ll have Jelanna perform the ceremony herself, if that’s what it takes.”

Adrina gasped. Somehow the idea that this girl could command the Goddess of Fertility, the goddess her father worshipped with almost fanatical intensity, was more terrifying than anything else she had done this morning.

But things were moving a bit too fast and R’shiel had not even asked her what she thought about this rather hasty decision.

“Do
I
get a say in this?”

“Why?” R’shiel asked. “Were you planning to object?”

“That’s not the point. But as a matter of fact, I was planning to object. I’ve had all the arranged marriages I want, thank you. Besides, I’ve been a widow for just over an hour. It’s indecent.”

“Don’t be such a hypocrite,” R’shiel said bluntly. “You’ve been sleeping with Damin for ages and he obviously loves you, or he would never have been so stupid as to try to keep you from returning to Karien.”

Adrina felt herself blushing, something she had not done since she was sixteen and was introduced to her first
court’esa
. She glanced at Damin who actually looked embarrassed. The captains were fighting to maintain straight faces.

R’shiel didn’t seem to notice, or care, about their feelings.

“Denjon, if you truly mean to undermine the Karien occupation of Medalon, then the first useful thing you can do is give me a few experienced men and enough supplies to reach the Citadel.”

“I’d have thought the Citadel was the last place you’d want to go.”

“There is something that I have to take care of. Or rather, someone. I had it pointed out to me very recently that I take the easy way out, too often. That’s about to change.”

“I’ll see to it,” Denjon agreed. “Unless you want to wait until Tarja…”

“No. This can’t wait and I’ve done all I can for him. Brak will watch over him until he regains consciousness. In the meantime, you’d better do something about those priests I let loose. You don’t want them reaching the border and warning the Kariens about what’s happened here.”

“There’s the rest of Cratyn’s troop out there, too,” Damin reminded them. “You’d be well advised to do something about them before the day is out.”

“We can take care of a few hundred Kariens,” Denjon assured him.

“As for you two,” R’shiel said, turning on Damin and Adrina. “Get one of the captains to marry you; they can perform the ceremony at a pinch under Medalonian law. Once Tarja has recovered, Brak can go to Talabar to deliver the news to King Hablet. If one of the fabled Harshini walking his palace halls doesn’t convince him, nothing will.”

Damin was no more able to argue with her than Adrina was. This was not R’shiel speaking, this was the demon child finally come into her power. She had no intention of marrying Damin Wolfblade and was quite sure he didn’t want to marry her; but she would wait until R’shiel left for the Citadel before she
announced it. Adrina was not foolish enough to defy R’shiel in her current mood.

“There’s a vineyard just south of Testra, that we used as a headquarters during the rebellion,” she continued, addressing the captains once more. “My guess is that Tarja sent his troops there. You’ll need to get a message to them. Once I’ve taken care of what I have to do at the Citadel, I’ll join you.”

“And then what, R’shiel?” Damin asked cautiously.

She hesitated for a moment, as if some weighty decision hung in the balance.

“And then I’m going to put a stop to this insanity, Damin. I am going to kick the Kariens out of Medalon and make damned sure they never stick their noses over our border again.”

“I don’t know how you think you can manage that,” Dorak scoffed.

“It’s quite simple, Captain,” the demon child replied. “I am going to bow to the inevitable and fulfil my destiny. I am going to destroy Xaphista.”

R’shiel rode far from the Defenders’ camp under a leaden sky, her face flushed and tingling from the cold. She had told nobody the reason for her journey, just that she needed to be alone. She had especially avoided Brak. He may have guessed what she was planning and she didn’t want to give him the opportunity to object.

The Hythrun mare stretched her legs as the camp dwindled behind them. She had no particular destination in mind and in truth, for a good while she simply enjoyed the ride and the speed of the magnificent sorcerer-bred horse. It was the first time in a very long while she had done anything for the sheer joy of it, and she was reluctant to end it too soon.

Eventually, she came to a small rise on the undulating plain and looked back to discover the Defenders’ camp was completely obscured by the fold of the land. She dismounted and stroked the lathered mare’s neck, urging her to seek out what feed she could on the sparse winter plain. With a nicker of understanding the mare wandered off. When R’shiel
was certain the horse was a safe distance from the knoll, she turned and looked up at the sky.

“Zegarnald!”

She received no answer other than the soughing wind rustling through the dried grass like a satin skirt brushing against a taffeta petticoat.

