Morgan also had been aware of their proximity and was on his way to greet them, reaching the top of the three wide steps down to the courtyard just as Conna hugged Liath and Hurral waited behind him.
A pair of worried green eyes met Morgan's, and in them, a demand to know what had changed his friend so much. As the girl moved to greet Ben-al, Conna glanced at the boy following her, then strode up to meet Morgan.
“Going grey already?” he asked in a light tone of voice that belied his concern. Morgan embraced him without reply and would have gone to welcome Hurral but for Conna's firm grip on his arms.
“What the hell's happened?” the younger lord demanded quietly. “To you and to Liath?”
“She showed me the land. My birthright,” Morgan said softly.
“Yes. But...look at her. Look at you...and this darkness. Morgan, what is it!”
“War, Conna. That's what it is. Go inside, talk to the others. I'll be in soon.” He raised his voice, “Resh, dinner will be served within the hour, would you be so good as to inform Mesar?”
The boy looked back, mildly surprised at this dismissal, but followed Conna into the hall while Morgan briefly greeted Hurral. The old brigand spent a moment studying the High Lord, then clapped his hand on Morgan's shoulder and strode inside. Overhead, the sky darkened, grey clouds scudded past and thunder rumbled in the near distance. Lightning stalked the hills on spiked feet, and the air grew cold with the threat of rain.
Liath took a step back from Morgan as he slowly came down the steps towards her. When he didn't stop, she took another backward step, then turned and half-ran across the courtyard, angling her flight to the gardens. Morgan lengthened his stride and caught up with her just as the first heavy drops hit the paving stones and the sky gave birth to a howling rainstorm.
“Liath, please, we need to talk!”
She flinched as he took hold of her arm but made no effort to pull away as Morgan continued towards the tenuous shelter of the gardens. In a matter of moments they reached a tiny grove, at the end of which an interlocking network of branches and vines canopied a reasonably dry bench. They sat down and Morgan put his arms around the girl, holding her close as she shivered and bit her lip against tears that demanded to flow as heavily as the rain. He began to talk softly, making no effort to control the storm that Liath had set raging about them.
“I shaped the land into a likeness of you,” he said quietly, “and breathed life into it. I gave the wind your voice to speak to me with. The night sky looks down with your eyes. When autumn comes it will wear the color of your hair. I gave the rivers and streams your laughter – but they run silent now, and the storm curses me instead. I can see so many things through your thoughts, feel so many things through your heart – but I can't find you anymore. I can't find the love in you I hoped we shared.”
Liath straightened up, moved back from the close comfort of Morgan's arms. He waited for her reply, waited what seemed to him an agonizingly long time. So intent on the girl who looked at him with huge tear-glistening eyes that he didn't see the rain slacken, then cease altogether.
“You love me? Really?” she asked in a whisper.
“Of course I do,” Morgan stated. “I told you that in Thesa, and I'll tell you that now – I love you.”
“And what of your future wife, the one you professed to love?”
“My future wife was chosen by my land, and by my ancestors. I can reach out and touch her from here.”
“But I'm an Akashiian...”
“Your mother was an Akashiian. You are a seer, a priestess and the woman I love. My people know of the part you played in defeating Rainard. Once we've rid Anraun of this other world, they'll accept you without reservation. We're already bound deeper than man and wife – if you left me, my land would rebel and my ancestors would come back from their graves to demand a reason for your departure.”
As Liath listened to him speak, rays of sun touched the tiny grove with warm gentle fingers. The foliage around them dripped sparkling jewels of moisture, then began to steam like a rainforest jungle. Birds called hesitantly from damp perches and nests, not wanting to push their luck by sounding too cheerful and confident. Flowers warily unfurled their petals, took a quick peep out and chanced scenting the fresh air with a little fragrance. And for a time, the seer gave herself over to the soft rhythm of Morgan's voice. She moved closer, slid her arm behind his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. The lord relaxed on the bench, stretched out his long lean legs, basked like a cat in the sensuous warmth of the sun, and felt the land slowly stirring around him. His thoughts became words, his ideas grew into sentences, his dreams became seeds sprouting in Liath's fertile mind. She re-lived the things he'd spoken of and knew they came from his heart and soul.
