Dragons of a Lost Star

29 Captor Captive

“Quick, before they see us!” said Gerard. “Turn this beast’s head around. We can hide in the cave—”

“Hide!” Odila repeated, casting him a shocked glance over her shoulder. Then she grinned. “I like you, Corn—” She paused, then said, with a wry smile, “Sir Gerard. Any other Knight would have insisted we rush into battle.” Sitting up straight and tall, she placed her hand on her sword hilt and declaimed, “I will stand and fight though the odds are a hundred to one. My honor is my life.”

She turned her horse’s head, began to ride back toward the cave. Now it was Gerard who looked shocked. “Don’t you believe that?”

“What good is your honor going to do you when you’re dead? What good will it do anyone? I’ll tell you what, Sir Gerard” she continued, “they’ll make a song for you. Some damn stupid song they’ll sing in the taverns, and all the fat shopkeepers will get misty-eyed and slobber in their beer about the brave Knight who fought odds of six hundred to one. But you know who won’t be singing? Those Knights inside Solanthus. Our comrades. Our friends. The Knights who aren’t going to have a chance to fight a glorious battle in the name of honor. Those Knights who have to fight to stay alive to protect people who have put their trust in them.

“So maybe our swords are only two swords, and two swords won’t make a difference. What if every one of those Solamnic Knights in Solanthus decided to ride out onto the battlefield and challenge six hundred of the enemy to glorious combat? What would happen to the peasants who fled to the Knights for safety? Will the peasants die gloriously, or will they be spitted on the end of some soldier’s spear? What will happen to the fat shopkeepers? Will they die gloriously, or will they be forced to watch while enemy soldiers rape their wives and daughters and burn their shops to the ground. The way I see it, Sir Gerard, we took an oath to protect these people. We didn’t take an oath to die gloriously and selfishly in some hopeless, inane contest.

“The main objective of the enemy is to kill you. Every day you remain alive you defeat their main objective. Every day you stay alive you win and they lose—even if it’s only skulking about, hiding in a cave until you can find a way to return to your comrades to fight alongside them. That, to me, is honor.”

Odila paused for breath. Her body trembled with the intensity of her feeling.

“I never thought of it like that,” Gerard admitted, regarding her in admiration. “I guess there is something you take seriously, after all, Lady Odila. Unfortunately, it all appears to have been for nothing.” He raised his arm, pointed past her shoulder. “They’ve sent outriders to guard the flanks. They’ve seen us.”

A group of horsemen, who had been patrolling the edge of the tree line, rode into view about a half mile away. The horse and riders standing alone amidst the prairie grass had been easily spotted. The patrol wheeled as one and was now galloping toward them to investigate.

“I have an idea. Unbuckle your sword belt and give it to me,” Gerard said.

“What—” Frowning, Odila glanced around to see him pulling the leather helm over his head. “Oh!” Realizing what he meant to do, she began to unbuckle her sword. “You know, Sir Gerard, this ruse might work better if you weren’t wearing your tunic backside-front. Hurry, shift it before they get a good look at us!”

Cursing, Gerard pulled his arms out of the sleeves and wriggled the tunic around until the emblem of the Dark Knights of Neraka was in the front.

“No, don’t turn around,” he ordered her. “Just do it. Be quick. Before they can get a good look at us.”

Odila unbuckled her sword belt and slipped it into his hands. He thrust her sword, belt and all, inside his own swordbelt, then pulled on his helm. He did not fear he would be recognized, but the helm was excellent for concealing facial expressions.

“Hand me the reins and put your hands behind your back.”

Odila did as he ordered. “You’ve no idea how exciting I find this, Sir Gerard,” she murmured, breathing heavily.

“Oh, shut up,” he muttered, fumbling with the knot. “Take this seriously, at least.”

The patrol was drawing near. He could see details now, and he noted with astonishment that the leader was a minotaur. Gerard’s hopes that they might get out of this alive increased. He had never met or even seen a minotaur before, but he had heard that they were thick-skulled and dimwitted. The remainder of the patrol were Knights of Neraka, experienced cavalrymen, judging by their skill in handling their mounts. The enemy patrol galloped across the prairie, their horses sending up clouds of dust from the dry grass. A single gesture from the minotaur, who rode in the lead, sent the other members of the patrol out in a wide circle, surrounding Gerard and Odila.

