Medalon

by Jennifer Fallon

  “Then you will not disclose the information regarding their location?”

  “Not even if I knew where it was. The threat that faces Medalon is coming from the north.”

  Jenga leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps R’shiel will be more forthcoming?”

  “Harm one hair on her head and I will kill you, Jenga.”

  Harven’s hand instinctively went to his sword, so dangerous did Tarja appear at that moment. The Lord Defender raised his hand to halt the young captain.

  “It is clear where your loyalties lie, now, Tarja. I never cease to be amazed at your facility to change sides. You wondered earlier if I thought you had broken your oath. I see now that any oath is meaningless to you. You have no honour. You are nothing but an opportunist. A cold-blooded mercenary who fights for which ever side offers the highest coin.”

  Tarja was saddened by the Lord Defender’s words, but beyond being offended by them. “If only you could see what I have seen, Jenga.”

  Jenga pushed himself wearily to his feet. He turned to Harven. “Take him back and put him with the other prisoners in the compound, but see that he’s well guarded. They probably want him dead as much as I do, but I imagine the First Sister will want that pleasure for herself.”

  By mid-morning, all the prisoners caught in Sunny’s trap were confined to a temporary compound erected to hold them on the outskirts of the town. Although the planking that had been hastily nailed to the fences would almost certainly fall under a concerted attack, the rebels made no attempt to escape. Ringing the flimsy compound was a circle of grim-faced Defenders who were a much greater deterrent.

  Just after first light, Mahina and Affiana were pushed through the gate, looking rather dishevelled, their expressions more resigned than frightened. R’shiel followed, after the prisoners had been fed a thin broth and surprisingly fresh bread for breakfast. The troopers assigned to guard Tarja stepped forward to prevent her coming near, but Harven waved them back. The young captain had been surprisingly relaxed in his custodial duties. He didn’t seem interested in preventing contact with the other prisoners. Much to Tarja’s amazement, the rebels did not hold him responsible for their current predicament. It was far easier to blame a conniving court’esa. Harven sensed that his charge was in no immediate danger, so Tarja had spent the remainder of the night talking with Ghari, Wylbir and the other rebel lieutenants. The rebels had been less concerned with what had happened in the past than what the future might hold.

  Tarja was certain that this time he wouldn’t escape the hangman’s noose. His crimes against Joyhinia and the Sisterhood were far too numerous. The remainder of the rebels, he was less certain about. Many of them had been arrested for little more than being out in the streets of Testra after dark, armed with farming implements. Hardly the stuff of dangerous insurgents.

  Mahina would probably get nothing more than a scolding, he judged. Even Joyhinia would not attempt to hang a former First Sister. Such an action would set a dangerous precedent. He was more worried for R’shiel. She had been identified as Harshini.

  He stood up as she ran to him. He had not slept in two days but the crushing fatigue he felt was almost banished by the sight of her, alive and well, still wearing those damned Dragon Rider’s leathers.

  “I thought I’d never see you again,” she told him, as she hugged him tightly. “They asked me a few questions, but that was all.”

  “Me too. But it will be all right now.”

  R’shiel looked him in the eye, clearly seeing the lie for what it was. “Joyhinia has arrived. I saw them taking a carriage down to the docks to meet her when they brought me in.”

  “Then we won’t have much longer to wait.”

  As if in answer, the gate swung open noisily. A Company of Defenders entered the temporary compound, spreading out to form a semicircle of red coats and polished steel.

  He kissed her. It might be the last time he would ever have the chance. She pulled away and looked up at him. He could see everything she wanted to say in her eyes. Everything she would never have the opportunity to tell him. As the last of the Defenders marched through the gate, Joyhinia walked in, flanked by Jenga and Draco.

  Taking her hand they walked forward together to confront the First Sister.

  CHAPTER 61

  The First Sister saw them as soon as she entered the compound. Jenga stood beside her. He had probably briefed her on the ride to the compound from the docks. Draco was just as silent and withdrawn as always. Tarja worried a little about him. Would he object to anything Joyhinia ordered? It was hard to tell with Draco.

