Harshini (15 page)

“So, how do we get near the ferry?” Ghari asked.

“We don’t. We’ll have to think of something else.”

“If we had a ballista, we could set it alight with burning pitch,” Rylan suggested.

“A
ballista
?” Harben asked. “And to think I had one in my pocket and left it behind because I didn’t think we’d need it!”

Tarja frowned at the young man’s flippancy. “If you can’t offer anything useful, Harben, be quiet.”

Harben had the sense to look contrite. Tarja called the men to him and they huddled together under the thin shelter of the inn, suggesting and rejecting ideas as they tried to think of a way to get close enough to the landing and the ferry. In the end it was Harben who suggested the solution, and he acted on it before Tarja could stop him. The young rebel pushed his way into the crowd in his red Defenders uniform and began shouting.

“They’re coming! They’re coming! The Kariens are here! Flee! Run for your lives! The Kariens are here! The Kariens are here!”

It wasn’t long before the mob took up his cry. The effect was instantaneous and disastrous. Those at the back of the crowd broke away and began to run from the landing back towards the square. Those closest to the landing lunged forward, pushing the front ranks into the icy river. Everyone was shouting, pushing, shoving to get clear.

“Stop him, Tarja!” Mandah gasped. “Someone will be killed!”

But it was too late to stop the panic Harben’s reckless cries had triggered. Instinct quickly replaced common sense. Fear replaced reason. The crowd became a heedless mob. Tarja was pushed back against the wall of the inn as the crowd spilled into
the square, trampling tents, cook fires and anything else that got in their way. Their cries echoed through the town, panicked and desperate.

“The Kariens are coming! The Kariens are coming!”

“The Kariens!” Mandah shouted, echoing the hysterical cries of the mob. Tarja grunted as a sharp elbow jabbed him in the ribs and he turned to chide her for contributing to the chaos. But she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the entrance to the square. “Oh gods, Tarja, they’re here!”

Tarja turned to look in the direction of Mandah’s pointing finger. At the entrance to the square a column of armoured knights was ploughing into the chaos, their pennons flapping wetly in the damp air. Whether the knights had intended to run down the people before them, or simply had not had time to stop their heavy warhorses, Tarja couldn’t tell. In any case, the effect was the same. Harben’s cries of impending doom had proved horribly prophetic.

“Back this way!” he yelled, as he pulled Mandah along the wall to the corner of the inn. The narrow lane behind the tavern was cluttered with debris and fleeing refugees. Tarja pushed his way through, using his size and height to shove less motivated souls out of his way.

“I was right!” Harben chortled gleefully as he leapt over a pile of garbage and raced ahead. “The Kariens are here!”

“Get to the horses!” Tarja shouted after him. Harben waved to indicate he had heard the order and ran on. Tarja glanced over his shoulder to assure himself the others were following. Mandah stumbled
beside him, her long skirts hampering her steps. Once past the inn he dragged Mandah into a small lane between the Heart and Hearth inn, and the livery next door.

“Get rid of the jackets,” he ordered as the others followed them into the lane. He tore off his own distinctive red jacket and stuffed it behind a barrel full of rainwater placed to catch the run-off from the roof of the inn. The air was icy, but it was vastly preferable to being identified as a member of the defeated Medalonian army.

“We’ll never get past them,” Ghari predicted as he shoved his jacket down beside Tarja’s.

“We’re not going to try. But sinking that ferry just changed from a good idea to an imperative.” The others nodded their agreement. With the Kariens quite literally on their heels, all objections were forgotten. “Mandah, you and Ghari follow Harben and get the horses ready. Borus, you and Torlin scout the north side of town. Find out if this is just an advance party, or if we really do have the Karien host just over the next hill. Paval, you ride back and warn the Fardohnyans that when we leave here, we’ll be running and we might have half the damned Karien army on our heels.”

The men nodded and slipped away. Mandah looked as if she might object, but Ghari gave her no chance. He grabbed her arm and headed back out into the lane behind the inn in the direction Harben had gone.

“And the rest of us?” Rylan asked.