Gerard had thought about riding forward to meet them but decided this might seem suspicious. He was a Dark Knight of Neraka near an enemy stronghold, encumbered with a prisoner, and he had good reason to react as warily to them as they did to him.

The minotaur raised his hand in salute. Gerard returned the salute, thanking whoever might be listening for his training under Marshal Medan. He sat his horse in silence, waited for the minotaur, who was his superior, to speak. Odila’s cheeks were flushed. She glared at them all in stony silence. Gerard only hoped that silence would continue. The minotaur eyed Gerard closely. The minotaur’s eyes were not the dull eyes of a beast but were bright with intelligence.

“What is your name, your rank, and your commanding officer?” the minotaur demanded. His voice was gruff and growling, but Gerard had no difficulty understanding him.

“I am Gerard uth Mondar, aide to Marshal Medan.”

He gave his real name because if, by some wild chance, they checked with Marshal Medan, he would recognize Gerard’s name and know how to respond. He added the number of the unit serving in Qualinesti but nothing more. Like any good Knight of Neraka, he was suspicious of his comrades. He would answer only what he was asked, volunteering nothing.

The minotaur frowned. “You are a long way from home, dragonrider. What brings you this far north?”

“I was en route to Jelek on Marshal Medan’s blue dragon with an urgent message from Marshal Medan to Lord of the Night Targonne,” Gerard replied glibly.

“You are still a long way from home,” the minotaur stated, the bestial eyes narrowing. “Jelek is a long way east of here.”

“Yes, sir,” said Gerard. “We flew into a storm and were blown off course. The dragon thought he could make it, but we were hit by a sudden gust of wind that flipped us over. I almost fell from the saddle, and the dragon tore a shoulder muscle. He continued to fly as long as he could, but it proved much too painful. We had no idea where we were. We thought we were near Neraka, but then we saw the towers of a city. Having grown up near here, I recognized Solanthus. At about the same time, we saw your army advancing on the city. Fearing to be noticed by the cursed Solamnics, the dragon landed in this forest and located a cave where he could rest and heal his shoulder.

“This Solamnic”—Gerard gave Odila a rough poke in the back—”saw us land. She tracked us to the cave. We fought, and I disarmed and captured her.”

The minotaur looked with interest at Odila. “Is she from Solanthus?”

“She will not talk, sir, but I have no doubt that she is and can provide details about the number of troops stationed inside the city, its fortifications, and other information that will be of interest to your commander. Now, Talon Leader,” Gerard added, “ would like to know your name and the name of your commander.”

This was bold, but he felt that he’d been interrogated enough, and to continue meekly answering questions without asking a few of his own would look out of character.

The minotaur’s eyes flashed, and for a moment, Gerard thought he had overplayed his part. Then the minotaur answered. “My name is Galdar. Our commander is Mina.” He spoke the odd name with a mixture of reverence and respect that Gerard found disconcerting. “What is the message you were carrying to Jelek?”

“My message is to Lord Targonne,” Gerard replied and at the word message, his heart upended and slid down his gullet.

He remembered, suddenly, that he was carrying on his person a message that was not from Marshal Medan, but from Gilthas, king of the Qualinesti; a letter that would ruin him if it fell into the hands of the Dark Knights. Gerard could not believe his ill luck. The day when the letter might have done him some good, he’d left it with the dragon. The day when the letter could do him irreparable harm, it was tucked in his belt. What had he done in his lifetime to so outrage Fate?

“Lord Targonne is dead,” responded the minotaur. “Mina is now Lord of the Night. I am her second-in-command. You may deliver the message to me, and I will relay it to her.”

Gerard was not unduly surprised to hear that Targonne was dead. Promotion up the ranks of the Dark Knights often took place at night in the dark with a knife thrust to the ribs. This Mina had presumably taken command. He wrested his mind from dwelling on that blasted incriminating letter to dealing with the new turn of events. He could give his false message to this minotaur and be done with it. Then what would happen? They would take Odila from him and haul her off to be tortured while he would be thanked for his service and dismissed to return to his dragon.

