Medalon (39 page)

“The difference is your blood. Ordinary Harshini can only dip a cup into the river. You and I are té Ortyn. If we need to, we can dam the whole river and release it all at once, but unlike my brother, or me, your
human blood makes you capable of using it to hurt people, to destroy. Do you understand the danger?”

R’shiel nodded uncertainly, not at all sure that she understood anything.

“I can only teach you two things in the time we have. How to reach your power and how to let it go. But you have a lot to learn before dawn. Let us begin.”

By morning, the only thing R’shiel was certain of was that she would never be able to control the Harshini magic. Shananara had taught her how to touch it. Once she identified it for what it was it had been frighteningly easy to reach in, open the door in her mind and dip into the power that lay within her. The same sweet power that had filled her the night she had attacked Loclon was waiting for her, poised to explode as soon as she opened herself to it. Her first attempt had left her almost unconscious, frightened to try again. Shananara demanded she continue, and as the long night progressed she had learnt, quite painfully at times, to reach in, touch the power, and then withdraw from it, closing the door behind her. She met with varying degrees of success, ranging from a minor shiver that ran down her spine as she sensed, but couldn’t quite grasp, the power, to a vast explosion that had destroyed the remains of the Karien vessel. Had it not been for Shananara’s vigilance in turning the power toward a place where it would do no harm, she could have easily destroyed the
Maera’s Daughter
. The Fardohnyans, Tarja, Ghari, and Brak had spent a nervous night, wondering where her uncontrollable magic would strike next. Even the demons retreated to a safe
distance as Shananara forced R’shiel, repeatedly, to touch the source and then withdraw.

It was almost light when Shananara finally conceded she had done all she could in the time available. R’shiel felt wrung out like an old wet sheet. Her hair was damp with sweat, her body aching in every limb. Shananara looked little better. Brak seemed to sense that they were done and walked up the knoll toward them. R’shiel was shaking all over.

“I hope you don’t have to rely on your power to convince those rebels,” he said. “It would be defeating the whole purpose of your journey if you blow them all into the lowest of the Seven Hells, trying to prove you’re the demon child.”

R’shiel didn’t have the energy to come up with a suitable retort, so she let the remark pass. Besides, Brak was right. The power she felt might be strong, but she had no idea what to do with it. She couldn’t weave a glamour to hide herself, as Brak had done, or aim her power the way Shananara had been able to. All she could do was reach for it and hope for the best.

Shananara climbed to her feet and held out her hand to help R’shiel up. R’shiel dusted off her leathers and turned towards the boat, but Shananara called her back.

“R’shiel, there is something else you must be aware of.”

She nodded wearily, wondering if her mind could take in any more after the tiring night she had already endured.

“What’s that?”

“Be careful of the attachments you form with humans.”

Puzzled by the seemingly irrelevant advice, R’shiel shrugged. “I don’t understand. What attachments? Do you mean my friends?”

Shananara exchanged a glance with Brak before she nodded. “Yes, with your friends. You are Harshini, R’shiel. You are not really human. Not completely. I don’t wish to see you hurt by forming…attachments to humans who cannot ever truly understand us.”

Not sure what her cousin meant, R’shiel had the strangest feeling that she wouldn’t like the answer if she pressed for an explanation. “I’ll be careful,” she promised.

“If only I thought you would,” Shananara sighed, then let the matter drop.

Tarja and Ghari were waiting for them at the boat. The Fardohnyans were already aboard, preparing to cast off. She looked around for the demons and discovered Dranymire alighting with remarkable grace in the shape of an eagle, near the riverbank. She shook off Brak’s arm and walked cautiously toward the demon who assumed his true from as she approached.

“I have to say goodbye now.”

“Farewell then, Princess,” Dranymire rumbled.

She reached down and scratched him above the wrinkled ridge over his huge, intelligent eyes, instinctively knowing where he would like it most. He almost purred.

“If you call, we will come, whatever the reason,” Dranymire assured her. “As we did for your father.”

R’shiel smiled at the demon’s insistence that she was Lorandranek’s child. She was only reluctantly
willing to concede that she was Harshini, but the rest of it was still too unreal.

“Did you really know my father?”

“Yes. And your mother, too. Lorandranek found her wandering in the mountains,” Dranymire said, as if he understood her need to know. “She was very young. Younger than you are now. Your father was enchanted by her.”

“Did he love her?”

“Very much,” Dranymire assured her. “But he was the Harshini King. He died before he had a chance to know you. He wanted you very much.”

R’shiel nodded, still not certain she accepted any of this, but a little less apprehensive than she had been. “Thank you,” she said, bending down to kiss the demon’s wrinkled cheek. She turned and ran back toward the boat. A small chasm of uncertainty in her mind had finally been filled.

