Tarja was taken from the main cellar to a room upstairs. He lay on the stone floor next to the cold hearth, surrounded by his former comrades. R’shiel was nowhere in sight. He struggled to sit up as Ghari entered the room with a shielded lantern. His face looked sinister in the shadows.
“Ghari...”
“I don’t want to hear it, Tarja.”
“The only reason you’re still alive is because he’s waiting for Padric to get back,” Balfor added. “He should be here soon, so if you have any prayers to say to the gods, now would be a good time.”
“I never betrayed you.”
“I’m not interested.” Ghari turned his back on Tarja to stare out into the darkness.
“What happened to Mandah?” He was certain Mandah would not have condoned handing R’shiel over to the Kariens. Had something happened to her, or had she been deliberately excluded from this?
“She’ll be here later.”
With a sigh, Tarja closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cool hearthstones to wait. What was Padric doing? Where had he gone?
About an hour later, the sound of hooves in the yard brought Tarja out of a light doze. He was stiff and cramped from his unnatural position, but when he attempted to move, a sword jabbed him warningly in the ribs. The sound of voices reached him. Finally, the door opened and Padric came in, looking even older and more tired than he had earlier. Close on his heels was Mandah. Tarja breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of her. Perhaps now someone would listen to him. Padric ordered everyone out. Once they were alone, Padric crossed the room and untied him.
Tarja rubbed the circulation back into his hands and feet. “Thanks.”
“Don’t be too free with your thanks,” Mandah said. “We are only here to supervise your hanging.” The woman before him showed little sign of the understanding, placid young woman he remembered.
“I never betrayed you, Mandah.”
“Aye, and I’m the First Sister.” She threw a scrap of parchment at Tarja. A single more damning piece of evidence could not have been planted on him by the First Sister herself. Ghari must have found it when they were taken from the stables. As the younger man could not read, its importance would not have been immediately apparent. Had Ghari been able to read, it was likely Tarja would already be dead.
“I can explain, Mandah, if you’d give me a chance.”
“Explain it to us then,” she said. “I’d be interested in hearing what fiction you and that damned mother of yours cooked up between you.”
“The Harshini are still alive,” Tarja told her. “If the Kariens learn of it, they will cross the border to destroy them. Medalon’s only hope is to warn the Defenders.”
Mandah did not react immediately. She sat down on a three-legged stool and looked at him, weighing her judgment.
“The Harshini are dead.”
“They’re not dead. I would have thought the news would please you. You worship their gods, don’t you?”
“Can you prove this?”
Tarja nodded. “R’shiel is one of them. So is Brak.”
“Padric told me of your wild tale. And you expect us to believe that you were planning to warn the Defenders that the Harshini still live? To what purpose? So that they might protect them from the Kariens? The same Defenders who have spent the last two centuries trying to exterminate them? For pity’s sake, Tarja, you rode into Testra in a Defender’s uniform with Mahina Cortanen!”
“Mahina was impeached. They threw her out!”
“Once a Sister, always a Sister,” Mandah said. “Your story’s certainly entertaining, but I’m surprised you couldn’t come up with something more believable.”
“Mandah, if I was lying, don’t you think I
“Who knows?” she shrugged. “I thought I knew you well, once. But now... ? You’ve had your chance. Padric will take R’shiel to the Karien Envoy and then let the others have you.”
She turned toward the door and opened it. As soon as she did, Ghari was inside, looking at them expectantly.
“Make your vengeance swift, Ghari,” Padric said as he and Mandah disappeared into the darkness.
chapter 46
R’shiel was thrown into the stable and a guard posted outside. Padric, with several other rebels, galloped off into the darkness. She sank down onto a pile of smelly straw, her mind racing. It was obvious that the rebels intended to kill them. Their only hope was Brak. How long would it take him to discover they were missing? And when he did, would he realize they had been dragged away and had not simply run off of their own accord?
Refusing to let despair take hold, she glanced around. Her hands and feet were tied and she could see the silhouette of the guard posted at the entrance to the stable, although his back was turned from her. She tentatively tugged on her bonds, but they were secure. There was nothing in the old stable she could see that would help her cut through them, even if the guard didn’t notice what she was up to.
Padric’s intentions regarding the Karien Envoy were clear enough. Pieter wanted her for one reason, she was sure – because he had been thwarted in his deal with Joyhinia. She wondered if he knew she had been disowned, or even cared. Probably not. The reward he had offered for her would have been motivated by spite as much as anything. She cared little about the priest’s vision – and did not believe it in any case. If only Tarja had been able to think of something reasonable to say. She had been shocked to hear him claim she was Harshini. Surely he could have come up with something more believable than that!
R’shiel recognized that there was nothing left to her but to wait and hope that Brak would find her and Tarja before their captors acted on their obvious desire to see Tarja swing. As that thought was even more horrible to contemplate than most, R’shiel closed her eyes and tried to doze.
Sometime later she heard horses in the yard, and soon after the figure of the old rebel appeared in the doorway. He walked over to where she was sitting on the ground and looked at her closely for a moment. R’shiel stared back, hoping that he might be having second thoughts.
“I’ve nothing personal against you, understand,” Padric said, as if trying to justify himself. “But you can see our problem. If we give you to the Karien Envoy, the money will help our cause a great deal.”
“If you give me to the Karien Envoy, Lord Pieter will rape me then kill me,” she said. “Why don’t you kill me yourself, Padric? Spare me the rape at least.”
“I’m sorry, R’shiel.” He stood up and walked back to the guard on the door, issuing orders to see her mounted and ready to leave as soon as he had dealt with Tarja. The guard came forward, untied the ropes that held her and pulled her to her feet. She tried to follow Padric’s slight form as he disappeared into the house, but the guard drew her away, bringing up a small dun mare.
“What did he mean about dealing with Tarja?” she asked. The rebel was a balding middle-aged man with an air of weary resignation.
“They’re going to hang him,” he told her, as he lifted her into the saddle. R’shiel looked around and discovered a number of men standing under a large tree on the other side of the yard. One of them was swinging a rope gently, aiming it for the large branch that spread out over the yard. He threw the rope, and on his second attempt, it looped over the branch. Another man reached for the loose end and pulled it down. R’shiel turned to her guard.
“But he never betrayed you!”
“Aye, it’s hard to credit,” the rebel agreed. “But he convicted himself with his own hand. Had a letter in his pocket to the Defenders, he did.” He frowned at the shock on R’shiel’s face at the news. “He betrayed us, right enough, lass. You, as much as the rest of us. Don’t waste your sympathy on him. He’s nothing but a bastard.” R’shiel realized this man was not a hothead like Ghari. This man was truly saddened by the thought that Tarja
