Treason Keep

by Jennifer Fallon

  “So if she defies him, he’ll kill her and if she doesn’t, you’ll kill her anyway,” Tarja concluded bleakly.

  Brak didn’t answer; he didn’t have to.

  “Where is she, Brak?”

  “With the Defenders camped less than two leagues from here. Terbolt is escorting her back to Karien.”

  The stunned silence lasted only a moment.

  “We have to rescue her,” Almodavar announced.

  “How?” Tarja demanded.

  “We’ll think of something,” Damin said, with a nod to his captain. “You’re surely not suggesting that we leave her there?”

  “Why not? She’s as safe there as anywhere. I’m not going to risk the life of every man here, just so that the moment we get her back Brak can kill her.”

  The Harshini stared at him with unreadable black eyes.

  “Brakandaran would never…” Damin began, then saw the look on the Harshini’s face. “Gods! You can’t be serious!”

  Adrina glanced around at the men angrily. “This is insane! You can’t leave her there. You can’t let them take her back to Karien. They would destroy her, and trust me, I know what I’m talking about! You have to rescue her!”

  “It won’t be easy,” Ghari warned. “And if she has turned to Xaphista, she may not want to be rescued.”

  “Bollocks!” the Fardohnyan princess spat angrily. “You don’t know what’s happened to her. You have to give her a chance.”

  Tarja nodded in agreement. “Nobody wants to get her back more than I, Adrina, but she’s being held in the middle of a thousand Defenders.”

  “But we have the Harshini on our side,” Damin pointed out. “We could be in and out before anyone knew about it. That’s assuming you’ll help us, Brak.”

  “I’ll help you as much as I can, but you must understand that I can’t do anything for R’shiel. She has to make her own decisions.” He turned to Dace. “I’m allowed to do that much aren’t I, Divine One?”

  Dace nodded miserably. “I suppose.”

  “And once we have rescued the demon child?” Ghari asked. “You forget the Karien force approaching from the north. Unless Lord Brakandaran can magically transport us away from here, we’ll have little hope of escape. Cratyn is angry enough to hunt down his wife. I imagine losing the demon child will do nothing to improve his temper.”

  “We need something to distract him,” Damin agreed.

  “That’s easy,” Adrina said. “I’ll surrender.”

  “No!” Damin cried.

  “What else will turn him back, Damin? He seeks his wife. He doesn’t know that the Defenders approach, or that they have the demon child. If you can get R’shiel out of the Defenders’ camp, Terbolt will be furious certainly, but the Defenders will not pursue you with the same dedication that Cratyn will. With Brak’s help you can get clear. If Cratyn joins the hunt, nothing will deter him.”

  Tarja could see the logic in her plan, but remained silent, as did the others. This was something they needed to decide between themselves. He wondered if Damin was beginning to realise just how hard he would find it to let Adrina go.

  “I can’t let you do it, Adrina. If Cratyn suspects for a minute—”

  “I’m prepared to take that risk, Damin.”

  “Well, I’m not. You’re not going back to him and that’s final. We haven’t come this far to quit now.” He turned to Tarja, his face chiselled in determination. “We’ll get R’shiel back, Tarja, then we’ll run like hell. We’ll split our forces and scatter them so wide, Cratyn and Terbolt won’t even begin to know where to look. Brak can conceal us and—”

  “And his priests will think I’ve lit a beacon for them,” Brak warned.

  “But you’re shielding us now. Can’t they feel it?”

  “I’m helping,” Dace admitted.

  “Then you can help us when we flee.”

  The God of Thieves shook his head. “That would be interfering. If you take R’shiel and try to stop what’s happening to her, and Zegarnald catches me helping you…” Dace left the sentence hanging ominously.

  The gods couldn’t destroy each other, Tarja knew that much, but he wondered what one god could do to another that would cause Dacendaran such concern. He had a feeling he didn’t really want to know.

  Damin thought for a moment then shrugged. “What the hell. I wasn’t planning to live forever anyway. What say we go and rescue the demon child anyway, and to hell with the risk?”

  “You’re mad!” Adrina declared, but she didn’t offer any further protest, or repeat her offer to return to her husband.

  One by one the others nodded their agreement, including Brak, until Damin turned to Tarja questioningly.

  “Well?”

  Tarja looked up and met Brak’s unwavering, alien eyes. He wanted to rescue R’shiel more than he wanted to keep breathing, but he could not shake the feeling that saving her from her current predicament might be placing her in even more danger.

  “Let’s do it,” he agreed, sounding far more certain than he felt.

  It was too late by the time they finished their discussion to take any action that night, so they planned their rescue attempt for the following evening. The delay made Tarja nervous. The Kariens were already too close for comfort and the wait served only to bring them closer.

  The Defenders had stopped for the night so Damin sent out scouts to spy out the lay of their camp as it was more than likely the camp would be set up in the same way each evening. Two Hythrun Raiders and two Defenders, hand-picked by Tarja for both their experience and their common sense, were despatched to learn as much as they could before sunrise—specifically, where the occupants of the coach were camped. Tarja didn’t need a spy to tell him they would be in the centre of the camp, but it would simplify things considerably if he knew exactly which tent and the disposition of the guards.

  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 D
efenders. 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.”

  CHAPTER 61

  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 thr
ough 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?”