I drew a deep breath. I had to call the Council, as Shikrar had requested. I must summon my people to meet on the morrow at the Great Hall, not far from the Boundary.
I stood in Receiving and began the Discipline of Calm, but soon gave up the effort. How could I call the Council to decide on whether to allow my meetings with Lanen when her very name still sang in all my thoughts?
It would have to wait for a few hours. In the meantime, I allowed my fancy to run free; let her words and her thoughts find their homes in my heart. I knew that after a short while we had spoken for only a few hours—they would all be settled, and I could trust myself to speak to my people.
Eventually.
When the lansip wore off I barely had the strength to drag myself back to the camp with my sacks and go to bed. I slept like a dead thing some hours past noon. The sun, white and insistent at that hour despite the lateness of the year, roused me at last. I woke from a dream of a great light in a forest and with a memory of a song I had not heard before. The sunlight warmed me, I was well rested, and my first and only thoughts were of the meeting to come.
I could not sit still while my thoughts chased themselves in circles, and found myself deeply grateful for the unpredictable hours we Harvesters kept. There were a few souls stirring, some around the cookpot, some heading for sleep after a night and morning of gathering, some groggily arising to drink chélan. None paid heed to me or my movements, and Marik I had not seen at all.
I wrapped my cloak close about me and headed towards the sea. The cold of the night was gone and the day blessedly mild, nearly warm in the sun even as a breeze blew in over the water. I threw back my cloak and reveled in it, for if it stayed clear l feared I was in for a bitter cold night.
I tried, truly, to look around and enjoy simply being on the island that had drawn me for so many years. The sea was like a living thing dancing with the sunlight on it; there were gulls laughing in the air, the wind tasted of salt freshness; but the living face of Akor rose before me, seen only in moonlight yet sharp and present wherever I looked. I could not think why I was reacting so. Yes, he was the first Dragon I had seen surely reason enough to be impressed but should I not be remembering his words rather than his eyes? Not that I could well ignore his appearance, but there was another edge to what I was feeling. I couldn't place it, but it was definitely familiar.
Artur.
I stopped short. Artur from Bearsstead, in the Méar Hills above my old home? Why in the name of the Lady had I thought of him? He had been my childhood sweetheart. True, I had longed for him, wept when he wed another—but that was years ago, and what did it have to do with Akor?
You loved him.
Yes, as a child loves. Yes, I loved him.
And for days after his wedding, you saw his face on every farmhand at Hadronsstead.
Yes, but—oh. Oh! No, no, it couldn't—I—oh dear Lady, no, I can't be!
Really?
Give me this much, at least I laughed. In love with a Dragon? Surely not even I could be so stupid! I was no child to be infatuated with a creature so vastly different. I could never—
"We are not so very different, you and I," he said. If he were a man you would love him, wouldn't you?
The thought was immensely appealing. I tried to picture him as a man, and almost without effort he rose before my mind's eye like a portrait already completed. There he stood, lithe, handsome, with silver hair and green eyes full as deep as the sea, beautiful face incredibly smiling and long-fingered hands that took mine and drew me towards him—
Then the huge form I had seen in the night appeared again, soulgem glinting in hammered, horned silver face, voice like a song and thought like love itself speaking its name.
Kordeshkistriakor.
Very well. (Oh sweet Mother Shia, help!) Very well, I love him. There, I've said it, I love him whatever his form, an the heavens help me. And what in the Lady’s name should I do about it?
The voice from within had no answer to that.
I stood there thinking—even laughing to myself, I am glad to say. I could not take myself seriously. I quite enjoyed the idea of him as a man; but I was still entranced by his true Dragon form for its own sake.
The Lady only knows what I would have thought about had I let my mind wander on, but I soon had more to think about than my love for a creature a thousand years old and the size of Hadron's farmhouse.
I had stopped just past a bend on the path some time back, in the midst of my mad thoughts; now as I stood I heard voices. I did not wish to see anyone in my present mood, so I stepped into the shelter of a thick, low-growing stand of fir trees. They were just the colour of my cloak. In the shadows, with my dark leggings and my hood over my face and hair, I was nearly invisible.
Just as well. The voices had come closer, and one of them was Marik's.
I hoped they would simply pass by and let me return to the camp, but instead they stopped just the other side of the bend in the path. I could hear them clearly.
"It goes well, Master, does it not?" said the other voice. It was high and nasal and extremely unpleasant, and I recognised it at once. It. was Caderan, the weaselly creature that danced attendance on Marik. I had no idea why he had come on the voyage, and as long as I could avoid him I didn't care. "Fruiting trees on your first voyage; It will be a triumph! And you will soon be uncomfortably wealthy."
"I look forward to such discomfort," said Marik lightly. The beauty of his voice was even more marked in contrast to Caderan's. "May I be thus burdened as long as I live! I trust you have worked well this day."
"Indeed, my lord. I have prepared the salve you requested as protection, and the rite is prepared for sunset this very day. But I must tell you, my lord, that what you plan with the articles Magister Berys prepared for you is not possible."
"What do you mean, not possible?" Marik ·snapped.
"My lord, I am doing what I can—but you ask much, and all takes time." He lowered his voice, but I could still make out his words. "The summoning of demons is a delicate art, my lord. It cannot be rushed, and what you demand is far beyond the ordinary. I am no Magister of the Sixth Circle."
"Damn Berys anyway. Why could he not simply grant my request in full and save both you and me this concern? Only now do I learn that the articles he sent will do but half of what I need!" I could hear Marik glaring at this Caderan. "I must have them, Caderan, and they must serve me as I have said. There is a great deal of ground to cover, and I will need more time. When all is finished tonight, let you consider what you may do to enhance their virtue. I must be able to walk at least ten miles undetected."
"Ten miles? My lord, you know not what you ask! Magister Berys sent me to serve you, but his own puissance could never do such a thing. How should I better his work? The boots he provided will serve you so far, in truth, but the others will not last more than half that time. Such puny assistance as I may render will take you only half again as far, and at that I will be near my limit."
"Then I would recommend that you extend your limit if you intend to leave this place whole as you came," growled Marik. The change in his voice was shocking. The music had gone sour, and in the discord was a heavy strain of menace. "I tell you I must have more time."
Caderan's own voice went hard in response. "My lord, I pray you, leave off this pretence. You hold my life in your hands—but the reverse is also true. Do not try to threaten a demon master. I am still alive because I refuse to listen to threats. It is the essence of my profession." He checked himself and spoke again in a more appeasing tone. "Lord Marik, let us not quarrel. It is neither seemly nor profitable. I will strive for the measure of eight miles, my lord, and nothing you can say will force me to more. Can we not agree on that?"