Harshini

by Jennifer Fallon

“I wanted to surprise you.”

  “My father is going to be furious.”

  “I know,” he replied with a grin.

  “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “I’m starting to,” he admitted. “Provided I can keep my head on my shoulders and stop having to go to war every time I turn around, I think I might actually get to like being High Prince.”

  “I thought you liked going to war?”

  “I like a nice clean fight, Adrina. If I never see another siege as long as I live, it will be far too soon.”

  It was too soon, he learnt later that evening, when Glenanaran strode purposefully through the hall to stand before the high table, his black eyes filled with concern. The Harshini bowed before the High Prince and spoke in a voice laden with regret.

  “I am sorry to disturb your celebrations, Your Highness, but I have a message for you from the demon child and I’m afraid it cannot wait.”

  Glenanaran said nothing further until they had gathered in the throne room. Everyone had scrambled to follow when Damin left the banquet hall, but in the end he had restricted the meeting to include only the Warlords, the two Defender captains, Denjon and Linst, Adrina, Marla and Kalan.

  “R’shiel is at the Citadel,” Glenanaran informed them, when they were finally gathered. “At least she was when I spoke to her demons.”

  “I thought she was in Fardohnya?” Tejay remarked. “She certainly gets around, this demon child.”

  “What makes you think she’s not there now?” Adrina asked.

  “King Korandellan has collapsed. Sanctuary is back in real time. She may have gone there to render what aid she can.”

  Damin glanced around at the others, certain his own face was just as concerned as the other Warlords were.

  “What’s the situation at the Citadel?” Denjon demanded impatiently.

  “The Defenders have taken back the Citadel, Captain, and are holding the Karien dukes and a number of priests as hostages, but the Karien host still surrounds the city. I believe you call such a situation a…stand-off?” Glenanaran turned to Damin then, his expression grave. “The demon child asks that you gather up the Defenders and whatever Hythrun you can muster and come to their aid. I have already dispatched Joranara to Fardohnya to request King Hablet’s aid.”

  “You think he’ll come?” Tejay scoffed sceptically.

  “He’ll come,” Gaffen assured her. “When he heard what happened to Tristan and his Guard, he was ready to attack Karien the next day.”

  “How many men do the Kariens have surrounding the Citadel?” Another siege, Damin thought. Damn, how I hate siege warfare!

  “At least a hundred thousand, I’m led to believe.”

  The High Prince swore under his breath then looked around at his Warlords. “Counting the Fardohnyans, how many can we put in the field?”

  “Fifty thousand, perhaps, maybe sixty, if Hablet is serious,” Rogan replied. “But it will take months. The logistics of moving such a force are unthinkable.”

  “How long can the Citadel hold out, Divine One?”

  Glenanaran shrugged. “The demon child didn’t say, Your Highness. But she did say that the gods have agreed to expedite your journey.”

  “What does that mean?” The question came from Linst, the other Defender. He looked singularly unimpressed by the assurance.

  “It means that if Hablet sails up the Glass River, he’ll have fair winds all the way,” Glenanaran explained. “Sickness will not plague you, nor lack of fresh water. The bounty of the land will be at your disposal.”

  “That doesn’t help us much,” Toren Foxtalon complained. “The gods can’t make the roads any shorter, or make our troops eat any less.”

  “Pity we can’t sail to Medalon, too,” Almodavar remarked.

  “I’m not sure the gods had rearranging the geography of the entire continent in mind when they offered their help, my Lord,” the Harshini told him with a thin smile.

  “Then how do we get there?” Gaffen asked. “I’ll take every man I have, but it won’t do them much good if we can’t get to the Citadel before next winter.”

  Damin studied Glenanaran’s serene expression for a moment then turned to Gaffen. “We’ll get there the same way I got to Medalon the last time.”

  The Harshini smiled. “I see you understand, Your Highness.”

  “Well, I’m glad he understands, because I certainly don’t,” Tejay grumbled.

