Starstone

by Denise M. Main

  “You ought to put more clothes on,” she muttered finally. “You'll catch a chill after all that.”

  Morgan turned away to hide a smile and pick up yesterdays discarded tunic. It smelled faintly of Liath, sunshine and moor grass. “Tell me what the Goddess said, and the...how many twins…two, four?” he suggested.

  She sighed, thinking of the centuries the story spanned; she didn’t even know how long ago, not even the histories could agree on that.

  “All right – do you know about how and why the Starstone was made?” Without giving him chance to respond, Liath carried on. “The worse criminals – really evil ones, on all the various worlds – gave rise to the stone being created. One of your ancestors was involved, as well the Darkworld Doman, Iantii’s Domini, Carnaté’s Prime, Cellan’s and Tindal’s Primes, the Juriaan of Lammia...all the major worlds and realms. Anyway, all these criminals were rounded up and shipped off to Danaach – that’s the name of the prison world. A way was opened by the Starstone between dimensions. Danaach was sent through, the way closed and that was that.

  “Instead of being destroyed, which is what I’d have done with it, the stone was separated into its fragments – what we call shards, er…six of them...which represent the six rays of the star, and these were scattered through the worlds of those Primes instrumental in this from the start. The middle of the stone, the heart, a little hexagonal gem, is hopefully still hidden somewhere on Saybel. But, if that’s the case, why Jarath hasn’t spoken about it, I don’t know. Actually, I do have a good idea,” she muttered, shooting a quick dark glance at the direction of the Nightlord’s room. Then she caught sight of Morgan’s raised eyebrow and folded arms, and carried on.

  “That was fine, apart from something I can’t remember at the moment, but it couldn’t have been all that important or I wouldn’t have forgotten, would I? Anyway, life went on, time passed, again, no one can quite agree how much, until the lord of that Akashiian house, er, lord…Dalran… Shian…something or other, got greedy and wanted the whole of Iantii, instead. Which was never going to happen because… Sorry… Somehow, this lord thought the-then-Doman would lend him a hand with his take-over bid. Arath, it was, but he had no intention and played Dalran along. I think Dalran stole some of the Shards, and there was a mage involved, who somehow breeched the way and a shard was taken through to Danaach. Meanwhile Dalran had formed his people into an army against the Iantii, and he managed to force the slaves and servants, the Raylor who never liked them, into fighting, too.

  “Arath retaliated by using the ‘New’ races, the ordinary humans, who lived in fear of the Akashii and Iantii. He brought in some mercenaries from other worlds, and it wasn't hard to get the New races to rebel. Battles were fought across the worlds, but it was mainly on Iantii…and…here. That was because some of the Akashii fled to Anraun, to the island, then used it as a gateway to leave this world and closed the way. But some stayed behind on the island. More fighting followed, and... I go there sometimes, my mother's buried there – not where they fought – but you can still feel...” Liath broke off, looked away, tears glinting in her eyes.

  “What happened to the shards then?” Morgan asked gently, brushing back the untidy hair and drawing her closer, although he vaguely remembered from his own history lessons, and made a mental note to get the oldest accounts and archives searched in the morning.

  “I don't know,” she mumbled against his shoulder, tiredness sweeping through her body, urging her into sleep. It was good to feel Morgan's strong arms around her, to rest; secure. Relief at not having to hide her feelings from him any longer was still pleasantly there. Sighing, she nuzzled closer.

  Morgan stood deep in thought, absently stroking Liath's heavy, unbraided hair, supporting her as she dozed lightly. Finally, he spoke. “Will you look into the futures, Liath? Try and 'see if we find out how to use the stone?” He felt her jerk awake and groan. “I don't mean just now, not tonight,” he added, “and not alone.”

  Then they both straightened, alert, and looked towards the door. Morgan frowned as his young brother strode in, barefoot and wearing only his pants.

  “Are you alright?” Conna demanded, half-wary, half-worried. “I just had the weirdest dream. There was a woman – incredibly beautiful – who called to you, then changed into this...creature, and attacked. Rajan was there, and Liath too. I kept fighting to wake up, but I couldn't till just a few moments ago.”

