Medalon (41 page)

Only about half of Tarja’s ragtag band of rebels were mounted. The rest had come in wagons or on foot to the rendezvous. Nor were they particularly well armed. Their weapons ranged from knives, rusty swords and halberds to pitchforks, scythes, and other farm implements. R’shiel thought they looked pitiful, but Tarja assured her that the attack on the Defenders would be by stealth, rather than open confrontation.

They set out for Testra last, with the mounted men who formed the rear of the attack party. Tarja had sent his infantry ahead several hours ago. He had timed his own arrival for closer to midnight, to meet Sunny on the road outside Testra and give his final orders, based on the intelligence she provided. R’shiel watched as Tarja ordered his men with a quiet confidence she suspected he didn’t feel. He had fewer men than he hoped for, poorly armed, and ill-trained. Any one of them was liable to break ranks, either through fear or misguided bravery. She could tell he wished for even a handful of the superbly trained Defenders he had once commanded. The rebels were fractious, independent and barely
convinced that Tarja was not leading them into a trap. Only her faith in him let her believe that they had any chance of winning.

They reached the outskirts of Testra just before midnight. The night was dark, the moon hidden behind a bank of low clouds. The heat of the day had not been able to escape and the night was uncomfortably warm. Sunny waved as they drew near. They dismounted and walked off the road a way.

“I found Lord Jenga. He’s at an inn called the Bondsman’s Friend.”

Ghari nodded. “I know where it is. It’s at the end of a cul-de-sac near the docks.”

Tarja frowned. “A dead end? Trust Jenga to pick a place that’s easy to defend. How many men are with him?”

“No more than a dozen,” Sunny assured him. “Just a few officers and scribes and the like. The rest are camped on the western side of town in the fields.”

Tarja nodded and turned back to Ghari and his men. R’shiel pulled Sunny aside and looked at her closely. “Is something wrong?”

Sunny shook her head. “I’m fine. All this talk of heathens and Harshini makes me a bit nervous, that’s all.”

“You’re still my friend, Sunny. I haven’t changed.”

Sunny shrugged uncomfortably. “I’d best be getting back.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“You can count on it,” Sunny promised.

Testra was quiet as they rode into the town. The taverns were mostly closed for the night, and decent
people were well abed. Tarja sent the bulk of his troops to the field on the town’s west side where the Defenders were camped, under the leadership of a tall, thin, but capable-looking man called Wylbir. A former sergeant in the Defenders, he was the closest thing to a military trained officer that Tarja had. Tarja, Ghari, R’shiel and a dozen more hand-picked men were to move on the Bondsman’s Friend. If things were as Sunny claimed, they could be in and out before the Defenders knew what had happened.

They dismounted a block or more from the inn and made their way on foot, hugging the shadows and jumping at every sound. R’shiel followed Tarja closely. He waved his men forward with hand signals as they turned into the cul-de-sac, then stopped them abruptly.

Darkened shops, obviously catering to the wealthier clientele of Testra, flanked the street. Small, discreet signs hung over several of the shops. Some of them were so exclusive, no signs were displayed at all. The Bondsman’s Friend was a tall, double-storeyed building of red brick, with two rather imposing columns flanking the entrance. A circular driveway surrounded a small fountain in the centre of the yard, which splashed softly in the still night. He studied the deserted street for a long time, before turning back to flatten himself against the wall.

“What’s wrong?” R’shiel whispered.

“There are no guards.”

“Is that bad?” She knew nothing about tactics, but it didn’t seem unreasonable that Jenga might think himself safe in an inn in the middle of Medalon.

“It’s not like Jenga.”

“Maybe it’s the wrong inn?” one of the others suggested.

“Maybe it’s not,” Tarja muttered. He glanced across the street at Ghari who was flattened against the opposite wall with the rest of the men. Tarja wavered for a moment—but before he could act on his uneasiness, Ghari broke cover and moved forward toward the inn. Cursing the boy’s recklessness under his breath, Tarja beckoned the others forward. There was no going back now.

