R’shiel. She had a knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, asking awkward and frequently unanswerable questions, and she was totally unimpressed by the pivotal role she was expected to play in the conflict of the gods. Nor was the Harshini King easily able to deal with the fact that she was an instrument of destruction. It was hard for him to accept that the demon child’s purpose was to destroy. Harder yet for him to teach her what she needed to know to enable her to complete the task. Lorandranek, R’shiel’s father, had been driven insane by the knowledge.
Brak opened the door to Korandellan’s chambers with a thought. The King leapt to his feet with a relieved smile at the sight of him. He and R’shiel were on the balcony, overlooking the hollow valley that Sanctuary encompassed, a crystal pitcher of chilled wine between them. Both the King and the demon child were dressed in the light linen robes that were all the protection one needed in the atmosphere-controlled vicinity of the Citadel. His black leathers seemed out of place. Brak crossed the white tiled floor and bowed to his king, who seemed inordinately glad to see him.
“Brakandaran!” Korandellan cried. “You’re back!”
“So it would seem.”
“R’shiel and I were just discussing her childhood at the Citadel,” the King explained. “She has had a most interesting life.”
“The King asked me if I missed my mother,” she explained, as if she understood his confusion. “It struck me as rather funny.”
“Our worthy monarch has no concept of a personality like the First Sister’s,” Brak agreed wryly. “But it’s good to hear you laughing. You’re looking much better.”
Another understatement. He had never seen her look better. Cheltaran, the God of Healing, had done more than heal the near-fatal wound she received in Testra. It was as if he had healed her soul as well. Or maybe it was because Death had forsaken any claim on her until the life Brak had offered in return for hers was forfeited. Her violet eyes were shining, and her skin was golden rather than sallow. She had put on weight, too, now that she was eating a diet more suited to her Harshini metabolism. He realised they would not be able to keep her here much longer, and wondered if Korandellan realised it too. They would have taught her much about her Harshini heritage and the power she had at her command, but this girl was destined to destroy a god. She would not,
“What news have you, Brakandaran?” the King asked. He waved his arm and a chair appeared at the table for him. Korandellan took his own seat and poured him a cup of wine with his own hand. Brak wanted to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but it would have been useless. For more than twenty years, Korandellan had been trying to prove to him that he did not hold him responsible for Lorandranek’s death. Every small gesture meant something to the King. Brak took the offered seat and accepted the wine.
“Not good news, I fear,” he said, glancing at R’shiel. He wondered what her reaction would be to the news he carried. Much of her current serenity was a direct result of Sanctuary’s magical atmosphere. And, he privately suspected, a deliberate glamour laid on her, to take the edge off her more extreme human emotions while her body and mind recovered. That glamour would not hold if she ever realised it was there. She was easily powerful enough to break through it. Ignorance of the spell was the only thing protecting the gentle Harshini from her violent human side.
“Are the Kariens still planning to invade Medalon?” Korandellan asked with concern. The mere thought of a war made him pale. It wasn’t cowardice; it was simply part of being a Harshini. A part that neither Brak nor R’shiel, being half-human, were susceptible to.
“It’s worse than that,” Brak told him. “They have allied with the Fardohnyans.”
Korandellan shook his head, tears glistening in his totally black eyes. “Foolish humans. Don’t they realise what such a war will cost?”
“They realise,” Brak said. “They just don’t care.”
R’shiel frowned. “Even if the Fardohnyans don’t join in the conflict in the north, they could still send troops up the Glass River in the south. The Defenders can’t fight a war on two fronts. They barely have the numbers to fight on one, even with Hythrun allies.”
Brak wondered who had told her about the Hythrun. Probably the demons. They could gossip like old women when something caught their fancy. Korandellan said nothing, just shook his head. He was no more able to discuss tactics than he was able to contemplate murder.
“It’s liable to escalate beyond Medalon,” Brak agreed. “If the Fardohnyans enter Medalon from the south then they can cross into Hythria without having to go over the Sunrise Mountains. Hablet has no interest in Medalon, but he’d love to get his grubby little hands on Hythria.”
“We must do something!” Korandellan exclaimed. “We cannot allow the entire world to be plunged into war. Perhaps if I ask the gods...”
“Well, I don’t suggest you mention it to Zegarnald,” Brak suggested. “A global conflict would rather please the God of War. In fact, I wouldn’t mind betting that he’s been giving it a bit of a nudge. It must get pretty boring looking down on all those measly little border skirmishes. We haven’t had a decent war in centuries.”
“Your disrespect will prove fatal one day, Brakandaran.”
Brak started at the voice as the overwhelming presence of the God of War suddenly filled the chamber. Brak should have known better than to even mention His name. Here in Sanctuary, more than any other place, to name a god was to call him. He turned in his chair but did not rise, although R’shiel and Korandellan did. Zegarnald took shape before them, so tall his golden helmet brushed the ceiling, dressed in a simple dark robe that covered him from head to toe, out of respect for Korandellan, no doubt. The Harshini were uncomfortable with weapons and Zegarnald carried at least one of every weapon his worshippers had devised, from a dagger to a longbow. Brak would have bet money he had the odd catapult stashed about his person somewhere.
“Divine One, you honour us with your presence,” Korandellan greeted him sombrely.
The War God smiled, if such a grimace could be called a smile. “Well, some seem more honoured than others. I would think, Brakandaran, that you of all the Harshini would be pleased to see me. I do not offend your sensibilities, as I do your king’s, yet he can find it in himself to be gracious.”
“I’m half-human,” Brak shrugged. “What can I say?”
“You could start by not saying anything,” Zegarnald retorted. “Particularly about matters you know nothing of.”
Korandellan laid a restraining hand on Brak’s shoulder – a silent plea not to argue with the god. “Brakandaran means no disrespect, Divine One.”
“On the contrary, Korandellan, that’s exactly what he intends. However, in this case, he is correct. I have been giving this war a
“Why?” R’shiel asked curiously. She had come to accept the sudden appearance of the gods, along with a lot of other things that Brak suspected she would not be nearly so accepting of, were she outside Sanctuary’s magical walls.
Zegarnald turned his gaze on the demon child, as if noticing her for the first time. “When you understand that, demon child, you will be ready to face Xaphista.”
“I really think your faith in me is misplaced. I wouldn’t know the first thing about killing a god.”
Surprisingly, Zegarnald nodded in agreement. “Unfortunately, you speak the truth. Korandellan would have more chance of defeating him than you at present, a situation I have decided to remedy.”
Brak looked at Zegarnald suspiciously. “How?”
“The demon child must leave Sanctuary and return to the humans,” the god decreed. “You have helped her, Korandellan, but your peaceful ministrations and Sanctuary’s magic are destroying the instincts she will need to survive Xaphista.”
Korandellan did not appear pleased by the order. “No Harshini will be turned out of Sanctuary, Divine One, not even when decreed by a god. The demon child may leave if she wishes, but I will not send her away.”
“As you wish,” Zegarnald agreed, then he turned to R’shiel. “What say you, child? Do you wish to return to your human friends?”
R’shiel barely hesitated. “No. I want to stay here.”
Zegarnald seemed almost as surprised as Brak by her words. The god studied her closely for a moment then
