Medalon dct-1

by Jennifer Fallon

  Arriving in Krakandar on the back of an eagle larger than a horse had a gone a long way to convincing the Warlord to follow him. But ever since that day, Brak had suffered through being referred to as Divine One, men falling to their knees as he approached, and women begging him to bless their newborn babies. He accepted it as part of the price he must pay to keep his word to Korandellen.

  There was no point now, Brak could see, in trying to pretend the Harshini were extinct, so he made no attempt to hide what he was. Nor had he hesitated to call on the Harshini for help. There were many of them anxious to leave Sanctuary and move openly in the world once more. When they crossed the Glass River it had been over a magical bridge constructed by Shananara and her demon brethren. On his left rode a slender young Harshini named Glenanaran. His efforts had allowed them to maintain an impossible pace. He had linked his mind to the Hythrun’s sorcerer-bred horses, and through that, gave the beasts access to the magical power they were bred to channel – power the breed had been denied for two centuries.

  With Testra so close, Brak finally let go of the magic, and two hundred Hythrun Raiders suddenly appeared, as if from nowhere, in the middle of the road. Their pace did not falter. It meant nothing to the Hythrun that they had been hidden from sight. They were invisible to casual observers but not to each other. Brak sagged as the power left him.

  “What’s wrong?” Damin asked, as Brak clutched at his pommel to prevent himself from being pitched from the saddle.

  “I’ve let go of the glamor. They can see us now.”

  Damin nodded, his eyes scanning the countryside, but they were in no danger yet.

  They rode on toward the town with the Glass River glittering silver on their right. Brak wondered if they would get there in time. He had no clear idea what Tarja had planned. All he knew was that it was likely to be dangerous. He had not come this far to see R’shiel destroyed. Brak slowed them to a trot as they reached the squatters’ hovels on the edge of the town. Damin looked around with interest. He had never traveled this far north before.

  “So this is where we will find the demon child?”

  “I hope so.”

  “What is she like?”

  Brak thought for a moment. “Like me, I suppose.”

  “You?”

  “It’s not something than can be easily understood by a human.” He was saved from having to explain further by the first sign of the Defenders, although he was a little surprised they had not been noticed sooner. A flash of red and a startled yell, and the Hythrun were reaching for their weapons. “Tell your men to stay their hand, Damin. I don’t want a pitched battle if it can be avoided.”

  “If they attack, my men will fight.”

  “Well, they haven’t attacked yet, so give the order.”

  Damin frowned, but he turned in his saddle and signaled his Raiders to put up their weapons.

  They rode into a town that seemed oddly deserted for the middle of the day. Although he had expected the townsfolk to run at the sight of the Hythrun, there were few folk around to notice their passage. It made him uneasy, a feeling that only got worse as they turned toward the main square and spied a fair-haired youth standing in the center of the deserted street, obviously waiting for them.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, riding out to meet the God of Thieves.

  “Waiting for you.” Dace looked past Brak at the dark-eyed Harshini and waved brightly. “Hello, Glenanaran.”

  “Divine One.”

  “You’re heading the wrong way,” Dacendaran informed them “They’re all over on the fields on the western side of town. You’d better hurry, though. I think they’re going to... NO!”

  Dace vanished with an anguished cry. Glenanaran looked at Brak.

  “Something has happened.”

  “What?” Damin demanded. “Who was that child? What’s happened?”

  Brak didn’t answer. He urged Cloud Chaser forward at a gallop with Glenanaran close on his heels. Damin and his troop were a little slower to react, but soon the sharp clack of hooves against the cobbles sounded in his wake. Brak tried not to think the worst, but only something that touched the consciousness of a god, on a level neither he, nor even Glenanaran could feel, would cause him to retreat like that.

  Brak found the compound easily enough and ignored the Defenders who tried to block his way. He galloped into the enclosure with Glenanaran at his side and skidded to a halt as the shocked Defenders suddenly realized there were two hundred Hythrun Raiders riding into their midst.

