Shadow Over Avalon

by C. N Lesley

Uther’s choice of riding clothes offered another revelation; soft, black leather breeches and a long-sleeved, matching tunic fastening down one side with the front and back; a full black cloak and knee-high boots completed the outfit: he had fitted her out as a soldier. Ashira found him waiting in his business room after she breakfasted in her quarters. She decided not to comment on the flower on the way down to the stables.

  Amber was already saddled, along with the coal-black stallion she remembered from their journey. The duke boosted her up, and they rode out into a warm, sunny day. Light glistened off mounds of cresting waves that crashed against rock to spit foam. Towering cliffs housing Tadgell clawed at the skyline. Harsh grayish-black flint offered scant refuge for a few ragged clumps of vegetation clinging to narrow ledges. Airshafts marred the jagged face at regular intervals, mole-blind pits of darkness – a stark exterior concealing the comfort and light within. Moving away from the fort, strands of sunlight pierced through a leafy canopy covering a trail winding through a rock-strewn glen. They passed a waterfall where droplets hung in crystalline wetness on nearby branches. This avenue of natural beauty terminated in harsh moorland with stunted trees, deformed into submission by elemental forces run wild.

  Uther led the way over raw headland, riding south and east until they came to a bleak valley littered with dross. A muddy stream at the bottom was flanked by working bal-maidens dressing the tin ore. A collection of well-kept cabins, some with laundry dancing in the wind on lines outside, stood grouped near a great wooden wheel. Harnessed to a huge cog, large draft horses powered the device.

  “Not a pretty sight, although it makes us self-sufficient,” Uther said.

  A mine overseer hurried out to meet his master. Worry lines creased his face. Ashira reined in her mount to wait while they talked. The man gestured over to the south of the settlement. After a few minutes, the duke rejoined her.

  “It’s a large cat of some sort. None claim to have seen it, just the pugmarks, and they’re missing a pig. Since children watch stock, I must take their complaint seriously, even if the wretched animal wandered off on some mission of greed. I’m told the marks are by that grove of oaks. It might just be deer tracks—these people are miners, they rarely take note of nature.” He sent her a lopsided grin.

  There were pugmarks when they looked, not that big, and just one predator, enough to make Uther frown.

  “A lion?” Ashira dismounted to kneel by him.

  “No, too small, both in size of paw and stride, and see here, the animal goes lame. I told them not to set traps in these woods. The beast wouldn’t come near people unless starving. Wild moor ponies and deer are its normal prey. Now it can’t run.”

  “Would it take a child?”

  “In a heartbeat. I’ll send out a platoon. They can make that thrice-damned fool of a headman collect all his traps before they set a lure.” The duke mounted and set off at a brisk pace.

  The wind in her face, Ashira raced after him. Her braid, too swiftly tied this morning, now came loose and her hair streamed behind her. Her husband reined in at the headland above his fort, wheeling to watch as she galloped up to join him.

  “I want to show you something,” he called. “Follow me. Amber knows the way.”

  The duke urged his mount toward a narrow gully with Amber following. This was not treacherous slate, but weathered granite, laced with mica. Ashira had no inkling of what awaited until the last tortuous twist revealed a golden stretch of sand. The sea glistened a wet gray as it rippled to shore. She inhaled the salty air, thrilled to be so close to the water at last, while Amber picked up her pace, joyfully cantering across the yellow softness. Ashira knew what her mare wanted: to race breakers across the cove. They followed that other happy pair in a mad dash against nature’s fury. A laugh born of pure joy burst from her when spray crashed under pounding hooves, a magical moment, frozen in time, as horse and rider shared the pure essence of life, moving as one in wild excitement. Amber slowed at the far side of the cove where the others waited. The duke laughed, dismounting to remove the harness and whack his mount on the rump. The stallion charged to the surf, screaming his defiance.

  “Let Amber run. It’s her reward for getting you here.” Uther settled down with his back to a sun warmed rock.

  Ashira released the mare, watched her run off, and then wandered over to a nearby rocky outcrop. High tide had left seawater trapped in a depression. Among the rock-anchored weeds, a leaf-shaped creature walked sideways, waving two raised forelimbs at another of its kind.

