Treason Keep (30 page)

“R’shiel, you could level a mountain if the mood took you. Your power is not the issue. As for the Kariens priests, their ability is an abomination. Remember that Xaphista was a demon once. During
their initiation ceremony they drink his blood. And it’s not some slaughtered animal’s blood they’re drinking either, it really is Xaphista’s. The blood links them to their god in the same way we’re linked to our demons. Through that link they can call on his strength to weave the coercion.”

“But the link must be pretty tenuous,” she said. “Where did they get the power to coerce a whole army?”

“Individually they’re weak, but as a group they can be devastating.”

“You’re not worried I’ll start worshipping the Overlord, are you?” she asked with a grin.

Brak could have slapped her for being so flippant. She wasn’t listening at all. “It’s what will happen to these people afterwards, that worries me. If you coerce them into believing Joyhinia wishes to retire in favour of Mahina, then that’s exactly what they’ll do. But tomorrow, or the week after, or a year from now, when you’re not around to suppress their natural feelings, they will begin to wonder why. They’ll know they’ve been tricked. Mahina’s reign is likely to be even shorter than the last time. One dissenting voice will turn into two, which will turn into ten which will turn into an avalanche.”

“I’ve already told you, we’ll send the most likely dissenters away…”

He shook his head in exasperation. “It won’t matter. You have no way of knowing who is susceptible and who isn’t. The ones you think most likely to object may take to the coercion like it was mother’s milk. But there will be others, people you don’t even suspect, for whom the coercion will last
less than a day. There will be nearly a thousand Sisters in that Hall, R’shiel. You can’t watch them all.”

“Then we’ll do something to keep them quiet. It only has to last long enough for Mahina to issue the orders sending the rest of the Defenders to the front. She can resign after that and they can hold another election—”

“Do what?” Brak cut in.

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “Maybe if they all got sick, or something…”

“You mean you’d create an epidemic just to keep the Sisters occupied?”

“I suppose. Nothing serious, just something that keeps them close to the garderobes for a few days.”

“I see. And when this epidemic spreads to the general population, as it will, what of the young, too weak to fight it? The old, too frail to withstand it? Are you ready to kill innocent people to keep your coercion from falling apart?”

“Then what do you suggest we do? We have to get the rest of the Defenders to the border!”

“Fine. Have Joyhinia issue the order. Have her resign, too, if you must, but the more complex the coercion, the more chance there is of it blowing up in your face.”

“But we need Mahina in charge.”

“Then put her in charge, but let her take control herself. If you impose an artificial control, the results could be catastrophic. Trust her to know what she’s doing. She got caught out once. I don’t think she’ll be so foolish this time.”

“What are you suggesting? That we get through the Gathering and then walk away?”

“Actually, I was thinking of running, not walking. One of the hallmarks of maturity for a Harshini is knowing when
not
to use your power, R’shiel.”

“I’m not Harshini. Not completely.”

“You’re not completely human, either, but that’s no excuse for acting like an idiot. Consequences, R’shiel. I ask you again. Are you prepared for the consequences?”

She was silent for a moment, considering her answer carefully.

“The consequences of not acting are liable to be worse,” she said finally.

“You don’t know that for certain.”

“No,” she agreed, then she sighed. “Alright, I’ll grant you that letting Mahina establish control in her own right is probably safer than imposing it artificially. But I will have to coerce them into accepting her appointment at the Gathering.”

“And then we leave?”

“I suppose.”

“Good. I’ll be waiting outside the Hall with our horses. It’s too damned dangerous for you here R’shiel.”

“Dangerous? Compared to what? The border, where there’s a war going on?” She smiled wearily at him. “Show me how it’s done, Brak. We’re running out of time.”

Brak silently admitted defeat. He had done all he could to deter her, short of refusing her the knowledge outright. But she had felt it once before, the night before the battle. If he didn’t instruct her properly, he knew that she would simply try to copy what the Kariens priests had done, and the result might be disastrous.

The irony was, using simple human tactics, she was coercing him into showing her something he thought far too dangerous for her to learn. At least she had agreed to leave, once the deed was done. Brak couldn’t put his finger on it, but he had a feeling of impending danger and it had been growing steadily stronger ever since he had entered the Citadel.

He wished the Citadel was easier to read, easier to understand. He could feel its anxiety and it was making him very nervous.

Loclon waited until almost sundown before finally accepting that R’shiel and her half-breed companion were not going to appear. Cold, wet and thoroughly disgusted, he made his way to the Blue Bull tavern to meet with Garanus and report his lack of success.

