Treason Keep

“That wasn’t what I meant. I just meant that compared to some people around here...”

Tarja laughed. “Ah! You speak of our Warlord. I thought you two were starting to get along quite well.”

Adrina frowned and reminded herself that this man was Damin’s friend. It would be inadvisable to tell him what she really thought of the Hythrun.

“Lord Wolfblade can be tolerable, when he’s not trying to be abrasive.”

He looked at her oddly. “Well, you can’t really blame him, can you? Not after what you did.”

“What did I do?”

He refused to answer her question. Instead, he kicked his horse into a canter.

“Captain!” she called as she raced after him. “I believe that statement demands an explanation!”

“The sun will be fully up soon,” he remarked as she caught up with him, admiring the scenery with determination. “Most of the snow will be melted by midday.” They had ridden past the northern edge of the camp and crossed into the deserted training grounds.

“Don’t ignore my question! What did you mean by, ‘not after what I did’?”

He glanced at her and shrugged. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s none of my business. You and Damin should sort out things between yourselves.”

“I’d be happy to,” she snapped. “If I had any idea what you were talking about!”

“You really don’t know?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I did!”

Tarja reined in his mount and turned to face her. “He claims you tried to kill the High Prince of Hythria.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

Tarja shrugged. “I’m just telling you what he told me. He said you hired some boys to do the job, but they killed themselves rather than carry out your orders.”

Adrina felt her fury rising like a volcano. All her plans to be nice evaporated in the face of such a terrible accusation. “That arrogant, lying...”

“I take it you have a somewhat different opinion?”

“How dare that... that... degenerate... even think such a thing! Let me tell you about your pet Warlord, Captain! He’s a savage, unfeeling monster who doesn’t deserve to breathe! I never tried to kill his damned uncle, although I wish I had! I gave those boys my knife to spare them from the twisted lust of a depraved old man.”

Tarja was taken aback by her fury, but seemed determined to believe his friend’s version rather than hers. “Yet you kept the collars as a souvenir. Why?”

“To remind myself why his whole damned family should be destroyed!”

He frowned, then suddenly wheeled his horse around. “Come on, there’s something I want to show you.”

He led her north toward the battlefield. Adrina urged her horse to follow, wishing for a sorcerer-bred mount, rather than this sturdy, but uninspiring beast. She no longer felt the cold. Her anger warmed her better than any cloak, better than any fire. As they neared the snow-covered mangonels, he veered right, away from the field. The soldiers manning the front paid them little attention as they rode by, their attention focused on what lay north of the border. This was the closest she had come to the border since escaping from Karien and she allowed herself a moment to wonder what Cratyn was doing. He and that damned Hythrun would have made quite a pair.

Tarja led her east, away from the field until they reached a low stone wall that encircled a large snow covered mound. Adrina looked about in puzzlement.

“You brought me here to show me this?”

“It’s a grave.”

“Whose grave?”

“Your Fardohnyans. The men who died on the battlefield.”

Adrina swallowed an uncomfortable lump in her throat. It was so big. Had there been so many? She wiped away bitter tears that suddenly stung her eyes.

“I thought Medalonians cremated their dead?”

“We do. Burial is illegal in Medalon but Damin refused to allow the Fardohnyans to be cremated. He had his own men dig the grave. He buried them with their weapons, to honour your War God. Your captain was buried separately because he was of royal blood.”

“Tristan! Where? Where did they bury him?”

Tarja pointed to a small rock cairn on the southern side of the mound. Adrina flew from the saddle and ran to it, no longer caring if Tarja saw her crying.

Tristan! Oh, Tristan!

Tarja dismounted and followed her slowly, leading her mount with his. He waited patiently as she knelt by the cairn, not caring that her knees were being soaked by the snow, her face in her hands, as she let go of the grief she had so tightly controlled until now. She sobbed until her throat was raw. She sobbed until she had no more tears to shed.

Finally, she had no idea how long, she sat back on her heels and wiped her eyes, the scabbed over wound of her grief lanced and washed clean by her tears. It was then that she noticed the position of the cairn in relation to the mound. It was facing southwest. Toward Fardohnya.

“They buried him facing home.”

“That’s your savage, unfeeling monster for you.”

She turned and looked at him sharply. “Don’t try to tell me this proves anything! Cratyn is the most devout man that ever lived, but it doesn’t stop him from being a bastard!” She sniffed inelegantly and climbed to her feet. “I’ll grant you I’m surprised, but it hardly makes Wolfblade a saint.”

“Perhaps not,” he conceded. “But I think you do him an injustice.”

“I’m the one falsely accused of attempted murder.”

“Then take it up with Damin, your Highness,” Tarja said wearily. “We should be getting back. Hadly’s waiting for me.”

He handed her the reins of her borrowed horse before swinging into his own saddle. Adrina stared at the mound for a moment, marking the place in her memory, before mounting the dun gelding.

“How did my brother die?”

Tarja hesitated for a moment before he answered. “He died in battle, your Highness. Isn’t that all you need to know?”

“I want to know who killed him.”

“To what purpose?”

Tarja’s reluctance to give her a straight answer made her suspicious. “It was Wolfblade, wasn’t it? That’s why you’re looking so uncomfortable. Damin Wolfblade killed my brother then buried him here as some sort of barbaric boast, so he could come and gloat over his grave.”

“No,” Tarja replied, looking even more discomforted. “Damin didn’t kill your brother.”

“How can you be certain?” she demanded. “You said yourself, he died in battle. How do you know this burial mound isn’t some sick Hythrun ritual to mock the dead? How do you —”

“He died by my hand, Adrina.”

His admission stunned her into silence. He met her accusing eyes with genuine regret.

“I’m sorry, Adrina. But this is war and he was trying to kill me at the time. If it’s any comfort, his last thoughts were of you.”

Tarja gathered up his reins and turned his mount toward the camp. She stared at his retreating back wishing she could somehow take vengeance on this man who had robbed her of her beloved brother. But she had not expected this. Not his confession, nor the pain it had cost him to make it. Confused and troubled, Adrina followed Tarja back to the camp in silence, not even seeing the glorious snow-covered plain.

When they reached Treason Keep Tarja helped her dismount without a word and turned to lead her horse away.

“Tarja?”

He looked at her over his shoulder.

“Why did you tell me? Why not let me think someone else had killed him?”

“A Defender is honour-bound to speak the truth, your Highness.”

“You could have said nothing.”