Harshini (13 page)

Slaves lined the walls of the Main Hall of the Summer Palace, moving the languid air about with large rattan fans, although at this time of year the temperature was quite bearable. It was an impressive chamber, crowded with courtiers and supplicants awaiting the chance for an audience with their king. The potted palms provided the perfect backdrop for the clusters of schemers and sycophants who always seemed to find their way into any royal court, regardless of where it was or who was in power. Hablet held open court here each morning when he was in residence, and made a point of putting in an appearance, even if he never actually heard a petition.

Brak moved among the jewelled and pampered crowd, dressed in the garish yellow silk trousers and embroidered vest Teriahna had provided for him. She had claimed, with a perfectly straight face, that it gave him an air of “rustic nobility”. He assumed she meant he looked like the provincial lord he was pretending to be. He privately suspected he looked like an idiot.

Eventually he spied the man he was searching for and pushed his way through the courtiers to confront him. Hablet had yet to arrive and his Chamberlain, Lecter Turon, was busy openly collecting the bribes that would ensure one a place at the head of the queue. Brak had no intention of parting with a single coin to see Hablet. He had far better currency to deal with.

“My Lord Chamberlain?”

The eunuch turned to Brak and looked him over with a practised eye, taking in his air of “rustic nobility” and dismissing him as inconsequential with a single glance.

“Can I be of assistance, my Lord?” he asked rather impatiently.

“I wish to see the king.”

“As does every other man here,” the eunuch sighed.

“I was told you could arrange it.”

“Ah, now that can be difficult. The king is a very busy man.”

“I could make it worth your while.”

Lecter’s eyes narrowed greedily. “Such a consideration would be expensive, my Lord.”

“Then the Raven was mistaken when she said you could help me.”

Lecter paled, his bald head shining with sweat. “The Raven?”

“Did I forget to mention that she recommended you? The Raven seems to know quite a lot about you, actually, Chamberlain Turon. I wonder why that is?”

The Chamberlain looked decidedly uncomfortable with the notion that the head of the Assassins’ Guild was taking a personal interest in him. “I will do what
I can, my Lord, but as you may have heard, the king is in mourning for his cousin, the High Prince of Hythria.”

“I’m sure he’s devastated,” Brak agreed wryly. “But I won’t need more than a moment of his time.”

“May I inquire as to the nature of your business with the king?”

“I have news for him that would be best delivered in private.”

“Please wait here, my Lord. I will see what I can do.”

It wasn’t long before Turon returned and beckoned Brak forward. Brak followed him through the curious and envious stares to the delicately carved doors at the end of the hall. He knocked once and entered without waiting for an answer.

“Your Majesty! Allow me to introduce Lord…what was your name?”

“Brakandaran.”

“Lord Brakandaran! From…” Lecter looked at him questioningly.

“I come from Sanctuary,” Brak said.

Up until that point, the king had been sitting behind his elaborate gilt desk, reading from a parchment scroll in front of him, utterly uninterested in his guest. At the mention of Sanctuary his head jerked up and he stared at Brak with bright, birdlike eyes.

“Where did you say?”

“Sanctuary.”

“Which one?”

“There is only one, Your Majesty.”

“Lecter! Leave us!”

Hablet’s tone left no room for argument. The Chamberlain hurried to do as he was bid. As the door closed, Brak stepped further into the room and looked around with interest. The doors to the balcony were open and he could hear faint childish voices from the lush gardens below. The King’s private chamber had barely changed since he last stood here confronting Hablet’s great-grandfather.

“You look human,” Hablet accused as soon as they were alone. His voice was anything but friendly, but at least he made no pretence of not understanding who Brak was.

“I’m only half Harshini. It’s an advantage at times.”

“Brakandaran, did you say your name was? Not Brakandaran the Half-Breed, surely? I thought you’d be long dead by now.”

“As you can see, I’m not dead.”

“What do you want? If you’re here to petition my court for a place for one of your damned sorcerers, you’re wasting your time. I’ll not have the Harshini spying on my every move for that degenerate in Hythria.”

“That degenerate in Hythria is dead,” Brak pointed out. “I was led to believe you were mourning him.”

“Ha! Dancing on his grave, more like it. Is that why you’re here? Now Lernen is dead, you’ve decided to come to me for protection? You should have come here first, in any case. It was a grave insult to Fardohnya, the Harshini King sending his people to Lernen’s court without coming here first.”

“You just said you didn’t want any Harshini in your court.”

“That’s not the point. You should have offered. I have served the gods faithfully. I deserve it.”

