Crystal Dreams Read online

  “Just remember, Fianna. Should any of the crystals darken, you must call us back, otherwise we'll become forever lost in the dream-state."

  “If I must awaken you so, I will not harm you?"

  “Greater danger if you don't."

  “But the last time you almost died!"

  “Fianna!” Connal snapped.

  “What do you mean I almost died?” Liandra asked.

  Both Connal and Fianna avoided eye contact with her.

  “I be sorry, my lord,” Fianna whispered.

  Connal ran a hand through his hair. “'Tis all right."

  “What are you talking about?” Liandra demanded. “If you don't answer me, I won't perform the dream-search."

  “Tell her, Fianna,” Connal said.

  “I ... spoke to Katrine."

  “Katrine?"

  “Our healer. She went with Lord MacArran when—when he abducted you. She told me how ill you were, that you nearly died."

  Liandra frowned. “I was?” She turned to Connal.

  “Aye. At the end of the dream, I removed your dreamer's cap. You screamed and then went into convulsions.'

  “You could have killed me!” Liandra whispered.

  “I did not know removing the cap would affect you so.” Connal said huskily.

  “But Liandra, do you not recall? Katrine said you near screamed down the walls before she managed to sedate you,” Fianna said.

  “I was in brain shock. I'm glad I don't remember it.” Liandra shuddered. Very few Asarians Weavers who had been torn from their dreams survived the experience. She had been lucky. Especially so, given that Connal and his healer had no way of knowing how to treat her. Pure blind luck had saved her. Liandra closed her mind against what might have been. She had to concentrate on the present. “And is that why you're afraid to monitor me, Fianna?"

  “Aye."

  “If the dream goes badly, you must take the two main crystals from the alignment. That will bring me back from the dream without danger. Just don't touch my dreamer's cap."

  “I—I understand."

  “We rely on you, Fia,” Connal said. “Dougall is outside if you need him. His orders are to admit no one to this chamber, unless you ask it. I want no interference when Liandra and I are together.” He held out his hand. “Now, Fianna, give me the claymore."

  Connal passed over the heavy leather scabbard to Liandra. Shuddering in disgust, she slowly drew the great sword from its sheath.

  “This belongs to Garris. Can you get your focus from it?"

  Liandra sat down on the crystal bed, holding the sword. She picked up several auras—Fianna's and Connal's. But Garris's vivacity was stronger; unaffected arrogance tempered by an individual humor. Overriding everything was an all-consuming love for Fianna. That unique resonance would make it easy to home in on its owner.

  “Liandra?"

  “I can see him."

  “Let us get this over with, Counselor Tavor."

  Connal settled down on the coverlet and waited patiently while Liandra fitted the cap to his head. Once he was ready, she lay at his side, pulled on her bejeweled dreamer's cap and closed her eyes.

  As always, the swirling lights and sounds quickly dragged her down into the dream-dimension...

  The cold and darkness were a surprise. She willed the light and warmth to come to her, and they did, reluctantly, as if some other force was controlling her dream. And that was impossible.

  “Liandra?"

  “Here, Connal."

  He slowly joined her side, his image solidifying beside hers. “Which way?"

  Liandra carried Garris’ sword. In the dream-state it was no longer an object of metal, but a wand of pulsing light. It thrummed with Garris’ distinctive vibrations.

  “He's in this direction."

  They entered another dream-dimension where the purple sky was threaded with rivulets of silver and gold. The ground beneath their feet became a pale green, shimmering like a carpet of emeralds that stretched in all directions as far as the eye could see.

  Garris? Liandra sent telepathically.

  “Who is there?” he asked weakly.

  “Wait!” Even as Liandra called out, she sensed the distance grow between them.

  She and Connal followed him across the landscape, not walking, just flowing. They covered enormous distances in the space between two heartbeats. A strange way to measure it, Liandra thought. She heard Connal laugh in response.

  “This landscape is of your making?” he asked.

  “Yes. Do you like it?"

