Harshini Page 31

  Tarja looked down, aware of how bad he smelled. He was unshaved and filthy and his cell reeked, the bucket in the corner long since filled to overflowing.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Must be clean. You hang tomorrow. Lord Roache say you must look like Defender.”

  So, they were finally going to hang him. Roache had said he wanted as many witnesses as possible and he obviously wanted to remind the citizens of Medalon that he was hanging an Officer of the Defenders. The desperate, unwholesome creature he must appear at the moment would threaten no one. Tarja debated resisting for an instant then rejected the idea. There might be some hope of escape once he was out of his cell, although looking at the men arrayed behind Andony it was unlikely.

  Tarja followed Andony and resolutely refused to give up hope. He had escaped this fate before. He had eluded death so many times in the past that he had wondered if, like the magical Harshini, he were immortal. As the Karien guards fell in around him, he warned himself not to be so foolish.

  He was not invincible. Even the Harshini were not immortal. Barring some unforeseen miracle, in less than a day all his previous narrow escapes would finally catch up with him.

  CHAPTER 39

  Dawn broke over the Citadel on Restday to the ring of hammers pounding on wood as the gallows slowly took shape. The sandy floor of the arena was littered with construction debris as the workmen hurried to finish their task before the crowd arrived. Joyhinia Tenragan stepped down through the gate in the white painted barricade and surveyed the progress with a frown as she crossed the arena floor, tugging her cloak closed against the crisp breeze.

  “How much longer?”

  The foreman turned at her voice and dropped his hammer. He bowed hastily. “It will be done on time, First Sister.”

  Joyhinia nodded with satisfaction. The hanging was scheduled for noon. “You’ve done well.”

  “I’ve no need to be doing this at all,” the man complained as he picked up his hammer. “There’s a perfectly good gallows behind the Defenders’ headquarters.”

  “You don’t approve of public hangings?” Joyhinia asked curiously. She probably should have reprimanded him for being so impudent, but she was in a rare mood today.

  “It’s not my idea of entertainment, no,” the foreman agreed cautiously, perhaps realising the folly of being so outspoken.

  “I see. It’s not that you harbour sympathies for the criminal, then?”

  “No, your Grace!”

  “I thought not. Carry on.”

  Joyhinia turned away from the workmen with a sour smile. That should take the lead out of their boots. A few words from the First Sister and men quivered where they stood. Even the threat of her presence was enough to unman some. It was the headiest feeling. Better than wine. Better than sex. Better even, than watching someone in pain…

  The First Sister strolled back towards her office in a fine mood. The day was cool but clear, and it would see the last of Tarja Tenragan. That her vengeance had taken so long didn’t concern the First Sister. If anything, it tasted all the sweeter for the wait.

  At the thought of her other enemies who were still at large, the First Sister frowned. She had expected some news by now, but no word had come about R’shiel. She had last been seen in Fardohnya, according to Squire Mathen, claiming to be the Harshini demon child. The news did not overly concern her.

  Tarja would draw R’shiel like a water diviner to an underground spring. Joyhinia had made certain that the hanging had been well publicised, surprising even the Kariens with her vehement insistence that Tarja’s execution be delayed until the news had reached every corner of Medalon.

  R’shiel had to come. All this power, all that Loclon currently enjoyed in the guise of the First Sister would be meaningless if she continued to live.

  Squire Mathen was waiting when the First Sister returned. He was a thin man with curling black hair, long thin features and a dour disposition. He also had little patience with Joyhinia and it was only the knowledge that this man held the key to the room where Loclon’s body lay, empty and alive at Mathen’s whim while his mind resided in Joyhinia’s body, that kept the First Sister from defying him.

  “Where have you been?”

  The man was sitting behind the First Sister’s desk, going through her papers. Joyhinia bit back her annoyance.

  “I was checking on the progress of the gallows. I wanted to be sure everything would be ready.”

  “It should be quite an event,” Mathen remarked without looking up. “Not often one gets to see an Officer of the Defenders hanged. I imagine you would have to hang someone as important as the First Sister to get a bigger crowd.”

