Destiny of the Light: Shadow Through Time 1 (31 page)

The Plainswoman said nothing, merely held Lae tight within her grasp.

‘I will disarm myself,’ Mooraz said, and withdrew his sword and dagger to lay them at his feet, his heavy braids falling forward as he did so. ‘I give a pledge on my honour as a warrior that I will do you no harm if you release this child into my care.’

Lae frowned at this and Pagan felt his exasperation with her grow. How could she be irritated with Mooraz for calling her a child when he was battling with words to save her life. Perhaps his very use of the word would soften the Plainswoman’s heart.

‘I lost a brother to The Dark,’ the Plainswoman said, no softness in her voice. ‘A boy child.’

Mooraz took a breath, as though to still an unpleasant thought, then said, ‘I believe you have honour in your veins, Noorinya of the Plainspeople …’

Pagan gaped at Mooraz. This was Noorinya? The legendary warrior who had sparked the enmity between Talis and Kert? He looked at her again, with more respect than he had previously.

‘… I believe you will show more mercy than your enemy did,’ Mooraz finished.

‘More mercy than your own Lord?’ Noorinya asked.

Without hesitation, Mooraz replied, ‘I believe this.’

The Plainswoman looked at him, then said, ‘You are correct,’ and withdrew her sword, pushing Lae in his direction. ‘But when we meet next we are enemies again.’

He nodded and took Lae’s arm, making no move to pick up his weapons. Pagan owned himself impressed by this exchange. Two mortal enemies parlaying without fear of betrayal. His esteem of Noorinya grew.

‘Follow me, Guardian boy,’ she said to him. ‘I will take you to your kinsman.’ And with no further glance at Mooraz she turned her back on him and set off for the Plains.

Boy?
Pagan frowned at this, yet turned to follow her at the very moment a lone figure emerged from the distant mist. All waited as Talis approached at a silent run, then came abruptly to a halt before Pagan who offered him the limp burden he had carried from Be’uccdha. Talis took his beloved gently into his own arms, with no word or glance for the rest of the party

‘She escaped by herself,’ Pagan told him. ‘A Cliffdweller found her in the tunnels and led us to her. I have given her a healing sleep.’ He watched as Talis laid The Light on the ground and pulled back the cloak from her face, releasing her aura in a lesser display than Pagan had earlier. This done, Pagan expected his cousin to minister straightaway to his charge, bringing healing magic to her exhausted form, yet for long moments Talis could only stare at her, a profound anguish in his gaze. Finally, he placed his hand on her forehead and closed his eyes, hiding the torment of his soul from those who were watching.

Lae was one of those, and it was with trepidation that Pagan glanced at her, expecting anger at this betrayal by her sworn betrothed. Yet as she watched Talis, her eyes shone with just such sadness as he himself had felt.

As though sensing his attention, Lae shifted her glance to Pagan, her sorrowful expression touching his heart. Despite her ill temper, she had dealt honourably with Talis and found nothing but anguish in return. If she was discovered, her father would punish her for her part in The Light’s escape, and worse, she would be forced to marry a man she detested. Pagan would not wish such a fate on an enemy, and too late he realised that Lae was not his enemy.

‘I am sorry,’ he mouthed and she nodded, then looked at Talis again, as did Pagan.

Having sought for injuries with a healing touch, Talis now rose, The Light held gently in his arms. She did not wake but continued to rest in a healing sleep.

‘I release you from your betrothal vow,’ Lae said, before he could speak. ‘And find no dishonour in your love for another.’ This was despite the fact that the object of Talis’s love was her own new-made mother. ‘You show me an example of the true love I shall seek for myself.’ Lae’s voice trembled at this ending, yet she held her head proudly and looked straight into Talis’s eyes. All those present knew she would find no such love, yet Pagan felt an unwarranted pride in her words, as though she were his kin and her honourable actions were his to claim.

‘I thank you for your understanding,’ Talis replied. ‘And your discretion.’

‘We will not speak of this,’ Mooraz replied for her, then nodded at The Light in Talis’s arms. ‘I would not live if my Lord should discover I have let his wife go, yet I can make no other choice. The safety of my kinswoman,’ he said, his eyes warning Talis not to contradict him, ‘is closer to my heart.’ He tugged gently on Lae’s arm. ‘Come, child, we must return. And you, Guardian,’ he said to Pagan, ‘before we are missed.’

Lae stood her ground. ‘I will not marry Pagan,’ she said to Talis. ‘I will marry no man who does not love me.’

