“I think it's Mahina.”
He studied it more closely then shrugged. “There's no way to tell, R'shiel.”
“Loclon is going to die very, very slowly,” she said with frightening intensity.
R'shiel had feared the Defenders on the gate might recognise her, but she need not have worried. There were no Defenders guarding the Citadel. There was, however, a large contingent of Kariens and they were interrogating anybody seeking entrance to the city.
“Let me handle this,” Brak said.
“What are you going to do?” she asked suspiciously.
“Cause a fuss,” he told her as he kicked his horse forward. “Hey you! Do you speak Medalonian?”
R'shiel cringed as he called out to the guards, wondering what in the name of the Founders he was up to. This was hardly her idea of sneaking into the Citadel.
“Halt!” a Karien trooper called out in Medalonian - probably the only word he knew.
“Halt yourself!” Brak retorted. “I demand to see whoever is in charge!”
The guard looked at him blankly.
“Where is your superior, young man? I demand to see him at once!”
“Halt!” the guard repeated.
“What's the problem?” The man who spoke was a Defender. He emerged from the gatehouse with another Karien, this one wearing knight's armour. He was very young, just out of the Cadets, R'shiel guessed. She did not recognise him and that hopefully meant he would not recognise her.
“Ah! Someone who understands me!” Brak declared. “Young man, I demand to be taken to whoever is in charge of this... invasion, or whatever you call it, at once!”
The Defender translated Brak's words for the benefit of the Kariens, which explained his posting on the gate. His Karien was quite fluent but he wore a sullen expression. She could imagine how this duty must irk him. The Karien knight said something to the Defender, who then turned back to Brak.
“Why do you want to see Lord Roache?”
“Lord Roache? Is that who's in charge?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to the First Sister?”
“The First Sister is assisting Lord Roache and Squire Mathen,” the young Defender informed him in a voice loaded with scorn.
“Well then, I wish to see this Lord Roache, young man, to lodge a formal complaint against the behaviour of these... these... hooligans who have invaded our country. Do you know what they've done? Do you?”
“I can guess,” the Defender muttered. “What have they done?”
“What have they done? My shop is in ruins! My wife and I are homeless! My servants have all fled in fear and I am on the verge of destitution! I intend to see this Karien fellow and demand compensation.”
The Defender appeared genuinely amused at the idea. “Good luck, my friend, but I don't like your chances.”
“Well!” Brak declared indignantly. “We shall have to see about that! Come, Gerterina! Let us go find this Lord Roache person and set him straight on a few things!”
Brak urged his horse through the gate, with R'shiel following close behind. The Defender and the Kariens stood back to let them pass. As the young man explained what they were doing in the Citadel the Kariens roared with laughter, which followed them down the street.
“Gerterina?”
He shrugged apologetically. “It was all I could think of.”
“And that was your plan? Make such a fuss at the gate that they'll never forget us?”
“Sometimes it's easier to hide out in the open, R'shiel. People trying to sneak into the Citadel don't start by demanding to see whoever is in charge. We were barely questioned and they didn't even look at you twice.”
She had to admit he was right. “Brak, why is it that when you do things like that, you're being clever, but when I do them, I'm being reckless?”
“Because I'm older than you. A lot older.”
“Well, Old One, what are we going to do now?”
They rode at a walk down the cobbled main road that led past the Great Hall to the amphitheatre. The tension in the air was almost solid enough to touch. R'shiel realised that the awful spectre nailed over the main gate was more than just a gloating gesture of barbaric triumph. It was a warning, and one the citizens of the Citadel appeared to have taken to heart. The streets appeared almost as deserted as Greenharbour had been, when she arrived with Damin.
“We need to find an inn and a meal and perhaps some company for the evening.”
“Company?”
“We need to find out what's happening here. The next best source of information in any city, after the assassins and the thieves, are the prostitutes.”
“That's the best excuse I've heard for a long time,” she said with a scowl.
“We all have our own methods, R'shiel.”
“Funny how all your methods involve consorting with criminals.”
He glanced at her and then smiled. “Considering you are probably the most wanted criminal in all of Karien and Medalon, I find your attitude rather strange.”
She ignored the jibe. “I still think Garet is the better option.”
“And I agree, but I want to know that when we confront him he's telling us the truth, not what he thinks we want to hear.”
“You're not a very trusting person, are you?”
“I don't happen to like the idea of having my head decorating the main gate next to poor old Mahina's. If you plan to live long enough to fulfil your destiny, R'shiel, you would be wise to adopt the same outlook.”
After that they rode without speaking through streets that were slowly darkening with the coming night. Squares of yellow light appeared in the windows of the houses that lined the streets, but the silence was heavy and R'shiel could not feel the welcoming touch of the Citadel as she had when she arrived the last time.
It was as if the massive spirit of the Citadel had shrivelled and died - or perhaps he had simply retreated into hiding in the face of the Karien blight that swarmed through him like flies over a dying carcass.
CHAPTER 36
Garet Warner opened the door to the Lord Defender's office and was greeted by a blast of warm air. Someone must have thought to light the fire, he thought, although he was a little surprised. With the Lord Defender in “protective confinement” as the Kariens euphemistically referred to his incarceration, Garet used the office rarely, and he had told nobody of his intention to come here this morning.
He pushed the door shut and glanced around, but other than the blazing fire in the small hearth, the room was unchanged since his last visit. The heavy carved desk took up a great deal of space, and the comfortable chair behind it smelled faintly of the saddle soap used to keep the leather supple. The array of Fardohnyan and Hythrun weapons Jenga had collected over the years still hung over the mantle. The aura of the man permeated the room. It was as if he had just stepped out a moment ago and was due back any minute.
But perhaps it was not completely unchanged; the pile of unattended paperwork had grown considerably. Garet groaned as he looked at it. He had his own work to do. He did not need the added responsibility of the Lord Defender's administrative tasks.
Most of the papers would be fairly straightforward. Requests for transfers, for leave, for permission to marry, for a score of other mundane, everyday matters that required the Lord Defender's approval. But there would be the odd report that needed investigation, disciplinary matters that could not be settled with a mere stroke of a pen - most of them a direct result of the conflicts that arose frequently between the Defenders and the Karien invaders.