“Wouldn’t he have made a useless Enchanter, Zenith?” she said, pretending a thoughtful expression. “But perhaps he would have expended his power using the Star Dance to burn up beetles on the parapets.”
Zenith opened her mouth, and then closed it again. What could she do now that she hadn’t tried previously? The gulf between RiverStar and Drago had grown over the past ten years as Drago had felt the first stirrings of age within his human body. RiverStar – shallow creature that she was – could not help but taunt his mortality. Drago could do nothing but meet her taunts with either the pretence of indifferent silence or the uselessness of sarcasm. That they had once shared a womb meant nothing to them now.
She saw Drago turn his gaze from Leagh to her, and watched his own eyes harden as he saw the sympathy in hers. Drago did not want anyone fighting his wars for him.
“But there is SunSoar blood in you yet,” RiverStar murmured, and her hand slid down her belly, her fingers daring, “and perhaps it craves SunSoar blood. Methinks you do not find that among your kitchen maids.”
Drago took a great breath, held it, and turned his back on RiverStar. “Leagh, Caelum would like you to –”
“Aha!” RiverStar laughed. “Our splendid leader has found a purpose for this all but useless man who stands before us. A messenger boy. Not an occupation imbued with pride, Drago, but perhaps it gives you some small purpose in life.”
Her barb finally found its mark. Drago whipped round to face his sister. “You’re nothing but a cold bitch, RiverStar,” he said with icy flatness. “You’d be happy enough left with a hound to couple with.”
He, in his turn, had stung deeply.
“You pathetic little human man!” RiverStar hissed, her face twisted with loathing. “I shall laugh over your grave! I will enjoy my lover on the sods above your mouldering flesh! I will –”
“That is enough,” Zenith said sharply. “Drago, what is it?”
Drago wrenched his eyes away from RiverStar, two red spots of anger in his cheeks, and half bowed to Leagh. To Zenith’s amazement his voice came out soft, almost gentle, and she wondered at the effort it must have cost him.
“Princess Leagh, I was walking up the main staircase when my brother Caelum called me to find you. He wishes your presence in the courtyard. The word from the sentries is that Zared and his escort ride towards the bridge.”
And then he stepped forward, and with the grace of a courtier offered a shocked and pale Leagh his arm and support.
7
Disturbing Arrivals
Leagh could not control the skidding of her heart, nor the sudden cramp in her chest that made each breath a painful effort. Calm down! she berated herself, but it did not help. Zared was only moments away, and it had been so long since she’d seen him.
Drago did not say a word as he led her down the corridors and stairwells of Sigholt. Leagh leaned on him without embarrassment – without him, she thought, she could not walk – and Drago made no complaint.
It was late afternoon, and the Keep threw a deep shadow over the courtyard. Leagh stumbled slightly as she and Drago walked outside, and he tightened his arm and drew her in a little closer.
“Hope,” she thought she heard him say, but when she glanced at his face it was expressionless, his eyes elsewhere, and so she thought she had imagined it.
There were several ranks of soldiers lined up in the courtyard, their hands ready on the hilts of their swords to provide a welcoming salute. Caelum, dressed all in black, walked forward to greet her.
Askam was two or three steps behind.
Leagh saw Caelum exchange a hard glance with Drago, and she felt Drago stiffen at her side, but she had no time for further observation of the brothers’ enmity.
“Zared?” she asked Caelum, and was stunned to hear her voice come out cool. Calm, even.
“A minute away,” Caelum said. “No more.”
And, indeed, at that moment Leagh heard the bridge call out to Zared, welcoming him. The bridge did not challenge him, for Zared had been born within Sigholt’s walls, and she knew him well.
Almost before the bridge had finished her greeting there came the clatter of many hooves on the bridge, and Leagh had a moment of panic.
Gods, what was she wearing? A pale blue linen gown that could be called serviceable, nothing more. And her hair! Leagh’s free hand patted at her head, remembering with horror that this morning she’d left her hair in nothing but a single thick braid down her back.