“I was told to deliver the message to the Lord of the Night,” returned Gerard stubbornly, playing the quintessential commander’s aide—officious and self-important. “If that is not Lord Targonne, then my orders require me to deliver it to the person who has taken his place.”

“As you will.” The minotaur was in a hurry. He had more important things to do than bandy words with a marshal’s aide. Galdar jerked a thumb in the direction of the dust cloud. “They’ll be raising the command tent now. You’ll find Mina there, directing the siege. I’ll send a man with you to guide you.”

“There is really no need, sir—” Gerard began, but the minotaur ignored him.

“As to your prisoner,” the minotaur continued, “you can turn her over to the interrogator. He’ll be setting up shop somewhere near the blacksmith’s forge.”

An image of red hot pokers and flesh-ripping iron tongs came unpleasantly to mind. The minotaur ordered one of his Knights to accompany them. Gerard would have liked to have dispensed with the company, but he didn’t dare argue. Saluting the minotaur, Gerard urged the horse forward. For a moment he feared that the animal, feeling an unfamiliar hand on the reins, would balk, but Odila gave a slight kick with her heels, and the horse started moving. The minotaur stared intently at Gerard, during which the sweat trickled down the front of Gerard’s breast. Then the minotaur wheeled his horse and galloped off. He and the rest of the patrol were soon lost to sight, entering the tree line. Gerard pulled up and peered back in the direction of the river.

“What is it?” their Dark Knight escort demanded.

“I’m concerned about my dragon,” Gerard said. “Razor belongs to the Marshal. They’ve been comrades for years. It would mean my head if anything happened to the beast.” He turned back to face the Knight. “I’d like to go check on the dragon, let Razor know what’s going on.”

“My orders are to take you to Mina,” said the Knight.

“You don’t have to come,” said Gerard shortly. “Look, you don’t seem to understand. Razor must have heard the horn calls. He’s a blue. You know how blues are. They can smell battle. He probably thinks that the cursed Solamnics have turned out the city to search for him. If he feels threatened, he might mistakenly attack your army—”

“My orders are to take you to Mina,” the Knight repeated with dullwitted stubborness. “When you have reported to her, you can return to the dragon. You need not be concerned about the beast. He will not attack us. Mina wouldn’t let him. As to his wounds, Mina will heal him, and you both will be able to return to Qualinesti.”

The Knight rode on, heading for the main body of the army-Gerard muttered imprecations at the Knight from the safety of the helm, but he had no choice except to ride after him.

“I’m sorry,” he said under cover of the horse’s hoofbeats, “thought sure he’d fall for it. He gets rid of us, gets out of patrol duty, does what he wants for an hour or two, then reports back.” Gerard shook his head. “Just my luck that I have to run into the only reliable Dark Knight who ever lived.”

“You tried,” said Odila and by twisting her hands, she managed to give him a pat on his knee. “You did the best you could.”

Their guide rode on ahead, eager to do his duty. Annoyed that they weren’t moving faster, he gestured with his arm for them to hasten their pace. Gerard ignored the Knight. He was thinking about what the minotaur had said, about the Dark Knights laying siege to Solanthus. If that was the case, he might well be riding into an army of ten thousand or more.

“What did you mean when you said I hated men?” Odila asked. Jolted out of his thoughts, Gerard had no idea what she was talking about, and he said so.

“You said that you despised women and that I hated men. What did you mean?”

“When did I say that?”

“When we were talking about what to call you. You said that both of us feared life more than we did death.”

Gerard felt his skin burn and was glad he was wearing the helm to cover his face. “I don’t remember. Sometimes I say things without thinking—”

“I had the feeling you’d been thinking about this for a long time,” Odila interrupted.

“Yes, well, maybe.” Gerard was uncomfortable. He hadn’t meant to lay himself wide open, and he certainly didn’t want to talk to her about what was inside. “Don’t you have other things to worry about?” he demanded irritably.

“Like having red-hot needles jabbed beneath my fingernails?” she asked coolly. “Or my joints dislocated on the rack? I have plenty to worry about. I’d rather talk about this.”

