Harshini (30 page)

Tarja threw the sword atop Gawn’s headless, twitching body.

“Justice has been served,” he said.

Without waiting for an answer, Tarja turned and walked back into the darkness of the caverns.

R’shiel reluctantly let go of Joyhinia’s limp body as the full repercussions of her death hit. She slumped against the body and closed her eyes. Every muscle trembled and she was sweating profusely in the stuffy room. Brak squatted beside her.

“Are you all right?”

“No.”

She waited, expecting some snide remark, but he said nothing. She opened her eyes and looked at him curiously. “What’s this? No reprimand?”

“There was nothing you could have done.”

“At least we won’t have to worry about deposing the First Sister,” Garet remarked, as he looked down dispassionately at the body and the spreading stain on the rug.

“It’s far from over, Garet,” R’shiel warned.

“It is for the First Sister,” he shrugged. “Now, if you will excuse me, we have some rather angry Karien dukes to take care of. Lieutenant, see that the body is removed and get that rug out of here, too.” He stepped back as the Defenders hastened to obey.

Brak stood up and held his hand out to her. “There’s nothing more you can do here, R’shiel.”

With a last look at Joyhinia’s body, R’shiel took his hand as he pulled her to her feet. Garet led the way out of the First Sister’s office and down the broad staircase into the street. When they emerged into the sunlight, they discovered that pandemonium had broken loose in the city. The streets were crowded with people being held back by a line of red-coated Defenders who strained against the surging mob. Garet Warner walked into the centre of the small clearing that his men had forced, to confront the six dukes of Karien who had invaded the Citadel. Their faces were pale, their eyes glazed with shock. The crowd was shouting at them. R’shiel could only make out some of the words but their mood was ugly. There were quite a few Sisters of the Blade among them who were stirring up the passions of the mob. Through the raucous melee she heard the words “Karien pigs!” “Murderers!” and a few other insults that shocked her with their crudeness.

She glanced at Brak who shrugged with resignation. “You can’t really blame them. The Defenders may have taken back the Citadel, but there’s still a Karien army camped outside and a lot of people have lost a great deal since Medalon surrendered.”

A captain stepped forward to report to Garet. He spared R’shiel and Brak a curious glance then turned to the commandant.

“So it worked then?” Garet ask. There was no need to be specific.

“Yes, it worked,” the captain told him. “Almost everything went according to plan.”

“Almost?” Brak asked with a raised brow.

“I’ll explain later.”

Garet nodded and stepped forward to address the Karien dukes.

“What do you hope to achieve, Commandant?” one of them yelled before Garet could utter a word. “You cannot hold out against our army.”

The man who shouted the question was a slender knight standing at the front of the Kariens with a canny look in his eyes. He seemed a little less overawed than his companions.

“Who’s that?” she asked Garet.

“I am Lord Roache,” the duke announced, in answer to R’shiel’s question. “And you cannot imagine the destruction you have brought down on Medalon by your actions.”

“The Overlord will protect us!” another duke blustered, but his words lacked conviction. He was a large man, but he carried more flab than muscle on his big-boned frame. He looked ridiculous standing in the street in a long flowing red nightgown. The Defenders must have dragged him from his bed.

“I hope for your sake your king is as keen to keep you alive as you seem to think your god is,” Garet remarked. Then he turned to the captain in charge of the squad guarding the dukes. “Put them in with the others for now.”

The officer saluted as R’shiel turned away from them, too tired and stunned by Joyhinia’s death to care much about what became of the Karien dukes. She looked around for Brak and found him standing near the edge of the crowd, waiting for someone to push through to the front. For a moment the line of
Defenders broke to let another officer through. R’shiel’s disappointment fell away from her as she realised who it was.

“Tarja!”

She ran to him, but stopped short when she saw the expression on his face. He was splattered with blood and his eyes were haunted. He showed no evident pleasure at the sight of her.

“R’shiel.”

“Tarja, I…” She could not think of anything to say. He was whole, and unharmed, despite the blood which she guessed wasn’t his, but there was nothing welcoming in his demeanour.

“You killed Joyhinia, I hear.”

“She killed herself,” Garet corrected, coming up behind them. “That’s not your blood, I hope, Captain.”

“No.”

“Good. Then let’s get these streets cleared.” He turned to another officer and began issuing orders to push the mob back. It was a futile gesture. There were too many people and not enough Defenders.

R’shiel watched their useless efforts as the crowd shouted obscenities at the Kariens. Someone hurled something at Lord Roache. He ducked instinctively as a piece of rotting melon landed harmlessly against the steps. Hurt from Tarja’s cold reception and distressed beyond belief by the fact that Loclon had eluded her, she felt her ire rising. Impatiently she grabbed at the power and turned on the crowd.

