Treason Keep

might occur eventually without their help, but to use their power to force an unnatural event was akin to swimming upstream against the river of magic. In doing so, all the slime and filth that had sunk to the bottom of the river was stirred up and brought to the surface. That was why she had been nauseous when she felt the Karien priests working their coercion. She noticed Garet’s sceptical expression and turned to him.

“You don’t believe any of this, do you Commandant?”

“I believe that you believe every word. I never cease to be astonished at the facility of humans to rationalise perfectly natural events and award them divinity.”

“You’ve seen demons, yet you refuse to believe in them,” Brak pointed out. “Isn’t that your way of rationalising away something you don’t understand?”

“I’ve seen creatures I cannot explain and illusions that are masterful, but that is hardly enough to turn me into a pagan. Watch even a moderately talented illusionist in the markets of the Citadel and you will be convinced that a woman can be cut in two and then put together again. Believing a thing doesn’t make it real.”

“Yet you’re going to help us,” R’shiel said. “If you think this is just trickery, why bother?”

“My decision is based on logic, not faith, R’shiel. Medalon is facing an enemy that the Sisterhood is not in a position to deal with. I support Lord Jenga because we are more likely to survive with him in charge than a committee of selfish women grasping for their own political survival.”

R’shiel frowned, but Brak seemed more than satisfied with the commandant’s answer. “Assuming we succeed, how soon can the rest of the Defenders be mobilised?”

“Fairly quickly,” Garet assured him. “I’ll get things moving in anticipation of your success at the Gathering. If you achieve your goal, I can have the first of them under way in a matter of hours.”

“And if we fail?” R’shiel asked.

“Then I will turn those same men on you and claim I was simply playing along with you to gain your confidence and learn your plans,” he replied calmly.

“No wonder Joyhinia always thought you were dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” he shrugged. “I doubt that, R’shiel. But I am a survivor, and all the heathen trickery in the world cannot alter that.” Garet kicked his horse forward to the head of their small column, leaving R’shiel to stare after him thoughtfully.

“Now there’s a rare creature,” Brak remarked.

“What do you mean?”

“I think Garet Warner is the only truly honest human I have ever met.”

It was mid afternoon some days later when Dacendaran appeared. They were traversing the open plain, on a road that slowly wound its way south towards Cauthside, and the ferry that would take them across the Glass River. The day was overcast and chilly, with the sharp smell of impending rain hanging in the still air. R’shiel, with Brak and Garet on her heels, had ridden ahead of the wagon. The weather was making Wind Dancer nervous and she wanted to give the mare a chance to stretch her legs.

She found Dace waiting by the side of the road, sitting cross-legged atop a large grey boulder. He waved as she neared him, his fair hair tousled, his motley clothing as mismatched and ill-fitting as R’shiel had ever seen it.

The God of Thieves had not been much in evidence while R’shiel was at Sanctuary. There was little amusement in those peaceful, hallowed halls for a god who thrived on larceny. Dacendaran preferred the company of humans. Although she knew he was a god – could sense it now that she knew what to look for – she found it hard to think of him as anything but the impudent lad who had befriended her in the Grimfield. She smiled as she reached the boulder, genuinely pleased to see him.

“Dace! What are you doing here?”

“I came to see how you were faring out in the big wide world. Hello, Brakandaran.” Brak reined beside her followed by Garet who glared at the boy suspiciously. The wagon and its attendant guards were still some way back.

“Dacendaran.”

“Who’s that?” Dace asked, pointing at Garet.

“Commandant Garet Warner, meet Dacendaran, the God of Thieves,” R’shiel said, smiling at Garet’s expression.

“This is one of your gods?”

Dace clapped his hands delightedly. “He’s an atheist!”

“And you shouldn’t be here,” Brak scolded. “Go away, Dace.”

“But I want to help! There are noble deeds afoot and I want to be a part of them!”

“If you really want to do something noble, go steal a few of Xaphista’s believers,” Brak suggested. “You are not going anywhere near the Citadel with us.”

Dace frowned. “Brakandaran, at some point in the past few centuries, someone must have mentioned that mortals do not dictate to the gods. I will go where I please!”

“Will someone please explain who this child really is?” Garet demanded.

“Ah, how I do like a non-believer!”

“Dace, listen to Brak, please,” R’shiel pleaded. “Do something to annoy Xaphista if you must help, but there is nothing you can do here.”

The god sighed melodramatically. “I suppose. I’m obviously not wanted here.”

“Stop being such a baby,” R’shiel said.

The god grinned. “I make a poor substitute for the God of Guilt, don’t I?”

“The God of what?” Garet asked incredulously.

Even Brak smiled. “Commandant. I suggest you either ignore this entire exchange or start believing in the Primal gods.”

“I think I’ll ignore it,” he said with a frown. He turned his mount and rode back toward the wagon.

“Did I upset him?” Dace asked innocently.

“No more than you usually upset people,” Brak said. “Why did you let him see you?”

“All humans should have the opportunity to look upon a god every now and then. It’s an honour.”

“Not when they don’t believe you exist,” R’shiel pointed out.

“Well, now that he’s seen me, he’ll have to believe in me, won’t he?”

“Don’t count on it,” Brak warned.

“You always look on the dark side of things, Brakandaran. I was going to give you some news, but now I’m not so sure. You’re bound to think the worst.”

“What news?”

“I’m really not certain that I should...”

“Dace,” R’shiel cut in impatiently. “Stop teasing. If you have something important to tell us, then out with it!”

The god pouted. “You have been spending far too much time with Brakandaran, R’shiel. You’re beginning to sound just like him.”

“Come on, R’shiel,” Brak said, gathering up his reins as he glanced over his shoulder at the approaching wagon. “He obviously has nothing important to tell us, and the others will be here any moment. Goodbye, Divine One.”

“Xaphista has believers in the Citadel!” the god blurted out.

R’shiel stared at Dace with concern. “Believers? Who?”

“I don’t know,” Dace shrugged. “All I know is that the Citadel can feel them and he doesn’t like it one bit!”

Confused, R’shiel turned to Brak for an explanation. “What does he mean? He speaks as though the Citadel is alive.”

“It is, sort of,” Brak answered before turning to Dace. “Has anything happened yet?”

“No. You know what he’s like. It takes him a century just to remember his own name. But he can feel Xaphista’s taint and he’s not happy about it.”

Brak nodded slowly. R’shiel had absolutely no idea what they were talking about.