Medalon

by Jennifer Fallon

  Tarja flexed his fingers, his unbroken, unmarked fingers, with increasing wonder. He pushed his tongue against teeth that were firm in their sockets, ran it over lips that were smooth and supple. Pulling back the torn sleeve of his filthy, bloodstained shirt, he picked at a scab on his arm. The crust lifted with a flick to reveal pink, healed and unscarred flesh beneath. He rotated his shoulder and it moved freely and smoothly. Swinging his feet onto the floor, he discovered the soles of his feet were whole and undamaged, only the stains of blood and loose flakes of skin giving any indication of their condition the night before.

  Tarja wondered if he was still dreaming. The last thing he remembered was the little girl who had featured so prominently in his dream, and another shadowy, undefined figure. The details were hazy. He’d lost consciousness, he remembered falling into the blackness, but nothing after that. For a moment he wondered if perhaps his pagan friends had petitioned the gods on his behalf. There seemed no other explanation for his sudden recovery. It was an uncomfortable thought for someone who didn’t actually believe that the gods existed.

  A noise in the guardroom outside diverted him from taking an inventory of his vanished injuries. They had come for him already. Oddly, pain heaped upon pain was easier to bear than pain inflicted where there was none. Tarja wondered what the reaction would be to his miraculous recovery. Joyhinia would probably have him drowned as a sorcerer.

  The door flew open and the guard stumbled drunkenly into the cell. Close on his heels was Davydd Tailorson. Tarja stared at the guard uncomprehendingly as he fell to the floor.

  “He’s drugged,” Davydd explained. “Don’t worry, all he’ll have is a hangover.”

  Tarja looked at the young man blankly.

  “Hey! Snap out of it, Captain! This is a gaol break, in case you haven’t noticed. Get a move on!”

  Tarja jumped to his feet, leapt over the body of the guard and ran down the hallway after Davydd. “Do you have horses?” he asked, as he skidded to a halt near the door. It seemed such a banal question. What he really wanted to ask was: How can I be running? Last night I couldn’t walk! What has happened to me?

  “Out the front,” Davydd assured him.

  Another man was waiting for them, this one a man who had still been a Cadet before Tarja had left for the southern border. He couldn’t even recall the man’s name.

  “You’d best get changed,” the young man advised urgently, handing him a clean uniform. “We’re going out the main gate as soon as it’s opened. You’ll never pass as a Defender looking like that.”

  Tarja took the uniform and changed into it, delighted to be rid of his soiled clothes. As he was pulling on the boots, he glanced up at the men.

  “You’ll hang if they catch us,” he warned.

  The lieutenant shrugged. “Can’t be any worse than being a Defender these days.”

  Both saddened and heartened by the man’s reply, Tarja stood up and accepted the sword Davydd handed him.

  “Thanks.” How can I hold a sword? They broke my fingers! I must be dreaming.

  “All clear,” the lieutenant announced, looking out into the yard.

  Tarja followed him into the yard and stopped dead as he realised who was holding the waiting horses. R’shiel turned as she heard them. She studied him for a moment, surprised perhaps that he could even stand, then did no more than acknowledge him with a nod.

  “They’ll be opening the gate soon,” she said. “We’d better hurry.”

  “R’shiel—”

  “You take the bay,” she said, handing him the reins. Her expression was unreadable. “I heard they were torturing you. I’m glad to see you’ve not suffered too much.”

  Tarja stared at her in astonishment. She was angry with him because he was whole! How could he explain to her what had happened, when he couldn’t even explain it to himself?

  “Come on!” Davydd urged.

  Tarja took the reins and leapt into the saddle, following the others out of the yard and into the streets of the Citadel. He rode with R’shiel on his left and the other two close behind. She didn’t look at him. He couldn’t understand her anger, or how she had come to be involved in his escape. I don’t understand how I could go to sleep a broken man and wake whole, either, he thought.