  Joyhinia scowled at Tarja and then looked at R’shiel. With the knowledge of her true ancestry, it would be hard to miss her Harshini heritage. She spared a glance for the rebels who were slowly gathering behind him, silently and expectantly, as they stepped forward. Joyhinia must be wondering what she had to do to discredit him. The thought gave him a measure of satisfaction.

  “So this is what you have come to?” she asked scathingly as they stopped before her, hand in hand. “I see you have even stooped to incest.”

  “I’d not go down that road if I were you, Joyhinia,” he advised. “If R’shiel is my sister and her father is Harshini, what does that make you?”

  Joyhinia’s expression darkened. Had she known the truth about R’shiel? By the look on her face, Tarja doubted it.

  “I might have known you would be taken in by a Harshini slut.”

  “Better a Harshini slut for a lover than a heartless bitch for a mother,” R’shiel snapped.

  “I should have drowned you at birth!” she hissed, low enough that only those closest to her could hear. “Both of you!”

  “Why didn’t you, Joyhinia?” Tarja asked. “Didn’t have the heart to, or was it that you hadn’t added murder to your repertoire yet?”

  Joyhinia slapped his face, the crack ringing out across the silent compound. His head snapped back at the force of the blow, but when he looked at her, he was smiling.

  “Feeling better now?”

  Joyhinia was livid as he stood there defying her. With a visible effort, she forced a smile.

  “Very much, thank you,” she replied. “I’ve been meaning to do that for a long time.” She glanced back at Jenga, who stood next to Draco watching the exchange with a stony expression. “How many did you capture?”

  “Two hundred and eighty-seven in total,” Jenga informed her. “Including the innkeeper who was harbouring them and Sister Mahina.”

  At the mention of her predecessor, Joyhinia looked back at the gathered rebels. Hearing her name, Mahina stepped forward.

  “You are a stain on the honour of the Sisterhood, Mahina. I don’t understand how you can stand there amid these criminals and still call yourself a Sister of the Blade.”

  “The Sisterhood’s honour was in trouble the day you rose to power,” Mahina retorted. “No stain I’ve inflicted on the Sisterhood will be noticed against the background of your grubby footprints, Joyhinia.”

  Rage threatened to overcome the First Sister. She had not expected to face these defiant and unrepentant agitators. She turned on her heel and walked toward the gate.

  “What are your orders regarding the prisoners, your Grace?” Jenga asked.

  Joyhinia stopped and looked first at the Lord Defender, then at her son and the daughter she had renounced, then at the old woman she had defeated, who was all but laughing at her. A black rage seemed to fill her whole being. Tarja could see her trembling to hold it in.

  “Kill them,” she ordered.

  “Your Grace?”

  “I said kill them! All of them. Put them to the sword!”

  Jenga hesitated longer than he should have. He looked at her for a moment, wavering indecisively. The compound was deathly quiet as three hundred rebels and more than a hundred Defenders waited for the Lord Defender to give the order. The sun was high in the sky and beat down on the gathering relentlessly. Tarja could hear the distant singing of birds among the trees on
the other side of the field. Jenga slowly unsheathed his sword and held it before him.

  “Kill them all!” she repeated, just to ensure there was no doubt regarding her intentions.

  “No.” Jenga’s sword landed in the dirt at her feet with a thud.

  Joyhinia stared at the man in disbelief. “You dare to question my orders?”

  “No, your Grace,” Jenga said. “I refuse. I’ll not put three hundred men to the sword on your whim.”

  “They are criminals!” she cried. “Every one of them deserves to die!”

  “Then let them be tried and hanged as criminals under the law. I’ll supervise their hanging if they are found guilty, but I’ll not murder them out of hand.”

  “What difference does it make, you fool! I am ordering you to pick up your sword and do as I say or, so help me, you will join them!” Joyhinia was screaming, beyond caring.

  “Then I will join them,” Jenga said quietly.

  “Your brother will pay for your treachery, Jenga!” Joyhinia warned.

  The Lord Defender shrugged. “Dayan is dead, your Grace. You cannot use that threat against me any longer.”

