Harshini (43 page)

Not long, R’shiel knew. Not very long at all.

“Go!” she cried to the Primal Gods. “Go out among his people! Now! While you have the chance!”

Most of the gods vanished abruptly and R’shiel became aware of the noise. A wailing arose that
seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. She discovered she was rigid with tension. The Citadel and the plain surrounding it were filled with incredulous, panicked shouting.

She turned to Xaphista, looking down at him as he shrank back to a demon no larger than Dranymire.

And then she felt it.

On the very edge of her awareness.

The backlash.

“
Brak
!” There was more than a little panic in her voice as she cried out to him. She didn’t have the skill, or even the energy, to do what was needed now. Brak did, however. The crude iron cage built by the Defenders flew through the air, guided by Brak’s mind, rather than his hands. He could no more touch it than R’shiel could. It landed with a clatter over the cringing demon that had once been a god—and would be a god again, as soon as the racing wave of belief hit them. Xaphista howled his outrage and then his pain as he snatched at the bars of the cage. The three staff heads welded to the bars absorbed his power as easily as they had tortured the little demon caught by his priests when R’shiel had tried to fool the Quorum into believing that a demon meld was really the First Sister.

And then it hit her.

R’shiel fell hard, only vaguely aware of Brak calling out to her, only dimly seeing Shananara as she collapsed beside her. Xaphista leapt at the bars of his cage, but the force of the backlash hit her and she plunged into unconsciousness before she could discover if her trap was sufficient to contain him.

When R’shiel finally awoke, it was to find Death standing over her.

The Hall was quiet; even the gods were gone. Daylight, splintered by the stained glass windows, striped the floor in coloured light. Her head was pounding, her body wrung out and weak. R’shiel felt like she had been hit by a falling building.

“Am I going to die now?”

Death looked down at her and shook his head. He was once again in the form of a Harshini, the same benign form he had assumed to escort Korandellan into the Underworld.

She pushed herself up painfully and looked around the temple. The gods were gone. The temple was just a huge, empty hall once more, devoid of life, devoid of power. On her left, Shananara lay at the base of the Seeing Stone, only the faint rise and fall of her chest indicating she was still alive. R’shiel turned her head, feeling every aching muscle complain in protest. Brak lay not far from her on the right, his skin pallid.

He was breathing.

“
No…
”

Pushing herself up painfully, R’shiel scrambled on her hands and knees to his side.

“No…” she whispered frantically. “No, Brak…gods no…not like this…
please…
”

She shook him by the shoulders, but he showed no sign of life. Urgently, she took his limp body in her arms and held him to her, hugging him tightly, as if her mere presence could draw him back.

“Please, Brak…don’t do this to me…not now…” she begged, ignoring the looming presence of Death a few feet away. “Don’t pay any attention to him…you never listened to a damned god your whole life…please, Brak, don’t start now…”

“There is no point to this,” Death pointed out a little impatiently, taking a step closer. “It is time he came with me.”

“You’ve taken him already!” she accused, tears spilling down her face.

“It was our agreement.”

“It was my life he was bargaining for. Don’t I get a say?”

“No.”

“But why now?” she sobbed, rocking him back and forth, her vision blurred by tears of inconsolable grief seasoned with intolerable guilt. “Couldn’t you have waited even a little longer?”

“It was the backlash, demon child. It affected all the Harshini.”

“Being Harshini didn’t help Brak much.”

“In death, as in life, Brakandaran was a half-breed, child. Like you, he was ever caught between both worlds and the two sides of his nature never sat well together. Perhaps you will fare better in life than
he, but I have always known his torment would eventually bring the Halfbreed to my realm.”

“It wasn’t that. It was me. I caused the backlash. I killed Brak.” She wiped away her tears and looked down at him, brushing a stray lock of hair from his lifeless face. She felt numb with guilt. And overwhelmed by what she might have unleashed. She was almost afraid to ask what had happened beyond the walls of the temple.

“What about the humans?”

“The backlash would not have affected them. Not physically. Only a half-breed would be in danger.”

“I didn’t die.”

“You are far stronger than he was.”

“Have you come to take him?”

“That was my intention, demon child. But you sent his soul on its way without the body.”

“But you can take his body now, can’t you?”