  Even Joyhinia could not miss the veiled threat.

  “Tarja Tenragan is a deserter and a miserable traitor.”

  Mathen looked up with cold narrow eyes and stared at her. Joyhinia fidgeted under his scrutiny. “Then it will do the citizens good to see what happens to traitors.”

  “And it will bring those who oppose us out of the woodwork,” Joyhinia added.

  Mathen finished reading the letter he was holding before he answered. “Or drive them underground.”

  “No, I know these people. Someone will try to rescue him. And when they do, we’ll be ready for them.”

  “If it was up to me, I wouldn’t try to rescue him,” Mathen shrugged. “If I wanted to ferment rebellion, I would let you hang him unopposed and use his death as a rallying cry for every malcontent in Medalon.”

  The implied criticism was clear. “If you think this is such a bad idea, why are you letting it go ahead?”

  “Because Lord Roache wishes it, and even as a martyr, Tarja Tenragan will be less trouble dead than alive. Where is the speech I wrote for you?”

  “I gave it to my secretary.”

  “Fetch it. I have a few changes I wish to make.”

  Joyhinia knew better than to argue with the man. She turned on her heel and crossed the large office, jerking open the door angrily.

  “Suelen? Give me that speech I gave you yesterday!”

  Suelen jumped to obey. Joyhinia snatched the rolled parchment from her outstretched hand and slammed the door in the young woman’s face.

  “There!” she said, slapping it on the desk.

  Squire Mathen looked up. He seemed amused. “Temper, temper, First Sister.”

  Although it had been the Karien priests who had worked the spell that had put his mind in Joyhinia’s body, secretly, the First Sister was no happier about the Karien occupation of the Citadel than any other Medalonian. It had nothing to do with patriotism, however. Loclon simply wanted to be left alone to run things as he saw fit and Mathen’s presence was a constant reminder of the limits to his power.

  From a purely political point of view, Loclon begrudgingly admired the Duke of Setenton’s wisdom in placing Squire Mathen in charge. Even Lord Roache seemed content to let him take care of the day-to-day running of the Citadel. It must have been tempting for the Kariens simply to demand instant conversion of their new subjects to the Overlord; to forbid practices that had been part of Medalonian society for centuries. Mathen was too clever to stir up resistance in such a manner. There had been enough trouble when they threw open the gates of the Citadel to welcome the Karien occupation force. He wasn’t going to make Medalon ungovernable by ordering them to change their views on the gods overnight.

  With no Quorum to answer to any longer, the First Sister could issue decrees as she wished, although they were written under Mathen’s careful guidance. On the surface, the decrees seemed quite reasonable. One had to look closely to realise they were the first insidious steps down the road of Xaphista’s worship. Mathen had all but outlawed prostitution, which the Sisterhood had legalised two centuries ago. There were other laws too, which had been enacted in the past months. It was now an offence to wager on anything; a decree that had been met with a great deal of grumbling, but little open resistance. Loclon wasn’t a gambler himself, unless he had
fixed it so he knew he would win, but he knew enough about the religion of the Kariens to know that this was another of their strict mores that they wished to impose on Medalon.

  Illegitimacy was the next target, Loclon knew, but he doubted Mathen would be quite so lucky getting that one accepted. In Medalon, legitimacy was determined by the maternal line—a law set down by the Sisterhood long ago—and one that meant perhaps two thirds of the population had been born out of the Karien definition of wedlock. They would not be pleased to suddenly find themselves considered bastards.

  Had he tried to disband the Defenders, Mathen would have had a bloodbath on his hands, so he had wisely made no attempt to disarm them, and had, against Loclon’s advice, left Garet Warner in charge, as the senior officer in the Citadel. Loclon didn’t trust Garet Warner, although the man gave every indication of accepting the surrender. To Loclon, even wearing the body of the First Sister, the commandant’s cooperation reeked of duplicity. Mathen, however, seemed unconcerned. He considered Garet a pragmatist, and while he obeyed orders, he was content to leave him be.

