Harshini dct-3

by Jennifer Fallon

  “So you want to replace one form of oppressive rule with another?” Brak asked wryly.

  “No. Eventually, we'll hold elections. The people of Medalon should be allowed to vote for who they want to lead them, not leave the choice to a handful of women who are trained from childhood to believe they are better than everybody else. We'll put Jenga in charge until we've cleared out the Kariens and we can organise a vote. He has enough honour to see that it's done properly.”

  R'shiel gazed at him suspiciously. “How long have you been planning this, Garet?”

  “The destruction of the Sisterhood? Since the day I learnt of the burning of a small village in the Sanctuary Mountains called Haven,” he told her.

  For a moment she said nothing.

  “You come from Haven.” It was more a statement of fact than a question; a sudden acceptance of his motives, an understanding of what drove him. He felt as if, on some unconscious level, she had forgiven him.

  “Your real family was killed in that raid, R'shiel. So were mine.”

  “I never knew you were Mountain Folk.”

  “Why should you? I've been a Defender for as long as you've known me.”

  “Then you've known all along who I really was?”

  He shook his head. “You were born long after I left Haven. But I knew your mother, J'nel. And B'thrim, her sister.”

  “What were they like?”

  He smiled, partly in remembrance, and partly because of the expression on R'shiel's face. For all her deeds, for all her awesome power, there was still a part of the child she had been lurking deep inside her, desperate for reassurance.

  “B'thrim I remember as being a rather large, over-protective woman who would chase us with a skinning knife if ever she caught us robbing her traps in the woods. J'nel was the complete opposite. She was small and fragile and wild. We used to call her the Snow Child. She was never happier than when she was lost in the woods. As a boy, I was part of more than one search party sent to find her. She was the sort of person who could coax wild rabbits to sit on her lap. I never knew anyone like her. It doesn't surprise me in the least that she caught the eye of a Harshini King.”

  R'shiel closed her eyes for a moment and he exchanged a look with Brak.

  “When did you leave Haven?” Brak asked.

  “I was fourteen. The life of a woodcutter didn't particularly appeal to me so I ran away to Testra. That's when I discovered that knowing how to live off the land in no way prepared one for living in a city. I was caught stealing food by a Defender lieutenant. He gave me the choice to join up or be sent to the Grimfield. So I joined the Defenders. The lieutenant put in a good word for me and I was accepted into the Cadets. I've not been back to Haven since.”

  “You were lucky to meet someone so generous,” Brak remarked.

  Garet nodded. “I was. And I still owe him. His name was Palin Jenga.”

  R'shiel's eyes opened wide. “Then you have a debt to pay, as well as vengeance to seek.”

  He nodded. “Which is why I insist on both my demands being met. I don't intend to let your hidden agenda ruin mine. I will never have another chance at this. Do we have a deal?”

  R'shiel glanced up at Brak who was standing behind her. The Harshini nodded slightly and she turned back to him.

  “Yes, Garet. We have a deal.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Garet Warner arranged a meeting with those officers who were with him in his desire to overthrow both the Kariens and the Sisters of the Blade. R'shiel was surprised when she saw them. There were quite a few familiar faces - classmates of Tarja's and other senior officers who she would never have expected to harbour such treasonous ambitions. She was certain every Defender in the Citadel wanted to be free of Karien occupation, but it was a little disturbing to learn how many of these men were willing to destroy the Sisterhood.

  They met in a room at the back of the Grey Widow Inn in Tavern Street, slipping in one at a time to avoid raising the suspicions of the Karien soldiers who now frequented the place. The windows were covered against the night with shabby woven curtains and the lanterns that flickered in their yellow glass flutes gave the room an air of conspiracy. When they were finally assembled, Garet locked the door and turned to face them. There were fifteen Defenders present, every one of them an officer and not one ranked below captain. Brak and R'shiel were the only civilians.

  “I'm not going to bother with introductions,” he began. “If you don't know each other's names, then it's probably better that it stays that way. The only people who need introduction are these two. Most of you know R'shiel. Her friend is called Brak.”