“Leagh,” Zenith’s soft voice said behind her, “you look lovely. Do not fret.”
I should be greeting Zared in the audience chamber of our palace in Carlon, Leagh thought, resplendent in satins and jewels, not here in this dairymaid’s gown – and she had no more time for thought, for at that moment Zared rode into the courtyard.
She was the first thing he saw. Absolutely stunned, Zared pulled his horse to such a sudden, skittery halt that Herme and Theod, who rode directly behind him, had to rein their own mounts sharply to one side to avoid him.
“Leagh?” he whispered.
At that precise moment the ranked soldiers presented their swords and standards, and a trio of trumpeters high in Sigholt’s walls blew out a clarion of welcome.
In the sudden presentation of arms, and the flags and banners fluttering about, Zared lost sight of Leagh.
Frustrated, he leaped from his horse, ducked under its neck…and came face to face with an impassive StarSon Caelum.
“Prince Zared, I welcome you to Sigholt. May its doors always swing wide to greet you, and its bridge always sing you a greeting.”
Damn these polite receptions! Zared cursed. He tried to see past Caelum, but he only saw Askam further back in the gloom, and the first of the ranks of stony-faced soldiers.
“I thank you, StarSon,” he replied evenly. “I, as must my other companions among the Five, find myself somewhat surprised to be so suddenly called to Council.”
“You know why you are here,” Caelum said, his voice toneless, and Zared wondered how long Askam had been in Sigholt, and what he’d managed to whisper into Caelum’s ear. While not as close as their fathers had been, Caelum and Askam were nevertheless friends. “This disunity between you and Askam must finally be put to rest.”
Askam had whispered nothing complimentary, Zared thought. “Then I welcome the summons, StarSon. I wish for nothing more than peace and harmony within Tencendor.”
Caelum’s eyes had slipped behind Zared. “Herme? Theod? Why do you travel with Zared?”
“We met the Prince of the North coming through the lower Urqhart Hills,” Herme said easily, “and chose to ride the final leagues with him. Theod and myself thought to have our voices heard at this Council, as the weighty matter before it affects all those living in the West. As in the North.”
Far back in the column of Zared’s escort, Goldman and Heavorand pulled their hoods a little closer over their faces. No doubt Caelum’s enchanted eyesight could spot them if he chose, but they did not want Askam to see them. Their business was best conducted without their Prince knowing they were at Sigholt.
“Who gave you permission to attend this Council?” Askam stepped forward to Caelum’s shoulder. “Theod? You should be at home, attending your seasonal county courts. Herme? You should know better than to present your uninvited self at Sigholt!”
Theod was lost for words, but Herme replied smoothly. “I did not realise our freedom of movement – our choice of movement – was also subject to your whim, Sir Prince.”
“Enough!” Caelum snapped. Truly, Theod and Herme should have known better than to ride in with Zared as if he were their prince, not Askam! But Herme had also made a telling point, and Caelum did not regret the chance to hear from someone other than Askam how the West was responding to the taxes.
“You may stay, Sir Duke and Sir Earl,” he said, his tone more even now. “I shall organise an afternoon to speak with you, but I also reserve the right to invite you or bar you from Council as I p
lease.”
He turned slightly and called to his steward. “Runton? Prepare chambers suitable for the Duke and Earl. Zared, perhaps you might like to dine with me tonight?”
Zared ignored his invitation. “Caelum,” he said softly. “What is Leagh doing here?”
Caelum stared at him a moment, then waved Leagh forward.
She hesitated, and the man at her side – Zared noticed with some surprise who it was – spoke softly in her ear. Leagh gave the smallest of nods, and then walked forward calmly to stand at Caelum’s side.
“Zared,” she said simply, her eyes fixed on his.
Zared opened his mouth, found he could say nothing, and so stepped forward, took her hand, and kissed her palm.
