Harshini dct-3

by Jennifer Fallon

“Attacking?”

  “Don't worry, it's nothing serious. They're fighting amongst themselves as much as they're aiming at us, but we still have to do something to put it down. Sergeant!” A Defender hurried forward and saluted. “See that she gets back to her rooms and post a guard. I don't want anybody disturbing Lady R'shiel while she's resting, is that clear?”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Tarja, I don't need —”

  “Shut up, R'shiel. You can hardly stand. Sergeant, once the Lady R'shiel is in her rooms, find Mandah Rodak and send her to keep the lady company.”

  “Tarja!”

  Tarja grinned at her, knowing full well what his order meant. Mandah would not let her budge until she was convinced she was fully recovered. Worse than that, Mandah would insist on calling her “Divine One”. He thrust her into the arms of the waiting sergeant and ran for his horse, yelling orders as he leapt into the saddle and resumed his push to the main gate. R'shiel watched him leave with a furious snarl, but she was too tired to resist and let the Defender lift her onto his mount and take her away from the bedlam that filled the streets of the Citadel.

  CHAPTER 61

  The Defenders beat back the attack on the Citadel with little effort. The Kariens were too disorganised to mount a serious campaign, despite their numerical superiority. By mid-morning they had withdrawn to the other side of the Saran. A significant number withdrew even further. Desertions were decimating the ranks of the Karien army on a regular basis. Garet estimated there were less than seventy thousand left.

  By the time Tarja returned to his office to confront the remainder of the aftermath of whatever it was that R'shiel had unleashed, he was exhausted. He had not been immune to the party atmosphere last night and had consumed far too much wine. When all hell broke loose at dawn he had woken with a head as thick as a door, his bed a tangle of sheets and Mandah curled in his arms, her thick blonde hair spilling across the pillow and tickling his nose. He had pushed her away impatiently, annoyed at himself. He had not intended to get caught up in the celebrations. He had certainly not intended to take Mandah to his bed, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had done so because R'shiel had given him her blessing. Damn her. Damn all Harshini.

  Seeing that she was wounded by his rejection, Tarja had kissed Mandah soundly, promised to see her later and fled the room, getting dressed on the run. He was hopping on one foot, pulling his boot onto the other when Garet knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for an answer.

  “We appear to be under attack, my Lord,” Garet said calmly. He looked over Tarja's shoulder towards the bedroom door. Mandah stood there wrapped in nothing but a sheet, yawning sleepily. “Good morning, Mandah.”

  “Commandant.”

  Tarja glared at Garet, waiting for him to say something, anything, about finding the young pagan woman in his room. He was in a foul enough mood to react rather badly if Garet even looked at him askance.

  But the commandant's composure did not waver for an instant. “Oh, and the population appears to be rioting, too.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  “I assume it has something to do with R'shiel, but I can't be certain. I suggest you get a move on, my Lord. We've a busy day ahead of us.”

  That had proved to be a vast understatement. Tarja yearned for a day that was merely busy. The Kariens had been pushed back and the population in the Citadel would calm down eventually. Already many had returned to their homes with sore heads and puzzled looks. But there was still more to be done.

  There was always more to be done.

  When he finally pushed open the door to his office, he found several Harshini waiting for him. Three were dressed in the long white robes they favoured. The other two were dressed in Dragon Riders' leathers. All five of them bowed solemnly as he entered the office and walked cautiously to his desk.

  “My Lord Defender.”

  “How is Shan... your Queen?”

  “She is recovering, my Lord,” one of the white-robed Harshini informed him. “We are most grateful for your assistance this morning.”

  “And the rest of your people?”

  “They are well, my Lord. Thank you for your concern.”

  The Harshini's constant thanks were starting to wear on him. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “We are here to do something for you, my Lord.” The Harshini who spoke was one of the Dragon Riders. She stepped forward with a smile. “I am Pilarena and this is Jalerana. I have been honoured to aid Prince Damin in his journey north and my companion has been with King Hablet and his navy. We have come to coordinate your forces, my Lord.”