Gerard fell silent a moment, then he said, awkwardly, “I’m not sure what I meant. Maybe it’s just the fact that you don’t seem to have much use for men. Not just me. That’s understandable. But I saw how you reacted to the other Knights during the council meeting and to the warden and—”

“How do I react?” she demanded, shifting in the saddle to look back at him. “What’s the matter with the way I react?”

“Don’t turn around!” Gerard snapped. “You’re my prisoner, remember? We’re not supposed to be having a cozy chat.”

She sniffed. “For your information, I adore men. I just happen to think they’re all cheats and scoundrels and liars. Part of their charm.”

Gerard opened his mouth to reply to this when the Knight escort dashed back toward them at a gallop.

“Blast!” Gerard muttered. “What does this great idiot want now?”

“You are dawdling,” said the Knight accusingly. “Make haste. I must return to my duties.”

“I’ve lost a dragon to injury,” Gerard returned. “I don’t plan to lose a horse.”

There was no help for it, however. This Knight was apparently going to stick to them like a bloodsucking tick. Gerard increased the pace. As they entered the outskirts of the camp, they saw the army that was beginning to dig in for the siege. The soldiers were setting up camp well outside the range of arrows from the city walls. A few Solanthus archers tried their luck, but their arrows fell well short, and eventually the firing ceased. Probably their officers told them to quit being fools and save their arrows.

No one in the enemy camp paid the archers any attention, beyond glancing now and then at the walls that were lined with soldiers. The glances were furtive and were often followed by an exchange of words with a comrade, both of whom would raise their eyebrows, shake their heads and return to work quickly before an officer noticed. The soldiers did not appear frightened at the daunting sight of the walled city, merely bemused.

Gerard indulged his curiosity, looked about intently. He was not part of this army and so his curiosity would appear justified.

He turned to his guide. “When do the rest of the troops arrive?”

The Knight’s voice was calm, but Gerard noted that the man s eyes flickered behind his helm. “Reinforcements are on the way.”

“A great number, I suppose,” Gerard said.

“A vast number,” said the Knight. “More than you can imagine.”

“They’re nearby?”

The Knight eyed Gerard narrowly. “Why do you want to know? What is it to you?”

Gerard shrugged. “I thought I might lend my sword to the cause, that’s all.”

“What did you say?” the Knight demanded.

Gerard raised his voice to be heard above the din of hammers pounding, officers shouting orders, and the general tumult that went along with setting up a field camp.

“Solanthus is the most well-fortified city on the continent. The mightiest siege engines on Krynn couldn’t make a dent in those walls. There must be five thousand troops ready to defend the city. What do you have here? A few hundred? Of course, you’re expecting reinforcements. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.”

The Knight shook his head. Rising in his stirrups, he pointed. “There is Mina’s command tent. You can see the flag. I will leave you to find your own way.”

“Wait a minute,” Gerard shouted after the Knight. “I want to deliver my prisoner safely to the interrogator. There’ll be a reward in this for me. I don’t want her dragged off and lynched!”

The Knight cast him a scornful glance. “You are not in Neraka, sir,” he said disdainfully and rode off.

Gerard dismounted, began leading the horse through the ordered confusion. The soldiers were working swiftly and with a will. The officers gave direction, but they were not haranguing, not threatening. No whips urged the men to work faster and smarter. Morale appeared high. The soldiers were laughing and joking with each other and singing songs to help ease their labor. Yet, all they had to do was to look up on the city walls to see ten times more than their own number.

“This is a joke,” said Odila, keeping her voice low. They were surrounded by the enemy, and although the din was deafening, someone might overhear. “They have no army of reinforcements nearby. Our patrols go out daily. They would have seen such a massive buildup of troops.”

“Apparently, they didn’t,” Gerard returned. “Solanthus was caught with its pants down.”

Gerard kept his hand on his sword hilt, ready to fight should anyone decide to take it into his head to have a little fun with the Solamnic prisoner. The soldiers glanced at them with interest as they passed. A few halted to jeer at the Solamnic, but their officers quickly ordered the men back to work.

You’re not in Neraka, the Knight had said. Gerard was impressed, also uneasy. This was not a mercenary army that fought for loot, for gain. This was a seasoned army, a disciplined army, one dedicated to its cause, whatever that cause might be.

