Treason Keep by Jennifer Fallon

Author:Jennifer Fallon
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Sobriety returned quickly as the cold night air caught Damin unawares. The camp surrounding the Keep was surprisingly busy, considering the lateness of the hour. Men normally well abed by now were sitting in small groups discussing the battle, dissecting its every nuance with varying degrees of expertise, depending on how much ale they had consumed. Morale in the camp was high. Nobody had expected to weather the first attack with so few casualties. Laughter and the off-tune baritone of men singing victory songs filled the air. Fires blazed with little thought to the fuel they were consuming. Thunder rattled in the distance and a light rain had fallen while he was in the Keep, dampening the dusty ground. Soon enough, these men would be forced to take shelter. There would be no frost tonight with this cloud cover, but if it got much colder it would snow, which should slow the Kariens down somewhat.

This morning’s battle had been a desperate attempt to break the Medalonian defences before winter set in. Damin was rather proud of himself for working that out. Maybe he wasn’t as drunk as he thought.

The young man in command of the Fardohnyans was a Second Lanceman named Filip. He wore an expression of defeat along with his battle-stained uniform. His eyes were dull, and his exhaustion seemed to be warring with an emotion that it took Damin a little time to identify: self-loathing. The thirty or so Fardohnyans stood in a loose group, surrounded by Defenders, their torches hissing as the occasional tardy raindrop vanished into the flames.

“Lord Wolfblade.” The Fardohnyan bowed low, obviously relieved to see someone who might speak his language. The Defenders who had taken their surrender had disarmed the men behind him. A few were wounded and four lay on the wet ground, too seriously injured to stand. Tarja, who always seemed much better organised when it came to these things, ordered the wounded removed to the Infirmary Tent and the sleek Fardohnyan steeds moved to the corrals, leaving Damin to deal with the prisoners.

“I’ve seen many a strange sight in my time, Lanceman,” he said in the young man’s native tongue, “but Fardohnyans surrendering is not among them.”

The lad’s expression clouded. Surrender did not sit well with him. “We were ordered to surrender, my Lord.”

“What did he say?” Tarja asked, coming to stand beside him.

“He says they were ordered to surrender.”

“By whom?”

“Who ordered you to surrender?” he asked in Fardohnyan.

Filip hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at the men behind him before answering, rather reluctantly. “Princess Adrina, my Lord.”

Tarja didn’t need that translated. “Ask him why.”

Damin turned to Tarja impatiently. “You don’t think I might have thought to ask that by myself?”

“Sorry.”

“Did her Highness give a reason?”

The Fardohnyan shrugged. “She was beside herself with grief, my Lord. She said she did not want any more Fardohnyan blood shed for Karien.”

“Pity she didn’t decide that before she sent her men to be slaughtered,” he muttered as he turned to Tarja and translated the young soldier’s words.

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