He turned away, his expression determined and even a little disappointed. Adrina impulsively leaned forward and kissed Jenga’s weathered cheek before she and Tam hurried after him.
“Captain!”
They stopped and looked back. Adrina could have sworn there were tears in the old man’s eyes.
“Take as many men with you as you can. Just be quiet about it.”
Tarja nodded in understanding. “As you wish.”
“You’re the only one I can ask this of, you understand that, don’t you? No other man in my command has experience of this type of warfare.”
The comment puzzled Adrina. “War is war, isn’t it? Besides, you said you would surrender.”
“I’m surrendering my forces, your Highness. I have no say over what former officers do once they have resigned from the corps.”
“You’ll accept my resignation then, my Lord?”
The Lord Defender nodded.
“Make the bastards pay, Tarja,” he added. “Make them pay for every league of Medalon soil they claim.”
What could one man and a handful of renegade soldiers do, she wondered, to halt an army the size of the Kariens? Then she glanced at the captain and saw the look of quiet determination in Tarja’s eyes.
Cratyn was going to find taking Medalon a lot harder than he imagined.
Chapter 56
There was no denying the rumours once the Kariens arrived under a flag of truce, and Lord Jenga did not bother trying. On the morning following the meeting with Prince Cratyn word was passed through the camp that Medalon would surrender. The following day a messenger was sent north through a miserable squall to request another meeting with the Kariens – this one to negotiate the details. Mikel heard the news with mixed feelings. The welcome thought that he would soon be back among his own people was soured by the knowledge he carried.
The Hythrun camp was dismantled with remarkable speed. Rather than move out as one large force, Lord Wolfblade dispatched his men in waves, a Century at a time. He was concerned that his fleeing force might prove too tempting to the Kariens. Cratyn would not be able to resist pursuing a thousand Hythrun across Medalon, but it was unlikely he would bother hunting down countless scattered bands of them.
Mikel overheard Monthay discussing the strategic merits of the Warlord’s decision with another sergeant. He seemed to admire it. The Raiders left in platoons of one hundred, which would break into smaller groups once they were clear of the battlefield. They had been ordered to make their way home anyway they could. Some would ride straight for the Glass River, others would stay on this side until they almost reached Bordertown. It would be well nigh impossible to round them all up.
The Hythrun weren’t the only ones departing in haste. The followers’ camp was a frenzy of activity as some hastened to leave and others dug in, hoping for even more business once the countless Kariens arrived. Mistress Miffany’s brightly striped tent was gone even before the Kariens had paid Lord Jenga a visit, as was old Draginya’s tent. Mikel had no idea what happened to his eggs but he cared little for them now. He had more important things to worry about. More adult things. He had not seen Dace or Kali for days and assumed his new friends had left too.
The last of the Hythrun to leave was Lord Wolfblade’s party, and the size of it puzzled him. He was certain nearly all of the Hythrun Raiders had left already, yet there seemed far too many men gathered on the edge of the camp waiting for the order to move out. Then Mikel realised that over half the men riding with the Warlord were mounted on sturdy Medalonian horses, not the magnificent golden horses of the Hythrun. There were even men mounted on the captured Fardohnyan steeds. His suspicions were confirmed when Damin appeared with Tarja at his side. The soldiers wore nondescript civilian clothing, but they were Defenders, sure as Xaphista was the Overlord. Tarja was abandoning the field and taking hundreds of his men with him, including the captured Fardohnyans.
Mikel watched from the top rail of the corral nearest the Hythrun stables. He could not see the princess, but she was there somewhere, he was certain. Nor could he spot Jaymes in the milling crowd. He had anxiously studied every troop leaving the field and was sure that his brother was still in the camp. Perhaps Jaymes had seen the light; or perhaps the Hythrun had abandoned him once they knew they were heading home.
It was just on dawn when Tarja gave the order to move out. He and Damin waited off to the side, their heads close together as they discussed something of import, as the men moved off. Several other riders waited behind then, but from this distance, Mikel could not identify them.
“Mikel!”
Jaymes broke away from the host and cantered toward him. He was mounted on a Medalonian horse – he was too raw to be trusted with a valuable Hythrun mount, but his saddlebags were full, his bed roll tied to the saddle.
“Have you come to see me off?” His brother’s eyes glittered with the excitement of his adventure. He sat his horse as proud as any Defender.
Mikel glared at him reproachfully. “Traitor.”
Jaymes’expression hardened. “You’re a child, Mikel. You don’t understand.”
“I understand plenty. You’re betraying your country, your lord and your prince. Just like her.”
“Just like who?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He was not going to share his knowledge with Jaymes. He didn’t deserve to know the truth.
His brother sighed. “I have to go, Mikel. Will you give mother and father my love?”
The audacity of the request made Mikel’s blood boil. “I’ll do no such thing! I’ll tell them you’re dead. Better they think that than know the truth!”
He jumped off the rail and ran back toward the Keep, ignoring Jaymes’ frantic calls for him to return.
When he finally stopped and looked back Jaymes was gone.
The next time Prince Cratyn arrived, a long and frustrating day after the Hythrun had departed, it was with a much larger party and there was no white flag in evidence. The Prince knew he had won and was in no mood to mind the tender feelings of his vanquished foe. He marched into the Keep, his dukes at his heels, with all the assurance of one who knew he had nothing to fear.
Mikel hung around the yard, trying to be inconspicuous. It proved to be a relatively simply task. Neither the Defenders on guard nor the Karien escort spared him a glance. They were too busy eyeing each other warily to be concerned with one small boy.
Mikel had no idea how he was going to get near the prince. He knew none of the knights waiting outside with the horses, and he was fairly sure that he looked like nothing more than a Medalonian urchin. They would not spare him a copper if he was starving, let alone take him to see the prince. The meeting dragged on for hours as the cold sun climbed high in the sky. Mikel missed lunch and his stomach growled in complaint as the sky darkened toward dusk.
His chance came just as he was on the verge of giving up. Sir Andony emerged from the hall to speak to the knights waiting outside. Mikel swallowed his apprehension and hurried forward.
“Sir Andony?”
The young knight glanced at him, his eyes widening in shock.
“Mikel? What in Xaphista’s name are you doing here?”
“I have to see the prince, Sir Andony.”
“Don’t be absurd! What could you possibly need to see the prince for?”
“It’s about Princess Adrina.”
Andony was not renowned for his intelligence, but even he understood the implications. He nodded slowly.
“Wait here.”
Mikel fidgeted impatiently under the scrutiny of the Karien knights as Andony disappeared inside. In a surprisingly short time, Lord Roache appeared. He grabbed Mikel by the collar and dragged him aside, out of the hearing of the knights and the Defenders alike.