Treason Keep

by Jennifer Fallon

  “I will, your Grace,” Garet replied, stepping forward into the small clearing at the foot of the dais.

  R’shiel fought off the crippling nausea as Garet drew his sword and laid it at the feet of the new First Sister. Not much longer, she told herself, understanding now why Brak had insisted she work the coercion and then leave immediately. She wanted to vomit and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stay on her feet.

  Garet knelt on one knee and began the oath in a voice that rang clearly through the Hall. A commotion at the edge of the crowd distracted R’shiel for a moment, but she ignored it. It was almost over. The demon meld shimmered but Dranymire managed to hold his brethren together. As soon as the Defenders were sworn to Mahina, Joyhinia could leave. It didn’t matter if the meld disintegrated the moment they were out of sight. The important thing was to prevent it falling into a puddle of little grey demons in full sight of the Gathering. R’shiel was coercing the Sisters into accepting Mahina’s appointment. If she were forced to cover for the demons, she would have to let that thought go. Even if she had the skill to perform such a task, she doubted she had the strength left.

  R’shiel’s black eyes watered with the effort of forcing down the natural opposition of the Sisters in the Hall to this blatant breach of protocol. It was like trying to hold a surging ocean back with nothing more than a fishing net. As Brak had warned, for some the coercion settled on them with barely a flicker of protest, while other minds rebelled against the thoughts she imposed on them. That opposition surged up like a stormy sea. No sooner had she quieted one mind than another screamed in protest. The mental strength it took surprised her. Physically, she was on the point of exhaustion.

  It seemed to take Garet forever to complete the oath. Time slowed as her vision narrowed to a pinpoint, fixed on the dais. It was all she could see, all she cared about. As the power consumed her, every sense not immediately involved in holding the coercion together seemed to shut down. She could no longer feel her fingers gripping the balustrade. She could no longer hear anything. The odour of damp wool cloaks that had permeated the Hall faded into nothing. She was isolated in a bubble of total concentration that allowed no room for any distraction.

  “Stop this abomination! You are being deceived!”

  The voice rang out from the back of the Hall, a male voice that startled the Sisters with its harsh Karien accent. R’shiel felt the Sisters’resistance to the coercion surge in response to the sudden cry and it slipped from her grasp. At almost the same instant, Dranymire lost control of the meld.

  Screams filled the Hall as Joyhinia fell apart, leaving nothing but a writhing mass of wrinkled grey gnomes who blinked out of existence as soon as they realised they were exposed. All except one. The little demon who had attached herself to R’shiel in Sanctuary; who sought warmth in her bed, cowered behind the lectern on the podium, unseen by the humans surrounding her, trembling with fear.

  R’shiel didn’t see the demon. She had no idea what was happening. She collapsed against the balustrade and brought up everything she had eaten for the past week. Her eyes watered so hard she couldn’t see, could not find the source of the pounding feet on the narrow stairs that led to the gallery. She wiped her mouth and glanced up, barely had time to notice the tonsured man standing over her as a jewelled staff landed on her shoulder, tearing a scream of unbearable agony from her.

  She quivered on the gallery floor as rough hands held her down and something cold and hard was snapped around her neck. As soon as the clasp snicked shut, R’shiel felt the last remnants of the Harshini power vanish, as if a door had been slammed shut on it.

  Dazed and barely able to walk, she was dragged to her feet, pushed down the winding stairs, then half pulled, half carried to the front of the Hall. The men holding her threw her to the floor. Simply letting her go would have had the same effect. Her head cracked against the bottom step, but she barely noticed the pain or the blood that spurted from her forehead. She pushed herself up onto her elbows and wiped her eyes.

  More screams filled the hall as the little demon spied R’shiel and flew at her, chitterring in terror. She wrapped her arms around R’shiel’s neck. As soon as the demon came in contact with the collar, she squealed with pain and fell to the floor, quivering, temporarily robbed of every vestige of power, too stunned to disappear and save herself. R’shiel tried to catch the creature but she was pushed away roughly. One of the priests pinned the demon to the floor with his staff.

