“Are you sure?”
Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. “Yes. I'm sure.”
He waited until he was satisfied that she had her emotions - and more importantly, her power - under control, then stepped back. Tarja was talking to Garet Warner. He seemed determined not to look at her. Garet turned as they approached, his expression concerned for the first time since they had begun this coup.
“What's wrong?” Brak asked.
“As the captain said, almost everything went according to plan. The Sisters are demanding they take control, but we can deal with them. Unfortunately, Jenga's dead.”
“And what about Loclon?” R'shiel demanded. “Did they find him?”
“I told you days ago that no one has seen him since the last Gathering. He's a deserter. He's probably halfway to Fardohnya by now.”
“No! You don't understand!” She turned to Brak desperately. Only he could fully appreciate what she feared.
“We have to find him,” Brak agreed.
“I've got a lot more to worry about than one miserable deserter, R'shiel. This,” he pointed out with a wave of his arm that encompassed the chaotic street before them, “is just the beginning.”
“Then I'll find him on my own!”
“I can't allow that.”
“I don't recall asking your permission.”
“Let her go, Garet,” Tarja said. His voice was dull, as if the life had gone out of him. “She needs to do this and there's nothing at present that requires her help.”
“Very well, go look for Loclon, if you must. We've more important things to take care of. If you tire of such a fruitless task and you wish to join us later, we'll be in the First Sister's office.”
Garet turned away in annoyance. Tarja followed him without looking back. R'shiel wasn't sure if he'd spoken up because he supported her, or was simply trying to be rid of her.
At that moment, she didn't care. Joyhinia was dead, which meant Loclon was free to return to his own body. Somewhere in the Citadel, he was on the loose. She was determined that he would not escape her this time. Not if she had to tear the Citadel apart stone by stone to find him.
CHAPTER 42
Tarja leaned his head tiredly against the cool pane of glass on the long windows of the First Sister's office. They would have to think of another name for it soon, he thought idly. The position of First Sister no longer existed.
The Citadel was quiet. A light rain blurred the view and trickled down the small panes of glass, distorting the world outside. He could see nothing in the darkness but squares of yellow light from the windows of the library building across the street. There were Defenders on guard there tonight to prevent the Sisters of the Blade gaining entrance and destroying documents they did not want to fall into the hands of the Defenders.
Harith had already been to see them, demanding that Garet hand over the Citadel, now that the Defenders had control. She had been shocked beyond words when he refused. It had been a fairly ugly confrontation, and although they had won this round, Tarja knew the Sisters of the Blade would not fade into oblivion quietly. In a way, they were liable to be more trouble than the Kariens.
He heard the door open but did not turn to see who entered. Garet could deal with them. The commandant was good at that sort of thing.
“We've moved all the Kariens we rounded up into the amphitheatre, sir,” the officer reported.
It was Symin, the young captain who had rescued him - when? Only this morning?
“I've assigned enough men to see they don't escape, but we're pretty thin on the ground elsewhere because of it. The priests have been separated from the others. We're holding them in the caverns.”
“What did you do with their staves?”
“We piled them up in one of the caverns. I posted a guard on them. They look pretty valuable.”
“A priest doesn't like being separated from his staff,” Tarja remarked, still staring thoughtfully out of the dark windows.
“That's true enough,” Symin agreed. “They made quite a fuss when we confiscated them. But the rest of the Kariens are docile enough. I think the weather has dampened their spirits somewhat. I told them they'll be released in the morning if they want to go home.”
“Who's in command there now?”
“Captain Grannon.”
“Then go and get some sleep, Captain. You've earnt it.”
“Thank you, sir. Goodnight. Goodnight, Tarja.”
“Goodnight Symin,” he said.
The captain saluted without meeting Tarja's eye and left the office. Tarja watched him go with a frown.
“He doesn't know whether to worship you or run like hell,” Garet remarked.
“I'm glad you think it's funny.”
The commandant leaned back in the First Sister's chair and stretched wearily. “Stop feeling so bloody remorseful, Tarja. Gawn deserved to die. I'd have done the same thing in your place. No... actually, that's not true. I'd have tortured the miserable little bastard for a month or two before I killed him. That's the difference between you and me. You prefer pure, uncomplicated justice. I'm more of 'the end justifies the means' ilk. And I'm very patient. I can wait a very long time before I get my vengeance.”
“Time is one thing we don't have,” Tarja reminded him. “The Kariens outside will attack as soon as they realise what's happened, and then we're going to be facing an even bigger problem.”
“That's where your Harshini friends come in,” Garet mused. “I hope R'shiel remembered to get a message to Hythria before she went chasing off on her damned fool quest to find Loclon.”
There was no point trying to explain to Garet why R'shiel thought finding Loclon was so important, so Tarja let the matter drop. He moved away from the window and took one of the deep leather chairs on the other side of the desk, stretching his feet out. He rubbed eyes that were gritty with exhaustion and looked at Garet questioningly.
“So, what happens now? With Jenga gone, we've no one to take command - unless you fancy the job.”
