Harshini

by Jennifer Fallon

  “If you happen to find Loclon, just be careful, will you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that if you’re planning to use your power to restrain him, try to do it as quickly as possible. You’ll be drawing on the same power as Korandellan. He’ll have to fight you for his share of it.”

  Brak didn’t need to add that if she drew too much, Korandellan’s ability to hold Sanctuary safely out of time would be compromised. She had seen his weary face in the Seeing Stone in Greenharbour. R’shiel knew how close to exhaustion he was.

  “You make it sound as if I actually have control over it.” She closed her eyes, letting the chill air clear her mind then looked down from the wall-walk over the mass of humanity swarming to be let out of the Citadel. “This is hopeless!”

  “You knew that before you came here,” Brak pointed out.

  “Aren’t you going to help?”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  She muttered something unintelligible and looked back over the crowd. The Defenders were pushing the people back to clear a path for the gates to open. On the other side of the wall, the plain was littered with the Karien army. There was a sizeable gathering outside the gate, waiting for their comrades inside the Citadel to be released.

  A truce had been arranged the previous day, although with their leaders now hostages in the Citadel, it had taken some time to sort out the Karien chain of command and find someone capable of making a decision. The wall-walk was lined with archers to discourage the Kariens from attempting to break the truce. The Defenders could not hope to fend off a well co-ordinated attack, but they were enough to deter the disorganised and bewildered Kariens from trying anything stupid. They seemed incapable of understanding that the Citadel was lost to them, or that their leaders had been taken prisoner. The Overlord would not allow such a thing.

  “Isn’t there something magic we can do?” she asked, turning her back to the Kariens.

  He raised a brow at her. “Something magic?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Brak sighed with long-suffering patience. “You still have no idea what you’re dealing with, do you?”

  “I don’t want a lecture, Brak. I just want to know if there is anything we can do to find Loclon more easily.”

  “You could make every person leaving tell the truth then ask their names as they pass through the gate,” he suggested.

  “That won’t work. Tarja won’t let us stop them.” She was scanning the crowd and didn’t see Brak’s smile.

  “I was joking, R’shiel.”

  “I’m beside myself with mirth. Do you have any other brilliant suggestions?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  Brak sheathed his dagger then climbed to his feet and came to stand beside her. The gates swung open ponderously as the Defenders shouted orders to the crowd. The first to leave were the troopers that had been posted around the city, and they made up the bulk of the occupation force. They looked cold and miserable, having spent a night in the damp weather confined to the amphitheatre. Most of them were simple peasants dragged into this war because their masters owed a fealty to the Karien king. They were at the mercy of their god, their king and their dukes.

  “They don’t look very happy, do they?” Brak remarked.

  “Can you blame them?”

  “You’re not feeling sorry for them, are you?”

  “A little bit. Most of them would much rather be at home getting ready for the spring planting, I think. Not stranded here in a foreign country fighting a war they probably don’t even understand.”

  “Well, if you think the peasants are unhappy, imagine what that lot must be feeling.” Brak pointed up the street.

  The next group waiting to be let through was the knights. Tarja had permitted them their mounts, but other than that, they were leaving empty handed. Their faces were cold and haughty, as if they were leaving of their own free will, not being forced out like beggars who couldn’t pay the rent. Sir Andony sat at the head of the small column. R’shiel could not make out the others from this height. She watched them curiously, wondering what they were thinking. Were they plotting revenge? Were they already planning to return?

  “My Lady! My Lady R’shiel!”

  R’shiel glanced down at the street and discovered an urchin waving up at her. She didn’t know the child, but he was panting heavily, as if he had run all the way to the gate.

  “What is it?” she called.

  “That man you’re looking for? The one with the scars? I saw him!”

  “Wait here!” she told Brak, heading for the stairs that led down into the gatehouse at a run. When she reached the street, she had to push through the crowd to find the child. The boy was waiting for her by the gatehouse wall. He had the most beautiful face R’shiel had ever seen on a child.

  “Who are you? Where did you see Loclon?” she demanded.

  “My name is Alladan. I work for Mistress Heaner.”

  “Who is Mistress Heaner?”

  “She’s…she’s…my employer,” the boy said, a little uncertainly. “But I saw the man you’re looking for. He was at Mistress Heaner’s last night.”

  “Is he still there?”

  Alladan nodded. “I think so. Did you want me to show you?”

  She glanced up at the wall-walk where Brak was looking down at her and debated calling him. Although she was certain he was telling the truth, the child might be wrong, and she could not risk letting Loclon slip past her. She waved reassuringly to Brak then turned back to Alladan.

  “Show me.”

  As she pushed through the crowd behind the boy, she faintly heard Brak calling her back, but she ignored him. The idea that she might have found Loclon consumed her, swamping caution and common sense. They broke through the crowd after a great deal of pushing and shoving, turning towards the warehouse district. The boy ran ahead, looking back over his shoulder occasionally to ensure that she was still with him.

  When the boy finally reached his destination, it proved to be a narrow gate with a small hatchway at eye level, jammed between two dilapidated warehouses. He stopped and waited for her to catch up and then jerked his head in the direction of the door.

