Medalon (40 page)

Tarja had never felt more exposed than he did walking through Testra towards the inn where Mahina waited. It felt like the streets were crawling with Defenders. He was certain he would be recognised; certain someone would notice them. He walked with his back stooped, a barrel of cider balanced on his shoulder, which served to conceal his face. R’shiel walked ahead of him, the Harshini Dragon Rider’s leathers concealed beneath a long blue cloak. The hood was pulled up to conceal her hair and shadow her face. What had seemed like a brief ride a few weeks ago now felt like the longest walk he had ever taken. Surely R’shiel had lost her way. They must have taken a wrong turn.

Even as he thought about it, the inn appeared across the way. He could feel R’shiel relax and realised she was as tense as he was. He wanted to reach out to her. To touch her hand and reassure her. She glanced down the road and crossed it quickly, waving imperiously for him to follow. He smiled to himself as she did. R’shiel knew the habits of the Sisterhood. Tarja trailed obediently in her wake,
almost bumping into her as she stopped dead just inside the entrance to the taproom.

The room was full of Defenders, officers, every one of them. Tarja saw at least four men he knew well at his first glance. Fortunately, R’shiel’s blue cloak gave the impression she was a Sister, so their entrance was unremarked upon. Tarja hid behind the small barrel, wishing it was large enough for him to crawl into completely.

“May I help you, my Lady?” Affiana asked as she approached them, her eyes widening as R’shiel lifted her head and stared at her. “I have private rooms that will be more comfortable,” Affiana added, barely missing a beat. “Have your man come this way.”

R’shiel followed the innkeeper through the taproom, her whole body as tense as an over-tightened guy rope. Tarja followed, trying to stoop as much as possible. As they moved into the hall and through to the private dining room he dropped the barrel heavily, weak with relief.

“By the gods!” Affiana declared as she closed the door behind them. “Where did you two come from?”

“It’s a long story,” he said, as R’shiel threw back the hood of her cloak. “How long have the Defenders been here?”

“A few days. I get the officers. The enlisted men drink in the taverns closer to the docks. Are you all right?”

R’shiel nodded. “We’re fine. Is Mahina still here? And Sunny?”

“And Dace, too,” Affiana told them. “When he’s in the mood. Mahina’s been keeping to her room and nobody has seen her, but Sunny’s been out working
the docks.” She glanced back at Tarja with concern. “I heard you’d been hanged. Then I heard you killed a couple of rebels and escaped.”

“Almost accurate. How can I get to Mahina’s room without being seen?”

“You can’t,” Affiana told him. “I’ll bring her down. You two stay here and keep the door locked.” The innkeeper slipped from the room and Tarja locked the door behind her. As soon as she was gone, R’shiel came to him and lay her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her and held her wordlessly for a moment.

“I think walking through that taproom was the scariest thing I have ever done in my life,” she said.

Considering what R’shiel had endured recently, that was saying something. He kissed the top of head, then her forehead, and then she was kissing him hard and hungrily and he was startled to discover how quickly things could get out of hand. He pushed her away with admirable self-control.

“There is a room full of Defenders out there who would very much like to kill us both. Maybe we should wait until a more appropriate time?”

She sighed and pulled out of his arms, crossing to the window to stare out into the yard. “When will that be, Tarja?” she asked. “When you’ve faced the rebels? When you’ve confronted Jenga? When you’ve brought down the Sisterhood? When you’ve fought off the Karien invasion?”

He shrugged. “I’m a busy man.”

She stared at him for a moment and then suddenly her mood changed and she laughed. “Well, you may just have to wait until I have time for you. I am a
personage of some note among the heathens, you know.”

“Forgive me, Divine One,” he said, wondering what had made her suddenly admit to her demon child status. She had seemed singularly unimpressed by the news up to now. A faint knock sounded at the door and he unlocked it, opening it a fraction to look outside, then swinging it wide to allow Mahina and Sunny in.

“By the Founders!” Mahina declared. “We thought you were both dead!”

“Not quite.”

“Where have you been?” Sunny asked. She glanced at R’shiel who stood by the window, her blue cloak pushed back over one shoulder. She frowned at the close fitting leathers. “Interesting outfit,” she remarked, before turning back to confront him. “We were worried sick! First you disappear, then we heard that you’re dead! Then that other fella left us stranded here. Now here you are, large as life, like nothing’s happened!”

“We had an encounter with the Karien Envoy,” R’shiel said, glancing at Tarja. With that look, he knew she wanted him to skip the details. There was no need to tell them of Elfron, or the staff. It was enough that they know Pieter was dead and of the threat of invasion from Karien. She didn’t want to relive the nightmare for the sake of a good narrative.