The commandant shook his head. “Not me. I have neither the ability nor the presence to hold Medalon together. We need someone the people know. I've made a career of keeping a low profile. If you issued a decree in my name, the entire population would stare at you blankly and say 'Garet who?'”
“Then who else is there?”
“There's you.”
“That is not even remotely amusing, Garet.”
“I wasn't joking.”
“Nobody would follow me, even if I wanted the job, which I don't.”
“You underestimate yourself, my friend. You are the most notorious Defender that has ever lived and your reputation is that of a fearless —”
“Don't be absurd!”
“Hear me out, Tarja. You deserted the Defenders because you refused to serve under Joyhinia, and she turned out to be the most savage, uncompromising bitch that ever put on the First Sister's mantle. You publicly defied her. You helped the rebels who challenged her. You got caught. You escaped. You fought the Kariens and then led the resistance against them, too. Every ill-advised, impetuous, accidental thing you've done since you refused to swear that oath to Joyhinia has made you a hero, like it or not.”
“That's ridiculous!”
“As a matter of fact, it is, but it doesn't make it any less real. You are the only man in Medalon the Defenders, the people and the pagan rebels will follow. You count the High Prince of Hythria as a friend and we're going to need him. He'll come to our aid because you asked him. I'm damn sure he wouldn't come if I did.” Garet smiled then and added, “Even half the damned Sisterhood will fall in behind you - at least the younger ones who devoted a good part of their Novitiate to trying to catch your eye.”
Even Tarja allowed himself a smile over that. As a Cadet, Garet Warner had once called him in to his office to inform him that he and Georj were no longer permitted to study in the library when the Novices were in class, as Sister Mahina considered their presence �
�disruptive”. His smile faded and he shook his head.
“I don't want to rule Medalon, Garet. Not even temporarily.”
“I know. That's why I'm offering you the job. If I thought for a moment that you had your eye on the post, I would never have mentioned it. We need someone who cares about setting things right. I've had enough of people who hunger after power for its own sake. That's the whole point of getting rid of the Sisterhood.”
“You can't make me do it.”
“Fine. Then give me a name. Find me one man in the whole of Medalon that can do what you can do, and I'll never bring the subject up again.”
Tarja sighed. “Let me think about it.”
“We don't have time. Tomorrow morning, when the Citadel wakes up, we'd better be damned sure we know what we're doing or Harith will have the Sisters of the Blade back in charge so fast your feet won't even touch the ground between here and the nearest gallows.”
Before he could answer, the door banged open and R'shiel stormed into the office with Brak on her heels. She barely even glanced at him, for which Tarja was grateful. The inevitable confrontation between them had once more been delayed. Her quest to find Loclon had kept her out of his way all day.
“How nice of you to join us, demon child,” Garet remarked.
R'shiel did not seem to notice the sarcasm. “I just spoke to Symin. He said you're going to release the Kariens tomorrow.”
“That's always been our plan.”
“You can't open the gate. I haven't found Loclon yet.”
“I'm not going to hold two thousand Kariens prisoner on your whim, R'shiel. The priests and the dukes will be enough.”
“This is not a whim. He's more dangerous than you know. We have to find him.”
“Then I'll post extra men on the gate to see that he doesn't slip through, but the Kariens are going, R'shiel, and that's final.”
She looked over her shoulder at Brak, seeking his support. She did not look at Tarja.
“I can appreciate your desire to get the Kariens out of the Citadel, Commandant,” Brak agreed reasonably. “But R'shiel is right. Loclon poses a danger that you would be unwise to ignore.”
“A danger to whom, exactly?” Garet asked. “He's your enemy, not mine.”
“Don't you understand?” R'shiel cried in frustration. “Loclon was the one controlling Joyhinia's body! It was Loclon who was aiding the Kariens ever since we tried to remove Joyhinia at the Gathering. Founders, Garet, he's the single, most heinous traitor ever to draw breath in Medalon!”
Suddenly she turned on Tarja. “Tell him, Tarja! Tell him I speak the truth!”
The pain in her eyes almost broke his heart. She needed his support. But finding Loclon in the Citadel would be like sifting through a pile of sand looking for one particular grain.
“She's right,” he admitted. “He's a traitor, and if we can find him, we should.” R'shiel smiled at him gratefully, which made him feel even worse, knowing what he was going to say next. “But we can't afford to hold those Kariens. We don't have the men to guard them, or the resources to feed them. Until we're relieved, every mouthful of food in the Citadel is going to be rationed. I'm sorry, R'shiel. I know what this means to you and I want to see Loclon brought to justice as much as you do, but I agree with Garet. We open the gates tomorrow.”
She stared at him, stunned by his response. Brak stepped forward and placed his hand on her shoulder, as if preparing to restrain her. Tarja wondered for a moment about the half-breed Harshini. For all his laconic scepticism, he seemed to truly care for R'shiel. There was a time when Tarja thought Brak loathed her.
“There! You have it from the Lord Defender, himself. The Kariens leave first thing tomorrow.”
“From who?” R'shiel demanded, shaking Brak off.
“The Lord Defender,” Garet repeated calmly.
“Tarja is the Lord Defender? When did that happen?”
“Just now. The position became available, and as the ranking officer in the Citadel, I decided to appoint him.”
