Both men watched her go. “Why is she doing this, Druin?” Morgan asked, voice soft, yet his words weighted as if with lead, hoping his old friend would help him further understand.
“You know why. It's her way of trying to come to terms with what's happened to you both. For you, it was a natural occurrence. For her…well, she feels like no other woman has ever felt. Not even the High Priestesses. Apart from that, there's the exiled world to contend with. Even though she's a seer and priestess, it's still a hell of a lot for one 20 year old to handle. Can you imagine how much harder it would be for her if she weren’t those two things? As a seer, she's been looking into and assessing other people's lives and experiences all her life. That, thank the Structure, has given her insight and a peculiar sort of maturity. As a priestess, she has her faith to sustain and balance her. She loves you Morgan, but she'll not admit it to you.”
The young Lord sighed heavily and moved past Druin to lean against the high window sill. “When this is all over, I want to...” he stopped, frowning. Druin studied him as the man half-turned and rested the palms of his hands against the ancient stones of the wall. Morgan's face lost all expression and he became as still as the stone he touched. His eyes were wide, unfocused.
“Conna...” he murmured, then straightened up and looked at the healer. “ Conna has met Hurral and left the land, they're almost here – travelling by sea. He's aware of my land-right.”
Druin nodded. “Not really surprising. We knew something was happening; he, sharing the same blood as you, must have known too, even though he was very much further away.”
“Yes, you’re right. I keep getting flashes of things that are going on...to people I know...to those close to the land...it’s...odd. Like I know Conna will arrive on the afternoon tide, and the ships from Thesa will come in on the morning one, but they’re random flashes, I can’t control or predict them – yet.” Morgan shrugged, feeling as though Druin knew everything he was trying to say. “I've spoken with Garrant, told him to bring the warriors up to full fighting strength; he's been captain long enough to do that without panicking anyone. Lymol always has the Temple warriors on alert ready for when...” he glanced out of the window as movement caught his eye – face paling. “Goddess...!”
Druin looked, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Morgan put his forehead to the glass, shielded his eyes from the lights and scanned the courtyard.
“Could have sworn I saw my father out there,” he murmured, moving back. “Liath saw him, spoke with him when the Stone shard took her from Thesa to the mountain – she saw all my forefathers. Did you know she hit Ky this morning, landed a fist on his jaw? He seemed quite pleased about it when he told me.” Morgan sounded puzzled by the incident, and his eyes were drawn to the window again as rain began to spot the glass. Within moments, half the wide courtyard was obscured by heavy rain.
“She's crying. You'd better go to her, Druin,” he said, and when the healer had gone, slid his fingers inside the pouch at his belt, resting them on the smaller one, feeling the outline of the tiny crystal beneath the fine, thin leather.
Across the hall, Balin's harp imitated the rain. Morgan looked across, had a brief glimpse of the harper’s unsmiling expression before he bent over the instrument, long silver hair concealing his face.
Closing the pouch, Morgan leaned back against the wall and idly scanned the huge, long room. All signs of the evening meal had been tidied away and the diners moved from the far end of the hall to gather in small groups, congregating in the same places they always did, out of habit and tradition. Avane and his cronies were by the fourth and fifth pillars on the left. Other members of the council a little further down, the healer's friends across the hall from them. Where Conna once sat, his friends still gathered, near the dais where the High Lord's great chair of office stood. Ky's group was even closer; Balin, where Morgan had left him. Cousins, minor lords, nobles, all like birds home to roost, safe in their little niches, secure in their pecking order.
Of the women here, he'd bedded a good percentage at one time or another during his 27 years of life, and made provisions for the five children he'd fathered. At least, the five he knew about. In all likelihood, there could be many more, just as some of the young men and women here were Ulric's siring. Of Morgan's children, three were girls, two were boys; the eldest was ten, now living with her mother and step-father in the fiefdom of Dunwain, where Grannia, Morgan's elder sister, ruled with Almarin her husband.
