“Padric told me of your wild tale. And you expect us to believe that you were planning to warn the Defenders that the Harshini still live? To what purpose? So that they might protect them from the Kariens? The same Defenders who have spent the last two centuries trying to exterminate them? For pity’s sake, Tarja, you rode into Testra in a Defender’s uniform with Mahina Cortanen!”
“Mahina was impeached. They threw her out!”
“Once a Sister, always a Sister,” Mandah said. “Your story’s certainly entertaining, but I’m surprised you couldn’t come up with something more believable.”
“Mandah, if I was lying, don’t you think I would have come up with something more believable?”
“Who knows?” she shrugged. “I thought I knew you well, once. But now... ? You’ve had your chance. Padric will take R’shiel to the Karien Envoy and then let the others have you.”
She turned toward the door and opened it. As soon as she did, Ghari was inside, looking at them expectantly.
“Make your vengeance swift, Ghari,” Padric said as he and Mandah disappeared into the darkness.
chapter 46
R’shiel was thrown into the stable and a guard posted outside. Padric, with several other rebels, galloped off into the darkness. She sank down onto a pile of smelly straw, her mind racing. It was obvious that the rebels intended to kill them. Their only hope was Brak. How long would it take him to discover they were missing? And when he did, would he realize they had been dragged away and had not simply run off of their own accord?
Refusing to let despair take hold, she glanced around. Her hands and feet were tied and she could see the silhouette of the guard posted at the entrance to the stable, although his back was turned from her. She tentatively tugged on her bonds, but they were secure. There was nothing in the old stable she could see that would help her cut through them, even if the guard didn’t notice what she was up to.
Padric’s intentions regarding the Karien Envoy were clear enough. Pieter wanted her for one reason, she was sure – because he had been thwarted in his deal with Joyhinia. She wondered if he knew she had been disowned, or even cared. Probably not. The reward he had offered for her would have been motivated by spite as much as anything. She cared little about the priest’s vision – and did not believe it in any case. If only Tarja had been able to think of something reasonable to say. She had been shocked to hear him claim she was Harshini. Surely he could have come up with something more believable than that!
R’shiel recognized that there was nothing left to her but to wait and hope that Brak would find her and Tarja before their captors acted on their obvious desire to see Tarja swing. As that thought was even more horrible to contemplate than most, R’shiel closed her eyes and tried to doze.
Sometime later she heard horses in the yard, and soon after the figure of the old rebel appeared in the doorway. He walked over to where she was sitting on the ground and looked at her closely for a moment. R’shiel stared back, hoping that he might be having second thoughts.
“I’ve nothing personal against you, understand,” Padric said, as if trying to justify himself. “But you can see our problem. If we give you to the Karien Envoy, the money will help our cause a great deal.”
“If you give me to the Karien Envoy, Lord Pieter will rape me then kill me,” she said. “Why don’t you kill me yourself, Padric? Spare me the rape at least.”
“I’m sorry, R’shiel.” He stood up and walked back to the guard on the door, issuing orders to see her mounted and ready to leave as soon as he had dealt with Tarja. The guard came forward, untied the ropes that held her and pulled her to her feet. She tried to follow Padric’s slight form as he disappeared into the house, but the guard drew her away, bringing up a small dun mare.
“What did he mean about dealing with Tarja?” she asked. The rebel was a balding middle-aged man with an air of weary resignation.
“They’re going to hang him,” he told her, as he lifted her into the saddle. R’shiel looked around and discovered a number of men standing under a large tree on the other side of the yard. One of them was swinging a rope gently, aiming it for the large branch that spread out over the yard. He threw the rope, and on his second attempt, it looped over the branch. Another man reached for the loose end and pulled it down. R’shiel turned to her guard.
“But he never betrayed you!”