“We’re going back to the ferry. Kariens or not, it still has to dock. If we’re ever going to have a chance
at it, it will be in the next few minutes, before the Kariens take control of the town. We need to sink that ferry and get out of Cauthside before the Kariens arrive in force, or it’s going to be a
very
long war.”

They retraced their steps back to the square and turned towards the landing, pushing against the flow of the crowd, which had thinned considerably since the appearance of the Karien knights. The square was a shambles of flattened tents, distraught mothers and screaming men trampled by the fleeing mob. Then there were the dozen or so knights who had ridden through them, milling about in the centre of the square, almost as confused about what had happened as the refugees.

The ferrymen waited a little offshore, afraid to land, yet unable to hold for long against the current. They pulled on a rope as thick as a man’s thigh that stretched from one side of the river to the other, clinging to it grimly to hold the boat steady. Tarja judged the distance between the ferry and the riverbank and realised it was too far to jump. He glanced up as a crack of thunder rumbled over the river. The sky was so low he felt he could almost touch it. Back in the square the Kariens were still too disorganised to even notice the ferry, let alone realise its strategic importance.

“They can’t hold the ferry in that current much longer,” Cyril noted.

“It’s going to rain again any moment,” Tarja added. “At least we’ll have that small measure of cover.”

“Aye,” Cyril agreed as thunder shook the ground. Jagged lightning brightened the dull afternoon for an instant. “Those knights will rust if they don’t get indoors.”

Tarja glanced at the older man, wondering if he was trying to be humorous, but his expression was grim. “If we can’t destroy the ferry, we may have to settle for cutting it adrift.”

The rope that secured the ferry on this side of the river was tied to a massive pylon sunk deep into the ground about ten paces from the landing. To cut through it would be time consuming and dangerous. The rope was wet and they had only their swords, which, although razor-sharp, were not designed for such a task. Even if they could attempt it unnoticed, it would take several long, exposed minutes to sever the rope, and the ferrymen who waited anxiously to haul the barge ashore were unlikely to let them attempt such a feat without objection. Surrender or not, the river was their livelihood. Crouched by the edge of a small warehouse, Tarja debated the issue for a moment then turned to his squad.

“Lavyn, take Byl and Seffin and go pick a fight with the ferrymen. I want them too busy to notice what we’re up to. Cyril, you stay here with the others and keep an eye on those knights. If they pay us no attention, stay out of their way. If they look like going anywhere near that ferry, call them out. Insult their mothers, if you have to. Whatever it takes to keep them off our backs.

“And remember,” Ulran added with a grin, “if you truly want to insult a Karien, make sure you mention his god, his mother and at least one dog.”

Tarja shook his head at the knife-fighter, but allowed himself a small smile. “Ulran, you’re with me.”

The small man grinned and produced a wicked, serrated dagger from the side of his boot. The blade was nearly as long as his forearm. “You think this might do the trick?”

Tarja nodded, more relieved than surprised to find Ulran carrying such a vicious weapon. His sword would have been as blunt as a butter knife after hacking through so much wet hemp.

“Let’s move!” he ordered. The men slipped away to their assigned positions and Tarja followed Ulran down the slight slope towards the landing. The three men he sent to distract the ferrymen were ahead of them, shouting aggressively at the unsuspecting riverfolk as they approached. Their words were drowned out by another bellow of thunder as Tarja drew his sword and turned his back to Ulran to protect him while he cut through the massive line.

Lightning split the clouds for a moment and then icy rain began sheeting down, blurring Tarja’s vision and soaking him in seconds. He glanced over his shoulder at Ulran, who was sawing the rope, wiping the rain from his eyes as he worked. A strand unravelled and then another as he hacked at the rope, the weight of the ferry pulling it as taut as a harp string one moment, slackening the next, as the ferry rocked against the current. Somewhere over the rain he could hear angry shouting, but if it was the men on the ferry, the boatmen Tarja had sent the others to distract, or the Karien knights, he could not tell. He couldn’t see more than a few paces in front of him. All he could do was stand on the balls of his feet, his sword at the ready, hoping that if they were attacked, he would see it coming.