“I think we will resolve many things in Council,” Caelum said softly. “Not only the issue of taxes.”
The evening meal, held with due pomp in the Great Hall of Sigholt, was the longest Zared had ever endured in his life. All the heads of the Five were there, as were their captains, their lieutenants, Caelum’s brother and sisters, DareWing FullHeart and the other Crest-Leaders of the Strike Force, the mayor and entire council of Lakesview, their wives, as well as WingRidge CurlClaw, SpikeFeather TrueSong and fifteen assorted Enchanters.
Leagh…Leagh was seated not only across the broad banquet table, but seven places down! Zared had not the chance to speak one word to her, let alone touch her, hold her.
If the decision on their marriage was to be discussed – and then determined – in Council, then Zared knew what that decision would be. Damn Caelum – and every other member of the Council – to everlasting crippling arthritis for what they were going to do to him and Leagh! Did they not bed as they chose? Had not every one of them picked their own mate…save Caelum, of course, who yet lingered unmarried.
Zared went through the meal in a state resembling an angry fugue, replying only in monosyllables when he was addressed, pushing his meat about his plate until it went cold and congealed in its gravy, then tapping his fingers irritably against the linen-clothed table until Caelum finally rose and departed.
As the rest of the company scraped back chairs and got to their feet, Zared managed to catch Leagh’s eye, but no more. Askam placed a tight hand about her elbow and whisked her away before Zared could slip about the table to speak to her.
He stood, fuming with silent rage, as Herme paused behind him.
“Think how marriage to her would cement your claim to the throne, my prince,” he whispered. “Askam will never sire an heir. She would bring Achar to your marriage bed.”
Zared turned to stare at Herme, a muscle working in his cheek. “I want her as my wife because I love her!” he finally seethed. “Not for her inheritance!”
He pushed past the Earl of Avonsdale and strode away, but all he could think about on the long walk back to his chambers was whether or not, on that night atop Sigholt five years ago, his unspeaking mind had only seen Leagh standing before him…or the rich acres of the West as well.
Zenith was preparing for sleep when the gentle knock came at her door. Surprised, not knowing who could wish to speak with her this late, she slipped a wrap over her shoulders and opened the door.
Zared stood there, his face lined and tired, his eyes dark with unreadable emotion. “Zenith, you and I have always understood each other. Please, bring Leagh to me.”
Zenith stared at him, her mind in turmoil. By the gods, how she felt for both of them! Surely they deserved at least a private word – but, if left in private, how far might that “word” go? Their love was fraught with so much political tension, it carried such enormous consequences, that to even let them see each other…
Should she tell him that Caelum would not let the marriage take place? That there was no hope? No, there was no need. She could see by the pain in Zared’s eyes that he already understood.
“Zenith,” he said, reaching out and placing a hand on her arm. “Do this for me, and do it for Leagh.”
Zenith hesitated only a heartbeat longer, then she gave a curt nod. “Come with me.”
The corridors were darkened, only a few subdued torches lit to cast pitiful pools of light in isolated corners. Shadows flickered and lifted, seeming to envelop them in waves and then retreat, as if they had moved too far from the total darkness for their own comfort. Zenith led Zared to a room on the floor above his, at the end of the corridor.
He stopped, surprised. “This was my mother’s chamber!”
“And so here came Magariz to Rivkah, before they confessed their love to the world. Now, Zared, listen to me. I will wait outside. Keeping watch – but not only for those who might tread this way. I can also sense you, and what you do…do you understand?”
Zared nodded, his expression bitter.
“If you try to bed with her,” Zenith continued, her tone now as hard as Zared’s eyes, “I will know and I will stop you. You may speak with her, you may hold her, but you will not have the chance to win the West via the trickery of an illegitimate child!”
“Caelum has an utterly loyal sister in you!” Zared hissed, furious that Zenith would intrude upon them with her power.
