She pointed to the window ledge above them, which was out of reach by a few hand spans. With a shake of his head at his own folly, he cupped his hands and gave her a boost up to the ledge. As soon as she was safely up, she turned carefully, and lying flat on her stomach on the cold, wet ledge, she reached down to him. Davydd grabbed her outstretched arm and used it to anchor himself as he climbed up. Once he was beside her on the narrow ledge he helped her stand, and they carefully edged their way along the building toward the rear. The tall, stained-glass windows shed dull light from the torchlit interior, but it was impossible to see through them. Muted voices drifted up occasionally, as if the Gathering was voting on something. Once, she heard a male voice, accented and clipped, that she was certain must be Lord Pieter, although she could not make out the words. With a shudder, she forced her concentration back to what she was doing. She might not be afraid of heights, but that would not make falling from the slick ledge to the pavement below any less fatal.
They finally reached a small protruding balcony as the rain began to fall a little harder. Distant lightning flickered to the north, illuminating their way sporadically with flashes of whiteness. Davydd hauled himself up over the balustrade and reached down to help R’shiel up. As soon as she had clambered up beside him, shivering in her damp dress, he turned to the lock on the diamond-paned doors that led onto the balcony. The lock snicked open in a surprisingly short time. Hugging herself against the chill, R’shiel looked at the young man curiously.
“How did you do that?”
The lieutenant placed a finger on his lips, warning her to silence, then eased open the door. They slipped inside, and he pulled the door shut behind them, wincing as the wet hinges squealed in protest. Fortunately, a loud shout suddenly rose from the gathered Sisters below, masking the sound. Dropping into a crouch Davydd moved quickly and silently along the gallery. R’shiel picked up her dripping skirts and followed him, bent double to keep her head below the marble balustrade that circled the upper level of the Great Hall. About halfway down the gallery, Davydd stopped and motioned her forward. He dropped onto his belly, wiggling forward until he could see the floor below. R’shiel silently followed suit.
He had chosen an excellent vantage point. From here she could see the raised marble steps where the Quorum stood in their stark white dresses amidst a sea of blue skirts and capes. The only other splash of color was the bright red jackets of the Lord Defender and his two aides, Tarja and Garet, who stood silently behind their commander, and the huge symbol of the Sisterhood on the wall behind the podium. The Great Hall was filled with Blue Sisters who had traveled from all over Medalon for the Gathering.
Wondering how much she had missed, R’shiel looked down curiously at the podium. Mahina stood stiffly in the center, and even from this distance, she appeared angry. Standing in front of her, below the steps, in a small clearing in front of the podium, Lord Pieter and a slender, tonsured man confronted the First Sister. R’shiel looked at the priest who wanted to take her back to Karien in response to a vision. He must be insane, she reasoned. She could not see his face, but he was dressed in a magnificent cape. A five-pointed star intersected by a lightning bolt was embroidered in gold thread across the back. In his right hand he held a tall staff, topped by the same gilded symbol and encrusted with precious stones. It threw back the torchlight into the faces of the gathered women like chips of colored light.
“Your concerns are noted, my Lord,” Mahina was saying to the Envoy in a voice that dripped icicles. “But Karien has no leave to dictate internal policy in Medalon. I will deal with the heathens as I see fit.”
“Ah now, that is the problem, First Sister,” Lord Pieter remarked in an equally cold tone. “Your idea of dealing with the heathens is not to deal with them at all. There are more heathens in Medalon now than there were when the Harshini despoiled this land with their vile customs!”
A general murmur of anxiety rippled through the gathered Sisters. Lord Pieter’s statement was a gross exaggeration, everyone knew that, but that he would accuse Medalon of breaking the centuries-old treaty so publicly, was cause for concern.
“You waste the Gathering’s time with your wild accusations, my Lord. Return to your King and pass on my best wishes for his continued health and well-being. You might also like to tell him to mind his own business.”
