Harshini dct-3

by Jennifer Fallon

  “My loyalty is to Medalon.”

  “You've an interesting way of showing it.”

  “Enough, Garet,” Tarja sighed. “Arguing will get us nowhere. The Harshini can return, R'shiel, but only if you can promise me that they will not try to reclaim the Citadel or cause any more trouble than they have to.”

  “Interesting that you suspect the Harshini of trying to reclaim the Citadel,” Brak said with a smile. “Have you considered what will happen if the Citadel tries to reclaim the Harshini?”

  “What do you mean by that?” Garet asked suspiciously.

  “He doesn't mean anything,” R'shiel cut in, before Brak could say anything further. “Do I have your word on this, Tarja?”

  He nodded, but he did not seem very pleased with the decision.

  “Then I'll summon Dranymire and the demons.”

  “Will you send the Divine Ones a message?” Mandah asked. Her eyes were alight at the prospect of seeing a real demon and of meeting the fabled race that she so admired.

  “No. I'm going to have to return to Sanctuary myself to convince the Harshini that any asylum they are offered in the Citadel is genuine.”

  “Can't Brak go alone?” Tarja asked.

  He shook his head. “I'm not the one who brought this on, nor I am going to be the one to convince Korandellan and his people that you have opened up the Citadel to the Harshini. It will have to come from R'shiel.”

  She nodded and looked at Brak. “Will you come with me?”

  “Don't I always?” he said.

  * * *

  “R'shiel!”

  She stopped and turned, waiting for Mandah to catch up with her. The young rebel closed the door of the First Sister's office and hurried towards them along the carpeted hall.

  “What is it, Mandah?”

  “Could I speak with you?”

  R'shiel shrugged. “I suppose.”

  “About Tarja.”

  “What about him?”

  Mandah stopped before her, taking a deep breath, as if preparing herself mentally for what she planned to say. Brak walked on ahead, leaving them some semblance of privacy. “You know what happened, don't you? About the geas?”

  “Yes, but how did you know about it?”

  “You forget that I'm a pagan, R'shiel. I know more about the gods and the Harshini than you do.”

  “That's not difficult,” she agreed with a wan smile.

  “It's just... well, I wanted to know...”

  “What? If I still have some claim on him?”

  “I didn't mean it like that.”

  “No, but I've seen the way you look at him. You've done it since we first met. Remember that night in the stables in Reddingdale, when you helped us escape the Defenders? You could have found a dozen other ways to hide Tarja, but you had to throw yourself down on top of him and start kissing him.” R'shiel smiled suddenly. “He's yours if you want him, Mandah. He certainly doesn't want me any more.”

  “R'shiel, I don't want you to think that... well, that I'm benefiting from your misfortune.”

  “Don't worry, Mandah. Tarja is yours if you can hold him. He's not mine. He never really was.”

  Mandah studied her for a moment, as if trying to detect some glimmer of falsehood in R'shiel's assurance.

  “You've changed, R'shiel. There was a time when you would have denied me out of spite.”

  “There was a time I would have done a lot of things, Mandah,” she said. “But I know when I'm beaten. I won't stand in your way.”

  “Then I have your blessing?”

  “I wouldn't go that far.”

  Mandah impulsively hugged R'shiel and then ran back towards the First Sister's office. And Tarja. R'shiel watched her disappear inside and turned to find Brak leaning on the banister at the top of the stairs, staring at her thoughtfully.

  “What?”

  “That was very noble of you.”

  “You shouldn't have been listening.”

  “Are you kidding? I wouldn't have missed that for the world.”

  She stalked past him in annoyance. “Are you coming?”

  “Of course, demon child,” he replied mockingly, as he followed her down the stairs. “Although, I have to say, you were wrong about one thing.”

  R'shiel stopped and glared over her shoulder at him. “What was I wrong about?”

  “You do not know when you're beaten, R'shiel.”

