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nodded. “The week after next is the Festival of Bhren, the God of Storms. Damned if I know howthey get anything done in Hythria. They seem to spend an inordinate amount of time stuffing their faces in honour of their gods.”
    Tarja smiled briefly, then his expression grew serious. “While you’re out there, you might want to reassure the farmsteaders that they won’t be taxed if they’re raided. It seems our young captain took it upon himself to instigate a few changes while he was out on his own.”
    Nikal glanced at Gawn. “Damned fool.”
    Gawn had dismounted and approached the two captains. His bearing was stiff and unyielding as he nodded to Nikal politely before turning to Tarja.
    “I must inform you, sir, that I intend to make a full report to Commandant Verkin regarding your reprehensible actions. I imagine he will want to see you as soon as I have made my report.”
    “Reprehensible?” Nikal asked with a grin.
    “For your information, sir, Captain Tenragan attacked me viciously for no reason!” With that, the young captain turned on his heel and strode towards the main building.
    “Your mistake, my friend,” Nikal said as he watched him leave, “was letting the stupid bastard live.”
    “Don’t think I wasn’t tempted.”
    “Well, he’s right about one thing, Verkin does want to see you.” Nikal gathered up his reins and swung into his saddle. “There’s been quite a few changes since you left. Trayla’s dead, for one thing.”
    “Dead? How?”
    “Murdered by a heathen, from what I hear.” Nikal glanced over his shoulder at his troop to assurehimself they were ready to depart. “I’ll let Verkin fill you in. I have to get going.” He leaned down and shook Tarja’s hand warmly. “It’s been good having you here, Tarja. I shall miss you.”
    “You’ll not be gone for that long.”
    “No, but you will. You’ve been recalled to the Citadel, my friend.”

CHAPTER 3
    R’shiel hurried along the broad walkway to the Citadel’s Lesser Hall, buttoning the collar of her green Novice’s tunic as she half-walked, half-ran along the vine-covered brick path. She was late for Joyhinia’s reception and her tardiness was among the many unforgivable sins her mother frequently criticised her for.
    R’shiel did not want to be at the reception for Sister Jacomina, the new Mistress of Enlightenment. She was not looking forward to an evening of standing around in the Lesser Hall being accosted by her mother’s followers, who would ask her interminable questions about subjects she had no wish to discuss in public.
    R’shiel was firmly convinced that Joyhinia had no friends, only followers. She hated being the daughter of a Quorum member. She often wished she had been born a boy. Then she could have joined the Defenders. It would be nice to be free from the shadow of her mother’s overweening ambition.
    She reached the entrance to the Lesser Hall just as the Citadel’s walls began the Dimming. Some of theyounger Novices whispered that it was magic that made the walls of the Citadel brighten slowly at the dawn of each new day and dim to darkness with the setting of the sun. The Probates simply considered it a unique architectural feature that was beyond the understanding of the Novices. R’shiel thought this a much more likely explanation. The Sisters preferred not to discuss it at all. Tarja told her it was because hundreds of years ago the Citadel had been a complex of heathen Temples. Whatever the reason, the glowing walls flooded even the deepest recesses of the huge white fortress with its hundred halls, both grand and humble, with soft white light. It also reminded R’shiel that she was late.
    The faint sound of massed voices reached her ears as she eased open the heavy door to the Lesser Hall. Novices and Probates were required to gather each evening in the Great Hall, led by the senior Sisters, to give thanks to Sister Param and the Founding Sisters for their deliverance from the bonds