The SteelMaster of Indwallin, Book 2 of The Gods Within (19 page)

He’d already toured most of the city, though always in an entourage, and often accompanied by Aiergain herself and a large crowd of onlookers. He liked her company but that wasn’t really his style; there was so much more to see when one wasn’t the object of everyone’s attention. He nodded to himself, formulating his plan to visit the haunts in and around the docks, thinking he’d have to choose his companions well: France and Val, and maybe Pandorin. The young guard captain had proven to be a sympathetic ally, once Morgin had broken him of the need to kiss his hand. And in the right company Pandorin no longer called him “Your Highness.”

Terrikle interrupted his thoughts. “Lord Tulellcoe and Lady Cortien wish to see you.”

“Sure,” Morgin threw over his shoulder. “Send them in.”

A few moments later Cort stepped out onto the balcony beside him, leaned against the rail and followed his gaze out over the ocean. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes. You mean the ocean, don’t you?”

“That, and the city, and the way the two fit so nicely together, almost as if such a sprawl were natural.”

Morgin stepped back from the rail, looked carefully at the
twoname
. She was wearing her lady-of-the-court persona.

“We missed you at practice today,” he said. “Whenever I get a little overconfident, it helps to be bested by a woman with a sword.”

Cort threw her head back and laughed. “But I’ve never had to fight your shadows.”

Tulellcoe joined them on the balcony, asked bluntly, “How is your tutelage of Her Majesty progressing?”

He and Morgin had argued repeatedly about that. Tulellcoe was concerned Morgin might teach the young queen improperly. Morgin looked at his uncle, tried to see if there was some extra meaning hidden within his eyes, saw only distrust. “She’s a very apt pupil, and she’s old enough to have good concentration; she’s older than I. I just wish I was a better instructor. Can’t one of you help her?”

Both Cort and Tulellcoe shook their heads. Cort said, “She won’t let anyone but you speak to her of magic.”

Tulellcoe rubbed the side of his face as if remembering the night he’d tried to help Aiergain. To have struck Tulellcoe down that way meant she was very powerful. “She’s becoming attached to you,” Tulellcoe said. “Too much so.”

Morgin nodded unhappily. “I know.”

Tulellcoe demanded, “Then why weren’t you more careful?”

Morgin frowned, felt the same kind of anger rising within him that came when he faced Olivia. “Be more careful? What in netherhell was I supposed to do, let her execute us? Or maybe I should have let you try again. How many bloody noses could you take before you lost your temper, and got one of us killed?”

Tulellcoe looked much like Olivia. “Don’t talk to me that way, b—”

He’d almost said it. He’d almost said “boy.” And if he had Morgin would have had to decide if he was willing to carry out his earlier threat and try to kill him. Morgin snarled at him, “I left my grandmother behind me at Elhiyne, so don’t try to take her place.”

Cort intervened. “Now stop this—both of you.”

Morgin brushed past Tulellcoe, walked back into the sitting room. Terrikle was waiting for him. “Your bath is ready, Your Highness.”

“Good,” Morgin growled. “See my uncle and the Balenda out.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The hot bath relaxed Morgin somewhat, and by the time he was dry he regretted having been so harsh with Tulellcoe. Terrikle had laid out riding clothes for him. “What’s this?” he asked.

