He grinned and ruffled her short chestnut hair with a large, pink-palmed hand. “What were you following me for?”
Ciaran studied the big man as he fastened his loincloth, a gleam in her hazel eyes. “Take that off again and I'll show you,” she suggested.
“Anytime,” he replied with a grin. “But seriously, you didn't trail me for three days just to get laid.”
“This time, no, I didn't,” she chewed the inside of her bottom lip pensively. “It's hard to explain, but I keep getting this feeling I have to go home.”
T'marl frowned. “To Thesa? To the Temple?”
She nodded. “Something's happening there. Or going to.” Ciaran stared off across the clearing, momentarily lost in her own thoughts. The tall man watched his sometime comrade-in-arms and waited.
“My calling was to the Warrior Order,” she began thoughtfully. “Apart from family connections, I've never had anything to do with the seers or magi. But these feelings, they're like foresight, or a spell-call. They bother the hell out of me, T'marl. I've dreamed about my mother and my aunt for the last two nights. Other people too: I can't see their faces, but I know who some of them are. My cousin Liath, and Morgan – the High Lord – they play a great part in this. Two of his brothers as well...your older brother too...other people from the Temple, off-worlders…hell, I don't know. At first, I thought it was just the energies let loose during the spring rites. But that was two weeks ago.”
She frowned. T'marl draped a long brawny arm across her strong shoulders and gave a reassuring hug.
“Want me to ride with you?” he asked.
She nodded and rested her head against his chest. Although a tall woman – tall as most men – the top of Ciaran's head only reached the big mercenary's shoulder. “If you don't have anything better to do...”
“Hey, my friend, I'd follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked me.”
She straightened up and matched his broad grin. “It's a long way back to Thesa, but not quite as far as that!”
Chapter 8 – Morgan
“Damn!” Liath muttered, dropping her stylus on top of the untidy sheaf of papers and stretching out her long legs beneath the table. She only had one evening left to finish the assignment, and at least eight more high lords to research. At that rate, there was little chance of her being able to turn in a completed thesis by the following afternoon.
“Why do I have to know what some stupid lord said 300 years ago?” she asked herself, leaning back in the chair and glaring at the stacks of old scrolls, leather-bound sheets of parchment and yellowed books which threatened to overwhelm the table.
The small study room, one of 20 such chambers off the vast archives hall, was almost deserted: just herself and someone else at the table behind. That person had only come in a few minutes ago, and as far as she could tell, was sitting quietly flicking through the pages of a book.
“A good question.”
She turned and half-smiled at the tall, dark-eyed man leaning against the edge of a table. There was a book in his hands and the sleeves of his dark blue shirt were rolled up over tanned forearms. She'd never seen him before and he didn't look like a typical studious visitor to the archives.
Liath waved her hand at the cluttered table. “This is meaningless. This…” she paused and checked her notes, “…Alaric was a complete idiot. Why on earth anyone should have let him become High Lord is beyond me!”
The man put his book down and stepped over, low black boots making little sound on the gleaming tiled floor. He rested a long-fingered hand on the table top and quickly scanned the pages Liath had been reading. Thick dark hair brushed the tops of his shoulders, sliding forward to half-curtain his tanned cheeks.
“You're right,” the man agreed moments later. “History has the man down as a total disaster.” He looked at her, “But isn't it usually the case that historians manage to record a person's errors and glaring faults, before mentioning their achievements and successes?”
His smile matched the one she had given him, and he sat sideways on the edge of the table waiting for her response.
“Yes, I suppose you're right. Our current High Lord will probably be remembered for the amount of lovers he's had rather than anything else,” she grinned.
He chuckled and stared at her with great interest. “You know, you have the most amazing...”
“Eyes?” she finished for him, feeling her cheeks grow unaccustomedly warm beneath his open, admiring look.
“I see you're no stranger to that comment,” he said softly.
“My mother was an Akashii,” she said, almost defiantly. “But thanks.”