“What sort of encounter?” Mahina asked suspiciously.

“The fatal sort,” Tarja told her. “We…er…met some Harshini, too.”

They stared at him openmouthed. “Harshini?”

“Have you been drinking?” Sunny asked.

“How in the name of the Founders did you stumble across them?” Mahina asked, clearly not believing a word he said. “They’re supposed to be long dead.”

“The Harshini came to us. It seems R’shiel is a Harshini princess.”

Mahina and Sunny both turned to look at R’shiel. Mahina suddenly laughed. “And Joyhinia passed you off as her own child? Oh, that is just too much! The Quorum will have a collective fit! The Karien Envoy must have been apoplectic!”

“The Karien Envoy is dead,” Tarja told her.

Mahina turned back to him, her laughter fading. “How did it happen?”

“The how doesn’t matter,” he said. “The important thing is that it did.”

“And the Defenders are here in Testra,” Mahina added, understanding the situation immediately. “Or headed this way. What are you going to do?”

“I have to warn Jenga,” he told her. “If I can get to him before Joyhinia arrives. I’m going to create a diversion using the rebels.”

“A diversion?” Mahina asked sceptically. “You’ll need more than a handful of farmers to distract the Defenders, Tarja. Besides, aren’t these rebels you speak of the same rebels that tried to hang you only a few weeks ago?”

“I’ll convince them of the truth,” R’shiel said.

“You?” Mahina said with a raised brow. “I’ll admit that your outfit is distracting, R’shiel, but I hardly think it’s going to turn the rebels’ mind from reality for very long.”

R’shiel took a deep breath before she answered. “I am the demon child.”

Mahina looked as if she was going to laugh at the notion, but a glance at Tarja and R’shiel stayed her mirth. “Founders! You’re serious!”

“I am the half-human child of the last Harshini King, Lorandranek,” she said. To Tarja, it sounded as if R’shiel were trying to convince herself as much as Mahina. “The heathen rebels will listen to me.”

Mahina turned to Tarja. “And you believe this?”

Tarja nodded. “It’s why the Harshini sought us out.”

Mahina sank down onto one of the carved dining chairs, as if her knees would no longer support her. “Founders! I never thought to hear this in my lifetime. It’s…I…I’m…speechless…”

“Imagine how I feel,” R’shiel remarked wryly.

“It’s so…” Mahina began helplessly.

“I need information,” Tarja interrupted. He didn’t have time for Mahina to come to grips with the truth about R’shiel.

“What sort of information?” Sunny asked. She stood behind Mahina’s chair with wide eyes, staring at R’shiel.

“I need to know where Jenga is staying.”

“I suppose I can find that out,” she offered. Tarja was wary of Sunny for some reason he couldn’t pinpoint, but he pushed aside his unease. The woman was a barracks
court’esa
and knew nothing of politics. But she was R’shiel’s friend.

“As soon as it’s dark, we’ll ride for the rebel stronghold. If all goes well, we’ll be back by midnight. The off-duty troops should be well into
their cups by then. The remainder, except for the lookouts, will be asleep. Can you find out where the rest of the Defenders are quartered, too?”

“Aye,” she agreed. “I’ll do that for you. It may take me some time, though. What if I meet you on the south road at midnight? That way I can let you know exactly what’s happening.”

Tarja nodded at the generous offer. “Thank you.”

Another knock sounded impatiently at the door and Dace was in the room before Tarja had time to realise that he had forgotten to lock it. The boy flew at Tarja and hugged him soundly, before treating R’shiel to the same exuberant welcome.

“I knew you weren’t dead!” he declared. “Didn’t I tell you they weren’t dead? Didn’t I?”

“Yes, Dace, you said they weren’t dead,” Mahina agreed. “Now keep your damned voice down, before you manage to remedy the situation by bringing a whole taproom full of Defenders in here with your shouting.”

Dace looked rather abashed at Mahina’s scolding, but nothing could wipe the smile from his face. He immediately demanded a full and complete, blow-by-blow description of their every move since they disappeared from the stables.

“I’ll let R’shiel fill you in,” he told the boy. That way she could tell Dace as much or as little as she chose.

“I’d best be going,” Sunny said, slipping from the room.

R’shiel and Dace stood by the window talking in low voices. Tarja glanced at Mahina, who shook her head.

“When Joyhinia hears this news, she is going to rue the day she ever laid eyes on either of you.”

“I think she’s long past that point.”

“Be very careful, Tarja. She won’t make the same mistake again. There will be no trials, no court of law. If you fail, she will kill you.”

