about her that Mikel had never encountered before.
They had been on the road for weeks now, pushing hard to cross the Hythrun border before word of their flight reached the Citadel - or worse, the Kariens. This night, in a run-down tavern in the small, poor village of Roan Vale, was the first break in their relentless journey. R'shiel had come here to meet with Mandah, to organise the remainder of the pagan rebels to join them in Krakandar. At least, that's what he'd heard her telling Lord Wolfblade. The rest of their party was camped several leagues from the town, sheltering around an isolated farmhouse they had commandeered.
“My Lady?”
R'shiel looked up from the mug of ale she was nursing. “Yes, Jaymes?”
“The innkeeper says your rooms are ready. Shall I take your saddlebags up?”
“If you like.”
Jaymes glanced across at Mikel, then picked up R'shiel's bags and headed for the staircase at the back of the room. Mikel ate the strange-looking stew the inn provided, and listened as one of Mandah's men came in to report.
“The road to Bordertown is blocked by a rockslide,” the man said. “You can either winter here in Roan Vale, or attempt to go further east, through Lodanville, and cross the border there.”
“Winter here? I don't think so. How long will it take if we go through Lodanville?” R'shiel asked with a frown.
“It will add at least a week, my Lady.”
“It can't be helped, I suppose. I'll have to speak with Lord Wolfblade, but I think we'll have no choice but to turn east in the morning.”
The rebel bowed and crossed to a table on the other side of the room, where he joined his companions and gave them the news. They did not look happy. One of them complained that the demon child was going to lead them through every village in Medalon before they reached the border. But it was a half-hearted complaint. They knew as well as anyone that the weather was to blame for their delay.
Mikel swallowed the last of his stew and moved around to the other side of the hearth, where the smoke seemed less suffocating, wondering why these rebels seemed so ambivalent. He always imagined that the Medalonians were like the Kariens - united under one purpose. In reality, there were more factions than he could count. There were the Defenders, and the Sisterhood, and the pacifist pagans, and the pagan rebels... and somewhere in amongst all that was the rest of the population, caught in the middle of the power struggle.
“Psst!”
Mikel jumped at the sound and looked behind him. In the darkness beside the hearth, under the woodpile, two large, liquid black eyes stared out at him.
“What are you doing here?” he hissed. “Go away!”
The demon blinked, but did not move.
“Begone!” Mikel commanded in a firm whisper. That was what R'shiel said when she wanted the demons to leave. It must have something to do with her being Harshini. It had absolutely no effect when Mikel tried it. The demon simply cocked its head to one side with a look of blank incomprehension on its leathery face.
Mikel looked around nervously. Although the tavern was full of pagan rebels, Mikel did not know them well enough to trust their reaction if they spied the creature. “You have to leave!” he insisted, this time speaking Medalonian, hoping the demon might understand that language. “Go back to R'shiel!”
At the mention of R'shiel, the demon began to chitter excitedly.
“Be quiet!”
“Who are you talking to, Mikel?”
Mikel spun around guiltily. “No one, my Lady. I - I thought I heard something in the woodpile.”
“Probably rats,” R'shiel murmured. “Have you eaten?”
“Yes, my Lady.”
“Then go and get some sleep, Mikel. We're leaving at first light.”
He climbed to his feet without looking back at the woodpile and crossed the room until he was standing before R'shiel. “Do you mind if I check the horses first, my Lady?”
R'shiel smiled at him distractedly. “If you like.”
Mikel let himself out into the battering rain and ran the short distance to the stables. Lightning streaked the sky as the rain hammered down. He was shivering and soaked to the skin by the time he pushed the large wooden stable door shut behind him.
“It's a sour night to be out and about, lad.”
Mikel started at the voice and spun around, squinting in the darkness. The voice belonged to an old man sitting on a haybale. He was wrapped in a tattered dark cloak, smoking a long pipe that gave off a sweet-smelling and vaguely familiar scent. Mikel studied him suspiciously. He looked like some sort of vagabond who had taken shelter from the storm, too poor to afford the inn.
“Who are you?”
“A friend.”
“I don't know you.”
“Oh, yes, you know me, Mikel.”
“How do you know my name?”
The old man smiled and rose to his feet with a grace that belied his age. He stepped closer to Mikel, his long white hair flowing over his shoulders like a silken waterfall. His eyes were piercingly bright in the gloomy stable.
“No matter, lad. I merely wanted to see that you are well.”
“Why would you care?”
“I care about all my people,” the old man said with a smile.
Despite his suspicions, Mikel found himself drawn to the man. There was something about him, some seductive quality he could not define, which made him want to throw himself into the old man's arms and lose himself to the security and warmth of his presence.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing,” the old man shrugged. “A moment of your time perhaps. A chance to talk. You travel with the demon child, I see.”
“Who told you that?” Mikel demanded.
He smiled. “Nobody told me, Mikel. I can feel her presence. You are very privileged to be counted among her friends.”
Mikel's chest swelled a little at the compliment. “R'shiel trusts me.”
“I'm sure she does. It is a rare honour indeed. But don't you worry that she is leading you into danger?”
“R'shiel is just trying to...” His voice trailed off, as he realised that he actually had no idea what R'shiel was trying to do.
Smiling, the old man sucked on his pipe for a moment.
“She's helping her people,” Mikel said with determination.
“She is trying to destroy your God.”
“Which god?”
The old man sighed. “It is a sad world indeed if you have to ask that question, Mikel. R'shiel is trying to destroy the Overlord. She was created for that purpose.”
“Why would she want to do that?”
“That is not important,” the old man shrugged. “Merely that you are aiding her. Don't you worry for your eternal soul?”
“But the other gods said —”
“Ah, yes. The other gods. Well, who am I to deny what the other gods have said? All I can do is warn you, I suppose.”
“Warn me about what?”
“You are aiding the demon child. When the time for retribution comes, your God will remember that you turned on him.”
Mikel opened his mouth to object, but the words would not come. He
