Marion Zimmer Bradley's Ancestors of Avalon by Diana L. Paxson Read Free Book Online

sea-colored eyes.
    “Damisa, you are become a woman indeed,” said Tjalan appreciatively. But he let go of her hand, and turned once more to Tiriki. “You have taken good care of our flower, I see.”
    “We do what we may, my noble lord. And now—” Tiriki handed the basket of fruit and flowers to Damisa as she said, in a ringing voice, “Let the officers of the city make the Prince of Alkonath most welcome.” She gestured toward the open square at the entrance to the quay where, as if by magic, crimson pavilions had sprung up to shade tables full of food and drink.
    Tjalan frowned. “I hardly think we have time—”
    Tiriki delicately took his arm. “We must delay all serious discussion until the lords arrive from the estates in the countryside. And if the people see us eat and drink together, it will hearten the city. Indulge us, my noble lord, I pray.”
    As ever, beneath Tiriki’s words rang the cadence of a song. A man would have to be made of stone, Damisa thought, to resist the sweetness in that plea.
     
    Micail glanced around the great hall to ascertain that the servants had finished setting out the earthenware pitchers of lemon water and the silver goblets, and then nodded his permission for them to retire. The last of the daylight shafted through narrow windows beneath the soaring dome of the Council Hall, illuminating the circular table and the worried faces of the traders, landowners, and leaders who sat around it. Would the strength of Atlantis ever again be arrayed in such order and dignity?
    Micail arose from his couch and waited for the conversations to fade. For this meeting, he retained the regalia that marked him as a prince, although Tiriki had resumed the white robe and veil of a simple priestess and sat a little to one side. Reio-ta, robed as governor of the Temple, had taken a place on the left with the other rulers.
    Once again, Micail felt acutely that he stood between two realms, the worldly and the spiritual. Over the years he had often found his identities as a Vested Guardian and as Prince of Ahtarrath in conflict, but tonight, perhaps, his royalty might give him the authority to enforce the priesthood’s wisdom.
    If even that will be enough. At the moment, what Micail felt most strongly was fear. But the die was cast. His friend Jiritaren gave an encouraging nod. The room had silenced. All eyes were on him, tensely expectant.
    “My friends, heirs of Manoah, citizens of Atlantis, we all have felt the tremors that shake our islands. Yes, islands, ” he repeated sharply, seeing the eyes of some of the landowners widen, “for the same forerunners of disaster have shook Alkonath, Tarisseda, and other kingdoms as well. So we gather together to take counsel against the threat that now faces us all.” Micail paused and looked slowly about the table.
    “There is still much that we can do,” he said encouragingly, “for as you surely know, the Empire has faced circumstances no less dire, and has survived to see this day. Master Chedan Arados—” Micail paused, permitting a flurry of whispers to run through the hall. “Master Chedan, you were among those who escaped the Ancient Land’s destruction. Will you speak to us now of the prophecies?”
    “I will.” Ponderously, the mage got to his feet and eyed the gathering sternly.
    “It is time for the veil to be set aside,” he said. “Some secrets will be shared which have hitherto been spoken only under seal of initiation; but that was done to preserve the truth, that it might be revealed at the appointed hour. To keep these things hidden now would be the true sacrilege. Indeed, for the threat we face has its deepest roots in a sacrilege committed almost thirty years ago in the Ancient Land.” As Chedan drew breath, the bar of sunlight that had haloed his head moved, leaving him in sudden shadow. Micail knew it was only because the sun was sinking, but the effect was disquieting.
    “And it was not ordinary men but priests,”