“I’m not running off with her,” he objected. “I’m averting a potential catastrophe.”
“You’re creating a potential catastrophe. Founders, man, think about this! How do you think the Kariens are going to react when they find out? Taking a lover might not be cause for concern in Hythria or Medalon, or even Fardohnya, for that matter, but it’s a sin in Karien and they take their sin very seriously.”
“I’m not her lover!”
“If you didn’t take her by force, then what else do you call it? I’m sure the Kariens will see it that way. They tend to be very black and white in their thinking.”
“All the more reason not to send her back to Karien. She’d be stoned if they found out.”
“A few weeks ago, that prospect wouldn’t have bothered you one whit.”
Damin didn’t look pleased at the reminder. “All right, I’ll concede that my opinion of her has…softened…somewhat.”
“Softened? That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.”
“I won’t send her back, Tarja. Even if what you say is true, the fact is we know the Overlord wants a Karien heir to the Fardohnyan throne. The rest of it is just speculation. I’ll deal with the known threat and face the rest of it if and when it happens.”
“Jenga’s not going to like this.”
“I wasn’t planning to ask his permission. I’m an ally, not a subordinate.”
“Have you told Adrina?”
“Not yet.”
“What if she objects? She might prefer to go back.”
“She’d kill herself before she agreed to return to Karien.”
“She doesn’t strike me as the suicidal type.”
“Ask her about Cratyn sometime.”
Tarja reached forward to pat Shadow’s neck. The mare was restless, no doubt picking up his apprehension. “When are you planning to leave?”
“The sooner the better. Jenga will have to act on that order soon, one way or the other. If he surrenders, this plain will be crawling with Kariens any day, and if he refuses the order you’ll be fighting Karien on one side and your own people on the other. I don’t want to get caught in the middle of it. Besides,” he added with a frown, “when we crossed into Medalon we had Brak’s help. We’re going to have to make our way home by more ordinary means. If I don’t leave now, Hablet will be in Krakandar before me.”
At the mention of Brak, Tarja’s brow furrowed with concern. Brak was supposed to be looking after R’shiel. But the Sisterhood had betrayed them. R’shiel would never have let that happen willingly.
“If you’re so damned worried about R’shiel, do something about it,” Damin said, guessing the direction of his thoughts.
“That would mean deserting my post.”
“Well, you’ve done that before,” the Warlord pointed out rather tactlessly, “so it should be easier the next time round. Anyway, if Jenga surrenders, how long do you think your head is going to stay attached to your neck, my friend? You’re responsible for the death of the Karien Envoy, remember? I’ll bet you any sum you care to name that your head on a platter was a condition of the surrender.”
“That doesn’t give me the right to abandon Jenga at the first sign of trouble.”
“Think of it as saving the world, Tarja. The demon child is the only one who can destroy Xaphista. There’s something of a moral imperative involved in going to her rescue.”
“She might already be dead.”
It pained him to admit it. With Brak watching over her and with the power she commanded, she could achieve anything. R’shiel had been so determined that Tarja was certain nothing short of death could have stood in her way.
“Somehow, I doubt it. The gods have gone to a lot of trouble to get her this far. I don’t think they’d stand by and let her be destroyed out of hand. She hasn’t done what she was destined for yet.”
The reminder did little to ease Tarja’s worry. Being assured that R’shiel lived so that she could eventually confront a god was hardly a comforting thought.
“I wish there was some way of being certain.”
“Ask Dace, he should know.”
“I recall having this discussion with you once before. You said he wouldn’t come if I called him.”
“And he probably wouldn’t,” Damin agreed. “But you don’t need to call him, he’s here. I saw him hanging around with that Karien boy the other day.”
“What’s he doing here?” Tarja asked suspiciously. He mistrusted these creatures that the pagans called gods.
“The God of Thieves, by his very nature, is bound to be up to no good, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s doing your cause any harm.” Damin laughed suddenly. “I wonder how that fanatical child of the Overlord is coping with the idea that his new friend is a pagan god?”
Tarja smiled in spite of himself.
“Tell you what, Tarja, let’s go back to the camp. You round up your little Karien friend and ask him where Dace is, and I’ll speak to Adrina. I promise I’ll only take her with me if she wants to come. I haven’t the time to waste dragging her to Hythria by force, at any rate. After that we’ll talk to Jenga. Who knows, if you can prove R’shiel still lives, he may even sanction your heroic dash to her rescue. I’m sure he’d like to know what really happened at the Gathering and it may stay his hand on the surrender for a time.”
“Make sure that’s all you do when you see Adrina. Speak to her.”
“You show a disturbing lack of trust in me, Captain,” Damin turned his stallion toward the camp and managed to look quite offended.
Tarja shook his head and followed him. “I thought we were going to check on the border troops?”
“They’ll keep. Besides, if Jenga surrenders, it doesn’t really make much difference how they’re placed, does it?”
Tarja could not deny the Hythrun’s logic and in truth, he would much rather find Dace and learn of R’shiel’s fate than conduct an inspection. He stared at the border thoughtfully, then kicked his horse into a canter and headed back to the camp with the Hythrun Warlord.
