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He shrugged. “Who knows? But relations between the Jeden Order and King Rodan have always been delicate, and Rodan is an mercurial sort. It may well be he woke up one morning recently, decided the Nazim were indeed heretics and sent his army to arrest them.”
Disbelief made her sputter. “A hundred men? Trying to arrest a near equal number of fighting monks who can wield magic and protected in a fortress like this? That doesn't make any sense.”
His grim expression turned even grimmer. “No, it doesn't.”
Before he could say anything else, the abbot himself came striding toward them, bedecked in armor as well, an arming sword belted on either side of his hips. Anhuset had no doubt his skill with both was unmatched by any of Rodan's soldiers fast approaching the monastery.
He addressed Serovek first. “If they've come for the Order, don't linger. Your horses are waiting in the stables. Someone is saddling them as we speak. There's a rear gate big enough for a pony cart to get through and leads directly into the woods. No one can see it from the path leading to the main gate. You'll be gone before the fighting starts.”
“You have our sword arms if you wish them,” Serovek said. “We'll stand with you.” Anhuset nodded her agreement.
Tionfa's wry smile belied the resolute flatness in his gaze. “You know as well as I do that the margrave of High Salure cannot fight with the Jeden Order against his own king.” He turned to Anhuset. “And you are an ambassador for the Khaskem. Joining us would be seen as a declaration of war by Bast-Haradis.”
Serovek's shoulders drooped. “I'd hoped you might say something different, but I'm not surprised.”
“You knew you'd have to remain neutral.”
Serovek nodded. “Allow us to stay long enough to learn what they want.”
The abbot nodded. “So be it. Come with me. You can stand out of sight near one of the battlements and hear both parties.”
Anhuset stayed next to Serovek as they followed the abbot and a contingent of monks up three flights of stairs and onto the monastery's roof with its high, crenelated walls. The Beladine troops had crossed the bridge and paused outside the gate, their armor and weapons flashing in the bright morning sun. Their commander nudged his horse forward. The creak of wood as bows were drawn sounded loud in the tense silence.
Tionfa kept his profile to the company below as he showed himself at the battlement's edge. He carried a shield to duck behind in case of arrow fire.
“Pray some idiot archer doesn't lose his grip on the string and fire off an arrow,” Anhuset muttered to Serovek.
“Now would be a very good time to pray,” he replied.
The troop's leader gazed up at Tionfa. “Abbot Tionfa, we haven't come to fight.”
“By the look of you, you haven't come to have tea either,” Tionfa said. “What business does the Royal Beladine have with the Jeden Order?”
“We come on command of King Rodan for Serovek Pangion, margrave of High Salure.” There was a short, gravid pause. “He is under arrest.”
Tionfa glanced briefly at Serovek, who'd gone pale and scowling. “On what charge?”
Anhuset's unease exploded into outright fury when the troop captain replied.
“Treason against the kingdom. Sedition against the crown.”
Chapter Fourteen
A romance unlike any other.
Serovek heardthe words as if from a far distance. Treason. Sedition. Words that were the antithesis of everything that his life was define as a faithful military governor to the Beladine kingdom. He'd never much cared for the wily old king, and he'd exercised his leadership of High Salure in ways His Majesty might not approve, such as his friendship with Brishen Khaskem, but he'd never been disloyal to his country or his king.
“What madness is this?” Anhuset's eyes were like torches, her lips drawn back to expose her teeth as she demanded an explanation.
His thoughts racing, Serovek stared past her and didn't answer.
This was Bryzant's doing. Of that, he had no doubt. His steward, excellent with accounts, was also obviously a fair hand with strategy. He hadn't relied on one plan to get rid of Serovek. He had two. If an upstart warlord with delusions of kingship failed to do it, then a king consumed by paranoia and jealousy just might.
Popularity wasn't a sin unless it bought one the admiration of a kingdom's populace. Then it became a threat, at least to the current ruler. What venom had Bryzant poured into the king's ear to convince him his suspicions were not only unfounded, but so much worse in truth? Another thought made Serovek's blood run cold. He was currently in a stronghold, just not his, and if a contingent of the king's men had ridden this far to capture him, what was going on at High Salure?
“Say the word,” Anhuset continued. Her hand dropped to her sword pommel. “I will fight with you against this idiocy.”
This woman, parsimonious with her displays of affection, willingly courted her own death to defend him. A romance unlike any other, he thought with an inner smile. He stroked her arm.