“While you were bathing Her Majesty sent word she is canceling her daily lesson, and would instead like you to take her riding.”

~~~

As the royal barge touched the dock, the deck on which Morgin stood lurched slightly. Aiergain smiled and looked out over the water, while at the other end of the barge Pandorin and several soldiers waited as the gang plank was lowered to the river dock, then he and his men led the horses down and waited there for Morgin and their queen. The horses hooves knocked loudly on the heavy wooden planks of the dock as Morgin extended his arm. Aiergain took it gaily, and he escorted her down the gang plank.

The city of Aud controlled the entire Bohl delta, but not until now did Morgin appreciate what that meant. Aud had little land beyond the city itself, but where the Bohl met the sea the river divided and split again and again, forming a system of islands nestled amidst the lazily flowing tributaries of the great river. Many were tiny, but some, like this one, were leagues across and one could ride for quite a distance without reaching the other side.

“This island is called Dass,” Aiergain told Morgin as she swept a hand from horizon to horizon. “It is one of the three largest islands in the delta, the three sisters we call them: Dass, Dess, and Diss.” She looked at Morgin, smiled and winked. “It is said the three sisters are identical triplets, and if you can speak their names quickly, again and again, and not make a mistake, then they will come to you in your dreams, and they are reputed to be quite beautiful.”

Morgin shook his head. “My dreams are complicated enough, Your Majesty.”

“I know,” Aiergain said sympathetically. “Cort told me your dreams haunt you, though she doesn’t know what they’re about.” She looked down at the sword strapped to his side. “Is that the talisman I’ve heard of?”

She was in an inquisitive mood, and he wasn’t sure how far she might press him. “Yes,” he said flatly.

“Aren’t you afraid of it?”

“Yes.” He didn’t add anything to that simple answer and the silence became thick for a moment.

“Come,” she said. “It’s a beautiful day. Let’s put the wind in our faces, and we’ll put magic and talismans and dreams behind us.”

They rode down the island toward the sea. The sun shone down from a clear blue sky, but they had dressed warmly because, surrounded by water, the air had a cool bite to it. Pandorin and his men remained at a polite distance, though one of his men was always within sight of their queen. Aiergain stopped frequently and showed Morgin little coves and inlets she had explored on previous rides. In one cove that was deep and enclosed by steep rock walls she dismounted, stood on the beach and looked out over the water. Morgin dismounted and stood beside her. “I love these islands,” she said. “You know when the tide is high these waters are salty. And then when it’s low they’re fresh again. But the changing tides can make the currents of the river quite treacherous, and that’s what forms these little coves all up and down these islands.”

She turned about and faced inland, facing Morgin. She scanned the cliffs above them, as if looking to see if Pandorin or any of his men were in sight, and for a moment Morgin thought she might try to kiss him. He turned away from her, tried to do it casually, didn’t want to appear to be avoiding her. “What is it you see?” he asked, looking up the cliffs.

There was a moment of silence. “Oh nothing,” she said. “Nothing.”

Farther down the coast they stopped in a little fishing village. At the sight of Aiergain everyone dropped what they were doing, formed a tight crowd about her, and she forgot Morgin. Pandorin and his men caught up with them but seemed unconcerned, so Morgin joined the soldiers to water the horses. “She always picks a different island to ride on,” Pandorin said as he and Morgin watched her from a distance walking among the people of the village. “I would venture to guess in the course of a year she manages to visit every village on every island in the delta. She takes her duties very seriously, our queen.”

Clearly, more than just a duty for Aiergain, she enjoyed the ride, and she enjoyed her people.

They rode farther down the coast, eventually reached the tip of the island and started back up the other side. They picnicked on a high bluff overlooking the ocean, stopped in more villages and explored more coves, though Morgin was careful to avoid dismounting and standing close to her if they were out of sight of Pandorin and his men. As dusk approached they turned inland, and Morgin learned that carefully tended fields covered the center of the island almost completely. They reached the barge just as the sun touched the horizon and the air was beginning to take on a decided chill.

For the return crossing Aiergain stood at the rail at the bow of the barge, and since the air was calm, the weather good, and the river currents steady and even, the barge captain didn’t object too strongly. He gave them both heavy furs, and steaming mugs of heated, spiced wine, and Aiergain took Morgin’s arm and nestled close to him for warmth. “This has been the most wonderful day of my life,” she whispered softly as the barge lurched out into the river current. “The most wonderful.”

Pandorin and his men had gathered around a stove near the back of the barge, warming their hands and talking softly. The night descended rapidly, though the surface of the river was alive with the running lights of other craft. Aiergain nestled closer to him, pressed her cheek against his. The scent of her perfume drifted about him, and the hot, spiced wine was a warm glow in his stomach. It would have been a perfect night, if only Rhianne were there, if only she nestled against him. It would have been wonderful.

Aiergain’s lips touched his cheek softly, but he leaned carefully away from her. “Why are you avoiding me?” she whispered. “You know I love you.”

“No you don’t,” he said. “You’ve just come through a terrifying time in your life, and I helped you through it, and now you feel indebted to me. You’re just confusing gratitude with love.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “But right now it feels like love, and you’re avoiding me. Why are you avoiding me?”

