He forced himself to stop thinking about the ifs. There were too many of them for comfort.
Damin agreed with his plan, but was rather disappointed that he was not to be included in the rescue party. He consoled himself with the prospect of some useful sabotage. A small party of his Raiders would sneak into the camp and disable the coach, while the rest would attempt to scatter the horses. Pursuit was certain, once R’shiel was discovered missing, but they planned to make it as difficult as possible.
That left only Adrina, her slave and the thirty men left of her Guard. The question of what to do with them was rather hotly debated, mostly between Damin and the princess. She did not want to be left behind to wait, and Damin was understandably reluctant to lead her into the middle of the Defenders’ camp. In they end they compromised. Adrina would stay with the horses on the edge of the camp, ready for a quick getaway. The Fardohnyans were more easily dealt with. With Damin as his interpreter, Tarja told the Fardohnyans they were free to go. He gave them maps to find their way home and enough supplies to see them to the Glass River. The young Lanceman accepted their release with quiet gratitude, following an assurance that the princess would be safe. The men would leave at dawn – one more scattered group in a landscape that would soon be crowded with them.
Their plans made, they settled down to rest until daylight. They would need to travel north tomorrow, shadowing the Defenders until they stopped again for the evening. Tarja hoped that Cratyn was far enough back that his troop would not run into the approaching Defenders. They had no real idea how far behind he was. Their estimates were based almost entirely on the assumption that Cratyn and his knights were probably armoured, and therefore unable to maintain any sort of sustained speed. The chances were good that the Karien force would not meet up with the Defenders until the day after tomorrow. Tarja needed to be well away by then.
Sleep eluded him, and he finally gave up pretending that he was getting any rest, just as the first of the stars winked out of existence with the onset of daylight. He walked to the edge of the camp, climbing a small hill to look out over their route for the next day. The sound of following footsteps alerted him to the fact that he was not alone, but he did not turn. He had a feeling he knew who it was.
“Can’t sleep?”
“Nor can you, I’d guess.”
Brak stepped up beside him and followed Tarja’s gaze.
“I don’t need sleep the way you do. One of the advantages of being half Harshini.”
They were silent for a time, each alone with his thoughts.
“How bad was it?” Tarja asked eventually.
“Bad enough,” Brak admitted. “You might get a shock when you find her. He cut her hair.”
Her glorious, dark-red hair. Tarja felt his ire rising, but forced it down. It would serve no purpose here.
“Tell me the rest of it.”
“There’s not much to tell. It took a while before I finally convinced Dace to release me – it was a good thing you sent him, by the way. Zegarnald was quite happy to let me rot. Anyway, Terbolt had already left the Citadel by then. Joyhinia, or rather Loclon, is still nominally in charge of the Sisterhood, but he’s taking his orders from a Karien called Squire Mathen. I don’t know who he is, but he’s working to his own agenda. Loclon doesn’t have much freedom of action.”
“For as long as I live, I will regret not killing him when I had the chance.”
“Accept it, Tarja. Being consumed by your regrets is a bad way to live.”
Tarja was surprised by the bitterness in his voice. “You speak from experience?”
“Oh yes,” the Harshini replied with feeling.
Tarja glanced at him curiously. Brak’s eyes had returned to their normal faded blue, but they were full of pain.
“I killed R’shiel’s father, Tarja. In doing so, not only did I destroy a good friend and my king, I saved her mother and allowed R’shiel to be born. Trust me, I have regrets that you couldn’t begin to understand.”
Tarja did understand though, more than Brak realised. “If R’shiel turns to Xaphista and the other gods want you to kill her, you’ll have destroyed your king for nothing.”
Brak nodded. “Nobody in this world wants her to succeed more than I do, Tarja.” Then he added with a sour smile, “and nobody has as much to lose if she does.”
“Will she succeed?”
“I wish I knew.”
Chapter 61
The Crown Prince of Karien was pious, noble and dedicated, but he was not stupid. He knew the Hythrun were better horseman, knew that they could travel much farther and faster than he could. So he broke with tradition and travelled without armour. He left his dukes behind and took only his good friend Drendyn, the Earl of Tiler’s Pass, and young Jannis, the Earl of Menthall. They were the only two men in his council he knew to be loyal to him, rather than to his father. The remainder of his force was made up of young knights who wanted to curry favour with the heir to the throne. Jasnoff would not reign forever, nor would the elder dukes. If he succeeded, these men would form the core of his personal support when he became king.
If he failed, none of them was so important or well connected that they would be missed.
Mikel learnt of all this the night before they left in pursuit of the princess. Cratyn was reluctant to let him out of his sight, so he lay in the corner of the prince’s tent pretending sleep, listening to Cratyn make his plans. The prince seemed consumed by a cold determination that would brook no interference. Their force would travel light: no armour, no lances, no lackeys, he declared. They would travel from before sunrise until after sunset. They would eat on the run and each man would lead a spare horse so that they could change mounts frequently. They would catch the Hythrun before they reached the Glass River.
Mikel admired Cratyn’s determination, but a small part of him was beginning to wonder what he had done. The prince was justifiably angry with Adrina. She had betrayed him most foully, but Mikel hadn’t really thought about what Cratyn would actually do when he learnt of her treachery.
He had expected him to be angry, certainly, but he didn’t think the prince would decide to hunt her down personally. His own anger at Adrina’s betrayal had faded somewhat. He wanted her punished, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to witness her murder, and there was no question about it – that was exactly what Cratyn had in mind.
The journey south proved a nightmare. Mikel clung to his saddle through long days of endless hard riding, cold rations and freezing nights. Cratyn made no allowance for his age or inexperience, and worse, when they did finally stop each night, he treated Mikel as his page and expected him to unsaddle his horse and fetch and carry for him, just as if they were back in Karien. Mikel’s admiration was slowly turning into burning resentment.
On their fourth day out they finally stumbled across proof that they were on the right road. While looking for a campsite for the night, one of knights discovered a small grove of trees with the remains of several fires scattered among the bare trunks. The ashes appeared to be quite fresh. Drendyn, the most experienced hunter among them, estimated that the Hythrun were only a day and a half ahead. The news invigorated Cratyn and the next day the pace he set was even harder. But, towards the evening of their fifth day on the road, they made a discovery that changed the whole nature of their mission.
Night had fallen, but the moon was bright. Cratyn judged it safe to continue, although he did slacken the pace a little and sent two knights out to ride in the van, a precaution he did not normally bother with. Mikel rode behind him, swaying in the saddle as fatigue threatened to unseat him. They had found no further sign of the Hythrun, but Cratyn’s determination was becoming an obsession. He would ride all night if he thought the horses could take it.