“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.
CHAPTER 58
Music from the amphitheatre drifted on the night as musicians warmed up their instruments. The Citadel blazed softly under a cloudless, blue-velvet sky. R'shiel looked down over the Karien camp from the wall-walk at the scattered fires that pierced the plain like dollops of hot blood in the darkness. The fires stretched as far as she could see. She had done everything she could think of, covered every contingency.
There was nothing left to do now but wait.
“It's been pretty quiet down there since we let the priests go.”
She glanced at Tarja, aware that he was rather uncomfortable. This was the first time they had been alone since her return. She had brought him here to talk to him undisturbed. That was never going to happen in his office. There were things she needed to say to him, for her own peace of mind, if nothing else.
“They're probably down there plotting our downfall,” she remarked, trying to sound lighthearted.
“I'd say that was almost a certainty.”
She glanced at him, but he was staring down at the plain with determination. His profile was guarded. “Tarja.”
“Yes?”
“I'm sorry.”
He turned to look at her. “For what?”
“For what Kalianah did to you. For all of it, I suppose.”
Tarja shrugged, not comfortable with either the subject or her apology. “R'shiel, there's really no need...”
“Yes there is, Tarja. At the very least, it eases my guilt a bit.”
“In that case, apology accepted,” he said, smiling faintly to assure her of his sincerity.
There were ten thousand other things that R'shiel wanted to say to him, but Tarja seemed satisfied that the subject was painlessly closed. He turned back to watching the plain in silence. R'shiel sighed and decided to let the matter drop. There was nothing to be gained from opening old wounds. Tarja had obviously been at pains to put the past behind him.
R'shiel's thoughts turned to the coming confrontation. She tried to calculate how much longer she had to wait. It was the evening of Fifthday. Tomorrow was Restday and, at dawn, every Karien would be crammed into the village churches, every city dweller would be crowded into the nearest temple. Even the soldiers below would turn their backs on the Citadel to listen to their priests. And that's when she would make her move. When every Karien voice would be raised in worship of their god.
It was when Xaphista would be at his most powerful.
It was also when he was most vulnerable.
“If this works,” she said, breaking the silence, “all Damin and Hablet are going to have to do is mop up.”
“Mopping up tens of thousands of Kariens and getting them back across the border will be a job in itself, R'shiel. And don't forget that we still have to gain control over the rest of Medalon. The Sisters of the Blade here in the Citadel might appear to be toeing the line, but I suspect it's only because of the siege. They're happy to let us fight their battles for them, but the moment we're rid of the Kariens, they'll start trying to regain their position. We've a very long road ahead of us.”
“You'll make a good Lord Defender, Tarja.”
He shrugged. “I never wanted to be Lord Defender, you know, not even when I was a Cadet. I knew what people were saying about me. I knew everyone thought I was being groomed for the job and the idea terrified me. The responsibility terrified me. It still does. I was much happier as a simple captain on the southern border fighting Damin Wolfblade. Life was a lot less complicated back then.”
“I think Damin would agree with you. He's finding some of the decisions required of a High Prince a bit more than he bargained for.” For a moment she recalled Damin's unforgiving eyes as he sentenced Mikel to death. Tarja would be confronted with similar dilemmas, she was certain. She envied neither of them. Then she smiled, as something else occurred to her. “He has Adrina with him.”
“Oh, wonderful,” he groaned.
“Don't worry, Tarja,” she assured him, laughing softly at the expression on his face. “You'll be safe. She only has eyes for Damin, these days. Besides, she's due to give birth soon. You never know... she might have the child here in the Citadel and decide to name it after you. But I think you'll find her too
preoccupied to worry about flirting with you.”
He looked very relieved. “I like Adrina, but she can be very... trying.”
With a sympathetic smile, R'shiel turned her back on the Kariens and leaned against the softly glowing wall. She folded her arms across her body and studied the pattern in the stonework beneath her feet for a moment, working up the courage to say what she had brought him up here tell him.
“Tarja, when this is over, I'm leaving.”
He looked at her in surprise. “Where are you going?”
