“We can't go ahead with this!” Rylan insisted. “Jasnoff won't negotiate. He doesn't need to. What does it matter if we control the Citadel? With that army camped outside our walls, we could be under siege for years. There is no army waiting over the next rise to come to our rescue. And even if there were, what army on the continent could rival the number of Kariens out there? It's too dangerous. We should find another way.”
Garet held up his hands to quell the hubbub of agreement that followed the Horse Master's words, then looked at R'shiel and Brak speculatively.
“Rylan has raised a valid point. If this strategy fails and we can't disperse the Karien host, we will be caught in a siege that will be long, painful and ultimately futile.”
“What if you had a chance of being relieved?” Brak asked. R'shiel glanced over her shoulder at him. Then she smiled in understanding.
“Damin.”
“Who?” someone asked from the back of the room.
“Damin Wolfblade, the High Prince of Hythria. Tarja was taking the men he gathered south to meet him. He has already promised Medalon aid.”
“For that matter,” R'shiel added thoughtfully, “we could probably get Hablet to join in the fray. And then there are the Defenders who fled to Hythria.”
“How many Defenders?” someone asked. “A thousand? Maybe two? They'll not be much use against that horde outside.”
“And you seriously think the Hythrun and the Fardohnyans will come to our aid?” Rylan scoffed.
“Damin will come,” R'shiel replied confidently.
“R'shiel's right,” Brak agreed. “Hythria and Fardohnya will come if she asks for their help.”
“Things must have changed in the south quite dramatically in recent months,” Rylan remarked sourly. “Last I heard, Hablet was planning to invade us, not come to our rescue. And since when did you hold any sway with the kings and princes of our southern neighbours?”
Garet studied her for a moment then turned to Rylan. He had been on the northern border with them and knew she was acquainted with the Hythrun Prince. “Actually, in this I think she may be right. Wolfblade might come if R'shiel asks him. But are you sure you can trust him?”
“I'd trust Damin with my life.”
“It's not just your life you're trusting him with, R'shiel, but the lives of every man, woman and child in the Citadel.”
Garet studied them both for a moment, weighing the advisability of placing his faith in their assurances. Eventually he shrugged and turned to face his men. “As I see it, we go now, or we abandon the idea altogether. Every day the Kariens reside in Medalon makes it all the harder to dislodge them. I'm willing to believe R'shiel if she says she can bring help. I say we do it and then settle down and wait for the Hythrun to relieve us.”
A low murmur ran through the room as the Defenders indicated their cautious agreement. Garet nodded. “Good. Then let's get down to details.”
There wasn't much R'shiel or Brak could contribute after that. These men had been planning this since the day Joyhinia signed Medalon's surrender. Everything had been worked out: each key position they would take, every weapon they would need and every man they would need to do it. This meeting was simply to sort out the minor details and accommodate any last-minute changes to their plans.
They based their coup on the assumption that every Defender in the Citadel would follow them when the time came, and R'shiel was quite sure their confidence was justified. There was not a Defender who would willingly subjugate himself to the Kariens - with the possible exception of Wain Loclon, and she intended to take care of him personally.
The task of rescuing the Lord Defender and Tarja fell to a young captain whom R'shiel vaguely remembered being a lieutenant when she had been a Probate. He was, she recalled with mild surprise, the young man who had whisked Kilene away to dance, on the night Davydd Tailorson had taken her to meet Tarja in the caverns under the amphitheatre. That night stuck in her memory like the jagged edge of a bottomless abyss, down which she seemed to have been helplessly tumbling ever since, towards a destiny she had never wanted or envisaged. Symin accepted his orders with a serious expression, but she could sense the suppressed excitement that he struggled to hold in check. He worried her a little. This was not an adventure.
It was the early hours of the morning before Garet glanced around the room with a nod of satisfaction. “Well, that's about it. You all know what you have to do. Any questions?”
“We've not mentioned how we're going to get a message to the Hythrun,” Rylan pointed out.
“R'shiel?” Garet asked, turning to her.
“We'll take care of that.”
“How?” Rylan asked. “We'll be trapped in the Citadel. How will you get a message out? How will you get past the Kariens? We have no birds here trained to fly to Hythria.”
It was Garet who answered for her. “I think in this case, we can leave that up to Brak and R'shiel. They have... er... resources... that we don't need to know about. I don't think we need fear on that point.”
R'shiel glanced at Brak who smiled briefly at Garet's cautious acknowledgment of their power.
“Well, if there are no more questions, I think we're finished here. Good luck, gentlemen.”
The Defenders gathered up their maps and plans and began to leave the room, one at a time, slipping out as the young lieutenant, who was surreptitiously guarding the door outside, gave the signal that it was clear. R'shiel and Brak were among the last to leave.
“I'm placing an awful lot of faith in you two, and based on your past history, that's not very encouraging,” Garet said as they waited. “Can you really get Wolfblade and the Fardohnyans here in time to help?”
“I think so.”
“R'shiel, I'd be a lot happier if you sounded more certain.”
She shrugged. “It depends on a few things. I have to talk to some of the gods.”
Garet's brow furrowed in concern. “I can't believe I'm even discussing this, let alone pinning our whole strategy on it.” He stopped and nodded in acknowledgment of a salute from two captains, then waited until they were alone before he continued. “There's something else I want you to keep in mind. If we kill too many priests and dukes, Jasnoff will seek our destruction out of spite.”
“You won't have to kill more than a few, Garet.”
“That's easy for you to say. It's not you who will be holding the sword to their throats. Or were you planning to do this personally?”
“I couldn't, even if I wanted to. If I caused that much destruction, it would devastate the Harshini, who are linked to the same power source as me.” She glanced at Brak, a little offended by his startled expression. “You didn't think I knew that, did you? I remember what Shananara said to me about the night that I tried to kill Loclon. If wanting to kill one person could hurt the Harshini that much, killing dozens would destroy them.”
“Then bear something else in mind,” Garet reminded her. “A hundred thousand rampaging Kariens fleeing through Medalon will be just as destructive as making them die here.”
“Don't worry, Garet. I know what I'm doing.”
He shook his head ruefully. “I seriously doubt that, R'shiel, and the look of doubt on Brak's face does little to encourage me.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“Because we have to,” he replied simply.
The Great Hall of the Citadel was now known as Francil's Hall, however R'shiel refused to acknowledge the new name. Joyhinia Tenragan had purchased the name at the cost of a woman's honour, and R'shiel would not give such a base and lowly act any credence by admitting to it. The huge hall was deserted when they slipped inside, cringing as the massive doors boomed shut behind them. It was just on dawn and the hall was shrouded in shadows as the first faint rays of light painted the dancing dust motes pink. The walls below the gallery were just beginning to lighten with the Brightening. Brak stepped into the hall and looked around. His eyes were full of unspeakable sadness.
“The ceiling used to have a painting on it that depicted all the Primal Gods,” he said, looking up at the stark,