The man smiled, and Liath realized he was well aware of his own intense charisma. It was almost tangible, equal to that of anyone else she knew. The intimacy in his deep, soft voice indicated some bard training, able to carry across a crowded room without shouting, to command or coerce, full of power and reason; and perhaps as a weapon when needs be, able to stop people in their tracks. Though he wore neither Order colors, nor the crescent moon symbol of bard or priest on his cheek, and he was too old for a student. But he did seem slightly familiar...and very attractive...
“You think our young lord's a rake then, to be remembered for the amount of women he's bedded, rather than a wise and just rule?” he asked, slowing her train of thought.
“So far. But since he's only been in office for, what...three years... I suppose there's time for him to change. Anyway, I really know very little about him, I'm only as far as friend Alaric here.” She gestured again to the untidy stacks of temple records, her composure more or less back to normal.
“Well, if you've started with the first High Lord, you've come a long way indeed. What exactly is it you're doing?”
“Atoning for my sins, and have been doing so for the last three evenings and ‘free’ afternoon periods.” And being prevented from snooping, she added to herself.
“Ah,” the man replied, nodding sagely as if he'd been used to reprisals of that sort in his younger days.
“I have to make a written study of every fifth High Lord and their philosophies for one of my tutors, Master Jaran,” she elaborated.
He winced in sympathy. “No one deserves that, and especially not if they have to miss their evening meals into the bargain.”
“Oh, no!” Liath groaned, standing up and gathering her untidy notes into an equally untidy pile. “I was supposed to be there to meet my father – and the High Lord!”
“I know your father; he's Druin the Healer,” the man stated, dark eyes catching the light from the wall lamp beside the table as he watched her.
Liath glanced at him. “Yes, he is – did he send you to fetch me?”
“Actually, I was to give you a message...”
“Oh, what is it, and how is he? It's ages since I last saw him, over four months ago...yes, at the winter solstice; he missed the spring rites.” She scooped her notes into a folder and began on the books without giving him a chance to reply. “Did you come down from Delgannan with him? Was he annoyed I wasn't there...”
“Hold on a moment,” he laughed. “Let me give you the message first, then I'll answer your questions. Druin said he'll be in the gardens by the North Pavilion, if you'd care to meet him there. He's fine, just the same as always. Yes, I did come down from Delgannan with him, and no, he wasn't annoyed you weren't there to meet him. But I did see him talking to a man wearing the beige robes of an academician; I think it could have been your Master Jaran.”
“Damn!” she grumbled, picking up the piles of books and turning to leave. The man, perhaps five inches taller than her five foot ten, fell into step alongside. “Are you part of the High Lord's household too, or just a friend of Father's?” she asked.
“Yes. To both,” he smiled. “Can I carry some of those for you?”
“No thanks, I'm fine. They're balanced now; if you take any, I'll probably drop the lot. What's he really like – the High Lord, I mean? Is he as handsome as everyon
e says – oh, by the way I'm Liath, my friends call me Lee,” she said, sticking one hand over the top of her books. “Although I suppose you know that already.”
“Yes,” he replied, smiling and briefly squeezing her hand. “Druin's talked a lot about you. My name's Morgan, same as the High Lord,” he paused to hold the door open for her and they passed through into the vast silent Hall of Archives. “I suppose he is handsome; most people seem to think so. His brothers certainly are, and his sister is a very beautiful woman.”
“I've seen the two youngest. Conna, from a distance, when he was at the Academy a couple of years ago, but I never met him. From what I can remember, though, he was more pretty than handsome. And I’ve met the baby of the family, Raithe. He’s got his own following of young girls – they’re both very attractive in their own ways.”
Morgan chuckled. “They certainly are. You never met Ky and the young lord, then, when they were here?”