“Zegarnald!”

“Demon child.”

She spun to find the War God standing on the knoll behind her. He was dressed in golden armour that glittered in the dull afternoon light. He was enormous. The battles that were tearing this world apart had made him as strong as he had ever been.

“You defied Xaphista, I see.”

“No thanks to you.”

“Brakandaran seems to have taught you disrespect, along with survival.”

“Brak didn’t teach me survival, and I don’t need any lessons in being disrespectful from anyone,” she retorted.

“Then why did you call me, demon child?”

“My name is R’shiel.”

“You are the demon child.”

“I am R’shiel!” she insisted. “The demon child is a creature you invented. It’s not who I am!”

“Then you refuse your destiny?” The god sounded puzzled. Such fine distinctions were beyond his ability to comprehend.

“I’m not refusing it, Zegarnald. I’m accepting it. I will do as you ask. I will restore the balance and destroy the gods who have skewed things by becoming too strong.”

“Gods? Surely you mean only one god?”

R’shiel smiled ingenuously. “You surely don’t think I can just remove Xaphista without affecting any other gods, do you?”

Zegarnald pondered the problem for a moment and then nodded slowly. “Yes, I see. I had not considered that.”

“Then you will leave me to do fulfil my destiny as I see fit?”

The War God frowned. “You will go to Slarn and destroy Xaphista. What else is to be done?”

“Xaphista’s power is drawn from his believers in Karien. I can’t destroy him without destroying that too.”

He thought on that and then nodded slowly. “Yes, I can see that.”

“Then you’ll leave me be? No more
tests
? No more
tempering
?”

“But…”

“Zegarnald, you have to trust me. I’m the only one who can do this. You have to let me do it my way. I’m half human. I know how humans think. I need you to promise that you will not interfere unless I ask you to.”

“You ask a great deal of me, demon child.”

“You’re asking a great deal of me,” she pointed out.

The God of War thought over the problem for a while before he nodded his agreement.

“Very well. I will do as you ask.”

“Give me your oath.”

“You doubt me?” He swelled at the implied insult.

“No. That’s why I want your oath.”

“Very well, I give you my solemn promise I will
not interfere in your handling of this affair unless you ask it.”

“No matter what happens?”

“No matter what happens,” he agreed unhappily.

R’shiel smiled at him. “Thank you, Divine One. Now, just to prove that I will need your help from time to time, I have a job for you.”

“A
job
?”

“Yes. I want you to find Damin’s brother, Narvell, the Warlord of Elasapine and get him to turn back. Tell him he has to protect Krakandar from a Fardohnyan invasion.”

“I AM
NOT
YOUR MESSENGER!” the god boomed, making the ground shake with his indignation.

“As you wish,” she shrugged, turning away from him. “If Hablet crosses the Hythrun border too easily, there won’t be a battle. On the other hand, if Narvell turns back, there should be a nice little bloodbath. But, if you’d rather not…”

“Perhaps I could consent to do this one favour for you,” the god conceded with ill grace. “
But I am not your messenger
, demon child. Do not presume to use me in such a manner again.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Divine One.”

It was nearly dark when R’shiel returned to the camp and she rode straight to the infirmary tent to check on Tarja.

Outwardly, his condition had not changed. He still lay as pale as death and barely breathing, but the fact that he still lived at all was a good sign. As she knelt beside the pallet, she was shocked to
see his hands and feet bound to the bed with sturdy ropes.

Angrily, she turned on the medic who was changing the bandages of a man on the other side of the tent.

“Who did this?” she demanded.

“That man who came with you,” the medic shrugged. “Jack, or Brak, or whatever his name is. He said things might get a bit rough and that tying him down was for his own protection.”

R’shiel was horrified and fully intended to confront Brak about such a barbarous practice, but she was not so sure of herself that she untied the ropes. She sat with Tarja for a time, stroking his pallid forehead, trying to will him to live, before she left the Infirmary to seek Brak out.

It was fully dark when she emerged from the Infirmary and she looked about with a frown, realising she had no idea where Brak would be. She was still pondering the problem when faint voices raised in anger reached her. One of the voices was unmistakably female and R’shiel could easily guess who it was.

Curiously, she followed the sound to a tent not far from the one where she and Adrina had been held prisoner. She could see Adrina’s silhouette through the canvas wall as she paced in front of the lamp. They could probably
hear
her in Talabar.

