Starstone

by Denise M. Main

  “But why Anraun!”

  “Obviously we have something they want. Exactly what it is, I do not know.”

  “Well, whatever it is,” Morgan said softly, eyes cold and veiled. “They are not having it. Even if I have to haul the Doman of Saybel here myself and get his help with it!”

  Chapter 30 – Ulric?

  Liath cried out Morgan's name in her sleep, jerking him wide-awake. He left his chair at the other side of the lattice-wood screen and walked silently up to the bedside, watching as the girl tossed restlessly. She muttered something under her breath, and then settled back into a slightly less fretful sleep.

  Morgan yawned and stretched, but made no move back to the chair, wondering, not for the first time, why Druin had allotted him this night-time watch. While he kept guard over Liath, the council of advisors attended to the day-to-day running of the kingdom. Tomorrow Tia'mar, Annushi and the rest would be here; Conna and Hurral too. Then, he would be relieved of this duty and begin preparing Anraun for war. Now, he was undecided what appealed to him the most. He idly fingered the engraved hilt of his sword and looked around this private part of Liath's room.

  A little shrine had been fitted into the corner of her 'bedroom'; the moon fixed to the wall, figurine, small silver platter and tiny sickle laid out neatly on a chest below with both white candles burning steadily. That was the only neat part of the sleeping area; the rest looked as if a whirlwind had passed through. Much like her rooms in the Seers Tower where they'd talked, argued, and put the world to rights on the first night they'd met. He smiled and glanced back at Liath.

  She sat bolt upright in bed, staring across to the shadowed corner of the room, her marked right hand filling with fire – the bandage had come loose and trailed from her wrist. Morgan took a quick look behind him, found nothing there, then turned back to the young priestess. Passing a hand in front of her eyes, he realized she was still sleeping. But when she raised her hand, flames seething and leaping at the ends of her fingers, Morgan knew he'd better wake her, or have the room blazing around them.

  Holding her wrist away from him, he shook her shoulder, softly calling her name. For a moment, she resisted and carried on lifting her flame-sheathed hand, shocking Morgan with her steady strength. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the flames vanished. Liath blinked, and snatched her arm away. Seconds later, she was fast asleep, curled up at the far side of the wide bed.

  Morgan sighed, ran his fingers through his hair, and sat on the pillow, resting back against the wall. A little while later, he unstrapped his sword, placing it within easy reach on the bedside table. Soon after that, he kicked off his boots – and slid further down the bed.

  Just after dawn, Liath woke, snuggled cat-like into a gently breathing warmth. Sleepily, she opened her eyes and saw Morgan in close silhouette beside her. For a while, she lay with her head on his shoulder, one arm resting across his chest, pretending this was where she belonged. That he wasn't the High Lord, that they weren't in Delgannan, and that no shadows lay over their lives. After a time she reached up and gently kissed the lightly stubbled cheek. A faint smile curved his lips and he turned his head towards her, long silky hair, silver and black, tickling the tip of her nose. Holding her breath, she carefully lifted her hand from his chest and vigorously rubbed her nose before she sneezed. Morgan's dark eyes opened, and he and the girl stared at each other.

  “Go back to sleep,” he said softly.

  Liath's gold-flecked amethyst eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed as she frowned. “Go back to sleep,” she repeated, raising herself up on one elbow. “All the times you've asked...and now you tell me to go back to sleep!” Ramming her hands and feet against him, she shoved hard. Morgan shot off the bed and landed on the floor.

  “Ow!” he yelped, sitting up and looking in amazement at her. “You refused every time!”

  Liath glowered at him, wrapped the bedcovers tightly around herself and turned away. “I am going back to sleep!” she stated in a deadly cold voice.

  “Liath...”

  “Go away,” she snarled. And Morgan found himself walking towards the door. He jerked to a halt and spun round on his heel.

  “This is my hall, and you will not tell me what to do!” he stated.

  “I just did,” Liath muttered. “Go away.”

  “Now listen to this, my girl...” he began, resisting the urge to leave the room.

