Treason Keep

return to the Citadel and tell the Quorum what’s really going on up here.”

“No, you have one choice, Commandant. You can go along with this farce, or I’ll kill you.”

“Damin!”

“Be realistic, Tarja. If you let him go, he’ll be back here in a month with a full force of Defenders, and you’ll have the very civil war you’re trying so hard to avoid. Killing one Defender now may save you from having to kill a damn sight more of them later on. I’ll do it, if it bothers you.”

Garet stared at the Warlord for a moment. “A pragmatist, I see. Not a quality I expected to find in a heathen who believes in the Primal gods.”

“Then you sorely underestimate me, Commandant,” Damin warned.

“I fear I’ve sorely underestimated a lot of things in my life, but I manage to get by.” He turned back to Tarja, giving no indication that Damin’s threat bothered him. “The Quorum will not accept Joyhinia’s resignation without seeing her. How, in the name of the Founders, do you expect to pull this off?”

“I have no idea, Garet,” Tarja admitted. “But we have to. Somehow.”

“Who else knows of her true condition?”

“The three of us,” Jenga told him. “Draco, of course. Mahina and Affiana know for certain. The Defenders and the heathens who were in Testra when it happened don’t fully comprehend the full extent of her... condition, and we’ve kept up the illusion that she is in command, so far.”

“Who is this Affiana?”

“A friend,” Tarja said. “She takes care of Joyhinia most of the time.”

“I see,” Garet said. He steepled his fingers under his chin and stared into the fire for a long moment. Damin wondered what he was thinking, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. Garet Warner would not leave this room alive if Damin doubted him for a moment. “Let’s put aside the issue of Joyhinia, for the moment. What of the rumours that the Harshini have returned? You’ve made no mention of them.”

“They, at least, are true. We’ve seen a few of them,” Tarja told him. “But not for months. I’ve no idea what they’re planning, or where they are. Believe me, if I could find them, I would have.”

“To what purpose?” Garet asked. “You’ve acquired enough strange allies as it is,” he added, looking pointedly at Damin.

“They have R’shiel,” Tarja explained, his voice remarkably unemotional under the circumstances. “The Harshini believe she is the demon child.”

Even Garet Warner could not hide his surprise at the news. “R’shiel? The demon child? Why in the name of the Founders would they think that?”

“They don’t think she’s the demon child, Commandant, they know she is. If she is still alive, the Harshini have her and I imagine they won’t let her go until she has performed the task for which she was created.”

“What task?”

“They want her to destroy Xaphista,” Tarja said.

“The Karien god?” Garet shook his head in disbelief. “If this is some sort of joke, then you have me, Tarja. I’m afraid I —”

“My Lords?” the urgent voice rang out from the shadows near the door. “I seek Lord Wolfblade.”

“Come in, Almodavar,” Damin called, recognising the voice of his captain. “What is it?”

“You’d better come see, my Lord,” Almodavar said in Hythrun, as he materialised out of the shadows. “The western patrol is bringing in two spies they captured.”

There had been a number of forays across the border by the half-a-thousand knights camped north of the border for most of the summer, although rarely did a knight sully his hands with anything so demeaning as reconnaissance. It was always some hapless page or squire, attempting to breach the border. It was an ambitious undertaking, particularly for city-bred youths who thought Xaphista’s blessing was all the protection they needed on their journey. It had taken Damin quite some time to accept that the forays were genuine, not merely a feint to disguise a more effective attack. He had trouble believing that anybody could be that stupid.

“Can’t you deal with it, Captain?” he asked in Hythrun. It was an advantage, sometimes, speaking a language his allies did not understand. Tarja was attempting to learn Hythrun, be he could not follow such a rapid exchange yet.

“They have news, my Lord.”

Damin frowned and turned to the Defenders. “I’d better see to this,” he told them. “I’ll be back in a while.” He followed Almodavar out of the Hall and into the night, to the curious stares of his companions.

The two spies proved to be boys, frightened and defiant. Both had mousy brown hair and freckled skin, and they were enough alike to be brothers. The older of the two wore a sullen expression and the evidence of a beating. The younger was more defiant, angry and belligerent. He wore a pendant with the five-pointed star and lightning bolt of Xaphista, and leapt to his feet when Damin entered the tent. The older brother did not rise from the floor. Perhaps he could not. Almodavar was not renowned for his tender interrogation techniques.

“Hythrun dog!” the younger boy cried, spitting on the ground in front of Damin. Almodavar stepped forward and slapped the boy down with the back of his gauntleted hand. The lad fell backwards, landing on his backside.

“That’s Lord Hythrun Dog, to you boy,” Damin told him, placing his hands on his hips and glaring at the youth. The boy cowered under his gaze.

“They are Jaymes and Mikel of Kirkland,” Almodavar told him. “From Lord Laetho’s duchy in Northern Karien.”

Duke Laetho’s banner had been identified months ago. He was a rich man with a large retinue, but rumour had it he was more bluster than bravery, a fact borne out by the presence of these two boys. Who but a fool would send children to do his reconnaissance for him?

“Almodavar says you have interesting news, boy. Tell me now, and I might let you live.”

“We would give our lives for the Overlord,” the older brother snarled from the floor. “Tell him nothing, Mikel.”

“No, I’ll tell him, Jaymes. I want to see the Hythrun quivering in their boots when they learn what is coming.”

“Then out with it, boy,” Damin said. “It would be most unfortunate if I have you put to death for the glory of the Overlord before you get the chance to see me quivering, won’t it?”

“Your day of reckoning is coming. Even now, the Karien knights advance on you.”

“They’ve been doing that for months. I’m scared witless at the mere thought.”

“You should be,” Mikel spat. “When our Fardohnyan allies join with us to overrun this pitiful nation of atheists, we will descend on Hythria and you will be knee-deep in pagan blood.”

Damin glanced at Almodavar questioningly before turning his attention back to the boy. “Fardohnyan allies?”

“Prince Cratyn is to marry Princess Cassandra of Fardohnya,” Mikel announced triumphantly. “You cannot defeat the might of two such great nations.”

“You’re lying. You’re a frightened child making up wild stories. Kill them, Almodavar – just don’t leave the corpses where I can smell them.” He turned his back on the youths and pushed back the flap of the tent.

“I do not lie!” the boy yelled after him. “Our father is the Duke Laetho’s Third Steward in Yarnarrow, and he was there when the King received the offer from King Hablet.”

That had the ring of truth to it, Damin decided, although he did not stop or turn back. Once they were clear of the tent, he turned to his captain, his face reflecting concern and firelight in almost equal measure.

“You think he speaks the truth?”

“Aye, he’s too scared to think up a convincing lie.”

“This changes the rules of engagement somewhat,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps our visitor from the Citadel can shed some light on the news. He’s supposed to be in Intelligence, after all.”

“And the boys? Did you really want me to kill them?”

“Of course not. They’re children. Put them to work some place they can’t cause any trouble. I believe the Kariens think hard work is good for the soul.”

The captain smiled wickedly. “And deny them a chance to die as martyrs for the Overlord? You’re a cruel man, my Lord.”