JENNIFER ROBERSON'S monumental

CHRONICLES OF THE CHEYSULI:

 

SHAPECHANGERS

THE SONG OF HOMANA

LEGACY OF THE SWORD

TRACK OF THE WHITE WOLF

A PRIDE OF PRINCES

DAUGHTER OF THE LION

FLIGHT OF THE RAVEN

A TAPESTRY OF LIONS*

 

and

THE NOVELS OF TIGER AND DEL:

 

SWORD-DANCER

 

SWORD-SINGER

 

SWORD-MAKER

 

* forthcoming from DAW Books

 

THE SONG

OF HOMANA

 

Book Two

of the Chronicles

of the Cheysuli

 

Jennifer Roberson

 

DAW BOOKS, INC.

 

DONALD A. WOLLHEIM, PUBLISHER

 

375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014

 

Copyright © 1985 by Jennifer Bobt,^o:i O'^'-fc

Al! Rights Resei vec1

Cover art by fulek Heller

 

DAW Book Collectors No-635.

 

To Marion Zimmer Bradley,

for daydreams and realities

 

and

 

Betsy Wollheim,

for making mine better

 

First Printing, July 1985

 

6789

PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

 

 

 

 

PART I

 

ONE

 

I peered through the storm, trying to see Finn. He rode

ahead on a small Steppes pony much like my own, though

brown instead of dun, little more than an indistinct lump

of darkness in the blowing snow. The wind beat against

my face; Finn would not hear me unless I shouted against

it. I pulled the muffling wraps of woo! away from my face,

grimacing as the bitter wind blew ice crystals into my

beard, and shouted my question to him.

' "Do you see anything?"

 

The indistinct lump became more distinct as Finn turned

back in the saddle. Like me, he wore leather and wool and

furs, hooded and wrapped, hardly a man underneath all

the layers. But then Finn was not what most men would

name a man at all, being Cheysuli.

 

He pulled wrappings from his face. Unlike me, he wore

no beard in an attempt at anonymity; the Cheysuli cannot

grow them. Something in the blood, Finn had said once,

kept them from it. But what he did not have on his face

was made up for on his head, Finn's hair, of late infre-

quently cut, was thick and black. It blew in the wind,

baring a sun-bronzed predator's face.

 

"1 have sent Storr ahead to seek shelter," he called back

to me. "Is there such a place in all this snow, he will find

it."

 

Instantly my eyes went to the side of the narrow forest

track. There, parallelling the hoolprints of our horses—

 

I 11 I

 

12 Jennifer Robarson

 

though glimpsed only briefly in the blowing snow and

wind—were the pawprints of a wolf. Large prints, well-

spaced, little more than holes until the wind and snow

filled them in. But it marked the path of Finn's lir none-

theless; it marked Finn a man apart, for what manner of

man rides with a wolf at his side? Better yet, it marked

me, for what manner of man rides with a shapechanger at

his side?

 

Finn did not go on at once. He waited, saying nothing

more. His face was still bared to the wind. As I rode up I

saw how he slitted his eyes, the pupils swollen black

against the blinding whiteness. But the irises were a clear,

eerie yellow. Not amber or gold or honey. Yellow.

 

Beast-eyes, men called them. I had reason to know

why.

 

I shivered, then cursed, trying to strip my beard of ice.

Of late we had spent our time in the warmth of eastern

lands, it felt odd to be nearly home again, and suffering

because of the winter. I had forgotten what it was to go so

encumbered by furs and wool and leather

 

And yet I had forgotten nothing. Especially who I was.

 

Finn, seeing my shiver, grinned, baring his teeth in a

silent laugh. "Weary of it already? And will you spend

your time shivering and bemoaning the storms when you

walk the halls and corridors of Homana-Mujhar again?"

 

"We are not even to Homana yet," I reminded him,

disliking his easy assurance, "let alone my uncle's palace."

 

"Your palace." For a moment he studied me solemnly,

reminding me of someone else: his brother. "Do you

doubt yourself? Still? I thought you had resolved all that

when you decided it was time for us to turn our backs on

exile."

 

"I did." I scraped at my beard with gloved fingers,

stripping it again of the cold crystals. "Five years is long

enough for any man to spend in exile, it is too long for a

prince. It is time we took my throne back from that

Solindish usurper."

 

Finn shrugged. "You will. The prophecy of the First-

born is quite definite. You will win back the Lion Throne

from Bellam and his Ihlini sorcerer, and take your place as

Mujhar." He put out his gloved right hand and made an

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    13

 

eloquent gesture: fingers spread, palm turned upward.

Tahlmorra. The Cheysuli philosophy that each man's fate

rested in the hands of the gods.

 

Well. so be it. So long as the gods made me a Idng in

place of Bellam.

 

The arrow sliced through the storm and struck deeply

into the ribs of Finn's horse. The animal screamed and

bolted sideways in a twisting lunge. Deep snowdrifts fouled

die gelding's legs and belly almost immediately and he

went down, floundering. Blood ran out of his nostrils, it

spilled from the wound and splashed against the snow,

staining it brilliant crimson.

 

I unsheathed my sword instantly, jerking it free of the

scabbard on my saddle. I spun my horse, cursing, and saw

Finn's outthrust arm as he leaped free of his failing mount.

'Three of them . . . now!"

 

The first man reached me. We engaged. He carried a

sword as 1 did, swinging it like a scythe as he sought to cut

off my head. I heard the familiar sounds: the keening of

the blade as it slashed through the air, the laboring of his

 

' mount, the hissing of breath between his teeth as he

grunted with the effort. I heard also my own grinding

teeth as I swung my heavy broadsword. I felt the satisfac-

tory jar of blade against body, though his winter furs

 

, muffled most of the impact. Still, it was enough to double

him in the saddle and weaken his counterthrust. My own

blade went in through leathers and into flesh, slowed by

 

~ the leathers, then quickened by the flesh. A thrust with

my shoulder behind it, and the man was dead.

 

I jerked the sword free instantly and spun my horse yet

again, cursing his small size and wishing for a Homanan

warhorse as he faltered. He had been chosen for anonymi-

ty's sake, not for his war-sense- And now I must pay for it.

I looked for Finn. I saw instead the wolf. I saw also the

dead man, gape-mouthed and bleeding in the snow; the

third and final man was still ahorse, staring blankly at the

wolf. It was no wonder. He had witnessed the shapechange,

which was enough to make a grown man cry out in fear; I

 

' did not only because I had seen it so many times. And yet

 

^ I feared it stilL

 

14 Jennifer Roberson

 

The wolf was large and ruddy. It leaped even as the

attacker cried out and tried to flee. Swept out of the

saddle and thrown down against the snow, the man lay

sprawled, crying out, arms thrust upward to protect his

throat. But the teeth were already there.

 

"Finn!" I slapped my horse's rump with the flat of my

bloodied blade, forcing him through the deep drifts. "Finn,"

I said more quietly, "it is somewhat difficult to question a

dead man."

 

The wolf, standing over the quivering form, turned his

head to stare directly at me. The unwavering gaze was

unnerving, for it was a man's eyes set into the ruddy,

snow-dusted head. A man's eyes that stared out of the

wolfs head.

 

Then came the blurring of the wolf-shape. It coalesced

into a void, a nothingness that hurt the eyes and head and

made my belly lurch upward against my ribs. Only the

eyes remained the same, fixed on me: bestial and yellow

and strange. The eyes of a madman, or the eyes of a

Cheysuli warrior.

 

I felt the prickling down my spine even as I sought to

suppress it. The blurring came back as the void dissipated,

but this time the faint outline was that of a man. No more

the wolf but a two-legged, dark-skinned man. Not human;

 

never that. Something else. Something more.

 

I shifted forward in the saddle, urging my horse closer.

The little gelding was chary of it, smelling death on Finn's

mount as well as on the first two men, but he went closer

at last. I reined him in beside the prisoner who lay on his

back in deep snow, staring wide-eyed up at the man who

had been a wolf.

 

"You," I said, and saw the eyes twitch and shift over to

me. He wanted to rise; I could see it. He was frightened

and helpless as he lay sprawled in the snow, and I meant

him to acknowledge it. "Speak," I told him, "who is your

master?"

 

He said nothing. Finn took a single step toward him,

saying nothing at all. The man began to speak.