  “I am not 'your girl'.”

  “Alright – listen to me, my love...”

  “Your what!” she demanded, bouncing up.

  “My love.”

  Liath glared at him for a moment, and then flung the covers back. “How dare you play on my emotions!” she hissed, and stormed out of the room.

  Morgan stared after her. “What the hell have I done wrong now?” he asked in bewilderment. Then picking up boots and sword, he left the girl's room and went to his own. He knew where she was, in Druin's sitting room, explaining her sudden arrival to the healer. He sensed her presence there, her feelings which she repeatedly denied.

  He dropped his boots to the floor, laid the sword down and dug into the pouch at his belt, finding the smaller one inside that. Opening it, he laid a tiny, tear-shaped crystal in the starred palm of his right hand; stared at it, lost momentarily in the multi-faceted prism.

  He recalled the love and pain bound within the jeweled tear-drop, saw it blur and shimmer, merging with the scar on his palm. Felt a warmth, a faint pulsing. Saw colors overlapping crystal and star, coruscating like northern lights in a night sky. A weight grew in his hand, grew out of his hand, into a throbbing glow swirled with purple, black and gold. The warmth intensified, became blazing heat, the glow began to draw in on itself, coalescing, solidifying into a five-pointed star.

  Then it vanished, so abruptly that Morgan took an involuntary step forward, almost dropping the tiny crystal that remained. He tilted his head back, staring blindly at the ceiling. He drew in a deep breath, felt his body tingle with a residue of power, and whirled as the door opened behind him.

  Ky paused on the threshold, restrained by Morgan's attitude, by the inexplicable strangeness of the man. For a moment, neither moved, nor smiled, but watched almost warily, like a pair of wild, male creatures whose paths had unaccountably crossed.

  “May I come in?” Ky asked softly.

  Morgan, with stillness gathered round him like a cloak, nodded once, slowly, his dark eyes never leaving the blond as Ky closed the door and leaned back against it.

  “Between them, the seer and the land have changed you so much,” he said. “You don't even look the same anymore.”

  Morgan shrugged slightly. “Where's Seric?”

  “Still in bed.”

  “Whose? Yours?”

  Ky smiled faintly. “Yes, mine,” he agreed. “Does that bother you?”

  “I don't know,” Morgan sighed. “There's so much I don't know nowadays. Yet too much I do know. Ah, Ky, what the hell am I going to do?”

  The blond moved forward, his deep blue eyes searching Morgan's face. His fingers brushed the long silver and black fringe of hair away from the young lord's eyes. Morgan sighed again and rested his head on Ky's broad shoulder.

  “I love her,” he said, as Ky held him.

  “I know. That much is obvious.”

  “Is it?” Morgan asked, putting his hands on Ky's waist, feeling the strength and hard packed muscle of the big blonde’s torso.

  “Oh, yes. It is to me. But then I know you better than anyone else does. I know her better than either of you think, too. She'll not stay in Delgannan – she can't.”

  “What d'you mean?” Morgan frowned, raising his head from Ky's shoulder.

  “She's alone here – sure, there's you, her father and Balin – but in all this world there are only 19 others like her. Ones she's grown up with. None of the seers can be separated for any length of time, not even the Nightlord. They're too different – they need each other. That's one of the reasons they all stay in Thesa, A
nraun’s too lonely a place for them apart. No one else is like them, and she's the most different and strangest of the lot. When this dark world thing's been resolved, she'll go back to the Temple with the others. Maybe even to Saybel with the Nightlord – or Iantii, they're nearest to her mother's people.”

  “No!”

  “She can't stay,” the blond repeated, and waited while the silence grew.

  “That's why Annushi never married Ulric,” Morgan murmured at last. Ky nodded his confirmation. “Who told you about the seers?”

  “Balin.”

  “My half-brother,” Morgan laid his head against Ky again. “I never realized the ties that bind them were so deep. But she can't leave Anraun – I won't let her go. Maybe Tarik or Rowan would come here. Those two Nightlords owe me a favor or three...” His voice trailed off and his gaze lost itself in the far distance. He felt the blond sigh deeply, Ky’s strong, long-fingered hands moved soothingly over his back. Soft lips touched his hair, and Morgan closed his eyes.

