on alone. She was very tall and had long, dark red hair that fell in a thick braid to her waist. She was the most beautiful woman Mikel had ever seen, even when he was at court; prettier even than the Lady Chastity, who was supposed to be the most beautiful woman in all of Karien.
He glanced up at Tarja, whose expression had changed from anger to awe. As the woman walked towards him, Mikel thought he could have killed Tarja, had he a knife, and the captain would not have noticed, so enthralled did he seem at the sight of the pretty lady.
“By the gods!” Ghari breathed softly behind him. “She’s alive!”
Ghari apparently knew who the pretty lady was, but his words seemed to break the spell that held Tarja motionless. The captain walked out to meet her, and as soon as she saw him, the pretty lady broke into a run. She collided with Tarja, who swept her off the ground and spun her around in a full circle with an inarticulate cry. He was kissing her before her feet touched the ground, a deed that had the gathered army cheering and Mikel blushing with embarrassment at such a wanton public display.
“Who is she?” Mikel asked Ghari. He looked up at the young man and was startled to see his eyes misted with tears.
“R’shiel,” Ghari explained, although the name meant nothing to him. Ghari glanced down at him and ruffled his cropped hair with a grin. “She’s the demon child. She’s come back to us!”
That description meant as little to Mikel as the lady’s name, but it seemed fitting that a man as evil as Tarja would be attracted to a demon. The crowd flowed past him as the soldiers all converged on the returning Warlord and his companions. He quickly lost sight of Tarja and R’shiel as the crowd swallowed them.
Mikel turned away, his heart heavy. It was bad enough that these Medalonians seemed so organised and battle ready, but it was patently unfair that Tarja Tenragan was allowed to be happy, or that they had demons on their side. He impatiently brushed away tears of anger and said a silent prayer to Xaphista.
Mikel had no way of knowing if Xaphista had heard him or not.
He would have been astonished and delighted to know that he had.
Chapter 20
The Karien war camp proved to be as uncomfortable as Adrina had feared. Cratyn’s army was slow in gathering and many of his knights had been here far longer than they ever intended. The sixty days they owed their king was long past. What kept them at the border now was the hope of recovering some of the cost of their expedition once they reached Medalon, and the exhortations of the priesthood that this was a holy war. When one feared eternal damnation, it was easier to stay and fight. Food was scarce and so was fuel; winter was fast approaching. Nobody had expected the Defenders to be waiting on the border when the knights arrived.
The original force of five hundred had been deemed sufficient to cow the unprepared Medalonians and punish them for their temerity. Instead they were met by a large force of Defenders with Hythrun allies and defences that left the knights gasping. There was nothing hurried or hastily thought-out about their earthworks. Even to the inexperienced eye it was obvious that the Defenders planned to force the battle along a path of their choosing. Although Adrina heard some of the knights boast that the first sight of an armoured charge would send the Defenders scurrying, she knew better. Whoever had planned the defence of the Medalon border had planned this long ago – and planned it well. Taking Medalon was not going to be easy, despite the Kariens’ numerical superiority and the much-talked-about blessing of the Overlord.
Not surprisingly, Adrina’s first appearance at the war council caused a stir, even more than Tristan’s inclusion. Tristan was a man, after all, and a warrior, for all that he was foreign. It was not considered seemly for a woman to involve herself in such manly pursuits as war, even in the unlikely event that she would have anything constructive to offer. Adrina bore the insults stoically, letting Cratyn defend his decision to his vassals. If he was going to lead these men, he needed the practice, anyway.
The war council was made up of the eight Dukes of Karien. The loudest was a heavy-set man with a thick neck and an even thicker intellect – Laetho, the Duke of Kirkland. Adrina marked him as a dangerous fool. He had apparently lost two of his servants a few months back, having sent the children over the border to spy on the Medalonians. It was safely assumed they were both dead. Only an idiot would, quite literally, send boys out to do a man’s job.
The man next to Laetho was as tall, but only half his girth. Lord Roache, the Duke of Morrus. He said little and gave the impression that he wasn’t listening, more often than not, but when he did comment, it was obvious he had not missed a word of the discussion. Adrina regarded him with caution.
Next to Roache, she was delighted to discover Cratyn’s cousin Drendyn, the Earl of Tiler’s Pass. His father was too infirm to make the journey to the border and had sent his son in his place. Drendyn was young and enthusiastic, but dangerously inexperienced. He had never faced a man in battle, never had his life seriously threatened. Adrina thought it likely he would die, sooner rather than later, no doubt doing something exceptionally foolish, which he considered exceptionally brave. It was a pity really, because she quite liked the young Earl.
The fourth member of the council was even younger and more inexperienced than Drendyn. Jannis, the Earl of Menthall, was also here in the place of his father, although Tam had heard it rumoured that the reason the old Duke was absent had something to do with the “wages of sin”. Adrina wondered if it meant he’d caught the pox, but it was hardly a question she could put to any of her Karien companions, and the reason hardly mattered anyway. Dark and slender, Jannis was barely more than a child and agreed with everyone, even when they disagreed with each other.
On the other side of the long trestle table set up in the large command tent was Palen, the Duke of Lake Isony. He was a lot smarter than he looked. He had the ruddy face of a peasant and the mind of a general, Adrina decided. If Cratyn listened to his advice, he might even win this war. On Palen’s right sat Ervin, the Duke of Windhaven. His purpose seemed entirely decorative. He was dressed in blue velvet with snowy lace collar and cuffs, and spent more time fiddling with his moustaches than he did taking part in the conversation. When he did speak up it was usually on a point that had been passed over ten minutes before.
Next to Ervin was a stout, middle-aged man with a patch over one eye. The Duke of Nerlin, Wherland had the unfortunate nickname of Whirlin’ Nerlin, but he was an experienced fighter, having spent time in the gulf fighting Fardohnyan pirates. His advice was always preceded with the comment, “When I was in the navy...”. But he wasn’t a fool, and when he finally figured out how to fight on dry land, he would be a dangerous opponent.
The last of the Dukes should have been Chastity’s father Terbolt, the Duke of Setenton; however, he had sent his brother, Lord Ciril, in his place. A heavier version of his older brother, Ciril did not look surprised at her inclusion. He had already suffered through her unwelcome presence when she visited his brother’s castle on the way to Yarnarrow. Adrina wondered why Terbolt had stayed at home, hoping there was nothing sinister in his unexplained absence. As for Ciril, she marked him as a stolid, if unimaginative knight, who would advise caution, but would see any battle plan through to the bitter end.
She said nothing during the first meeting of the council and had, via Tamylan, advised Tristan to do the same. If they asked him a direct question, she translated it for him and then dutifully repeated his answers to the Dukes. To his credit, Tristan gave no sign that he understood a word of the discussion going on around him, even when the Kariens suggested things that, under normal circumstances, would have made him laugh out loud. By the time the meeting broke up, nothing had been decided, and there were eight dukes with eight different ideas as to how the battle should be engaged, well, seven in reality – Jannis agreed with everyone – and one very confused young prince.
When the tent finally emptied, leaving Cratyn and Adrina alone, she turned to him with a hopeful smile.
“It is the right time in my cycle, your Highness. Can I expect you tonight?”
“I’ll see. I have a lot to do.”
“Of course, however, it’s been several months now and we still haven’t consummated our union. Perhaps here, on the battlefield, you might find the... fortitude... to get the job done.”
