Shananara’s touch feel clumsy and ham-fisted.
Suddenly the torch flared brightly, savagely, in her hand as Dace released the magic into the flame, lighting the yard as if a thousand torches had suddenly exploded into life. Her skin prickled as she felt the power, minute that it was. The circle widened as the rebels took a step backward, astounded by her display.
Tarja grabbed the moment and called out to the rebels. “Do we face this threat to our people and the Harshini, or crawl home like frightened children? I say we fight!”
Someone in the crowd started chanting “Fight! Fight!” and it was quickly taken up by the mob. Tarja sat and watched them as they yelled, although he hardly looked pleased. R’shiel lowered the torch, which sputtered and died in her hand.
“You’ve won!” she said, so that only he could hear. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
“I’ve got a chanting mob, excited by a parlor trick. There’s barely a man among them who would follow me in the cold light of day because he believed in what I said.”
Dace rode up on the other side of Tarja. “Then let’s get this done before the sun rises,” he suggested with a grin.
Tarja shook his head at the boy’s enthusiasm and rode forward to speak with Ghari and several other rebel lieutenants as the chanting subsided slowly. R’shiel leaned forward and grabbed Dace’s bridle before he could follow.
“Who are you, Dace?” she asked him curiously. “That wasn’t me, just now, it was you.”
“Actually, it wasn’t really me,” Dace told her with a sly smile. “I stole the flames from Jashia, the God of Fire. But he won’t mind.”
“What do you mean, you stole it?”
“That’s what I do, R’shiel. It’s who I am.”
R’shiel studied the boy in the torchlight. “You’re Harshini, aren’t you?”
“Of course not, silly. I am Dacendaran.”
Seeing that it meant nothing to her he leaned across and took her hand in his. The feeling that washed over her at his touch left her weak and trembling. “I am Dacendaran, the God of Thieves.”
R’shiel shook her head in denial. “You can’t be. I don’t believe in gods.”
“That’s what makes you so much fun!” He let her go and turned his horse toward the gate. “I have to be going now, though. The others will be mad at me if I get mixed up in what’s going to happen next.”
“The others?”
“The rest of the gods you don’t believe in. You be careful now. They’ll be rather put out if you go and get yourself killed.”
Dace clucked his horse forward and vanished into the darkness. She opened her mouth to call him back, but he had literally vanished from sight. Dumbfounded, Ghari had to call her name twice before she even noticed he was speaking to her.
“R’shiel?”
She turned to look down at him. “What?”
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Before we go the men want... well, they want your blessing.”
“My blessing?”
“You are the demon child,” he said with an apologetic shrug.
R’shiel looked up and suddenly noticed the sea of expectant faces, staring at her with a mixture of awe and fear and perhaps a little distrust.
Mandah walked forward to stand beside Ghari. “R’shiel, every one of us here has known the demon child would come one day, though I’m not sure we’re pleased to discover it is you. But most likely some of these men will die this night. Would you withhold your blessing?”
“But I don’t know what to say.”
“Just tell them that the gods are with them,” the young woman advised. “That is all they want to hear.”
R’shiel nodded doubtfully and moved her horse forward to face the heathens.
chapter 59
Only about half of Tarja’s ragtag band of rebels were mounted. The rest had come in wagons or on foot to the rendezvous. Nor were they particularly well armed. Their weapons ranged from knives, rusty swords, and halberds to pitchforks, scythes, and other farm implements. R’shiel thought they looked pitiful, but Tarja assured her that the attack on the Defenders would be by stealth, rather than open confrontation.
They set out for Testra last, with the mounted men who formed the rear of the attack party. Tarja had sent his infantry ahead several hours ago. He had timed his own arrival for closer to midnight, to meet Sunny on the road outside Testra and give his final orders, based on the intelligence she provided. R’shiel watched as Tarja ordered his men with a quiet confidence she suspected he did not feel. He had fewer men than he hoped for, poorly armed, and ill-trained. Any one of them was liable to break ranks, either through fear or misguided bravery. She could tell he wished for even a handful of the superbly trained Defenders he had once commanded. The rebels were fractious, independent, and barely convinced that Tarja was not leading them into a trap. Only her faith in him let her believe that they had any chance of winning.
They reached the outskirts of Testra just before midnight. The night was dark, the moon hidden behind a bank of low clouds. The heat of the day had not been able to escape, and the night was uncomfortably warm. Sunny waved as they drew near. They dismounted and walked off the road a way.
“I found Lord Jenga. He’s at an inn called the Bondsman’s Friend.” Ghari nodded. “I know where it is. It’s at the end of a cul-de-sac near the docks.”
Tarja frowned “A dead end? Trust Jenga to pick a place that’s easy to defend. How many men are with him?”
“No more than a dozen,” Sunny assured him. “Just a few officers and scribes and the like. The rest are camped on the western side of town in the fields.”
Tarja nodded and turned back to Ghari and his men. R’shiel pulled Sunny aside and looked at her closely. “Is something wrong?”
Sunny shook her head. “I’m fine. All this talk of heathens and Harshini makes me a bit nervous, that’s all.”
“You’re still my friend, Sunny. I haven’t changed.”
Sunny shrugged uncomfortably. “I’d best be getting back.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“You can count on it,” Sunny promised.
Testra was quiet as they rode into the town. The taverns were mostly closed for the night, and decent people were well abed. Tarja sent the bulk of his troops to the field on the town’s west side where the Defenders were camped, under the leadership of a tall, thin, but capable-looking man called Wylbir. A former sergeant in the Defenders, he was the closest thing to a military trained officer that Tarja had. Tarja, Ghari, R’shiel, and a dozen more hand-picked men were to move on the Bondsman’s Friend. If things were as Sunny claimed, they could be in and out before the Defenders knew what had happened.
They dismounted a block or more from the inn and made their way on foot, hugging the shadows and jumping at every sound. R’shiel followed Tarja closely. He waved his men forward with hand signals as they turned into the cul-de-sac, then stopped them abruptly.
Darkened shops, obviously catering to the wealthier clientele of Testra, flanked the street. Small, discreet
