less happy about taking orders from those Karien bastards, so here I am, ready to fight alongside a thousand other deserters. You know, Tarja, until you came along, nobody even thought of breaking their Defenders' oath. Now it's a bloody epidemic.” He threw the remains of his stew onto the fire and stood up. “I have to check the sentries, although why we cling to Defender discipline is beyond me. It's not as if we're ever likely to be welcomed back into the Corps, is it?”
He stalked off into the darkness, leaving Tarja and Denjon staring after him.
“He always was a stickler for the rules,” Denjon remarked in the uncomfortable silence that followed.
“How many of the others feel like him?”
“Quite a few,” Denjon replied. “He's right about one thing, though. It isn't easy for a Defender to walk away from his oath.”
“I never asked you to follow me, Denjon.”
The captain laughed humourlessly. “No,
He frowned. Something else bothered him about R'shiel, some feeling or emotion he could not place. A vague uneasiness that lingered on the edge of his mind, just out of reach.
“So, how far are we from Testra? That is where you're planning to cross the river, isn't it?”
Denjon nodded. “Less than a week. Now you're up and about, we can make better time. Do you think you can sit on a horse?”
“I'm damned if I'm going to spend any more time in that wagon. I can ride.”
“Good. We've picked up quite a few of the Defenders you left the border with along the way. We number close to thirteen hundred now.”
“Thirteen hundred against the Karien host isn't many.”
“I know,” Denjon agreed. “But that's where your Hythrun friends come in. With their help, we might have a chance.”
Sleep eluded Tarja for a long time that night. Waking from weeks of unconsciousness to find everything so radically changed was extremely disconcerting. He tossed and turned on the cold ground as the stars dwindled into dawn, trying to pin down the uneasiness that niggled at him like a tiny burr. Everything Denjon had told him, he reviewed over and over in his mind. But what bothered him came from another source. Something else was wrong... or different. Something that he could not define.
All he knew for certain was that it centred on R'shiel.
After a full day in the saddle, Tarja realised how weak he was, but he was consumed by a restless energy that made it impossible for him to take the rest he needed. He could not understand the reason for his restive mood and the blank, dark hole in his memory unsettled him more than he was willing to admit.
All he could think of was getting to Hythria. His mind raced, making plans and rejecting them as he tried to figure the best way to hamper the Karien occupation force. The fact that he had no idea what sort of assistance they would receive from the Hythrun once they crossed the border made his task almost impossible. Damin might only be able to spare him a few centuries of Raiders, or he might be able to bring the full weight of the massive Hythrun war machine to his aid. There was simply no way to tell.
He drove Denjon mad when the other captain gave the order to make camp each evening, insisting they had at least another hour of daylight. Denjon was amused the first night, patient the second, and told him bluntly to mind his own business the third.
But Tarja's recovery seemed to bolster the morale of the men. He had been a popular officer once, known as a promising officer, a fair man and tipped to be the next Lord Defender. To see him back among them, wearing his red jacket and brimming with nervous energy, revived the spirits of men who up until then had had little more to do than contemplate their new status as outlaws.
Five days after Tarja woke, they were within sight of Testra. Tarja suggested sending an advance party forward to reconnoitre in the town, while the bulk of their force waited out of sight to avoid drawing attention to their number, although Denjon seemed certain that news of their desertion could not have reached this far south yet.
“We can't risk riding into Testra in force,” Tarja insisted.
“Yesterday you were all for riding through the night to get here. Now you want to add another day to the trip while you go sightseeing,” Linst complained.
“I don't
“Reluctant as I am to spend another day on this side of the river,” Denjon said, “I'm afraid I agree with Tarja.”
Linst glared at both of them for a moment then shrugged. “As you wish.”
When he left them, Denjon turned to Tarja. “Do you think he's having second thoughts?”
“You can count on it,” Tarja agreed. “Who's in command in Testra?”
“Antwon, I think.”
“I know him. He won't like the idea of surrender.”
“Not liking the idea of surrender is not the same as being willing to desert,” Denjon pointed out.
“Still, it's worth sounding him out. Every Defender we get out of Medalon now is another man we can put into the field later on.”
“Aye. And you'd best get some rest. You look ready to drop.”
“I'm fine.”
The practised lie came easily to him now. It was much simpler than trying to explain that he couldn't sleep, couldn't stop his mind from running around in circles, or prevent the confused images that flashed in front of his eyes, catching him unawares.
Something had happened to him. Something to do with R'shiel and her damned Harshini healing. But whenever he thought of R'shiel, a myriad conflicting and seemingly impossible memories surfaced. Some of them were real memories, he was certain of that. Others were like a nightmare. They were the ones where he imagined R'shiel in his arms. The ones where he loved her - not like the sister he had grown up believing her to be - but as her lover.
The absolute certainty that he would never feel that way towards his sister was the only thing that kept him sane.
CHAPTER 9
“The main wharf looks new.”
Teriahna chuckled softly at Brak's comment. They were walking along the waterfront of Talabar amidst the morning bustle of the busy port, for no better reason than the privacy such a public place offered. The sun beat down on them and the wharves were crowded with frazzled-looking merchants and bare-chested, sweat-sheened sailors shouting boisterously at each other as they unloaded their cargoes.
“Ah, now there's a story behind that,” she told him as they sidestepped a gilded litter carried by four muscular slaves. “The Princess Adrina tried her hand at sailing Hablet's flagship, the