Death stared at her but didn’t answer. R’shiel was frightened that the answer would be one she didn’t want to hear. She leaned forward and gently placed a kiss on Brak’s rapidly cooling forehead, then climbed slowly to her feet and staggered past Death, falling on her knees near the cage that held Xaphista.

The trap had held. Xaphista cowered in the centre of the cage, trying to stay clear of the magically charged bars. He was whimpering. The magic of the staff heads had shielded him from the blast but his own magic had prevented him from drawing strength from the backlash when he needed it most. She had been afraid the trap wouldn’t hold. But the power that had washed over the cage was unfocused. There was no Seeing Stone to direct it, no determined will behind
it. Xaphista the God was vanquished. All that remained in his place was Xaphista the demon. And he was a small and rather pathetic looking demon at that.

“I have come for this one too,” Death told her, gliding to her side. “He will cause less trouble in my keeping.”

“Just his soul,” R’shiel said, glancing up at Death. “Not the body. I don’t want you getting bored one day and deciding to send him back.”

“You presume much, demon child.”

She glanced around the Hall at Brak’s body and Shananara’s prone form, then looked back at Death. “I’ve earnt it, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps.”

“And you have to take Brak’s body. All of him.”

“His soul has already fled, demon child.”

“You’re Death. You can reunite them.”

“To what purpose?”

“Because the gods owe me that much.”

“Was there anything else?” Had she not been so exhausted, she might have detected a slight note of impatience in his tone.

“Is there any way I can get Brak back?”

“I am Death, demon child. I do not run an inn. Lives do not come and go as they please through my realm.”

Significantly, Death hadn’t said no. R’shiel climbed to her feet and faced him, willing for the moment to let the matter drop. “Then can I ask you a question before you go?”

“You may.”

“How many hells are there?”

If he was surprised by her question, he gave no outward sign. “As many as there are creatures to
imagine them, demon child. I do not create them. Each soul creates its own hell. Whether they suffer the afterlife or enjoy it is entirely up to them.”

“So if I want someone to suffer, how do I make sure?”

“Evil is its own reward, demon child.”

She nodded, thinking she understood what he meant. Death turned away from her and looked at Xaphista. The demon trembled under his scrutiny and then suddenly slumped against the bars. The withered grey body no longer cared about the shielded cage. Its soul was gone. Death then turned and opened his arms. Slowly, almost tenderly, Brak’s lifeless body rose from the ground, as if cradled like a child. As he gently floated across the hall, R’shiel involuntarily reached out to him, pulling back when she realised what she was doing. She watched silently as Death gathered Brak into his embrace. Then, without a word, Death vanished. R’shiel stood alone in the cavernous, empty Hall, wrapped in a cocoon of numbness and grief that kept the pain at bay.

They stumbled out into bright sunlight. The Citadel was in chaos. The streets were crowded, and the sounds of shouted orders overlaid the general panic. They stood at the top of the steps, looking down over the confusion. R’shiel had her arm around Shananara, but she wasn’t really certain who was holding up whom.

“You certainly know how to create a riot, cousin,” Shananara said with a wan smile.

She helped Shananara down the steps and they pushed their way against the panicked crowd towards the dormitories. R’shiel had to push them
flat against the walls on several occasions as troops of mounted Defenders galloped by. The last troop to pass them stopped as their officer called a sudden halt. He flew from his saddle and ran to them. It was Tarja.

“What happened?” he demanded as R’shiel collapsed against him.

“Xaphista is dead,” she told him weakly.

Tarja looked at her in concern then waved his men forward. A lieutenant jumped down from his mount and caught Shananara before she fell.

“Get her back to the dormitories,” Tarja ordered the man holding the queen. “Get her own people to help her. And take an escort.”

The young officer saluted with his free hand and scooped up the Harshini queen into his arms. He lifted Shananara up into his saddle, swung up behind her, and then, waving a few of the troopers forward, pushed his way through the throng and headed back towards the dormitories. Once Shanan was safely out of harm’s way, R’shiel sagged with relief. Now she only had herself to worry about.

“Can you stand?” Tarja asked.

“I think so.”

“Where’s Brak?”

“He’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.” Tarja sounded like he meant it, but R’shiel knew he wouldn’t grieve his death for long. Not like she would. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Is everyone all right?”

He glanced over his shoulder for a moment at the chaos in the streets and smiled. “You mean this?”

She nodded.

