Warrior (37 page)

Wearily, Wrayan sat on the damp grass beside the boy and let the events of the past few hours wash over him. He was drained from trying to imagine a scenario in which Brak had survived. He was numb at the thought that a man who had lived so long and through so much, a legend who meant so much to the Harshini, could be so easily pushed into the arms of Death.

Wrayan reached inside his shirt for the pendant Brak had given him and studied it for a moment, wondering how it worked. He could feel the magic locked in the little crystal cube, but wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with it. Perhaps this was a device to amplify one’s telepathic abilities? Wrayan was a competent enough telepath, but he didn’t have the power to reach Sanctuary. The furthest he’d ever tried to reach was just over a hundred miles. The hidden Harshini settlement in the Sanctuary Mountains must be over a thousand miles from here.

And even if he could reach out and touch the minds of the Harshini, who would he call? And what would he say?

Slipping the little cube back into his shirt with a weary sigh, Wrayan lay back on the grass next to his unconscious charge and closed his eyes. He would rest for a moment, he decided, and figure out what to do about Rory, about Brak, about the trouble he had coming with the Thieves’ Guild, and everything else, when he’d had a few minutes to relax . . .

Which was Wrayan’s last coherent thought until he woke up to discover it was dark again and Shananara té Ortyn was kissing him.

“Are you
mad
?”

Shananara sat back on her heels and looked at Wrayan with a puzzled expression. “I thought you’d be glad to see me, Wrayan. Was I wrong?”

Wrayan struggled to sit up, his mind still having trouble grasping the notion that Shananara was actually here in front of him on the side of the road, a thousand miles from the safety of Sanctuary.

There was a small fire going and the smell of something delicious cooking over it. She had obviously been through his pack and found his gear.

Desire warred with common sense as he stared at her. “What . . . what are you doing here?”

“You called me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

The Harshini princess reached into his shirt and pulled out the little crystal cube on the chain around his neck. “Yes, you did, my love. I gave this to Brak, by the way. Is he around?”

That was one question Wrayan was nowhere near prepared to answer. “How did you get here?”

he asked instead, looking around for some sort of transport. She was wearing Dragon Rider’s leathers, her statuesque body outlined in distracting detail, but there was no sign of any animals other than the two horses he’d brought with him.

“By dragon, of course!” she laughed. “I let the meld go when I got here. I wasn’t sure what the locals would think about a dragon sitting by the side of the road. Dranymire and the other demons are around here, somewhere. They’ll come back when I need them.”

“Your highness . . . Shananara . . . have you
any
idea how dangerous it is for you here?” he gasped. The road was deserted, fortunately, but there was no telling who was out there. No telling who had seen a dragon flying over the mountains, either.

“This is Hythria, Wrayan. It’s probably the safest place for a Harshini outside of Sanctuary. That’s why Brak wanted you to take this child back with you, wasn’t it?”

Wrayan nodded, rather alarmed to think the child was still out cold. Rory lay peacefully on his side, his skin and lips a much healthier colour than when Wrayan had dozed off.

“He’s sleeping now,” Shananara assured him, noticing the direction of his gaze. “There is no more poison in his blood.”

“Did you do that?”

She nodded. “It’s a good thing you are doing for this child, Wrayan.”

“Brak wanted me to take him to the Sorcerers’ Collective.” He found it hard not to choke on Brak’s name.

“That’s probably the best place for him.”

Wrayan frowned. “You might not say that if you knew the current High Arrion, your highness.”

The princess shrugged, her inhuman black-on-black eyes reflecting no fear or concern about the danger to Rory. “High Arrions come and go, Wrayan. This one is no better or worse than many others who have held the job.”

“But when she discovers the child has talent—”

“She will try to manipulate it,” Shanan finished for him. “And the child.”

“That won’t be good,” Wrayan pointed out. “For anybody.”

“Then we shall teach young Master Rory to protect himself before we let him loose among the wolves, eh?”

“Nice theory, but it would take a lifetime to teach him what he’d have to know to fight off someone like Alija Eaglespike,” Wrayan said. He spoke from bitter experience.

