Medalon (23 page)

Joyhinia was waiting in the First Sister’s office, along with Jacomina, Lord Draco, Louhina Farcron, the Mistress of the Interior who had replaced Joyhinia, Francil, Lord Jenga and two Defenders she didn’t know, flanking a young woman. R’shiel was surprised to discover it was the
court’esa
from the Blue Bull who had been flirting with Davydd. Harith escorted her into the office, ordering the two Defenders to remain outside.

The First Sister barely glanced at her as R’shiel stopped in front of the heavily carved desk. Joyhinia’s hands were laid flat on the desk before her, her expression bleak as she turned to the
court’esa
.

“Is this the girl you saw in the Blue Bull last night?”

On closer inspection, R’shiel was a little surprised to discover the
court’esa
was not much older than herself. The young woman nodded, sparing R’shiel an apologetic look. “Yes, your Grace.”

Joyhinia showed no obvious reaction to the news. “Have the
court’esa
taken to the cells, Jenga,” she ordered. It was a sign of her fury that she didn’t
bother with his title. “I trust you can root out the rest of your traitors without my assistance?”

The insult was clear. Joyhinia was blaming the Defenders, and therefore Jenga, for the escape attempt. R’shiel waited in silence as Jenga, Lord Draco, the
court’esa
and the Defenders left the office.

As the door closed behind the men, Joyhinia rose from behind her desk and walked around to face R’shiel. She studied her for a moment, then turned to face the Sisters of the Quorum.

“I have a confession to make, Sisters,” she began, with a sigh that was filled with remorse. “I have made a dreadful mistake. I fear I did something that seemed right at the time, but which I now regret.”

“Surely if your actions seemed right at the time,” the ever faithful Jacomina said comfortingly, “you cannot blame yourself.”

Harith was less than sympathetic. “Just exactly what have you done, Joyhinia?”

“I gave birth to a child,” she said, taking a seat beside Jacomina, who placed a comforting hand over Joyhinia’s clasped fingers, “who should have been an icon. His upbringing was exemplary, his pedigree faultless, yet I suspected the bad blood in him. I had him placed in the Defenders at the youngest age they would take him, in the hope that the discipline of the Corps would somehow triumph over his character. We all know now how idle that hope was.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself, Joyhinia,” Louhina added, right on cue. The Mistress of the Interior was her mother’s creature to the core, just like Jacomina.

“And the mistake?” Harith asked. “Get to the point, Sister.”

“My mistake was wanting a child of whom I could be proud. When I left for Testra nearly twenty-one years ago, I volunteered to visit the outlying settlements in the mountains. I wintered in a village called Haven,” Joyhinia said, her eyes downcast. “It was a small, backward hamlet. While I was there, a young woman gave birth to a child, but refused to name the father. The poor girl died within hours of giving birth, leaving a child that nobody would claim. I took pity on the babe and offered to take it, to raise it as my own, to give it every chance to have a decent life. The villagers were glad to be rid of it. They must have known something about the mother that I did not.”

Joyhinia glanced at her Quorum, judging their reactions. Joyhinia’s story fascinated R’shiel. This was finally the truth—finally she would have the answers she had come here to seek.

“I took the child back to Testra with me and claimed the child as my own. I was wrong to let people think that, I know. But once again, I must plead youth and pride as my excuses. My mistake was thinking that my love and guidance could overcome her bad blood. This young woman you see before you now, is the result of my foolishness, my weakness.” Joyhinia looked up at R’shiel. She actually had tears in her eyes. “This girl who has betrayed us all so badly, is the result of my folly. Perhaps I loved her too much. Perhaps I was too lenient with her. My son had been such a disappointment to me that I put all my hopes in a foundling. And now she repays my kindness by turning on us in our most desperate hour.”

Harith frowned as she looked at R’shiel. “I always wondered what Tarja was talking about when he faced you down at the Gathering. How did you get Jenga to play along with you all these years?”

“Jenga and I had—an understanding. He owed me a favour.”

“Some favour! Whatever you have on him, Joyhinia, it must be something dreadful. I never thought Jenga capable of a deliberate lie. You have actually managed to surprise me.”

Which was exactly what Joyhinia had intended, R’shiel realised. This confession was nothing to do with her. This was Joyhinia in damage control. Joyhinia was distancing herself from R’shiel as fast as she could.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Jacomina snarled at R’shiel as she put a comforting arm around Joyhinia’s shoulders. “After all Joyhinia has done for you. To betray her so foully.”

R’shiel could hold her tongue no longer. “
Betray
her! What did she ever do for me? I didn’t ask her to be my mother!”

“I tried to protect her,” Joyhinia told them, ignoring her outburst. “All I got for my trouble was a thief and a traitor. Where did I go wrong?”

