R’shiel rode far from the Defenders’ camp under a leaden sky, her face flushed and tingling from the cold. She had told nobody the reason for her journey, just that she needed to be alone. She had especially avoided Brak. He may have guessed what she was planning and she did not want to give him the opportunity to object.
The Hythrun mare stretched her legs as the camp dwindled behind them. She had no particular destination in mind and in truth, for a good while she simply enjoyed the ride and the speed of the magnificent sorcerer-bred horse. It was the first time in a very long while she had done anything for the sheer joy of it, and she was reluctant to end it too soon.
Eventually, she came to a small rise on the undulating plain and looked back to discover the Defenders’ camp was completely obscured by the fold of the land. She dismounted and stroked the lathered mare’s neck, urging her to seek out what feed she could on the sparse winter plain. With a nicker of understanding the mare wandered off. When R’shiel was certain the horse was a safe distance from the knoll, she turned and looked up at the sky.
“Zegarnald!”
She received no answer other than the soughing wind rustling through the dried grass like a satin skirt brushing against a taffeta petticoat.
“Zegarnald!”
“Demon child.”
She spun to find the War God standing on the knoll behind her. He was dressed in golden armour that glittered in the dull afternoon light. He was enormous. The battles that were tearing this world apart had made him as strong as he had ever been.
“You defied Xaphista, I see.”
“No thanks to you.”
“Brakandaran seems to have taught you disrespect, along with survival.”
“Brak didn’t teach me survival, and I don’t need any lessons in being disrespectful from anyone,” she retorted.
“Then why did you call me, demon child?”
“My name is R’shiel.”
“You are the demon child.”
“I am R’shiel!” she insisted. “The demon child is a creature you invented. It’s not who I am!”
“Then you refuse your destiny?” The god sounded puzzled. Such fine distinctions were beyond his ability to comprehend.
“I’m not refusing it, Zegarnald. I’m accepting it. I will do as you ask. I will restore the balance and destroy the gods who have skewed things by becoming too strong.”
“Gods? Surely you mean only one god?”
R’shiel smiled ingenuously. “You surely don’t think I can just remove Xaphista without affecting any other gods, do you?”
Zegarnald pondered the problem for a moment and then nodded slowly. “Yes, I see. I had not considered that.”
“Then you will leave me to do fulfil my destiny as I see fit?”
The War God frowned. “You will go to Slarn and destroy Xaphista. What else is to be done?”
“Xaphista’s power is drawn from his believers in Karien. I can’t destroy him without destroying that too.”
He thought on that and then nodded slowly. “Yes, I can see that.”
“Then you’ll leave me be? No more tests? No more tempering?”
“But...”
“Zegarnald, you have to trust me. I’m the only one who can do this. You have to let me do it my way. I’m half human. I know how humans think. I need you to promise that you will not interfere unless I ask you to.”
“You ask a great deal of me, demon child.”
“You’re asking a great deal of me,” she pointed out.
The God of War thought over the problem for a while before he nodded his agreement.
“Very well. I will do as you ask.”
“Give me your oath.”
“You doubt me?” He swelled at the implied insult.
“No. That’s why I want your oath.”
“Very well, I give you my solemn promise I will not interfere in your handling of this affair unless you ask it.”
“No matter what happens?”
“No matter what happens,” he agreed unhappily.
R’shiel smiled at him. “Thank you, Divine One. Now, just to prove that I will need your help from time to time, I have a job for you.”
“A job?”
“Yes. I want you to find Damin’s brother, Narvell, the Warlord of Elasapine and get him to turn back. Tell him he has to protect Krakandar from a Fardohnyan invasion.”
“I AM NOT YOUR MESSENGER!” the god boomed, making the ground shake with his indignation.
“As you wish,” she shrugged, turning away from him. “If Hablet crosses the Hythrun border too easily, there won’t be a battle. On the other hand, if Narvell turns back, there should be a nice little bloodbath. But, if you’d rather not...”
“Perhaps I could consent to do this one favour for you,” the god conceded with ill grace. “But I am not your messenger, demon child. Do not presume to use me in such a manner again.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Divine One.”
It was nearly dark when R’shiel returned to the camp and she rode straight to the infirmary tent to check on Tarja.
Outwardly, his condition had not changed. He still lay as pale as death and barely breathing, but the fact that he still lived at all was a good sign. As she knelt beside the pallet, she was shocked to see his hands and feet bound to the bed with sturdy ropes.
Angrily, she turned on the medic who was changing the bandages of a man on the other side of the tent.
“Who did this?” she demanded.
“That man who came with you,” the medic shrugged. “Jack, or Brak, or whatever his name is. He said things might get a bit rough and that tying him down was for his own protection.”
R’shiel was horrified and fully intended to confront Brak about such a barbarous practice, but she was not so sure of herself that she untied the ropes. She sat with Tarja for a time, stroking his pallid forehead, trying to will him to live, before she left the Infirmary to seek Brak out.
It was fully dark when she emerged from the Infirmary and she looked about with a frown, realising she had no idea where Brak would be. She was still pondering the problem when faint voices raised in anger reached her. One of the voices was unmistakably female and R’shiel could easily guess who it was.
Curiously, she followed the sound to a tent not far from the one where she and Adrina had been held prisoner. She could see Adrina’s silhouette through the canvas wall as she paced in front of the lamp. They could probably hear her in Talabar.
“In case you’re interested, the whole camp can hear you screeching,” she announced as she pushed the flap back.
Adrina spun around angrily. Damin was sitting on a small campstool on the other side of the small table that held the flickering lamp looking thoroughly miserable. A glowing brazier in the corner warmed the tent, almost as much as Adrina’s anger.
“I DO NOT...” she began, then took a deep breath. “I do not screech.”
“You do,” R’shiel said. “I take it this... argument has to do with my declaration that you two should get married? So who’s the dissenting party?”
“R’shiel, perhaps it’s not such a good idea...” Damin began.
“Not a good idea! It’s downright insane!” Adrina retorted. “Hablet will have a fit when he hears about it, and the first thing the Hythrun Warlords will do is hire an assassin to have me killed.”
“You’ve both lived with the threat of assassins all your life – what difference will another make? As for Hablet, we’ll just have to convince him there’s a profit in it.”
“And what about how I feel?” Adrina asked, unable to deny the truth of R’shiel’s words. Anything that was profitable was fine by her father.