Medalon (33 page)

Lunch was sumptuous, as was dinner later that evening and made a welcome change from the dry trail rations they had survived on for the past week or so. Affiana made a private dining room available to them and kept them well supplied with food and wine. Of Dace there had been no sign since they arrived, but Brak appeared unconcerned about the missing boy. Their rooms were quite grand with soft, down filled beds and clean linen. The inn was built on a far grander scale than the Inn of the Hopeless in the Grimfield. It had three stories and several suites in addition to the normal rooms, and the taproom attracted an affluent class of customer. Tarja found the whole place both comfortable and stifling.

After dinner, he escaped to the stables on the pretext of checking the horses. They didn’t need his attention—Affiana had stableboys in abundance—but Tarja needed to be free of his companions. He needed a chance to think. But more importantly, he needed a chance to get a message to the Citadel. He had to let Jenga know that the Harshini were still among them.

Tarja could not pinpoint the exact moment that the idea had come to him. Perhaps it was in that gully near the Grimfield where he had seen the affect of the Harshini magic on the unsuspecting Defenders. It might have been this morning when he saw the Karien Envoy’s ship docking in Testra. Whatever the reason, he felt compelled to warn Jenga. Once word reached Karien that the Harshini still lived, Tarja doubted any treaty would be enough to hold them on their side of the border. Perhaps even worse was the affect such news would have on Medalon’s southern neighbours. Hythria and Fardohnya worshipped the Harshini with almost as much dedication as they worshipped their gods. News of their survival would be cause for celebration. Suspicion that the surviving Harshini were under threat by either the Kariens or the Sisterhood would bring an army over the southern border that outnumbered the entire population of Medalon. Tarja had broken his sworn oath to the Defenders, but he didn’t consider he had turned his back on Medalon. They had to be warned and Jenga was the only one in a position to do anything about it.

He did check the horses, however, enjoying their simple demands for attention as they heard him approaching, pushing velvety muzzles through the rails in the hope of a treat of some sort. He sat down on a hay bale and pulled out a stick of writing charcoal, sharpened to a point, that he had purloined from the small library of the inn. In the dim light, he began to scratch out a succinct report to Garet Warner on a scrap of parchment. It would be pointless addressing it directly to Jenga. The Lord Defender would more than likely tear up the message
unread if he thought it came from him. Garet was the safer bet. Garet would use the information. He didn’t have to tell Jenga its source. That way Jenga would be free to act, without being hampered by his scruples. Tarja knew from experience that Garet Warner’s scruples were a fluid commodity, to be applied or not as he saw fit.

He had barely written the first few lines when a noise behind him startled him and he leapt to his feet guiltily.

“It’s only me.” R’shiel stood in the entrance to the stables, her shawl pulled tight around her. He shoved the note into his pocket hastily.

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s just a bit stuffy inside.” She walked over and sat beside him. She seemed so distant. As if the shell of the old R’shiel remained, but the spark of life was gone. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing important,” he replied. “Are you all right, R’shiel?”

“Something has happened to me, Tarja, and I don’t know what it is. I can’t even describe it.” She pulled idly at the fringe on her shawl for a moment and then looked at him. “I didn’t kill Loclon, did I?”

“No.”

“Did you? I can’t remember.”

“I kicked him in the face. But I doubt it was enough to kill him. I’m sorry.”

“Not half as sorry as I am.”

They sat in silence for a moment; each lost in their own thoughts. Eventually she looked at him, her expression curious. “Who is Brak?”

“I’m not sure.”

“He’s been telling me about the Harshini. I think he’s worried about me so he’s telling me fairy stories as if I was a little child, to take my mind off things. It’s a nice thing to do, I suppose.”

“Well, Brak can be very nice when he wants to,” he agreed, faintly amused to find himself complimenting a man he was still debating whether or not he should kill.

“I’m sorry, Tarja.”

“For what?”

“It’s my fault you got mixed up with the heathens. Maybe it’s even my fault you deserted. You only did after you learnt the truth about me.”

“It’s not your fault, R’shiel.” For some reason he was intensely aware of her, sitting so close, almost but not quite touching.

“I still want to apologise, though.” She reached out and placed her hand on his arm. He could feel her warmth and had to consciously fight the desire to take it in his hand.

“If it makes you feel better.”

She was so close that he stood up abruptly and walked to the door. He leaned against the frame and studied her from a safer distance.

“What are we waiting for, Tarja?” she asked, a little hurt at his sudden withdrawal. She cocked her head, as if she couldn’t figure him out. “Do you think Brak is still with the rebels?”

“If he is, then I suspect Brak was sent to kill me, not rescue me.”

