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R’shiel, but if I think for a moment that you might hurt these people, I’ll throw you out of Sanctuary myself.”
    “Why do you always assume the worst about me?”
    He shrugged and sat down beside her on the bed. “I’ve seen what you’re capable of. Remember the rebels?”
    She remembered, but only just. “I suppose I was rather…difficult. But it all seems so distant. I remember things sometimes that seem like they happened to somebody else. Other times it’s as if I never even existed until I woke up in this place.”
    “Sanctuary is a magical place, R’shiel. You’re bound to feel different here. The strangeness will pass.”
    It was then that she noticed he was dressed in leather trousers and a linen shirt—human attire rather than the Harshini robe he had worn the last time she saw him. “Are you going somewhere?”
    “Yes. Back out into the big bad world, I’m afraid. Between you and Tarja, you managed to turn the whole damned world on its ear. I have to find out what’s happening.”
    The thought of Tarja left R’shiel with a warm glow of affection, but little else. “Will you see Tarja?”
    “No, I’m heading south. I want to see what the Fardohnyans are up to.”
    “Oh.”
    He smiled at her expression. Even Brak smiled in this place. “Is there anything you want?”
    “Meat,” she said, without hesitation. “I would kill for a haunch of venison this big , smothered in gravy.”
    Brak’s smile faded. “Don’t use that word in Sanctuary, R’shiel.”
    “What? Venison?”
    “Kill. The Harshini cannot abide violence. Even the thought distresses them. As for the meat, I’ll see what I can do, but don’t go asking for it. The Harshini don’t eat meat and it upsets them to be reminded that humans do. It will also upset them if they think you’re not happy. Besides, it won’t hurt you to eat like a Harshini for a while.”
    “They eat like rabbits,” she complained, but her smile took the sting from her words.
    “Then you’ll just have to learn to like rabbit food.”
    Another thought occurred to her then. “So if they can’t kill anything, where does all the leather come from?”
    “It’s a gift.”
    “From whom?”
    “The animals who inhabit the mountains. When they die, they allow the Harshini to take their skins.”
    “How do the Harshini know that?” she scoffed.
    “They are Harshini, R’shiel. They communicate with animals just as easily as they do with humans. In fact they prefer it, I think. Animals haven’t invented war yet.”
    “You know, I almost like you here, Brak. Why did you ever leave?”
    But he refused to answer her and something about his eyes warned her not to inquire too closely.

CHAPTER 8
    “How long has she been like this?” Garet asked.
    They had settled in around the fire in the crumbling great hall, Garet in the chair that had been occupied by Mahina the previous evening. Tarja sat on the edge of the hearth near Jenga, who had taken the only other chair.
    “Since Testra,” Jenga told him, staring into the flames, not meeting the eye of the other officer.
    Damin stood leaning against the mantle, stoking the inadequate fire with an iron poker. Fuel was a major problem on this treeless plain, and a sizeable number of their force had been occupied gathering enough wood to see them through the coming winter. Were it not for the vast number of horses here, many of the camp’s fires would be sorry affairs indeed. It was a small extravagance to burn the wood, but Damin was grateful to be spared the sting of burning dung in the Hall.
    “How did it happen?”
    “I’m not certain.”
    Damin laughed softly at the Lord Defender’s discomfort. “Dacendaran, the God of Thieves, stoleher intellect, Commandant. The Lord Defender has some difficulty dealing with the concept.”
    “A difficulty I share, my Lord. We do not believe in your gods.”
    “Believe in them or not,” Damin shrugged. “It’s the truth. Ask Tarja.”
    Garet turned his gaze