“Can I be of assistance, my Lord?” he asked rather impatiently.
“I wish to see the King.”
“As does every other man here,” the eunuch sighed.
“I was told you could arrange it.”
“Ah, now that can be difficult. The King is a very busy man.”
“I could make it worth your while.”
Lecter's eyes narrowed greedily. “Such a consideration would be expensive, my Lord.”
“Then the Raven was mistaken when she said you could help me.”
Lecter paled, his bald head shining with sweat. “The Raven?”
“Did I forget to mention that she recommended you? The Raven seems to know quite a lot about you, actually, Chamberlain Turon. I wonder why that is?”
The Chamberlain looked decidedly uncomfortable with the notion that the head of the Assassins' Guild was taking a personal interest in him. “I will do what I can, my Lord, but as you may have heard, the King is in mourning for his cousin, the High Prince of Hythria.”
“I'm sure he's devastated,” Brak agreed wryly. “But I won't need more than a moment of his time.”
“May I inquire as to the nature of your business with the King?”
“I have news for him that would be best delivered in private.”
“Please wait here, my Lord. I will see what I can do.”
It was not long before Turon returned and beckoned Brak forward. Brak followed him through the curious and envious stares to the delicately carved doors at the end of the hall. He knocked once and entered without waiting for an answer.
“Your Majesty! Allow me to introduce Lord... what was your name?”
“Brakandaran.”
“Lord Brakandaran! From...” Lecter looked at him questioningly.
“I come from Sanctuary,” Brak said.
Up until that point, the King had been sitting behind his elaborate gilt desk, reading from a parchment scroll in front of him, utterly uninterested in his guest. At the mention of Sanctuary his head jerked up and he stared at Brak with bright, birdlike eyes.
“Where did you say?”
“Sanctuary.”
“Which one?”
“There is only one, Your Majesty.”
“Lecter! Leave us!”
Hablet's tone left no room for argument. The Chamberlain hurried to do as he was bid. As the door closed, Brak stepped further into the room and looked around with interest. The doors to the balcony were open and he could hear faint childish voices from the lush gardens below. The King's private chamber had barely changed since he last stood here confronting Hablet's great-grandfather.
“You look human,” Hablet accused as soon as they were alone. His voice was anything but friendly, but at least he made no pretence of not understanding who Brak was.
“I'm only half Harshini. It's an advantage at times.”
“Brakandaran, did you say your name was? Not Brakandaran the Half-Breed, surely? I thought you'd be long dead by now.”
“As you can see, I'm not dead.”
“What do you want? If you're here to petition my court for a place for one of your damned sorcerers, you're wasting your time. I'll not have the Harshini spying on my every move for that degenerate in Hythria.”
“That degenerate in Hythria is dead,” Brak pointed out. “I was led to believe you were mourning him.”
“Ha! Dancing on his grave, more like it. Is that why you're here? Now that Lernen is dead, you've decided to come to me for protection? You should have come here first, in any case. It was a grave insult to Fardohnya, the Harshini King sending his people to Lernen's court without coming here first.”
“You just said you didn't want any Harshini in your court.”
“That's not the point. You should have offered. I have served the gods faithfully. I deserve it.”
Brak knew it was hopeless trying to argue with such a man. “Your Majesty, the decision to allow the Harshini to return to the Sorcerers' Collective was not mine to make. I might point out, however, that if you hadn't rounded up every member of the Sorcerers' Collective and had them thrown in gaol when you assumed the throne, my King
Hablet tugged on his beard unhappily. “They were Hythrun spies.”
“And the others you killed when you inherited the crown? What was their crime?”
“You've been around long enough to know what happens in Fardohnya when a new King takes the throne. Why quibble about it now?”
“Your barbaric practices don't concern me, Hablet. Interesting though, that they were never practised when there were Harshini in the Fardohnyan court.”
“That's because the Harshini are so damned squeamish. Now, did you want something in particular, or are you just going to stand there and chide me for things I did thirty years ago?”
Brak's eyes darkened and he waved his arm, drawing a chair from the side of the room across the polished floor with an uncomfortable screech. When the chair magically arrived at his side, he sat down and leaned back, smiling at the Fardohnyan King.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I will have a seat.”
Hablet's eyes widened. He had never been confronted with true Harshini power before. His day-to-day dealings with the gods involved bribing the temples and praying for a legitimate son.
“What do you want?”
“You and I need to have a talk about your heir.”
“I'll name my heir when I'm good and ready,” Hablet declared. “And no black-eyed bastard from Sanctuary is going to make me appoint someone I don't want.”
“I wouldn't dream of it, Your Majesty, however circumstances have arisen of which you are not aware, and they will radically affect your choice.”
Hablet squinted at him “What circumstances? Ah! I have it! You've discovered that stupid law about leaving my crown to a Wolfblade, haven't you? Well you can go back to Sanctuary and tell Lorandranek, or whoever the hell sent you here, that Talabar harbour will freeze in high summer before I let a Wolfblade set foot in Fardohnya, let alone sit on my throne.”
“I wasn't sent by Lorandranek, Your Majesty. He's been dead for over twenty years. Korandellan is the King of the Harshini now.”
“I don't care if the damned First Sister of Medalon is King!”
“I was sent here by the demon child.”
“The demon child? Are you drunk? The demon child is a legend made up to frighten children. Lorandranek never sired a half-human child.”
“Perhaps if you hadn't been so hasty throwing the Sorcerers' Collective out of Fardohnya, you might know that he did.”
“Who is he then? Where is he?”
“Her name is R'shiel.”
“A girl?” Hablet laughed with genuine amusement. “Why would the gods invest such power in a female?”
“Perhaps they don't share your prejudice.”
“Perhaps they're not as smart as they think they are,” the King scoffed.
“I don't suggest you say that in Jelanna's hearing,” Brak warned. “Maybe that's why the Goddess of Fertility has denied you a legitimate son. She must know what you think of women.”
“Don't you threaten me with my beliefs,” the King warned. “I am a faithful servant of the Goddess.”
“So I've heard,” Brak agreed with a wry smile.
“So, this demon child... this
