“Dace! What are you doing here?”
“I came to see how you were faring out in the big wide world. Hello, Brakandaran.” Brak reined beside her followed by Garet who glared at the boy suspiciously. The wagon and its attendant guards were still some way back.
“Dacendaran.”
“Who’s that?” Dace asked, pointing at Garet.
“Commandant Garet Warner, meet Dacendaran, the God of Thieves,” R’shiel said, smiling at Garet’s expression.
“This is one of your gods?”
Dace clapped his hands delightedly. “He’s an atheist!”
“And you shouldn’t be here,” Brak scolded. “Go away, Dace.”
“But I want to help! There are noble deeds afoot and I want to be a part of them!”
“If you really want to do something noble, go steal a few of Xaphista’s believers,” Brak suggested. “You are not going anywhere near the Citadel with us.”
Dace frowned. “Brakandaran, at some point in the past few centuries, someone must have mentioned that mortals do not dictate to the gods. I will go where I please!”
“Will someone please explain who this child really is?” Garet demanded.
“Ah, how I do like a non-believer!”
“Dace, listen to Brak, please,” R’shiel pleaded. “Do something to annoy Xaphista if you must help, but there is nothing you can do here.”
The god sighed melodramatically. “I suppose. I’m obviously not wanted here.”
“Stop being such a baby,” R’shiel said.
The god grinned. “I make a poor substitute for the God of Guilt, don’t I?”
“The God of what?” Garet asked incredulously.
Even Brak smiled. “Commandant. I suggest you either ignore this entire exchange or start believing in the Primal gods.”
“I think I’ll ignore it,” he said with a frown. He turned his mount and rode back toward the wagon.
“Did I upset him?” Dace asked innocently.
“No more than you usually upset people,” Brak said. “Why did you let him see you?”
“All humans should have the opportunity to look upon a god every now and then. It’s an honour.”
“Not when they don’t believe you exist,” R’shiel pointed out.
“Well, now that he’s seen me, he’ll have to believe in me, won’t he?”
“Don’t count on it,” Brak warned.
“You always look on the dark side of things, Brakandaran. I was going to give you some news, but now I’m not so sure. You’re bound to think the worst.”
“What news?”
“I’m really not certain that I should...”
“Dace,” R’shiel cut in impatiently. “Stop teasing. If you have something important to tell us, then out with it!”
The god pouted. “You have been spending far too much time with Brakandaran, R’shiel. You’re beginning to sound just like him.”
“Come on, R’shiel,” Brak said, gathering up his reins as he glanced over his shoulder at the approaching wagon. “He obviously has nothing important to tell us, and the others will be here any moment. Goodbye, Divine One.”
“Xaphista has believers in the Citadel!” the god blurted out.
R’shiel stared at Dace with concern. “Believers? Who?”
“I don’t know,” Dace shrugged. “All I know is that the Citadel can feel them and he doesn’t like it one bit!”
Confused, R’shiel turned to Brak for an explanation. “What does he mean? He speaks as though the Citadel is alive.”
“It is, sort of,” Brak answered before turning to Dace. “Has anything happened yet?”
“No. You know what he’s like. It takes him a century just to remember his own name. But he can feel Xaphista’s taint and he’s not happy about it.”
Brak nodded slowly. R’shiel had absolutely no idea what they were talking about.
“Brak, has this got something to do with the power in the Citadel that Dranymire spoke of?”
Before he could answer, the wagon creaked to a stop behind them. Garet rode forward and frowned at Dace.
“I see your god is still with us. Are you two planning to sit here in the middle of the road blocking the way, or can we proceed? In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s going to rain soon. I’d like to reach Malacky before then.”
“These atheists really are an impatient lot, aren’t they?” Dacendaran remarked loftily. With that, he vanished, leaving Garet wide eyed.
R’shiel looked at Garet and wondered how the commandant would explain Dace’s sudden disappearance to himself, but after a moment’s stunned silence, he waved his men and the wagon forward as if absolutely nothing untoward had happened.
Part 3
THE POLITICS OF SEDUCTION
Chapter 36
Mikel was separated from the princess and placed in the custody of the Defenders’ Master of Horse, a small, slender man with dark hair and an affection for the creatures in his charge which bordered on obsession. Captain Hadly had endless patience with his horses and none at all for defiant Karien boys. When one of Lord Wolfblade’s Raiders delivered him into Hadly’s care, he had glanced at the note Tarja had hastily scribbled then looked disdainfully at Mikel.
“Captain Tenragan says you are to be placed in my care. He says that if you try to escape, or give me any bother at all, I am to inform him immediately. He also says to remind you about your brother. Do you know what he means?”
Mikel nodded sullenly. He had hoped Tarja might forget about Jaymes.
“Good, because I’ve no time to waste on infants. I’ve damned near two thousand horses here, boy, and now there’s the Fardohnyan mounts to take care of. Go find Sergeant Monthay. He’ll find something useful for you to do.”
With little choice in the matter, he did as he was told.
Besides being sick with worry over the princess, Mikel was desperate to discover his brother’s fate, but there seemed little chance here among the horses. The Hythrun mounts were corralled away from the Medalonian horses – something to do with the purity of the Hythrun breed that Mikel didn’t really understand – so there was no chance to question anyone about the Karien boy they held prisoner. Sergeant Monthay set him to distributing hay, an endless task with so vast a herd. He spent all day lugging haybales from the cart into the corrals, then running to catch up as Monthay moved the wagon on to the next enclosure. It was backbreaking work, but it kept him from thinking too much, and at night he collapsed into the bedroll Monthay had found for him in the tack tent, asleep almost before his head hit the saddle he used for a pillow.
On the fourth day of his captivity, the rain cleared and the weather grew even colder. The sharp smell of snow lingered on the wind and Hadly fretted at the lack of protection for his horses. He had commandeered a large force of workers from the followers’ camp and had them erecting canvas covered shelters in the corrals in anticipation of the coming inclement weather.
Mikel shivered as he went about his chores. Monthay was anxious to finish for the day and get back to the warmth of his tent. It was almost midday when they reached the corral where the workers were tying canvas over another sapling framework. The cold sun did nothing to warm the day. There was a small fire burning just outside the corral, and several women were doling out hot soup as the workers took a break from their labour. Monthay glanced at Mikel, ordered him to keep working, and went to join them.
He lugged another bale from the cart and dragged it along the ground toward the corral, cursing Medalonians in general, and Monthay in particular. He muttered a prayer to the Overlord, asking his god to strike down the men enjoying the hot soup with dysentery. It seemed only fitting.