Harshini (8 page)

“I don’t have one, Damin. Strange old men and inexplicable religious experiences are not my line of business. That’s what we have a High Arrion for.”

Damin nodded, more than a little concerned. “I’ll mention it to Kalan.”

“You might want to mention it to the demon child, too.”

“Why?”

“Because along with reforming thieves and prostitutes, the old man was trying to find someone willing to kill her.”

“Damin!”

Still brooding over Starros’ disturbing news, Damin was startled out of his reverie by R’shiel. He turned as she ran the length of the broad hall, skidding on the polished floor as she neared him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I need to see Kalan, and Orleon told me she’s in the Solar. As I have no idea what a Solar is or how to find it in this rabbit warren you call a palace, I was hoping you could show me the way.”

“Of course,” he said, offering his arm. She took it lightly and fell into step beside him. Her hair was damp from her bath, but she still wore the Harshini leathers she favoured so much. At least he
thought
they were made of leather. They never seemed to get dirty the way other, ordinary clothes did.

“So, have you spoken to Adrina?”

“Yes. She’s being remarkably cooperative. It has me worried.”

R’shiel laughed. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Damin.”

“You know, the annoying thing is, she’s actually very smart underneath that obnoxious attitude of hers. But I still don’t trust her.”

“You should. She does love you, you know.”

“Adrina? Don’t be absurd. She loves flirting with danger. And power. And herself.”

“She said much the same thing about you.”

Damin looked at R’shiel, shaking his head. “Stop trying to create romance where there is none, R’shiel. You wanted us to marry and we did, but don’t think you can ease your own guilt by inventing some relationship between us that doesn’t exist.”

She studied him thoughtfully for a moment then shrugged. “As you wish.”

They walked in silence after that, through the long, wide halls of the palace, each of them certain that the other was wrong.

Kalan greeted them as they stepped into the Solar. “Demon child; Damin.”

“My name is R’shiel.”

“It would be improper of me to address you so informally, Divine One.”

R’shiel sighed. “Whatever.”

The room had been added to the palace by Damin’s paternal grandmother and was roofed in clear glass tiles. The far wall was also glassed, and opened out into the palace gardens, which were looking rather forlorn, Damin noted with a frown. The furniture here had been cleverly wrought from iron, brightly coloured cushions relieving its convoluted lines. Damin never used the room much. As children they had avoided it. It was too easy for some passing palace courtier to see inside and discover what mischief they were up to.

“There are a few things I need to ask you,” R’shiel explained.

“Then I’ll leave you two in private,” Damin said. Getting caught between the High Arrion and the demon child wasn’t something he relished.

“I think you should stay, Damin,” Kalan suggested. “I imagine this concerns you as much as anyone.”

“I don’t think…”

“Stay, Damin,” R’shiel ordered. “There’s nothing I need to ask the High Arrion that you don’t already know about.”

“Before I answer your questions, Divine One, perhaps you’d like to start by telling me what absurd Harshini plot you’ve cooked up that required my brother to betray his country by marrying that Fardohnyan harlot.”

“While we’re all so busy with explanations, you can tell me what
you’re
doing here with an occupation force,” he retorted. For some reason, Kalan’s insistence on referring to Adrina as “that Fardohnyan harlot” was starting to aggravate him.

“Damin, calm down,” R’shiel advised then turned to the High Arrion. “Don’t judge Adrina too harshly, Kalan. She has a good head on her shoulders and your brother loves her.”

“Not that I noticed.”

“Then you’re not as observant as I thought,” R’shiel shrugged. “Please sit down. This could take a while so we might as well be comfortable.”

“If you’re planning to convince me this is a good idea, then we could be here all night,” Kalan remarked as she sat down on the chaise near the fireplace. The clouds moving in front of the sun shadowed the room. It made her expression hard to read.

“There was a time when the Hythrun did not question the Harshini.”

“That time is long past, demon child. The Harshini abandoned us and we learnt to survive on our own. Nothing personal, mind you—the Harshini presence in Greenharbour has been most welcome these past few months—but why should we submit to your people again?”

“Because without the Harshini all Hythria will continue to be is a pack of squabbling Warlords, each trying to kill the others to gain more territory,” Damin said. “Hythria is better than that.”