“I’m glad he didn’t kill you.” She stood up and came to stand before him. “If he had, you wouldn’t have been there when I needed you.”

She leaned forward to kiss his cheek thankfully, lingered for a moment, her cheek touching his. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before he turned his mouth to find hers. For a timeless moment she didn’t react, then she pulled away from him.

“I’m sorry,” he said automatically. But as he looked at her, with her dark red hair, indigo eyes and her golden skin, he suddenly saw what had been in front of him all along. Saw what Zac had seen in her. R’shiel looked at him uncertainly in the moonlight, unaware of the direction of his thoughts. Totally ignorant of who or what she was. Fairytales, she had called Brak’s stories. How could she even suspect the truth? That was why Brak wanted her.
She was Harshini.

“Tarja?”

He pulled her to him. Kissed her as he had the night in the vineyard, except this time there was no regret, no surprise. Only the certain knowledge that this was meant to be.

“Well now, isn’t this just cosy?” a voice said from the darkness, accompanied by a hiss of unsheathing steel.

Several figures detached themselves silently from the shadows, all carrying naked blades that menacingly caught the moonlight. R’shiel pulled away from him as the rebels surrounded them. The owner of the voice moved into the faint light thrown into the stables by the inn. Tarja recognised the wild-eyed, fair-haired young man, with a rush of despair.

“Ghari!”

“See, lads, he hasn’t forgotten us,” Ghari told them, as he moved closer to Tarja. As soon as he was
within reach, he shoved him against the wall roughly and raised his blade to Tarja’s throat. “You lying, treacherous, son-of-a-bitch. I can’t believe you had the gall to show up here. Back in uniform too, I see.”

“Ghari, I can explain—” Tarja began, trying to sound reasonable.

“Explain what, exactly, Tarja?” Ghari hissed. “Why you betrayed us? Why you left us to fend off a whole freaking company of Defenders while you were living it up with your mother in the Citadel?”

“They tortured him in the Citadel!” R’shiel cried as Ghari’s blade pressed deeper into Tarja’s neck, drawing blood. Her cry brought two of the rebels rushing to her side. They pulled her back roughly. “He never betrayed you!”

Ghari turned to look at her as he eased the blade from Tarja’s throat. Tarja took an involuntary gasp of air.

“You think I’d believe anything that came from you? Though I must admit, I’ve not seen such devotion between siblings before. I knew the Sisterhood cared little for morals, but I hadn’t realised incest was so popular.”

“I’m not his sister!” R’shiel snapped, shaking free of her captors. “And Tarja never betrayed you! Even when they tortured him.”

“R’shiel, don’t—” Tarja began. Ghari had been one of their most ardent supporters. It seemed that he was now one of their most bitter enemies, his disappointment turned to rage.

“Someone’s coming!” a voice hissed from the darkness. Ghari began issuing orders via hand signals to his men. His anger was a palpable thing.

“Let’s go somewhere we can discuss this privately,” he told Tarja, then turned and ordered the men to grab R’shiel. She had no chance to cry out as a hand clamped firmly over her mouth.

“Don’t you—” he warned, but he never had a chance to complete his threat. The last thing Tarja saw was R’shiel struggling against her captors as Ghari brought the hilt of his sword down hard against his head and he swam into a black pool of unconsciousness.

When he came to, he was lying in a wagon, tied hand and foot, and loosely covered with straw. R’shiel was beside him, similarly bound. She had been gagged, but had worked the gag loose and it now hung uselessly around her neck.

“Tarja?” she whispered, as soon as his eyes opened. The wagon hit a bump in the road and his head slammed against the wagon bed, but he fought off the black wave that engulfed him and managed to remain conscious. “Are you all right?”

“Any idea where we are?”

“I think we’re headed for the vineyard. What will they do to us?”

“I really don’t know, R’shiel,” he lied and then he gave in to the blackness and lost consciousness again.

R’shiel suffered through the uncomfortable wagon ride, wondering what was going to happen to them. The savageness of Ghari’s hatred surprised her. Tarja had passed out again. A trickle of blood from the wound on the back of his head had dried on his cheek. If her hands were not tied, she would have wiped it away. As it was, all she could do was look at him and hope that the others would be more reasonable than Ghari.

After a time, the wagon was hauled to a stop and rough hands reached for her in the darkness, pulling her from the wagon bed and bustling her inside the darkened farmhouse. She was pushed down a flight of stone stairs. A dim light beckoned, and then brightened as a door opened. R’shiel was shoved through, followed by two men who carried Tarja. They dumped him unceremoniously on the straw-covered floor. Large barrels stood against the far wall. Padric was there, seated on a small keg. In the lantern light, the cellar appeared full of threatening shadows. Ghari and his companions arranged themselves around the walls, watching both R’shiel and Tarja’s unconscious form warily.

