Treason Keep

Mikel shrank away from her. She did not look like a monster, but she could use magic – and the little creature, who was obviously some sort of evil-spawned monster, had run to her for comfort. Perhaps she was Harshini. Maybe under those close-fitting leathers was warty skin that peeled when you touched it and gave you diseases that had no cure and made you do nasty things to people and turned you into —

“I said, your name is Mikel, isn’t it?”

Mikel forced away the terrifying images that filled his head. He nodded, afraid that if he did not answer her, she would turn him into a beetle.

“And your brother? Where is he?”

Mikel’s eyes narrowed at the question. Why does she want to know that?

“The Hythrun have him,” he told her sullenly.

“It must be pretty scary for you, Mikel. You’re a long way from home and surrounded by strangers. I know how that feels.”

Try as he did to despise her, he knew she meant what she said. She really did understand how he felt. The thought frightened him. Had she used more magic on him? There is only the Overlord, he reminded himself. He was relieved when the prayer came so easily. Xaphista was still with him.

“Nothing scares me,” he declared defiantly.

She laughed. “Maybe nothing does, at that. Are you all right now?”

He nodded and suffered her assistance as he climbed to his feet. As soon as she let him go, he snatched up his empty bucket and ran back to the hall as if all the demons of the Harshini were on his heels.

Several days later the Medalonians held their most important meeting since Mikel had been in the Defender’s camp. Everyone was in attendance. Tarja and Lord Jenga, Sister Mahina and Garet Warner, Ghari, Lord Wolfblade and the mean-looking Captain Almodavar, and Lord Brakandaran. The only one missing was the Lady R’shiel. Mikel did not know where she was. Perhaps even the Medalonians were afraid to share their battle plans with a Harshini magician. They obviously did not share the same feeling for the small Karien boy who served them. Mikel moved among the adults, filling wine cups and collecting empty platters left over from their meal. Nobody seemed to notice him. The hall was cold – it was not possible to seal all the cracks in the draughty old ruin – and torches sputtered fitfully, flaring occasionally as an errant draught fanned them into brightness. The fire did little to relieve the chill. If anything, it made the gathered people look more sinister, but if it was the cold or fear that made Mikel shiver, he could not say.

“This may sound like a stupid question,” Lord Brakandaran was saying as Mikel silently filled his cup. “But has anyone thought to offer the Kariens a settlement?”

“What? You mean offer them peace?” the Hythrun Warlord gasped with mock horror. “Bite your tongue, man!”

“Perhaps not so stupid,” Sister Mahina mused. “They must have realised by now that even if they win, it will be an expensive victory. Perhaps they would consider a peaceful settlement.”

Tarja shook his head. “I doubt it, but I suppose it’s worth a try.”

“At the very least, it might delay them for a while,” Jenga agreed. “That would take us well into winter before the first attack. Those big warhorses, weighted down with armour, will be a liability rather than an asset if it snows. Even a decent rainstorm will turn the battlefield into a quagmire.”

“I’ll be very disappointed if they agree,” Damin said. “And surprised. They’ve too much at stake to withdraw at this point.”

“You’re right,” Garet Warner said in his soft, dangerous voice, which seemed to startle the Warlord. Damin Wolfblade didn’t seem to like the commandant much. “The banner flying over their command tent is Cratyn’s, not Jasnoff’s. He’s young and he needs to prove himself. Agreeing to a settlement would imply weakness. He won’t back down.”

“And what of the Fardohnyans?” Mahina asked. “Perhaps they might persuade him?”

Garet shook his head. “Again, I doubt it. They were sent to Karien as the Princess’ Guard, and the first thing Adrina did was bring them to the border to aid her husband. They obviously share a common purpose.”

“Adrina?” Damin Wolfblade asked in surprise. “I thought he married Cassandra?”

“He married Adrina,” Brak confirmed. “She left Talabar with Cratyn several months ago. Her progress up the Ironbrook was something of an event, I hear.”

“Gods!” Damin muttered. He looked concerned.

“Is that a problem?” Lord Jenga asked.

“It could be,” Brak answered. “Adrina is Hablet’s eldest legitimate child. Adrina’s son could claim the Fardohnyan throne.”

“Who cares?” Mahina asked. “Our problem is here and now, not whether or not there is a Karien heir to Fardohnya.”

“Our problem could be Adrina herself,” Damin warned them. “If she’s half as bad as her reputation suggests, then she’s the one to look out for, not Cratyn.” The Warlord glanced at his captain who nodded in agreement.

“Do you know her?” Tarja asked Damin curiously.

“No, thank the gods! She was in Greenharbour a couple of years ago for my uncle’s birthday.” Suddenly he grinned. “Despite my uncle’s wishes, and a number of dangerously close calls, I managed to avoid an encounter with Her Serene Highness.”

“How bad can the woman be?”

“Bad,” Damin assured him. “She’s got the body of a goddess and the heart of a hyena. Hablet offered a dowry for her that was beyond the dreams of avarice – and he still couldn’t marry her off. Adrina married to the Karien Crown Prince is not a happy prospect. I wonder how poor Cratyn is coping.”

“He can’t be doing too badly,” Garet said. “She’s followed him to the front with her troops. Maybe she’s found her soul mate.”

“If she has, then I’m packing up and going home now,” the Warlord announced, although Mikel didn’t think he was serious.

“I’d like to meet the woman that makes you turn tail and run, Damin,” Tarja chuckled.

“Does it really matter?” Mahina asked, obviously annoyed by the banter between Tarja and the Warlord. “We were discussing the advisability of sending an emissary to the Kariens, I believe?”

“Assuming we do, who would we send?” Jenga asked. “I’m in no mood to give them a hostage, should they not honour our flag of truce.” Mikel was quite offended at the idea that his prince would do any such thing. How dare they impugn Cratyn’s honour!

“What about the boy?” Lord Brakandaran suggested. All eyes turned to Mikel curiously. He quivered under their unrelenting gaze.

“Are you crazy?” Tarja said.

“It’s no crazier than some ideas I’ve heard lately.” He turned back to the others to explain. “His return could be considered a gesture of good faith. The child has been here for months and he will tell the Kariens everything he’s seen. It might give them pause, even if your offer of peace falls on deaf ears.”

“But he’s a child,” Jenga objected.

“All the more reason to send him home.”

All eyes turned at the sound of the imperious voice and Mikel was suddenly forgotten. The Crazy Lady descended the stairs regally, dressed in a long, high-necked white gown. She had icy blue eyes and a haughty expression and surveyed the room as if everyone in it was beneath contempt.

“You will bow in the presence of the First Sister!” she snapped.

Instinctively, the stunned Medalonians almost did as she demanded. Lord Wolfblade’s jaw was hanging slackly in astonishment and Tarja wore an expression of such hatred that it made Mikel take a step backwards. Only Lord Brakandaran did not seem startled by her appearance.

“Impressive, Lord Dranymire,” he said.

Suddenly the Crazy Lady seemed to wobble and her expression changed from contempt to amusement.

“Spoilsport!” R’shiel accused, stepping out of the shadows on the staircase. She looked at the others who still sat frozen in various poses ranging from amazement to outright shock, and laughed. “You should see your faces!”