Harshini Page 2

  “Don’t worry, they won’t dare cross the demon child.”

  “Are you making fun of me, Brak?”

  He smiled. “Just a little bit.”

  She returned his smile wanly. “Don’t you ever get sick of watching over me?”

  “Constantly. But it’s a task I’ll be doing for some time yet,” he replied as his smile faded.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve chosen which side you’re on, demon child. You don’t think Xaphista is just going to stand back and watch while you set about destroying him, do you?”

  “You think he’ll send more priests after me?”

  “You should be so lucky,” he told her. “A priest you can see. No, I’m afraid he’ll be a bit subtler this time. He’ll probably try to turn someone close to you against you. Someone you trust. Someone who can get near you.”

  R’shiel studied Brak for a long moment then glanced down at Tarja. “You think he’ll turn Tarja against me, don’t you?”

  “Tarja, Damin, Adrina, one of the Defenders, who knows? Any one of them could become your enemy and you won’t know a thing about it until they’re pulling the knife from your back.”

  R’shiel stroked Tarja’s brow gently before she answered. “Tarja would never betray me.”

  “Perhaps not. But trust no one, R’shiel.”

  “Not even you?”

  Brak smiled thinly. “Xaphista can’t turn me to his cause, or any Harshini for that matter. He began as a demon and he was never bonded to my clan or yours. The Harshini you can trust.”

  “But nobody else?”

  “Nobody else.”

  She stood up, frowning at the idea that everybody she knew was a potential traitor. “Brak, I really don’t like being the demon child, you know that, don’t you?”

  Brak shrugged. “We all have a destiny we can’t avoid, R’shiel.”

  “I don’t believe in destiny.”

  “I know. That’s why the Primal Gods are so worried.”

  That thought actually cheered her a little. “The Primal Gods are worried?”

  “They’re worried,” he agreed.

  “Good,” she declared petulantly. “They damned well should be.”

  CHAPTER 3

  R’shiel escaped the mess tent and the wedding feast as soon as she could slip away without being rude. She had arranged this wedding and felt that the least she could do was make some attempt to be sociable, although Brak’s warning about Xaphista worried her more than she cared to admit. She had found herself studying faces in the candlelight, wondering who the Overlord would suborn. Which familiar face was really her enemy? Whose eyes hid treachery and whose were genuine in their friendship? She escaped the tent with relief, glad finally to be alone. Brak seemed to sense what bothered her and made no attempt to follow.

  She paced the large Defender camp, too restless to seek her bed. Since returning from Sanctuary, R’shiel found she didn’t need sleep the way she once had. While a useful trait at times, in the darkest hours of the night, when the human spirit was at its lowest ebb, she felt the burden of her destiny keenly. With Brak’s caution about potential enemies ringing in her ears, tonight it seemed harder than usual.

  But she wasn’t unhappy. In fact, it was frightening to discover how much she was enjoying herself. She had told Brak she didn’t believe in destiny, but Joyhinia had unwittingly raised her for this. Every lesson she learnt at Joyhinia’s knee was aimed at educating her in the art of survival in the cutthroat politics of the Sisters of the Blade.

  R’shiel had rebelled against it as a child. Now she found it not only useful, but almost exhilarating. She frequently told Brak that she hated being the demon child, but there were times when it was intoxicating to have princes and princesses deferring to her. Even the Defenders, who had never treated her as much more than the annoying little sister of one of their officers, now treated her with cautious awe.

  For the first time in her life she understood the attraction of power, but was still idealistic enough to hope that it would not corrupt her. R’shiel had not yet reached the point where she was willing to sacrifice anything to achieve her goals. But she was prepared to do a great deal. As Brak had said, she had chosen which side she would be on. All that remained now was for her to do what the Primal Gods had created her for—a destiny she had absolutely no idea how she was going to fulfil.