  PART 4

  DESTINY

  CHAPTER 47

  Damin's coronation as High Prince was a subdued affair, for which he was grateful. He had no wish to indulge in the orgy of excess that normally accompanied such an event. Greenharbour was still getting over the siege and the battle that had raged through the city streets. There were thousands of homeless and some foods were still being rationed. It would have been asking for trouble if he had sanctioned such indiscriminate waste. Adrina had agreed with him, although Marla had been rather put out. She had spent her life imagining the day when her son would finally be crowned High Prince and was rather annoyed that her grandiose dreams were to be so easily dismissed.

  Kalan had placed the crown on Damin's head with a wink that only he could see, then placed the High Princess' crown on Adrina's dark hair with only the faintest hint of reluctance. There had not been a High Princess in Hythria for more than fifty years and the last one had been a small, timid girl who had struggled through two pregnancies and then finally given up on life when she delivered a healthy girl. She had not lived long enough to learn that the baby had been named Marla. In fact, since the death of one of her twin boys she had delivered the year before, she had not paid much attention to anything. Damin glanced at Marla and wondered what she was thinking as her mother's crown was placed on his Fardohnyan wife's head. Her expression was unreadable.

  Following the coronation, they retired to the banquet hall for a moderately extravagant feast, at which all the Warlords of Hythria lined up to pay their respects and renew their allegiance to the House of Wolfblade.

  The four Warlords who had supported him during the civil war approached the high table one by one, and repeated their oaths without hesitation. Tejay Lionsclaw was jovial, Rogan Bearbow grave and respectful. Narvell could barely contain his glee. Only Toren Foxtalon appeared a little wary, no doubt still thanking the gods that he had changed sides before it was too late.

  Once the oaths were out of the way, Damin stood up and silence fell over the gathering. The hall was full, crowded with the Hythrun nobility he could not afford to offend, his new Fardohnyan allies and the Defenders who had arrived in time to save them all. He cast his gaze over them, wondering if ever a High Prince had addressed such an oddly assorted gathering before.

  He raised his cup. “To Hythria!”

  “Hythria!” the guests responded dutifully.

  “It is customary, when a new High Prince takes the throne, to reward those who deserve it, and to punish those who deserve it also. I think we can dispense with the latter. Most of the punishments that needed meting out were taken care of before the coronation.”

  A smattering of laughter wafted through the hall. Damin had been ruthlessly efficient in dealing with his enemies. He had no intention of bringing his child into a court riddled with potential assassins. If there were any souls left who wished him harm they were keeping very quiet about it.

  “It now falls to me to name the Warlords of the provinces that find themselves without a ruling lord. The first province I wish to award is Krakandar, and I gift it to the man who deserves it better than I did. Step forward Lord Almodavar Krakenshield.”

  Almodavar had been warned, of course. One did not hand out entire provinces on a whim and the Convocation already had ratified in secret every decision he would announce tonight. But Almodavar still looked stunned. He had worn the same look of blank surprise since Damin had told him about this three days ago.

  The condition for Almodavar's acceptance had been that he take the name Krakenshield, so that Laran's name mig
ht live on. Almodavar had been his father's closest friend and had not objected to the condition. No one but he and Almodavar knew of the other condition that Damin had imposed. It made him smile with immature, vengeful delight - his only regret that he would not be there to see the look on Starros' face when Almodavar finally acknowledged him as his son and informed the head of the Thieves' Guild that he was now the heir to Krakandar.

  Almodavar had guarded Krakandar as if it were his own since before Damin was born, and if his son could manage an organisation as volatile as the Thieves' Guild, ruling an entire province should prove easy by comparison. He had given Almodavar a message for Starros, which his old captain had promised to deliver when he returned home.

  “Tell Starros he did not beat me. I let him win.”

  “Is that it?” Almodavar had asked curiously.

  “He'll know what I mean.”