  “When his Highness crossed into Medalon to aid the demon child at Lord Brakandaran’s request, we called on the power of the gods to expedite our journey,” the Harshini explained unhelpfully.

  “That tells me nothing.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Tejay. Just get your Raiders mustered.”

  “And what happens to my borders while we go chasing off to Medalon?”

  “I will send Farandelan to Sunrise Province and she will see that your Fardohnyan neighbours do not try to take advantage of your absence.”

  “I appreciate the offer, Divine One, but Farandelan cannot kill.”

  “There is no need to kill, my Lady. Her presence will be enough. She will not permit any killing at all. That is how it was in the past and how it will be again.”

  “And assuming we manage to get to the Citadel before it falls?” Denjon asked. “What then? We’re still outnumbered two to one.”

  “The demon child was of the opinion that your numbers would be sufficient, Captain. I can tell you no more than that.”

  “And we all know what a tactical genius R’shiel is,” Linst muttered sarcastically.

  “Captain, I cannot ease your mind or tell you what I do not know. All I can do is ask that you heed the demon child’s request and gather your forces as quickly as possible. Other Harshini will join you to aid your journey north.”

  “Other Harshini?” Kalan asked.

  “With Sanctuary no longer hidden, our people will be safer with your forces than they will be at home. We will do what we can to help, High Arrion.”

  “I guess that settles it then,” Damin said, looking around at the others. “We’re going to Medalon.”

  CHAPTER 48

  Mikel helped Adrina pack for the journey to Medalon, quite certain that he would have to unpack it all again once Damin Wolfblade discovered she was planning to join him. Her condition was plainly visible now, although it didn’t seem to bother her. The fatigue that had plagued her previously had passed. Her skin glowed with health; her emerald eyes were bright as jewels and her dark hair shone with lustre. Having spent much of the early months of her pregnancy in the saddle, she carried little extra weight other than the child. She was full of restless energy and had been, for the past few weeks at least, quite easy to get along with. Mikel had even overheard Princess Marla complain that a woman had no right to look so damned healthy in her condition.

  Mikel had fallen back into the role as her page after R’shiel vanished. With Tamylan gone, Adrina had worked her way through a score of slaves since then, none of them meeting her exacting standards. The latest had fled in tears this morning when Adrina accused her of being a fumble-fingered half-wit. Mikel didn’t blame his princess, and had his suspicions about the slaves sent to wait on her. Marla hand-picked them and he suspected that the Dowager Princess wasn’t going out of her way to be accommodating. For some reason, perhaps because of their previous history, Adrina found Mikel to her liking. Although his earlier innocent worship of her had been replaced by something a little more realistic, he still admired her and was happy to be of service.

  “Is it cold in Medalon, Mikel?”

  He dumped the pile of clothes he was carrying on the bed and looked at the princess. She was holding a fur cloak in front of her, studying her reflection in the mirror.

  “I don’t know, Your Highness. It will be nearly summer by the time we get there.”

  “Maybe just the woollen cloak then. I want to travel light.”

  Mikel cast an eye over the mammoth pile that
Adrina had already labelled her “essentials” and frowned. “Your Highness, I’m not sure that Prince Damin will consider that ‘travelling light’.”

  She looked at the heap of clothes and sighed. “You’re right. I’m lost without Tam. I wish she were here.”

  He didn’t know how to answer that. He had liked the Fardohnyan slave, but wasn’t so attached to her that he could empathise with Adrina’s grief. His earlier guilt about her fate had faded with the passage of time. He was saved from answering by the appearance of Damin Wolfblade, who stopped at the door and looked around suspiciously.

  “What’s all this?”

  “I’m trying to decide what to pack,” Adrina told him. “I wish Tam were here. She was so much better than me at this sort of thing.”

  “What happened to the slave Marla sent you?”

  “She was an idiot. I sent her away.”

  Damin stepped into the room and examined the chaos scattered around the room more closely. “Why are you packing?”

  “For Medalon, of course.”

  He stared at her as if his hearing had suddenly failed him. “You’re what?”

  “Packing for Medalon. Do you think I’ll need the fur?”

