“Brak, was it such a good idea to let so many of them gather like this armed with their staffs?”
“You can’t influence the Overlord’s priests through their staffs if they don’t have them,” he shrugged. “Don’t worry. I don’t think they can—”
His words were cut off by a loud explosion, as the merlon near R’shiel shattered into a shower of flying pebbles. R’shiel ducked for cover as another explosion buffeted her with flying debris. Screams of terror, and the Defenders’ cries of alarm, suddenly filled the street below.
“You don’t think they can what?” she shouted over the commotion.
Brak saw her eyes darken and laid an urgently restraining hand on her arm. “They destroy magic, R’shiel. You’re not linked through the Seeing Stone here. Don’t try to fight them.”
“Watch me,” she snarled angrily.
R’shiel stood up and looked down over the street. Defenders were rushing heedlessly to fight an enemy they could not comprehend, while the citizens who had come to watch the priests being released milled about in panic, looking for a way to flee the sudden carnage, too afraid to approach the gate. All other escape routes were blocked by the Defenders.
She spied the cause of the trouble quickly enough. Three tonsured priests held their staffs above their heads, chanting in unison as they called on the power of the Overlord to strike down the demon child. The other priests were not yet organised enough to join in the Watching Coven, but it wouldn’t take them long. Three priests she could handle. She knew that from experience. Any more and she could not predict the outcome.
Turning her attention to the first priest, she hurled a burst of raw power at the staff, understanding now what she had done by accident on the northern plains of Medalon. Whatever spell made the staff drain magic, its focus was the small chip of Seeing Stone at its core. The power she threw at it overloaded the crystal and the conflict between the force at its centre and the staff’s ability to absorb magic created an explosion that threw the priest to the ground with bleeding eardrums. She repeated her effort at the next man, and then the one beside him, careless of the power she was drawing.
Several others defiantly held up their only protection against her, only to find themselves lying prostrate on the ground, their staffs shattered, the gold star and silver lightning bolt fused into a glob of worthless metal. R’shiel could feel rather than see Brak beside her. He shouted something at her that she could not understand. Something about using restraint, but all he could do was stand at her side, ready to catch her if she fell.
It took a dozen or more explosions for the priests to be dissuaded from any further attempts to destroy the demon child; much longer for the Defenders to restore some semblance of order. R’shiel clung to the power, standing over the gateway, her eyes burning black as she dared them to try her again. She was trembling and exhausted and felt Brak’s arm slide around her waist gratefully. If she appeared to be a tower of strength to the Kariens below, then let them think that. There was no need for them to know that he was holding her up.
“You’ve come this far. Don’t give up now, demon child,” Brak whispered as she slumped against him.
“I think I’m going to faint.”
“No you’re not,” he told her sternly. “You’re going to stand up here and watch every last one of them leave.”
“Don’t let me go, Brak.”
“I won’t.”
She stood there for a long time, leaning into Brak’s solid strength as the Kariens picked up their staffs and filed through the gate beneath her. Towards the end of the line, another small commotion broke out as the three priests left discovered they didn’t have a staff they could claim.
“Seems someone decided to collect a few souvenirs,” Brak remarked.
“Looks like it,” she agreed distantly.
R’shiel watched the last of the priests leave. She heard the gate close behind them, then turned to watch as they ran towards their forces on the other side of the Saran. She didn’t let go of the power until they had crossed the bridges and put the shallow river between them and the Citadel.
The celebration that was organised to mark the departure of the priests had been harder to arrange. R’shiel had eventually convinced Tarja that it would be good for morale, but more than that, it would annoy the Sisterhood. Even Garet didn’t mind annoying the Sisterhood, and with the strict rationing the Defenders had imposed, they were in no danger of running out of food. A bit of largesse would go a long way to easing the minds of the population, she pointed out reasonably, and there were still a lot of Sisters of the Blade in the Citadel, looking for any excuse to stir up trouble. She had listed all her reasons calmly and didn’t even try to pick a fight with Garet Warner. Tarja eventually agreed and had given Captain Grannon the task of organising such a mammoth affair. All R’shiel had to do now was convince the Harshini to do their part.
The dormitories where the Harshini were quartered were nothing like those R’shiel remembered living in. The whole building glowed with light and colour. She walked the corridors with her mouth agape at what had been hidden under the whitewash, until she reached the place Shananara was using as a dayroom. It had been the Mistress of the Sisterhood’s office until recently.
“I hear there was some trouble at the gate,” Shananara remarked as R’shiel knocked on the open door.
“The priests took exception to my presence,” R’shiel told her with a shrug. “But I discouraged them from doing anything about it.”
“I know,” the Harshini queen replied with a grimace. “I have the headache to prove it. I really wish you would learn some restraint, R’shiel. You can be very exhausting at times.”
“I’m sorry.”
Shananara smiled and indicated that R’shiel should sit. The heavy furniture seemed out of place now. With the walls restored to their former glory, these rooms needed light, airy pieces, not the cumbersome dark furniture the Sisterhood favoured.