  Brak flew from his saddle toward a cluster of rebels and Defenders, pushing them out of his way. His fears seemed to solidify into a core of molten lead that burned through his chest. Tarja knelt on the ground nursing R’shiel. He was covered in blood. R’shiel’s blood.

  “What have you done?” he demanded of the gathered humans.

  No one answered him. R’shiel was unconscious, her skin waxy and pale, her breathing labored. Glenanaran pushed through to kneel beside her, and Brak felt his skin prickle as the Harshini drew on his power. The labored breathing halted and then stopped completely.

  “I’ve stopped time around her, but it’s a temporary measure only,” the Harshini explained. “She needs healing beyond even our power.”

  They knelt in the circle of stunned Defenders and rebels. Brak looked up and saw two rebels holding back a woman whose eyes burned with hatred. Joyhinia Tenragan, he guessed. Her white gown was splattered with blood. On the other side of the circle stood the Lord Defender. Even if his braided uniform had not given him away, Brak thought he would know him simply by his air of command. At the appearance of the Hythrun, Jenga had began yelling orders. Defenders were scooping up blades that inexplicably lay on the ground in front of them. As soon as they moved for their swords, the Hythrun reacted. Short recurved bows quivered as the Raiders waited for the order to loose their arrows into the closely packed Defenders and rebels.

  “Damin! No!” Brak called, as the Warlord raised his arm to give the signal. Brak turned to Jenga urgently. “My Lord, tell your men to put up their swords!”

  “Who are you to give such orders!”

  “I am the only hope this girl has! Put up your swords!”

  Jenga made no move to comply. Damin Wolfblade had but to drop his arm and there would be a massacre.

  “Dacendaran!”

  The god appeared almost instantly, which surprised Brak a little.

  “There’s no need to yell, Brakandaran.”

  “Do something about these weapons. Please.”

  The boy god’s face lit up with glee. In the blink of an eye, every sword, every knife, every arrow, every table dagger in the compound vanished, leaving their owners slack-jawed with surprise.

  “What trickery is this!” Jenga bellowed.

  “It’s not trickery, it’s divine intervention. Lord Defender, meet Dacendaran, the God of Thieves. If I ask him nicely, he may even give your weapons back, but don’t count on it.”

  Jenga clearly did not believe the evidence of his own eyes, but Damin Wolfblade and his Hythrun looked to be in the throes of religious ecstasy. They would be no trouble for the time being. Brak turned back to Glenanaran. “How long do we have?”

  “Not long at all, I fear.”

  “Let her die!” Joyhinia screamed. “I warned you! Didn’t I warn you the heathens were still a threat! This is the price of your treachery, Jenga!”

  “Who is that woman?” Dace asked.

  “The First Sister.”

  “Really?” Dace walked toward Joyhinia, who fell thankfully silent, her eyes wide with fear as the god approached.

  Brak wasted no more time worrying about her. He knelt down beside R’shiel. Tarja still held her as if he could hold her life in, simply by refusing to let go. While she was held in Glenanaran’s spell she had not deteriorated, but his magic could not save her, merely postpone the inevitable.

  “Will Cheltaran come if we call?” he asked the Harshini.

  “He
will come if I tell him to.”

  His head jerked up as the newcomer approached. Brak glanced around and discovered the humans in the compound frozen in a moment between time. Only he, Glenanaran, and Dace were free of it. Zegarnald towered over everything, even the mounted Hythrun, dressed in a glorious golden breastplate and a silver plumed helm. He carried a jeweled sword taller than a man and a shield that glinted so brightly it hurt to gaze upon it.

  “Zegarnald.”

  “You were supposed to bring the demon child to us, Brakandaran,” the War God said. “Would it have been too much to expect you to deliver her alive?”

  Brak stood and looked up at the god. “You’ve known all along where she was, Zegarnald. You, Dacendaran, and Kalianah. Maera knew. Kaelarn must have been in on it,” he added, thinking of the blue-finned arlen catch that had set him on this path. “Even Xaphista knows of her. You didn’t need me. Why?”

  “No weapon is ready for battle until it has been tempered.”

