Harshini

“Then it could mean trouble.”

“Founders, Damin! Do you practise being so dense?”

He grinned sheepishly. “I'm sorry. Explain it to me.”

“I think the Harshini are under attack. It's the only explanation.”

Damin reined in his stallion and brought the column to a halt. His grin faded and was replaced by a look of consternation. “Someone is attacking the Harshini? That's inconceivable. This is Hythria, not Medalon or Karien. We honour the... R'shiel!”

She wasn't listening to him. Instead she spurred her horse forward to the end of the paved street where the rise of the land enabled her to look out over the rest of the city. What she saw made her gasp with astonishment.

Greenharbour lay before her, a sea of whitewashed buildings glaring under a sky of sapphire silk.

The city curved around the crescent-shaped bay. To the left was the forest of tall masts that marked the vast wharves of the city. To her right was a magnificent white palace, its domed spires gilded and almost too bright to look upon. Above the palace was a glittering dome of radiant, shimmering light enveloping the temples and palaces that R'shiel thought must be the Sorcerers' Collective. She could just make out the outlines of the buildings inside the dome as it waxed and waned with the fading strength of the Harshini who held it in place.

Legend held that two centuries ago, the Harshini who defended the Citadel from the Sisters of the Blade had done the same thing. But if several hundred Harshini had not been able to hold a protective dome in place long enough to save the Citadel, there was little chance the few Harshini in Greenharbour could hold this one longer than a few more minutes.

“What in the name of the gods is that?” Damin gasped as he reined in beside her.

“The Harshini trying to protect themselves,” she explained. “Look down there.”

Damin looked in the direction of her pointing finger. The streets surrounding the dome of light were crowded with soldiers. Although they were too far away to make out their individual escutcheons, R'shiel could easily guess whose troops they were. They were massing in the main avenues leading to the Collective, simply waiting for the strength of the Harshini who protected it to fade. She glanced over her shoulder at the men Damin, Narvell and Rogan had brought into the city. They were easily outnumbered three to one. The other two Warlords were riding up the street towards the head of the column. R'shiel left Damin to deal with them and turned her attention back to the dome of light. Even in the short time she had been watching it had faded somewhat.

“What's going on?” she heard Rogan Bearbow demand of Damin behind her. She did not wait to hear his answer. Spurring her horse forward, she headed for the harbour at a canter. Whatever politics were involved in the battle for the High Prince's throne, the Hythrun had no right to endanger the peaceful Harshini.

R'shiel had no plan in mind. Her only thought was that the dome was fading and the Harshini trapped inside were in danger. She could not reach the Harshini through the impenetrable barrier, but when it collapsed the soldiers massed in the streets surrounding the Collective would overrun them. She smiled grimly to herself as she rode, wondering how life could change so drastically in such a short time. Two years ago, had she heard there were Harshini under attack, she would have applauded the forces ranged against her despised enemies. Now she was riding to their rescue, heedless of any danger she might be placing herself in.

That thought had a sobering effect, and she slowed her horse to a walk. What am I doing? I can't just ride up to the gates of the Collective and demand the enemy disperse.

R'shiel looked around and discovered she had ridden into an area of the city that was filled with government buildings. At least she guessed that's what they were. They had an aura of bureaucracy that R'shiel knew well. The buildings were several storeys high and a number had impressive entrances flanked by fluted marble columns. They surrounded a broad circular plaza dominated by a fountain that spewed forth its cascade from the mouth of a beautifully sculpted water dragon. R'shiel studied the creature curiously for a moment. She had heard of the remarkable beasts that populated the warm waters of the Dregian Ocean, but she had never seen anything like the creature in the fountain. It had a large dorsal fin, wide-set eyes and a long, elegant tail that ended in a broad, flipper-like paddle.

She had little time to admire the artistry of the fountain, however, as the sound of horses moving towards her caught her attention. At the far end of the paved plaza a number of mounted Raiders appeared, a tall, middle- aged man riding at their head. His blond beard was neatly trimmed, his leather armour gilded. The soaring eagle of his House was picked out in precious stones that glinted in the sunlight falling across the plaza.

Behind her, R'shiel could hear Damin and his party forming up. She sat alone and exposed astride her horse in the centre of the plaza as the opposing forces arrayed themselves on either side. An unnatural silence descended, only the splashing of the fountain and the creaking of leather harness disturbing the morning.

“Cousin!” Cyrus Eaglespike called loudly, moving forward at a walk. “I never thought to see you alive again!”

“That's pretty bloody obvious!” Damin called back as he rode out to meet the pretender flanked by Narvell and Rogan.

R'shiel watched them approaching with a frown. She didn't have time for this. The dome of light flickered in the distance.

“It warms my heart to see that the reports of your death were... overstated, cousin,” Cyrus declared with vast insincerity as he neared the fountain.

Damin, Narvell and Rogan reined in on the other side of the fountain. “I'm sure it does, cousin. That would explain what you're doing here with so many troops.”

“We acted to contain the potential civil unrest brought on by the news of our uncle's death.”

“Lernen was my uncle, not yours, Cyrus. Your relationship to the Wolfblade family is so tenuous it barely exists.”

“Actually, it's not as tenuous as you might think, cousin. Once Kalan ratifies my claim...”

“The High Arrion? Ratify you?” Rogan Bearbow declared hotly. The mere thought obviously offended him.

“Is that why you're attacking the Harshini?” R'shiel demanded.

Cyrus seemed to notice R'shiel for the first time. He smiled patronisingly. “Who is this, Damin? Some piece of Medalonian entertainment you picked up north of the border? Or is this the wife that we've been hearing about?”

R'shiel's eyes darkened with anger as she drew on her power. Cyrus' eyes passed over her contemptuously for a moment, then suddenly locked on her face as he saw her eyes blacken.

“Mother of the gods!” he cried. His horse reared, the gelding reacting to the proximity of a Harshini drawing on her power. Even the mounts that Damin, Rogan and Narvell rode began to toss their heads nervously, although they knew her scent well enough not to fear the unfamiliar but instinctive urge they felt to respond. Her own horse was not concerned, having been with her long enough now to recognise and welcome the touch of the magic that it had been born to serve. R'shiel suddenly understood why the majority of the troops surrounding the Collective were infantry. With the Harshini inside the Collective drawing so much power, the Hythrun sorcerer-bred cavalry mounts would be uncontrollable.

“Cyrus, call off your troops. Now.”

Damin spoke with quiet assurance, as if he had no doubt as to the outcome, should the Warlord refuse.

“Who are you?” Cyrus demanded of R'shiel.

“I'm the last thing you will ever lay eyes on if you don't withdraw,” she informed the startled Warlord. The power filled her, hungering for release. Cyrus' mount was becoming increasingly restive and he was fighting to maintain his dignity and his seat at the same time.

The pretender turned on Damin angrily. “What sort of trickery is this?”

“This isn't trickery, my Lord, this is the demon child. I suggest you do as she says. She's not noted for her patience.”

If Cyrus had heard that Damin was married, then he certainly must have heard that the demon child rode with him. The Warlord debated the issue for a long, tension-filled moment, then angrily waved his arm. A rider broke from the ranks at the entrance to the plaza and cantered forward.

“Take a message to Lord Foxtalon and Lord Falconlance,” Cyrus ordered through clenched teeth. “Tell them to order the troops to withdraw.”