The Traitor's Game

  Trina sent the final escapee into the tunnels, then at Tenger's order, followed.

  Tenger called up, "Simon?" When no answer came, he said, "Simon understands the rules of war as well as anyone. Sacrifices must be made."

  "He sacrificed himself for all of us! And you won't help him!" With all the prisoners down, I'd finally had enough of this charade. I yanked Tenger's elbow down toward my chest, grabbing his hand with the knife as it came up. With a hard kick backward, I was released, and as I twisted around, it was an easy thing to bring my own elbow down on the back of his neck, sending him to the ground. I rose up with Tenger's knife in my own hands and aimed it toward him. One of the first defensive moves Darrow had taught me.

  "Give me that bag," I said.

  Rolling on the muddy ground, Tenger pulled it closer to him. "Fight me for it, or go save Simon. What will you choose?"

  Out in the narrow passage above us, the guards were shouting at one another to come down to this cell. Simon was trapped.

  I looked back at Tenger. "If the Olden Blade does choose you, know this--I will get it back."

  "Whoever it chooses, it is theirs for life," Tenger said.

  I glowered at him. "But not in death, Captain Tenger. Not in death."

  Once I released him, Tenger hurried toward the tunnel. I used his knife to cut my skirts just below my knees, as high as I dared. Every governess from my past had probably gasped with horror just now, not knowing exactly what had caused them to shudder, but that somehow, I was responsible. It had to be done though. I'd never make it up this steep slope with muddy skirts dragging me down. Leaving the cut pieces behind, I put Tenger's knife between my teeth and began climbing, exactly as Simon had done.

  I was less than halfway up when the guards entered the cell. I heard Simon trying to fight, but he didn't get far before he was shoved down hard upon the ground, followed by several kicks that sounded like boots connecting with stone, or worse, the bones of his body. His groans were sharp and slightly muted, so I guessed his face was down in the mud.

  "There's no escape from that pit," the guard shouted. "Where did the prisoners go?"

  "Stupid ... question," Simon said. "Stupid guards."

  They didn't like that, and whatever they did in response caused him to cry out with pain. I had to keep climbing, and figure out a way over the ledge without being noticed. I slipped twice, but refused to fall. From this height, a fall would be the end of me. Simon's death would follow.

  "Lord Endrick will want to talk to him," a guard said.

  One of his companions laughed. "Yes. Talk to him. Boy, you'll be made of pudding by the time he's done with you!"

  "Finish up in here," the guard who had called himself Bragh said. "Remind him of the power of the Dallisors, but leave him alive. I'll report to the master."

  Bragh left, and I shifted my position sideways so that instead of rolling over the ledge directly in front of them, I'd come up near the side, hopefully without drawing their attention.

  I snuck up on the closest man and sunk Tenger's knife deep into the man's shoulder, then pushed him into the pit, losing the knife in the process. Before the second could react, I twisted his arm behind him. He struggled to get away from me and in doing so, lost his balance and slid into the pit. I heard the thud of their bodies on the thick mud floor far below. Silence followed.

  My attention had already turned to Simon. When I knelt beside him, he mumbled, "You ... are frightening."

  "You have no idea."

  I helped him roll over, checking for any life-threatening wounds. From what I could see through the filth that coated him, there was a little blood, but his internal injuries worried me most.

  "Can you move?" I asked.

  "Give me ... one minute more."

  "Why did you do this?"

  His eyes were closed, but his face relaxed. "I made a promise, Kes."

  "To Tenger? He sent you up here, then abandoned you. I don't think--"

  "Not to Tenger. To Garr, the man who adopted me. If I could be half the person he was ..."

  His voice dropped off while he forced himself to breathe. I pushed Simon's muddy hair away from his face. "Well, you made a good start tonight. It was stupid, but noble. We need to get out of here."

  "Not through the tunnel below," he said. "I can't. And you won't."

  I dipped my hand in the stream water that ran through the cell and used it to wipe the dirt from his face. His left eye was swollen and one cheek was cut.

  "Everything hurts," he mumbled.

