‘We all feel bitter about the betrayal, Quinn,’ Karr said. ‘But we have to let it go. It’s history now.’
‘Not if the traitor’s still in our ranks.’
Tanalvah’s heart sank again.
‘If they were, why haven’t there been further betrayals?’ Karr reasoned. ‘Why haven’t they finished us?’
‘Perhaps they’re biding their time.’
‘It would have made sense to hit us while we were weak and disorganised. That didn’t happen. To my mind, that means whoever was responsible fled or died.’
‘Pushing your pet theory again are you, Dulian?’
‘Yes. I still think there’s a good argument for it having been Kayne.’
Tanalvah lifted her gaze. ‘Who?’
‘Mijar Kayne,’ Disgleirio answered. ‘Dulian’s referring to an unfortunate episode that we in the Righteous Blade aren’t particularly proud of. Kayne was a rogue. He used his position to enrich himself, mainly by demanding money to protect people we were already sworn to defend. And we think he might have sold low-level intelligence to the authorities.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘Something that’s very rarely occurred in the history of the Brotherhood; he was expelled. During the slaughter that followed the Great Betrayal he was killed in a skirmish with paladins. While looting, typically. We were looking for him ourselves at the time. It was a toss up as to who put him to the blade first.’
‘And that’s why there’s been no further treachery,’ Karr said. ‘A dead man can hardly indulge in perfidy.’
‘He was greedy and vain, but petty criminality doesn’t make somebody a traitor on that scale. I don’t think it was Kayne.’
Karr looked to Tanalvah. ‘You’re not eating, my dear.’
‘I’ve no appetite.’
‘You must keep up your strength, you know.’
‘Yes.’ But she made no effort to touch her food.
‘These aren’t pleasant matters to dwell on, particularly for someone in your condition. Forgive us.’
‘No, I…I’m interested.’
‘Well, we have some news you might find a little more cheering. We’ve nearly completed preparations to try to reach the Diamond Isle. I’m not saying it would be easy getting there, but we have a plan that-’
‘Everyone’s going?’
‘No. Unfortunately we had to be selective. But those staying behind never intended going to the island in the first place. Or else they’ve volunteered to stay in the hope they’ll have an opportunity in future, if things settle down.’
‘How many are going?’
‘As many as a ship will hold. It could be a couple of hundred, depending on the vessel. But we’d do our best to make you comfortable and-’
‘You’re asking me to go with you?’
‘Of course.’
‘I can’t.’
‘We understand you’d be concerned for your safety,’ Disgleirio said, ‘and for the children’s. But everything possible would be done to protect you all.’
‘I can’t go,’ she repeated.
‘Taking you somewhere so potentially dangerous must sound insane to you, Tanalvah,’ Karr added. ‘But we’ve reason to believe things are going to get worse here. At least you’d be with friends on the island.’
‘It’s not that. I don’t want to go.’
They were confounded, and it showed.
‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,’ she told them, ‘but I can’t leave.’
Disgleirio recovered first. ‘Why?’
‘If…when Kinsel gets back, he’ll come here, to Bhealfa.’
‘Tan…’
‘I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t care. I put my trust in Iparrater. The goddess will protect him and bring him back to us.’
‘Your faith’s admirable,’ Karr responded gently, ‘and it gives you strength. But you have to be realistic. It could be that Kinsel won’t-’
Tanalvah got up, awkwardly, knocking over a glass. She pushed away Disgleirio’s helping hand.
‘Kinsel will look for me and the children here,’ she repeated obstinately. ‘Where else would he go?’ She began to move away.
Disgleirio would have followed, had not Karr grasped his arm. ‘Let her be,’ he advised. ‘She needs time.’
‘For what?’
‘To come to terms with the fact that Kinsel’s lost to her.’
Kinsel Rukanis couldn’t sleep.
There was nothing unusual about that in itself; he’d had no better than a few hours of rest on any night since being sentenced, but he dared to hope this night might be different. On some obscure whim, Vance had ordered him taken from his filthy berth in the bowels of the ship and given his own cabin. True, the door was locked and guarded, and Kinsel couldn’t stray far from his bunk due to his ankle being chained to it. All that notwithstanding, his new surroundings were luxurious compared to what he’d grown used to. But sleep was still elusive, despite his exhaustion.
His emotions constantly surprised him. Why should he expect to sleep, given his circumstances? Why suppose he would ever sleep again? Or live to do so, come to that. He began to feel selfish for wanting something as natural as sleep.
Everything seemed so much worse in the middle of the night. Not that things were really any better in the daytime, but during the hours of darkness defences were down. Skin was somehow thinner, fears more pressing. It was when hopelessness triumphed, and the thought of self-destruction took on an allure.
There was no cheer to be had from the cabin. It was spartan to the point of bleakness, containing little more than the cot he occupied, and that was bolted to the floor. The only light came from the three-quarter moon, its frail beams entering by way of a minute porthole.
It was quiet. All he heard was the creaking of the ship at anchor, and the pacing of the guard on the other side of the door. The man was either taking his sentry duties seriously or just trying to keep warm. In any event the measured tread of heavy boots on weathered planks was mesmerising.
Kinsel lay staring at the low timbered ceiling, listening to the rhythm of the guard’s footsteps and trying not to think. He counted the paces. Eight steps took the guard to the limit of his territory, then there was a pause, some shuffling, and eight steps back. Kinsel didn’t find it a comfort exactly, or relaxing, but it did have a kind of consoling quality. Perhaps because it gave him a tenuous connection to another human being, even though the guard had no friendly intent.
So he listened, totted up the footsteps and kept his mind as blank as he could.
One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight. Pause. Shuffle. One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight.
Kinsel remained in his sleepless state for an indefinite period of time, lulled by the tempo of the stranger walking outside.
One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight. Pause. Shuffle. One…two…three…four…five…
The sudden termination was like a slap in the face. An affront to his reality. He was so startled he instinctively sat up.
There were new sounds. A scuffle, and what might have been a muffled cry. Then the thud of something weighty meeting the deck, followed by a more distant commotion, of men running and shouting, and the chiming of steel. He drew up his knees and hugged them protectively, straining the chain that bound him.
The door rattled, the handle shook, and a hammering began. Kinsel held his peace, not knowing if calling out would be wise or not. He wrenched at the chain, uselessly.
The hammering gave way to a concerted battering. Not a fist now; something metallic. The door shuddered in its frame, and with a crash, the head of an axe burst through. Several more blows followed, sending splinters flying. Kinsel ducked.
The door gave. It flew inward, whacked the wall and bounced half closed again. Somebody shouldered their way in. His appearance was hidden by the gloom, but a moonbeam struck the double-headed axe he was clutching, glinting the steel.
‘Kinsel?’
Rukanis thought he recognised the voice, but didn’t trust his senses and stayed mute.