Brak knew it was hopeless trying to argue with such a man. “Your Majesty, the decision to allow the Harshini to return to the Sorcerers’ Collective was not mine to make. I might point out, however, that if you hadn’t rounded up every member of the Sorcerers’ Collective and had them thrown in gaol when you assumed the throne, my king
might
have considered sending someone to Fardohnya. As it is, you’ve a lot of explaining to do.”

Hablet tugged on his beard unhappily. “They were Hythrun spies.”

“And the others you killed when you inherited the crown? What was their crime?”

“You’ve been around long enough to know what happens in Fardohnya when a new king takes the throne. Why quibble about it now?”

“Your barbaric practices don’t concern me, Hablet. Interesting though, that they were never practised when there were Harshini in the Fardohnyan court.”

“That’s because the Harshini are so damned squeamish. Now, did you want something in particular, or are you just going to stand there and chide me for things I did thirty years ago?”

Brak’s eyes darkened and he waved his arm, drawing a chair from the side of the room across the polished floor with an uncomfortable screech. When the chair magically arrived at his side, he sat down and leaned back, smiling at the Fardohnyan king.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I will have a seat.”

Hablet’s eyes widened. He had never been confronted with true Harshini power before. His
day-to-day dealings with the gods involved bribing the temples and praying for a legitimate son.

“What do you want?”

“You and I need to have a talk about your heir.”

“I’ll name my heir when I’m good and ready,” Hablet declared. “And no black-eyed bastard from Sanctuary is going to make me appoint someone I don’t want.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Your Majesty, however circumstances have arisen of which you are not aware, and they will radically affect your choice.”

Hablet squinted at him “What circumstances? Ah! I have it! You’ve discovered that stupid law about leaving my crown to a Wolfblade, haven’t you? Well you can go back to Sanctuary and tell Lorandranek, or whoever the hell sent you here, that Talabar harbour will freeze in high summer before I let a Wolfblade set foot in Fardohnya, let alone sit on my throne.”

“I wasn’t sent by Lorandranek, Your Majesty. He’s been dead for over twenty years. Korandellan is King of the Harshini now.”

“I don’t care if the damned First Sister of Medalon is king!”

“I was sent here by the demon child.”

“The demon child? Are you drunk? The demon child is a legend made up to frighten children. Lorandranek never sired a half-human child.”

“Perhaps if you hadn’t been so hasty throwing the Sorcerers’ Collective out of Fardohnya, you might know that he did.”

“Who is he then? Where is he?”

“Her name is R’shiel.”

“A girl?” Hablet laughed with genuine amusement. “Why would the gods invest such power in a female?”

“Perhaps they don’t share your prejudice.”

“Perhaps they’re not as smart as they think they are,” the king scoffed.

“I don’t suggest you say that in Jelanna’s hearing,” Brak warned. “Maybe that’s why the Goddess of Fertility has denied you a legitimate son. She must know what you think of women.”

“Don’t you threaten me with my beliefs,” the king warned. “I am a faithful servant of the Goddess.”

“So I’ve heard,” Brak agreed with a wry smile.

“So, this demon child…this
girl…
sent you here to tell me who to name as my heir?” Hablet laughed scornfully. “I don’t know what’s funnier—that she thinks she can dictate to me, or that you actually thought I would listen to you.”

“You’d better listen to me, Hablet,” Brak warned. “There will be no legitimate son for you. Your heir will be as the law decrees—it will be Damin Wolfblade.”

“Over my dead body!”

“Exactly,” Brak pointed out simply.

“I’d rather give my crown to that simpering Karien idiot Adrina married than name that Hythrun barbarian my heir.”

“That might prove difficult,” Brak murmured, but Hablet wasn’t listening to him.

“Anyway, you’re mad if you think the people of Fardohnya would ever accept a Hythrun king!”

“They would accept a Fardohnyan queen.”

“Oh! So now you want him to marry one of my daughters, I suppose!”

“No need,” Brak said, with a smug smile. “The demon child has already taken care of that minor detail.”

Hablet stilled warily. “What do you mean by that?”

“Ah, now those would be the circumstances I spoke of,” Brak said, brushing a fleck of dust from his yellow silk trousers as he deliberately drew out the silence.

“
What
circumstances?” Hablet demanded.

“Cratyn is dead, Your Majesty. Your daughter has remarried.”

“
Remarried
? Who?”

“Perhaps you’d like to hazard a guess?” he suggested. He was rather enjoying Hablet’s discomfort.

