instructing the rebels to treat betrayal as a capital crime, the Defender’s eyes firmly fixed on the Harshini as he spoke. But, despite Tarja’s distrust, he had helped the rebels as much as he could, and that had actually been fun. Or it would have been, had not R’shiel kept urging the rebels to even more aggressive acts of defiance.
Brak tried not to think about the demon child too much. He had not come to terms with Kalianah’s distressing revelation and was rather relieved he had not had to confront her yet. There would be time for that later, once this day was past.
Although he would leave the rebels soon to take R’shiel back to Sanctuary, Brak had enjoyed these past few months. Frustrating the Sisterhood was a worthy pastime for any Harshini. His full-blooded cousins would not have agreed with him. Their willingness to sit back and take whatever was thrown at them was one reason he had never really fitted in.
The door to the tavern swung open and Tarja appeared, squinting blindly as he moved from the bright sunlight to the gloom of the tavern. A bubble of tension began to build in the room. Tarja stood on the threshold for a moment, until his eyes adjusted to the dimness, then he walked into the room. He spotted Draco and the captain immediately, but if he noticed the other ill-disguised Defenders around him, he gave no sign.
Brak watched him, as Tarja stepped toward Draco and the captain, seeing immediately what had bothered him about Draco earlier. The resemblance between the two men was unmistakable, and it concerned him that Tarja had made no mention of it. Was Draco an uncle perhaps? Or a cousin? The Spear of the First Sister swore an oath of celibacy, so it was unlikely he was Tarja’s father. On the other hand, if he was...
Brak pushed the thought away. He would ponder Tarja’s parentage some other time. For now, he had to concern himself with the safety of the rebellion and this ill-advised meeting with the First Sister’s closest ally in the Defenders.
The human part of Brak was telling him Tarja should have simply ignored the note from Joyhinia. The Harshini part of him was advising patience. Some things were meant to be.
Lord Draco did not rise from his seat as Tarja approached – a deliberate insult – although the captain with him did. Tarja stopped a few paces from the two men and looked at them expectantly. The silence in the tavern was heavy. The tavern keeper and his wenches had made themselves scarce. There was nobody left in the room who was not directly connected with this meeting.
“Tarja,” the captain said finally, breaking the thick silence.
“Nheal,” Tarja replied with a cautious nod. “Lord Draco.”
Draco glared at Tarja.
“Fetch them,” Draco ordered.
Nheal disappeared into the kitchen as Tarja and Draco continued to look at each other with open hostility. He returned in a few moments with several other Defenders, dressed in their distinctive red uniforms. Between them, they dragged Ghari, Rodric, Tarl, and Drenin, the four rebels who had ridden into Testra the night before to ensure that Tarja was not walking into a trap.
Brak shook his head. They were all too young, too enthusiastic, and too hotheaded for this sort of work. The young men were bound with heavy ropes, and all bore evidence of beatings. Ghari looked the worst, but he had probably resisted the most, so it was hardly surprising he had fared the poorest in custody.
As the rebels were hustled into the room, a sudden change came over Draco. He stood up and approached Tarja.
“Thank you, Captain,” he said, as if the younger man was his best friend, his most trusted ally. “You’ve been a great help. The First Sister will no doubt give you a hero’s welcome when you return to the Citadel. Did they never suspect you?”
Tarja’s expression was puzzled for a moment, until he realized what Draco was doing. Ghari, however, understood immediately what Draco was implying and lunged forward in his captor’s arms toward Tarja.
“You lying, traitorous, son of a bitch!” he cried. “You’re a spy!”
“Draco is lying,” Tarja warned Ghari, his tone admirably even under the circumstances. Brak thought he sounded shocked, as if he could not believe a Defender would be capable of such a blatant lie. In his own way, Brak thought, Tarja could be remarkably naive. “He’s trying to make you believe I betrayed you. Don’t listen to him.”
“Come now, Tarja,” Draco laughed. “There’s no need for pretense any longer. I’ll wager you’re looking forward to getting home, eh?”
