“You don’t know that for certain.”
“No,” she agreed, then she sighed. “Alright, I’ll grant you that letting Mahina establish control in her own right is probably safer than imposing it artificially. But I will have to coerce them into accepting her appointment at the Gathering.”
“And then we leave?”
“I suppose.”
“Good. I’ll be waiting outside the Hall with our horses. It’s too damned dangerous for you here R’shiel.”
“Dangerous? Compared to what? The border, where there’s a war going on?” She smiled wearily at him. “Show me how it’s done, Brak. We’re running out of time.”
Brak silently admitted defeat. He had done all he could to deter her, short of refusing her the knowledge outright. But she had felt it once before, the night before the battle. If he did not instruct her properly, he knew that she would simply try to copy what the Kariens priests had done, and the result might be disastrous.
The irony was, using simple human tactics, she was coercing him into showing her something he thought far too dangerous for her to learn. At least she had agreed to leave, once the deed was done. Brak couldn’t put his finger on it, but he had a feeling of impending danger and it had been growing steadily stronger ever since he had entered the Citadel.
He wished the Citadel was easier to read, easier to understand. He could feel its anxiety and it was making him very nervous.
Chapter 43
Loclon waited until almost sundown before finally accepting that R’shiel and her half-breed companion were not going to appear. Cold, wet and thoroughly disgusted, he made his way to the Blue Bull tavern to meet with Garanus and report his lack of success.
Loclon had thought the tavern an odd choice for a meeting place. It was far too public for his liking, and a Karien priest would stand out like a red-coated Defender in a snowstorm. Garanus had shrugged off his concerns. He had private rooms available, he said, and had paid the tavern keeper well to ensure her silence. Besides, it was Founder’s Day and the Citadel was full of strangers. A few more would barely rate a mention.
The rain had dwindled to a light drizzle about an hour after the First Sister arrived and had completely stopped an hour or so after that. Not wishing to be seen defying Garet Warner’s orders, he had paid an urchin to watch Francil’s Hall, and another to keep an eye on the Main Gate. It had proved a waste of good coin. Nobody even remotely fitting R’shiel’s description had entered the Citadel since the parade. She had either arrived early, or the priest was wrong.
Tavern Street was still crowded when he arrived, the revellers determined to get full value from the public holiday, particularly now the rain had stopped, although the air was bitterly cold and many of the party-goers stood hugging the small fires that lined the street. He pushed through them impatiently into the crowded taproom of the Blue Bull, where he spied Lork standing guard outside the door to one of the private dining rooms. The big man wore an expression that turned away the curious, simply by its ferocity. When he reached the door, Lork barred his way with a low snarl.
“I’m expected,” he said. Lork glared at him for a moment before dropping his thick arm. Loclon opened the door and pushed past him.
He froze in shock as the door snicked shut behind him. He was expecting Mistress Heaner and Garanus to be waiting for him, not five more Karien priests and a tall man with hooded eyes, who by his bearing just had to be a Karien nobleman, despite his unremarkable clothing.
“Ah, Captain,” Garanus said, looking up at the sound of the door closing. “You bring us good news, I trust?”
For a fleeting moment, Loclon wanted to run. This was getting out of hand. His desire to see R’shiel suffer had not included treason. He had been able to convince himself for months that his association with Mistress Heaner was simply a ploy. He had made himself believe that information he passed on was not critical, that he was using them rather than the other way around. Confronted with incontrovertible proof of Karien involvement at the highest level, what was left of his conscience gave a dying cry of protest. He ignored it.
“Your information was wrong. R’shiel was not with the First Sister.”
The Karien Lord glanced at Garanus, frowning. “You claimed you could feel her.”
“I could,” Garanus assured him. He glanced at the other priests, who nodded in agreement. Their tonsured heads and pale skin made it hard to tell one from the other. “We all could. Our captain here may have missed them, but the glamour the demon child and her lackey wove to conceal themselves is like a beacon to those of us who are close to the Overlord. Trust me, Lord Terbolt, she is here.”
Loclon studied Terbolt guardedly. The name meant nothing to him, he had little interest in Karien politics, but he was bound to be a personage of some note. A man whose good will he needed to foster if he was to continue on this path.
“They must have arrived earlier, before the parade.”
Garanus shrugged. “When they arrived is not important. The fact that they are here is all that counts.”
“So what now? I can hardly kill this half-breed if I can’t find him.”
Lord Terbolt nodded in agreement. “Nor can we expose this ungodly Harshini alliance with the Sisterhood, with either of them on the loose. Can’t you use your... powers, or whatever it is that you do, Garanus, to track them down?”
“What Harshini alliance?” Loclon asked, before the priest had a chance to answer.
Lord Terbolt turned to him. “The Sisterhood has been secretly allied with the Harshini for years, Captain. The demon child was raised under their protection. Now they have openly allied with the Hythrun, and the Harshini, whom the Sisterhood claims have been extinct for more than a century, begin to reveal themselves once more. We already have reports of Harshini appearing again in Greenharbour. Before long, they will overrun the entire continent with their insidious heathen gods. We are here to put a stop to it.”
Loclon wasn’t sure that he believed the Karien, but it made sense. Until she had run away with Tarja, R’shiel had been training for the Sisterhood. Her mother was the First Sister. The thought that his career had been destroyed by a Harshini bitch who was secretly working to destroy Medalon burned like acid in his gullet.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I think we should pay a visit to the First Sister,” Terbolt said.
The Sister’s Hall was all but deserted. Every Blue Sister in the Citadel was heading for the Gathering. Getting past the guards was easy. Loclon knew the effect a barked order had on men conditioned to follow their officers without question. He and Gawn had led Lord Terbolt, his priests, and the silent Lork to the main residential wing of the Sister’s Hall quite openly. With their heads covered by hooded cloaks, and their staffs hidden in their folds, the Kariens looked as ordinary as any other visitors to the Citadel.
Gawn’s inclusion was not part of Loclon’s original plan. The captain had appeared on the verandah of the Blue Bull as they were leaving, looking for some entertainment with a willing Probate. Now that he was a widower, he spent a great deal of his off duty hours entertaining willing Probates. They were safer than tavern-keepers’ daughters. As a rule, if you impregnated one, you were not required to marry her.
Gawn’s eyes had widened at the sight of Loclon’s companions, but he was even further along the road of treason than Loclon, these days. He acted as if he really did believe all that nonsense about the Overlord. A thing made easier, no doubt, by the fact that the Overlord had answered his prayers and his slut of a wife lay buried these past few weeks, dead from a fatal dose of heckleweed that she unfortunately mistook for seasoning. Loclon had grabbed his arm and dragged him along, explaining the situation in a low voice as they made their way towards the Sister’s Hall. Gawn had fallen in with them willingly.