By the time Tarja returned to his office to confront the remainder of the aftermath of whatever it was that R'shiel had unleashed, he was exhausted. He had not been immune to the party atmosphere last night and had consumed far too much wine. When all hell broke loose at dawn he had woken with a head as thick as a door, his bed a tangle of sheets and Mandah curled in his arms, her thick blonde hair spilling across the pillow and tickling his nose. He had pushed her away impatiently, annoyed at himself. He had not intended to get caught up in the celebrations. He had certainly not intended to take Mandah to his bed, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had done so because R'shiel had given him her blessing. Damn her. Damn all Harshini.
Seeing that she was wounded by his rejection, Tarja had kissed Mandah soundly, promised to see her later and fled the room, getting dressed on the run. He was hopping on one foot, pulling his boot onto the other when Garet knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for an answer.
“We appear to be under attack, my Lord,” Garet said calmly. He looked over Tarja's shoulder towards the bedroom door. Mandah stood there wrapped in nothing but a sheet, yawning sleepily. “Good morning, Mandah.”
“Commandant.”
Tarja glared at Garet, waiting for him to say something, anything, about finding the young pagan woman in his room. He was in a foul enough mood to react rather badly if Garet even looked at him askance.
But the commandant's composure did not waver for an instant. “Oh, and the population appears to be rioting, too.”
“What the hell happened?”
“I assume it has something to do with R'shiel, but I can't be certain. I suggest you get a move on, my Lord. We've a busy day ahead of us.”
That had proved to be a vast understatement. Tarja yearned for a day that was merely busy. The Kariens had been pushed back and the population in the Citadel would calm down eventually. Already many had returned to their homes with sore heads and puzzled looks. But there was still more to be done.
There was always more to be done.
When he finally pushed open the door to his office, he found several Harshini waiting for him. Three were dressed in the long white robes they favoured. The other two were dressed in Dragon Riders' leathers. All five of them bowed solemnly as he entered the office and walked cautiously to his desk.
“My Lord Defender.”
“How is Shan... your Queen?”
“She is recovering, my Lord,” one of the white-robed Harshini informed him. “We are most grateful for your assistance this morning.”
“And the rest of your people?”
“They are well, my Lord. Thank you for your concern.”
The Harshini's constant thanks were starting to wear on him. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“We are here to do something for you, my Lord.” The Harshini who spoke was one of the Dragon Riders. She stepped forward with a smile. “I am Pilarena and this is Jalerana. I have been honoured to aid Prince Damin in his journey north and my companion has been with King Hablet and his navy. We have come to coordinate your forces, my Lord.”
Tarja slumped back in his chair in astonishment. “Coordinate my forces?”
“We will relay messages, my Lord,” the other Dragon Rider explained. “If they are verbal, then we will carry messages of goodwill. If you want to communicate anything... else, then we must ask that the messages are written and sealed and that we are not advised of their contents.”
Tarja nodded in understanding. The Harshini could do nothing to aid their attack. If they knew the messages they carried were likely to cause death, they would not deliver them. He smiled faintly, thinking that they were very easy to underestimate. This race had survived for thousands of years without being able to lift a finger in their own defence. He was beginning to understand how they had managed it.
“Can you show me where they are now?” he asked, indicating the map laid out on his desk. He and Garet had been poring over it yesterday, trying to guess where Damin might be.
Jalerana nodded and stepped forward. “The High Prince is here, my Lord. He has with him approximately forty thousand men. The King of Fardohnya is here and has another ten thousand. His Majesty asked that I pass on his apologies that he could not bring a larger force. In the time available it was all he could gather, and there are only so many ships he could carry them in.”
“Then we have fifty thousand men ready to attack?”
“You have fifty thousand men, my Lord. What you do with them is not our concern,” Pilarena remarked sternly.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you.”
She bowed slightly. “You are forgiven, my Lord.”
“How did Damin get here so fast? With an army that big?”
“With the aid of the gods,” Jalerana told him serenely.
Tarja shook his head, deciding he would be better off if he didn't know the details. “I'd like to send a message to both Hablet and Damin. Written messages. How soon before you can leave?”
“We will be ready when your dispatches are completed,” Jalerana assured him.
“Then if you would excuse me, Divine Ones, I have a lot of work to do.”
Four hours later, Tarja sealed the letters he had written to Damin Wolfblade and King Hablet. Garet watched him pressing the Lord Defender's seal into the warm wax and frowned.
“You know, those letters could cause us a lot of grief if they fell into the wrong hands.”
“The Harshini will deliver them safely.”
“Suppose they decide to deliver them into the wrong hands?”
Tarja shook his head at Garet's suspicions. “Haven't you seen enough yet to know that they're on our side?”
“They're not on our side, Tarja. They are on their own side. And you would do well not to forget it. Just because their Queen is stunning and they smile a lot, it doesn't make them harmless.”
Tarja grinned at the commandant. “Shall I tell Shananara you think she's stunning?”
“Not if you want to see the sun come up tomorrow,” Garet warned with a faint smile. “Any news on R'shiel?”
“Mandah says she's sleeping like the dead.”
“Any idea what she actually did in that Hall?”
“No, and I don't want to know.”
“Neither do I.” Garet rose from his seat and walked to the map, frowning as he noted where the troop placements were marked. He still thought the Harshini were lying about how far they had come. “Speaking of Mandah...”
“It's none of your business, Garet.”
“You're the Lord Defender, and she's a pagan.”
“Then you've got nothing to complain about. A few months ago I was sleeping with a Harshini. If I keep going at this rate, I'll have worked my way up to a Quorum Member by next spring.”
“This is no joking matter, Tarja. Once we clear out the Kariens, we still have the rest of Medalon to secure. As it is, we've got half the damned Sisterhood confined to their quarters. It's not going to help our cause with you flaunting a pagan lover.”
“You were the one who claimed I was the only one the pagans would follow.”
“Yes, but I didn't expect them to follow you into the bedroom.”
Tarja leaned back in his chair and studied Garet. “Is that your only concern?”
“Yes.”
“Then mind your own damned business.”
Garet shook his head and bowed mockingly. “As you command, my Lord. It's your neck.”
“Garet, you wanted change. You wanted the Sisterhood gone. You can't have just the bits you like and discard the rest.”