Tarja glared at Draco. “This is your idea of negotiating peace?”
“What peace?” Draco shrugged. “The pagans must be destroyed. And you are sworn to the Defenders until death. Did these fools really believe you would betray your oath so readily?”
Draco turned to Nheal. “Let one of them go. When they hear the news about Tarja, the blow to their morale should be devastating. Take the rest to the boat. We’ll hang them when we get to the Citadel.”
Nheal saluted, then bustled the prisoners out of the room. As soon as they were gone, Draco stepped closer to Tarja and delivered a stinging blow across the former captain’s cheek. “You are a disgrace to the Corps. I would kill you myself, if the choice were mine.”
Tarja took a step backward, unsheathing his sword in one fluid movement. As soon as he touched his weapon, the disguised Defenders sitting by the door leaped to their feet, ready to take him from behind. Draco held up his hand, forestalling them. He looked at Tarja contemptuously. The rebel was poised on the balls of his feet, ready and anxious to fight his way clear. There would be no negotiations. Brak wondered if Tarja was regretting his decision to come or simply concentrating on getting out of the tavern in one piece.
“I’ll not give you the satisfaction of throwing yourself on a blade,” Draco told him. “If you resist, I will slit the throats of the prisoners now. Put down your sword or watch your heathen comrades die. The choice is yours.”
Tarja hesitated for a moment, his blue eyes blazing with anger and frustration. Brak felt for him, but made no move to intervene. Thanks to Kalianah’s ill-timed intervention, Tarja was linked to R’shiel more closely than he could imagine. Kalianah, having gone to the trouble of making him fall in love with her, would not allow anything as inconvenient as a death sentence ruin her plans. Tarja might suffer a little, but Kalianah would not permit him to die.
Tarja glanced around the taproom quickly, no doubt looking for Brak, but the illusion he had drawn around himself made his eyes pass over Brak without pause. Once Tarja had lost sight of him on entering the Tavern, he would not find him again until Brak willed it. He saw the look of disappointment and betrayal that flickered over Tarja’s face and knew that the next time they met, he would have a lot of explaining to do.
“You’re going to kill them anyway,” Tarja pointed out. “What difference does it make?”
Draco considered the matter for a moment then nodded. “A valid point. Sergeant, fetch the innkeeper.”
The man in question must have been listening at the door. Almost before Draco had finished speaking, he appeared, wiping his hands on his apron, anxious to be of service, his balding head sheened with sweat.
“My Lord?” he asked obsequiously.
“Come here,” Draco replied evenly. Without warning, he grabbed the innkeeper’s arm, and jerked the man off his feet. As the innkeeper hit the rush-covered floor with a startled cry, Draco snatched his own sword from its scabbard and placing a booted foot on the terrified man’s chest, held the point just above his throat. He glanced up at Tarja.
“Perhaps a few civilian corpses will change your mind,” he remarked callously. “The innkeeper first, then his daughters, perhaps? I’m in no hurry.”
Brak could imagine what was going through Tarja’s mind. He could almost see him calculating his chances of reaching Draco before he plunged his sword into the innkeeper’s throat, judging distances out of the corner of his eye, marking the position of the men behind him. The odds were hopeless. Brak said a silent prayer to Jondalup, the God of Chance, that Tarja would realize it.
Jondalup must have heard him. Tarja hesitated for a moment then threw his sword down. The two men behind him were on him in an instant. Brak winced as he watched Tarja overwhelmed with brutal enthusiasm by the soldiers. Draco stood back and let the innkeeper scramble to his feet and flee the room. He sheathed his sword with an expression of intense satisfaction and ordered Tarja taken out the back way. Brak debated following them, then decided against it. He would be better off helping Ghari and the others escape. It would ease his conscience a little, at any rate. For now, Tarja was on his way back to the Citadel, and that was exactly what Brak wanted.
All he had to do now was find R’shiel.
