Harshini (39 page)

“Come with me,” he ordered abruptly, running down the steps. Shananara followed him as he pushed through the crowd. It took a while and a great deal of elbow work to get to the main gate, and he didn’t stop when he reached it, or bother to check if Shananara was still with him. He bolted into the gatehouse and up the stairs to the wall-walk to look down over the plain.

The plain below was in chaos. The Kariens seemed to have moved from their earlier panic to utter desperation. Some cried out in horror at the sight that transfixed them. Others were fleeing in terror. Tarja glanced back over his shoulder at the tall towers and then looked down at the walls.

The whole Citadel was glowing like a beacon in the darkness, casting its benign light as far as the bridges over the Saran.

Without consulting him, or giving him a reason, R’shiel announced that rather than return directly to the Citadel, she wanted to check on the progress of Damin and Hablet and the armies they were bringing to relieve the Citadel. He wondered at her decision but did not question it, suspecting that it had much to do with the night they had spent in Sanctuary. She didn’t want to face Tarja so soon, he guessed, or the Harshini who would know what they had done.

He wanted to explain to her that the unique Harshini way of sharing pleasure was not riddled with the same emotion-laden guilt that humans insisted on attaching to sex. For the Harshini it was a celebration of life; simply another way to express their joy for living. Harshini didn’t marry and the concept of jealousy was unknown to them. They shared their bodies and their irresistible, magical gift with no thought to the consequences, or any real understanding of the importance humans attached to it. Among them, it was never a problem. For the Harshini there was no need to explain and nothing to justify.

But when they shared that gift with humans, things got complicated. He had told R’shiel that life had been peaceful and happy before the Sisters of the Blade, but it was jealousy of that peace and happiness that had given rise to the Sisterhood. Their whole sick cult had grown out of the fear of a handful of human women afraid they could not compete with the impossibly perfect, magically gifted Harshini. The original First Sister, Param, had been a bitter old woman whose younger husband had had a fling with a Harshini woman and never recovered from the experience. Param never understood that what had driven her husband away was not the loss of love, but the fact that no human coupling could ever compare with the magic a Harshini could weave.

Only Brak knew that the Harshini woman who had so thoughtlessly shared her body and her gift with the handsome young human who took her fancy was actually Shananara té Ortyn.

She had told him about it a few days after it happened, afraid that she might have conceived, aware that any half-human child of hers would be a demon child. He understood her predicament a little better than her full-blooded kin. She was fearful of explaining what she had done to her uncle, Lorandranek—or worse, the gods, who, back then, would never have contemplated such a child being allowed to exist. Xaphista wasn’t as strong then and the other gods paid him little mind. When her moontime came and went a few weeks later, Shananara swore off humans, claiming they weren’t as satisfying as Harshini in any case, and thought nothing more of it. None of them had.

Until Param and her Sisterhood overran the Citadel and set about destroying the Harshini.

He glanced across at R’shiel as the dragons flew southward, following the silver ribbon of the Glass River, and decided not to tell her. She had too much going on inside that head of hers already. She would cope with what had happened in her own way, and if he had done nothing else, he had freed her from the last vestiges of her grief over Tarja. Although she didn’t realise it, her Harshini heritage was strong. Her conversation with Mandah in the hall outside the First Sister’s office sprang to mind. Letting Tarja go like that, being so willing to stand back and let Mandah have a clear field, was probably the most Harshini thing he had ever seen her do.

They were a few hours north of Bordertown when they spied the Fardohnyan fleet. Brak was amazed they had come so far so quickly, even with Harshini help. The ships were strung out in a line, their oars dipping and rising in perfect unison.

Maera, the Goddess of the Glass River, and Brehn, the God of Storms, were assisting their passage. While Maera hadn’t gone so far as to make the river flow backwards, the strong currents that characterised the river were now so mild that the oarsmen could keep up their steady pace for hours. Between Maera’s help, the winds that Brehn provided (which conveniently changed direction with every bend in the river) and the Harshini, who had flown south to join them, the Fardohnyans were likely to be in Brodenvale within a couple of weeks.

Satisfied that the Fardohnyans were on their way, they did nothing more than swoop down over
the fleet and wave before turning south-east towards Hythria.

It took them nearly a week to find Damin. His call to arms had been answered, but the same problem that had plagued Damin when Greenharbour was under attack was still causing trouble. The Warlords’ armies were scattered throughout Hythria and it was taking a mammoth effort, both logistical and magical, to gather them all in one place.

