Tarja scanned the western horizon again, expectantly, but the sky remained clear. With a sigh, he turned back toward the small fire that Drendik had built, away from the sight of the funeral pyre. R’shiel sat beside it, wearing the charred remains of a cassock and wrapped in a gray woolen blanket, her eyes vacant. Tarja was desperately worried about her. She had said nothing since they had dragged her ashore. She flinched whenever somebody touched her, even accidentally. Her hands were burned where she had gripped the staff, and another deep burn scarred her right shoulder.
Ghari walked up the small rise to stand beside him.
“You know the irony of all this,” Tarja remarked to the young rebel, “is that we’ve started a war despite ourselves. When the Kariens learn their Envoy was killed on Medalon soil, they’ll be over the border in an instant. The alliance is well and truly broken.”
“I think Padric knew it, too,” he said. For a moment they shared a silent thought for the old rebel. His body had been one of the first they recovered.
“Will she be all right?” Ghari asked, glancing at R’shiel’s hunched and trembling figure.
“What happened on the boat was magic, and I don’t know anything about it. Hell, I don’t even believe in it.” He studied her for a moment and added, “She needs her own people now.”
“Did you call them?”
Tarja nodded. “Hours ago.”
Ghari scanned the horizon, just as Tarja had been doing a few moments before, then he turned to Tarja. “You said it was magic? I thought the Kariens hated magic more than the Sisterhood?”
“So did I.”
“Maybe it wasn’t magic. Maybe it was their god.”
Tarja smiled grimly at the suggestion. “Ghari, do you honestly think we would be standing here now if a god had intervened on their behalf?”
“I suppose not.” He turned back to study the horizon again. “Tarja! Look!”
Tarja followed his pointing finger and discovered two dark specks in the sky, rapidly growing larger as they approached the river. A coppery glint of light reflected off the specks and removed all doubt about what they were. He nodded with relief and headed down toward the fire.
Drendik was trying to get R’shiel to accept a cup of hot tea, but she stared into the fire, ignoring him. He looked up as Tarja approached with a helpless shrug. Tarja knelt down beside R’shiel and gently took her arm. She jerked back at his touch, staring at him as if he was a ghost.
“R’shiel? Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”
She stared at him for a long moment before allowing him to help her up. He led her up the small rise where Ghari waited, hopping up and down with excitement. The Fardohnyans followed them, staring at the growing specks with astonishment.
“Mother of the gods!” Drendik breathed as he realized what he was seeing. The specks had grown much larger now and looked like huge birds, their coppery wings outstretched as they rode the thermals down toward the river.
“Look!” Tarja urged.
R’shiel glanced at him and then followed his pointing finger as the dragons drew nearer. She stared at them as a tear spilled onto her cheek and rolled down toward her lip, leaving a white streak on her soot-stained face.
They waited until the dragons finally landed with a powerful beat of their wings. Lord Dranymire was in the lead, raising a dusty cloud that settled over the humans. The dragon that landed beside him was a little smaller, her scales more green than coppery, her features more delicate. The two dragons lowered their massive heads to the ground to allow their riders an easy descent. Tarja recognized Shananara riding Dranymire and was a little surprised to find Brak climbing down off the other dragon. As the Harshini walked toward them the Fardohnyans fell to their knees.
R’shiel watched the dragons, ignoring everyone around her. She shook off Tarja’s arm and walked down the small slope toward the two Harshini, still clutching the blanket around her. She ignored their greeting and kept walking. Tarja ran after her, but Shananara and Brak stopped him as he drew level with them.
“Leave her be,” Shananara advised. “I want to see what happens.”
Tarja watched anxiously as R’shiel walked toward the larger of the two dragons. She stopped a few paces from him, seemingly unafraid, and stared up at him.
The dragon studied her curiously for a moment. “Well met, Your Highness,” he said in his deep, resonant voice. Dranymire lowered his huge head toward the girl in a courtly bow.
Finally, R’shiel reached out and touched the dragon with a burned hand. As she touched him, the dragon seemed to dissolve before their eyes. One moment there was a mighty beast standing before them, the next moment it was gone, and the ground was swarming with tiny, ugly gray creatures with bright black eyes. Tarja was aghast at the sight.
“You’ve done well, Brak,” Shananara said as she watched the demons falling over themselves to get near R’shiel, who stood frozen in the middle of the sea of gray creatures, too stunned or afraid to move. Tarja glanced at the Harshini and caught the look she gave Brak as she spoke. It was anything but reassuring.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, really.”
“Were you expecting them to harm her?”
“That remains to be seen.”
Tarja glared at the two Harshini suspiciously. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Demons are bonded to Harshini through their bloodlines,” Shananara explained. “Dranymire and the demons can feel the link with R’shiel, just as she can feel the link with them, although she may not recognize it as such.”
If he suspended all disbelief, Tarja found her explanation easy enough to follow. “So if she is bonded to the same demons as you, R’shiel is related to you?” he asked, not sure why that should be such a cause for concern.