The flag that fluttered on the spear driven into the ground beside the command was not really a flag, nothing more than a dirty scarf that looked as if it had been dipped in blood.

Two Knights posted guard outside the command tent that had been the first tent raised. Other tents were now going up around it. An officer stood in front of the tent, speaking with another Neraka Knight. The officer was an archer by his dress and the fact that he wore an enormous longbow slung over one shoulder. The Knight had his back to Gerard. He could not see the face. Judging by his slight build, this Knight was no more than a youth, eighteen, if that. He wondered if he was some Knight’s son dressed up in his father’s armor.

The archer spotted Gerard and Odila first. The archer’s gaze was keen and appraising. He said something to the Knight, who turned to look at them. Gerard saw with a shock that the Knight was not a youth, as he had supposed, but a girl. A sheen of red hair, closely cropped, covered her head. Her eyes caught and held both of them in an amber gaze. He had never seen such extraordinary eyes. He felt uncomfortable under their scrutiny, as if he were a child again and she had caught him in some crime, perhaps stealing apples or teasing his little sister. She forgave him his offense because he did not know better. He was just a child. She might punish him, but the punishment would help him understand how to do right in the future.

Gerard was thankful for the helm, for he could avert his gaze and she wouldn’t know it. But even as he tried, he couldn’t keep his eyes from her. He stared at her, enthralled.

Pretty was not the word to describe her, nor beautiful. Her face was marked by its equanimity, its purity of thought. No line of doubt marred her smooth forehead. Her eyes were clear and saw far beyond what his eyes saw. Here was a person who would change the world for good or for evil. He recognized in that cairn equanimity, Mina, commander of this army, whose name had been spoken with reverence and respect. Gerard saluted.

“You are not one of my Knights, sir,” Mina said. “I like to see faces. Remove your helm.”

Gerard wondered how she knew he wasn’t one of her Knights. No badge or emblem marked him as having come from Qualinesti, Sanction, or any other part of Ansalon. He removed his helm reluctantly, not because he thought she might recognize him, but because he had enjoyed its meager protection, shielded him from the intense scrutiny of her amber eyes.

He gave his name and related his story that had the advantage of being true for the most part. He spoke confidently enough, but the parts where he was forced to twist the truth or embellish it proved difficult. He had the strange feeling that she knew far more about him than he knew about himself.

“What is Marshal Medan’s message?” Mina asked.

“Are you the new Lord of the Night, Lady?” Gerard asked. The question seemed expected of him, but he was uncomfortable. “Forgive me, but I was told that my message was to be delivered to the Lord of the Night.”

“Such titles hold no meaning for the One God,” she answered. “I am Mina, a servant of the One. You may deliver your message to me or not, as you choose.”

Gerard stared, baffled and uncertain. He dared not look at Odila, although he wondered what she was thinking, how she was reacting. He had no idea what to do and realized that no matter what he did, he risked looking foolish. For some reason, he did not want to look foolish in those amber eyes.

“I choose to deliver my message to Mina,” he said and was surprised to hear that same note of respect in his voice. “My message is this: Qualinesti is coming under attack from the green dragon Beryl. She has ordered Marshal Medan to destroy the city of Qualinost and threatens that if he does not, she will do so herself. She has ordered him to exterminate the elves.”

Mina said nothing, indicated by a slight nod that she was listening and understood.

Gerard drew in a breath and continued. “Marshal Medan respectfully reminds the Lord of the Night that this attack on Qualinesti breaks the pact between the dragons. The Marshal fears that should Malys hear of it, all-out war will erupt among the dragons, a war that is likely to devastate much of Ansalon. Marshal Medan does not consider himself under the orders of Beryl. He is a loyal Knight of Neraka and therefore he requests orders from his superior, the Lord of the Night, on how to proceed. Marshal Medan also respectfully reminds his lordship that a city in ruins is worth very little and that dead elves pay no tribute.”

Mina smiled slightly. The smile warmed the amber eyes, and they seemed to flow over Gerard like honey. “Lord Targonne would have been deeply moved by that sentiment. The late Lord Targonne.”

“I am sorry to hear of his death.” Gerard glanced somewhat helplessly at the archer, who was grinning at him as if he knew exactly what Gerard was thinking and feeling.