“Welcome back.” Padric looked old and tired rather than threatening. The old man spared the unconscious rebel a glance. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

“No. He’ll come around.”

The old man stood up and walked to where Tarja lay sprawled on the floor. He looked down at him for a moment, shook his head sadly, then turned to R’shiel.

“Why?”

R’shiel didn’t answer him, not at all certain that she could.

Before Padric could ask anything else, the door flew open and a fair-haired young man burst in. He stopped dead at the sight of Tarja’s prone form and glanced at Padric, his brown eyes widening even further at the sight of R’shiel.

“What is it, Tampa?” Padric asked.

“The Kariens! They’re here!”

“Don’t exaggerate, boy. Tell me exactly what Filip told you.”

“Filip said,” Tampa began, catching his breath, “that the Envoy’s boat docked in Testra just before midday and the Karien Envoy would pay a hundred gold rivets for the red-headed girl who is travelling with Tarja, no questions asked. He said the news is all over the docks in town.”

Tampa had obviously been coached in the message he was to deliver, and he sighed with satisfaction when he finally got it out. R’shiel went cold all over.

“The Karien Envoy is just a lecherous old man,” Tarja remarked, from the floor. R’shiel wondered how long he had been conscious. He had pushed himself
up on one elbow and met Padric’s gaze. “But it’s not him who wants R’shiel. It’s his priest.”

“Who asked you?” Ghari growled, sinking his booted foot hard into Tarja’s back. The rebel collapsed with a pain-filled grunt and rolled over, away from Ghari’s next kick.

“Enough! You can get your revenge later, Ghari. Get him up.”

Two of the rebels hauled Tarja to his feet. The wound on his head had reopened and blood trickled down his neck.

Padric turned his gaze on Tarja. “Let’s forget you’re a treacherous liar for a minute and tell me why you say that.”

Tarja shook off the men who were holding him and stood a little straighter. “Joyhinia promised R’shiel to the Karien Envoy in return for his help in deposing Mahina. If he wants R’shiel now, it’s only to get what he feels he’s been cheated of. The Kariens are playing their own games, Padric. Don’t get involved.”

“At least the Kariens believe in the gods.”

“Have you ever been to Karien, Padric?” Tarja asked. “They don’t believe in the gods. They only believe in one god. They’re zealots. They plan to convert the whole world to the Overlord, even if it means slaughtering every non-believer to do it. Dealing with them would be worse than dealing with the Sisterhood.”

Padric looked at R’shiel curiously. “A hundred gold rivets is a lot money. Why does he want you so badly?”

R’shiel looked at Tarja for help. She didn’t know the answer.

“The priest who travels with Pieter claims he had a vision.”

“That’s a good enough reason to get rid of her, right there.” Padric rubbed his chin. “Although, if you are right about this, we could use it to our advantage. I’ve no wish to see the Kariens triumph in anything. As you say, they are no friend to our kind. But it would weaken the Sisterhood considerably if the Karien alliance were destroyed.”

“That treaty is the only thing keeping the Kariens on the other side of the border. Destroy it and you are asking for even worse trouble than you have now.”

“
Worse
trouble?” Padric scoffed. “I don’t see how things could be much worse than they are now, Tarja.”

Tarja took a deep breath before he answered. “Padric, think about this. Handing R’shiel over to the Kariens won’t wreck the alliance, if anything, it will strengthen it. She’s already been promised to them. You would simply be carrying out Joyhinia’s wishes.”

“Maybe. But the Envoy wasn’t expecting to have to pay for her. And a hundred gold rivets is a fortune. Given the trouble you two have caused, it seems small compensation.”

“You’d sell me to the Kariens!”

Padric turned on R’shiel impatiently. “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t! You never believed in our cause. All you did was stir the passions of our young men and abandon us at the first sign of trouble. We owe you nothing. I don’t know what the Envoy wants with you, and I don’t really care.”

“Given a choice between feeding starving pagan
families for a year or saving R’shiel’s precious neck, I know which one I’d choose,” Ghari added.

“They want her because she’s Harshini,” Tarja said tonelessly.

“What?” R’shiel stared at him, shocked. “That’s ludicrous! If that’s your idea of helping, Tarja, I’d rather you didn’t!”

“She’s your sister!”

“She’s a foundling. R’shiel was born in the Mountains, not at the Citadel. If you don’t believe me, ask Brak. He’s Harshini, too.”

“You can do better than that, Tarja. We checked the inn where Ghari found you. There is no sign of Brak. Only the former First Sister and a
court’esa
and a few merchants we already know of. You’re lying.”