“
Go back to your homes
!” she shouted, using the power to amplify her voice. “
Leave now, before I show you what the Harshini are really capable of
!”

The crowd was stunned into silence. Faced with
her Harshini black eyes that blazed with rage, the citizens of the Citadel had a sudden change of heart. With barely a muttered protest, they began to melt away. The Defenders took advantage of the impetus she had provided to push the rest back. Her eyes still fiercely burning, she turned to Tarja and Garet. Tarja took an involuntary step backwards as if she repelled him.

She could not believe how much that one small step hurt.

Perhaps Brak sensed something of her pain, or perhaps it was because he was linked to the same power. He stepped in front of her, blocking her view of Tarja.

“Let it go, R’shiel,” he said softly. “There’s no need for it.”

Reluctantly, she did as he bid. He smiled at her. “Good girl.”

“Don’t treat me like a child, Brak.”

“Then don’t behave like one.”

She glared at him for a moment, then nodded. “It’s all right. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He waited until he was satisfied that she had her emotions—and more importantly, her power—under control, then stepped back. Tarja was talking to Garet Warner. He seemed determined not to look at her. Garet turned as they approached, his expression concerned for the first time since they had begun this coup.

“What’s wrong?” Brak asked.

“As the captain said,
almost
everything went according to plan. The Sisters are demanding they take control, but we can deal with them. Unfortunately, Jenga’s dead.”

“And what about Loclon?” R’shiel demanded. “Did they find him?”

“I told you days ago that no one has seen him since the last Gathering. He’s a deserter. He’s probably halfway to Fardohnya by now.”

“No! You don’t understand!” She turned to Brak desperately. Only he could fully appreciate what she feared.

“We have to find him,” Brak agreed.

“I’ve got a lot more to worry about than one miserable deserter, R’shiel. This,” he pointed out with a wave of his arm that encompassed the chaotic street before them, “is just the beginning.”

“Then I’ll find him on my own!”

“I can’t allow that.”

“I don’t recall asking your permission.”

“Let her go, Garet,” Tarja said. His voice was dull, as if the life had gone out of him. “She needs to do this and there’s nothing at present that requires her help.”

“Very well, go look for Loclon, if you must. We’ve more important things to take care of. If you tire of such a fruitless task and you wish to join us later, we’ll be in the First Sister’s office.”

Garet turned away in annoyance. Tarja followed him without looking back. R’shiel wasn’t sure if he’d spoken up because he supported her, or was simply trying to be rid of her.

At that moment, she didn’t care. Joyhinia was dead, which meant Loclon was free to return to his own body. Somewhere in the Citadel, he was on the loose. She was determined that he wouldn’t escape her this time. Not if she had to tear the Citadel apart stone by stone to find him.

Tarja leaned his head tiredly against the cool pane of glass on the long windows of the First Sister’s office. They would have to think of another name for it soon, he thought idly. The position of First Sister no longer existed.

The Citadel was quiet. A light rain blurred the view and trickled down the small panes of glass, distorting the world outside. He could see nothing in the darkness but squares of yellow light from the windows of the library building across the street. There were Defenders on guard there tonight to prevent the Sisters of the Blade gaining entrance and destroying documents they didn’t want to fall into the hands of the Defenders.

Harith had already been to see them, demanding that Garet hand over the Citadel, now that the Defenders had control. She had been shocked beyond words when he refused. It had been a fairly ugly confrontation, and although they had won this round, Tarja knew the Sisters of the Blade wouldn’t fade into oblivion quietly. In a way, they were liable to be more trouble than the Kariens.

He heard the door open but didn’t turn to see who entered. Garet could deal with them. The commandant was good at that sort of thing.

“We’ve moved all the Kariens we rounded up into the amphitheatre, sir,” the officer reported.

It was Symin, the young captain who had rescued him—when? Only this morning?

“I’ve assigned enough men to see they don’t escape, but we’re pretty thin on the ground elsewhere because of it. The priests have been separated from the others. We’re holding them in the caverns.”

“What did you do with their staves?”

“We piled them up in one of the caverns. I posted a guard on them. They look pretty valuable.”

“A priest doesn’t like being separated from his staff,” Tarja remarked, still staring thoughtfully out of the dark windows.

“That’s true enough,” Symin agreed. “They made quite a fuss when we confiscated them. But the rest of the Kariens are docile enough. I think the weather has dampened their spirits somewhat. I told them they’ll be released in the morning if they want to go home.”

“Who’s in command there now?”

“Captain Grannon.”

“Then go and get some sleep, Captain. You’ve earnt it.”

“Thank you, sir. Goodnight. Goodnight, Tarja.”

“Goodnight Symin,” he said.

