Treason Keep

“I could have,” he agreed. “But you are determined to think the worst of Lord Wolfblade. We could have sued for peace weeks ago. Were it up to me or the Lord Defender, you would have been ransomed back to your husband the day we found you. Damin is the only thing standing between you and the husband you seem so determined to desert. It didn’t seem right to let you blame him for that too.”

Tarja led the horses away and left her standing there. She wondered for a moment why she felt no burning urge to avenge Tristan. The man who killed him was right here, within reach.

Then the reason came to her. It was not Tarja who was responsible for Tristan’s death. He may have wielded the blade, but it was Cratyn who had killed him. Cratyn and his sick priests.

Cratyn was the one who would pay.

Chapter 41

The news that the First Sister was on her way home caused a flurry of activity in the Citadel. Everyone seemed intent on sprucing up their own little patch of the city and even the Defenders were not immune. Loclon found himself facing an empty arena day after day, as the cadets were called away to other duties. Learning swordcraft was all very well, but the First Sister was due and she was bound to insist on an inspection. One had to get one’s priorities right.

Left to his own devices, Loclon sought amusement in the Blue Bull, but even that worthy establishment was suffering the effects of the First Sister’s impending return. There was nobody drinking in the tavern and the benches were stacked on the tabletops as fresh rushes were laid out. Loclon slammed the door in annoyance and headed back to his rooms.

When he arrived back at Mistress Longreaves’ Boarding House he discovered a note pinned to his door. He looked around before opening it, but at this time of day, the hall was deserted. I want to see you, the note said. It was unsigned, but he needed no name to know who had sent it. He went into his room, threw the note on the fire, and exchanged his red jacket for a nondescript brown one. It would not do to be seen entering Mistress Heaner’s in broad daylight in his uniform.

Lork opened the door for him and stood back to let him enter. He pointed wordlessly to the hall. Loclon frowned. He did not like meeting Mistress Heaner in the basement; did not like to be reminded that he was serving the Overlord.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he discovered Mistress Heaner was not alone. The narrow altar was ablaze, the symbol of Xaphista glittering malignantly in the candlelight. The old woman was on her knees, chanting softly. Beside her was a man wearing a brown cassock, his tonsured head so polished it reflected the candles. How in the name of the Founders had a Karien priest managed to get into the city? He waited as they finished their prayers and the priest helped the old woman to her feet before retrieving his jewelled staff from the altar. Mistress Heaner studied him with predatory eyes and turned to her companion.

“This is the man I spoke of. Captain Loclon, this is Garanus.”

Loclon nodded warily in the direction of the priest, then looked at Mistress Heaner. “You said you wanted to see me. I can come back later when you’re not busy.”

“It was I who sent for you,” the priest said. His voice was accented and oddly rasping, as if his throat had been burned. He laid the staff gently on Loclon’s shoulder, waiting for a moment before withdrawing it with a faint nod of satisfaction. “Mistress Heaner tells me you have something of a history with the demon child.”

At the mention of R’shiel, Loclon’s doubts vanished. “Do you know where she is?”

The priest nodded. “She will be here within a day. She accompanies the First Sister.”

Loclon burned with the heat of his need. “Then I will kill her as soon as she arrives.” Kill her, yes, but slowly and oh-so-painfully – and only after she begs for mercy.

“You will do no such thing!” the priest snapped.

“Isn’t she destined to destroy your god? I’d have thought killing her would be the first thing you’d want.”

“She was created to destroy him, Captain. That’s not the same thing as destiny. The demon child lacks commitment. She has not accepted the task, or she would be heading for Karien, not the Citadel.”

“So... what... you think you can turn her to your cause?”

“Xaphista is the one true god,” Mistress Heaner reminded him. “The demon child will become his ally and destroy the Primal gods. He has decreed that it will be so.”

Loclon thought it unwise to point out the flaw in her argument. If Xaphista really was the only god, then who had created the demon child? And if the Primal gods did not exist, as the Overlord claimed, what need for someone to destroy them?

“Your task will be to bring her to us,” Garanus explained. Then he added with a slight frown, “Whole and unharmed, Captain.”

“I was promised vengeance.”

“And vengeance you shall have,” the priest assured him. “Once the demon child has embraced the Overlord, she will turn on our enemies, and yours, and destroy them.”

That wasn’t quite what Loclon had in mind. “What did you want me to do?”

“You will be taking part in the Founder’s Day Parade, yes?”

He nodded. Nobody got out of that duty.

“The First Sister will arrive towards the end of the parade. She has no doubt timed the event to maximise the impact of her return.”

“The First Sister is fond of making an entrance,” Mistress Heaner added scornfully.

“You will assign yourself to her party and stay close to her.”

“Assign myself? You don’t know much about the Defenders, Priest. One doesn’t assign oneself to anything.”

“If you are nearby when she arrives, and volunteer for the duty, I am sure you can manage something.”

“And what about R’shiel?”

“It is likely you will not recognise her. She may be using a glamour to conceal her identity. But that is not your concern. There is a man with her. A Harshini half-breed named Brakandaran. You must kill him.”

He shrugged. “And then what?”

“Once you have brought proof that Brakandaran is dead, we will discuss the best way to handle R’shiel.”

Loclon was not very happy with the arrangement. “Are you sure you know who you’re dealing with? There is no best way to handle R’shiel. She’s a murderous bitch.”

“The demon child can be controlled, Captain. Her strength is also her weakness.” He reached inside his cassock and withdrew a thin silver choker with a jewelled clasp in the shape of the star and lightning bolt of the Overlord. “This will ensure her cooperation.”

“You think she’s going to change sides for that little trinket?” he scoffed.

“With this ‘little trinket’, as you call it,” the priest informed him with a malicious smile, “the demon child will do anything you want of her. The more she tries to use her power to fight it, the worse it will be for her.”

Loclon took the choker and examined it thoughtfully.

“She’ll do anything, you say?”

The priest nodded. “Anything.”

Founder’s Day dawned overcast and dull, with low clouds threatening rain and a cold, blustery wind that groped through any gap in clothing with chill fingers. The crowd was thick around Francil’s Hall as the citizens gathered for a glimpse of the returning First Sister, but their mood was subdued. It was too cold to stand around waiting and as the parade passed by; many thoughts were turned to the bonfires and the warm food waiting in the Amphitheatre. If she did not arrive soon, hunger was likely to win out over curiosity.