“Aye, it’s hard to credit,” the rebel agreed. “But he convicted himself with his own hand. Had a letter in his pocket to the Defenders, he did.” He frowned at the shock on R’shiel’s face at the news. “He betrayed us, right enough, lass. You, as much as the rest of us. Don’t waste your sympathy on him. He’s nothing but a bastard.” R’shiel realized this man was not a hothead like Ghari. This man was truly saddened by the thought that Tarja might have betrayed him, prepared to believe otherwise until he had been confronted by incontrovertible proof of Tarja’s treachery.
“I don’t believe you,” R’shiel insisted stubbornly.
“Then more fool you, girl.”
Padric emerged from the house in the company of Mandah, who avoided meeting R’shiel’s eye. He remounted, followed by two other rebels, then walked his horse forward and took the lead rein from the rebel holding her horse. His eyes were sad as he looked at her.
“It’ll be best if we leave now, lass,” he said. “You’ll not want to see what’s coming next.”
R’shiel glared at him. “You’re murderers! That’s all you are! Miserable, cold-blooded murderers. You’re going to murder Tarja, and you’re going to murder me!”
Padric pulled her horse closer to his. “Tarja has betrayed us both, R’shiel. His death is deserved. Yours will be unfortunate, but I’ve fought too long to stop now.” He kicked his horse forward, jerking her mare with him, and they galloped out of the yard. R’shiel looked back over her shoulder, but there was no sign of Tarja. Within moments, they were out of sight of the old vineyard.
They galloped at a nightmare pace along a track that was barely visible in the darkness. R’shiel was an experienced horsewoman, but her horse was being led, so she could do little but cling grimly with aching thighs and hope that she didn’t fall off. A fall at this breakneck pace would kill her. Of course, she was riding helter-skelter to a fate worse than death in any case, so it really did not matter if she broke her neck in a fall. It was almost enticing.
They rode along the edge of the river as the sky lightened into morning, and R’shiel could make out a small jetty where the elaborately decorated ship was moored. It was three times the size of the Maera’s Daughter or the Melissa and looked cumbersome and top-heavy, even to her inexperienced eye. Padric brought his small party to a halt and walked his horse forward onto the jetty.
Lord Pieter, dressed in decorative Karien armor, stepped onto the gangway and walked down the jetty to greet Padric. Following him was Elfron, wearing a simple brown cassock. He carried his glorious golden staff, which glittered in the dawn light. R’shiel dared hope a little at the sight of the priest. Pieter would not be able to indulge in anything remotely sinful with him on board.
“You have her?” the knight asked Padric, looking past the old rebel and straight at R’shiel.
“Aye.”
“Bring her here,” the knight ordered. “Elfron? What do you think?”
The priest walked down the jetty until he reached R’shiel’s horse. He studied her intently for a moment before laying the staff gently on her shoulder.
R’shiel screamed as intense pain shot through her like a white-hot lance. In agony, she fell from the horse and landed heavily on the ground.
Excitedly, Elfron touched the staff to her shoulder again and R’shiel screamed anew, certain her body would explode under the torment. He withdrew the staff and turned back to the knight.
“This is magic!” he declared in astonishment, as if he had never truly expected to see the effect of his staff on another living being. “The heathen magicians cannot fight the Staff of Xaphis
ta. My vision was true! She is one of them!” He reached down and jerked R’shiel to her feet. She was sobbing uncontrollably, pain radiating from her shoulder. As she looked up, the Karien knight took a step backward.
“You have done well,” the Envoy told Padric, then he turned to Elfron and added, “Get her on the boat, quickly!”
Padric looked stunned and more than a little guilty as the priest dragged R’shiel away.
“What will you do with the girl?” Padric asked.
“The Staff of Xaphista is infallible! You have brought us proof that the Sisterhood harbors the Harshini. You can be assured that we will be forever grateful for your assistance. As for the girl, she will be burned on the altar of Xaphista in the Temple at Yarnarrow, as the Overlord showed us in Elfron’s vision.”
“Just you be sure to keep your side of the bargain.”
Pieter handed a heavy purse to the rebel, somewhat disdainfully. “I have given you my pledge, sir!”
