Brak jumped down from the dragon and squinted into the rising sun as the figure approached. As soon as he was clear of the dragon, the meld crumbled and the demons spilled over the terrace, delighted to be home.
“You’re a bit late, Brakandaran,” Shananara said, sidestepping demons as she approached. “And you’ve brought the demon child.”
“Hello, Shananara.”
The princess glanced over Brak then turned her attention to R’shiel. “You’re still alive, I see. Amazing.”
“We felt Sanctuary return.”
“That’s hardly surprising. Every god, every sorcerer, every priest and every village charlatan on the continent probably felt it. You’d better come with me. Korandellan wants to see you.” She turned on her heel and walked towards the tall doors that opened off the tower, expecting them to follow.
“What’s the matter with her?” R’shiel asked as they followed.
“She’s angry.”
“I thought the Harshini couldn’t get angry?”
“They can’t.”
“She’s doing a pretty good imitation.”
Brak shook his head and said nothing. He understood what Shananara was going through. Denied the human outlet of anger or fear or recrimination, she was boiling inside with emotions she did not have the luxury of being able to voice.
They followed the princess through the halls of Sanctuary, past a subdued and cautious population, to the King’s chambers. When they finally reached the broad white doors, Shananara waved them open then looked at R’shiel.
“You must speak with the king. Alone.”
R’shiel glanced at Brak, as if she wanted him to confirm the instruction. He nodded imperceptibly, and he watched as she took a deep breath, visibly bracing herself for what she would find within. He watched her walk through the tall doors, watched Shananara wave them shut behind her.
“What happened?” he asked, as soon as the doors were completely closed.
“Not here,” the princess replied, with a glance around the empty hall. “Let’s go to my chambers.”
He didn’t try to hide his surprise. This was Sanctuary. There were no secrets here. But he followed her wordlessly down to the next level where she lived. Stepping across the threshold, Brak decided that her rooms had not changed at all since he had last been here. They were still large and airy and filled with the clutter of her many forays into the human world. She closed the doors by hand and stood leaning against them, watching him as he looked around the room.
“Why did you bring her here?”
“R’shiel? She has a plan to save the Harshini,” he said, picking a small statue from the table near the hearth. It was a small horse, exquisitely carved in jade. It looked Fardohnyan.
“If it’s anything like her plan to deal with Xaphista, we’d be better off without her help.”
Brak replaced the tiny statue and smiled at her. “Cynicism does not become you, Shananara. Actually, you sound ridiculous. You need a bit of human blood in you to make it really effective.”
“The demon child should thank the gods I don’t have any human blood. If you could see Korandellan…”
“How bad is he?”
“Bad enough.” She moved away from the door and walked to the tall open window. The rising sun touched her dark red hair with flecks of gold and lined her perfect Harshini features in crimson. She crossed her arms, as if she was cold, although the temperature in Sanctuary was constant and always pleasant. “He’s dying, Brak.”
“How…?” he asked, too stunned to ask more.
“How do you think? The demon child draws on our power like it has no end. She threatens, she cajoles, she coerces, and she contemplates violence with every breath she takes. Korandellan has been linked to the power without a break since R’shiel was born, and may the gods help me, I taught her to tap into it. Do you know what it’s done to him? Can you imagine what it must have been like for him to try to hold Sanctuary out of time while the demon child is on the loose, throwing her anger around without a care for anything or anybody? It has destroyed him.”
“Can’t Cheltaran help him?”
“It’s the power of the gods that has hurt him, Brak. More of it will simply make him worse.”
“But Cheltaran has helped others in the past who’ve drawn too much. He did it not so long ago in Greenharbour.”
“Glenanaran and the others drew too much of one strand of the power. Cheltaran could heal them because he was using a part of it they had not touched. Korandellan has been drawing on all of it. If the gods intervened, any one of them could kill him.”
“Then why didn’t you help? You could have taken some of the load off him.”
“You think I didn’t try? I’ve begged him, Brak, time and again. But he believed R’shiel would prevail and that she would do it before he faltered. An idle wish, as it turns out.”
“He’s not dead yet, Shananara, and the Harshini are still safe. At least until Xaphista’s minions can find a way into the mountains. There is time yet.”
“Time for what, Brak? For Korandellan to die? And you know what will happen if he dies, don’t you? R’shiel is Lorandranek’s daughter. She is the rightful heir.”
Brak stared at the princess, aghast at the mere suggestion. “You’re not seriously considering letting R’shiel take the throne? That’s insane! Doesn’t Korandellan have a child?”
“There are no children, Brak.”
“Then it must be you.”
“I cannot step forward unless R’shiel refuses the crown.”
“Then I’ll make damned sure she does refuse it,” he promised. The idea of R’shiel ruling the gentle Harshini was too bizarre, too horrible to contemplate.
Shananara smiled at him fondly. “I believe you would, Brakandaran. But it is not my decision, or yours. It is between Korandellan and the demon child.”
“She won’t do it.”
“Perhaps. But the crown is hers for the taking should she ask for it.”
“She won’t ask for it. R’shiel is driven by anger, not power for its own sake.”