  Almodavar stepped forward and swore his oath of allegiance with pride and then moved to the empty seat on the high table with the other Warlords. Applause followed him to his seat. Nobody present doubted either Almodavar or his ability to rule Krakandar. More than a few mothers eyed him speculatively, aware that he was unmarried. More than a few young women present saw the look in their mothers' eyes and cringed - Almodavar might be capable, but he was old.

  “The next province I wish to award is Dregian.”

  The crowd stilled, wondering who would win the province of the man who had led the coup against the Damin. Many eyes turned on Garina Eaglespike and her three-year-old son Tav, who had been invited to attend. Her elder daughter Bayla sat next to Valorian Lionsclaw with a look of quiet terror in her eyes. If Damin took it into his head to destroy the Eaglespikes completely, she had only her marriage to Valorian to protect her, and Tejay was notoriously intolerant of her daughter-in law. Damin had it in his power to ruin her and there were many wondering why he had allowed her brother and mother to live.

  “I grant Dregian Province to Tav Eaglespike, to be held in trust for him by Lord Bearbow. Tav is to be fostered with his sister at the court of Lady Lionsclaw until he comes of age. Lady Eaglespike may continue to reside in Dregian Province at Lord Bearbow's pleasure. She may see her son and daughter at Lady Lionsclaw's pleasure.”

  The decision met with a relieved round of applause. Damin had avoided future trouble by leaving the province in the hands of the Eaglespike family, which had held it since time began, but with Tav raised under Tejay's watchful eye, he would grow up far differently from the way he would with an embittered mother to poison his mind. Nor would Dregian suffer until the child came of age. Rogan Bearbow's province was close enough to Dregian that he could easily administer both. Garina had accepted the decision with mixed feelings. She had lost her home and her son, but she would be permitted to keep her life and her position, such as it was. It was more than she could have hoped for and more than most people thought she deserved.

  “That just leaves Greenharbour,” Damin announced as the applause dwindled away to nothing. He glanced across the table at Tejay Lionsclaw. Although she knew what he was about to do, and had even voted for it in the end, she wasn't particularly happy with the idea when he first proposed it. There were no heirs to the Falconlance name. Conin had risen from the ranks and been awarded the province on the death of the previous Warlord. There were no cousins to placate and no heirs to object to his decision. Adrina sat beside him, unsuspectingly.

  “I grant Greenharbour Province to my brother-in-law, Gaffen of Fardohnya on the condition that he renounces his Fardohnyan citizenship and swears his loyalty to Hythria. He must also renounce any claim to the Fardohnyan throne, and chose a Hythrun name for his House.”

  Stunned silence met his announcement. Adrina stared up at him in astonishment, understanding immediately what his declaration meant. By adopting a Hythrun name and renouncing his Fardohnyan ties, Damin was removing Gaffen from the line of Fardohnyan succession, even indirectly. If Hablet followed tradition and had his bastard sons murdered once he had a legitimate heir, her half-brother would be spared.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed silently, a wealth of emotion in her eyes.

  Damin smiled at her briefly then turned back to face the gathering. They were still staring at him silently. It was Tejay who broke the tension, leaping to her feet as she banged her tankard on the table.

  “Damn it! If I can live with this, the rest of you can!” she declared. “Here's to Gaffen! None of you would be sitting here if it wasn't for him and the Defenders who came to our rescue and thank the gods no more of us got killed or we'd have had to appoint a few Medalonian Warlords, too!”

  Someone laughed. Then someone else started clapping and then the whole room joined in. Gaffen stepped forward and swore the oath, just as conscious of its ramifications as his sister.

  He took his place beside Tejay, who appeared to have had something of a change of heart about the big blond Fardohnyan since the Convocation. She was probably ten years his senior, but Tejay liked big men and Gaffen was endowed with a great deal of his court'esa mother's charm when he wanted to be disarming. Damin shook his head with a smile and resumed his seat.

  “Why didn't you tell me?” Adrina asked.

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “My father is going to be furious.”

  “I know,” he replied with a grin.

  “You're really enjoying this, aren't you?”