“I have some things to take care of. Loclon is still out there somewhere, for one thing. I won't rest until I've dealt with him.”
“I'm sorry we didn't find him. No, worse than that, I'm sorry I didn't kill him. You were right. You warned me years ago that I should have put an end to him that evening in the arena when he killed Georj. Do you know how often I wish I had?”
“Probably nearly as often as I do.”
For a moment, he could not meet her eyes. The memory of what Loclon had done to her was too dreadful to confront. He glanced back over the plain before he answered.
“We didn't see any sign of him when we let the Kariens out. He may still be in the Citadel.”
“No, Tarja. He's long gone. But it doesn't matter. I'm half Harshini. I have several lifetimes to fill. I don't mind using one of them to find Loclon.”
He nodded silently, needing no further explanation.
“I have to get Mikel back, too.”
“Mikel? That Karien boy who crossed the border with Adrina? What happened to him?”
“The God of Music is minding him for a time. I have to go and get him back.”
“A god is minding him?” Tarja repeated doubtfully. “I don't really want to know what that means, do I?”
She laughed softly. “No.”
“Will you come back when you've finished?”
“I don't know,” she shrugged. “There's something else I have to do, but I don't think it's going to be that easy, and I don't know how long it will take. You can keep a lantern burning for me, Tarja, but don't wait up.”
He smiled then, perhaps even a little relieved that she would not be around to remind him of a past he thought better forgotten. Kalianah's geas was not yet a distant memory. Time would make the past easier to come to terms with. He was no longer her brother and would never again be her lover, but she could count him a friend.
“I'll miss you.”
“No you won't. You'll be glad to see the back of me. So will Garet. And Mandah.” He turned from her, and it took R'shiel a moment to realise that it wasn't anger that turned him away, but embarrassment. “Oh, Tarja, don't be so foolish. I know I've never been friendly with her, but Mandah adores you. I worked that out when we first met in Reddingdale. I suppose that's why I never liked her. That, and the fact that she's so insufferably nice. She's probably one of those Novices who grew up in the Citadel lusting after you and Georj. It doesn't bother me, and you shouldn't let it bother you.”
Tarja suddenly grinned at his own foolishness. “That's very noble of you, R'shiel.”
“Actually, Brak said the same thing.”
Tarja's grin faded at the mention of Brak. There was still a degree of residual distrust between them, R'shiel knew. Brak had done a great deal that Tarja found hard to forgive. “Is he going with you when you leave?”
She shook her head sadly. “No, Tarja. Where Brak is going, I can't follow.”
He was silent for a moment then looked at her strangely. “Do you love him, R'shiel?”
“Not in the way you think. It's something else. You wouldn't understand. The Harshini would.”
“The Harshini,” he sighed heavily. “I don't suppose there's any chance the Harshini will want to leave the Citadel too, once this is all over and done with?”
“Not much,” she agreed with a grin.
He shook his head ruefully. “Well, wherever you go and whatever you do, R'shiel, spare a thought for me every now and then. Things are going to get a lot worse before they get better, I fear.”
R'shiel smiled sympathetically, but did not answer him. They stayed on top of the wall for a while longer, until the discordant notes of the distant musicians ceased. Then the air was filled with the strains of a cheerful melody as the party in the amphitheatre got under way. By unspoken agreement, they turned and walked back down the spiral staircase in the gatehouse to the street and headed towards the music.
CHAPTER 59
R'shiel had feared that allowing the Harshini to mingle with the people of the Citadel in the amphitheatre would be inviting trouble, but she need not have worried. Although the Medalonians had spent two hundred years reviling their race, when confronted with one in person, the Harshini were almost impossible to dislike. They did not share the human frailties of shyness or self-doubt, and assumed everyone was as happy to meet them as they were to meet others. Their wide-eyed joy at being invited to share the celebration was infectious. After a moment's awkward silence when the Harshini first arrived, the party settled down again and the citizens of the Citadel set about enjoying themselves as if the Karien army outside did not exist.
“Isn't it amazing what a bit of free food and alcohol will do for a city's morale,” Brak remarked as he found R'shiel sitting high up in the tiered seating of the amphitheatre watching the party.