  Sometime later, a knock at the door parted them, and while Ky moved to answer it, Morgan put away the crystal he found nestled beneath the wide gold band of his ring of office. As servants came to prepare his morning bath, the young lord idly pursued the thoughts that drifted loosely in his mind, vaguely aware of Ky watching him.

  “You've lost weight,” the blond observed when the servants had gone and Morgan stripped off his clothes. “You're as slim as Conna.”

  Stepping into the tub, Morgan smiled. “I never thought I would do, but I really miss him.”

  “You, and half the young ladies of your court,” Ky grinned. “I'm going to wake Seric then breakfast before I have to spend the morning following that girl around. Why the hell did Druin choose me? It's bad enough being in the same hall as her, never mind being in the same company.”

  “Why don't you like her?” Morgan asked as Ky turned to leave.

  The blond looked back over his shoulder. “Give me one good reason why I should,” he stated, and left before Morgan could reply.

  Liath, at the breakfast table, refused to meet anyone's eyes and spoke to no one. As soon as she'd finished her meager meal, she stood and walked out of the hall. The tall blond sighed up at the high ceiling, grabbed an apple from the basket on the table then followed her out.

  “You seem to be in an exceptionally foul mood today,” Ky remarked conversationally as he caught up and strolled alongside Liath through the gardens, bright and noisy with spring flowers, bird calls and insects.

  “Shut up,” she muttered, lengthening her stride, kicking up chips of gravel with her boots.

  The blond laughed and effortlessly matched her pace. “Such charm and wit,” he smiled. “What would the place be like without you?”

  Liath whirled on him, tiny stones grinding beneath her feet. “Listen, you arrogant oaf, I don't like this any more than you do! But until someone more suitable and skilled arrives, why don't you just keep your tiresome and juvenile thoughts to yourself!” she snapped, scowling at him.

  Ky looked down at her, stuffed one hand in his pants pocket, tossed the apple up and down with the other. “If your father and Morgan hadn't asked me to perform this onerous duty, I wouldn't be anywhere near you, girl.”

  “Don't worry, when this is over I'll leave as soon as I can!” She turned away, but Ky caught hold of her arm and spun her round again, the apple on the ground where it had fallen.

  “And what about Morgan?” he demanded. “I only know what he's told me about your time together in the mountains, but that was enough for me to realize that if you left him, both he and Anraun would suffer...”

  “Let go of me, Ky,” she growled, trying to snatch her arm free.

  The blond shook his head, already prepared to resist any commands she may give and not as easily influenced by them as his brother. “Not until I have an answer. What about Morgan?”

  With a final determined twist, she slipped out of his grasp. “Fuck you, northlander,” she muttered, then turned on her heel and started down the path again.

  “Is that it? No hurricane to smash me down? No spears of flame? Where's the famed power of the seers?” he sneered. “Those dangerous people whose wild forces must be so rigidly contained? All I've heard of you is just that – hearsay! And greatly embellished I'll bet. You're no threat to anyone, girl. All you are is miserable, always moping around, crying doom and woe. I don't know what Morgan sees in you! Perhaps it will be better for him when you leave, and he can concentrate on finding a real woman for his wife and Lady of Anraun! Then he'll forget he ever met you, with your pathetic ‘fuck you, northlander’. Act like you’ve got some backbone, girl!”

  As she stopped and slowly turned round, Ky smiled inwardly. She took a long, gliding step forward, hardly seeming to touch the ground. The smile reached his lips. He could feel the force, see the power flow, until it blazed in her eyes and rippled through her body.

  “Well,” he said softly, goadingly, “what can you do?”

  Suddenly, she was in front of him, and a fist slammed with shocking strength into his jaw. As he crashed, off balance, into a hedge, he heard her say with relish, “That, for one thing!”