 

I suppressed my twitch of surprise. Homanan, not

Ellasian. I had not heard the tongue for five years, except

from Finn's mouth; even now we kept ourselves to

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    15

 

Caledonese and Ellasian almost always. And yet, here in

Ellas, we heard Homanan again.

 

- He did not look at Finn. He looked at me. I saw the

fear, and then I saw the shame and anger. "What choice

did I have?" he asked from his back in the snow. "I have a

wife and daughter and no way to support them. No way to

clothe them, feed them, keep them warm in winter. My

croft is gone because I could not pay the rents. My money

was spent in the war. My son was lost with Prince Fergus.

Do I let my wife and daughter starve because I cannot

provide? Do I lose my daughter to the depravity of Bellam's

court?" He glared at me from malignant brown eyes. As

he spoke the anger grew. and the shame faded. All that

was left was hostility and desperation. "I had no choice! It

was good gold that was offered—"

 

The knife twisted in my belly, though the blade did not

exist. "Bloodied gold," I interrupted, knowing what he

would say.

 

"Aye!" he shouted. "But worth it! Shaine's war got me

nothing but a dead son, the loss of my croft and the

beggaring of my family. What else am I to do? Bellam

ofiers gold—bloodied gold\—and I will take it. So will we

all!"

 

"All?" I echoed, liking little of what I heard. Was all of

Homana desiring to give me over to my enemy for his

Solindish gold, my life was forfeit before the task was

begun.

 

"Aye!" he shouted. "All! And why not? They are de-

mons. Abominations. Beasts\"

 

The wind shifted. iLthrew ice into my face again, but I

made no move to rid myself of it. I could not. I could only

stare at the man in the snow, struck dumb by his admission.

 

And then I looked at Finn.

 

Like me, he was quite still. Silent. Staring. But then,

slowly, he lifted his head and looked directly at me. 1 saw

the shrinking of his pupils so that the yellow of his eyes

- stood out like a beacon against the storm. Yellow eyes.

Black hair. The gold that hung at his left ear, bared by the

'wind that blew the hair from his face- His alien, predator's

face.

 

I looked at him with new eyes, as I had not looked at

 

16 Jennifer Roberson

 

him for five years, and realized again what he was. Cheysuli.

Shapechanger. A man who took on the form of a wolf at

wiU.

 

And the reason for the attack,

 

Not me. Not me at all. I was insignificant. The prisoner

did not know that my head—delivered to Bellam—would

give him more gold than he could imagine. By the gods,

he did not even know who I wasi

 

Another time, I might have laughed at the irony. Been

amused by my conceit, that I thought all men knew me

and my worth. But here, in this place, my identity was not

the issue. Finn's race was,

 

"Because of me," he said, and that only.

 

I nodded. Sickened by the realization, I nodded. What

we faced now was more impossible than ever. Not only

did we come home to Homana after five years of exile to

raise an army and win back my stolen throne, but we had

to do it in the face ofHomanan prejudice. Shaine's purge—

the Cheysuli .call it qumahlin—was little more than the

pretty vengeance of a mad king, and yet it had not ended

even with the sundering of his realm.

 

They had not come to slay me or even take me prisoner.

They had come for Finn, because he was Cheysuli.

 

"What did they do to you?" I asked. "The Cheysuli.

What did this man do to you?"

 

The Homanan stared up at Finn in something akin to

astonishment. "He is a shapechanger!"

 

"But what did he do to you?" I persisted. "Did he slay

your son? Take your croft? Rape your daughter? Beggar

your family?"

 

"Do not bother," Finn said. "You cannot straighten an

ill-grown tree."

 

"You can chop it down," I returned. "Chop it down and

into pieces and feed it to the fire—" I wanted to say more,

but I stopped. I saw his face, with its closed, private

expression, and I said nothing more. Finn was not one for

sympathy, or even anger expressed in his behalf. Finn

fought his own battles.

 

And now there was this one.

 

"Can he be turned?" I asked. "His need I understand—a

desperate man will do desperate things—but his target I

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA I 17

 

will not tolerate. Go into his mind and turn him, and he

can go home again."

 

Finn's right hand came up. It was empty. But 1 saw the

clenching of his fingers, as if he sought to clasp a knife. He

was asking for my approval, ^ie was liege man to the

Prince of Homana, and he asked to mete out a death.

 

"No," I said. "Not this time. Use your magic instead."

 

The man spasmed against the snow. "Gods, no! No! No

sorcery—"

 

"Hold him," I said calmly, as he tried to leap up and

run.

 

Finn was on him at once, though he did not slay him.

He merely held him on'his knees, pressing him into the

snow, on one knee himself with an arm thrust around the

throat and the other gripping the head. One twist and it

would be done.

 

"Mercy!" the dead man cried. But could 1 do it, I would

leave him alive.

 

Finn would not ask again. He accepted my decision. I

saw the hand tighten against the Homanan's head and the

look of terror enter the brown eyes. And then they were

empty, and I knew Finn had gone in to do as I had

ordered.

 

It shows in the eyes. I have seen it in the faces and eyes

of others Finn has used his magic on. But I also saw it in

Finn's eyes each time: the total immersion of his soul as

he sought the gift of compulsion and used it on another.

He went away, though his body remained. That which was

Finn was elsewhere; he was not-Finn. He was something

less and something awesomely more. He was not man, not

beast, not god. Something—apart.

 

The man wavered and sagged, but he did not fall.

Finn's arm remained locked around his throat. The hand

was pressed against his skull, but it did not break it. It did

not snap the neck. It waited.

 

Finn twitched and jerked. The natural sunbronzing of

his face was suddenly gone; he was the color of death. All

gray and ivory, with emptiness in his eyes. I saw the

slackening of his mouth and heard the rasp in his throat.

And then, before I could say a word, he broke the man's

neck and threw the body down.

 

18 Jennifer Roberson

 

"Finn!" I was off my horse at once, thrusting my sword

blade down into the snow. I left it there, moving toward

Finn, and reached out to grab what I could of his leathers

and furs. "Finn, I said (urn him, not slay him—"

 

But Finn was lurching away, staggering in the snow,

and I knew he had not heard me. He was not himself. He

was still—elsewhere.

 

"Finn." I caught his arm and steadied him. Even be-

neath the thickness of winter furs I could feel the rigidity

in his arm. His color was still bad; his pupils were nothing

but specks in a void of perfect yellow. "Finn—"

 

He twitched again, and then he was back. He swung his

head to look at me, and only then realized I held his arm.

At once I released it, knowing he was himself again, but I

did not relax my stance. It was only because he was Finn

that I had left my sword behind.

 

He looked past me to the body in the snow. "Tynstar,"

he said. "I touched—Tynstar."

 

I stared. "How?"

 

He frowned and pushed a forearm across his brow, as if

he sweated. But his face was dusted with snow, and he

shivered from the cold. Once, but it gave away his bewil-

derment and odd vulnerability. "He was—there. Like a

web, soft but sticky . . . and impossible to shed." He

shook himself, like a dog shaking off water.

 

"But—if he and the others were hunting Cheysuli and

not the Prince of Homana ..." I paused a moment.

"Would Tynstar meddle in the qu'mahlin?"

 

"Tynstar would meddle in anything. He is Ihlini."

 

I nearly smiled. But I did not, because I was thinking

about Tynstar. Tynstar, called the Ihlini, because he ruled

(if that is the proper word) the race of Solindish sorcerers.

Much like the Cheysuli were the magical race of Homana,

the Ihlini sprang from Solinde. But they were evil and did

the bidding of the demons who served the netherworld.

There was nothing of good about the Ihlini. They wanted

Homana, and had aided Bellam to get her.

 

"Then he does not know we are here," I said, still

thinking.

 

"We are in Ellas," Finn reminded me. "Homana is but

a day or two away, depending on the weather, and I do

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    19

 

not doubt Bellam has spies to watch the borders. It may

well be these men were sent to catch Cheysuli—" he

frowned, and I knew he wondered what tokens Beliam

required as proof of a Cheysuli kill. Probably the earring,

perhaps the armbands as well. —"but it may be they

sought Homana's exiled prince." He frowned again. "I

cannot be sure. I had no time to leam his intent."

 

"And now it is too late."

 

Finn looked at me levelly. "If Tynstar is meddling with

Homanans and sending them out against the Cheysuli,

they must be slain." For a moment he looked at the body

again. Then his eyes came back to me. "It is a part of my

service to you to keep you alive. Can I not do the same for

myself?

