Wolfblade (69 page)

“The staff links him to Xaphista, although, granted, the Overlord would have to be watching at the right moment for him to learn anything useful. But if the priest finds Sanctuary, you can bet everything you own on him calling to his god. If Xaphista learns where Sanctuary is, we’d probably have time, this year, to get it hidden before they got here, but by next year there’d be an army waiting in these woods to tear the place apart, stone by stone, the moment Sanctuary returned.”

“I thought the gods created the Harshini?”

“The Primal Gods did. But Xaphista’s an Incidental god. The Overlord—he gave himself that name, by the way, which should tell you something—is just a puffed-up demon really, who’s managed to acquire most of the powers of a god because he’s got several million believers.”

“So why does he have it in for the Harshini?”

“Because they worship
all
the gods. And when they’re around humans, they tend to encourage them to do the same. Xaphista’s trying to create a world in which he’s the only god.”

“Can’t the Primal Gods do something about him?”

“You’d think,” Brak agreed. “But Xaphista’s probably as powerful as most of the Primal Gods combined, these days.”

“So they just leave it to you?”

Brak smiled grimly. “It’s not so difficult. The Harshini are safe provided Xaphista never learns where they are.”

Wrayan knew Brak was right. And that the Harshini had faced this threat before. He could do no less than the Halfbreed in protecting them. Besides, after the Feast of Kalianah, it seemed he had some fences to fix with Brak and saving the Harshini from extinction seemed a fairly useful way of mending them.

“How do we do this?”

“That’s where these two troublemakers, Eyan and Elebran, come in,” Brak said, pointing to the demons, who both puffed up self-importantly at the mention of their names.

“We’re going to help save the Harshini,” Eyan announced proudly—or was it Elebran? Wrayan could never tell them apart.

“We do stuff like that all the time,” the other demon added.

Wrayan looked at Brak doubtfully. “They’re going to
help?”

“The demons and Zegarnald,” Brak replied. He grinned at the horrified expression on Wrayan’s face. “Now here’s the thing, Wrayan, m’boy,” he added, tossing the scimitar to the young man then buckling the Defender sword around his own hips. “There’s really not much use in being Harshini with no aversion to violence if you can’t call in a favour from the War God every once in a while.”

T
he God of War appeared at Brak’s summons, barely larger than a normal man, dressed in an elaborate suit of archaic armour wrought in gold that was even more tasteless than Dacendaran’s motley garb. Brak was glad to see Zegarnald looking quite diminutive. At his most powerful he would tower over them, his polished helmet, with its tall golden plumes, brushing the tree tops.

“Looking a bit seedy today, aren’t we, Divine One?” he asked with a grin. Zegarnald annoyed the hell out of Brak and he enjoyed seeing the god like this, even though they both knew it was only temporary. “Ah, but that’s right! It was the Feast of Kalianah last night. The whole world was making love not war. How is your delightful little sister, Kali, this morning? Has she been around to gloat yet?”

“What do you want, Brakandaran?”

“Why, nothing more than the chance to honour you, Divine One.”

The god stared at him suspiciously. “You are my most reluctant disciple, Brakandaran. You rarely honour me willingly.”

“But you must admit, Zegarnald, that when I do, it’s usually in style.”

“Say what you want of me,” the god snapped impatiently. “I have better things to do than listen to your pathetic attempts at flattery.”

“There’s no need to be so testy. I just thought you might be interested to know there’s a Karien priest and six of Xaphista’s followers in these woods about to stumble over Sanctuary,” Brak announced, a declaration which instantly got the god’s attention. “I thought you might like to help in making sure they don’t get out of here alive. And it would be nice if you made certain the priest doesn’t get a message back to Xaphista before I kill him, too.”

“
Seven
of Xaphista’s believers?”

“In the flesh.”

“You have a plan, I take it?”

“Don’t I always?”

“And the thief?” Zegarnald asked, glaring at Wrayan, who had wisely remained silent and unmoving throughout the exchange, as had the demons, who were uncharacteristically subdued in the presence of the god. “What part will Dacendaran’s lackey play in this?”

