Several turns around the large camp in the chilly starlight did nothing to ease her turmoil, so she decided to sit with Tarja for a time. In the darkness of the infirmary tent, the smell of lye soap sharp in her nose, she cooled his fevered forehead with a damp rag as he literally fought the demons that possessed him. Tarja drifted in and out of consciousness, but he never displayed even a hint of recognition. He would lie quietly at times, and then jerk against the bonds that restrained him so hard R'shiel wondered that the pallet did not break under the pressure. There was nothing she could do for him but hope. She did not have enough faith in the gods to waste her time praying.
As she watched him, she wondered if Xaphista would choose Tarja as the instrument of her destruction. It would be the cruellest jest he could play on her. She loved him; had loved him since she was a child. But Kalianah, the Goddess of Love, had imposed Tarja's love for her on him. Xaphista had told her that and she had no reason to doubt him. Tarja loved her because the gods willed it. He had been given no say in the matter, nor was he aware that the choice had not been his.
If Tarja ever learns of the geas, Xaphista will have no need to seduce him, R'shiel thought unhappily. Tarja's wrath would be enough. She knew that, as surely as she knew nothing she could do, nothing she could say would lessen his fury, should he ever discover what had been done to him.
As dawn slowly lightened the sky over the camp, R'shiel abandoned her depressing line of thought. No closer to finding a solution to the troubles that plagued her, she left the tent to find some breakfast and clean up before her meeting with Denjon and the other captains.
“We have a problem,” Denjon announced by way of greeting when she entered the mess tent. It had, by default, become their meeting place over the past two weeks. Brak and Captain Dorak were already there, sitting at one of the long tables nursing steaming mugs. The tables had been cleared from last night's party and the tent was empty other than for Brak and the Defenders. Captain Linst was sitting at the end of the table, the remains of his breakfast in front of him. None of the men rose as she entered. She had finally cured them of that, at least.
“Only one problem? When did things improve?”
Denjon treated her to a weary smile. He was a tall, rangy man, who had been a classmate of Tarja's when they were cadets. He had dark hair and the competent manner R'shiel associated with the Defenders. His proficiency was a credit to Jenga rather than a positive reflection on the Sisters of the Blade who commanded the Defenders.
“Perhaps I should re-phrase that. We have an urgent problem. The rest can wait an hour or two.”
“Where's Damin?”
“Still enjoying his wedding night, I suppose,” Dorak suggested with a grin.
“We can't wait for him,” Denjon shrugged. “We need to decide what we're going to do with the Karien prisoners. We've sat here far too long and the scouts have just brought news of another troop of Kariens coming in from the north, no doubt looking for their Prince.”
“We have to move out,” Linst added. “We can't take the Karien prisoners with us and we can hardly leave them here to announce what we're up to when the search party finds them.”
The problem of what to do with the Karien knights who had accompanied Prince Cratyn on his quest to find Adrina was one R'shiel had been hoping she would not have to face. When Denjon calmly announced he could “take care of a couple of hundred Kariens”, she had callously hoped they would simply die in battle, saving her the problem of what to do with them afterwards. The Defenders, however, were far too efficient to indulge in such needless bloodshed. They had rounded up the Kariens and taken them prisoner with only a handful of Karien casualties and none at all from their own ranks.
The prisoners had done nothing but drain their resources since that day. The young knight in command, Drendyn, the Earl of Tyler's Pass, was a noisy, inexperienced fellow who seemed stunned and heartbroken when he learnt that Adrina was also in the camp and obviously allied with his captors. For a fleeting moment, R'shiel wished she could do what Joyhinia had tried to do to the rebels. Simply put them to the sword and be done with them.
She had no more chance of getting the Defenders to follow that order than Joyhinia had in Testra.
“What do you suggest, Denjon?”
“I was hoping you'd have a suggestion,” he told her with a shrug. “You seem to have an answer for everything else these days.”
R'shiel frowned. “You think I can just wave my arm and solve all your problems for you?”
“That's what the Harshini do, isn't it?”
“That is your prejudice speaking, Captain,” Brak warned. “It does not help your cause to let it get in the way.”
Denjon turned on the Harshini but R'shiel intervened before things could escalate into a full-blown argument.
“Why can't we just release them?”
“Because they'll be on our trail within hours.”
“No, they won't. Their Crown Prince and their Duke are dead. They'll have to go home to return the bodies to Karien, at least. They may send out a party to hunt us down later, but it won't be this lot.”
Denjon looked thoughtful. “You may be right, R'shiel, but I'm not sure I want to risk finding out the hard way that you're wrong.”
“What if I can guarantee that they'll head home?”
“What are you thinking of doing?” Brak asked suspiciously. “Coercing them?”
“No, of course not!”
“Then how do you plan to make nearly four hundred Karien knights turn on their tails and slink home?” Dorak asked. “And they have the three priests with them who were accompanying Lord Setenton. They'll demand retribution, out of spite if nothing else.”
“Don't you see? As soon as the search party realises that Cratyn is dead, they will turn around and head straight back to Karien for guidance from the Overlord, dragging Drendyn, his knights and their priests behind them.”
“It's a nice thought, R'shiel,” Brak agreed. “But the captain is right. You won't dissuade the priests so easily. You'd be better off just killing them outright.”
“How long do we have, Denjon, before the Kariens get here?”
“A day at the most, if we want to be gone before they arrive. Two days if we plan to make a fight of it. I would advise against that. The end result will just be more damned Karien prisoners we have to worry about when the next search party comes looking for them.”
She nodded slowly. “Brak, can Tarja be moved?”
The Harshini frowned. “I wouldn't advise it, but it won't threaten his life, if that's what concerns you.”
“I don't think we have much choice in the matter,” she announced, figuring that if she sounded decisive, nobody would guess how uncertain she was. “You should leave for Fardohnya, anyway. Can you get there on your own?”
Brak was watching her closely. If anyone suspected her uncertainty, it would be him. “Don't worry about me, R'shiel. The demons will see me safely to Talabar.”
“Good. Denjon, you might as well give the order to break camp. Now that Damin and Adrina are married, we need to get to Hythria.”
“And the Kariens?” Denjon asked.
“I'll deal with them.” She glanced at Denjon and frowned. “Do you have any questions?”
“I have one,” Linst replied. “Who put you in charge of the Defenders?”
R'shiel turned on him impatiently. “What Defenders, Linst? You ceased being Defenders the moment you stood back and did nothing when I killed Cratyn. You have defied your orders and taken two hundred Kariens prisoner. If you want to go back to being a lackey for Medalon's new masters, there's another couple of hundred heading this way. Perhaps you'd like to surrender?”