Treason Keep

by Jennifer Fallon

“Not when they don’t believe you exist,” R’shiel pointed out.

  “Well, now that he’s seen me, he’ll have to believe in me, won’t he?”

  “Don’t count on it,” Brak warned.

  “You always look on the dark side of things, Brakandaran. I was going to give you some news, but now I’m not so sure. You’re bound to think the worst.”

  “What news?”

  “I’m really not certain that I should…”

  “Dace,” R’shiel cut in impatiently. “Stop teasing. If you have something important to tell us, then out with it!”

  The god pouted. “You have been spending far too much time with Brakandaran, R’shiel. You’re beginning to sound just like him.”

  “Come on, R’shiel,” Brak said, gathering up his reins as he glanced over his shoulder at the approaching wagon. “He obviously has nothing important to tell us, and the others will be here any moment. Goodbye, Divine One.”

  “Xaphista has believers in the Citadel!” the god blurted out.

  R’shiel stared at Dace with concern. “Believers? Who?”

  “I don’t know,” Dace shrugged. “All I know is that the Citadel can feel them and he doesn’t like it one bit!”

  Confused, R’shiel turned to Brak for an explanation. “What does he mean? He speaks as though the Citadel is alive.”

  “It is, sort of,” Brak answered before turning to Dace. “Has anything happened yet?”

  “No. You know what he’s like. It takes him a century just to remember his own name. But he can feel Xaphista’s taint and he’s not happy about it.”

  Brak nodded slowly. R’shiel had absolutely no idea what they were talking about.

  “Brak, has this got something to do with the power in the Citadel that Dranymire spoke of?”

  Before he could answer, the wagon creaked to a stop behind them. Garet rode forward and frowned at Dace.

  “I see your god is still with us. Are you two planning to sit here in the middle of the road blocking the way, or can we proceed? In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s going to rain soon. I’d like to reach Malacky before then.”

  “These atheists really are an impatient lot, aren’t they?” Dacendaran remarked loftily. With that, he vanished, leaving Garet wide eyed.

  R’shiel looked at Garet and wondered how the commandant would explain Dace’s sudden disappearance to himself, but after a moment’s stunned silence, he waved his men and the wagon forward as if absolutely nothing untoward had happened.

  PART 3

  THE POLITICS OF SEDUCTION

  CHAPTER 36

  Mikel was separated from the princess and placed in the custody of the Defenders’ Master of Horse, a small, slender man with dark hair and an affection for the creatures in his charge which bordered on obsession. Captain Hadly had endless patience with his horses and none at all for defiant Karien boys. When one of Lord Wolfblade’s Raiders delivered him into Hadly’s care, he had glanced at the note Tarja had hastily scribbled then looked disdainfully at Mikel.

  “Captain Tenragan says you’re to be placed in my care. He says that if you try to escape, or give me any bother at all, I am to inform him immediately. He also says to remind you about your brother. Do you know what he means?”

  Mikel nodded sullenly. He had hoped Tarja might forget about Jaymes.

  “Good, because I’ve no time to waste on infants. I’ve damned near two thousand horses here, boy, and now there’s the Fardohnyan mounts to take care of. Go find Sergeant Monthay. He’ll find something useful for you to do.”

  With little choice in the matter, he did as he was told.

  Besides being sick with worry over the princess, Mikel was desperate to discover his brother’s fate, but there seemed little chance here among the horses. The Hythrun mounts were corralled away from the Medalonian horses—something to do with the purity of the Hythrun breed that Mikel didn’t really understand—so there was no chance to question anyone about the Karien boy they held prisoner. Sergeant Monthay set him to distributing hay, an endless task with so vast a herd. He spent all day lugging haybales from the cart into the corrals, then running to catch up as Monthay moved the wagon on to the next enclosure. It was backbreaking work, but it kept him from thinking too much, and at night he collapsed into the bedroll Monthay had found for him in the tack tent, asleep almost before his head hit the saddle he used for a pillow.

