Harshini (41 page)

She crossed the space between them in three strides and punched him painfully in the shoulder. “What the hell was all that about?”

“Damin was going to kill him, R’shiel, make no mistake about that. It might have seemed like a good idea now, but I suspect it would have had long-term consequences he hadn’t thought about. Don’t worry about the boy. Gimlorie will keep him out of harm’s way for the time being.”

She looked ready to hit him again. “You got Glenanaran to call Gimlorie, didn’t you? That’s why the Harshini didn’t object.”

“Clever girl.”

“But why pretend he was Death?”

“Damin had to believe Mikel was dead, or he would have finished the job himself. Actually, I thought Gimlorie did a fair imitation of Death myself, although the scythe was a bit over the top.”

“Is Mikel dead?”

“He’s residing with the gods, temporarily.”

“Will you stop being so bloody cryptic!”

He smiled at her anger, which did nothing to help. “I’ll explain later. In the meantime, I think we should get out of here before Adrina decides to have me hung, drawn and quartered.”

“Where are we going to go at this time of night?”

“Back to the Citadel. I’m getting a little fed up with Xaphista. I think it’s about time you fulfilled your destiny, demon child.”

R’shiel was surprised by the number of Kariens camped around the Citadel as they flew towards it. The invading army had now pulled back behind the shallow Saran River. They had blocked the bridges with overturned wagons and there was clear ground between the Citadel and the Karien troops. There seemed to be fewer Kariens, although they still numbered in the tens of thousands. The combination of dwindling supplies, no spiritual or military leadership and, she learnt later that day, the news that the Harshini had returned, had played havoc with the siege army.

She had no time to dwell on it, though, as she noticed the Citadel. It was just on dusk, and she had expected to see the Dimming begin as the walls paled and lost their radiance with the coming night. But the Citadel shone like a lantern in the gathering gloom, casting its soft light out towards the Saran. It made sense, then, why the Kariens had pulled back behind the water. They were hiding in the darkness where the Citadel’s illumination could not touch them.

The dragons settled on the sandy floor of the
amphitheatre as the sun set completely, but even here the night was banished by the radiance. A Defender R’shiel didn’t know came out to greet them, casting his eyes over the dragons with the world-weary air of a man who had seen it all before, and informed them that the Lord Defender was expecting them, and required their presence immediately.

“Where have you been?” Tarja demanded as soon as they appeared in the doorway. “We expected you back days ago.”

“We were checking on Damin and the Fardohnyans.”

“How close are they?” Garet asked. He and Shananara were sitting in the heavy leather chairs facing the desk. Tarja paced behind it like a restless cat.

“The Fardohnyans should reach Brodenvale late next week. Damin’s not far behind them. Another few days I suppose.”

“That’s impossible!” Garet exclaimed. “There is no way they could have covered that much distance in such a short time.”

“You forget the Harshini and the gods are actively helping them, Commandant,” Shananara reminded him.

“I don’t care who’s helping them, Your Majesty. It is simply not possible to sail upriver so quickly, even in oared warships. Or march an army through anywhere at that speed.” He turned to Brak and R’shiel, shaking his head. “You must be mistaken.”

“We’re not mistaken, Garet. Believe it, or don’t believe it. It makes no difference to us.” R’shiel stepped into the office, took the seat beside Shananara
and turned her gaze on Tarja. He looked tired. “The Defender who met us in the amphitheatre said you wanted to speak to us.”

“We got a reply from King Jasnoff.”

“What did he say?”

“It was pretty long-winded, but the essence was, ‘Kill my dukes and I’ll turn Medalon into a graveyard’.”

“What are you going to do now?” R’shiel asked.

“That’s what we were just discussing,” Garet informed them. “Tarja wants to wait until the relief forces arrive, and then attack the Kariens outside. I think we should stick to our original plan: kill one of the dukes and send Jasnoff his head to prove we’re not bluffing. Her Majesty here wants us to lay down our arms, put flowers in our hair, and swear eternal peace and brotherhood with our enemies.”

R’shiel smiled, not at all sure that Garet was joking. “Well, I happen to like Shananara’s idea better.”

Tarja frowned at her. “This is no joking matter, R’shiel. Do you have anything constructive to offer? If not, we don’t need you here.”

“Actually, I do. I want you to give the priests back their staffs and let them go.”

Even Shananara baulked at that suggestion. “You can’t be serious.”

“She’s serious,” Tarja said, studying her intently. “It was your idea to take them hostage, so I’m told. Now you want to let them go. You have a reason, I suppose?”

“We need them outside, where they can influence their troops.”

“I was under the impression that the whole
purpose of confining them here was to
stop
them influencing their troops,” Garet remarked. Oddly, he had not objected to the suggestion. R’shiel thought his would be the loudest voice raised in protest.