“
No
!” the king cried, leaping to his feet, his face almost as crimson as the silk-panelled walls. “I’ll not tolerate this! I’ll disown her! Damn it, I’ll invade Hythria and bring her back!”

“Your House is now united with the House of Wolfblade. You will honour the peace between your Houses and do no such thing. As the Wolfblade House is the ruling House in Hythria, it is now beyond your reach. You can’t invade them and you can’t make war on them.”

“This is intolerable!”

Brak smiled serenely. “I’m sure you’ll learn to live with it.”

“Get out! Get out of my palace! Get out of my country, for that matter! Take your damned Harshini manipulations and your demon child and get the hell out of Fardohnya!”

Brak drew on enough power to blacken his eyes again, rose to his feet and loomed over the Fardohnyan king.

“You
will
abide by the law. You
will
name Damin Wolfblade your heir and you
will
give your blessing to his marriage to Adrina.”

“Never!”

“Then be prepared for the consequences, Your Majesty,” Brak warned. “You defy the demon child at your peril.”

It was obvious that Cyrus Eaglespike and his cronies were in control of Greenharbour. The streets, while not exactly deserted, were unnaturally free of the normal bustle of commerce that one would expect in the greatest trading port in the south. There were no soldiers from the Sorcerers’ Collective in evidence and no sign of the Palace Guard either. Although the guards made no move to prevent Damin and his force entering the sparkling white city, their breastplates were embossed with a soaring eagle.

R’shiel looked around with interest. She rode at Damin’s side at the head of a column made up of three centuries of Krakandar Raiders. Narvell Hawksword followed Damin’s men with three hundred Elasapine Raiders, while further back, Rogan Bearbow rode at the head of his own entourage. Between them they had brought close to a thousand men south to claim the High Prince’s throne. Adrina was riding in the coach a little further back in the column with Princess Marla. She had refused to ride since Krakandar, although she declined to give a reason. Damin was convinced it
was simply to make things more difficult for him. R’shiel knew the reason but figured it wasn’t her place to say. Besides, she had promised Marla she would say nothing yet. No doubt Adrina was being subjected to her mother-in-law’s intense scrutiny as they travelled together. R’shiel wondered with a faint smile just who would emerge the victor from that small, but important, skirmish.

“This doesn’t look promising,” Damin murmured.

“Who normally guards the city?” R’shiel asked with a glance over her shoulder at the wary guards who fingered their sheathed blades with itching fingers as they passed through the city gates.

“The Collective.”

The further they rode into the city, the more deserted the streets became. News of the arrival of the Warlords of Krakandar, Elasapine and Izcomdar ran before them like flame on a line of lamp oil and the citizens of Greenharbour wisely kept to their homes, out of the way of a confrontation that was likely to get very ugly.

“Damin, I may not be a tactical genius, but is this a good idea? Riding openly through Greenharbour when you know your cousin has claimed the throne?”

He shrugged. “Greenharbour is neutral territory.”

“Nine hundred Raiders isn’t very many.”

“That’s all I’m permitted to bring into the city. Three centuries for every Warlord, no more. It’s the law.”

“The law didn’t stop your cousin claiming the throne. What makes you think it’s going to stop him breaking the rules about the number of troops he can muster in the city?”

“I can’t risk marching into Greenharbour openly flaunting the law. It would be playing right into Cyrus’ hands. Besides, you won’t let anything happen to me.”

“You’re relying on
my
power to save you? Adrina was right, you do enjoy living dangerously, don’t you?”

“Adrina said that, did she?”

“Yes.”

“What else did she say?”

R’shiel rolled her eyes impatiently. “Why don’t you ask her?”

“I’m asking you.”

“You’re a damned fool, Damin Wolfblade.”

He did not answer her; didn’t have a chance to. She stilled suddenly, her whole body tensing as the familiar prickle of magic ran over her skin like a million tiny ants wearing hobnailed boots.

“What’s wrong?” Damin asked, watching her curiously.

“Someone is drawing power. A lot of it.” Her face was a mask of concentration as she tried to pinpoint the source. Finally she stood in her stirrups, looking out over the white, flat-roofed houses and then pointed towards the harbour. “It’s coming from that direction.”

“The harbour?”

“No. I don’t think so. But close to it.”

“Then it’s probably the Sorcerers’ Collective you sense. Perhaps it’s some of the sorcerers—”

“No!” she declared emphatically. “What I can feel isn’t someone chanting spells. This is Harshini.”