  As they neared the main gate, Tarja pushed aside the question of his astounding recovery. He had to live through the next few hours before he could indulge in trying to solve such an inexplicable riddle. The buildings closest to the main gate were clustered close together, built by human hands, not Harshini. Three stories tall and roofed with grey slate tiles, many were boarding houses, offering accommodation to officers who preferred not to live in the Officers’ Quarters near the centre of the city. They were popular because they were away from the watchful eye of the Lord Defender. There were no snap inspections here. Tarja rode past them with his head down and shoulders hunched. Chances were good that if they got to the gate, they would be allowed to leave unchallenged. The guards held the gate against incoming traffic. They wouldn’t bother with officers heading out.

  They rode at a walk past the last house before the open plaza in front of the gate. A door opened on Tarja’s left and a captain stepped out into the street. The movement caught his eye. The shock of seeing such a livid scar momentarily distracted him and he stared openly at the man. The young captain gasped as he recognised Tarja.

  “Guards!” Loclon yelled toward the gate.

  “Damn!” R’shiel muttered, kicking her horse into a canter. They followed her lead without hesitation. Loclon ran after them, calling to the guards on the gate who were embroiled in an argument with a burly wagon driver. A large oxen-drawn wagon was blocking the way, as the driver disputed his right to enter. Tarja glanced over his shoulder at Loclon, who had almost caught up to them, even though he was on foot. The distance between the boarding house and the blocked gate allowed little room for speed. Loclon’s cries finally caught the attention of the officer in charge, who glanced at Tarja, shock replacing confusion as he recognised him. Davydd drew alongside him, unsheathing his sword.

  “There’s only one way out of this now!”

  Tarja nodded and drew his own weapon. He looked for R’shiel who had ridden ahead and seemed determined to ride down anyone foolish enough to stand in her way. He didn’t know if she was armed, but she couldn’t hope to fight off the Defenders, even on horseback. The wagon driver was ignored as red coats streamed toward them and he lost sight of her as his attention was drawn to his own survival. He swung his sword in a wide arc as he pushed forward and the Defenders drew back from the deadly blade. He heard a cry and looked up as Davydd toppled from his horse, a red-fletched arrow protruding from his chest. Tarja looked up with despair at the archers lining the wall walk, their arrows aimed directly at him and his companions. He looked for R’shiel and was relieved to discover she had also seen the archers. She held up her hands in surrender as she was pulled from her mount. The young lieutenant was slumped in his saddle, arrow-pierced through the neck.

  “Drop your weapon!” a voice called from the wall walk. Tarja looked up at the bows aimed squarely at his heart and knew refusal would result in death. For a fleeting moment, the idea seemed attractive. But they would kill R’shiel, too. He hurled the blade to the ground and didn’t resist as the Defenders overwhelmed him.

  CHAPTER 28

  Joyhinia was waiting in the First Sister’s office, along with Jacomina, Lord Draco, Louhina Farcron, the Mistress of the Interior who had replaced Joyhinia, Francil, Lord Jenga and two Defenders she didn’t know, flanking a young woman. R’shiel was surprised to discover it was the court’esa from the Blue Bull who had been flirting with Davydd. Harith escorted her into the office, ordering the two Defenders to remain outside.

  The First Sister barely glanced at her as R’shiel stopped in front of the heavily carved desk. Joyhinia’s hands were laid flat on the desk before her, her expression bleak as she turned to the court’esa.

  “Is this th
e girl you saw in the Blue Bull last night?”

  On closer inspection, R’shiel was a little surprised to discover the court’esa was not much older than herself. The young woman nodded, sparing R’shiel an apologetic look. “Yes, your Grace.”

  Joyhinia showed no obvious reaction to the news. “Have the court’esa taken to the cells, Jenga,” she ordered. It was a sign of her fury that she didn’t bother with his title. “I trust you can root out the rest of your traitors without my assistance?”

  The insult was clear. Joyhinia was blaming the Defenders, and therefore Jenga, for the escape attempt. R’shiel waited in silence as Jenga, Lord Draco, the court’esa and the Defenders left the office.

  As the door closed behind the men, Joyhinia rose from behind her desk and walked around to face R’shiel. She studied her for a moment, then turned to face the Sisters of the Quorum.

  “I have a confession to make, Sisters,” she began, with a sigh that was filled with remorse. “I have made a dreadful mistake. I fear I did something that seemed right at the time, but which I now regret.”

