Harshini

not touch them.

The dragons settled on the sandy floor of the amphitheatre as the sun set completely, but even here the night was banished by the radiance. A Defender R'shiel did not know came out to greet them, casting his eyes over the dragons with the world-weary air of a man who had seen it all before, and informed them that the Lord Defender was expecting them, and required their presence immediately.

* * *

“Where have you been?” Tarja demanded as soon as they appeared in the doorway. “We expected you back days ago.”

“We were checking on Damin and the Fardohnyans.”

“How close are they?” Garet asked. He and Shananara were sitting in the heavy leather chairs facing the desk. Tarja paced behind it like a restless cat.

“The Fardohnyans should reach Brodenvale late next week. Damin's not far behind them. Another few days I suppose.”

“That's impossible!” Garet exclaimed. “There is no way they could have covered that much distance in such a short time.”

“You forget the Harshini and the gods are actively helping them, Commandant,” Shananara reminded him.

“I don't care who's helping them, Your Majesty. It is simply not possible to sail upriver so quickly, even in oared warships. Or march an army through anywhere at that speed.” He turned to Brak and R'shiel, shaking his head. “You must be mistaken.”

“We're not mistaken, Garet. Believe it, or don't believe it. It makes no difference to us.” R'shiel stepped into the office, took the seat beside Shananara and turned her gaze on Tarja. He looked tired. “The Defender who met us in the amphitheatre said you wanted to speak to us.”

“We got a reply from King Jasnoff.”

“What did he say?”

“It was pretty long-winded, but the essence was, 'Kill my dukes and I'll turn Medalon into a graveyard'.”

“What are you going to do now?” R'shiel asked.

“That's what we were just discussing,” Garet informed them. “Tarja wants to wait until the relief forces arrive, and then attack the Kariens outside. I think we should stick to our original plan: kill one of the dukes and send Jasnoff his head to prove we're not bluffing. Her Majesty here wants us to lay down our arms, put flowers in our hair, and swear eternal peace and brotherhood with our enemies.”

R'shiel smiled, not at all sure that Garet was joking. “Well, I happen to like Shananara's idea better.”

Tarja frowned at her. “This is no joking matter, R'shiel. Do you have anything constructive to offer? If not, we don't need you here.”

“Actually, I do. I want you to give the priests back their staffs and let them go.”

Even Shananara baulked at that suggestion. “You can't be serious.”

“She's serious,” Tarja said, studying her intently. “It was your idea to take them hostage, so I'm told. Now you want to let them go. You have a reason, I suppose?”

“We need them outside, where they can influence their troops.”

“I was under the impression that the whole purpose of confining them here was to stop them influencing their troops,” Garet remarked. Oddly, he had not objected to the suggestion. R'shiel thought his would be the loudest voice raised in protest.

“That was before I figured out how to influence the priests.”

“So, we let a hundred fanatical priests loose among the currently leaderless and uncoordinated troops outside, who outnumber us about seven to one, on the off chance that you can make them act the way you want?” Garet asked. He nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds reasonable. Perhaps we could just throw all the people in the Citadel off the walls, too, so our enemies won't have to go to the bother of putting them to the sword.”

“Your wit is exceeded only by your blindness, Garet,” R'shiel retorted impatiently.

“At least I have my wits. You seem to have lost yours.”

“Garet...” Tarja said warningly, in an attempt to head off the argument. He turned to R'shiel with an expression that left little doubt of his reaction if she continued to bait the commandant. “How can you influence the priests?”

“Their staffs are made up of pieces of the missing Seeing Stones. They're like a conduit. If I can find the Seeing Stone here in the Citadel, I can use it to channel whatever I want through it to the priests.”

“But how is that possible?” Shananara said.

“Well, if you don't know, that hardly fills me with confidence,” Garet muttered.

“My guess,” Brak interjected, understanding what Shananara was asking, “is that either the Fardohnyans or the Sisterhood sold their Stone to the Kariens and they broke it up. They're the only two that are missing.”

“Well, it wasn't the Sisterhood,” Tarja informed them. “We've found the Citadel's Seeing Stone.”

“You found it? Where?”

“In the Great Hall. There was a false wall at the back of... R'shiel!”

She did not answer him or even hear what else he had to say.

R'shiel was on her feet, out of the office and barrelling down the stairs with Brak on her heels before anyone could stop them.

* * *

“What happened here?”

R'shiel's voice echoed through the Great Hall, although it seemed strange referring to it by that name. This was the Temple of the Gods in all its majestic glory. This was the place that Brak had described to her with such melancholy longing. She understood now, what he had been trying to tell her.

“My guess is Shananara,” Brak said, his voice filled with awe. “If the Citadel needed placating, she would have done it here.”

“It's fantastic! Look!” She walked the length of the Hall to the podium. The Seeing Stone stood before them, twice the size of the one R'shiel had used in Greenharbour. It reflected the radiant pillars with a soft light that filled the hall, banishing the shadows, highlighting the exquisite artwork. “Oh, Brak, why did they ever try to hide this?”

“Because they were human, and humans have a tendency to destroy anything they don't understand.”

R'shiel reached up and ran her hands over the cool surface of the Stone, then turned to him doubtfully. “Do you think this will work?”

“It's theoretically possible.”

“That's what you said about coming back from the dead.”

He shrugged. “Well, that relies on the whim of Death, so it's not that cut and dried. This, however,” he said pointing at the Stone, “is a lot more straightforward. The problem is not if it's possible, though.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“R'shiel, you have raw power to burn. You threw Sanctuary into hiding like it was a child's toy. But that required brute force, not finesse. What you want to do to these priests is going to call for a delicate touch that you are a century away from achieving.”

“Then perhaps I should wait? That gives you another hundred years to live.”

He smiled at her. “I doubt the Primal Gods would be so patient. Besides, you'd be pretty sick of me in a hundred years, R'shiel.”

“How do you know?”

“Even the Harshini don't stay together that long. It's why they don't get married. There's only so much you can take living with another person before they start to wear on you.”

“Will I be as cynical as you when I'm seven hundred years old?”