R’shiel was surprised at Mahina’s undiplomatic rejoinder. She glanced at Joyhinia for a moment and saw the look of satisfaction that flickered across her face. Mahina was playing right into her hands. Even Davydd, lying silently beside her, hissed softly at the First Sister’s tactlessness. The sharp smell of wet wool filled her nostrils from her own wet clothes and the lieutenant’s damp jacket.
Lord Pieter sputtered in protest. Joyhinia smoothly stepped forward and held up her hand to quiet the startled mutterings that swept through the crowd.
“My Lord, the First Sister is right to be concerned that you accuse us of breaking the terms of the treaty so freely. Substantiate your claims, or leave her to rule Medalon as she sees fit.”
Had she not known how cleverly Joyhinia had orchestrated this scene, R’shiel would have been impressed by her mother’s – rather, she reminded herself grimly – her foster mother’s support of the First Sister.
R’shiel could tell that many of the Blue Sisters were impressed. Joyhinia presented a facade of loyalty to the First Sister that was as touching as it was false.
“Elfron!” Expecting this cue, the priest took a step forward.
“There have been one hundred and seventeen heathen cults uncovered in Medalon in the past two years,” the priest announced in a voice that was high pitched and rather grating on the ears. Were the Overlord’s priests eunuchs, perhaps? She had never heard that they were, but his voice lacked the masculine depth of the men R’shiel knew. Perhaps that accounted for his absurd vision. “Until the ascension of Sister Mahina, these cults were all dealt with in a similar manner. That is, confiscation of property and a prison sentence for the miscreants. Since Sister Mahina, however, there have been only three cases of confiscation and none of prison sentences.”
“Perhaps it simply means that the heathens are under control,” Joyhinia replied. R’shiel caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and saw Garet whispering to Tarja. He was no doubt concerned where the Kariens had gained their intelligence.
“Far from it, my Lady,” the priest replied. “From your southern border to the north, we have identified a growing number of cults and supplied that information to the First Sister. Yet many of these cults continue to flourish unmolested.”
Joyhinia glanced at Jenga. She had all but taken over the meeting. “Is this true, Lord Defender? Has the First Sister ordered you not to act on the information supplied by our allies?”
“The matters are under investigation, my Lady,” Jenga replied, not happy to be drawn into the discussion. “Prudence should not be confused with inaction. The Defenders will take every action allowed by the law, when the information has been verified.”
“There, you see, my Lord? You have it from the Lord Defender himself. Everything is under control.”
“I am afraid that is not good enough, my Lady,” Pieter warned with a shake of his head. “My King desires more than vague assurances. We were given those the last time we were here, and nothing has come of them. King Jasnoff requires a firm commitment to commence an immediate Purge against all heathens, known or suspected, in Medalon. If not, a force of Church Knights will be dispatched immediately, and we will deal with the problem ourselves.”
The Envoy’s statement brought a howl of protest from the gathered Sisters. Mahina stepped forward and held up both hands. The Sisters took noticeably longer to fall silent than when Joyhinia had used the same gesture. R’shiel watched the First Sister with a touch of pity. She was short and dumpy and lacked Joyhinia’s cold elegance. There was nothing regal in her bearing. She did not inspire confidence standing on the podium in the shadow of Joyhinia and Har
ith, both of whom stood a head taller than her. Mahina did not look like a First Sister should.
“Your advice will be taken under consideration, my Lord,” Mahina said, almost shouting to be heard over the slowly subsiding din. “I would ask that you leave us now to consider our formal reply to your King.”
Pieter bowed and motioned the priest back. “I will await your response, your Grace.” The two men turned as the crowd parted before them, to allow them to leave. The Kariens walked the long length of the mosaic-tiled Hall, ignoring the Sisters who watched them depart. As the doors boomed shut behind them the crowd once again broke into an uproar.
Mahina let the noise wash over her for a while, considering her next words carefully, before she held up her hands for silence. Slowly the Sisters quieted. Their mood was hard to fathom, but the idea of Church Knights on Medalon soil was unthinkable. Medalon had fought long and hard to rid itself of all religious ties. To the majority of the Sisters, even the small heathen cults were preferable. At least they, as a rule, were not armed.