Ulran sawed frantically at the rope as time slowed to a crawl. Tarja risked another look over his shoulder. Half the rope was severed now, but it was taking much too long.

“Hurry, Ulran!”

“You think you can do this any faster?” the rebel shouted over the downpour as another strand unravelled. He was panting heavily with the effort of sawing through the wet hemp, his muscles bunched under his wet shirt, his lips blue with the cold.

The shouting seemed closer and Tarja turned back in time to see a Karien knight riding down on them. Cyril had fallen near the edge of the square, the puddle he lay in red with blood. He could not make out the rest of his men through the sheeting rain, but the spectre of a massive Karien warhorse loomed over him as one of the knights, suddenly realising what they were attempting, rode straight at them.

“Out of the way!” Tarja shouted.

Ulran slipped and fell as he scrambled to get clear. Tarja swung his sword like an axe and struck the taut rope with every ounce of strength he could muster. The Karien was almost on him, the sound of hoofs on the cobbles almost louder than the rain. He swung again, wincing as the blow jarred his arms to the shoulder. The Karien was only a heartbeat away and still the rope held. Tarja swung one last time and the rope finally gave way under the strain of the ferry pulling against it. Rain swallowed the shouts of the panicked ferrymen as it whipped free; the barge suddenly swinging into the current, at the mercy of the hungry river.

Tarja barely had time to turn as the Karien rode him down. He had no time to recover his fighting stance or bring his sword around. He saw the blow coming, saw the flat of the Karien’s blade aimed at his head and knew there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Pain blinded him.

Then there was blackness as unconsciousness swallowed him whole.

There had been some dissension over whether or not Damin should be allowed to take up residence in the High Prince’s Palace, his opponents fearing that his possession of it might imply their tacit agreement to his claim. Marla had put an end to the argument by pointing out that the palace actually belonged to the Wolfblade family, therefore she had a perfect right to be there and invite whoever she wished to guest with her.

That had been yesterday. Cyrus Eaglespike was evicted as the Wolfblades reclaimed their palace. Adrina had been shown to her apartments, the same quarters she had used when she visited Greenharbour for Lernen’s birthday almost three years ago, and seen nobody since.

She paced the sumptuous rooms impatiently, striding past tall, diamond-paned doors that opened out onto a balcony overlooking the harbour. They allowed what little cooling breeze there was to sigh through the room, gently billowing the sheer curtains that screened the windows against insects. The screeching gulls circling the fishing boats grated on
her nerves. The air was humid, worse even than Talabar.

Adrina hated not knowing what was going on. She knew there had been some sort of confrontation with Cyrus Eaglespike, and that R’shiel had somehow temporarily defused the situation, but other than that she was completely in the dark.

The door opened and Tamylan slipped into the room, bearing a tray with a silver jug beaded with condensation. She placed the tray on the gilded table by the door, then turned to her mistress.

“You should be resting, Your Highness. You look exhausted and there is more than yourself to consider now.”

“I can’t rest,” she declared, stifling a yawn. “What news?”

“Not much, I fear. The city seems quiet. R’shiel has gone to the Sorcerers’ Collective to meet with the High Arrion and the Harshini.”

“Where’s Damin?”

“With Lord Bearbow and Lord Hawksword. I believe Princess Marla is with them also.”

“So I’m to be excluded from their council, am I? Where are they meeting?”

“Adrina, I really don’t think you should—”

“I don’t recall asking what you thought, Tam. Where are they meeting?”

“Downstairs in the throne room.”

“Then I think I shall join them,” she announced. Squaring her shoulders, she marched to the door and flung it open, only to have her way blocked by two heavily armed Raiders wearing Damin’s wolf’s head crest. “Out of my way!”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” the taller guard said. “Lord Wolfblade said you weren’t to leave this chamber.”

“Don’t be absurd! I’m his wife, not a prisoner! Stand aside!”

“Lord Wolfblade was very specific in his orders, Your Highness.”

“Actually, I told them to tie you down, if necessary.”