They were almost at the fountain when the rattle of hooves and tack sounded behind them. R’shiel jumped at the unexpected noise and turned as light flared from a score of torches. The darkened inn was suddenly alive with soldiers. Squinting in the unexpected light, she counted more than a hundred red-coated Defenders, swords drawn, ringing the courtyard. Their retreat was cut off by a dozen or more mounted Defenders at the entrance to the cul-de-sac. She glanced at Tarja, waiting for him to charge, to fight his way to freedom, or die trying. But Tarja was not looking at her. He was looking at the tall, grey-haired man emerging from the inn and the short plump woman who walked beside him. R’shiel stood frozen in shock as the Lord Defender and his companion walked into the light of the flaring torches.

“Don’t make me kill you, Tarja,” Jenga said as he stopped a pace from the rebel leader. “There is no need for bloodshed.”

Tarja met the Lord Defender’s eye for a tense moment, then threw down his sword and waved to his men to do the same. The rebels complied, hurling
their weapons to the ground in a furious clatter of metal against the cobblestones. The atmosphere in the yard relaxed almost visibly as the Defenders realised Tarja didn’t plan to make a fight of it.

“See, I told you they’d come,” the woman said. R’shiel stared at her. “Do I get paid now?”

“A hundred gold rivets and a pardon. As agreed.”

“Sunny?” R’shiel said, finally finding her voice. She was numb with shock. “What have you done?”

“What have I done?” she asked. “I have done my duty to the Sisterhood, nothing more.”

“But you were my friend!” R’shiel was suddenly afraid that she was going to cry.

“I’m no friend to any heathen. Particularly one who’s not even human.” She spat on the ground in front of R’shiel.

R’shiel raised her arm and punched the
court’esa
in the face with all the force she could muster. Sunny staggered backwards under the blow, crying out in pain. She cowered on the ground, whimpering as R’shiel raised her arm to hit her again. Neither Jenga nor the Defenders made to interfere. If R’shiel could have figured out how to burn Sunny to ashes where she stood, she would have done it gladly, but she was too angry to call on her magic.

“R’shiel, no!” Tarja cried, stepping quickly between her and Sunny. He caught her wrist above her head and held it there, as she prepared to strike again. R’shiel glared at him, struggling against his hold, but he was stronger than her anger.

“Let me go! I’m going to kill her!”

“No you’re not,” he told her firmly, then added in a low voice meant only for her, “Look around you,
R’shiel. Kill her and you’ll be dead before she hits the ground. There will be another time.”

“Oh? I don’t know,” Ghari called as a Defender grabbed him and pulled him back from the fracas between the two women. “Sounds like a grand idea to me. Let her at it, Tarja. Give the girl her head!”

“Shut up, fool,” Jenga snapped, but he made no other attempt to interfere.

Still struggling against Tarja’s grip, R’shiel tried to remember what Shananara had taught her about touching her magic. She couldn’t break free of Tarja without it, but neither could she risk harming him by mistake. Besides, she wasn’t angry with Tarja; it was Sunny she wanted to kill. His knuckles were white and the veins along his arm stood out with the strain.

“But you don’t understand…” she whispered. The depth of Sunny’s betrayal was beyond comprehension. She wished more than anything, at that moment, that she had stayed with the Harshini. That she had never come back to discover how easily she had been duped. She slowly lowered her arm. Tarja held her for a fleeting moment before she was pulled away by two Defenders.

Sunny had struggled to her feet and approached R’shiel with a murderous look, blood dripping from her broken nose. She slapped R’shiel’s face with stinging force, but the pain was almost a relief compared to the knowledge of the woman’s treachery.

“Harshini bitch!”

Sunny stormed back toward the inn as R’shiel was dragged away by the Defenders. Her last sight of Tarja was of him being bound securely with heavy chains and led away to await his fate with the other captured rebels.