  “No, Adrina, you won’t need the fur. Or anything else, for that matter. You’re staying here.”

  She looked at him in astonishment. “Of course I’m not staying here! I’m coming with you.”

  “In case it’s escaped your notice, Adrina, you’re having a baby.”

  “I’m only pregnant, Damin, not terminally ill.”

  “I’m not going to risk you or our child by taking you into a battle.”

  “Oh for the gods’ sake, Damin. If I was a peasant I’d be working in the fields until I dropped the brat and then I’d be back in the fields the very next day.”

  “That brat, as you so eloquently put it, is the heir to Hythria.”

  “Then travel will be good for him. It will broaden his horizons.”

  “Neither are you a peasant,” he added, not at all impressed by her attempt at levity. “I forbid you to come.”

  “I don’t recall asking your permission.”

  “That’s because you knew damned well I wouldn’t give it.”

  Adrina threw down the fur cloak and put her hands on her hips. Mikel shrank back a little, having seen Adrina in a similar mood before. Her eyes glittered dangerously.

  “Damin, I think we need to settle something. I am your wife. I am not your court’esa, or your lackey, your slave or your possession. I am going with you. If you refuse me, I’ll simply find my own way there, but one way or another, I will go to Medalon.” Then she smiled suddenly, as if making her declaration had settled the matter. “Besides, you need me.”

  “Why do I need you?”

  “Because my father will be leading the Fardohnyans and you really don’t want to confront him without me there to calm him down.”

  “I can manage.”

  “Don’t be too sure about that,” she warned. “You don’t know my father.”

  Damin took a deep breath. He did that a lot when he argued with Adrina, Mikel noticed. “Adrina, even if I conceded the point about your father, the fact is, the Hythrun heir must be born on Hythrun soil. If you come to Medalon with me, you will deliver the child before we can get back.”

  “Is that your only objection? Mikel, come here!”

  Damin turned to stare at him as he edged his way around the High Prince to reach his mistress. Although Damin rarely paid him any attention, he was still more than a little afraid of the Hythrun Prince.

  “Your Highness?”

  “I have a job for you, Mikel.” She marched over to the bed and pulled one of the pillows from it, shaking it out of its silk cover. She handed Mikel the pillowcase. “Take this out to the gardeners and ask them to fill it.”

  “With what, Your Highness?”

  “With Hythrun soil, of course.” She looked up at Damin and smiled triumphantly. “If it’s Hythrun soil you want so badly, Damin, then I’ll simply take some with me. Off you go, Mikel! There’s a good lad.”

  Damin shook his head. “There’s no way I can talk you out of this, I suppose?”

  “No.”

  They stared at each other, debating who was likely to give in first. Damin Wolfblade finally threw up his hands in defeat. He wasn’t happy with the idea, but he seemed to admire her spirit. Cratyn would have hit her, Mikel thought with a twinge of guilt.

  “Go on then, Mikel. Get us a sack of Hythrun soil. And guard it with your life, boy. We may need it in a hurry.”

  Although the fighting had not reached this far, Gaffen’s Fardohnyans had used the palace gardens as a shortcut from the dock below the palace and trampled everything in sight in their haste to join in the fray. The statuary was pushed over, the shrubbery bent and shredded, and even the large fountain in the centre was broken, its water dragons cavorting in a dry pool with snapped-off noses and missing fins. Mikel wandered through the vast gardens for quite a while, looking for someone to fill the pillowcase with soil. The gardeners were nowhere in sight.

  “A sad sight indeed, don’t you think?”

  Mikel glanced across the broken fountain and discovered the old man sitting on the edge of the pool. He had not seen him for a while, but he seemed to pop up in the strangest places. Although he looked a lot like the old man he had seen in the stables in Roan Vale, Mikel had convinced himself it could not be the same person. This man roamed the Hythrun palace at will. He was, so Mikel figured, a retired slave or old family retainer, who had been given the freedom of the palace in return for a lifetime of service. Mikel often bumped into him in quiet, out-of-the-way places, and had come to think of the old man as a friend, although if pressed, Mikel wasn’t sure he even knew the old man’s name.

