The Defender galloped off towards the command tent and Damin turned his stallion towards the Citadel.
* * *
“You look like hell,” Tarja announced by way of greeting.
Damin smiled wearily as he dismounted, handing his reins to a waiting cadet. The boy led the stallion away cautiously. “Well, some of us have been out fighting, you know, not sitting here in the Citadel playing Lord Defender. How in the name of the gods did they talk you into accepting that job?”
Tarja grimaced. “It's a long story. You're wounded.”
Damin glanced down at his blood-soaked sleeve and poked at it curiously, then shrugged when he felt no pain. “Must be someone else's blood. Any chance you can find me a clean shirt before Adrina gets here? I will be wounded if she sees me like this. I promised her I wouldn't get involved in the fighting.”
“She didn't really expect you to stay out of it, did she?”
“Who knows with Adrina,” he shrugged.
He followed Tarja up a broad set of sweeping steps to the front of an impressive building that looked vaguely like one of the temples in Greenharbour. Tarja pushed open the massive door and Damin stepped inside, gaping in wonder.
“The Temple of the Gods,” he whispered in awe.
“We prefer to call it the Great Hall,” Tarja said with a thin smile.
“I can't believe you left it so untouched.”
“We didn't. The Harshini Queen rearranged things a bit when she got here.”
Damin grinned at Tarja. “That must have been hard for your poor little atheist heart to cope with. Will you introduce me to the Queen?”
“Of course. She should be here soon.”
“And the demon child? I half expected her to be standing on the walls hurling lightning bolts into the enemy.”
Tarja's face clouded. “R'shiel has been asleep for days now.”
“Asleep?”
“She says she destroyed Xaphista.”
“Yes, well that would take it out of you, wouldn't it?” He slapped Tarja's shoulder to remind him he was joking. “You said she was asleep? Not unconscious? What do the Harshini say about her?”
“They don't seem to be worried.”
“Then neither should you.”
They walked the length of the Temple to where a long polished table had been set up in the shadow of the massive Seeing Stone. It would dwarf the one in Greenharbour. For a moment Damin wished he'd brought Kalan with him. She would have been awestruck to stand here in the fabled Harshini Temple of the Gods facing the Citadel's Seeing Stone.
As they approached the table, the Defenders on guard snapped to attention. Tarja sent one of them to find Damin a clean shirt as he pulled at the laces on his leather breastplate and lifted it over his head.
“Have you got anything to drink, or is this going to be one of those long, boring dry affairs?”
Tarja smiled and ordered a Defender to bring wine. He came back with a carafe, two goblets and the clean shirt he'd requested. Damin drank the first one down without taking a breath, changed his shirt and then poured another drink down his throat, before collapsing into one of the high-backed chairs around the table.
“So, I take it we're having this little chat in here to intimidate the Karien dukes?” he inquired as he poured himself another drink.
“That thought did cross my mind, yes.”
“Good idea. Where are they?”
“I want to wait until Hablet and Shananara get here before I let them in.”
Damin nodded approvingly. “You're getting very good at this, aren't you?”
“I suppose. How do you like being a High Prince?”
“I loathe it. I had to kill that Karien child a few weeks ago. He tried to poison R'shiel. I've never had to make a worse decision in my life.”
“R'shiel never mentioned it.”
“She wouldn't. Not after Brak stepped in. Where is he, by the way? Watching over the demon child?”
“He's dead.”
The news surprised Damin almost as much as Tarja's obvious lack of remorse. “Well, that will make Adrina happy. She was planning to kill him herself.”
The doors opened at the far end of the Hall and a woman stepped through. At first, Damin thought it was R'shiel. As she drew closer and he saw her black eyes and her air of serene calm he knew it could only be the Harshini Queen. He jumped to his feet and bowed low as she approached.
“Your Majesty.”
“High Prince,” she replied graciously, then turned to Tarja. “I hope you don't mind, Tarja, but I have sent my people out to help the wounded.”
