“Don’t be ridiculous,” he retorted without thinking.
“Brak!” Samaranan gasped. Even the demons seemed appalled by his disrespect.
But the King laughed. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, Brakandaran! You are like a breath of fresh air. Come, get off your knees and let us talk as friends. Samaranan, tell your family to prepare a feast. Tonight we will welcome your lost brother home.”
“There’s really no need...” Brak began as he climbed to his feet. The King ignored his objections.
“Leave us now. Your brother and I have much to discuss.”
Samaranan bowed gracefully and backed out of the room. The demons followed her, subdued in the presence of the King. The doors swung shut silently as they departed. The King turned to Brak and his smile faded.
“What news have you of the outside world?”
“Nothing that is likely to bring you joy,” Brak warned. “The Defenders were in Testra when I left. They were making plans to move north, to protect their border from the Kariens.”
“Shananara tells me you went to Hythria.”
“I indulged in a bit of theatrics, I’m afraid,” he admitted. “The Defenders needed help and I had to stop them killing the demon child. I made a rather dramatic appearance in Krakandar and convinced Damin Wolfblade to form an alliance with them.”
“The High Prince’s heir?” Korandellan shook his head with a faint smile. “You never did listen to me when I told you about the dangers of interfering with mortal politics. But... perhaps such an alliance might eventually bring peace between Medalon and Hythria, so in this case, I will forgive you.”
“You always forgive me, your Majesty. It’s your one fault.”
“I have more than one, I fear. And what news of the Kariens?”
“As soon as word reaches them about the death of their Envoy, they’ll have the excuse they’ve been looking for to invade Medalon.”
“Then war is unavoidable?” The King looked pained even contemplating such an idea.
“I’m afraid so.”
“And Fardohnya? What is Hablet doing? It is unlike him to let such momentous events take shape without him trying to turn it to his advantage.”
“I wish I knew,” Brak told him with a shrug. “A couple of years ago he was making overtures toward Hythria. He sent one of his daughters to meet with Lernen Wolfblade, but I don’t know that anything came of it. It’s hard to tell with Hablet. He makes and breaks treaties as if they were piecrusts. You should think about sending someone to his court, now that the word is out that the Harshini still live.”
The King shook his head. “I risked much in letting Shananara aid you, and I cannot sleep for fear of the danger Glenanaran and the few others who have returned to the outside might be in. The High Arrion has promised me that the Sorcerer’s Collective will protect our people in Greenharbour, but we are not revered in the manner we once were. Our seclusion appears to have left us unprepared for the human world. Her assistance will come with a price, I suspect. Besides, Fardohnya is too close to Karien. I would not put it past Hablet to see some advantage in dealing with the Kariens, and I would not willingly give him a hostage.” Korandellan walked to the balcony that overlooked the broad, sun-kissed valley. He studied it for a long moment before he spoke again. “A part of me rejoices to see you again, Brakandaran. Another part of me fears what your appearance heralds.”
“And just exactly what does my appearance herald?”
Korandellan did not answer immediately. When he did, he completely changed the subject. “The demon child lives.”
“Cheltaran healed her, then?” It was a relief to learn that his journey had not been in vain.
“Yes... and no.”
The vague reply surprised Brak, and worried him. “What do you mean?”
“When the demons brought R’shiel here she was on the brink of death. No, even more than that, Death had her by the hand and was leading her away. Cheltaran healed her wounds, but Death does not like to be cheated, particularly by the God of Healing. They are having something of a... disagreement... over the demon child’s fate.”
“That sounds ominous. Where does that leave R’shiel?”
“She lives, but only just. Death holds one hand, Cheltaran the other.”
Brak sagged against the balcony. “But it’s been months!”
“I know. But now that you are here, we should be able to resolve the conflict.”
“You want me to step into an argument between Death and a god? Thanks for the vote of confidence, your Majesty, but I think you vastly overrate my powers of persuasion.”
The King turned to him, his expression serious. “I overrate nothing, Brakandaran. A compromise of sorts has been worked out to solve the problem. Unfortunately, none of us is capable of carrying it out.”
“Compromise? What compromise?”
“A life for a life,” Korandellan told him heavily. “Death will relinquish his claim on R’shiel, if another life is given in her place.”
Brak closed his eyes for a moment as the weight of the task Korandellan asked of him pressed on him like a falling building.
“You want me to choose?”
“I do not ask this of you lightly, Brakandaran, but I have no choice. I cannot take a life, even indirectly. You are the only one who can make the decision.”
“And to think I used to imagine my human blood would never be an asset to the Harshini,” Brak remarked sourly. “Fine. I’ll go out and pick some helpless, worthless human. That should satisfy Death.”
Korandellan’s golden skin paled at his callousness. “It is not that simple. Death demands a soul of equal value.”
“Then I’ll make sure I pick an obnoxious brat. That should even things up.”
“A soul of equal value, Brakandaran. Death drives a hard bargain. He wants a soul whose loss will mean as much to the demon child as her loss will mean to us.”
“Is there a time limit on this absurd bargain, or will the poor sod drop dead the moment I name him?”
Korandellan shook his head in despair. “I cannot comprehend your ability to make light of this, Brakandaran.”
“I’m not making light of anything. I might be capable of making such a decision, Korandellan, but I certainly don’t find it easy. It’s an eminently reasonable question.”
“And one I cannot answer. You will have to ask Death yourself. I’m sure he will be reasonable.”
“Oh! You think so?”
“Please, Brakandaran! Do not think to approach Death with such an attitude.”
As a race, the Harshini were a bridge between the gods and mortal man, but it was Korandellan who carried the full weight of that bridge on his shoulders. Brak appreciated his predicament, but found it hard to sympathise, given the burden the King had just handed him.
“Don’t worry. Even I am not that stupid. Can I see R’shiel?”
“Of course.” The King smiled faintly and placed his hand on Brak’s shoulder. “You did well to find her, Brak. I know the remorse that fills you seems hard to live with, but ultimately, if she succeeds, R’shiel will free the Harshini. Your actions will have saved your people.”
“All but one,” Brak reminded him grimly.
R’shiel té Ortyn, the demon child who had caused Brak so much anguish – even before she was born – lay not far from Korandellan’s chambers. The room was large and airy, filled with flowers and scented candles, as if the cheery atmosphere could somehow compensate for the battle being waged over her life. Two Harshini sat with her, watching the faint rise and fall of her chest, as if waiting for something to happen. As Brak approached they bowed silently and withdrew, the expectant joy in their black eyes at his coming making him feel unworthy.