‘But Kert Sh’hale —’ Talis said.

‘I will live a maid. My father cannot make me marry.’

Pagan glanced at Talis, then shrugged. ‘I will come with you, Cous,’ he said.

Talis shook his head, yet Noorinya spoke for the idea. ‘You need an extra sword, Guardian. Take the boy.’

Pagan found no joy in her naming him ‘boy’, yet the fact that she argued his cause showed she desired his company. Undoubtedly his earlier ‘control’ had impressed her. He said, ‘If my cousin needs no help, perhaps you require a … reliable sword?’

Noorinya’s expression did not change yet she took one step forward and shoved him to the ground with her bare foot in the middle of his chest. ‘When I am old and toothless,’ she said, leaning over him, ‘then you may show such impertinence,
boy.
Until then, you are a thorn beneath my feet.’ And with that she kicked dirt over him and turned to stride towards the Plains mist without another word.

‘Take my heartfelt apologies to your good father, Pagan,’ Talis said. ‘Farewell, Lae. Mooraz.’ He nodded and turned to follow Noorinya.

‘Up,
boy
,’ Lae said, and though her voice trembled, Pagan heard only the familiar scorn. ‘Come with us now and return to our castle or follow your cousin.’

Pagan rose and dusted himself off, then spoke to Mooraz. ‘You may tell your Lady I would sooner eat stone than return to her hospitality. Farewell.’ And with that Pagan ran after his cousin and the ill-mannered Plainswoman whose derision would be easier to bear than the acid jibes Lae was undoubtedly preparing to heap on him. No woman infuriated him as much as Lae, and he was glad to be rid of her. By comparison, Noorinya’s violence was uncomplicated, and a clear challenge to his masculine skills. In spite of Lae’s kiss, or perhaps because of it, his pride now demanded that he bed the Plainswoman, even if it cost him his life.

‘I
will have satisfaction!’ Barrion bellowed and kicked a table twice his weight across the Volcastle Banquet Hall.

Laroque stepped back, motioning the Guards at his side to take no action.

‘It is evil enough that he wastes his manhood on a —’

‘Stop!’ Laroque said, and when he was sure he had silenced the enraged nobleman he turned to his men. ‘Leave us,’ he ordered.

The senior guardsman hesitated, then turned to usher his men out.

When they were alone, Laroque turned back to Barrion, sizing up the nobleman’s huge arms and thinking that perhaps he had grown unwise in his old age. Yet he would not let his men hear what would be said between them. ‘Speak your piece, Verdan.’

Barrion growled. ‘My sister Ellega lies near death.’ He had lowered his voice, yet the poison still lay in it. ‘She will not eat. She will not speak.’

‘I am a Guardian. Why have you not called for my —’

‘Her illness is of her own making,’ Barrion snapped, then turned away, as though confused. ‘Yet not all of her fault,’ he said. ‘She grieves for the love of a man … a king …’

‘And you rail against the King for this infatuation?’ Laroque asked. He opened his hands. ‘He may not even know —’

‘He knows,’ Barrion growled, and turned back to Laroque. ‘I have this from my sister’s lips. He came to her in the dark of night and took liberties with her that made her believe he would take her as his wife.’

Laroque stared at Verdan, knowing the nobleman did not lie — dreading that his young King had indeed taken such an action. Since the arrival of his royal sister, Mihale’s quiet confidence had turned to erratic desperation. At first Laroque had suspected that he feared the coming Maelstrom and what it would mean to Ennae if the child of The Light was not able to control it. Yet time and observation had made Laroque conclude that his King’s distemper was more closely aligned to his sister’s new happiness. Why that should bother Mihale, Laroque knew not. Yet on every occasion that news of her impending motherhood was mentioned, his sorrow grew. Laroque had hoped that the mistress Sh’hale had found for him would distract their King, yet this appeared not to be so.

Assured by his Guardian powers that there was no physical reason for his King’s illness, Laroque could only conclude that ungoverned emotion was its source. Yet what emotion had led him to offer physical insult to Ellega of Verdan, Laroque could not begin to guess.

‘He did not lie with her,’ Barrion allowed, ‘yet he did touch her as though to approach the act, then told her she was not fit to be his wife.’ Here Barrion’s eyes sparked danger. ‘A daughter of Verdan! Then left her in a melancholy so deep I fear her to drown in it before I find her salvation.’

Laroque could only nod, saddened beyond words.

