Harshini

by Jennifer Fallon

  “I suppose you could get around having to touch the staff itself by using another Seeing Stone,” Kalan added thoughtfully.

  “Why another Seeing Stone?”

  “The Seeing Stones are channels, Divine One. They focus the power of the gods and allow it to be used in a specific manner. The size of the Stone determines its power. Legend has it that the Stone at the Citadel was three times the size of this one.”

  “So, what are you saying? That even if the staffs contain pieces of Seeing Stone, they’re too small to do anything with?”

  “I’m saying they couldn’t be used like this one. You couldn’t use them to talk to the priests. They would convey nothing more than…I don’t know, really…emotions, maybe…vague impressions, at best. And that’s assuming you can access a Stone capable of communicating with the chips of crystal in the staffs.”

  “What about this Seeing Stone? Or the one at Sanctuary?”

  She shook her head. “The Stone in here is only good for contacting Sanctuary—the Harshini made sure of that before they withdrew, and you can’t use the Stone in Sanctuary, because for something requiring that much power, Korandellan would have to bring Sanctuary back into real time. If they are chips from the missing Stones then the Stone that controls those jewels is probably the one on Slarn.”

  R’shiel frowned. “I’m not sure I want to risk Malik’s Curse just to satisfy my curiosity.” She’d seen a man with the wasting disease once, on his way from the Citadel to the colony on Slarn. It still gave her nightmares.

  “The disease would be the least of your problems,” Kalan pointed out. “Just getting there would be trouble enough. You couldn’t use the demons. The priests would sense you coming from the other side of the Fardohnyan Gulf.”

  “Pity the Seeing Stone at the Citadel is lost,” she sighed, glancing at the lump of crystal behind her. “Do you think the Sisterhood destroyed it?”

  “No human possesses the power to destroy a Seeing Stone, Divine One. It’s missing, certainly, but I doubt it was destroyed.”

  “Then it might be still in the Citadel? Hidden somewhere?”

  The High Arrion didn’t seem to share her optimism. “I suppose, although where you would hide something as large as a Seeing Stone is beyond me.”

  “I wonder if there are any records in the Citadel’s library? The Founding Sisters documented everything. There are even reports on the number of sacks of grain they confiscated when they took over the Citadel.”

  “It’s worth a try, I suppose, and if it is still there, it would be a lot safer than trying to get near the one on Slarn. But the Citadel is under Karien control. How are you going to get inside? And, more importantly, what does it have to do with your quest to destroy Xaphista? Do you have the time to waste answering questions that have no relevance to the task at hand?”

  “I suppose not.” She glanced up at the Stone again with a sigh. For a moment, it had seemed like such a good idea, too.

  R’shiel had the librarians scouring the archives of the Collective looking for something, anything, to help her cause, but so far they had come up with nothing. Dikorian, the Collective’s Chief Librarian, wasn’t hopeful either. He knew his archives like he knew his own reflection and had never heard of anything in them that gave even a hint about how to destroy a god. Maybe, with a bit more time…she shook her head impatiently, reminding herself of why she had come here this evening. Time was something she didn’t have to waste at the moment. “Right now I have to help Glenaranan and his friends. Will you see that I am not disturbed?”

  Kalan nodded. “Of course.”

  The High Arrion stepped down from the altar and began the long walk through the temple across the gorgeously mosaic-tiled floor. Every building R’shiel had entered in Greenharbour had floors like it, their intricate geometrical patterns sometimes so complex they made her dizzy.

  She waited until Kalan was lost in the shadows before turning back to the Stone. Pushing away stray thoughts of Seeing Stones and chips of crystal, R’shiel swallowed a lump of apprehension and reached out, placing her palms upon it, then opened herself to the power. She felt her eyes darken, felt the familiar, intoxicatingly sweet energy surge through every cell in her body, and then thought of Korandellan.

  Demon child.