  “Ashira, I want to talk.”

  “I hear you, my lord,” she replied absently, half turning.

  “Is it so difficult to use my given name?” His arms crossed behind his head to provide a comfortable rest, but his face betrayed harsh control around the mouth. “Am I so formidable?”

  “No . . . Uther. You are . . . generous.” Ashira looked down at the rock pool where the two creatures were squaring up against each other, claws waving.

  “A very careful description, Ashira. I’m a soldier who has spent the last ten years consolidating an initially weak position.” He squinted up at her, into the sun. “In the first four years of my rule, there were five attempts on my life. Even now someone occasionally thinks he’s going to get lucky. I haven’t had time for social visits or court attendance, and I wouldn’t have come to Menhill except by Alsar’s express command. A man does not ignore his high king.”

  Ashira rounded on him, understanding now why he had chosen this isolated spot for his disclosure. “Why is Alsar interested in Menhill?”

  “He’s trying to place his widowed niece.” The duke closed his eyes, wriggling for a more comfortable seat in the sand. “Childless after six years of marriage, she lost her home to her late husband’s nearest male kin. Alsar had an idea she might prove acceptable to an older man like your father, who already has an heir.”

  “The Black Dragon Duke rushes off to be matchmaker,” Ashira said.

  “I’m Alsar’s kin on the distaff side, one reason I still rule.” Uther smiled, seeming to enjoy the warmth on his face. “If he withdrew his support, Tadgell would be under siege within the month. My mines are all like the one you saw today: indefensible. Start a few fires on the lowest levels . . . the whole lot collapses, cutting off my barter power, even if I win. We can’t survive without the ore.”

  “Will he withdraw support because you didn’t have an opportunity to speak with my father?” Ashira was sorry she’d goaded him. He was not responsible for their forced marriage.

  “No consequences apart from being a laughing stock if Alsar lets the reason out.” The duke shaded his eyes, watching her. “When I sent my messenger, I said for him to tell my kinsman I wouldn’t mate a corpse to that mind-sick monster. I agree a quick union is necessary for one as willful as you, but not in such callous fashion. It was more like an act of vengeance. Just how offensive were you?”

  “I tried to stay out of his way. He couldn’t accept my mother as a War Maid, and that dislike included me, though why he chose to have me trained as a War Maid when he loathed the concept is strange. Maybe he jumped at the chance to be rid of me before my brother’s bride arrived.” Ashira turned away, near to tears. Hearing another opinion on her father’s rejection reopened old wounds.

  The sea creatures were now locked in combat inside their small world. A rustle of movement behind, and Uther held her close against him. This unexpected comfort loosened her self-control. She tried to swallow a sob, failed and spun round to bury her face against his chest. The duke stroked her hair as she gave way to a need for grief. His presence first comforted, and then embarrassed her. She tried to push away, stifling sobs, but with low rocks on three sides and him in front she had no escape.

  His brows drew together, more in apparent concern than displeasure. “I hadn’t any intention of trading with Hald. Only the top layer was high-grade ore, the rest—dross. I believe I got the better bargain.” He flashed a wide grin. “We’ll never be able
to visit. Do you mind?”

  Ashira got a sudden picture of Hald’s face when he found out. A giggle bubbled up, one she tried to smother against Uther’s tunic, but he made her look at him. His eyes sparkled with mischief.

  “My bride needs a firm hand, and I’ve let matters ride too long, methinks.” He stooped toward her. “Patience deserves a reward.”

  Ashira turned away at the last moment, embarrassed, causing his lips to land near her ear. “So the man doesn’t rate respect. What of the ruler? Kiss the wicked Dragon Duke, heartless girl. Obey your master.”

  A direct order evoking deliberate authority demanded instant obedience. Caught, Ashira suppressed a shudder, closing her eyes. Uther expected more than a chaste salute. He exacted a slow revenge, tasting her, gentle now that he had won. His aura of power and physical strength sent thrills through her. Ashira earned release after he made her kiss him back. He freed her, laughing. “There’s a promising start. With more practice, you might become quite skilled.”