“Your opinion of her has improved somewhat, I notice.”
“She’s learning.”
“Yes, but what exactly have you been teaching her?”
He shrugged. “Only what I have to. But she’s a quick study. She sees a thing once and remembers it.”
Shananara nodded. “Her tutors here said much the same thing. Unfortunately, she lacks wisdom and wisdom is something gained through experience, not learnt by rote, no matter how well meaning the teacher.”
R’shiel was gone for hours, leaving Brak little choice but to impatiently pace Shananara’s chambers, waiting for news. Samaranan came to visit for a while, delighted to see her half-human sibling, but even his sister’s smiling presence had a fragile edge to it. They spoke of inconsequential things, both of them avoiding the real reason Brak was here. The Harshini were averse to violence, but they were not blind to the consequences of Korandellan’s collapse. They knew the demon child had returned and that Xaphista was as strong as ever. Their future was bleak and for a race unable to imagine such desolation, it was a trying time indeed.
Eventually, Dranymire materialised in the apartment, startling Brak with his sudden appearance.
“Lord Brakandaran. Your Highness. The king wishes to see you both.”
They hurried upstairs to Korandellan’s chambers and found the doors open and waiting for them. Brak entered the room hesitantly, afraid of what he would find. R’shiel was waiting for them by the door to Korandellan’s bedroom. She looked pale and rather chastened. Without a word she stood back to let them enter, and then followed them inside, closing the door behind her.
Brak was shocked by the king’s appearance. Korandellan lay on the bed, his golden skin sallow and almost as pale as the sheets beneath him. He was as thin as a man who had not eaten for a month and his once bright eyes were dull and lifeless.
“Thank you, Brakandaran, for bringing
the demon child home.” His voice, once so vibrant and resonant, was barely more than a hoarse whisper.
“It was her idea, Your Majesty. I merely showed her the way.”
The king smiled weakly. “It is good that you did…Shananara?”
“I’m here, Koran,” the princess said, moving to her brother’s side. Brak stepped back to let her pass. R’shiel had not moved from the door.
“R’shiel has come to lead our people home.”
“We are home, brother.”
“No. Sanctuary has been our prison these last two hundred years. The Citadel is our true home.”
“The Citadel?” Shananara’s eyes flew to R’shiel in astonishment, then she looked back at the king. “You don’t mean you want us to return to the Citadel?”
“We cannot be harmed there. The Citadel will protect us.”
“But what of the Sisterhood and their Defender henchmen?”
“There is no more Sisterhood,” R’shiel said from the door. “The Defenders are in charge. Tarja is the new Lord Defender. I have his word that the Harshini may return unmolested.”
Shananara glanced at her in disbelief then sat down beside Korandellan on the bed, taking his clammy hand in hers. “Don’t worry about it now, Koran. We can discuss this when you’ve recovered.”
“I’ll not recover, Shanan. You know that as well as I do. Take our people home. I charge you with their welfare.” Korandellan closed his eyes, as if the effort of so much conversation had exhausted him.
“Are you mad?” she asked R’shiel, softly. “How can you come here and offer him such false hope?”
“It’s not a false hope, Shananara. The Harshini may safely return to the Citadel.”
She turned to Brak. “Is this true?”
He nodded. “I told you she had a plan.”
“You might have warned me what it was!”
The King’s eyes opened again and he smiled at his sister. “You were always the practical one, Shanan. Do this thing for me. Our people need you.”
“They don’t need me, Koran. The demon child will be their queen once you are gone.”
“I’ve already told Korandellan I don’t want the job,” R’shiel said.
“You see, sister, the demon child is wiser than you think.” Korandellan smiled wanly and held out his hand to R’shiel. She crossed the room and took it in hers. Brak was astonished to see that her eyes were filled with tears. “Do not regret what you have done, demon child. Think only on the good you will do in the future. You have what you need to defeat Xaphista, so remember what I have told you about the Seeing Stones. Do what you are destined for and be at peace with yourself.”
R’shiel nodded wordlessly then looked across at Brak. The king looked at him too, his dull eyes filled with forgiveness. “I give you the same advice, Brakandaran. Do not regret what you have done. Everything is as it should be. You have more than made amends for your mistakes. Face Death secure in that knowledge that your sacrifice was not in vain.”
“I will.”
“And you, Shananara. You are the last of the té Ortyn. It is up to you to see that we continue. Once you have returned to the Citadel, you should speak with Glenanaran. It is time you two had a child.”
Shananara smiled fondly at her brother. “If I wanted a child, what makes you think I would pick Glenanaran?”
“I know you too well, my dear.”
“That you do, brother. That you do.”
Brak looked up suddenly, as he felt a presence in the room. Although he could see nothing yet, he knew who it was. With a sharp glance at R’shiel, he waved her away from the bed. She could feel it too, but didn’t recognise it. Shananara leaned over and kissed Korandellan on the forehead, and then stepped back.
“What…?” R’shiel began to ask, but Shananara glared at her so fiercely that she fell silent.