“I have long expected such duplicity from the Kariens,” Mahina announced to the Gathering. R’shiel watched Joyhinia as the First Sister spoke. “Had I instigated a Purge when I became First Sister, the Envoy would have used the need for one as a weapon against us. I will not bow to blackmail.”
A cheer greeted Mahina’s statement, albeit a muted one. Rhetoric was a fine thing, but it did not remove the threat of an armed incursion.
“Fine sentiments, First Sister,” Harith scoffed. “But I fear the Envoy is not bluffing. What are you going to do? Stand at the border and ask the Church Knights, very nicely, not to move any further?”
“I will not suffer Karien knights on Medalon soil. We will meet their force with equal force,” Mahina replied confidently. “The Defenders will turn them back.”
“Warmonger!” The cry came from the back of the hall, no doubt a Sister in Joyhinia’s camp, primed before the meeting for such an opportunity. Several other Sisters took up the cry, and within moments the hall was filled with the chanting. “Warmonger! Warmonger!”
Joyhinia stepped forward and silenced the crowd. You have to admire her ability to manipulate people, R’shiel thought, rather begrudgingly.
“Sisters! Shame on you! I am appalled by this disrespect. If the First Sister says we can defeat a force of Karien knights, then we must believe her! Please, First Sister, explain your position. Have you thought of how we might face such a threat?” Joyhinia smiled so pleasantly, so supportively at Mahina, that the older woman had no idea what was coming next.
“I have, for some months, been examining our options in case such a situation ever arose,” Mahina explained. R’shiel glanced at the Defenders and saw Garet Warner shaking his head, as if trying to warn Mahina of the trap she was walking into. “I have detailed plans of how we might defend our northern border and the disposal of our forces. We can face the Karien threat confidently.”
“Then you have planned for this war, all along?” Joyhinia asked.
Mahina obviously assumed her colleagues would applaud her forethought. “I have, Sister. I have given the matter a great deal of thought.”
“You deliberately planned a war with the Kariens?” Harith asked, right on cue. “You have purposely set us on a course that is likely to destroy us? You planned a war with our allies?”
Before Mahina could deny Harith’s interpretation of her actions, the crowd once again took up the cry of “Warmonger!” This time many more Sisters joined in, and Joyhinia made no move to stop them. As the chant went on and on, it began to dawn on Mahina how expertly she had been duped. Her expression changed to one of anger as she looked first at Harith and then Joyhinia. Francil and Jacomina stood behind her, but they were yet to play their part. The First Sister tried to defend her position, but the chanting drowned out her voice.
Finally, it was Harith who managed to silence the angry Sisters. She stood at the front of the podium and addressed them loudly. “I am sworn to protect and govern Medalon. To serve the Sisters of the Blade. But I cannot serve under a woman who would so easily send us to war, with no thought to the deprivation such an act would cause. I cannot serve under a woman who shows so little thought to the safety of our people. Karien is a hundred times larger than Medalon. Her soldiers outnumber our Defenders ten to one. I cannot be a party to this!”
The crowd fell expectantly silent at Harith’s impassioned speech. They had not expected this.
Mahina looked at the Mistress of the Sisterhood in surprise. “Are you resigning, Harith?”
Harith glanced at Mahina briefly, then turned back to the crowd. “I am not offering my resignation. I am proposing that Sister Mahina Cortanen be removed. I propose that Sister Joyhinia Tenragan, who has already proved, this evening, that she is a match for the Kariens, be appointed the Interim First Sister, until a formal election can be arranged. I propose that we immediately instigate a Purge to rid Medalon of the heathen cults that flourish under Mahina’s rule. Do I have a seconder?”
The silence was so loud following Harith’s proposal that R’shiel could hear the blood pumping in her ears. She waited, unconsciously holding her breath, even though she knew that Jacomina would step forward. It seemed an eternity before she did. An eternity in which Mahina visibly paled and Lord Jenga’s expression grew bleak. Garet and Tarja behind him exchanged a glance but did nothing. There was nothing they could do. This was a matter for the Sisterhood.
“I second the proposal,” Jacomina announced loudly as she stepped forward. “I too cannot bear the thought of Medalon being plunged into war.”
