Medalon

It’s Zegarnald who wants to know. You’ve found the demon child. It’s time you took her home.”

“Since when have you been Zegamald’s messenger?” he asked. Twice now, a goddess had appeared at the War God’s behest. Such cooperation among the immortals was unusual. Zegarnald might be able to order the weaker River Goddess around, but Kalianah did no one’s bidding.

“I am not his messenger,” she protested. “I just happen to agree with him. Besides, I wanted to see you. You’ve been gone from Sanctuary so long. And you never talk to me anymore.”

“I’ve been gone twenty years, Kalianah. You’ve probably only just noticed I was missing.”

“That’s not true! Pick me up!”

Brak did as she bade him, and she wrapped her thin arms around his neck, laying her head on his shoulder. “Do you love me, Brakandaran?”

“Everybody loves you, Kali. They can’t help it.”

“Does the demon child love me, too?”

“She worships you,” Brak assured her.

“I want to see her!” Kalianah announced. She wiggled out of his grasp and landed on the soft earth without making a mark. “Show her to me!”

“You want me to take you into a cellar full of mortals just so I can point her out? You’re a god Can’t you find her yourself?”

“Of course I can! But I want you to do it. And because I’m a goddess, you have to do as I say!”

Brak sighed. “Very well. But not until you change into something more grown up. I can’t take you in there looking like that.”

Instantly the child before him vanished, and a plain young woman, dressed in a simple homespun dress, took her place. “Is that better?”

“I suppose.” Somewhat reluctantly, he headed back toward the farmhouse with the goddess at his side. When he glanced down, he discovered her gliding over the ground. “Walk, dammit! Unless you want to cause a riot by announcing who you are!”

“There’s no need to be rude, Brakandaran. I forget sometimes, that’s all.”

As they neared the small stone wall that enclosed the yard, Brak held out his hand to halt her. A spill of yellow light appeared as the door opened and two figures appeared. It was Tarja leading R’shiel by the hand, none too gently. He pulled her around to the side of the house, turning on her as she pulled free of him.

“Just what in the Seven Hells do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

Brak’s eyes darkened as he drew on enough power to conceal his presence. He didn’t try to include Kalianah. No mortal ever saw her when she did not want them to.

“I’m helping them fight for their beliefs!” R’shiel retorted.

“You don’t give a damn about what these people believe in! You’re doing this to get revenge on Joyhinia!”

“Now there’s a mortal who needs my help,” Kalianah sighed. Brak put a finger to his lips, urging her to silence. He wanted to hear the rest of this.

“So what if I do?” R’shiel declared. “What do you care? You just want to pretend you’re still in the Defenders by turning this rabble into your own private little army. Next you’ll be asking them to swear an oath!”

Ouch! thought Brak. R’shiel knew better than anyone what breaking his oath to the Defenders had cost Tarja.

“That girl needs someone to love her,” Kalianah said. “Shall I make them fall in love, do you think?”

“Sshh!”

“At least they’d be swearing to something they believe in, R’shiel,”

Tarja replied, his voice so low, Brak could barely make it out. “You don’t believe in anything.”

“And you do?” she asked. “You don’t hold with these pagan gods anymore than I. Perhaps Mandah’s kisses have so addled your brain that you’re starting to believe in them?”

“She’s jealous, that’s a good sign.”

“Kali, shut up!”

“Leave Mandah out of this, R’shiel,” Tarja warned.

“Oh! Did I say something to offend your insipid little girlfriend? Founders, I am so sick of that girl! She only has to look in your direction and you go running! You accuse me of using these people to get revenge on Joyhinia. Well, Captain, if you want my opinion, you’re here because you enjoy being worshipped like one of her damned gods! Have you slept with her yet?”

“He’s going to have to kiss her,” Kalianah announced with a frown. “We can’t have her like this.” The goddess waved her hand and Tarja, who Brak had feared was on the brink of slapping R’shiel, suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders, pushed her against the wall and kissed her with bruising force. Although taken by surprise, R’shiel did not appear to mind in the least.

“Kalianah! Stop it! They’re brother and sister!”

“Don’t be silly, Brakandaran. How could they be brother and sister? Lorandranek only had one child.”

“But that’s not—”

“The demon child?” the goddess asked, with a puzzled look. “Of course, it is. Who did you think it was?”

Brak glanced at the couple, who appeared so lost in the power of Kalianah’s spell that they might see it through to it’s inevitable conclusion, right there in the yard. “Enough, Kalianah. Let them up for air, at least.”

She sighed and waved her arm. The gesture was an affectation. Her will was imposed by thought alone. They broke apart and stared at each other wordlessly for a moment, before R’shiel fled into the darkness. Tarja watched her leave then sagged against the wall, as if he could not understand what had come over him. Hardly surprising, under the circumstances, Brak thought.

“It’s done now, you know,” Kalianah warned. “He’ll only ever be able to love her. Do you think Zegarnald will be mad when I tell him what I did?”

Right then, Brak could not have cared less what the War God thought. He looked at the goddess in despair. “R’shiel is Lorandranek’s child?”

“I thought we’d settled that.”

“It can’t be. Not R’shiel. Anyone but her.”

chapter 21

It was just on dawn when Tarja finally admitted to himself that he would get no more sleep this night. He rose from his makeshift bed and made his way quietly through the sleeping bodies in the cellar, climbed the narrow stairs, and let himself outside. The sun was yet to show itself over the horizon, but it had sent out ribbons of scarlet light to herald its imminent arrival, making the scattered clouds appear as if they had been dipped in blood. He glanced around the silent farmyard, noting almost unconsciously the position of the sentries.

Despite the optimism among the rebels, Tarja was well aware that the rebellion was nothing more than an irritation to the Sisterhood. They had no serious chance of overthrowing the Sisters of the Blade. It angered Tarja when he heard the young, foolish men making plans about what they would do when they took the Citadel. They had no real concept of what they faced. They had skirmished with the Defenders and been lucky, more often than not. They had never been attacked in force, never faced a cavalry charge, never felt the paralyzing fear of a pitched battle. They skirmished and retreated and thought they were heroes.

The faint smell of burning incense reached him on the still air, and he turned curiously in the direction of the aroma. He followed it around the side of the ramshackle farmhouse to the stables. No doubt hoping his presence heralded breakfast, several of the dozen or so horses stabled there nickered softly as he looked inside. When he found nobody there, he walked back around the side of the building, stepping over the low stone wall that circled the yard. His footfalls made no sound on the soft earth as he followed the sweet smell to a small clearing amid the wilting vines some hundred paces from the house.

Mandah was kneeling on the damp ground, her back to him, as she tended a small stone altar. He watched silently as she placed a small bunch of wildflowers on the altar and sat back on her heels, her head bowed in