“Oh, yes, everyone is fine, as far as we can tell. Just after dawn there was some sort of…well, I don’t know what it was, but it knocked most of the Harshini unconscious and everybody else just seemed to go berserk for a while. We’re getting it under control, but it’s taking time, and now the Kariens are attacking.”

“Attacking?”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious. They’re fighting amongst themselves as much as they’re aiming at us, but we still have to do something to put it down. Sergeant!” A Defender hurried forward and saluted. “See that she gets back to her rooms and post a guard. I don’t want anybody disturbing Lady R’shiel while she’s resting, is that clear?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Tarja, I don’t need—”

“Shut up, R’shiel. You can hardly stand. Sergeant, once the Lady R’shiel is in her rooms, find Mandah Rodak and send her to keep the lady company.”

“
Tarja
!”

Tarja grinned at her, knowing full well what his order meant. Mandah wouldn’t let her budge until she was convinced she was fully recovered. Worse than that, Mandah would insist on calling her “Divine One”. He thrust her into the arms of the waiting sergeant and ran for his horse, yelling orders as he leapt into the saddle and resumed his push to the main gate. R’shiel watched him leave with a furious snarl, but she was too tired to resist and let the Defender lift her onto his mount and take her away from the bedlam that filled the streets of the Citadel.

The Defenders beat back the attack on the Citadel with little effort. The Kariens were too disorganised to mount a serious campaign, despite their numerical superiority. By mid-morning they had withdrawn to the other side of the Saran. A significant number withdrew even further. Desertions were decimating the ranks of the Karien army on a regular basis. Garet estimated there were less than seventy thousand left.

By the time Tarja returned to his office to confront the remainder of the aftermath of whatever it was that R’shiel had unleashed, he was exhausted. He had not been immune to the party atmosphere last night and had consumed far too much wine. When all hell broke loose at dawn he had woken with a head as thick as a door, his bed a tangle of sheets and Mandah curled in his arms, her thick blonde hair spilling across the pillow and tickling his nose. He had pushed her away impatiently, annoyed at himself. He had not intended to get caught up in the celebrations. He had certainly not intended to take Mandah to his bed, and he couldn’t shake the feeling
that he had done so because R’shiel had given him her blessing.
Damn her. Damn all Harshini.

Seeing that she was wounded by his rejection, Tarja had kissed Mandah soundly, promised to see her later and fled the room, getting dressed on the run. He was hopping on one foot, pulling his boot onto the other when Garet knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for an answer.

“We appear to be under attack, my Lord,” Garet said calmly. He looked over Tarja’s shoulder towards the bedroom door. Mandah stood there wrapped in nothing but a sheet, yawning sleepily. “Good morning, Mandah.”

“Commandant.”

Tarja glared at Garet, waiting for him to say something, anything, about finding the young pagan woman in his room. He was in a foul enough mood to react rather badly if Garet even looked at him askance.

But the commandant’s composure did not waver for an instant. “Oh, and the population appears to be rioting, too.”

“What the hell happened?”

“I assume it has something to do with R’shiel, but I can’t be certain. I suggest you get a move on, my Lord. We’ve a busy day ahead of us.”

That had proved to be a vast understatement. Tarja yearned for a day that was
merely
busy. The Kariens had been pushed back and the population in the Citadel would calm down eventually. Already many had returned to their homes with sore heads and puzzled looks. But there was still more to be done.

There was always more to be done.

When he finally pushed open the door to his office, he found several Harshini waiting for him. Three were dressed in the long white robes they favoured. The other two were dressed in Dragon Riders’ leathers. All five of them bowed solemnly as he entered the office and walked cautiously to his desk.

“My Lord Defender.”

“How is Shan…your queen?”

“She is recovering, my Lord,” one of the whiterobed Harshini informed him. “We are most grateful for your assistance this morning.”

“And the rest of your people?”

“They are well, my Lord. Thank you for your concern.”

The Harshini’s constant thanks were starting to wear on him. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“We are here to do something for you, my Lord.” The Harshini who spoke was one of the Dragon Riders. She stepped forward with a smile. “I am Pilarena and this is Jalerana. I have been honoured to aid Prince Damin in his journey north and my companion has been with King Hablet and his navy. We have come to coordinate your forces, my Lord.”

Tarja slumped back in his chair in astonishment. “Coordinate my forces?”