Adrina turned to find Damin coming towards her, his boots clicking on the mosaic floor. He was unshaved and still dressed in the same clothes she had seen him wearing yesterday. He had probably been up all night. Damin looked almost as tired as she felt. She quashed a momentary pang of sympathy for him, preferring anger to compassion.

“How dare you treat me like a prisoner!”

“It’s for your own protection, Adrina. Until I’m certain the palace is secure, I don’t want you wandering around.”

“You don’t want me to know what’s going on, more like it.”

The guards stood back to let Damin enter, tactfully closing the door behind him. Tamylan curtsied to him and he nodded absently in acknowledgment.

“Can I get you anything, my Lord?”

“Something to eat, Tam,” Damin replied wearily. “And something cold to drink. Have it sent up here.”

Tamylan curtsied again and let herself out of the room before Adrina could countermand the order.

“You seem to be getting very familiar with my slave.”

“I believe Tamylan has finally decided that I may not be an ogre, after all.”

“You haven’t convinced me yet.”

He smiled tiredly. “Are you all right?”

“What harm can come to me here, locked away like a bird in a cage? Of course, I might die from boredom, but don’t let that bother you.” She resumed her pacing as Damin flopped onto the chaise near the open balcony doors.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give the impression you were a prisoner.”

“Ah…now let me think…I’m stuck in this room. There are guards on the door. I’m not allowed to leave. How silly of me to think all that meant I was a prisoner.”

“My uncle has been dead for nearly two months now, Adrina. That’s two months that Cyrus Eaglespike has had access to this palace. We’ve already discovered at least three rooms that were rigged with assassination devices.”

She stopped pacing and turned to him. “But you said the Assassins’ Guild was on our side.”

“They are. That’s how we found the devices. Cyrus hasn’t got access to the Guild, but there are some gifted amateurs out there. This is a big palace. It will take days before we’re certain they’ve found every nasty little surprise Lord Eaglespike has left for us.”

Adrina found herself regretting her outburst. Perhaps he really was concerned for her welfare. On the other hand, he may simply be using it as an excuse to exclude her.

“You didn’t invite me to your council,” she accused with a bad feeling she sounded like a petulant child.

“That was Marla’s idea, not mine.”

“You’re a Warlord and a High Prince. Don’t you think it’s time you stopped listening to your mother?”

“If I listened to my mother, Adrina, you
would
be a prisoner.”

She didn’t doubt he spoke the truth. “What’s going on, Damin? I’ve a right to know.”

He nodded. “That you have. How much have you heard?”

“Only that you confronted your cousin and that R’shiel did something to him.”

“Actually, it was more the threat of what she
could
do that encouraged Cyrus to see reason. When Kalan returned to Greenharbour ahead of us, Cyrus tried to get her to ratify his claim to the throne and sanction the Convocation, even though he had only three Warlords to attend. Kalan refused naturally, so he tried to storm the Sorcerers’ Palace. He didn’t count on the Harshini. They threw up some sort of protective dome that he couldn’t penetrate. They’d been under siege for days. R’shiel says we arrived just in time.”

“And what is the demon child doing now?”

“I don’t know for certain. As soon as we took possession of the palace, she left for the Sorcerers’ Collective. I haven’t seen her since.”

“Has something happened?”

Damin shrugged. “Who knows? R’shiel has all of us dancing on strings like puppets in a show that only she can see.”

“Yet we all dance willingly enough,” Adrina said with a frown. “So what happens now?”

“We wait for Tejay Lionsclaw. Until she arrives, we can’t hold the Convocation.”

“Is she on her way?”

“She should be.”

“You sound uncertain. Isn’t she on your side?”

“I would have said yes a few days ago, but that was before I learnt that Cyrus Eaglespike married his daughter Bayla to Tejay’s eldest son last spring, while I was in Medalon.”

“So the person who holds the casting vote is tied to your opponent by marriage. That’s not a very comfortable position to be in.”

“Decidedly uncomfortable,” Damin agreed.

“How are you going to ensure that she remains in your camp?”

“I haven’t worked that out yet. Any suggestions?”

The question took Adrina by surprise. That Damin actually wanted her opinion was flattering. In fact, that he had bothered to come here at all, to acquaint her with the situation and ask her advice was the last thing she expected.