“No. There are so many students here it's surprising I ever met Raithe. I’m a few years older than the two younger and a few years younger than the older two, so it’s the younger ones I'd have most likely met. Besides, seers usually receive their education privately, and extensively, from selected tutors like Master Jaran and the magi – until we learn self-control. And by that time we're usually too old to attend the Academy anyway!” she added with a grin. “And I’m studying with the healers, too, so I don’t have a lot of spare time. When we do go out, we like to enjoy ourselves.”
“Ah, yes. I've heard stories about you wild, uncontrollable young seers, and the impromptu parties you hold in a certain tavern,” he replied, enjoying the conversation with this striking amethyst-and-gold eyed girl in black.
“They're probably all true!” she chortled. Then she lowered her voice and leaned conspiratorially towards him as they reached the outer door of the Archives. “Is it also true what they say about the High Lord and that adopted brother of his?”
Morgan paused with his hand on the nearest of the wide double doors. “What do they say about him and Ky?” he asked wryly.
Liath sighed and flashed him a knowing look. “There are plenty of men who prefer other men to women – some of my friends do – and there are those who are equally happy with both sexes – as some of my friends do. It's said that Morgan and Ky share the latter sort of relationship.”
The man glanced at the tiny crescent moon, half hidden by a wayward curl, high on the outer edge of her right cheekbone. Outlined in black, the sliver inside of it was colored blue. The combined mark of her vocation and orders of Seer and Healer, unlike any other in the Temple – in the whole Structure. “I forgot you're a priestess, and how open-minded you Temple people are. I've heard what goes on in some of the rites you celebrate, too,” he murmured. “Well, the High Lord and his adopted brother are very close; they always have been, and never made any secret of the fact,” he replied, pushing the door open and holding it back for Liath.
“And are you very close to anyone, Morgan?” she asked, a mischievous glint in her Akashii eyes.
The man smiled, “Are you, Lee?” he countered as they strode up the wide marble steps that led to the main corridor.
“Hey, I asked you first!” she protested, beating him to the top of the steps and waiting impatiently.
He laughed, glancing through a wide window at the brightly lit lawn outside. Then they fell into step again, strolling down the spacious hallway that would eventually bring them out at the colonnades near the North Pavilion gardens.
“Well, put it like this,” he said as Liath smiled a greeting to a small group of young magi, “I share quite a lot in common with my namesake.”
“Ahhh,” Liath nodded, then responded to two bards who called hello. “A man with your personality and looks, it's not surprising.”
“What do you mean – a man with my personality?” he demanded lightly.
“There's something about you, Master Morgan, which would attract both men and women. Besides, I've noticed how some of the young men we've passed were watching you – they know!”
“Really?” he murmured, looking back along the corridor.
Liath chuckled quietly, and smiled hello to more passers-by as they made their way leisurely along the hall.
“And what gives you this superior knowledge?” he asked, turning his attention forward.
“Experience.”
“Of what sort?” he murmured, eyeing her speculatively.
“Stick around, my friend, and you might just find out,” she whispered with a sly grin.
Morgan burst out laughing. “I might just do that, especially if there happens to be one of those infamous parties in the near future.”
“Maybe so,” she smiled as they stepped out onto the colonnade. “Seriously, though, d'you think he'll make a good ruler?”
“Yes, I think so. In time.”
The air was warm and pleasant, lightly scented with the profusion of jasmine and honeysuckle that spiraled up the outer row of white marble columns and mingled with the perfume from hundreds of other flowers and bushes in the large gardens.
“Oh, there's Father!” Liath exclaimed, spying a familiar tall, lean, grey-robed figure strolling along the lamp-lit path towards the pavilion building. She took a couple of steps away, then turned back to Morgan. “Have you anything planned for the next few minutes?” she asked hopefully.
“Not a thing. Why?”
