“Isn’t a Purge a bit extreme? There can’t be that many heathens left. It hardly seems worth the effort to rid Medalon of a few scabby peasants secretly worshipping trees or rocks, or whatever it is that they hold divine.”
Joyhinia frowned at R’shiel’s impudence. “I see our new First Sister has her supporters. I hope you don’t espouse such sentiments publicly, R’shiel. You must never forget that you are my daughter.”
“Don’t worry mother, there’s no chance of me ever forgetting that.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’ve done everything I could to make your life as easy as possible, R’shiel. I expect you to return that consideration, one day.” Joyhinia’s face was hidden by the goblet, so it was hard to read her expression, but R’shiel had a bad feeling that Joyhinia already knew exactly how she expected R’shiel to repay her.
R’shiel also had a very bad feeling that whatever Joyhinia had in mind, she probably wouldn’t like it.
CHAPTER 5
The Lord Defender waited until the end of the month of Helena, three months after Mahina’s promotion, before approaching the First Sister with the plans he had for some much-needed changes in the defence of Medalon. He unconsciously straightened his red coat as he and his officers strode the long hall that led to the First Sister’s office. The sound of the officers’ boots was muffled by the blue, carpeted strip that stretched with stark symmetry towards the large double doors at the end of the hall. The walls were at their brightest this early in the afternoon. On his left strode Commandant Garet Warner, the officer in charge of Defender Intelligence. A slender, balding man, with a deceptively mild manner, he had a soft voice which disguised a sharp mind and an acerbic wit. On his right, carrying a stack of rolled parchments, was Tarja Tenragan.
Sister Suelen, Mahina’s secretary, rose from her desk as they approached. “My Lord Defender. Captain. Commandant. I’ll tell the First Sister you’re here.”
The three men waited as Suelen knocked and then vanished inside the double doors. Jenga studied the plain, unadorned doors curiously. They were veneered with a thin coating of bronze to conceal, presumably, the heathen artwork underneath. There were many doors, walls and ceilings like this one throughout the Citadel—covered with any material that would disguise the origins of their builders. Jenga had seen enough of the exquisite murals and delicate friezes to lament their camouflage. The Harshini who had built the Citadel were accomplished artists, but their subject matter tended towards the baser side of human nature and unfailingly depicted one god or another. Before the Sisterhood had taken possession of it, the Lesser Hall had been a Temple devoted to Kalianah, the heathen Goddess of Love. It had a ceiling that was, reputedly, quite explicitly erotic. It was whitewashed every two years without fail, to prevent the heathen images from ever showing through.
Jenga’s musing was interrupted by the reappearance of Suelen. “The First Sister will see you now.”
Jenga pushed aside the heavy door and entered the office first, followed by Garet and Tarja. Mahina stood as they entered. Draco remained standing behind her desk, his expression as inscrutable as ever. Mahina came around the desk to greet them, holding out her hands warmly. Jenga couldn’t remember the last time a First Sister had shown him so much respect; or had treated him so like an equal.
“My Lord Defender! Am I so daunting, now that I’m First Sister, that you felt the need for moral support?”
“Never, your Grace. I’ve brought these two along so that you can question them and spare me.”
Mahina’s brow furrowed with curiosity. “This is not a social call then, I gather? Well, let’s be seated. By the look of that pile Tarja’s holding, this is going to take a while.”
The First Sister’s office was a huge room, although Jenga had never been able to divine its original purpose. The walls shone with the Brightening, and large, multi-paned windows that reached from floor to ceiling looked out over a stone-balustraded balcony. The massive, heavily carved desk sat in front of the tall windows, making the most of the natural lighting. Four heavy, padded-leather chairs, normally reserved for the Quorum, sat before the desk. Mahina indicated they should sit and took her place behind the desk, placing her hands palm down on its polished surface.
“So, my Lord Defender, what can I do for you?”
“I have a number of proposals, your Grace,” he began. “Issues which concern the Defenders and the defence of Medalon.”
“Such as?”