The Harshini woman nodded. “So it would seem.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“She’s half-human,” Brak pointed out, watching the girl and the demons with an unreadable expression.
“I’d already worked that out. What’s the problem?”
Brak turned from watching R’shiel and the demons. “It’s the family she comes from. Shananara’s full title is Her Royal Highness, Princess Shananara té Ortyn. Her brother is our King, Korandellen.”
Tarja was not surprised to find out R’shiel was of royal blood. It almost seemed fitting, somehow. But the thought did not seem to please Brak or Shananara very much.
“That’s not the problem though, is it?” he asked intuitively.
“Actually, it is,” Shananara told him. “She is Lorandranek’s child.”
The name struck a chord in Tarja’s mind. He recalled what he had heard about Lorandranek and turned to Shananara, his eyes wide. Seeing from his expression that he had made the connection, the Harshini woman nodded.
“That’s right. She is the half-human child of a Harshini King.”
“Behold the demon child,” Brak muttered darkly.
Brak surveyed the destruction Tarja and his Fardohnyan allies had wrought with a shake of his head. “Does the expression ‘minimum force’ mean anything to you?” he asked.
Tarja frowned at the implied criticism. “About as much as ‘you can count on me’ means to you.”
“You killed the priest, then?” He walked over to the shore, where the body of the Karien priest lay. The river had washed the blood from the corpse. In death he looked barely human, like a flaccid, blue sea creature brought up from the depths.
“Drendik killed him.”
“What happened to his staff?”
“R’shiel destroyed it.”
Brak looked at him sharply. “She what?”
“She destroyed it. Smashed it against the mizzenmast. That’s what set the ship on fire. How she burned her hands.”
“Gods!” Brak muttered. The Harshini turned and headed toward the demons, leaving Tarja standing by the bloated corpse.
“What?” Tarja called after him.
<
br /> Brak made no reply. He just kept walking.
The she-dragon was amusing herself by talking to the Fardohnyans, who stood before her reverently, like worshippers at a huge, animated altar. The demons that had been the other dragon had dispersed into smaller clusters, constantly changing shapes in a way that made Tarja’s head swim. They seemed to be entertaining themselves by changing into numerous other forms, as simple as birds or small rodents in some cases. A few of the larger groups appeared to be attempting more complex forms that changed with blinding speed and were only sometimes recognizable as creatures of the world Tarja was familiar with. As they approached, a small figure detached itself from one of the groups and waddled over to them.
“Something disturbs you, Lord Brakandaran?” the demon asked. The same booming voice that had belonged to the dragon sounded bizarre coming from this grotesque little gnome. Brak bowed to the demon respectfully, which surprised Tarja a little. It was odd seeing him so humble in the presence of an ugly little imp who only came up to his knee.
“If I may seek your counsel, Wise One?”
Tarja wondered at Brak’s sudden turn of manners.
“I will help if I can,” the demon agreed. “What is it that troubles you?”
“R’shiel destroyed the Karien priest’s staff.”
“The Staff of Xaphista is not a thing to be tampered with lightly.” Tarja could have sworn the wrinkled face, with its too-big eyes, was furrowed with concern. “Was the priest already dead?”
Brak glanced over his shoulder at Tarja questioningly.
“No,” Tarja told them, walking forward to stand next to Brak. “Drendik killed him after she smashed it.”
Lord Dranymire was silent for a moment. “She is of té Ortyn blood,” the demon said eventually.
“Does that matter?” Tarja asked. There seemed to be so much that Brak and the demon knew, it was as if they were only having half a conversation, leaving out all the important bits.
“All magic is connected through the gods,” the demon explained. “Xaphista is an Incidental God, but a god, nonetheless, like any other.”
So what? he wanted to yell at the demon. What difference does it make?
Sensing his lack of understanding, Brak finally, if a little reluctantly, came to Tarja’s rescue. “He means that Xaphista would have felt the staff being destroyed. If the priest was still alive when it happened, then he could have used the priest to discover the identity of the destroyer.”
“So the Karien god knows who R’shiel is?” Tarja asked.
“Xaphista has probably known of the demon child’s existence for some time.”
“The priest’s vision!” Tarja exclaimed. “Elfron said he had a vision about R’shiel. That’s why they wanted her!”
“Xaphista knows the demon child is coming,” the demon agreed.
“But why should that bother him?” Tarja asked. He had given up trying to puzzle out whether or not the gods existed. It was easier, at the moment, just to assume that they did.
“Because she was created to destroy him,” Brak said.
“You want R’shiel to destroy a god? You can’t be serious!”
“This has nothing to do with you, Tarja. If you have any sense at all, you will just walk away and leave her be. You don’t believe in the gods, even though you’ve met one. You simply aren’t equipped to handle this. Leave it to those of us who know what we’re facing.”
Tarja looked back at the Fardohnyan riverboat, where Shananara had disappeared with R’shiel several hours ago. The two women had not emerged since.
“I won’t let you do this to her.”
“The decision is not yours, human,” Dranymire reminded him. “It is up to the child. Only she can decide to take up the task for which she was created.”