  “It wasn't a dream, Conna. That creature was the…Voltan? Sorry, Voltus, Azqueh. He's some sort of magus and a warrior-priest–and an ancestor of the Doman of Saybel.”

  “The...What... A Nightlord – no, a Stealer? And he's the one who's been...? Didn't you 'see this coming, Lee?”

  The girl, now quite awake again, shook her head. “The futures are so shadowed now it's like trying to see the bottom of a deep, murky pool – I may as well be blind...”

  “We need the Starshards,” Morgan broke in.

  “Starshards?” Conna questioned, but his brother ignored him.

  “I...almost had one...in my hand...four days ago. Goddess, is it only four days! So much has happened in such a short time...I wonder...” he murmured and stepped over to the small night table beside his rumpled bed. Conna and Liath watched as he felt inside his belt pouch, brought out another, tiny one, and from that carefully extracted a small, tear-shaped crystal.

  “My land wept when you did, Liath,” he said by way of explanation, “in that cave just above the snowline. This is one of Anraun's tears.”

  Liath looked from the crystal nestling in Morgan's palm, to his lean handsome face, and back again. She made to touch the teardrop, then withdrew her hand again.

  “But how will that help?” Conna asked. He too had moved closer, his own hand had twitched to reach out at the same time as Liath's.

  “I was holding this and the shard was within my grasp.”

  Morgan studied the young lord, felt the stirrings of their male kinship. This was his heir. The same blood ran in their veins, the same flesh sired them, the same womb bore them. He should know the right, lore and power.

  “Join with me,” he said softly, urgently. “Both of you. Help me bring the shard here! Now! From the heart of Delga!”

  Caught up by the thrill, the exigency, they cupped their hands over the crystal and Morgan's scarred palm. A soft gasp broke from Conna's lips as he felt the power surging in the other two, the backwash eddying around. He felt dormant sensations inside him, never imagined before, wake and rise to join them. Green eyes wide, he saw Liath's bowed head, red-chestnut hair weaving with a life of its own, an aura that grew golden from her to encompass all. He saw Morgan's dark eyes lock onto his with an intensity that threatened to rock the Great Hall to its ancient foundations. Lightnings stalked through the room drawn by similar energies, thunder following in its footsteps. The image of a woman with gold-dusted skin whirled around them. A veiled priestess in green walked through their hands. Ulric knelt in a corner, fists clenched at his sides, mouth open in a silent scream. Long dead high lords gathered round, pain on their drawn faces, misty bodies rent by shrieking winds colored the deepest purple as night.

  Between the three joined hands, the tiny crystal glowed, became rich gold, its light spilling through interlaced fingers. The purple winds spun round it, followed by the golden aura into a whirlpool of color – shrinking, hardening, coalescing. A breathless time passed until the shard lay warm and alive, covering the scar on Morgan's hand.

  Conna groaned, and sank to his knees as visions and images flicked in and out like werelights. Liath drew a great, ragged sigh, and realized that a rhythmical pounding was not her heart, but someone banging on the door. Morgan stood, simply staring at the shard, until he blinked and gestured; the door opened, figures spilled inside, their voices raised in a babble. Conna winced at the sound of them and climbed shakily to his feet, helped by his brother’s hand.

  Then all was still and quiet as Morgan held up the amethyst colored shard, the gold
marbling pulsing like veins.

  “Now we have a weapon,” Morgan stated, briefly scanning the crescent of faces before him. He found the one he was looking for and beckoned. Jall stepped forward.

  “Tell them, Liath,” he ordered, “what the lady told you.”

  “I...can’t...”

  “Tell them, Liath,” he repeated.

  “Let me guess,” Tia'mar said gently, his dark, almost luminous eyes on the discomforted young priestess. “There was more than one shard. And they all had the potential to be used as weapons. The first High Priestess and the first High Lord created the shards between them.”

