have to break the treaty, your Grace. They can quite legally use it against us.”
Mahina sighed, not totally convinced, but Jenga could see that she was not skeptical, which was a hopeful sign. “Lord Pieter was strongly suggesting another Purge, Commandant. Hardly the action of a man waiting to pounce on us for our lack of performance.”
“A Purge achieves two things, your Grace,” Garet told her. “It publicly acknowledges the existence of the heathen cults, which is what the Kariens need to legally cross our borders, and it ties up even more of the Defenders on internal matters. We cannot win. If you refuse to instigate a Purge, then you’re not taking action against the heathens. If you start one, then you’re admitting that the heathens are a problem. Either way, the Kariens can claim we have not adhered to the terms of the treaty.”
“And if what you say is true, we have not the Defenders to repel an attack?”
“Not at present,” Tarja agreed, “but we could establish a civil militia.”
Mahina looked at the younger man steadily. “A civil militia?”
Tarja nodded. “A civilian force to take care of the internal policing of Medalon. Nearly half our military force is currently engaged in routing out small groups of heathens, who, for the most part, don’t even know how to fight. It’s a waste of men and training. We are a small nation jammed between three very large ones. We cannot afford to have our fighting force arresting farmers and confiscating chickens.”
“How would this militia function?” Mahina asked. Tarja reached for one of the scrolls he had brought with him, but Mahina waved it away. “Tell me Tarja, in your own words. I’ve no doubt your figures are sound, but if you want me to sell this to the Quorum, I need to know how you feel about it.”
Tarja put down the scroll. “Each town would have its own unit, commanded by an officer of the Defenders. The militia itself would be made up of volunteers – locals who would be trained by the officer in charge to undertake whatever action was deemed necessary to free the area of heathens. The Defenders would then be free to do something about our northern border. If necessary, you can claim the militia was established as a long-term alternative to a purge.”
Mahina sighed. “Every now and then, Tarja, you prove you really are your mother’s son. Or has four years of staring at the Hythrun from the wrong side of the border sharpened your instincts? I don’t remember you being so astute.”
Tarja did not like to be reminded that he might have inherited anything from his mother. “It’s good common sense, your Grace.”
Mahina shook her head. “Good sense is far from common, I fear, Tarja. However, you have given me much to ponder.” She waved a hand in the direction of the scrolls. “These are your detailed plans, I assume?”
“And their estimated cost,” Garet added.
Mahina smiled appreciatively. “A well thought-out battle plan, I see. If you attack our enemies as effectively as you have attacked me, Medalon will be well defended. I will study your proposal, gentlemen. And you’d best be prepared to defend it. I cannot take anything this radical to the Quorum without being certain.”
“I will be happy to provide any other information you require,” Jenga offered. His expression was stern, but inside he was filled with relief. For the first time since Garet and Tarja had approached him with their assessment of the Karien treaty almost five years ago, he had a woman in charge who was prepared to listen to him.
chapter 6
“R’shiel! Hurry up!”
R’shiel forced her eyes open and squinted painfully as the bright wall greeted her with its silent, glowing panels. Her pounding headache had abated somewhat, but she still felt groggy and listless. She rolled over on her narrow bed and stared sleepily at Junee.
“What?”
“Hurry up!” Junee urged from the open doorway. “We’ll never find a good seat if we wait much longer.”
Understanding came slowly to the younger girl. “Oh, at the Arena, you mean?”
“Yes, at the Arena,” Junee repeated with an impatient sigh. “Come on!”
R’shiel swung her feet to the floor and gingerly lifted her head. With relief, she discovered she could move it without too much pain. She must have slept the worst of it off. Her headache was the third one this week. R’shiel had almost reached the point of doing what her mother ordered by seeking help from a physic. She slipped on her shoes and stood up as Junee tapped her foot impatiently by the door. She caught sight of herself in the small mirror over the washstand and grimaced. Her skin was waxy and there were large dark circles under her eyes. Even her gray tunic hung on her loosely these days. R’shiel tried to recall the last time she had eaten. Every time she neared the Dining Hall and smelled the meat, she found herself running in the opposite direction. The last time she had forced herself to eat, she had thrown up. Her tummy rumbled and complained, but she ignored it. Hunger was preferable to the alternative. She picked up her gray knitted shawl against the chill of the late autumn evening and followed her roommate down the corridor of the Probate’s dormitory.
“Hey! Wait for us!”
R’shiel and Junee stopped and waited for the three girls who called after them from the other end of the hallway. Tonight was an event of some note at the Arena, and R’shiel was already regretting her decision to join Junee. Every Novice and Probate in the Citadel, every Defender not on duty, and probably a good many of the Sisters and civilians would be there. Georj had taken up the challenge that Tarja had refused. Everybody knew about it. Everybody wanted to be there.
Rumor had it that the only man Georj Drake had never beaten in the Arena when he was a Cadet was Tarja. Brash and good-looking, with a shock of golden hair, Lieutenant Loclon had been the undisputed champion of the Arena for months now. It would be a fight worth seeing, the other girls insisted – perhaps the best seen in the Arena for years.
Normally, R’shiel was not terribly interested in the fights in the Arena. She had grown up at the Citadel, and her brother was a Defender. There was little romance or excitement for her, watching men hack at each other with blunted swords. The fights had begun a century or more ago as training exercises. They were now the main form of mass entertainment and no longer restricted to the Cadets. Many officers and enlisted men continued to fight in the Arena long after they graduated to the ranks of the Defenders. Occasionally a brave civilian entered a bout, although the Lord Defender discouraged such rash bravado, even though the swords were blunted and the worst injury gained was usually a nasty bruise or the occasional broken bone. Tonight would be different, however. There would be no blunted swords and no quarter given.
The fight was to first blood. Loclon had formally challenged the captains and Georj Drake had accepted on behalf of his brother officers.
As she hurried along the street to the amphitheater with her friends, R’shiel worried about Georj. He had not been in the Arena for several years, whereas Loclon fought there almost every week.
By the time the five Probates reached the amphitheater, the crowd had grown considerably. A chill wind blew across the side of the small hollowed-out hill. With a shiver, R’shiel pulled her shawl tighter. Her headache had receded to a dull, throbbing pain at the back of her eyes, which she could ignore if she didn’t think about it. Junee grabbed R’shiel’s arm and pulled her forward, pushing through the crowd. When they reached the top of the grassy hill, she glanced around and then pointed at two red-coated figures leaning on the white painted railing.
“That’s your brother, isn’t it?” she asked.
R’shiel squinted into the setting sun and followed Junee’s pointing finger. Tarja stood talking with Garet Warner.
“Where?” Kilene asked excitedly, pushing her way forward to stand next to R’shiel on the other side. “Let’s go down there. Then you can introduce me.”
R’shiel glanced at Kilene and shook her head, understanding now why she and her friends had been so anxious to join her and Junee. “I’m sure Tarja doesn’t want a bunch of giggling Probates hanging around him. Besides, he’s with Commandant Warner. The last thing you want to do is bring yourself to his attention.”
Kilene looked uncertain for a moment, but her desire to meet Tarja outweighed her fear of Garet Warner. “Come on,” she urged. “We’ll never find a seat if we wait here.”
R’shiel sighed and followed Kilene, Junee, and the other girls down into the amphitheater. As they neared
