Harshini dct-3

by Jennifer Fallon

  “Was that Marla I just saw running out of here?”

  R'shiel looked up as Adrina slipped into the room. She studied the Princess closely, but if her belly was swollen, it was impossible to tell in the long loose gown she was wearing.

  “It was. I'm afraid I indulged in what Brak would call a 'tasteless and theatrical display of power' to get my point across.”

  Adrina frowned. “Well, I hoped it worked. That woman really doesn't like me.”

  “I think you'll find her a little more cooperative from now on. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” Adrina replied with a puzzled look. “Why do you ask?”

  “Are you pregnant, Adrina?”

  The Princess paled and took the seat so recently vacated by her mother-in-law. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, are you pregnant? It's a simple enough question.”

  “I'm not sure.”

  “How can you not be sure?”

  “Very well, I have my suspicions, but as I don't want to be pregnant, I've done nothing to confirm them.”

  R'shiel smiled. “You mean you hoped it would go away if you didn't think about it?”

  Adrina glared at her for a moment, then shrugged. “It's stupid, I know.”

  “Marla thinks you are.”

  “Wonderful! That's all I need.”

  “Does Damin have any idea?”

  “Of course not! He's a man. They never notice that sort of thing. And it doesn't really show yet.”

  “Don't you think you should break the news to him before someone else does?”

  “And give him the idea he has some sort of claim over me? I don't think so!”

  “Adrina, it's his child too. And you are married to him.”

  “That's beside the point.”

  “That is the point.”

  “R'shiel, don't you understand what will happen when I tell him? The first thing he's going to do is surround me with so many bodyguards I'll be lucky if I can see daylight through them. Then he's going to lock me away somewhere 'for my safety' so that the child will be protected. Then he'll strut around crowing like a rooster because he's proved his manhood.”

  R'shiel laughed. “So what are you going to do, Adrina? Carry on as if nothing is amiss while your belly swells to the size of a large melon?”

  “I don't know what I'm going to do, I...” She stopped mid-sentence, interrupted as Mikel slipped through the door.

  “What is it, Mikel?” R'shiel asked, puzzled by the expression on the child's face.

  “The High Prince requests your presence in the Great Hall, my Lady. You too, Your Highness.”

  “The High Prince?” Adrina asked curiously. “You mean Prince Lernen is here?”

  “No, Your Highness, it's Lord Wolfblade. He requests you attend him. The news has just come from Greenharbour. High Prince Lernen is dead.”

  Adrina turned to R'shiel, her eyes wide with shock.

  “Long live the High Prince Damin,” R'shiel murmured softly.

  CHAPTER 15

  “We have to move from here and the roads are still blocked,” Tarja announced, leaning over the map that Denjon had spread out on the table in the cold, dank cellar of the tavern in Roan Vale.

  “Move? We only just got here,” Linst pointed out testily, shifting the lantern on the table so he could study the map more easily. The ventilation was poor in the crowded cellar and the lantern smoked badly. Tarja squinted through the stinging haze and scowled at the other captain.

  “Take a look outside, Linst. Between your men, those who joined us in Testra and the men I got away from the border, there's close on two thousand men out there now. We're too big a target. We can march some of the men across the border, the rest we have to break into smaller groups - less than twenty men to a squad. Each squad can operate independently, their only orders to get to Hythria. We can muster them at Krakandar. Damin may even appreciate the fact that we didn't march over his border like an invading army. And we have to do something about stopping the Kariens crossing the river.”

  “Let them loose in squads? How do you expect to maintain discipline?” Denjon asked.

  “I don't. We're going to have to rely on their training.”

  “What about provisions?”

  “We'll split up what we have here, after that they'll be on their own. You'd be surprised how helpful a sympathetic population can be.”

  “Is that how you survived in the rebellion?” Linst asked. There was an edge of reproval in his tone that Tarja didn't much care for.