“Of course I don't mind, but won't they be distressed roaming a battlefield?”
“We abhor violence, my Lord, but we abhor suffering even more. Don't fear for my people. They are not as fragile as you think.”
“Tarja!”
The man who called out from the entrance of the Hall was Garet Warner, the commandant the Sisterhood had sent to investigate the goings on when they were on the northern border. Tarja excused himself and hurried to speak to him and then walked back to the table. His expression was thoughtful.
“What's wrong?”
“We've just received a bird from Yarnarrow. Jasnoff is dead. He killed himself the same day R'shiel claims she killed Xaphista.”
Shananara took the news stoically. “He ruled Karien by divine mandate. With Xaphista gone, so is his crown.”
“So who's in charge now?”
“With Cratyn dead, the next in line is someone called Drendyn. He's Jasnoff's nephew. Apparently, we're holding him here. He's one of the dukes.”
“Drendyn?” Damin asked with a laugh. “Oh, Tarja, are you in for an interesting time! He's a boy. And I can promise you he wasn't raised to rule a nation the size of Karien.”
“Well, we'd better break it to him gently. I'm not sure how he's going to take the news that he's now their King.”
“If you want my advice, talk to him alone and leave the other dukes out of it. They'll just try to manipulate him. Maybe, with a bit of guidance, we can mould him into a half-decent King.”
“It is not for you to manipulate other nations to suit your own purposes, Your Highness,” Shananara scolded.
“Actually it is, Your Majesty. We've just spent thousands of lives out there for no good reason. If we can take this boy and turn him into a King, one who thinks before he attacks, we'll all benefit.”
The Harshini Queen suddenly smiled. “Perhaps we should consider returning to the old custom of Harshini advisers at court, Your Highness. You saw how effective it can be when scattered parties can communicate quickly with each other.”
“And that would include my court, I suppose?” he asked, admiring her quick mind - and her own blatant manipulation.
“We would not want to be seen playing favourites, Your Highness,” she replied ingenuously.
“Of course not,” he agreed with a wry smile and then turned to Tarja. “It's not a bad idea, you know. With Xaphista gone, the Collective will move in to Karien. But with a Harshini looking over his shoulder, we should be able to keep young Drendyn out of trouble while he grows into his crown.”
“The plan has merit,” Tarja agreed hesitantly.
“I do have one condition, though, Your Majesty,” Damin added, turning to the Queen.
“And what is that, Your Highness?”
“I want to be there when you break the news to Hablet,” he said with a malicious grin.
CHAPTER 63
R'shiel was awake for some time before she opened her eyes. She waited, feigning sleep until she heard Mandah leave the room. Once she was certain she was alone, she swung her feet to the floor and rubbed her eyes. The remains of what must have been a mammoth headache lingered behind her eyes, but other than that she bore no obvious evidence of her battle with Xaphista.
Climbing out of the bed, she padded barefoot to the door and opened it a crack. Mandah was talking to Tarja. She could not make out what they were saying,
but when he was finished telling her what he had come to say he kissed her, hard and hungrily, before letting her go. Mandah shut the door behind him with a smile and headed back towards the bedroom. R'shiel raced back to the bed and pulled the covers over herself, closing her eyes and forcing her breathing into a deep rhythm. She heard Mandah cross the room, felt a cool hand on her forehead and then heard the door open and close, followed by the fainter sound of the apartment door closing.
So Mandah had gone; perhaps to join Tarja. It hopefully meant they were going to be occupied for a while. She hunted around the room for her clothes, finally finding them pressed and folded in a drawer under the window. Typical, she thought with a frown. Not only was Mandah insufferably nice, but she was neat as well. She shook out her clothes and dressed quickly, throwing the nightgown onto the floor.