CHAPTER 50
Brak watched the scene between Joyhinia and R’shiel unfold with growing frustration.
R’shiel’s recovery from her suffering at the hands of Joyhinia and Loclon was too fragile to be tested so soon. He could almost taste her fear. To face Loclon in the body of her foster mother was testing her to the limit. One she feared; the other she loathed. It was like a nightmare come to life. It could push her over the edge. His futile efforts to reach out to her, to contact her, to somehow let her know that he was with her, brought a frown to the War God’s stern face.
“I have already explained to you, Brakandaran. She cannot see you. She cannot hear you.”
“I have to go to her.”
“And you shall,” Zegarnald promised. “In time.”
Brak turned on the god impatiently. “Why are you doing this? They’ll kill her!”
Zegarnald didn’t answer for a moment. He waited as the First Sister left the room and Lord Terbolt explained his plans to R’shiel, then nodded slowly.
“The Karien human speaks the truth, Brakandaran. Xaphista wants the demon child for himself. Her ability to destroy a god is quite indiscriminate. She could destroy me just as easily as Xaphista.”
“Oh, I see,” Brak retorted, his voice laden with sarcasm. “That’s a good plan. Hand over the only person who can destroy you to your enemy. Now why didn’t I think of that?”
“Your disrespect wears on my nerves, Brakandaran.”
“Not half as much as your scheming is wearing on mine, Zegarnald.”
“I agreed to humour you, Brakandaran, by allowing you to assure yourself that the demon child lives. I did not agree to listen to your whining.”
Brak watched helplessly as the Karien duke left the bedchamber where R’shiel was being held. As soon as she was alone, R’shiel threw herself on the bed and stared at the ceiling, cursing softly. After a while, she gave up that futile pastime and began pacin
g the room. She checked the door first, but it was firmly locked. Then she went to the window and threw it open, looking down with despair at the six-storey drop to the courtyard below. Finding no joy in that escape route she sat on the edge of the bed and tentatively reached for her power, drawing back hastily as the silver collar she wore began to burn.
“Let me out of here, Zegarnald. I have to help her.”
Here was a hard place to define. The War God had him trapped between the world R’shiel inhabited and the world the gods called home. He was powerless here—at Zegarnald’s mercy. He could move around freely, but he couldn’t be seen, nor could he affect anything that happened in the ordinary world of humans.
He could have kicked himself for walking into Zegarnald’s trap so blindly. He should have known the War God’s sudden appearance in the alley beside the Temple of the Gods meant trouble. Zegarnald probably hadn’t walked the halls of the Citadel for two centuries. Brak knew the gods well enough. He should have suspected something. And he should never have accepted Zegarnald’s uncharacteristic offer of a handshake. Touching the god had been his undoing. Once Zegarnald had a hold of him, he was powerless to resist being drawn into this grey limbo.
“She must help herself.”
“How? She can’t even touch her power. That collar is as bad as those damned staffs Xaphista’s priests lug around.”
“She can touch it. But the pain will be intolerable. If she wants to escape badly enough, she will find a way to bear it.”
“This is another of your tests, I suppose? Another part of the ‘tempering’ you’re so fond of? What happens if she doesn’t want to play your game, Zegarnald? Suppose she throws her lot in with Xaphista?”
“Then I will release you and you will destroy her.”
Brak glanced at the god warily. “You trust me to do that?”
“If the demon child joins with Xaphista, what is left of the Harshini will be destroyed. I have no need to trust you. I trust your determination to remove a threat to your people.”
The worst of it was that the War God was right. Should R’shiel give in to Xaphista he would not hesitate to kill her. He turned back to watching her, feeling like a voyeur.
“You’re taking a big risk, Zegarnald.”
“Perhaps. If the demon child is too weak to face down Xaphista, if she is willing to become his disciple, I would rather find out now than wait until she has matured.”
“The finding out could kill her.”
“Xaphista will try to win her over. He’ll not resort to force unless he has to. He wants the demon child to believe in him, Brakandaran. She is no good to him if she despises him.”
“I can’t imagine she’ll be too thrilled by your efforts,” he pointed out. “If you ask me you’re playing right into his hands.”
“I do not recall asking you.”
Angrily, Brak drew on his power and tore uselessly at the restraints that bound him to this place. Zegarnald didn’t budge. His efforts were trivial in the face of the god’s implacable will.
“Control yourself, Brakandaran. Such undisciplined behaviour ill becomes a member of your race.”
“I’m half human, Zegarnald. I’m doing my human ancestors proud.”
“Stop fighting me. You will harm no one but yourself.”
“Then let me out of here.”
“In time.”
Brak cursed and let go of the power. Fighting a god was a fruitless effort. Fighting Zegarnald was a complete waste of time. He thrived on it. Brak’s efforts were only making him stronger. The realisation brought another thought to mind and he decided to change his tactics. If he couldn’t force Zegarnald into releasing him, then he had to make him want to do it.
“Medalon has surrendered.”
“So it would seem,” the god agreed, a little wary at Brak’s sudden change of heart.
“You’re taking it pretty well.”
“What do you mean?”