Death materialised slowly at the foot of the king’s bed. He had chosen the benign aspect of the Harshini to welcome the king into his realm, although his robes were translucent and his black eyes hollow orbs, rather than the bright eyes of the Harshini. Korandellan smiled when he saw him, unafraid.
“You will sup with me this night, Your Majesty.” Death’s lips didn’t move, but each of them could hear him, as if his voice spoke directly to their souls.
“You do me a great honour, my Lord, to escort me personally.”
“You do me the honour, sire. It is not often I am able to welcome one of your people into my home.” Death turned then and stared at R’shiel, who took a step back from him in fear. “There is no need to be anxious, demon child. You and I will not meet again for quite some time.” R’shiel didn’t answer him. She appeared frozen in shock. Death swivelled his head to stare at Brak. “But you and I will meet, Brakandaran, and soon, I suspect. Our bargain is almost fulfilled.”
“Well, don’t get too excited,” Brak warned disrespectfully. “It’s not done with yet.”
“I will be waiting, Brakandaran.”
“I never doubted that for a moment, my Lord.”
The spectre turned his attention back to Korandellan. “Are you ready, Your Majesty?”
“I am ready.”
Death raised his arm and pointed at Korandellan. As he did so, the king appeared to change. He began to fill out and his colour returned. His aura glowed with strength, pure and unmarked by fear or pain. This was Korandellan in his prime. His eyes brightened and he assumed such an aura of wellbeing that Brak expected him to leap off the bed. Instead, he rose slowly until he was standing, his weight making no impression on the down-filled mattress.
Then with a smile of serene happiness Korandellan walked into the arms of Death and they both disappeared from the room.
CHAPTER 50
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s not unusual for you.” Brak smiled at R’shiel’s scowl.
She waved her arm to indicate the gathered Harshini who were busily preparing to depart. Demon-melded dragons could be seen on every terrace, although some apparently preferred to travel by large and improbable birds who beat their vast wings slowly, as if warming them up for flight, and hissed impatiently at the dragons. The dragons varied in size and colouring. Some were massive, like Dranymire and his brethren; others more delicate, their metallic scales touched with fire as the sun set over the mountains.
“Why are they so damned happy?”
The whole atmosphere in Sanctuary had changed since Korandellan’s death and Shananara’s announcement that they were to return to the Citadel. The fragile cheerfulness that had permeated the fortress had been replaced by a sense of optimistic anticipation. The Harshini preparing to leave were so buoyant, R’shiel was surprised they didn’t whistle while they worked. Some of them were heading for the Citadel; others for Fardohnya and Hythria. Shananara had also called for volunteers to fly to the aid of the relieving army that was heading for Medalon.
“They’re going home.”
“To the Citadel? I didn’t realise it meant so much to them.”
“The Citadel is part of the Harshini, R’shiel. It’s been very trying on them being away from it for so long.”
“Don’t they realise what’s waiting for them there? The Defenders…the Kariens…”
“Of course they do. But you’ve assured them they’ll be safe and they trust Tarja to keep his word.”
She noticed his smile and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“You remember what I said about the Citadel reclaiming the Harshini?”
“Yes.”
He laughed softly. “I can’t wait to see what happens when they arrive.”
“Is this another one of those vital details you neglected to mention?”
“The Citadel has been hibernating for two hundred years, R’shiel. He’s liable to wake up when the Harshini come home.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not certain myself,” he told her with a grin. “But it’s bound to be intere
sting.”
Annoyed with Brak’s smirking, R’shiel turned her attention back to the departing Harshini. They were sitting on the balustrade of the same terrace they had landed on, watching the demons melding. Dranymire and a dozen other prime demons were fighting for space on the crowded terrace, trying to pull their brethren into their melds. Occasional squabbles broke out among the younger demons, but they were put down swiftly and sharply by the older ones. They reminded R’shiel of unruly children.
“Look at them!” she scoffed. “Their king just died and they’re being kicked out of their homes. You’d think they’d spare a thought for poor Korandellan, at least.”
“Grief is a human emotion. Besides, the Harshini are delighted. Korandellan didn’t die. Death came for him personally.”
“Oh? You mean there’s a difference?”
“Of course there’s a difference. Death took Korandellan body and soul. That’s a rare honour.”
“He’s still dead, Brak.”
“Yes, but you saw him before he vanished. Death restored him. And there’s always the chance that he’ll come back.”
“What?” she said, turning to him, her eyes wide.
“It’s happened before.”
“When?” she demanded sceptically.
“Well, it’s a theoretical possibility.” He smiled at her doubtful expression. “Put it this way: if you die, and Death only takes your soul, then that’s the end. You’re gone. It’s the reason your people cremate their dead, did you know that? Pagans believe in burial, so that Death can still claim the body if he has a mind to.”
“But if you burn the body, then there’s no hope of resurrection?” she asked, nodding in understanding. She had never wondered why Medalonians practised cremation, or really cared why the pagans preferred to be buried, but it made sense now she knew the reason.
“That’s right. If your soul ever comes back, it’ll have to be in another body. But if Death takes your soul and your body, then he can send you back again, if the mood takes him.”
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