  Tarja slumped back in his chair in astonishment. “Coordinate my forces?”

  “We will relay messages, my Lord,” the other Dragon Rider explained. “If they are verbal, then we will carry messages of goodwill. If you want to communicate anything... else, then we must ask that the messages are written and sealed and that we are not advised of their contents.”

  Tarja nodded in understanding. The Harshini could do nothing to aid their attack. If they knew the messages they carried were likely to cause death, they would not deliver them. He smiled faintly, thinking that they were very easy to underestimate. This race had survived for thousands of years without being able to lift a finger in their own defence. He was beginning to understand how they had managed it.

  “Can you show me where they are now?” he asked, indicating the map laid out on his desk. He and Garet had been poring over it yesterday, trying to guess where Damin might be.

  Jalerana nodded and stepped forward. “The High Prince is here, my Lord. He has with him approximately forty thousand men. The King of Fardohnya is here and has another ten thousand. His Majesty asked that I pass on his apologies that he could not bring a larger force. In the time available it was all he could gather, and there are only so many ships he could carry them in.”

  “Then we have fifty thousand men ready to attack?”

  “You have fifty thousand men, my Lord. What you do with them is not our concern,” Pilarena remarked sternly.

  “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you.”

  She bowed slightly. “You are forgiven, my Lord.”

  “How did Damin get here so fast? With an army that big?”

  “With the aid of the gods,” Jalerana told him serenely.

  Tarja shook his head, deciding he would be better off if he didn't know the details. “I'd like to send a message to both Hablet and Damin. Written messages. How soon before you can leave?”

  “We will be ready when your dispatches are completed,” Jalerana assured him.

  “Then if you would excuse me, Divine Ones, I have a lot of work to do.”

  * * *

  Four hours later, Tarja sealed the letters he had written to Damin Wolfblade and King Hablet. Garet watched him pressing the Lord Defender's seal into the warm wax and frowned.

  “You know, those letters could cause us a lot of grief if they fell into the wrong hands.”

  “The Harshini will deliver them safely.”

  “Suppose they decide to deliver them into the wrong hands?”

  Tarja shook his head at Garet's suspicions. “Haven't you seen enough yet to know that they're on our side?”

  “They're not on our side, Tarja. They are on their own side. And you would do well not to forget it. Just because their Queen is stunning and they smile a lot, it doesn't make them harmless.”

  Tarja grinned at the commandant. “Shall I tell Shananara you think she's stunning?”

  “Not if you want to see the sun come up tomorrow,” Garet warned with a faint smile. “Any news on R'shiel?”

  “Mandah says she's sleeping like the dead.”

  “Any idea what she actually did in that Hall?”

  “No, and I don't want to know.”

  “Neither do I.” Garet rose from his seat and walked to the map, frowning as he noted where the troop placements were marked. He still thought the Harshini w
ere lying about how far they had come. “Speaking of Mandah...”

  “It's none of your business, Garet.”

  “You're the Lord Defender, and she's a pagan.”

  “Then you've got nothing to complain about. A few months ago I was sleeping with a Harshini. If I keep going at this rate, I'll have worked my way up to a Quorum Member by next spring.”

  “This is no joking matter, Tarja. Once we clear out the Kariens, we still have the rest of Medalon to secure. As it is, we've got half the damned Sisterhood confined to their quarters. It's not going to help our cause with you flaunting a pagan lover.”

  “You were the one who claimed I was the only one the pagans would follow.”

  “Yes, but I didn't expect them to follow you into the bedroom.”

  Tarja leaned back in his chair and studied Garet. “Is that your only concern?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then mind your own damned business.”

  Garet shook his head and bowed mockingly. “As you command, my Lord. It's your neck.”