“Would you mind very much doing me a favor, please? Could you take these up to my rooms for me – Seers Tower, second floor, on the right…my name's on the door. Thanks Morgan,” she smiled, piling books and folders into his waiting arms. “I owe you one!” Then she was off, racing towards the healer, thick untidy braid bouncing against her back, long slender legs covering the ground with surprising speed as she took a short-cut across the gardens, leaving the dark-eyed man with a slightly bemused expression on his lean, handsome face.
“Just like Conna,” he sighed, then turned and went to find the Seers Tower, and Liath's rooms.
“Druin! Father!” the young seer shouted, startling flocks of roosting birds into flight as she leapt over flower beds and low, dividing hedges.
The healer turned at the sound of his daughter's voice, smiling fondly as she hurdled the final bushy obstacle and skidded to a breathless halt in front of him.
“I haven't seen you in ages!” Liath panted, hugging him tightly. “Sorry I wasn't there to meet you,” she kissed his lean, slightly weathered cheek. “I was studying.” She stepped back, briefly scrutinizing the spare-framed man from brushed back iron-grey hair, to blue trimmed split-sided waistcoat brushing the tops of black boots. “You look well!” she declared and gave him another enthusiastic hug.
Druin laughed, put his arm around her shoulder and started walking slowly along the wide path to the white-wood pavilion at its end.
“Each time I see you I think you'll have changed – grown up and away from me in some way – but you never do; except to become even lovelier and more like your mother.” He smiled, deep grey eyes twinkling in the softly colored lights.
“That, I can live with,” she replied, squeezing his waist.
“I'm sure no-one else has complained either,” he smiled, knowing these were probably the last words he would manage to contribute to the conversation for a while. They strolled along the path. Liath chatted, bringing her father up to date on all the Temple news. Druin listened, happy to let her talk, pleased just to be with her, yet deeply aware of the latent power resting just beneath the surface of his daughter's mind, and vaguely disturbed by the strength of it.
They sat on one of the short white benches beneath the pagoda-like roof of the pavilion, nodding greetings to others who were sitting enjoying the evening and letting their meals digest.
“By the way,” Druin said when Liath took an infrequent pause for breath, “did you meet Morgan on your way here?”
“Which one?”
“The young Lord.”
“N
o, not yet... look, there's Ianna and Maric, I didn't see them before; let's go say hello. You know, she's getting very serious about that young bard.”
Druin shifted slightly so he could see Liath's closest friend sitting a little distance away on the grass at the other side of the pavilion. “It looks to me as though Ianna's not the only serious one. Perhaps we should pretend not to have seen them,” he suggested, smiling in the direction of the young lovers, “and let them carry on undisturbed. I'll have a chat with her later – you weren't the only one who was absent from dinner. Tell me, Leea, whatever happened to that young academician you were rather keen on?”
“Siman? That was months ago!” She dismissed the man with a wave of her hand. “He was far too serious – always talking about his studies.”
“Speaking of studies,” Druin cut in softly, “Master Jaran had a quick word with me earlier.”
Liath pulled a face. “Sun's wretched philosophies,” she sighed.
“Exactly,” her father agreed, raising a smoke colored eyebrow and waiting.
His daughter launched her offensive, “I just don't see what relevance those out-moded, senile...”
Druin held up a hand. “I know how you feel about the subject – I never agreed much with what that particular ancient had to say either – but instead of daydreaming through Jaran's study periods, give him your reasons and arguments against the man. You can't blithely dismiss Sun without saying why.”
“All right,” Liath promised hastily, hoping that would deter her father from taking the subject further. “I'll try.”
“Good,” he smiled, then stood up. “Now, I must leave you until morning. There are a few old friends I have to see.” He kissed her forehead.
“Fine. Just don't drink too much Alrian wine and gamble all your gold away!”
“Daughter, where is your faith?” he replied indignantly.
She said nothing but rubbed the tiny crescent moon on the outer curve of her cheek. Druin laughed, and touched his matching, mid-blue, one.
Liath stepped inside her living room, closed the door and stared in surprise at the dark haired man who sat at her table busily writing in her note book.
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