Jennifer Fallon - Medalon

MEDALON

BOOK ONE OF THE HYTHRUN CHRONICLES

JENNIFER FALLON

TOR

A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK NEW YORK

Contents

for Adele Robinson

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I always threatened that my acknowledgment would read something like: I would like to thank my children, without whom this book would have been finished several years sooner...

In fact, without their unwavering faith, it might never have been finished at all. I would particularly like to thank David, for his endless supply of coffee and for turning out so well when his mother spent so many of his formative years lost in another world. My heartfelt thanks also to Amanda, for her excellent proofreading and for naming the God of Thieves, and to TJ for being such a good listeneralthough I wish she had not waited until I was halfway through the final draft before asking, What would happen if Rshiel was Joyhinias daughter?

I would like to thank Irene Dahlberg and Kirsten Tranter for seven pages of insight that pointed me in the right direction and Lyn Tranter at Australian Literary Management for her patience.

My heartfelt thanks go to Dave English from the Alice Springs Yacht Club, for his expert advice on sailing. Nor can I forget to mention Toni-Maree and John Elferink MLA, for their unwavering support when I needed them most and for putting up with my eccentricities on a daily basis.

Last but not least, I must thank my good friend Harshini Bhoola, whose relentless enthusiasm and endless reading of draft after draft of this series earned her an entire race of people named in her honor. She deserves a place with the gods.

part one
THE CITADEL

chapter 1

The funeral pyre caught with a whoosh, lighting the night sky and shadowing the faces of the thousands gathered to witness the Burning. Smoke, scented with fragrant oils to disguise the smell of burning flesh, hung in the warm, still air, as if reluctant to leave the ceremony. The spectators were silent as the hungry flames licked the oil-soaked pyre, reaching for Traylas corpse. The death of the First Sister had drawn almost every inhabitant of the Citadel to the amphitheater.

Rshiel Tenragan caught the Lord Defenders eye as she pushed her way through the green tunics of the senior Novices to take her place past the ranks of blue-gowned Sisters and gray-robed Probates. Feeling his eyes on her, she looked up. The Mistress of the Sisterhood would have her hide if he reported shed been late. She met the Lord Defenders gaze defiantly, before turning her eyes to the pyre.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Lord Defender take an involuntarily step backward as the flames seared his time-battered face. Surreptitiously, she glanced at the ranks of women and girls who stood in a solemn circle around the pyre. Their faces were unreadable in the firelight. For the most part they were still, their heads bowed respectfully. Occasionally, a foot shuffled on the sandy floor of the arena. How many were genuinely grieving, she mused, and how many more had their minds on the Quorum, and who would fill the vacancy?

Rshiel knew the political maneuvering had begun the moment Trayla had been found in her study, the knife of her assailant still buried in her breast. Her killer was barely out of his teens. He was waiting even now in the cells behind the Defenders Headquarters to be hanged. Rumor had it that he was a disciple of the River Goddess, Maera. The Sisterhood had confiscated his familys boatand with it, their livelihoodfor the crime of worshipping a heathen god. He had come to the Citadel to save his family from starvation, he claimed, to beg the First Sister for mercy.

He had killed her instead.

What had Trayla said to the boy, Rshiel wondered? What would cause him to pull a knife on the First Sistera daunting figure to an uneducated river-brat? Surely he must have known his plea would fall on deaf ears? Pagan worship had been outlawed in Medalon for two centuries. The Harshini were extinct and with them their demons and their gods. If he wanted mercy, he should have migrated south, she thought unsympathetically. They still believed in the heathen gods in Hythria and Fardohnya, Rshiel knew, and the whole of Karien to the north was fanatically devoted to the worship of a single god, but in Medalon they had progressed beyond pagan ignorance centuries ago.

A voice broke the silence. Rshiel glanced through the firelight at the old woman who spoke.

Since our beloved Param led us to enlightenment, the Sisters of the Blade have carried on her solemn trust to free Medalon from the chains of heathen idolatry. As First Sister, Trayla honored that trust. She gave her life for it. Now we honor Trayla. Let us remember our Sister.

She joined the thousands of voices repeating the ritual phrase. It was uncomfortably warm this close to the pyre on such a balmy summers eve and her high-necked green tunic was damp with sweat.

Let us remember our Sister.

Small and wrinkled, Francil Asharen was the oldest member of the Quorum and had presided over this ceremony twice before. She was Mistress of the Citadel, the civilian administrator of this vast city-complex. Twice before she had refused to be nominated as First Sister and Rshiel could think of no reason that would change her mind this time. She had no ambition beyond her current position.

Harith Nortarn, the tall, heavily built Mistress of the Sisterhood, stood beside her. Rshiel grimaced inwardly. The woman was a harridan, and her beautifully embroidered white silk gown did nothing to soften her demeanor. Generations of Novices, Probates, and even fully qualified Blue Sisters lived in fear of incurring her wrath. Even the other Quorum members avoided upsetting her.

Rshiel turned her attention to the small, plump woman who stood at Hariths shoulder: Mahina Cortanen. The Mistress of Enlightenment. Her gown was as elaborate as Harithssoft white silk edged with delicate gold embroiderybut she still managed to look like a peasant in a borrowed dress. She was Rshiels personal favorite of all the Quorum members, her own mother included. Mahina was only a little taller than Francil and wore a stern but thoughtful expression.

Next to Mahina, Joyhinia Tenragan wore exactly the right expression of grief and quiet dignity for the occasion. Her mother was the newest member of the Quorum and, Rshiel fervently hoped, the least likely to be elected as the new First Sister. Although each member of the Quorum held equal rank, the Mistress of the Interior controlled the day-to-day running of the nation, because she was responsible for the Administrators in every major town in Medalon. It was a position of great responsibility and traditionally seen as a stepping-stone to gaining the First Sisters mantle.