R’shiel finally knew who she was.

Shananara came to stand beside her demon as the Fardohnyan boat pushed off and was caught by the current, before they could hoist the sails and turn the boat to take them up river. She idly stroked his wrinkled head as she watched them, returning R’shiel’s wave.

“I heard what you said to her,” she told the demon, as the boat caught the wind and began to move upstream. Brak headed back from the shore towards them, a trail of grey demons in his wake.

“Did you?” the demon asked, feigning boredom.

“You lied to her.”

“I told her what she needed to hear, Shananara,” Dranymire corrected, loftily. “That is not the same as lying.”

“It’s a very fine distinction. Why didn’t you tell her the truth?”

“Much of what I told her was the truth. The gods asked Lorandranek to create the demon child. It therefore follows that he wanted her.”

“Lorandranek tried to destroy her when she was still in the womb, Lord Dranymire,” Brak pointed out as he came to stand beside them.

“He was driven mad by what the gods asked of him,” Shananara reminded him, placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “You must not continue to punish yourself, Brakandaran.”

“He was still my king. Even an insane king deserves better than that.”

“Lorandranek was a great king,” Dranymire insisted stubbornly.

“Of course he was,” the princess said. “You must agree though, Dranymire, he spent more time trying to escape his responsibilities as king than he ever did ruling Sanctuary. And you were his willing accomplice, I might add. One noble deed does not alter that. Thanks to my uncle’s madness, Korandellen was king in all but name for a long time before he inherited the crown.”

“To you perhaps, Lorandranek was less than perfect, but to R’shiel he is the father who would have loved her. Would you have me hurt the child more than she has been already?”

Shananara smiled at the demon. “Of course not. I just never realised until now that you’re nothing but a romantic sentimentalist.”

The demon snorted indignantly. “I am nothing of the sort! Continue to insult me in such a manner, Your Highness, and you can walk back to Sanctuary.”

Shananara laughed and then turned to Brak. “And you, Brakandaran? Will you finally come home now? You have found the demon child for us. Your task is done.”

He shook his head. “My task is far from done, Shananara. I might have found the demon child, but
in case you haven’t noticed, she’s sailing away from us, as we speak, into real danger.”

“Tarja seems more than capable of taking care of her.”

“Kalianah has made certain of that.”

“Oh dear, what did she do?”

“She interfered. As she usually does. The Goddess of Love thought R’shiel might be more tractable if somebody loved her.”

“And she chose a human? That’s cruel.”

“Maybe. He probably has a better grasp of the situation than R’shiel does.”

Shananara sighed. “She is very young yet and not fully comprehending of her situation. She will come around eventually. And Tarja will see that she is safe.”

Brak glanced at the princess. “You’ve been in Sanctuary too long, Shananara. There’s a big, nasty world out there. Tarja’s got some very human ideas about honour. He is planning to take on the entire Defender Corps with a handful of hopeful farmers. R’shiel is in more danger than you can possibly imagine. You may be right, thinking she will come around, but I’m more concerned that she lives long enough to do it.”

“But what can we do? We can’t get involved in a human war.”

“No, but I know somebody who wouldn’t mind a bit. And he’s quite fond of Tarja in a bloodthirsty, warrior sort of way.” He laughed at her puzzled expression. “Don’t try figuring it out. You simply wouldn’t understand. It’s a human thing.”

“Just tell me if you can help them or not.”

“If Lady Elarnymire and her brethren can take the form of something strong enough to fly me south, I think I can. If you could ask Brehn to stall our little band of reckless humans with some unfavourable winds, I think I can bring help in time. It will take me less than a day to get where I’m going. On sorcerer-bred mounts, help could be in Testra within a few weeks.”

“Sorcerer-bred mounts?” Shananara asked. “You’re going to Hythria, then? You’re not planning to involve the Sorcerer’s Collective, are you? Korandellen wanted you to find the demon child, Brak, not change the entire political climate in three nations. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“No. I don’t even know if it will work. But I am sure that I will have killed Lorandranek for nothing, if the child I saved by taking his life is hanged as an escaped convict, before she can do what she was born for.”

Shananara looked unconvinced. “I don’t know, Brak…”

“Let me put it this way. The gods want to get rid of Xaphista and they can’t kill one of their own kind. That’s why they need R’shiel. If she dies, they will demand another demon child.”

“I know that, but—”

“If the gods demand another demon child, Shananara, either you or Korandellen will have to conceive a half-human child and risk the insanity that destroyed Lorandranek. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“He speaks wisely,” Dranymire agreed. “We must do what we can to protect the demon child, and if that means involving ourselves once again in human
affairs, then so be it. Lorandranek never intended the Harshini to withdraw permanently.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Maybe the time has come for us to step forward again. Go then Brak, and may the gods speed you on your journey. I will speak with the God of Storms. And Maera. I will see that R’shiel is delayed until you can bring help.”