Tarja was separated from the other rebels and taken into the inn. He was escorted into a small dining room that held a polished circular table surrounded by elegant, high-backed chairs and ordered to sit by the Defender who had charge of him. Tarja recognised the man. He had been a cadet the last time Tarja had seen him, now he was a captain. He suddenly felt very old.

“Harven, isn’t it?” he asked the young captain.

“I told you to sit down.”

Tarja shrugged, indicating the chains that bound him. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to stand.”

“Suit yourself.” The captain looked away, as if afraid to meet his eyes. That suited Tarja just fine. He had no wish to suffer the accusing glare of the young man. He was far too busy accusing himself.

He should have known Sunny was too much of an opportunist to be trusted. A hundred gold rivets was more than she could earn in a lifetime as a
court’esa
. In a way, he couldn’t blame her for choosing the reward. A fortune in gold and a pardon from the Sisterhood undoubtedly appeared a much safer option
than a dubious alliance with the heathen rebels. But even had he suspected her unexpected allegiance to the Sisterhood, the fact that he had walked into a trap, while every sense he owned screamed at him that something was amiss, was unforgivable. He should have acted on his first impulse to withdraw. Thanks entirely to his stupidity, R’shiel was in the hands of the Sisterhood and they knew that she was Harshini. The rebels had been captured, almost to a man. He had led them all to their peril while arrogantly assuming that he could win against a superior force with a motley collection of rebellious farmers armed with pitchforks. He was a bloody fool.

Harven snapped to attention as the door opened and Lord Jenga entered the room. His expression was grim. He seemed to take no joy in his victory.

“Unchain him,” he ordered Harven. The captain did as he was told, then returned to his post by the door.

Tarja shed the chains gladly and this time took the seat that Jenga offered him. Jenga pushed the glass-shaded lantern on the table aside so that he could see the younger man more clearly. The shadows lent him an air of deep melancholy.

“You will talk to me this time, Tarja,” the Lord Defender said. “There will be no torture. No threats. I simply want the truth. On your honour as a captain of the Defenders.”

“That’s a strange oath to ask me to honour, Jenga. I broke that trust a long time ago.”

“Why did you come back? Why attempt such a foolish thing?” Jenga appeared more concerned by Tarja’s tactical error than his desertion.

“Because the Karien Envoy is dead. We face invasion from the north and Joyhinia is moving you away from the border.”

“So you attacked me? You never used to be so stupid, Tarja.”

“No. The attack was just a diversion so that I could warn you before Joyhinia got here. I hoped you’d listen to reason.” How ludicrous his plan seemed now. How grandiose and improbable. Jenga was right. He never used to be so stupid.

“Did you think I would turn the Defenders around against the express orders of the First Sister to face an invasion that I’ve heard nothing of?”

“You’ll hear about it soon enough, my Lord.”

“And R’shiel?” Jenga asked. “How is she involved in this? The
court’esa
says she now claims to be Harshini.”

Tarja was very tempted to lie. By denying Sunny’s story he might be able to save R’shiel…from what? They would both be hanged as soon as Joyhinia arrived. She would not suffer either of them to live any longer.

“The Harshini are no threat to Medalon,” Tarja said, shaking his head. “Quite the opposite.”

“I always wondered about who she really was,” Jenga said, staring at his hands, then he looked up, the Lord Defender to the core. “I assume you found them, then? The Harshini who are still in hiding? You have the location of their settlement?”

“Jenga, forget the Harshini!” Tarja pleaded. “They are not the threat the Sisterhood claims!”

“Where are they hiding? Or have you changed sides again, Tarja? Have the Harshini sorcerers
addled your wits? It would account for your actions tonight, at least.”

“I don’t know where they are. I only met a couple of them.”

“And based on this meeting with two representatives of their race, you have determined that they are no threat to us?” Jenga asked sceptically. “A sound military assessment if ever I heard one.”

“The Harshini are not warriors. They are peaceful.”

“Do you think me a fool? The Hythrun follow the gods of the Harshini and are the most warlike nation in the world. The Fardohnyans keep a standing army that outnumbers our entire population! These are the followers of your peaceful Harshini, Tarja. Every Hythrun warlord sacrifices living things to your Harshini gods.”