  “I much prefer Caledonia."

  “Is this better?” she asked. The scenery twisted in on itself. They now walked across rolling green and purple fields.

  “'Tis still not as vibrant as home. Thank you for the consideration. Does it take much for you to maintain this illusion?"

  “Yes."

  “Then do not do it for my sake. Conserve your strength for what lies ahead."

  “As you wish."

  Liandra allowed the dreamscape to revert to the colors of her crystals, though here and there she could see a sickly green taint that had nothing to do with her. As she tried to focus on it, it retreated.

  Though they walked for hours, Garris remained distant. Even the emanations of the light-sword she carried were weaker.

  “I need to rest,” Liandra said, tiredly. She imaged a low stool and sat down upon it. Connal paced up and down, the ethereal substance of the dream-state swirling around him like a cape. “Must you do that? It's very distracting."

  “I like not this place! And the waiting sets my teeth on edge. How much longer?"

  “Garris is far away. It's difficult to reach him. Please try and keep still."

  Liandra bent her head and concentrated, slowly slipping into a deeper meditation. She probed and called, over and over.

  Connal sat back on his haunches, his every nerve tingling with a warning he could not understand. By Arran, he did not like this! Not one bit. And the witch ... He glanced away, though ever his eyes were drawn back to her. He tried to ignore the way her gown clung to the contours of her body, highlighting and emphasizing her sweet curves.

  Aye, she was enough to drive a man to distraction! How could he find her so comely? She seemed so unaware of her beauty and the effect she was having on him. Damn her! She must know. She had told him she was empathic, the skill being necessary for her work. So she must be aware. She was teasing him—that was it! As a woman well versed in the art of seduction, she knew what she was doing. Only too well! How many clients had she in the past? Connal swore beneath his breath and impatiently tore fingers through his hair.

  “What's wrong?” Liandra asked.

  “Nothing."

  “You're angry and confused."

  “How do you know? Are you reading my thoughts?"

  “It's more sensing your feelings. Our minds are united by my bed and the dreamers’ caps."

  “If we be so connected, why ask what it is that worries me? Read my mind and have your answer, witch!"

  “I told you before I never share my mind with another, unless that one is willing. None of my profession would consider doing such a thing."

  Connal folded his arms. “Is it not a little ironic to have ethics in this regard when in other respects you do not?"

  “I don't know what you mean. We haven't got the time for this, Connal. Will you tell me what's wrong? Your worry is affecting my ability to concentrate."

  “Why do you always wear such clothes that leave little to the imagination?"

  Liandra glanced down at herself. She smiled, thinking what he would say if he should see her dressed in her usual clothes. If this gown disturbed him, he'd have a seizure if he saw her in her body-fitting suits. She gasped as her clothing suddenly transformed itself into a Caledonian creation; long, voluminous and totally impractical!

  “Much better,” Connal said. “Now you look like a lady."

  “How dare you!"

  Liandra struggled a
gainst his imaging, surprised by the strength of his control. For a time her robe was Asarian, then as Connal gained the upper hand, her clothes became Caledonian. They battled hard for mastery of the illusion.

  “Connal, stop what you're doing. This is my dream."

  He laughed, slowly relinquishing his imaging. Moments later, Connal found himself robed in a trailing Asarian gown, which left much of his chest bare. It flowed around his body, teasing and caressing in a sultry seductive manner, almost as if it had a life of its own.

  “Witch!"

  “Two can play at the game you started, Connal MacArran. Now you look almost civilized."

  “Release me, at once!"

  She smiled up at him. Allowing her imaging to fade, he reverted back to the barbarian she knew...

  “I would prefer that you not call me a barbarian. ’Tis a wrong you do me."

  “I'll stop calling you barbarian if you stop calling me witch."

  Connal shrugged. “You do not like my epithet? It does become you."

