Brak stood up and held his hand out to her. “There's nothing more you can do here, R'shiel.”
With a last look at Joyhinia's body, R'shiel took his hand as he pulled her to her feet. Garet led the way out of the First Sister's office and down the broad staircase into the street. When they emerged into the sunlight, they discovered that pandemonium had broken loose in the city. The streets were crowded with people being held back by a line of red-coated Defenders who strained against the surging mob. Garet Warner walked into the centre of the small clearing that his men had forced, to confront the six dukes of Karien who had invaded the Citadel. Their faces were pale, their eyes glazed with shock. The crowd was shouting at them. R'shiel could only make out some of the words but their mood was ugly. There were quite a few Sisters of the Blade among them who were stirring up the passions of the mob. Through the raucous melee she heard the words “Karien pigs!” “Murderers!” and a few other insults that shocked her with their crudeness.
She glanced at Brak who shrugged with resignation. “You can't really blame them. The Defenders may have taken back the Citadel, but there's still a Karien army camped outside and a lot of people have lost a great deal since Medalon surrendered.”
A captain stepped forward to report to Garet. He spared R'shiel and Brak a curious glance then turned to the commandant.
“So it worked then?” Garet ask. There was no need to be specific.
“Yes, it worked,” the captain told him. “Almost everything went according to plan.”
“Almost?” Brak asked with a raised brow.
“I'll explain later.”
Garet nodded and stepped forward to address the Karien dukes.
“What do you hope to achieve, Commandant?” one of them yelled before Garet could utter a word. “You cannot hold out against our army.”
The man who shouted the question was a slender knight standing at the front of the Kariens with a canny look in his eyes. He seemed a little less overawed than his companions.
“Who's that?” she asked Garet.
“I am Lord Roache,” the duke announced, in answer to R'shiel's question. “And you cannot imagine the destruction you have brought down on Medalon by your actions.”
“The Overlord will protect us!” another duke blustered, but his words lacked conviction. He was a large man, but he carried more flab than muscle on his big-boned frame. He looked ridiculous standing in the street in a long flowing red nightgown. The Defenders must have dragged him from his bed.
“I hope for your sake your King is as keen to keep you alive as you seem to think your god is,” Garet remarked. Then he turned to the captain in charge of the squad guarding the dukes. “Put them in with the others for now.”
The officer saluted as R'shiel turned away from them, too tired and stunned by Joyhinia's death to care much about what became of the Karien dukes. She looked around for Brak and found him standing near the edge of the crowd, waiting for someone to push through to the front. For a moment the line of Defenders broke to let another officer through. R'shiel's disappointment fell away from her as she realised who it was.
“Tarja!”
She ran to him, but stopped short when she saw the expression on his face. He was splattered with blood and his eyes were haunted. He showed no evident pleasure at the sight of her.
“R'shiel.”
“Tarja, I...” She could not think of anything to say. He was whole, and unharmed, despite the blood which she guessed was not his, but there was nothing welcoming in his demeanour.
“You killed Joyhinia, I hear.”
“She killed herself,” Garet corrected, coming up behind them. “That's not your blood, I hope, Captain.”
“No.”
“Good. Then let's get these streets cleared.” He turned to another officer and began issuing orders to push the mob back. It was a futile gesture. There were too many people and not enough Defenders.
R'shiel watched their useless efforts as the crowd shouted obscenities at the Kariens. Someone hurled something at Lord Roache. He ducked instinctively as a piece of rotting melon landed harmlessly against the steps. Hurt from Tarja's cold reception and distressed beyond belief by the fact that Loclon had eluded her, she felt her ire rising. Impatiently she grabbed at the power and turned on the crowd.
“Go back to your homes!” she shouted, using the power to amplify her voice. “Leave now, before I show you what the Harshini are really capable of!”
The crowd was stunned into silence. Faced with her Harshini black eyes that blazed with rage, the citizens of the Citadel had a sudden change of heart. With barely a muttered protest, they began to melt away. The Defenders took advantage of the impetus she had provided to push the rest back. Her eyes still fiercely burning, she turned to Tarja and Garet. Tarja took an involuntary step backwards as if she repelled him.
She could not believe how much that one small step hurt.
Perhaps Brak sensed something of her pain, or perhaps it was because he was linked to the same power. He stepped in front of her, blocking her view of Tarja.
“Let it go, R'shiel,” he said softly. “There's no need for it.”
Reluctantly, she did as he bid. He smiled at her. “Good girl.”
“Don't treat me like a child, Brak.”
“Then don't behave like one.”
She glared at him for a moment, then nodded. “It's all right. I'll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. “Yes. I'm sure.”
He waited until he was satisfied that she had her emotions - and more importantly, her power - under control, then stepped back. Tarja was talking to Garet Warner. He seemed determined not to look at her. Garet turned as they approached, his expression concerned for the first time since they had begun this coup.
“What's wrong?” Brak asked.
“As the captain said, almost everything went according to plan. The Sisters are demanding they take control, but we can deal with them. Unfortunately, Jenga's dead.”
“And what about Loclon?” R'shiel demanded. “Did they find him?”
“I told you days ago that no one has seen him since the last Gathering. He's a deserter. He's probably halfway to Fardohnya by now.”
“No! You don't understand!” She turned to Brak desperately. Only he could fully appreciate what she feared.
“We have to find him,” Brak agreed.
“I've got a lot more to worry about than one miserable deserter, R'shiel. This,” he pointed out with a wave of his arm that encompassed the chaotic street before them, “is just the beginning.”
“Then I'll find him on my own!”
“I can't allow that.”
“I don't recall asking your permission.”
“Let her go, Garet,” Tarja said. His voice was dull, as if the life had gone out of him. “She needs to do this and there's nothing at present that requires her help.”
“Very well, go look for Loclon, if you must. We've more important things to take care of. If you tire of such a fruitless task and you wish to join us later, we'll be in the First Sister's office.”
Garet turned away in annoyance. Tarja followed him without looking back. R'shiel wasn't sure if he'd spoken up because he supported her, or was simply trying to be rid of her.
At that moment, she didn't care. Joyhinia was dead, which meant Loclon was free to return to his own body. Somewhere in the Citadel, he was on the loose. She was determined that he would not escape her this time. Not if she had to tear the Citadel apart stone by stone to find him.