Francil had listened to the entire discussion without uttering a word, and when she spoke, her question caught R’shiel completely off guard. “You’ve just heard the most startling news about your parentage, R’shiel, yet you don’t seem surprised. Did Joyhinia tell you of this before today?”

“Tarja learnt the truth months ago. It was the happiest day of my life when he told me!”

“One wonders how he learnt of it,” Francil said. “I recall him making that wild statement at the Gathering when he refused to take the oath. I hope you can keep the rest of the Sisterhood’s secrets better than you’ve kept this one, Joyhinia.”

The First Sister nodded meekly at the rebuke. “All I can promise is that I will do my utmost to see that this evil is cut out of both the Sisterhood and the Defenders.” She squared her shoulders determinedly. “I will begin by facing up to the fantasy I held dear for twenty years. This child is not mine—now, or in the future. I will leave you to deal with her, Harith, and the other traitors who have defied us this day. Never let it be said that I tried to use my influence to secure leniency.”

R’shiel’s head pounded, the blood that rushed through her ears almost drowning out Joyhinia’s voice. It was as if a great weight had suddenly been lifted from her.

“Take her away,” Joyhinia ordered, with a touching and entirely false catch in her voice. “I cannot bear to look at her any longer.”

R’shiel was not certain what would happen now. A trial, perhaps? Maybe they would hang her alongside Tarja. At that moment, she didn’t care.

She cared only that she was finally free of Joyhinia.

R’shiel was marched, none too gently, through the corridors of the Administration Building. The walls were brightening rapidly and people stared as she was marched out into the streets towards the Defenders’ Headquarters. Eventually they reached the narrow hall that led into the cells where only last night, she had come to rescue Tarja. The corridor was lit with smoky torches. The Citadel had been built by the Harshini and they had no need for prisons. The cellblock was an addition erected later by the Sisterhood. R’shiel tripped on uneven flagstones in the seemingly endless corridor, until finally, in a spill of yellow lamplight, she found herself in a large open area filled with scattered tables and shadows.

“What’s this?”

“This is the Probate who helped them last night,” one of her escort explained. “The First Sister wants her locked up.”

“Bring her here,” the Defender said. R’shiel could detect the sneer in the man’s voice. She looked up, focusing her eyes on the captain and was rewarded
with a startled laugh. “Well, well, well! If it isn’t Lady High ’n’ Mighty herself!”

The sergeant who held her frowned as he looked at the young captain. “Don’t get too excited, Loclon. She’s still a Probate.”

“Go to hell, Oron,” Loclon snapped.

“Not at your invitation, thanks,” he retorted. The sergeant thrust R’shiel at Loclon and marched off.

Loclon stood back and let her fall. “Get up,” he ordered.

R’shiel stood slowly, aware that she was in some kind of danger. She grimaced at the ugly scar marring his once-handsome face. Loclon took exception to her gaze. He backhanded her soundly across the face. Without thinking, she lashed out with her foot in retaliation. Loclon dropped like a sack of wheat, screaming in pain, clutching his groin with both hands.

“You bitch!”

“What’s the matter?” R’shiel shot back. “Haven’t felt the touch of a woman there for a while?”

She regretted it almost as soon as she said it. Loclon was livid and she had little chance to enjoy her victory. She was overwhelmed by the other guards who held her tightly as Loclon pulled himself up, using the corner of the table for support. This time he punched her solidly in the abdomen, making her retch as she doubled over in agony. He drew back his fist for another blow but was stopped by his corporal.

“Don’t be a fool, sir,” he urged. “She’s a Probate.”

Loclon heeded the man’s advice reluctantly. “Get her out of my sight.”

R’shiel was dragged across the hall into a waiting cell. The door clanged shut with a depressing thud. Holding her bruised abdomen, she felt her way along the wall, using it for support. Barking her shin on the uneven wood of the pallet, she collapsed onto it. Shaking with pain, R’shiel curled into a tight ball on the narrow pallet and wondered what they had done with Tarja.

Time lost all meaning for R’shiel in the days that followed her arrest. Only sparse daylight found its way into the cells. Only the begrudging delivery of meals and the changing of the guard regulated her days.

R’shiel soon learnt there were two shifts guarding the cells. Following the abortive escape attempt, the guard had been trebled. The prisoners were no longer in the care of an easily distracted corporal. The first detail left her to herself, ignoring her and the other prisoners in favour of their gaming. The second shift was a different matter. It took R’shiel very little time to discover Loclon was nursing a grudge against the world in general, and the Tenragan family in particular.

