“The demon child was of the opinion that your numbers would be sufficient, Captain. I can tell you no more than that.”
“And we all know what a tactical genius R’shiel is,” Linst muttered sarcastically.
“Captain, I cannot ease your mind or tell you what I do not know. All I can do is ask that you heed the demon child’s request and gather your forces as quickly as possible. Other Harshini will join you to aid your journey north.”
“Other Harshini?” Kalan asked.
“With Sanctuary no longer hidden, our people will be safer with your forces than they will be at home. We will do what we can to help, High Arrion.”
“I guess that settles it then,” Damin said, looking around at the others. “We’re going to Medalon.”
Mikel helped Adrina pack for the journey to Medalon, quite certain that he would have to unpack it all again once Damin Wolfblade discovered she was planning to join him. Her condition was plainly visible now, although it didn’t seem to bother her. The fatigue that had plagued her previously had passed. Her skin glowed with health; her emerald eyes were bright as jewels and her dark hair shone with lustre. Having spent much of the early months of her pregnancy in the saddle, she carried little extra weight other than the child. She was full of restless energy and had been, for the past few weeks at least, quite easy to get along with. Mikel had even overheard Princess Marla complain that a woman had no right to look so damned healthy in her condition.
Mikel had fallen back into the role as her page after R’shiel vanished. With Tamylan gone, Adrina had worked her way through a score of slaves since then, none of them meeting her exacting standards. The latest had fled in tears this morning when Adrina accused her of being a fumble-fingered half-wit.
Mikel didn’t blame his princess, and had his suspicions about the slaves sent to wait on her. Marla hand-picked them and he suspected that the Dowager Princess wasn’t going out of her way to be accommodating. For some reason, perhaps because of their previous history, Adrina found Mikel to her liking. Although his earlier innocent worship of her had been replaced by something a little more realistic, he still admired her and was happy to be of service.
“Is it cold in Medalon, Mikel?”
He dumped the pile of clothes he was carrying on the bed and looked at the princess. She was holding a fur cloak in front of her, studying her reflection in the mirror.
“I don’t know, Your Highness. It will be nearly summer by the time we get there.”
“Maybe just the woollen cloak then. I want to travel light.”
Mikel cast an eye over the mammoth pile that Adrina had already labelled her “essentials” and frowned. “Your Highness, I’m not sure that Prince Damin will consider that ‘travelling light’.”
She looked at the heap of clothes and sighed. “You’re right. I’m lost without Tam. I wish she were here.”
He didn’t know how to answer that. He had liked the Fardohnyan slave, but wasn’t so attached to her that he could empathise with Adrina’s grief. His earlier guilt about her fate had faded with the passage of time. He was saved from answering by the appearance of Damin Wolfblade, who stopped at the door and looked around suspiciously.
“What’s all this?”
“I’m trying to decide what to pack,” Adrina told him. “I wish Tam were here. She was so much better than me at this sort of thing.”
“What happened to the slave Marla sent you?”
“She was an idiot. I sent her away.”
Damin stepped into the room and examined the chaos scattered around the room more closely. “Why are you packing?”
“For Medalon, of course.”
He stared at her as if his hearing had suddenly failed him. “You’re
what
?”
“Packing for Medalon. Do you think I’ll need the fur?”
“No, Adrina, you won’t need the fur. Or anything else, for that matter. You’re staying here.”
She looked at him in astonishment. “Of course I’m not staying here! I’m coming with you.”
“In case it’s escaped your notice, Adrina, you’re having a baby.”
“I’m only pregnant, Damin, not terminally ill.”
“I’m not going to risk you or our child by taking you into a battle.”
“Oh for the gods’ sake, Damin. If I was a peasant I’d be working in the fields until I dropped the brat and then I’d be back in the fields the very next day.”
“That
brat
, as you so eloquently put it, is the heir to Hythria.”
“Then travel will be good for him. It will broaden his horizons.”
“Neither are you a peasant,” he added, not at all impressed by her attempt at levity. “I forbid you to come.”
“I don’t recall asking your permission.”
“That’s because you knew damned well I wouldn’t give it.”
Adrina threw down the fur cloak and put her hands on her hips. Mikel shrank back a little, having seen Adrina in a similar mood before. Her eyes glittered dangerously.
“Damin, I think we need to settle something. I am your wife. I am not your
court’esa
, or your lackey, your slave or your possession. I am going with you. If you refuse me, I’ll simply find my own way there, but one way or another, I
will
go to Medalon.” Then she smiled suddenly, as if making her declaration had settled the matter. “Besides, you need me.”
“Why do I need you?”
“Because my father will be leading the Fardohnyans and you really don’t want to confront him without me there to calm him down.”
“I can manage.”
“Don’t be too sure about that,” she warned. “You don’t know my father.”
Damin took a deep breath. He did that a lot when he argued with Adrina, Mikel noticed. “Adrina, even if I conceded the point about your father, the fact is, the Hythrun heir must be born on Hythrun soil. If you come to Medalon with me, you will deliver the child before we can get back.”
“Is that your only objection? Mikel, come here!”
Damin turned to stare at him as he edged his way around the High Prince to reach his mistress. Although Damin rarely paid him any attention, he was still more than a little afraid of the Hythrun Prince.
“Your Highness?”
“I have a job for you, Mikel.” She marched over to the bed and pulled one of the pillows from it, shaking it out of its silk cover. She handed Mikel the pillowcase. “Take this out to the gardeners and ask them to fill it.”
“With what, Your Highness?”