“Brak tells me you have a plan.”
“I need your help,” she said, taking the seat opposite the queen.
“We cannot help you destroy Xaphista, R’shiel. For that matter, I could not help you if you wanted to step on a bug.”
“I know that. And I won’t ask anything of the Harshini that goes against their nature—but I need to distract his believers for a while.”
“Distract them? How?” Shananara asked suspiciously.
R’shiel explained what she had in mind. The queen listened to her, nodding occasionally, then finally laughing delightedly. “And you honestly think this ploy will work?”
“Brak seems to think it will.”
“Yes, well Brak is half-human. It would probably appeal to his rather skewed sense of humour.”
“Then you’ll help me?”
“Yes, demon child, the Harshini will help you.”
“Even knowing it may result in the destruction of a god?”
“I don’t know that will happen for certain, R’shiel. For all I know, this will do nothing but annoy him.”
R’shiel nodded, aware that the queen was right. Brak thought it might work, but none of them could be sure. “I have another favour to ask.”
“I’ll grant it if I can.”
“I need you in the Temple of the Gods with me. I don’t have the skill to do this alone.”
“I cannot take a direct hand in this, R’shiel.”
“No, but you can show me what I have to do.”
“Very well,” Shananara agreed with some reluctance. “But don’t count on my help. I don’t mean to sound like I’m threatening you, but I simply cannot do anything that goes against the nature of the Harshini. I will do what I can, but you may find, at the point where you need my help the most, I will be useless to you.”
“I’m prepared to risk that.”
“Then I will be there, demon child. And may the gods guide our hands.”
R’shiel had one other task to perform before she was ready, and when she le
ft Shananara, she hurried through the streets to the Defenders’ blacksmith shop. They had finished the job she had asked them to do and she examined their handiwork closely, careful not to brush against it, until she was satisfied that it was exactly what she had asked for. The sergeant in charge of the forge smiled as she looked over it.
“You can touch it, lass. It doesn’t bite, you know.” He was shouting to be heard over the ringing of hammers on metal. The smiths and the fletchers had been working non-stop for days, turning out weapons and arrows to be stockpiled in case of a Karien attack.
“Actually, Joulen, it does bite.” She straightened up and nodded in satisfaction. “Can you get one of your men to take it over to the Great Hall for me? Ask them to put it near the Seeing Stone.”
“Aye, if that’s what you want.”
“It is, thank you.”
It was late afternoon when R’shiel left the blacksmith’s forge, satisfied she had done all that she could for the time being. All that was needed now was for Xaphista to walk into her trap.
CHAPTER 58
Music from the amphitheatre drifted on the night as musicians warmed up their instruments. The Citadel blazed softly under a cloudless, blue-velvet sky. R’shiel looked down over the Karien camp from the wall-walk at the scattered fires that pierced the plain like dollops of hot blood in the darkness. The fires stretched as far as she could see. She had done everything she could think of, covered every contingency.
There was nothing left to do now but wait.
“It’s been pretty quiet down there since we let the priests go.”
She glanced at Tarja, aware that he was rather uncomfortable. This was the first time they had been alone since her return. She had brought him here to talk to him undisturbed. That was never going to happen in his office. There were things she needed to say to him, for her own peace of mind, if nothing else.
“They’re probably down there plotting our downfall,” she remarked, trying to sound lighthearted.
“I’d say that was almost a certainty.”
She glanced at him, but he was staring down at the plain with determination. His profile was guarded. “Tarja.”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
He turned to look at her. “For what?”
“For what Kalianah did to you. For all of it, I suppose.”
Tarja shrugged, not comfortable with either the subject or her apology. “R’shiel, there’s really no need…”
“Yes there is, Tarja. At the very least, it eases my guilt a bit.”
“In that case, apology accepted,” he said, smiling faintly to assure her of his sincerity.
There were ten thousand other things that R’shiel wanted to say to him, but Tarja seemed satisfied that the subject was painlessly closed. He turned back to watching the plain in silence. R’shiel sighed and decided to let the matter drop. There was nothing to be gained from opening old wounds. Tarja had obviously been at pains to put the past behind him.
R’shiel’s thoughts turned to the coming confrontation. She tried to calculate how much longer she had to wait. It was the evening of Fifthday. Tomorrow was Restday and, at dawn, every Karien would be crammed into the village churches, every city dweller would be crowded into the nearest temple. Even the soldiers below would turn their backs on the Citadel to listen to their priests. And that’s when she would make her move. When every Karien voice would be raised in worship of their god.
It was when Xaphista would be at his most powerful.
It was also when he was most vulnerable.
“If this works,” she said, breaking the silence, “all Damin and Hablet are going to have to do is mop up.”
“Mopping up tens of thousands of Kariens and getting them back across the border will be a job in itself, R’shiel. And don’t forget that we still have to gain control over the rest of Medalon. The Sisters of the Blade here in the Citadel might appear to be toeing the line, but I suspect it’s only because of the siege. They’re happy to let us fight their battles for them, but the moment we’re rid of the Kariens, they’ll start trying to regain their position. We’ve a very long road ahead of us.”