Loclon had thought the tavern an odd choice for a meeting place. It was far too public for his liking, and a Karien priest would stand out like a red-coated Defender in a snowstorm. Garanus had shrugged off his concerns. He had private rooms available, he said, and had paid the tavern keeper well to ensure her silence. Besides, it was Founder’s Day and the Citadel was full of strangers. A few more would barely rate a mention.

The rain had dwindled to a light drizzle about an hour after the First Sister arrived and had completely stopped an hour or so after that. Not wishing to be seen defying Garet Warner’s orders, he had paid an urchin to watch Francil’s Hall, and another to keep an eye on the Main Gate. It had proved a waste of good coin. Nobody even remotely fitting R’shiel’s description had entered the Citadel since the parade. She had either arrived early, or the priest was wrong.

Tavern Street was still crowded when he arrived, the revellers determined to get full value from the public holiday, particularly now the rain had stopped, although the air was bitterly cold and many of the party-goers stood hugging the small fires that lined the street. He pushed through them impatiently into the crowded taproom of the Blue Bull, where he spied Lork standing guard outside the door to one of the private dining rooms. The big man wore an expression that turned away the curious, simply by its ferocity. When he reached the door, Lork barred his way with a low snarl.

“I’m expected,” he said. Lork glared at him for a moment before dropping his thick arm. Loclon opened the door and pushed past him.

He froze in shock as the door snicked shut behind him. He was expecting Mistress Heaner and Garanus to be waiting for him, not five more Karien priests and a tall man with hooded eyes, who by his bearing just had to be a Karien nobleman, despite his unremarkable clothing.

“Ah, Captain,” Garanus said, looking up at the sound of the door closing. “You bring us good news, I trust?”

For a fleeting moment, Loclon wanted to run. This was getting out of hand. His desire to see R’shiel suffer had not included treason. He had been able to convince himself for months that his association with Mistress Heaner was simply a ploy. He had made himself believe that information he passed on was not critical, that
he
was using
them
rather than the other way around. Confronted with incontrovertible proof of Karien involvement at the highest level, what was
left of his conscience gave a dying cry of protest. He ignored it.

“Your information was wrong. R’shiel was not with the First Sister.”

The Karien Lord glanced at Garanus, frowning. “You claimed you could feel her.”

“I could,” Garanus assured him. He glanced at the other priests, who nodded in agreement. Their tonsured heads and pale skin made it hard to tell one from the other. “We all could. Our captain here may have missed them, but the glamour the demon child and her lackey wove to conceal themselves is like a beacon to those of us who are close to the Overlord. Trust me, Lord Terbolt, she is here.”

Loclon studied Terbolt guardedly. The name meant nothing to him, he had little interest in Karien politics, but he was bound to be a personage of some note. A man whose good will he needed to foster if he was to continue on this path.

“They must have arrived earlier, before the parade.”

Garanus shrugged. “When they arrived is not important. The fact that they are here is all that counts.”

“So what now? I can hardly kill this half-breed if I can’t find him.”

Lord Terbolt nodded in agreement. “Nor can we expose this ungodly Harshini alliance with the Sisterhood, with either of them on the loose. Can’t you use your…powers, or whatever it is that you do, Garanus, to track them down?”

“What Harshini alliance?” Loclon asked, before the priest had a chance to answer.

Lord Terbolt turned to him. “The Sisterhood has been secretly allied with the Harshini for years, Captain. The demon child was raised under their protection. Now they have openly allied with the Hythrun, and the Harshini, whom the Sisterhood claims have been extinct for more than a century, begin to reveal themselves once more. We already have reports of Harshini appearing again in Greenharbour. Before long, they will overrun the entire continent with their insidious heathen gods. We are here to put a stop to it.”

Loclon wasn’t sure that he believed the Karien, but it made sense. Until she had run away with Tarja, R’shiel had been training for the Sisterhood. Her mother was the First Sister. The thought that his career had been destroyed by a Harshini bitch who was secretly working to destroy Medalon burned like acid in his gullet.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I think we should pay a visit to the First Sister,” Terbolt said.

The Sister’s Hall was all but deserted. Every Blue Sister in the Citadel was heading for the Gathering. Getting past the guards was easy. Loclon knew the effect a barked order had on men conditioned to follow their officers without question. He and Gawn had led Lord Terbolt, his priests, and the silent Lork to the main residential wing of the Sister’s Hall quite openly. With their heads covered by hooded cloaks, and their staffs hidden in their folds, the Kariens looked as ordinary as any other visitors to the Citadel.

Gawn’s inclusion was not part of Loclon’s original plan. The captain had appeared on the verandah of the Blue Bull as they were leaving, looking for some entertainment with a willing Probate. Now that he was a widower, he spent a great deal of his off duty hours entertaining willing Probates. They were safer than tavern-keepers’ daughters. As a rule, if you impregnated one, you were not required to marry her.