Then she remembered something. “You have Yrloch wraiths walking your land.”
“What?” Morgan frowned at the sudden information.
“Search for them – you should be able to sense where they are,” Liath urged.
Still frowning, Morgan sat a little straighter, tried to clear his mind of intrusive thoughts, and opened it the way he had in the mountain. He felt the smooth wooden bench supporting him, the soil and grass beneath his feet, the living things all around, and slowly joined the vast network of life, merged with his land, became the rivers, the wind, the rocks, the earth, and all things which grew in and moved upon Anraun. Unknown to himself, he gasped at the multitude of senses he felt with – and the warm wind of his breath bent tall grasses and waved trees in its passing. His fingers curled against his hands and rocks shifted. He caught the mind of a great eagle and saw horizons through its eyes. But it was the land herself that showed him the wraiths. He saw them as a haze, a morning mist caught in the hollow of a mountain pass, and almost directed his senses onwards before realizing why he had been led here, and that morning was long past. Focusing his vision, Morgan was shocked to see the mist form into hundreds upon hundreds of warrior-like wraiths, an entire army of them. Stunned, he blinked, found himself back in the garden, sitting on the bench. Beside him, Liath curiously watched his face.
“What is it?” she asked. He took her hand in his, and showed her. Moments later she freed her hand to grip the edge of the bench tightly, disoriented and queasy, her face pale and head spinning.
“Goddess – what a horrible way to travel,” she groaned. “Rajan took me storm-walking a few times, but it was a picnic compared to that.”
“Storm-walking?” Morgan wondered aloud. “You saw them, though?”
“Wraiths. Yeah, an army of them. And every one an islander.”
“Rainard!” Morgan spat.
“No, he couldn't have done that. It would take either a magus or seer to open a way through to the wraith world and allow so many to cross over. In fact, I've never heard of it being done on such a huge scale. It would cause all sorts of stresses and weakenings in the boundaries that separate the two planes.” Liath paused, feeling the familiar sensation of detachment from her surroundings begin to assert itself again. With a steadily growing anger, she forced herself to concentrate on Morgan and this new problem that had arisen. “Besides, didn't you threaten to kill Seric if Rainard or any other islanders ever set foot on Anraun again?”
“Yes. But I didn't see Rainard, and I'm not sure what category wraiths come under.” Recalling something, Morgan added, “I'm sure I saw my father in the courtyard last night, just after you left us to perform your evening worship.”
“You saw Ulric?” Liath repeated. “An illusion, or his shade?”
Morgan shrugged. “If it was an illusion, it was a damned good one. Lee, what harm can an army of wraiths do against an army of living men?”
The girl leaned back on the bench, and Morgan assumed she was considering his question, but as time passed and no answer was forthcoming, he moved to crouch in front of her, saw the blank expression in her eyes and on her face and muttered an oath. He stood up, took hold of her limp hands and pulled her, unresisting
, to her feet.
“Neither dark world, nor wraiths, shall take my land,” he vowed. “Nor will they take you, my love.” With that, he kissed her. At first, there was no response, but as the kiss lengthened, Morgan felt her lips part beneath his, and when he slid his arms around her, she pressed her body to his and lifted her hands to his shoulders.
Times passed until the High Lord looked into the eyes of the seer yet again. “I think we've missed dinner,” he smiled.
“What dinner?” Liath asked with an answering smile, then glanced past him to the slowly setting sun, and shivered in nervous anticipation of the dark night.
Chapter 32 – Morgan Meets Azqueh
‘Morgan...’
A voice called softly to him from the blackness – a voice that echoed whispers like the gentle flapping of butterfly wings around his head. It called again, this time with laughter swelled and threaded within his name. Blindly, he sought the source of it, unable to resist the lure of that golden sound.