  Desperately, Joyhinia turned as the sound of another sword hitting the ground distracted her. It was the young captain, Harven, standing near Tarja, his expression serious but defiant. A few more followed hesitantly, then suddenly it seemed all the Defenders were hurling their blades to the earth in support of their commander.

  Joyhinia stared at them, aghast at the implications of such treason. Tarja’s expression was one of awe. He couldn’t believe they had chosen to defy her. R’shiel stood close beside him, her body touching his and she smiled.

  Joyhinia turned to Draco frantically. “Draco, I am appointing you Lord Defender. Place Jenga and these other traitors under arrest and carry out my orders.”

  Draco hesitated. Tarja watched the man, wondering which way he would jump. Would he follow Jenga’s lead and defy Joyhinia, or would a lifetime of duty override his conscience?

  “As you wish, your Grace,” he said finally, in a voice completely devoid of emotion.

  “This is murder, Draco,” Jenga told him. “Not justice.”

  “I am sworn,” Draco replied.

  “Aye,” Jenga scoffed. “Just as you were sworn to celibacy, yet the proof of your oath-breaking stands before us all.”

  The Lord Defender pointed at Tarja and for a moment, he didn’t understand what Jenga was implying. Joyhinia seemed to pale as she glared at Draco. The realisation hit Tarja like a blow. It accounted for so much. It accounted for Joyhinia’s inside information, even long before she had joined the Quorum. It accounted for something else, too. Tarja knew now, who had ordered the village of Haven put to the sword. He looked at the man who had fathered him and felt nothing but abhorrence.

  “How many more oaths have you broken, Draco?” Jenga asked. “How many others have you murdered at Joyhinia’s behest? Was she blackmailing you, too? Or are you just craven?”

  Draco unsheathed his sword and held it before him. For a moment, he glanced at the son he had never acknowledged. Tarja stared at him. He had not expected to learn who his father was this day. Nor had he expected his father to be the instrument of his destruction. Draco looked away first, distracted by the thunder of hooves as a red-coated Defender galloped into the yard.

  “Lord Jenga!” he cried, throwing himself out of the saddle before his lathered mount had skidded to a halt. “We’re under attack, sir!”

  “Attack?” he demanded. “By whom? The rebels?”

  Breathing heavily from his desperate ride, the trooper shook his head. “No, my Lord, it looks like the Hythrun.” The news sent a wave of disturbed mutters through the gathering, particularly among those Defenders who had just thrown down their swords in support of Jenga. “They’re coming in from the south. Two full Centuries, at least. I don’t know what they’re riding, but they’re making incredible speed. They must have crossed the river further south. Captain Alcarnen said to tell you they’ll be here within minutes.”

  Jenga turned to Joyhinia. Tarja expected her to relent in the face of this unexpected crisis. There was no time now to apportion blame or seek revenge. Not with two hundred Hythrun riding down on them. He wondered how they had come this far into Medalon without being discovered.

  Jenga bent down to pick up the sword that lay at Joyhinia’s feet.

  “Draco! Carry out my orders! Kill them. Now!”

  This time, even Draco baulked. “Your Grace, perhaps we should wait…”

  “Kill them!” she screamed, her rage driving her beyond all reason.

  Tarja was astounded at Joyhinia’s intransigence. “Didn’t you hear him? We’re under attack, Joyhinia. Let the Defenders do their job.”

  “It’s a lie! A trick! There is no attack! This is just a plot to save your miserable lives! Kill them, Draco! All of them! Kill every miserable wretch here, including those traitors who threw down their swords. Now! Do it now!”

  Draco looked at Joyhinia uncertainly. The woman had stepped over the edge into blind, insane rage, and Draco may have been many things, but he was not a fool. He shook his head. “I’m sorry Joyhinia, not this time.”

