Jennifer Fallon - Demon Child 02 - Treason Keep

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TREASON KEEP

THE DEMON CHILD TRILOGY BOOK 02

Jennifer Fallon

For Dace Mikel O'Brien,

the original God of Thieves,

and as always, Adele Robinson

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My life is many things, but boring isn't one of them. Despite a wedding, a

birth, a book launch, two house moves, a new business and a few other

rather traumatic incidents that I would rather not relive, this book was written

in considerably less time thanMedalon .

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As always, there are the usual suspects who deserve my thanks for their

unswerving faith and their high tolerance levels in putting up with me during

the creation of this work. In particular, I would like to thank my children,

Amanda, TJ and David for their support and for filling my life with so many

distractions that I have, though sheer necessity, mastered the art of

focussing on writing to the exclusion of all else. They will readily attest to

this fact, although they may be surprised how often I've heard them lament

to each other "don't bother asking her anything, she's writing".

I would like to thank Stephanie Smith, Darian Causby and Midge McCall,

and all the other people at HarperCollins who I have never met but who

have contributed to this series, along with Lyn Tranter and Cathy Perkins at

Australian Literary Management and also Sarah Endacott. Stephanie

Pui-Mun Law has once again created an awesome cover and I remain one

of her most ardent fans.

With my dying breath, I will be thanking Harshini Bhoola for her

never-ending enthusiasm and her constant re-reading of the manuscripts,

and it still won't repay her. Thanks also to my good friend Peter Jackson for

encouraging me to take a step into the unknown and my favourite

sycophants, Toni-Maree and John Elferink MLA for helping me keep my

feet on the ground while my head was in the clouds.

PART 1

POLITICS AND POWER GAMES

CHAPTER 1

It took a conscious effort of will for Brak to take the final step across the

threshold of Sanctuary.

The gates stood wide open, tall and impossibly white in the thin, chill

mountain air. Sanctuary's tall spires reached elegantly for the scudding

clouds, shadowing the Gateway and offering him one last moment of

anonymity.

He had turned his back on this place more than two decades ago and,

despite the loneliness, the guilt, and the hunger for his own kind, he still

found it harder than he thought possible to return.

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He was not unexpected. That would have been too much to hope for. As

he trekked through the mountains he had clung to the idle hope that the

demons would not betray his approach. It was the reason he had come on

foot - this journey of months could have been accomplished in hours had

he asked the demons for help.

As he contemplated that final, irrevocable step, a figure appeared on the

other side of the Gateway. Tall, white-robed and smiling, Jerandenan had

been the Gatekeeper for as long as Brak could remember - and that was

almost a millennium. The Harshini's totally black eyes were moist, and his

whole being radiated the warmth of his welcome.

The Gatekeeper opened his arms wide. "Welcome home, Brakandaran."

Still Brak hesitated. "You remember me then?"

Jerandenan laughed softly. "I remember every soul who has entered my

Gate, as well you know. And you, more than most, I would not forget.

Come, Brakandaran. Your family awaits you. The demons miss you,

and . . ." The Gatekeeper's voice trailed off with a shrug, and he smiled that

infuriating, calm smile that was already beginning to annoy Brak. And he had

not even crossed Sanctuary's threshold yet.

"And Korandellan wants to see me?" Brak guessed.

Jerandenan nodded. "Did you expect anything less from your King?"

Before Brak could answer, several grey missiles launched at him through

the tingling barrier of the Gateway. The demons jumped on him gleefully,

chattering to each other incomprehensibly, so delighted by his return that

they almost knocked him off his feet. He recognised a few of the creatures

as he tried to shake free of them, but there were youngsters in the group he

did not know. They knew him, though. His blood called to them more clearly

than any words were capable of.

Jerandenan smiled indulgently as the demons pushed and pulled Brak until

he was through the Gateway, ignoring both his protests and his greetings,

which he seemed to be handing out in equal measure.