  Tarja nodded. “It's the reason you could never really break us. Each squad operated on its own. It didn't know where the rest of the squads were, what they're planning, or who was in them. It's like a serpent with a hundred heads. Cut off one and the others will continue to function. If they're captured, they can't betray anyone but their own small group.”

  “No Defender would betray his comrades,” Linst objected.

  “Any man can break under torture. The trick is minimising what each man knows, to protect the rest of the force.”

  “I still say we should fight them head on. This sneaking around, running away to Hythria, it reeks of dishonour.”

  “Fight them head on? Our pitiful force of two thousand men? Do odds of five hundred to one appeal to your honour that much?”

  “I would rather die an honourable death.”

  “Well, I wouldn't,” Denjon laughed, trying to ease the tension. “I'd rather live, if it's all right with you.”

  Tarja smiled briefly then turned to Linst. “You need to make up your mind, Linst. You can't have it both ways. Either you're with us, or you're against us.”

  “Us? Don't you mean you, Tarja? Isn't that what all this is really about? You've gone pagan, haven't you? And you expect us to fight to save the damned Harshini from the Kariens.”

  Tarja straightened and turned to Linst. “Who said anything about the Harshini?”

  “Who said anything? Your damned sister, or whatever she is these days, is one of them! Don't think me a fool. How long have you known they were in hiding? How long have you been protecting them?”

  “You have no idea what you're talking about.”

  “Then enlighten me, Captain. Tell me how you came to be in the company of two Harshini, one of whom we always considered your sister. Tell me how you survived a wound that would have killed any other man. Tell me why we are risking our necks. Is it really to save Medalon? Or is it because you know the Kariens will ensure the Harshini are eradicated completely this time?”

  Tarja fought down the urge to throttle Linst where he stood. He was not the only Defender who felt that way. He was merely giving voice to a sentiment that was rapidly spreading through their forces, a situation not helped by the pagan rebels who had flocked to their banner. Tarja swallowed his annoyance and took a deep breath. This problem had to be dealt with, and the sooner the better.

  “What I think about the Harshini is irrelevant, Linst. So is what the Kariens plan for them. My only concern at the moment is to get across the border so we can mount a counter-attack. There are no Harshini here and I'm not expecting any. But there is a Karien army marching on the Citadel, and a First Sister who is issuing their orders. We can decide what to do about the Harshini when we've gotten rid of the Kariens. Until then, I don't intend to waste my time arguing with you about it.”

  Before Linst could answer, the cellar door opened and Mandah entered, followed by a civilian dressed in rough farmer's clothing. The man looked at the Defenders with barely disguised suspicion then turned to Tarja.

  “Good to see you again, Cap'n,” he said, revealing a mouth full of broken teeth.

  “You too, Seth. What news do you have?”

  Seth had been a rebel long before Tarja had joined their cause. Tarja knew him for a reliable and steady man, not prone to flights of fancy the way the younger men were.

  “The Kariens moved south from the border 'bout two weeks ago. They're headin' straight for the Citadel
by the looks of things.”

  “And the Citadel? Any news from there?”

  “Aye. There's been a stack of new laws issued. Not bad ones, mind you, but odd, if you know what I mean.”

  “Odd, how?” Denjon asked.

  Seth glared at the officer, but did not answer.

  “You can trust him, Seth,” Tarja assured the rebel.

  Seth hesitated for a moment longer before he spoke. “There's a Karien advising the First Sister. Squire Mathen, they call him. Word has it he's the one issuing the laws. The First Sister is just a puppet.”

  “More than you know,” Tarja murmured, thinking of what Brak had told him about the spell cast by the Karien priests and whose mind now occupied Joyhinia's body. “What sort of laws is he issuing?”

  “He's started a program to 'redeem' the court'esa and made it an offence for any man or woman with children to spend their wages in the 'houses of exploitation' as he calls 'em.”

  “He's outlawed the court'esa?” Denjon asked in surprise. “The Sisterhood legalised them two centuries ago.”