  Her thoughts turned to Hythria, and the reason she had agreed to accompany Damin and Adrina south. Originally, she agreed to go with them to aid Damin’s cause and to avert potential trouble now that he was married to the daughter of Hythria’s most despised enemy. But in the past few days R’shiel had realised she had to go south because that was where the Sorcerers’ Collective was located. If anybody left alive in this world had the knowledge of how to kill a god, the last human practitioners of magic would. R’shiel had already tasted Xaphista’s lure and although she would never admit it to Brak, she doubted she could hold out against him a second time. She needed knowledge that even the Harshini did not possess. They had no idea how to kill a god. They couldn’t even squash a flea.

  Several turns around the large camp in the chilly starlight did nothing to ease her turmoil, so she decided to sit with Tarja for a time. In the darkness of the infirmary tent, the smell of lye soap sharp in her nose, she cooled his fevered forehead with a damp rag as he literally fought the demons that possessed him. Tarja drifted in and out of consciousness, but he never displayed even a hint of recognition. He would lie quietly at times, and then jerk against the bonds that restrained him so hard R’shiel wondered that the pallet didn’t break under the pressure. There was nothing she could do for him but hope. She didn’t have enough faith in the gods to waste her time praying.

  As she watched him, she wondered if Xaphista would choose Tarja as the instrument of her destruction. It would be the cruellest jest he could play on her. She loved him; had loved him since she was a child. But Kalianah, the Goddess of Love, had imposed Tarja’s love for her on him. Xaphista had told her that and she had no reason to doubt him. Tarja loved her because the gods willed it. He had been given no say in the matter, nor was he aware that the choice had not been his.

  If Tarja ever learns of the geas, Xaphista will have no need to seduce him, R’shiel thought unhappily. Tarja’s wrath would be enough. She knew that, as surely as she knew nothing she could do, nothing she could say would lessen his fury, should he ever discover what had been done to him.

  As dawn slowly lightened the sky over the camp, R’shiel abandoned her depressing line of thought. No closer to finding a solution to the troubles that plagued her, she left the tent to find some breakfast and clean up before her meeting with Denjon and the other captains.

  “We have a problem,” Denjon announced by way of greeting when she entered the mess tent. It had, by default, become their meeting place over the past two weeks. Brak and Captain Dorak were already there, sitting at one of the long tables nursing steaming mugs. The tables had been cleared from last night’s party and the tent was empty other than for Brak and the Defenders. Captain Linst was sitting at the end of the table, the remains of his breakfast in front of him. None of the men rose as she entered. She had finally cured them of that, at least.

  “Only one problem? When did things improve?”

  Denjon treated her to a weary smile. He was a tall, rangy man, who had been a classmate of Tarja’s when they were cadets. He had dark hair and the competent manner R’shiel associated with the Defenders. His proficiency was a credit to Jenga rather than a positive reflection on the Sisters of the Blade who commanded the Defenders.

  “Perhaps I should re-phrase that. We have an urgent problem. The rest can wait an hour or two.”

  “Where’s Damin?”

  “Still enjoying his wedding night, I suppose,” Dorak suggested with a grin.

  “We can’t wait for him,” Denjon shrugged. “We need to decide what we’re going to do with the Karien prisoners. We’ve sat here
far too long and the scouts have just brought news of another troop of Kariens coming in from the north, no doubt looking for their prince.”

  “We have to move out,” Linst added. “We can’t take the Karien prisoners with us and we can hardly leave them here to announce what we’re up to when the search party finds them.”

  The problem of what to do with the Karien knights who had accompanied Prince Cratyn on his quest to find Adrina was one R’shiel had been hoping she wouldn’t have to face. When Denjon calmly announced he could “take care of a couple of hundred Kariens”, she had callously hoped they would simply die in battle, saving her the problem of what to do with them afterwards. The Defenders, however, were far too efficient to indulge in such needless bloodshed. They had rounded up the Kariens and taken them prisoner with only a handful of Karien casualties and none at all from their own ranks.