The captain saluted without meeting Tarja’s eye and left the office. Tarja watched him go with a frown.

“He doesn’t know whether to worship you or run like hell,” Garet remarked.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny.”

The commandant leaned back in the First Sister’s chair and stretched wearily. “Stop feeling so bloody remorseful, Tarja. Gawn deserved to die. I’d have done the same thing in your place. No…actually, that’s not true. I’d have tortured the miserable little bastard for a month or two before I killed him. That’s the difference between you and me. You prefer pure, uncomplicated justice. I’m more of ‘the end justifies the means’ ilk. And I’m very patient. I can wait a very long time before I get my vengeance.”

“Time is one thing we don’t have,” Tarja reminded him. “The Kariens outside will attack as soon as they realise what’s happened, and then we’re going to be facing an even bigger problem.”

“That’s where your Harshini friends come in,” Garet mused. “I hope R’shiel remembered to get a message to Hythria before she went chasing off on her damned fool quest to find Loclon.”

There was no point trying to explain to Garet why R’shiel thought finding Loclon was so important, so Tarja let the matter drop. He moved away from the window and took one of the deep leather chairs on the other side of the desk, stretching his feet out. He rubbed eyes that were gritty with exhaustion and looked at Garet questioningly.

“So, what happens now? With Jenga gone, we’ve no one to take command—unless you fancy the job.”

The commandant shook his head. “Not me. I have neither the ability nor the presence to hold Medalon together. We need someone the people know. I’ve made a career of keeping a low profile. If you issued a
decree in my name, the entire population would stare at you blankly and say ‘Garet
who
?’”

“Then who else is there?”

“There’s you.”

“That is not even remotely amusing, Garet.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

“Nobody would follow me, even if I wanted the job, which I don’t.”

“You underestimate yourself, my friend. You are the most notorious Defender that has ever lived and your reputation is that of a fearless—”

“Don’t be absurd!”

“Hear me out, Tarja. You deserted the Defenders because you refused to serve under Joyhinia, and she turned out to be the most savage, uncompromising bitch that ever put on the First Sister’s mantle. You publicly defied her. You helped the rebels who challenged her. You got caught. You escaped. You fought the Kariens and then led the resistance against them, too. Every ill-advised, impetuous, accidental thing you’ve done since you refused to swear that oath to Joyhinia has made you a hero, like it or not.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“As a matter of fact, it is, but it doesn’t make it any less real. You are the only man in Medalon the Defenders, the people and the pagan rebels will follow. You count the High Prince of Hythria as a friend and we’re going to need him. He’ll come to our aid because
you
asked him. I’m damn sure he wouldn’t come if I did.” Garet smiled then and added, “Even half the damned Sisterhood will fall in behind you—at least the younger ones who devoted a good part of their Novitiate to trying to catch your eye.”

Even Tarja allowed himself a smile over that. As a Cadet, Garet Warner had once called him in to his office to inform him that he and Georj were no longer permitted to study in the library when the Novices were in class, as Sister Mahina considered their presence “disruptive”. His smile faded and he shook his head.

“I don’t want to rule Medalon, Garet. Not even temporarily.”

“I know. That’s why I’m offering you the job. If I thought for a moment that you had your eye on the post, I would never have mentioned it. We need someone who cares about setting things right. I’ve had enough of people who hunger after power for its own sake. That’s the whole point of getting rid of the Sisterhood.”

“You can’t make me do it.”

“Fine. Then give me a name. Find me one man in the whole of Medalon that can do what you can do, and I’ll never bring the subject up again.”

Tarja sighed. “Let me think about it.”

“We don’t have time. Tomorrow morning, when the Citadel wakes up, we’d better be damned sure we know what we’re doing or Harith will have the Sisters of the Blade back in charge so fast your feet won’t even touch the ground between here and the nearest gallows.”

Before he could answer, the door banged open and R’shiel stormed into the office with Brak on her heels. She barely even glanced at him, for which Tarja was grateful. The inevitable confrontation between them had once more been delayed. Her quest to find Loclon had kept her out of his way all day.

“How nice of you to join us, demon child,” Garet remarked.

R’shiel didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm. “I just spoke to Symin. He said you’re going to release the Kariens tomorrow.”

“That’s always been our plan.”

“You can’t open the gate. I haven’t found Loclon yet.”

“I’m not going to hold two thousand Kariens prisoner on your whim, R’shiel. The priests and the dukes will be enough.”

“This is not a whim. He’s more dangerous than you know. We have to find him.”

“Then I’ll post extra men on the gate to see that he doesn’t slip through, but the Kariens are going, R’shiel, and that’s final.”

She looked over her shoulder at Brak, seeking his support. She did not look at Tarja.

