willing away emotion and regret until at last I could do so no longer. Then, I wept for what I had done.
Perhaps even more, I wept for what I had become.
INTERLUDE
“How do you feel?”
Barac rubbed one hand wearily over his eyes. “Better than I should,” he confessed slowly. “Which of you—?”
“We are partners, Sira and I,” Morgan reminded the Clansman.
“A Human concept,” Barac noted with a scowl. “But it was Sira alone who scanned my mind. Sira—who now cares nothing for law, or kin.”
“You offered.” Mildly.
“Only as an act of faith!” Barac said bitterly. “Faith that was broken.” He rose unsteadily, staggering once but ignoring Morgan’s proffered hand, and looked around the rooftop garden. “Where is she?”
Morgan paused, looking inward through the golden haze that marked his own interface with the M’hir. There. “She’s gone where she could avoid your judgment, if not her own.” He felt a momentary unease at her leaving the defenses of the Haven; a concern made easier knowing she’d left Barac to him.
“Her own.” Barac shuddered. “Ossirus. Let’s hope such power answers to any judgment.” There was something fractured in his eyes. Morgan saw it, but, unlike Sira, felt no impulse of remorse. As a Clan Scout, permitted by Council to interact with Humans and other species, Barac and others of his kind had routinely done worse to those others who suspected Clan abilities in the M’hir—or even its existence. To Morgan’s way of thinking, there was a certain amount of justice served by Sira’s actions and Barac’s resulting headache. He only regretted the cost to her.
So Morgan tilted his head and regarded the ashen-faced Clansman with a small, grim smile. “So it was unpleasant. Be grateful she didn’t find you under Council control.” He left the obvious unspoken.
Barac seemed not to have heard, sunk in his own thoughts. He spoke slowly, as if to himself. “If Sira could do this to me, perhaps she would have been a fit mate for Yihtor the Renegade after all. And who could have saved us from the two of them?”
Morgan’s light but swift openhanded blow caught Barac completely by surprise, shocking alertness back into dull eyes. The slender Clansman put one hand to his mouth, wiping blood from his split lip with a trembling finger. “Good,” Morgan said, his mental barriers tightening as he felt Barac instinctively strengthening his own defenses. “You know me well enough, Barac sud Sarc,” he went on, thinking back over the years when Barac and his brother Kurr had been frequent passengers on the Fox, years when Morgan had found information about the Clan a profitable item to trade, a seemingly ancient past before Sira gave him a new loyalty. “You know I’m not restricted to your methods—or by your laws. You’d be wise to remember that.”
“I know you defend her,” Barac said after a long pause during which he searched Morgan’s implacable face. He made the gesture of appeasement, seeming soothed by the ritual whether or not he expected Morgan to appreciate its meaning. “I respect your rights as her Chosen,” he added slowly, sitting down on a nearby bench. “Perhaps I should respect your judgment also. My own is not operating too well at the moment.”
Something dark eased out of Morgan’s face. “I still sense trouble coming.”
Barac’s eyes lost focus briefly. He winced then said ruefully. “I’m tasting nothing beyond this ache in my head.”
Morgan considered the Clansman for a moment. “It was my suspicion Sira tested, not her own, Barac. If the trouble I sense isn’t you, I’ll apologize. If.”
Barac shrugged gracefully, though his eyes were smoldering. “Be sure I shall be there for it when you’re ready, Morgan,” he promised tautly.
Chapter 5
“PUT it inside the door this time, please,” I said wearily, poking my head around the woven grass inner wall of the hut. The Poculan who’d been about to put the
Perhaps even more, I wept for what I had become.
INTERLUDE
“How do you feel?”
Barac rubbed one hand wearily over his eyes. “Better than I should,” he confessed slowly. “Which of you—?”
“We are partners, Sira and I,” Morgan reminded the Clansman.
“A Human concept,” Barac noted with a scowl. “But it was Sira alone who scanned my mind. Sira—who now cares nothing for law, or kin.”
“You offered.” Mildly.
“Only as an act of faith!” Barac said bitterly. “Faith that was broken.” He rose unsteadily, staggering once but ignoring Morgan’s proffered hand, and looked around the rooftop garden. “Where is she?”
Morgan paused, looking inward through the golden haze that marked his own interface with the M’hir. There. “She’s gone where she could avoid your judgment, if not her own.” He felt a momentary unease at her leaving the defenses of the Haven; a concern made easier knowing she’d left Barac to him.
“Her own.” Barac shuddered. “Ossirus. Let’s hope such power answers to any judgment.” There was something fractured in his eyes. Morgan saw it, but, unlike Sira, felt no impulse of remorse. As a Clan Scout, permitted by Council to interact with Humans and other species, Barac and others of his kind had routinely done worse to those others who suspected Clan abilities in the M’hir—or even its existence. To Morgan’s way of thinking, there was a certain amount of justice served by Sira’s actions and Barac’s resulting headache. He only regretted the cost to her.
So Morgan tilted his head and regarded the ashen-faced Clansman with a small, grim smile. “So it was unpleasant. Be grateful she didn’t find you under Council control.” He left the obvious unspoken.
Barac seemed not to have heard, sunk in his own thoughts. He spoke slowly, as if to himself. “If Sira could do this to me, perhaps she would have been a fit mate for Yihtor the Renegade after all. And who could have saved us from the two of them?”
Morgan’s light but swift openhanded blow caught Barac completely by surprise, shocking alertness back into dull eyes. The slender Clansman put one hand to his mouth, wiping blood from his split lip with a trembling finger. “Good,” Morgan said, his mental barriers tightening as he felt Barac instinctively strengthening his own defenses. “You know me well enough, Barac sud Sarc,” he went on, thinking back over the years when Barac and his brother Kurr had been frequent passengers on the Fox, years when Morgan had found information about the Clan a profitable item to trade, a seemingly ancient past before Sira gave him a new loyalty. “You know I’m not restricted to your methods—or by your laws. You’d be wise to remember that.”
“I know you defend her,” Barac said after a long pause during which he searched Morgan’s implacable face. He made the gesture of appeasement, seeming soothed by the ritual whether or not he expected Morgan to appreciate its meaning. “I respect your rights as her Chosen,” he added slowly, sitting down on a nearby bench. “Perhaps I should respect your judgment also. My own is not operating too well at the moment.”
Something dark eased out of Morgan’s face. “I still sense trouble coming.”
Barac’s eyes lost focus briefly. He winced then said ruefully. “I’m tasting nothing beyond this ache in my head.”
Morgan considered the Clansman for a moment. “It was my suspicion Sira tested, not her own, Barac. If the trouble I sense isn’t you, I’ll apologize. If.”
Barac shrugged gracefully, though his eyes were smoldering. “Be sure I shall be there for it when you’re ready, Morgan,” he promised tautly.
Chapter 5
“PUT it inside the door this time, please,” I said wearily, poking my head around the woven grass inner wall of the hut. The Poculan who’d been about to put the
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