  Heedless of the pain in his chin and mouth, he laughed. Not the sneering, mocking laugh he usually gave her, but a genuine sound, full of amusement. Liath watched blankly as he straightened up from the hedge, steadying himself. Then he smiled, rubbing his jaw, dabbing the back of his hand to a trickle of blood.

  “You pack one hell of a punch, girl.”

  There was a sound by a turn in the path, and a flicker of movement caught Liath's eye. She looked past the blond, and saw the young islander watching. For a moment, it seemed to the girl that misty shapes gathered behind the red-head, colorless and insubstantial, features indistinguishable against the gently moving bushes and shrubs that lined the pathway. A shiver ran its way through her as the figures abruptly vanished, dispelled like morning haze at the touch of the sun. Absently, she rubbed her throbbing knuckles, then, with a final, venomous glare at Ky, turned and strode off down the garden walk again, wondering what had caused Yrloch wraiths to appear in the High Lord's private gardens.

  ***

  Druin watched his daughter gaze out through the hall window into the brightly lit courtyard, knowing that what she saw was not the same thing any other person would, looking through the same window. Quietly, he moved towards her, but stopped when he noticed someone else watching. Morgan was slumped deep in a chair beside one of the great carved oak pillars that supported the hall's high ceiling and long balcony. Lamplight gleamed softly on his silver-streaked hair and cast odd shadows over his face. Balin sat close by playing a somber tune, but it seemed the High Lord was paying little heed to the harper. Not even when Balin deliberately plucked discordant notes did Morgan's attention flicker.

  Druin continued across the hall and stood beside the girl, waiting until she became aware of his presence.

  “Well?” he asked gently as she half-turned and slipped one arm around his waist.

  “It's getting closer despite the magi's work. I can feel him watching me, like a cat watching a mouse.”

  “The one who...”

  “Wants my life,” she finished for him.

  “What is it – he?” Druin asked, hating himself for calling the thing ‘he’, but following his daughter’s lead in the matter.

  “His...ancestors, for want of a better word, were Darkworld renegades, Stealers, perhaps even ancestors of Jarath al Fidhala and his family. They eventually interbred with another race of criminals resulting in this one...that’s what he’s told me. For all I know it might all be lies, but I’m pretty sure it’s not. Time seems to move differently for them, even for those with a longer life-span – the Stealers for instance, Lammian, Iantii, even Anraun. From what I gather, a single day can pass in the blink of an eye – or seem to last forever, so millennia haven’t passed there as here, although enough time has passed to have given rise to gruesome hybrids. He
is one. Part Stealer, part dark-priest, whatever that is, and all evil.”

  “What else do you see?” Druin asked, trying to ignore the quiet certainty in his daughter's voice.

  “Nothing of their preparations for this attack; mainly what he wants me to see. Images of the past, those they attacked – details of the...the rapes, torture, murders and mutilation they did to the unfortunate ones who were caught – the things he'd like to do to me.” She looked up at the healer, and he had to force himself not to draw away from the expression in her eyes. “He'll not do those things to me!” she all but snarled. “I'll fight that bastard with everything I've got!”

  Around her, the lamps flared acid yellow light, and wine cups, left on the nearest table, imploded into dust, or lay in lumps of warped and fused metal.

  “You can't fight him alone – you won't be fighting alone,” Druin stated, thinking that if he had anything to do with it, Liath would be as far away as possible. Yet, even as the thought was completed, he realized its futility. Liath made no reply, and Druin saw she wasn't even listening, but staring at Morgan across the hall, her expression as unfathomable as that of the High Lord. When the man stood and walked towards them, Liath eased away from her father. Druin shivered as all the warmth drew out of the air, leaving an icy chill surrounding them and breath clouding in front of their faces.

  Morgan stopped a few feet away, knowing that Liath felt the bond between them, knowing she was fighting against it – but only now just beginning to understand.

  “Would you excuse us a moment, Druin...” the younger man began.

  “Will you excuse me, it's time for evening ritual,” Liath said, and without another word, almost ran towards the stairs and the tiny shrine in her room.