There was a hairbrush on the dresser and she picked it up, running it through her tangled hair. She glanced in the mirror and froze mid-stroke. An alien reflection stared back at her. She was not drawing on her power, yet her eyes were Harshini black. The whites of her eyes were gone and her skin was as golden as a full-blooded Harshini. Whatever she had done in the Temple of the Gods had left an indelible mark on her. R'shiel slowly replaced the brush, aware that she would never be counted as human again. For some reason the thought did not bother her as much as she thought it would. Along with the change in her eyes came a sense of rightness, a sense that she was somehow complete.
She was Harshini.
R'shiel glanced around the room and realised there was nothing here that belonged to her. Nothing she need take. Her life was headed in a different direction and nothing here in the Citadel offered her any sense of ownership. Feeling suddenly cast adrift into an unknown future, she turned her back on the mirror and headed into the next room.
When she reached the outer door she pressed her ear against it and heard faint male voices in the hall. Tarja's guards - there to see that she wasn't disturbed. R'shiel reached inside herself cautiously and drew on her power. She surprised herself with the control she now had. Perhaps being linked so closely with Shananara she had absorbed some of her cousin's skill and knowledge. It was how the demons learnt from each other.
With a skill she hadn't known she possessed, she drew a glamour around herself and opened the door a fraction. The guard in the hall turned towards the sound, studied the door curiously for a moment before opening it wide. When he found no one, he shrugged and pulled it closed.
R'shiel ran down the corridor, still wrapped in the glamour that hid her from the notice of anyone who happened to pass her. She didn't remember learning how to do it so easily, but she seemed to know instinctively how to hold it in place. The last time she had tried such a thing, when she and Damin rescued Adrina from Dregian Castle, it had taken all her concentration.
R'shiel took the stairs to the ground floor and walked out into the street, amazed to find the city going about its business as if nothing was wrong. Wagons trundled down the street laden with produce and the roads were crowded with soldiers - but they wore Hythrun and Fardohnyan colours and looked more like tourists than warriors.
So the siege is over, she thought, beginning to wonder, a little uneasily, how long she had been asleep. If there had been time for the siege to be lifted and the city to regain some semblance of normalcy, it must have been quite a while. She walked down to the end of the street and out onto the main thoroughfare. It was even more crowded here, and there were Harshini on the streets, too. She wondered if they would notice her, or even feel the minimal power that she was drawing amidst the sights and sounds and smells of the city.
Crossing the road, R'shiel headed for the Temple of the Gods. She stopped on the corner as she saw Damin and a heavily pregnant Adrina climbing the steps. Behind them walked Tarja and Garet Warner, Shananara and a young Karien that R'shiel recognised but could not immediately name. On their heels strode a richly dressed man with a barrel chest and a greying beard. Hablet of Fardohnya.
R'shiel followed them into the Temple of the Gods, still wrapped in the glamour, and watched curiously as they took their places around the conference table.
Shananara remained standing as the others took their seats. She held a scroll in her hands and studied the others carefully for a moment before she spoke. Then she looked up, stared straight at R'shiel and smiled. Shananara knew she was watching, but she did not reveal her presence. She acknowledged R'shiel with a faint nod and turned her attention back to the table.
“It has taken quite some time, but I have here the treaty that you have all agreed to sign. If one of you breaks it, they must face the other three.”
R'shiel looked around the table curiously. Tarja and Garet looked satisfied. Adrina was positively smirking. Damin appeared relieved and a little smug. Whatever the treaty contained, it obviously hadn't done Hythria any harm. Hablet wore a look of wounded resignation. The young Karien, who R'shiel realised was the knight who had travelled with Cratyn to hunt down Adrina, looked caught somewhere between terror and relief.
“I won't go into details, but it boils down to this: all of you will withdraw your troops to the borders as they were set down prior to the Karien invasion of Medalon. No nation has gained territory and no nation has lost it. You, King Drendyn, will open your borders to the Sorcerers' Collective. Your god is dead and your people will suffer if they are not given an opportunity to find another god to believe in. King Hablet, you will also grant free access to the Collective, as will Medalon. No more arrests. No more gaols. No more persecution.”