  Uther’s arrogance and her shame at the betrayal of her own body prompted Ashira to grab the nearest weapons, a handful of pebbles. She threw them at him, one by one, hitting each time.

  “Pax, wild one!” he called, trying to dodge her missiles. “I brought you here for another reason, too. The tide’s low enough now to leave no evidence from our boots. Please Ashira, it’s important.” He wasn’t smiling now.

  She lowered her arm, dropping her remaining stones. Uther took her hand, leading the way around the cliff where it reached the sea. There was a narrow cave entrance out of sight from above and either side, unless a searcher happened upon the opening by chance. The duke drew her in after him until they came to a high protuberance. He reached up to extricate a torch, lighting it with one strike of a flint to reveal a narrow crevice. This led into a small cavern above the highest watermark. A passage continued up into the rock, but Ashira looked to the contents of this place. Sealed jars and other containers lined one wall. They contained supplies and equipment needed to keep body and soul together for about ten days, and then ensure the occupants would be well equipped to survive in the wild.

  “A safety measure my father began. The far tunnel leads out to a small entrance under a bush on the headland.” The light from his torch made dancing patterns on his face. “If there’s a need, go to High Fort. Alsar protects kin.”

  “I’m nothing to him.” Ashira doubted a stranger would lift a hand for her.

  “You’re my duchess. Even if the ceremony was a few brief moments of your father’s trading, it is sufficient. Alsar knows of our union.” Uther started back to the entrance, leaving her little choice but to follow.

  When the pair rode into Tadgell the compound thronged with people circled round one bawling calf. A boneless-looking individual, bald and clothed in a saffron yellow robe that spread like a diseased toadstool, stood by the animal – a priest.

  Ashira’s stomach heaved with a life of its own, and bitter bile flooded her throat. Harvester priests had always evoked disgust from her earliest memories. Her thoughts dragged back to the occasion of her twelfth birthday, when she had received the permanent wristband that marked her status and maturity, that soft, almost oozing touch while the gold band became secured to her for life. She had managed, by some miracle, to clear the inner sanctum before her stomach rebelled with such violence she thought her very innards had spewed forth.

  They all looked alike, those disciples, bland faces, empty eyes, and that walk. Did they have wheels instead of legs under those wide robes? Each priest assumed an invisible mantle of power when performing spiritual rites, but given healing tasks, exhibited the same compassion expected from snakes. They were efficient and effective, it was more the complete detachment setting Ashira’s teeth on an edge.

  The poor little calf looked almost normal. While not an obvious mutation, it was smaller than average and an unusual honey-blond color. If it had two tails, or an extra leg, she might have understood.

  Ashira dismounted when grooms rushed forward to get their mounts clear before the purification ritual began. She tried to edge into the fort, but Uther held her arm and steered her to the inner ring. She forced herself to watch when the priest brought his rod of office to bear upon the sacrifice. The calf writhed, screaming in blue fire. Life fled, and a drift of ash floated to ground. Ritual phrases droned over the pathetic remains. The crowd responded, making way for the priest to glide back to his sanctum. Ashira wrenched her arm free to hurry away.

  “Lady, come back here.” Uther’s tone came with a warning authority. An irresistible wave of sickness threatened, her head ached and she wanted privacy.

  With seconds to spare, Ashira reached her cleansing room, spending a virtual lifetime evacuating every meal in memory. A bath helped take away the remembered stench of burning flesh, but her headache grew worse. She snuffed all light except the time candle, almost falling into bed.

  A calloused hand on her shoulder shocked Ashira awake. She struck out blindly, connecting with flesh. A hard body pinned her down.

  “Lady, what have I done to earn your scorn?” Uther demanded, a dark shadow pressing against her.

  She recognized the scent of a fighting man and the sharp odor of liquor on his breath. Memories of that other time he’d taken drink flooded through her. He hadn’t wanted a clear memory of killing a girl.

  “Ashira, you disobeyed a direct order given in front of my people. Be warned, my patience is on a very short rein. I’ll have your reasons for discourtesy right now. They’d better be good.”