They found him eventually, still in Hythria, but close enough to the border that he would be over it in a few days. They landed on the edge of Damin’s camp at sunset. The High Prince was waiting to greet them, with Adrina at his side. She was noticeably pregnant, but was glowing with good health. Brak frowned when he saw her. Damin should have had more sense than to let a woman in her condition ride into battle. Then again, when it came to Adrina, he guessed Damin probably didn’t have much say in the matter.

“Nice of you to drop in, demon child,” Damin said as he stepped forward to greet them. His good mood no doubt had as much to do with the fact that he was off to war again, as it did with his pleasure at their arrival. Brak had always liked Damin, but he was a warrior at heart. The responsibilities of a High Prince, a wife and a child on the way weren’t likely to change him.

R’shiel smiled, just as pleased to see her friends as they were to see her. She eyed Adrina with a slight frown and shook her head. “Adrina, what are you doing here?”

“Not much, if the truth be known. Damin won’t let me do a damned thing.”

“He shouldn’t have let you come at all.”

“As if I had any say in the matter,” Damin complained. “Hello, Brak. How was Fardohnya?”

“Interesting.”

Damin laughed. “I want to hear all about it. We’re waiting for Rogan and his Raiders to catch up with us at the moment so we’ve a day or so to spare before we get moving again. Are you here to stay?”

“No,” R’shiel answered for him. “We have to get back to the Citadel.”

“Well, we might as well enjoy the evening, then. Will the dragons be all right out here?”

“They’ll be fine. Is Glenanaran with you?”

“He’s resting at the moment. It’s taken a lot out of him to get us this far so quickly.”

“Did the others arrive safely?” He wasn’t sure who among the Harshini had volunteered to join the Hythrun, or even how many there were.

Adrina nodded. “They arrived a couple of days ago. I’ve never seen so many Harshini before.”

“Neither has anyone else,” R’shiel agreed. Then she caught sight of a small figure half hidden behind Adrina. “Mikel! What are you doing hiding back there?”

The Karien boy stepped forward with a hesitant smile. “My Lady.”

“Look at you, Mikel! You’ve shot up like a weed! What are you feeding him, Adrina?”

“Hythrun army rations,” Adrina told her with a grimace. “I’m glad they have such a beneficial effect on small boys. They do absolutely nothing for my taste buds.”

“Always complaining,” Damin sighed, but he was
smiling at Adrina, who glanced back at him warmly. The change in them was astounding. Adrina had never looked better, and Damin, who had always been a cheerful sort of fellow, appeared ready to burst with happiness. “Come on then. Let’s go sample the culinary delights of Hythrun army rations, and you can tell me how the hell you managed to get Hablet to send his fleet to our rescue.”

R’shiel slipped her arm through Damin’s and the three of them turned back towards the tents, as R’shiel began to relate how she had blown the doors off Hablet’s palace in Talabar.

Damin’s tent proved to be more luxurious than he normally preferred—no doubt a concession to Adrina, who made no secret of her desire for life’s creature comforts. Despite the dire warnings about Hythrun army rations, dinner was delicious, the wine excellent and the company entertaining.

The High Prince and his princess sat close together on the low scattered cushions and once Mikel cleared the remains of dinner away from the low table, Adrina leaned against Damin unselfconsciously as they shared their news from the past weeks. Damin draped an arm over her shoulder in a gesture that seemed as much possessive as affectionate. They still argued a lot, but it lacked the vicious edge of their earlier encounters—although Adrina’s caustic wit had not dulled, and neither had Damin learnt to take anything seriously.

Watching Adrina and Damin together, Brak wondered if Kalianah had taken a hand in their romance. He decided she hadn’t. They were too well
suited to each other. Kalianah’s interference was required only when a couple would never fall in love unless she stepped in. She took a perverse pleasure in doing that, too. It gave her a sense of power. But the Hythrun High Prince and the daughter of the Fardohnyan king were obviously kindred spirits. He wondered idly whether if Damin had not been so keen to avoid Adrina earlier, their obvious attraction—which, according to what he’d heard in the Defender’s camp in Medalon, was apparent from the moment they laid eyes on each other—would have caused trouble sooner.

It might be a very different world if it had.

Damin was relating the tale of Greenharbour’s dramatic rescue by the unexpected appearance of the Defenders when Brak caught sight of Mikel out of the corner of his eye. He turned and watched as the child approached R’shiel. He was holding a goblet—a plain, metal cup with nothing to distinguish it from any other in the tent—but he held it reverently, as if it was an offering to the gods.