  “Garet, you wanted change. You wanted the Sisterhood gone. You can't have just the bits you like and discard the rest.”

  “True,” the commandant conceded reluctantly. “But you can't blame me for hoping.”

  They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Tarja called permission to enter and Jalerana and Pilarena entered the office. They bowed politely and accepted the letters Tarja handed them, not even glancing at the packets they held.

  “Do you have any other messages, my Lord?”

  “Just tell Prince Damin and King Hablet that we anxiously await their arrival. With joy, of course.”

  Jalerana smiled. “Of course, my Lord.”

  Garet watched them suspiciously as they left the office then shook his head. “You're too trusting, Tarja.”

  “They can't knowingly cause harm, Garet.”

  “Perhaps not, but they can do a hell of a lot of damage unknowingly. Besides, I never trust anybody who is always so damned happy.”

  CHAPTER 62

  Damin Wolfblade and his army arrived at the Citadel within an hour of the appearance of the first of King Hablet's Fardohnyans. The constant flow of messages delivered by the Dragon Riders between the Citadel, Hablet's ships and Damin's Warlords had allowed an unprecedented level of coordination. Their forces were in place, their strategy worked out to the finest detail, their victory almost a foregone conclusion long before the Citadel came into view.

  The only thing that irked Damin as he rode out to meet his father-in-law was that Hablet had got here first.

  Hablet proved to be a short, heavy-set man with a greying beard and a scowl that was reserved for the man who had run off with his daughter. Adrina had been left back at the camp, despite her protests. The Harshini had stepped in to aid him in restraining her, no more willing to let a pregnant woman near a battlefield than he was.

  Hablet waited on a small rise overlooking the Karien army. The enemy was aware of their presence. One could hardly move an army this size in secret, but they were milling about aimlessly. The Karien dukes were still hostages in the Citadel and their forces lacked any sound leadership.

  Damin frowned as he saw Hablet sitting astride a magnificent black stallion, waiting for the High Prince to approach. It was deliberate, Damin was certain. Hablet wanted him to be the supplicant. With a quick glance at Narvell, who rode on his left, Damin bit back his annoyance and galloped forward.

  “Your Majesty,” Damin said, with a slight bow as he reined in beside the King. His own stallion sidestepped nervously as he caught the scent of the King's mount. The irony was not lost on Damin as he fought to keep the beast under control. Two territorial stallions, indeed.

  “You're Wolfblade, I suppose?”

  “That's very observant of you, Your Majesty.”

  “Where's my daughter?”

  “She's safe.”

  “Married to you? That's debateable.”

  Damin suddenly grinned at the Fardohnyan King as he realised Hablet was more afraid of meeting him than he was of meeting Hablet. This man had tried to have him assassinated any number of times, and had been planning to invade his country until recently. It would not be unreasonable for Damin to have called him out for it the moment he laid eyes on him.

  “Your Majesty, I'm sure you've a lot to say to Adrina and I know she has quite a bit to say to you. But let's put aside our differences for the time being and do something about these Kariens, shall we?” He didn't wait for Hablet to answer. “This is Narvell Hawksword, the Warlord of Elasapine. He'll act as my liaison. Once the battle is engaged the Harshini will be forced to withdraw, so I thought it might be easier this way. As my force is four times the size of yours, and includes a couple of thousand Defenders, we'll be bearing the brunt of the attack, but any advice you offer will be welcome. If you wish to join us in the command tent, just let Lord Hawksword know, and he'll have someone show you the way.”

  Hablet sputtered something in Fardohnyan at Damin's high-handed manner, but he didn't wait to find out what it was. He wheeled his stallion around and galloped back towards his own lines, laughing at the look on the King of Fardohnya's face.

  * * *

  Once the attack was sounded from the walls of the Citadel the gates opened, and rank upon rank of depressingly well-disciplined troops marched forth, followed by the Defender cavalry. As they formed up in front of the walls on the other side of the Saran River, Damin gave the signal to move forward. His advance forces were mostly mounted, and they moved onto the plain like a wall of impending death. He gave another signal and the Fardohnyan infantry moved in from the west.