  As for the Lord Defender, nobody, from Lord Roache down, was prepared to trust him. He had accepted the surrender unwillingly and actively abetted the deserters who now plagued them with acts of sabotage. There were even rumours that he had dispatched a large force to Hythria, which was massing to attack in the spring. Jenga was locked in the cells behind the Defenders’ headquarters and there he would stay until Roache decided what to do with him. The Karien duke was reluctant to kill him out of hand. He may yet prove useful.

  They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Mathen looked up and called permission to enter. Garet Warner stepped into the office, saluting Mathen and the First Sister politely when he stopped in front of the desk.

  “Good morning, Squire. First Sister.”

  “What is it, Commandant? Trouble over the execution today?”

  “That’s why I’m here. I thought perhaps it might be wise to post extra guards around the Citadel, in case things get out of hand.”

  “That’s probably a good idea. I’ll send out to the camp for some extra men.”

  “I was hoping to use the Defenders,” Garet said calmly. Joyhinia watched him with misgiving. Neither Loclon nor Joyhinia had ever liked Garet Warner. He was too clever by half.

  “Why?” Mathen asked suspiciously.

  “You’re going to hang a Defender today, Squire. I’d prefer to have them kept busy. If you leave them off duty, they’ll be in the stands as spectators.”

  “Then they will learn a salutary lesson.”

  “Or they might decide to object.”

  Mathen thought on it for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. Use all the men you need. Preferably away from the amphitheatre.”

  “I’ve made a list of strategic locations that would be at risk if anything were to happen. I’ll see my men are sent to all those positions. They’ll not think it strange, and as you say, it will keep them away from the amphitheatre.”

  “Very good. Is that all?”

  “There was one other thing,” Garet added, almost as an afterthought. “They’re having trouble with the main gate. One of the pulleys has seized and they can’t get it open. I’ve got the engineers working on it. It should be fixed some time this morning.”

  Mathen looked annoyed. “A convenient day for that to happen. Are you sure it was an accident?”

  The Commandant nodded. “It’s not been tampered with, if that’s what you mean. I checked on it myself this morning when I heard they were having trouble with it. You can inspect the problem yourself if you wish.”

  “Just get the damned thing open,” Mathen snapped impatiently.

  “As you wish, Squire.” Garet saluted smartly and turned towards the door. “I’ve taken the liberty of posting some men outside,” he added as he reached it. Then he looked over his shoulder at Joyhinia and smiled. “And I’ve arranged a special bodyguard for you too, your Grace. We don’t want any incidents.”

  Something about Garet Warner’s manner screamed a warning to Loclon. He was much too calm, much too accepting of Tarja’s hanging. Mathen returned his attention to the speech as Garet closed the door behind him.

  “I changed the part here about traitorous deeds. It now reads: ‘Captain Tenragan is a blight on the honour of the Defenders. His callow and cowardly deeds have shamed every citizen in Medalon’…and so on, and so on. It sounds better, don’t you think? Calling him a traitor outright might stir up a few passions. Technically, he didn’t betray Medalon, only Karien, and that wouldn’t bother your people one whit, I suspect. We need to paint him as a coward, a criminal not worth…Are you listening to me?”

  “He’s up to something,” Joyhinia warned.

  “Who? Tarja Tenragan?”

  “Garet Warner.”

  Mathen shrugged. “Undoubtedly.”

  “Well, don’t just sit there! We have to stop him!”

  “I’ve taken precautions.”

  “What precautions? You moved Jenga, that’s all! I’m sure they’re quaking in their boots!”

  “Jenga is far more dangerous than Tarja Tenragan. The Lord Defender is a symbol of honour to every soldier in the Corps. I don’t really care if they try to free Tarja. As you pointed out, this hanging will bring the troublemakers out of the woodwork. Let Warner try something. I’ve a hundred thousand men on the other side of that gate.”

  “The gate is closed, you fool!”

  Mathen looked at her for a moment and then swore viciously. He jumped to his feet and ran for the door, jerking it open. Suelen was gone. The anteroom was full of Defenders.