“Targonne is with the One God,” Mina replied, her tone solemn and earnest. “He made mistakes, but he understands now and repents.”

Gerard was thoroughly astounded by this. He had no idea what to say. Who was this One God, anyway? He dared not ask, thinking that as a Dark Knight, he might be supposed to know.

“I’ve heard of this One God,” Odila said in dire tones. She ignored Gerard, who pinched her calf to warn her to keep her mouth shut. “Someone else spoke of a One God. One of those false Mystics from the Citadel of Light. Blasphemy! I tell you. All know that the gods are gone.”

Mina lifted the amber eyes, fixed them on Odila.

“The gods may be gone to you, Solamnic,” Mina said, “but not to me. Release the Knight’s bindings. Let her dismount. Don’t worry. She will not try to escape. After all, where could she go?”

Gerard did as he was told, helped Odila from the horse. “Are you trying to get us both killed?” he demanded under his breath as he undid the knot of the leather thong around her wrists. “This is no time to be discussing theology!”

“It got my hands untied, didn’t it?” Odila returned, glancing at him from beneath her long lashes.

He gave her a rough shove toward Mina. Odila stumbled but caught herself and stood in front of the girl, who reached only to Odila’s shoulder.

“There are no gods for anyone,” Odila repeated with typical Solamnic stubbornness. “For you or me.”

Gerard wondered what she had in mind. No way to tell. H« would have to stay alert, be ready to pick up on her plan.

Mina was not angry or even annoyed. She regarded Odila with patience, rather like a parent watching a spoiled child throwing a temper tantrum. Mina reached out her hand.

“Take hold,” she said to Odila.

Odila regarded her in blank astonishment.

“Take hold of my hand,” Mina repeated, as if the child was rather a slow child.

“Do as she says, cursed Solamnic,” Gerard ordered.

Odila cast him a glance. Whatever she had hoped would happen, this wasn’t it. Gerard inwardly sighed, shook his head. Odila looked back at Mina and seemed on the point of refusing. Then her hand extended, reached out to Mina. Odila looked at the hand in amazement, as if the hand were acting of its own accord, against her will.

“What sorcery is this?” she cried, and she was in earnest. “What are you doing to me?”

“I am doing nothing,” Mina said softly. “The part of you that seeks nourishment for your soul reaches out to me.”

Mina took hold of Odila’s hand in her own.

Odila gasped, as if in pain. She tried to break the hold, but could not, though Mina was not exerting any force that Gerard could see. Tears sprang to Odila’s eyes, she bit her lip. Her arm shook, her body trembled. She gulped and seemed to try to bear the pain, but the next moment she sank to her knees. The tears spilled over, coursed down her cheeks. She bowed her head.

Mina moved close to Odila. She stroked Odila’s long black hair.

“Now you see,” said Mina softly. “Now you understand.”

“No!” Odila cried in a choked voice. “No, I don’t believe it.”

“You do believe,” Mina said. She put her hand beneath Odila’s chin, lifted her head so that Odila was forced to look into the amber eyes. “I do not lie to you. You are lying to yourself. When you are dead, you will go to the One God, and there will be no more lies.”

Odila stared at her wildly.

Gerard shuddered, chilled to the core of his being.

The archer leaned forward, said something to Mina. She listened and nodded.

“Captain Samuval says that you can undoubtedly provide us with valuable information about the defenses of Solanthus.” Mina smiled, shrugged. “I do not require such information, but the captain believes that he does. Therefore you will be questioned first, before you are put to death.”

“I won’t tell you anything,” Odila said thickly.

Mina regarded her with sorrow. “No, I don’t suppose you will. Your suffering will be wasted, for, I assure you, you could not tell me anything that I do not already know. I do this only to humor Captain Samuval.”

Bending down, Mina kissed Odila on the forehead. “I commend your soul to the One God,” Mina said, and straightening, she turned to Gerard.

“I thank you for delivering your message. I would not advise you to return to Qualinost. Beryl would not permit you to enter that city. She launches her attack tomorrow at dawn. As for Marshal Medan, he is a traitor. He has fallen in love with the elves and their ways. His love finds shape and form in the Queen Mother, Lauralanthalasa. He has not evacuated the city as he was ordered. Qualinost is filled with elven soldiers, prepared to give their lives in defense of their city. The king, Gilthas, has laid a trap for Beryl and her armies—a cunning trap, I must admit.”