“We will relay messages, my Lord,” the other Dragon Rider explained. “If they are verbal, then we will carry messages of goodwill. If you want to communicate anything…else, then we must ask that the messages are written and sealed and that we are not advised of their contents.”

Tarja nodded in understanding. The Harshini could do nothing to aid their attack. If they knew the
messages they carried were likely to cause death, they wouldn’t deliver them. He smiled faintly, thinking that they were very easy to underestimate. This race had survived for thousands of years without being able to lift a finger in their own defence. He was beginning to understand how they had managed it.

“Can you show me where they are now?” he asked, indicating the map laid out on his desk. He and Garet had been poring over it yesterday, trying to guess where Damin might be.

Jalerana nodded and stepped forward. “The High Prince is here, my Lord. He has with him approximately forty thousand men. The King of Fardohnya is here and has another ten thousand. His Majesty asked that I pass on his apologies that he could not bring a larger force. In the time available it was all he could gather, and there are only so many ships he could carry them in.”

“Then we have fifty thousand men ready to attack?”

“
You
have fifty thousand men, my Lord. What you do with them is not our concern,” Pilarena remarked sternly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

She bowed slightly. “You are forgiven, my Lord.”

“How did Damin get here so fast? With an army that big?”

“With the aid of the gods,” Jalerana told him serenely.

Tarja shook his head, deciding he would be better off if he didn’t know the details. “I’d like to send a message to both Hablet and Damin. Written messages. How soon before you can leave?”

“We will be ready when your dispatches are completed,” Jalerana assured him.

“Then if you would excuse me, Divine Ones, I have a lot of work to do.”

Four hours later, Tarja sealed the letters he had written to Damin Wolfblade and King Hablet. Garet watched him pressing the Lord Defender’s seal into the warm wax and frowned.

“You know, those letters could cause us a lot of grief if they fell into the wrong hands.”

“The Harshini will deliver them safely.”

“Suppose they decide to
deliver
them into the wrong hands?”

Tarja shook his head at Garet’s suspicions. “Haven’t you seen enough yet to know that they’re on our side?”

“They’re not on our side, Tarja. They are on their
own
side. And you would do well not to forget it. Just because their queen is stunning and they smile a lot, it doesn’t make them harmless.”

Tarja grinned at the commandant. “Shall I tell Shananara you think she’s stunning?”

“Not if you want to see the sun come up tomorrow,” Garet warned with a faint smile. “Any news on R’shiel?”

“Mandah says she’s sleeping like the dead.”

“Any idea what she actually did in that Hall?”

“No, and I don’t want to know.”

“Neither do I.” Garet rose from his seat and walked to the map, frowning as he noted where the troop placements were marked. He still thought the Harshini were lying about how far they had come. “Speaking of Mandah…”

“It’s none of your business, Garet.”

“You’re the Lord Defender, and she’s a pagan.”

“Then you’ve got nothing to complain about. A few months ago I was sleeping with a Harshini. If I keep going at this rate, I’ll have worked my way up to a Quorum Member by next spring.”

“This is no joking matter, Tarja. Once we clear out the Kariens, we still have the rest of Medalon to secure. As it is, we’ve got half the damned Sisterhood confined to their quarters. It’s not going to help our cause with you flaunting a pagan lover.”

“You were the one who claimed I was the only one the pagans would follow.”

“Yes, but I didn’t expect them to follow you into the bedroom.”

Tarja leaned back in his chair and studied Garet. “Is that your only concern?”

“Yes.”

“Then mind your own damned business.”

Garet shook his head and bowed mockingly. “As you command, my Lord. It’s your neck.”

“Garet, you wanted change. You wanted the Sisterhood gone. You can’t have just the bits you like and discard the rest.”

“True,” the commandant conceded reluctantly. “But you can’t blame me for hoping.”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Tarja called permission to enter and Jalerana and Pilarena entered the office. They bowed politely and accepted the letters Tarja handed them, not even glancing at the packets they held.

“Do you have any other messages, my Lord?”

“Just tell Prince Damin and King Hablet that we anxiously await their arrival. With joy, of course.”

Jalerana smiled. “Of course, my Lord.”

Garet watched them suspiciously as they left the office then shook his head. “You’re too trusting, Tarja.”

“They can’t knowingly cause harm, Garet.”

“Perhaps not, but they can do a hell of a lot of damage
unknowingly
. Besides, I never trust anybody who is always so damned happy.”