"You can deny yourself, Brak, but you cannot deny the brethren. They are

as glad to see you as we all are."

Brak frowned, and peeled a little demon from around his neck who was

hugging him so tightly he could barely breathe. No sooner had he removed

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one, than another tried to take its place. He pushed it away sternly.

"Begone!"

The demons fell back at his sharp tone, looking mightily offended. He

immediately felt guilty for being so abrupt, a fact which the demons were

probably counting on. At the first sign of his resolve wavering they were on

him again, although this time they gave him room to breathe. Brak turned to

Jerandenan helplessly.

"And you wonder why I haven't been back in more than twenty years."

"You are as hungry for the demons as they are for you, Brakandaran," the

Gatekeeper said with an indulgent smile. "Don't deny them, or us, the joy of

your return."

By the time Brak had disentangled himself from the demons a second

time, other white robed figures had appeared, attracted to the Gateway by

the unusual commotion. The Harshini rarely, if ever, left Sanctuary these

days - not since the Sisterhood had come to power two centuries ago - and

few had entered the magical Gateway in that time. The Keep was outside of

normal time and space, in a dimension uniquely its own. No one but a

Harshini, or those born within the walls of Sanctuary, could find it when it

was warded.

The curious arrived first, to see what all the fuss was about, wandering

towards the Gateway with a leisurely stride. Behind those came others,

some at a run. These Harshini were tÃ© Carn,his family, alerted by the

demons' joy at the return of their lost cousin.

He almost fled at that point. Seeing the faces of his family made him

shrivel up a little inside. They had done nothing but try to make him feel as if

he belonged here; and he had repaid their kindness with blood . . . this

shame, this unbearable remorse, was the reason he had never come

home.

"Brakandaran!"

A fair-haired woman pushed through the crowd and ran to him, twisting the

knife of his guilt even harder into his soul.

"Samaranan."

She stopped a few paces from him and examined him with a critical eye.

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"You're too thin."

Brak was expecting almost anything but that. Trust Samaranan to say the

one thing guaranteed to ease his tension. He smiled at her blunt criticism.

"I've been living on nothing but . . ." he stopped himself before he could

upset the Harshini with his carnivorous diet. "I've been living off the land. It's

a long walk."

"It was also an unnecessary one," she scolded. "The demons would have

brought you home. All you had to do was ask."

"I like walking."

"Actually, I think you like suffering. But you got here. Finally. Welcome

home, brother." She hugged him tightly, pushing demons out of the way to

reach him. He had almost forgotten how forgiving the Harshini were - how

incapable of anger or resentment. His elder half-sister did not seem to care

that he had not contacted her for two decades. Nor did she seem to hold

against him the crime that had driven him from this place. "Come, you must

pay your respects to Korandellan. He knew you would come."

Brak nodded, but did not bother to add that the King had left him little

choice in the matter. Samaranan took his hand and led him forward, the

demons skipping in his wake. The Harshini parted for them, some simply

smiling their welcome, others nodding to him with genuine pleasure at his

return. Some even reached out to touch his travel-stained clothes, to

assure themselves that he was real. Brak tried to return the warmth of their

welcome, but his guilt and his human blood, as always, made him feel like

an outsider.

Sanctuary was like no other place on this world, and at first glance,

seemed unchanged since Brak had last walked these halls. The Harshini

settlement sat within a valley; the Keep tunnelled into the hills, its broad,

open archways looking down to the valley floor. The air was sweet and

moist from the constant mist created by the rainbow-tinted cascade that

supplied the settlement with water and tumbled down toward the pool on

the western edge of the valley. Although autumn was beginning to turn the

mountains red, here in Sanctuary the temperature never varied a great deal.

The God of Storms was solicitous of Harshini comfort.