Gerard gaped. His jaws went slack. His mouth hung open. He thought he should defend Medan, then knew he shouldn’t, for doing so might implicate him. Or perhaps she already knew Gerard wasn’t what he appeared and nothing that he did or didn’t do would make any difference. He managed, at last, to ask the one thing that he had to know.

“Has Beryl... been warned?” Gerard’s mouth was dry. He could barely speak the words.

“The dragon is in the keeping of the One God, as are we all,” Mina replied.

She turned away. Waiting officers moved forward to claim Mina’s attention, badgered her with questions. She walked off to listen to them, answer them. Gerard was dismissed.

Odila stood up, staggering, and would have fallen if Gerard had not stepped forward and, under the guise of seizing her arm, supported her. He wondered, at that, who was leaning on whom—He was in need of some sort of support himself. Sweating profusely, he felt wrung out.

“I can’t answer you,” Captain Samuval said, although Gerard had not asked a question. The captain walked over to converse.

“Is what Mina said about Medan true? Is he a traitor?”

“I don’t... I don’t...” Gerard’s voice failed him. He was tired of lying, and it seemed pointless anyway. The battle for Qualinost would be held tomorrow at dawn, if he believed her, and he believed her, although he had no idea how or why. He shook his head wearily. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Not now.”

“We’d be glad if you joined our ranks,” Captain Samuval offered. “Here, I’ll show you where to take your prisoner. The interrogator’s setting up, but he should be in business by tomorrow morning. We could use another sword.” He glanced at the city, whose walls were dark with soldiers. “How many troops do you reckon are in there?”

“A lot,” Gerard said with emphasis.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Captain Samuval rubbed his grizzled chin. “I’ll wager she knows, eh?” He jerked a thumb at Odila, who walked as if in a daze, hardly seeming to notice where she was going, hardly seeming to care.

“I don’t know if she does or not,” Gerard said glumly. “She hasn’t said anything to me about it, and she won’t say anything to that torturer of yours. She’s stubborn, that one. Where do I put her? I’ll be thankful to be rid of her.”

Captain Samuval led Gerard to a tent that was close to where the blacksmith and his assistants were setting up his portable forge. Pausing at the smith’s, Captain Samuval appropriated a pair of leg irons and manacles, assisted Gerard in attaching them to Odila’s legs and wrists. He handed Gerard the key.

“She’s your prisoner,” he said.

Gerard thanked him, tucked the key into his boot.

The tent had no bedding, but the captain brought water and food for the prisoner. Odila refused to eat, but she drank some water and managed to sound grudgingly grateful for the attention. She lay down on the tent floor, her eyes wide open and staring.

Gerard left her, went outside, wondering what he was going to do now. He decided the best thing he could do was to eat. He had not realized how hungry he was until he saw the bread and dried meat in the captain’s hand.

“I’ll take that food,” Gerard said, “since she doesn’t want it.”

Samuval handed it over. “No mess tent as yet, but there’s more where this came from. I was headed that way myself. You want to join me?”

“No,” said Gerard. “Thanks, but I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“She’s not going anywhere,” said the captain, amused.

“Still, she’s my responsibility.”

“Suit yourself,” said Captain Samuval and strode off. He had sighted a friend apparently, for he began waving his hand. Gerard saw the minotaur who had been leading the patrol waving back.

Gerard squatted down outside the prison tent. He ate the meal without tasting it. Realizing that he’d left the waterskin inside with Odila, he entered the tent to retrieve it. He moved quietly, thinking she might be asleep.

She had not stirred since he had left her, except that now her eyes were closed. He was reaching quietly for the waterskin, when she spoke.

“I’m not asleep,” she said.

“You should try to rest,” he returned. “Nothing to do now except to wait for nightfall. I have the key to the leg irons. I’ll try to find you some armor or a soldier’s tunic—”

She shifted her gaze from him, looked away.

Gerard had to ask. “What did you see, Odila? What did you see when she touched you?”

Odila closed her eyes, shivered.

“I saw the mind of God!”