“The Hythrun Raiders. The treaty with Karien. The defence of our borders. The issue of internal unrest.”
Mahina frowned. “That’s quite a list, Jenga. Let’s tackle it one at a time, shall we? Start with the Hythrun.”
“As you wish, your Grace,” Jenga nodded. “I want permission to allow the Defenders to cross the border into Hythria in pursuit of Hythrun Raiders.”
Her matronly face was puzzled. “Jenga, are you telling me our boys simply stand on the border and watch the Hythrun ride away with our cattle?”
“I’m afraid so, your Grace.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“A decade, or so,” Tarja replied for him, making no effort to hide his contempt for the practice. “Trayla introduced the prohibition while she was visiting Bordertown about ten years ago. Her carriage broke down and she was stranded for the afternoon on the side of the road. She decided that if the Defenders had been closer to home, rather than across the border chasing the Raiders, she would have been spared an uncomfortable afternoon in the heat. She issued the order the next day and refused to counter it, despite numerous pleas by both the Lord Defender and Commandant Verkin.”
“Is that right, Draco?” Mahina asked, looking to the First Spear of the Sister for confirmation. Draco nodded, his expression neutral.
“I believe it is, your Grace.”
“Consider it countered,” Mahina snapped, turning back to Jenga. “That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard. How much have we lost to the Hythrun in the last decade, because of her fussing? By the Founders, I wonder about my Sisters sometimes.” Suddenly she looked at the three Defenders and then grimaced. “I trust that your discretion will ensure my remarks never leave this room, gentlemen?”
“You can rely on our honour, your Grace,” Jenga assured her. Draco made no comment. He was privy to every secret of the First Sister and to Jenga’s knowledge had never broken that trust in over thirty years.
Mahina glanced at Tarja. “Four years you were on the border, weren’t you, Tarja? And forbidden to cross it? I’ll send an order to Verkin today, countering Trayla’s order.” She smiled at Jenga. “See, that was easily taken care of, wasn’t it? What was the next item you wished to discuss?”
“I want to strengthen the defences on our northern border,” Jenga told her, privately delighted at her reaction to his first request. “Or, to be more accurate, I would like to implement a defence of our northern border.”
Mahina leaned back in her seat. “Our northern border is protected by the treaty with the Kariens, my Lord. It has been for nearly two hundred years. What need for defences in the north, when the money could be better spent elsewhere?”
Jenga glanced at Garet and nodded. This was his area of expertise. “We don’t believe the Karien treaty is as mutually beneficial as they would have us believe,” Garet said carefully.
“I’ve just signed a treaty with them, assuring our protection for another twenty years,” Mahina pointed out. “Are you suggesting the Kariens are not planning to honour that treaty?”
“Your Grace, I think we need to consider the history behind the treaty,” Garet replied, “…what brought it about in the first place.”
“I know the history of Medalon,” Mahina reminded the Commandant. “I was Mistress of Enlightenment for quite some time, young man.”
“I’m aware of that, your Grace, but I would ask that you hear me out.” Mahina nodded and indicated that the Commandant should continue. “You need to understand the situation in Med
alon at the time of the abortive Karien invasion, two hundred years ago. In those days the Sisterhood, although growing fast, was not yet a power to be reckoned with. Medalon was little more than a loose collection of towns and villages, most of which followed the pagan gods of the Harshini. The Sisterhood had evicted the Harshini and taken over the Citadel, but that was as much a sign of the Harshini aversion to confrontation, as it was to the strength of the Sisters of the Blade. Medalon had no military power to speak of.”
“None of this is news to me, Commandant,” Mahina told him.
“Bear with me, your Grace,” Garet asked. “As I said, Medalon, as a nation, was nothing. They had no army. They had nothing that could be construed as a threat to Karien.”
“But they planned to invade us, none the less,” Mahina said.
“Actually, I doubt if they cared about Medalon much at all,” Tarja added. “The Kariens were on their way south, to Hythria and Fardohnya. Wiping out the Harshini along the way was only part of their plan. They wanted the whole continent, from the Northern Reaches to the Dregian Ocean.”