 

This time I looked at the body. "Aye," I said finally,

harshly, and turned back to retrieve my sword.

 

Finn moved to his dead horse and stripped him of the

saddlepacks. I mounted my horse and slid the sword home

in the scabbard, making certain the blade was clean of

blood. The runes ran silver in the white light of the storm.

Cheysuli runes, representing the Old Tongue which I did

not know. A Cheysuli sword for a Homanan prince. But

then that was another thing the prophecy claimed: one

day a man of all blood would unite, in peace, four warring

realms and two magic races. Perhaps it would no longer

be a Cheysuli sword in the hand of a Homanan prince. It

would merely be a sword in the hand of a king.

 

But until then. the golden hilt with its rampant, royal

lion and the huge brilliant ruby in the prong-toothed

pommel would remain hidden by leather wrappings. At

least until I claimed the Lion Throne again and made

Homana free.

 

"Come up," I told Finn. "You cannot walk in all this

snow."

 

He handed up his saddlepacks but did not move to

mount behind me. "Your horse carries enough bulk, with

all of you." He grinned. "I will go on as a wolf."

 

"If Storr is too far ahead—" I stopped. Though the

shapechange was governed by the distance between war-

^ rior and lir, it was obvious this time there was no impedi-

^ ment. The peculiar detached expression I knew so well

 

20 Jennifer Roberson

 

came over Finn's face. For a moment his body remained

beside my horse, but his mind did not. It was elsewhere,

answering an imperative call, his eyes turned inward and

blank and empty, as if he conversed with something—or

someone—no one else could hear.

 

And then he was back, grinning in genuine pleasure and

the attack on us both forgotten. "Storr says he has found

us a roadhouse."

 

"How far?"

 

"A league, perhaps a bit more Close enough, I think,.

after days without a roof over our heads." He ran a hand

through his black hair and shook free the powdery snow.

"There are great advantages to lir-shape. Carillon. I will

be quicker—and certainly warmer—than you."

 

I ignored him. It was all I could ever do. I turned my

horse back to the track and went on, leaving behind three

dead men and one dead horse—the others had run away. I

cursed the storm again. My face was numb from the ice in

my beard. Even the wrappings did not help.

 

When Finn at last went past me, it was in wolf-shape:

 

yellow-eyed, ruddy-furred, fleet of foot. And wanner, no

doubt, than I.

 

TWO

 

The common room was crowded with men seeking respite

from the storm. Dripping candles puddled into piles of

cooling, ^waxy fat on each table, shedding crude light and a

cruder pall of smoke into the low beamwork of the road-

house. The miasma was thick enough to make me choke

against its acrid odor, but there was warmth in abundance.

For that I would share any stench.

 

The door hitched against the hardpack of the frozen

earthen floor. I stopped short, ducking to avoid smacking

my head against the doorframe. But then few roadhouse

doors are built to accommodate a man of my height; the

years spent in exile had made me taller than I had been

five years before and nearly twice as heavy. Still, I would

not complain, did the added height and weight—and the

beard—keep me unknown on my journey home, I would

not care if I knocked myself silly against Ellasian doorframes.

 

Finn slipped by me into the room as I wrestled with the

door. I broke it free, then swung it shut on half-frozen

leather hinges, swearing as a dog ran between my legs and

nearly upset me. For a moment I thought of Storr, seek-

ing shelter in the forest. Then I thought of food and wine.

 

I settled the latch-hook into place and marked absently

how the stout iron loops were set for a heavy crossbeam

lock. I could tell it was but rarely used, but I marked it

nonetheless. No more did I have room in my life for the

ease of meaningless friendships found in road- and alehouses.

 

21

 

22 Jennifer Roberson

 

Finn waited at the table. Like the others, it bore a

single candle. But this one shed no light, only a clot of

thick smoke that fouled the air where the flame had glowed

a moment before. Finn, I knew. It was habit with us both.

 

I joined him, shedding furs and leathers. It felt good to

be man again instead of bear, and to know the freedom of

movement. I sat down on a three-legged stool and glanced

around the common room even as Finn did the same.

 

No soldiers. Ellas was a peaceful land. Crofters, most of

them, convivial in warmth and the glow of liquor. Travel-

ers as well, bound east or west; Ellasians; Homanans;

 

Falians too, by their accents. But no Caledonese, which

meant Finn and I could speak Ellasian with a Caledonese

twist and no one would name us other.

 

Except those who knew a Cheysuli when they saw one,

and in Ellas that could be anyone.

 

Ellasians are open, gregarious folk, blunt-speaking and

plain of habits. There is little of subterfuge about them,

for which I am grateful. I have grown weary of such

things, though I have, of necessity, steeped myself in it. It

felt good to know myself accepted for what I appeared in

the roadhouse: a stranger, foreign, accompanied by a

Cheysuli, but welcome among them regardless. Still, it

was to Finn they looked twice, if only briefly. And then

they looked away again, dismissing what they saw.

 

I smiled. Few men dismiss a Cheysuli warrior. But in

Ellas they do it often. Here the Cheysuli are not hunted.

 

And then I recalled that Homanans had come into Ellas

hunting Cheysuli and I lost my smile entirely.

 

The tavern-master arrived at last, wiping greasy hands

on a frayed cloth apron. He spoke with the throaty, blurred

accent of Ellas, all husky and full of phlegm. It had taken

me months to learn the trick, but I had learned. And I

used it now.

 

"Ale," he said, "or wine. Red from Caledon, a sweet

white from Falia, or our own fine Ellasian vintage." His

teeth were bad but I thought the smile genuine.

 

"Have you usca?" I asked.

 

The grizzled gray brows rose as he considered the ques-

tion. "Usca, is't? Na, na, I have none. The plainsmen of

the Steppes have naught of trade wi' us now, since Ellas

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     23

 

allied wi' Caledon in tiast war." His pale brown eyes

marked us Caledonese; my accent had won us that much.

Or me; Finn did not in the least resemble a Caledonese.

"What else would you have?"

 

Finn's yellow eyes were almost black in the dim candle-

light, but I saw the glint in them clearly. "What of Homanan

honey brew?"

 

At once the brows drew down into a scowl. The Ellasian's

hair, like his eyebrows, was graying, close-cropped against

his head. A blemish spread across one cheek; some child-

hood malady had left him scarred. But there was no suspi-

cion or distrust in his eyes, only vague disgust.

 

"Na, none of that, either. Tis Homanan, as you have

said, and little enough of Homana comes across our bor-

ders now." For a moment he stared at the gold earring

shining in Finn's black hair. I knew what the Ellasian

thought: little enough of Homana crossed the borders,

unless you counted the Cheysuli.

 

"No trade, then?" I asked.

 

The man picked at snags in his wine-stained apron. He

glanced around quickly, judging the needs of his custom-

ers out of long practice. "Trade, after a fashion." he agreed

in a moment, "but not wi' Homana. Wi' Bellam instead,

her Solindish king." He ripped his head in Finn's direc-

tion. "You might know."

 

Finn did not smile. "I might," he said calmly. "But I

left Homana when Bellam won the war, so I could not say

what has befallen my homeland since."

 

The Ellasian studied him. Then he leaned forward,

pressing both hands flat against the table. "I say 'tis a sad

thing to see the land brought down so low. The land

chafes under that Solindish lord. And his Ihlini sorcerer."

 

And so we came to the subject I had wanted to broach

all along, knowing better than to bring it up myself. Now,

did I say nothing and ask no questions, I made myself out

a dullard, and almost certainly suspect. The man had

proved talkative; I had best not disabuse him of that.

 

"Homana is not a happy land?" My tone, couched in

Caledonese-tinged Ellasian, was idle and incurious; strang-

ers passed time with such talk.

 

The Ellasian guffawed. "Happy? Wi' Bellam on her throne

 

24 JwmMT Robwon

 

and Tynstar's hand around her throat? Na, not happy,

never happy . . . but helpless. We hear tales of heavy

taxes and over-harsh justice- The sort of thing that trou-

bles us little enough in Ellas, under our good High King."

He hawked and turned his head to spit onto the earthen

floor. "They do say Bellam desires an alliance with Rhodri

himself, but he'll not be agreeing to such a miscarriage of

humanity. Bellam's a greedy fool; Rhodri is not. He has no

need oft, wi* six fine sons." He grinned. "I hear Bellam

offers his only daughter to the High Prince himself, but I

doubt there will be a match made. Cuinn has better thighs

to part than Electra of Solinde's."

