You have made me complete; for without you, life seems empty.”
She drew closer to me. “Thank the gods and all those women who were your teachers in the art of love!”
“Do you think I have no imagination? Need I be taught how to love a woman like you?”
“Am I so different from all those others?” she teased, lips touching my check as they softly spoke those words.
I still only vaguely remembered things concerning my life previous to arriving on Noomas, so avoided a direct answer to her question.
“Dearest Youi, somebody certainly must have given you a few lessons in the arts.”
“In many arts: yes,” leaning in closer to me.
“Well,” she whispered, looking up into my eyes. “It is a lovely place, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” I said, noticing only her moonlit face. “You are lovely.”
And desirable, I thought, beyond anything else in the universe.
I pulled her closer; and we were both captured by the sheer magic of that embrace.
As our lips met the world around us simply vanished.
Royal Proctoress or not, she was deeply endowed with vibrant passion that made all else blandly meaningless.
Time splintered and we were momentarily enveloped in a mutually shared singularity. We were one living thing, completely unified. It was but an instant; yet contained a sense of eternity.
Only after we broke the embrace did either of us speak.
I nodded towards the distant tip of the Proctor’s palace rising from the depths of the city.
“Yes,” she decided, with a deep, contented sigh. “A perfect setting and a perfect place to begin.…”
Her words faded. Nothing more needed to be said.
In practical terms, the Celebration of the Three Moons phenomena symbolically promoted the birthing of the next generation. It all came from ancient traditions involving fertility rites. My basic male ego decidedly trumped any mythological saga and wanted only to indulge in the promise of physical pleasures with the woman I loved. Youi was the very living force that drove me. Passion and love blended, as it always did for us, into a lovely flow of pure ecstasy.
Soon we succumbed to our pulsing urges, and honored the Clinsolnosn ideal. In Youi’s arms I had discovered a place which completed myself and made the universe whole.
* * * *
The next morning everything, as Adt Dorta had said, drastically changed.
I discovered a small envelope under the door with the Proctor’s seal.
Memories flashed through me. Vague sparks of distant conflicts on other worlds burst briefly into focus. I felt charged with both anticipation and resistance about facing so grave a situation during the most festive days on Noomas.
The Proctor’s message was a formal order to meet with Romos that very morning in his private offices.
And so it had begun.
CHAPTER TWO
TROUBLED REUNION
I. Kigor Dorta
Kigor was lecturing on the art of defensive dueling, before a select class of young warriors, when the message arrived. The interruption was annoying.
Eager men and women crowded the large hall, clambering to learn from this famed teacher, and master swordsman who was in high demand across the country. Every academy in the realm sought his lectures and paid hefty fees for the privilege of his unsurpassed tutelage.
He had standing orders never to be interrupted under any circumstances during these lectures. So he was alarmed when the young courier stepped toward him holding an envelope with Proctor Romos’ seal. He immediately opened and read the message.
Come. Helandi connected.
Turning back to the podium, calmly dismissing the students with a brief apology, Kigor hastily left the lecture hall allowing no questions to be asked.
During the flight back home to Bel-loniea the courier told him of Adt’s return.
“He brought a young woman with him. She is from the Northern Territories…a place called Helandi?”
A smile swept across Kigor’s handsome features.
How ironic, he reflected, a woman from the land of Adt’s birth.
Helandi was where he had met Adt’s mother. Kigor’s memory shot back to the brief seasons spent with the only woman he had ever loved. The resulting son had become his life’s responsibility, the only thing more important than his dedication to Proctor Romos. Even without Muti instructions he would have taught the boy everything he knew about the sword.
Stillness blanketed the city as Kigor arrived at the Dorta Estates before dawn.
Adt would most certainly be found in his old suite in the residential west wing sector. The majority of the manor housed administrative offices and tutorial studios required to operate the Dorta Academy. The gym, the sparring rooms, and lecture halls were practical spaces for extensive combatant-play. Few students passed all his challenges. This was where Adt had refined his mastery of the sword, as a child growing up in these family estates.
Kigor hurried to the back wing, where his son’s personal quarters were located. He stood just outside the door, rigid; taking in the room which had been empty for so long. He wasn’t a man who easily experienced emotional reactions to anything. Long years of practice had trained him to hold feelings down beneath thickly constructed armor. He had always told his students that in battle there was no room for distractions. Yet as a pragmatist he had not ignored the fact that death is fated in war.
The notion of Adt having died had never completely impacted Kigor. None could match Adt’s abilities with the sword, but skill alone, could not protect a warrior forever.
His son had been reported dead in battle.
But the urgent message today, stated he was alive.
Until he saw Adt in the flesh, breathing, alive, Kigor would not allow himself to believe it. He had to learn the truth for himself.
Now he gazed at the scene, taking it in like a soothing cocktail. Young Dorta was lying in bed next to a stunning young woman. The sight of the lovers said enough. Seeing him there, lying peacefully in the bed, next to the lovely woman, sent a warm wave of contentment through Kigor.
With a calmed spirit, he left the estate and hurried to meet with Proctor Romos.
On the palace grounds, firm salutes from all sentries greeted Kigor Dorta the sword master of Bel-loniea, famed throughout the civilized world for his unsurpassed skill.
Upon approaching the Proctor’s resident wing, he hardly paused. He just nodded to the officer rigidly standing guard at the corridor.
The man saluted and stepped aside.
“You are expected.”
“Yes,” Kigor acknowledged in his richly deep voice.
Gliding down the hall, his graceful combination of militant march and swordsman’s gait formed the flowing dance of a lean, tightly wired man of razor sharp muscles tempered to a fine edge. The beard he had recently trimmed was brushed neatly in place. Steel-blue eyes narrowed as he approached the open door of the Proctor’s living quarters.
The room beyond was formal, comfortably furnished. A settee pressed against wall-to-wall bookcases. The adjoining library frequently hosted guests, such as chief advisors and friends.
Romos stepped from behind his desk when Kigor entered. Neither man spoke. Then they moved closer, placing hands to shoulders in the natural warm greeting of old colleagues and tight friends who, long before the births of their children, had shared