The blackness gave way to grey, and off in the distance, he saw the silhouette of a figure. He hurried towards it with long strides, yet drew no closer – wondered if he were moving at all, until the grey became the pale iridescence of pearl, and the silhouette resolved into a person, a woman. And he stopped dead, gazing in awe. An opalescent nimbus played about her tall, slender figure, peeping through soft waves in the thick, glossy cascade of ebony hair, lightly caressed graceful alabaster arms and hands, shimmered along the length of elegantly draped skirts – and was outshone by the sheer perfection of face and form. Morgan sank to his knees in mute homage before this unearthly vision of beauty and purity.
The softest of whispers stroked his mind like the touch of gossamer, breathing his name. He closed his eyes, head tilted back, as incredible awe and pleasure shivered along his nerves.
“Worship me, son of Anraun, and all you seek, I shall provide.”
Yes! His body cried, as images danced through his mind, and he responded immediately to them. “Yes...” his voice murmured, and he waited for her touch, hardly breathing.
‘No!’ Someone screamed in anger and hate.
And when the touch came, it was of rough hands on his shoulders dragging him violently backwards. He groaned out a denial, struggled to reach the nimbused goddess, held out his arms pleadingly towards the heart stopping beauty. Saw with utmost horror the changes that occurred. Female slid to male – lithe to hard muscle – sapphire eyes to black and copper. A talloned hand snatched powerfully at him.
The voice that had screamed now snarled – and the warrior-priest hissed back in reply.
Morgan leapt to his feet – yet the movement was so terribly slow. While in his thoughts he stood, his body still struggled to rise, and the sharp talons swung back towards him. Copper-pupilled eyes gleamed triumph, a smile twitched thin lips – twisted now in sudden, brief pain as an attack found its target, a flash of black, a swirl of sooty hair, a tall, living shadow driving the apparition back.
Morgan felt himself falling, realizing in agony that those curved talons had, after all, made their mark.
He jerked up, eyes wide in pain and horror, and felt a trickle of moisture on his bare chest. He gazed with awful apprehension, saw sweat course down his body, and slumped dry-mouthed in relief. He tensed rigid again when he felt hands on his shoulders, and heard his name softly whispered...
“... it's alright, Morgan. It's alright...”
He turned sharply, sweat-drenched hair clinging chill to neck. “Liath...” His voice was harsh. “A dream,” he tried to moisten dry lips. “A nightmare.”
Liath rubbed his slick body with the sheet. “An attack. An attempt to kidnap you,” she corrected.
Rajan, half-dressed in loose black pants, walked in from the shadowed corner of the room with concern on his lean, beautiful face. Liath smiled thanks at him – Morgan felt a brief, unreasonable stab of jealousy at the closeness these two seers shared. It passed in a second, yet left him with the peculiar sensation that it had somehow been observed. He shook his mind free of such disquieting thoughts, and became aware Liath was speaking.
“I said, these sheets are soaked... Morgan... are you sure you're alright?”
He stared at the girl, fixing every point of her fine features in his memory. The way lamplight glimmered in her hair and gold-dusted eyes, the curve of cheekbone and lips, the short, straight nose, small firm chin. He saw her long feathering of eyelashes, arched brows, crescent moon, smooth forehead, slender, graceful neck; saw the lips move, glimpsed small white teeth as she repeated her question; smiled and reached out a hand to her.
Then he frowned when she moved back. The Nightlord, too, took a step away from the bed, and as they exchanged swift glances, Morgan felt an anger beginning to grow deep in the pit of his stomach. He tried to catch the rapid mental communications that passed between the two ex-lovers. Failing, he pushed back damp, clammy covers and stood, feeling satisfaction at the emotions that flooded the girl's wide eyes – fear, pain, worry. She grabbed hold of the seer's pale hand, power danced between them, and a glowing aura of amethyst glimmered around them. The light in Morgan's eyes took on a copper hue, pinpointing the darkness coating him. He reached out to lay a hard-nailed hand on tender, pulsing flesh at the girl's throat. Stood rigid, that same hand now clenched tight. Muscle and tendon writhed along his arm. Sweat glistened on tanned skin between soft, dark hairs. Blood pounded in his ears, thudded against his temples. Morgan clenched his jaw and fought a terrible internal battle.