The long, tiled walkways echoed his booted footsteps as Samaranan led

Brak toward Korandellan's apartments. Everywhere they went people

turned and waved to him, delighted to see him. It was as though he brought

them hope rather than pain, and the reaction puzzled him a little. It was true

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that the Harshini were incapable of anger or violence, but even that could

not explain their obvious joy. Many of them would have been glad to see the

back of him, he thought. Then another thought occurred to him as he

realised what else seemed strange.

"Where are the children?"

"There are none, Brak."

"Why?"

Samaranan slowed her pace and glanced at him. "It's the wards on

Sanctuary. They remove us from the real world. We do not age, but neither

do we conceive."

"But you don't stay out of time constantly. Korandellan used to bring

Sanctuary back every spring to allow time to catch up." As far as Brak

remembered, the settlement had reappeared every spring for the past two

centuries. Such a return was vital for their survival.

"We've been warded now for nearly twenty years, brother," she told him.

"After you left, after the demon child was born, Xaphista redoubled his

efforts to find us. We could not risk exposing ourselves, and Sanctuary

would flare like a beacon to a Karien priest. Every time we return to real

time, Death is waiting to claim those who have cheated him. There are no

children to replace those who are lost." She seemed to understand his

confusion. "In case you're wondering, that's why everyone is so happy to

see you. You will aid the demon child and she will remove the threat of

Xaphista. Then we will be free once more."

"Remove the threat of Xaphista? You mean kill him."

Samaranan frowned. "Please don't say it like that, Brak."

"Why not? It's the truth."

"You know what I mean. You've been back for little more than a heartbeat.

You could at leasttry to be sensitive."

"Forgive me," he snapped. "I'll try very hard not to mention the fact that

Korandellan has brought me back to train Zegarnald's pet assassin."

She stopped and glared at him, her black eyes as close to anger as they

were capable of getting. "Stop it! This is not easy for any of us. There is no

need for you to make it even harder."

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"You think this is easy for me?"

Samaranan's eyes softened and she reached out to touch his face. "I'm

sorry, little brother. I forget sometimes what it must be like for you."

"Don't apologise, Sam. I shouldn't be heaping all my anger on you. There's

a god or two I'd like to throttle, but it's not your fault." Brak smiled wanly. "I

promise I'll try to be as Harshini as I can while I'm here."

Her relief was evident. "Thank you."

They resumed their slow pace through the broad halls. Brak listened idly as

Samaranan filled him in on the family happenings, which, considering how

much time Sanctuary had spent removed from reality, was a fairly short list.

There were no new nieces or nephews or cousins to celebrate. Only the

demons, who could flit between dimensions at will, were able to reproduce

- but even their numbers were starting to dwindle in the face of the

Harshini's prolonged withdrawal. The Harshini and the demons were

interdependent, and the creatures could not sustain an increase in their

numbers that the Harshini were unable to match. It occurred to Brak that if

something were not done soon, the Harshini would no longer be simply

hiding. Their current state of limbo would eventually prove fatal. The

knowledge was an added burden he did not want or need.

They reached Korandellan's chambers eventually, and the tall, delicately

carved doors swung open at their approach. The King was waiting for them,

his smile benign, his arms outstretched in welcome. The resemblance

between him and the demon child took Brak by surprise. Korandellan was

tall and lean and impossibly beautiful, as all the Harshini were. With the

demons clustered behind Samaranan's long skirts, Brak fell to his knees

and lowered his head, surprised at his need for Korandellan's benediction.

"You have no need to kneel before me, Brakandaran. It is I who should

bow to you. You have suffered much on our behalf."

"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."

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"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

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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

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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 wantme 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."

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TREASONKEEPTHEDEMONCHILDTRILOGYBOOK02JenniferFallon ForDaceMikelO'Brien,theoriginalGodofThieves,andasalways,AdeleRobinsonACKNOWLEDGMENTSMylifeismanythings,butboringisn'toneofthem.Despiteawedding,abirth,abooklaunch,twohousemoves,anewbusinessandafewotherrathertraumaticincidentsthatIwouldrathernotreliv...

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