Mirielle lifted an elegant eyebrow. "Lord Ariakan's mistress," she growled, much like a cat about to pounce. "I heard you were dead."
Sara said nothing.
"Do you deny the charges?" the general demanded, Her fingers curled into claws.
Treb curled her lip and spoke up. "She cannot, my lords," she stated, her voice full of triumph. "I heard her tell the others in the Sixth Talon the same thing. She came to Neraka to spy on the order. She's not only a renegade, but she's also a traitor!"
Sara felt a deep chill. Obviously Treb had been listening outside the tent. Just how much had she overheard? Did she know Derrick was still alive or that Sara had asked the others to leave the order? Sara guessed not, or Treb would have already brought out such news in the hope of further advancing her ambitions. Sara leaned on that hope and ignored Treb's derisive sneer.
The crowd of watchers by the wall exclaimed among themselves in a disapproving mutter.
Mirielle's angry frown deepened. Her disappointment in Sara's perfidy was a bitter gall. But worse, the general did not like to be made a fool of, especially in front of her army. She had liked this woman knight, her courage and sense of honor, her ability to train and engender loyalty in her underlings. She had trusted her, too-as much as Mirielle trusted anyone. After all, the woman had saved her life. The fact that Sara deceived her and was in reality a traitor and a spy filled the general with unremitting rage.
"What do you have to say for yourself?" Mirielle insisted.
Sara kept her face expressionless. What could she say? They knew the truth. If she tried to deny it or bluff her way out of it, they would never believe her. They could even drag Kelena or Marika or one of the young men into the trial and force one of them to reveal her whole story. She had to do something quickly to distract the knights and buy herself some time.
Wrenching free of her guards, she marched to the table, put both hands on the edge, leaned over to match Mirielle glare for glare, and said flatly, "It doesn't matter what I say. Let my deeds speak for me. I demand the right to trial by battle."
Lord Knight Cadrel looked startled by such a suggestion. There was rarely any point in a trial by such means when the accused was so obviously guilty. They should just take the woman out and behead her on the spot.
Mirielle did not see it that way. A trial by battle suited her perfectly, allowing her to redeem the respect she had lost through Sara's deceit. She would personally see to it herself. "Very well, Sara Dunstan-or whoever you are-you may have your trial by battle. I will stand as champion for the accusers. If you are defeated and are not yet dead, you will be executed immediately."
"And if you are defeated, I will be exonerated and allowed to go free," Sara said loudly, so everyone could hear her.
A feral gleam lit in Mirielle's narrowed gaze. Since there was no possibility that an older, untrained rider like Sara could defeat her, she was willing to agree to that condition. "Of course." She rose to her feet and announced to the watching knights, "The battle will take place tomorrow at noon. We will fight on dragonback. Until that time, Sara Dunstan, you will remain a prisoner and will be held under guard in the prison cells until an hour before the battle. You will be released then to give you time to prepare." Mirielle gestured toward the door, "Take her downstairs," she ordered.
The guards bowed and took Sara out of the room. The surge of noisy comments and opinions died behind them as they entered a stone stairway that wound down into the subterranean floors beneath the palace. Down they went, past the storage levels, to a dank, cold, stonewalled dungeon where the prison cells were carved into the bedrock under the city. Torches sat in brackets on the walls and cast a dim, guttering light on the damp floor.
The guards unlocked one door in a row of doors and pulled open the stout wooden hatch.
Sara peered into the intense darkness, and when she hesitated a moment too long, the guards shoved her inside.
She stumbled forward, tripped, and fell sprawling across the slimy stone floor. The door slammed behind her, and darkness, black and impenetrable, closed around her.
Memories of her journey through the temple ruin reared up on wings of terror, and for several interminable minutes, she fought off a fear that threatened to suck her down into mindless panic.
She kept repeating over and over, "I know where I am. This is a small room. I know where I am." Her words sounded feeble in the darkness, but the litany gave her strength.
Trembling, she reached out a cautious hand, and suddenly she realized she could see it. A tiny light, soft and white, gleamed from somewhere close in front of her. Her eyes traveled down to the front of her tunic, and there, glowing under the fabric of her shirt, was the star jewel. She tugged it out. Freed of the material, its light glowed brighter, like a tiny star cupped in her hand.
Sara's fear evaporated. The star jewel drove away the darkness and illuminated her in the power of Steel's love. As it had for Steel and his father before him, it reminded her that she was not alone, that she still had something to believe in.
In the light of the jewel, she found her way to the single stone shelf that served as a bed and sat back against the wall. Her hand closed around the star jewel and pressed its light to her heart. Now she only had to wait for day and for the battle that would either kill her or free her.
26
The guards came an hour before noon, as promised, and escorted Sara outside. They expected her to be weakened from exhaustion, cold, and hunger, but they were disappointed. She walked out of the palace with a strong, determined stride and paid no attention to their crude remarks and insults. Nor could they find any sign of fear in her calm expression. Shaking their heads, they returned her sword to her.
"Be at the Arena of Death in one hour," one guard told her. "You are on your honor not to escape."
"Of course," she said coolly. Escape was the last thing on her mind.
A more pressing desire was the need for food and drink. She had not had anything to eat or drink for nearly a full day, and the need for liquid was growing crucial. She turned her back on the guards and walked through the walled gate into the main streets of the city. The streets were as busy as ever, and as noisy, filthy, and dim. Ogres and draconians crowded past her, and goblins scurried by underfoot. Sara had to push her way through in some places, and once or twice she had to throw herself against the wall of a building to keep from being trampled by a passing team of horses or a patrol of guards who paid little heed to the people around them.
Sara was so intent on working her way out of the city, she never would have noticed the small gully dwarf by her side if he hadn't touched her sleeve.
She looked down into a grungy, bewhiskered, familiar face. "Fewmet?" she asked, astonished. "What are you doing here?"
He gestured around with a hand even dirtier than his clothes. "Me live here," he said, astonished that she would ask such an obvious question.
"I know," Sara said patiently. "I was just surprised to see you."
"Are you hungry?" he asked, a hopeful light in his eyes.
Sara sighed. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. I don't have much time, but I would like to eat."
They went to the inn where Sara had bought him a meal the last time, and Sara purchased two bowls of soup, bread, and an apple tart. The innkeeper told her in no uncertain terms that gully dwarves were not allowed to eat indoors because their eating habits tended to drive out the other patrons, so once again Sara obligingly took the food outdoors and sat under a tree with Fewmet.
Sara ate her own food and tried to ignore Fewmet's loud slurping and belching. She wasn't sure why she was spending her last hour in the company of a gully dwarf, but it seemed better than eating alone.