“So, there we were,” Damin was saying, “ready to burn Greenharbour to the ground and I hear trumpets in the distance. I thought I was going mad.”

“But why did the Defenders head for Greenharbour?” R’shiel asked. “I thought the plan was to muster them in Krakandar.”

“It was,” Damin agreed. “But somehow the messages got mixed up and the Defenders thought I’d left orders for them to move south. The irony of it all,” he added with a laugh, “was the reason they got there so damned quickly. Denjon and Linst were so furious that I’d left such high-handed orders, they
pushed their men south as fast as they could move, just so they could tell me off.”

R’shiel laughed and glanced up at Mikel. She accepted the cup and turned back to Damin and Adrina. “I wish I could have seen the look on your face when you realised the Defenders had come to your rescue. How did the rest of your Warlords take it? It must have irked them no end.”

“By the time the Defenders arrived, I think they would have accepted help from just about anybody,” Adrina told her with a smile. “They’d already had to swallow their pride and accept my brother’s help, but grateful though they seemed, I think the Defenders were like rubbing salt into an open wound.”

R’shiel chuckled and lifted the cup to her lips. Mikel had remained standing behind her. His eyes were wide, his body tense.

“
R’shiel
! No!”

Brak threw himself across the low table, knocking the cup from her hand before she could take a swallow. Adrina screamed. R’shiel was thrown backwards by the force of his sudden weight and struggled to push him away, more startled than frightened. Damin was on his feet, his sword in his hand before Brak had rolled clear. Mikel froze with panic for a moment then ran for the entrance. Still on his hands and knees, Brak reached out and snatched at the boy’s ankle, bringing the child down. Mikel cried out in protest, but Brak’s vice-like grip allowed him no escape. Damin stepped over the cushions and picked up the discarded cup, sniffing it suspiciously.

“Jarabane,” he said. “It’s poisoned.” He hurled the cup to the ground then he turned his attention to the boy.

Mikel was stretched out face-down on the floor of the tent, trying to kick his way free, but unable to escape while Brak held him.

Damin nodded to Brak, who released him as Damin grabbed the child by his shirt and hauled him to his feet. He pressed the point of his sword into Mikel’s neck.

“Damin! No!” Adrina cried, reading the murderous look in her husband’s eyes. “He’s a child!”

“He’s an assassin,” Damin corrected.

Brak climbed to his feet, offering R’shiel his hand to help her up, and they exchanged a worried glance. There was no trace of humour left in the High Prince, and no trace of mercy.

“Damin, Brak and I need to take care of this,” R’shiel said. She sounded calm and reasonable, just as aware as Brak that at that moment, Damin was dangerously close to—and more than capable of—cold-blooded murder.

“This child is a member of my household. He tried to kill a guest under my roof. Even if you weren’t the demon child, R’shiel, the penalty for such a crime is death.”

Mikel had not uttered a sound. He was paralysed with fear. A small trickle of blood oozed from his neck where Damin held the point of his sword with his right hand, his left gripping the boy by his shoulder.

“If you kill him, Damin, we won’t be able to question him.”

“What’s to question? The child is Karien. He obviously follows the Overlord. What more do you need to know?”

R’shiel turned to Brak, her eyes silently begging him to reason with him.

“We need to know why he turned from Dacendaran,” Brak added. “The God of Thieves took a personal interest in this boy, and somehow he’s been subverted. I don’t want to interfere with your idea of justice, Damin, but if you harm that boy before we have a chance to talk with him, you’ll regret it.”

Damin glared at Brak. “Are you threatening me?”

“Yes, Damin,” he replied softly. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

For a moment, Brak wondered if that had been a wise thing to do. He may have just said the one thing guaranteed to push Damin beyond reason. For a long, tense moment, the High Prince stared at Brak defiantly, then he lowered the sword and thrust Mikel at Brak.

“You have an hour, Brak. Ask him what you want, do what you want. But in one hour that child dies for what he’s done. R’shiel, I hope you will forgive this grievous insult.” He sheathed his sword as Brak caught the boy who was shaking so badly he could barely stand. “Oh, and by the way, don’t think to leave this camp with him,” he added with an icy glare at Brak. “If you do, I will simply turn around and go home. I’ll call off my Warlords, and the Medalonians can face the Kariens on their own and to hell with them.”