Damin shrugged. “That would mean it was one of the Harshini who returned to the Collective last
winter. I doubt it’s anything to be concerned about. If it’s Harshini magic you can sense, then they’re bound to be on our side.”

She sat down again and looked at him. “How do you figure that?”

“You are the demon child. You ride with me.”

“You don’t understand, Damin. This isn’t one Harshini drawing their power that I can feel. It’s several of them and they are drawing every drop they can handle.”

“Then it could mean trouble.”

“Founders, Damin! Do you practise being so dense?”

He grinned sheepishly. “I’m sorry. Explain it to me.”

“I think the Harshini are under attack. It’s the only explanation.”

Damin reined in his stallion and brought the column to a halt. His grin faded and was replaced by a look of consternation. “Someone is
attacking
the Harshini? That’s inconceivable. This is Hythria, not Medalon or Karien. We honour the…R’shiel!”

She wasn’t listening to him. Instead she spurred her horse forward to the end of the paved street where the rise of the land enabled her to look out over the rest of the city. What she saw made her gasp with astonishment.

Greenharbour lay before her, a sea of whitewashed buildings glaring under a sky of sapphire silk.

The city curved around the crescent-shaped bay. To the left was the forest of tall masts that marked the vast wharves of the city. To her right was a magnificent white palace, its domed spires gilded and almost too
bright to look upon. Above the palace was a glittering dome of radiant, shimmering light enveloping the temples and palaces that R’shiel thought must be the Sorcerers’ Collective. She could just make out the outlines of the buildings inside the dome as it waxed and waned with the fading strength of the Harshini who held it in place.

Legend held that two centuries ago, the Harshini who defended the Citadel from the Sisters of the Blade had done the same thing. But if several hundred Harshini had not been able to hold a protective dome in place long enough to save the Citadel, there was little chance the few Harshini in Greenharbour could hold this one longer than a few more minutes.

“What in the name of the gods is
that
?” Damin gasped as he reined in beside her.

“The Harshini trying to protect themselves,” she explained. “Look down there.”

Damin looked in the direction of her pointing finger. The streets surrounding the dome of light were crowded with soldiers. Although they were too far away to make out their individual escutcheons, R’shiel could easily guess whose troops they were. They were massing in the main avenues leading to the Collective, simply waiting for the strength of the Harshini who protected it to fade. She glanced over her shoulder at the men Damin, Narvell and Rogan had brought into the city. They were easily outnumbered three to one. The other two Warlords were riding up the street towards the head of the column. R’shiel left Damin to deal with them and turned her attention back to the dome of light. Even in the short time she had been watching it had faded somewhat.

“What’s going on?” she heard Rogan Bearbow demand of Damin behind her. She didn’t wait to hear his answer. Spurring her horse forward, she headed for the harbour at a canter. Whatever politics were involved in the battle for the High Prince’s throne, the Hythrun had no right to endanger the peaceful Harshini.

R’shiel had no plan in mind. Her only thought was that the dome was fading and the Harshini trapped inside were in danger. She could not reach the Harshini through the impenetrable barrier, but when it collapsed the soldiers massed in the streets surrounding the Collective would overrun them. She smiled grimly to herself as she rode, wondering how life could change so drastically in such a short time. Two years ago, had she heard there were Harshini under attack, she would have applauded the forces ranged against her despised enemies. Now she was riding to their rescue, heedless of any danger she might be placing herself in.

That thought had a sobering effect, and she slowed her horse to a walk.
What am I doing? I can’t just ride up to the gates of the Collective and demand the enemy disperse.

R’shiel looked around and discovered she had ridden into an area of the city that was filled with government buildings. At least she guessed that’s what they were. They had an aura of bureaucracy that R’shiel knew well. The buildings were several storeys high and a number had impressive entrances flanked by fluted marble columns. They surrounded a broad circular plaza dominated by a fountain that spewed forth its cascade from the mouth of a beautifully
sculpted water dragon. R’shiel studied the creature curiously for a moment. She had heard of the remarkable beasts that populated the warm waters of the Dregian Ocean, but she had never seen anything like the creature in the fountain. It had a large dorsal fin, wide-set eyes and a long, elegant tail that ended in a broad, flipper-like paddle.

She had little time to admire the artistry of the fountain, however, as the sound of horses moving towards her caught her attention. At the far end of the paved plaza a number of mounted Raiders appeared, a tall, middle-aged man riding at their head. His blond beard was neatly trimmed, his leather armour gilded. The soaring eagle of his House was picked out in precious stones that glinted in the sunlight falling across the plaza.