  On the fourth day of his captivity, the rain cleared and the weather grew even colder. The sharp smell of snow lingered on the wind and Hadly fretted at the lack of protection for his horses. He had commandeered a large force of workers from the followers’ camp and had them erecting canvas covered shelters in the corrals in anticipation of the coming inclement weather.

  Mikel shivered as he went about his chores. Monthay was anxious to finish for the day and get back to the warmth of his tent. It was almost midday when they reached the corral where the workers were tying canvas over another sapling framework. The cold sun did nothing to warm the day. There was a small fire burning just outside the corral, and several women were doling out hot soup as the workers took a break from their labour. Monthay glanced at Mikel, ordered him to keep working, and went to join them.

  He lugged another bale from the cart and dragged it along the ground toward the corral, cursing Medalonians in general, and Monthay in particular. He muttered a prayer to the Overlord, asking his god to strike down the men enjoying the hot soup with dysentery. It seemed only fitting.

  “Xaphista’s far too busy to answer, you know.”

  Mikel looked up and discovered a boy of about fifteen sitting on the top rail of the corral. He was dressed in an odd collection of clothes that looked like cast-offs from some bygone era. Mikel was not aware that he had spoken aloud.

  “You should not speak the name of Xaphista. You’re an unbeliever.”

  “Not at all! I know Xaphista personally! Can’t say that I speak to him much myself, mind you, but he does exist.”

  Mikel straightened and stared at the youth, a little surprised to hear such an admission from an atheist. He supposed the boy was one of the workers erecting the shelters.

  “What do you want?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then leave me alone.” He grabbed the twine holding the bale together and grunted with the effort of dragging it over the rough ground towards the corral.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  The fair-haired youth laughed. “That bale is near as big as you are!”

  “Then why don’t you help me?”

  “Ah, now that would mean work. I don’t do work.”

  Mikel let go of the bale and glared at him. “What do you do, then?”

  “I’m a thief.”

  The news didn’t surprise Mikel. The lad looked dishonest. “Thievery is a sin.”

  “Don’t be absurd! Who told you that? Ah! Xaphista did, I suppose. Cheeky sod.”

  “You shouldn’t blaspheme! That’s a sin too!”

  “There is no such thing as sin…what’s your name?”

  “Mikel.”

  “Well, Mikel, let me put your mind at ease. There is no such thing as sin. A thief is not doing something wrong, he is honouring Dacendaran, the God of Thieves.”

  “There is only one true god!” Mikel insisted.

  The boy frowned and jumped off the rail. “You really believe that, don’t you? Are all Kariens like you?”

  “Yes! Now go away and leave me alone!” Mikel made to reach for the bale, but the youth sat himself down on it and looked at him closely.

  “Mikel, the only reason Xaphista invented the concept of sin was to stop his believers honouring the other gods.”

  “There are no other gods!”

  “I can see I’m going to have to educate you, young man.” The youth sighed heavily, then suddenly brightened. “I know, I shall become your new best friend and lead you to the truth about the Primal Gods!”

  “I
already know the truth. Xaphista is the Overlord.”

  “Xaphista is a pompous old windbag, actually, and I shall delight in stealing you from him.”

  “Come on, boy! We’ll still be here at midnight at this rate! Get a move on!”

  Mikel started as Monthay yelled at him. He turned back to the boy sitting on the bale and was even more startled to discover he was gone.

  “Don’t just stand there talking to yourself like a fool,” Monthay scolded as he drew near. “Go get some soup, but be quick about it.”

  Mikel ran towards the fire and the enticing smell of the hot soup, wondering where the youth had gone so abruptly. Then he remembered his rash prayer and hoped that the Overlord had not heard his request about the dysentery.

  Mid-afternoon, two Defenders appeared in the corrals and told Monthay that Captain Tenragan wanted to see the Karien boy. Monthay muttered a curse and surrendered him reluctantly, glancing at the hay still to be distributed. The two Defenders took Mikel into custody and walked him back toward the Keep. They said nothing, even to each other, leaving Mikel plenty of time to imagine the worst.

