Treason Keep

achieve anything. R’shiel had been so determined that Tarja was certain nothing short of death could have stood in her way.

“Somehow, I doubt it. The gods have gone to a lot of trouble to get her this far. I don’t think they’d stand by and let her be destroyed out of hand. She hasn’t done what she was destined for yet.”

The reminder did little to ease Tarja’s worry. Being assured that R’shiel lived so that she could eventually confront a god was hardly a comforting thought.

“I wish there was some way of being certain.”

“Ask Dace, he should know.”

“I recall having this discussion with you once before. You said he wouldn’t come if I called him.”

“And he probably wouldn’t,” Damin agreed. “But you don’t need to call him, he’s here. I saw him hanging around with that Karien boy the other day.”

“What’s he doing here?” Tarja asked suspiciously. He mistrusted these creatures that the pagans called gods.

“The God of Thieves, by his very nature, is bound to be up to no good, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s doing your cause any harm.” Damin laughed suddenly. “I wonder how that fanatical child of the Overlord is coping with the idea that his new friend is a pagan god?”

Tarja smiled in spite of himself.

“Tell you what, Tarja, let’s go back to the camp. You round up your little Karien friend and ask him where Dace is, and I’ll speak to Adrina. I promise I’ll only take her with me if she wants to come. I haven’t the time to waste dragging her to Hythria by force, at any rate. After that we’ll talk to Jenga. Who knows, if you can prove R’shiel still lives, he may even sanction your heroic dash to her rescue. I’m sure he’d like to know what really happened at the Gathering and it may stay his hand on the surrender for a time.”

“Make sure that’s all you do when you see Adrina. Speak to her.”

“You show a disturbing lack of trust in me, Captain,” Damin turned his stallion toward the camp and managed to look quite offended.

Tarja shook his head and followed him. “I thought we were going to check on the border troops?”

“They’ll keep. Besides, if Jenga surrenders, it doesn’t really make much difference how they’re placed, does it?”

Tarja could not deny the Hythrun’s logic and in truth, he would much rather find Dace and learn of R’shiel’s fate than conduct an inspection. He stared at the border thoughtfully, then kicked his horse into a canter and headed back to the camp with the Hythrun Warlord.

Chapter 50

Brak watched the scene between Joyhinia and R’shiel unfold with growing frustration.

R’shiel’s recovery from her suffering at the hands of Joyhinia and Loclon was too fragile to be tested so soon. He could almost taste her fear. To face Loclon in the body of her foster mother was testing her to the limit. One she feared; the other she loathed. It was like a nightmare come to life. It could push her over the edge. His futile efforts to reach out to her, to contact her, to somehow let her know that he was with her, brought a frown to the War God’s stern face.

“I have already explained to you, Brakandaran. She cannot see you. She cannot hear you.”

“I have to go to her.”

“And you shall,” Zegarnald promised. “In time.”

Brak turned on the god impatiently. “Why are you doing this? They’ll kill her!”

Zegarnald did not answer for a moment. He waited as the First Sister left the room and Lord Terbolt explained his plans to R’shiel, then nodded slowly.

“The Karien human speaks the truth, Brakandaran. Xaphista wants the demon child for himself. Her ability to destroy a god is quite indiscriminate. She could destroy me just as easily as Xaphista.”

“Oh, I see,” Brak retorted, his voice laden with sarcasm. “That’s a good plan. Hand over the only person who can destroy you to your enemy. Now why didn’t I think of that?”

“Your disrespect wears on my nerves, Brakandaran.”

“Not half as much as your scheming is wearing on mine, Zegarnald.”

“I agreed to humour you, Brakandaran, by allowing you to assure yourself that the demon child lives. I did not agree to listen to your whining.”

Brak watched helplessly as the Karien duke left the bedchamber where R’shiel was being held. As soon as she was alone, R’shiel threw herself on the bed and stared at the ceiling, cursing softly. After a while, she gave up that futile pastime and began pacing the room. She checked the door first, but it was firmly locked. Then she went to the window and threw it open, looking down with despair at the six-storey drop to the courtyard below. Finding no joy in that escape route she sat on the edge of the bed and tentatively reached for her power, drawing back hastily as the silver collar she wore began to burn.

“Let me out of here, Zegarnald. I have to help her.”

Here was a hard place to define. The War God had him trapped between the world R’shiel inhabited and the world the gods called home. He was powerless here – at Zegarnald’s mercy. He could move around freely, but he could not be seen, nor could he affect anything that happened in the ordinary world of humans.

He could have kicked himself for walking into Zegarnald’s trap so blindly. He should have known the War God’s sudden appearance in the alley beside the Temple of the Gods meant trouble. Zegarnald probably hadn’t walked the halls of the Citadel for two centuries. Brak knew the gods well enough. He should have suspected something. And he should never have accepted Zegarnald’s uncharacteristic offer of a handshake. Touching the god had been his undoing. Once Zegarnald had a hold of him, he was powerless to resist being drawn into this grey limbo.

“She must help herself.”

“How? She can’t even touch her power. That collar is as bad as those damned staffs Xaphista’s priests lug around.”

“She can touch it. But the pain will be intolerable. If she wants to escape badly enough, she will find a way to bear it.”

“This is another of your tests, I suppose? Another part of the ‘tempering’ you’re so fond of? What happens if she doesn’t want to play your game, Zegarnald? Suppose she throws her lot in with Xaphista?”

“Then I will release you and you will destroy her.”

Brak glanced at the god warily. “You trust me to do that?”

“If the demon child joins with Xaphista, what is left of the Harshini will be destroyed. I have no need to trust you. I trust your determination to remove a threat to your people.”

The worst of it was that the War God was right. Should R’shiel give in to Xaphista he would not hesitate to kill her. He turned back to watching her, feeling like a voyeur.

“You’re taking a big risk, Zegarnald.”

“Perhaps. If the demon child is too weak to face down Xaphista, if she is willing to become his disciple, I would rather find out now than wait until she has matured.”

“The finding out could kill her.”

“Xaphista will try to win her over. He’ll not resort to force unless he has to. He wants the demon child to believe in him, Brakandaran. She is no good to him if she despises him.”

“I can’t imagine she’ll be too thrilled by your efforts,” he pointed out. “If you ask me you’re playing right into his hands.”

“I do not recall asking you.”

Angrily, Brak drew on his power and tore uselessly at the restraints that bound him to this place. Zegarnald didn’t budge. His efforts were trivial in the face of the god’s implacable will.