“Let’s go with him, Tarja,” she heard Mahina urge. “Any minute now the whole damn Garrison is going to be after her. And you.”
“The old lady’s right. We don’t have time to discuss it here.”
“Let’s move it then,” Tarja snapped. He didn’t sound very happy. Dace let go of the bridle and ran to his own mount.
“Is she all right with you? I can take her if you can’t manage.”
“I can manage, Brak.”
R’shiel was having a great deal of trouble staying awake, even though the thunder still crashed and boomed overhead. The lightning hurt her eyes, and a headache of mammoth proportions was beginning to make its presence felt. The rain was cold, but Tarja’s chest was warm and solid so she cuddled up to him as they moved off, and somehow, in the middle of their escape, she managed to fall asleep.
chapter 42
The storm blew itself out close to dawn. Brak glanced up at the slowly brightening sky and cursed. The horses were nearly finished. Tarja’s was carrying a double load, and although they had swapped mounts at frequent intervals during the long night, there wasn’t much more they could do but rest them. He would have traded every horse in Medalon for a Hythrun sorcerer-bred mount right now. A mount like Cloud Chaser who, when linked with his rider, had the stamina of three normal horses. In battle, their intelligence made them almost invincible, although the Harshini had never bred them for war. The horses had been slaughtered in the thousands by Param and the Sisterhood. It was an unfortunate human trait, this desire to destroy things they did not understand.
He looked around at the others and decided it wasn’t just the horses that were almost at their limit. They were all cold and wet, their clothes plastered to them by the insistent downpour. Dace, riding in the lead, appeared to be holding up, but then he was immortal. The plump
With another muttered curse, he decided that this wasn’t going well at all. All he wanted was get R’shiel back to Sanctuary in one piece and discharge his debt to the Harshini. Once there, she was Korandellen’s problem. When he learned what the gods wanted of the demon child, he decided to let the Harshini King decide if she was up to the task or too dangerous to be allowed to live. It was a decision he did not want to make. Brak had seen R’shiel with the rebels, seen what she had done to Loclon, perhaps even worse, what she had wanted to do to him. There was a streak of ruthlessness buried deep within the half-human girl. He was certain there was a rough road ahead for all of them. Just accepting that she was only half-human might prove an insurmountable hurdle for her.
Dace’s addition to the party was more than an inconvenience. He was a Primal God and sufficiently powerful to assume whatever aspect he chose, but he was still bound by the nature of his divinity. He was the God of Thieves and as such was basically dishonest, unreliable, and opportunistic. Dace would only stay with them as long as it suited him and would probably leave them at the most inconvenient time imaginable. He would only be of real assistance if they were trying to steal something. Brak wasn’t sure if that was because he couldn’t help or wouldn’t. Perhaps it was better not to ask. A demarcation dispute between the gods was something to be avoided.
Brak had no idea who the chubby woman was – a friend of R’shiel’s he guessed. That could prove awkward. As for the other woman, the thought of her made him pale. Brak tried to imagine the look on Korandellen’s face when he appeared at the gates of Sanctuary with a former First Sister in tow. How in the Seven Hells had she become mixed up in an escape attempt?
And then there was Tarja.
Brak just knew there was going to be trouble with him. Tarja thought he had betrayed him at the inn at Testra. He doubted Tarja would be interested in explanations regarding the nature of the glamor Brak had used to conceal himself, or his reasons for it. Tarja was a soldier, and soldiers tended to see the world in black and white. There were no shades of gray that would allow him to consider Brak’s actions as anything other than treachery. At the very least, Tarja probably thought Brak was working for the rebellion and his task was to kill him as a traitor. Not an unreasonable assumption, under the circumstances, but one that would take some explaining. The trouble was, the explanation was likely to be unbelievable. Sometimes the truth was just plain awkward.
They had begun with about a three-hour lead over the Defenders sent to hunt them down. Dace assured him that Loclon wasn’t dead, not yet at least, and had been discovered by Corporal Lenk, who had raised the alarm. Only the fact that the majority of the Defenders were at the mine dealing with the riot prevented a full Company from riding after them. As it was, there were ten of them, closing the gap fast, unhampered by a horse carrying a double burden. Brak figured they couldn’t be more than half an hour behind them now, and they would soon forfeit whatever small advantage the rain and darkness had given them.
“Hold up,” he called to the others, dismounting stiffly. Dace wheeled his horse around and trotted back to Tarja. He slipped off his own mount and reached up for R’shiel. Tarja lowered her down and then slowly dismounted himself.
“What’s the matter?”
Brak glanced up at the sky again. “It’s almost dawn, and we’re still too close to the Grimfield. They’ll be on us in less than an hour.”
“How do you know?”
“I know,” Brak told him, then turned to Dace. “Can you keep going on your own for a while?”
The boy pushed back his damp hair. “I live to serve, Lord Brakandaran.”
Brak frowned. Dace did not appear to be taking this very seriously. “Keep going with the women. Tarja and I will take care of the pursuit.”
“I’m not going with him!” Sunny objected, still mounted.
“You’ll go with Dace and do what he says, or I’ll kill you now and have one less human to worry about.” The woman must have decided he was serious, which was a good thing. Brak had little stomach for killing these days, but she didn’t know that. She sniffed at him and looked away without any further sign of rebellion.
“Can you guarantee that we will be safe if we follow this boy?” Mahina asked.
“No harm will come to any of you while you’re with Dace,” he promised. “You could say the gods will be watching over you.”
She studied him for a moment longer with an unreadable expression. She nodded slightly and wheeled her horse around.
Brak turned back to Tarja. “You got enough strength left in you to fight?”
“I can keep going as long as you can.”
“I seriously doubt that, my friend,” he muttered to himself. “Dace, come here.”
The god was bending over the unconscious girl. He led Dace a little way off, out of the hearing of the humans, ignoring their suspicious stares.
“Keep heading southwest, toward the river. We’ll catch up as soon as we can. And try not to get distracted.”
“You show a disturbing lack of faith in me, Brakandaran.”
“I prefer to think of it as a firm grasp of reality. If you start getting ideas about wandering off, just try to imagine what Zegarnald will do when I tell him it was your fault we lost the demon child.”
“That’s not fair.” The boy-god frowned for a moment then shrugged.
That was one good thing about the gods. They didn’t agonize over anything for very long. “Will R’shiel be all right? I’m not sure what I should do with her. I don’t know much about humans. What happens if she dies?”
“She’s not going to die. All you have to do is keep her safe. You can do that much, can’t you?”
“I suppose,” Dace sighed. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I helped you and Tarja? Looking after the women is sort of... well... boring.”
“We’re going to kill them, Dace, not steal their horses.” Then he decided to try a different tack. This was a god he was talking to, after all. Their egos tended toward the majestic. He lowered his voice and added in a conspiratorial whisper, “You have to stop R’shiel from being stolen away from us. Who better to do that than the God of Thieves?”