  When they reached the old keep, they took him into the main hall where Tarja was waiting near the huge fireplace. Damin Wolfblade was sitting at the table, stabbing the tabletop with his dagger as if something vexed him. Captain Almodavar stood near Tarja and next to him, to Mikel’s astonishment, was his brother.

  “Jaymes!”

  Mikel ran the length of the hall, skidding to a halt a few steps from his brother, taking a quick inventory to check he had all his fingers. Jaymes grinned and crossed the small distance between them, hugging his younger brother warmly.

  “They told me you were back, but I wanted to see for myself!”

  “Oh Jaymes! I’ve been so worried about you! Are you well? Have they harmed you?”

  “Of course not!” Jaymes laughed. “I’m the one who’s been worrying about you! What happened when you went back to Lord Laetho?”

  Mikel glanced at the men and then back at Jaymes. His brother was taller, as if he had grown from a boy into a young man while in captivity. He looked well; much too well for a prisoner. “I’ll tell you later.”

  “There won’t be a later, lad,” Almodavar warned. “Jaymes has work to do.”

  “He’s right. I have to get back. My training keeps me pretty busy. But I’ll try to see you now and then, if I can get away.”

  “Training?”

  “I’m learning to be a soldier.”

  Mikel took a step backwards. “With the Hythrun?”

  “Of course, with the Hythrun.”

  “You’re a traitor?”

  “I warned you,” Damin muttered to no one in particular, stabbing the table to punctuate his words.

  Jaymes sighed. “It’s not like that, Mikel…”

  “Have you turned from the Overlord, too? Do you worship the Primal Gods now? How could you?”

  “The Overlord? What do I care about the Overlord! I want to be a soldier, Mikel! I can’t ever be a knight in Karien. I’m a commoner. Good for nothing but a pikeman. But the Hythrun don’t care about that. They judge men by their ability, not who their father is.”

  “Our father is the Duke of Kirkland’s Third Steward!”

  “Which is worth shit, and you know it!”

  Tears of anger and betrayal clouded Mikel’s vision. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “What have you done to him?” he demanded of Tarja, although the Medalonian had not had charge of his brother. Tarja had, however, been responsible for most of his woes these past few months so it seemed reasonable to blame him for this, too.

  “Your brother made his own choice, boy.”

  “You’ve done something to him! Jaymes would never betray Karien! He would never renounce the Overlord!”

  “Grow up, Mikel,” Jaymes sighed. “The Overlord doesn’t care about the likes of you and me. He’s the God of Lords and Princes. All he ever did for us was make us work for them. You believe in his generosity if you must, but I plan to follow those who can teach me what I want to learn.” Jaymes turned to the Warlord and bowed. “May I be excused, now, my Lord?”

  “You can go.”

  Jaymes glanced at Mikel and shook his head. “I’m sorry, little brother…”

  Mikel refused to look at him. “I have no brother.”

  “Maybe when you’re older, Mikel, you’ll understand.”

  He turned his back as Jaymes and the Hythrun captain walked the length of the hall. When he heard the door shut, he wiped his eyes and looked up at Tarja.

  “Can I go, too?”

  “No, you may not. You’re going to tell us about the princess.”

  Jaymes’ betrayal was suddenly forgotten. He glared at Tarja, drawing himself up to his full height. “If you have harmed one hair on her head…”

  “Oh for the god’s sake, child, settle down!” Damin snapped. “Your precious princess is fine.”

  “I shall not betray my Lady!”

  “Nobody is asking you to,” Tarja pointed out reasonably. “We just want to know how you came to be in her company.”

  “I was appointed her page. By Prince Cratyn himself!”

  “I see. That’s quite a position of trust.”

  “Prince Cratyn trusts me.”

  “He must trust you a great deal, to ask you to escort her Highness through Medalon when your nation is at war with us.”

  Mikel was still young enough that flattery, even from a man he despised, made his heart swell proudly. “Prince Cratyn knew that I would not betray him. No spy…”

  “Spy?” Damin asked, glancing up from the tabletop. “What spy?”

  Mikel took a step backwards, frowning warily. “I said nothing about a spy.”