  R’shiel jumped in fright. It seemed hours since she had laid her hands on the Stone. The power filled her and she opened her eyes, which now burned black. Korandellan’s image appeared in the crystal against a milky backdrop. He looked haggard.

  “Korandellan!”

  You should not sound so surprised, demon child. You are the one who called for me.

  “I…I know…I just wasn’t sure if it would work.”

  You should not doubt yourself, R’shiel. You are capable of so much more than you realise.

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  The king smiled indulgently. How can I help you, child?

  “Glenanaran, Farandelan and Joranara are unconscious. The Collective was attacked and they built a dome of light to protect it. They collapsed just before I got here and we can’t wake them. They don’t seem injured at all—they just won’t wake up.”

  His face clouded with concern. It was unwise of them to draw on so much power. The gods always exact a price for such excess.

  “The gods? You mean they’re like this as some sort of punishment?” She could feel her ire rising and fought it down. Linked mentally with Korandellan, it would distress him greatly to be exposed to her anger. “So what can I do?”

  You must appeal to Cheltaran directly, I fear.

  “The God of Healing? I don’t know him.”

  But he knows you, demon child. I’m certain he will heed your summons.

  The image flickered for a moment and R’shiel realised that Korandellan was weakening. The idea alarmed her. Korandellan was as strong in the power as she, and certainly far more skilled. The effort it took to link through the Stone was minimal. It should not be having that effect on him. “Are you all right?”

  I am tired, that is all.

  “How can you be tired? You’re the King of the Harshini.”

  Your faith in me is encouraging, R’shiel. Korandellan could not lie, but he could avoid giving her a direct answer.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He sighed, obviously reluctant to share his burden. The strain of holding Sanctuary out of time is telling on me.

  “Why don’t you just let it go? Nobody knows where Sanctuary is.”

  Xaphista’s priests would find us easily, if we were back in normal time. I cannot risk it.

  “But if your hold weakens, they’ll find it anyway.”

  Then I must rely on you to remove the threat of the Kariens, and trust you are able to achieve it before I falter.

  Korandellan was not trying to pressure her—it was not in his nature to do anything so blatantly human, but R’shiel felt it, nonetheless. It simply wasn’t fair. She never asked to be the demon child. She certainly didn’t want to feel responsible for the survival of the Harshini.

  The king smiled. I fear I have made the burden of your destiny heavier. Do not concern yourself, R’shiel. Things will turn out as the gods will them.

  Which isn’t saying much, she thought irreverently. “Is there anything I can do?”

  If you are following a path that leads to breaking the power of the Overlord, you are doing all you can, my dear.

  “Well, I’ll try to do it a bit faster,” she offered with a wan smile.

  Korandellan nodded wearily. You will prevail.

  The strain of maintaining the link was telling visibly on the King’s face. She took her hands from the Stone and it cleared almost instantly, the milky backdrop returning to the crystalline clarity that characterised the magical talisman. R’shiel sank down onto the floor, sitting with her back to the marble base, her knees drawn up to her chin. She let the power go with some reluctance.

  So, I have to call Cheltaran, she told herself. That would take ca
re of the wounded Harshini. Then, if Dikorian can’t help me…maybe the answers I need are at the Citadel. But I’m running out of time.

  That the Harshini might be imperilled had never occurred to her until now. In fact, she had never really felt that she was working to a timetable. She knew that at some distant point in the future she would finally have to confront Xaphista, but she had always thought the one thing on her side was time. Perhaps she could sneak away after this damned election. Damin was a smart boy, Adrina even smarter. Surely, between the two of them, they can figure out how to secure his throne without my help?

  She climbed to her feet and glanced around the temple. What makes it holy? she wondered idly. The gods—or the people who worship them?

  “Cheltaran!” Her voice echoed through the cavernous chamber, but no divine being answered her call.