Brak nodded and walked over to Lady Elarnymire who chittered excitedly as he approached. She had missed him, during his long absence from Sanctuary and was still in a state of excitement over his return. He didn’t want her and her brethren losing their concentration mid-flight. Demons in their natural form were no more able to fly than he was. He would not ask them to form another dragon. Dragons were spectacular, but they were complex creatures and hard to maintain. A large bird would be better, one with speed and agility and no desire to swoop down on a herd of hapless cattle whenever it felt hungry. He squatted down and patted the demon fondly, explained what he needed, then turned to Shananara as a rather alarming thought occurred to him.

“When you return to Sanctuary, you might want to prepare Korandellen for the worst,” he suggested.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m not sure how he’s going to take the news that Lorandranek’s long awaited child was raised by the First Sister to be a Sister of the Blade.”

It took nearly three weeks to return upriver to Testra on a journey that had taken a tenth of that time downstream. It was partly the fault of the fickle river winds, partly because Drendik insisted on docking by the riverbank at night, and partly because the boat was plagued with minor mishaps that were almost too numerous to be coincidental.

On their third night out, the steering gear jammed and it took the Fardohnyans nearly two days to fix it. After that, it was just one thing after another. A sail tore inexplicably. The hull developed a crack in the forward hold and they began taking on water. When they got that under control, the aft hold sprung a leak. Finally, when everything on the boat appeared to be in working order, the winds dropped and Drendik found himself sitting in the middle of a river that seemed determined to push them south with the current. The Fardohnyans dropped anchor and muttered about the gods no longer favouring them. Drendik even suggested making an offering, to appease their obvious displeasure. But nothing they did seemed to have any affect. Tarja fretted at
the delay, but R’shiel found herself welcoming it. The river was peaceful, the Fardohnyans were embarrassingly solicitous of her comfort, and she was, for the moment, safe.

Ghari and Tarja had spent the first few days closeted together, forming their plans for their assault on the Defenders. Tarja was anxious to find Jenga before Joyhinia landed in Testra, certain that the Lord Defender could be persuaded to listen to him. He was equally concerned that they not force an armed confrontation with the Defenders in any great number. The rebels had courage and fervour aplenty, but little in the way of weapons or training. They were guerrilla fighters, not disciplined troops. In any organised, head-on confrontation, even outnumbered, the Defenders would slaughter them. But once their plans were made, reviewed, amended, and then reviewed again, there was nothing left for the two rebels to do but wait, and worry, and wait some more.

R’shiel found herself with more idle time than she had ever had in her life. Drendik needed no convincing that she was the demon child and was determined to treat her accordingly. She was allowed to do nothing for herself. The Fardohnyans insisted on calling her “Your Highness” or “Princess” or even “Divine One”, which made her squirm uncomfortably. Shananara té Ortyn was a Harshini princess—beautiful, poised, and trained to handle her magic with the delicate touch of a master. No matter how tempting the knowledge that she had a name and a family of her own, that part of R’shiel raised in the bosom of the Sisterhood did not want to accept her “fate”.

Tarja appeared to be amused by her dilemma when he finally emerged from his war council with Ghari. He advised her to enjoy the Fardohnyans’ attention while it lasted. R’shiel retorted that it was all right for him—nobody was trying to bow and scrape every time he tried to blow his nose. Tarja had laughed at her complaints and offered to treat her like she was still back in the Grimfield, if that would make her feel better. R’shiel stormed off and didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day.

But the slow river journey sealed the final healing layer on R’shiel’s battered soul as they painstakingly wound their way north. Her nightmares of Loclon and the savagery of Elfron’s staff were, if not forgotten, at least no longer unbearable. How much of her newfound peace was the result of Shananara’s healing, and how much was simply her own inner strength, she had no idea.

Finally, a day south of Testra, Drendik bumped the
Maera’s Daughter
gently against the riverbank to allow Ghari to disembark. Tarja was sending him to Testra overland, so he could send out a call for the rebels to muster at the vineyard on the evening of the following day. Tarja and R’shiel would disembark in Testra and make their way back to Affiana’s Inn, where Mahina, Sunny, and maybe Dace still waited. From there, they would make their way to the vineyard and try to convince the rebels that Tarja had not betrayed them. Worse, they had to convince them to mount an attack on the Defenders as a diversion. Although she had volunteered to go with him, R’shiel wondered if she had done it as much to avoid staying with the Harshini, as she had thinking she could be of any use.