For a moment he wished Grannia were back in Delgannan; he needed a woman's view of what was happening, needed someone to help him understand Liath, and Grannia was the one female in his life, apart from their mother the Lady Lianna, he'd ever looked up to. She'd always been there when he needed her, advising, consoling, sharing. She'd had wisdom beyond her years – or so it had seemed then – and when Ulric decreed she'd marry Almarin, Morgan had been horrified. That was – what, ten years ago? Time moves so erratically, he thought. How long had it been since he'd seen her? Three years; when Ulric had died and Morgan named Lord. Such a beautiful woman; far too good for Almarin, although she seemed quite content with him and their three children. Or could it have been because of Almarin's younger cousin who'd also accompanied them on that occasion? A baby-faced blond whose large, grey eyes had followed Grannia's every movement and had contrived to be at her side at each possible moment. And he hadn't been her only admirer, either. Grannia was very definitely Ulric's daughter, and Morgan spent a few seconds pitying her husband. He had a good idea who ruled their court, and bed.
He called to a servant for writing materials, moved over to the great hearth and began a long letter to his sister.
Chapter 31 – Temple Friends Arrive
Warriors from the Temple filed into the courtyard, the only sounds coming from their horses metal-shod hooves striking stone. As the first ranks lined the high wall, standing still as statues, more rode in and took up places in front of them. Four riders, the recently-returned young Nightlord included, ignored the growing lines of motionless warriors, and came directly towards the hall and the small group of people who waited on the wide steps. Seven more followed, but halted a short distance away, taking on the same eerie statue-like quality of the warriors.
Morgan stepped forward as stable-boys, uneasy in the tense mid-morning silence, tiptoed up to hold the horses.
“You are welcome in my hall,” the young lord greeted formally, halting at the bottom of the wide steps to the Great Hall.
“But were it for a pleasanter reason,” Tia'mar stated, dismounting and giving his horse a narrow-eyed glare as he passed. The animal snorted and shook its head, almost dragging the stable-boy off his feet, restless at having spent time cooped up on board Thesa's second ship with the other horses and warriors. Teeth bared, it reached for the magus’s shoulder, stopping head outstretched when the tall mage paused, and without looking round, raised a dark hand up warningly; in response the horse snorted, long and loud, splattering the stable-boy. Muttering under his breath, Tia’mar shook his head and carried on. Those gathered laughed aloud when a kerchief appeared tied around the horse’s muzzle, breaking the odd mood hanging over the courtyard.
Morgan grasped the hand Tia'mar offered, a large sinewy hand with oddly placed calluses on palms and fingers; a surprisingly strong hand, which gave Morgan's a hearty squeeze after the High Lord complimented him on his way with animals. Smiling to himself, the dark skinned magus passed on to greet the other members of the group, and Morgan turned to Annushi.
The Head of the seers had also dismounted and was staring at Liath, who stood at the back of the group. There was an uncharacteristically worried look in her black eyes. Liath ignored all, gazing at a tawny haired boy who sat his horse quietly with the others.
“Lady,” Morgan prompted softly, the mood beginning to become strained once more.
Annushi glanced away from Liath. “You're, er, looking well, Morgan,” she said, forcing herself to concentrate on the business at hand.
She turned and extended a slender hand towards the third person, “You've met Rajan, I believe.”
“Yes, we've met,” Morgan smiled. “Welcome to Delgannan, Raj.”
The beautiful male seer stared deeply into Morgan's eyes for a moment, then briefly inclined his dark head. “My pleasure, lord,” he said softly, then moved to one side, staring at Liath.
“This is Shian, Tia'mar's prelate,” Annushi said, most of her attention following Rajan.
“Good morning, Lord Morgan,” the other magus greeted, politely inclining his head.
“I remember you from the Academy,” Morgan stated, a respectful note in his voice. “You were just starting your final year when Ky and myself were in our first.”
Shian's rise in the magi was nothing short of meteoric, and at 34 years of age was the youngest individual ever to have attained the level of second in that order.
The young magus nodded. “I remember, too. Your brother was always getting into trouble, and you both seemed to spend most of your time chasing the prettiest girls.” He smiled and the disapproving air vanished. “You were the envy of the rest of us.”