He tried to think of a way of saying it without hurting her. “I could fall in love with you, but I already have a wife, and I love her very much.”

Aiergain said nothing in reply but stood there letting a long silence draw out between them, and now the night seemed cold and biting. Then she slid her hand out of the crook of his arm and stepped softly away from him. And saying nothing she left him alone at the bow of the barge.

Chapter 10: A Kiss in a Dream

The barmaid slammed the mugs down on the table unceremoniously, splashing ale across a litter of cards and coins. “Arrr,” France bellowed merrily, his eyes settling on the maid’s jiggling breasts. “You’ve ruined our game. You must be punished.” He reached out and threw an arm around her waist, pulled her into his lap. “Fer yer crimes yer sentenced to a kiss.”

“Oh my lord,” she squealed. “Have mercy.” Then she kissed him, and she did so with less resistance and more ardor than he had anticipated. Sitting next to Morgin, Val merely laughed. A group of sailors at the next table began timing the length of the kiss by slapping their fists on the table top in unison.

The maid ended the kiss, whispered something in France’s ear and his eyes lit up with delight. Val handed her several coins, and she walked away with France’s eyes locked on the sway of her hips.

Morgin’s head swam with the effects of the ale; he was close to his limit and he knew he’d better slow down.

He’d done a little conspiring to get away from the palace like this: dressed in simple clothes, without a retinue, and with no horns blaring to announce his coming. Terrikle had actually caught him out, discovered him only moments before he was about to sneak out dressed in what the servant considered rags. And of course Terrikle had been livid with the impropriety of the situation. Morgin had tried to explain, but Terrikle had only shook his head sadly and turned to leave, though half way through the door he’d paused, looked back at Morgin and grinned. “If you’re questioned later please remember I didn’t see you.” Then he winked, closed the door and was gone.

A fight started in a far corner of the tavern, though it seemed to be just an overly rough form of play. France leaned across the table and spoke. “When you come into one of these dockside places, you gotta sense the mood of the place. Most times, like tonight, it’s a little rough but friendly. No one will get killed, just a few bruises. But when you first walk in, if the mood’s bad, don’t stay. Just get out.”

Morgin slid his chair back, stood up. “I need to make room for more ale. Where’s the privy.”

France grinned. “Ain’t no privy here, lad. There’s a door near the back. Just step out into the alley.”

Morgin worked his way slowly toward the back of the crowded tavern. He was a little unsteady on his feet, and he had no desire to bump into some large sailor and get into a friendly brawl. There were three doors at the back of the tavern and at first he wasn’t sure which to choose, not wanting to intrude into some private office, or perhaps the bedroom where the barmaid conducted most of her business. But then one of the doors swung open and two men stepped through it, one still lacing his breeches.

An ungodly stench assaulted Morgin’s nose as he stepped into the alley. The faint glow of a quarter moon gave enough light to avoid stumbling into the next man, or stepping into the gutter full of urine. At the moment three sailors were making use of its facilities, standing shoulder to shoulder facing an alley wall. They talked of wenches and whores, trying to decide the best place to spend their money.

Morgin took a place beside them, unlaced his breeches and relieved himself. While he was at it two more men stepped out into the alley, took their places in line against the alley wall between Morgin and the door to the tavern. But something about the newcomers struck Morgin as familiar: both were dressed in hooded cloaks with the hoods up over their heads, their faces hidden. He thought he might have noticed them earlier in the tavern, drinking mugs of ale but not really joining into the spirit of the place. And though his mind was a little cloudy with drink, he remembered seeing three or four similar figures in another tavern they’d stopped in previously.

The three sailors finished, stepped away from the wall tying up their breeches and returned to the tavern. As they stepped through the door a very drunken sailor stepped out, staggered against the opposite wall of the alley, nearly fell into the gutter full of urine, barely managed to keep out of it.

Morgin finished, stepped away from the wall and started lacing up his breeches.

The drunken sailor staggered against one of the two hooded figures who were closer to the door than Morgin. “Arrr!” he said as he breathed heavily into the man’s face. “Tish a fair night,” he slurred badly.

The hooded figure elbowed him away harshly. Again he almost fell into the gutter, and again he miraculously managed keep his feet, though they wobbled unsteadily beneath him. He turned and leaned heavily against the wall with one arm, fumbled at his breeches with his free hand, though it didn’t look as if he’d be successful at handling the laces there.

Morgin finished lacing up his own breeches, started walking up the alley toward the two hooded figures and the door to the tavern. The two men finished at that same moment. They peeled away from the wall and blocked the narrow alley, but oddly they spent no time tying up their breeches. Morgin hesitated, but the figures parted to let him pass, one against each wall of the alley, and one of them spoke in a deep voice. “After you,” he said politely, indicating with his hand Morgin should pass between them.

Morgin stopped, and with the instincts of a wanted man checked his distance to be certain he was beyond a quick thrust of a sword, felt the comforting weight of his own sword resting against his hip. “No,” he said politely. “After you.”