  R’shiel cried out in protest as the little demon squealed in agony. Someone knocked her down. By the time she had pushed herself up again, the demon was being hurried from the hall by two of the Karien priests. She looked up then and caught sight of the First Sister.

  Joyhinia looked down at her. The real Joyhinia. Savage intelligence burned in eyes that should have been filled with childish innocence. She smiled with malicious glee, then held her arms wide to address the Gathering.

  “What has happened here is sorcery, my Sisters! Only with the help of Lord Terbolt and the Karien priests have I been able to expose this treachery. I have not resigned. I do not surrender my position to any woman.” She spared Mahina a glance, then turned to Garet Warner. “Arrest the usurper!”

  Garet didn’t even hesitate. Mahina was being led away before she could protest—before anyone could protest. The Commandant had changed sides without a whimper. Angrily, R’shiel forced herself to concentrate and reach for her power, but all she got in return for her trouble was a vicious burning sensation around her neck that wrenched an agonised cry from her lips.

  Joyhinia glanced down at R’shiel. She was gloating. Her eyes were filled with vengeance waiting to be sated. The aura that surrounded her was black streaked and tantalisingly familiar. She held her arms wide again and addressed the Gathering.

  “Behold, Sisters! Let me present the author of this treasonous plot. I give you the reason for the Purge. I give you the result of relaxing our vigilance. I give you a Harshini sorcerer! I give you the fabled demon child!”

  CHAPTER 47

  Consciousness returned slowly. It crept up on her like a thief in the night, so slowly that it took time for her to realise she was awake. It took even longer for her to realise where she was.

  R’shiel lay on the floor, her head throbbing from the shallow cut she received when she had hit the marble steps leading to the dais. Cold morning light from the highset windows chequered the expensive rug where she lay. Her neck ached as if it had been burned; the icy collar that circled her throat a grim reminder of the foolishness of trying to reach for her power. Her mouth tasted like the floor of a pigsty. Her hands were tied behind her back, the ropes so tight that her fingers were numb. She was in a bedchamber, rather than a cell, but she couldn’t recall how she got there. Her last clear memory was Joyhinia staring at her with savage, lucid eyes as she destroyed everything R’shiel had been working toward.

  “You’re awake, I see.”

  R’shiel turned her head in the direction of the voice. The man who spoke was a Karien.

  “Can I have some water?” she croaked.

  The Karien nodded and R’shiel felt other hands pulling her up into a sitting position. A cool tankard touched her lips and she swallowed the water gratefully. The man who held her head was Karien too, with the tonsured head and fanatical expression of a priest. Fear stabbed at her like a knife. She had been the victim of a Karien priest before. It was not an experience she wished to repeat.

  “You failed in your attempt to subvert the Sisterhood. You realise that, don’t you?”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Lord Terbolt, the Duke of Setenton, Personal Envoy of King Jasnoff III and the anointed representative of Xaphista the Overlord.”

  “Is that supposed to impress me?” she said, pushing away the tankard. Too late now to wonder if it had been drugged.

  The Karien frowned. “You would do well to show some respect, demon child. I can have you put to death with a word.”

&n
bsp; R’shiel stared at him, trying to gather her wits. She ignored the pain with an effort. Now was not the time to give into something so distracting. “I’d be dead already if you were planning to kill me.”

  Lord Setenton nodded slowly, as if reluctant to admit the truth of her statement. “You live because the Overlord wishes it, demon child. He is liable to change his mind quite rapidly, should you fail to do as you’re told.”

  “Then kill me now,” she suggested. “I’d rather die than do anything Xaphista demanded of me.”

  The Karien frowned at her blasphemy. The priest actually gasped.

  “No, Garanus!” Terbolt ordered. He was standing behind her, so R’shiel couldn’t see what the priest intended.

  “She blasphemes, my Lord!”

  “She doesn’t know any better.”

  “But, my Lord…”

  “No Garanus, his Majesty was quite specific. She is not to be harmed. The Overlord has plans for the demon child.”