 

And so the talk passed-to women, as it will among men.

But only until the Ellasian left to see about our food, and

then we said nothing more of women, thinking of Homana

instead. And Bellam, governed by Tynstar.

 

"Six sons," Finn mused- "Perhaps Homana would not

now be under Solindish rule, had the royal House proved

more fertile."

 

I scowled at him. I needed no reminders that the

House of Homana had been less than prolific. It was

precisely because Shaine the Mujhar had sired no son at

all—let alone MX of them!—that he had turned to his

brother's only son. Ah, aye, fertility and infertility. And

how the issues had shaped my life, along with Finn's. For

it was Shaine's infertility—except for a defiant daughter—

that had left an enormous legacy to his nephew. Carillon

of Homana, and the Cheysuli shapechanger who served

him. The Lion Throne itself, upon the Mujhar's death,

and now a war to fight.

 

As well as a purge to end.

 

The tavern-master arrived bearing bread for trenchers

and a platter of steaming meat, which he set in the center

of the table. Behind him came a boy with a jug of Ellasian

wine, two leathern mugs and a quarter of yellow cheese- I

saw how the boy looked at Finn's face, so dark in the

amber candlelight. I saw how he stared at the yellow eyes,

but he said not a single word. Finn was, perhaps, his first

Cheysuli. And worth a second look.

 

Neither boy nor man lingered, being too pressed by

other custom, and Finn and I set to with the intentness of

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    25

 

starving men. We were £iit starving, having eaten at the

: break of day, but stale j( urney-loaf eaten in a snowstonn is

not nearly as toothsome as hot meat in a warm roadhouse.

^  I unsheathed my knife and sliced off a chunk of venison,

" dumping it onto my trencher. It was a Caledonese knife I

..used now in place of my own, a bone-handled blade

wrought with runes and scripture. The hilt had been cut

from the thigh of some monstrous beast, or so the king of

^.iCaledon had told me upon presentation of it. The blade

Iftself was bright steel, finely honed; the weight of it was

^"perfect for my hand. Still, it was not my own; that one—

^Cheysuh-made—was hidden in my saddlepacks.

 

$ I ate until I could hardly move upon my stool, and

^ordered a second jug of wine. And then, even as I poured

^Our mugs full again, I heard the hum of rising conversa-

^tion. Finn and I both looked instantly for the cause of the

 

^ heightened interest.

 

,t The harper came down the ladder with his instrument

^.clasped under one long arm. He wore a blue robe belted

^.at the waist with linked silver, and a silver circlet held

 

-^back the thick dark hair that curled on his shoulders. A

^wealthy harper, as harpers often are, being hosted by

?; kings and gifted with gold and gems. This one had fared

y. well- He was tall, wide-shpuldered, and his wrists—showing

;' at the edges of his blue sleeves—were corded with mus-

^cle. A powerful man, for all his calling was the harp

;fc instead of the sword. He was blue-eyed, and when he

^ smiled it was a professional smile, warm and welcoming.

^   Two men cleared space for him in the center of the

; room and set out a stool- He thanked them quietly and sat

.'down, settling harp against hip and thigh. I knew at once

^ the instrument was a fine one, having heard so many of

^ the best with my uncle in Homana-Mujhar. It was of rich

^ honey-gold wood, burnished to a fine sheen with years of

^ use. A single green stone was set into the top. The strings

|t glowed gossamer-fine in the smoke and candlelight. They

 

-^ glinted, promising much, until he touched them and ful-

H' filled that promise with the stroke of a single finger.

 

J^  Like a woman it was, answering a lover's caress. The

,.- music drifted throughout the room, soft and delicate and

^ infinitely seductive, and silenced the voices at once. There

 

26 J—mtfT Robwon

 

is no miL\ alive who cannot lose himself in harpsong,

unless he oe utterly deaf.

 

The harper's voice, when he spoke, was every bit as

lovely as '••10 harp. It lacked the feminine timbre of many I

had hearof, yet maintained the rich liquid range the art

requires. The modulation was exquisite; he had no need to

speak leudly to reach all corners of the room. He merely

spoke. Men listened.

 

"I will please you as I please myself," he said quietly,

"by giving you what entertainments I can upon my Lady.

But there s a task I must first perform." From the sleeve

of his robe he took a folded parchment. He unfolded it,

smoothed it. and began to read. He did not color his tone

with any emotion, he merely read. But the words were

quite enough.

 

"Know ye all men that Bellam the Mujhar,

King of Solinde and Mujhar of Homana;

 

Lord of the cities Mujhara and Lestra;

 

Sets forth the sum of five hundred gold pieces

to any man bringing sound word of Carillon,

styling himself Prince of Homana,

and wrongful claimant to the Lion Throne.

 

"Know ye all men that Bellam the Mujhar

desires even more the presence of the pretender,

offering one thousand gold pieces

to any man bringing CariUon—or his body—

into Homana-Mujhar."

 

The harper, when finished, folded the parcliment pre-

cisely as it had been and returned it to his sleeve. His

blue eyes, nearly black in the smoky light, looked at every

man as if he judged his thoughts. All idleness was gone; I

saw only shrewd intensity. He waited.

 

I wondered, in that moment, if he recruited. I won-

dered if he was Bellam's man, sent out with the promise of

gold. I wondered if he counted the pieces for himself.

Five hundred of them if he knew I was here. One thou-

sand if he brought me home to Homana-Mujhar.

 

Home. For disposal as Bellam—or Tynstar—desired.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    27

 

?.  I saw what they did, the Ellasian men. They thought of

'Cthe gold and the glory. They thought of the task and the

1, triumph. They considered, for a moment, what it might

I: be to be made rich, but only for a moment, for then they

% considered their realm. Ellas. Not Homana. Rhodri's realm.

t. And the man who offered such gold had already swallowed

^ one land.

 

"^, The Ellasians, I knew, would do nothing for Bellam's

a'" gold. But there were others in the room, and perhaps they

P^ would.

 

I looked at Finn. His face was a mask, as ever; a blank,

sun-bronzed mask, with eyes that spoke of magic and

myth and made them both quite real.

 

The harper began to sing. His deep voice was fine and

sweet, eloquently expressing his intent. He sang of the

bitterness of defeat and the gut-wrenching carnage of war.

He sang of boys who died on bloodied fields and captains

who fell beneath Solindish and Atvian swords. He sang of

a king who hid himself in safety behind the rose-red walls

of Homana-Mujhar, half-mad from a crazed obsession. He

sang of the king's slain brother, whose son was trapped in

despair and Atvian iron. He sang of the same boy, now a

man and free again, who lived flis life in exile, fleeing

Ihlini retribution. He sang my life, did this stranger, and

brought the memories alive.

Oh gods . . . the memories . . .

How is it that a harper can know what was? How is it

that he captures the essence of what happened, what I

am, what I long to be? How is it that he can sing my song

while 1 sit unknowing, knowing only it is true, wishing it

were otherwise?

How is it done?

 

The poignancy nearly shattered me. I shivered once

convulsively, then stared hard at the scarred wooden table

while the shackle weals beneath the sleeves of my leather

shirt ached with remembered pain. I could not look at the

harper. Not while he gave me my history, my heritage,

my legacy, and the story of a land—my land—in her death

struggle.

 

"By the gods—" I murmured before I could stop,

I felt Finn's eyes on me. But he said nothing at all.

 

THREE

 

"I am Lachlan," said the harper. "I am a harper, but also a

priest of Lodhi the All-Wise, the All-Father, would you

have me sing of Him?" Silence met his question, the

silence of reverence and awe. He smiled, his hands un-

moving upon the harp. "You have heard of the magic we

of Lodhi hold. The tales are true. Have you not heard

them before?"

 

I looked over the room. Men sat silently on their benches

and stools, paying no mind to anyone save the harper. I

wondered again what he intended to do.

 

"The All-Father has given some of us the gift of song,

the gift of healing, the gift of words. And fewer of us claim

all three " He smiled. It was an enigmatic, eloquent smile.

"I am one, and this night I will share what I can with

you."

 

The harp's single green stone cast a viridescent glow as

his fingers danced across the strings, stirring a sound that

at once set the flesh to rising on my bones. His eyes

passed over each of us again, as if'he sought to compre-

hend what each one of us was about. And still he smiled.

