signed and sealed everyone of them.”
“She has the mind of a child,” Jenga retorted. “You could place an order for her own hanging in front of her and she’d sign it with a giggle. I’m not as adept as you and Tarja at twisting the truth to placate my honour, Lord Wolfblade. What we have done is tantamount to treason.”
“Refusing to slaughter three hundred innocent men was treason, Jenga,” Tarja pointed out. “Everything flowing from that action is merely consequences. The treason is done and past. Our duty now is to protect Medalon.”
“And the end justifies the means?” Jenga asked bitterly. “I wish I had your ability to see the world so... conveniently.”
“I wish I had your ability to argue the same point endlessly,” Damin added impatiently. “You Medalonians have a bad habit of not knowing when it’s time to let a matter rest. What I want to know is who this Garet Warner is, and why you’re all so afraid of him?”
Both Tarja and Jenga looked at him in surprise.
“Afraid of him?” Jenga asked.
“Afraid is not the right word, but it pays to be wary of him,” Tarja said. “Garet Warner is the head of Defender Intelligence. And a loyal officer.”
“Loyal to whom, exactly?”
“We’ll find that out soon enough,” Jenga predicted grimly.
Chapter 7
Consciousness was a long time coming to R’shiel, but it pulled at her relentlessly, forcing her to acknowledge her existence. She did not want to awaken. She was perfectly content where she was, lost in a warm nothingness where no pain, no misery, no fear could intrude. The silence was complete, the darkness total. Were it not for the annoying, insistent voice calling her name, she could happily have stayed here forever. She had no sense of time in this place, no way to judge how long she had been here. All she knew was that she had no great desire to leave.
Yet the voice called to her and she was unable to resist it.
“Welcome back.”
She stared at the man who spoke for a long time before she remembered who he was. His faded blue eyes were full of concern. And something else. Suspicion, perhaps?
“Brak.”
“No, don’t try to sit up. You’ve been unconscious for quite a while. It’ll take a little time to get your strength back.”
R’shiel let her head flop back onto the pillow, and contented herself with simply moving her head to study her surroundings. The room was large and lit by streaming sunlight; the air was heavy with the scent of wildflowers.
“Where am I?”
“Sanctuary.”
She turned her head to look at him. “How did I get here? I don’t remember anything. We were in Testra, I think...”
“Don’t worry, it’ll come back to you, and sooner than you want. You’ve been very sick, R’shiel. Cheltaran himself had to heal you.”
“Who’s Cheltaran?”
“The God of Healing. You should feel honoured. He doesn’t often interfere directly with anyone, human or Harshini.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, wondering why the knowledge did not surprise or frighten her. They seemed to be emotions that for the moment were out of reach.
“Tarja...?”
“He’s fine. He’s up north, on the border.”
Even that news failed to ignite much more than a small sense of relief in her. She wondered if she should feel something more. Perhaps she was simply too lethargic to care. Later, when she gained her strength, she could worry about such things.
“What are you doing here?”
“This is my home, R’shiel. It’s your home too.”
“Is it?”
Brak smiled, as if her vagueness amused him. “Go back to sleep, R’shiel. When you wake up the Harshini will attend you. They are a gentle people, so mind your manners. And try not to scream when you see their eyes. I didn’t bring you all this way so you could embarrass me.”
R’shiel smiled vacantly. “I’ll be a good girl.”
He nodded and moved away from the bed.
“Brak.”
“What?”
“I owe you my life, don’t I?”
“In ways you can’t imagine,” he replied.
When R’shiel woke the next time, she felt much better. The weakness that had gripped her was replaced with a sort of restless energy that did not take well to being bedridden. Her Harshini attendants, who introduced themselves as Boborderen and Janarerek, smiled at her constantly while they firmly refused to let her out of bed. She found it too difficult to pronounce their names, so she called them Bob and Jan, which made them laugh delightedly. Her one attempt to defy them was met with even more smiles, as they simply pushed her back down using magic. R’shiel felt the now-familiar prickle against her skin and could not move a muscle. The Harshini fussed over her and scolded her gently, but they were not to be denied. She gave up and did as she was told.
Brak visited her again the following day, and brought with him a tall Harshini with hair almost as red as her own. He wore a simple white robe, the same as the other Harshini, but his bearing set him apart. He was regal, in a manner that R’shiel had rarely before encountered, and too perfectly handsome to be human – even if his black- on-black eyes had not betrayed his true race.
Freed from the magical bondage of her attendants, who had finally believed her when she agreed to behave, it was all R’shiel could do not to bow in his presence.
“Your Majesty, may I present your cousin, R’shiel te Ortyn,” Brak said with uncharacteristic formality.
So this was the Harshini King. “Your Majesty.”
“It fills my heart with joy to see you recovered, R’shiel,” Korandellan said. He meant it, too. R’shiel had never met any group of people so free of guile; so genuine in their concern for her well-being. “But please, we are cousins. There is no need for such formality. You may call me Korandellan.”
Mindful of her promise to watch her manners, she politely thanked the King. Brak gave her a small nod, and she amused herself with the thought that this was probably the first time in her life she had done something he approved of.
“When you are fully recovered, I will be delighted to show you Sanctuary,” Korandellan added. “And we must see to your education. There is much for you to learn, young cousin. Shananara tells me you have some minor control over your power, but you have missed a great deal being raised among humans.”
“I’ll look forward to that,” R’shiel replied, a little surprised to discover that she really
The King smiled at her – these people seemed to smile at everything – then withdrew, leaving Brak and R’shiel alone. Once the door had closed behind him, Brak turned to her.
“See, you can be civil when you try.”
“Why would I be rude to your king? He seems very... nice.”
