From Tejay’s camp, R’shiel flew northward towards Fardohnya. Now that she was assured of the Warlord’s support and it seemed that Damin and Adrina were finally fighting on the same side, she figured she could leave the rest of it up to them. Tejay was confident that Cyrus Eaglespike and Conin Falconlance wouldn’t attack until after the Convocation, on the slim chance she would support them and give Cyrus the majority he needed to claim the High Prince’s throne.
With Tejay’s promise to stall things as long as possible, R’shiel calculated that she had a couple of weeks at most before Greenharbour fell under siege. Two weeks in which she must get to Fardohnya and convince King Hablet to gather his fleet and send his army to rescue his daughter and her husband, as their ally, not their conqueror.
All this when I want to be in the Citadel
, she silently lamented.
But it wasn’t just the situation in Hythria that lent her mission urgency. Time was running out on more than one front. Korandellan was weakening and she
was worried sick about Tarja. She had received no word of him since crossing into Hythria, and she had no idea of how things stood in Medalon.
Dranymire sensed her urgency and didn’t complain when she told him their destination. He suggested warning Brak of their imminent arrival, and R’shiel gladly agreed. She was surprised how much she missed Brak, or at least his counsel, and was hopeful he would be able to ease her mind about Tarja. He might even know what was happening in Medalon. And she was certain that she would need his help in getting to the Citadel.
The journey north took four days, and by the time the pink walls of Talabar appeared in the distance, R’shiel felt almost confident that she had mastered the skill of dragon riding. She still ached for hours when she climbed off the beast, but she no longer clung with grim determination to the dragon’s back for fear of plunging to her death. As Dranymire had explained, it was simply a question of balance. Besides, after riding a water dragon through the foaming waves of the Dregian Ocean, R’shiel decided that airborne dragons were a vastly preferable method of transport. At least you could talk to them. They didn’t just smile at you with stupid, fixed grins, then drag you down under several tons of cold water, just for the sheer joy of it.
Dranymire began to lose altitude while they were still several leagues from the harbour. He headed for a clearing that appeared in the vast canopy of trees passing beneath them in a green blur east of the city. Brak had arranged to meet them here, and her heart quickened a little at the thought of seeing him again. The reason was quite simple and more than a little
disturbing. Brak was the only person, Harshini or demon, god or human, who she trusted implicitly. Including, she realised with a frown, both Tarja and Damin.
Her reason for distrusting Damin was fairly straightforward. He had a bad habit of acting first and worrying about the consequences later. If he let her down, it would not be lack of honour, but lack of forethought, that betrayed her. Tarja was a little more complicated. His love for her was imposed on him. It might vanish as abruptly as it had appeared and his anger when he realised how he’d been manipulated could easily turn that love to hatred. She wished she knew where he was, and that he was safe. She desperately wanted to know what he was thinking.
Brak was waiting for them in the clearing when they landed. The humid jungle was alive with the sounds of insects and other creatures she could not see, and the trees shook as the unseen beasts leapt from tree to tree. Whatever they were, they seemed unafraid of the dragons and not too bothered by the presence of the Harshini.
R’shiel slithered off the dragon’s back, and collapsed inelegantly as she hit the ground. Brak smiled and stepped forward to help her up.
“Not as easy as it looks, is it?”
“I’m getting the hang of the riding. It’s the walking around afterwards I’m still having trouble with.” She looked up at him smiling as she climbed unsteadily to her feet. “I’m so glad to see you, Brak. Do you think we could just sit for a moment?”
“I think you’d better,” he agreed, helping her across the clearing to a fallen log that was slowly
being consumed by the jungle around it. She sat down gratefully as Brak turned and bowed respectfully to the dragon.
“Lord Dranymire.”
“Lord Brakandaran.”
“I thank you for delivering the demon child safely.”
“Luck and a modicum of natural ability is the only reason she survives, my Lord. I can claim no credit.”
Brak smiled. “I thank you all the same, my Lord.”
“Will you be long discussing your plans? We have been in this meld for days now, and I wish to allow my brethren an opportunity to rest.”
“Dissolve the meld, my Lord. We shall call on you later, should your services be required.”
