Jenga could be anywhere.
He glanced at Symin and silently signalled to him. The young captain nodded in understanding and headed towards the caverns on the left, taking half the troop with him. The other half followed Tarja into the caverns on the right.
Torches mounted in brackets at uneven intervals pierced the darkness with puddles of flickering light. They moved swiftly and silently, checking the caverns as they went. Memories caught Tarja unawares as they inspected the caves. He smiled as the sergeant signalled the all-clear on the cavern where he had stolen his first kiss with a Novice whose name he could no longer remember; frowned as he passed the cavern where he'd broken the news to R'shiel about her true parentage. He knew these rooms well - he'd played here as a child with Georj. It was the best place in the Citadel to hide from Joyhinia. The best place to imagine they were heroes fighting off some implacable foe. They came here to practise their swordcraft, too, away from the critical eye of the Master at Arms. He could remember thinking he was quite a swordsman when he managed to slip his blunted blade through Georj's guard, while R'shiel, barely old enough to keep up with them, had demanded she be allowed to try, even though their practice swords were taller than she was.
“Captain!”
Tarja turned at the whispered call. Symin's sergeant, Donel, pointed ahead. A pool of light beckoned, brighter than the surrounding caverns. They were almost in the centre of the ring. If Symin and his men had moved at much the same pace, they would be approaching from the other side.
Tarja nodded and signalled the order to move on. They crept like thieves through the darkness. Straining to listen, the silence bothered Tarja. He expected to hear something - the guards talking among themselves, the creak of leather or the scratch of metal armour as the Kariens moved about in the central cavern. But there was nothing. No sound disturbed the silence save for the hissing torches and the sound of his own breathing. He halted the men and waited. Listening intently.
There was nothing to be heard, but Tarja could smell something in the air, something faint, and sweet, and disturbingly familiar. It took him a few moments to identify it. When he realised what it was, he dropped all pretence of stealth and broke into a run. He saw Symin coming from the other direction, apparently having reached the same terrible conclusion. Tarja skidded to a halt as he reached the cavern and let out a wordless cry of despair as the others rushed in behind him.
It was blood he could smell. Fresh blood. The cavern was painted with it. It splattered the walls and pooled on the floor beneath their boots. Jenga lay in the centre of the carnage, his head almost severed from his body. He must have put up quite a fight. Squatting down, Tarja ran his finger through the bloody puddle at his feet. It was still faintly warm. Whoever had done this had done it recently. So recently that they were more than likely still down here in the caverns somewhere. He turned at the sound of someone retching.
“Why?” Symin managed to ask in a voice strangled with emotion.
Tarja didn't answer him, although he knew the reason. This was the Kariens' punishment for their temerity. It was the act of a spoiled child who had lost the game then spitefully broken the winner's favourite toy so that nobody else could play with it. For a moment, he couldn't speak. The rage he felt robbed him of any facility other than the desire to seek vengeance for the death of the only truly honourable man he had ever known. Donel looked at him with concern and touched his shoulder to get his attention.
Tarja flinched and stood up so quickly the sergeant drew back from him in fear.
“Spread out. Search the caverns. Whoever did this is still down here.”
Nobody questioned him. The Defenders dispersed quickly, swords at the ready, and began searching again. Tarja stared at the gruesome carnage for a moment then turned away. Symin stood behind him, immobilised by shock. He looked as if he'd suddenly lost his innocence; as if he had only just realised this was not a game.
“Why?”
“Because they could,” Tarja told him. “Because Jenga personified the Defenders. Because they knew they'd lost the Citadel and they wanted to make a point. Take your pick.”
“Captain!”
Tarja and Symin both turned at the cry. Donel and two of the Defenders were returning. Between them they dragged a struggling man, but it was not a Karien they had caught. It was a Defender. His uniform was sprayed with a dark pattern of blood. Disbelief warred with a sort of resigned acceptance of the inevitable as Tarja realised who it was.
“Gawn.”
The man stared at him with the wild eyes of a fanatic. Tarja had known him on the southern border and thought him a poor example of the Defenders then. He could not imagine what had brought him to this. Nor did he particularly care. He carefully and deliberately handed his sword to Symin, then as Donel held him, he backhanded the younger captain across the face. All the rage he could not voice was behind the blow.
Gawn's head snapped back and he slumped in the arms of the sergeant, but when he focused his eyes on Tarja again, he was smiling. “That's your answer to everything, isn't it Tarja? Every time I get one up on you, you have to hit something.”
Tarja flew at him, determined to kill Gawn with his bare hands. It took Symin and two other men to pull him off. Donel hauled Gawn to his feet as the captain wiped away the blood from his nose. Symin flung himself between Tarja and Gawn, forcibly holding Tarja back.
“I know how you feel, Tarja,” Symin said urgently, as he strained to keep them apart. “But don't let him get to you. He'll hang for this. Justice will be served.”
Tarja took a deep, deliberate breath and relaxed. He shook off the men around him, took a step backwards and held up his hands in a gesture of peace. Satisfied that he had averted cold-blooded murder, Symin nodded with relief and turned to issue his orders.
As soon as his back was turned, Tarja snatched his sword from the young captain's grasp and with one fluid movement he swung it in a wide arc. Nobody had time to stop him, or even cry out in protest. He sliced Gawn's head from his shoulders, barely missing Donel as the sergeant ducked under the blow. Blood sprayed the room in a fountain of death as Gawn's head landed with a sickening thump and rolled to a stop at Symin's feet.
Donel threw the headless body away from him in disgust and stood there, drenched in blood, staring at it in stunned disbelief. The other Defenders did not move, frozen in shock. Symin wore a look of absolute incredulity.
Tarja threw the sword atop Gawn's headless, twitching body.
“Justice has been served,” he said.
Without waiting for an answer, Tarja turned and walked back into the darkness of the caverns.
CHAPTER 41
R'shiel reluctantly let go of Joyhinia's limp body as the full repercussions of her death hit. She slumped against the body and closed her eyes. Every muscle trembled and she was sweating profusely in the stuffy room. Brak squatted beside her.
“Are you all right?”
“No.”
She waited, expecting some snide remark, but he said nothing. She opened her eyes and looked at him curiously. “What's this? No reprimand?”
“There was nothing you could have done.”
“At least we won't have to worry about deposing the First Sister,” Garet remarked, as he looked down dispassionately at the body and the spreading stain on the rug.
“It's far from over, Garet,” R'shiel warned.
“It is for the First Sister,” he shrugged. “Now, if you will excuse me, we have some rather angry Karien dukes to take care of. Lieutenant, see that the body is removed and get that rug out of here, too.” He stepped back as the Defenders hastened to obey.