by Cas Peace
All this went through Taran’s mind as he watched her finish an apple. She tossed the core casually to Drum, who picked it up with velvety lips. The warmth of the sun and the contented munching of the horses were soporific, and Sullyan leaned against the grassy bank, her hands behind her head. Looking totally at ease, she closed her glorious eyes.
Now Taran was free to study her openly. He tried hard not to let his feelings get the better of him, but the sight of her slim form on the grass, tawny hair spilling out around her, had its usual intense effect. He took in the serene expression on her beautiful face, the fire opal sparking with each beat of her heart, and the gentle swell where the soft shirt covered her breasts. His body responded, his imagination creating forbidden images. He was unable to control them and they played through his mind as he sat lost in a dangerously delicious reverie.
A tiny movement brought him back. With a guilty start, he realized she was watching him.
“Taran Elijah,” she reproved softly, “behave yourself!”
Betrayed by his body, he blushed bright crimson and turned his head away. He heard her sigh as she pushed herself upright, but couldn’t meet her gaze. He was struggling for control and failing dismally. He had gone too far in his fantasy, and now not even acute embarrassment could cool the heat of his loins.
She spoke gently. “Why do you do this to yourself, Taran? You really need to learn some control, my friend, or your passions will drive you mad.” Tears came to his eyes, and she reached out toward him. “Ah, Taran, Taran, what shall we do with you?”
She didn’t complete the gesture, realizing in time what a mistake it would be. He could not bear her touch without pain, and he was too close to the edge right now.
Irritable with embarrassment, he said, “I know, I know! I’m sorry.” He forced himself to meet her eyes, but the love and sympathy he saw there, when what he really deserved was censure, only added to his plight. Deeply shamed, he looked down.
In a light tone, she said, “What you need is distraction. Discipline and control can be applied to other things besides metaforce. While learning to master your powers, you also learn to master your emotions.”
His head snapped up, incredulous. “Are you suggesting we do some training now? How can I concentrate in this state?”
Unmoved, she smiled. “But, Taran, you are in just the right state to practice the influence of Fire.”
He frowned. As she settled comfortably into her usual cross-legged pose, she said, “Think, my friend. The four elements exist within each of us, some of them stronger than others. This is why some Artesans are better at influencing one element above the others. Do you recall, after your confirmation as Adept, that I said you had the capacity to become a Master?”
Taran nodded, although his inexperience and frustration at that time had not allowed him to believe her.
“I said that because even then the depth of your passion was clear to me.”
He colored again. He hadn’t known she had guessed the strength of his feelings so early in their relationship.
“Do you not see, Taran? We carry each raw element within us, and passion, or spirit, or desire, call it what you will, is just another form of Fire. You have that element very strongly within you, especially just now”—she laughed as his face flamed again—“so you will not have to reach very far to find it. You really must learn to accept your emotions. Accept them and use them. They are a fundamental part of you, and if you keep trying to suppress them you will never be able to grow.
“Come, let me show you. Lay out your pattern.”
He was reluctant to open his mind to her, guilty at the images there, but his hunger to learn tempered the ache of physical need. He could never refuse her teaching or the confidence of her mind’s touch upon his, so he did as she asked.
Reaching within, touching the secret depths of his psyche, he projected his intimate pattern onto the substrate. Sullyan did the same, her pupils dilating, and the two structures shimmered and sparkled side by side.
Taran stared at the immense complexity of Sullyan’s pattern, so different to his. She must have caught his thought for she said, “Different, yes, but look here. What do you see?”
He looked and was amazed. One portion of her pattern corresponded almost exactly with his. He frowned, perplexed.
“That part of my pattern represents my mastery over Water,” she explained. “And this,” she indicated another area, “is the part representing mastery over Earth. See how similar they are to yours?”
He was astounded, never having noticed how closely these two areas matched. “But your psyche is so much deeper and more complex than mine,” he said. “How will I ever be able to master the other two elements?”
There was no censure in her tone as she said, “Ah, you still do not understand. I am a Senior Master, and my pattern reflects that, but it was not always as complex as it is now. The structure grows as your powers grow, not the other way round. This is why practice is so important. The stronger you become and the surer your handling of the elements you do control, the sooner you will be able to master those you do not.
“Now, let us link together and I will try to show you how to influence Fire.”
He sensed her power, warm as love, amber as honey, flowing toward him, surrounding his psyche. As he accepted the contact, he felt a familiar awe at the depth of her strength. His embarrassment faded as he lost himself in the process of harnessing his metaforce.
Once they were linked, he followed her lead as she showed him how to recognize and isolate the element of Fire within his psyche. Then she taught him what Fire looked like in its raw state, when it was quiescent within the substrate. She told him she couldn’t help him shape or call it, he had to learn that for himself, but once he had memorized its unique signature, he watched as she reached through the substrate, calling Fire to her will. He saw how her vast strength latched on to it, bringing a dancing flame forth to shimmer on her hand, and he marveled once more at the power at her command. Not one glimmer of Fire escaped her control.