  The prisoners had done nothing but drain their resources since that day. The young knight in command, Drendyn, the Earl of Tyler’s Pass, was a noisy, inexperienced fellow who seemed stunned and heartbroken when he learnt that Adrina was also in the camp and obviously allied with his captors. For a fleeting moment, R’shiel wished she could do what Joyhinia had tried to do to the rebels. Simply put them to the sword and be done with them.

  She had no more chance of getting the Defenders to follow that order than Joyhinia had in Testra.

  “What do you suggest, Denjon?”

  “I was hoping you’d have a suggestion,” he told her with a shrug. “You seem to have an answer for everything else these days.”

  R’shiel frowned. “You think I can just wave my arm and solve all your problems for you?”

  “That’s what the Harshini do, isn’t it?”

  “That is your prejudice speaking, Captain,” Brak warned. “It does not help your cause to let it get in the way.”

  Denjon turned on the Harshini but R’shiel intervened before things could escalate into a fullblown argument.

  “Why can’t we just release them?”

  “Because they’ll be on our trail within hours.”

  “No, they won’t. Their Crown Prince and their Duke are dead. They’ll have to go home to return the bodies to Karien, at least. They may send out a party to hunt us down later, but it won’t be this lot.”

  Denjon looked thoughtful. “You may be right, R’shiel, but I’m not sure I want to risk finding out the hard way that you’re wrong.”

  “What if I can guarantee that they’ll head home?”

  “What are you thinking of doing?” Brak asked suspiciously. “Coercing them?”

  “No, of course not!”

  “Then how do you plan to make nearly four hundred Karien knights turn on their tails and slink home?” Dorak asked. “And they have the three priests with them who were accompanying Lord Setenton. They’ll demand retribution, out of spite if nothing else.”

  “Don’t you see? As soon as the search party realises that Cratyn is dead, they will turn around and head straight back to Karien for guidance from the Overlord, dragging Drendyn, his knights and their priests behind them.”

  “It’s a nice thought, R’shiel,” Brak agreed. “But the captain is right. You won’t dissuade the priests so easily. You’d be better off just killing them outright.”

  “How long do we have, Denjon, before the Kariens get here?”

  “A day at the most, if we want to be gone before they arrive. Two days if we plan to make a fight of it. I would advise against that. The result will just be more damned Karien prisoners we have to worry about when the next search party comes looking for them.”

  She nodded slowly. “Brak, can Tarja be moved?”

  The Harshini frowned. “I wouldn’t advise it, but it won’t threaten his life, if that’s what concerns you.”

  “I don’t think we have much choice in the matter,” she announced, figuring that if she sounded decisive, nobody would guess how uncertain she was. “You should leave for Fardohnya, anyway. Can you get there on your own?”

  Brak was watching her closely. If anyone suspected her uncertainty, it would be him. “Don’t worry about me, R’shiel. The demons will see me safely to Talabar.”

  “Good. Denjon, you might as well give the order to break camp. Now that Damin and Adrina are married, we need to get to Hythria.”

  “And the Kariens?” Denjon asked.

  “I’ll deal with them.” She glanced at Denjon and frowned. “Do you have any questions?”

  “I have one,” Linst replied. “Who put you in charge of the Defenders?”

  R’shiel turned on him impatiently. “What Defenders, Linst? You ceased being Defenders the moment you stood back and did nothing when I killed Cratyn. You have defied your orders and taken two hundred Kariens prisoner. If you want to go back to being a lackey for Medalon’s new masters, there’s another couple of hundred heading this way. Perhaps you’d like to surrender?”

  Linst glared at her. “Just remember, R’shiel, we are following the Lord Defender’s orders. He was the one who wanted us to fight the Kariens. I’ll take orders from him, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit back and let you order us around for some heathen purpose.”

  “My heathen purpose is to throw the Kariens out of Medalon, Captain.”

  “There’s no point arguing among ourselves,” Denjon interceded. “We’ve no choice, in any case. We have to move on. We can sort out the details once Tarja wakes up.”