The news Brak was gone didn’t surprise him. He had a habit of deserting when Tarja needed him the most. “I’m not lying, Padric.”

“Oh? It seems even R’shiel thinks you are. What say you, R’shiel? Are you a Divine One come among us mere mortals?”

She looked at him, puzzled and angry. “Of course not!”

“Well, that settles it then. Take her up to the stables.”

“Padric! Don’t do this! Even if you have no care for R’shiel, think of the consequences! If the Kariens learn the Harshini still live, they’ll be over the border in a matter of weeks and the Purge will seem like a picnic by comparison!”

The old man turned back to him. “I don’t believe the Harshini exist any more.”

R’shiel looked at Tarja, willing him to say something, anything, that would change Padric’s mind.

“You can’t just hand her over to him like she’s a piece of meat!”

“I can,” Padric said. “That’s one thing I learnt from you, Tarja. How to be ruthless. The Karien Envoy wants the girl, we will get a hundred gold rivets to continue the fight, and best of all, you will suffer for it. That’s plenty of incentive, don’t you think?”

Tarja was taken from the main cellar to a room upstairs. He lay on the stone floor next to the cold hearth, surrounded by his former comrades. R’shiel was nowhere in sight. He struggled to sit up as Ghari entered the room with a shielded lantern. His face looked sinister in the shadows.

“Ghari…”

“I don’t want to hear it, Tarja.”

“The only reason you’re still alive is because he’s waiting for Padric to get back,” Balfor added. “He should be here soon, so if you have any prayers to say to the gods, now would be a good time.”

“I never betrayed you.”

“I’m not interested.” Ghari turned his back on Tarja to stare out into the darkness.

“What happened to Mandah?” He was certain Mandah wouldn’t have condoned handing R’shiel over to the Kariens. Had something happened to her, or had she been deliberately excluded from this?

“She’ll be here later.”

With a sigh, Tarja closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cool hearthstones to wait. What was Padric doing? Where had he gone?

About an hour later, the sound of hooves in the yard brought Tarja out of a light doze. He was stiff and cramped from his unnatural position but when he attempted to move a sword jabbed him warningly in the ribs. The sound of voices reached him. Finally, the door opened and Padric came in, looking even older and more tired than he had earlier. Close on his heels was Mandah. Tarja breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of her. Perhaps now someone would listen to him. Padric ordered everyone out. Once they were alone, Padric crossed the room and untied him.

Tarja rubbed the circulation back into his hands and feet. “Thanks.”

“Don’t be too free with your thanks,” Mandah said. “We are only here to supervise your hanging.” The woman before him showed little sign of the understanding, placid young woman he remembered.

“I never betrayed you, Mandah.”

“Aye, and I’m the First Sister.” She threw a scrap of parchment at Tarja. A single more damning piece of evidence could not have been planted on him by the First Sister herself. Ghari must have found it when they were taken from the stables. As the younger man could not read, its importance wouldn’t have been immediately apparent. Had Ghari been able to read, it was likely Tarja would already be dead.

“I can explain, Mandah, if you’d give me a chance.”

“Explain it to us then,” she said. “I’d be interested in hearing what fiction you and that damned mother of yours cooked up between you.”

“The Harshini are still alive,” Tarja told her. “If the Kariens learn of it, they will cross the border to destroy them. Medalon’s only hope is to warn the Defenders.”

Mandah did not react immediately. She sat down on a three-legged stool and looked at him, weighing her judgement.

“The Harshini are dead.”

“They’re not dead. I would have thought the news would please you. You worship their gods, don’t you?”

“Can you prove this?”

Tarja nodded. “R’shiel is one of them. So is Brak.”

“Padric told me of your wild tale. And you expect us to believe that you were planning to warn the Defenders that the Harshini still live? To what purpose? So that they might protect them from the Kariens? The same Defenders who have spent the last two centuries trying to exterminate them? For pity’s sake, Tarja, you rode into Testra in a Defender’s uniform with Mahina Cortanen!”

“Mahina was impeached. They threw her out!”

“Once a Sister, always a Sister,” Mandah said. “Your story’s certainly entertaining, but I’m surprised you couldn’t come up with something more believable.”

“Mandah, if I was lying, don’t you think I
would
have come up with something more believable?”

“Who knows?” she shrugged. “I thought I knew you well, once. But now…? You’ve had your chance. Padric will take R’shiel to the Karien Envoy and then let the others have you.”

She turned towards the door and opened it. As soon as she did, Ghari was inside, looking at them expectantly.

“Make your vengeance swift, Ghari,” Padric said as he and Mandah disappeared into the darkness.