 

"Some men call us sorcerers," he said quietly. "I will

not dispute it. My Lady and I have traversed the leagues of

this land and others, and what I have seen I have learned.

What I will give you this night is something most men

long for: a return to the innocent days, A return to a time

when cares were not so great and the responsibilities of

 

I 28 I

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    29

 

manhood did not weigh so heavily. I wilt give you your

greatest day." The blue eyes swelled to black. "Sit you

still and listen, hearing only my Lady and myself, and 1

will give you the gift of Lodhi."

 

I heard the music begin. For a moment I thought

 

. nothing of it: it was harpsong as ever, boasting nothing

more than what I had already heard. And then I heard the

underscore moving through the melody. A strange, eerie

tone, seemingly at odds with the smoother line. I stared at

the harper's hands as he moved them in the strings, light

glittering off the strands. And then I felt him inside my

 

. head.

 

'f   Suddenly I was nothing but music. A single, solitary

note. A string plucked and plucked again, my use dictated

by the harper whose hands were on my soul. I stared at

the eloquent fingers moving, caressing, plucking at the

strings, and the music filled my head.

 

The colors of the room spilled away, like a wineglass

tipped and emptied. Everything was gray, dark and light,

with no blacks and no whites. I saw a harper in a gray robe

 

. with gray eyes and grayish hair. Only the harp held true:

 

honey-gold and gleaming, with a single emerald eye. And

 

', then even that was gone . . .

 

No more war—no more blood—no more wishing for

 

\ revenge. Only the sense of other days. Younger days, and

a younger Carillon, staring with joy and awe at the great

 

; chestnut warhorse his father had gifted him on his eigh-

teenth birthday. I recalled the day so well, and what I had

thought of the horse. I recalled it all, for on that day I was

named Prince of Homana, and heir to the Lion Throne.

 

Again I clattered down the winding staircase atJoyenne,

nodding at servants who gave me morning greeting, think-

 

', ing only of the promised gift. I had known it was to be a

 

i'.horse, a warhorse, but not which one. I had hoped—

 

—and it was. The great red stallion had gotten a

matching son on my father's best mare, and that son was

mine at last. FuU-grown and fuUy trained, ready for a

warrior. I was not so much a warrior then, knowing only

the practice chamber and tourney-fields, but 1 was more

^than ready to prove what I could of my skill. And yet I

 

\ could not have wished for that chance to come so soon.

 

30 Jennifer Roberson

 

1 saw then the underside of the harper's spell. It was

true he gave me my innocent days, but with those days

came the knowledge of what had followed. He could not

have summoned a more evocative memory had he tried

for it; I think he did it purposely. I think he reached into

my mind, digging and searching until he found the proper

one And then he gave it to me.

 

The memory altered. No more was I the young prince

reaching out to touch the stallion. No. I was someone else

entirely: a bloodied, soiled, exhausted boy in a man's

body, his sword taken from him and his wrists imprisoned

in Atvian iron. Taken by Thorne himself, Keough's son,

who had ordered the iron hammered on.

 

All my muscles knotted. Sweat broke out on my flesh. I

sat in a crowded common room of a roadhouse in the

depths of an Ellasian storm, and I sweated. Because I

could not help myself.

 

And then, suddenly, the colors were back The grays

faded. Candlewicks guttered and smoked, turning faces

tight and dark, and then I realized I sat still upon my stool

with Finn's hand imprisoning my right wrist. It was not

iron, it was flesh and bone, holding my arm in place. And

then I saw why. In my fist was gripped the bone-handled

knife, the blade pointing toward the harper.

 

"Not yet," Finn said quietly "Perhaps later, when we

have divined his true intent."

 

It made me angry, Angry at Finn, which was wrong,

but I had no better target. It was the harper I wanted, for

manipulating me so, but it was Finn who was too near.

 

I let go the knife. Finn let go the hand. I drew it in to

my body, massaging the ridges of scar tissue banding my

wrist as if it bore iron still. And I glared at him with all the

anger in my eyes. "What did he give you? A Cheysuli on

the throne?"

 

Finn did not smile "No," he said, "He gave me Alix."

 

It took the breath from my chest. Alix. Of course. How

better to get to Finn than to remind him of the woman he

had wanted badly enough to steal? The woman who had

turned her back on him to wed Duncan, his brother.

 

The woman who was my cousin, that I wanted for

myself.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     31

 

x^

 

Vi.

 

I laughed bitterly. "A skillml harper indeed ... or more

likely a sorcerer, as he claims." I stared across at the

blue-robed man who was calmly refusing to sing again.

"Ihlini. do you think? Sent from Bellam to set a trap?"

 

Finn shook his head. "Not Ihlini; I would know. And 1

have heard of this All-Father god." He grimaced in distaste.

"An Ellasian deity, and therefore of less importance to

me, but powerful nonetheless." He shifted slightly on the

stool, leaning forward to pour himself more wine. "I will

have a talk with him."

 

He had named himself Lachlan, and now he moved

around the room to gather up his payment in coin and

baubles and wine. He carried his harp tucked into the

crook of one arm and a cup in his other hand. Light

glittered off the silver links around his waist and the

circlet on his brow. He was a young man still, perhaps my

own age, and tall, but lacking my substantial height and

weight. Still, he was not slight, and I thought there was

strength in those shoulders.

 

He came last to our table, as I expected, and I pushed

the winejug forward so he would know to help himself.

And then I kicked a stool toward him. "Sit you down.

Please yourself with the wine. And this." I drew forth

from my belt-purse a jagged piece of gold, stamped with a

crude design. But it was good gold, and heavy, and few

men would look askance at its crude making. I slid it

across the table with a forefinger, pushing it around the

bone-handled knife.

 

The harper smiled, nodded and sat down upon the

stool. His blue eyes matched the rich hue of his robe. His

hair, in the dim candlelight, showed no color other than a

dull dark brown. It looked as if the sun had never touched

ft, to bleach it red or blond. Dyed, I thought, and smiled

to myself.

 

He poured wine into the cup he held. It was a fine

silver cup, though tarnished with age. The house cup for a

harper, I thought, seeing little use I doubted it was his

 

own.

 

"Steppes gold." He picked up the coin. "I do not often

see payment of this sort." His eyes flicked from the coin to

 

32 Jennifer Roberson

 

my face. "My skill is not worth so much, I think, you may

have it back." He set the coin on the table and left it

 

The insult was made calmly and clearly, with great care.

Its intent was unknown, and yet I recognized it regard-

less. Or was it merely a curious man gone fishing for an

outsize catch? Perhaps an exiled pnnce.

 

"You may keep it or not, as you wish." I picked up my

own mug. "My companion and I have just returned from

the Caledonese war against the plainsmen of the Steppes—

alive and unharmed, as you see—and we are generous

because of it." I spoke Ellasian, but with a Caledonese

accent.

 

The harper—Lachlan—swirled wine in his tarnished cup.

"Did it please you," he said, "my gift?"

 

I stared at him over my mug. "Did you mean it to?"

 

He smiled. "I mean nothing with that harpsong. I merely

share my gift—Lodhi's gift—with the listener, who will

make of it what he will. They are your memories, not

mine; how could I dictate what you see?" His eyes had

gone to Finn, as if he waited.

 

Finn did not oblige. He sat quietly on his stool, seem-

ingly at ease, though a Cheysuli at ease is more prepared

than any man I know. He turned his mug idly on the table

with one long-fingered hand. His eyes were hooded slightly,

like a predator bird's, but the irises showed yellow below

the lids.

 

"Caledon." The harper went on as if he realized he

would get nothing from Finn. "You say you fought with

Caledon, but you are not Caledonese. 1 know a Cheysuli

when I see one." He smiled, then glanced at me. "As for

you—you speak good Ellasian, but not good enough. You

have not the throat for it. But neither are you Caledonese;

 

I know enough of them." His eyes narrowed. "Solindish,

perhaps, or Homanan. You lack the lilt of Palia."

 

"Mercenaries," I said clearly, knowing it was—or had

been—the truth. "Claiming no realm, only service."

 

Lachlan looked at me. I knew he saw the thick beard

and the uncut, sunstreaked hair that tangled on my shoul-

ders. I had hacked off the mercenary's braid I had worn

for five years, bound with crimson cord, and went as a free

man again, which meant my sword was available. With a

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    33

 

,. Cheysuli at my side, I would be a valuable man. Kings

ir would pay gold for our service.