Liath's hand rose, then faltered. If she touched him, even in giving aid, who knew what balance she might tip, and in whose favor? The energy she and Rajan balanced between them was stopping anything else from coming through from the other place and preventing this creature from drawing on the force of his world. But how to best help Morgan? She took a chance, moved within the power Morgan already commanded, and directed it towards the High Lord.
He gave a harsh cry, then tension eased, muscles slowly relaxed. He closed his metalized eyes, panting hard – and when he opened them, they were Morgan's own deep dark ones without a hint of alien copper. Liath breathed a sigh of relief with him – with Rajan, too. Although there was very little the Nightlord even remotely feared, it was wise to be very wary of this opponent.
‘Thanks, Raj, I wasn’t prepared for him going after Morgan so soon. Stupid of me.’
Star-colored eyes turned briefly from the High Lord’s. ’Do you want me to stay? I certainly don’t mind...if Morgan doesn’t.’
Despite the deadly seriousness, Liath had to cough to cover her snort of laughter as she imagined Morgan’s reaction to Rajan spending the night with them. Neither did it help that the Nightlord picked up on the images speeding through her thoughts. He smiled, giving her a sidelong glance – and an encouraging mental caress. Silently she thanked Rajan again and bade him a good and easy night. He gave a soft laugh and faded into the shadows.
The High Lord, stone-faced, turned away, picked up a cup of water and drank thirstily.
“Goddess,” he sighed, “that was...” He broke off with a shudder, unable to find the words, the exchange between Liath and the Nightlord fading into the background.
“I know,” Liath said gently. “He's touched me too.”
For a moment, they stood apart, sensing each other’s differences, and the ones within themselves, knew the irrevocable changes, divided in their shared uniqueness. Then simultaneously, they moved together, arms encircling, bodies close.
“Who is that bastard?” Morgan murmured into her hair. “What is he?”
“A descendant of the Doman's line – they call him a Voltus. A half-breed. Scum of Saybel and a dark priest,” Liath replied quietly.
Morgan pulled back a little, stared at her, frowning. “Of course, you said so yesterday, then Yrloch’s wraiths interrupted. You said that’s what he told you, but – does Jarath know? What about Rajan, how much does your friend actually know about all this?” he murmured, more to himself
than Liath, and wondered if his two Nightlord friends were aware of any of this. Much as he wished otherwise, Rowan at least, had a habit of being involved if trouble was on the horizon. Yet, their help could prove to be invaluable, and the power they commanded…Liath’s reply to his question put all thoughts of the Fidhalas out of mind.
“The Goddess told me.”
“Literally?” Morgan prompted when she spoke no more.
Heaving a sigh, the seer nodded. “She spoke to me – twice. Dad thinks she was the priestess in green, remember? Then the second time was when we were in my room, while Resh was enthralled, when you thought I was sleeping. She told me about the other world, its reason for being, the people – creatures – who were exiled there. About his mother, Relleshom, what she has planned and what we have to do. It all comes down to twins. Two of them.”
“Wait a minute, Liath, why didn't you tell me – us – that?
“I was trying to make sense of it myself, get it right in my own mind. There's a lot I didn't – still don't – understand. I'd planned to tell everyone first thing in the morning.”
“You still hid it from me.”
“Not deliberately. Besides, you kept me occupied in other ways!” she smiled.
“Liath, this is serious!”
Her smile vanished. “Damn it, Morgan, don't you think I, of all people, know that? I just needed to think about what she told me, all right! Now do you want to hear, or are you going to lecture me some more?”
“Aren't you being a little childish?”
She glared at him, angry words on her tongue, while the temperature of the room fluctuated wildly. Morgan waited, unperturbed, for her to calm down.
He realized, and recognized, the stress she was living under, the conflicting emotions, the need to strike out at something – and the mile-wide stubborn streak in her.
Starstone Page 28