CHAPTER 42
Tarja leaned his head tiredly against the cool pane of glass on the long windows of the First Sister's office. They would have to think of another name for it soon, he thought idly. The position of First Sister no longer existed.
The Citadel was quiet. A light rain blurred the view and trickled down the small panes of glass, distorting the world outside. He could see nothing in the darkness but squares of yellow light from the windows of the library building across the street. There were Defenders on guard there tonight to prevent the Sisters of the Blade gaining entrance and destroying documents they did not want to fall into the hands of the Defenders.
Harith had already been to see them, demanding that Garet hand over the Citadel, now that the Defenders had control. She had been shocked beyond words when he refused. It had been a fairly ugly confrontation, and although they had won this round, Tarja knew the Sisters of the Blade would not fade into oblivion quietly. In a way, they were liable to be more trouble than the Kariens.
He heard the door open but did not turn to see who entered. Garet could deal with them. The commandant was good at that sort of thing.
“We've moved all the Kariens we rounded up into the amphitheatre, sir,” the officer reported.
It was Symin, the young captain who had rescued him - when? Only this morning?
“I've assigned enough men to see they don't escape, but we're pretty thin on the ground elsewhere because of it. The priests have been separated from the others. We're holding them in the caverns.”
“What did you do with their staves?”
“We piled them up in one of the caverns. I posted a guard on them. They look pretty valuable.”
“A priest doesn't like being separated from his staff,” Tarja remarked, still staring thoughtfully out of the dark windows.
“That's true enough,” Symin agreed. “They made quite a fuss when we confiscated them. But the rest of the Kariens are docile enough. I think the weather has dampened their spirits somewhat. I told them they'll be released in the morning if they want to go home.”
“Who's in command there now?”
“Captain Grannon.”
“Then go and get some sleep, Captain. You've earnt it.”
“Thank you, sir. Goodnight. Goodnight, Tarja.”
“Goodnight Symin,” he said.
The captain saluted without meeting Tarja's eye and left the office. Tarja watched him go with a frown.
“He doesn't know whether to worship you or run like hell,” Garet remarked.
“I'm glad you think it's funny.”
The commandant leaned back in the First Sister's chair and stretched wearily. “Stop feeling so bloody remorseful, Tarja. Gawn deserved to die. I'd have done the same thing in your place. No... actually, that's not true. I'd have tortured the miserable little bastard for a month or two before I killed him. That's the difference between you and me. You prefer pure, uncomplicated justice. I'm more of 'the end justifies the means' ilk. And I'm very patient. I can wait a very long time before I get my vengeance.”
“Time is one thing we don't have,” Tarja reminded him. “The Kariens outside will attack as soon as they realise what's happened, and then we're going to be facing an even bigger problem.”
“That's where your Harshini friends come in,” Garet mused. “I hope R'shiel remembered to get a message to Hythria before she went chasing off on her damned fool quest to find Loclon.”
There was no point trying to explain to Garet why R'shiel thought finding Loclon was so important, so Tarja let the matter drop. He moved away from the window and took one of the deep leather chairs on the other side of the desk, stretching his feet out. He rubbed eyes that were gritty with exhaustion and looked at Garet questioningly.
“So, what happens now? With Jenga gone, we've no one to take command - unless you fancy the job.”
The commandant shook his head. “Not me. I have neither the ability nor the presence to hold Medalon together. We need someone the people know. I've made a career of keeping a low profile. If you issued a decree in my name, the entire population would stare at you blankly and say 'Garet who?'”
“Then who else is there?”
“There's you.”
“That is not even remotely amusing, Garet.”
“I wasn't joking.”
“Nobody would follow me, even if I wanted the job, which I don't.”
“You underestimate yourself, my friend. You are the most notorious Defender that has ever lived and your reputation is that of a fearless —”
“Don't be absurd!”
“Hear me out, Tarja. You deserted the Defenders because you refused to serve under Joyhinia, and she turned out to be the most savage, uncompromising bitch that ever put on the First Sister's mantle. You publicly defied her. You helped the rebels who challenged her. You got caught. You escaped. You fought the Kariens and then led the resistance against them, too. Every ill-advised, impetuous, accidental thing you've done since you refused to swear that oath to Joyhinia has made you a hero, like it or not.”
“That's ridiculous!”
“As a matter of fact, it is, but it doesn't make it any less real. You are the only man in Medalon the Defenders, the people and the pagan rebels will follow. You count the High Prince of Hythria as a friend and we're going to need him. He'll come to our aid because you asked him. I'm damn sure he wouldn't come if I did.” Garet smiled then and added, “Even half the damned Sisterhood will fall in behind you - at least the younger ones who devoted a good part of their Novitiate to trying to catch your eye.”
Even Tarja allowed himself a smile over that. As a Cadet, Garet Warner had once called him in to his office to inform him that he and Georj were no longer permitted to study in the library when the Novices were in class, as Sister Mahina considered their presence “disruptive”. His smile faded and he shook his head.
“I don't want to rule Medalon, Garet. Not even temporarily.”
“I know. That's why I'm offering you the job. If I thought for a moment that you had your eye on the post, I would never have mentioned it. We need someone who cares about setting things right. I've had enough of people who hunger after power for its own sake. That's the whole point of getting rid of the Sisterhood.”
“You can't make me do it.”
“Fine. Then give me a name. Find me one man in the whole of Medalon that can do what you can do, and I'll never bring the subject up again.”
Tarja sighed. “Let me think about it.”
“We don't have time. Tomorrow morning, when the Citadel wakes up, we'd better be damned sure we know what we're doing or Harith will have the Sisters of the Blade back in charge so fast your feet won't even touch the ground between here and the nearest gallows.”
Before he could answer, the door banged open and R'shiel stormed into the office with Brak on her heels. She barely even glanced at him, for which Tarja was grateful. The inevitable confrontation between them had once more been delayed. Her quest to find Loclon had kept her out of his way all day.
“How nice of you to join us, demon child,” Garet remarked.
R'shiel did not seem to notice the sarcasm. “I just spoke to Symin. He said you're going to release the Kariens tomorrow.”
“That's always been our plan.”
“You can't open the gate. I haven't found Loclon yet.”
“I'm not going to hold two thousand Kariens prisoner on your whim, R'shiel. The priests and the dukes will be enough.”
“This is not a whim. He's more dangerous than you know. We have to find him.”
“Then I'll post extra men on the gate to see that he doesn't slip through, but the Kariens are going, R'shiel, and that's final.”