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
“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?”
“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.”
“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 te Cam of the Harshini. This is Lord Glenanaran te 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.