“With Hythrun soil, of course.” She looked up at Damin and smiled triumphantly. “If it’s Hythrun soil you want so badly, Damin, then I’ll simply take some with me. Off you go, Mikel! There’s a good lad.”
Damin shook his head. “There’s no way I can talk you out of this, I suppose?”
“No.”
They stared at each other, debating who was likely to give in first. Damin Wolfblade finally threw up his hands in defeat. He wasn’t happy with the idea, but he seemed to admire her spirit. Cratyn would have hit her, Mikel thought with a twinge of guilt.
“Go on then, Mikel. Get us a sack of Hythrun soil. And guard it with your life, boy. We may need it in a hurry.”
Although the fighting had not reached this far, Gaffen’s Fardohnyans had used the palace gardens as a shortcut from the dock below the palace and trampled everything in sight in their haste to join in the fray. The statuary was pushed over, the shrubbery bent and shredded, and even the large fountain in the centre was broken, its water dragons cavorting in a dry pool with snapped-off noses and missing fins. Mikel wandered through the vast gardens for quite a while, looking for someone to fill the pillowcase with soil. The gardeners were nowhere in sight.
“A sad sight indeed, don’t you think?”
Mikel glanced across the broken fountain and discovered the old man sitting on the edge of the pool. He had not seen him for a while, but he seemed to pop up in the strangest places. Although he looked a lot like the old man he had seen in the stables in Roan Vale, Mikel had convinced himself it could not be the same person. This man roamed the Hythrun palace at will. He was, so Mikel figured, a retired slave or old family retainer, who had been given the freedom of the palace in return for a lifetime of service. Mikel often bumped into him in quiet, out-of-the-way places, and had come to think of the old man as a friend, although if pressed, Mikel wasn’t sure he even knew the old man’s name.
“They’ll fix it eventually, I suppose. They’re too busy rebuilding the houses to think about fountains.”
“Ah, yes, the ever practical Hythrun,” the old man chuckled. “They were always like that. One of the reasons I could never get much sense out of them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. So, are you off to Medalon with the others, then?”
He nodded and walked around the fountain to sit beside the old man. “I’m going with Princess Adrina. I’m her page now.”
“That’s wonderful!” the old man cried, patting Mikel on the back. “You must be very proud. Imagine the things you will do, the places you will see, the important people you will meet.”
“I suppose. I’ll probably meet the King of Fardohnya. He’s going to Medalon, too.”
“Is he now? Won’t he have trouble getting there in time?”
“The Harshini Glenanaran said the gods are going to help.”
The old man’s expression grew fierce for a moment, as if some uncontrollable anger had suddenly consumed him. Then it was gone; so quickly that Mikel thought he had imagined it.
“Well, he should be fine then. And what of you, my young friend? Will you see the demon child again, do you think?”
“I suppose so.”
“That is excellent news. I shall have to give you a message for her.”
“Do you know the demon child?”
“Very well,” the old man said. “Very well, indeed.”
Mikel looked at him curiously, not sure what it was about the old man’s tone that unsettled him. “What did you want me to tell her?”
“Ah, I shall have to compose my message most carefully. I will see you before you leave. I’ll let you know then. Now, what
are
you doing strolling the gardens of the palace clutching an empty pillowcase, my lad?”
He glanced down at the pillowcase and shrugged. “Princess Adrina wants me to fill it with Hythrun soil in case she has her baby in Medalon.”
The old man laughed. “A wise precaution. Well, don’t let me keep you from such an important task, Mikel. We’ll meet again, never fear. And I will give you my message for the demon child.”
Mikel stood up and turned to say goodbye, but the old man was already gone.
Sanctuary glittered in the dawn as R’shiel and Brak flew over the mountains, sitting proudly atop the ranges where for so long it had remained hidden. Brak watched it draw closer through eyes that watered from the cold wind, feeling as if he had stepped back in time, rather than Sanctuary coming into real time to meet him.
It was almost two hundred years since he had ridden on the back of a dragon towards Sanctuary. The last time it had been to warn Lorandranek that he must hide the settlement or risk the Sisterhood finding it—a mission the Sisters of the Blade had pursued for decades after the First Purge. Lorandranek had conceived the idea of hiding the settlement out of time, a burden that he found trying, but not unbearable. In those days he had shared the task with his nephew, the young Korandellan, and between the two of them, Sanctuary had been able to appear and disappear at will, safe from the Sisterhood, the Karien priests and the odd marauder who stumbled into the mountains trying to escape justice.
But since the madness and death of Lorandranek and the arrival of the demon child, that luxury had been denied them. Sanctuary had stayed hidden as Xaphista grew stronger and more desperate to find his nemesis. Korandellan had carried the burden alone, although why Shananara had not taken up some of the load concerned Brak. She was just as much a té Ortyn as the king, and just as capable as her brother of wielding the power such a feat required. He planned to ask that of the princess when he saw her. His relationship with Shananara té Ortyn was such that he had no qualms about demanding an answer. They had been lovers once, in a distant past.
Brak glanced across at R’shiel, smiling at her awestruck expression. She had never seen Sanctuary like this before and it obviously left her breathless. Or perhaps it was the altitude, he thought cynically. R’shiel wasn’t impressed by much these days.
Without any prompting from Brak, his dragon began to bank to the right, circling over the slender towers of the Harshini settlement with Dranymire and R’shiel close behind. With surprising gentleness, the dragons beat their massive wings and lowered themselves down onto a high terrace circled by a balustrade that appeared dipped in silver in the soft dawn light. A solitary figure waited for them, dressed in the customary long white robes of the Harshini.
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.