“If I can.”
“What are you doing in Talabar?”
“I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said I was sightseeing?” he asked with a faint smile.
“No, I don't suppose I would. Nor do I think you sought out the Guild to kill someone for you. So there has to be another reason.”
“There is.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Well? Do I have to drag it from you?”
He smiled. “I've come from Medalon.”
“Medalon? That's an odd place for a Harshini to be.”
“Not really. The Harshini who survived the Sisterhood's purges still live in Medalon.”
“Everyone believes the Harshini are extinct. Except you, of course. You are thought to be the last. And we all thought you long dead.”
“The Harshini are not dead.”
“So where are they?”
“I like you, Teriahna, but I don't trust you that much.”
She nodded, her eyes glittering mischievously in the gloom. “I didn't seriously think you'd tell me, but it was worth a try.”
The conversation stopped as the tavern keeper arrived with two platters of chilled oysters. Teriahna tucked into her meal with gusto, slurping the oysters from their shells with obvious relish. The tavern keeper left with a small, indulgent smile at the Raven. She caught his look and smiled.
“I grew up around here. Mornt is an old friend,” she explained, wiping her chin.
Brak picked up a shell and tipped the juicy contents down his throat. Teriahna was right. Seasoned with something he could not identify, it was delicious.
“Rumour has it the taste is the result of the oyster beds being in a direct line of Talabar's sewage outlet.”
Brak almost choked on the oyster as she burst out laughing.
“I'm kidding, Brak. Mornt has a secret recipe that he guards with his life. We've been offered a small fortune to torture the information out of him. We refused, naturally, and let Mornt learn of our refusal. Now we eat here for free.”
“A small price to pay for your life. I never realised the tavern business was so cutthroat.”
“You'd be surprised what we get asked to do.”
“No doubt.”
She swallowed another oyster. “So, you come from Medalon and the first thing you do is seek out the Assassins' Guild. Why?”
“You're the best source of intelligence in Talabar.”
“Flattery is not an answer. Just where were you in Medalon exactly?”
“The northern border.”
“So how goes the war? Are the Defenders winning? They ought to. They deserve their reputation, by all accounts.”
“Medalon has surrendered, Teriahna.”
She made no attempt to hide her shock. “
“It's a long story, and one I have no intention of trying to explain. But the fact is, Medalon has surrendered and is now in the hands of the Kariens.”
“Gods!” she muttered with concern. “I knew I should have kept some people in the north. Hablet's not going to be happy when he learns of this. He was hoping the Kariens would keep the Defenders occupied for years.”
“I've other news that's going to please him even less. Tristan is dead. He was killed in the only major confrontation between the two armies.”
She shook her head. “Now that's bad news. He would have made a good King if Hablet could have found a way to legitimise him.”
“It's not the worst of it,” he warned.
“You mean there's more? I can't think of anything that would upset Hablet more.”
“Prince Cratyn is dead too.”
“I doubt he'll lose much sleep over
“Not exactly.”
“Gods, Brak! Getting anything out of you is like pulling teeth! What do you mean,
“She's remarried,” he said, keeping his voice deliberately emotionless. “To Damin Wolfblade.”
Teriahna laughed. “Is this your idea of getting even for that comment about the sewage pipes?”
He did not answer. The silence was heavy as Teriahna realised that he was serious.
“Dear gods! How did that come about?”
“The demon child ordered it.”
“The
Once again, he let the silence speak for him. The Raven studied him closely for a moment, then pushed her platter away. “This is no joke, is it? There really is a demon child? Who is he?”
“She. Her name is R'shiel.”
“That's a Medalonian name.”
“That's right.”
“The demon child is
“She's on a mission from the gods - quite literally. I believe her eventual plan is to bring peace to every nation on the continent, not destabilise them.”
“Then she has an odd way of going about it.”
“You think so? If what you've told me is true, it seems the perfect solution. Hablet has no son, which makes a Wolfblade his heir. That heir is now married to his eldest daughter.”
“Oh, I agree, it's a solution none of us would have imagined, but how do you think Hablet is going to take the news? He wants to obliterate the Wolfblade line, not welcome their favourite son into his family.”
“Well, he's going to have to get used to the idea. Can you get me into the palace to see him?”
“Probably, although I don't suggest you use your real name. Hablet is no more likely to believe Brakandaran the Half-Breed still lives than I did.” Her expression grew serious as she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You have to understand, Brak: it suits a lot of people to believe the Harshini are gone. They represented a way of life that is long past, and while kings publicly lament their passing, privately they are rather pleased the Harshini aren't around to act as their conscience any more. Especially kings like Hablet.”
“Then perhaps,” Brak suggested ominously as he finished the last of his oysters, “it's time Hablet acquired a conscience.”
CHAPTER 10
The storm was loud outside, battering against the walls of the tavern where Mikel and Jaymes were staying with R'shiel. Although the low-ceilinged taproom was warm, the fire smoked badly. Their new Medalonian mistress did not seem to notice the choking haze, the bad food, or the watery ale. She was deep in conversation with another young woman she had arranged to meet here, who she had introduced earlier as Mandah. The two of them had their heads close together as they talked, although Mikel sensed there was little friendship between the women. Mandah was a year or two older than R'shiel, with long blonde hair, pretty eyes and an air of calm serenity