“You're going to let Loclon get away with everything he's done to you, to me, to Medalon, just so you can be the Lord Defender?” She was trembling with suppressed rage. Her violet eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“It's not like that, R'shiel.”
“Isn't it?” she asked bitterly. “You've been marked as the next Lord Defender since the day you joined the Cadets, Tarja. Everybody in the whole damned Citadel knew you'd eventually get the job. Well, I hope the title makes you happy. I never thought you would stoop so low to take it.”
She turned and fled the room. Tarja expected Brak to follow her, but he did not move.
“Sort this out now, Tarja,” he advised. “It'll only get worse if you don't.”
Tarja stared at him for a moment then swore softly as he rose to his feet to follow her.
* * *
“R'shiel!” he called as she ran down the wide marble staircase leading to the dark deserted foyer. “Damn it, R'shiel! Wait!”
She turned to look up at him. The torches set high in the wall sconces cast deceptive shadows over her face. He stopped several steps above her, panting from the chase.
“I didn't mean to hurt you, R'shiel. I'm sorry.”
“No, you're not.”
“Then what do you want me to say? Don't you think I want Loclon as much as you do? But Garet's right, and you damned well know it. We can't hold the Kariens here.”
“There was a time when you would have done anything for me.”
He found he couldn't answer her. Memories flooded through him, reminding him that she spoke an awful truth he was not prepared to face. She studied his face, reading the conflict, the confusion, and even the self-loathing that had plagued him since he recovered from the wound he received trying to save her from the Kariens.
“That time is past, now, isn't it?” she said softly, bitterly. She knew about the geas, he realised. And that he was no longer bound by it.
“R'shiel...” he murmured helplessly. He had no idea what to say. No words to express what he felt.
She nodded, as if accepting the inevitable. “The irony is, I saved your life because I couldn't bear the thought of being parted from you and I ended up losing you, anyway. Did you ever truly love me, Tarja?”
For a long, dreadful moment, he did not answer her. In the end, he settled for the truth. “I don't know.”
She looked away for a moment, perhaps to prevent him seeing her pain. When she turned back to him, her eyes were cold.
“Free the Kariens if you must, Tarja. I'll just have to keep a watch on the gate for Loclon myself.”
“We'll find him, R'shiel,” he promised.
She shook her head sadly. “No, Tarja, we won't be doing anything together any more. I'll find Loclon and deal with him on my own. You're the Lord Defender now. You have Medalon to rule.”
Like a man donning chain mail before a battle, she had surrounded herself with an impenetrable shell, constructed of bitterness and pain. Relief warred with a sense of inexplicable loss as he watched the transformation. He knew then that the R'shiel he had known was gone forever. In her place was a hard, determined and powerful young woman who would never let anyone close to her again.
As she turned and slowly walked down the stairs away from him, Tarja felt he was staring at a stranger.
CHAPTER 43
For a long time, R'shiel walked blindly through the deserted streets of the Citadel, paying no attention to where she was going. She was calm - even serene - uncaring of the light rain that fell softly on the glistening cobblestones. Her mind did not seethe with grief for her loss, or rail at the tragedy of unrequited love. She was numb; totally devoid of any human emotion that could rise up and cause her anguish.
R'shiel wondered if this was what it felt like to be fully Harshini.
After a while, she discovered that her wandering had led her to the Lesser Hall of the Citadel. Without any conscious decision, she climbed the steps and pulled open
the massive bronze door, letting it swing shut behind her with a hollow boom that echoed through the empty darkness. Night was trapped within its walls, the whitewashed ceiling lost in the shadows. She tried to recall the picture Brak had painted in her mind of the Great Hall, the Temple of the Gods, when it had dazzled the world with its glory and wondered if this smaller temple once dedicated to the Goddess of Love had been just as impressive. She could not do it. The Lesser Hall was nothing more than a big, cavernous room with no life or beauty to recommend it.
“Why, Kalianah?” she asked the darkness.
A pillar of light pierced the shadows as she named the goddess. Assuming the form of a child, the Goddess of Love crossed her arms and glared at her. R'shiel stared at the goddess, oblivious to the aura of adoration that surrounded the pale little girl whose feet hovered just above the ground.
“Why?”
“Don't you know that it's extremely ill mannered to summon the gods as if they were —”
“Why did you make Tarja fall in love with me?”
“Oh!” the Goddess said with the guilty air of a child caught playing with something she was forbidden to touch. “That.”
“Yes, that! Why did you do it? What gives you the right to interfere in my life?”
“I was only trying to help.”
“You're supposed to be the Goddess of Love. How can you cause such pain?”
“Well, whose fault is that?” the Goddess asked petulantly. “You destroyed the geas, not me.”
“How?”
“You asked the demons to substitute for Tarja's blood. How was I supposed to know what you were planning?”
“You sent Dace with a message, reminding me I could use the demons to heal him.”
“Yes, but I didn't expect you to use them like that! Any Harshini could have told you something like that would break my geas.”
“Perhaps they would have, if they'd known about it.”
“Well, Brak certainly knew. He was there when I did it. Why don't you ask him why he didn't say anything?”
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