Treason Keep

“Then perhaps you could persuade him to lend me some assistance.”

“I doubt it. Burial is outlawed in Medalon, Damin. You’re lucky he agreed at all.”

“I know. But sometimes I wonder about this alliance. I have more in common with the Fardohnyans and the Kariens than I do with these people. Were it not for the gods...”

“Were it not for the gods, none of us would be in this mess,” she finished with a frown.

Not sure what she meant, Damin shrugged. “You would know better than I, demon child.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry. Although I’m a little surprised to see you here. I understood you were leaving for the Citadel.”

“I’m looking for Tarja to say goodbye. Brak and I are leaving this morning.”

“With Garet Warner?”

She nodded. “You don’t like him much, do you?”

“Not in the least. Nor do I trust him. Be careful, R’shiel.”

She slipped her arm through his companionably and walked with him. Damin found her easy familiarity disconcerting. This girl was a living legend; the embodiment of a myth he had grown up with. He had never expected to find himself counted among the demon child’s friends. When they reached his horse R’shiel let go of his arm and patted the stallion fondly.

“What’s he thinking?” Damin asked curiously.

“He’s thinking it’s too cold to be standing around gossiping. He wants his breakfast.”

“So do I.”

She looked at him with a shake of her head. “How can you even think of food, at a time like this?”

“Armies fight on their stomachs, R’shiel. Starving myself won’t bring anybody back to life.”

“I feel sick just thinking about it.”

Before he could answer her a Defender lieutenant approached them, saluting Damin smartly before turning to R’shiel. His uniform was grubby and soot-stained from a night collecting and burning the dead.

“Captain Tenragan said to ask you to wait for him, my Lady. He’ll be along once he’s taken care of the last of the looters.”

“He’s wasting his time,” Damin remarked. “Looters and war go together like sand and sea.”

The young lieutenant drew himself up and glared at him. “I understand it’s a common practice in Hythria, my Lord. Even your court’esa aren’t above it. In Medalon, however, such a practice is considered to be barbaric and disrespectful.”

“This from a man who burns his dead,” Damin muttered, then he glanced at the young man curiously. “What makes you say my court’esa aren’t above it? There are no court’esa here.”

“Perhaps they belong to one of your men, sir, but I stopped two of them last night. Laden down with bundles of loot they were. All dressed up too, with those jewelled collars and dresses that left nothing to the imagination.”

“No man of mine could afford court’esa like that. Are you certain?”

“Aye. I spent time on the southern border. I’ve seen them before. There was no mistaking them.”

R’shiel looked at him expectantly as he pondered the news. “What’s the matter?”

“Probably nothing. Did you get their names, Lieutenant? Where they were from?”

The man thought for a moment. “One was called Tam-something, I think. The other one said her name was Madina, or something like that. I didn’t really take much notice of them once they moved on...”

“Which way were they headed?”

“South, with everyone else, I suppose.”

“Of course. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

He saluted again and headed toward the command pavilion.

“What’s bothering you, Damin?” R’shiel asked with a faint smile. “That there were Hythrun court’esa looting the battlefield, or that you don’t own them?”

“I just seems a bit strange, that’s all. Court’esa as valuable as that don’t roam battlefields unescorted.”

“What’s all this about court’esa?” Tarja remarked as he walked up beside R’shiel. His eyes were bloodshot, no doubt from supervising the funeral pyres through the night, and his shoulders were slumped with fatigue. Damin wondered for a moment if he looked as haggard.

“One of your men stopped two court’esa looting the battlefield last night. Hythrun court’esa, complete with court collars, he claims.”

“You didn’t bring any court’esa to the front, did you?” Tarja asked.

“No.” He shrugged. “It’s probably just your men confusing some whores from the followers’ camp. Besides,” he added with a laugh. “What self-respecting court’esa would call herself Madina? They usually give themselves far more exotic names.”

“Assuming he got the name right,” R’shiel added. “She could have said her name was Adrina, for all we know.”

Tarja’s eyes narrowed. “Adrina... Damn!”

“What?”

“The Fardohnyan captain I faced yesterday. He begged me with his dying breath to warn his sister that they’d been betrayed. In the heat of battle, it never occurred to me...”

“What are you talking about?” R’shiel asked impatiently.

“Let me guess,” Damin said. “His sister’s name was Adrina?”

Tarja nodded. R’shiel looked first at Tarja and then Damin with growing annoyance. “So?”

“Hablet’s bastards are usually sent to serve in the army as officers once they’re old enough,” Damin explained.

“So Tarja killed one of Hablet’s bastards?” she said, throwing her hands up. “What of it? This is war.”

“He wanted me to warn Adrina that they’d been betrayed,” Tarja reminded her.

Damin glanced at R’shiel then turned to Tarja with a frown. “And suddenly there are two court’esa crossing the battlefield from Karien? Something bothers me about this. I think we should look into it.”

Tarja nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should, at that. If Adrina is attempting to send a message back to her father, and she thinks the Kariens have betrayed her, she couldn’t risk sending the message by normal means.”

“Well, that’s nice!” R’shiel declared. “You ask me to wait around so you can say goodbye, then as soon as my back is turned, you’re off chasing a couple of floozies in see-through dresses on the off-chance they’re Fardohnyan spies.”

With a tired smile, Tarja put his arm around her and pulled her close. “I’m only going along to keep Damin out of trouble.”

“I think you need someone to keep you both out of trouble!” she complained unhappily. “You look terrible, by the way. Both of you.”

“Speaking of trouble, here comes your watchdog,” Damin warned, as Brak strode across the field toward them.

R’shiel glanced at the approaching figure and then turned to Tarja. “I have to go. Promise me you’ll take care.”

“I’ll take about as much care as you will, R’shiel,” he said, so softly Damin could barely make out the words. Damin turned away, to give them at least the illusion of privacy.

“It’s time we were gone, R’shiel,” Brak said when he reached them.

R’shiel drew away from Tarja with some reluctance. “I know.”

“Keep her safe, Brak, or you’ll have me to answer to.”

The Harshini laughed sourly. “You, Tarja? There’s more than a few gods who I’d have at me, if I let anything happen to the demon child. You’d have to line up for a chance at what was left of me, I’m afraid.”

R’shiel frowned. “I wish you would all stop treating me like a fragile doll. I can take care of myself, you