The sound of galloping hooves jerked Mikel fully awake. One of the knights sent to ride point was thundering toward them. Cratyn called a halt and waited for the man to reach them. Mikel leaned forward anxiously, hoping to hear what was being said. Had they found the Hythrun?
“Sire! Lord Terbolt approaches!”
“Terbolt?” Cratyn repeated, sounding rather puzzled. “But he is supposed to be at the Citadel. My father dispatched him there at the same time we left for the border.”
“There’s nearly a thousand Defenders with him, your Highness. They are camped not more than two or three leagues from here.”
Cratyn nodded, but his brow was furrowed. “You saw no sign of the Hythrun?”
“No, sire.”
“Then we may have ridden past them. We’ll have to turn back.”
“But Cratyn, what about Terbolt?” Drendyn asked. The young earl rode at Cratyn’s side and was probably the only man in camp who dared address him by name. “Shouldn’t we at least pay our respects?”
“I’ve no time to stand on protocol,” Cratyn snapped impatiently.
“Perhaps, but a thousand pairs of eyes are better than two hundred.”
The prince thought about it for a moment then nodded. “Very well, we shall join Lord Terbolt. And then we’ll look under every rock and every blade of grass between the border and the Glass River until we unearth the traitors.”
There was a time when Cratyn’s words would have thrilled Mikel, but now they simply left him cold.
Cratyn and Mikel rode ahead of the troop and into the Defenders’ camp amid curious looks and sullen stares. Drendyn had been left in charge with orders to wait until Cratyn returned. Mikel was disillusioned enough to realise that his place beside Cratyn was earnt through distrust, not honour.
As they moved past countless small fires surrounded by red-coated troopers, Mikel wondered what the Defenders thought about surrendering to Karien. In his experience, they were proud men – proud of both their reputation and their Corps. To be under the command of a Karien Duke must be galling. He was old enough to understand that it was only their discipline that kept them in line. The Hythrun had fled and Mikel suspected that the Kariens would have behaved no better, were the situation reversed. It seemed a tragedy that the very discipline that made the Defenders famous now placed them at the mercy of their enemies.
Lord Terbolt met them in the centre of the camp, a little surprised to find his prince so far from the border. Cratyn dismounted but to Mikel’s relief one of Lord Terbolt’s men led his horse away. Mikel jumped to the ground wearily, somewhat pleased to find his own mount being catered for in a similar manner. Cratyn waved him forward and he followed the prince into Lord Terbolt’s tent, wondering if the Duke would think to feed them as well.
“I must say, I didn’t expect to find you out here, your Highness,” Terbolt said as he poured two cups of wine. As an afterthought, he glanced at Mikel and jerked his head in the direction of a barrel in the corner of the tent. “There’s water over there. Drink if you wish.”
Mikel bowed and hurried over to the barrel, dipping the ladle into the chill water gratefully as Cratyn settled into Terbolt’s only comfortable chair.
“I did not expect to find you either, my Lord.”
“My work was done at the Citadel. I’ve left Mathen overseeing things.”
Cratyn frowned. “A commoner?”
“He may be a commoner, your Highness, but he’s about the smartest man I’ve ever met. And the most ruthless. I trust him completely. I believe you’ll find him eminently qualified for the position.”
“And the demon child?”
“She is here. I’ll have her brought to you if you wish, although if she truly is destined for great things, I can’t see it in her myself. But who are we to question our God, eh?”
“Send for her.”
Terbolt nodded and went to the entrance. He pushed back the tent flap and issued the order then returned to his wine.
“You’ve not told me what brings you out here, your Highness.”
“Adrina has been kidnapped by the Hythrun. They left the border just before Jenga surrendered.”
Terbolt looked genuinely horrified. “Gods! How did they get across the border? Wasn’t she guarded?”
“I believe my wife may have... contributed... to her own capture,” Cratyn said cautiously. He did not want to admit to Lord Terbolt that she had run away.
The duke frowned. “I was never happy with this arrangement, Cratyn. You know that. I would far rather you had married my daughter.”
“And I would much rather have married Chastity, my Lord.”
“There’s not much we can do about it now, I suppose,” Terbolt said with a sigh.
“Not much.” Cratyn sipped his wine and studied the duke over the rim of his cup. “Unless of course, something were to happen to my wife.”
“Your Highness?”
“She has been kidnapped by the Hythrun, after all. You know what barbarians they are. They might do anything. For that matter, they may even kill her.” He had heard Cratyn express the same sentiment to Drendyn, but never so coldly, so calmly.
“That would be a great shame,” Terbolt agreed, with the same, bland expression. If Mikel had not heard it for himself, he would not have believed the duke could agree to such a thing so easily. “Are you sure they came this way? We’ve seen no sign of them.”
Before Cratyn could answer the tent flap was thrown open and a Defender stepped inside. He saluted sharply before speaking.
“R’shiel is not in her tent, my Lord. If you would tell me where she has been moved, I will have her brought here immediately.”
“What do you mean she’s not in her tent?”
“She was moved a short time ago, sir. The captain who collected her said that it was at your request. I thought perhaps —”
“I gave no such orders! Who was the captain?”
“I don’t know, sir. The troopers on duty didn’t recognise him.”
Cratyn leapt to his feet, knocking over the chair in his haste. “It was Tarja Tenragan! I’d stake my life on it!”
“I don’t see how —”
“He was with them! Don’t you see? That’s why we’ve found no sign of the Hythrun. They’ve been hiding, waiting for their chance to rescue the demon child. Who else could it be?”
Terbolt thought about it for less then a minute. “How long ago did they take her, Captain?”
“A quarter of an hour, perhaps, my Lord, no more.”
“Then they’ll still be in the camp somewhere. Rouse your men, Captain! We have intruders among us. R’shiel must not be allowed to escape. And I want Tarja Tenragan. I don’t particularly care whether he’s dead or alive.”
The Defender saluted sharply enough, but it was clear, even to Mikel, that he did not care for his orders. Cratyn was pacing the tent impatiently. As soon as the Medalonian had left, he turned to Terbolt.
“If Tarja is here, then Wolfblade is out there somewhere too. And that means Adrina is with them.”
Terbolt nodded and reached for his sword. “Then the hunting should be good tonight. Tarja Tenragan’s head will make an excellent trophy.”
“You can mount it over the gates of Yarnarrow Castle,” Cratyn agreed with bloodthirsty enthusiasm. “Right next to that bitch Adrina’s.”
Chapter 62