  “Not outlawed 'em exactly. The First Sister now reckons there are too many children going hungry 'cause their parents spend all their money on 'pleasures of the flesh', rather than food for their kin. The law was passed with barely a murmur of protest.”

  “Why issue a law like that?” Linst asked.

  “It's the first step to outlawing prostitution completely,” Tarja said. “In Karien it's an offence punishable by stoning. Our people wouldn't accept the Church of Xaphista being imposed on them, but if they make new laws that sound reasonable enough, before you know it, they'll be building churches in every damned village in Medalon.”

  “Aye, you're right, Cap'n. All the laws seem good on the surface, but they're only a step away from worshippin' the Overlord.”

  “That's the danger of them,” Tarja agreed. “Is there any other news?”

  Seth nodded grimly. “They're gonna hang Sister Mahina.”

  “When?” Tarja asked.

  “Restday next, I think.”

  “Then we still have time to rescue her!” Denjon declared.

  “Don't be an idiot,” Linst said. “That's exactly what they'll be expecting. Even if you could get to the Citadel in time, which is unlikely, Garet Warner will have the city locked up so tight, you won't be able to sneak a table knife through the main gate, let alone a squad of armed men.”

  “Tarja? What do you think? Mahina was a friend of yours, as well as the only decent First Sister we've had in a century.”

  Tarja did not answer for a moment. “Linst is right, Denjon. We'd be walking into a trap.”

  “So you're just going to let them hang her?”

  “We have two thousand men here that we need to disperse and the Karien army moving through Medalon. Mahina knew the risk she was taking when she returned to the Citadel, and she'd be the first to tell us not to throw everything away trying to be heroic. I'm sorry, Denjon. Nobody wants to save her more than I do, but we simply can't risk it.”

  Denjon shook his head, but he could not deny Tarja's cold practicality.

  “Then we shall have to settle for avenging her death instead.”

  “And avenge it we will,” Tarja promised. “Every damned day until the Kariens are gone from Medalon.”

  * * *

  Tarja looked down at the map, rubbing his eyes, which felt as if they'd had handfuls of sand thrown in them. Denjon and Linst were gone and he was alone in the smoky cellar, going over the plans they had made, looking for faults and finding none. It was a useless exercise, but it was better than trying to sleep.

  “Tarja?”

  He looked up as Mandah entered the cellar carrying a tray. She hadn't changed much in the year since he'd last seen her. She was still as calm as her brother Ghari was fierce, still as thoughtful, and still as infuriatingly devout in her belief that the gods would take care of everything. Her fair hair was tied back in a loose braid and she was wearing an apron over her homespun trousers. She had been waiting for them, here in Roan Vale, and had appointed herself housekeeper to the senior officers and none of them had objected. Mandah was the sort of woman who could make herself indispensable with remarkable ease. Denjon was quite taken with her.

  “You didn't eat at dinner, so I brought you something.”

  “Thanks. Just put it there on the table. I'll eat it later.”

  She put down the tray but made no move to leave. Tarja looked up at her. “Was there something else?”

  “I thought you might like to talk.”

  “Some other time, Mandah. I'm busy.”

  “You're always busy. You don't eat. You don't sleep. What's wrong?”

  He laughed humourlessly. “What's wrong? Have you looked outside lately?”

  “That's not what's bothering you, Tarja. You could organise those men out there in your sleep. If you ever did sleep, that is. Is it Mahina?”

  He had forgotten she was there when they spoke with Seth. “That's a part of it.”

  “And what about the rest of it?”

  “I don't want to talk about it, Mandah.”

  “You'll have to get it off your chest sooner or later, Tarja. It's eating you up.” She hesitated for a moment and then added in a small voice, “Is it R'shiel?”

  He looked up sharply. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you haven't mentioned her once.”