“The war is over. That’s going to seriously affect your standing among the other gods, isn’t it? I mean, now that the Kariens and the Medalonians aren’t fighting any more, things are going to get very cosy. Before long they’ll be shaking hands, then they’ll start making friends. Before long they’ll be falling in love…Kalianah’s going to be very happy. And considerably stronger, unless I’m mistaken.”
Zegarnald frowned. “The Defenders will not surrender.”
“You think so? You haven’t been keeping up to date, Divine One. The Defenders are the most disciplined army in the world. If they were ordered to dress up like chickens and run around clucking, they’d do it without blinking. They won’t ignore an order to surrender.”
“Then I will have to content myself with the Fardohnyan invasion of Hythria,” the War God told him smugly.
Brak bit back another curse. He hadn’t known about that. Zegarnald needed wars to keep him strong, but he didn’t really care where they happened. A conflict between those who worshipped him would serve him just as well as one between those who didn’t.
“I suppose you’re right. Of course, you’re assuming that Kalianah won’t interfere.”
“There is nothing she can do to prevent a war.”
“Don’t be so sure. All she has to do is make the right people fall in love and your war is done for.” Brak wondered if Zegarnald knew how desperate he was. He was certain he sounded desperate.
“If you know something of her plans, then you should tell me, Brakandaran.”
He shrugged. “I merely speculate, Divine One. If Kalianah’s got something up her sleeve, you’ll have to ask her about it.”
Zegarnald’s dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. Trust was not a commodity the gods owned in any great quantity and they tended to take things rather literally. They were jealous creatures and were more conscious of rank than the most snobbish Karien nobleman. It dawned on Brak then that Zegarnald was afraid of R’shiel. He was afraid of what they had created. That’s why he was determined to prove that she could be trusted, before her ability developed beyond the point where the gods could take action.
Brak looked at R’shiel with new respect. It took a lot to frighten a god.
The knowledge did little to help him out of his current predicament, however. Perhaps divine jealousy would work where reason had failed. Brak had no idea if Kalianah even cared that there was a war going on. For all he knew, she was off making a hive of bees happy, somewhere. But he was certain she wouldn’t approve of Zegarnald’s plans to test the demon child’s fortitude by throwing her to Xaphista’s priests. If he could taunt Zegarnald into seeking her out, he might be able to prevail upon the Goddess of Love to release him. Kalianah was a happy-ever-after sort of god. She didn’t like her plans being disrupted and she had gone to a fair bit of trouble to keep R’shiel and Tarja together. He was clutching at straws, but at this point anything was worth a try.
“Of course, if Kalianah was up to something while you’re at the Citadel making certain the demon child has a spine, you’re not going to know about it until she’s standing over you, smiling that annoying little smile, asking you if you love her.”
“Kalianah would not dare interfere. She knows what is at stake.”
“She made R’shiel and Tarja fall in love. That’s interference where I come from. If Kalianah gets the better of you, R’shiel won’t be tempered, she’ll be mooning about like a lovesick cow.”
One of the advantages of trying to manipulate a god was their total inability to comprehend anything other than their own natures. Zegarnald knew what love was in a theoretical sort of way, he even tolerated it, but he didn’t understand it. Brak’s prediction sounded quite plausible to him.
“I will put a stop to her interference at once!”
“You do that, Divine One. In the meantime, let me out of here and I’ll make certain R’shiel doesn’t fall for Xaphista’s devious—”
“Don’t push me, Brakandaran. You will stay here until I have dealt with Kalianah. And don’t bother to cal
l any of my brothers or sisters. They will not hear you unless I will it.”
The War God vanished, leaving Brak alone in the half-world between reality and dreams. He looked down on R’shiel and found her sitting on the bed, her knees drawn up and her head resting on them, her whole posture radiating abject misery. He tried reaching out to her again, but he knew it was useless. Until Zegarnald released him there was nothing he could do to help her.
The demon child was on her own.
CHAPTER 51
Loclon stood before the full-length mirror in the First Sister’s apartments and studied Joyhinia’s naked body curiously. It was a pity she was so old, he mused, although he supposed the body was quite well preserved for a woman approaching late middle age. The once full breasts sagged disappointingly. The hips and thighs were thickened by age, and her skin was showing signs of decay.
There was little joy to be had from this body in any case. Pleasures that normally had him stiff with anticipation seemed like far-away memories. He recalled the desire but didn’t really feel it. The woman’s body he inhabited seemed to dampen his maleness. It was as if such thoughts could not thrive in this female form.
But if sexual pleasure was denied him, there were other compensations. The power he wielded as First Sister left him breathless. Of course, there was a limit to what he could achieve at the moment. Lord Terbolt and his priests hovered around him like vultures over a fresh corpse, but that would end soon. He would toe the line for now, but once the Kariens left the Citadel, he would be in control. Loclon smiled coldly. If they thought the old Joyhinia had been a tyrant, the citizens of Medalon would lack the words to describe the new one.
He had a long list of victims who would suffer at the First Sister’s hands once he had a free rein. Men who had slighted him; women who had scorned him; all of them would pay.
He would start with Tarja Tenragan.
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