Behind her, R’shiel could hear Damin and his party forming up. She sat alone and exposed astride her horse in the centre of the plaza as the opposing forces arrayed themselves on either side. An unnatural silence descended, only the splashing of the fountain and the creaking of leather harness disturbing the morning.

“Cousin!” Cyrus Eaglespike called loudly, moving forward at a walk. “I never thought to see you alive again!”

“That’s pretty bloody obvious!” Damin called back as he rode out to meet the pretender flanked by Narvell and Rogan.

R’shiel watched them approaching with a frown. She didn’t have time for this. The dome of light flickered in the distance.

“It warms my heart to see that the reports of your
death were…overstated, cousin,” Cyrus declared with vast insincerity as he neared the fountain.

Damin, Narvell and Rogan reined in on the other side of the fountain. “I’m sure it does, cousin. That would explain what you’re doing here with so many troops.”

“We acted to contain the potential civil unrest brought on by the news of our uncle’s death.”

“Lernen was my uncle, not yours, Cyrus. Your relationship to the Wolfblade family is so tenuous it barely exists.”

“Actually, it’s not as tenuous as you might think, cousin. Once Kalan ratifies my claim…”

“The High Arrion? Ratify
you
?” Rogan Bearbow declared hotly. The mere thought obviously offended him.

“Is that why you’re attacking the Harshini?” R’shiel demanded.

Cyrus seemed to notice R’shiel for the first time. He smiled patronisingly. “Who is this, Damin? Some piece of Medalonian entertainment you picked up north of the border? Or is this the wife that we’ve been hearing about?”

R’shiel’s eyes darkened with anger as she drew on her power. Cyrus’ eyes passed over her contemptuously for a moment, then suddenly locked on her face as he saw her eyes blacken.

“Mother of the gods!” he cried. His horse reared, the gelding reacting to the proximity of a Harshini drawing on her power. Even the mounts that Damin, Rogan and Narvell rode began to toss their heads nervously, although they knew her scent well enough not to fear the unfamiliar but instinctive urge they felt
to respond. Her own horse was not concerned, having been with her long enough now to recognise and welcome the touch of the magic that it had been born to serve. R’shiel suddenly understood why the majority of the troops surrounding the Collective were infantry. With the Harshini inside the Collective drawing so much power, the Hythrun sorcerer-bred cavalry mounts would be uncontrollable.

“Cyrus, call off your troops. Now.”

Damin spoke with quiet assurance, as if he had no doubt as to the outcome, should the Warlord refuse.

“Who are you?” Cyrus demanded of R’shiel.

“I’m the last thing you will ever lay eyes on if you don’t withdraw,” she informed the startled Warlord. The power filled her, hungering for release. Cyrus’ mount was becoming increasingly restive and he was fighting to maintain his dignity and his seat at the same time.

The pretender turned on Damin angrily. “What sort of trickery is this?”

“This isn’t trickery, my Lord, this is the demon child. I suggest you do as she says. She’s not noted for her patience.”

If Cyrus had heard that Damin was married, then he certainly must have heard that the demon child rode with him. The Warlord debated the issue for a long, tension-filled moment, then angrily waved his arm. A rider broke from the ranks at the entrance to the plaza and cantered forward.

“Take a message to Lord Foxtalon and Lord Falconlance,” Cyrus ordered through clenched teeth. “Tell them to order the troops to withdraw.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me!”

With a puzzled look, the captain nodded and wheeled his mount around. Cyrus turned back to R’shiel, his expression a mixture of contempt and fear.

“Satisfied?”

“For now,” R’shiel agreed, although she didn’t let go of the power. The dome was fading fast, its light failing as fatigue consumed the Harshini holding it in place. Now she was drawing on her own power, she was even more aware of the drain on the Harshini inside. A few more minutes and they would have to let it go completely. She bit her bottom lip in frustration, wishing she knew how to lend them her strength. Brak and her tutors at Sanctuary had never taught her how. Perhaps they had not thought she would ever need a reason to link her power to another Harshini. Or maybe she couldn’t link with a Harshini unless they were a té Ortyn like her…Maybe it was too dangerous…She shook her head to clear it of the useless thoughts and turned her attention back to the matter at hand. What she could and couldn’t do with her power was a problem for some other time. Right now it was enough that Cyrus believed she knew what she was doing. “Aren’t you supposed to have some sort of election to confirm the new High Prince?”

“The Convocation would already be under way, but for the interference of the Harshini, who prevented us entering the Sorcerers’ Palace.”