Starstone

by Denise M. Main

  “Cinbar – this is Resh, my pupil. Resh – Cinbar, an old and valued friend from the world Fa'liene,” he introduced.

  Resh turned, nodded a greeting to the man, and found himself looking into a pair of faintly luminous, predatory cat's eyes. He blinked in surprise and looked again. But the moment had passed and he saw only ordinary, if strangely colored, human ones. He darted a glance at Mesar. His mentor nodded slightly.

  “Pleased to meet you, Resh,” Cinbar almost smiled. “I've been hearing a few, doubtlessly exaggerated, stories recently,” he said, leaning his long-necked instrument against the table leg. “About an old man – you Mesar?” he cocked an enquiring eye at the magus, “and a youth, which I presume to be you, Resh. All these tales have one thing in common; they say that this lad here, is an expert and lethal fighter.”

  “I have trained him,” Mesar confirmed smugly.

  The lame musician nodded. Although the boy was small, and slender to the point of thinness, there was an air of quiet confidence and durability about him that was rare in one so young. Life with the magus was not an easy existence, if his own past experiences were anything to go by, and he imagined this lad was one tough little motherless child.

  “And may I ask why, when you have the services of such an able young man, do you need myself – and two others?”

  “I wish you to accompany me northwards,” Mesar stated.

  “Why?” Cinbar asked – tactlessly, in light of how well he knew the illusionist.

  Mesar stared darkly at him, the air around his head taking on a faint shimmering halo. A sudden wind outside blew dust and fine grains of sand through the doorway to gust around their feet.

  Somewhere, an eagle screamed; an unusual sound in the city.

  Then the wind dropped as abruptly as it had begun, and the eagle – if it had been such – called no more.

  Mesar smiled, the harmless, doddering old man again. “Come, both of you, it's time to visit the market place and do some shopping.”

  With a feeling very close to relief, the three of them left the Stinking Ship and headed towards Sancurr's huge market place, leaving the rotting, paint-peeled buildings behind and gradually passing into more well-tended and affluent parts of the city.

  Mesar pulled his tan cloak a little neater over his rounded shoulders and glanced at Resh. He could feel the boy's discomfort at being so close to so many people after a lifetime in the desert. But under the nervousness bubbled excitement. Flanked by Cinbar with the long-necked instrument slung over his shoulder, Resh scowled at the narrow cobbled street that, a little further down, opened into the vast, packed market square. Noise from a hundred different sources clamored against ears still more attuned to the shifting of desert sands and the call of the wind.

  A slender youth, not much older than Resh, bumped casually into the old, cloaked man, nimble fingers flashing at Mesar's belt. Deftly, the desert wood staff slipped in between the lad's legs, tipping him onto the cobbles, where he had to scramble hastily to his feet to avoid being trampled on. The youth glared at the retreating trio before sliding off into the anonymity of the crowd. Mesar looked at Resh who picked up his warning thought, ‘Pick purse.’

  The boy nodded, committing the incident to memory.

  At the very edge of the market place, Mesar paused, probing the shouting, seething mass of people for signs of the man he hoped to find. For a brief moment, his mind's eye soared high above the multi-colored patchwork of stalls like an eagle, before homing in on a particular one.

  “This way,” he murmured, moving off easily through the crowd.

  Resh trotted after, keeping close before the small space behind Mesar could fill with other people. Cinbar limped in their wake, ignoring everything.

  The boy was alternately amazed and repelled by the sights around him. Snatches of his thoughts drifted to Mesar much the same as a spoken conversation would in such a packed place. The magus smiled at his pupil's comments. For himself, the stalls and barrows held little interest; one market place was much like another, and Mesar had seen plenty.

  Eventually, they reached one particular stall, squeezed between the colorful display of a fruitier and a tinker's gleaming wares. Sun faded awnings draped a framework of thin poles, and one partly rolled flap revealed a semi-enclosed area where goods were displayed and business could be conducted away from the main throng of shoppers. A roughly painted sign depicting a pair of crossed swords above a battle axe was propped up against a corner pole.