  Damin looked at Tarja and shrugged. “Send him back to the horses, Tarja. Adrina has already told us everything we want to know. She was trying to escape to Fardohnya to get away from Cratyn and stop her father joining in the war.”

  “That’s a lie!” Mikel shouted, horrified that they would think such a thing of the noble princess. “You’re making that up!”

  “Not at all,” Tarja told him. “Adrina told us everything.”

  “You must have tortured her!”

  “If you call mulled wine and a warm fire torture,” Damin said with a faint smile, “Quite the opportunist, your princess, Mikel. She changes sides more often than most people change their clothes.”

  “Princess Adrina is the most noble, pious, beautiful woman in the whole world! She’s brave, too!”

  “Brave?” Tarja scoffed. “She was running away.”

  “She was not! She was going to see her father to get him to send the cannon! So that you would all die!”

  Tarja and Damin glanced at each other as Mikel realised what he had blurted out. He wanted to cry. He wished the cold flagstones would open up and swallow him whole. First Jaymes had betrayed him.

  Now he had betrayed Adrina.

  CHAPTER 37

  “Who do you believe? The boy or the princess?” Jenga paced the hearth, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Gray daylight flooded the hall but the air was crisp, even this close to the fire.

  Damin shrugged. “She’s lying. She’s heading for Talabar to bring her father’s cannon into the war. She’s not running away.”

  Tarja nodded his agreement. “I believe the boy is telling the truth, but it’s the truth your princess fed him. She could hardly announce her intention to run away.” He was sitting in front of the inadequate blaze, warming the soles of his boots, obviously pleased that the decision about what to do with Adrina was not his to make.

  “Will you stop calling her my princess!”

  Tarja grinned. “We’ll she’s your problem. And you’re always telling me how much better you understand the Fardohnyan nobility than us poor peasants here in Medalon…”

  “Very funny.”

  “I was merely trying to point out that—”

  “Enough, Tarja,” Jeng
a cut in wearily. “Lord Wolfblade, would it be fair to say that you really have no idea what she is doing here?”

  Damin nodded. “That would be fair.”

  “And we’ve had no emissaries from the Kariens seeking her out.”

  “I’d be surprised if we did,” Tarja said. “If she’s on the run, the last place Cratyn would look for her is Medalon.”

  “And if she’s telling the truth, then he needs to pretend that nothing is amiss,” Jenga agreed.

  “You know, we’d get a lot more out of Her Serene Highness if she thought we believed her.”

  “The rack and a red hot poker would do me just as well,” Damin muttered. Jenga threw him an annoyed look before turning to Tarja.

  “Explain.”

  “Perhaps, if her status was one of honoured guest rather than prisoner, she might let something slip.”

  “She won’t let anything slip. She’s too smart for that.” Damin glared at Tarja, not liking the direction this conversation was heading.

  “Maybe,” Jenga mused. “What are you suggesting exactly?”

  “Release her. Give her the freedom of the camp. We should ask for something to prove her story, of course. Some piece of intelligence we can easily verify, as a gesture of good will. And we’d have to put a guard on her—there’s no telling what she’d get up to on her own, but we can claim it’s for her protection. We can’t let her get her hands on her jewels, either, but there is no reason why she shouldn’t think we believe her.”

  “If we believed her, we’d send her back to Fardohnya,” Damin pointed out. “She won’t fall for it.”

  “Oh, yes, she will. Because you, my Lord, are going to start acting as if she’s an ally, not your sworn enemy.”

  “The hell I will!”

  “I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Tarja?” Jenga said. “How would that help?”

  Tarja sighed patiently. “As Damin keeps reminding us, she’s a very smart girl. But she never got the message from her brother and she knows nothing of the Hythrun Raiders stationed in Bordertown. If we release her, at least conditionally, and our Warlord here can keep a civil tongue in his head, she’ll come to believe we need her help in holding back her father’s troops. I’m not saying she’ll believe us right away, but if we act as if we think she’s on our side, even if she’s lying, she has to play along with it.”