Harshini

by Jennifer Fallon

  “I’ll do it,” Brak said, stepping forward into the torchlight.

  R’shiel rounded on him in horror. “Brak!”

  “I’m sorry, R’shiel, but Damin has a point. If he doesn’t deal with this, he’ll never put an end to it. The child needs to die. He has to make an example of him.”

  Damin looked stunned to find such an unexpected ally. “I cannot ask a Harshini to do this. I won’t even ask it of my own men.”

  “I’m a half-breed, Damin, and it won’t be the worst thing I’ve done.” He turned to the Harshini and met Glenanaran’s black eyes evenly. “Take the others away from here, Glenanaran. Just pray to the gods that watch over this child that Death comes quickly for him.”

  The Harshini stared at him for a moment, while Brak silently willed him to understand. Then Glenanaran nodded solemnly. “We will pray for the child.”

  Then do it quickly, Brak urged silently.

  The Harshini turned and vanished into the darkness. R’shiel watched him with dismay as he walked across the clearing and took Mikel by the hand. Damin stood beside her, surprised and a little suspicious of Brak’s willingness to kill.

  “How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

  “This is no trick, Damin.”

  He grabbed Mikel by the arm and pulled him clear of the guards, then drew the dagger from his belt. He turned it for a moment in his hand as if testing the weight, then he glared at Damin.

  “Are you planning to watch?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re a sick son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

  “No, just a distrustful one. I don’t believe you’ll do it.”

  He’s calling my bluff. But he could not draw on his power to create an illusion. Damin would notice what he was up to as soon as he saw his eyes darken. R’shiel stood with Damin and made no move to stop him, either. She too was calling his bluff.

  He looked into the eyes of the confused child. Mikel had moved beyond fear and stepped over into paralytic terror.

  “Are you ready to meet Death, Mikel?” he asked softly, almost gently. Adrina choked back a sob in the background and the torches were hissing loudly in the unnatural silence.

  Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, he felt the presence of a god and almost sagged with relief. All around them, the air was suddenly filled with unnatural, crystalline music as the figure of Death appeared in the clearing. He wore a long hooded cloak, blacker than the night surrounding them. His face was a pale skull, his hollow eyes radiated light and he actually carried a scythe in his left hand.

  Theatrical bastard, Brak thought sourly.

  “This is the child you wish me to take?” the spectre asked in a musical voice that boomed through the clearing.

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “You presume a great deal, Brakandaran.”

  “This is necessary, my Lord.”

  The being glanced around the clearing until his eyes alighted on R’shiel. Brak noticed, with some relief, that she was more suspicious than frightened. She was a smart girl. She would work out what was going on sooner or later. He just hoped that when she did figure it out, she kept her mouth shut.

  “Demon child,” he said, with a slight bow in her direction.

  “Divine One.”

  The creature swivelled his fearsome head towards Mikel then and held out a skeletal arm to the child. “Come.”

  As if in a trance, the Karien boy walked towards the spectre unresistingly. There was no fear in his eyes now, only quiet acceptance. Death took the child by the hand, cast a withering gaze over the stunned humans and disappeared, taking Mikel with him.

  The silence that followed was chilling. Adrina screamed.

  The sound broke Damin out of his trance and he ran to her, but she pushed him away and turned on Brak savagely.

  “Get out! Get away from here! You murderous, cold-blooded bastard!”

  “Adrina…” Damin said, trying to take her in his arms.

  “Don’t touch me! This was your idea and now look what you’ve done. Leave me alone!” She fled from the clearing sobbing loudly. Damin spared Brak a helpless look and followed after her.

  Brak turned to find R’shiel standing alone in the clearing, her arms crossed, staring at him disapprovingly.

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Less blood this way.”

  She crossed the space between them in three strides and punched him painfully in the shoulder. “What the hell was all that about?”