  As she glanced up at him their gazes met. For a moment there was something in the turbulent gray depths of his eyes she had not seen before. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach, and tension spiraled outwards in an all-consuming tide, which left her weak and trembling. She drew in a sharp breath as the memory of Connal in the Asarian gown came to mind. Why choose to dress him in the traditional bonding robe? Its style suited the delicacy of an Asarian male, but it looked totally incongruous against Connal MacArran's masculinity. She hadn't imaged it on purpose, it had just happened, though she hadn't decorated his features with the stylistic face-paint of a bond-mate. She almost smiled at the thought, wondering despite herself what he would look like if she did.

  “Are you ready to resume your search?” Connal's steady voice drew her thoughts back. Once more he had assumed the facade of a man in control, though Liandra knew it for a deception. His inner turmoil reached her in a clear, strong assault.

  He held out his hand and she allowed him to raise her to her feet. They headed towards the shining gold horizon, and it was only a long time later that Liandra realized Connal still held her hand. For once she did not mind his touch. His warmth and strength were comforting in a place, which normally held no apprehension for her.

  * * * *

  Liandra came up against the black void as if she had slammed into a solid stone wall. As she staggered back Connal steadied her.

  “What is it, Liandra?”

  “Something—I've never encountered before.”

  Liandra concentrated and probed deeper. Its vibrations were weak. What in Seven Stars is it?

  “What be there?” Connal followed the direction of her gaze.

  “A shadow. I believe it's a machine of some sort. It's almost as if it exists simultaneously in the real world and here. I don't understand, because machines can't enter the dream-state.” She glanced at Connal. Something fleeting—his hastily blocked thought. “Do you know what this is?” she asked, suspiciously.

  “How could I? I cannot’ even see the infairrnal thing!"

  She heard someone—a voice calling—and even as she concentrated, the spectral-sword in her hand flared into life. Unable to control it, she was dragged away, her hand wrenched from Connal's grasp.

  “Connal!” she cried and he lunged forward to help her. Too late.

  Out of control, she plummeted down a long, black tunnel. She closed her eyes against the sickening motion. Finally, her descent slowed, then halted.

  She felt the presence of another and opened her eyes. “Garris?” she whispered.

  He stood from where he had been crouching in the darkness. His shirt hung in filthy tatters about his chest that, like his arms, were criss-crossed with dozens of tiny scratches. She hastily blocked away his fear.

  “I'm Liandra. Connal and I are here to help you."

  “Arran's Mercy! Con, are you truly here?” Garris demanded of the darkness.

  Moments later, Connal struggled to materialize beside her. “Liandra, do not leave me behind again! ’Tis my kinsman we are seeking.” His image shivered before solidifying. “Garris...”

  “Get away while you still can—not safe...” Garris choked out. His outline wavered and disappeared.

  “Garris, where are you?” Connal shouted. The dreamscape rippled.

  “I do not know...” Came his reply, the faintness of his voice was testimony to the distance between them. “They have..."

  “Stay, Garris. You must obey me!” Liandra tried to bind him to her, though the force of her command hurt every nerve in her body. She was so close to finding him—so close—she mustn't fail this time! Then all about became sickly green-black. She cried out in alarm as the dream-claymore was torn from her fingers. She commanded it back. It almost returned to her outstretched hands. With a sound like breaking glass the shadow-sword dissipated into a thousand shards of light. Destroyed. Attuned to the sword, its death stung her mind.

  She was hurled backwards, the dream-state mists, reflecting her pain, were tinged red. She struggled against the force drawing her down. As she plummeted through the dreamscape, she felt the life force tearing from her. Quickly she built a light shield around her body to impede the drain. For how long and how far she fell, she didn't know. When she finally came to her senses she lay sprawled on the ground. Wearily, she raised her head.

  “Connal?” Silence was her only answer. About her, she felt a consciousness. “Who are you?”

  “L ... L ... iandra."

  She knew that voice. “Jalinda?"

  “Danger, Liandra!” Jalinda cried.