  R’shiel struggled to sit up and glared at the Karien. “Look, I don’t know where you got the idea that I’m the demon child, but you’re gloating over the wrong catch. The Harshini are extinct. I am human.”

  “You are a liar,” Garanus countered.

  “Let her be, Garanus. Her denials are meaningless. Go find Gawn and see if there is any word on the half-breed.”

  So they hadn’t caught Brak. The news gave her hope. The priest followed the Duke’s orders with some reluctance, closing the door behind him. As soon as he was gone, Lord Terbolt rose from his chair and crossed the room. He untied the ropes holding her then helped her to her feet. R’shiel winced as the blood returned to her numb fingers.

  “Thank you.”

  “I am not a vicious man, R’shiel. I have no wish to see you harmed. I have orders to deliver you to King Jasnoff in one piece. I would appreciate it if you gave Garanus and his ilk no reason to harm you.”

  “You mean, if I cooperate, I’ll be safe until you hand me over to Xaphista so he can kill me himself? What a tempting offer.”

  “As I understand it, the Overlord wants your cooperation, not your death, demon child. I believe he seeks an alliance, not your destruction.”

  “An alliance? With me? Now I really have heard everything.”

  Before Terbolt could answer, the door opened and R’shiel felt the room sway momentarily as Joyhinia stepped into the room. It was impossible, she knew, for Joyhinia to have regained her wits. Dacendaran had stolen them and Tarja had destroyed them. How could she be standing there? So sure of herself? So obviously aware?

  “Did you want something, Captain?” the Duke asked, addressing the First Sister with ill-disguised impatience.

  R’shiel stared at him in confusion. Captain?

  “Garanus wishes to speak with you, my Lord. In private.” Joyhinia turned her frighteningly lucid eyes on R’shiel and smiled unpleasantly. “I’ll watch the prisoner for you.”

  “She is not to be harmed,” the Duke warned.

  “As you wish.”

  Joyhinia closed the door behind the Duke then leaned against it, studying R’shiel with contempt.

  “Your sorcerer’s tricks didn’t help you much this time, did they?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh yes you do! You may have fooled everyone else, but these Kariens know what you are. And I’ve seen your evil first hand. Only this time Tarja’s not around to save you, is he?”

  It slowly dawned on R’shiel that this was not Joyhinia. The body was hers, certainly, but the words were not. She knew the aura surrounding Joyhinia, and this didn’t belong to her foster-mother. Neither did the memories. Joyhinia had never seen her use anything remotely resembling magic. Nobody in Medalon had, with the exception of her friends still on the northern border and the Fardohnyan crew of the Maera’s Daughter. The only other person was…

  “Loclon!”

  The name evoked a flood of memories she had thought long forgotten. Nightmares she hoped she would never revisit suddenly threatened to overwhelm her. R’shiel’s mouth went dry and she took an involuntary step backwards, wishing Korandellan had never removed the block on her emotions. For a brief, sickening moment the pain, the humiliation she had suffered in this man’s hands tried to swamp her. She fought a wave of nausea as bad as the one that had almost crippled her when she tried to coerce the Gathering.

  “In the flesh,” Joyhinia agreed. “Well, in the First Sister’s flesh actually. Ironic, don’t you think?”

  “How?” she managed to ask, her head reeling from the implications of such a dreadful combination.

  Joyhinia shrugged. “I’m not sure how. The priests did it. They called on their Overlord, or something. I wasn’t too thrilled to begin with, until it occurred to me what I could do as First Sister. By the look on your face, I’d say it’s occurred to you, too.”

  Actually, R’shiel was still struggling to come to grips with the dreadful spectre of the man she loathed and feared most in this world controlling the body of the woman she hated almost as much. Her mind had not had time to deal with the wider implications of all that sadistic megalomania trapped inside the woman who ruled Medalon.

  “You won’t get away with this, Loclon. You can’t make people believe you’re the First Sister.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, demon child. I am the First Sister.”

  “Where’s Mahina?”

  “The usurper? Safely under lock and key. She’ll be tried and hanged for treason, along with the Lord Defender and Tarja, when I get my hands on them. I may even keep you alive long enough to watch them swing.”