“That was before
I
figured out how to influence the priests.”

“So, we let a hundred fanatical priests loose among the currently leaderless and uncoordinated troops outside, who outnumber us about seven to one, on the off chance that you can make them act the way you want?” Garet asked. He nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds reasonable. Perhaps we could just throw all the people in the Citadel off the walls, too, so our enemies won’t have to go to the bother of putting them to the sword.”

“Your wit is exceeded only by your blindness, Garet,” R’shiel retorted impatiently.

“At least I
have
my wits. You seem to have lost yours.”

“Garet…” Tarja said warningly, in an attempt to head off the argument. He turned to R’shiel with an expression that left little doubt of his reaction if she continued to bait the commandant. “How can you influence the priests?”

“Their staffs are made up of pieces of the missing Seeing Stones. They’re like a conduit. If I can find the Seeing Stone here in the Citadel, I can use it to channel whatever I want through it to the priests.”

“But how is that possible?” Shananara said.

“Well, if
you
don’t know, that hardly fills me with confidence,” Garet muttered.

“My guess,” Brak interjected, understanding what Shananara was asking, “is that either the Fardohnyans
or the Sisterhood sold their Stone to the Kariens and they broke it up. They’re the only two that are missing.”

“Well, it wasn’t the Sisterhood,” Tarja informed them. “We’ve found the Citadel’s Seeing Stone.”

“You found it? Where?”

“In the Great Hall. There was a false wall at the back of…R’shiel!”

She didn’t answer him or even hear what else he had to say.

R’shiel was on her feet, out of the office and barrelling down the stairs with Brak on her heels before anyone could stop them.

“What happened here?”

R’shiel’s voice echoed through the Great Hall, although it seemed strange referring to it by that name. This was the Temple of the Gods in all its majestic glory. This was the place that Brak had described to her with such melancholy longing. She understood now, what he had been trying to tell her.

“My guess is Shananara,” Brak said, his voice filled with awe. “If the Citadel needed placating, she would have done it here.”

“It’s fantastic! Look!” She walked the length of the Hall to the podium. The Seeing Stone stood before them, twice the size of the one R’shiel had used in Greenharbour. It reflected the radiant pillars with a soft light that filled the hall, banishing the shadows, highlighting the exquisite artwork. “Oh, Brak, why did they ever try to hide this?”

“Because they were human, and humans have a tendency to destroy anything they don’t understand.”

R’shiel reached up and ran her hands over the cool surface of the Stone, then turned to him doubtfully. “Do you think this will work?”

“It’s theoretically possible.”

“That’s what you said about coming back from the dead.”

He shrugged. “Well, that relies on the whim of Death, so it’s not that cut and dried. This, however,” he said pointing at the Stone, “is a lot more straightforward. The problem is not if it’s possible, though.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“R’shiel, you have raw power to burn. You threw Sanctuary into hiding like it was a child’s toy. But that required brute force, not finesse. What you want to do to these priests is going to call for a delicate touch that you are a century away from achieving.”

“Then perhaps I should wait? That gives you another hundred years to live.”

He smiled at her. “I doubt the Primal Gods would be so patient. Besides, you’d be pretty sick of me in a hundred years, R’shiel.”

“How do you know?”

“Even the Harshini don’t stay together that long. It’s why they don’t get married. There’s only so much you can take living with another person before they start to wear on you.”

“Will I be as cynical as you when I’m seven hundred years old?”

“You’re worse than me already.”

She smiled and sat down on the steps of the podium. He sat beside her for a moment in silence as she took in the monumental Temple. All of this was
her legacy, her inheritance. She laid her head on Brak’s shoulder, trying not to let the knowledge of his impending death distract her.

For a moment, she closed her eyes and let the silence and the memories of Sanctuary overwhelm her. She wished Brak had not put conditions on it—wished he would wrap them in that unbelievable cocoon of magic again and transport her to that other plane where pleasure and indulgence were the only things that mattered…

“Founders!” She sat bolt upright and stared at him wonderingly.

“What?”

“I don’t need finesse, Brak.”

“You don’t?”

“No! I need
pleasure
!”

“Here?
Now
? A bit public, don’t you think?”

“Don’t be an ass!” she said, leaping to her feet, giddy with the knowledge that she knew, with absolute certainty, how to bring Xaphista undone. “Don’t you see? The other night the Harshini could feel us. You said even Xaphista could feel it. You said he made his people turn away from pleasure because it distracts them from him.”

Brak looked at her askance. “What are you suggesting we do, demon child? Have an orgy here in the Temple of the Gods and channel it through to the priests via the Seeing Stone?”

She laughed. “You’d be surprised how close you are to the truth, Brak. Come on!”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet then headed down the Hall, dragging him in her wake.

“R’shiel!”

“What?”

“Where are you going?”

“You’ll see,” she said with a laugh.