She released it and invited him to try. But this level of expertise was beyond him, and Fire was so very strong, stronger by far than Water. He struggled and he knew she could tell that instead of controlling he was actually stoking the fire within him, fanning the heat of his desire rather than taming.
The heat of his passion was rising, but she mercifully broke their link by touching him lightly on the arm. Tears came to his eyes, fueled by his anger at his failure to control either the raw element or his body’s reaction.
Sighing, she took pity on him.
“Do not torture yourself, Taran. You have not failed, you merely need to practice and improve your strength. In the meantime, I have a suggestion that might help with your current… ah… problem.”
He glanced wretchedly at her and she stood, gesturing with her hand. He rose obediently and followed her to where the stream tumbled frothing into the pool. “Sit where it is cool. Look into the water.”
He did so, leaning forward to stare into the rippling depths. Sullyan stood at his back, hands resting lightly on his shoulders. This gentle contact did nothing to calm his inner turmoil, although the water’s cool mist did soothe his overheated face.
“Look deep into the water,” she murmured, and he did so, waiting for her contact in his mind.
Her sudden shove sent him plunging into the cold pool. It was a complete shock. Had he been less absorbed in his shame he might have suspected what was coming, but he hadn’t. He surfaced, spitting water and spluttering with outrage. Turning, he could see her almost helpless with laughter on the bank. He cursed expressively and lunged from the pool, grabbing at her, but even breathless she was too quick for him. Standing well out of reach, she turned, regarding him with merry eyes.
“Is your blood a bit cooler now?”
He glared at her, his clothes sodden, hair dripping. Her infectious good humor gradually overcame his irritation and he broke into a grin. “Yo
u witch! Look at me, I’m soaked through.”
She cocked her head. “You brought a change of clothes, though, surely?”
He colored yet again, realizing he would have to change in front of her unless he wanted to ride in sopping wet leather. He didn’t have her carefree attitude to nudity, had never been able to emulate her ease around members of the opposite sex.
Sullyan guessed his thoughts and casually waved her hand. “Oh, have no fear. I will turn my back.”
She did just that, busying herself with the horses while Taran, muttering curses, shed his wet clothes and put on dry ones. She approached him when he was done and he was surprised to see diffidence in her eyes.
“Am I forgiven?”
He could hardly believe she was serious. “For what? I was at fault, not you.”
Amazing him again, she dropped her gaze. “Not entirely.”
His eyes widened as she admitted, “Never think that I am immune to desire. You are a very attractive man, and under different circumstances I think there would have been something between us. Maybe I should not tell you this. You know my heart belongs to Robin and I could never betray his love. But I would not see you take sole responsibility for these feelings. It is not healthy and it will prevent you from growing as you should.
“So hear me well. I do love you, Taran, although I have controlled my feelings, shaped them into a deep and abiding friendship. You must do the same, for upon that basis we can share our love without endangering our other commitments. You know that Robin is aware of your feelings, but he is secure in the knowledge of my fidelity, and that is how it should be. I treasure his trust and love and will never do anything to damage them. That would destroy him, and what harms him would injure me also.
“Am I making myself clear to you?”
Taran stared into her golden eyes. He was astounded. She had never spoken so frankly about her personal feelings before. He knew she valued him as a friend and fellow Artesan, but he had not known she bore him the kind of love he so desperately desired. If only her heart wasn’t already pledged! He too was unsure whether knowing she loved him would help or hinder, but it was her way to be honest with her friends and he wasn’t surprised she had chosen to tell him. He only hoped he could justify her trust and learn to do what she had done; see their relationship as a merging of close friends who could completely rely on each other, both for power and support.
“Yes, Brynne, you are,” he said, his uncommon use of her given name conveying his sincerity. “I’ll try to do the same. I have no intention of letting either you or Robin down. I value your friendship too highly for that.” He took a deep breath. “Now, hadn’t we better move on?”
Smiling, she approved his change of subject. “It is not too much farther now to the tavern where we will spend the night.” She mounted Darius once more. “And if fortune favors us this evening, we may meet an old friend of mine. Someone I have not seen for far too long.”
She refused to elaborate, and Taran was forced to curb his curiosity as they rode into the heat of the afternoon, Drum trailing obediently as before.
Chapter Four
Taran had long forgiven Sullyan by the time she next drew rein. The land had been rising steadily for some two hours and the sun, although still shining strongly, was beginning to dip to their left. There was even a faint breeze, and they enjoyed its cooling caress as they let the horses breathe.
Gazing over the land spread out below him, Taran caught a glimpse of steel gray far away to his left. “Is that the sea?” He had never been to the coast and was looking forward to his first sight of the ocean and the bustling city of Port Loxton.
Sullyan nodded. “What you see are the Western Reaches. If you look carefully, just above that dark smudge of forest, you can see the spire of Loxton’s Minster.”
He stared hard, not entirely sure that he could, but Sullyan had already turned Darius’s head back to the road. Tearing his eyes away, Taran followed her.
It was late afternoon when they finally drew up outside a double story stone building nestled in a copse of trees. Propped beside the door was a wooden sign with the name Hazel Tree carved into it. Looking around, Taran could indeed see coppiced hazels among the press of trees surrounding the inn.