‘This
is my anger,’ Barrion said, his voice growing in strength. ‘This is the matter I will bring before a King who has no honour!’

‘I will call for the King’s Counsel.’ Laroque fought to calm his voice though he felt abused by Barrion’s words and his King’s apparent actions. ‘We will sit and discuss this as men of good faith.’

‘My faith is gone, Guardian,’ Barrion spat, his eyes narrowing dangerously. ‘I no longer care to
discuss
your King’s failings.’ He snatched up his sword belt and cloak. ‘If Mihale wishes to rule the kingdom by himself and take no counsel from the Lords who serve him then he may deal with the barbarians from the north without my sword. I take my sister and return to the Verdan Hold, to consider who is worthy of my allegiance.’

‘Verdan,’ Laroque called, yet could not stop the nobleman’s departure. In the silence that followed, Laroque heard the echo of Mihale’s downfall. The House of Verdan had been loyal to the throne of Ennae for five generations. If Verdan were to ally itself with those who would see the throne fall …

T
alis sat quietly in the shelter Noorinya had gifted him. Before him, now sleeping peacefully, lay The Light. Two days had passed since Talis had last slept, and though safety surrounded him, he could not yet look for rest.

On reaching the Plainsman camp, Talis had thought to obey propriety and leave his slumbering charge in Noorinya’s care, whose kinswomen had bathed and dressed their honoured guest in a robe of rich patterned weave.

Yet Pagan, who had accompanied them against all protests, insisted Talis should be the first person The Light saw when she woke. In private the two cousins had argued, Talis claiming his newly professed love would add embarrassment to an already awkward reunion, yet Pagan would not be contradicted. The Light had fled Be’uccdha in mortal fear of her husband. Was she to awaken to the faces of strangers? Plainsmen? Who at her last meeting had tried to kill her?

Talis was forced to agree to all this and just as Pagan had predicted, The Light had awoken in fear, not an hour ago. Her eyes wide with dread, she had cried out, thinking herself still in the tunnels beneath Be’uccdha. Talis’s comforting words had not calmed her and in desperation he had folded her within his arms and rocked her gently, as he would a child in distress. Her cries had faded into sobs and Talis made a note within his mind to thank his obstinate cousin for his unexpected wisdom.

A touch of his healing magic would have brought her anguish to a swift end, yet Talis knew that it would only delay what must occur. Grief was not an illness to be banished from the body, but a healing rite which must be honoured and observed. Thus he had held Khatrene close within his arms, stroking her hair and murmuring words of comfort and reassurance while the tears that came from the ending of her marriage fell warm and wet against his chest. At length her sobs faded to sniffs and then to even breaths as she drifted into another deep sleep, and so sweetly did his beloved slumber, that to look upon her was to forget everything except that he loved her. Basking in the warmth of her presence, he even allowed himself to finger a strand of her loosened hair.

When they had spoken last, Talis had gifted her his heart, foolishly. Yet once it was done, he could not wish it undone.

Would she look upon him now with different eyes? And what of their conversation? Would it be full of caution and awkward pauses, or worse, pity?

She had loved her husband deeply, of this Talis was convinced. The recollection of their tender joining in the Altar Caves came quickly to his mind whenever that doubt assailed him. Yet her fear of her husband, now, was equally compelling.

What Talis must discover was whether one sentiment excluded the other. Or might Khatrene fear her husband and love him still?

As her Champion, he would serve her with his best obedience no matter what lay in her heart. Yet as a man, Talis dreamt of more. He was neither the father of her child, nor the man she had chosen to marry, yet a wilful hope lived within him that she might some day come to return his love in some small measure.

His father, and then his uncle, had tutored Talis in mastery of body and mind, but none had taught him discipline of the heart. It was a pity indeed that his mother had died while he was still a child. Yet having learned no restraint, how was he to behave in his beloved’s presence?

Having spoken words of love to her, his lips now ached to seal those words with a reverent kiss. Yet what if she refused his love? Could he be only a Champion when his arms felt the constant desire to hold her to himself? Their first conversation loomed before him as a difficult task while his thoughts were blurred by weariness.

For the moment they were safe within a hidden Plainsman Camp deep in the Echo Hills. Legend told that magic visions and madness lay within these mountains but Talis felt no fear of that. His will was strong. He had survived the Forest of Desire. He would not fail to protect The Light from any danger that might fix upon her mind. Yet this would be better accomplished with the strength of a warrior in his limbs.

