off. Donel hauled Gawn to his feet as the captain wiped away the blood from his nose. Symin flung himself between Tarja and Gawn, forcibly holding Tarja back.
“I know how you feel, Tarja,” Symin said urgently, as he strained to keep them apart. “But don't let him get to you. He'll hang for this. Justice will be served.”
Tarja took a deep, deliberate breath and relaxed. He shook off the men around him, took a step backwards and held up his hands in a gesture of peace. Satisfied that he had averted cold-blooded murder, Symin nodded with relief and turned to issue his orders.
As soon as his back was turned, Tarja snatched his sword from the young captain's grasp and with one fluid movement he swung it in a wide arc. Nobody had time to stop him, or even cry out in protest. He sliced Gawn's head from his shoulders, barely missing Donel as the sergeant ducked under the blow. Blood sprayed the room in a fountain of death as Gawn's head landed with a sickening thump and rolled to a stop at Symin's feet.
Donel threw the headless body away from him in disgust and stood there, drenched in blood, staring at it in stunned disbelief. The other Defenders did not move, frozen in shock. Symin wore a look of absolute incredulity.
Tarja threw the sword atop Gawn's headless, twitching body.
“Justice has been served,” he said.
Without waiting for an answer, Tarja turned and walked back into the darkness of the caverns.
CHAPTER 41
R'shiel reluctantly let go of Joyhinia's limp body as the full repercussions of her death hit. She slumped against the body and closed her eyes. Every muscle trembled and she was sweating profusely in the stuffy room. Brak squatted beside her.
“Are you all right?”
“No.”
She waited, expecting some snide remark, but he said nothing. She opened her eyes and looked at him curiously. “What's this? No reprimand?”
“There was nothing you could have done.”
“At least we won't have to worry about deposing the First Sister,” Garet remarked, as he looked down dispassionately at the body and the spreading stain on the rug.
“It's far from over, Garet,” R'shiel warned.
“It is for the First Sister,” he shrugged. “Now, if you will excuse me, we have some rather angry Karien dukes to take care of. Lieutenant, see that the body is removed and get that rug out of here, too.” He stepped back as the Defenders hastened to obey.
Brak stood up and held his hand out to her. “There's nothing more you can do here, R'shiel.”
With a last look at Joyhinia's body, R'shiel took his hand as he pulled her to her feet. Garet led the way out of the First Sister's office and down the broad staircase into the street. When they emerged into the sunlight, they discovered that pandemonium had broken loose in the city. The streets were crowded with people being held back by a line of red-coated Defenders who strained against the surging mob. Garet Warner walked into the centre of the small clearing that his men had forced, to confront the six dukes of Karien who had invaded the Citadel. Their faces were pale, their eyes glazed with shock. The crowd was shouting at them. R'shiel could only make out some of the words but their mood was ugly. There were quite a few Sisters of the Blade among them who were stirring up the passions of the mob. Through the raucous melee she heard the words “Karien pigs!” “Murderers!” and a few other insults that shocked her with their crudeness.
She glanced at Brak who shrugged with resignation. “You can't really blame them. The Defenders may have taken back the Citadel, but there's still a Karien army camped outside and a lot of people have lost a great deal since Medalon surrendered.”
A captain stepped forward to report to Garet. He spared R'shiel and Brak a curious glance then turned to the commandant.
“So it worked then?” Garet ask. There was no need to be specific.
“Yes, it worked,” the captain told him. “Almost everything went according to plan.”
“Almost?” Brak asked with a raised brow.
“I'll explain later.”
Garet nodded and stepped forward to address the Karien dukes.
“What do you hope to achieve, Commandant?” one of them yelled before Garet could utter a word. “You cannot hold out against our army.”
The man who shouted the question was a slender knight standing at the front of the Kariens with a canny look in his eyes. He seemed a little less overawed than his companions.
“Who's that?” she asked Garet.
“I am Lord Roache,” the duke announced, in answer to R'shiel's question. “And you cannot imagine the destruction you have brought down on Medalon by your actions.”
“The Overlord will protect us!” another duke blustered, but his words lacked conviction. He was a large man, but he carried more flab than muscle on his big-boned frame. He looked ridiculous standing in the street in a long flowing red nightgown. The Defenders must have dragged him from his bed.
“I hope for your sake your King is as keen to keep you alive as you seem to think your god is,” Garet remarked. Then he turned to the captain in charge of the squad guarding the dukes. “Put them in with the others for now.”
The officer saluted as R'shiel turned away from them, too tired and stunned by Joyhinia's death to care much about what became of the Karien dukes. She looked around for Brak and found him standing near the edge of the crowd, waiting for someone to push through to the front. For a moment the line of Defenders broke to let another officer through. R'shiel's disappointment fell away from her as she realised who it was.
“Tarja!”
She ran to him, but stopped short when she saw the expression on his face. He was splattered with blood and his eyes were haunted. He showed no evident pleasure at the sight of her.
“R'shiel.”
“Tarja, I...” She could not think of anything to say. He was whole, and unharmed, despite the blood which she guessed was not his, but there was nothing welcoming in his demeanour.
“You killed Joyhinia, I hear.”
“She killed herself,” Garet corrected, coming up behind them. “That's not your blood, I hope, Captain.”
“No.”
“Good. Then let's get these streets cleared.” He turned to another officer and began issuing orders to push the mob back. It was a futile gesture. There were too many people and not enough Defenders.
R'shiel watched their useless efforts as the crowd shouted obscenities at the Kariens. Someone hurled something at Lord Roache. He ducked instinctively as a piece of rotting melon landed harmlessly against the steps. Hurt from Tarja's cold reception and distressed beyond belief by the fact that Loclon had eluded her, she felt her ire rising. Impatiently she grabbed at the power and turned on the crowd.
“
The crowd was stunned into silence. Faced with her Harshini black eyes that blazed with rage, the citizens of the Citadel had a sudden change of heart. With barely a muttered protest, they began to melt away. The Defenders took advantage of the impetus she had provided to push the rest back. Her eyes still fiercely burning, she turned to Tarja and Garet. Tarja took an involuntary step backwards as if she repelled him.
She could not believe how much that one small step hurt.
Perhaps Brak sensed something of her pain, or perhaps it was because he was linked to the same power. He stepped in front of her, blocking her view of Tarja.