“You’ll make a good Lord Defender, Tarja.”
He shrugged. “I never wanted to be Lord Defender, you know, not even when I was a Cadet. I knew what people were saying about me. I knew everyone thought I was being groomed for the job and the idea terrified me. The responsibility terrified me. It still does. I was much happier as a simple captain on the southern border fighting Damin Wolfblade. Life was a lot less complicated back then.”
“I think Damin would agree with you. He’s finding some of the decisions required of a High Prince a bit more than he bargained for.” For a moment she recalled Damin’s unforgiving eyes as he sentenced Mikel to death. Tarja would be confronted with similar dilemmas, she was certain. She envied neither of them. Then she smiled, as something else occurred to her. “He has Adrina with him.”
“Oh, wonderful,” he groaned.
“Don’t worry, Tarja,” she assured him, laughing softly at the expression on his face. “You’ll be safe. She only has eyes for Damin, these days. Besides, she’s due to give birth soon. You never know…she might have the child here in the Citadel and decide to name it after you. But I think you’ll find her too preoccupied to worry about flirting with you.”
He looked very relieved. “I like Adrina, but she can be very…trying.”
With a sympathetic smile, R’shiel turned her back on the Kariens and leaned against the softly glowing wall. She folded her arms across her body and studied the pattern in the stonework beneath her feet for a moment, working up the courage to say what she had brought him up here tell him.
“Tarja, when this is over, I’m leaving.”
He looked at her in surprise. “Where are you going?”
“I have some things to take care of. Loclon is still out there somewhere, for one thing. I won’t rest until I’ve dealt with him.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t find him. No, worse than that, I’m sorry I didn’t kill him. You were right. You warned me years ago that I should have put an end to him that evening in the arena when he killed Georj. Do you know how often I wish I had?”
“Probably nearly as often as I do.”
For a moment, he could not meet her eyes. The memory of what Loclon had done to her was too dreadful to confront. He glanced back over the plain before he answered.
“We didn’t see any sign of him when we let the Kariens out. He may still be in the Citadel.”
“No, Tarja. He’s long gone. But it doesn’t matter. I’m half Harshini. I have several lifetimes to fill. I don’t mind using one of them to find Loclon.”
He nodded silently, needing no further explanation.
“I have to get Mikel back, too.”
“Mikel? That Karien boy who crossed the border with Adrina? What happened to him?”
“The God of Music is minding him for a time. I have to go and get him back.”
“A god is minding him?” Tarja repeated doubtfully. “I don’t really want to know what that means, do I?”
She laughed softly. “No.”
“Will you come back when you’ve finished?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “There’s something else I have to do, but I don’t think it’s going to be that easy, and I don’t know how long it will take. You can keep a lantern burning for me, Tarja, but don’t wait up.”
He smiled then, perhaps even a little relieved that she would not be around to remind him of a past he thought better forgotten. Kalianah’s geas was not yet a distant memory. Time would make the past easier to come to terms with. He was no longer her brother and would never again be her lover, but she could count him a friend.
“I’ll miss you.”
“No you won’t. You’ll be glad to see the back of me. So will Garet. And Mandah.” He turned from her, and it took R’shiel a moment to realise that it wasn’t anger that turned him away
, but embarrassment. “Oh, Tarja, don’t be so foolish. I know I’ve never been friendly with her, but Mandah adores you. I worked that out when we first met in Reddingdale. I suppose that’s why I never liked her. That, and the fact that she’s so insufferably nice. She’s probably one of those Novices who grew up in the Citadel lusting after you and Georj. It doesn’t bother me, and you shouldn’t let it bother you.”
Tarja suddenly grinned at his own foolishness. “That’s very noble of you, R’shiel.”
“Actually, Brak said the same thing.”
Tarja’s grin faded at the mention of Brak. There was still a degree of residual distrust between them, R’shiel knew. Brak had done a great deal that Tarja found hard to forgive. “Is he going with you when you leave?”
She shook her head sadly. “No, Tarja. Where Brak is going, I can’t follow.”
He was silent for a moment then looked at her strangely. “Do you love him, R’shiel?”
“Not in the way you think. It’s something else. You wouldn’t understand. The Harshini would.”
“The Harshini,” he sighed heavily. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance the Harshini will want to leave the Citadel too, once this is all over and done with?”
“Not much,” she agreed with a grin.
He shook his head ruefully. “Well, wherever you go and whatever you do, R’shiel, spare a thought for me every now and then. Things are going to get a lot worse before they get better, I fear.”
R’shiel smiled sympathetically, but didn’t answer him. They stayed on top of the wall for a while longer, until the discordant notes of the distant musicians ceased. Then the air was filled with the strains of a cheerful melody as the party in the amphitheatre got under way. By unspoken agreement, they turned and walked back down the spiral staircase in the gatehouse to the street and headed towards the music.
Harshini Page 45