  “Can we trust them?” an officer asked, one R'shiel did not know.

  “They wouldn't be here otherwise.”

  The Defender nodded and made no further comment.

  “I take it this meeting means that we've decided to make our move,” another man remarked.

  Garet nodded. “We begin at dawn on Restday.”

  “That doesn't give us much time,” someone else pointed out. R'shiel knew the voice, but could not put a face to it.

  “That's the whole point,” Garet replied. “Once we leave this room tonight, we will have to take others into our confidence. Every additional person who learns of this plot increases our chances of discovery. The less time between now and when we strike the better.”

  “I know we've discussed this before,” a young man near the back of the room commented, “but even if we can take the Citadel, that still leaves the Karien army camped outside our gates.”

  “And there's the priests to contend with, too,” his companion added with concern. “I don't believe in their tales of magic, but I was on the northern border when their army attacked. I know what I saw there.”

  “Take them hostage,” R'shiel suggested.

  They all looked at her in surprise, including Brak.

  “If you plan it right,” she continued, “once you take the Citadel you'll have every duke in Karien as a hostage and their priests with them. If you can't negotiate a settlement with Jasnoff, using his entire Council of Dukes as your bargaining chip, you're not going to do it with anything else. It's quite simple, really. You kill them one at a time until he gives in. Start with the priests and work your way up. You shouldn't have to dispose of too many before King Jasnoff gets the message.”

  Brak grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close so only she could hear him. “What in the gods' name are you up to now?” he hissed in her ear.

  “Trust me, Brak.” She pulled free of his grasp and rubbed her arm.

  “Not this time, R'shiel. I won't stand by while you slaughter innocent men just so you can get even with your mother.”

  She let out an impatient, exasperated sigh. Why did he always assume the worst about her? “I'd hardly call the Karien dukes and their priests innocent. Besides, we're not really going to destroy anyone, Brak; we're just going to threaten it. We're just giving them a reason to go home.”

  Brak's faded eyes were burning with suspicion, but he had no chance to question her further.

  “You don't seriously expect us to kill hostages in cold blood?” The man who spoke was Rylan, the Citadel's Master of Horse. R'shiel had known him since she was a small child. “That's not the way we do things in the Defenders.”

  “You coped well enough murdering your own people during the Purge, Commandant,” she replied. “I should think a few enemy heads posted over the main gate would make a nice change.”

  The room exploded in a rush of objection. Garet glared at her angrily. “You're treading on very thin ice, R'shiel.”

  “I'm merely stating facts, Garet. The Defenders have much to atone for.”

  “The biggest mistake we made was not ensuring we had completely eradicated the Harshini,” someone called out pointedly.

  R'shiel turned on the officer who had spoken. “You'll make an even bigger mistake if you think you can do this and remain on your high moral ground. Look at you! Hiding in the back roo
m of a tavern, plotting the overthrow of your government while you profess to abhor unnecessary bloodshed. Your precious Defender's honour didn't stop Mahina being killed. It hasn't stopped the Kariens taking control of Medalon and it won't help you get it back. You're fighting fanatics, Captain, not men who think like you do. If you expect to win, you have to play by their rules, not hope they'll play by yours.”

  Garet glanced at Brak warningly. “Shut her up, or leave.”

  Brak stepped up behind R'shiel and placed a strong, restraining hand on her shoulder. “You aren't helping, R'shiel.”

  “We can't go ahead with this!” Rylan insisted. “Jasnoff won't negotiate. He doesn't need to. What does it matter if we control the Citadel? With that army camped outside our walls, we could be under siege for years. There is no army waiting over the next rise to come to our rescue. And even if there were, what army on the continent could rival the number of Kariens out there? It's too dangerous. We should find another way.”

  Garet held up his hands to quell the hubbub of agreement that followed the Horse Master's words, then looked at R'shiel and Brak speculatively.