The dragon bowed its huge head towards Brak. “You may wish to take this opportunity to teach the demon child some manners regarding the brethren, Lord Brakandaran. She is sorely in need of education.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the meld began to dissolve and the dragon disintegrated into a writhing mass of little grey demons that vanished almost as soon as they were free of the meld. Within moments Brak and R’shiel were alone in the clearing.
“What did you do to upset Dranymire?”
“Who knows? As he said, I’m sadly lacking in demon etiquette.” She flexed her knees stiffly and looked up at him. “You seem pretty good at it.”
“I’ve had several hundred years of practice.”
“Are you really that old?”
“Don’t I look it?”
“Actually, you don’t look a day over thirty-five.”
“My family always did carry their age well,” he agreed with a grin, then he sat beside her, his smile fading. “What are you doing here, R’shiel? I thought you were wreaking havoc in Hythria?”
“I was.”
Brak laughed.
“I don’t mean that the way it sounds, Brak! Everything was going along fine until High Prince Lernen up and died on me. Then Damin’s cousin claimed the throne and then when we got to Greenharbour, Glenanaran and the others were half dead from trying to protect the Sorcerers’ Collective. And
then
Adrina was kidnapped—she’s pregnant, by the way—so I had to go and rescue her, and stop Damin launching a suicidal attack on his cousin to defend her honour. If that isn’t enough, Korandellan’s about to fall over from exhaustion because he’s been holding Sanctuary out of time for too long.” She took a deep breath and looked at him expectantly.
“You’ve been busy. When did you speak to Korandellan?”
“A few days ago. I used the Seeing Stone.”
“My, we have come a long way, haven’t we?”
“Don’t patronise me, Brak.”
“I didn’t mean to. But the news about Sanctuary concerns me.”
“I know. And there’s nothing I can do about it until I sort out Hythria and Fardohnya.”
“Why? Does it really make that much difference? Why not leave them to their bickering and do something about Xaphista? Do something about the situation in Medalon?”
“I
am
doing something about Xaphista! At least, I thought I was. That’s why I went to Hythria in the first place. As for Medalon, that’s where I’m headed next. Tarja will need my help and—”
“Tarja’s been captured, R’shiel.”
She swallowed hard as her heart relocated itself in her throat. “When? How?”
“It happened about a month ago. He sank the ferry at Cauthside but didn’t get away quickly enough. The Kariens have been waiting for the flood waters to subside, but they’ve not been idle. They’ll be ready to cross the Glass River any day now. Tarja is being taken to the Citadel for trial.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t kill him,” she remarked tonelessly.
“He’s too important. Publicly hanging Tarja in the Citadel will be the Kariens’ final and unequivocal declaration of mastery over Medalon. His death will tear the heart out of the resistance.”
“It’ll tear the heart out of more than the resistance,” she said softly, then buried her face in her hands, wishing the whole world would just stop for a while and let her catch her breath.
“I’m sorry, R’shiel.”
“I almost wish you hadn’t told me.” She straightened suddenly, looking at him curiously. “How do you know all this, anyway?”
“I have a new friend. She keeps me informed.”
“She?”
“The head of the Fardohnyan Assassins’ Guild is a woman.”
“How nice for you, Brak.”
“Now who’s being patronising? And you still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing in Fardohnya?”
“Trying to undo the damage I caused. Once the Convocation is held, and Cyrus loses the election, Greenharbour will be under siege within a matter of hours. Damin doesn’t have the troops to hold out for long, even with the other Warlords on his side. Their armies are scattered all over Hythria.”
“I hope you don’t expect Hablet to help. He’s being very uncooperative. He ordered me out of Fardohnya, actually.”
“Did you try reasoning with him?”
“One doesn’t use the words ‘reason’ and ‘Hablet’ in the same breath. Not when it comes to the Harshini. Or the delicate matter of his heir. Which reminds me, did you know that if he doesn’t get a legitimate son, the Fardohnyan throne falls to Damin?”
She nodded. “Princess Marla told me.”
“How did Adrina take the news?”
“As you’d expect.”
Brak frowned. “And you left them alone in Hythria?”
“That was the one good thing to come out of all this. Damin and Adrina have finally worked out what everyone else has known for months. Sometimes humans don’t know what they’ve got until they’ve almost lost it.”