  “Cheltaran!” Was there some sort of ritual she should perform to summon him? Zegarnald came when she called, as did Gimlorie. Dacendaran and Kalianah seemed to come and go as they pleased. She had never tried summoning another god.

  “Hey! Cheltaran! I need you!”

  “Never have I been summoned quite so…eloquently, demon child.”

  She started at the voice and spun around to find the god standing behind her, leaning against the Seeing Stone, his arms folded across his chest. They did that a lot, she noticed. You called them and they popped up where you least expected them.

  “Cheltaran?”

  He smiled serenely. In solid form he looked like an older version of Dace, but without the motley clothes or cheeky grin. He wore a long white robe, similar to those worn by the healers of Hythria, but she had expected someone older. A fairly ridiculous expectation in hindsight—these beings were immortal. If they appeared old, it was simply because they wished to.

  “Is there some reason you called me? You appear quite well.”

  “There are Harshini here who need you.”

  “Ah yes. The Harshini who overextended themselves.”

  “You know about them?”

  “Naturally. I am the God of Healing. All sickness and injury is known to me.”

  “Then why haven’t you done something about it?” she demanded impatiently.

  “Healing is part of every living being, just as, sometimes, allowing nature to take its course is also a part of life. Things happen as they must, R’shiel. I do not interfere without good cause.”

  “Well you have a good cause now. I need them up and about.”

  “You need them? Am I to interrupt the natural order of things at your whim, demon child?”

  R’shiel thought about that for a moment, then decided she didn’t have time to argue. She nodded. “That’s about the strength of it.”

  “I have interfered more since you came along than I have in the past millennium,” the god told her with a frown.

  “Then a bit more won’t make much difference, will it?”

  Cheltaran sighed. “Very well, demon child. I will do as you ask. But be warned. There will be a reckoning. Nature requires a certain balance. Each time you call on us to disturb that balance, the day of reckoning draws nearer.”

  There was something vaguely threatening in his tone that worried R’shiel.

  “I don’t mean to.”

  “I know you don’t. But you are the demon child. You are a force of nature in your own right.”

  Cheltaran vanished abruptly, before R’shiel could say anything more. She was puzzled by his sudden disappearance, but the reason became clear a moment later, when the doors to the temple flew open and the sound of booted feet pounding on the tiles echoed through the place. She turned as the interlopers emerged into the light. It was Almodavar, Damin’s captain, and a squad of his Raiders.

  “My Lady! Lord Wolfblade demands you return to the palace at once!”

  “He demands, does he?” she asked with faint annoyance as she descended the steps from the altar. “What’s the matter now?”

  “The palace was attacked. They’ve taken Adrina.”

  R’shiel swore under her breath.

  By the time she reached Almodavar, she was running.

  CHAPTER 25

  R’shiel was shocked by the devastation when she reached the palace. There was blood on the white marble steps and smeared across the tiled floor of the main hall. The diamond-paned windows that led out onto the balcony and overlooked the harbour were shattered into a carpet of glittering shards that crunched underfoot as she followed Almodavar at a run. There were several bodies lined up near the doors, with shrouds thrown hastily over them. How many had died, she wondered? And for what?

  Almodavar led her to a small passage off the main hall that ended in a door inlaid in gold with the crest of the Wolfblade family. Someone had driven a dagger through the eye of the wolf and it remained embedded in the wood like a silent warning. Almodavar opened the door without glancing at the knife and stood back to let R’shiel enter. The Raiders who had escorted them from the Collective stayed on guard outside.

  “What happened?”

  Damin looked up at the sound of her voice, obviously relieved to see her. His eyes were hard and she could read the tension in the set of his shoulders. The other men in the room, whom she guessed were Damin and Narvell’s lieutenants, wore expressions of concern—and perhaps a little excitement—at the prospect of seeing some action. The only woman present was Marla, who paced the floor impatiently as her sons plotted their revenge. There were maps scattered across the large oval table, anchored at their corners by anything heavy enough to act as a paperweight.