“That’s very noble of you, Damin. You hope to appeal to my patriotism in lieu of my political instincts, is that it?” Kalan smiled, as if the very idea was laughable.

“No, it’s your political instincts we’re relying on.”

Kalan turned to R’shiel. “What do you mean?”

“I have to destroy Xaphista, Kalan. I’m hoping you can tell me how.”

“You think the Sorcerers’ Collective is privy to such secrets?”

“It’s hardly something I can ask the Harshini.”

Kalan smiled faintly. “I suppose not, but don’t get your hopes up, Divine One. There may be something in the archives that I’m not aware of, but even in ancient times, the gods weren’t renowned for documenting the instructions for their own demise and leaving them lying about where a mortal could find them. And even if we have the knowledge you seek, with Hythria on the brink of civil war, I’ve neither the time nor the inclination to aid you in such an undertaking.”

“On the brink of civil war?” Damin scoffed. “Aren’t you exaggerating just a little, Kalan?”

“You don’t know the half of it, brother,” she scowled. “You wanted to know what I was doing here? Well, I’ll tell you. I’m here because the Warlord of Dregian Province tried to have you declared dead and your province gifted to his younger brother. Krakandar is currently under the protection of the Sorcerers’ Collective. I occupied your city because without me, you wouldn’t
have
a city.”

“Cyrus tried to have me removed?” The idea was laughable.

“It’s worse than that. He’s publicly calling you a traitor.”

“Let him! Who would believe him anyhow?”

“A lot of people. You left Krakandar all but unguarded, and even the lowliest beggar in the street has heard the rumours that Fardohnya is planning to invade us. You made a treaty with Medalon without consulting anyone. You sent Narvell to Bordertown to help the Defenders. It might have been different if you’d sent him to guard your border, but you didn’t. You sent him into Medalon. And now you return home like nothing is wrong, bringing with you the daughter of our worst enemy as your bride. The wonder is not that Cyrus has accused you, Damin. It’s that nobody has acted on it until now.”

“I have to get to Greenharbour,” he said, thinking of several rather painful and exotic things that he would like to do to the Warlord of Dregian Province. “I’ll put that obnoxious little upstart in his place. What’s Lernen been doing while all this is going on?”

“Fretting,” Kalan told him. “He’s not been well lately and Cyrus has his ear. He knows what Lernen likes and, more importantly, what he fears. You’ve no idea the damage he’s done in your absence.”

R’shiel was looking at him with concern. He did not realise how dangerous his expression was until he caught a glimpse of himself in the glass.

“Don’t do anything hasty, Damin.”

“What I plan to do to Cyrus will be very, very slow, R’shiel.”

“I don’t have time for you to start a war, Damin.”

He smiled coldly. “Don’t worry. It’ll be a nasty little war, but a short one.”

“How long ago did all this happen?” R’shiel asked Kalan, sparing Damin an exasperated look.

“Over a month ago. I’ve been here since the Feast of Jonadalup. Mother came here as soon as she realised Krakandar was under threat. Narvell arrived six days ago.”

“But now that he’s back, you can release Krakandar and return to Greenharbour, right?”

“No. We’ll have to go back to Greenharbour so Damin can petition the Convocation of Warlords for the return of his province.”

“Petition the Warlords!” Damin exploded angrily. “The hell I will!”

R’shiel shrugged philosophically. “Then we’ll go to Greenharbour.”

“R’shiel—”

“Damin, we have to get this sorted out quickly. Medalon is under Karien control and I can’t do anything about it until I’ve found out how to deal
with Xaphista. If that means sorting out your damned Warlords, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“What’s the hurry?” Kalan asked suspiciously. “Xaphista has been the dominant power in the north for centuries. A few more months one way or the other won’t make much difference.”

“It’s not just the Overlord. I promised to help the Defenders retake Medalon. There’s a thousand Defenders headed this way,” Damin told her.

“You’re bringing Defenders onto Hythrun soil? Damin, how
could
you?” she cried in horror.

“They come as allies,” R’shiel reminded her.

“There is no such thing, as far as the Warlords are concerned. If those Defenders step one foot into Hythria before this is resolved, there will be nothing I can do to save you, Damin. You will lose Krakandar, the High Prince’s throne and probably your life.” The High Arrion turned to R’shiel, her eyes burning with anger. “You are responsible for this too, I suppose?”