  “I'm starting to,” he admitted. “Provided I can keep my head on my shoulders and stop having to go to war every time I turn around, I think I might actually get to like being High Prince.”

  “I thought you liked going to war?”

  “I like a nice clean fight, Adrina. If I never see another siege as long as I live, it will be far too soon.”

  * * *

  It was too soon, he learnt later that evening, when Glenanaran strode purposefully through the hall to stand before the high table, his black eyes filled with concern. The Harshini bowed before the High Prince and spoke in a voice laden with regret.

  “I am sorry to disturb your celebrations, Your Highness, but I have a message for you from the demon child and I'm afraid it cannot wait.”

  Glenanaran said nothing further until they had gathered in the throne room. Everyone had scrambled to follow when Damin left the banquet hall, but in the end he had restricted the meeting to include only the Warlords, the two Defender captains, Denjon and Linst, Adrina, Marla and Kalan.

  “R'shiel is at the Citadel,” Glenanaran informed them, when they were finally gathered. “At least she was when I spoke to her demons.”

  “I thought she was in Fardohnya?” Tejay remarked. “She certainly gets around, this demon child.”

  “What makes you think she's not there now?” Adrina asked.

  “King Korandellan has collapsed. Sanctuary is back in real time. She may have gone there to render what aid she can.”

  Damin glanced around at the others, certain his own face was just as concerned as the other Warlords were.

  “What's the situation at the Citadel?” Denjon demanded impatiently.

  “The Defenders have taken back the Citadel, Captain, and are holding the Karien dukes and a number of priests as hostages, but the Karien host still surrounds the city. I believe you call such a situation a... stand-off?” Glenanaran turned to Damin then, his expression grave. “The demon child asks that you gather up the Defenders and whatever Hythrun you can muster and come to their aid. I have already dispatched Joranara to Fardohnya to request King Hablet's aid.”

  “You think he'll come?” Tejay scoffed sceptically.

  “He'll come,” Gaffen assured her. “When he heard what happened to Tristan and his Guard, he was ready to attack Karien the next day.”

  “How many men do the Kariens have surrounding the Citadel?” Another siege, Damin thought. Damn, how I hate siege warfare!

  “At least a hundred thousand, I'm led to believe.”

  The High Prince swore under his breath then looked ar
ound at his Warlords. “Counting the Fardohnyans, how many can we put in the field?”

  “Fifty thousand, perhaps, maybe sixty, if Hablet is serious,” Rogan replied. “But it will take months. The logistics of moving such a force are unthinkable.”

  “How long can the Citadel hold out, Divine One?”

  Glenanaran shrugged. “The demon child did not say, Your Highness. But she did say that the gods have agreed to expedite your journey.”

  “What does that mean?” The question came from Linst, the other Defender. He looked singularly unimpressed by the assurance.

  “It means that if Hablet sails up the Glass River, he'll have fair winds all the way,” Glenanaran explained. “Sickness will not plague you, nor lack of fresh water. The bounty of the land will be at your disposal.”

  “That doesn't help us much,” Toren Foxtalon complained. “The gods can't make the roads any shorter, or make our troops eat any less.”

  “Pity we can't sail to Medalon, too,” Almodavar remarked.

  “I'm not sure the gods had rearranging the geography of the entire continent in mind when they offered their help, my Lord,” the Harshini told him with a thin smile.

  “Then how do we get there?” Gaffen asked. “I'll take every man I have, but it won't do them much good if we can't get to the Citadel before next winter.”

  Damin studied Glenanaran's serene expression for a moment then turned to Gaffen. “We'll get there the same way I got to Medalon the last time.”

  The Harshini smiled. “I see you understand, Your Highness.”

  “Well, I'm glad he understands, because I certainly don't,” Tejay grumbled.

  “When his Highness crossed into Medalon to aid the demon child at Lord Brakandaran's request, we called on the power of the gods to expedite our journey,” the Harshini explained unhelpfully.

  “That tells me nothing.”

  “Don't worry about it, Tejay. Just get your Raiders mustered.”