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 was not 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.
“She'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 did not know. He had no time to wonder who it was.
He had envisaged her return so often that it did not seem real. She was not bound and helpless. She was not 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.
“No!” he heard R'shiel scream in anger, realising what he was doing.
But he was too quick for her warning, and perhaps only she truly understood what was happening. The Defender jerked his sword clear and she collapsed on the ground with a smile of intense satisfaction.
“Brak! Help me! Don't let her die!” R'shiel cried, rushing to the First Sister's side. She dropped to her knees beside the body of her foster-mother, her eyes glistening with furious, unshed tears.
Joyhinia didn't die immediately. The old bitch may have been witless, but her body clung tenaciously to life. For a moment Loclon was afraid that the wound had not been fatal. That would have been the ultimate irony - to survive, trapped in an old and ruined body racked with pain. R'shiel grabbed at her shoulders and shook the limp body in fury, but she was fading fast - too fast for R'shiel to stop it; too fast for her to call on her power to save Joyhinia's broken body. Through a red wall of pain Loclon saw her, saw the look of anger and frustration in her eyes as he robbed her of the one pleasure she wanted more than anything else in this life - his death. It made everything worthwhile.
Then he felt a sudden jerk, as if he was being ripped apart - as if some giant hand had reached inside of him and turned his body inside out. Darkness smothered him and he let out a wordless cry of triumph.
Joyhinia Tenragan was dead.
CHAPTER 40