  “No – Yes – I mean, the last part's wrong. They used the shard, but it, and the others, was in existence long before that.” She looked at Rajan. “Complete, the stone was used to open the space between the dimensions, non-space, right at the beginning. It sent the prison world through into exile, and closed the way after it. The Primes who had made the Starstone used the energies of their own worlds, called them up, bound them all together, directed how they should be used...do you have any idea of the sheer power they commanded to do that? I certainly don’t. And I have absolutely no idea how it can be done again – although that Lord Dalran, whatever his name is, did. Part of it was used by an Akashii to open the way between the dimensions again – or rather to start to open it. He never succeeded.”

  “That power,” Conna began, “that power...must be... I don’t know, I can’t think of anything to compare it with.”

  Most of the others gathered in Morgan’s bedroom nodded in agreement. Morgan followed the direction of Liath’s gaze, picked out the hazy outline of Rajan’s body in the shadowed corner nearest to the young woman before the Saybelese seer vanished. They all had to get down to the island – or at least Thesa, and it had to be soon! The young lord smiled to himself; he knew just the person to help with that. Closing his eyes, he concentrated, almost opened them again in surprise when contact was made.

  ‘Raj, I need your help. Can you go to see Jarath, tell him I beg a favor, I’m sure he’ll agree since this affects Saybel too. I need some of his warriors to transport the elite of my army and my guests down to Thesa, today, if possible. Will you take the message to him, please?’

  There was a moment’s silence before the pale seer responded, then Morgan felt his acquiescence rather than heard it, and Rajan would have left immediately save for the High Lord lingering in contact. He waited, a faint smile on his face, realizing this was like a child in a sweet shop – so much that the young lord could do, feel, sense, experience in this mental communication. He sent him a tentative caress that startled Morgan with its intimacy.

  ‘Perhaps later, Morgan, I can show you more ways of communicating like this.’

  Luckily, Liath picked up on the conversation and rescued him. ‘Raj...go. I can take care of that side of things, and if Morgan needs any further instruction, I’ll let you know.’

  Both of them felt Rajan’s amusement – then nothing as the seer left Anraun for Saybel.

  Chapter 33 – Varen back to the island

  Morgan bron Sultain and that meddling seer were going to the island! Such fools, did they honestly think their puny forces could compete against those he was going to be commanding? Once he had the next key, they would all fall to him, and the Danaachs would join the ranks of his warriors. It was almost laughable. It was with a smile on his face that he turned to Omell, standing a little behind him in his workroom, ready to pump the bellows at his order. Her eyes widened at the rare smile, disquiet slowly spreading through her.

  “Make yourself ready, girl, we travel to the Akashii isle,” he ordered, banking the forge fire.

  “But, what about the Lady Emmer?” Omell asked, frowning, pressed back against the long worktable as Varen pushed past to select and gather books into a pile.

  “Hmmm?”

  Worried by his behavior, his absent reply, she edged towards the door. “Nothing, my lord. I shall pack what is needed for our journey.” Swiftly, the girl raced down the narrow steps from the highest room of the keep, thin soled pumps making no sound on the bare stones. At the bottom of the flight, she grabbed hold of the door frame swung to the left, using her momentum to propel herself down the corridor. Moments later she tapped on the Yrloch lady’s bedroom door, tapping louder when it wasn’t immediately opened, repeatedly checking both sides of the corridor for Varen’s appearance when he finally came to his senses and realized what he’d done and said.

  “What is it, am I not allowed to mourn my father in peace?” Emmer snapped, eventually throwing the door open then striding back inside, her clothing as drab as the rooms walls.

  “It’s me, my lady, Omell – do you still want to be rid of Varen?” she gasped, breathless from her mad dash from the tower.

  Emmer glanced past Omell as if prepared for some trickery by her husband, then studied the girl. “How can this be achieved?” she asked carefully.

  Pulling the door closed, Omell told her, “My lord Varen is taking a trip to the south – to the isle of Akashii. He seems to have forgotten you in the...excitement. Now is the time to pack what you can and go. If Lord Varen’s plans come to fruition then he will no longer need you for wife. If they do not, then he will no longer be in a position to have any need of a wife at all.”

  Even as she spoke, Emmer began packing, taking what she needed; travelling clothes, jewelry, money, anything portable of value. With a change of footwear and heavy cloak, she hefted the packed bag and declared herself ready to leave.

