quite likely he would choose the latter course out of sheer bloody-mindedness.
Then again, maybe he wouldn’t.
Maybe he would take the chance for freedom, take the chance to escape the Citadel and be forever free of Joyhinia’s manipulation and ambition.
The Question suddenly loomed in her mind, and the nothingness beyond it.
“We can’t go that way, we’ll be blown off the ledge.” The storm had reached the Citadel, and rain lashed furiously at the windows.
“I have to get out of here!” she hissed.
“We’ll have to wait, R’shiel. No one is likely to come up here until the meeting is over.”
“No!”
Davydd looked at her determined expression and shook his head. “If I get killed doing this, I’ll be very annoyed with you.”
“You’re a Defender! You’re supposed to enjoy this sort of thing,” she said, easing open the balcony door. The rain struck her like cold, sharp needles, but she didn’t care.
part three
THE PURGE
chapter 15
Winter’s bite could be felt in the brisk wind that swept across the border from Medalon into Hythria. Although it never snowed this far south, it did not stop the chill wind, which blew off the snowcapped Sanctuary Mountains, cutting through everything with icy fingers. The sky was overcast and leaden and smelled of rain.
Brak sat on his sorcerer-bred horse overlooking a shallow ford that marked the line between Medalon and Hythria. It was a long time since he had been home. If he rode across the border and just kept heading northwest to the mountains, eventually he would reach the peace and tranquillity of Sanctuary. He could feel it calling to him. He could feel the pull, the closer he came to Medalon. The ache niggled at him constantly, tempting him to weaken. He pushed it away and looked north.
“They call it the Border Stream,” Damin told him, mistaking the direction of his gaze. “The gods alone know why. You’d think somebody would have given it a grander name, considering its strategic importance.” Brak glanced at the Warlord and nodded politely. The High Arrion had arranged for him to travel with her brother, the Warlord of Krakandar. Damin Wolfblade was anxious to be gone from Greenharbor, and it seemed logical that they should travel together. So Kalan had claimed. Brak had a bad feeling she was using him. Korandellen’s appearance in the Seeing Stone might place Damin in immediate danger, but it did no harm at all to his long-term claim on the Hythrun throne. Nor would escorting a Divine One north on a sacred mission. Of course, he had not told the High Arrion what he was doing, just as he continued to deny his right to the title of Divine One, but that didn’t stop her using it. Or making the most of his presence. Damin Wolfblade had at least been more amenable in that respect. Brak had asked simply to be called by his name, and the Warlord had agreed, quite unperturbed about the whole issue. He even went so far as to apologize for his sister.
Brak had learned much in the month he had spent in the young Warlord’s company on their journey to Krakandar Province and the Medalon border. He had known that Damin’s mother was Lernen’s younger sister, but he had not realized that she had gone through five husbands and her extended family included three children of her own and another seven stepchildren. Every one of them was carefully placed in a position of power. Kalan was High Arrion. Narvell, Kalan’s twin brother and the issue of Maria’s second marriage, was the Warlord of Elasapine. Luciena, her stepdaughter from her marriage to a wealthy shipping magnate, owned a third of Hythria’s trading ships. Damin’s youngest stepbrother, at the tender age of nineteen, was training in the Hythrun Assassins’ Guild.
Maria had known her brother would never produce an heir. She had used her considerable wealth and influence to raise her entire brood with one purpose in mind: securing the throne for her eldest son. Considering Damin could not be much past thirty, it was astounding that she had achieved so much, so soon. Brak also found the loyalty among Maria’s clan quite remarkable. Damin seemed certain of the support of each and every one of his siblings, a rare thing among humans, he thought cynically. Brak had only met Maria once, when she was but a child of seven and he could remember nothing about her that hinted at her strength of purpose in years to come. Brak’s fears for Hythria were allayed a little. Damin seemed an intelligent and astute young man. On the other hand, with the exception of Narvell, the other Warlords in Hythria were not terribly happy about the situation. It would be much better if old Lernen just kept on living.
“Am I boring you, Brak?”
“I’m sorry, did you say something?”
Damin laughed. “I was boasting of my many battles at this very site,” he said. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that such heroics don’t interest you. I do miss Tarja, though.”
“Tarja?”
“Captain Tarja Tenragan,” Damin explained. “One of the Defender’s finest. The son of a bitch could read me like a book. Damned if I know how he did it. He was recalled to the Citadel a few months ago, right after Trayla died.” Damin frowned, his expression miserable. “The idiot they sent to replace him hardly makes it worth the effort anymore.”
“How disappointing for you,” Brak remarked dryly. The news that there was a new First Sister surprised him. It reminded him sharply of how long he had been away.
“No doubt the God of War had him recalled as some sort of punishment,” Damin added. “He probably thought I was having too much fun.”
“Zegarnald is like that,” Brak agreed.
Damin stared at him, awestruck. “You have spoken with the God of War?”
Brak nodded reluctantly, wishing he had kept his mouth shut. Damin Wolfblade was a reasonable fellow, but like all Hythrun and Fardohnyans, he was in awe of the gods. Brak tended to take them much less seriously. Anyone who spent time in the gods’ company usually did. They were immortal, it was true, and powerful, but they were fickle and self-absorbed and generally a nuisance, as far as Brak was concerned. His present mission was proof of that. He often thought humans would be much better off without them.
“You said you had contacts in Bordertown,” Brak said, deciding a change of subject was in order. Damin would be calling him Divine One soon.
Damin nodded, taking the hint, although he was obviously dying to ask Brak more. “When you get to Bordertown, seek out a Fardohnyan sailor named Drendik. He has a barge that trades between Talabar in the Gulf and the Medalonian ports on the Glass River. At this time of year, he’ll be getting ready to sail north to Brodenvale so he can catch the spring floods on his way home. If you mention my name, he’ll give you passage. If you mention that you know Maera, the Goddess of the River, he’ll probably carry you there on his back.”
“How is it you have Fardohnyan allies? I thought Hythria and Far-dohnya were enemies.”
“We are,” Damin agreed. “When it suits us. At least we were when I left Greenharbor. That may have changed by now.”
“You mean Princess Adrina was in Greenharbor to broker peace?” Brak asked.
Damin shrugged. “Who knows? With some difficulty, I managed to avoid meeting Her Serene Highness, thank the gods. By all accounts, she’s an obnoxious and demanding spoilt brat. I hear that Hablet can’t even bribe