  “They’ll fix it eventually, I suppose. They’re too busy rebuilding the houses to think about fountains.”

  “Ah, yes, the ever practical Hythrun,” the old man chuckled. “They were always like that. One of the reasons I could never get much sense out of them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing. So, are you off to Medalon with the others, then?”

  He nodded and walked around the fountain to sit beside the old man. “I’m going with Princess Adrina. I’m her page now.”

  “That’s wonderful!” the old man cried, patting Mikel on the back. “You must be very proud. Imagine the things you will do, the places you will see, the important people you will meet.”

  “I suppose. I’ll probably meet the King of Fardohnya. He’s going to Medalon, too.”

  “Is he now? Won’t he have trouble getting there in time?”

  “The Harshini Glenanaran said the gods are going to help.”

  The old man’s expression grew fierce for a moment, as if some uncontrollable anger had suddenly consumed him. Then it was gone; so quickly that Mikel thought he had imagined it.

  “Well, he should be fine then. And what of you, my young friend? Will you see the demon child again, do you think?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “That is excellent news. I shall have to give you a message for her.”

  “Do you know the demon child?”

  “Very well,” the old man said. “Very well, indeed.”

  Mikel looked at him curiously, not sure what it was about the old man’s tone that unsettled him. “What did you want me to tell her?”

  “Ah, I shall have to compose my message most carefully. I will see you before you leave. I’ll let you know then. Now, what are you doing strolling the gardens of the palace clutching an empty pillowcase, my lad?”

  He glanced down at the pillowcase and shrugged. “Princess Adrina wants me to fill it with Hythrun soil in case she has her baby in Medalon.”

  The old man laughed. “A wise precaution. Well, don’t let me keep you from such an important task, Mikel. We’ll meet again, never fear. And I will give you my message for the demon child.”

  Mikel stoo
d up and turned to say goodbye, but the old man was already gone.

  CHAPTER 49

  Sanctuary glittered in the dawn as R’shiel and Brak flew over the mountains, sitting proudly atop the ranges where for so long it had remained hidden. Brak watched it draw closer through eyes that watered from the cold wind, feeling as if he had stepped back in time, rather than Sanctuary coming into real time to meet him.

  It was almost two hundred years since he had ridden on the back of a dragon towards Sanctuary. The last time it had been to warn Lorandranek that he must hide the settlement or risk the Sisterhood finding it—a mission the Sisters of the Blade had pursued for decades after the First Purge. Lorandranek had conceived the idea of hiding the settlement out of time, a burden that he found trying, but not unbearable. In those days he had shared the task with his nephew, the young Korandellan, and between the two of them, Sanctuary had been able to appear and disappear at will, safe from the Sisterhood, the Karien priests and the odd marauder who stumbled into the mountains trying to escape justice.

  But since the madness and death of Lorandranek and the arrival of the demon child, that luxury had been denied them. Sanctuary had stayed hidden as Xaphista grew stronger and more desperate to find his nemesis. Korandellan had carried the burden alone, although why Shananara had not taken up some of the load concerned Brak. She was just as much a té Ortyn as the king, and just as capable as her brother of wielding the power such a feat required. He planned to ask that of the princess when he saw her. His relationship with Shananara té Ortyn was such that he had no qualms about demanding an answer. They had been lovers once, in a distant past.

  Brak glanced across at R’shiel, smiling at her awestruck expression. She had never seen Sanctuary like this before and it obviously left her breathless. Or perhaps it was the altitude, he thought cynically. R’shiel wasn’t impressed by much these days.

  Without any prompting from Brak, his dragon began to bank to the right, circling over the slender towers of the Harshini settlement with Dranymire and R’shiel close behind. With surprising gentleness, the dragons beat their massive wings and lowered themselves down onto a high terrace circled by a balustrade that appeared dipped in silver in the soft dawn light. A solitary figure waited for them, dressed in the customary long white robes of the Harshini.