She had little time to admire the artistry of the fountain, however, as the sound of horses moving towards her caught her attention. At the far end of the paved plaza a number of mounted Raiders appeared, a tall, middle-aged man riding at their head. His blond beard was neatly trimmed, his leather armour gilded. The soaring eagle of his House was picked out in precious stones that glinted in the sunlight falling across the plaza.
Behind her, R'shiel could hear Damin and his party forming up. She sat alone and exposed astride her horse in the centre of the plaza as the opposing forces arrayed themselves on either side. An unnatural silence descended, only the splashing of the fountain and the creaking of leather harness disturbing the morning.
“Cousin!” Cyrus Eaglespike called loudly, moving forward at a walk. “I never thought to see you alive again!”
“That's pretty bloody obvious!” Damin called back as he rode out to meet the pretender flanked by Narvell and Rogan.
R'shiel watched them approaching with a frown. She didn't have time for this. The dome of light flickered in the distance.
“It warms my heart to see that the reports of your death were... overstated, cousin,” Cyrus declared with vast insincerity as he neared the fountain.
Damin, Narvell and Rogan reined in on the other side of the fountain. “I'm sure it does, cousin. That would explain what you're doing here with so many troops.”
“We acted to contain the potential civil unrest brought on by the news of our uncle's death.”
“Lernen was my uncle, not yours, Cyrus. Your relationship to the Wolfblade family is so tenuous it barely exists.”
“Actually, it's not as tenuous as you might think, cousin. Once Kalan ratifies my claim...”
“The High Arrion? Ratify you?” Rogan Bearbow declared hotly. The mere thought obviously offended him.
“Is that why you're attacking the Harshini?” R'shiel demanded.
Cyrus seemed to notice R'shiel for the first time. He smiled patronisingly. “Who is this, Damin? Some piece of Medalonian entertainment you picked up north of the border? Or is this the wife that we've been hearing about?”
R'shiel's eyes darkened with anger as she drew on her power. Cyrus' eyes passed over her contemptuously for a moment, then suddenly locked on her face as he saw her eyes blacken.
“Mother of the gods!” he cried. His horse reared, the gelding reacting to the proximity of a Harshini drawing on her power. Even the mounts that Damin, Rogan and Narvell rode began to toss their heads nervously, although they knew her scent well enough not to fear the unfamiliar but instinctive urge they felt to respond. Her own horse was not concerned, having been with her long enough now to recognise and welcome the touch of the magic that it had been born to serve. R'shiel suddenly understood why the majority of the troops surrounding the Collective were infantry. With the Harshini inside the Collective drawing so much power, the Hythrun sorcerer-bred cavalry mounts would be uncontrollable.
“Cyrus, call off your troops. Now.”
Damin spoke with quiet assurance, as if he had no doubt as to the outcome, should the Warlord refuse.
“Who are you?” Cyrus demanded of R'shiel.
“I'm the last thing you will ever lay eyes on if you don't withdraw,” she informed the startled Warlord. The power filled her, hungering for release. Cyrus' mount was becoming increasingly restive and he was fighting to maintain his dignity and his seat at the same time.
The pretender turned on Damin angrily. “What sort of trickery is this?”
“This isn't trickery, my Lord, this is the demon child. I suggest you do as she says. She's not noted for her patience.”
If Cyrus had heard that Damin was married, then he certainly must have heard that the demon child rode with him. The Warlord debated the issue for a long, tension-filled moment, then angrily waved his arm. A rider broke from the ranks at the entrance to the plaza and cantered forward.
“Take a message to Lord Foxtalon and Lord Falconlance,” Cyrus ordered through clenched teeth. “Tell them to order the troops to withdraw.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me!”
With a puzzled look, the captain nodded and wheeled his mount around. Cyrus turned back to R'shiel, his expression a mixture of contempt and fear.
“Satisfied?”
“For now,” R'shiel agreed, although she did not let go of the power. The dome was fading fast, its light failing as fatigue consumed the Harshini holding it in place. Now she was drawing on her own power, she was even more aware of the drain on the Harshini inside. A few more minutes and they would have to let it go completely. She bit her bottom lip in frustration, wishing she knew how to lend them her strength. Brak and her tutors at Sanctuary had never taught her how. Perhaps they had not thought she would ever need a reason to link her power to another Harshini. Or maybe she couldn't link with a Harshini unless they were a té Ortyn like her... Maybe it was too dangerous... She shook her head to clear it of the useless thoughts and turned her attention back to the matter at hand. What she could and couldn't do with her power was a problem for some other time. Right now it was enough that Cyrus believed she knew what she was doing. “Aren't you supposed to have some sort of election to confirm the new High Prince?”
“The Convocation would already be under way, but for the interference of the Harshini, who prevented us entering the Sorcerers' Palace.”
“You can't hold a Convocation without all seven Warlords,” Damin pointed out.
“Actually, cousin, I merely need a majority.”
“Which you don't have,” Narvell reminded him.
“A situation that will be remedied as soon as Tejay Lionsclaw arrives.” Cyrus looked to Rogan with a frown. “I see you have chosen whose bed to lie in, Lord Bearbow. I'll remember your choice when I'm High Prince.”
“That's an empty threat, Lord Eaglespike. You don't have the numbers.”
Cyrus smiled with oily contempt. “You might be surprised, my Lord.”
The two men glared at each other like lions facing each other over a recent kill. R'shiel sighed impatiently.
“Founders! I've had enough of this! Damin, how soon can we hold this Convocation?”
Damin didn't answer her. He was glaring at Cyrus with such venom that R'shiel was afraid he was going to call his cousin out, right here in the plaza. Despite how satisfying it would be to witness him beat the arrogance out of Cyrus, she knew this had to be resolved legally. Damin could vent his anger later, once he was High Prince.
“Damin!”
“What?”
“I said, how soon can we hold this Convocation?”
“As soon as Lady Lionsclaw arrives.”
“Fine. Send someone to fetch her. In the meantime, I want every Raider off the streets. The Collective can go back to guarding the city. I assume you all have sufficient control over your men that you can keep them out of trouble until this is sorted out?”
Cyrus opened his mouth to object then decided against it as R'shiel turned her black-eyed gaze on him.
“Very well, we have a truce until the Convocation,” he agreed reluctantly. “But don't think this has changed anything!”
“Damin?”
“A truce,” he agreed, almost as reluctantly as Cyrus.
“Fine, that's settled then. Now get rid of these soldiers!”
“This is not finished, demon child!” Cyrus hauled his reins around sharply, taking his anger out on his horse as he rode at a brisk canter back to his men. Behind him, the dome of light wavered and shimmered brightly for a moment, as if sprinkled with a billion tiny stars, then it faded away to nothing as the Harshini finally succumbed to exhaustion.