“You’ve killed in the name of the heathens, Tarja,” Harith shrugged. “You must pay for that. Even the rebels would understand our position.”
“It won’t work,” he argued. “No one will believe that I turned.”
“No one believed that a captain of the Defenders could break his oath and turn against the Sisterhood, either,” the Lord Defender said.
Tarja met the eyes of his former commander without flinching. “It is the Sisterhood who has turned against her people.”
“Oh, leave off with all that heathen nonsense,” Harith snapped. “No one here cares, Tarjanian. You defied us, and now you will pay the price. I personally think we should hang you, but your mother has managed to convince us that humiliating you would be more effective.”
“How thoughtful of you, Mother.”
“Have your men escort him to my office, my Lord,” Joyhinia said, turning to the Lord Defender. “I would like a word in private with the prisoner before he leaves. The wagons should be able to get away by mid- afternoon.”
“As you wish, your Grace.”
“Ever the obedient servant,” Tarja muttered.
The Lord Defender stopped mid-stride and turned back to Joyhinia. “Your permission, your Grace, to correct this miscreant?”
“By all means,” Joyhinia agreed, her expression stony. “I’d be interested to see what you call ‘correction.’ He seems in remarkably good shape for someone allegedly tortured for a week or more.”
Jenga faced Tarja with an unreadable expression. Did he wonder why Tarja was not more battered and broken? Taking advantage of the fact that he was unable to retaliate, Loclon had beaten Tarja savagely several times. He plainly bore the evidence of those beatings, but of the torture he had suffered, there was no trace. Did Jenga suspect something was amiss? He had not visited Tarja during his incarceration. Perhaps he had not wanted to see the results of his orders. Tarja was glad he had not.
“I am disappointed in you, Tarjanian,” he said. “You had such promise.”
“At least I won’t end up like you. Licking the boots of the Sisterhood.”
Jenga hit him squarely on the jaw with his gauntleted fist. Tarja slumped, semiconscious, to the floor of the dock. The Lord Defender stared at the inert body and flexed his fist absently.
“That is because you are not fit to lick their boots.” He turned to Joyhinia, his expression doubtful. “Your Grace, I do hope you know what you’re doing. This is a very dangerous course you have embarked upon.”
“When I want your opinion, Lord Jenga,” the First Sister said frostily, “I’ll ask for it.”
Tarja was still rubbing his jaw gingerly as he slumped into one of the chairs normally occupied by the Sisters of the Quorum in the First Sister’s office. They were alone. This was the first time he had been alone with his mother in years. He was still chained, however. Joyhinia wasn’t that sure of herself.
“That was quite a performance in court this morning,” he remarked as Joyhinia went to stand by the window, her back turned to him.
“That was no performance, Tarja. I have the names here of two hundred and twenty-eight known pagan rebels. It has taken us a year to compile the list, and while far from complete, it will do.”
Tarja felt his palms beginning to sweat. “Do for what?”
She turned to look at him. “According to the court records, your life was spared because you betrayed the rebellion. As soon as I am certain the last of your cohorts are rooted out of the Defenders, I will begin executing the men on this list. You are already under suspicion. The assumption will be that you really did betray the heathens. I won’t even have to kill you. Your friends in the rebellion will do that for me, I imagine.”
Tarja stared at his mother, not sure what frightened him most: her ruthlessness or the fact that he could almost admire the web she had woven around him.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked.
“Because I want you to understand how completely I have defeated you,” she hissed. “I want you to die at the hands of your treasonous friends knowing it was me who brought you down! How dare you defy me! How dare you humiliate me!”
“And R’shiel?” he asked, suddenly seeing Joyhinia as nothing more than a bitter old woman, terrified of losing her authority. It somehow lessened her power over him. “What has she done to incur your wrath? All she ever wanted was to be loved by you.”
“That ungrateful little cow! Like you, she is paying the price for betraying me!”
“You ruthless, unfeeling bitch.” Tarja stood up, towering over his mother, his chains rattling metallically as he trembled with rage. “I’ll destroy you. If it’s the last thing I do.”
“You’ll not have the chance, Tarja,” she replied. “Your death sentence has already been passed. It merely amuses me to let your friends be the ones who carry it out.”
The jolting of the wagon dragged his attention back to the present. Unable to bear the sight of the fortress any longer, he turned around. R’shiel was watching him from the wagon in front. He met her gaze for a moment then looked away.
chapter 31
They passed through Kordale an hour or so later, then began to descend out of the highlands toward the river valley and Brodenvale. At dusk Loclon called a halt, and they made camp in a copse of native poplars. The prisoners were allowed out of the wagons to eat and then loaded back in for the night. As there wasn’t room to stretch out, R’shiel made herself as comfortable as possible in the corner of the wagon with the other women. The Defenders were posted around the camp and nervously alert. A rescue attempt was almost a certainty. Even the rumor that Tarja had finally betrayed the rebellion wasn’t expected to reduce the risk. On the contrary, the rebels would probably want him even more.
Despite the Defenders’ fears, the night passed uneventfully, if uncomfortably, for the prisoners. The expected attack never eventuated. R’shiel thought that some of the Defenders looked a little disappointed. By first light they were back on the road, jolting miserably in the bitter chill. The day passed in a blur of misery as the countryside began to alter subtly. Brown began to turn to green, and herds of red spotted cows grazed in the cold fields, their breath hanging in the still air like milky clouds as they watched apathetically as the human caravan passed by.
Brodenvale came into view near dusk. They were driven straight to the Town Garrison, where the prisoners were given a cold meal and the relative luxury of a straw-covered cell. The Defenders were quartered in the Garrison and on full alert, but there was no sign of the expected rebel attack. The general feeling among the prisoners was that either the heathens knew the route they were taking and would attack later, or they had finally given up on Tarja. R’shiel suspected the former was the case. She knew the rebels.
The next morning, the prisoners were marched through the town to the river docks. Crowds lined the street to catch a glimpse of the famed rebel, but the Defenders kept them pressed close between the horses, so most of the townsfolk were disappointed. The mood of the crowd was strangely subdued. Every one of the prisoners heaved a sigh of relief when they reached the docks.
The Defenders halted the prisoners and arrayed themselves across the entrance to the dock. The boat was a freight barge, its name
