R’shiel’s eyes widened. The gradual brightening of the Citadel’s walls and the eventual dimming each evening had been so much a part of her life. She had rarely given it a second thought. The idea that it was proof of the living Harshini magic enthralled her.
“Can I tap into that power?” she asked. If she could access that, if there was some way to leave her mark on the Citadel, to impose the order they needed to be able to fight the Kariens single-mindedly, she was determined to use it. Another lesson learnt at Joyhinia’s knee: use whatever and whomever it takes to achieve your goals. The end always justifies the means.
R’shiel felt so little for the childlike husk that was now Joyhinia, that it was impossible to regard her as the same woman. She felt nothing. No resentment. No burning desire for revenge. The Joyhinia who had raised her, and then cast her adrift to suffer, the woman who had scorned her and ultimately tried to kill her, was dead. The shell that remained was not worth the effort it took to hate. It was strange, though, that after all this time and everything Joyhinia had done to her, it was her foster mother’s influence she felt most. The serenity of the Harshini had healed her. But it was Joyhinia’s brutal practicality that would enable her to survive. There was something vaguely disturbing in the idea.
“Don’t you have power enough?” Brak replied sourly. She had been too engrossed in her thoughts to notice his return. He led his horse toward her and swung into the saddle. His expression was bleak.
She shrugged and glanced up at him.
“I guess we won’t know that until I face Xaphista and we see who is left standing once the smoke clears,” she said.
Chapter 26
They rode back in silence, Dranymire sitting atop the pommel of R’shiel’s saddle until they neared the camp. He vanished as the vast followers’ camp came into view. R’shiel glanced at Brak, but his expression was still as sour as it had been when they rode out this morning.
“Stop fretting.”
“I’ll stop fretting when you start demonstrating some sense.”
“We have to do this, Brak. Have you seen the size of the Karien army? We need every Defender on the border. We need Mahina in charge.”
He shook his head, but did not answer her.
When they reached the corrals on the southern side of the camp, they dismounted and walked their horses forward. The smell was pungent, with so many animals so close, and she could feel Wind Dancer’s thoughts as the mare sensed the nearness of her kin. Two Hythrun hurried forward as they neared the coral where the sorcerer- bred mounts were kept, a little way from the more ordinary Medalonian cavalry horses. R’shiel waved them away, preferring to unsaddle the beast herself.
Wind Dancer’s thoughts lingered wistfully on fresh hay. R’shiel enjoyed the touch of her equine mind. Everything was so simple. So uncluttered. Brak moved on a little further, apparently preferring solitude to her company.
“We have men aplenty to tend your horse, Divine One.”
R’shiel hefted the saddle clear of Wind Dancer and turned toward the voice in the gathering darkness. “Please don’t call me that, Lord Wolfblade.”
“A compromise, then. You call me Damin, and I’ll call you R’shiel.”
“Done!” She lifted the saddle over the rail and turned to him. “Damin.”
“Did you enjoy your ride?”
“Very much. She’s a beautiful horse.”
“Then she is yours. A gift.”
“I couldn’t accept anything so valuable, Lord... Damin.”
“Why not?” He moved closer, stroking Wind Dancer’s golden withers as she removed the bridle. “I’ve already told Tarja I planned to make you a gift of her. He didn’t seem to mind.”
“I don’t need Tarja’s permission to accept a gift,” she said, ducking under Wind Dancer’s head, which put the bulk of the beast between them. She began rubbing the horse down with more force than was absolutely necessary. “I’m just afraid you’ll read more into my acceptance than is warranted.”
“I see. You think I’m planning to use my association with the demon child for my own political ends, is that it?”
“Aren’t you?”
He laughed. “You and my sister would make a great pair. Kalan thinks as you do. I offer this gift because I like you, R’shiel. If it helps my cause some day, then fine, but I would make the offer even knowing it might harm my cause.”
She stopped brushing Wind Dancer and stared at him. “Why are you here, Damin?”
“Lord Brakandaran asked me to come.”
“So you dropped everything and left your own province vulnerable to attack, to help an enemy? Just because Brak asked you? I find that hard to believe.”
“You were raised by the Sisterhood, R’shiel. Perhaps if you’d been raised among people who place their gods above all else, you’d understand.”
“Perhaps,” she muttered, unconvinced. Damin Wolfblade seemed too sure of his own place in the world to care much about the gods. But it was to him that Zegarnald had delivered Brak and her. The War God had a high opinion of this human Warlord. Maybe that was why she did not entirely trust him.
“R’shiel, I will be the first to admit that my association with you will give the other Warlords pause. If I can call the demon child my friend, my position will be almost unassailable. I might even find out what it feels like not to fear an assassin’s blade. But that’s not the reason I came. The Karien army has to be stopped before it reaches Hythria. If not, my people face a war on a scale you cannot imagine. Hythria is a large nation, but the Defenders are a much more coherent force than any my people can muster. They are trained to act as one army. My nation has seven Warlords with seven different ideas as to how a battle should be fought, even if you could get them to agree to fight on the same side.”
“You sound so plausible, I almost believe you.”
“I do, don’t I? I’ve been working on that little speech for a while, although I hadn’t planned to use it on you. I wrote it in a letter to my brother Narvell.”
“Your brother?”
“He’s the Warlord of Elasapine. I hoped to appeal to his better nature and use his forces to block any Fardohnyan incursion into southern Medalon.”
“Did he listen to you?”
“Oh yes, he did as I asked. I also hinted in my letter that I would deny him my permission to marry the girl he’s been lusting after since he was fifteen, if he didn’t.”
The darkness had fallen swiftly as they spoke, and the night was lit by cold starlight; their breath frosted as if their words were things of substance. R’shiel opened the corral gate and Wind Dancer trotted through happily to join her companions. She gathered up her bridle as Damin lifted the saddle from the rail and together they headed toward the tent where the tack was stored.
“I think I would rather have you as a friend than an enemy, Damin.”
“I could say the same about you.”
“You’ve nothing to fear from me, I —” R’shiel stopped in her tracks as a prickle of magic washed over her. It was faint, but unmistakable. The feeling was unpleasant, as if someone was channelling magic through a filter of slime and filth.
“What’s the matter?”
Brak reached them at a run. “Call your men out, Damin. The Kariens are getting ready to attack.”
Damin looked puzzled, R’shiel even more so. “Is that what I can feel?”