“I am utterly loyal to Tencendor,” Zenith said quietly, holding Zared’s stare. “Treat Leagh with the respect that I have for the peace of our land.”
“Let me in, damn you!”
And Zenith opened the door.
The chamber was even darker than the corridor, for Leagh had apparently shuttered her windows tightly closed. Zared stood, trying to get his bearings, wondering if Leagh had heard his whispered conversation with Zenith.
Apparently not, for the room was quiet save for the soft sound of gentle breathing, and Zared moved carefully towards the source.
His hip banged into the corner of a table, and Zared halted, his eyes stinging with the pain, his ears straining to hear if Leagh had woken.
No, she still breathed deep in sleep across the room, and Zared resumed his movement, now with a slight limp. He’d never wished Enchanter powers for himself until this moment. By all the stars above, he wished he could see where he was going!
But even as he thought that, a pale bed cover resolved itself from the darkness, and under it Zared could see the still form of Leagh.
He moved closer – how could he best wake her without startling her into a loud cry? It would hardly do his cause good to have Caelum – or Askam, gods forbid! – burst in on them.
But even as he hesitatingly reached down a hand, Leagh sighed, turned her head, and opened her eyes.
“Am I dreaming,” she whispered, “or do you truly stand before me, Zared?”
“Oh, gods, Leagh!” he cried softly, brokenly, and he sat down on the bed and gathered her into his arms.
Outside, Zenith tensed, but she gradually relaxed, tears coming to her eyes. What would it be like to love like this? To be loved this deeply? She withdrew her presence a little from the chamber to give them more privacy, although she still maintained watch. They could spend the hours before dawn together, but then she would interrupt, and take Zared from Leagh.
The tears trickled down her cheeks. This was likely to be the only time they would ever have together.
Then, without warning, a sense of doom so profound it left her gasping washed over her.
Zenith groaned and bent almost double, clutching at the wall for support.
What was wrong, what had disturbed her this deeply? Zared and Leagh? No, they were close, but not too close. It was something else. Something…something so fundamentally wrong that the very Star Dance seemed to waver before it beat on as strong as ever.
The sensation of imminent doom faded almost as soon as it had washed through her, but it left Zenith with a feeling of such fright that she spent the rest of that night crouched outside Leagh’s door, wrapped in enchantment so thick that a spear would have bounced off an arm’s distance away before it could have touched her.
Zared, Leagh and Zenith were not the only wakeful ones that night. Caelum also pace
d the corridors, returning to his own chambers from whatever nocturnal mission he’d set himself to.
He also felt the sudden alteration in the Star Dance, but Caelum was of infinitely more power than Zenith, and he knew that it had been caused by the sudden intrusion of a powerful Enchanter somewhere in Tencendor.
There was someone different about. Who?
Who?
Caelum stood in the centre of his chamber, seeking, probing through Tencendor with his power…feeling out whoever it was who had so suddenly disturbed the Star Dance.
He twitched, and an expression of utter horror came over his face.
“WolfStar!” he whispered, then he tipped back his head and screamed. “WolfStar!”
And then he vanished.
8
Maze Gate
In unconscious imitation of the ancient madness of WolfStar SunSoar, the Ferryman stood wrapped in his ruby cloak at the lip of the Star Gate. Even though the Icarii had reclaimed the Star Gate, few visited there except on ceremonial occasions, and Orr was alone in the circular chamber.
Blue light chased about the dome, and the sound of the universe roared through, demanding, seductive, entreating.
Orr ignored all of it. “There…again!” he whispered, and trembled. “Again!”
There was a sound beyond that of the Star Dance, beyond that of the interstellar winds of the universe. A whisper, but a whisper of many voices.
Maddened voices. Demanding voices.
Orr shivered. What was it, this ravening pack of voices? Who were they? Why did they cry so?
What did they want?
“And again,” he said, his hands tightening about his cloak. “Who are they to disturb the peace of the stars so?”
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