Tarja wished he knew more. He wished he knew how to explain what he knew in his heart to be true.

“You’re wrong, Jenga,” Tarja insisted, although he lacked the words to make the old man believe him.

“Then you will not disclose the information regarding their location?”

“Not even if I knew where it was. The threat that faces Medalon is coming from the north.”

Jenga leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps R’shiel will be more forthcoming?”

“Harm one hair on her head and I will kill you, Jenga.”

Harven’s hand instinctively went to his sword, so dangerous did Tarja appear at that moment. The Lord Defender raised his hand to halt the young captain.

“It is clear where your loyalties lie, now, Tarja. I never cease to be amazed at your facility to change sides. You wondered earlier if I thought you had broken your oath. I see now that any oath is meaningless to you. You have no honour. You are nothing but an opportunist. A cold-blooded mercenary who fights for which ever side offers the highest coin.”

Tarja was saddened by the Lord Defender’s words, but beyond being offended by them. “If only you could see what I have seen, Jenga.”

Jenga pushed himself wearily to his feet. He turned to Harven. “Take him back and put him with the other prisoners in the compound, but see that he’s well guarded. They probably want him dead as much as I do, but I imagine the First Sister will want that pleasure for herself.”

By mid-morning, all the prisoners caught in Sunny’s trap were confined to a temporary compound erected to hold them on the outskirts of the town. Although the planking that had been hastily nailed to the fences would almost certainly fall under a concerted attack, the rebels made no attempt to escape. Ringing the flimsy compound was a circle of grim-faced Defenders who were a much greater deterrent.

Just after first light, Mahina and Affiana were pushed through the gate, looking rather dishevelled, their expressions more resigned than frightened. R’shiel followed, after the prisoners had been fed a thin broth and surprisingly fresh bread for breakfast. The troopers assigned to guard Tarja stepped forward to prevent her coming near, but Harven waved them back. The young captain had been surprisingly
relaxed in his custodial duties. He didn’t seem interested in preventing contact with the other prisoners. Much to Tarja’s amazement, the rebels did not hold him responsible for their current predicament. It was far easier to blame a conniving
court’esa
. Harven sensed that his charge was in no immediate danger, so Tarja had spent the remainder of the night talking with Ghari, Wylbir and the other rebel lieutenants. The rebels had been less concerned with what had happened in the past than what the future might hold.

Tarja was certain that this time he wouldn’t escape the hangman’s noose. His crimes against Joyhinia and the Sisterhood were far too numerous. The remainder of the rebels, he was less certain about. Many of them had been arrested for little more than being out in the streets of Testra after dark, armed with farming implements. Hardly the stuff of dangerous insurgents.

Mahina would probably get nothing more than a scolding, he judged. Even Joyhinia would not attempt to hang a former First Sister. Such an action would set a dangerous precedent. He was more worried for R’shiel. She had been identified as Harshini.

He stood up as she ran to him. He had not slept in two days but the crushing fatigue he felt was almost banished by the sight of her, alive and well, still wearing those damned Dragon Rider’s leathers.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she told him, as she hugged him tightly. “They asked me a few questions, but that was all.”

“Me too. But it will be all right now.”

R’shiel looked him in the eye, clearly seeing the lie for what it was. “Joyhinia has arrived. I saw them taking a carriage down to the docks to meet her when they brought me in.”

“Then we won’t have much longer to wait.”

As if in answer, the gate swung open noisily. A Company of Defenders entered the temporary compound, spreading out to form a semicircle of red coats and polished steel.

He kissed her. It might be the last time he would ever have the chance. She pulled away and looked up at him. He could see everything she wanted to say in her eyes. Everything she would never have the opportunity to tell him. As the last of the Defenders marched through the gate, Joyhinia walked in, flanked by Jenga and Draco.

Taking her hand they walked forward together to confront the First Sister.