“For the purpose of this little enterprise, Wrayan Lightfinger belongs to you, Divine One. Just as I do.”

Zegarnald smiled. “Dacendaran will be most put out.”

“And you look so upset about that.”

Actually, the god was positively gloating, but so long as he did what was asked of him, Brak really didn’t care.

“Do what you must to protect the Harshini, Brakandaran,” Zegarnald ordered with a decisive nod. “No magical force will be able to penetrate these woods until the deed is done.”

“And the Harshini will know nothing?”

“As usual, they will remain ignorant of your activities,” Zegarnald promised. “I know how much it distresses them when you honour me.”

Zegarnald vanished, leaving Wrayan staring at Brak with a puzzled look. “As
usual?”

“As you so astutely remarked earlier, Wrayan, this is not the first time something like this has happened.” He turned to the demons without waiting for the young human to answer. “You know what to do?”

“I’ll be the bird,” Eyan offered. “And Elebran can come back to you with the message when I’ve found them.”

“No!” Elebran objected. “I’m the bird and
you’re
the messenger.”

“I’m the bird!” Eyan insisted, stamping his little foot soundlessly on the needle-covered clearing. “I said it first!”

“But you always get to be the bird.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m better at it.”

“But I want to be the bird, this time!” Elebran demanded. “Can I be the bird, Brak? Please? Please?”

“Oh, for the gods’ sake! Take it in turns!”

“Then I’m going first!” Eyan announced petulantly, and without giving his companion a chance to argue about it, changed into a large and ungainly sparrow.

Elarnymire is right
, Brak thought, shaking his head.
These demons don’t get to meld with the older demons and learn from them nearly enough any more
.

“He calls that a
bird?”
Elebran scoffed. The unlikely sparrow twittered at him angrily in response. “He’ll never get off the ground.”

Despite the little demon’s prediction, the sparrow flapped its wings furiously and finally, after a few false starts, lifted in the air and headed through the trees, ducking and weaving between the branches in a rather alarming manner.

“Follow him,” Brak ordered Elebran. “And I promise, you can be the bird next time.”

A little put out that he hadn’t won the argument, Elebran vanished without another word. Still shaking his head at the young demons’ foolishness, Brak picked up one of the throwing knives and tossed it to Wrayan, who was looking bemused. He caught the knife, however, with an impressive display of quick reflexes.

“Ever used a throwing knife?”

“Don’t know.”

“See that knothole? Try hitting it.”

With a shrug, Wrayan changed his grip on the blade and threw it at the tree trunk Brak indicated. It landed with a solid “thunk” about an inch from the knothole.

“Beginner’s luck?” Wrayan asked, almost as surprised as Brak that he had come so close to the mark.

“Try again,” Brak suggested, handing him another knife.

This one landed even closer to the knothole than the first. Brak looked at the young man speculatively. “You may not remember much about your past, Wrayan Lightfinger. But I can tell you one thing about it. You’re more likely the son of a criminal than a nobleman.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Dacendaran’s unhealthy interest in you notwithstanding, you didn’t learn to throw a knife like that in between dancing lessons with your
court’esa.”

Elebran suddenly reappeared at Brak’s feet, jumping up and down excitedly. “We found one! We found one! Can I be the bird now?”

“Where?”

“This way,” the demon said, scampering off into the woods. Brak quickly gathered up the remainder of his gear and shoved it back in the pack while Wrayan retrieved the knives from the trees. He kept the Hythrun short bow out, however, and the quiver of arrows, before hurrying after the demon.

They followed the demon for a few hundred yards before they heard the sound of movement in the trees ahead. Brak stopped and waited for Wrayan to catch up.

There’s two of them
, he told the young human, as he quickly and expertly strung the bow.
Over there. Can you see them?

Wrayan nodded.
Where’s the priest?