  Looking first to Draco and then at Tarja, Joyhinia’s fury knew no bounds as she saw the look of quiet triumph that Tarja couldn’t hide. She screamed wordlessly, snatching up Jenga’s sword that lay in the dirt at her feet and rushed at him. Her sudden attack seemed to wake the Defenders from their torpor. Tarja was vaguely aware of other shouts, other voices. R’shiel cried out. Joyhinia thrust the heavy blade forward as R’shiel stepped in front of him, taking the blade just below the ribs. Lacking the strength to run the blade all the way through the protective leather, Joyhinia twisted the blade savagely as she was overpowered.

  Tarja caught R’shiel as she fell with an agonised scream, clutching at the jagged wound, dark blood rapidly spilling over her hands on to the dusty ground.

  CHAPTER 62

  Testra’s red roofs came into view mid-morning, and the sight raised Brak’s spirits considerably. He was exhausted from the effort of keeping the Hythrun Raiders hidden from view. He had been drawing on his power continuously for weeks now and the sweetness of it had long moved from intoxicating to nauseating. His eyes burned black and felt as if they had been branded with hot pokers. The trembling that had begun a few days ago was so fierce he had trouble keeping his seat. Damin watched him worriedly, but said nothing. The Warlord had agreed to come to his aid, and in return, Brak had agreed to see them safely through Medalon. He had not realised what it would cost him to keep such a foolish promise.

  Arriving in Krakandar on the back of an eagle larger than a horse had a gone a long way to convincing the Warlord to follow him. But ever since that day, Brak had suffered through being referred to as Divine One, men falling to their knees as he approached, and women begging him to bless their newborn babies. He accepted it as part of the price he must pay to keep his word to Korandellen.

  There was no point now, that Brak could see, in trying to pretend that the Harshini were extinct, so he made no attempt to hide what he was. Nor had he hesitated to call on the Harshini for help. There were many of them anxious to leave Sanctuary and move openly in the world once more. When they crossed the Glass River it had been over a magical bridge constructed by Shananara and her demon brethren. On his left rode a slender young Harshini named Glenanaran. His efforts had allowed them to maintain an impossible pace. He had linked his mind to the Hythrun’s sorcerer-bred horses, and through that, gave the beasts access to the magical power they were bred to channel—power the breed had been denied for two centuries.

  With Testra so close, Brak finally let go of the magic, and two hundred Hythrun Raiders suddenly appeared, as if from nowhere, in the middle of the road. Their pace did not falter. It meant nothing to the Hythrun that they had been hidden from sight. They were invisible to casual observers but not to each other. Brak sagged as the power left him.

  “Wh
at’s wrong?” Damin asked, as Brak clutched at his pommel to prevent himself from being pitched from the saddle.

  “I’ve let go of the glamour. They can see us now.”

  Damin nodded, his eyes scanning the countryside, but they were in no danger yet.

  They rode on towards the town with the Glass River glittering silver on their right. Brak wondered if they would get there in time. He had no clear idea what Tarja had planned. All he knew was that it was likely to be dangerous. He had not come this far to see R’shiel destroyed. Brak slowed them to a trot as they reached the squatters’ hovels on the edge of the town. Damin looked around with interest. He had never travelled this far north before.

  “So this is where we will find the demon child?”

  “I hope so.”

  “What is she like?”

  Brak thought for a moment. “Like me, I suppose.”

  “You?”

  “It’s not something than can be easily understood by a human.” He was saved from having to explain further by the first sign of the Defenders, although he was a little surprised they had not been noticed sooner. A flash of red and a startled yell and the Hythrun were reaching for their weapons. “Tell your men to stay their hand, Damin. I don’t want a pitched battle if it can be avoided.”

  “If they attack, my men will fight.”

  “Well, they haven’t attacked yet, so give the order.”

  Damin frowned, but he turned in his saddle and signalled his Raiders to put up their weapons.

  They rode into a town that seemed oddly deserted for the middle of the day. Although he had expected the townsfolk to run at the sight of the Hythrun, there were few folk around to notice their passage. It made him uneasy, a feeling that only got worse as they turned towards the main square and spied a fair-haired youth standing in the centre of the deserted street, obviously waiting for them.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, riding out to meet the God of Thieves.

  “Waiting for you.” Dace looked past Brak at the dark-eyed Harshini and waved brightly. “Hello, Glenanaran.”