  “Damin was going to kill him, R’shiel, make no mistake about that. It might have seemed like a good idea now, but I suspect it would have had long-term consequences he hadn’t thought about. Don’t worry about the boy. Gimlorie will keep him out of harm’s way for the time being.”

  She looked ready to hit him again. “You got Glenanaran to call Gimlorie, didn’t you? That’s why the Harshini didn’t object.”

  “Clever girl.”

  “But why pretend he was Death?”

  “Damin had to believe Mikel was dead, or he would have finished the job himself. Actually, I thought Gimlorie did a fair imitation of Death myself, although the scythe was a bit over the top.”

  “Is Mikel dead?”

  “He’s residing with the gods, temporarily.”

  “Will you stop being so bloody cryptic!”

  He smiled at her anger, which did nothing to help. “I’ll explain later. In the meantime, I think we should get out of here before Adrina decides to have me hung, drawn and quartered.”

  “Where are we going to go at this time of night?”

  “Back to the Citadel. I’m getting a little fed up with Xaphista. I think it’s about time you fulfilled your destiny, demon child.”

  CHAPTER 56

  R’shiel was surprised by the number of Kariens camped around the Citadel as they flew towards it. The invading army had now pulled back behind the shallow Saran River. They had blocked the bridges with overturned wagons and there was clear ground between the Citadel and the Karien troops. There seemed to be fewer Kariens, although they still numbered in the tens of thousands. The combination of dwindling supplies, no spiritual or military leadership and, she learnt later that day, the news that the Harshini had returned, had played havoc with the siege army.

  She had no time to dwell on it, though, as she noticed the Citadel. It was just on dusk, and she had expected to see the Dimming begin as the walls paled and lost their radiance with the coming night. But the Citadel shone like a lantern in the gathering gloom, casting its soft light out towards the Saran. It made sense, then, why the Kariens had pulled back behind the water. They were hiding in the darkness where the Citadel’s illumination could not touch them.

  The dragons settled on the sandy floor of the amphitheatre as the sun set completely, but even here the night was banished by the radiance. A Defender R’shiel didn’t know came out to greet them, casting his eyes over the dragons with the world-weary air of a man who had seen it all before, and informed them that the Lord Defender was expecting them, and required their presence immediately.

  “Where have you been?” Tarja demanded as soon as they appeared in the doorway. “We expected you back days ago.”

  “We were checking on Damin and the Fardohnyans.”

  “How close are they?” Garet asked. He and Shananara were sitting in the heavy leather chairs facing the desk. Tarja paced behind it like a restless cat.

  “The Fardohnyans should reach Brodenvale late next week. Damin’s not far behind them. Another few days I suppose.”

  “That’s impossible!” Garet exclaimed. “There is no way they could have covered that much distance in such a short time.”

  “You forget the Harshini and the gods are actively helping them, Commandant,” Shananara reminded him.

  “I don’t care who’s helping them, Your Majesty. It is simply not possible to sail upriver so quickly, even in oared warships. Or march an army through anywhere at that speed.” He turned to Brak and R’shiel, shaking his
head. “You must be mistaken.”

  “We’re not mistaken, Garet. Believe it, or don’t believe it. It makes no difference to us.” R’shiel stepped into the office, took the seat beside Shananara and turned her gaze on Tarja. He looked tired. “The Defender who met us in the amphitheatre said you wanted to speak to us.”

  “We got a reply from King Jasnoff.”

  “What did he say?”

  “It was pretty long-winded, but the essence was, ‘Kill my dukes and I’ll turn Medalon into a graveyard’.”

  “What are you going to do now?” R’shiel asked.

  “That’s what we were just discussing,” Garet informed them. “Tarja wants to wait until the relief forces arrive, and then attack the Kariens outside. I think we should stick to our original plan: kill one of the dukes and send Jasnoff his head to prove we’re not bluffing. Her Majesty here wants us to lay down our arms, put flowers in our hair, and swear eternal peace and brotherhood with our enemies.”