“I can appreciate your desire to get the Kariens out of the Citadel, Commandant,” Brak agreed reasonably. “But R’shiel is right. Loclon poses a danger that you would be unwise to ignore.”

“A danger to whom, exactly?” Garet asked. “He’s your enemy, not mine.”

“Don’t you
understand
?” R’shiel cried in frustration. “Loclon was the one controlling Joyhinia’s body! It was Loclon who was aiding the Kariens ever since we tried to remove Joyhinia at the Gathering. Founders, Garet, he’s the single, most heinous traitor ever to draw breath in Medalon!”

Suddenly she turned on Tarja. “Tell him, Tarja! Tell him I speak the truth!”

The pain in her eyes almost broke his heart. She needed his support. But finding Loclon in the Citadel would be like sifting through a pile of sand looking for one particular grain.

“She’s right,” he admitted. “He’s a traitor, and if we can find him, we should.” R’shiel smiled at him gratefully, which made him feel even worse, knowing what he was going to say next. “But we can’t afford to hold those Kariens. We don’t have the men to guard them, or the resources to feed them. Until we’re relieved, every mouthful of food in the Citadel is going to be rationed. I’m sorry, R’shiel. I know what this means to you and I want to see Loclon brought to justice as much as you do, but I agree with Garet. We open the gates tomorrow.”

She stared at him, stunned by his response. Brak stepped forward and placed his hand on her shoulder, as if preparing to restrain her. Tarja wondered for a moment about the half-breed Harshini. For all his laconic scepticism, he seemed to truly care for R’shiel. There was a time when Tarja thought Brak loathed her.

“There! You have it from the Lord Defender, himself. The Kariens leave first thing tomorrow.”

“From
who
?” R’shiel demanded, shaking Brak off.

“The Lord Defender,” Garet repeated calmly.

“
Tarja
is the Lord Defender? When did
that
happen?”

“Just now. The position became available, and as the ranking officer in the Citadel, I decided to appoint him.”

“You’re going to let Loclon get away with everything he’s done to you, to me, to Medalon, just so you can be the Lord Defender?” She was trembling
with suppressed rage. Her violet eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“It’s not like that, R’shiel.”

“Isn’t it?” she asked bitterly. “You’ve been marked as the next Lord Defender since the day you joined the Cadets, Tarja. Everybody in the whole damned Citadel knew you’d eventually get the job. Well, I hope the title makes you happy. I never thought you would stoop so low to take it.”

She turned and fled the room. Tarja expected Brak to follow her, but he didn’t move.

“Sort this out now, Tarja,” he advised. “It’ll only get worse if you don’t.”

Tarja stared at him for a moment then swore softly as he rose to his feet to follow her.

“R’shiel!” he called as she ran down the wide marble staircase leading to the dark deserted foyer. “Damn it, R’shiel! Wait!”

She turned to look up at him. The torches set high in the wall sconces cast deceptive shadows over her face. He stopped several steps above her, panting from the chase.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, R’shiel. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Then what do you want me to say? Don’t you think I want Loclon as much as you do? But Garet’s right, and you damned well know it. We can’t hold the Kariens here.”

“There was a time when you would have done anything for me.”

He found he couldn’t answer her. Memories flooded through him, reminding him that she spoke
an awful truth he wasn’t prepared to face. She studied his face, reading the conflict, the confusion, and even the self-loathing that had plagued him since he recovered from the wound he received trying to save her from the Kariens.

“That time is past, now, isn’t it?” she said softly, bitterly. She knew about the geas, he realised. And that he was no longer bound by it.

“R’shiel…” he murmured helplessly. He had no idea what to say. No words to express what he felt.

She nodded, as if accepting the inevitable. “The irony is, I saved your life because I couldn’t bear the thought of being parted from you and I ended up losing you, anyway. Did you ever truly love me, Tarja?”

For a long, dreadful moment, he didn’t answer her. In the end, he settled for the truth. “I don’t know.”

She looked away for a moment, perhaps to prevent him seeing her pain. When she turned back to him, her eyes were cold.

“Free the Kariens if you must, Tarja. I’ll just have to keep a watch on the gate for Loclon myself.”

“We’ll find him, R’shiel,” he promised.

She shook her head sadly. “No, Tarja,
we
won’t be doing anything together any more. I’ll find Loclon and deal with him on my own. You’re the Lord Defender now. You have Medalon to rule.”

Like a man donning chain mail before a battle, she had surrounded herself with an impenetrable shell, constructed of bitterness and pain. Relief warred with a sense of inexplicable loss as he watched the transformation. He knew then that the R’shiel he had
known was gone forever. In her place was a hard, determined and powerful young woman who would never let anyone close to her again.

As she turned and slowly walked down the stairs away from him, Tarja felt he was staring at a stranger.