Harshini

eluded death so many times in the past that he had wondered if, like the magical Harshini, he were immortal. As the Karien guards fell in around him, he warned himself not to be so foolish.

He was not invincible. Even the Harshini were not immortal. Barring some unforeseen miracle, in less than a day all his previous narrow escapes would finally catch up with him.

CHAPTER 39

Dawn broke over the Citadel on Restday to the ring of hammers pounding on wood as the gallows slowly took shape. The sandy floor of the arena was littered with construction debris as the workmen hurried to finish their task before the crowd arrived. Joyhinia Tenragan stepped down through the gate in the white painted barricade and surveyed the progress with a frown as she crossed the arena floor, tugging her cloak closed against the crisp breeze.

“How much longer?”

The foreman turned at her voice and dropped his hammer. He bowed hastily. “It will be done on time, First Sister.”

Joyhinia nodded with satisfaction. The hanging was scheduled for noon. “You've done well.”

“I've no need to be doing this at all,” the man complained as he picked up his hammer. “There's a perfectly good gallows behind the Defenders' headquarters.”

“You don't approve of public hangings?” Joyhinia asked curiously. She probably should have reprimanded him for being so impudent, but she was in a rare mood today.

“It's not my idea of entertainment, no,” the foreman agreed cautiously, perhaps realising the folly of being so outspoken.

“I see. It's not that you harbour sympathies for the criminal, then?”

“No, your Grace!”

“I thought not. Carry on.”

Joyhinia turned away from the workmen with a sour smile. That should take the lead out of their boots. A few words from the First Sister and men quivered where they stood. Even the threat of her presence was enough to unman some. It was the headiest feeling. Better than wine. Better than sex. Better even, than watching someone in pain...

The First Sister strolled back towards her office in a fine mood. The day was cool but clear, and it would see the last of Tarja Tenragan. That her vengeance had taken so long did not concern the First Sister. If anything, it tasted all the sweeter for the wait.

At the thought of her other enemies who were still at large, the First Sister frowned. She had expected some news by now, but no word had come about R'shiel. She had last been seen in Fardohnya, according to Squire Mathen, claiming to be the Harshini demon child. The news did not overly concern her.

Tarja would draw R'shiel like a water diviner to an underground spring. Joyhinia had made certain that the hanging had been well publicised, surprising even the Kariens with her vehement insistence that Tarja's execution be delayed until the news had reached every corner of Medalon.

R'shiel had to come. All this power, all that Loclon currently enjoyed in the guise of the First Sister would be meaningless if she continued to live.

Squire Mathen was waiting when the First Sister returned. He was a thin man with curling black hair, long thin features and a dour disposition. He also had little patience with Joyhinia and it was only the knowledge that this man held the key to the room where Loclon's body lay, empty and alive at Mathen's whim while his mind resided in Joyhinia's body, that kept the First Sister from defying him.

“Where have you been?”

The man was sitting behind the First Sister's desk, going through her papers. Joyhinia bit back her annoyance.

“I was checking on the progress of the gallows. I wanted to be sure everything would be ready.”

“It should be quite an event,” Mathen remarked without looking up. “Not often one gets to see an Officer of the Defenders hanged. I imagine you would have to hang someone as important as the First Sister to get a bigger crowd.”

Even Joyhinia could not miss the veiled threat.

“Tarja Tenragan is a deserter and a miserable traitor.”

Mathen looked up with cold narrow eyes and stared at her. Joyhinia fidgeted under his scrutiny. “Then it will do the citizens good to see what happens to traitors.”

“And it will bring those who oppose us out of the woodwork,” Joyhinia added.

Mathen finished reading the letter he was holding before he answered. “Or drive them underground.”

“No, I know these people. Someone will try to rescue him. And when they do, we'll be ready for them.”

“If it was up to me, I wouldn't try to rescue him,” Mathen shrugged. “If I wanted to ferment rebellion, I would let you hang him unopposed and use his death as a rallying cry for every malcontent in Medalon.”

The implied criticism was clear. “If you think this is such a bad idea, why are you letting it go ahead?”

“Because Lord Roache wishes it, and even as a martyr, Tarja Tenragan will be less trouble dead than alive. Where is the speech I wrote for you?”

“I gave it to my secretary.”

“Fetch it. I have a few changes I wish to make.”

Joyhinia knew better than to argue with the man. She turned on her heel and crossed the large office, jerking open the door angrily.

“Suelen? Give me that speech I gave you yesterday!”

Suelen jumped to obey. Joyhinia snatched the rolled parchment from her outstretched hand and slammed the door in the young woman's face.

“There!” she said, slapping it on the desk.

Squire Mathen looked up. He seemed amused. “Temper, temper, First Sister.”

Although it had been the Karien priests who had worked the spell that had put his mind in Joyhinia's body, secretly, the First Sister was no happier about the Karien occupation of the Citadel than any other Medalonian. It had nothing to do with patriotism, however. Loclon simply wanted to be left alone to run things as he saw fit and Mathen's presence was a constant reminder of the limits to his power.

From a purely political point of view, Loclon begrudgingly admired the Duke of Setenton's wisdom in placing Squire Mathen in charge. Even Lord Roache seemed content to let him take care of the day-to-day running of the Citadel. It must have been tempting for the Kariens simply to demand instant conversion of their new subjects to the Overlord; to forbid practices that had been part of Medalonian society for centuries. Mathen was too clever to stir up resistance in such a manner. There had been enough trouble when they threw open the gates of the Citadel to welcome the Karien occupation force. He wasn't going to make Medalon ungovernable by ordering them to change their views on the gods overnight.

With no Quorum to answer to any longer, the First Sister could issue decrees as she wished, although they were written under Mathen's careful guidance. On the surface, the decrees seemed quite reasonable. One had to look closely to realise they were the first insidious steps down the road of Xaphista's worship. Mathen had all but outlawed prostitution, which the Sisterhood had legalised two centuries ago. There were other laws too, which had been enacted in the past months. It was now an offence to wager on anything; a decree that had been met with a great deal of grumbling, but little open resistance. Loclon wasn't a gambler himself, unless he had fixed it so he knew he would win, but he knew enough about the religion of the Kariens to know that this was another of their strict mores that they wished to impose on Medalon.

Illegitimacy was the next target, Loclon knew, but he doubted Mathen would be quite so lucky getting that one accepted. In Medalon, legitimacy was determined by the maternal line - a law set down by the Sisterhood long ago - and one that meant perhaps two thirds of the population had been born out of the Karien definition of wedlock. They would not be pleased to suddenly find themselves considered bastards.