  R’shiel smiled, not at all sure that Garet was joking. “Well, I happen to like Shananara’s idea better.”

  Tarja frowned at her. “This is no joking matter, R’shiel. Do you have anything constructive to offer? If not, we don’t need you here.”

  “Actually, I do. I want you to give the priests back their staffs and let them go.”

  Even Shananara baulked at that suggestion. “You can’t be serious.”

  “She’s serious,” Tarja said, studying her intently. “It was your idea to take them hostage, so I’m told. Now you want to let them go. You have a reason, I suppose?”

  “We need them outside, where they can influence their troops.”

  “I was under the impression that the whole purpose of confining them here was to stop them influencing their troops,” Garet remarked. Oddly, he had not objected to the suggestion. R’shiel thought his would be the loudest voice raised in protest.

  “That was before I figured out how to influence the priests.”

  “So, we let a hundred fanatical priests loose among the currently leaderless and uncoordinated troops outside, who outnumber us about seven to one, on the off chance that you can make them act the way you want?” Garet asked. He nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds reasonable. Perhaps we could just throw all the people in the Citadel off the walls, too, so our enemies won’t have to go to the bother of putting them to the sword.”

  “Your wit is exceeded only by your blindness, Garet,” R’shiel retorted impatiently.

  “At least I have my wits. You seem to have lost yours.”

  “Garet…” Tarja said warningly, in an attempt to head off the argument. He turned to R’shiel with an expression that left little doubt of his reaction if she continued to bait the commandant. “How can you influence the priests?”

  “Their staffs are made up of pieces of the missing Seeing Stones. They’re like a conduit. If I can find the Seeing Stone here in the Citadel, I can use it to channel whatever I want through it to the priests.”

  “But how is that possible?” Shananara said.

  “Well, if you don’t know, that hardly fills me with confidence,” Garet muttered.

  “My guess,” Brak interjected, understanding what Shananara was asking, “is that either the Fardohnyans or the Sisterhood sold their Stone to the Kariens and they broke it up. They’re the only two that are missing.”

  “Well, it wasn’t the Sisterhood,” Tarja informed them. “We’ve found the Citadel’s Seeing Stone.”

  “You found it? Where?”

  “In the Great Hall. There was a false wall at the back of…R’shiel!”

  She didn’t answer him or even hear what else he had to say.

  R’shiel was on her feet, out of the office and barrelling down the stairs with Brak on her heels before anyone could stop them.

  “What happened here?”

  R’shiel’s voice echoed through the Great Hall, although it seemed strange referring to it by that name. This was the Temple of the Gods in all its majestic glory. This was the place that Brak had described to her with such melancholy longing. She understood now, what he had been trying to tell her.

  “My guess is Shananara,” Brak said, his voice filled with awe. “If the Citadel needed placating, she would have done it here.”

  “It’s fantastic! Look!” She walked the length of the Hall to the podium. The Seeing Stone stood before them, twice the size of the one R’shiel had used in Greenharbour. It reflected the radiant pillars with a soft light that filled the hall, banishing the shadows, highlighting the exquisite artwork. “Oh, Brak, why did they ever try to hide this?”

  “Because they were human, and humans have a tendency to destroy anything they don’t understand.”

  R’shiel reached up and ran her hands over the cool surface of the Stone, then turned to him doubtfully. “Do you think this will work?”

  “It’s theoretically possible.”

  “That’s what you said about coming back from the dead.”

  He shrugged. “Well, that relies on the whim of Death, so it’s not that cut and dried. This, however,” he said pointing at the Stone, “is a lot more straightforward. The problem is not if it’s possible, though.”

  “Then what is the problem?”

  “R’shiel, you have raw power to burn. You threw Sanctuary into hiding like it was a child’s toy. But that required brute force, not finesse. What you want to do to these priests is going to call for a delicate touch that you are a century away from achieving.”