The Envoy followed the priest onto the boat and gave the order to push off. R’shiel collapsed to her knees and knelt on the deck, watching the old rebel through tear-filled eyes as the boat moved out into the swift current. The old man stared at her, his expression distraught. A fine time to have an attack of guilt, R’shiel thought.
The agony subsided a little as the figures of the rebels on the wharf grew smaller and smaller in the distance. R’shiel cursed them all, fervently hoping that Padric lived a long, long time and suffered the guilt of his betrayal for the rest of his miserable life.
chapter 47
Jenga delivered the news of the escape from the Grimfield personally. Hearing Tarja had escaped with R’shiel was bad enough, but the news that Mahina was with them was of far greater concern. Reports from the Grimfield suggested that Mahina was a hostage, but Joyhinia did not believe that for a moment. She ordered him to face the Quorum and explain how such a thing could have occurred.
The rebellion had hurt Joyhinia more than she cared to admit, both personally and politically. Lord Pieter had been back on his annual visit, insisting that she allow the Kariens to deal with the ongoing problem of the heathen rebels. Her Purge, which had sounded so reasonable when she had removed Mahina, had brought nothing but scorn from the Envoy. He had all but accused Joyhinia of being in league with the heathens.
“How in the Founders’ name did Mahina get mixed up in this?” Harith demanded, almost before the Quorum had taken their seats. It was rare that Jenga was invited to the meetings these days. Usually, he must rely on Draco’s terse reports. The Spear of the First Sister stood behind the First Sister’s desk by the wall, his expression implacable. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
“Tarja’s friendship with Mahina was no secret. He may have called on that friendship to aid in his escape,” Francil suggested. “Did it occur to anyone, when we decided to send him there, that Mahina was also at the Grimfield?”
The women all looked at Joyhinia accusingly.
“Do you have any idea of the damage she could do if she decides to throw her lot in with the rebels?” Louhina added.
“Mahina won’t betray us. She may have been misguided, but she would not turn on her own kind.”
“That’s not what you said when we threw her out,” Harith pointed out. “In fact, the word ‘betrayal’ featured rather prominently in your impassioned campaign to have her removed. Could it be that you might have made an error in judgment, First Sister?”
“I think you are overreacting, Harith. You forget that Mahina is an old woman. Tarja and R’shiel are heading for the Sanctuary Mountains. I suspect they will dump her somewhere along the way so she doesn’t slow them down. They may even kill her, which would be convenient.”
Jenga was appalled by her remark. None of the Quorum blinked.
“We need to take decisive action,” Joyhinia continued. “We must have troops in place to recapture the fugitives as soon as they are located.”
Joyhinia’s political survival depended on giving the impression that victory was certain. Troop movements would go a long way to convincing the Kariens that she was firm in her resolve to destroy the heathens, and if that meant mobilizing the entire Corps, she didn’t seem to care. And it would keep everyone’s thoughts occupied, Jenga thought, resenting her use of the Defenders in such a manner.
“Of course, I will announce publicly that we will spare no effort in rescuing Mahina from the rebels.” She turned to Jenga, acknowledging his presence for the first time. “I want the Defenders sent downriver to Testra immediately, as many as you can muster. It’s the most logical place to stage any offensive on the Sanctuary Mountains and that appears to be where they’re headed.” She glanced at the Sisters, before adding, “I need not add, my Lord Defender, that Mahina’s rescue is not the overriding concern in this campaign.”
“Your Grace?” Jenga asked, not at all certain he believed what she had just ordered him to do.
“Is there a problem, my Lord?”
“Such an order might be misinterpreted, your Grace. In my opinion—”
“Your opinion is not required, my Lord. Merely that you do as you are ordered.”
“Mahina was very popular among the Defenders, even before she became First Sister,” Jenga persisted. He could not take this order without objecting. Joyhinia was very close to pushing him too far. “Such an order will be... difficult to enforce.”
“He has a point,” Harith agreed. “Can you claim to own the same level of respect, Joyhinia?”