 

'v   "No realm," he said, and smiled. Then he pushed away

y' from the table and got to his feet, cradling the harp. He

;i picked up the blackened silver cup and nodded his thanks

(< for the wine.

 

"Take your payment," I said. "It was made in good

faith."

 

§    "And in good faith, I refuse it." He shook his head.

t "You have more need of it than I. I have no army to

H raise."

 

H    I laughed out loud. "You misunderstand mercenaries.

I; harper. We do not raise armies. We serve in them."

I,   "I said precisely what I meant." His face was solemn,

f^ eyes flicking between us shrewdly. And then he turned

^ away.

 

j    Finn put out his hand and gathered up his knife. No,

9  not his precisely; like me, he hid his away. He carried

'i instead a knife taken from a Steppes plainsman, and it

',• served its purpose. In Finn's hand, any knife did.

^    "Tonight," he said quietly, "I will have conversation

|p with that harper."

 

I,    I thought fleetingly of the Ellasian god the harper claimed

? to serve. Would Lodhi interfere? Or would Lachlan

I? cooperate?

j^    I smiled. "Do what you have to do."

 

^    Because the storm had driven so many inside for the

^ evening, the roadhouse was crowded to bursting. There

were no private rooms. The best I could do was give gold

to the tavern-master for two pallets on the floor of a room

already occupied by three others. When I went in alone,

later than I had intended, they already slept. I listened

;\ silently just inside the open door, to see if anyone feigned

® sleep to lure me into a trap, but all three men were deep

I. asleep. And so I shut the door, set my unsheathed sword

I   on the lice-ridden pallet as I stretched out my legs, and

^ waited for Finn to come in.

 

A-    When he did, it was without sound. Not even the door

^  squeaked, as it had for me. Finn was simply in the room.

 

34 Jennifer Roberson

 

"The harper is gone," he said. It was hardly a sound, but I

had learned how to hear it.

 

I frowned into the darkness as Finn knelt down on the

other pallet. "In this storm?"

 

"He is not here."

 

I sat back against the wall, staring thoughtfully into the

darkness. My right hand, from long habit, touched the

leather-wrapped hilt of my sword. "Gone, is he?" I mused-

"What could drive a man into an Ellasian snowstorm,

unless there be good reason?"

 

"Gold is often a good reason." Finn shed a few of his

furs and dropped them over his legs. He stretched out

upon his pallet and was silent. I could not even hear him

breathe.

 

I bit at my left thumb, turning things over in my mind.

Questions arose and I could answer none of them. Nor

could Finn, so I wasted no time asking him. And then,

when I had spent what moments I could spare considering

the harper, I slid down the wall to stretch full length upon

the lumpy pallet and went to sleep.

 

What man—even a prince with gold upon his head—

need fear for his safety with a Cheysuli at his side?

 

It was morning before we could speak openly, and even

then words were delayed. We went out into the ethereal

stillness of abated storm, saddled and packed our horses

and walked them toward the rack. The snow lay deep and

soft around my boots, reaching nearly to my knees. The

track was better, packed and shallow, and there I waited

while Finn went into the trees and searched for his lir.

 

Storr came at once, bounding out of the trees like a dog,

hurling himself into Finn's arms. Finn went down on one

knee, ignoring the cold, and cast a quick, appraising look

toward the roadhouse. I thought it highly unlikely anyone

could see us now. Satisfied, Finn thrust out an arm and

slung it around Storr's neck, pulling the wolf in close.

 

What their bond is, I cannot say precisely. I know only

what Finn has told me, that Storr is a part of his heart and

soul and mind; half of his whole. Without the wolf, Finn

said, he was little more than a shadow, lacking the gifts of

his race and the ability to survive. I thought it an awe-

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     35

 

somely gruesome thing, to claim life only through some

sorcerous link with an animal, but I could not protest what

so obviously worked. I had seen him with the wolf before

during such greetings, and it never failed to leave me

feeling bereft and somehow empty. Jealous, even, for

what they shared was something no other man could claim

save the Cheysuli. I have owned dogs and favorite horses,

but it was not the same. That much I could tell, looking at

them, for Finn's face was transfigured when he shared a

reunion with Storr.

 

Finn's new horse, a dark brown gelding purchased from

the tavern-master, pulled at the slack reins. I pulled him

back again and got his reins untangled from those of my

little Steppes pony. When I looked again at Finn I saw

him slap Storr fondly on the shoulder, and then he was

pushing back through the snow toward me.

 

I handed the reins to him. "How does he fare?"

 

"Well enough." The fond half-smile remained a mo-

ment, as if he still conversed with the wolf. I had thought

once or twice that his expression resembled that of a man

well-satisfied by a woman, he wore it now "Storr says he

would like to go home."

 

"No more than I." The thought of Homana instead of

foreign lands knotted my belly at once. Gods. to go home

again ... I looped my horse's reins over his ears, pulled

them down his neck and mounted. As ever, the little

gelding grunted. Well, I am heavier than the plainsmen

who broke him. "I think we can reach Homana today,

does the sky remain clear." I looked skyward and squinted

out of habit. "Perhaps we should go to the Keep."

 

Finn, settling into his saddle, looked at me sharply. He

went hoodless as I did, and the early dawn light set his

earring to glinting with a soft golden glow. "This soon?"

 

I laughed at him. "Have you no wish to see your brother?"

 

Finn scowled. "You know well enough I am not averse

to seeing Duncan again. But I had not thought we would

go openly into Cheysuli land so soon."

 

I shrugged. "We are nearly there. The Keep lies on the

border, which we must cross. And, for all that, I think we

both wish to see Alix again."

 

Finn did not meet my eyes. It was odd to realize the

 

36 Jennifer Roberson

 

time away from Homana had not blunted his desire for his

brother's wife. No more than it had mine

 

He looked at me at last. "Do you wish to take me to her,

or go for yourself?"

 

I smiled and tried not to show him my regret. "She is

wed now, and happily. There is no room for me in her life

except as a cousin."

 

"No more for me except as a rujholli." Finn laughed

bitterly; his eyes on me were ironic and assessive as he

pushed black hair out of his dark, angular face. "Do you

not find it strange how the gods play with our desires? You

held Alix's heart, unknowing, while she longed for a single

word from your mouth. Then I stole her from you, intend-

ing to make her my meijha. But it was Duncan, ever

Duncan ... he won her from us both." Grimly he put out

his hand and made the gesture I had come to hate, for all

its infinite meaning.

 

"Tahlmorra," I said sourly. "Aye, Finn, I find it passing

strange. And I do not like it overmuch."

 

Finn laughed and closed his hand into a fist. "Like it?

But the gods do not expect us to like it. No. Only to serve

it."

 

"You serve it. I want none of your Cheysuli prophecy. I

am a Homanan prince."

 

"And you will be a Homanan king . . . with all the help

of the Cheysuli."

 

No man, born of a brief history, likes to hear of another

far greater than his own, particularly when his House has

fallen into disarray. The Homanan House had held the

Lion Throne nearly four hundred years. Not long, to

Cheysuli way of thinking. Not when their history went

back hundreds of centuries to a time with no Homanans,

Only the Firstborn, the ancestors of the Cheysuli, with all

their shapechanging arts.

 

And the power to hand down a prophecy that ruled an

entire race.

 

"This way, then." Finn gestured and kicked his horse

into motion.

 

"You are certain?" I had no wish to get myself lost, not

when I was so close to Homana at last.

 

Finn cast me a thoroughly disgusted glance. "We go to

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    37

 

the Keep, do we not? I should know the way. Carillon.

Once, it was my home."

 

I subsided into silence. I am silent often enough around

him. Sometimes, with Finn, it is simply the best thing to

do.

 

FOUR

 

The weather remained good, but the going did not. We

had left behind the beaten track that led westward into

Homana, seeking instead the lesser-known pathways.

Though the Cheysuli were welcome within Ellas, they

kept to themselves. I doubted High King Rhodri knew

much of the people who sheltered in his forests. They

would keep themselves insular, and therefore more mys-

terious than ever. There would be no well-traveled tracks

leading to the Keep.

 

At last, as the sun lowered in the sky, we turned into

the trees to find a proper campsite, knowing Homana and

the Keep would have to wait another day. We settled on a

thick copse of oaks and beeches.