They could see the flares from the torches gathered around the farmhouse for quite some time before they reached the old vineyard. R’shiel looked worriedly at Tarja as they rode at a canter towards the rebels, wondering what he was thinking. What would he say to them? Would he live long enough to say anything? As if sensing her concern he looked at her and smiled.

“Don’t worry. I’ve survived this long. I’m sure I’ll get through the next few hours.”

R’shiel was not sure she shared his confidence. She glanced at Dace who rode on her left and wondered why he had not been in the least bit surprised or concerned by her news. His face was alight with excitement at the prospect of facing action with the rebels.

Tarja slowed their pace as they neared the first lookout, posted about half a league from the vineyard. To Tarja’s obvious relief, the guard proved to be Ghari’s cousin, a taciturn, hirsute man with big farmer’s hands. He was not the most encouraging example of the rebellion’s mettle, but he could be trusted not to kill Tarja on sight. He nodded gravely to his former leader.

“Ghari said you’d be comin’ this way. You’re either very brave, or very foolish, Cap’n.”

“A bit of both, I fear, Herve,” Tarja replied. “Are they all up at the farmhouse?”

“All them that’s comin’,” he said with a shrug. “Two hun’ed, maybe three.”

Tarja scowled. R’shiel knew that he was counting on twice that number. Tarja looked across at her and Dace. “Well, let’s do it then.”

He kicked his horse forward but she followed more slowly, a little less enthusiastic about riding into the middle of three hundred angry rebels than Tarja. Dace seemed to share Tarja’s suicidal enthusiasm and quickly caught up with him. She hurried her horse forward to catch up with him, as if her mere proximity could offer him some form of protection.

Word spread quickly through the rebels that Tarja had arrived and a torchlit clearing opened ominously before them as they rode into the yard. R’shiel didn’t know what Ghari had said to the rebels before they arrived, but it had been enough to stay their hand temporarily. They were to be given a hearing, it seemed, before the rebels made their decision.

Tarja sat tall in the saddle, partly to allow him to see over the crowd, and partly because he wasn’t stupid. Mounted, he might have some small chance at escape if the rebels turned on him. He had insisted that Dace and R’shiel remain mounted, too.

R’shiel watched the rebels nervously. Ghari jumped down from the wagon bed under the tree where Tarja was to have been hanged so recently. R’shiel’s horse, borrowed from Affiana’s stables,
tossed his head irritably, as if he sensed the uneasy feeling of the mob.

“Well, I’ve done all I can,” Ghari told Tarja. “They’re not happy, but they’re not unreasonable. Good luck.”

Tarja turned back to the rebels and studied them in silence. Many of the faces remained shadowed and anonymous behind the smoky torches.

“Tonight we unite Medalon!” Tarja said in a voice that had been trained to be heard across the Citadel parade ground. She was startled by the effect it had on the rebels. Defiant these men might be, but they were conditioned from birth to respond to authority. Tarja knew that, and was relying on his manner, as much as his words, to convince these men.

“What you think of me is irrelevant. That I did not betray you is a fact that you must accept. I did not come here to offer you an apology, or an idle promise of better times ahead. I offer you action. Medalon faces a threat from an enemy far worse than the Sisterhood. Soon the Kariens will be crossing our northern border. The Kariens will not deny you the opportunity to worship your gods. They will destroy anyone who refuses to worship their’s. The treaty between Medalon and Karien is destroyed. The Sisterhood must now bend its efforts to protecting Medalon. To do that, they need our help. Most of you profess to want nothing more than to be left alone with the chance to worship your gods in peace. I offer you a chance to act on what you profess to believe, or to slink home like cowards to hide behind the skirts of your mothers and your wives.”

R’shiel cringed as Tarja sat his horse in front of three hundred angry rebels and accused them of being cowards. She glanced at Dace, but the boy was as entranced by Tarja as the rebels were.

“Our northern border lies undefended while the Sisterhood moves the Defenders to Testra to destroy us. They know nothing of the Karien threat. Once they do, we have a chance to resolve this. The Sisterhood cannot support a Purge and war at the same time.”

“More likely they’ll just make sure we’re all dead first!” a voice called out.

Tarja glanced over his shoulder at R’shiel before continuing, as if asking her for permission for what he was about to do. She nodded minutely.

“If you won’t do it for me, then do it for yourselves. For your gods. For the Harshini.”

At the mention of the Harshini, someone in the crowd finally overcame their thrall to call out angrily, “We’re not children Tarja! You’ll not save your precious neck by spinning fairytales! The Sisterhood destroyed the Harshini, just as they plan to destroy us!”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the mob. Tarja waited patiently for it to subside before continuing. “I do not offer you tales to entertain children. The Harshini once roamed this land in peace until the Sisterhood forced them into hiding. Medalon flourished under their hand. They are still with us. I have spoken with them. I have spoken with their demons.”

