place, but neither of them had any choice.
“Here we go,” he said aloud and drew a breath of air that smelled of must and disuse.
Determined to find his way to the general's quarters, Therrador grasped a handle mounted on the back side of the wall and pulled the section closed. He descended the stairs in the flickering light of the taper without knowing where they would lead him or if he should truly put his trust in the ghostly woman. This was the same doubt and distrust his friend would feel when he saw him.
What choice do we have?
***
Sir Alton Sienhin wiped remnants of ale out of his bushy mustache with the back of his left hand and slammed the pewter flagon in his right back to the table. He stared at the empty chair set across the table and chewed on the stray hairs of his mustache curled over his top lip.
“Where have you gone, Therrador?”
He stared straight ahead at the plain stone wall and simple furnishings—not the decor to which he'd become accustomed, but his quarters had been given to some Kanosee general when Therrador invited the enemy in. The regent’s decision to open the fortress gates to the invaders had confused him, angered him, but Sienhin knew his place, and his place was to support his king. Through good and bad. Even through this.
“I haven’t gone as far as you may think, Sir Alton. Nor as far as you might like.”
The older knight jumped at the sound of the king’s voice behind him, and stood abruptly, upsetting the flagon. Dark ale spilled across the table, flowing along the wood’s grain to the end where it dribbled onto the floor.
“Therrador,” Sir Alton breathed, turning.
Therrador crossed from the doorway to stand before the other man, but made no move to embrace him or greet him. Sir Alton felt grateful for the king’s choice—after the events of the past few weeks, he didn’t think he could bear it.
“You heard what happened?”
“I heard Sir Matte was the latest to give his life for you,” the knight grumbled, his words calculated to prod the king like the tip of a dagger. “And that the Archon took you. Where have you been?”
“The dungeon, for a while. Now I am Sheyndust's captive.”
The general crooked a shaggy eyebrow. “Then how are--?
“How I got here doesn’t matter. Hahn is in league with the enemy.”
Sienhin puffed his cheeks out and blew a breath through his lips. His hands went to his hips giving him the look of a matron chastising her charges.
“Is anyone but me left faithful to the kingdom?”
Therrador ignored his barb. “The man who carries the king’s essence nears the fortress. We must ready for his arrival.”
“What? The king yet survives? How do you know this?”
Some of the certainty in Therrador’s expression flagged for a moment.
“A ghost woman told me.”
“Ha,” Sir Alton guffawed. “I’m supposed to believe this?”
“It doesn’t matter what you believe. We have to return to our original plan of alerting the troops. The army must be ready.”
“But Perdaro knows this plan.”
“He will think the plan died with my jailing.” Therrador hesitated, then added, “He believes I’m back in league with the Archon.”
Sir Alton’s eyebrows dipped dangerously close to forming a single bristly hedge above his eyes.
“Why would he think that?”
“Because I told the Archon the king-carrier was coming, and that I’d tell her when he arrived.”
“What? Why--?”
“I had to get out of the dungeon, Alton. I couldn’t save my kingdom while dying in a cell.”
The knight glowered, unconvinced, but Therrador didn’t look away. Sir Alton had known this man for decades, and yet as they stared at each other, he felt like he gazed upon a stranger.
“Why should I trust you? The kingdom wouldn’t be in this predicament if not for you.”
“The Archon would have her way whether through me or someone else. It might have been you.”
“Never.”
Sir Alton puffed out his chest but, even as he did,
“Here we go,” he said aloud and drew a breath of air that smelled of must and disuse.
Determined to find his way to the general's quarters, Therrador grasped a handle mounted on the back side of the wall and pulled the section closed. He descended the stairs in the flickering light of the taper without knowing where they would lead him or if he should truly put his trust in the ghostly woman. This was the same doubt and distrust his friend would feel when he saw him.
What choice do we have?
***
Sir Alton Sienhin wiped remnants of ale out of his bushy mustache with the back of his left hand and slammed the pewter flagon in his right back to the table. He stared at the empty chair set across the table and chewed on the stray hairs of his mustache curled over his top lip.
“Where have you gone, Therrador?”
He stared straight ahead at the plain stone wall and simple furnishings—not the decor to which he'd become accustomed, but his quarters had been given to some Kanosee general when Therrador invited the enemy in. The regent’s decision to open the fortress gates to the invaders had confused him, angered him, but Sienhin knew his place, and his place was to support his king. Through good and bad. Even through this.
“I haven’t gone as far as you may think, Sir Alton. Nor as far as you might like.”
The older knight jumped at the sound of the king’s voice behind him, and stood abruptly, upsetting the flagon. Dark ale spilled across the table, flowing along the wood’s grain to the end where it dribbled onto the floor.
“Therrador,” Sir Alton breathed, turning.
Therrador crossed from the doorway to stand before the other man, but made no move to embrace him or greet him. Sir Alton felt grateful for the king’s choice—after the events of the past few weeks, he didn’t think he could bear it.
“You heard what happened?”
“I heard Sir Matte was the latest to give his life for you,” the knight grumbled, his words calculated to prod the king like the tip of a dagger. “And that the Archon took you. Where have you been?”
“The dungeon, for a while. Now I am Sheyndust's captive.”
The general crooked a shaggy eyebrow. “Then how are--?
“How I got here doesn’t matter. Hahn is in league with the enemy.”
Sienhin puffed his cheeks out and blew a breath through his lips. His hands went to his hips giving him the look of a matron chastising her charges.
“Is anyone but me left faithful to the kingdom?”
Therrador ignored his barb. “The man who carries the king’s essence nears the fortress. We must ready for his arrival.”
“What? The king yet survives? How do you know this?”
Some of the certainty in Therrador’s expression flagged for a moment.
“A ghost woman told me.”
“Ha,” Sir Alton guffawed. “I’m supposed to believe this?”
“It doesn’t matter what you believe. We have to return to our original plan of alerting the troops. The army must be ready.”
“But Perdaro knows this plan.”
“He will think the plan died with my jailing.” Therrador hesitated, then added, “He believes I’m back in league with the Archon.”
Sir Alton’s eyebrows dipped dangerously close to forming a single bristly hedge above his eyes.
“Why would he think that?”
“Because I told the Archon the king-carrier was coming, and that I’d tell her when he arrived.”
“What? Why--?”
“I had to get out of the dungeon, Alton. I couldn’t save my kingdom while dying in a cell.”
The knight glowered, unconvinced, but Therrador didn’t look away. Sir Alton had known this man for decades, and yet as they stared at each other, he felt like he gazed upon a stranger.
“Why should I trust you? The kingdom wouldn’t be in this predicament if not for you.”
“The Archon would have her way whether through me or someone else. It might have been you.”
“Never.”
Sir Alton puffed out his chest but, even as he did,
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