  “Take your horse and ride. If Lord Varen should ask where you are, I shall tell him you went out riding to clear your thoughts. Now go!” Omell all but pushed Emmer out of the door and down towards the main entrance to the keep. The Yrloch lady slipped out without a sound, and Omell ran to her own room, throwing clothes and sundry items into her own bag, leaving it to be gathered on their departure. She returned to Varen and his requirements. Back to the island! A thrill of excitement urged her on, as she took the steep steps two at a time.

  Chapter 34 – Courts of Night

  Striding along the wide, increasingly familiar hallway towards his uncle’s study, Rajan nodded acknowledgements to those few courtiers he passed. His unheralded appearance would afford a moment’s gossip at the Courts of Night over evening meals before conversations moved on to more juicy tid-bits. And he didn’t plan to stay long enough to add to them. Jarath would already be aware of his arrival on Saybel, in Pherase, the capital of the Darkworld, and of his approach. It wasn’t wise to keep the Doman waiting, for any reason.

  Indeed, the broad, wonderfully carved door leading to the Prime’s study opened fractionally before Rajan knocked upon it. The Doman’s most trusted seneschal stepped back and indicated the black-dressed seer should enter. With a half-raised hand in greeting, the visiting Nightlord acknowledged the man’s nod as he passed through the antechamber. Returning to his station at a small desk midway between inner and outer doors, the seneschal waited for his master’s next command, occupying his time with paperwork and the research Jarath had asked of him.

  Rajan knocked on the plainer, more subtly carved door; at the command, entered and paused just inside, head bowed to his liege.

  Surprisingly austere for the Prime Lord of a powerful world, the study reflected the Doman’s dislike of clutter and useless frills. The only woman’s touch this room ever felt was that of the housekeeper. None of his three wives had ever come in here, or been encouraged to: nor his many mistresses. And despite the housekeeping staff of hundreds, it was the woman alone who kept Jarath’s spacious study spotless.

  The Doman tossed a stylus down on the almost glowing red-wood desk top. It rolled and stopped beside a document tablet as Jarath leaned back in his chair and waited for his nephew to speak. Bastard or not, they still shared some of the same genes and Jarath was happy enough for the strange Nightlord to live and work at Thesa, and on occasion act as envoy between Saybel and Anraun. Especially since it seemed t
hat damned Starstone had united the two worlds again.

  “What does Morgan want now?” he asked, making an accurate guess as to why the seer was here.

  Without preamble Rajan delivered his message; Jarath preferred not to waste time with flowery words. “He needs to move the best of his own and the temple army to the isle of Akashii – or at least to Thesa where the rest of the magi can transport them.”

  Jarath ran long fingers through his thick dark hair and gazed absently past the seer to a set of three small paintings on the wall opposite his desk. “The magi are suddenly unable to travel almost as swiftly and easily as my subjects – with or without Morgan’s fighters?” he enquired, mentally checking through a list of lords and ladies who had recently annoyed or otherwise come to his attention. A goodwill task for another Prime might be just the thing for certain of those nobles on his catalogue.

  “Morgan wants the magi fresh for when they are needed,” Rajan answered.

  “And what does the High Priestess want? The magi are under Demora’s rule, not the High Lord’s,” Jarath pointed out, wondering if Morgan has been fool enough to instigate the offensive without consulting the other half of Anraun’s rule. He noted the tiny smile tucked at the corner of the seer’s lips, and not for the first time was quite happy that this unique young lord was Demora’s problem, not his own.

  “Our lady is in accord with the High Lord. They are both aware of what needs to be done,” Rajan replied smoothly, not mentioning that the part of the Starstone in Jarath’s care, hidden somewhere in Pherase, would soon be requested; and wondering if the Doman had actually located it yet.

  Jarath opened a drawer in the pedestal of his desk, and selected another document tablet from those filed there. He tapped a code into the keypad along the bottom and activated it, checking the locale of certain Nightlords, male and female. He smiled slightly at one name in particular. “Rowan...” he murmured.