She knew Tarja was incarcerated in the next cell, but never saw him, although she heard him sometimes, talking with the guards on the first shift. When Loclon was on duty though, he remained silent. R’shiel very quickly followed suit. A wrong word, a misdirected glance, would earn a slap at the very least and on at least one occasion she heard Loclon deliver a savage beating to her unseen cellmate. R’shiel turned her face to the wall and tried to ignore the sounds coming from the next cell, hoping she would escape Loclon’s notice.

It was a futile hope. Loclon searched for excuses to punish her. After one meal, when she had refused to eat the slops she was served, he belted her across the cheek with his open hand which sent her flying, her head cracking painfully on the stone wall. She lay where she fell, forcing down the blackness, and made no move to fight back. If she did, he would call the other guards and use it as an excuse to beat her senseless while they held her down.

“Get up.”

R’shiel obeyed him slowly. His face was flushed with excitement rather than anger, his scar a fervid, pulsing gauge of his mood. She noticed the bulge in the front of his tight leather trousers and realised with disgust that her pain was arousing him. She backed away from him, inching her way along the wall.

“The only job you’ll be allowed is a
court’esa
, once they’ve finished with you,” he sneered in a low voice that wouldn’t carry to the guards outside. “I bet you’ll enjoy it, too.”

“You’d have to pay me, before I’d touch anything as pathetic as you,” she retorted. It was dangerous in the extreme to bait him like this.

“You smart-mouthed little bitch,” he snarled. “You’ll get what’s coming—”

“Captain!”

“What?”

“The clerk is here with the court list. He says you have to sign for it.”

Loclon looked at her and rubbed his groin. “Later, my Lady.”

R’shiel sank down on the pallet and let out her breath in a rush. She crossed her arms and laid her
head on them. That way she couldn’t feel them shaking.

The fifth day of her confinement was Judgment Day. All the cases to be tried and judged were brought before the Sisters of the Blade. Rumour had it that Tarja was to be tried before the full court. Her own case would receive the attention of Sister Harith.

She was awakened at first light and marched from her cell to a tub of cold water on the table in the centre of the guardroom. One of the guards handed her a rough towel and ordered her to clean up. Glancing around at the men, she began to wash her face as the other prisoners were assembled with the same instructions. Seven other prisoners were brought out. All men, but for a small, chubby woman with a painted face which was tear-streaked and dirty. R’shiel glanced at her, recognising the
court’esa
from the Blue Bull Tavern. For a moment, R’shiel thought she saw an aura flickering around her, an odd combination of light and shadows. She blinked the sight away impatiently.

“Sorry I dobbed you in,” the
court’esa
whispered as she leaned forward to splash her face. “They didn’t leave me any choice.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” R’shiel shrugged. She of all people knew how overwhelming Joyhinia could be.

“No talking,” Loclon ordered, grabbing the
court’esa
by her hair and pulling her head back painfully.

Suddenly another voice intruded. “Leave her alone.”

R’shiel glanced up and discovered Tarja standing behind Loclon, loosely flanked by two guards. He
was unshaven and bruised, with one eye so puffy and purple it was almost shut.

“Friend of yours, is she, Tarja?” he asked, then plunged the
court’esa
face first into the tub of water. Tarja lunged forward but the guards held him back. The
court’esa
thrashed wildly in the water. Tarja leaned back into his captors and using them as support brought both legs up and kicked Loclon squarely in the lower back. The captain grunted with pain and released his victim, who fell coughing and choking to the floor. R’shiel grabbed her blouse and dragged her clear as Loclon turned on Tarja. Loclon clenched his hands together and drove them solidly into Tarja’s solar plexus. With a grunt, he collapsed in the arms of the guards who held him, as Loclon drew his fist back for another blow.

“That will be enough I think, Captain.”

Loclon stayed his hand at the sound of the new voice and turned to discover Garet Warner watching him with barely concealed contempt.

“The prisoner was attempting to escape, sir.”

“I’m sure he was,” Garet agreed unconvincingly.

R’shiel helped the
court’esa
to her feet, the movement catching the eye of the commandant. He turned to one of the Defenders who had accompanied him into the cells. “Take the women to the bathhouse and let them clean up, then escort them to the court.”

The Defender beckoned the women, neither of whom needed to be asked twice. As they followed him up the long narrow corridor R’shiel glanced back at Tarja. His gaze met hers for an instant and she saw the despair in his eyes, then she was out of sight of him.

The court to which R’shiel was arrayed was crowded with a long list of pagan cases in addition to the two women and four men brought up from the cells behind the Defenders Headquarters. The
court’esa
, whose unlikely name turned out to be Sunflower Hopechild, was called up first. She was accused of aiding the Defenders who had helped Tarja escape. Apparently, merely being in the Blue Bull with Davydd Tailorson the night before the escape was enough to convict her. Sister Harith gave the woman barely a glance before sentencing her to three years at the Grimfield. The
court’esa
seemed unconcerned as she was led back to her place next to R’shiel.