R’shiel watched as Tarja’s words were met with derision. She moved her horse forward and rode up beside him.

“He speaks the truth about the Harshini!” she called to the rebels. “I am one of them!”

“You’re a liar!” a voice shouted angrily.

“You’re the First Sister’s daughter!”

“It’s your fault the Defenders are here!”

“I am Harshini! I am
not
Joyhinia’s child. I was born in a village called Haven. My mother was human, but my father was Lorandranek! I am the demon child!”

Her declaration was met with startled silence. Even Tarja spared her an astonished glance. In truth, she had surprised herself. She caught sight of Dace, out of the corner of her eye, riding forward to snatch a torch from one of the rebels.

He rode back and handed it to her, leaning forward as he spoke. “Hold it up and don’t drop it,” he whispered. With no idea what he was planning, she held the torch aloft.

“The threat of the Karien zealots is real,” she continued. “I have seen their evil with my own eyes. You once revered the Harshini. The time has come for you to step forward to defend them.” R’shiel could feel Dace in the background as the intoxicating sweetness of the Harshini magic washed over her. She recognised it for what it was now, and was startled to realise that not only could Dace touch it, he did so with a finesse that made Shananara’s touch feel clumsy and ham-fisted.

Suddenly the torch flared brightly, savagely, in her hand as Dace released the magic into the flame, lighting the yard as if a thousand torches had suddenly exploded into life. Her skin prickled as she felt the power, minute that it was. The circle widened as the rebels took a step backward, astounded by her display.

Tarja grabbed the moment and called out to the rebels. “Do we face this threat to our people and the Harshini, or crawl home like frightened children? I say we fight!”

Someone in the crowd started chanting “Fight! Fight!” and it was quickly taken up by the mob. Tarja sat and watched them as they yelled, although he hardly looked pleased. R’shiel lowered the torch which sputtered and died in her hand.

“You’ve won!” she said, so that only he could hear. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

“I’ve got a chanting mob, excited by a parlour trick. There’s barely a man among them who would follow me in the cold light of day because he believed in what I said.”

Dace rode up on the other side of Tarja. “Then let’s get this done before the sun rises,” he suggested with a grin.

Tarja shook his head at the boy’s enthusiasm and rode forward to speak with Ghari and several other rebel lieutenants as the chanting subsided slowly. R’shiel leaned forward and grabbed Dace’s bridle before he could follow.

“Who are you, Dace?” she asked him curiously. “That wasn’t me, just now, it was you.”

“Actually, it wasn’t really me,” Dace told her with a sly smile. “I stole the flames from Jashia, the God of Fire. But he won’t mind.”

“What do you mean, you stole it?”

“That’s what I do, R’shiel. It’s who I am.”

R’shiel studied the boy in the torchlight. “You’re Harshini, aren’t you?”

“Of course not, silly. I am Dacendaran.”

Seeing that it meant nothing to her he leaned across and took her hand in his. The feeling that washed over her at his touch left her weak and trembling. “I am Dacendaran, the God of Thieves.”

R’shiel shook her head in denial. “You can’t be. I don’t believe in gods.”

“That’s what makes you so much fun!” He let her go and turned his horse towards the gate. “I have to be going now, though. The others will be mad at me if I get mixed up in what’s going to happen next.”

“The others?”

“The rest of the gods you don’t believe in. You be careful now. They’ll be rather put out if you go and get yourself killed.”

Dace clucked his horse forward and vanished into the darkness. She opened her mouth to call him back, but he had literally vanished from sight. Dumbfounded, Ghari had to call her name twice before she even noticed he was speaking to her.

“R’shiel?”

She turned to look down at him. “What?”

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Before we go the men want…well, they want your blessing.”

“My blessing?”

“You are the demon child,” he said with an apologetic shrug.

R’shiel looked up and suddenly noticed the sea of expectant faces, staring at her with a mixture of awe and fear and perhaps a little distrust.

Mandah walked forward to stand beside Ghari. “R’shiel, every one of us here has known the demon
child would come one day, though I’m not sure we’re pleased to discover it is you. But most likely some of these men will die this night. Would you withhold your blessing?”

“But I don’t know what to say.”

“Just tell them that the gods are with them,” the young woman advised. “That is all they want to hear.”

R’shiel nodded doubtfully and moved her horse forward to face the heathens.
Tell them the gods are with them
, she said. The only thing R’shiel knew for certain about the gods was that they were going to be rather “put out” if she got herself killed.