  “Is that what you call it?”

  “The demon child must face a god, Brakandaran. For that she must be fearless. She must have ridden through the fires of adversity and out the other side. Otherwise, she will not prevail.”

  “The fact that your tempering has probably started a war doesn’t hurt a bit either, I suppose?”

  The War God shrugged. “I can’t help it if circumstances conspire in my favor every now and then.”

  Brak shook his head in disgust and glanced down at R’shiel. She might be better off if she didn’t survive.

  “What will you do?”

  “I have no need to explain myself.” Brak glared at the god. He was in no mood for Zegarnald’s arrogance. “You have been... useful... however, so I will indulge you. I will take her to Sanctuary. Cheltaran will heal her. Then the tempering can continue.”

  “Continue! Hasn’t she been through enough?” Haven’t we all, he added silently.

  “She knows what she is but does not accept it. The tempering will be complete when she acknowledges her destiny.”

  “Well, I hope she’s inherited her father’s longevity,” Brak snapped. “I’ve a feeling you’ll be waiting a long while for that day.”

  “Your disrespect is refreshing, Brakandaran, but it tries my patience. Give her to me.” There was no point in refusing. Zegarnald would see R’shiel safe, if only to ensure she lived to face Xaphista. Glenanaran hurried to comply, lifting R’shiel clear of Tarja, whose face was frozen in an expression of despair. The War God bent down and gathered R’shiel to him with surprising gentleness.

  “You must ally the Hythrun with the Medalonians and move north,” Zegarnald ordered. “Xaphista knows who destroyed the staff. The Overlord can use the power of the demon child as readily as we can, should he find her before she is prepared. His attempts to bring her to him by stealth have failed. His next attempt will not be nearly as subtle, and your human friends have given him the perfect excuse. So, Brakandaran, it seems you must serve me again, however reluctantly.”

  “Don’t be such a bully, Zeggie.”

  Kalianah appeared beside the War God in her most adorable aspect, although she barely reached his knee. An eternity of trying had not convinced her that Zegarnald would not come around eventually and love her as everyone else did.

  “This is none of your concern, Kalianah. Go back to your matchmaking. You have interfered too much already.”

  “I’ve interfered! Look who’s talking! You’re the one doing all the interfering. If I didn’t—”

  “Hey!” Dacendaran cut in. “R’shiel is dying, while you two stand there arguing,” The gods stared at him in surprise. Without a word, Zegarnald vanished with R’shiel. Kalianah followed with a dramatic sigh. Brak turned to Dace in surprise. The boy-god grinned. “It’s not often I get a chance to put those two in their place.”

  Brak had no chance to reply. With the departure of the gods, the humans woke from their torpor. Tarja leaped to his feet, searching for R’shiel. To him, it would have seemed as if she had simply disappeared between one moment and the next.

  Tarja glared at him suspiciously. “Where’s R’shiel? What have you done with her?”

  “She’s safe. I’ll explain later.”

  “What is happening here?” Jenga demanded.

  “I am wondering the same thing,” Damin said, moving his horse forward. “What happened to the girl?”

  Brak took a deep breath. This was going to take some explaining. “My Lord, I am Brakandaran té Cam of the Harshini. This is Lord Glenanaran té Daylin. And this is Damin Wolfblade, the Warlord of Krakandar. I believe you and Lord Wolfblade already know each other, Tarja.”

  “We’ve not been formally introduced,” the Warlord said. “But we know each other well enough. Who harmed the demon child? Point me to her assailant, and I will make him suffer for an eternity.”

  “Thanks, but I plan to take care of that myself,” Tarja said.

  “Tarja,” Jenga began. “What is—”

  Tarja held up his hand to halt Jenga’s questions and turned to Brak. “Is attacking us with the Hythrun your idea of helping?”

  “Attacking? Captain, you woefully misunderstand our intentions!” Damin objected. “We are here to offer you assistance. Lord Brakandaran informs me there is an invasion of Medalon impending. If the Kariens get through you, then Hythria is next, specifically, my province of Krakandar, which borders Medalon. I’d far rather stop the bastards on your border, than on mine.”