The First Sister glared at the Mistress of the Sisterhood. “The Defenders will honor their oath to the Sisters of the Blade. Of that I am sure. Is that not so, my Lord?”
Jenga hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yes, your Grace. That is so.”
Later that evening, Lord Jenga carefully folded the letter he was reading and rose from his chair as his visitor entered his office.
“You’ve heard the news?” he asked Garet.
The commandant nodded. “I warned you something like this would happen. You have always underestimated Tarja.”
“Now is not the time to apportion blame. I doubt we could have prevented this, no matter what we did. Any news on how that officer... what’s his name?”
“Loclon.”
“Any news on how he is faring?”
“He’ll live.”
“Has he been able to tell what happened?”
“Cortanen says he was muttering some gibberish about R’shiel and Harshini magic.”
“Harshini magic? Founders! That’s all I need! I want you to question him personally when he gets back to the Citadel.”
“I’ll see to it, sir. He should be fit to travel in a week or so. Was that all?”
The Lord Defender studied the commandant for a moment, then with a wave of his hand, indicated that he should sit. He remained standing.
“What I am about to reveal to you is highly confidential,” Jenga warned. Highly confidential and possibly treasonous, he added to himself. But he no longer felt able to bear the burden alone.
“I understand,” Garet said, although it was patently obvious that he didn’t. He might have even been a little offended that Jenga felt the need to warn him to secrecy.
“I have been ordered to ensure that if we find Mahina Cortanen alive, to see she doesn’t stay that way.”
“I don’t believe that even Joyhinia would go that far.”
“Believe it or not, it’s the truth.”
“But Mahina is no threat to the First Sister. What possible reason could she have for demanding such a thing?”
“Because Mahina is still dangerous. Mahina commanded more respect from the Defenders than any other First Sister before or since. Her involvement in this escape has taken the Sisterhood by surprise. Before the Karien Envoy left he was threatening invasion, if the First Sister does not gain a measure of control over the situation.”
“And what of the heathens?”
Jenga shrugged. “Numerically, I doubt
they’re a genuine threat, but we can’t afford to have troops tied up routing out heathens if the Kariens appear on our northern border.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Follow my orders,” Jenga told him. “Most of them, anyway. But I promise you this: No Defender will take any action to harm Mahina, even if it means defying the current First Sister.”
Garet flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his jacket before he looked up, his expression grim. “You’re talking treason.”
“Am I?” Jenga sat down heavily. “Is it treason to refuse to carry out an order that you find morally reprehensible? If the First Sister ordered you to kill every prisoner in the Grimfield, would you do it?”
“Of course not, but—”
“Then you, sir,” Jenga said, “would be committing treason.”
Garet nodded. “Are you sure you understood your orders? Is it not possible that you misread her intentions?”
“No, I understood the First Sister well enough.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “It is quite disturbing, after all this time to think that Tarja may have been right.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Find Tarja,” Jenga said. “Before Joyhinia does.”
“It will cost money,” Garet warned. “Informants put a high price on their loyalty.”
“Do whatever you have to,” Jenga agreed.
Garet nodded. “And in the meantime?”
“In the meantime, we uphold our oath.”
“To defend and serve the Sisters of the Blade for the protection of Medalon,” Garet quoted, an edge to his voice.
“Mahina is a Sister of the Blade, and the Defenders will defend her with the same vigor as any other Sister.”
“Even if it means defying Joyhinia?”
Jenga nodded slowly. “Aye. Even if it means that.”
Jenga took a walk among his troops later that evening. The barracks were alive with the sounds of men preparing to move out. They would leave at first light. The jingle of tack and the whine of swords being sharpened on oilstone overlaid the sound of voices talking excitedly at the prospect of action. He moved quietly between the buildings, not wishing to give his men the idea he was checking on them. A good commander always knew what his troops were feeling. A good officer could gauge the mood of his men and know whether they needed bullying or mothering. If these men were going into action, he needed to know, before they left the Citadel, if he had a fighting force or a liability at his back.
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