They stood that way for a moment, the two hooded figures waiting for Morgin to move, and Morgin waiting for them. Then one of the figures shifted position slightly and his cloak parted for an instant, and by the faint light of the moon Morgin caught a glimpse of a long sliver of steel hidden beneath his cloak.

France had told him again and again, “The best defense you’ll ever have, lad, is yer feet. You’ll live a lot longer if you just turn tail and run when you can.”

Morgin faced the two figures squarely, drew his sword as if he was going to stand and fight. The two men reached for their swords, and while they were doing so Morgin spun and took to his heels. His fake had gained him an instant of surprise and a little distance, but he heard the two men behind him take up the chase quickly.

The alley wasn’t long, and sprinting like a madman Morgin shot down its length. The street beyond was better lit, and the end of the alley appeared as a square frame of light in the near distance. But as he approached it three more cloaked men stepped from the street to block his way, all holding swords.

Morgin dug in his heels and came to a grinding stop, looked back over his shoulder at the two men bearing down on him. A door opened in the alley wall beside him and a sailor stepped out fumbling at the laces of his breeches. Evidently several establishments used the alley for the same purpose.

Morgin elbowed the sailor aside, shot through the door into the building, slammed the door behind him just as he heard his pursuers crash into it. There was no latch so he turned and ran down a short hall into a large room full of whores and sailors in various stages of undress. Seeing Morgin shoot into the room carrying a naked sword, one of the women screamed. A large, heavy-set bouncer appeared from behind a curtain and swung a club at Morgin’s head. Morgin ducked beneath the blow and back stepped up a flight of stairs.

One of the hooded men stepped out of the hall on the bouncer’s right. The bouncer turned away from Morgin and swung in a single motion, caught the man squarely in the side of the head. As he slumped to the floor one of his companions cut past him with his sword at the bouncer. Now all the whores started screaming, and the sailors with them began pulling at their breeches and searching for their swords.

The hooded man faced the bouncer squarely, unaware Morgin hid in the shadows a few steps above and behind him. Morgin kicked out, buried his heel in the man’s ribs, knocking him to the floor with his companion. As he tried to get up the bouncer finished him with his club, then turned and faced Morgin angrily.

“I’ve no quarrel with you,” Morgin said. “I’m just trying to escape these cutthroats.”

“Then get out,” the bouncer snarled, and hooked a thumb toward the front door.

“Right,” Morgin shouted. He vaulted down the stairs, past the whores and their clients, into an entrance way at the front door, and there he met three more cloaked men carrying unsheathed blades.

He swung out, met one of their swords with a crash, parried a stroke, ducked beneath another, back stepped back into the room full of whores. From the other end of the room he heard the clang of two blades meeting, caught a glimpse of the bouncer slumping to the floor clutching his side, two more cloaked figures swinging their swords at a sailor who desperately tried to fend them off. For some reason the sailor seemed familiar.

Badly outnumbered, Morgin and the sailor had the same thought and backed toward each other, swinging wildly at their opponents. “Keep yer back to me, man,” the sailor called as he cut out at one of the hooded figures. Why he had chosen to take Morgin’s side, Morgin could not guess.

Morgin’s hands tingled with heat and power, and his ears caught the hint of a familiar, evil sound: a deep, resonant hum building toward a berserk eruption of power. His sword was coming alive in his hands, and if it came fully to power it would slaughter everyone in the room and many beyond.

It sliced out, cut one of the cloaked figures down, met another’s sword with such force it knocked him several steps back creating an opening. Both Morgin and the sailor shot through it, out of the room, through the front entrance and out into the street. Their pursuers followed them, and they took up the fight there, though Morgin was more preoccupied now with controlling the talisman’s thirst for blood.

The street suddenly filled with mounted riders, men wearing the livery of the queen’s guard and swinging their swords with deadly accuracy. They surrounded Morgin and the sailor, cut them off protectively from their opponents. Pandorin appeared above them, spurred his horse into a charge at the sailor who’d helped Morgin, sliced down at the sailor as he charged past him. The sailor parried the blow, staggered back as Pandorin brought his horse about for another charge.

Morgin sheathed his sword, quenching its power, and jumped to the sailor’s side, waved his hands at Pandorin and shouted, “No! No! He was helping me.”

Pandorin hesitated, nudged his horse toward the sailor warily, demanded angrily, “Why would a ruffian like this be helping you?”

“I don’t know,” Morgin shouted above the pandemonium in the street. “But he was.”

At that moment the fighting and noise ended abruptly as the last of the cutthroats was either killed or taken into custody.

Pandorin pointed at the sailor with his sword. “Why would you choose to help His Highness. From the look of you you’d be more likely to steal his purse.”

The sailor looked about slowly at the queen’s guardsmen surrounding him, then carefully sheathed his sword. He bowed politely at the young captain. “Well now I got me vices, but murder ain’t one of ‘em. And I didn’t know he was a Highness.”

Just then Morgin realized why the sailor seemed familiar. “You were the drunk in the alley. But you don’t look drunk now. You were following me, weren’t you?”

Pandorin spurred his horse closer to the sailor. “Why were you following His Highness?”

The sailor looked at Pandorin belligerently and turned to Morgin. “Them thieves tried to hire me to pick a fight with you. Me! Bakart, first mate of the
Far Wind
. I told ‘em where they could put their blood money, and they roughed me up a bit, so I figured if I stayed close I might even the score some.”

