“She speaks the truth, my Lord. Jenga sent a messenger to warn us.”
Tarja dismounted and let Shadow be led away by one of his own men who had clustered around them, anxious for news.
“How far behind us?”
“A day or two, three at the outside.”
“This could make things interesting,” Damin remarked laconically.
Adrina punched his arm impatiently. “Interesting? Don’t you realise the danger we’re in?”
Tarja understood Adrina’s annoyance. Damin had a bad habit of treating everything as if it was some sort of elaborate game. His refusal to take anything seriously could be frustrating at times. In this case it was downright dangerous.
“She has a point, Damin.”
“What’s the problem?” he shrugged. “We’ve already agreed that it would be insane to take the Defenders on. We can’t go overland – it will slow us down too much – so we hide. The Defenders will ride by us, none the wiser.”
“And run straight into Cratyn,” Tarja reminded him. “What do you think will happen then?”
“If we’re lucky, they’ll wipe each other out,” the Warlord chuckled.
“Be serious!”
Damin had the decency to look contrite. “You’re right. If Cratyn knows when we left, and we haven’t been seen by the Defenders, even he should be able to figure out that we’re around here somewhere.”
“Can’t we slip past the Defenders?” Adrina asked hopefully. There was an edge of desperation in her voice.
Tarja shook his head. “Not a chance.”
“Then we go overland,” Damin said, no happier with the idea than Tarja. But at least this way they would have a chance of avoiding the two forces that were inexorably closing in on them. But it took him away from the Citadel. Away from R’shiel.
“If we start moving now, we can put a few leagues between us and the Defenders by nightfall.”
The Warlord nodded and ordered Almodavar to get everyone moving. Tarja’s stomach rumbled in complaint, reminding him that he had missed lunch as Damin led Adrina away, his arm around her shoulder.
As he watched the retreating couple he frowned. He should have put a stop to it. That he would have had more chance of stopping the sun rising tomorrow did little to ease his concern. Were it not for Adrina, Cratyn would more than likely have ignored the Hythrun refusal to surrender. What were a thousand Hythrun to a man who could muster a hundred thousand men? If Cratyn was simply chasing down his errant wife, then it was bad enough. If anyone suspected that she and Damin were lovers, and shared their suspicions with the prince, Cratyn would not rest until every last person who knew of the liaison was dead. He was the Karien Crown Prince and his religion demanded the most terrible vengeance he could wreak. Adrina’s infidelity could not be forgiven – it could only be washed away in blood.
It was slow going as they picked their way cross country. The terrain was hard on the horses. One minute they were climbing, the next descending, and although the slopes were not steep, the horses had been ridden hard for days now. By the time darkness fell, and with it the temperature, even some of the magnificent Hythrun horses, renowned for their stamina, were stumbling. Tarja called a halt and ordered them to make camp, but refused to allow any fires. The chance of being spotted by a Defender scout was too real to be ignored.
Tarja hobbled his mount and finally got around to eating something long after dark, although hard cheese and jerky barely counted as a meal. He had been spoilt, he decided, living on the border. There was a time when he didn’t mind trail rations. Had he been tougher then – or just less discerning, he wondered?
“Tarja?”
He turned, a little surprised to find Adrina weaving her way among the picketed horses toward him. Her breath frosted in the moonlight and she held her borrowed jacket tightly closed against the cold.
“I thought you’d be asleep by now.”
“Sleep?” she laughed humourlessly. “That’s a joke. Who can sleep with a thousand Defenders over the next hill and the Kariens riding us down?”
“You need to rest, then, even if you can’t sleep. The last few days are going to seem like a picnic compared to what lies ahead.”
She reached up and patted Shadow’s forelock. The mare nuzzled her hopefully for a moment then returned to her feedbag when she decided the princess had nothing better to offer.
“Can I ask you something, Tarja?”
“I suppose.”
“If I wasn’t here, you wouldn’t be doing this, would you?”
She knew the answer as well as he did. He wondered what was really behind the question.
“Cratyn probably wouldn’t be on our tail, but we’d still be hiding from the Defenders. You can’t blame yourself for that.”
She smiled. “Actually, I’m a little surprised at myself. Taking the blame for things is not my style. I’ve never been known for my selflessness.”
Tarja found that very easy to believe.
“I keep thinking I should just go back to Cratyn and be damned.”
“What good would that do?” He hoped he hadn’t let his astonishment show. Such an offer from Adrina verged on the miraculous.
“R’shiel is missing, Tarja. You should be helping her, not saving me from my own stupidity.” She smiled self-consciously, as if she was startled to have made such an admission. “I have a feeling that the demon child is more important in the general scheme of things than one disgruntled princess.”
“She’s right, Tarja.”
Brak appeared out of nowhere a pace behind Adrina. The princess spun around, startled by the unexpected voice. A thousand questions leapt to Tarja’s mind at the sight of him, but one question overrode every other, even his astonishment at Brak’s sudden return:
“Where is R’shiel?”
“Closer than you think,” Brak replied, then he bowed to Adrina. “You must be Hablet’s girl. Adrina, isn’t it? The one who married Cratyn?”
“Who are you?” she demanded. “Tarja? Who is he?”
“Brakandaran,” Tarja told her, fighting to keep an even temper. What in the name of the Founders had happened to R’shiel? How did Brak get here? “He’s Harshini. He was supposed to be looking after R’shiel.”
“You can’t blame Brak, Tarja, it wasn’t his fault.”
Tarja started at the new voice and turned to find Dace standing behind him. The God of Thieves was grinning broadly, rather pleased with the effect of his dramatic entrance.
“What are you doing here?”
“You know, most people would prostrate themselves when confronted with a god,” Dace pointed out, a little miffed at Tarja’s less-than-enthusiastic reception.
“I’m not ‘most people’. What happened to R’shiel?”
“That’s a god?” Adrina asked. She looked awestruck, but then, she was a pagan. Being confronted with one of her gods probably meant a great deal more to her than it meant to him.
“Unfortunately, yes. This is Dacendaran. He’s supposed to be the God of Thieves, I think. Personally, I think he’s the God of Unreliable Fools.”
“Don’t be absurd, Tarja, there’s no such entity. If you’re going to be like that, then I won’t help you.”
“That’s an empty threat under the circumstances,” Brak remarked.
“But he can’t be a god,” Adrina scoffed. “I’ve seen him in the Defenders’ camp. He was hanging around with Mikel.”
“My newest and most fervent... no actually, he’s more like a reluctant disciple.”
“Brak, what the hell is going on?”
He held up his hand wearily to stay Tarja’s avalanche of questions. “Look, I know I have a lot of explaining to do, and I will, I promise. But let’s find Damin first. I don’t want to have to go over this more than once.”