was certain would never have countenanced such an act, despite what Davydd thought. Commandant Verkin, Wilem Cortanen, Garet Warner, and about a dozen more senior officers had sufficient authority. It was a depressing train of thought. He resolved to question Bereth again in the morning before they rode out. Perhaps she knew the name of the officer in charge of the raid. If he could discover that, he might be able to track down the culprit.
They stayed in the keep longer than he intended. Tarja had hoped to get away at first light the following day. His mission was to check on the border villages, and he had completed that task before riding out here on impulse to examine the ruined keep. It would be next to useless if Medalon were invaded. It was strategically ill placed in the middle of an open plain and had been built, hastily and poorly, by men with no understanding of war. An invading army would simply swing past it into Medalon, as if it were no more of an obstacle than a rock in the road. In the future, any defenses constructed would be farther north, right on the border itself, where the plain narrowed and the open grassland was flanked by the Sanctuary Mountains on the western side and the Glass River, where it emerged from the Jagged Mountains, on the east.
But his men undermined Tarja’s plans for an early departure, subtly and deliberately. First, Sandar, the trooper responsible for the packhorses and the supplies, announced that he thought he could possibly spare even more for the children, given time to sort through their provisions carefully. Then Nork, his corporal, suddenly announced that his horse had bruised his fetlock and would need a poultice to relieve it. One of the children had told him of a herb that grew wild on the plains that was ideal for the poultice, and would it be all right if he took several of the children and went in search of it? It would not take long, and a lame horse would slow their journey, he pointed out reasonably. By the time Ewan asked if the captain would mind if he made some repairs to the roof over the end of the main hall while they were waiting, Tarja threw his hands up in defeat. He climbed the tower again and looked out over the grasslands toward the border, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t wasting time. Davydd followed him up the crumbling steps.
“Let me guess. You’d like to build a schoolhouse for them, while we’re here.”
Davydd smiled. “Actually, I thought perhaps a morning room, facing east, with a vine-covered trellis, and maybe a solarium on the west wing.”
Tarja shook his head. “Tell me Lieutenant, just exactly how are we going to explain the presence of these heathens to our superiors? Or the fact that we did nothing to evict them?”
“Heathens, sir? I’ve seen no altars, or sacrifices, or other signs of pagan worship. They are orphans in the care of a retired Sister, aren’t they?” Davydd had conveniently forgotten about the acorn amulet Bereth wore.
“You could be right. Besides, the keep is of no strategic value.” He leaned against the crumbling wall and studied the young man curiously. “I’m not sure what surprises me most, Lieutenant, your willingness to overlook this irregularity or the fact that every man here seems bent on aiding these children.”
The younger man shrugged. “Garet Warner’s first rule is to assess any situation according to the seriousness of the threat. A handful of orphans and a bitter old woman hardly constitute a danger to Medalon’s security, sir. As for the men, most of them have children of their own. There’s nothing sinister or treasonous in their reaction to the children’s plight.”
“There’s that word ‘treason’ again. You seem to use it a lot, Lieutenant.”
“It’s this fort, I think. It has that effect on people.”
“I know what you mean. Perhaps we should name this place Treason Keep?”
Davydd smiled. “I imagine you’ll have some explaining to do if you put that in your report to Commandant Warner, sir.”
Tarja smiled thinly at the thought and looked back toward the border as a flash of sunlight reflecting off metal caught his eye. He scanned the horizon curiously until he saw it again. A cloud of dust hanging in the still air of the cool morning approached the keep, although it was yet several leagues away.
“What do you suppose that is?” he asked, pointing in the direction of the dust cloud.
The lieutenant moved to Tarja’s side and studied the plain for a moment. “Horses. Quite a few of them, I’d say. Coming in from the north, which means they’re coming from Karien. It could be a trading caravan.”
“Wearing armor?” Tarja asked, as the sunlight flashed like an irregular signal in the distance. “Still, it’s too small to be an invasion force.”
“A delegation, perhaps?”
“Possibly.” Tarja rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Lord Pieter prefers to travel by water. He doesn’t like the idea of overland travel.”
“But it’s also the long way round. Maybe time is more important than impressing a few Medalonian peasants with his big boat. The Fardohnyans might be making things difficult, too. King Hablet enjoys reminding King Jasnoff that Fardohnya controls Karien’s access to the only decent port in the north.”
“That’s assuming it is Lord Pieter.”
“It almost has to be,” Davydd told him. “No knight is permitted to leave Karien for fear of them being corrupted by the godless mores of the south – unless they’re at war or have a special dispensation from the Church of Xaphista. Pieter is the only knight with a standing dispensation, due to his role as King Jasnoff’s Envoy to the Citadel.”
Tarja looked at Davydd. “You appear remarkably well informed about the Kariens, Lieutenant.”
“I’m an intelligence officer, sir. It’s my job,” the young man shrugged.
He nodded, willing to accept the lieutenant’s quiet confidence. “Get the men together, then. Tell Nork to take the second packhorse as a spare mount and head for the Citadel. He’s not to stop for anything. He must let them know what’s coming.”
“Do we know what’s coming?” Davydd asked curiously.
“Trouble,” Tarja told him with certainty. “Find the banner. It should be packed among the gear somewhere.”
“We’re going to meet them?”
Tarja nodded, glancing back at the advancing Kariens. “I want to know what they’re doing out here. I would also rather they avoided this keep. Besides, if they are trying to surprise us, imagine how annoyed they’re going to be to find themselves being met by an official guard of honor.”
Davydd saluted sharply and hurried down the perilous steps to carry out his orders. Tarja turned back to watching the Kariens uneasily, wondering what trouble their unexpected appearance heralded.
A single rider cantered forward to meet them as Tarja and his men rode to confront the interlopers. His initial instinct was confirmed as he noticed pennants being hastily unfurled and the party forming into some sort of official order as the Defenders approached. The rider wore a full suit of elaborately gilded armor, his helmet topped by an impressive plume of blue feathers. His breastplate was adorned with a golden star intersected by a silver lightning bolt. The symbol of Xaphista, the Overlord.
“Halt and identify yourselves,” the armored knight demanded as he neared them. His lance was topped with a blue pennant that snapped loudly in the cold wind.
“Identify yourself,” Tarja called back. “You are on Medalonian soil now.”
The knight slowed his horse and raised his faceplate to look at them. “I am Lord Pieter, Envoy of the Karien King, His Majesty Jasnoff the Third.”
Tarja bowed in his saddle. “Lord Pieter. I am Captain Tenragan. I believe we met at the Citadel on your last visit.”
The knight rode closer and studied Tarja for a moment, before breaking into a relieved smile. “Joyhinia’s son! Of course! You gave me quite a start there, young man. For a moment, I thought word of my visit had preceded me. It really wasn’t necessary for your mother to send an escort, although I appreciate her gesture. It augurs well for our future negotiations.”
“Time and discretion are of the essence, my Lord,” he replied, trying to give the impression he knew what Pieter was referring to. “We are here to ensure your safe and timely arrival.”
“Excellent!” Lord Pieter declared. “Let’s head for that ruin behind you and have some lunch, shall we?”
“That would be inadvisable, my Lord,” Tarja advised. “The ruin is in a dangerous state of repair, and I would rather forgo an elaborate meal for the chance to expedite your journey.”
Pieter sighed but nodded in agreement. “You are right, of course. Your prudence does you credit, Captain. We shall place ourselves in your care.”