  Mesar lowered his head and ducked under the hanging door flap. Cinbar, close behind, tapped him on the shoulder and nodded his head back in the direction they had come. Looking past the lame singer, Mesar watched as Resh, using a basic form of sign-language, haggled with the fruitier over the quality and cost of a basket containing small orange fruits.

  “An adaptable child,” Cinbar observed.

  “Very,” Mesar agreed.

  “Well now,” a voice boomed behind them, “what need would an old man and a lame bard have for an arms trader?”

  For the second time in one day, Cinbar smiled.

  “Who are you calling an old man?” Mesar demanded in a thin quavering voice, before he too, turned and smiled, dropping the illusion as he faced the owner of the voice. That voice was large, much more so than the man it came from.

  “Jall,” he greeted, bracing himself for the bone crushing hug he knew would follow.

  Although the warrior-arms dealer stood at least head and shoulders shorter than Mesar, the breadth and strength of him more than made up for his lack of inches. And he was fond of reminding people that he was the runt of the litter.

  “Mesar!” Jall beamed and wrapped his massive arms around the magus' waist, exceptionally pleased to see two old friends in one day, especially since the two of them together would likely mean only one thing..

  The silver haired man grunted as breath was squeezed out of his lungs, and patted the short warrior's bare, bronzed shoulder in return. Jall released him, taking no note of the gulp of air Mesar drew in, and turned to the lame man.

  “And Cinbar, too! You old tom cat! I’d thought you’d be back on your own world by now.”

  The singer's strange eyes met Mesar's briefly over the top of Jall's wiry black hair in an expressive glance as he also was subjected to an exuberant greeting.

  “Well, my friends, this is certainly a good day!” the arms dealer grinned happily at them. “Come through to the back and share a skin of wine,” he ordered, his giant's voice seeming far too large for the small tent.

  “One moment,” Mesar said, sidestepping to peer round the door flap. At the neighboring stall, Resh was still arguing over the cost of the basket, determinedly sticking to what he thought should be the correct price. As Mesar smiled and followed his two friends into the sectioned off rear of Jall's tent, the young pick purse he had tripped earlier edged closer to the fruitier's stall.

  “This is where all my best customers conclude their deals for my outstanding weaponry,” Jall grinned as they seated themselves on large, tasseled floor cushions tossed down on brightly colored woven rugs. In one corner were two large, carved cedar wood chests; in front of them, three small but likewise carved tables. One bore fruit and cheeses, another held a large ornate hookah pipe and the last, silver goblets on a matching tray. The whole small area gave the impression of a wealthy nomad's tent – all that was missing were the dancing girls and animals.

  “Business is good, I see,” Mesar commented, while Jall poured out wine for them.

  “Business is very good,” the other corrected, beaming and handing out goblets.

  “Good enough for you to take some time off?”

  “Aha!” the warrior boomed triumphantly. “I knew this wasn't just a social call. The fortune teller a couple of aisles further over told me yesterday that I would have visitors who would ask me to travel with them!”

  Mesar raised an eyebrow and Cinbar sighed. Jall's superstitions and beliefs were well known to the both
of them.

  “The only reliable foretellers are the seers at Thesa's Temple,” the lame bard said, repeating what he had told Jall many times before.

  “And thousands of miles away,” the small man pointed out. “Ah, but that one's a good teller, only cost me half a gold crown,” he added with satisfaction, ignoring the horrified look on Cinbar's face. “Well, where do we go?”

  “North,” Mesar replied, putting his goblet down.

  “North! Is that all you can tell us? Every where’s north from here! The only thing south is the ocean.”

  The magus didn't answer; instead, a faint frown began to crease his brow. Cinbar cocked his head to one side, listening. Jall put his own goblet down and glanced towards the door flap.

  “Trouble,” Mesar murmured.

  By now, they could all hear the shouts and sounds of metal shod hooves on stone. And the only ones allowed to ride in the market place were city guards.

  “The boy?” Cinbar asked, darting a short look at Mesar.

