“Such an order might be misinterpreted, your Grace. In my opinion—”
“Your opinion is not required, my Lord. Merely that you do as you are ordered.”
“Mahina was very popular among the Defenders, even before she became First Sister,” Jenga persisted. He could not take this order without objecting. Joyhinia was very close to pushing him too far. “Such an order will be... difficult to enforce.”
“He has a point,” Harith agreed. “Can you claim to own the same level of respect, Joyhinia?”
The First Sister glared at the Mistress of the Sisterhood. “The Defenders will honor their oath to the Sisters of the Blade. Of that I am sure. Is that not so, my Lord?”
Jenga hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yes, your Grace. That is so.”
Later that evening, Lord Jenga carefully folded the letter he was reading and rose from his chair as his visitor entered his office.
“You’ve heard the news?” he asked Garet.
The commandant nodded. “I warned you something like this would happen. You have always underestimated Tarja.”
“Now is not the time to apportion blame. I doubt we could have prevented this, no matter what we did. Any news on how that officer... what’s his name?”
“Loclon.”
“Any news on how he is faring?”
“He’ll live.”
“Has he been able to tell what happened?”
“Cortanen says he was muttering some gibberish about R’shiel and Harshini magic.”
“Harshini magic? Founders! That’s all I need! I want you to question him personally when he gets back to the Citadel.”
“I’ll see to it, sir. He should be fit to travel in a week or so. Was that all?”
The Lord Defender studied the commandant for a moment, then with a wave of his hand, indicated that he should sit. He remained standing.
“What I am about to reveal to you is highly confidential,” Jenga warned.
“I understand,” Garet said, although it was patently obvious that he didn’t. He might have even been a little offended that Jenga felt the need to warn him to secrecy.
“I have been ordered to ensure that if we find Mahina Cortanen alive, to see she doesn’t stay that way.”
“I don’t believe that even Joyhinia would go that far.”
“Believe it or not, it’s the truth.”
“But Mahina is no threat to the First Sister. What possible reason could she have for demanding such a thing?”
“Because Mahina
“And what of the heathens?”
Jenga shrugged. “Numerically, I doubt they’re a genuine threat, but we can’t afford to have troops tied up routing out heathens if the Kariens appear on our northern border.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Follow my orders,” Jenga told him. “Most of them, anyway. But I promise you this: No Defender will take any action to harm Mahina, even if it means defying the current First Sister.”
Garet flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his jacket before he looked up, his expression grim. “You’re talking treason.”
“Am I?” Jenga sat down heavily. “Is it treason to refuse to carry out an order that you find morally reprehensible? If the First Sister ordered you to kill every prisoner in the Grimfield, would you do it?”
“Of course not, but—”
“Then you, sir,” Jenga said, “would be committing treason.”
Garet nodded. “Are you sure you understood your orders? Is it not possible that you misread her intentions?”
“No, I understood the First Sister well enough.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “It is quite disturbing, after all this time to think that Tarja may have been right.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Find Tarja,” Jenga said. “Before Joyhinia does.”
“It will cost money,” Garet warned. “Informants put a high price on their loyalty.”
“Do whatever you have to,” Jenga agreed.
Garet nodded. “And in the meantime?”
“In the meantime, we uphold our oath.”
“To defend and serve the Sisters of the Blade for the protection of Medalon,” Garet quoted, an edge to his voice.
“Mahina is a Sister of the Blade, and the Defenders will defend her with the same vigor as any other Sister.”
“Even if it means defying Joyhinia?”
Jenga nodded slowly. “Aye. Even if it means that.”
Jenga took a walk among his troops later that evening. The barracks were alive with the sounds of men preparing to move out. They would leave at first light. The jingle of tack and the whine of swords being sharpened on oilstone overlaid the sound of voices talking excitedly at the prospect of action. He moved quietly between the buildings, not wishing to give his men the idea he was checking on them. A good commander always knew what his troops were feeling. A good officer could gauge the mood of his men and know whether they needed bullying or mothering. If these men were going into action, he needed to know, before they left the Citadel, if he had a fighting force or a liability at his back.
“Are you sure it’s Tarja we’re going after?”
Jenga stopped in the shadow of the Officer’s Barracks. He recognized the voice. It was Osbon, newly promoted to captain and itching for excitement.
“I heard a rumor it was the Harshini,” another voice added. Jenga thought it sounded like Nheal. He had been in Tarja’s class as a Cadet. He had failed to apprehend Tarja at Reddingdale and was the officer who took it into his head to conduct a snap inspection of the cell guards the morning of Tarja’s abortive escape attempt. Jenga was still not convinced it was a coincidence.
“The Harshini are a fairy tale,” a third voice scoffed. “It’s the Kariens we’re after. Their Envoy left recently, and he didn’t look happy.” Jenga wasn’t sure who the third man was, but he sounded older than the other two.
“Tarja said the Kariens were the real danger to Medalon,” Nheal said.
“And what good did it do him?” the third man asked.
“He’s escaped from the Grimfield. It’s bound to be him we’re after. Do you think they’ll hang him this time?”
“They should have hanged him the last time,” the other man pointed out. “I heard a rumor that he didn’t really desert, you know. That the whole thing was just a cover that he and Garet Warner worked out so that he could join the rebels and expose them.”
“Makes sense,” Osbon replied thoughtfully. “That would explain a lot of things. He’s got more guts than I have, let me tell you. I wouldn’t throw everything away...”
Jenga moved off, frowning in the darkness. Even publicly condemned, Tarja’s influence was still felt in the Defenders. He wished, not for the first time, that he had found the chance to speak with him alone. Not in the