  “Rylan has raised a valid point. If this strategy fails and we can't disperse the Karien host, we will be caught in a siege that will be long, painful and ultimately futile.”

  “What if you had a chance of being relieved?” Brak asked. R'shiel glanced over her shoulder at him. Then she smiled in understanding.

  “Damin.”

  “Who?” someone asked from the back of the room.

  “Damin Wolfblade, the High Prince of Hythria. Tarja was taking the men he gathered south to meet him. He has already promised Medalon aid.”

  “For that matter,” R'shiel added thoughtfully, “we could probably get Hablet to join in the fray. And then there are the Defenders who fled to Hythria.”

  “How many Defenders?” someone asked. “A thousand? Maybe two? They'll not be much use against that horde outside.”

  “And you seriously think the Hythrun and the Fardohnyans will come to our aid?” Rylan scoffed.

  “Damin will come,” R'shiel replied confidently.

  “R'shiel's right,” Brak agreed. “Hythria and Fardohnya will come if she asks for their help.”

  “Things must have changed in the south quite dramatically in recent months,” Rylan remarked sourly. “Last I heard, Hablet was planning to invade us, not come to our rescue. And since when did you hold any sway with the kings and princes of our southern neighbours?”

  Garet studied her for a moment then turned to Rylan. He had been on the northern border with them and knew she was acquainted with the Hythrun Prince. “Actually, in this I think she may be right. Wolfblade might come if R'shiel asks him. But are you sure you can trust him?”

  “I'd trust Damin with my life.”

  “It's not just your life you're trusting him with, R'shiel, but the lives of every man, woman and child in the Citadel.”

  Garet studied them both for a moment, weighing the advisability of placing his faith in their assurances. Eventually he shrugged and turned to face his men. “As I see it, we go now, or we abandon the idea altogether. Every day the Kariens reside in Medalon makes it all the harder to dislodge them. I'm willing to believe R'shiel if she says she can bring help. I say we do it and then settle down and wait for the Hythrun to relieve us.”

  A low murmur ran through the room as the Defenders indicated their cautious agreement. Garet nodded. “Good. Then let's get down to details.”

  There wasn't much R'shiel or Brak could contribute after that. These men had been planning this since the day Joyhinia signed Medalon's surrender. Everything had been worked out: each key position they would take, every weapon they would need and every man they would need to do it. This meeting was simply to sort out the minor details and accommodate any last-minute changes to their plans.

  They based their coup on the assumption that every Defender in the Citadel would follow them when the time came, and R'shiel was quite sure their confidence was justified. There was not a Defender who would willingly subjugate himself to the Kariens - with the possible exception of Wain Loclon, and she intended to take care of him personally.

  The task of rescuing the Lord Defender and Tarja fell to a young captain whom R'shiel vaguely remembered being a lieutenant when she had been a Probate. He was, she recalled with mild surprise, the young man who had whisked Kilene away to dance, on the night Davydd Tailorson had taken her to meet Tarja in the caverns under the amphitheatre. That night stuck in her memory like the jagged edge of a bottomless abyss, down which she seemed to have been helplessly tumbling ever since, towards a destiny she had never wanted or envisaged. Symin accepted his orders with a serious expression, but she could sense the suppressed excitement that he struggled to hold in check. He worried her a little. This was not an adventure.

  It was the early hours of the morning before Garet glanced around the room with a nod of satisfaction. “Well, that's about it. You all know what you have to do. Any questions?”

  “We've not mentioned how we're going to get a message to the Hythrun,” Rylan pointed out.

  “R'shiel?” Garet asked, turning to her.

  “We'll take care of that.”

  “How?” Rylan asked. “We'll be trapped in the Citadel. How will you get a message out? How will you get past the Kariens? We have no birds here trained to fly to Hythria.”

  It was Garet who answered for her. “I think in this case, we can leave that up to Brak and R'shiel. They have... er... resources... that we don't need to know about. I don't think we need fear on that point.”