  “Jalinda?” Liandra gasped in shock at the form that slowly solidified before her. Jalinda's once beautiful face and body were now emaciated, her life force very weak.

  “I'm captive here, Liandra. You must escape...” Her image shivered into nothingness.

  “No, wait!” Liandra rushed after her, on and on, trying to hold Jalinda to her. Her friend vanished into the mists.

  Liandra carefully probed outwards, and caught the faint vibrations of other Asarian minds. Like Jalinda, their auras were also wrong; twisted, distorted, fearful. Some were close to death. Alone, she could not help them. Connal, where was he?

  “Here, witch."

  He emerged from the mists, and without thinking Liandra rushed into his arms.

  His arms tightened about her. Gently, he stroked her hair. “Do not be afraid,” he said. “What happened? Where's Garris?"

  “I'm not sure. The dreamscape is wrong."

  Connal held her out at arm's length. “You know little, Weaver. Why? This is your dream!"

  Liandra shook her head. “There's something else here fighting me for control of it."

  “What be here with us?” With eyes narrowed, Connal glanced around.

  “When you and I entered the dream-search back in my League apartment, just at the end, I sensed something. It's here, again, this time much stronger. But when I try to focus on it, it disappears.” Liandra shuddered and sank to the ground. “It's draining me."

  Connal knelt before her and took her hands between his own. “You be as cold as ice."

  A little distance away, a fire blazed into existence. Liandra felt Connal lift her into his arms and carry her to it. “You did this?” she asked.

  “This be my dream, too, so I can make whatever I wish appear.” He knelt with her before the fire and wrapped his arms around her body, holding her close. “We must find Garris."

  “His sword is lost.” Liandra sighed, marshaling what little strength she had. “I'll try to regain my focus."

  “Later! Rest for now."

  “I..."

  “No, Liandra, listen to me! A warrior knows his limitations and accepts them. Better to rest awhile than fail later when the battle's fought merely because you were too impatient or arrogant to admit your limitations."

  “I'm not a warrior."

  “You fight like a warrior in your own way.” He smiled tenderly. “We Caledonians have
an old saying—it is not known what sword is in the sheath till it is drawn. For you, ’tis very apt. Before this dream you kept your valor hidden. You fight valiantly. Now, rest! Please."

  She leaned against him, and he shifted his body to accommodate her more comfortably. She closed her eyes, content to feel him against her, feel that powerful male aura which blazed strong and clear about him, and his scent—of herbs and musk—it coiled into her every cell. Now who was weaving a spell? This time it was Connal MacArran. And his was a very potent magic. As old as time ... It felt so good to have his warmth and strength all about. Too good. She didn't want this dream-search ending like the other...

  “I will not be falling into your dream-spell again, My Lady Witch,” he whispered against her ear. “If you do not trust yourself, then trust me. I can control myself.” He laughed gently.

  “Meaning I can't? Even if I wanted to share, in my present state, I haven't the energy to spare.”

  “Then I be safe!” He laughed.

  Connal rested his cheek against her head. Her perfume, which had haunted him with such alluring intoxication, flowed around him. As he breathed deeper, its sweetness spiraled down through his body, causing his muscles to clench, the blood to sing in his veins. Another of her spells, perhaps a charm to coax and tease her clients? He was certain, though, it was her own body scent, not some artificial redolence. Unlike any other woman he had experienced.

  He smiled at that. Of course she was not like any other woman he had known. How could she be? Liandra was an off-worlder. An alien witch who was also a warrior. His initial surprise at that discovery was now replaced by pride. Pride, that she fought so tenaciously to locate Garris, when he had believed no League member had the stomach for true battle. A mystery and a contradiction, his Lady Witch!

  His Lady Witch? She would not like to think of herself as his, though it brought him a curious satisfaction. He rubbed his face against the silken texture of her silver hair. Hair the color of starlight...

  * * * *

  Liandra started awake to the sound of someone calling her name. Strength tempered with gentleness held her close. Against her cheek she felt the slow, rhythmic beat of a heart.