Treason Keep

talks convincingly would take dozens of demons and you’d be lucky if they could maintain it for more than a few hours.

“That’s assuming they would agree to such an idiotic idea. Then you have the problem of getting the meld to act the way you want. Your demon meld could say the wrong thing at the wrong time and blow the whole illusion.”

“But it’s theoretically possible, isn’t it?” Tarja insisted.

Brak nodded reluctantly. “Theoretically.”

R’shiel listened to the conversation, her eyes wide. “Founders! You’re thinking of replacing Joyhinia with a demon meld?”

“Not permanently,” he told them, trying hard to contain his enthusiasm. “Just long enough to get through the Gathering. If Joyhinia can stand up in front of the Gathering then she can appoint Mahina as the new First Sister.”

R’shiel stared at him and then at Brak, her mind obviously racing. “It might work.”

Brak threw his hands up in despair. “R’shiel! You’re as bad as he is! Think about it. The only way it would work is if you went with the demons to the Citadel. And you’d need Joyhinia with you, too – they couldn’t copy her convincingly with her so far away. You’d be putting everyone in danger, starting with yourself. Besides, Dranymire would never agree to anything so dangerous. The demons are bonded with the Harshini to protect them, R’shiel. Not aid them in committing suicide.”

R’shiel seemed unfazed by Brak’s tirade. “I didn’t say it would be easy, Brak. I just said it might work.”

The Harshini shook his head in disgust. “Korandellan must have suppressed your ability to think, along with your emotions, R’shiel.”

Tarja glanced at R’shiel curiously, wondering what he meant. R’shiel simply shrugged. “Zegarnald said I needed toughening up, Brak. Just think of this as... training. Of course, if you don’t want to help —”

Brak sighed heavily. “Gods! I don’t believe this. This is rank stupidity. It is insane.”

Tarja nodded in agreement, his enthusiasm for the idea waning a little at the thought of sending R’shiel to the Citadel. He had not considered that when the idea came to him. Perhaps it was a crazy idea. “Well, it was worth a try. But I won’t do anything to endanger R’shiel.”

“It’s not your place to decide what might endanger me. Besides, it might well be the only chance we have.” R’shiel’s enthusiasm for the idea seemed to be increasing in direct proportion to his growing reluctance.

“Listen to Tarja,” Brak told her. “You might be the demon child, but you’re a long way from being invincible. It was worth considering, but it won’t work. Forget it.”

“You’re right, it would never work,” she agreed, capitulating with suspicious speed. “We’ll have to think of something else.”

Before he could question her willingness to drop the matter so easily, the Karien boy returned bearing a tray with steaming mugs of tea. Tarja took the tray from the lad before he dropped it and handed out the mugs. R’shiel smiled at him innocently over the rim as she sipped the steaming brew.

But something about that smile, full of ingenuous sweetness, sent a shiver of apprehension tingling down his spine.

Chapter 23

Mikel emptied the bucket of water from the well in the corner of the old Keep’s yard into another bucket, grumbling as the icy water splashed his trousers. Today was not going well at all.

First, Tarja had so rudely awakened him to find Lord Brakandaran, and then Mahina had snapped at him for being late with her tea. And then the soldiers on the Keep gate had teasingly refused to let him pass when she sent him with a message for Lord Jenga. And then Lord Jenga had yelled at him when he almost got himself trampled by the horses milling about in one of the vast corrals south of the camp.

No, today was not going well at all.

To add to his misery, the atmosphere in the Defenders’ camp had changed noticeably following the return of the Hythrun Warlord and his two unexpected companions. For one thing, Tarja was smiling a lot these days, which made him a little less fearsome but did not alter Mikel’s loathing for him. If anything, it increased it. How dare he look so smug! As for the pair who had returned with Damin Wolfblade, Mikel had been horrified to hear someone say they were Harshini.

Mikel found that hard to swallow. Did they think him a child to believe such wild stories? Everybody knew that the Harshini were monsters with wart-covered skin, sharp pointed teeth and drooling mouths who ate wicked Karien children, particularly if they wavered in their devotion to the Overlord. Lord Brakandaran looked just like any other man and the pretty lady was more beautiful than Lady Chastity, so she couldn’t possibly be a Harshini monster. Mahina had introduced her as Lady R’shiel and warned him to treat her with respect, or suffer the consequences. The Lady had smiled at him pleasantly, but otherwise paid him little attention. Had it not been for her obvious attachment to Tarja, he could have almost allowed himself to like her.

Mikel hefted the bucket and turned towards the hall, muttering miserably to himself, but he had only taken a few steps when a scratching sound behind the well caught his attention. Glancing around to ensure he was unobserved, he put down the bucket and walked cautiously around the stone lip of the well. A heap of rubble from the crumbled outer wall was piled up on the other side. He heard the sound again and moved toward the source, wondering if it was a cat, or perhaps a fox who had inadvertently wandered into the Keep. He hoped it was a cat. He liked cats. Perhaps he could catch it and keep it for a pet...

The area near the well was one of the warmest in the Keep, with the forge on the other side of the wall. It would be a good place to hide. Mikel listened hard, trying to hear over the rhythmic clanging coming from the smiths on the other side. The scratching sound came again, louder this time, from a dark hole formed by the fallen masonry. With a careful hand, Mikel reached into the darkness.

Whatever it was, it bit him with a force that made him cry out in pain. He scrambled backwards around the well, tripped over the bucket and landed on his backside in a puddle of icy mud. His hand was bleeding profusely and throbbing, and tears of fright and pain and humiliation were streaming down his face. Laughter wafted down from the guards on the wall-walk who had looked down at the commotion. A grey streak emerged from the rubble with a screech and bolted past him towards the Keep. He watched it race past and into the arms of the Lady R’shiel.

She caught the creature with a smile and turned to Mikel. “Don’t worry, I think you frightened her as much as she frightened you.”

Mikel stared at the little monster with wide eyes. He didn’t know what it was, but it was clinging to R’shiel, chattering unintelligibly in a screeching voice and pointing at him with huge black accusing eyes.

“Oh look, you’re hurt.”

She shooed the creature away and it literally vanished into thin air. Mikel traced the star of the Overlord on his forehead to ward off evil as the Lady walked over to him and squatted down, smiling reassuringly.

“Here, let me look at it,” she said. He held out his throbbing hand wordlessly, too afraid to do anything else. She took his hand in her own and almost instantly the pain vanished. He snatched his hand back in astonishment. The bite was gone, the skin as smooth as if it had never been broken.

Mikel screamed.

R’shiel waved back a curious guard come to see what all the fuss was about. She sat back on her heels until he ran out of breath then smiled.

“Feeling better?”

“Wha– what did you do to me?” he demanded. Had she used magic on him? Would he be condemned to drown in the Sea of Despair for eternity because she had infected him with evil spirits? Mikel was weak with fear at the prospect. “You used the power of the pagan gods on me!”

“Never fear, little one, it’s the same power as that of the Overlord, so it shouldn’t do you any lasting harm.”