  “You’ve no say over what happens to me, you deluded fool. You’re a Karien puppet. You’re dancing to their tune.”

  “Only while it suits me.”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” she warned. “They’ll only keep you alive long enough to do what they want. And you won’t be able to deny them. Where’s your own body, Loclon? Somewhere safe? Being tended by Karien priests? Did they promise to watch over you while your mind inhabits Joyhinia’s body? How long do you think you’ll last if they slit your unresisting throat?” R’shiel had no idea if her prediction was accurate, but Loclon didn’t know that.

  Joyhinia’s face paled a little, small satisfaction though it was. It was obvious the Kariens had not explained much about the mechanics of transferring his mind into Joyhinia’s body. That could work in her favour. Loclon was many things, but first and foremost, he was a coward.

  “You console yourself anyway you want, R’shiel,” the First Sister retorted. “Just remember, I’m the one in control now.”

  R’shiel had to keep reminding herself that this was Loclon, not Joyhinia, and that she needed to deal with him, not her. “You’re not in control of anything, Loclon, least of all me. I don’t care whose face you wear, you’re still nothing but a craven, petty, insignificant, little man. The only difference is that now you’re wearing a skirt.”

  Loclon took a step toward her, reacting as he always did to her taunts. R’shiel tentatively reached inside herself and tried to touch her power, but even that delicate probe caused the collar to burn. She understood why the Duke had untied her, why Loclon didn’t fear her. They had cut her off from the source of the Harshini magic.

  “I intend to make you suffer until you beg for mercy!” Joyhinia’s voice hissed, but it was Loclon’s vengeful mind that supplied the words.

  “You’ll be doing nothing of the sort,” the Duke of Setenton corrected.

  Joyhinia spun around in annoyance to find the Karien standing by the open door wearing a look of intense displeasure.

  “R’shiel is a wanted criminal, my Lord. She belongs to Medalon.”

  “She belongs to the Overlord, Captain, and if I see any evidence that you intend to interfere with the Overlord’s wishes, you may find the penalty life-threatening. Your usefulness is limited. There are other, more cooperative minds who could serve our needs just as easily.”

&n
bsp; Loclon’s eyes burned with anger in Joyhinia’s face. She strode from the room, pushing past Setenton. The duke watched her leave and then turned to R’shiel.

  “You will be confined here until we leave. There are a number of things that need to be taken care of first. But we should be able to leave in a few days. If all goes well, we should be in Karien by the end of the month.”

  “Then you plan to travel overland? A bit risky, don’t you think, in the middle of a war?”

  Lord Setenton smiled coldly. “War? What war? Of course, you left the Gathering early, didn’t you? Your nation is no longer at war with Karien, my dear. The First Sister has already dispatched the order to your forces on the border. Medalon has surrendered.”

  CHAPTER 48

  “Surrender?” Damin leapt forward and snatched the note from Tarja’s hand. “The hell we will! This is a trick!”

  Tarja looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept for days. “The note carries the correct authentication seal from the Citadel. It’s genuine.”

  “Who sent it?”

  “The First Sister,” Jenga told him grimly.

  “But which First Sister?”

  “Mahina wouldn’t betray us,” the Lord Defender objected.

  “Well, somebody did! Probably your precious Garet Warner. I told you he wasn’t to be trusted.”

  Tarja sagged against the edge of the long table near the hearth. “You’re both missing the point here. This message means that R’shiel failed. Their demon meld didn’t work.”

  Damin glanced at the Medalonian captain sympathetically. “I’m sure she’s fine, Tarja. Perhaps they didn’t arrive in time.”

  “If they hadn’t arrived in time, then things would have simply gone on as they have for months. Something went wrong.” He stood up and squared his shoulders determinedly. “I’m going to the Citadel.”

  “No you’re not, Captain. I need you here.”

  “R’shiel needs me.”

  “There is nothing you can do for her, Tarja,” Jenga reminded him with cold practicality. “It would take you weeks to reach the Citadel and for all you know she’s already dead.”