  “Then perhaps I should wait? That gives you another hundred years to live.”

  He smiled at her. “I doubt the Primal Gods would be so patient. Besides, you’d be pretty sick of me in a hundred years, R’shiel.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Even the Harshini don’t stay together that long. It’s why they don’t get married. There’s only so much you can take living with another person before they start to wear on you.”

  “Will I be as cynical as you when I’m seven hundred years old?”

  “You’re worse than me already.”

  She smiled and sat down on the steps of the podium. He sat beside her for a moment in silence as she took in the monumental Temple. All of this was her legacy, her inheritance. She laid her head on Brak’s shoulder, trying not to let the knowledge of his impending death distract her.

  For a moment, she closed her eyes and let the silence and the memories of Sanctuary overwhelm her. She wished Brak had not put conditions on it—wished he would wrap them in that unbelievable cocoon of magic again and transport her to that other plane where pleasure and indulgence were the only things that mattered…

  “Founders!” She sat bolt upright and stared at him wonderingly.

  “What?”

  “I don’t need finesse, Brak.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No! I need pleasure!”

  “Here? Now? A bit public, don’t you think?”

  “Don’t be an ass!” she said, leaping to her feet, giddy with the knowledge that she knew, with absolute certainty, how to bring Xaphista undone. “Don’t you see? The other night the Harshini could feel us. You said even Xaphista could feel it. You said he made his people turn away from pleasure because it distracts them from him.”

  Brak looked at her askance. “What are you suggesting we do, demon child? Have an orgy here in the Temple of the Gods and channel it through to the priests via the Seeing Stone?”

  She laughed. “You’d be surprised how close you are to the truth, Brak. Come on!”

  She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet then headed down the Hall, dragging him in her wake.

  “R’shiel!”

  “What?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “You’ll see,” she said with a laugh.

  He stopped and pulled her back. “Enough! I’m not taking another step until you tell me what you’re up to this time.”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Not in the sli
ghtest.”

  She sighed heavily. “Brak, I’m going to distract the Kariens. I’m going to take their minds off Xaphista for a while.”

  “Is that all?”

  She nodded. “That’s all I have to do, Brak.”

  She saw the dawning light of comprehension in his eyes and smiled. Brak shook his head ruefully. “You’re a sneaky little thing, aren’t you? I’m glad you’re on our side.”

  “It’ll work, won’t it,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.

  He nodded slowly. “Yes. It should work.”

  “Then let’s go see Tarja.”

  “Gods, you’re not going to tell him what you’re planning, are you?”

  “Of course not. I’m going to ask him to throw a party.”

  CHAPTER 57

  The following day, Tarja relented and agreed to let the priests go. Garet objected vehemently, but once she had spoken to Shananara and had her support, his advice was overruled. Tarja doubted her, she could tell that from the way he looked at her and the edge of scepticism in his voice. But with the knowledge that the Fardohnyans were close, and Damin Wolfblade not far behind, he seemed to think that she couldn’t do their cause much harm and was prepared to indulge her. Up to a point.

  The priests were herded from the Lesser Hall towards the gate at dawn the next day. Two of them led another priest whose eyes were bandaged, although R’shiel didn’t know what had happened to him. Parked near the entrance to the gatehouse was a covered wagon, inside which were the confiscated staffs. Once she’d talked her way around Tarja’s objections, and the Defenders realised the stones were mere crystals rather than diamonds, avarice gave way to apathy. But she was not so foolish as to stand in range of a priest wielding his staff, which was the reason she had chosen this vantage on the wall-walk, high above the main gate.

  As they neared the wagon, a Defender threw back the tarpaulin. The tonsured men swarmed over it, grasping for the security of the symbols of their rank. One of the priests glanced up, caught sight of her and shook his staff, mouthing some insult she could not hear. Others followed his gaze as they reclaimed their sacred sceptres. An uneasy prickle of apprehension washed over R’shiel as she watched them.