demanding to see whoever is in charge. We were barely questioned and they didn't even look at you twice.”
She had to admit he was right. “Brak, why is it that when you do things like that, you're being clever, but when I do them, I'm being reckless?”
“Because I'm older than you. A
“Well,
They rode at a walk down the cobbled main road that led past the Great Hall to the amphitheatre. The tension in the air was almost solid enough to touch. R'shiel realised that the awful spectre nailed over the main gate was more than just a gloating gesture of barbaric triumph. It was a warning, and one the citizens of the Citadel appeared to have taken to heart. The streets appeared almost as deserted as Greenharbour had been, when she arrived with Damin.
“We need to find an inn and a meal and perhaps some company for the evening.”
“Company?”
“We need to find out what's happening here. The next best source of information in any city, after the assassins and the thieves, are the prostitutes.”
“That's the best excuse I've heard for a long time,” she said with a scowl.
“We all have our own methods, R'shiel.”
“Funny how all your methods involve consorting with criminals.”
He glanced at her and then smiled. “Considering you are probably the most wanted criminal in all of Karien and Medalon, I find your attitude rather strange.”
She ignored the jibe. “I still think Garet is the better option.”
“And I agree, but I want to know that when we confront him he's telling us the truth, not what he thinks we want to hear.”
“You're not a very trusting person, are you?”
“I don't happen to like the idea of having my head decorating the main gate next to poor old Mahina's. If you plan to live long enough to fulfil your destiny, R'shiel, you would be wise to adopt the same outlook.”
After that they rode without speaking through streets that were slowly darkening with the coming night. Squares of yellow light appeared in the windows of the houses that lined the streets, but the silence was heavy and R'shiel could not feel the welcoming touch of the Citadel as she had when she arrived the last time.
It was as if the massive spirit of the Citadel had shrivelled and died - or perhaps he had simply retreated into hiding in the face of the Karien blight that swarmed through him like flies over a dying carcass.
CHAPTER 36
Garet Warner opened the door to the Lord Defender's office and was greeted by a blast of warm air. Someone must have thought to light the fire, he thought, although he was a little surprised. With the Lord Defender in “protective confinement” as the Kariens euphemistically referred to his incarceration, Garet used the office rarely, and he had told nobody of his intention to come here this morning.
He pushed the door shut and glanced around, but other than the blazing fire in the small hearth, the room was unchanged since his last visit. The heavy carved desk took up a great deal of space, and the comfortable chair behind it smelled faintly of the saddle soap used to keep the leather supple. The array of Fardohnyan and Hythrun weapons Jenga had collected over the years still hung over the mantle. The aura of the man permeated the room. It was as if he had just stepped out a moment ago and was due back any minute.
But perhaps it was not completely unchanged; the pile of unattended paperwork had grown considerably. Garet groaned as he looked at it. He had his own work to do. He did not need the added responsibility of the Lord Defender's administrative tasks.
Most of the papers would be fairly straightforward. Requests for transfers, for leave, for permission to marry, for a score of other mundane, everyday matters that required the Lord Defender's approval. But there would be the odd report that needed investigation, disciplinary matters that could not be settled with a mere stroke of a pen - most of them a direct result of the conflicts that arose frequently between the Defenders and the Karien invaders.
There would be orders from the First Sister, too.
Garet was well aware that even though signed by Joyhinia Tenragan, the orders were no more from her than they had been when she was on the northern border, a babbling idiot who would sign anything put in front of her. These orders came from Squire Mathen, and if he couched them in a manner easily digestible to the Medalonians, they were no less the orders of his Karien masters.
He moved towards the desk and then froze as the feeling he was no longer alone in the room suddenly overwhelmed him.
“Garet.”
He started and turned at the voice. R'shiel stood close behind him. She looked much better than when he'd last seen her. He was glad to see her hair had grown out a little and now framed her face in dark red curls. But there was something else different about her: a confidence that he had not seen before. He wondered how she had escaped the Kariens, and why, having managed that remarkable feat, she had so foolishly returned to the Citadel. Standing behind her, wearing an air of lethal calm, was the Harshini half-breed, Brakandaran.
“R'shiel! Brak! How did the two of you... ? Never mind, I'd rather not know.”
He composed himself and walked around Lord Jenga's desk before he looked at them again. They were wearing the close fitting and supple Harshini leathers, which outlined their statuesque bodies, giving a hint of the natural grace and athletic ability that was part of their alien heritage.
“What are you doing here?”
“We have come to put things right,” R'shiel told him.
“And how do you plan to do that?”
“With your help.”
Her declaration did not surprise him. “I suppose you think I owe you something, for not supporting you at the Gathering?”
“You don't owe me anything, Garet. But as you said when you slipped me your knife, you can't help Medalon from a prison cell.”
“I'm not in a prison cell.”
“I used your knife to kill the Karien Crown Prince. I imagine a prison cell will be the least of your worries if the Kariens learn that.”
Garet was too experienced to let his apprehension show. “
A small smile flickered over her lips. “Wait until you hear the rest of it.”
He shook his head. “Thanks, but I'd rather not...”
“No!” she cut in. “That is not an option any longer, Garet. You must decide. You are with us or against us. There is no more sitting on the fence.”
Garet sank down into the Lord Defender's chair - more to give himself time to think than through any real need to take the weight off his feet. He knew about R'shiel. Knew of her Harshini parentage and her status as their long awaited demon child, but until this moment it had never truly occurred to him that she might actually be as powerful as the pagans believed.
“And if I choose not to follow you?” he asked, wondering how determined she was.
“Then I will remove you from the equation.”
“You'd kill me?”
“I killed a Karien Prince. You don't think a mere Defender is going to cause me any grief?”
He placed his hands palm down on the desk and looked at her closely. Her whole being radiated a kind of leashed power, straining to be set free.
“So that's it? Join you or die?”
