Medalon

signs hung over several of the shops. Some of them were so exclusive, no signs were displayed at all. The Bondsman’s Friend was a tall, double-storied building of red brick, with two rather imposing columns flanking the entrance. A circular driveway surrounded a small fountain in the center of the yard, which splashed softly in the still night. He studied the deserted street for a long time, before turning back to flatten himself against the wall.

“What’s wrong?” R’shiel whispered.

“There are no guards.”

“Is that bad?” She knew nothing about tactics, but it did not seem unreasonable that Jenga might think himself safe in an inn in the middle of Medalon.

“It’s not like Jenga.”

“Maybe it’s the wrong inn?” one of the others suggested.

“Maybe it’s not,” Tarja muttered. He glanced across the street at Ghari who was flattened against the opposite wall with the rest of the men. Tarja wavered for a moment, he seemed on the verge of ordering their withdrawal. But before he could act, Ghari broke cover and moved toward the inn. Cursing the boys recklessness under his breath, Tarja beckoned the others forward. There was no going back now.

They were almost at the fountain when the rattle of hooves and tack sounded behind them. R’shiel jumped at the unexpected noise and turned as light flared from a score of torches. The darkened inn was suddenly alive with soldiers. Squinting in the unexpected light, she counted more than a hundred red-coated Defenders, swords drawn, ringing the courtyard. Their retreat was cut off by a dozen or more mounted Defenders at the entrance to the cul-de-sac. She glanced at Tarja, waiting for him to charge, to fight his way to freedom, or die trying. But Tarja was not looking at her. He was looking at the tall, gray-haired man emerging from the inn and the short plump woman who walked beside him. R’shiel stood frozen in shock as the Lord Defender and his companion walked into the light of the flaring torches.

“Don’t make me kill you, Tarja,” Jenga said as he stopped a pace from the rebel leader. “There is no need for bloodshed.”

Tarja met the Lord Defender’s eye for a tense moment, then threw down his sword and waved to his men to do the same. The rebels complied, hurling their weapons to the ground in a furious clatter of metal against the cobblestones. The atmosphere in the yard relaxed almost visibly as the Defenders realized Tarja did not plan to make a fight of it.

“See, I told you they’d come,” the woman said. R’shiel stared at her. “Do I get paid now?”

“A hundred gold rivets and a pardon. As agreed.”

“Sunny?” R’shiel said, finally finding her voice. She was numb with shock. “What have you done?”

“What have I done?” she asked. “I have done my duty to the Sisterhood, nothing more.”

“But you were my friend!” R’shiel was suddenly afraid that she was going to cry.

“I’m no friend to any heathen. Particularly one who’s not even human.” She spat on the ground in front of R’shiel.

R’shiel raised her arm and punched the court’esa in the face with all the force she could muster. Sunny staggered backward under the blow, crying out in pain. She cowered on the ground, whimpering as R’shiel raised her arm to hit her again. Neither Jenga nor the Defenders made to interfere. If R’shiel could have figured out how to burn Sunny to ashes where she stood, she would have done it gladly, but she was too angry to call on her magic,

“R’shiel, no!” Tarja cried, stepping quickly between her and Sunny. He caught her wrist above her head and held it there, as she prepared to strike again. R’shiel glared at him, struggling against his hold, but he was stronger than her anger.

“Let me go! I’m going to kill her!”

“No you’re not,” he told her firmly, then added in a low voice meant only for her, “Look around you, R’shiel. Kill her and you’ll be dead before she hits the ground. There will be another time.”

“Oh? I don’t know,” Ghari called as a Defender grabbed him and pulled him back from the fracas between the two women. “Sounds like a grand idea to me. Let her at it, Tarja. Give the girl her head!”

“Shut up, fool,” Jenga snapped, but he made no other attempt to interfere.

Still struggling against Tarja’s grip, R’shiel tried to remember what Shananara had taught her about touching her magic. She couldn’t break free of Tarja without it, but neither could she risk harming him by mistake. Besides, she wasn’t angry with Tarja; it was Sunny she wanted to kill. His knuckles were white, and the veins along his arm stood out with the strain.

“But you don’t understand...” she whispered. The depth of Sunny’s betrayal was beyond comprehension. She wished more than anything, at that moment, that she had stayed with the Harshini. That she had never come back to discover how easily she had been duped. She slowly lowered her arm. Tarja held her for a fleeting moment before she was pulled away by two Defenders.

Sunny had struggled to her feet and approached R’shiel with a murderous look, blood dripping from her broken nose. She slapped R’shiel’s face with stinging force, but the pain was almost a relief compared to the knowledge of the woman’s treachery.

“Harshini bitch!”

Sunny stormed back toward the inn as R’shiel was dragged away by the Defenders. Her last sight of Tarja was of him being bound securely with heavy chains and led away to await his fate with the other captured rebels.

chapter 60

Tarja was separated from the other rebels and taken into the inn. He was escorted into a small dining room that held a polished circular table surrounded by elegant, high-backed chairs and ordered to sit by the Defender who had charge of him. Tarja recognized the man. He had been a cadet the last time Tarja had seen him; now he was a captain. He suddenly felt very old. “Harven, isn’t it?” he asked the young captain. “I told you to sit down.”

Tarja shrugged, indicating the chains that bound him. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to stand.”

“Suit yourself.” The captain looked away, as if afraid to meet his eyes. That suited Tarja just fine. He had no wish to suffer the accusing glare of the young man. He was far too busy accusing himself.

He should have known Sunny was too much of an opportunist to be trusted. A hundred gold rivets was more than she could earn in a lifetime as a court'esa. In a way, he didn’t blame her for choosing the reward. A fortune in gold and a pardon from the Sisterhood undoubtedly appeared a much safer option than a dubious alliance with the heathen rebels. But even had he suspected her unexpected allegiance to the Sisterhood, the fact that he had walked into a trap, while every sense he owned screamed at him that something was amiss, was unforgivable. He should have acted on his first impulse to withdraw. Thanks entirely to his stupidity, R’shiel was in the hands of the Sisterhood, and they knew that she was Harshini. The rebels had been captured, almost to a man. He had led them all to their peril while arrogantly assuming that he could win against a superior force with a motley collection of rebellious farmers armed with pitchforks. He was a bloody fool.

Harven snapped to attention as the door opened and Lord Jenga entered the room. His expression was grim. He seemed to take no joy in his victory.

“Unchain him,” he ordered Harven. The captain did as he was told, then returned to his post by the door.

Tarja shed the chains gladly and this time took the seat that Jenga offered him. Jenga pushed the glass- shaded lantern on the table aside so that he could see the younger man more clearly. The shadows lent him an air of deep melancholy.

“You will talk to me this time, Tarja,” the Lord Defender said. “There will be no torture. No threats. I simply want the truth. On your honor as a captain of the Defenders.”

“That’s a strange oath to ask me to honor, Jenga. I broke that trust a long time ago.”

“Why did you come back? Why attempt such a foolish thing?” Jenga appeared more concerned by Tarja’s tactical error than his desertion.

“Because the Karien Envoy is dead. We face invasion from the north, and Joyhinia is moving you away from the border.”