  “He’s in there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “He was this morning.”

  “How did you know I was looking for him?”

  Alladan shrugged innocently. “The whole Citadel knows, my Lady.” Then he grinned and added, “Is there some sort of reward for finding him?”

  She smiled at the boy’s expression. “We’ll see.”

  “I was…well, I was hoping I could get it now,” he said. “I mean, you never know what’s going to happen…”

  “Go back to the gate and ask for Lord Brakandaran. He’ll see you’re rewarded.”

  Alladan looked a little disappointed, but he didn’t press the point. He ran off without another word. R’shiel watched him leave with a shake of her head. He certainly was an enterprising lad.

  Turning back to study the small gate, R’shiel carefully drew on her power and pushed at the gate with a thought. It creaked open to reveal a lane strewn with litter. She could not sense anyone in the lane, so she stepped through cautiously, gagging on the smell. She stepped silently over the rubbish towards another doorway at the end of the alley. It stood open and inviting. When she entered the room beyond she gasped with astonishment.

  It was sumptuous—decorated with no thought to expense, or good taste. There were velvet-upholstered couches scattered about the room, each one sectioned off by diaphanous sheer curtains. The carpet was as thick as the grass in the garden behind the infirmary. Fardohnyan crystal chandeliers hung unlit from the ceiling. There was a smell about the place, too, something she could not identify, although it was annoyingly familiar. R’shiel looked around her wide-eyed, wondering what such a place was doing hidden down here in the warehouse district—and who would frequent it.

  The answer c
ame to her as she checked the deserted rooms along a narrow passage leading off the main room. The first was innocent enough—simply a room with a large double bed, decorated in blue to match the colour of the door. But as she opened each door along the hall, the purpose of the rooms became clear enough. There was one room sporting a huge tub, another with a bed big enough for six and then another containing nothing more than two velvet-lined, metal cuffs hanging from the ceiling by chains and enough instruments of torture to make the Defenders’ interrogation chamber look positively inadequate. Feeling a little queasy at the thought of what might go on in this place, R’shiel wondered about Alladan. Was he part of the entertainment? The idea made her sick.

  At the end of the hall was a smaller door, which opened at a touch and led down into the darkness. Stepping through, R’shiel called up a finger of flame to light her way, rather pleased with herself. When Brak had tried to teach her how to call fire one evening on their journey here from Vanahiem, she’d almost consumed them both in a ball of flame. The short steps opened into a cellar with an earthen floor. She made the flame brighter and stared at the altar by the far wall, letting out a yell of outrage as the star and lightning bolt of Xaphista stared back at her.

  With a sudden thump, the cellar door slammed shut behind her. She ran to the door and pounded on it, but it was shut fast, locked from the other side. Furiously, she called on her power and blasted the door out of her way, only to discover her way blocked by a wall of fire. She remembered now, what that smell was. Oil. Whoever had set this trap had soaked the building in it, hoping to send her to a fiery death.

  R’shiel took a step back from the roaring flames. If this fire spread, here in the warehouse district, it would destroy the city. Even if it only spread a little way, all their supplies, all the food they had stored to see them through the coming siege would be destroyed. Without thinking, she drew even deeper on the Harshini power, pulling as much as she could handle and sent it outwards from the cellar. The blast of air shook the surrounding buildings and almost brought the roof of the cellar down on top of her. But the flames were blown out like candles in a strong draft.

  Panting with the effort of her exertions, she clambered through the debris until she reached the ground floor. The building was flattened, its roof gone, the walls blown out and laying flat on the ground. The warehouses on either side were in no better shape, and beyond them she could see the broken windows and fractured walls of the other buildings that had been in range. There were shouts in the distance and voices yelling orders. The Defenders come to investigate the source of the explosion, no doubt. She looked around at the devastation she had caused with a sigh. She had simply meant to blow out the flames. She hadn’t expected to level everything in sight.

  It was Brak who reached the scene first. She was still standing there, dazed and bewildered as he leapt over the rubble to get to her.

  When he reached her, Brak helped her sit down, his expression a mixture of anger and concern. “What, in the name of the gods, do you think you’re doing?”

  “It was a trap,” she told him dully.

  “No kidding.”

  “I didn’t mean to…” she said, looking around her at what was left of the warehouse district.

  “You never do, R’shiel. That’s what makes you so bloody dangerous.”

  “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  R’shiel took a deep breath and held out her hand to see if it had stopped trembling, then looked up and smiled wanly at Brak.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You and I need to have a little talk about restraint,” he said with a frown. “You can’t go drawing on that much power every time you want to do something. There is such a thing as overkill, you know.”

  “But I had to put out the fire. I didn’t know how much it would take.” For that matter, even if she had known, she still lacked the finesse to limit what she drew on, but she decided not to remind Brak of that.

  “I feel exhausted, but somehow more aware. Isn’t that odd?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s as if I can feel everything more clearly. I can even feel Sanctuary like it was right here.”

  “That will be with you wherever you go, R’shiel.”

  “I know. I’ve felt it ever since I left the place, but this is different. It’s stronger somehow…I don’t know…clearer…Brak?”