“You think that's going to help morale? Just wait till they find out that the court'esa have been laid on free of charge for the evening.”
“How did you get Tarja to agree to that?”
“Ah, well... come to think of it, I didn't actually mention it to him. He's pretty busy at the moment. I didn't want to burden him with details.”
“I'm sure he'll appreciate your consideration when the court'esa houses send him their bills for this evening's entertainment.”
“He'll get over it.”
“You spoke to him, then?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And what? There's nothing much to tell, Brak.”
“No more guilt? No more pain?” he asked gently.
“No.”
“Then all that is left to do is wait, demon child.”
She nodded silently. Brak slipped his arm around her shoulder against the cold and she leaned against him as they watched the party in silence, waiting for the dawn.
* * *
The party was still well under way when R'shiel and Brak rose from their seats high in the amphitheatre and made their way to the Temple of the Gods. The sky was still dark, but R'shiel could feel the morning approaching. The Citadel was ablaze with light, adding its own unique essence to the celebrations. They walked through the almost-deserted streets in silence, aware that the overwhelming atmosphere in the Citadel was not one of fear or tension, but - temporarily at least - one of joy.
Shananara was waiting for them in the Temple of the Gods, her expression serene and hopeful. She smiled as they walked across the echoing floor to greet her.
“For the first time since I've been back, the Citadel almost feels like it used to,” she remarked.
“Let's hope it lasts,” R'shiel said, suddenly plagued with doubt.
“Have faith, demon child.”
R'shiel did not bother to answer that. Faith was something she had been raised to scorn. Instead, she looked at Brak and Shananara questioningly. “What time is it?”
“Almost dawn.”
“Then there's no point in putting this off any longer.”
She turned to face the Seeing Stone and opened her mind to the power. Drinking in the intoxicating sweetness, she let it fill her until her eyes burned black and she trembled with the raw force of it. She could feel Shananara reach for it too, and then Brak. His eyes darkened until they were as black as ebony. The torrent that she and Shananara could channel was vast compared to the mere stream he had access to, but his touch was that of the maestro next to her ham-fisted grasp. At the edge of her awareness, she felt him call to the Citad
el. The mammoth awareness was slow to respond. But Brak knew the Citadel and the Citadel knew Brak. It was a relationship that was centuries old and beyond her comprehension.
In the distance, inside the Citadel, she heard shouts of alarm and the sound of a woman screaming. The walls began to pulse with light. They throbbed as the Citadel responded to Brak's call. R'shiel felt him stir. She felt the Citadel's touch and it almost brought her to her knees. Once before he had reached out to welcome her. She realised now that the last time he had merely glanced over her with mild interest.
R'shiel turned her attention to the Temple of the Gods and called out silently for Brehn, the God of Storms. He was waiting for her. Clouds began to gather over the fortress with unnatural speed, blotting out the rising sun and casting a pall of fear over the army outside.
She called out to the other gods. Jagged lightning split the awakening sky as Dacendaran appeared beside her in his motley garb, and beside him Jondalup, the God of Chance materialised. Further along the hall Kalianah appeared, but for this occasion she chose to appear as a young woman, rather than the child she normally preferred. She stood there in all her radiant glory, blinding any man foolish enough to look upon her. One by one, the other Primal Gods appeared, many of whom R'shiel could not even name. But every one of them she had summoned had answered her call. They could not help it. She was drawing on so much of their essence that even they were under her compulsion for a time. Finally Zegarnald appeared, curiously smaller than normal, although he still stood as high as the gallery.
Through the link she shared with Shananara she had no need for words. By mutual agreement they reached out to embrace the Citadel. Every thought, every mood, every happy laugh, every bawdy song and dancing couple, every lover's caress was drawn into their net. R'shiel drew it to her, relying on Shananara's skill to filter out the odd discordant thought - a fight between two drunken Defenders over an insult from their Cadet days. Two women squabbling over whose baby was the prettier. A lover's quarrel. All of it swirled through the net they wove, and with the skill of a master, Shananara refined it and filtered it until it was almost a concentrated essence of joy and happiness and pleasure.
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