Hablet muttered something inaudible, but he did not openly react to the rebuke. Tarja appeared unconcerned by the condition.
“Each monarch, and whatever government Medalon finally decides to adopt, will accept a Harshini adviser in their court,” Shananara continued. “The Harshini will act as final arbiters in case of disputes between the nations.
“The succession in each nation will remain as it is now, with two exceptions. In the event that King Hablet dies before his unborn son reaches maturity, then High Princess Adrina of Hythria will assume the role of Regent until he comes of age. The other change also concerns the Fardohnyan throne. The condition that requires a Wolfblade heir in the absence of a legitimate male heir is no longer valid. In the absence of a legitimate male heir to the Fardohnyan throne, it will fall to the eldest legitimate female.”
“Now, wait on!” Hablet objected. “I never agreed to that. If I die, Adrina only has to kill my son and she gets to be Queen.”
“Just because you don't think twice about eliminating members of your family, Father,” Adrina retorted frostily, “doesn't mean I share your sentiments. I give you my word; I will not kill my brother. Any of them.”
“It makes no difference in any case, Your Majesty,” Shananara explained. “Adrina is excluded from the succession by virtue of her position as Regent. If anything should happen to your son, the throne would fall to your next eldest daughter.”
“Cassandra?” Hablet laughed. “Gods preserve us from such a fate! Well, at least I know that Adrina will fight to keep her brother alive. I'm sure she'd rather die than see Cassie sitting on the throne.”
Peace.
R'shiel moved away from the pillar she was leaning against with a frown, as it dawned on her how superfluous she had become. Zegarnald would not die; he was a Primal God and truly immortal. But he would not walk into Karien and step into the vacuum left by Xaphista, either. He had wanted her tempered so that she was strong enough to face Xaphista. Well, he had what he wanted, but she had also gained a measure of revenge for the suffering he had condoned. The gods would rise and fall, gain strength and weaken as life rolled on, but the God of War would not have the strength to bully the other gods into doing his bidding. The balance had been restored.
There was no need for the demon child now. No destiny awaited her. No nation needed her counsel. That they had done all this while she slept left her feeling so inconsequential that it actually hurt.
There was nothing more to be done.
R'shiel slipped through the doors and out into the sunlight, realising that for the first time, she had nobody to please but herself. No destiny loomed over her like a shadow. She was beholden to no one - human, Harshini or god.
The glamour still wrapped around her protectively, R'shiel turned towards the Main Gate. She walked through it unseen by the Defenders on duty and out onto the busy road. The battlefield was still being cleared and troops were piling bodies into mass graves dug by the countless Karien prisoners that had been taken after the battle, but the Saran ran clear, its shallow waters tripping happily over the rocks beneath the surface. It was a bit grand calling it a river, actually. It was not much more than a wide stream. She stopped on the bridge and glanced back at the shining Citadel. It had been her home and her prison. Her ruin and her salvation.
Impulsively, she sent out a thought to the massive fort, a farewell of sorts. She did not know when, or even if, she would be back. She had to find Loclon. And she had an appointment with Gimlorie. Maybe she could find a way to convince Death to release Brak, too.
The Citadel responded with a benevolent wave of of affection that washed over her gently. Smiling to herself, R'shiel glanced down and discovered she was not alone. The little demon she had last seen with Mikel in Greenharbour was sitting on the ground at her feet, looking at her with its huge black eyes.
“Where have you been?” she asked, squatting down.
The creature chittered something incomprehensible and jumped into her arms.
“Is that your way of saying sorry about Mikel?” she chuckled. “It wasn't your fault, little one. You'll be a few hundred older before you can protect someone from the likes of Xaphista.”
Mention of the dead god's name set the demon off again. R'shiel stood up with the demon's skinny arms wrapped thightly around her neck. With a final glance at the Citadel, she released the glamour and crossed the bridge.
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