Faintly, in the background, could be heard Druin's muttered observation that nothing had changed much since then. Morgan ignored the healer's comment and gestured for the other seven riders to come forward.
“Warrior,” he smiled, admiring the chestnut haired woman's strong, supple figure as she dismounted and inclined her head.
“High Lord,” she said, not surprised when Morgan gripped her wrist and her own powerful fingers automatically curled around his forearm.
“A pleasure to meet you Ciaran.”
She nodded, then moved aside. “This is T'marl, a friend of mine.”
“And the magus' brother,” Morgan added, giving him the same handclasp. “I've heard of your skills, T'marl, I'm glad you'll add them to ours. Welcome.”
“Thank you, although as Ti said, would that it was for a pleasanter reason.”
The huge mercenary stepped away, letting the olive-skinned Hallan take his place.
“Well,” Morgan smiled, “I'd heard Sancurr's captain of guards had vanished, but I hadn't expected him to reappear in Delgannan. I'm pleased you did though, Hallan.”
“My sword is yours, my lord,” he replied formally, bowing his head.
“I'm sure it will be put to good use. Ah, trader,” Morgan said, as Hallan was replaced by Jall, “your family has long been known for its art in weapon-making, welcome to my hall.”
The small, powerful man gave Morgan's hand a hearty squeeze. “My pleasure, Lord,” he boomed. “ I was up at your sister's court last year, by the Structure; she's a fine woman. Knows her weapons, too, picked out the best of my wares for her son; can't say much for her husband, though. I wouldn't mind visiting your smith, I have this idea for a new type of bow...”
“I'll send for him as soon as you're settled in,” Morgan assured him, surreptitiously flexing his fingers from Jall's crushing grip as Cinbar limped forward.
“Shape-changer,” he greeted, “your name is spoken with respect by my own harper. Perhaps you would do the honor of playing for us?”
“That would be my pleasure, Lord,” Cinbar replied. “But I fear I'm not of such a high standard as Balin.”
“If it's as accomplished as your skills in battle, then your fears are groundless.”
Cinbar's strange colored eyes locked onto Morgan's as if to assure himself the High Lord's words were not mere flattery. Then, with a rare smile, he bowed and moved aside.
“Mesar, guardian of the Singing Plains, welcome to my hall. For months, I've been hearing about an old man and a young boy travelling through Anraun leaving a trail of defeated fighters in their wake. It took me a while to realize it was you, until I traced your trail back to its source in the desert lands.”
Mesar inclined his head. “It would seem, young lord, there are many people who underestimate you. Rainard of Yrloch, for instance.”
“I had valuable help in that case.”
“Yes,” Mesar said softly, his eyes flickering to the young seer. “And I think we may need it again.” He looked back at Morgan. “This is Resh; he is unable to speak, but perhaps you are sensitive enough now to hear his thoughts.”
Hesitantly, the boy came forward, dragging his attention away from the other part-Akashiian with difficulty and reluctance.
‘High Lord, this is an honor I never thought to receive.
Morgan smiled. “And it is an honor for me to have another of your ancient race within my hall. Welcome.”
Resh's tanned cheeks colored red and he ducked his head, both pleased and embarrassed by Morgan's words.
Introductions completed, the High Lord stepped away from the group and briefly addressed the captain of the Temple warriors.
“Your troops can use the small hall. When they're settled, I'd like you and your seconds to join us, Captain.”
“As you wish, Lord Morgan,” she acknowledged, and relayed her orders to the lines of impassively waiting warriors.
When the visitors filed in through the wide double doors to the hall, Liath hung back, ignoring both Annushi and Rajan, until Resh approached, then she stepped forward, blocking his way. For long moments, their eyes locked, oblivious to the others who watched. To everyone's surprise, and Morgan's sudden jealousy, Liath gently kissed the boy's lips.
“Brother,” she murmured. “Will you fight at my side?”
Resh, who seemed for a second to stand taller and broader, slowly nodded his sunstreaked head. Liath took his hand and together they walked inside the hall.