The place appeared to be closed. Sullyan dismounted and thumped on the door with the butt of her knife. After a few moments, it opened to reveal a stocky, bald man. His brown and weathered face broke into a smile when he saw who his visitor was.
“Sullyan!” he exclaimed, holding his arms wide and coming forward to embrace her. “It must be two years, at least.”
“Two and a half, Jed,” she replied, returning his hug. “Do you have rooms for the night?”
“Always for Kingsmen, and especially for you.” He eyed Taran appraisingly. “One room is it?”
She grinned and shook her head. “Two, if you please.”
The innkeeper raised his brows. “I thought you were wed now?”
“I am, but Robin is away on exercise at the moment. This is Taran Elijah, a friend and fellow Artesan.”
Jed shook Taran’s hand. “Any friend of Sullyan is welcome here. Come in, if you please. I’ll get the boys to see to your bags and horses.”
They left their mounts hitched to the railing and followed Jed inside. He yelled, “Zane, Devis!” and a pair of young boys came clattering down the stairs. Both had Jed’s brown, round face, although the older lad had green eyes and auburn hair instead of his father’s brown.
As he passed her, Sullyan caught the older lad by the arm. “Be especially careful with the youngster, Zane,” she said, pressing a small silver coin into his hand. “He belongs to the King and deserves your very best treatment.”
Zane gasped in delight. “All your horses will get the best treatment, Lady.”
She grinned and gave him a gentle push on his way.
Jed ushered his guests into the smallest of two snugs and bade them sit. He disappeared behind the bar, returning a few minutes later with a tankard of ale for Taran and a glass of fruit cordial for Sullyan.
They nodded their thanks and drank deeply, relaxing into the comfortable atmosphere. Taran was impressed by the quality of the ale, which was nutty and full of flavor, far superior to anything he had tasted before. He complimented Jed and was rewarded with a wide smile.
Jed settled himself into a chair and regarded Sullyan knowingly. “So, Colonel, what brings you here after all this time?”
“We are on our way to Port Loxton, delivering the King’s new colt in time for the horse fair,” she replied. Her face wore an innocent expression, and Taran watched the by-play with bemusement.
Jed grinned and wagged his finger. “There are more direct routes to Loxton than this, and I know you are not attracted by the quality of my ale. So?”
She gave up the game. “All right, Jed! Will he be in tonight?”
The innkeeper’s eyes twinkled. “He usually is this time of year. He was here last week and, strangely enough, he was asking about you. I think he misses you.”
She sobered. “How was he?”
“Oh, you know.” Jed rocked one hand in a gesture of doubt.
“As bad as that?” The sadness in her tone made Taran frown, but she didn’t explain and he didn’t like to ask.
Eager for the latest news from the Manor, Jed changed the subject. He had heard something of Sullyan’s experiences in Andaryon from other Kingsmen who had visited the inn, but he wanted details only she could give. Sullyan satisfied his curiosity without giving too much personal detail, and Taran took note, determined not to let slip things she might want kept private.
The inn was beginning to fill and soon Jed had to leave them to serve behind the bar. His youngest son, Devis, brought their food, and even Sullyan did justice to the delicious meat, gravy, and vegetables. The taproom was becoming crowded and Taran was not surprised. With ale and food of this quality, Jed’s inn must be very popular.
After finishing their meal, Taran
and Sullyan left the snug and joined Jed’s other guests. The sun had set and the lamps were lit, giving the taproom a welcoming, cozy glow. The tavern door opened once more and the buzz of conversation died. As Taran turned to see why, his breath caught in his throat. The most beautiful young man he had ever seen was standing by the door.
All heads turned to watch as the newcomer moved gracefully to the bar. Jed handed him a glass of what appeared to be plain water, and the silence stretched on while he slowly drank. To Taran, it felt like a silence of profound respect that no one wanted to break.
He studied the striking young man, who was perhaps an inch or two shorter than the six-foot Taran. He was slim and lithe, his graceful movements suggesting the deportment of a trained dancer. He had slender fingers and long, flowing hair, which was the startling color of creamy new milk. But it was his face that so affected Taran’s breathing, and the Adept reflected that had he been of that persuasion, he would have wanted this breathtaking stranger in his bed.
The man’s face was smooth, the skin pale and clear. His nose was straight, the mouth well shaped, and the cheekbones high and fine. His eyes, however, were his most arresting feature. Almond-shaped under curling lashes and graceful brows, they were dark, liquid, and full, like the eyes of a deer.
The gaze of those eyes swept across Taran’s face and his heart stopped within his chest.
It was fitting that Sullyan should be the one to break the silence, as her lilting voice was no intrusion into the absence of sound. Holding the stranger’s fey gaze, she inclined her head.
“My Lord Fiann.”
The beautiful man set down his glass and crossed the room, his eyes never leaving hers. His features betrayed no expression, he seemed totally serene. When he reached Sullyan, he took her left hand and sank to one knee. To Taran’s surprise, he then made the brow-lips-heart salute of an Artesan to his Master.
Sullyan lifted his hand to her lips. “There is no need of that between us, my Lord,” she murmured. “It is good to see you again. Are you well?”