Blue Bull, where he spied Lork standing guard outside the door to one of the private dining rooms. The big man wore an expression that turned away the curious, simply by its ferocity. When he reached the door, Lork barred his way with a low snarl.
“I’m expected,” he said. Lork glared at him for a moment before dropping his thick arm. Loclon opened the door and pushed past him.
He froze in shock as the door snicked shut behind him. He was expecting Mistress Heaner and Garanus to be waiting for him, not five more Karien priests and a tall man with hooded eyes, who by his bearing just had to be a Karien nobleman, despite his unremarkable clothing.
“Ah, Captain,” Garanus said, looking up at the sound of the door closing. “You bring us good news, I trust?”
For a fleeting moment, Loclon wanted to run. This was getting out of hand. His desire to see R’shiel suffer had not included treason. He had been able to convince himself for months that his association with Mistress Heaner was simply a ploy. He had made himself believe that information he passed on was not critical, that
“Your information was wrong. R’shiel was not with the First Sister.”
The Karien Lord glanced at Garanus, frowning. “You claimed you could feel her.”
“I could,” Garanus assured him. He glanced at the other priests, who nodded in agreement. Their tonsured heads and pale skin made it hard to tell one from the other. “We all could. Our captain here may have missed them, but the glamour the demon child and her lackey wove to conceal themselves is like a beacon to those of us who are close to the Overlord. Trust me, Lord Terbolt, she is here.”
Loclon studied Terbolt guardedly. The name meant nothing to him, he had little interest in Karien politics, but he was bound to be a personage of some note. A man whose good will he needed to foster if he was to continue on this path.
“They must have arrived earlier, before the parade.”
Garanus shrugged. “When they arrived is not important. The fact that they are here is all that counts.”
“So what now? I can hardly kill this half-breed if I can’t find him.”
Lord Terbolt nodded in agreement. “Nor can we expose this ungodly Harshini alliance with the Sisterhood, with either of them on the loose. Can’t you use your... powers, or whatever it is that you do, Garanus, to track them down?”
“What Harshini alliance?” Loclon asked, before the priest had a chance to answer.
Lord Terbolt turned to him. “The Sisterhood has been secretly allied with the Harshini for years, Captain. The demon child was raised under their protection. Now they have openly allied with the Hythrun, and the Harshini, whom the Sisterhood claims have been extinct for more than a century, begin to reveal themselves once more. We already have reports of Harshini appearing again in Greenharbour. Before long, they will overrun the entire continent with their insidious heathen gods. We are here to put a stop to it.”
Loclon wasn’t sure that he believed the Karien, but it made sense. Until she had run away with Tarja, R’shiel had been training for the Sisterhood. Her mother was the First Sister. The thought that his career had been destroyed by a Harshini bitch who was secretly working to destroy Medalon burned like acid in his gullet.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I think we should pay a visit to the First Sister,” Terbolt said.
The Sister’s Hall was all but deserted. Every Blue Sister in the Citadel was heading for the Gathering. Getting past the guards was easy. Loclon knew the effect a barked order had on men conditioned to follow their officers without question. He and Gawn had led Lord Terbolt, his priests, and the silent Lork to the main residential wing of the Sister’s Hall quite openly. With their heads covered by hooded cloaks, and their staffs hidden in their folds, the Kariens looked as ordinary as any other visitors to the Citadel.
Gawn’s inclusion was not part of Loclon’s original plan. The captain had appeared on the verandah of the Blue Bull as they were leaving, looking for some entertainment with a willing Probate. Now that he was a widower, he spent a great deal of his off duty hours entertaining willing Probates. They were safer than tavern-keepers’ daughters. As a rule, if you impregnated one, you were not required to marry her.
Gawn’s eyes had widened at the sight of Loclon’s companions, but he was even further along the road of treason than Loclon, these days. He acted as if he really did believe all that nonsense about the Overlord. A thing made easier, no doubt, by the fact that the Overlord had answered his prayers and his slut of a wife lay buried these past few weeks, dead from a fatal dose of heckleweed that she unfortunately mistook for seasoning. Loclon had grabbed his arm and dragged him along, explaining the situation in a low voice as they made their way towards the Sister’s Hall. Gawn had fallen in with them willingly.
The guards at the entrance were easily dealt with. One did not question a captain without very good cause. The men on the upper levels were just as efficiently disposed of. Loclon ordered them downstairs, accusing them of hiding inside the building to escape the cold. The men saluted sharply and hurried outside.
The guards in the hall outside the First Sister’s apartments were a different matter. These were Garet Warner’s men. Loclon could order them about until he turned green without any noticeable effect. He stopped just out of sight on the landing of the broad, carpeted staircase and motioned the Kariens to silence.
“What do you think, Gawn?”
“I think we’re going to have to fight,” the captain replied softly.
“There is no need to fight,” Terbolt informed them in a low voice. “Lork, take care of it.”
Before Loclon could protest, the big man stepped into the hall and walked towards the two Defenders standing either side of the First Sister’s door. The men looked up at his approach, hands on the hilts of their swords as they challenged him. Lork did not answer them. He just kept walking. As soon as he was in reach of the Defenders, who, by this time, had begun to draw their weapons, he grabbed a man with each of his plate-sized hands and smashed their heads together so hard Loclon could hear their skulls cracking. He hurried forward as the men collapsed at Lork’s feet.
“You fool! You’ve killed them!” he hissed.
“They were agents of evil,” Garanus announced as he came up behind them with Lord Terbolt and the other priests. “Their deaths will please the Overlord.”
“Well, they won’t please anyone around here! We have to get the bodies out of sight!”
“We can move them inside,” Terbolt said, turning to face the bronze-sheathed door. “Should we knock?”
Gawn muttered something as the Karien pounded on the door. It was opened a few moments later by Lord Draco, who took in the fallen guards and the tonsured priests with a glance, reaching for his sword with a speed that belied his age. Lord Setenton was prepared, however. He plunged his dagger into Draco’s breast while the older man’s blade was still in its scabbard. The Duke of Setenton shoved him backward into the room. Draco slid off the blade and collapsed on the expensive patterned rug, his red jacket darkening with blood. He cried out an unintelligible warning but there was nobody around to heed it.
Loclon stood frozen in shock, as Lork dragged the bodies of the guards into the room and locked the door behind him. They had killed two Defenders. They had killed the Spear of the First Sister.
He was damned whichever way he looked at it.
“Find the First Sister,” Terbolt ordered. The priests spread out, checking the numerous doors that led off the main hall of the First Sister’s apartments. Loclon stared at Draco who lay groaning softly, hand clutched uselessly over his punctured chest.
“Finish him, Captain,” Terbolt ordered brusquely. “His moaning offends me.”
“But he’s...” Loclon began uncertainly.
“I’ll do it,” Gawn offered, drawing his sword. He walked to where Draco lay dying and barely even hesitated as he plunged the blade into him, over and over again. Draco was long dead before he stopped.
Loclon watched Gawn mutilating Lord Draco and discovered, somewhat to his embarrassment, that rather than repulse him, the smell of the blood was arousing him. He turned away to hide the evidence of his excitement.
“Can’t bear to watch, eh?”
Loclon composed himself before turning back, trying to sound nonchalant. “A bit excessive, don’t you