  And then they waited.

  Shananara had insisted that the Kariens be given the opportunity to surrender. It was a condition of using her people to relay their messages back and forth between the Citadel and the armies coming to relieve them.

  Damin took out his looking glass and focused on the Citadel as Tarja emerged through the main gate. Mounted beside him was a bearded Karien, one of Jasnoff's dukes, no doubt. Tarja let him take a long look at the forces arrayed against his men. The two men spoke at some length, the Karien gesticulating angrily, and then the duke wheeled his mount around and returned to the Citadel. Damin swung the looking glass up to the flagpole mounted over the gate. The white flag of truce was hastily pulled down and battle colours were raised in their place. A whoop of glee sounded along the Hythrun lines.

  “It appears the Kariens aren't planning to surrender, my Lord,” Damin remarked to Almodavar with a grin.

  “What a shame, Your Highness,” Almodavar said insincerely.

  “Then I suppose we'd better go and kill them all.”

  “That would seem to be the only option left open to us, Your Highness.”

  Damin glanced over his shoulder. “Have the Harshini withdrawn?”

  “They're clear of the field, Your Highness. They withdrew as soon as they saw the battle flags being raised.”

  Damin nodded and passed his looking glass to an aide and unsheathed his sword. The sound of the Defender trumpets reached him faintly on the breeze and he raised his arm to lead his troops into battle.

  * * *

  The battle, once it got under way, was almost as bad as the one on the northern border. The Kariens were not acting under a coercion, but they were demoralised, hungry and leaderless. Their god was dead, their leaders held hostage in the enemy fortress. They put up a fight, certainly, but there was no need for strategy. It reminded Damin of quelling the riot that had stormed the gates of Greenharbour during the siege. All they did - all they needed to do - was draw inexorably closer, pulling an ever-tighter circle of steel around the Kariens until there was no escape and no quarter given.

  The knights put up the best fight. Their code of honour would allow them no other course of action, but even they fell eventually to the unstoppable advance. By the time Damin thought to look up, bloodied and exhausted, he was surprised to discover the sun high overhead.
The ground behind him was littered with more bodies than he could count, and in the distance the Saran River ran red as the Defenders splashed through its shallow waters to meet their foes.

  Looking about him and realising there was nobody left to fight, Damin rested his sword across his saddle and looked up at the Citadel. The fortress seemed to glow, even in the bright sunlight. The archers on the walls had stopped loosing their arrows, as the only men within reach now were their own troops.

  Then he heard another trumpet blare out and saw the battle colours come down, replaced with the plain blue flag that they had agreed they would hoist in the case of victory.

  A cheer rose from the field, muted but heartfelt. Damin surveyed the battlefield, feeling strangely let down. Like the battle on the northern border it had been as much a cattle cull as it was a decent war. The only enemy worth fighting these days, he realised, were probably the Defenders, and he'd allied himself with them. Maybe he should have stayed at home, or planned to invade Medalon. Then at least he would have been guaranteed a decent fight.

  “Your Highness? Prince Damin?”

  He turned in his saddle to find a Defender riding towards him. “I'm Damin Wolfblade.”

  The Defender saluted sharply. “Your Highness, the Lord Defender sends his compliments and requests that you join him in the Citadel.”

  “Very well.”

  “Would you happen to know where I could find the King of Fardohnya, sir?”

  “Back that way,” Damin said, waving in the general direction of the command post some leagues distant. He was in no hurry to have Hablet join them in the Citadel. He wanted to speak to Tarja first. “He's in the command tent.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Oh, Lieutenant!”

  “Your Highness?”

  “Once you've delivered your message to King Hablet, could you ask Lord Hawksword to fetch my wife and bring her to the Citadel, too?”

  “Of course, Your Highness.”