“But only a few moments to teach him what he
needs
to know,” Shananara replied with a smile.

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s still young enough to teach him the Harshini way,” the princess explained. “It’s only when you get older that it gets difficult. Odd, though, that he’s displayed his ability so young. Still, maybe it’s a good thing. You were about the same age when you discovered your ability, weren’t you?”

“A year or two older, I think,” Wrayan said, rather confused. “Why is it easier to teach him now rather than when he’s older?”

“Well, for one thing, I can pass the information on directly through a mind link. He’s still young enough to learn that way without it harming him. The older you part-humans get, the more the mind instinctively resists the intrusion, which is why we couldn’t teach you the same way when you came to us at Sanctuary.” She reached out and touched Wrayan’s face, her caress setting fire to his skin. “Of course, you would have picked up a few pointers when we shared a mental bond while we made love.”

Wrayan pushed her hand, and that very distracting memory, away. Shananara was desire heaped upon lust and it was all he could do to resist her. He didn’t need that particular reminder right now, and Brak’s scathing reprimand the morning after his one incredible night with Shananara still stung when he thought about it.

“Tell me why it’s a good thing he’s discovered his talent so young,” he asked, trying to sound businesslike.

“The mind is a strange place, Wrayan,” Shananara said, sitting back on her heels again, not fooled for a moment by his apparent disregard for her touch. Fortunately, neither did she press the matter. Instead, she set out to explain the problem as if lecturing a class of apprentices. “It has ways of protecting itself, particularly the human mind, which seems a little more . . . shall we say . . .
fragile
than most. When it comes to those of you with the ability to tap into the source, the mind instinctively seems to know the danger. Hence, the stronger the power, the later the child becomes aware of it. And the more painful the awakening. Brak was in his late teens before he could do so much as light a candle.

Pure Harshini sometimes can’t reach their full potential until they’re in their early twenties.”

“So you’re saying Rory’s not very powerful then?”

“Probably not as strong as you,” Shananara agreed, “but he’ll have much better control of it than you do. Training
can
win out over raw talent, you know.”

“Which is why you’re not worried about Alija,” Wrayan concluded with relief. He’d been fretting about putting this child in her power ever since Brak first suggested it. “How long will it take?”

“It’s already done, my love,” she informed him smugly. “Why do you think the child sleeps so heavily?”

“You mean he’s just going to wake up and discover he’s a Harshini sorcerer?”

Shanan laughed softly. “He may need your guidance a little to begin with, but he’ll find his own way soon enough.”

Wrayan nodded, thinking he shouldn’t stall telling her about Brak. He just didn’t know how to broach the subject. Nor should he delay it much longer, regardless of how painful a duty it might be.

Every moment she spent away from Sanctuary placed not only Shananara, but all the Harshini, in danger.

“Shanan, there’s something I have to tell you . . . about Brak.”

Oddly, Shananara didn’t smile the way she did with everything else. “What’s he done this time?”

“He’s . . .” Wrayan could barely get the words out. “I’m so sorry, Shanan . . . but he’s . . . he’s dead.”

The Harshini shook her head. “No. Brak’s not dead, Wrayan.”

“But . . .”

She took his hand in hers and squeezed it comfortingly. “Brak isn’t dead, my love, as much as he would wish to be. Death isn’t ready for him yet.”

“What do you mean,
as much as he would wish to be
?” he asked, pulling his hands away from her distracting touch.

“Brak did something he’s having trouble dealing with, that’s all.”

“A death wish is a bit more than ‘having trouble,’ your highness. What did he do that was so terrible?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if he had.”

Shanan sighed and looked down, brushing an imaginary speck from her spotless dragon leathers before she spoke. The firelight reflected off her golden skin, making her features melancholy.

“Lorandranek disappeared before the Feast of Kalianah this spring. He was gone for months.

Korandellen was worried about our uncle. He’s been . . . restless of late.”

“The king was always restless, as I recall,” Wrayan said. Lorandranek had never been happy cooped up in Sanctuary, but as the strongest of the strong, it fell to him to hold Sanctuary out of time to save it from accidental discovery by the forces who wished to see his race eradicated.

