A cheer rose from the field, muted but heartfelt. Damin surveyed the battlefield, feeling strangely let down. Like the battle on the northern border it had been as much a cattle cull as it was a decent war. The only enemy worth fighting these days, he realised, were probably the Defenders, and he'd allied himself with them. Maybe he should have stayed at home, or planned to invade Medalon. Then at least he would have been guaranteed a decent fight.
“Your Highness? Prince Damin?”
He turned in his saddle to find a Defender riding towards him. “I'm Damin Wolfblade.”
The Defender saluted sharply. “Your Highness, the Lord Defender sends his compliments and requests that you join him in the Citadel.”
“Very well.”
“Would you happen to know where I could find the King of Fardohnya, sir?”
“Back that way,” Damin said, waving in the general direction of the command post some leagues distant. He was in no hurry to have Hablet join them in the Citadel. He wanted to speak to Tarja first. “He's in the command tent.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Oh, Lieutenant!”
“Your Highness?”
“Once you've delivered your message to King Hablet, could you ask Lord Hawksword to fetch my wife and bring her to the Citadel, too?”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
The Defender galloped off towards the command tent and Damin turned his stallion towards the Citadel.
“You look like hell,” Tarja announced by way of greeting.
Damin smiled wearily as he dismounted, handing his reins to a waiting cadet. The boy led the stallion away cautiously. “Well, some of us have been out fighting, you know, not sitting here in the Citadel playing Lord Defender. How in the name of the gods did they talk you into accepting that job?”
Tarja grimaced. “It's a long story. You're wounded.”
Damin glanced down at his blood-soaked sleeve and poked at it curiously, then shrugged when he felt no pain. “Must be someone else's blood. Any chance you can find me a clean shirt before Adrina gets here? I will be wounded if she sees me like this. I promised her I wouldn't get involved in the fighting.”
“She didn't really expect you to stay out of it, did she?”
“Who knows with Adrina,” he shrugged.
He followed Tarja up a broad set of sweeping steps to the front of an impressive building that looked vaguely like one of the temples in Greenharbour. Tarja pushed open the massive door and Damin stepped inside, gaping in wonder.
“The Temple of the Gods,” he whispered in awe.
“We prefer to call it the Great Hall,” Tarja said with a thin smile.
“I can't believe you left it so untouched.”
“We didn't. The Harshini Queen rearranged things a bit when she got here.”
Damin grinned at Tarja. “That must have been hard for your poor little atheist heart to cope with. Will you introduce me to the Queen?”
“Of course. She should be here soon.”
“And the demon child? I half expected her to be standing on the walls hurling lightning bolts into the enemy.”
Tarja's face clouded. “R'shiel has been asleep for days now.”
“Asleep?”
“She says she destroyed Xaphista.”
“Yes, well that would take it out of you, wouldn't it?” He slapped Tarja's shoulder to remind him he was joking. “You said she was asleep? Not unconscious? What do the Harshini say about her?”
“They don't seem to be worried.”
“Then neither should you.”
They walked the length of the Temple to where a long polished table had been set up in the shadow of the massive Seeing Stone. It would dwarf the one in Greenharbour. For a moment Damin wished he'd brought Kalan with him. She would have been awestruck to stand here in the fabled Harshini Temple of the Gods facing the Citadel's Seeing Stone.
As they approached the table, the Defenders on guard snapped to attention. Tarja sent one of them to find Damin a clean shirt as he pulled at the laces on his leather breastplate and lifted it over his head.
“Have you got anything to drink, or is this going to be one of those long, boring dry affairs?”
Tarja smiled and ordered a Defender to bring wine. He came back with a carafe, two goblets and the clean shirt he'd requested. Damin drank the first one down without taking a breath, changed his shirt and then poured another drink down his throat, before collapsing into one of the high-backed chairs around the table.
“So, I take it we're having this little chat in here to intimidate the Karien dukes?” he inquired as he poured himself another drink.
“That thought did cross my mind, yes.”
“Good idea. Where are they?”
“I want to wait until Hablet and Shananara get here before I let them in.”
Damin nodded approvingly. “You're getting very good at this, aren't you?”
“I suppose. How do you like being a High Prince?”
“I loathe it. I had to kill that Karien child a few weeks ago. He tried to poison R'shiel. I've never had to make a worse decision in my life.”
“R'shiel never mentioned it.”
“She wouldn't. Not after Brak stepped in. Where is he, by the way? Watching over the demon child?”
“He's dead.”
The news surprised Damin almost as much as Tarja's obvious lack of remorse. “Well, that will make Adrina happy. She was planning to kill him herself.”
The doors opened at the far end of the Hall and a woman stepped through. At first, Damin thought it was R'shiel. As she drew closer and he saw her black eyes and her air of serene calm he knew it could only be the Harshini Queen. He jumped to his feet and bowed low as she approached.
“Your Majesty.”
“High Prince,” she replied graciously, then turned to Tarja. “I hope you don't mind, Tarja, but I have sent my people out to help the wounded.”
“Of course I don't mind, but won't they be distressed roaming a battlefield?”
“We abhor violence, my Lord, but we abhor suffering even more. Don't fear for my people. They are not as fragile as you think.”
“Tarja!”
The man who called out from the entrance of the Hall was Garet Warner, the commandant the Sisterhood had sent to investigate the goings on when they were on the northern border. Tarja excused himself and hurried to speak to him and then walked back to the table. His expression was thoughtful.
“What's wrong?”
“We've just received a bird from Yarnarrow. Jasnoff is dead. He killed himself the same day R'shiel claims she killed Xaphista.”
Shananara took the news stoically. “He ruled Karien by divine mandate. With Xaphista gone, so is his crown.”
“So who's in charge now?”
“With Cratyn dead, the next in line is someone called Drendyn. He's Jasnoff's nephew. Apparently, we're holding him here. He's one of the dukes.”
“Drendyn?” Damin asked with a laugh. “Oh, Tarja, are you in for an interesting time! He's a boy. And I can promise you he wasn't raised to rule a nation the size of Karien.”
“Well, we'd better break it to him gently. I'm not sure how he's going to take the news that he's now their King.”
“If you want my advice, talk to him alone and leave the other dukes out of it. They'll just try to manipulate him. Maybe, with a bit of guidance, we can mould him into a half-decent King.”
“It is not for you to manipulate other nations to suit your own purposes, Your Highness,” Shananara scolded.
“Actually it is, Your Majesty. We've just spent thousands of lives out there for no good reason. If we can take this boy and turn him into a King, one who thinks before he attacks, we'll all benefit.”