The White Hawk coverlet had long since been kicked off the foot of the bed onto the floor, but not because of the fire on the hearth. The heat of two long-suppressed passions, finally commingled, had rendered the room hot as a smithy for a while. Now the evaporation of their love sweat was cooling them and Giliahna had straightened a wadded linen sheet enough to cover their wet bodies.
Raising herself on one elbow, she looked down upon the face of Tim, her brother, her first lover, now once more returned to her. “I never stopped loving him,” she thought. “Yes, I loved Djylz, too, but … but it was a different kind of love; Djylz was my husband, my dearest friend, my companion, but he was never”—her brow wrinkled in concentration—“was never part of me, was never and could never have been what Tim is to me. It is as if all those long years something was gone, something was missing, I was but a shell of myself. And now, Tim has refilled that shell, has made me again complete. Oh, Tim, Tim, my dear dear brother; Sun and Wind, how I love you!”
“And I you, my sister.” Thinking him sleeping, her thought had been unshielded and then, suddenly, Tim’s mind was there within hers, but not as intruder … never as intruder.
“You have changed, Giliahna. The body I cherished in my memory those ten long years was that of a slender, tender, nubile young girl.”
“Oh, Tim, Tim …” She pictured herself as she was reflected in the long mirror of her robing room—the flat muscles of shoulders, arms and legs well developed from years of riding, hunting, archery and, more recently, from fierce bouts of mock swordplay with her princely stepson, Gy; the flare of her hips beneath the narrowness of her waist, the waist, itself, made to seem smaller than truth by the flared hips and by the breasts above; no, her breasts were most certainly no longer those of a young girl, being full and firm and proudly out-thrusting, the dark-blue lines of veins meandering under the fair skin, the nipples small but prominent in their shade of fiery red-pink. “Do I? Does this body of mine, then, so displease you?”
His warm, sweet mind embraced her more fully than mere arms ever could. “Displease me, my sister? How ever could you displease me, you, who are a part of me? Ten years have passed and I am a man; for nine of those years—until word reached me of the death of the prince, your husband—I thought you lost to me forever, thought that I must then live out the rest of my years in the knowledge that the most important part of me was missing. Yes, I took other maids and women, even kept and maintained several for varying lengths of time, for I am a man with hungers that mere soul-sickness cannot erase.”
Her mindspeak was gentle, hesitant. “Did you … love any of these, your women, Tim?”
“I suppose that I did … in a way. At least, I felt some emotion for a few, some attachment that I thought was love. But I never did, nor could I ever, feel for another as for you. As mere children, we forged together a truly singular relationship. It has passed through fires of hate and fires of war and been bathed in oceans of tears—yours, mine, and poor, used, victimized father’s—but still its temper rings true.”
A day’s ride to the east, in Morguhn Hall, Arhkeethoheeks Bili lay, fully clothed, upon his big, wide bed. His eyes were closed, but his unusual, highly trained and disciplined mental faculties were fully awake … and in contact with another of the few minds similar to his.
“It is only suspicion, Aldora. No, less than that, say, intuition. I have received a few unconfirmed rumors from the north, but then, you and I both know that warfare is always abrim with rumors, warriors being as gossipy as old women. I knew them both, of course, as children and they both seemed possessed of the uncommonly good mindspeak that runs in the bloodline, but Ahl’s talents eclipsed theirs, especially after he lost his eyes. Then, too, they both were gone for ten years.”
There was intense excitement boiling, bubbling in the faraway mind. “Bili, there are latent abilities, powers, in your mind that none of us was ever able to even recognize or categorize, much less probe and hone. So don’t call your feeling about these minds ‘only’ anything—no doubt a sense of perception you don’t even know you have is alerting you.”
“I’ll be in Morguhn as fast as horseflesh can bring me. But first I must contact Milo. Damn his short-range far-speak, anyway! I’ll have to send a galloper … no, I’ll go as far as Theesispolis myself, and send a galloper from there. He’s on campaign, as usual, leaving me and Mara and Drehkos to rule the Confederation. Oh, Sun and Wind, if only you are right, Bili.”
“Steel grant that I am,” beamed the arhkeethoheeks, with fervor. “For I fear me that they both bide in deadly danger at Vawn Hall, Aldora. That Ehleen sow that Zenos’ uncle persuaded poor old Hwahltuh to marry is intent on her dung-wallowing son, Myron, being confirmed thoheeks and chief. I’ve always been dead-certain that she was responsible for Ahl’s blinding and for the death of my youngest half brother, Behrl, as well.”
“Hwahltuh himself suspected that much of his progressive illness was due to some machination of Mehleena and her tongue sister, the witchwoman. Since his death, she’s discharged most of the Freefighters, along with many of the Kindred and Ahrmehnee retainers, replacing them with a carefully chosen pack of crafty, sneaking Ehleenee. Another thing you and the High Lord should know is that she has brought in one of those fanatic hedge priests, one of the gelded ones. He lives in the hall as a noble and honored guest, I’m told.”
“And so?” she demanded. “Are you going soft, Bili? You know those black-robed troublemakers are proscribed throughout the Confederation. Why haven’t you and your kahtahfrahktoee just ridden over to Vawn and introduced that priest’s unwashed arse to a sharp stake? Such is your right, nay, your duty as arhkeethoheeks. Milo would say the same, and you know it.”
“The idea has crossed my mind more than once, Aldora. You know how I feel about Ehleen priests … and most Ehleenee, for that matter; I’d dearly love to impale the fat bastard, Mehleena and all her crew, as well, but that damned, chuckleheaded Zenos stands in the way.”
“Prince Zenos of Karaleenos, sixteenth of that name,” Aldora beamed. “I warned Milo and Mara and Drehkos not to confirm him prince. He is the diseased and decaying branch of a once-great tree. The last true king of Karaleenos, dear, old Zenos XII, would never have owned him as his, and Zenos XI would likely have had so poor a specimen drowned shortly after birth. He has then forbidden you to deal simple justice to this illegal cleric?”
“No,” answered Bili. “Not in so many words, not directly. But when I took up the matter of the priest with him last spring at the Year Council, he brought up the fact that Mehleena is his first cousin and, as such, the descendant of kings, as is he.”
“Hens’ ballocks!” beamed Aldora. “So, too, am I, so is Mara. So, likely, are most of the non-Kindred folk in this Confederation, if the lines were traced back far enough. But a royal pedigree cannot be considered a license for lawbreaking. I’m going to communicate all this to the others before I take horse for the west. Either Mara or Drehkos can care for things here in the capital, and the other can ride down to Zenos’ seat and remind him of a few facts. Before all be done, you may be Prince of Karaleenos, as I said you should have been when Zenos’ sire died.”