The crowd muttered softly, oddly subdued in the face of such an extraordinary situation.
“You need the whole Quorum to agree, Harith,” Mahina pointed out. “I have no doubt Joyhinia shares your sentiments, but you have not polled Francil yet.”
All eyes turned to the oldest member of the Quorum. Francil had managed to stand aloof from the vicious politics of her Sisters for thirty years. She now seemed rather uncomfortable to be the focus of so much attention. She avoided looking at Mahina, instead focusing her eyes on a point somewhere above the heads of the crowd.
“I stand with Harith,” she said, her voice only reaching those in the front ranks. The message was passed along with a murmur, like a wave of astonishment washing over the Gathering.
“The Quorum stands united,” Harith announced. “Do you have anything to say in your defense, Sister Mahina, before I ask the Blue Sisters for their vote?”
R’shiel had never seen Mahina so angry, but she forcibly pushed away her fury to address the Sisters. If ever her lack of charisma worked against her it was now.
“Think well before you vote on this issue, Sisters. Do not let the clever words of ambition cloud your judgment. Think what is best for Medalon! A Purge will do nothing but make our people suffer for no better reason than to appease the fanatics in the Karien Church. We have freed ourselves from the chains of religion. Don’t let them bind us again!”
The Gathering heard her out, but R’shiel could tell they were in no mood to heed her words. Had it just been Harith or Joyhinia who had rebelled against the First Sister, they would have shrugged it off as the political games played among the Quorum members. But Francil’s defection carried enormous weight. She had survived three administrations without a whiff of scandal or a moment of disloyalty. Her support of Joyhinia was fatal to Mahina’s cause.
“How do you speak, Sisters?” Harith called. “Do you say ‘yea’ to my proposal?”
The “yea” that thundered through the Great Hall was deafening.
“Those of you who support Mahina?” Harith knew they had won. She did not even bother with the title of Sister. The silence that followed Harith’s question was like a death knell. Harith waited, letting the significance of the silence sink in before she continued.
“Then I declare Joyhinia Tenragan the Interim First Sister,” Harith announced. “Long Live First Sister Joyhinia Tenraga
n!”
“Long Live First Sister Joyhinia Tenragan!” the Gathering cheered. “Long Live First Sister Joyhinia Tenragan!”
“Sisters!” Joyhinia held up her hand. “Please! This is no time to rejoice! This is a time of grave peril for Medalon, and I will do my utmost to be worthy of the trust you have placed in me.” That brought another cheer from the crowd, as Joyhinia knew it would. “We face a crisis that must be dealt with immediately. My Lord Defender, will you swear the allegiance of the Defenders to me?”
Jenga hesitated for a fraction of a second before he stepped forward, a fact that did not escape the new First Sister. Together, the Lord Defender and his aides stepped forward to stand before the podium. Jenga unsheathed his sword and laid it at Joyhinia’s feet and then knelt on one knee. Garet also knelt, as tradition demanded.
Tarja remained standing defiantly.
Joyhinia looked at him, her expression betraying nothing of the anger she must be feeling as her son defied her so openly.
“Did you have something to say, Captain?” she asked, her voice remarkably pleasant under the circumstances.
Tarja’s back was turned to R’shiel, so she could not see the expression on his face, but she could tell by the stiff set of his shoulders that he was furious beyond words.
“What did you pay Francil for her support, mother?” he asked, loud enough to be heard throughout the Hall.
“Kneel with your commander and take the oath, Captain.” R’shiel was astounded that she was able to keep her temper so well.
“Afraid to answer my question?” he taunted. “Should I tell the good Sisters what you offered in return for Lord Pieter’s support? Your own daughter? Ah, but then I forgot. She’s not your daughter, is she? You lied about that, too.”
“Kneel with your commander and take the oath, Captain!” Joyhinia cried, her anger finally surfacing in the face of his dreadful charges. The Gathering murmured worriedly, wondering if there was any truth to Tarja’s accusations.
Tarja met her anger with a rage that matched it, breath for breath. “Never!”
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