washed over her, she could only hope that Tarja’s brother captains, when it came to the crunch, were made of the same stuff.
Chapter 65
The first thing that R’shiel noticed in the long tent was the absence of any physics. An occupation almost entirely restricted to Sisters of the Blade, it did not seem possible that the Defenders would undertake such a journey without some of them in attendance. When she questioned Denjon about them, he shrugged.
“It was Lord Terbolt’s decision. There are no sisters in the camp at all. I don’t think he trusts them. Besides,” he added. “We were simply escorting him to the border. We weren’t expecting any trouble.”
“Why would Terbolt want a thousand-man escort? That seems a bit excessive, even for a Karien.”
“Because when the Fardohnyans cross the southern border, the Defenders will send for reinforcements,” Damin remarked, pushing through the tent flap behind them. “If the troops are in the north, even if the Sisterhood wanted to, they couldn’t send help. What the Kariens don’t know is that Hablet is playing his own game. He’s not coming to help the Kariens, he’s heading for Hythria.”
Adrina spun around at the sound of his voice and flew at him. Damin caught her in a brief hug then held her at arm’s length. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. R’shiel came through in the nick of time.”
At the mention of her name, he looked up, unable to hide his shock. With her hair cut close and her eyes black with the power she refused to relinquish, she must look nothing like the girl he remembered.
“Where’s Tarja?” he asked.
The sergeant must have told him what was happening, or what little he knew, at any rate.
R’shiel glanced at Denjon, who pointed to the narrow pallet at the far end of the tent. Only a few of the beds were occupied, and the men in them all looked seriously injured. The Defenders had a fairly generous definition of “walking wounded”. If a man could stand, he wasn’t sick enough to be confined to bed. These men were simply the worst of the night’s casualties. There would be many more out in the camp suffering the effects of Tarja’s abortive rescue attempt.
Afraid of what she would find, she pushed past Denjon and the medic in attendance and approached him cautiously. Her throat constricted as she neared him. He was paler than death and barely breathing.
“If you’ve anything important to say to him, make it quick,” the medic suggested with cold practicality. “He’s going fast. Lost so much blood it’s a wonder he’s still got anything for his heart to do.”
R’shiel stared at the man in horror then sought Brak out among those crowded into the tent. He had released his hold on the power and his faded eyes were clouded with doubt.
He knew what she wanted. She did not have to ask.
“I don’t know, R’shiel.”
Adrina still clung to Damin but she looked at them both with wide eyes, confused by their doubt.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You’re Harshini. You can heal him, can’t you? R’shiel fixed me up with just a touch.”
R’shiel knelt beside the bed and placed her hand on Tarja’s forehead. His skin was cold and clammy. He was deeply unconscious, a step away from death and heading in the wrong direction. The power seemed to both sharpen and deaden her senses at the same time. She could feel the life slipping away from him, but she was insulated from the grief somehow. Perhaps it would hit her later, once she let the power go.
“Get out,” she ordered softly. When no one seemed inclined to heed her, she looked up, her eyes blazing. “Out! All of you!”
Startled by her tone, they did not argue. As they filed from the tent, she turned back to Tarja, wishing she knew where to start. Healing Adrina’s fresh, uncomplicated arrow wound was one thing. Bringing someone back from the brink of death was quite another.
R’shiel waited until she knew she was alone, except for the one person she was certain would not leave her while she was drawing on this much power. She didn’t know if it was loyalty or distrust that kept him there. Nor did she care.
“I can’t do this, Brak. I don’t know enough about healing.”
“I’ll not be much help to you, R’shiel. Like yours, my talent lies in the other direction.”
She looked up sharply, wondering how he could be so callous.
“I have to try.”
“Have you considered the possibility that this was meant to be?”
“What do you mean?” He could not meet her eye. “Brak! What do you mean?”
“Death decides when one’s time is up, R’shiel, not you, or me, or anyone else for that matter.”
“You’re telling me Tarja’s time is up?”
“I’m telling you Death doesn’t negotiate.”
She pushed the hair from Tarja’s forehead gently. “What if I speak to Death? Can’t I ask him not to take Tarja?”
“Not without offering a life of equal value in return.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because that’s what happened when the Harshini healed you, R’shiel. Death demanded a life in return.”
“Whose life? Who could make that kind of decision?”
When he did not answer she looked up, her face drained of colour. “It was you, wasn’t it?” R’shiel looked down at Tarja for a moment then slowly climbed to her feet. “Was it Tarja, Brak? Is that why you want me to let him die? So you can fulfil your bargain with death?”
“R’shiel —”
“Tell me, Brak!” she cried, turning on him angrily. “Who is going to die? Whose life did you trade for mine? You bastard! How could you do such a thing?”
“I couldn’t let you die, R’shiel.”
“You think I want to live knowing some poor sod carries a death sentence so I can keep breathing? Who, Brak? Who did you condemn to death? It was Tarja, wasn’t it? Tarja has to die, so I can live. A soul of equal value, you said...”
Brak grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. Hard. She stopped her tirade and threw her arms around him, sobbing.
“It wasn’t Tarja,” he told her gently as he held her.
She pulled away from him and wiped her eyes. “Who was it, Brak?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“Yes I do.”
“No, you don’t. And I’m not going to tell you, at any rate. See to Tarja. Perhaps he’s destined to die, perhaps he isn’t. I don’t know.”
“I don’t believe in destiny.”
“Which accounts for most of the trouble you’ve found yourself in lately.” He led her back to the pallet and knelt beside her, studying Tarja’s unconscious form with a much more experienced eye. “He’s close to death, R’shiel. Even Cheltaran would find it hard to bring him back.”
“I have the power to flatten mountains, Brak, you said that yourself. If you could just show me...” She stroked Tarja’s clammy forehead, her desperation almost severing her hold on the power. “Can’t you do what Glenanaran did for me? Stop time?”
“And hold him on the edge of death to what purpose, R’shiel? The problem isn’t the wound, it’s the blood he’s lost. You can knit bones and flesh easily enough, but not even the gods can manufacture blood out of thin air.”
“But I can feel him dying!”