  I slid my hand up to his shoulders. "There'll be bruises here too. But I think you'll heal, eventually."

  His good eye winked at me. "I can see you. That's enough." He fingered the ruby on my mother's necklace. "This is beautiful on you."

  "I'm covered in mud, Simon."

  "Are you? I didn't notice."

  Smiling, I leaned toward him, wiping more mud from his face and letting my fingers linger there. His grin widened, realizing why I had bent down so close. He put a hand up behind my head to pull me in closer, but when it slid down to my neck, he drew back. "That bump I feel--is that from Lord Endrick this morning?"

  "I don't know, I haven't--" I sat up and felt back there. It wasn't large, but something was definitely there. "What is that, Simon?"

  He sat up too, though it came with a gasp of pain. "The Coracks have a surgeon who has some powerful Endrean medicines."

  "I thought Coracks hate the Endreans."

  "We do. But their medicines work. If Endrick did something to you with magic, then we may need Endrean medicine to fix it. Let's go."

  With great effort, I helped him to his feet. He would limp out of these dungeons the same way I had limped into them not so many hours ago. What a pair we made.

  He leaned on me to hobble up to the exterior door, the one that would put us directly outside the Woodcourt gates. The horse Basil promised to hide for me wouldn't be far away.

  I withdrew Simon's knife from his sheath and placed it in his hands. "If anyone sees us, then I'm your hostage."

  "They'll still follow us. We won't get far, Kes."

  "Trust me." That is, if I could trust Basil.

  I fit Simon's key into the door, but this lock was stickier than the less commonly used door into Woodcourt.

  "It's got to work," Simon said.

  "It'll work. I just--"

  "Stop!" a voice ordered.

  Simon instantly grabbed me and put the knife to my chest. I felt his weight lean into me when he moved so suddenly. He was probably dizzy, but I hoped he'd stay on his feet. It'd be hard to justify how someone unconscious on the ground was stealing me away.

  A Dallisor solider had entered the dungeons with my father--no, with Sir Henry Dallisor right behind him. I had no father. Both were at the foot of the stairs from Woodcourt, a stone's toss away. The soldier held a lever blade ready for attack. Sir Henry had a cloth to his nose, masking the smell. I wondered about him then. What sort of man shrinks at the odor of death, yet embraces a rotted soul like Endrick's?

  "That's my daughter," Sir Henry said to Simon. "How dare you threaten her?"

  "Stay back." Simon tilted the blade enough to let it flash against the torchlight. If they were closer, they would have seen the blunt edge was against my skin. "She's coming with me."

  "Are you Halderian or Corack? Tell me so that I will know which group to round up and execute tomorrow."

  "You wanted me dead, so consider me dead," I said to him. "You should thank this boy for getting rid of me."

  "Oh, he will feel the weight of my gratitude." Sir Henry's voice became venomous. "This night will not pass before he will know that I have had the last word."

  "Get that door unlocked," Simon muttered to me.

  Sir Henry was not finished. "And I will not stop there. After you die tonight--and you are going to die tonight--I will find your people. I will send hordes of armies on giant condors, armed with disk bows, and raining fire pellets down until every last in
surgent is dead."

  "You've never found us before," Simon said. "And you won't find us this time either. Not until we bring the revenge to you."

  By then, I had turned the lock and pushed the door open, all the while making it appear that I was being forced to do it.

  "Try to follow me and you'll find her body left behind on the trail." Simon spoke so menacingly that if I didn't know it was an idle threat, I'd have been worried.

  He pushed me out the door, slamming it firmly behind him to reengage the lock. The instant we were alone, he gave me the knife and let me support his weight. I locked arms with him to help him toward the birch trees. I knew this place well. It was a thick copse that the Dallisors had preserved because of the Halderian hangings that had happened there in the early days of the War of Devastation. They were a monument, not a memorial.

  A horse was waiting deep within the trees, as Basil had promised.

  "How did you plan this?" Simon asked.

  "You wouldn't like it if I told you. Come on!"