“The Grimfield. That’s supposed to be pretty bad isn’t it?” whispered one of the prisoners, a red-haired bondsman.

Sunny looked annoyed rather than distressed. “I’ll still be doing the same thing at the Grimfield as I’m doing here, friend. Just irks me to think they’d reckon I’d help any damned heathen escape.”

“R’shiel of Haven.”

As her name was called a Defender stepped up and beckoned her forward. She shrugged off his arm she walked to the dock.
R’shiel of Haven
, Harith had called her. She no longer had the right to use the name Tenragan.
I am truly free of Joyhinia.

“R’shiel of Haven is charged with theft of a silver mirror and two hundred rivets from the First Sister’s apartments and aiding the escape attempt by the deserter Tarjanian Tenragan,” the orderly announced. R’shiel was surprised, and a little relieved, that the charges had not included the Defender in Reddingdale she had killed.

“Do you stand ready for judgement?” Harith asked, not looking up from the sheaf of parchment in which she was engrossed.

Would it make a difference?
R’shiel was tempted to ask. But she held her tongue. Harith was never a friend to Joyhinia. She might be lenient, simply to annoy the First Sister.

“Do you stand ready for judgement or do you call for trial?” Harith asked again.

“I stand ready,” R’shiel replied. Calling for trial would just mean weeks, maybe even months in the cells, waiting for her case to come up. Better to plead guilty. It was the faster road to an end to this nightmare.

“Then the court finds you, by your own admission, ready to stand judgement for your crimes. You stole from the First Sister. You aided a known traitor in an attempt to flee justice, and by doing so broke the laws of the Sisterhood. Your actions prove you unworthy. You were offered a place in the Sisterhood as a Probate, which is now withdrawn. You were offered sanctuary in the Citadel, which is now withdrawn. You were offered the comfort and fellowship of the Sisterhood, which is now withdrawn…”

R’shiel listened to the ritual words of banishment, with growing relief. She was being expelled. Thrown out completely.

“You defied the laws of the Sisterhood and therefore the only fit punishment is the Grimfield. I sentence you to ten years.” Harith finally met her gaze. The Sister was savagely pleased at the effect of her decision.

“Next!” Sister Harith ordered

Ten years in the Grimfield. Hanging would have been kinder.

The holding pens for the prisoners were outside the Citadel proper, located near the stockyards and smelling just as bad. Sunny latched onto R’shiel as they were herded like cattle, guiding the stunned girl through the pens to a place in what little patch of warmth there was in the cold afternoon sun. She made R’shiel sit down on the dusty ground and patted her hand comfortingly.

“You’ll be fine,” the
court’esa
promised her. “With that clear skin and nice long hair, you’ll be grabbed by one of the officers, first thing. Ten years will seem like nothing.”

R’shiel didn’t answer her. Ten years at the Grimfield. Ten years as a
court’esa
. R’shiel had no illusions about what the Grimfield was like. She had heard of the women there. She had seen the look in the eyes of the Defenders who had been posted to the Grimfield. Not the proud, disciplined soldiers of the Citadel, the Defenders of the Grimfield were the dregs of the Corps. Even one year would be intolerable.

She was shaken out of her misery by a commotion at the entrance to the holding pen. The gate flew open and a body was hurled through, landing face down in the dusty compound. The man struggled groggily to his feet as the guards stood back to allow their officer through. With a sick certainty, R’shiel knew who he was.

Loclon surveyed the twenty or so prisoners. “Listen and listen well! The wagons will be loaded in
an orderly fashion. Women in the first wagon. Men in the second. Anyone who even thinks about giving me trouble will walk behind the wagons, barefoot.” He swept his gaze over them in the silence that followed. No prisoner was foolish enough to do anything to be singled out—with the possible exception of the man who had been thrown in prior to Loclon’s arrival. As he finally gained his feet unsteadily, Loclon laughed harshly. “At least we’ll be entertained along the way, lads,” he told his men. “I hear the great rebel has a great deal to say when his neck is on the line.” With that the captain turned on his heel and the rough, barred wagons rolled up to the gate.

A circle opened around the staggering figure, and R’shiel realised it was Tarja. He wore a dazed expression and a nasty bruise on his jaw that was new since this morning. Much as she wanted to run to him and find out how he had escaped the noose, she had her own concerns. Loclon stood near the gate, arms crossed. He had a sour expression on his disfigured face and a savagely, black-streaked aura. R’shiel lowered her eyes, as the black lights around him flickered on the edge of her vision, wondering what they meant, not wishing to attract his attention. But he saw her. At a wave a guard grabbed her arm and pulled her across to face him.