“This was different. He handed over the burden of the time spell to my brother and left Sanctuary even while it was still out of time to go roaming the mountains, something he’d never done before. He was distracted, moody—”

“I didn’t think Harshini were capable of being moody,” Wrayan interrupted.

“Neither did we,” she agreed with another heavy sigh, before resuming her tale. “Anyway, we hadn’t seen him for a while and we were worried about him, so Korandellen sent Brak into the mountains to bring him home.”

Wrayan hadn’t thought the Harshini capable of worry, either. “What happened?” he prompted gently, when Shananara seemed reluctant to go on.

“Brak found him. Eventually. He was living in a cave with a young human woman. He was trying to . . .” She threw her hands up with a helpless smile. “I can’t even say it.”

“Say what?”

Shananara took a deep breath before she spoke. “Brak took a life to save a life, Wrayan,” she managed to get out with obvious difficulty. “That’s the closest I can come to describing it.”

“You mean he killed someone to save Lorandranek?”

She shook her head, unable to articulate the words. Wrayan looked at her in shock, finding himself almost as incapable as the Harshini of speaking the alternative aloud.

“Dear gods!” he murmured, shaking his head in denial as the princess patiently waited for him to work out himself what had really happened. “You can’t mean he killed . . . ?”

The princess shrugged helplessly. “My uncle was driven insane by something we don’t understand, Wrayan. His last words were of something the gods had asked of him; of it being too great a burden. We have no idea of what he was speaking. All we know is that Lorandranek, King of the Harshini, was driven to an act of violence our race is incapable of and Brakandaran was forced to end his life to save the life of an innocent. I know no more than that. All our attempts to have Brak return to us have failed. He has shut us out. We have forgiven him, but he will never forgive himself. He now hopes that Death will grant him the same oblivion my uncle sought, but it cannot be so. Death is a Primal God as much as Kalianah or Dacendaran and he has his own agenda. He will not allow Brak into his realm.

Not yet.”

Dear gods, what must have happened to make Brak do such a thing?
Wrayan put his head in his hands, trying to come to terms with everything Shananara had told him. He was almost sorry he’d asked, but it explained so much about Brak’s strange behaviour on the way to Fardohnya.
He’d killed his
king. Not just his king; Lorandranek was his friend, too. He must have been going out of his mind
.

“I heard him fall, Shanan.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed, “but he is not dead. I can promise you that much.”

Wrayan allowed himself a small smile.

“What?” Shanan asked curiously. She wasn’t capable of the same range of emotions as a human. It was all part of the Harshini inhibition against violence. All those emotions that drove one to extremes, like hatred or jealousy, revenge, grief or anger, were denied them. Shananara knew Brak had killed Lorandranek, but she was no more able to hate or despise him for it than Wrayan was able to understand how she felt.

“I was just thinking,” he said, smiling wider for Shananara’s sake. His own grief over Lorandranek’s death or Brak’s part in it would be inexplicable to her. “Only Brak would manage to annoy Death sufficiently that he’d deny him entry into his realm.”

Shananara smiled. “He never was renowned for his respect for the gods.”

“Will the Harshini be all right?”

She nodded. “When I go back, Korandellen will hide us again. This time, I fear, we must stay there. There is something afoot, some game the gods are playing, and until we learn what it is, Koran thinks it safer if we stay out of time.”

The relief he felt knowing the Harshini would be safe was tinged with the bittersweet realisation that he would probably never see Shananara again.

“We have tonight, though,” she said, as if she had just realised the same thing. “Before I have to go back.”

Wrayan was kissing Shananara before she finished speaking. He’d lived for this moment; waited for it for more than twelve years. But even as she slid her arms around his neck and he lay back against the stony ground, a traitorous thought wormed its way into his consciousness, spoiling the moment.

Was this what had driven Lorandranek to an unthinkable act of violence? Was the Harshini king’s fear of creating a demon child sufficient to overcome his deeply ingrained aversion to bloodshed? It was a timely reminder of the consequences of giving in to desire.