  “Yes. Come on! Jall, we may have to leave rather quickly, get what you need...” he paused, eyes narrowed, “Goddess, half the city guards are out there!”

  The three men leapt to their feet. Jall snatched a heavy pouch out of the nearest chest then dove through the curtain, grabbing up display weapons on his way. Mesar gave Cinbar a thin smile and followed Jall, stabbing the hanging aside with his staff. He was almost through the tent and into the commotion outside when the cloth wall nearest to the fruiters stall bulged inwards. There was a clatter of hooves then a snapping sound as the corner pole broke, collapsing the tent and nearly taking Mesar with it. He sidestepped the swinging hindquarters of a guard's horse, then jumped backwards as a tumbling cascade of assorted fruit spilled from the stall and bounced towards him. He drew a swift line in the air with his staff and muttered under his breath. The torrent of fruit parted down the middle as if meeting an invisible barrier and continued, passing Mesar on either side. He heard Jall's battle roar, and the clash of metal on metal, and for a split second, he caught sight of Resh's head as the lad leapt up. With the air shimmering wildly about him, he shouldered guards and horses aside and entered the noisy melee.

  Seconds later, a loud coughing roar froze most of the battlers in their tracks. Those nearest the collapsed tent turned and watched, wide-eyed, as the faded material rippled and flowed. With a final cough, a great dun colored puma sprang free of the tent and landed in a crouch near one guard's horse. The horrified animal rolled its eyes and snorted, rapidly backing away from the snarling apparition. Its hind legs slipped on pulped fruit and it fell to the cobbles, spilling it's rider into an assortment of squashed produce. The puma, yellow-green eyes twinkling merrily, bounded into the thick of the guards, scattering them left and right with swipes from its huge paws.

  Jall beamed. “Wondered what was keeping you,” he chuckled, then resumed laying about him with the flat of his axe, stunning or helping the guards along as they fled from the shape-shifting Cinbar.

  Resh paused in his leaping, whirling fight and stared at the huge cat, before his eyes searched out Mesar. The silver-haired man smiled, and had time to nod before the lad grinned and dove back into the fray. Although so far, very little blood had been spilled, Mesar realized that soon one of the guards could get lucky and seriously hurt someone, or Jall or Cinbar would get a little too enthusiastic and kill an opponent.

  He looked around for a way out, at the same time tripping all who came near with his staff. Glancing at the remains of the fruitier’s stall, he saw a furtive movement in the shadows beneath it. The young pick purse crouched there, stuffing a large sack with fruit. The idea that he may have had something to do with the current ruckus occurred to Mesar, then was forgotten as he heard the approach of reinforcements. Looking up, he smiled when he saw the dark face of their leader. Softly, he spoke the man's name.

  The captain of the guards jerked in surprise, his frown deepening as he scanned the crowd.

  “Hallan,” Mesar repeated, casually cracking his staff into the jaw of a guard who was about to knock him over the head.

  The captain met Mesar's eyes across the aisle, his own widening in recognition. The noisy fight seemed to recede as the magus spoke again.

  “I need you, Hallan. Come with us!”

  “But...” the captain breathed.

  “Please! Something is about to happen and I need your help to prevent it!” If it is preventable, Mesar added to himself.

  Hallan looked at the chaos around him, indecision in his dark liquid eyes. Suddenly, he grinned, swept off his cloak and threw it, like a net, over the heads of his men. Mesar nodded approval and gestured with his staff. Inky darkness settled over that part of the market place, bringing screams and shouts from those trapped within it.

  “Get the horses!” a voice boomed amid the clamor, and a sound from the puma could only be called a chuckle.

  Five people rode leisurely away from the city; occasionally one of them would give a backwards glance at the strange dark blot that even now covered a small portion of the market.

  “Well, Mesar, that was a good job I just left,” Hallan said to the man riding at his side. “Are you going to tell me where we travel now – apart from northwards?”

  “To Thesa,” he replied.

