Harshini

“You're worse than me already.”

She smiled and sat down on the steps of the podium. He sat beside her for a moment in silence as she took in the monumental Temple. All of this was her legacy, her inheritance. She laid her head on Brak's shoulder, trying not to let the knowledge of his impending death distract her.

For a moment, she closed her eyes and let the silence and the memories of Sanctuary overwhelm her. She wished Brak had not put conditions on it - wished he would wrap them in that unbelievable cocoon of magic again and transport her to that other plane where pleasure and indulgence were the only things that mattered...

“Founders!” She sat bolt upright and stared at him wonderingly.

“What?”

“I don't need finesse, Brak.”

“You don't?”

“No! I need pleasure!”

“Here? Now? A bit public, don't you think?”

“Don't be an ass!” she said, leaping to her feet, giddy with the knowledge that she knew, with absolute certainty, how to bring Xaphista undone. “Don't you see? The other night the Harshini could feel us. You said even Xaphista could feel it. You said he made his people turn away from pleasure because it distracts them from him.”

Brak looked at her askance. “What are you suggesting we do, demon child? Have an orgy here in the Temple of the Gods and channel it through to the priests via the Seeing Stone?”

She laughed. “You'd be surprised how close you are to the truth, Brak. Come on!”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet then headed down the Hall, dragging him in her wake.

“R'shiel!”

“What?”

“Where are you going?”

“You'll see,” she said with a laugh.

He stopped and pulled her back. “Enough! I'm not taking another step until you tell me what you're up to this time.”

“Don't you trust me?”

“Not in the slightest.”

She sighed heavily. “Brak, I'm going to distract the Kariens. I'm going to take their minds off Xaphista for a while.”

“Is that all?”

She nodded. “That's all I have to do, Brak.”

She saw the dawning light of comprehension in his eyes and smiled. Brak shook his head ruefully. “You're a sneaky little thing, aren't you? I'm glad you're on our side.”

“It'll work, won't it,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.

He nodded slowly. “Yes. It should work.”

“Then let's go see Tarja.”

“Gods, you're not going to tell him what you're planning, are you?”

“Of course not. I'm going to ask him to throw a party.”

CHAPTER 57

The following day, Tarja relented and agreed to let the priests go. Garet objected vehemently, but once she had spoken to Shananara and had her support, his advice was overruled. Tarja doubted her, she could tell that from the way he looked at her and the edge of scepticism in his voice. But with the knowledge that the Fardohnyans were close, and Damin Wolfblade not far behind, he seemed to think that she couldn't do their cause much harm and was prepared to indulge her. Up to a point.

The priests were herded from the Lesser Hall towards the gate at dawn the next day. Two of them led another priest whose eyes were bandaged, although R'shiel did not know what had happened to him. Parked near the entrance to the gatehouse was a covered wagon, inside which were the confiscated staffs. Once she'd talked her way around Tarja's objections, and the Defenders realised the stones were mere crystals rather than diamonds, avarice gave way to apathy. But she was not so foolish as to stand in range of a priest wielding his staff, which was the reason she had chosen this vantage on the wall-walk, high above the main gate.

As they neared the wagon, a Defender threw back the tarpaulin. The tonsured men swarmed over it, grasping for the security of the symbols of their rank. One of the priests glanced up, caught sight of her and shook his staff, mouthing some insult she could not hear. Others followed his gaze as they reclaimed their sacred sceptres. An uneasy prickle of apprehension washed over R'shiel as she watched them.

“Brak, was it such a good idea to let so many of them gather like this armed with their staffs?”

“You can't influence the Overlord's priests through their staffs if they don't have them,” he shrugged. “Don't worry. I don't think they can —”

His words were cut off by a loud explosion, as the merlon near R'shiel shattered into a shower of flying pebbles. R'shiel ducked for cover as another explosion buffeted her with flying debris. Screams of terror, and the Defenders' cries of alarm, suddenly filled the street below.

“You don't think they can what?” she shouted over the commotion.

Brak saw her eyes darken and laid an urgently restraining hand on her arm. “They destroy magic, R'shiel. You're not linked through the Seeing Stone here. Don't try to fight them.”

“Watch me,” she snarled angrily.

R'shiel stood up and looked down over the street. Defenders were rushing heedlessly to fight an enemy they could not comprehend, while the citizens who had come to watch the priests being released milled about in panic, looking for a way to flee the sudden carnage, too afraid to approach the gate. All other escape routes were blocked by the Defenders.

She spied the cause of the trouble quickly enough. Three tonsured priests held their staffs above their heads, chanting in unison as they called on the power of the Overlord to strike down the demon child. The other priests were not yet organised enough to join in the Watching Coven, but it would not take them long. Three priests she could handle. She knew that from experience. Any more and she could not predict the outcome.

Turning her attention to the first priest, she hurled a burst of raw power at the staff, understanding now what she had done by accident on the northern plains of Medalon. Whatever spell made the staff drain magic, its focus was the small chip of Seeing Stone at its core. The power she threw at it overloaded the crystal and the conflict between the force at its centre and the staff's ability to absorb magic created an explosion that threw the priest to the ground with bleeding eardrums. She repeated her effort at the next man, and then the one beside him, careless of the power she was drawing.

Several others defiantly held up their only protection against her, only to find themselves lying prostrate on the ground, their staffs shattered, the gold star and silver lightning bolt fused into a glob of worthless metal. R'shiel could feel rather than see Brak beside her. He shouted something at her that she could not understand. Something about using restraint, but all he could do was stand at her side, ready to catch her if she fell.

It took a dozen or more explosions for the priests to be dissuaded from any further attempts to destroy the demon child; much longer for the Defenders to restore some semblance of order. R'shiel clung to the power, standing over the gateway, her eyes burning black as she dared them to try her again. She was trembling and exhausted and felt Brak's arm slide around her waist gratefully. If she appeared to be a tower of strength to the Kariens below, then let them think that. There was no need for them to know that he was holding her up.

“You've come this far. Don't give up now, demon child,” Brak whispered as she slumped against him.

“I think I'm going to faint.”

“No you're not,” he told her sternly. “You're going to stand up here and watch every last one of them leave.”