“Sort of,” R’shiel admitted.

“And how does this fit into your grand plan to destroy Xaphista?”

“If we don’t turn the Kariens back from Medalon, Hythria is next, Kalan. I can hardly destroy him if he’s getting stronger, rather than weaker. We need the Defenders and every man the Hythrun can muster. Only then can we restore the Primal Gods to millions of people who now worship Xaphista.”

“What do you mean, you’re going to weaken Xaphista by restoring the Primal Gods to Karien?”

“What did you think I was going to do? Hunt Xaphista down and then throw fireballs and lightning bolts at him? Unless you’ve got some handy little
scroll with precise instructions on how to do that tucked away in your archives, the only way I can seriously threaten the Overlord is to shake the faith of his believers. And I can’t do that while he’s rampaging through the continent, conquering everything in sight. The Defenders must be helped. Medalon must be freed.”

“And how do you plan to restore the Primal Gods?”

“That’s where you come in.”

Kalan stared at her, wide-eyed. “I fail to see…”

“The Sorcerers’ Collective is the closest thing to an organised religion that I have to work with,” R’shiel explained, a little impatiently. “The Kariens are used to being organised. It’s how Xaphista maintains control. I can’t just destroy his Church. I have to
replace
it.”

“Since the withdrawal of the Harshini our power has been eroded considerably.”

“I know. But Brak told me that the Sorcerers’ Collective once sent out their emissaries to every corner of the continent. He said they could travel through a war zone with impunity.”

Kalan nodded. “They were protected by their black robes, their diamond-shaped pendant and the deep respect the people had for our fellowship.”

“Those days are long past,” Damin warned. “Anyone caught wearing the diamond pendant in Fardohnya these days is imprisoned as a Hythrun spy. In Medalon they’re liable for deportation. In Karien, they’re burned at the stake.”

“I can change that.
We
can change it. But I need your help, Kalan. I need access to your archives. I need Hythria united and at peace with Fardohnya, and we
need Hythrun help to push the Kariens back. And I need the Collective. Only then can I face the Overlord with a chance.”

Kalan nodded as the ramifications dawned on her. “Assuming we can save Damin’s province and bring our troops to aid Medalon, how do you propose to convert the Kariens?”

“I don’t wish to tip my hand by revealing that.”

Damin glanced at her askance, wondering if her reticence was deliberate or she simply didn’t have a clue.

Kalan’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Yet you
demand
my cooperation?”

“I’m
asking
for it, Kalan. If I wanted to demand it, I would ask one of the gods to appear and make it a divine edict.”

“Then let me see if I understand you. You want me to return to Greenharbour and announce that the Collective sanctions the marriage of the Hythrun heir to Hablet’s daughter. You then, I assume, want me to issue some sort of dire threat to the Warlords who oppose this union, to make them toe the line. And while you’re scrabbling through my archives looking for something that probably doesn’t exist, you want me to get them to release Krakandar back to Damin and convince them that a thousand or more Defenders pouring over our border is an act of friendship, not war.”

“That would help,” R’shiel agreed.

“And you? Having dragged half the world to the brink of war, what will
you
do, exactly?”

“Hand you and your Collective more power than they’ve known for centuries,” the demon child told her.

Kalan sat, silent and thoughtful for a moment. “You make a powerful and tempting offer, demon child.”

“You’re not likely to get another like it.”

Kalan looked down at her hands again before meeting R’shiel’s eye. “You may, of course, have access to our archives. They are as much the property of the Harshini as they are ours. As for the rest of it…I cannot give you an answer now. I must think on this. What you ask is unprecedented. And I wish to speak with my mother.” She glanced up at Damin. “You are aware of this plan, I assume?”

He nodded. “So is Adrina.”

“Well that explains this absurd marriage, at any rate.”

Kalan rose to her feet and brushed an imaginary speck of dust from her long black robe. Her fair hair fell forward and when she looked up for a moment she appeared much younger and more innocent than she truly was.

“I will give you my answer when I have come to a decision. Damin; demon child.” She bowed politely and left the Solar.

Damin turned to R’shiel, shaking his head. She met his look, puzzled by his expression. “
What
?”

“I was just thinking how well you manipulate people, R’shiel.”

“You sound like you don’t approve.”