blade just below the ribs. Lacking the strength to run the blade all the way through the protective leather, Joyhinia twisted the blade savagely as she was overpowered.
Tarja caught R’shiel as she fell with an agonized scream, clutching at the jagged wound, dark blood rapidly spilling over her hands onto the dusty ground.
chapter 62
Testra’s red roofs came into view midmorning, and the sight raised Brak’s spirits considerably. He was exhausted from the effort of keeping the Hythrun Raiders hidden from view. He had been drawing on his power continuously for weeks now, and the sweetness of it had long moved from intoxicating to nauseating. His eyes burned black and felt as if they had been branded with hot pokers. The trembling that had begun a few days ago was so fierce he had trouble keeping his seat. Damin watched him worriedly but said nothing. The Warlord had agreed to come to his aid, and in return, Brak had agreed to see them safely through Medalon. He had not realized what it would cost him to keep such a foolish promise.
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