  The duke’s voice sounded quiet and controlled. That control washed over Ashira like a bucket of icy water. He hadn’t stormed after her immediately, which said a great deal for how much distance from her he’d needed to bring his temper under control. She had taken his leniency for granted. Now she must face the consequences.

  “I’m sorry, my lord. I ask your pardon,” she said.

  His body remained as tense as a coiled spring about to snap. “Sorry isn’t a reason. I’m waiting,” Uther replied, his voice even quieter.

  “I heard you well enough, but I didn’t stop because I wanted to be sick in private.”

  As much as Ashira hated admitting weakness, she owed him the truth. The duke released her to light the candle on her nightstand. His face resembled a carved mask with hard sapphire eyes.

  “I’m listening.”

  “It was the ritual. I knew what would happen if I watched. I didn’t have time to tell you, or I would have lost breakfast in front of all. Uther, I am not very happy at any priest service, but that one has instant effects.”

  “So when another sacrifice happens I can count on your presence, as long as you are free to leave afterward.” The duke’s face relaxed. “That is reasonable and fair.” He settled on his side, facing her. “This argument wouldn’t have happened if we knew each other better. Something we can work on tonight.”

  “Uther—” she began, to be cut off by his kiss. She didn’t try to stop him, remembering how he got his own way on the beach, and she liked his kisses.

  He broke away after a while to strip off his tunic and shirt. Watching her intently, he sat on the side of the bed to pull off his boots and socks. Uther’s hands went to the lacings on his pants. Ashira looked away, scared, excited and embarrassed all at once. A slight movement later and his muscular body settled against her. “Your turn.” Uther reached for the drawstring on the neck of her nightgown.

  She shivered against the feel of air on her breasts as he pulled it down to her waist. He waited, one eyebrow raised in mock challenge until she raised her hips to allow him to strip her lower body of the garment.

  “Say now if you want me to stop.” His eyes were deep, dark pools.

  Candlelight rippled over his naked body. Ashira looked at him, all of him, wanting him to stay and do whatever he wished with her. That strange feeling in her belly started. She reached up to touch those mobile lips of his. He caught her hand, kissing the palm and licki
ng each of her fingers while his knee parted her thighs in a gentle way. Then another deep kiss ended in a gasp when his hands roamed.

  “Ashira? Shall I continue?” Uther brushed her lips with one fingertip, tracing the outline.

  She caught his finger, drawing it into her mouth, wanting to taste him.

  “I’ll take that for a yes.”

  Chapter 6

  Earth Date 3892

  “Shadow survived to join the Elite.” Arthur aimed his defiance at a bank of winking lights in the gray console. He had the great telepathic control well beyond the limitations of any other; if the elders found out about his research of the Outcast, Sanctuary would have a lever to force him into the initiate program immediately. But if he wanted to leave the city, he would need more information from someone who knew how to live on the surface world and in Avalon.

  “Speculation within futile circumstances results in reduction of perspective,” the Archive returned. “The subject lowered expectations to preserve logical thought processes.”

  “Biological intelligence has other resources.” Could Arthur lower his standards to obey Sanctuary dictates? No. He wanted more from life than this sequestered existence.

  Since his time reviewing Shadow, he had begun to question the rules and practices more and more. At the point of playback, logic told him this pleasant young woman didn’t bear any resemblance to the evolved individual under study. So he had to seek out what factor, or accumulation of factors, had caused such a drastic change in personality.

  “Archive, why did she leave her mate? I had the impression they reached an understanding.”

  “This action was not one of her choice.”

  “Did she quarrel with that priest?” Arthur strolled over to the solitary chair. “What sort of power did he have? Can you explain this religion?”

  Another bank of lights winked on at the console. “Harvesters are the same beings known to you as Nestines. The Overworld is their hunting ground, the Terrans, their prey. They control the minds of their ‘herd’ to the point where they are invisible, using priests to communicate their wishes to their victims. It is possible priests are empty vessels for the direction of power, such as you have already witnessed. Do you remember what the discharge of a priest’s stick smelled like, Arthur?”