  He grabbed the saddle horn and dragged his weight onto the horse. Then I swung into the saddle ahead of him, careful to keep my cut skirts in place, took the reins, and with a quick warning to Simon to hold on, we escaped at a full gallop.

  Simon leaned against my back as we rode, to the point where he was wearing my own strength down, but whatever I felt, I knew he was worse. A few scattered stars offered what light they could, but the moon had not yet risen, our clothes were wet and muddy, and the temperature was rapidly falling. At least it was late enough at night that we made it past the Sentries' Gate without any trouble.

  But sure as the rising of the sun, trouble was coming. Simon had spoken boldly during our escape, and Dallisors never made idle threats. It wasn't a question of if the condors were coming our way, only whether we'd find a safe place to hide before they did.

  By comparison, my worst day in the Lava Fields was a treasure. My mind drifted back to a warm autumn day about eight months after the kidnapping, shortly after my fourteenth birthday. I had received a letter from home offering me passage to Reddengrad to continue growing up in the court of my betrothed, Sir Basil. I had taken the letter and run into the Lava Fields, until I fell on some razor-edged rock and badly cut my leg. Darrow found me there, healed the injury with his cauterizing powder, and then talked me out of sending my father a rejection letter rolled in horse dung.

  "I wish he weren't my father," I'd said. "When I was with the Banished, they told me--"

  Darrow's face immediately became stern, which it almost never was. "Don't say another word, Kestra. Those are dangerous thoughts."

  "Why?" I asked. "Don't I have a right to the truth?"

  "With truth comes responsibility, and you don't want that."

  When I pressed further, he boomed back, "Never ask again. Never!" It was the only time Darrow had ever yelled at me. The questions remained though.

  Until now.

  Truth brought more than responsibility. It had thrust upon me impossible choices with terrible consequences, and a lump in the back of my throat that swelled with every new revelation. Darrow had been right before. I didn't want this.

  Pushing down those thoughts yet again, I said to Simon, "We shouldn't go to your base. Sir Henry's threats--"

  "We have to go there, to figure out what Endrick did to your neck. Head west, to Silven."

  "Silven?" Why did that sound familiar? I'd paid attention to my past geography lessons only enough to know that the small town sat too high on the cliffs to serve as a fishing village or a trading port. Most of the town's income came from sheep farming. A certain smell came with that business, enough to keep Dominion soldiers at a distance. Which, I supposed, made it an ideal place for the rebels to hide.

  Simon took a measured breath before continuing, "If we ride along the northern border of All Spirits Forest, we should be safe."

  All Spirits Forest. The spirits of those who had died in the War of Desolation wandered there, amid blackened trees that had been destroyed by fire so hot the earth beneath it could not heal. If the spirits considered you an enemy, you would never leave. Simon might be safe, but I'd absolutely be considered an enemy.

  "How are you feeling?" I asked.

  "I've been worse."

  I chuckled. "Not unless your limbs have been lopped off in past fights, you haven't." His right hand had been resting near my leg. I took his hand in mine and folded that arm around my waist instead. His fingers pressed into my side, maybe as a romantic hint, or maybe to keep his balance. I knew he was worse off than he would admit, and it'd take us all night to reach Silven.

  "How are you feeling?" Simon asked.

  I'd just severed ties with the only home I'd ever known, and still didn't know if it was the right decision. "I've been better. I'll never return to Woodcourt."

  "Of course not. Nothing is there for you anymore."

  "Nothing was ever there for me. I know that now."

  "Not your father. But what about your mother? I remember you were always close with her and there was no one in the world she loved more than you."

  His words stung, though he'd never have intended that. All I could do was bite on my lip and keep moving forward, hoping he couldn't see enough of my face to read my thoughts.

  But he seemed to already know at least some of the truth. "Your mother's diary must have told you more than the location of the Olden Blade."

  "It did." Thanks for asking. Could we move on?

  "How did you find the book?"

  "Gerald gave it to me."

  Our horse stumbled over a loose rock on the road. Simon drew in a pained gasp, and it was several long seconds before I felt him breathe again. Finally, he mumbled, "Can you slow down?"

  "We're still too close to Highwyn."