  “Surely if your actions seemed right at the time,” the ever faithful Jacomina said comfortingly, “you cannot blame yourself.”

  Harith was less than sympathetic. “Just exactly what have you done, Joyhinia?”

  “I gave birth to a child,” she said, taking a seat beside Jacomina, who placed a comforting hand over Joyhinia’s clasped fingers, “who should have been an icon. His upbringing was exemplary, his pedigree faultless, yet I suspected the bad blood in him. I had him placed in the Defenders at the youngest age they would take him, in the hope that the discipline of the Corps would somehow triumph over his character. We all know now how idle that hope was.”

  “You mustn’t blame yourself, Joyhinia,” Louhina added, right on cue. The Mistress of the Interior was her mother’s creature to the core, just like Jacomina.

  “And the mistake?” Harith asked. “Get to the point, Sister.”

  “My mistake was wanting a child of whom I could be proud. When I left for Testra nearly twenty-one years ago, I volunteered to visit the outlying settlements in the mountains. I wintered in a village called Haven,” Joyhinia said, her eyes downcast. “It was a small, backward hamlet. While I was there, a young woman gave birth to a child, but refused to name the father. The poor girl died within hours of giving birth, leaving a child that nobody would claim. I took pity on the babe and offered to take it, to raise it as my own, to give it every chance to have a decent life. The villagers were glad to be rid of it. They must have known something about the mother that I did not.”

  Joyhinia glanced at her Quorum, judging their reactions. Joyhinia’s story fascinated R’shiel. This was finally the truth—finally she would have the answers she had come here to seek.

  “I took the child back to Testra with me and claimed the child as my own. I was wrong to let people think that, I know. But once again, I must plead youth and pride as my excuses. My mistake was thinking that my love and guidance could overcome her bad blood. This young woman you see before you now, is the result of my foolishness, my weakness.” Joyhinia looked up at R’shiel. She actually had tears in her eyes. “This girl who has betrayed us all so badly, is the result of my folly. Perhaps I loved her too much. Perhaps I was too lenient with her. My son had been such a disappointment to me that I put all my hopes in a foundling. And now she repays my kindness by turning on us in our most desperate hour.”

  Harith frowned as she looked at R’shiel. “I always wondered what Tarja was talking about when he faced you down at the Gathering. How did you get Jenga to play along with you all these years?”

  “Jenga and I had—an understanding. He owed me a favour.”

  “Some favour! Whatever you have on him, Joyhinia, it must be something dreadful. I never thought Jenga capable of a deliberate lie. You have actually managed to surprise me.”

  Which was exactly what Joyhinia had intended, R’shiel realised. This confession was nothing to do with her. This was Joyhinia in damage control. Joyhinia was distancing herself from R’shiel as fast as she could.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself,” Jacomina snarled at R’shiel as she put a comforting arm around Joyhinia’s shoulders. “After all Joyhinia has done for you. To betray her so foully.”

  R’shiel could hold her tongue no longer. “Betray her! What did she ever do for me? I didn’t ask her to be my mother!”

  “I tried to protect her,” Joyhinia told them, ignoring her outburst. “All I got for my trouble was a thief and a traitor. Where did I go wrong?”

  Francil had listened to the entire discussion without uttering a word, and when she spoke, her question caught R’shiel completely off guard. “You’ve just heard the most startling news about your parentage, R’shiel, yet you don’t seem surprised. Did Joyhinia tell you of this before today?”

  “Tarja learnt the truth months ago. It was the happiest day of my life when he told me!”

  “One wonders how he learnt of it,” Francil said. “I recall him making that wild statement at the Gathering when he refused to take the oath. I hope you can keep the rest of the Sisterhood’s secrets better than you’ve kept this one, Joyhinia.”

  The First Sister nodded meekly at the rebuke. “All I can promise is that I will do my utmost to see that this evil is cut out of both the Sisterhood and the Defenders.” She squared her shoulders determinedly. “I will begin by facing up to the fantasy I held dear for twenty years. This child is not mine—now, or in the future. I will leave you to deal with her, Harith, and the other traitors who have defied us this day. Never let it be said that I tried to use my influence to secure leniency.”