Gawn’s eyes had widened at the sight of Loclon’s companions, but he was even further along the road of treason than Loclon, these days. He acted as if he really did believe all that nonsense about the Overlord. A thing made easier, no doubt, by the fact that the Overlord had answered his prayers and his slut of a wife lay buried these past few weeks, dead from a fatal dose of heckleweed that she unfortunately mistook for seasoning. Loclon had grabbed his arm and dragged him along, explaining the situation in a low voice as they made their way towards the Sister’s Hall. Gawn had fallen in with them willingly.

The guards at the entrance were easily dealt with. One did not question a captain without very good cause. The men on the upper levels were just as efficiently disposed of. Loclon ordered them downstairs, accusing them of hiding inside the building to escape the cold. The men saluted sharply and hurried outside.

The guards in the hall outside the First Sister’s apartments were a different matter. These were Garet Warner’s men. Loclon could order them about until he turned green without any noticeable effect. He stopped just out of sight on the landing of the broad,
carpeted staircase and motioned the Kariens to silence.

“What do you think, Gawn?”

“I think we’re going to have to fight,” the captain replied softly.

“There is no need to fight,” Terbolt informed them in a low voice. “Lork, take care of it.”

Before Loclon could protest, the big man stepped into the hall and walked towards the two Defenders standing either side of the First Sister’s door. The men looked up at his approach, hands on the hilts of their swords as they challenged him. Lork didn’t answer them. He just kept walking. As soon as he was in reach of the Defenders, who, by this time, had begun to draw their weapons, he grabbed a man with each of his plate-sized hands and smashed their heads together so hard Loclon could hear their skulls cracking. He hurried forward as the men collapsed at Lork’s feet.

“You fool! You’ve killed them!” he hissed.

“They were agents of evil,” Garanus announced as he came up behind them with Lord Terbolt and the other priests. “Their deaths will please the Overlord.”

“Well, they won’t please anyone around here! We have to get the bodies out of sight!”

“We can move them inside,” Terbolt said, turning to face the bronze-sheathed door. “Should we knock?”

Gawn muttered something as the Karien pounded on the door. It was opened a few moments later by Lord Draco, who took in the fallen guards and the tonsured priests with a glance, reaching for his sword with a speed that belied his age. Lord Setenton was
prepared, however. He plunged his dagger into Draco’s breast while the older man’s blade was still in its scabbard. The Duke of Setenton shoved him backward into the room. Draco slid off the blade and collapsed on the expensive patterned rug, his red jacket darkening with blood. He cried out an unintelligible warning but there was nobody around to heed it.

Loclon stood frozen in shock, as Lork dragged the bodies of the guards into the room and locked the door behind him. They had killed two Defenders. They had killed the Spear of the First Sister.

He was damned whichever way he looked at it.

“Find the First Sister,” Terbolt ordered. The priests spread out, checking the numerous doors that led off the main hall of the First Sister’s apartments. Loclon stared at Draco who lay groaning softly, hand clutched uselessly over his punctured chest.

“Finish him, Captain,” Terbolt ordered brusquely. “His moaning offends me.”

“But he’s…” Loclon began uncertainly.

“I’ll do it,” Gawn offered, drawing his sword. He walked to where Draco lay dying and barely even hesitated as he plunged the blade into him, over and over again. Draco was long dead before he stopped.

Loclon watched Gawn mutilating Lord Draco and discovered, somewhat to his embarrassment, that rather than repulse him, the smell of the blood was arousing him. He turned away to hide the evidence of his excitement.

“Can’t bear to watch, eh?”

Loclon composed himself before turning back, trying to sound nonchalant. “A bit excessive, don’t you think?”

Gawn shrugged. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

“Pleased? To watch you hack an old man to death?”

“He’s not just an old man, Loclon. I thought you knew. Lord Draco is Tarja Tenragan’s father.”

Before that startling news had time to register, one of the priests cried out from a room up the hall. They hurried to the door and pushed their way through.

Across the threshold lay the body of a statuesque middle-aged woman, blood pooling beneath the knife wound in her chest. Her dark hair partially covered her face, but couldn’t hide the startled look in her dead eyes. Loclon stepped over the body and stared, open-mouthed at the sight before him.

They had found the First Sister.

She was sitting on the floor, dressed in a simple grey tunic, her long, grey streaked hair undone and hanging limply over her shoulders. In her hands was a tattered rag doll with one eye missing. She was rocking back and forth, humming tunelessly.

Joyhinia Tenragan, the most ruthless First Sister in living memory, the woman who had ordered a Purge that had killed thousands of Medalonians, looked up as they crowded in her room and smiled at them.

“Do you want to play with dolly?” she said.