  Tarja turned to look at Jenga. “My Lord?”

  Things were happening far too quickly for Jenga. Brak looked around him, at the Defenders poised for action, the nervously alert Hythrun. Tarja standing by the Warlord, waiting for his answer. He saw Draco, his expression bewildered, standing beside Joyhinia. The First Sister stared into the sky, her face a portrait of wonder. There was something very odd about the way she smiled. Something childlike and innocent and so totally unexpected, that it made Brak uneasy. Dacendaran stood beside her, tossing a glowing ball in his hand, grinning mischievously.

  “First Sister?”

  Joyhinia did not respond. She seemed totally absorbed in watching the sky.

  “Sister Joyhinia?”

  “She can’t hear you,” the boy told them. “Well, no that’s not true. She can hear you; she just doesn’t care.”

  “What have you done, Dacendaran?” Brak asked sternly.

  “I stole this,” he announced, tossing the glowing ball over the heads of Tarja and Jenga. Brak snatched the ball out of the air and examined it curiously.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s her intellect.”

  Jenga stared at the boy uncomprehendingly as Tarja took the glowing sphere from Brak. “What do you mean, her intellect?”

  The god shrugged, as if it hardly needed an explanation. “It’s all the bits that go into making her what she is. I couldn’t steal it all; that would kill her, and I’m not allowed to do that. But I took all the icky bits. Now she’s just like a little child.”

  “What happens if this is destroyed?” Tarja asked, holding the ball up to the light. “Will it kill her?”

  “No. She’ll just stay like this. It’s pretty clever, don’t you think?”

  Tarja did not answer. He simply dropped the ball to the ground, crushed it beneath the heel of his boot, and then looked at Jenga.

  “My Lord, the First Sister appears to be incapacitated,” he said, as if she had come down with a cold. “We have an offer of an alliance to discuss. Would you be so kind as to act in lieu of a member of the Quorum?”

  Jenga barely hesitated as he finally crossed the line into treason. He glanced at Tarja before he turned to the Warlord.

  “We must talk,” he said to Damin.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Brak saw Mahina leading Joyhinia away. Mahina nodded patiently as Joyhinia said something to her and then giggled. She sounded like a five-year-old child. As he turned back, Brak caught sight of Draco approaching Tarja cautiously. Tarj
a deliberately turned his back on him and walked away. All around them, the rebels, the Defenders, and the Hythrun wore expressions of complete bewilderment.

  “You’re going to have to do something about the rest of the Sisterhood,” Damin said as he swung a leg over his saddle and jumped to the ground. “You can’t fight the Kariens effectively with one arm tied behind your back.”

  “I must reluctantly agree,” Glenanaran added. “This moment, while historic, is only just the beginning.”

  “Aye,” Jenga agreed heavily.

  Brak was saddened by the expression on Jenga’s face. The weight of his treason pressed on him, as it would for the rest of his days. For this to be resolved now he would have to do more than defy the Sisterhood; he might well have to destroy it. Dace sidled up to Brak, looking rather pleased with himself.

  “Well, it looks like it will all work out for the best, after all.”

  Brak shook his head. “That depends on how you look at it, Dace. Zegarnald has his war and Kalianah has been able to impose her idea of order on a few hapless souls, but I’m not sure R’shiel would agree with you. Or any of the Medalonians for that matter.”

  “You worry too much, Brak.”

  “And you should stay out of things that don’t concern you. That goes for the other gods, too.” Dacendaran did not deign to answer, but as Brak walked away from him, the god called him back.

  “Brakandaran!”

  “What now, Dace?”

  “Do I have to give their weapons back?”

  Glossary

  Adrina — Princess of Fardohnya. Eldest legitimate child of King Hablet.

  Affiana — Innkeeper in Testra. Brak’s great-great-grandneice.

  B’thrim Snowbuilder — Villager from Haven. Elder sister of J’nel. Died in a raid by the Defenders who destroyed her village.