 

Finn swung off his mount. "I will fetch us meat while

you lay the fire. No more journey-loaf for me, not when I

have tasted real meat in my mouth again." He threw me

his reins, then disappeared into the twilight with Storr

bounding at his side.

 

I tended the horses first, untacking them, then hobbling

and graining them with what dwindling rations remained.

Once the horses were settled I searched for stones, in-

tending to build us a proper firecaim. We had gone often

enough without a fire, but I preferred hot food and warmth

when I slept.

 

I built my caim, fired the kindling we carried in our

saddlepacks and made certain the flames would hold. Then

 

I 38 I

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA I 39

 

I turned to the blankets I had taken from the horses.

Pelts, to be precise; each horse was blanketed with two.

The bottom rested hair-down against the horse, the top

one hangup, to pad the saddle. At night the pelts became

blankets for Finn and me, smelling of sweat and horsehair,

but warm. I spread them now against the snow; after we

ate we could thrust the hot stones beneath them to offer a

little heat.

 

As \ spread the blankets I heard the muffled movement

in the snow. My hand was on my sword instantly, ripping

it from the sheath at my left hip. I spun, leveling the

blade, and saw the flash of setting sunlight turn the runes

to blinding fire.

 

Three men before me, running at me out of the thicken-

ing shadows. More than that behind me. I wondered

where was Finn, and then I did not, for I had no time.

 

I took the first one easily enough, marking the expres-

sion of shock on his face as I swung my blade and cut

through leather and furs and flesh, shearing the bone of

his arm in two just below the shoulder. The momentum of

the blade carried it farther yet, into his ribs, and then he

fell and I wrenched the sword free to use it on yet another.

 

The second fell as well, thrust'through the lungs, and

then the others did what they should have done at the

first. They came at me at once, en masse, so that even did

I try to take yet a third the others could bear me down. I

did not doubt I would account for at least another death

before I died, perhaps even two—Finn and adversity had

taught me wen enough for that—but the result would be

the same. I would be dead, and Bellam would have his

pretender-prince.

 

I felt the cold kiss of steel at the back of my neck,

sliding through my hair. Yet another blade was at my

throat; a third pressed against the leather and furs shield-

ing my belly. Three men on me, then, two were dead, and

the last man—the sixth—stood away and watched me.

Blood was splattered across his face, but he bore no wound.

 

"Stay you still," he told me at once, and I heard the fear

in his voice. As well as the Homanan words.

 

I gestured toward my belt-purse. "My gold is there."

 

"We want none of t/our gold," he said quickly "We

 

40 Jennifer Roberson

 

came for something more." He smiled. "But we will take

it, since you offer.'

 

I still held my sword in my right hand. But they did not

let me keep it. One man reached out and took it from me,

then tossed it aside. I saw how it landed across the firecairn,

clanging against the stone. I saw how the hilt was in the

flames, and knew the leather would bum away to display

the golden lion.

 

"Whose gold do you want, then?" I spoke Homanan,

since they did, but I kept my Caledonese accent.

 

"Bellam's," he confided, and grinned.

 

Inwardly I swore- The Solindish usurper had caught me

easily enough. And I had not even reached Homana.

 

Still, I forced a bewildered frown. "What does Bellam

want with a mercenary? Can he not buy hundreds of

them?"

 

"You travel with a shapechanger," he stated flatly.

 

Still I frowned. "Aye. What of it? Has Bellam declared

it unlawful? I am not Homanan, I am Caledonese, I choose

my companions where I will." I looked at the sword hilt

and saw how the leather turned black and crisp. In a

moment it would peel away, and I would be unmasked. If

I were not already.

 

"Cheysuli are under sentence of death," the Homanan

said. "That is one policy Bellam has kept intact since the

days of Shame."

 

I allowed surprise to enter my face. "You welcome

Bellam as king, then? Though you be Homanan?"

 

He glanced at the others. They were all familiar: I had

seen them in the roadhouse the night before. And they

had heard Bellam's message the harper had read. But I

wondered how I had given myself away.

 

The man spat into the snow. "We welcome Bellam's

gold, since we get none of it another way. While he offers

payment for each Cheysuli slain, we will serve him. That

is all,"

 

I kept my surprise from showing. Once more, it was not

me they sought. Finn again. But it was me they had

caught, and worth more—to Bellam—than five hundred

Cheysuli warriors.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    41

 

Except there were not five hundred Cheysuli left in all

the world. My uncle had seen to that.

 

"You have come across the border hunting Cheysuli?" I

asked.

 

He smiled. "They are hard to find in Homana. But the

Ellasian king gives them refuge, so we seek them here.

How better to earn the gold?"

 

"Then why," I asked very calmly, "do you disarm me? I

have no stake in this."

 

"You came in with the shapechanger. By taking you,

we take him He will not turn beast with your life in our

hands."

 

I laughed. "You count on a bond that does not exist,

The Cheysuli and I met on the trail; we owe each other

nothing. Taking me wins you nothing except a meaning-

less death." I paused. "You do mean to slay me, do you

not?"

 

He glanced at the others. For a moment there was

Hesitation in his blue eyes, and then he shrugged. His

decision had been made. "You slew two of us. You must

pay."

 

I heard the jingle of horse trappings. The blades pressed

closer against my neck, throat and belly as the man rode

out of the trees. In his bare hands was a harp, and the

single note he plucked held us all in thrall.

 

"You will slay no one," the harper said. "Fools, all of

you, when you have Carillon in your hands "

 

The Homanans did not move. They could not. Like me,

they were prisoners to the harp.

 

Lachlan looked at me. "They are Homanans, Did you

tell them your name, they might bend knee to you instead

of baring steel."

 

His fingers tangled in the strings 'and brought forth a

tangle of sound. It allowed me to speak, but nothing

more. "I am a mercenary," I said calmly. "You mistake me

for someone else "

 

He frowned. His eyes were on me intently, and the

sound of the harp increased. I felt it inside my head, and

then he smiled. "I can conjure up your life, my lord.

Would you have me show it to us all?"

 

42 Jonnlfttr Robwon

 

"To what purpose?" I inquired. "You will do what you

will do, no matter what I say."

 

"Aye," he agreed.

 

I saw how his fingers played upon the strings, drawing

from the harp a mournful, poignant sound. It conjured up

memories of the song he had played the night before, the

lay that had driven a blade into my belly with the memo-

ries of what had happened. But it was not the same. It had

a different sound. His Lady sang a different song.

 

The blades moved away from my neck, my throat, my

belly. The Homanans stepped away, stumbling in the

snow, until I stood alone. I watched, mute, as they took

up the men I had slain and bore the bodies away into the

trees. I was alone, except for the harper, but as helpless as

before.

 

"Ah," I said, "you mean to claim the gold yourself."

 

"I mean to give you what men I can," he reproved. "I

sent them home to wait until you call them to your

standard."

 

I laughed. "Who would serve a mercenary, harper? You

have mistaken me, I say."

 

Quite calmly he set the harp into its case and closed it

up, hooking it to his saddle. Lachlan jumped down from

his horse and crossed the snow to me. He knelt swiftly,

pulled thick gloves from his belt and folded them, then

pulled my sword from the firecairn. The leather had burned

away, and in the last rays of the setting sun the ruby

glowed deep crimson. The lion was burnished gold.

 

Lachlan rose. He held the blade gingerly, careful of the

heat even through the gloves, but his smile did not fade.

He turned to look at me with subtle triumph in his eyes.

"I have leather in my packs," he said quietly. "You will

have to wrap it again."

 

Still I could not move. I wondered how long he meant

to hold me. I wondered if he would take me all the way to

Mujhara in his ensorcellment, so that Bellam would see

me helpless. The thought set my teeth to gritting.

 

And then I smiled. As Lachlan turned to go to his

horse—for the harp, no doubt—Finn stepped around the

horse's rump and blocked Lachlan's path. Around the

other side came Storr. And the ensorcellment was broken.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    43

 

u

 

1!»

 

I reached out and closed my gloved hand upon the

blade of my sword, still in Lachlan's careful grasp. I felt

the heat, but it was not enough to burn me. Simply

enough to remind me what had so nearly happened.

 

Lachlan stood quite still. His hands were empty of

everything now save the gloves he held, folded in his

palms. He waited.

 

Finn moved closer. Storr followed. I could feel Lachlan's

tension increase with every step they took. My own was

gone at last; I felt calm, at ease, content to know the

confrontation was firmly in our hands. No more in a sor-

cerous harper's-

 

"The others are dead." Finn stopped in front of Lachlan.