While his beloved slept so deeply, the time was ripe to relax his guard and perform a rite of self-healing which would refresh both mind and body. And so, protected by the privacy of their small, dim enclosure, Talis lay at Khatrene’s side and took her slender hand in his own. He had not measured her vitality since she had fallen back to sleep, and would do that before attending to his own healing.

Using her hand rather than her forehead to forge the bond between them would strengthen his own ability to heal in any circumstances, so he told himself. It was an apt justification, yet a pointless one in the circumstances. No chaperone required placating, thus Talis should admit that he had merely longed for the sensation of her delicate fingers twining with his own. Achieving this, Talis turned his mind to healing, pushing his awareness into her slender form to assure himself that her strength and the vigour of the babe within her were high.

High and loud.

Talis could not help but smile to hear the tiny drum-beating within her belly. Her precious burden owned a strong heart, and even as he listened to it, Talis felt contentment spread within himself. He must disconnect his power from The Light and heal himself soon, yet even as he thought this, Talis felt a desire to hold the connection longer, as though the sound of the babe’s tiny heartbeat was a comfort to his own struggling heart.

Not only a balm, but suddenly a blanket. Before Talis could rally his powers, the tiny form within his beloved used magic of its own to grasp his consciousness. In astonishment, Talis struggled against its grip, yet all for nothing. The babe’s greater force overtook his mind and gave it to a deep restful slumber.

Moments, or perhaps hours later, he struggled to awaken.

‘You look so peaceful when you sleep.’

Talis opened his eyes.

Leaning on her elbow looking down at him was his beloved. Her hair fell softly around her face and her lips wore a smile of wistful humour. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleeping before,’ she said. ‘You were always “on duty”.’

Talis felt happiness blossom within him at her affectionate greeting, but more than that he was enveloped in warmth, and in the sensation of Khatrene’s presence within him, as though they two were already one. ‘We are safe here,’ he said, his voice little more than a husky whisper.

Her smile widened. ‘I figured as much.’

Talis could only stare into her tempest eyes and no words found their way to his lips. The sense of connection between them was so strong he wondered that she did not feel it.

‘You were smiling in your sleep,’ she said, and tilted her head to gaze at him. As she did so, a swathe of her snow hair fell forward to brush his arm and inside himself he felt a shock of desire. ‘Happy dreams?’ she asked.

Talis could not breathe for the feel of her closeness, let alone say anything sensible, and so he said nothing.

‘I dreamt about you,’ she said. ‘Did you organise that?’

Her hand rose and Talis saw his own fingers still twined with hers. Worse, he now sensed that his Guardian force had remained within her body, thus explaining the sensation of meshing.

‘No. I must withdraw,’ he said hastily, horror at the peril he had put her in edging his voice. Talis pulled away his hand, severing the connection which had bound them together.

She glanced at her empty hand. ‘What did you do?’ Her frown was all disappointment, not anger.

‘I sought to offer healing yet fell asleep,’ he explained. ‘The Guardian force remained within you.’

‘I liked it.’

‘Yet if injury or death had come upon me while we were linked like this, your life would also have been forfeit,’ he told her. ‘It was a danger that should not have been inflicted upon any personage. Much less that of —’

‘The Light of Ennae. Sister of the King. Mother of the future. Blah, blah, blah.’ She shook her head, studied him in silence for a moment before adding, ‘You know, I was happier when I was plain old Khatrene. I think you were too.’

Her irritation surprised him, yet Talis held her steady gaze. ‘You were never plain, nor old, Khatrene,’ he replied boldly, and watched with pleasure as her frown faded.

‘I can always trust you to be kind,’ she said, and though it seemed against her will, the smile she gave him was genuine, and as welcome as the sun.

Talis felt such lightness then that made any troubles disappear from his memory. He did not care about time, or destiny, or duty, only that she should remain close and look at him as she did now.

‘You’ve got a strange expression on your face,’ she said at last, and tugged playfully at his shirt-front, reminding him that her small hand still lay upon his chest.

‘It is love,’ he replied, and felt a rightness in the naming, a desire to say all that was in his heart.

Khatrene neither flinched nor looked embarrassed, and from this Talis drew much courage. Instead, her hand became still on his chest and she said, ‘Tell me what it feels like.’

‘Pain and pleasure bound as one. This is my love for you,’ he said, and felt a frown touch his brow. ‘To gaze upon you and have you near is …’ he searched her eyes as if looking for an answer there. ‘… it is as though I draw the sweetest breath that I cannot live without it. Yet when you are not near I fear that without that breath I will drown —’

Khatrene pressed a finger to his lips. ‘That’s too sad. I thought being in love was happy.’