  “If he wakes up,” Linst added pointedly.

  “He will wake up,” R’shiel insisted. “And when he does, perhaps you’ll decide you have a backbone, after all, Linst.”

  She didn’t wait to hear his answer. She stormed from the tent, a part of her simmering with anger; another part of her grateful for the excuse to leave. On the way out she collided with young Mikel, the boy who had followed Adrina from Karien. He squealed in fright at her sudden appearance, landing on his backside in a puddle of icy mud, dropping the tray he carried. He seemed to do that a lot, she recalled, but was too preoccupied to do more than mutter an apology as she strode past the child.

  Brak caught up with her near the infirmary.

  “Don’t you start on me,” she warned, before he could say a word.

  “I wasn’t going to. I’m on your side, remember?”

  R’shiel slowed her pace a little and looked at him. “I’m sorry. They just make me so angry sometimes.”

  “I noticed.”

  “I shouldn’t let them get to me like that, should I?”

  “Of course not, but you don’t need me to tell you that. What I’d really like to know is what you’re planning to do about those priests.”

  She shrugged. “I destroyed their staffs. How much trouble can they be?”

  “A lot. They may not be able to threaten you any longer, but they still hold a great deal of sway over their people.” R’shiel didn’t answer him. His faded blue eyes darkened for a moment and he shook his head. “You’re not going to kill them, are you?”

  “No. I’ll think of something else.” She resumed her angry pace and continued on towards the infirmary. An icy wind blew across the plain, stirring dust eddies on the scuffed ground and making her ears ache. She missed her long hair.

  “Well, you’d better come up with something quickly,” Brak called after her. “It’ll take a miracle to turn that lot and time is of the essence.”

  She stopped and turned. “That’s it! Brak, you’re a genius!”

  He stared at her in confusion. The solution suddenly clear, she ran back, kissed his cheek and hugged him briefly. “You’re right! It’s going to take a miracle!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I haven’t time to explain,” she said, relief making her giddy.

  “What are you thinking of doing, R’shiel?” Brak demanded, grabbing her arm to prevent her escaping.

  “I’m going to work a miracle.”

  “They won’t fall for anything so transparent. Any miracle you conjure up will be
dismissed as Harshini magic. You won’t fool anyone, not even a bunch of knights as inexperienced as Drendyn and his friends.”

  “Then I’ll find someone they will believe in,” she said, pulling her arm free of him.

  “Who? Adrina?”

  “Of course not! I’ll use…someone else…someone they’ll trust…”

  “Who?” Brak repeated suspiciously.

  R’shiel glanced around, more to avoid meeting Brak’s suspicious gaze than in any real hope of finding an answer to her dilemma. Her eyes alighted on the Karien boy, muttering miserably to himself as he picked up the shards of broken dishes that had fallen from his tray when R’shiel bumped into him.

  “I’ll use him,” she declared, pointing at Mikel.

  CHAPTER 4

  Adrina’s first thought on waking the morning after she married Damin Wolfblade was: Gods, what have I done?

  She had thought the same thing on waking in Yarnarrow the morning after she married the late, unlamented, Crown Prince of Karien, too. There is a disturbing pattern emerging here, she decided.

  “Good morning.”

  Adrina turned towards the voice. Damin was already up and dressed and pulling on his high leather boots. She was extremely suspicious of anybody who could be so alert, so early in the morning.

  “What’s so good about it?”

  Damin grinned. It was one of his more annoying habits. He seemed to find most of what she said amusing. In Fardohnya, her moods affected the whole palace. Lords and Ladies tiptoed around her. Even in Karien, they had trod warily to avoid incurring her wrath.

  “Are you always so unpleasant first thing in the morning?” he inquired.

  She sat up on the pallet, drawing the blankets up to hide her nakedness. “Why, in the name of the gods, did I marry you?”

  Damin stamped his feet into his boots and reached for his sword-belt. “Because the demon child ordered you to. And you are a grasping, conniving little bitch,” he added pleasantly.