“In case you’re interested, the whole camp can hear you screeching,” she announced as she pushed the flap back.

Adrina spun around angrily. Damin was sitting on a small campstool on the other side of the small table
that held the flickering lamp looking thoroughly miserable. A glowing brazier in the corner warmed the tent, almost as much as Adrina’s anger.

“I DO
NOT…
” she began, then took a deep breath. “I do not screech.”

“You do,” R’shiel said. “I take it this…argument has to do with my declaration that you two should get married? So who’s the dissenting party?”

“R’shiel, perhaps it’s not such a good idea…” Damin began.

“Not a good idea! It’s downright insane!” Adrina retorted. “Hablet will have a fit when he hears about it, and the first thing the Hythrun Warlords will do is hire an assassin to have me killed.”

“You’ve both lived with the threat of assassins all your life—what difference will another make? As for Hablet, we’ll just have to convince him there’s a profit in it.”

“And what about how I
feel
?” Adrina asked, unable to deny the truth of R’shiel’s words. Anything that was profitable was fine by her father.

“How do you feel, then?”

“Used!” she snapped without hesitation.

“I need Hythria and Fardohnya at peace, Adrina. I can’t face Xaphista any other way.”

Adrina turned to Damin for support. “Even if this marriage stays my father’s hand for a time, the Hythrun Warlords will never accept me as their High Princess.”

“She has a point, R’shiel.”

“The High Arrion will support you—she’s your sister isn’t she? There are already Harshini in Greenharbour. With the Sorcerers’ Collective backing
you and once it’s known that the demon child has sanctioned your union…”

“The demon child is still a legend in Hythria,” Damin reminded her. “The only way this will work is if you return to Hythria with us. If you want to stop a civil war and want the other Warlords to believe in the demon child, then you’re going to have to
show
them the demon child.”

“I can’t go to Hythria, Damin. I have to take care of something at the Citadel. Tarja will need my help when he’s recovered and I still have to figure out how I’m going to deal with the Kariens.”

“None of which you will be able to give your full attention to, until Fardohnya and Hythria are at peace,” Damin pointed out, turning her own argument back on her. “What’s the hurry, anyway? It’ll take months before Tarja and the other captains can get the Defenders under their command organised enough to mount an effective resistance. The Citadel is under the control of the Kariens and you’re not going to be able to do anything about
that
until you’ve destroyed Xaphista. The war in Medalon is over for now.”

“I
have
to return to the Citadel. You don’t understand…”

“No, you’re the one who doesn’t understand,” Adrina cut in. “You want to change the whole world to suit your liking, then run off on some personal vendetta while the rest of us get killed trying to carry out your orders. Nobody wants to see the Kariens brought to their knees more than I, R’shiel, but Damin is right. If you want us to do this, then you’re going to have to do it with us. Your mission to the Citadel will have to wait.”

R’shiel glanced at the two of them and sighed. They were both such stubborn, strong-willed personalities and she needed this marriage to take place. She would have called on Kalianah to intervene, but Damin was one of Zegarnald’s favourites. The War God would know she was up to something if another god interfered with Damin.

Frustration welling in her, she was forced to concede that they were right. Sending Damin back to Hythria with Adrina as his bride without proof of the demon child’s existence would be akin to a death sentence.

“Very well, I’ll come. But only long enough to convince the Warlords. After that, it’s up to you two.”

Damin glanced at Adrina, who nodded in agreement, although her scowl made it clear that she was less than enthusiastic about the whole idea.

“So, I’m to be the High Princess of Hythria.”

“First a princess of Fardohnya, then Karien and now Hythria,” Damin remarked. “You do get around, Adrina.”

She turned on him angrily and R’shiel left the tent to continue her search for Brak, before she became even more embroiled in their argument.

Damn them
, she though as she strode through the camp.
Damn them for being so obstinate. Damn them for being right.

Brak had told her once that destiny had a way of catching up with you. Well, maybe it had. But just because it had caught her, didn’t mean she couldn’t make things happen her way. She would bring peace to the south, even if it meant delaying her inevitable
confrontation with Loclon. That she would have to face him before this was over was as certain as her destiny was to destroy a god.

Any god…or all of them. It didn’t really matter which…

The trick, R’shiel decided, as she moved through the firelit Defenders’ camp, would be to manage affairs in such a way that nobody realised what was happening until it was too late to stop it.