  "Please, Kes. I need to go slower."

  I slowed the horse, though it was frustrating to imagine the snails beneath us beating us to Silven. Which they would now.

  When he was ready, Simon asked, "Why did Gerald give you that diary?"

  His question was far more dangerous than he could have realized, nor was there any way to answer it without that familiar feeling of panic in my chest. Finally, the words spilled from my mouth, like a flood I could no longer contain. "Did you ever wonder how Risha Halderian was able to steal the Olden Blade?"

  He hesitated, considering the question. "The Endrean servant must have helped Risha do it, though nobody knows how."

  "Anaya had a power that Lord Endrick very much desired: the ability to make her presence unknown to others, to fade into any background. The power came at a high price to her strength, but it kept her alive when all other Endreans were being slaughtered. Eventually, Anaya decided that she could not hide herself forever, so she had only two choices. Wait until her strength failed her and she was found by Lord Endrick, or fight back."

  "Anaya used her power to steal the Olden Blade," Simon mumbled.

  I nodded. "Yes, though it cost her the last of her magic. Unable to protect herself any longer, the dagger passed to her closest friend, the woman who had hidden her since Lord Endrick took power, and a warrior she believed was capable of victory."

  Simon let out a low whistle. "Risha Halderian. You learned all of this from the diary? Why would your mother write about the Infidante?"

  This time, I could not force myself to speak. And maybe the silence became its own answer.

  "Oh," he finally said. "Lily Dallisor was not your mother."

  I closed my eyes, feeling the pain of hearing the words spoken aloud. The blanket I had wanted to find in Lily's room was never there, because she had never expected to be taking in a child. Darrow knew it wouldn't be there. For three years in the Lava Fields, Darrow had let me believe lies about myself.

  Pushing down those thoughts, I said, "When Risha and Anaya were brought into the dungeons, despite their crimes against Lord Endrick, Lily saw that my mother was expecting a child, and took pity on her. Gerald was a guard in the dungeons
then and did all he could to protect Lily's secret visits. After I was born, Lord Endrick issued the order for the executions. My mother begged Lily to save my life."

  "Her decision with eternal consequences," Simon suggested.

  "Yes. Lily brought me before Sir Henry and said that if he harmed me, she would leave Antora the very next day. Whatever else he is or does, Sir Henry loved Lily and agreed to take me in, though he never stopped resenting me for it. You and I have at least one thing in common, Simon. We both escaped those dungeons, only I did it from my birth."

  An hour seemed to pass while Simon let that sink in. All I could do was ride onward, keeping my eyes on the western horizon, pretending that my heart was not about to pound its way free of my chest.

  Simon's hands had loosened around my waist. But no matter how hard it was for him to contemplate this, he didn't know the worst of it. Finally, his hands tightened again, as if trying to comfort me, to assure me that this revelation would change nothing between us.

  How wrong he was.

  "This is why you were crying yesterday morning," he said. "If Risha Halderian is your mother, then--"

  "I never said that." Dangerous as that would be, at least my life would still make sense. "It's a good thing you're weak as I'm telling you this, because I already know how you'll respond. My mother is not Lily Dallisor. Nor is it Risha Halderian."

  As expected, his hands released me entirely, and he sat up straight, pulling away from me so suddenly that I felt as if I had just been separated in half. Yet I could sense his internal battle, not wanting to accept the only possibility that remained, or the consequences of it. At last he said, "Your mother was Anaya. You are Endrean, just like Lord Endrick."

  "You said that if Endrick hadn't killed every last Endrean, your orders were to finish the job. You are bound by oath to kill me."

  In my life, I'd made three oaths. The first to Garr, that I would carry on my adopted father's legacy, to the best of my ability.

  The second to Tenger, that as a Corack, I would fight against the Dominion until Endrick's death.

  And the third to the Coracks. That I would not allow anyone with Endrean blood to live.

  These weren't passing fancies, or a flirtation with philosophy. These were commitments I had considered for some time, and for which I was willing to die. Never once had I violated those oaths, or ever questioned my belief that history would put me on Antora's side.