  She blanched at the expression on his face. Suddenly, he wasn’t listening to her. He rose to his feet slowly and turned to stare blankly towards the west, reaching out with his senses, rather than his eyes. R’shiel struggled to her feet and stood beside him, following his gaze, seeing nothing but the flattened buildings and the Defenders coming towards them, demanding to know what had happened.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I can feel it too.”

  “Sanctuary?”

  He nodded.

  “But why is it so strong? Normally it’s just like a vague impression in the back of my mind that I hardly even notice any more.”

  “That’s because normally, Sanctuary is hidden out of time.”

  “Then it’s back? Why would Korandellan do that?”

  “He wouldn’t. Not willingly.”

  He glanced at her grimly and she suddenly realised what he meant. Korandellan had brought Sanctuary into real time because he was no longer capable of holding it back. R’shiel stared around her with horror. She had drawn on the magic of the Harshini with no thought to the amount that she was consuming.

  It was her fault the Harshini were no longer hidden.

  “Oh Founders, Brak,” she said with quiet desperation. “What have I done?”

  By mid morning the last of the Kariens, as well as the civilians who didn’t want to stay in the Citadel, had filed through the gates and they were closed against the army outside. The Defenders had dutifully searched the crowd for Loclon’s familiar face, but they paid no attention to the huge, simple-looking man hauling a handcart through the gate piled with old blankets, or notice the thin, sharp-eyed old woman who walked beside him. Nor did they inspect the cart. The rugs smelled old and the woman openly wore the symbol of Xaphista on a chain around her neck. Another fanatic leaving and good riddance to all of them, they decided. The Defenders turned their attention to the crowd, scanning the faces for Loclon’s distinctive scar.

  The huge man with his handcart, the beautiful young boy and the old woman left the Citadel unmolested.

  CHAPTER 46

  “What happened at the warehouse district?” Tarja asked as soon as R’shiel appeared in the doorway of the First Sister’s office. He was alone with Garet Warner and a young woman that she didn’t recognise at first. The woman had long blonde hair and was dressed in homespun trousers and a rough linen shirt, with a Defender’s cloak, of all things, thrown carelessly back over one shoulder. The fire burned brightly in the hearth and the room was almost uncomfortably warm. For a fleeting, gut-wrenching moment, R’shiel remembered this office, so hot and stuffy, when Joyhinia had ruled here. She shook off the feeling impatiently. Joyhinia was dead.

  “There was a bit of an altercation,” she shrugged as she stepped into the office with Brak on her heels. The woman with Tarja turned as she spoke and studied R’shiel curiously.

  “Hello, R’shiel. Hello, Brak.”

  “Mandah!”

  “You sound surprised to see me, demon child.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she snapped automatically. “What are you doing here?”

  “What I’ve been doing since long before I met you, R’shiel. Helping my people.”

  Her people, R’shiel knew, were the pagan rebels. “I didn’t expect to see you here. You were supposed to be heading into Hythria with the Defenders.”

  “I chose to stay and help Tarja,” Mandah told her with a smile in Tarja’s direction. R’shiel recognised the look and felt an unexpected spear of jealousy pierce her chest.

  �
�How convenient for you that the new Lord Defender is someone sympathetic to your cause.”

  “There’s nothing convenient about it, R’shiel,” Garet remarked, looking up from the map spread out over the desk. “It’s one of the reasons Tarja got the job. What exactly do you mean by an altercation?”

  “Someone tried to set fire to the warehouses. I…caused a bit of damage, but the fire is out.”

  “Did you find Loclon?” Tarja asked.

  “No. And I don’t think we will. But that’s not why I’m here. We have another problem.”

  “What now?” Garet asked, folding his arms across his chest.

  “The Harshini are in danger.”

  “The Harshini have been in danger for the past two centuries.”

  “This is more than just the threat of discovery, Garet. Sanctuary is no longer hidden. The Kariens can find them now.”

  “I’m heartbroken,” the commandant told her unsympathetically, returning his attention to the map.

  Tarja frowned at Garet. He appeared a little more sympathetic. “How long have they got?”

  Brak shrugged. “Before the Karien priests locate Sanctuary? They’ve probably pinpointed it already. It will take them some time to get there, though. A few weeks, maybe.” He noticed Garet’s sceptical look and continued his explanation looking straight at the commandant. “The reason the Sisterhood could never completely eradicate the Harshini was because Sanctuary was taken out of time. I won’t try explaining how—you probably wouldn’t believe me, anyway. Suffice to say that the strain of keeping it hidden has finally taken its toll on King Korandellan. Sanctuary is back in real time and the Kariens will be at its gates within weeks.”

  “That would be convenient,” Garet remarked. “It might get them away from ours.”

  “But can’t the Harshini simply hide Sanctuary again?” Mandah asked, with a glare at Garet. She was a pagan and worshipped the Harshini along with their gods. R’shiel found herself with an unexpected ally.

  Brak shook his head. “If Korandellan let it return, then he’s exhausted. Keeping Sanctuary out of time takes a lot less effort than actually sending it there.”