He read the paragraph twice. Most of what she had written made no sense. He had been wounded, it seemed, and she had used her magic to heal him. He could not understand the part about the demons, though. Shaking his head, he read on.
I have gone on ahead to Hythria with Damin and Adrina. I want their marriage to bring peace to the south, but I must support Damin in Hythria. I might learn about my destiny there, too. I'll explain why it's so important when I see you. Founders, how I hate being the demon child! I wish I could have stayed with you...
I sent Brak to Fardohnya to tell King Hablet that his daughter is now the future High Princess of Hythria. That might stop him invading Hythria through Medalon come spring.
Tarja smiled. Damin and Adrina were married. He wondered what R'shiel had threatened them with to make that happen.
You must know by now that I killed the Karien Prince and Lord Terbolt the morning after you tried to rescue me, so the Kariens will probably want my head even more now.
We've arranged to meet you all in Krakandar. From Damin's side of the border you'll be able to plan retaking Medalon. The thousand men you have now is too few to do anything but annoy the Kariens, but with Hythrun help, we'll make those Karien bastards pay for invading Medalon.
Denjon is on our side, but be careful of Linst.
R'shiel
R'shiel had killed the Karien Crown Prince? Had she learnt nothing since their days in the rebellion? He read the letter again, wishing he could recall something - anything - of the past weeks. But Tarja's memories stopped abruptly at the point where he had fallen in battle and there was nothing in the intervening period but a black, featureless abyss.
Sitting around a small fire later that evening, Tarja got the rest of the story from Denjon and Linst. His head was reeling by the time they finished telling him of R'shiel's confrontation with the Karien priests, of her abrupt decision to accept the legacy of her Harshini blood and everything else that had happened since then.
They told him of the wound that almost killed him but could not explain either the absence of any evidence of the wound, or why he had lain unconscious for so long, other than they had instructions from R'shiel to restrain him for his own protection. Denjon spoke with awe of the demon-melded dragon that had taken Brak south, and of his uneasiness over the unknown fate of the Karien prisoners they had left behind.
“So that's about all there is to tell,” Denjon concluded with a shrug. “When Lord Wolfblade told us that Lord Jenga had ordered you to mount a resistance against the Kariens, and with Lord Terbolt and the Karien Prince dead, it seemed prudent to follow the Lord Defender's orders.”
Tarja studied Denjon in the firelight. “I'm not sure he planned for us to flee to Hythria.”
“We're risking our necks for you, Tarja. A bit of gratitude wouldn't go astray,” Linst grumbled.
“You don't sound very happy about this, Linst.”
“Happy? Of course I'm not happy about it. But I'm even less happy about taking orders from those Karien bastards, so here I am, ready to fight alongside a thousand other deserters. You know, Tarja, until you came along, nobody even thought of breaking their Defenders' oath. Now it's a bloody epidemic.” He threw the remains of his stew onto the fire and stood up. “I have to check the sentries, although why we cling to Defender discipline is beyond me. It's not as if we're ever likely to be welcomed back into the Corps, is it?”
He stalked off into the darkness, leaving Tarja and Denjon staring after him.
“He always was a stickler for the rules,” Denjon remarked in the uncomfortable silence that followed.
“How many of the others feel like him?”
“Quite a few,” Denjon replied. “He's right about one thing, though. It isn't easy for a Defender to walk away from his oath.”
“I never asked you to follow me, Denjon.”
The captain laughed humourlessly. “No, you didn't. But R'shiel set half the camp on fire just by waving her arm around, then turned on us, bursting with Harshini power and asked us what we were planning to do. Taking your side seemed the prudent thing to do at the time.”
He frowned. Something else bothered him about R'shiel, some feeling or emotion he could not place. A vague uneasiness that lingered on the edge of his mind, just out of reach.
“So, how far are we from Testra? That is where you're planning to cross the river, isn't it?”
Denjon nodded. “Less than a week. Now you're up and about, we can make better time. Do you think you can sit on a horse?”
“I'm damned if I'm going to spend any more time in that wagon. I can ride.”
“Good. We've picked up quite a few of the Defenders you left the border with along the way. We number close to thirteen hundred now.”
“Thirteen hundred against the Karien host isn't many.”
“I know,” Denjon agreed. “But that's where your Hythrun friends come in. With their help, we might have a chance.”
Sleep eluded Tarja for a long time that night. Waking from weeks of unconsciousness to find everything so radically changed was extremely disconcerting. He tossed and turned on the cold ground as the stars dwindled into dawn, trying to pin down the uneasiness that niggled at him like a tiny burr. Everything Denjon had told him, he reviewed over and over in his mind. But what bothered him came from another source. Something else was wrong... or different. Something that he could not define.
All he knew for certain was that it centred on R'shiel.
After a full day in the saddle, Tarja realised how weak he was, but he was consumed by a restless energy that made it impossible for him to take the rest he needed. He could not understand the reason for his restive mood and the blank, dark hole in his memory unsettled him more than he was willing to admit.
All he could think of was getting to Hythria. His mind raced, making plans and rejecting them as he tried to figure the best way to hamper the Karien occupation force. The fact that he had no idea what sort of assistance they would receive from the Hythrun once they crossed the border made his task almost impossible. Damin might only be able to spare him a few centuries of Raiders, or he might be able to bring the full weight of the massive Hythrun war machine to his aid. There was simply no way to tell.
He drove Denjon mad when the other captain gave the order to make camp each evening, insisting they had at least another hour of daylight. Denjon was amused the first night, patient the second, and told him bluntly to mind his own business the third.
But Tarja's recovery seemed to bolster the morale of the men. He had been a popular officer once, known as a promising officer, a fair man and tipped to be the next Lord Defender. To see him back among them, wearing his red jacket and brimming with nervous energy, revived the spirits of men who up until then had had little more to do than contemplate their new status as outlaws.
Five days after Tarja woke, they were within sight of Testra. Tarja suggested sending an advance party forward to reconnoitre in the town, while the bulk of their force waited out of sight to avoid drawing attention to their number, although Denjon seemed certain that news of their desertion could not have reached this far south yet.
“We can't risk riding into Testra in force,” Tarja insisted.