***
By the time the travelers had unpacked and gathered again in the hall, a midday meal had been laid out for them and only the usual pleasantries were exchanged between all. Almost in an unspoken agreement to delay talk of war just for a short time, the atmosphere was more that of a social visit.
When the meal was over, they all moved to the end of the hall near the dais, gathering together in small groups. Discussions sprang up about why they were here, what was to be done, and indeed, who to, with as many opinions as there were people. Tia’mar and Mesar told them all they knew about the Starstone, why it was created and its use by Dalran to cause the downfall of the Akashii, and Druin told them what he had gleaned about it. Pooling their information, they began to piece a reasonably accurate picture of the Starstone and the prison world together.
After a time, Annushi moved unnoticed by the others to Rajan's side and spoke quietly to him. “There are wraiths here,” she stated. “Have you brought them through?”
The male seer looked at her and slowly shook his head. “They were here already. But they're not Delgannan's shades.”
“I know. By their dress, they are Yrloch warriors. You know the dead, Rajan, speak to them, find out why they're here.”
“I saw some in the gardens yesterday,” said a quiet voice behind them, and the two seers turned. Rajan, surprised, embraced Liath and kept one arm around her shoulders, ignoring Resh who stood a pace to one side, silently observing.
“Did you speak with them?” Rajan asked, keeping his voice low and gentle. Liath, looking into his eyes, relaxed for the first time in days, leaning against the dark-haired seer.
“No,” she murmured. Rajan, acutely aware of the tension leaving the girl's almost thin body, smiled inwardly at the sudden trust she seemed to be placing in him, until her next words.
“You too, are marked as I am, Raj. The dark one has been promised your life.”
“Promised?” Rajan frowned, his eyes glinting like ice. “By whom?”
She shook her head, and both Annushi and Rajan were aware of her unspoken plea for help. “I don't know. I can't think clearly any more. Half the time my eyes don't see Anraun. When my feet walk this hall, my mind is in another place. Anger is about the only thing that brings all of me back here, which lets me function properly. I feel as though I'm going to slip through into that world any day – that I've already been… I
don’t know…stolen. It's horrible.”
The two older seers exchanged glances. “We will be your anchors, Liath,” Annushi assured her. “You have our strengths and skills to hold you here, and the art of the magi to shield you.”
“No one shall steal you,” Rajan added, drawing her attention back to him. “We may not always have seen eye to eye, but as a Nightlord, I shall give you that much protection.”
“Can't you be stolen, too?” she asked. “Isn't that why those vilest nightlords were originally exiled?”
“I am the Doman's nephew. I have the strength to refuse all but those closest to Jarath al Fidhala, Saybel’s Prime,” he replied, with unconscious, natural arrogance.
“Liath, why has Rajan attracted the attentions of this dark one, you called...him?” Annushi asked, beginning to wonder about the young nightlord, things her instincts were telling her, that Rajan knew a little more than he was letting them all think.
The girl drew back from Rajan. “I don't know. Excuse me, please, Conna will be here...”
Without further explanation, she turned and wandered towards the wide double doors that led out into the courtyard. Resh followed like a shadow at her side.
“Well, Rajan, have you any idea why you should be singled out like that?” Annushi turned to him, drawing his attention back from the departing girl.
“None whatsoever,” he replied, having no intention of telling anyone about Varen's proposal. One way or another, when the time was right, he planned to gain possession of the purple and gold gem that had pulsed softly in its black metal box on the island of Akashii.
Annushi, not completely believing his denial, watched for a few moments as two pretty young women approached and asked the seer-priest for his blessing. Then, sensing, rather than hearing, the clatter of hooves on the courtyard stones, she moved to the nearest window in time to see Conna bron Sultain and Hurral Ben-al dismount and stable boys take their horses. Even worried and distracted, she couldn’t help but admire the beautiful dappled stallion of Hurral’s. His were reputed to be the best horses in the whole of Anraun, and the one being led away to the stables looked about as perfect a horse as she’d ever seen, making Conna’s fine young animal seem almost like a cart-horse in comparison even though it had been bred by Hurral.
Starstone Page 27