Treason Keep

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 would not 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 did not 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 through 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 did not expect to find you either, my Lord.”

“My work was done at the Citadel. I’ve left Mathen overseeing things.”