Treason Keep

“I know.”

“Then tell me what to do!” she cried. “Should I call Cheltaran? He’s the God of Healing. He should —”

“He won’t come, R’shiel,” Dacendaran told her miserably, as he appeared at the foot of the bed. “Zegarnald won’t let him.”

Anger surged through R’shiel, its edge honed by the power she held. How dare Zegarnald deny Tarja his only chance at life? “What do you mean? He won’t let him come?”

The young god shrugged uncomfortably. “He said something about you taking the easy way too often.”

“You mean Tarja is dying as some sort of test?” she gasped furiously. “What sort of sick breed are you, Dace? That’s inhuman!”

“Now you finally begin to understand,” Brak said.

Dace tugged on a loose thread on his motley shirt, avoiding R’shiel’s accusing eyes. “It’s not my fault. I’m not even supposed to be here. But Kali likes Tarja, so she’s keeping Zegarnald busy.”

“What did Kalianah say, Dace?”

R’shiel looked at Brak, wondering at the question.

“She said to tell R’shiel that love will prevail.”

“Oh, well that’s a big help,” R’shiel scoffed.

“Don’t be like that. I’m just the messenger. She said to tell you that you have guardians that protect you and that protection will embrace all who love you truly. That’s why she did what she did, I think. She knows things sometimes...” Dace trailed off with a sigh. “I’m sorry, R’shiel. I have to go. I wish you’d been a thief. I could have helped you a lot more.”

R’shiel felt the god leave, but she was too concerned about Tarja to care much. She was terrified that he would slip away before she could intervene, and afraid of what would happen if she did. Living without him would be hard enough; contributing to his death would be intolerable.

“You should never ignore a message from the gods, R’shiel,” Brak warned. “Particularly one as powerful as Kalianah.”

“Love will prevail,” she repeated caustically, in a fair imitation of Dace.

“She also said you have guardians that protect you, and that protection will embrace all who love you truly.”

“What guardians?”

Brak did not answer. He merely waited for the answer to come to her. When it did, she could have cried, but whether from anger at her own stupidity, or sheer relief, she could not tell.

“The demons!”

She had barely framed the thought when Dranymire popped into existence at the foot of the bed. His appearance was followed by a high-pitched squeal, as the little demon who had grown so fond of sleeping in their bed scrambled thoughtlessly across Tarja and jumped into her arms. The little demon appeared to have recovered from her ordeal in the Citadel. She hugged the creature and turned to Dranymire.

“We were wondering when you would remember us,” the demon said in his unnaturally deep voice.

“I’m sorry, Dranymire. But after the Gathering... so much has happened...”

The demon shrugged. “You have nothing to apologise for, except perhaps for not thinking of us sooner. What grieves you, demon child?”

“Can you show me how to heal Tarja?”

“Did you learn nothing at Sanctuary?”

“But he’s lost so much blood!”

“Don’t human bodies make their own blood?” Dranymire asked curiously. “They certainly spill enough of it to make one think it was readily replaced.”

“He’ll die before his body can replace what he’s lost,” Brak explained.

“Then you need blood to keep him alive, long enough for his own body to repair itself.” He looked at R’shiel with his too-big eyes. They were filled with compassion. “This human’s death would cause you much pain, I suspect.”

“More than anything I have ever suffered.”

Dranymire nodded solemnly. “We could do nothing to protect you from pain the gods imposed on you, but we can do something to prevent this.”

“What can you do? I don’t understand.”

“We shall be his blood.”

“What?” R’shiel began to wonder if she had slipped back into the realms of her living nightmare.

“We shall meld and become the blood that he requires.”

“You can do that?” She looked at Brak for confirmation. The idea was too bizarre to comprehend.

Brak nodded. “Wounded Harshini have been saved by their bonded demons entering their bodies until they could reach help. It’s not unheard of.”

“It is where I come from.”

He smiled faintly. “You still have so much to learn, don’t you?”

“Will this really work?”

Brak glanced at Dranymire who shrugged. “Humans and Harshini are not so different.”

“Then let’s do it,” she announced, reaching for the thin blanket that covered Tarja.

Brak laid a restraining hand on hers. “A word of caution, R’shiel. This will mean that until he’s recovered enough to survive on his own, Tarja will be literally possessed by demons. Not even Dranymire knows what that will do to him if he survives. Are you prepared for that?”

She thought for a moment before replying.

“One problem at a time. I’ll deal with the consequences later.”

He shook his head. “Just so long as you understand that you could be making a big mistake.”

R’shiel did not reply. Rather she pulled the blanket down, revealing the blood-soaked bandages that bound Tarja’s midriff.

“I mean it, R’shiel.”

She looked up at him and shrugged. “I don’t make mistakes, Brak. Everything I’ve ever done in my life seemed like the right idea at the time.”

Chapter 66

Denjon led Adrina and the others away from the Infirmary tent, obviously glad to be gone from such blatant proof of the continuing existence of the Harshini. R’shiel had obviously been acquainted with the captain and he seemed to know Tarja quite well, too. It was more than likely the reason he had not struck them down when they emerged from Terbolt’s tent. On the other hand, if Jenga’s reaction had been anything to go by, surrender was an alien concept to these men. Perhaps R’shiel had merely provided them with the excuse their training and their oath denied them.

Whatever the reason for their cautious cooperation, three other captains awaited them outside Terbolt’s tent. Denjon introduced them as Dorak, Kilton, and Linst. The men all wore that same serious, wary expression that she had come to associate with the Defenders. Between that and their identical uniforms, she found it hard to tell them apart.

“The Karien Prince is dead,” Dorak told Denjon, casting a wary eye over Adrina and Damin as they approached. “He was stabbed. Terbolt’s dead too, although there’s not a mark on him. It could have been poison.”

“It wasn’t poison,” Denjon replied. “Are they still in there?”