“You need to discover the quality Tejay Lionsclaw admires most in a leader and make sure you have more of it than your cousin,” she advised. “That, or give her something she wants. Something that nobody else can give her.”

He laughed sourly. “That’s easy! All I have to do is give her the secret of the explosive powders your damned Fardohnyan bandits use against her in the Sunrise Mountains. If I could do that, she’d swear the allegiance of her House to mine for an eternity.”

“My father guards that secret more closely than his treasury.”

“I know. We’ve tried everything we could think of for years to discover it.”

Adrina hesitated before she spoke again, aware that her next words would mean she was taking an irrevocable step in a direction she had not planned to go. But she was tired, mentally and physically. Her surrender seemed inevitable and the energy it took to sustain her defiance was needed elsewhere.

“You haven’t tried asking me.”

Damin looked up at her in astonishment. “
What
?”

“I said, you haven’t tried asking me.”

“I heard what you said, Adrina,” he told her, rising to his feet. He stood too close. She wished he had stayed seated. She didn’t like looking up at him. “Are you telling me that you know the secret of the explosives?”

She could not tell if he was angry or just surprised.

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

She took a step back from him. “You didn’t ask.”

He turned away from her and walked to the open doors. The set of his shoulders was stiff and angry. He was silent for a time then he turned back to her.

“Why tell me now? Why the sudden change of heart?”

“You always suspect me of having an ulterior motive, don’t you?”

“That’s because you usually
do
have an ulterior motive, Adrina.”

She was honest enough to not deny the charge. “Our fates are bound, Damin, whether we like it or not. I cannot go on fighting you forever.”

“You seem to be doing just fine, so far.”

The door opened and Tamylan returned before Adrina could respond to the charge. Her slave did not
seem to notice the tension in the room. She curtsied hurriedly then turned to Damin. “My Lord, Princess Marla requires your presence urgently. She has news of Lady Lionsclaw.”

Damin nodded then turned to Adrina. “We’ll finish this discussion later.”

He strode from the room, angry and annoyed, before she had a chance to answer.

Tamylan closed the door behind Damin and leaned against it, staring at Adrina suspiciously. “Did you tell him?”

“No.”

“Adrina…”

“I keep planning to, Tam, but the timing never seems right.”

“You can’t keep it a secret much longer.”

“I know,” she sighed.

Tamylan crossed the room and took her arm gently, leading her to the chaise.

“Well, I suppose there’s no point in worrying about it now. Why don’t you lie down? You need your rest and he said he’d be back. You can tell him then.”

Adrina nodded, aware that she was almost swaying on her feet with fatigue.

“He’s mad at me again.”

“He’ll get over it.”

“I told him about the gunpowder.”

“Was that wise?”

“I thought…oh, hell! I don’t know what I thought. He makes me so angry!”

“No angrier than you make him,” Tamylan pointed out with a shrug. “Now stop fretting and come and lie down.”

Adrina sighed wearily. “What would I do without you Tam?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, Your Highness.”

Adrina smiled and lay back on the couch. She would tell Damin when he returned—about the gunpowder and the child.

“Tam, did Marla say what the news was? About Lady Lionsclaw?”

“No, but she seemed excited rather than upset, so I suppose the news is good.”

Adrina closed her eyes for a moment then opened them again, looking at Tamylan with concern. “If I go to sleep, you’ll wake me when he comes, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

“You seem to like him now. You used to think he was a barbarian.”

“I still do,” the slave told her. “But I’ve decided the demon child is right about one thing. I think he really cares about you, Adrina. That rather improves my opinion of him.”

Adrina closed her eyes again. The humidity and the strain of the past few weeks caught up with her in a wave of fatigue. “Do you think he’ll be happy when he learns I’m with child?”

“He’d better be,” Tam replied sternly.

“You’re going to make a wonderful nurse, Tam.”

“Rest, Your Highness.”

Adrina didn’t answer. By the time Tamylan had gently closed the door behind her, she had let the torpor overtake her and drifted off to sleep.