“But they failed,” Mahina pointed out, obviously enjoying the debate. “They were turned back at our borders by a storm.”
“They weren’t just turned back,” Garet said. “They were decimated. Incidentally, the heathens believe that Lorandranek called down that storm by magic and it was he who saved Medalon. But whether it was divine intervention or sheer good fortune, the end result was devastating for the Kariens. They had taken years to amass their invasion force and King Oscyr of Karien had beggared the nation to do it. The failure of that invasion cost him the support of his dukes and eventually caused the downfall of his whole house. But more significantly, it cost him the support of the Church of Xaphista. He was excommunicated and died in shame less than two years later. His half-sister’s son inherited the throne and it is from her children that the current royal house is descended.”
“Commandant, I admire your grasp of history, but is there a point to all this?”
“Yes, your Grace,” Garet nodded. “The point is, that when the treaty was first negotiated between Karien and Medalon, the Kariens were an impoverished nation, ruled by a fourteen-year-old boy. The Sisters of the Blade controlled the Citadel and a few villages surrounding it. Neither party to the treaty was in a position of strength, but both gained from it. Medalon earnt a measure of security—with the treaty in place they need not fear for their northern border and could turn their attention to protecting their southern borders. Karien gained breathing space, but more importantly, they gained a measure of redemption from the Church, by making the eradication of the Harshini and all forms of heathen worship in Medalon a condition of the treaty.”
“Which in turn,” Tarja said, picking up the narrative, “led to the formation of the Defenders. The Sisters of the Blade supported the Kariens’ demands because it suited their purposes to agree with them. The Church of Xaphista the Overlord is the most powerful force in Karien. It was safer to agree to their terms and keep them on their side of the border than to disagree and risk Karien knights on Medalon soil, or worse, their missionaries. The Defenders were created to rid Medalon of the Harshini and to crush all forms of heathen worship.”
“A task they performed more than adequately,” Mahina acknowledged. “And a philosophy we still hold to.”
“And therein lies the danger, your Grace,” Jenga said, deciding it was about time he added something to the discussion. “Just as the Sisterhood believes in the same thing it believed in two hundred years ago, so do the Kariens.”
“Three years ago,” Garet continued in his soft, deceptively mild voice, “King Jasnoff’s son Cratyn came of age and was formally invested as the Karien Crown Prince. During the ceremony, he made his first address to the Dukes. He promised to finish the job Oscyr started. ‘To see the Church of the Overlord stretch from one end of this mighty continent to the other,’ I believe were his exact words.”
Mahina shrugged. “The rhetoric of a boy newly come to manhood, surely? I cannot divert the sort of resources such an undertaking would consume on the idle boasting of one young man. Besides, as your very presence proves, we have the Defenders now. If the Kariens look like breaking the treaty, you are well equipped to defend us.”
Tarja shook his head. “Actually, your Grace, we’re not. We can defend the south, or we can defend the north. We can’t do both.”
Garet nodded in agreement. “Tarja’s right. There are too many Defenders utilised for duties that can only be described as ceremonial. If the Kariens made a move on us, we wouldn’t be able to stop them. For that matter, they wouldn’t need to declare war on us. A foraging army the size of the Kariens’ would strip Medalon clean in a matter of months.”
Mahina held up her hand. “Slow down a minute,” she pleaded. “You’re getting way ahead of me here. Let’s go back to the issue of whether or not the Kariens are even planning to break the treaty. You’ve given me nothing to suggest that they might.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, your Grace,” Garet said, knowing full well that he wasn’t. “But the treaty with Karien requires Medalon to stamp out all pagan worship and anything to do with the Harshini, doesn’t it? In the past two years, we have uncovered more cults devoted to various Primal and Incidental Gods than were discovered in the thirty years prior to that. And rumours of the demon child are stronger than ever. Nobody has even seen a Harshini for over a century and a half, yet the cults continue to surface.”