R’shiel had thought Tarja was worrying about the Kariens unnecessarily. News of the Envoy’s death would take weeks, perhaps months, to reach Yarnarrow. An invasion force would take even longer to muster and cross the vast northern reaches to the border. It wasn’t until she heard Tarja outlining his plans to Drendik that she understood his concerns. The northern border was completely undefended, protected by a treaty that had been well and truly broken. It would take months to move the Defenders into position. Even if the Kariens didn’t arrive until next summer, Tarja worried that it wouldn’t be enough time.

Ghari waved to them as he disappeared in the long reeds growing close to the riverbank. The farm of a rebel sympathiser lay less than a league from where they had left him. He would be mounted and on his way within the hour. They pushed back into the river and headed north, watching the retreating figure of the young rebel.

“Will they come?” she asked.

“They’ll come. To see me hang, if nothing else.”

“That’s not funny, Tarja.”

“I wasn’t joking,” he said.

It was obvious the first wave of Defenders had arrived in Testra when Drendik eased the boat into the docks early the following afternoon. A red-coated corporal immediately hailed them. Drendik gave a wonderful impression of a foreigner who didn’t understand a word of Medalonian, nodding and calling “Yes! Yes!” to every question the corporal yelled at him. Tarja and R’shiel waited below in the
passage just beneath the companionway, listening to the exchange.

“Suppose they try to search the boat?”

“Drendik’s an old hand at this,” Tarja said. “They won’t get a foot on board until he wants them to.”

“I’m sorry.”

He looked at her curiously. “For what?”

“For getting us into this mess. If I hadn’t killed that Defender in Reddingdale…”

The passage was narrow and Tarja had braced himself against the movement of the boat by placing his hand on the bulkhead above her head.

“If you must blame someone, blame Joyhinia. She’s the one who started it all.”

“Perhaps. I wonder if she would have been so anxious to adopt me if she’d known who my father was?”

“Be grateful she didn’t know. She would have slit your throat.”

“Well, it must be all her fault then,” she agreed wryly. “If she’d murdered me at birth, we wouldn’t be here now.”

“Poor little princess,” he teased.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What should I call you then? Divine One? Oh-Fabled-Harshini-Demon-Child, perhaps?” It was almost like the old days. She had not seen that mocking smile for so long. His eyes were startlingly blue in the dim light of the passage. He looked at her for a long moment then lowered his mouth towards hers.
Be careful of the human attachments you form
, Shananara had warned her. R’shiel suddenly understood what her Harshini cousin was hinting at.
To the Seven Hells with you, Shananara té Ortyn
, she thought, closing her eyes.

“The captain says it’s safe to come up now.”

R’shiel jerked back at the sound of Aber’s voice, burying her head in Tarja’s leather-clad shoulder in embarrassment.

“Thank you,” Tarja said. “We’ll be right up.”

Aber closed the hatch behind him. Tarja gently lifted her chin with his forefinger, forcing her to meet his eye.

“R’shiel?”

“What?”

“I love you, you know that, don’t you?”

“You’re just saying that because you’re afraid I’ll turn you into a toad, or something.”

He smiled. “You think so?”

“Don’t you care that I’m not human?”

“You’re human here,” he assured her, pointing to her heart, “where it counts. Now get a move on. We’d better get up top before young Aber comes looking for us again.”

She kissed him, just to be certain that he meant what he said. Somewhat reluctantly, Tarja peeled her arms from around his neck and held them by her sides.

“We have a long road ahead of us, R’shiel. Don’t make it any harder.”

“Do we have to do this, Tarja?” she asked. “Can’t we just go away? Find a place where nobody knows us?”

“Some place where I’m not a marked man and you’re not the demon child? Name it and we’ll leave this minute.”

She sighed. “There is no such place, is there?”

“No.”

Tarja let her go and moved to the hatch. R’shiel followed him, catching a movement out of the corner of her eye. She spun toward it, but the dim passage was empty.

“What’s the matter?”

“I could have sworn I saw somebody!”

“There’s nobody there. It must have been a trick of the light.”

“It was a little girl.”

Tarja opened the hatch and stepped through. R’shiel glanced back over her shoulder at the empty passage. She was certain she had seen something. She turned to follow Tarja up the companionway, touching something with her boot on the first step. Curiously, she bent down and picked it up. It was an acorn, tied with two white feathers.

“Look at this.”

Tarja looked down at the amulet and shrugged.

“It’s the symbol the heathens have for the Goddess of Love.”

“How did it get here?”

“It probably belongs to Drendik or one of his brothers.”

She frowned, certain she had never seen any of the Fardohnyans with such an icon.

“Should I give it back to them?”

“If you want,” he agreed, a little impatiently. “Come on.”

R’shiel slipped the acorn amulet into her pack and followed Tarja out into the bright sunlight.