  R'shiel glanced at Brak who smiled briefly at Garet's cautious acknowledgment of their power.

  “Well, if there are no more questions, I think we're finished here. Good luck, gentlemen.”

  The Defenders gathered up their maps and plans and began to leave the room, one at a time, slipping out as the young lieutenant, who was surreptitiously guarding the door outside, gave the signal that it was clear. R'shiel and Brak were among the last to leave.

  “I'm placing an awful lot of faith in you two, and based on your past history, that's not very encouraging,” Garet said as they waited. “Can you really get Wolfblade and the Fardohnyans here in time to help?”

  “I think so.”

  “R'shiel, I'd be a lot happier if you sounded more certain.”

  She shrugged. “It depends on a few things. I have to talk to some of the gods.”

  Garet's brow furrowed in concern. “I can't believe I'm even discussing this, let alone pinning our whole strategy on it.” He stopped and nodded in acknowledgment of a salute from two captains, then waited until they were alone before he continued. “There's something else I want you to keep in mind. If we kill too many priests and dukes, Jasnoff will seek our destruction out of spite.”

  “You won't have to kill more than a few, Garet.”

  “That's easy for you to say. It's not you who will be holding the sword to their throats. Or were you planning to do this personally?”

  “I couldn't, even if I wanted to. If I caused that much destruction, it would devastate the Harshini, who are linked to the same power source as me.” She glanced at Brak, a little offended by his startled expression. “You didn't think I knew that, did you? I remember what Shananara said to me about the night that I tried to kill Loclon. If wanting to kill one person could hurt the Harshini that much, killing dozens would destroy them.”

  “Then bear something else in mind,” Garet reminded her. “A hundred thousand rampaging Kariens fleeing through Medalon will be just as destructive as making them die here.”

  “Don't worry, Garet. I know what I'm doing.”

  He shook his head ruefully. “I seriously doubt that, R'shiel, and the look of doubt on Brak's face does little to encourage me.”

  “Then why are you doing this?”

  “Because we have to,” he replied simply.

  * * *

  The Great Hall of the Citadel was now
known as Francil's Hall, however R'shiel refused to acknowledge the new name. Joyhinia Tenragan had purchased the name at the cost of a woman's honour, and R'shiel would not give such a base and lowly act any credence by admitting to it. The huge hall was deserted when they slipped inside, cringing as the massive doors boomed shut behind them. It was just on dawn and the hall was shrouded in shadows as the first faint rays of light painted the dancing dust motes pink. The walls below the gallery were just beginning to lighten with the Brightening. Brak stepped into the hall and looked around. His eyes were full of unspeakable sadness.

  “The ceiling used to have a painting on it that depicted all the Primal Gods,” he said, looking up at the stark, whitewashed roof. His voice seemed dangerously loud in the silent, cavernous building. “It took the Harshini nearly half a century to complete it. You could stare at it for a lifetime and still not find everything there was to see.”

  “There was a mural in my room like that,” she told him. “It was so full of detail I never tired of looking at it.”

  He did not appear to notice she had spoken. “Along the gallery up there was a mural dedicated to the Incidental Gods. Their followers would come to the Temple of the Gods and add to the mural as part of their acknowledgment of their gods' existence. Parts of it were magnificent, particularly the panels devoted to the God of Artists. There were sonnets covering the walls devoted to the God of Poets, too. You see the marble balustrade? If you look closely, you'll find each pillar is drilled with holes. Open the windows in the arches at either end of the Hall on a windy day and the whole hall will sing to the God of Music.”

  R'shiel wasn't sure what to say, or even if she should say anything. Brak seemed lost in the past. He walked further into the hall, his boots loud on the marble floor.

  “See these twenty pillars supporting the gallery? They used to have alcoves set in each one, but they're filled in now. Each pillar was a shrine to one of the Primal Gods.” He frowned at some distant memory and glanced at her. “The Seeing Stone used to sit up there on the podium. It seemed bigger then, but I guess I remember it through the eyes of a younger man.”