“The work of the Hythrun or the Fardohnyans, surely?” Mahina asked. “They still hold to the pagan beliefs. I hear that even after all this time, the Sorcerer’s Collective in Greenharbour still keeps vigil over some lump of magic rock in a cave somewhere, waiting for the Harshini to speak to them again.”
“It’s called the Seeing Stone,” Garet corrected. “It’s in the Temple of the Gods in Greenharbour.”
“Whatever,” Mahina said dismissively. “Surely they are the ones encouraging the spread of the pagan cults?”
“I believe it is the Kariens who are encouraging the spread of the heathens,” Garet replied.
“To what purpose?” Mahina asked. “They want to see the end of the pagans as much as we do. What possible reason could they have for encouraging them?”
“It’s because they wish to eradicate the heathens. All of them, including every heathen in Hythria and Fardohnya. Far from being helpful, Medalon stands in their way now. Two centuries ago we were nothing, and but for a fortuitous storm, the Kariens would have marched straight through Medalon to reach the southern nations. But they signed a treaty with us in a moment of weakness, that they are honour bound to uphold. The only loophole they have is if we are not keeping our side of the bargain, which is the suppression of all heathen worship. The more cults that spring up in Medalon, the more reason they have for crossing our border to put them down. They don’t have to break the treaty, your Grace. They can quite legally use it against us.”
Mahina sighed, not totally convinced, but Jenga could see that she was not sceptical, which was a hopeful sign. “Lord Pieter was strongly suggesting another Purge, Commandant. Hardly the action of a man waiting to pounce on us for our lack of performance.”
“A Purge achieves two things, your Grace,” Garet told her. “It publicly acknowledges the existence of the heathen cults, which is what the Kariens need to legally cross our borders, and it ties up even more of the Defenders on internal matters. We cannot win. If you refuse to instigate a Purge, then you are not taking action against the heathens. If you start one, then you are admitting that the heathens are a problem. Either way, the Kariens can claim we have not adhered to the terms of the treaty.”
“And if what you say is true, we have not the Defenders to repel an attack?”
“Not at present,” Tarja agreed, “but we could establish a civil militia.”
Mahina looked at the younger man steadily. “A civil militia?”
Tarja nodded. “A civilian force to
take care of the internal policing of Medalon. Nearly half our military force is currently engaged in routing out small groups of heathens, who, for the most part, don’t even know how to fight. It’s a waste of men and training. We are a small nation jammed between three very large ones. We cannot afford to have our fighting force arresting farmers and confiscating chickens.”
“How would this militia function?” Mahina asked. Tarja reached for one of the scrolls he had brought with him, but Mahina waved it away. “Tell me Tarja, in your own words. I’ve no doubt your figures are sound, but if you want me to sell this to the Quorum, I need to know how you feel about it.”
Tarja put down the scroll. “Each town would have its own unit, commanded by an officer of the Defenders. The militia itself would be made up of volunteers—locals who would be trained by the officer in charge to undertake whatever action was deemed necessary to free the area of heathens. The Defenders would then be free to do something about our northern border. If necessary, you can claim the militia was established as a long-term alternative to a purge.”
Mahina sighed. “Every now and then, Tarja, you prove you really are your mother’s son. Or has four years of staring at the Hythrun from the wrong side of the border sharpened your instincts? I don’t remember you being so astute.”
Tarja did not like to be reminded that he might have inherited anything from his mother. “It’s good commonsense, your Grace.”
Mahina shook her head. “Good sense is far from common, I fear, Tarja. However, you have given me much to ponder.” She waved a hand in the direction of the scrolls. “These are your detailed plans, I assume?”
“And their estimated cost,” Garet added.
Mahina smiled appreciatively. “A well thoughtout battle plan, I see. If you attack our enemies as effectively as you have attacked me, Medalon will be well defended. I will study your proposal, gentlemen. And you’d best be prepared to defend it. I cannot take anything this radical to the Quorum without being certain.”
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