“And what if she refuses?” Tarja asked. Brak did not answer him, but glanced at the demon who turned his wrinkled head away. Dread washed over him as he read the reluctance of the Harshini and the demon to answer his question. He grabbed Brak by his leather vest and pulled him close, until their faces were only inches apart. “What happens if she refuses?”
Brak met Tarja’s threatening gaze, undaunted by his anger. “It’s not up to me, Tarja. I’m not her judge.”
Tarja let Brak go with a shove. “Not her judge, perhaps. More like her executioner, I suspect.”
Brak shook his head, but he did not deny the charge.
chapter 53
R’shiel woke suddenly, startled and unsure of her surroundings. As she looked around she discovered she was in a small cabin on the Maera’s Daughter. She lay back and closed her eyes with relief as visions of the previous night filled her head. Tarja was alive. Padric had died trying to undo his deeds. The Fardohnyans from the riverboat had been there, too. Drendik had killed the insane priest. And Ghari – why was he here? The swift change of circumstances left her head spinning.
“Feeling better?”
R’shiel turned toward the voice and opened her eyes. The Harshini woman was seated on the other bunk, watching over her. She had black-on-black eyes, flawless skin, and thick dark red hair. She had introduced herself as Shananara as she had led R’shiel away from the demons. R’shiel glanced down and discovered her burned hands were unmarked. In fact, her whole body felt renewed. She could not remember ever feeling so well.
“I feel... wonderful. Did you do that?”
“I just gave your own healing powers a bit of a helping hand.”
“Thank you,” R’shiel said, genuinely grateful. With the physical pain gone, it was far easier to ignore the mental scars. She pushed back the blanket and sat up, a little startled to discover she was clean, but naked, under the covers. She hurriedly pulled the blanket up to cover herself.
“You have learned the human concept of modesty, I fear.”
Shananara reached into a deep bag and handed R’shiel a set of black riding leathers, similar to those she wore. “I thought you might need something to wear. We are of a size, I suspect. They should fit you.”
Shananara mistook her astonishment for embarrassment. “It’s all right. I won’t look.”
The Harshini woman politely turned her back as R’shiel dressed in the supple leathers. She had worn long concealing skirts all her life, and the velvety leather of the Harshini outfit clung to her frame as if molded to it. R’shiel felt rather exposed. When Shananara turned back she clapped her hands delightedly.
“Now you look like a true Harshini Dragon Rider!” she declared. “But for your eyes, it’s hard to believe you have any human blood in you at all.”
“I find it harder to accept that I have Harshini blood,” R’shiel remarked with a frown.
“Your mother never told you anything useful, did she? Who your father was, for instance? How she met him? Why he abandoned her? If he even knew of your existence?”
“My mother... my real mother died when I was born.”
“I’m sorry, R’shiel. I didn’t know. Family raised you, then? An aunt or uncle, perhaps?”
R’shiel wondered how much she should tell her. This woman had arrived on a dragon. She was a member of a race that the Sisterhood had deliberately set out to exterminate. R’shiel was not certain how Shananara would take the news that she had been raised by the current First Sister.
“I was taken in by someone,” R’shiel told her, evasively.
“Someone who lived at the Citadel?” Shananara asked, as she walked to the small shelf near the door and took down two goblets and a wineskin. “Don’t let it bother you, R’shiel. Dranymire and the demons have felt the bond with you ever since you reached maturity. We know you lived at the Citadel. It is nothing to be ashamed of.” She offered R’shiel a cup of wine. The sweet liquid slipped down her throat and warmed her through.
“I’m not ashamed of being raised in the Citadel.”
“You might have been a Sister of the Blade. Now that would have been interesting.” The idea seemed to amuse Shananara greatly.
“Ho
w dare you laugh at me! You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know who I am. You don’t know what I think, or what I feel, or what I’ve been through! You’re not even real!”
“Oh, I’m real enough, R’shiel. As for who you are and what you feel, let me take an educated guess. You were probably a perfectly normal human girl up until... what? About two years ago? A little brighter than your friends perhaps, quicker to learn, faster to pick things up? You never got sick. In fact, you never had much trouble with anything. Then one day, the sight of meat started to repulse you. And headaches, there would have been terrible, terrible headaches. It went on for months until finally you could not even stand the smell of meat and the headaches were so painful you could barely lift your head in the mornings. How am I doing so far?”
“Tarja told you all of this!”
Shananara shook her head. “He did not, as well you know. Do you want me to go on?” R’shiel looked away, but she continued without waiting for an answer. “Finally, your menses arrived, years after all of your friends. The headaches vanished and the smell of meat no longer made you sick to your stomach, but other strange things began to happen to you, didn’t they? Your skin took on a golden cast that looked as if you’d been tanning yourself in the middle of winter. You could see auras around people sometimes. You began to feel strange, as if something far away was calling to you, but you couldn’t work out what it was. Eventually, the pull became so much a part of you that you didn’t even notice it anymore. Until today. Until you met Dranymire and the demons.”
Medalon dct-1 Page 41
