“This is a temporary victory only, demon child. You cannot defeat the Overlord.”
“We’ll find that out some other day. Now go, before I change my mind.”
The priests fled as the Defenders emerged from their cover. Their faces ranged from confused to completely stunned. Others hurried to put out the scattered fires that she had started as she deflected the lightning. For weeks they had ridden under the command of Terbolt and his priests. R’shiel’s dismissal of them left them speechless. Brak walked toward her and treated her to a rare smile of approval.
“Where have you been?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied.
Not all the Defenders were at a loss for words, however. A captain stepped forward, blocking their path, his sword drawn. R’shiel recognised him as Denjon, one of Tarja’s classmates when they were cadets.
“Where is Lord Terbolt, R’shiel?”
“In the tent with Cratyn,” Adrina answered for her, rather more cheerfully than the situation warranted. “You might want to take command now, Captain. Lord Terbolt is indisposed and it seems I’m a widow.”
The captain stared at them for a moment, then allowed himself a thin smile. “That’s tragic news, your Highness. You have my condolences.”
“Thank you, Captain, but don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be able to deal with my grief.”
“Where are Tarja and the others, Denjon?”
“The Hythrun and the Defenders who tried to free you are being held down near the picket line. Tarja’s in the Infirmary tent.”
R’shiel’s heart skipped a beat. “Where? What happened?”
“What do you think happened, R’shiel? He doesn’t believe in giving in gracefully. He took a sword in the belly trying to get you out of here.”
There was a reprimand in his words that startled R’shiel. “You sound as if you think this is all my fault.”
“Isn’t it?” Denjon asked. He met her alien eyes for a moment then looked away. “Sergeant! Find Captain Dorak and tell him to go to Lord Terbolt’s tent. And then go down to the picket line and... who’s in charge of the Hythrun?”
“Lord Wolfblade,” Adrina told him.
“The Lord Wolfblade?” He had obviously not been aware of the importance of his prisoner. Adrina nodded, rather amused by his expression. Denjon turned back to the sergeant. “Bring Lord Wolfblade to me. And do it tactfully, Sergeant. The last I heard he was supposed to be on our side.”
“Sir!” The man saluted and turned to go, but Denjon called him back before he had taken more than two steps.
“Send someone to fetch Captain Kilton and Captain Linst, too. I’ll be in the Infirmary.”
The sergeant left to carry out his orders and Denjon turned back to R’shiel.
“I have to warn you, he’s in a bad way.”
“Just take me to him, Denjon.”
“As you wish.”
The captain turned and led the way through the camp followed by R’shiel, Brak, Adrina, Mikel and the curious eyes of a thousand Defenders who sensed that something very significant had just occurred.
Just how significant it was would not be known until the officers had decided what to do now that they were effectively free of Karien control. They had two choices, R’shiel knew: obey their orders and continue on to the border, or defy them and choose a much more dangerous path.
She was certain the latter was what they wanted to do, but she was not at all certain that they would act on it. The Defenders took their duty very seriously. Of all the men she knew in the corps, only Tarja and Jenga had ever had the strength to defy their oath when faced with something they found they could not stomach.
As Denjon pushed back the flap to the large Infirmary tent and the sickening smell of blood and death washed over her, she could only hope that Tarja’s brother captains, when it came to the crunch, were made of the same stuff.
Chapter 65
The first thing that R’shiel noticed in the long tent was the absence of any physics. An occupation almost entirely restricted to Sisters of the Blade, it did not seem possible that the Defenders would undertake such a journey without some of them in attendance. When she questioned Denjon about them, he shrugged.
“It was Lord Terbolt’s decision. There are no sisters in the camp at all. I don’t think he trusts them. Besides,” he added. “We were simply escorting him to the border. We weren’t expecting any trouble.”
“Why would Terbolt want a thousand-man escort? That seems a bit excessive, even for a Karien.”
“Because when the Fardohnyans cross the southern border, the Defenders will send for reinforcements,” Damin remarked, pushing through the tent flap behind them. “If the troops are in the north, even if the Sisterhood wanted to, they couldn’t send help. What the Kariens don’t know is that Hablet is playing his own game. He’s not coming to help the Kariens, he’s heading for Hythria.”
Adrina spun around at the sound of his voice and flew at him. Damin caught her in a brief hug then held her at arm’s length. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. R’shiel came through in the nick of time.”
At the mention of her name, he looked up, unable to hide his shock. With her hair cut close and her eyes black with the power she refused to relinquish, she must look nothing like the girl he remembered.
“Where’s Tarja?” he asked.
The sergeant must have told him what was happening, or what little he knew, at any rate.
R’shiel glanced at Denjon, who pointed to the narrow pallet at the far end of the tent. Only a few of the beds were occupied, and the men in them all looked seriously injured. The Defenders had a fairly generous definition of “walking wounded”. If a man could stand, he wasn’t sick enough to be confined to bed. These men were simply the worst of the night’s casualties. There would be many more out in the camp suffering the effects of Tarja’s abortive rescue attempt.
Afraid of what she would find, she pushed past Denjon and the medic in attendance and approached him cautiously. Her throat constricted as she neared him. He was paler than death and barely breathing.
“If you’ve anything important to say to him, make it quick,” the medic suggested with cold practicality. “He’s going fast. Lost so much blood it’s a wonder he’s still got anything for his heart to do.”
R’shiel stared at the man in horror then sought Brak out among those crowded into the tent. He had released his hold on the power and his faded eyes were clouded with doubt.
He knew what she wanted. She did not have to ask.
“I don’t know, R’shiel.”
Adrina still clung to Damin but she looked at them both with wide eyes, confused by their doubt.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You’re Harshini. You can heal him, can’t you? R’shiel fixed me up with just a touch.”
R’shiel knelt beside the bed and placed her hand on Tarja’s forehead. His skin was cold and clammy. He was deeply unconscious, a step away from death and heading in the wrong direction. The power seemed to both sharpen and deaden her senses at the same time. She could feel the life slipping away from him, but she was insulated from the grief somehow. Perhaps it would hit her later, once she let the power go.
“Get out,” she ordered softly. When no one seemed inclined to heed her, she looked up, her eyes blazing. “Out! All of you!”
Startled by her tone, they did not argue. As they filed from the tent, she turned back to Tarja, wishing she knew where to start. Healing Adrina’s fresh, uncomplicated arrow wound was one thing. Bringing someone back from the brink of death was quite another.