He stopped and pulled her back. “Enough! I’m not taking another step until you tell me what you’re up to this time.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Not in the slightest.”

She sighed heavily. “Brak, I’m going to distract the Kariens. I’m going to take their minds off Xaphista for a while.”

“Is that all?”

She nodded. “That’s all I
have
to do, Brak.”

She saw the dawning light of comprehension in his eyes and smiled. Brak shook his head ruefully. “You’re a sneaky little thing, aren’t you? I’m glad you’re on our side.”

“It’ll work, won’t it,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.

He nodded slowly. “Yes. It should work.”

“Then let’s go see Tarja.”

“Gods, you’re not going to tell him what you’re planning, are you?”

“Of course not. I’m going to ask him to throw a party.”

The following day, Tarja relented and agreed to let the priests go. Garet objected vehemently, but once she had spoken to Shananara and had her support, his advice was overruled. Tarja doubted her, she could tell that from the way he looked at her and the edge of scepticism in his voice. But with the knowledge that the Fardohnyans were close, and Damin Wolfblade not far behind, he seemed to think that she couldn’t do their cause much harm and was prepared to indulge her. Up to a point.

The priests were herded from the Lesser Hall towards the gate at dawn the next day. Two of them led another priest whose eyes were bandaged, although R’shiel didn’t know what had happened to him. Parked near the entrance to the gatehouse was a covered wagon, inside which were the confiscated staffs. Once she’d talked her way around Tarja’s objections, and the Defenders realised the stones were mere crystals rather than diamonds, avarice gave way to apathy. But she was not so foolish as to stand in range of a priest wielding his staff, which was the reason she had chosen this vantage on the wall-walk, high above the main gate.

As they neared the wagon, a Defender threw back the tarpaulin. The tonsured men swarmed over it, grasping for the security of the symbols of their rank. One of the priests glanced up, caught sight of her and shook his staff, mouthing some insult she could not hear. Others followed his gaze as they reclaimed their sacred sceptres. An uneasy prickle of apprehension washed over R’shiel as she watched them.

“Brak, was it such a good idea to let so many of them gather like this armed with their staffs?”

“You can’t influence the Overlord’s priests through their staffs if they don’t have them,” he shrugged. “Don’t worry. I don’t think they can—”

His words were cut off by a loud explosion, as the merlon near R’shiel shattered into a shower of flying pebbles. R’shiel ducked for cover as another explosion buffeted her with flying debris. Screams of terror, and the Defenders’ cries of alarm, suddenly filled the street below.

“You don’t think they can
what
?” she shouted over the commotion.

Brak saw her eyes darken and laid an urgently restraining hand on her arm. “They destroy magic, R’shiel. You’re not linked through the Seeing Stone here. Don’t try to fight them.”

“Watch me,” she snarled angrily.

R’shiel stood up and looked down over the street. Defenders were rushing heedlessly to fight an enemy they could not comprehend, while the citizens who had come to watch the priests being released milled about in panic, looking for a way to flee the sudden carnage, too afraid to approach the gate. All other escape routes were blocked by the Defenders.

She spied the cause of the trouble quickly enough. Three tonsured priests held their staffs above their heads, chanting in unison as they called on the power of the Overlord to strike down the demon child. The other priests were not yet organised enough to join in the Watching Coven, but it wouldn’t take them long. Three priests she could handle. She knew that from experience. Any more and she could not predict the outcome.

Turning her attention to the first priest, she hurled a burst of raw power at the staff, understanding now what she had done by accident on the northern plains of Medalon. Whatever spell made the staff drain magic, its focus was the small chip of Seeing Stone at its core. The power she threw at it overloaded the crystal and the conflict between the force at its centre and the staff’s ability to absorb magic created an explosion that threw the priest to the ground with bleeding eardrums. She repeated her effort at the next man, and then the one beside him, careless of the power she was drawing.

Several others defiantly held up their only protection against her, only to find themselves lying prostrate on the ground, their staffs shattered, the gold star and silver lightning bolt fused into a glob of worthless metal. R’shiel could feel rather than see Brak beside her. He shouted something at her that she could not understand. Something about using restraint, but all he could do was stand at her side, ready to catch her if she fell.

It took a dozen or more explosions for the priests to be dissuaded from any further attempts to destroy the demon child; much longer for the Defenders to restore some semblance of order. R’shiel clung to the
power, standing over the gateway, her eyes burning black as she dared them to try her again. She was trembling and exhausted and felt Brak’s arm slide around her waist gratefully. If she appeared to be a tower of strength to the Kariens below, then let them think that. There was no need for them to know that he was holding her up.

“You’ve come this far. Don’t give up now, demon child,” Brak whispered as she slumped against him.

“I think I’m going to faint.”

“No you’re not,” he told her sternly. “You’re going to stand up here and watch every last one of them leave.”