  “Is that such a surprise? I've had quite a bit to do lately, in case you hadn't noticed. Besides, what do you care? You never liked her, anyway.” He didn't mean to sound so harsh, but she had cut too close to the truth for comfort.

  “It doesn't matter if I like her, Tarja. She is the demon child.”

  “So everyone keeps telling me.”

  Mandah walked around the table to stand beside him. She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No,” he said bluntly, shaking off her arm.

  “You'll have to eventually, Tarja.” Her eyes were full of pain at his rejection. “You can't keep on like this. You're on the brink of exhaustion. How much use will you be to any of us if you can't think straight?”

  He pushed aside his annoyance and made an effort to be civil. His mood was hardly Mandah's fault. “Look, I appreciate your concern, Mandah, but there is really nothing to tell. Thanks for the food, and I promise I'll eat it later.”

  He smiled at her, hoping it didn't look nearly as false as it felt, and turned back to the map. Mandah did not move. Tarja studied the terrain with great concentration, wondering what it would take to get her to leave.

  “Ghari told me you and R'shiel were lovers,” she said after a long moment of strained silence.

  Tarja slammed his palms down onto the table so hard, the tray jumped. Mandah leaned away from him, her eyes suddenly fearful.

  “Ghari had no reason to lie, Tarja.”

  “Damn it, Mandah, it's none of your business!”

  “Is that what's bothering you?”

  He took a deep, calming breath before he turned to her. “You wouldn't understand.”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  Tarja looked at her for a moment then shrugged. She was not going to be put off easily. “How much did he tell you?”

  “Enough.”

  “Then I don't need to explain anything.”

  “Tarja, if you really love her...”

  “Ah, now that's the problem, you see. I remember loving R'shiel as if there were no other woman in the world. But it's like the memories belong to someone else. I don't feel like that now, and I can't ever imagine feeling like that, yet I can remember it, clear as day.”

  “Can you remember when you first felt that you loved her?”

  “Almost to the instant,” he told her. “It happened at the vineyard near Testra. One moment I wanted to strangle her, the next moment I was kissing her.”

  “And do you remember when you stopped feeling that way about her?”

  “I o
nly remember waking up in a wagon with a head full of memories I thought were simply nightmares, at first.”

  “It sounds like a geas,” she said thoughtfully.

  “A what?”

  “A geas. A spell, if you like.”

  “Magic? Oh, well that's just bloody wonderful!” he snarled.

  “Look, I'm no expert, but it seems the only logical explanation.”

  “Mandah, where I come from you don't use the words magic and logic in the same sentence.”

  “The two are not mutually exclusive, Tarja.”

  “I'm sorry, Mandah, but I don't hold with your belief in the powers of the gods. You'll have to come up with a better explanation if you're trying to make me feel better.”

  “I would have thought you'd seen enough to believe in their power by now, Tarja. Your determination to ignore what you've witnessed with your own eyes is just as illogical as you pretend my faith in the gods is.”

  Tarja had a bad feeling he was stepping onto dangerous ground discussing theology with Mandah. “Look, even if I conceded that such a thing was possible, why would they bother? And why, if they did put a... what did you call it... a geas, on me, would they take it off again?”

  Mandah thought for a moment before answering. “Do you know how R'shiel healed you, Tarja?”

  “She used her Harshini magic.”

  “That's true. The same magic you claim you don't believe in. But you may not know the whole of it. You were possessed by demons. They melded to form the blood you lost while you recovered.”

  “Demons? Founders! I had a demon-meld inside me? How do you know that?”

  “R'shiel told me. She wasn't sure what it would do to you. I think it destroyed the geas.”

  He shook his head and stared back at the map. This was too incredible, too fantastic to be real.

  “That's what it sounds like to me,” Mandah persisted. “The gods sometimes put a geas on a person, to make them act the way they want. The demon-meld might have broken it, which is why you woke up thinking you could never have felt that way about R'shiel. And why you never questioned how you felt about her while the geas was on you.”