He smiled. “That sounds very Harshini, R’shiel.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny the accusation.
“So, what do you want to do about Hablet?”
“Well, if reason won’t work, perhaps a show of force will.”
“I don’t like the sound of this.”
“Brak, I need Hablet’s army to set sail for Greenharbour within the week. And I need them to go to Damin’s aid, not use it as an excuse to invade Hythria. If Hablet won’t listen to reason, then I’ll scare him into it, but either way, I have to stop the civil war in Hythria before it gets out of hand.”
“Why?”
She did not answer immediately.
“R’shiel? Your silence is scaring me. Just exactly what are you cooking up in that devious little mind of yours?”
She fidgeted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. “I don’t intend to let Zegarnald—or any other god—profit from my mistakes.”
Brak was silent for a moment. “Zegarnald wants you to destroy Xaphista, R’shiel. Aren’t you overstepping yourself just a tad?”
“Zegarnald wanted me ‘tempered’, remember?” she reminded him bitterly. “Well, he’s only got himself to blame if he forged a two-edged sword.”
Shaking his head, Brak stood up and held out his hand to her. “One day, when we get the time, along with respect for the demons, I think I need to teach you the concept of leaving well enough alone.”
R’shiel and Brak made no attempt to conceal their presence as they flew towards Talabar. Brak rode his metallic green dragon, which Lady Elanymire and her brethren had formed at his request, while R’shiel rode beside him on Dranymire’s golden meld. They made an impressive sight swooping down over the city—two creatures from legend and their Harshini dragon
riders flying out of the sun to land in the courtyard of the Summer Palace. By the time they had scattered the startled palace guards and the dragons settled to the ground, the city was in an uproar.
R’shiel climbed down from Dranymire, pleased to discover the short ride had left her capable of walking. “I hope Hablet is in. We’re going to look pretty damned foolish making such an impressive entrance if he’s not home.”
“He’s home,” Brak assured her, pointing to flags flying proudly over the main entrance to the palace. A tubby, bald-headed man in gloriously expensive silks hurried towards them. His expression was caught somewhere between shock and outrage.
“What is the meaning of this?” he screeched, panting heavily as he tried to block their path. “You can’t enter the palace like this! Who are you? What do you want?”
“Who is this, Brak?” she asked. Both were drawing on their power and their eyes burned black. Although the courtyard was full of guards, the dragons kept any potential trouble at bay, simply by being dragons.
“Lector Turon, Your Highness, King Hablet’s Chamberlain,” Brak replied in a superior tone.
Brak was quite an actor when the occasion called for it, R’shiel thought. She bit back a grin at his manner and turned her ebony eyes on the eunuch. “You will take me to the king.”
“The king cannot be disturbed!”
“Come, Lord Brakandaran,” she declared dramatically. “This underling is of no use to us. We shall find the king ourselves.”
She pushed Lector Turon out of the way and began walking across the paved courtyard with Brak at her side. Lector scurried past them, yelling at the top of his voice.
“Bar the doors! Shut them! Quickly! Protect your king!”
The guards were quick to respond. The doors boomed shut before R’shiel and Brak reached the steps and shook as the locking bar was dropped into place.
“He’s an annoying little toad, isn’t he?”
“Immensely,” Brak agreed. “What are you going to do about the doors?”
“What doors?”
She kept walking as the massive, bronze-plated doors blew outward off their hinges. Everyone but Brak and R’shiel dived for cover.
“Impressive.”
“Actually, I wasn’t sure that would work,” she admitted, in a voice meant only for Brak. “Shall we go and find the king?”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Aren’t
you
?”
He allowed a small smile to flicker over his lips, before he turned back to stare at what was left of the entrance to Hablet’s Summer Palace. “I hate to admit it, but yes, I am enjoying it.”
“Good. I like to see people happy in their work.”
He followed her up the steps to the entrance, stepping over the debris from the explosion. The dazed guards made no attempt to stop them as they strode past.
R’shiel glanced around, wondering where Hablet would be hiding—if he
was
hiding. He might just
have the spine to confront her. He was Adrina’s father, after all, and she certainly never shied from anything.