  “We received a message that Tejay Lionsclaw had arrived and wanted to meet with us before she entered the city,” Damin told her. “As it turns out, it was false. The palace was attacked while we were gone. We’re still counting the dead.”

  “And Adrina?”

  “We think they took her by boat,” Narvell added. “We found a rope tied to the balcony in her apartments.”

  “She could have simply used the confusion to run away,” Marla suggested tartly. “I’ve never trusted that woman.”

  Damin glared at his mother. “I’ve no time for your bitching, Marla. Adrina didn’t run away.”

  R’shiel silently applauded Damin. It was about time someone put Her Royal Highness in her place. She glanced around the room that Damin had turned into his command post to avoid meeting Marla’s eye. It must have been Lernen’s private sanctuary. The walls were rather distractingly painted with explicit murals that depicted a variety of sexual positions, some of which R’shiel was certain were physically impossible. It seemed odd, this bustling war council being held amidst such decadent artwork.

  “Where would they take her?”

  “Dregian Castle lies along the coast here,” Damin said, pointing to the map laid out on the table before him. “It’s a few hours away by boat, but easily navigated.”

  “They’ll have her there before we can mount a counter-attack,” Narvell added.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Get her back,” Damin announced matter-of-factly. His outward air of control worried R’shiel a little. The Damin she knew should have been raging like a wounded bull. It wasn’t like him to be so level headed. He glanced at Narvell, not waiting for R’shiel’s reaction. “Have you heard from Rogan yet?”

  “No.”

  “Damn! I’ll need his troops.”

  “You’re going to attack Cyrus?”

  Damin turned to her impatiently. “Of course I’m going to attack him!”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  The whole room stilled as Damin slowly straightened. His eyes were terrible, his whole being radiating fury. This was the Damin she knew. The rage, the grief, the debilitating fear for Adrina was perilously close to the surface. R’shiel realised she had about a heartbeat to explain herself before Damin lost control completely.

  “Don’t you see? That’s why they took Adrina. They want you to attack. Or to be more specific, they want your troops—
and Narvell’s and Rogan’s—out of the city.”

  Damin’s shoulders relaxed a little. R’shiel breathed a sigh of relief. He was quietly murderous, but not beyond reason.

  “You don’t know that for certain.”

  “No, but they’ve been rather obvious about it, don’t you think? I mean, leaving the rope hanging from her balcony where you can find it? They might as well have hung out a sign. It’s a trap, Damin. Cyrus wants you out of the city. Worse than that, he wants you on his territory.”

  “Then I plan to see that he gets what he wants,” Damin growled.

  R’shiel sighed with frustration, wishing she could make him see what was so obvious to her. “Even if you took every man you have here in Greenharbour, and Narvell’s and Rogan’s with them, you’ve got less than a thousand men. How many has Cyrus got waiting for you?”

  “It won’t matter.”

  “The hell it won’t!” she scoffed. “I don’t mean to dent your precious male pride, Damin, but even you can be outnumbered. I don’t care how good you think you are.”

  “If you don’t plan to help me, R’shiel, then get out of my way.”

  “I’ll help you to rescue Adrina, Damin. I’m not going to help you commit suicide.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “If you attack Dregian Province, you will be invading Cyrus’ province, whatever the provocation. Cyrus will defeat you, and hang your head on his walls and he’ll have the full force of the law on his side, if I’m not mistaken. I imagine Adrina will live long enough to see your head fall off the block, before she joins you.”

  Damin sank down in the chair behind him as the logic of what she was saying finally began to sink in.

  Marla looked at R’shiel in surprise. “You have an excellent grasp of politics, demon child.”

  “I had very good teachers, Your Highness.”

  “The benefit of an education by the Sisterhood,” Damin remarked sourly. “You see treachery where others think only of honour. So, demon child, what do you suggest? That I leave Adrina to the mercy of my enemies?”