  Chapter 6 – Extra Work

  Dawn found its way into Liath's bedroom, pried apart the narrow gap between tousled hair and bedcovers and nudged the young woman awake. She groaned and yawned; it had been well after one o'clock before Ianna had left for her own rooms. Then she frowned at a dream she'd had, trying to remember what it was about. Yet each time she grasped an image, it wriggled out of her mind and vanished like a fish with a flick of its tail into the depths of her subconscious. All she was left with were feelings of trouble and unease, and a little fear.

  “Come on, Lee,” she told herself. “You're getting too old to be scared by nightmares.”

  Rolling out of bed, she washed and dressed, then re-read the letter from her father whilst braiding her hair, forgetting all about the dream. Druin and the High Lord were on their way to Thesa where Morgan was to meet with Demora for their yearly council, and have Annushi foretell his futures; in particular, which of many potential candidates was most likely to be Lady of his hall. Usually the two met in Cavorin, halfway between Thesa and the High Lord's city of Delgannan, but because he wished to see Annushi, Morgan had elected to make the ten day journey south.

  Despite the fact he, his brothers and sister had all attended the vast Academy, and Liath's father was part of his household, she had only met one of them. That was the youngest, Raithe, who was still receiving his general education at the Academy as well as studying with the order of Bards. The young lord, perhaps five years her junior, was an intense youth, passionate about music, careless of his dress and good looks, content to wear old faded and shabby clothes. There were always rings in his pierced ears, thin chains and bracelets around his neck and wrists, and his long hair – heavy, dark and wavy – was haphazardly tied back. He shared with his eldest brother the fine, long dark eyes and veiled way of looking at people. His voice, bard trained as was all the High Lord’s family, was slow, deep and smooth, even for one so young, and although Liath had only met him once, he’d made a lasting impression on her. This made her even more determined to see the man whose reputation afforded some of the juiciest tidbits of gossip in the land, Raithe’s eldest brother, the High Lord. But that was at least three days away and by then she should have found out what lay hidden behind the magi's barrier.

  Still thinking these pleasant thoughts, she left her rooms and headed for the Sanctuary, calling for Ianna on the way. When the morning worship was over the seers, prelates, priests and priestesses made their way to the dining room for breakfast.

  “Didn't Ianna give you my message last night?” Rajan asked, falling into step with Liath.

  “Yes,” she answered cautiously after a quick sideways glance.

  “Why didn't you c
ome?”

  “I wasn't feeling too well – and besides, I had other things to do.”

  The tall dark-haired seer laughed shortly, but there was very little humor in his almost colorless eyes. “Poor Liath...and are you feeling better now?”

  “Yes. Thank you,” she replied.

  “Good, come to my rooms at lunch time then.”

  “I already have something planned.”

  Rajan caught hold of her arm and stopped. “Please, Liath,” he said softly.

  “Why?” she asked, puzzled and a little intrigued by his behavior.

  “I wish to talk to you, and besides,” he murmured, brushing a sun-reddened wave of hair away from her cheek with his forefinger, “it's always a pleasure to have the company of a beautiful young woman.” He smiled, looking deep into her eyes, beginning to weave a web of glamour between them

  “Can't we talk here?”

  “With everyone listening to our conversation?” he countered.

  “Alright,” she agreed finally, breaking the invisible bond Rajan had started. “But only for a few minutes.”

  Rajan half-inclined his head towards her, then turned and strode away to his workroom, soft dark curls bouncing lightly against his shoulders with each stride of his long, black-trousered legs, leaving Liath to wonder what the Nightlord was up to this time.

  A few hours later in Rajan's sitting room, she found out.

  “You want me to partner you in the solstice celebrations?” she repeated, staring at him in surprise.

  “Yes,” he agreed, “that's what I said.”

  “We can't do that. You know as well as I do, seers aren't allowed together in any of the rites or celebrations – we'd create too much unfocused energy. If that merged with the other powers released, Goddess knows what would happen. Besides, the solstice is over three months away.”

  “Which would give us plenty of time to practice,” he said with a faint smile, twining a long, errant lock of her hair around his finger.