He’ll be coming up at the rear
. Brak knew that from experience. Karien priests weren’t the type to lead their troops into battle. Or anywhere for that matter.
Which one do you want?

Does it matter?

I’ll take the one on the left then
, he told Wrayan, nocking an arrow as they
squatted behind a low bush that was struggling for room to grow under the canopy of the forest.
Reckon you can take the one on the right?

Wrayan glanced down at the throwing knife he still held and nodded warily. If the boy had taken a human life before, Brak thought, it was certainly one of the memories he’d lost. It was clear the lad wasn’t sure about this at all.

It’s them or the Harshini, Wrayan
, he reminded him.
Try to picture Shananara as a broken and bleeding corpse. That should help
.

The young man paled a little, but Brak could see his resolve firming. Telepathy was an inexact form of communication at the best of times, but it had been easy for Brak to force the lad to imagine the unthinkable.

Take him in the throat
, Brak added with cold practicality.
We don’t want him calling out a warning to his friends
.

With a final hesitant nod of agreement, Wrayan changed the grip on the throwing knife and stood up. At the same time, Brak rose from the covering of the bush, drew back on the string and let fly in the direction of the Karien furthest away from them on his left. When he looked across at the other soldier, the man was toppling silently to the ground, Wrayan’s knife embedded to the hilt in his throat.

Brak nodded his approval and looked around with a frown.
Where have those damn demons got to?

“Psst!” A loud hiss came from the bushes to his left. Back in demon form, Eyan was crouched beneath a flowering alpine bitterpea, waving his arms at them. In a low crouch Brak and Wrayan ran to the demon and peeked over the top of the bush. Barely three feet away, one of the Kariens was relieving himself against the bole of a tree with his back to them, while his companion stood guard about ten paces further on, both of them blithely unaware of any danger.

I’ll take the one having a leak
, Brak told Wrayan.
You take out his friend over there
.

This time, Wrayan didn’t hesitate. He threw the knife with the same unerring accuracy he had the first time. The Karien dropped silently as Brak expertly garrotted his companion, letting the body slide to the ground as soon as the Karien stopped struggling and Brak was certain he was dead.

They didn’t need the demons to tell them where the next two were. Wrayan barely had time to pull the blade from the neck of the soldier he’d killed before they heard the other soldiers and the priest, who was making no attempt to sneak anywhere. Brak quickly rolled the body of the man he’d garrotted into the bushes and waited for the Kariens to arrive. Wrayan kicked some leaves over the man he’d taken down, hiding the throwing knife behind his back just as the last two soldiers and the priest emerged from the trees.

“Good evening, sirs,” Brak said cheerfully to the startled Kariens.
“Lovely evening for a walk in the forest miles from the nearest civilisation, don’t you think?”

Wearing Harshini Dragon Rider’s leathers, there wasn’t much hope that the Karien priest wouldn’t quickly realise what Brak and Wrayan were, despite their human eyes.

“It’s them!” the priest screeched, raising his staff as Wrayan threw his blade. He was aiming for the priest but the throw went wild. The soldier on the right charged at Wrayan, almost at exactly the same time as Brak pulled the long Hythrun blade from his boot and stepped into the path of the other soldier who rushed at him, driving the steel up under the man’s ribcage and into his heart. He pushed the dead man backwards off the blade in time to see Wrayan go down under the onslaught of the Karien soldier. The priest was still standing, chanting desperately under his breath as he scrambled backwards calling for his god, but Wrayan was in immediate danger of having his throat cut, holding back the blade of the man astride him by sheer desperate strength. Reluctant to save his human companion by drawing on his magic and risk alerting the Harshini of the conflict, Brak cursed under his breath and pulled the garrotte from his belt. Turning his back momentarily on the priest, he looped it over the head of the Karien and pulled hard. A dark spray of blood splashed over Wrayan’s face as the Karien went limp. With a grunt, Brak pushed the man aside and, ignoring the young human’s desperate scramble to get clear of the fountain of blood gushing from the dead soldier, he turned to face the priest.