  A sword pressing into his vest encouraged him to back up. The Defender holding the blade was a captain with the look of a man who wanted nothing more than to plunge his blade right through Mathen’s chest.

  “You idiot!” Joyhinia screamed at him. “I warned you!”

  “Shut up, Joyhinia!” Mathen moved back far enough that the blade no longer touched him. For a tense moment he watched the Defenders who filed into the office with weapons drawn then addressed their captain.

  “You cannot succeed, you know that, don’t you?”

  “No, actually I didn’t know that,” the captain replied pleasantly. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Even if you manage to take the Citadel, you can’t get past our army.”

  “We’ll see.”

  The captain was infuriatingly confident. Loclon had been a Defender and he knew that stupidity wasn’t one of their traits. Nor was Garet Warner a man for taking unnecessary risks. If this man believed they could win, it was because they had something up their sleeve. Something Mathen had not anticipated.

  “They’ve done something!” Joyhinia said with a panicked edge to her voice. “Look at him! He doesn’t care about your army! They’ve poisoned the water or the food or something.”

  “Nothing so crude, First Sister,” Garet Warner remarked as he stepped back into the office. He glanced around and then nodded to the captain. “Take Mathen down and put him with the others. Quietly. Commandant Foren should have control of the administration building by now. Once you’ve secured the Squire, get over to the guest quarters and see if Cadon needs any help rounding up the priests.”

  “What about me?” Joyhinia demanded.

  “Ah, now you we have special plans for, your Grace,” Garet told her in that calm, annoying and soft-spoken voice that even as a Defender Loclon had always loathed. “There’s someone who is rather keen to deal with you personally.”

  “Who?”

  Garet smiled knowingly but didn’t answer. With a sudden wave of nausea, Loclon guessed who it was. It accounted for the captain’s confidence. It accounted for Garet’s smug expression. Loclon knew she would come. It couldn’t be anybody else. Not today. Not with Tarja’s life in danger.

  “R’shiel.” Joyhinia breathed the name fearfully, as though saying it aloud might cause her to suddenly materialise out of thin air.

  “S
he’s not here,” Mathen scoffed. “We’ve had priests watching for her. There’s no way the demon child could have slipped into the Citadel without us knowing about it.”

  “I think you’ll be disappointed to learn your confidence in the priesthood is somewhat misplaced, Squire,” R’shiel told him, stepping into the room. Loclon felt the First Sister’s knees give way as she turned to him. Behind her was another man he didn’t know. He had no time to wonder who it was.

  He had envisaged her return so often that it didn’t seem real. She was not bound and helpless. She wasn’t begging for mercy. She was standing there, staring at him with utter contempt. There was not a trace of fear in her eyes, only a quiet confidence that she finally and unequivocally, had him under her control.

  “Get the Squire out of here, Captain.”

  Mathen was bundled from the room, leaving R’shiel, Garet, the tall stranger and three other Defenders to deal with Joyhinia. She watched them warily. She knew what would happen next. They would tie the First Sister hand and foot and make her grovel before that Harshini bitch, who would take her vengeance as slowly and painfully as possible.

  Loclon knew it was over. His reign as First Sister was done. He had no idea how the Defenders planned to deal with the Karien host, but men like Garet Warner didn’t undertake suicide missions. They knew they could win.

  The First Sister would die. And R’shiel was standing there, staring at him like she had been planning his suffering almost as long as Loclon had been planning hers.

  But Loclon wasn’t done yet. His mind occupied the body of the First Sister, but his own body lay empty and waiting in a room in the First Sister’s apartments. That was far from this room and probably not worthy of the attention of the Defenders who were taking up arms throughout the Citadel and turning on their Karien masters.

  Loclon didn’t stop to think about it. With a wordless cry, Joyhinia charged at the nearest Defender. The startled soldier raised his blade in surprise as she threw herself onto it, welcoming the pain as it tore through her body—the old woman’s body that Loclon was suddenly desperate to be free of.