  R’shiel’s head pounded, the blood that rushed through her ears almost drowning out Joyhinia’s voice. It was as if a great weight had suddenly been lifted from her.

  “Take her away,” Joyhinia ordered, with a touching and entirely false catch in her voice. “I cannot bear to look at her any longer.”

  R’shiel was not certain what would happen now. A trial, perhaps? Maybe they would hang her alongside Tarja. At that moment, she didn’t care.

  She cared only that she was finally free of Joyhinia.

  CHAPTER 29

  R’shiel was marched, none too gently, through the corridors of the Administration Building. The walls were brightening rapidly and people stared as she was marched out into the streets towards the Defenders’ Headquarters. Eventually they reached the narrow hall that led into the cells where only last night, she had come to rescue Tarja. The corridor was lit with smoky torches. The Citadel had been built by the Harshini and they had no need for prisons. The cellblock was an addition erected later by the Sisterhood. R’shiel tripped on uneven flagstones in the seemingly endless corridor, until finally, in a spill of yellow lamplight, she found herself in a large open area filled with scattered tables and shadows.

  “What’s this?”

  “This is the Probate who helped them last night,” one of her escort explained. “The First Sister wants her locked up.”

  “Bring her here,” the Defender said. R’shiel could detect the sneer in the man’s voice. She looked up, focusing her eyes on the captain and was rewarded with a startled laugh. “Well, well, well! If it isn’t Lady High ’n’ Mighty herself!”

  The sergeant who held her frowned as he looked at the young captain. “Don’t get too excited, Loclon. She’s still a Probate.”

  “Go to hell, Oron,” Loclon snapped.

  “Not at your invitation, thanks,” he retorted. The sergeant thrust R’shiel at Loclon and marched off.

  Loclon stood back and let her fall. “Get up,” he ordered.

  R’shiel stood slowly, aware that she was in some kind of danger. She grimaced at the ugly scar marring his once-handsome face. Loclon took exception to her gaze. He backhanded her soundly across the face. Without thinking, she lashed out with her foot in retaliation. Loclon dropped like a sack of wheat, screaming in pain, clutching his groin with both ha
nds.

  “You bitch!”

  “What’s the matter?” R’shiel shot back. “Haven’t felt the touch of a woman there for a while?”

  She regretted it almost as soon as she said it. Loclon was livid and she had little chance to enjoy her victory. She was overwhelmed by the other guards who held her tightly as Loclon pulled himself up, using the corner of the table for support. This time he punched her solidly in the abdomen, making her retch as she doubled over in agony. He drew back his fist for another blow but was stopped by his corporal.

  “Don’t be a fool, sir,” he urged. “She’s a Probate.”

  Loclon heeded the man’s advice reluctantly. “Get her out of my sight.”

  R’shiel was dragged across the hall into a waiting cell. The door clanged shut with a depressing thud. Holding her bruised abdomen, she felt her way along the wall, using it for support. Barking her shin on the uneven wood of the pallet, she collapsed onto it. Shaking with pain, R’shiel curled into a tight ball on the narrow pallet and wondered what they had done with Tarja.

  Time lost all meaning for R’shiel in the days that followed her arrest. Only sparse daylight found its way into the cells. Only the begrudging delivery of meals and the changing of the guard regulated her days.

  R’shiel soon learnt there were two shifts guarding the cells. Following the abortive escape attempt, the guard had been trebled. The prisoners were no longer in the care of an easily distracted corporal. The first detail left her to herself, ignoring her and the other prisoners in favour of their gaming. The second shift was a different matter. It took R’shiel very little time to discover Loclon was nursing a grudge against the world in general, and the Tenragan family in particular.

  She knew Tarja was incarcerated in the next cell, but never saw him, although she heard him sometimes, talking with the guards on the first shift. When Loclon was on duty though, he remained silent. R’shiel very quickly followed suit. A wrong word, a misdirected glance, would earn a slap at the very least and on at least one occasion she heard Loclon deliver a savage beating to her unseen cellmate. R’shiel turned her face to the wall and tried to ignore the sounds coming from the next cell, hoping she would escape Loclon’s notice.