Despite the bombardment, two stalwart guards remained at their posts in front of the palace. One man flinched every time a rock landed close, while the other stared fixedly ahead as if in a trance.
Melcorka ran to them, head down and panting. 'Please help.' She grabbed hold of the staring guard's sleeve. 'It's my mother. A missile hit our house, and she's trapped. Please, you must help me!'
The guard pushed her away. 'I can't leave my post,' he said.
'Please, sahib!' Melcorka approached the second, nervous guard. 'She's trapped and bleeding. I need help!'
'I can't.' The man looked sympathetic, and Melcorka detected a decent human being beneath the Thiruzha uniform. 'I'm not allowed to.'
'I'll get somebody else then.' Melcorka dashed past them into the palace. She knew the guards could not follow her and it was unlikely that they would report their failure to stop her. If they did, Bhim or Dhraji would probably order them to be thrown from the roof or chained to an elephant's foot.
Striding through the corridors, Melcorka headed for the dungeons. The atmosphere of luxurious vice closed in on her, with the decadence of soft carpets and gold-fringed tapestries, peacock feathers and ornate windows only partially concealing the sickness beneath. As she strode, Melcorka thought of the austere winds of Alba and the rough straw beds of the kings and chiefs in Dunedin and the West. She felt a sudden longing for her homeland, with its plain speaking and homely fare, its brisk autumnal winds that lifted the brown leaves and the invigorating snows of winter.
'I'll get you out of here, Bradan,' she promised. 'If you are still alive, I'll get you out.'
With the memories of Alba renewing Melcorka's energy, she lengthened her stride, ignoring the stares of the scurrying servants. As she came close to the even more luxurious sector inhabited by Bhim and Dhraji, Melcorka began to step more warily. In any other building, she would have thought it strange that the rulers lived in such close proximity to the dungeons, but she knew Dhraji's love of others' suffering.
The sound of voices drifted to her. Melcorka stopped. One voice was female – bright, deep and strangely alluring. The other belonged to Bradan, and he was laughing.
Melcorka felt her heartbeat increase. Bradan was still alive, that was the most important thing, but, rather than being chained in some foul dungeon, he was free in the most sumptuous sector of the palace, and seemed to be enjoying himself. Emotions rushed through Melcorka, a mixture of relief and agonising doubt. Has Bradan willingly chosen to remain with Dhraji?
Throwing back her cloak to allow herself easier access to Defender, Melcorka approached the door through which the voices came. When Bradan laughed again, Melcorka heard the clink of glass on glass, as if two people were toasting each other.
'When you grabbed me like that,' Bradan said, 'I wondered what was going to happen.' He laughed openly. 'I thought you were going to tear my head off for being back with Melcorka!'
The woman's melodious laugh tore at Melcorka's heart. 'Oh, no, Bradan, I just wanted you back where you belonged, with me.'
'I'm delighted you did.' Bradan laughed again. 'I am no longer Bradan the Wanderer. Now, I am Bradan the Settled.'
Melcorka pushed the door open a fraction and peered in. Bradan lounged full length on a settle, wearing baggy satin trousers and an open yellow top set with pearls. His red turban would have been quite fetching in different circumstances. Beside him sat Dhraji. She was strikingly beautiful, with transparent tight trousers hugging her shapely hips, while three strings of pearls highlighted the splendour of her naked breasts.
Melcorka felt the breath catch in her throat. For a moment, she looked down in dismay at her body, still thin from her time in confinement, slim-hipped, battle-scarred in various places and dressed in old, serviceable clothes that hard wear had faded to an indistinguishable grey colour. Melcorka swallowed hard. What man would ever want her, when such a prize as the voluptuous Dhraji was available?
When Bradan laughed again, lifted his glass and drank, a dribble of the ruby-red contents dripped onto his chin. Dhraji bent closer, wiped Bradan's chin clean with her fingertip and licked it clean.
'You are immensely desirable, Dhraji.' Bradan's eyes were busy on her breasts.
Melcorka opened the door wider. Midday sunlight seeping in from an ornate window caught the pearls that circled Dhraji's forehead and reflected on the strings of pearls around her hips. The leopard lay in the corner of the room, its head resting on its paws and its great yellow eyes watching everything.
'Dance for me.' Bradan leaned back on his couch, smiling. 'Dance for me, Dhraji, as you used to do.'
Placing her glass on an ebony table, Dhraji began to dance, with her hips wriggling suggestively as she rotated her breasts toward Bradan. The strings of pearls rippled and bounced, enhancing the sensuousness of her movements. Even Melcorka could feel the sexual tension in the atmosphere, while Bradan's breathing hardened as he watched her.
'That will do, I think.' Melcorka pushed into the room. 'We have unfinished business, Dhraji.'
Dhraji's laugh was high-pitched. 'You have no business here, Melcorka of Alba.'
'Bradan,' Melcorka spoke quietly. 'You have a choice now. You can bid a fond farewell to Dhraji and walk out the door with me, or you can remain with the rakshasa until I kill her.'
Bradan looked from one woman to the other. Melcorka saw the expression in his eyes as they focussed on Dhraji's curves and then switched to her own stringy flanks. On an impulse, Melcorka threw back her cloak. She heard Dhraji's laugh as Bradan smiled in derision.
'Your man seems hesitant to choose you, Melcorka,' Dhraji sneered. 'He prefers a woman to a…' she hesitated, 'to whatever you are, a creature without either shape, form or grace.'
'Choose, Bradan.' Melcorka blocked out Dhraji's taunts.
Bradan lifted his glass again. 'There is no choice to make,' he said.
'This may help you decide.' Freeing Bradan's