Talis knew he should tell her that happiness was found when two hearts loved instead of one. Yet to say this was to ask for what he feared she could not give.

‘I’m so sorry I’ve hurt you in the past,’ she said, her finger sliding from his lips, her hand coming to rest again on his chest. ‘And I can’t bear the thought that I might hurt you again. But I’m scared that I might.’ Talis would have spoken but she hurried on before he could. 
‘
I don’t have a good track record when it comes to recognising love. I thought I was in love with Djahr.’ She looked away then and Talis ached for the pain he saw in her eyes. ‘
That
was a mistake.’

His hand rose to his chest and clasped together tightly with hers. ‘I wish I could heal the hurt within you,’ he said softly when her gaze returned to his own.

‘But you can’t fix emotions I guess, or you’d have changed your own.’

Talis shook his head. ‘If it was in my power to do so, I would not change the way I feel for you.’

Khatrene tried to smile. ‘Do you feel sad now?’

‘No.’ The wonder of having her so close, feeling her hand within his, her eyes gazing at him with concern was as far from sadness as one world sat from the other.

‘I don’t think I feel the same way you do,’ she said. ‘I’ve never felt sad when I was with you. Angry. Frustrated, maybe. But apart from being stubborn, you’re also funny and kind and strong. When we’re together I feel completely safe. And happy.’

‘That sounds like love,’ he dared to say.

She shrugged, yet with a smile. ‘Maybe. I do know that ever since you … said …’

‘Since I declared my love.’

She let out a breath. ‘Yes. Well, ever since then, the way I feel about you has changed. When I think about you now I feel … something more. But I don’t know if that’s love.’

‘It sounds like love.’

Khatrene shook her head to mock his eagerness. ‘But even if it is, romantic love is —’ Here her frown returned. ‘— all about attraction and … joining. Being tricked by Djahr confused me. I don’t know if I can trust my feelings any more.’

Talis nodded to show he understood, yet beneath their joined hands, deep within his chest, he ached for what he feared would never be.

‘Maybe I just need some time,’ she said and squeezed his hand. ‘You’ve had a while to get used to the idea.’

Talis frowned a question.

‘You know. You. Me. Together.’ A gentle blush rose from the neck of her Plainsman shift yet she held his gaze bravely. ‘It’s new to me. And while it’s certainly not an unpleasant or unimaginable idea, it is unexpected. I mean, you’re … Talis. I just haven’t thought of you that way.’ She shrugged, as though offering an apology.

Talis hid his disappointment. Having seen her joy in the arms of her husband, he should not have expected her to fall readily into his own. Yet foolish hope appeared to have erased common sense from his mind. ‘We are under the protection of the Plainsmen,’ he told her, nodding at the shelter they now inhabited. ‘We will travel in their tribe for many weeks —’

‘That’s perfect.’

‘— to reach a place of safety where you may bear your child.’

‘Oh.’ By her expression Talis wondered if she had forgotten the child she bore. The child which linked her to the husband she had fled. Yet instead of mentioning his name, she asked, ‘Does it worry you that I’m pregnant?’

Talis shook his head. ‘I am not concerned about your health,’ he said, wondering if she doubted his power to minister to her. ‘I am a full Guardian and able to monitor the growth of the child —’

‘No. That’s not —’ She stopped, as though collecting her thoughts. ‘Another man’s baby is growing inside of me. Does that affect… us?’

Talis simply stared, her question lost in the back of his mind.
Us.
She had spoken of them as part of a whole. Such an upwelling of love came to him then that he found it hard to breathe.

‘You’re looking at me strangely again.’

‘It is love.’

‘So you’ve said.’ Her gaze moved over his face, settling finally on his lips. ‘Then I guess that answers my question.’ Talis watched her head drift nearer. ‘You know, there’s a step you take …’ she said faintly, as though her thoughts were elsewhere. ‘… between friendship, and —’

‘Love.’ How plump with promise the word now tasted on his lips.

She came closer still and Talis held his breath.

‘But I don’t want to confuse myself.’ A small frown of hesitation creased her brow. ‘I don’t want to confuse friendship and love —’

Talis could not stop the small movement that brought his lips to hers. Although he did nothing more, for she needed no further prompting to kiss him. Indeed, a faint sigh of satisfaction fled her lips as they met his, and what tormenting pleasure was in that touch.