“Don’t let me go, Brak.”

“I won’t.”

She stood there for a long time, leaning into Brak’s solid strength as the Kariens picked up their staffs and filed through the gate beneath her. Towards the end of the line, another small commotion broke out as the three priests left discovered they didn’t have a staff they could claim.

“Seems someone decided to collect a few souvenirs,” Brak remarked.

“Looks like it,” she agreed distantly.

R’shiel watched the last of the priests leave. She heard the gate close behind them, then turned to watch as they ran towards their forces on the other side of the Saran. She didn’t let go of the power until they had crossed the bridges and put the shallow river between them and the Citadel.

The celebration that was organised to mark the departure of the priests had been harder to arrange.
R’shiel had eventually convinced Tarja that it would be good for morale, but more than that, it would annoy the Sisterhood. Even Garet didn’t mind annoying the Sisterhood, and with the strict rationing the Defenders had imposed, they were in no danger of running out of food. A bit of largesse would go a long way to easing the minds of the population, she pointed out reasonably, and there were still a lot of Sisters of the Blade in the Citadel, looking for any excuse to stir up trouble. She had listed all her reasons calmly and didn’t even try to pick a fight with Garet Warner. Tarja eventually agreed and had given Captain Grannon the task of organising such a mammoth affair. All R’shiel had to do now was convince the Harshini to do their part.

The dormitories where the Harshini were quartered were nothing like those R’shiel remembered living in. The whole building glowed with light and colour. She walked the corridors with her mouth agape at what had been hidden under the whitewash, until she reached the place Shananara was using as a dayroom. It had been the Mistress of the Sisterhood’s office until recently.

“I hear there was some trouble at the gate,” Shananara remarked as R’shiel knocked on the open door.

“The priests took exception to my presence,” R’shiel told her with a shrug. “But I discouraged them from doing anything about it.”

“I know,” the Harshini queen replied with a grimace. “I have the headache to prove it. I really wish you would learn some restraint, R’shiel. You can be very exhausting at times.”

“I’m sorry.”

Shananara smiled and indicated that R’shiel should sit. The heavy furniture seemed out of place now. With the walls restored to their former glory, these rooms needed light, airy pieces, not the cumbersome dark furniture the Sisterhood favoured.

“Brak tells me you have a plan.”

“I need your help,” she said, taking the seat opposite the queen.

“We cannot help you destroy Xaphista, R’shiel. For that matter, I could not help you if you wanted to step on a bug.”

“I know that. And I won’t ask anything of the Harshini that goes against their nature—but I need to distract his believers for a while.”

“Distract them? How?” Shananara asked suspiciously.

R’shiel explained what she had in mind. The queen listened to her, nodding occasionally, then finally laughing delightedly. “And you honestly think this ploy will work?”

“Brak seems to think it will.”

“Yes, well Brak is half-human. It would probably appeal to his rather skewed sense of humour.”

“Then you’ll help me?”

“Yes, demon child, the Harshini will help you.”

“Even knowing it may result in the destruction of a god?”

“I don’t know that will happen for certain, R’shiel. For all I know, this will do nothing but annoy him.”

R’shiel nodded, aware that the queen was right. Brak thought it might work, but none of them could be sure. “I have another favour to ask.”

“I’ll grant it if I can.”

“I need you in the Temple of the Gods with me. I don’t have the skill to do this alone.”

“I cannot take a direct hand in this, R’shiel.”

“No, but you can show me what I have to do.”

“Very well,” Shananara agreed with some reluctance. “But don’t count on my help. I don’t mean to sound like I’m threatening you, but I simply cannot do anything that goes against the nature of the Harshini. I will do what I can, but you may find, at the point where you need my help the most, I will be useless to you.”

“I’m prepared to risk that.”

“Then I will be there, demon child. And may the gods guide our hands.”

R’shiel had one other task to perform before she was ready, and when she left Shananara, she hurried through the streets to the Defenders’ blacksmith shop. They had finished the job she had asked them to do and she examined their handiwork closely, careful not to brush against it, until she was satisfied that it was exactly what she had asked for. The sergeant in charge of the forge smiled as she looked over it.

“You can touch it, lass. It doesn’t bite, you know.” He was shouting to be heard over the ringing of hammers on metal. The smiths and the fletchers had been working non-stop for days, turning out weapons and arrows to be stockpiled in case of a Karien attack.

“Actually, Joulen, it does bite.” She straightened up and nodded in satisfaction. “Can you get one of your men to take it over to the Great Hall for me? Ask them to put it near the Seeing Stone.”

“Aye, if that’s what you want.”

“It is, thank you.”

It was late afternoon when R’shiel left the blacksmith’s forge, satisfied she had done all that she could for the time being. All that was needed now was for Xaphista to walk into her trap.