he recognised the ring and admitted her without question went a long way to establishing his credentials. He’d had a discussion once, with a previous Raven, about the foolishness of wearing something so obvious, but humans liked their symbols and apparently the custom was as strong as ever. Foolish humans.
“What do you want with the Raven?” the woman asked, without preamble, looking around the room.
“I wish to speak to him.”
“The Raven doesn’t speak to anyone.”
“He’ll speak to me.”
She finished her inspection of the room and turned to look at him. “So Gernard said.”
“Gernard?”
“The innkeeper.”
“Ah…can I offer you some wine?”
“No.”
She walked across the room and threw open the doors that led to the gardens, taking a deep breath of the fragrant air from the riot of flowering greenery. Brak was sure she was more interested in making certain they were not overheard, than she was in botany.
“So, tell me,” she demanded, turning back to him as she stepped away from the open doorway, “what isso special about you that the Raven would grant you an audience?”
“I am Brakandaran.”
She studied him for a moment in the twilight then laughed. “Brakandaran the Half-Breed? I doubt that.”
“You require proof?”
“Oh, I’m certain you have proof,” she chuckled. “Some mirrors and wires rigged to convince me of your magical powers. You have, however, neglected one minor point.”
“And what is that?”
“Brakandaran, if he was still alive, would be in his dotage now. It’s been what…fifty years since he was here last? You can’t be more than thirty-five. Forty at the most.”
“I’m half-Harshini,” he pointed out. “I don’t age like a human.”
She smiled. “Very good! You even have an answer for that one. I still don’t believe you, but I do appreciate attention to detail.”
Brak found himself warming to the woman. She was sharp and not at all unattractive. But he was going to have to convince her, and probably the hard way.
“Very well, then,” he shrugged. “You name the proof. Something I cannot possibly have anticipated. We can even go somewhere else, so that you can be assured I’m not using—what did you call them—mirrors and wires?”
“I really don’t see why I should bother.”
“Can you afford to be wrong?”
She thought on that for a moment, then shook her head. She turned away from him, as if inthought, reaching into her robe. “Proof, you say? Something unexpected?” She spun around, raising her arm. “Try this!”
The quarrel from the small crossbow took Brak by surprise. He had guessed she was up to something, but had no time to react. Elanymire saved him. She popped into existence in front of him and snatched the missile from the air, chittering angrily at the woman.
The assassin dropped the weapon in surprise at the appearance of the little demon. “How…?”
“The demons live to protect the Harshini,” he pointed out with a shrug. He bent down and picked the demon up, stroking her leathery skin, trying to calm her. She took a very dim view of anyone trying to hurt a member of her clan and was all for vaporising the woman where she stood.
The assassin stared at him for a moment, as he stood there soothing the angry demon and then dropped to one knee. “Divine One.”
Brak rolled his eyes. “Oh, get up! I am not divine. But I do want to see the Raven. Now that we’ve established who I am, do you think we could arrange it?”
She stood up and met his eyes.
“See her ,” she corrected. “The Raven is a woman. Her name is Teriahna.”
“Fine,” Brak agreed impatiently. “Let’s go see her, then.”
“You have seen her already, my Lord. I am Teriahna. I am the Raven.”
CHAPTER 8
The first thing Tarja remembered on waking was that R’shiel was in danger. The thought hit him like a body blow and he jerked upright, only to discover he was tied to the wagon bed on which he lay. He could not
“What do you want with the Raven?” the woman asked, without preamble, looking around the room.
“I wish to speak to him.”
“The Raven doesn’t speak to anyone.”
“He’ll speak to me.”
She finished her inspection of the room and turned to look at him. “So Gernard said.”
“Gernard?”
“The innkeeper.”
“Ah…can I offer you some wine?”
“No.”
She walked across the room and threw open the doors that led to the gardens, taking a deep breath of the fragrant air from the riot of flowering greenery. Brak was sure she was more interested in making certain they were not overheard, than she was in botany.
“So, tell me,” she demanded, turning back to him as she stepped away from the open doorway, “what isso special about you that the Raven would grant you an audience?”
“I am Brakandaran.”
She studied him for a moment in the twilight then laughed. “Brakandaran the Half-Breed? I doubt that.”
“You require proof?”
“Oh, I’m certain you have proof,” she chuckled. “Some mirrors and wires rigged to convince me of your magical powers. You have, however, neglected one minor point.”
“And what is that?”
“Brakandaran, if he was still alive, would be in his dotage now. It’s been what…fifty years since he was here last? You can’t be more than thirty-five. Forty at the most.”
“I’m half-Harshini,” he pointed out. “I don’t age like a human.”
She smiled. “Very good! You even have an answer for that one. I still don’t believe you, but I do appreciate attention to detail.”
Brak found himself warming to the woman. She was sharp and not at all unattractive. But he was going to have to convince her, and probably the hard way.
“Very well, then,” he shrugged. “You name the proof. Something I cannot possibly have anticipated. We can even go somewhere else, so that you can be assured I’m not using—what did you call them—mirrors and wires?”
“I really don’t see why I should bother.”
“Can you afford to be wrong?”
She thought on that for a moment, then shook her head. She turned away from him, as if inthought, reaching into her robe. “Proof, you say? Something unexpected?” She spun around, raising her arm. “Try this!”
The quarrel from the small crossbow took Brak by surprise. He had guessed she was up to something, but had no time to react. Elanymire saved him. She popped into existence in front of him and snatched the missile from the air, chittering angrily at the woman.
The assassin dropped the weapon in surprise at the appearance of the little demon. “How…?”
“The demons live to protect the Harshini,” he pointed out with a shrug. He bent down and picked the demon up, stroking her leathery skin, trying to calm her. She took a very dim view of anyone trying to hurt a member of her clan and was all for vaporising the woman where she stood.
The assassin stared at him for a moment, as he stood there soothing the angry demon and then dropped to one knee. “Divine One.”
Brak rolled his eyes. “Oh, get up! I am not divine. But I do want to see the Raven. Now that we’ve established who I am, do you think we could arrange it?”
She stood up and met his eyes.
“See her ,” she corrected. “The Raven is a woman. Her name is Teriahna.”
“Fine,” Brak agreed impatiently. “Let’s go see her, then.”
“You have seen her already, my Lord. I am Teriahna. I am the Raven.”
CHAPTER 8
The first thing Tarja remembered on waking was that R’shiel was in danger. The thought hit him like a body blow and he jerked upright, only to discover he was tied to the wagon bed on which he lay. He could not
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