Treason Keep

Adrina did not need to be told twice. She raced back up the stairs, pushing Tam ahead of her. When they reached the landing, Tarja motioned them down. By the time they were stretched out on their bellies, looking down over the Hall, the first of the Kariens were clattering through the door.

Adrina recognised Lord Roache and Lord Laetho as they raised their faceplates. The other knights she did not know; they were more than likely an escort. The Dukes made their way to the end of the hall as Lord Jenga entered with Cratyn at his side. Following them were a dozen or more Defenders. None of the Medalonians looked very happy.

Adrina studied Cratyn for a moment. He removed his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair as he looked around the Hall. His eyes skimmed over the darkened balcony. He could not see her, she knew, but she held her breath in any case. Jenga ordered wine served and turned to face Cratyn. The two opposing sides had unconsciously arranged themselves on either side of the long wooden table near the fireplace.

“You requested a parley, your Highness, and I have honoured your flag of truce. What do you want?”

Cratyn seemed a little taken aback by Jenga’s blunt manner. “I’m certain you know exactly what I want, my Lord. I want your surrender.”

Several Defenders, those officers who did not know of the order from the Citadel, gasped in surprise. Jenga silenced them with a look and turned back to the young prince.

“What makes you think I’m planning to surrender?”

Cratyn looked at Roache uncertainly. “I was led to believe, my Lord, that you had received an order to that effect some time ago.”

“Then you were misinformed, your Highness.”

Adrina was quite astounded to hear the Lord Defender lie so blatantly. Isn’t truth supposed to be a virtue of the Defenders? She glanced at Tarja, but he was engrossed in the scene below and his expression was impossible to read in the gloom.

“He’s lying, your Highness,” Roache assured the prince confidently.

Jenga turned on Roache. “You impugn my honour, sir?”

Before Roache could reply the doors flew open and Damin burst in, followed by Almodavar and a score of Raiders. Adrina smiled at Damin’s theatrical flair – every man with him must have been picked for his size, she thought. They were conspicuously armed and arrayed themselves across the doorway, blocking the exit.

Tarja groaned softly. “Founders, what’s he up to now?”

“My apologies for being late,” Damin announced as he strode into the Hall. He walked straight up to Lord Roache and bowed extravagantly. “You must be Prince Cratyn.”

“I am Cratyn,” the prince announced in annoyance. Damin had walked straight past him. It was no accident, Adrina was certain. Roache was old enough to be his grandfather and Damin knew well how old Cratyn was.

“You?” Damin asked in feigned surprise. “Gods! You’re just a child. Ah, but you’re not a child, are you? I hear you’re married now. How is your lovely wife, by the way?”

Adrina cringed at the question. What the hell was he playing at? Cratyn glared at him, quite appalled by the Warlord.

“Who are you, sir?” Roache demanded angrily.

“I’m sorry, did I forget to introduce myself? I am Damin Wolfblade, Warlord of Krakandar, Crown Prince of Hythria, Prince of the Northern Marshes, and there’s another title or two that I can’t quite recall. And you would be...?”

“This is Lord Roache and Lord Laetho, my advisers,” Cratyn said, not having the wits to announce their full titles.

“Lord Laetho?” Damin asked. “Now you I’ve heard of. What happened to that brat we sent back, by the way?”

“We are here to discuss surrender!” Cratyn declared, sounding more like a petulant child than a statesman.

As she watched Cratyn try to impose his will on the gathering, she could not help but compare her husband to her lover. Apart from the physical differences between the men – even the most objective observer would agree that Cratyn fared a poor second – there was no comparison. Damin commanded authority without even trying. Cratyn had to demand it – loudly.

“Surrender?” Damin cried, as if it was the first time he had heard the word. “Surely you’re not going to quit after one measly little battle, Cratyn? I came here for a good fight and you want to surrender already? Have some balls, man!”

Even Jenga bit back a smile at Damin’s deliberate misunderstanding.

“Not me, you fool!” Cratyn snapped. Normally surrounded by men who treated him like rare porcelain, he was floundering in the face of Damin’s disrespect. “Medalon is surrendering to us!”

“You are?” Damin asked Jenga. “Since when?”

“No decision has been made as yet, Lord Wolfblade.”

“You claimed you knew nothing about this,” Cratyn accused.

“An unverified message has been received, your Highness. I do not consider that an order when dealing with an issue of such importance.”

“You require verification, my Lord?” Roache asked.

“Naturally. Would you surrender a strategically superior position without some sort of confirmation?”

Roache nodded solemnly. “Of course not. How long will this verification take?”

“I suppose that depends on whether or not the order is genuine,” Jenga shrugged. “I imagine the confirmation should arrive within the week, if it is.”

“And if the order is proved genuine?”

“Then I have no choice, your Grace,” Jenga conceded.

Roache appeared satisfied with the Lord Defender’s answer. He was the most experienced of Cratyn’s dukes. He understood the Lord Defender’s position, even admired his stance.

“Perhaps then, in anticipation of the verification you require, we could discuss the details of your surrender?”

“That is somewhat premature, is it not?” Jenga ventured.

“Not at all, my Lord. Given that we have also been advised of your imminent surrender, one could safely assume that the order is genuine. Given that neither of us wishes unnecessary misunderstanding, such an agreement would seem prudent, don’t you think?”

Cratyn had become superfluous in the face of the experience of the Lord Defender and the canny Lord Roache. Even Laetho seemed at a loss for words. But Damin wasn’t finished. Not yet.

“Well, I’m sorry, but if you’re going to surrender, I can’t condone it,” he declared. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

“The surrender includes all forces currently allied with Medalon,” Cratyn pointed out stiffly.

“Then consider our alliance at an end,” Damin announced. “I’m not going to surrender to this whelp.” He turned on Cratyn shaking his head. “Did you really marry one of Hablet’s daughters? Gods! I can’t imagine how you manage to keep her satisfied.”

Adrina would have thrown something at Damin, had she had a missile handy, but Cratyn did blush an interesting shade of red.

Damin turned to Jenga. “My Lord, I cannot countenance this farce any longer. I shall be leaving immediately. Kindly have my court’esa delivered to my tent at once.”

The Warlord tossed his head dramatically and marched from the Hall, his savage looking Raiders in his wake. Jenga purposely kept his eyes downcast.

“Aren’t you going to stop him?” Lord Laetho demanded.

“Lord Wolfblade is an ally, my Lord. I do not command him. Short of a pitched battle, I don’t see how I can stop him leaving.”

“The Hythrun is of no importance,” Roache agreed. “There is only one place he can go, and he might find more waiting for him when he gets there than he bargained for.”

“There is also the matter of Captain Tenragan,” Cratyn added, annoyed that the discussion was slipping from his control.

“Your Highness?”