~~~

Rhianne shot awake, for the sword had come to life somewhere, and she could feel Morgin struggling desperately to contain it. There was no time to place Wards so she’d have to take her chances. She closed her eyes, concentrated on her magic, brought it forth and muttered a quick spell of confidence.

She sensed the power of the sword as if there in the room with her, and she had the sensation her hands were locked about the hilt, fighting its constant struggle to be released; an odd sensation since they were strong male hands, callused and rough. She was standing in the middle of a street somewhere fighting for her life while waves of heat washed over her hands and arms and chest and face. And slowly, the power of the sword opened like the petals of a flower in sunlight, a vast chasm of hatred that threatened to consume her. But she refused to be daunted by it, and she bent her will to stop it.

She also sensed Morgin’s power, though of that she had only the faintest glimpse, but what opened before her was a chasm equally as vast, and equally as frightening, and she felt sorry for poor Morgin that he must bear such a burden.

And then her own power opened fully, and that frightened her far more than the power of the sword, for she thought again and again throughout the struggle she was not meant to control such forces. Then the battle ended as quickly as it began; Morgin and the sword were gone, her own magic was gone, and she felt as if a great weight had been taken from her shoulders.

Slowly the realization came upon her that her nightgown and her sheets were bathed in sweat, as if she’d been fighting a fever for hours. And then she sensed the Wards, four of them: Sextus, Septimus, Octavus, and Nonus. She opened her eyes just as Nonus winked out of existence, but by the light of the three remaining Wards she caught a glimpse of Olivia and AnnaRail standing outside the Ward Circle on either side of her bed. Then quickly the other Wards disappeared and the power in the room dissipated.

Rhianne sat up as Olivia spoke, “Child, you choose a strange hour and a strange place to practice the arts.”

AnnaRail touched the old woman’s arm, a respectful gesture, but still one few people would attempt. “Mother, I don’t believe she did the choosing.”

Olivia shook her head. “No. Nor do I.”

The old woman stepped closer to Rhianne, reached out and carefully took her chin in one hand. There was no light in the room, but Rhianne saw the old witch’s face as if lit by a dozen lamps. The old woman’s eyes bored into her soul, and from somewhere Rhianne suspected that she’d looked so upon Morgin many a time. Then the old witch smiled, though not a pleasant smile, but rather a smile filled with avarice. “This one has power,” the old witch said happily. “More than we thought. Much more.”