Harvest of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy) by Debra Holland Page A

But Ontarem said no delay. Rely on Vaptor and Dorent. They know more about the crystals than anyone else.”
    “Nabric, there’s still so much we need to discuss…how to retrieve Prince Indaran and the rest of the slaves. Capture the princess. You’ll have to know about the Che-da-wah rebellion and the God Arvintor.”
    He rubbed his forehead, thinking. “Come. You must be famished. Let’s eat. You tell me about everything. Before I leave, we will come up with a plan to return Ontarem to the path He has long planned—to the complete dominance of Kimtair.”
    ~ ~ ~
    Thaddis deserved burning agony with his body wracked as each tortured particle of his being was knit back to wholeness. But instead he received gentle, loving warmth from the Goddess, like the sun on his face on a beautiful spring day after a long, dark winter. His muscles swelled like the growth within seeds, sprouting into new life. Yet even as his body changed, grew young and strong, the black shame and bitter remorse in his heart only intensified, until he screamed with pain.
    Cease, Thaddis! The Goddess ordered.
    He had to gulp back sobs. “You don’t understand.” He flailed his arm. I just moved my arm! I can move! He opened his eyes, and then had to blink gritty eyelids several times, adjusting to the soft light glowing from panels set into the alabaster stone walls. He pushed himself to a sitting position and glanced around to see the priests and priestesses had left. Although the room had no visible statue of the Goddess, he still sensed Her presence.
    His head swam, and Thaddis had to hold perfectly still, impatiently waiting for the room to stop spinning. Once his balance righted, he extended his sword arm. In his last memory before his awakening, he’d been dressed in his black uniform. But someone had changed his clothes, and he wore a loose white shirt of coarse cotton weave and brown trews—the dress of a peasant. His garments were stained with the dirt of the desert. However, his plebian clothing wasn’t what caught his attention. He pushed up the sleeve of his shirt and flexed his arm, feeling the muscles move.
    Thaddis examined his skin more closely. The scar he’d carried above his elbow since he was ten, when he and Indaran had sparred with real swords, had vanished, and he felt a stab of grief for its loss.
    It isn’t a scar you grieve for, Thaddis.
    “I know. I betrayed his memory. My best friend and foster brother, my comrade-in-arms, my country’s ancient trusted ally. I murdered his family, tried to kidnap his sister, destroyed his city, and enslaved his people.”
    You were also enslaved. The Evil One controlled you for His own purposes.
    “That doesn’t excuse anything. I should have fought harder. Escaped somehow,” he said his tone bitter. “I should have killed myself, rather than let myself be used.”
    Thaddis , Guinheld’s voice held a gentle note. You tried. When I healed you, I saw that deep within you, you never stopped struggling against Ontarem.
    “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t succeed.”
    Ah, but your struggle is what matters now.
    “Why didn’t you just let me die?”
    Princess Daria believes her brother is alive. She has had a vision that he lies in Ontarem’s temple. She and her new husband Khan have sailed to rescue him.
    Indaran’s alive! At the news, his hope soared so high Thaddis barely noticed that the princess he’d pursued, caused a war to try and capture, was now with another man. “Is it really possible that Indaran’s alive?” Even as he spoke the words, Thaddis had a fuzzy memory of Indaran’s body lying on an altar in Ontarem’s temple. Was his friend alive or dead?
    It’s possible. Or the princess and her consort may be sailing into a trap. If that is so, the consequences will be dire. Neither Withea nor I have the power to see into Ontarem’s realm. But through Khan and Daria, who serve as Withea’s priest and priestess, perhaps my sister Goddess may be able to penetrate