Treason Keep

Mikel was chattering away to Dace about the eggs they had stolen when he suddenly realised that his friend was no longer with him. He looked around the crowded camp, puzzled. Dace was nowhere to be seen.

Mikel sighed, used to Dace’s odd disappearances by now. He did that sort of thing a lot. One minute he was there and the next he was gone. Still, it wasn’t that important. Mikel knew the way to the old herb woman’s place where the eggs were safely nestled in an old shawl in the corner of her tent. He was far more interested in them, anyway. The chicks should hatch any day now and he was as excited as any expectant father.

He turned into the street beside Will Barley’s tavern tent and stopped dead as a familiar figure emerged from the old woman’s tent. Mikel bit back a startled cry and slipped back between the tavern tent and the tent beside it. What was Tarja doing in the old woman’s tent? Had he discovered the eggs?

Even Mikel knew that stealing a clutch of swallow’s eggs would not warrant the attention of a Defender. Perhaps he was sickening for something and had gone to see Draginya for a cure? Then something truly dreadful occurred to him. Perhaps Tarja had discovered that Mikel spent most of his afternoons with Dace and had come looking for him. The only reason Tarja would seek him out was to punish him, Mikel was certain. What would he do? Would Jaymes lose a finger because of his brother’s folly? That he had disowned his brother as a traitor was momentarily forgotten.

He waited anxiously, filled with trepidation as Tarja moved off between the tents. When he was sure the Defender would not turn back, he hurried to the old woman’s tent and slipped inside.

“Did he hurt you?” Mikel demanded as soon as the flap closed behind him.

Draginya sat in her chair by the smoking brazier from where she hardly ever seemed to move; at least in Mikel’s company.

“Did who hurt me, child?” She sounded surprised by his question.

“Tarja.”

Her face creased into a wrinkled frown. “You speak with too much hatred for a child.”

“That’s because he’s a monster!”

“Your ignorance blinds you, boy. Tarja is the appointed lover of the demon child. He is destined for great things.”

Mikel stared at her. “Says who?”

“The gods, of course. Hasn’t your god explained these things?”

“The Overlord doesn’t speak to the likes of me. He only speaks to the priests and stuff.”

Draginya nodded sadly. “That is a great shame.”

“Anyway,” Mikel added, rather put out by the old woman’s pitying tone. “Tarja’s a Medalonian. That makes him an atheist. Even if I believed what you say about the other gods, he wouldn’t.”

“Tarja knows the gods exist, Mikel. He simply choses not to worship them. The Primal gods like to have believers, but they don’t need them. You honoured Dacendaran when you stole those eggs. Whether you believe in him or not doesn’t enter into it.”

“We never stole anything!”

“You removed those eggs from their rightful owner without permission. That defines theft, don’t you think?”

“But we wanted to save the chicks,” he protested.

“If you kill one man to save another, it is still killing, Mikel. Good intentions don’t alter the nature of an event.”

“Then I betrayed the Overlord,” he concluded, sinking down to the floor beside Draginya’s stool. “I’m doomed.”

“You’re exaggerating,” the old woman scolded. “You are a child, Mikel, and far too young to concern yourself with visions of doom and eternal damnation. Live life to the full and follow the god of your heart, not the tired litanies of grown-ups whose desire for power has a lot more to do with their faith than what their god might want.”

“That’s blasphemy.”

“No, it’s wisdom. When you’re as old as I am, you get to call everything wisdom. Now go check on your eggs and be off with you. I’m tired and I have to start packing.”

“You’re leaving? Why?” Mikel was much less concerned about the old woman travelling in winter than he was about his eggs. If she left, what would he do with them?

“Because your people will be here soon. They’ll take one look at me and burn me for a witch, I’m certain.”

“You mean there’ll be another battle? One that Prince Cratyn will win?”

She shook her head and placed a withered hand on his shoulder. “The battle has been fought and lost far from this place, child. The Defenders have been ordered to surrender.”

All thought of eggs fled Mikel’s mind as the news sunk in. The Defenders were going to surrender! Jaymes would be released and brought back into the arms of the Overlord.

And best of all, he thought happily, Princess Adrina would not have to pretend to hate Prince Cratyn any more.

Mikel hurried back through the camp, his heart lighter than it had been for months. Any day now, Prince Cratyn would cross the border in triumph. Karien had won. Tarja would be hung for the criminal he was. The Overlord had made the Medalonians surrender with hardly a drop of blood spilt. (He conveniently forgot the massacre resulting from the only serious Karien incursion into Medalon.) It didn’t matter what happened now. It didn’t matter what they did to him. The Overlord was truly omnipotent, just like the priests said.

He skirted the edge of the camp and wound his way back through the corrals, taking the route closest to the Hythrun stables. He always took the same route. Dace claimed it was in the hope of catching sight of his brother – a charge Mikel vehemently denied. It was simply the easiest way back, he insisted, ignoring Dace’s knowing smirk.

This time, however, he actively searched for his brother. He had to give him the news, quite certain that as soon as Jaymes learnt his own people would soon be here, he would see the error of his ways. Mikel was thrilled by the prospect and burning to share it with someone.

Jaymes was nowhere to be found, but as he stuck his head cautiously around the corner of the first stable block, he spied someone who deserved to hear the news even more.

Adrina was alone, brushing down a gorgeous golden mare, talking to the beast softly as she worked. There was nobody else around, not even a guard. Mikel chose to think of that as a sign from the Overlord, rather than the more obvious conclusion – that she wasn’t guarded because they didn’t consider her in need of one.

“Your Highness!” he hissed loudly.

Adrina turned and frowned when she caught sight of him.

“Mikel? What are you doing hiding over there?”

He slipped into the stable and ran to her, dropping to one knee as he had seen the Fardohnyan lanceman do after the battle. The gesture had struck him as being terribly noble.

“Your Highness, I have the most wonderful news!”

“Have you now? Do tell.”

“Medalon has surrendered, your Highness. Prince Cratyn will be here any day. We are to be rescued!”

Mikel looked up, expecting to see relief and happiness radiating from her in equal measure. He was disappointed to find her taking the news quite calmly.

“And where did you hear this startling piece of intelligence?” she asked.

“From the old herb woman in the camp. She’s already packing to leave for fear of the Overlord’s wrath.”

Adrina smiled. “Mikel, don’t you think if Medalon had surrendered, their troops might be told before some old herb woman? I’m sure she’s mistaken.”

“But she seemed so certain, your Highness. Even Tarja went to visit her.”

“Now that’s interesting,” Adrina agreed. “Do you know why?”

“The old woman said it was to talk to the God of Thieves, but I don’t believe her. There is only the Overlord, isn’t there?”