 

The harper started. "You slew them? But I gave them a

task—"

 

"Aye," Finn agreed ironically. "I prefer to take no

chances."

 

Lachlan opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again.

I saw how rigid was his jaw. After a moment he tried

again. "Then you have taken five men from Carillon's

army. Five men you will miss."

 

Finn smiled. There was little of amusement in it. "I

would sooner take five men from Carillon's army than

Carillon himself."

 

Lachlan looked sharply at me. "You disbelieve me when

I say 1 wish only to aid you. Well enough, I understand it.

But he is Cheysuli. He can compel the truth from me. I

know of his gifts; I have my own."

 

"And, having them, you may withstand mine," Finn

commented.

 

Lachlan shook his head. "Without my harp, I have no

magic. I am at your disposal. And I am not Ihlini, so you

need fear no loss of your own power."

 

Finn's hands were a blur, reaching to catch the harper's

head before Lachlan could move away. He held the skull

between both palms, cradling it, as if he sought to crush

it, but he did not. Lachlan's own hands came up, reaching

to peel Finn's fingers away, but they stopped. The hands

fell to his sides. Finn held him there, and went into his

 

mind.

 

After a moment, when some sense came back to Finn's

 

44 Jennifer Robarson

 

eyes, he looked at me. "He is a harper, a healer and a

priest. That much I can touch. But nothing else. He is

well shielded, no matter that he wishes to claim his

innocence."

 

"Does he serve Bellam or Tynstar?"

 

"He does not appear to." The distinction was deliberate.

 

I looked upon my sword and methodically rubbed the

ash and charring from its hilt. "If he is neither Bellam nor

Tynstar's man, whose man is he? He had his chance to

slay me with that harp, or to take my mind from me.

Bellam would give him his gold for a body or a madman."

I grimaced. "He might even have used the Homanans as a

guard contingent—he has the power with that harp. But

he did none of those things."

 

"Shall I slay him for you?"

 

I squinted at the ruby, darkening as the sun went down.

"Harpers are traditionally immune from such things as

assassination. Petty intrigue they cannot help—I think it is

born in them even as the harping is born—but never have

I known one to clothe himself in murder."

 

"Gold can buy any man."

 

I grinned at him, brows lifting. "A Cheysuli, perhaps?"

 

Finn scowled. With (he fortune in gold on his arms and

in his ear, more would hardly tempt him. Or any other

warrior. "He is not Cheysuli," was all he said, and the

meaning was quite clear.

 

"No," I agreed, sighing. "But perhaps he is only a spy,

not a hired assassin. Spies I can deal with; often they are

useful. How else coufd we have led Bellam this merry

dance for five years?" I smiled again. Bellam had sent

spies to track us down. Five had even found us. Those we

had stripped of their task, giving them a new one instead:

 

to take word to Bellam that we were elsewhere in the

world. Usually hundreds of leagues away from where we

were. It had worked with three of them.

 

The others we had slain.

 

"Then you mean to use him." His tone was perfectly

flat, but I knew he was not pleased.

 

"We will take him with us and see what he means to

do."

 

"You tread a dangerous path, Carillon."

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    45

 

I smiled. "It is already dangerous. This will add a fillip."

I laughed at his expression. "It will also keep you in

practice, liege man. You were slow in coming to my aid."

 

"I had five men to slay before I could reach the harp."

But he frowned a little, and I knew he was not immune to

the knowledge that he had been slow. Faster than anyone

else, perhaps, but slow for a Cheysuli warrior.

 

"You are getting old, Finn." I gestured. "Set our harper

free. Let us see what he intends to do."

 

Finn released Lachlan. The harper staggered a mo-

ment, then caught himself, touching his head with a tenta-

tive hand. His eyes were blurred and unfocused. "Have

you done?"

 

"More than done," I agreed- "Now tell us why you wish

to aid me."

 

He rubbed his brow, still frowning slightly. "It is a

harper's life to make songs out of heroes and history. You

are both, you and your Cheysuli. You should hear the

stories they tell." He grinned, his senses restored. "A

harper gains his own measure of fame by adding to the

fame of others. I could do worse than to ride with Carillon

of Homana and his equally infamous liege man."

 

"You could," I agreed, and let him make of that what he

would.

 

After a moment Lachlan gestured. "Your fire has gone

out. Do you wish it, I can give it life again."

 

I glanced down at the firecaim. Snow had been kicked

into the fire during the scuffle with the Homanans and the

weight had finally doused it. "I have flint and steel," 1

said.

 

"Your kindling is damp. What I do will take less effort."

Lachlan turned to go to his horse for the harp, but Storr

was in his way. After a moment a gray-faced harper looked

back at me.

 

I smiled. "Storr does Finn's bidding, when he does not

do his own. Look to him."

 

Lachlan did not move. He waited. And finally Storr

moved away.

 

The harper took down his case from the horse and

turned, cradling it against his chest. "You fear I will use

sorcery against you?"

 

46 Jennifer Roberson

 

"With reason," I declared.

 

"I will not." He shook his dull, dark head. "Not again. I

will use it for you, do you wish it, but not against. Never

against. We have too much in common "

 

"What," I asked, "does a mercenary have in common

with a harper?"

 

Lachlan grinned. It was the warm, amused expression I

had seen the evening before, as if he knew what 1 could

not, and chose to keep it that way. "I am many things," he

said obliquely. "Some of them you know: harper, healer,

priest. And one day I will share the rest with you."

 

1 lifted my sword, With great deliberation I set the tip

against the lip of the sheath and let Lachlan see the runes,

hardly visible in the dying light. Then I slid the sword

home with the hiss of steel filling the shadows. "Do you

admit to complicity," I said softly, "take care."

 

Lachlan's smile was gone. Hugging his harp case, he

shook his head "Were I to desire your death, your Cheysuli

would give me my own." He cast a quick, flickering glance

at Finn. "This is Ellas. We have sheltered the Cheysuli for

some years, now. Do you think I discount Finn's skill?

No. You need not be wary of me, with him present. I

couid do nothing."

 

I gestured. "There is that in your hands."

 

"My Lady?" He was surprised, then smiled. "Oh, aye,

there is her magic. But it is Lodhi's, and I do not use it to

kill."

 

"Then show us how you can use it," I bid him. "Show

us what other magic you have besides the ability to give us

our memories, or to lift our wills from us."

 

Lachlan looked at Finn, almost invisible in the deepen-

ing shadows. "It was difficult, with you. Most men are so

shallow, so transient. But you are made of layers. Com-

plex layers, some thin and easily torn away, but in tearing

they show the metal underneath. Iron," he said thought-

fully. "I would liken you to iron. Hard and cold and

strong."

 

Finn abruptly gestured toward the firecaim "Show us,

harper."

 

Lachlan knelt down by the firecaim. Deftly he unsealed

the harp case—boiled leather hardened nearly to stone by

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    47

 

some agent, padded thickly within—and took from it his

Lady. The strings, so fragile-seeming, gleamed in the

remaining light. The wood, I saw, was ancient, perhaps

from some magical tree. It was bound with spun gold. The

green stone—an emerald?—glowed.

 

He knelt in the snow, ignoring the increasing cold, and

played a simple lay. It was soft, almost unheard, but

remarkable nonetheless. And when his hands grew blurred

and quick I saw the spark begin, deep in the damp,

charred wood, until a single flame sprouted, swallowed it

all. and the fire was born again.

 

The song died upon the harp. Lachlan looked up at me.

"Done," he said.

 

"So it is, and myself unscathed." I reached down a

gloved hand, caught his bare one and pulled him to his

feet. His was no soft grasp, no woman's touch designed to

keep his harper's fingers limber.

 

Lachlan smiled as we broke the grip. I thought he had

judged me as quickly as I had him. But he said nothing;

 

there was nothing at all to say. We were strangers to one

another, though something within me said it would not

always be so.

 

"You ride a blooded horse," T said, looking at the

dapple-gray.

 

"Aye," Lachian agreed gravely. "The High King likes

my music. It was a gift last year."

 

"You have welcome in Rheghed?" I asked, thinking of

the implications.

 

"Harpers have welcome anywhere." He tugged on his

gloves, hunching against the cold. "I doubt not Bellam

would have me in Homana-Mujhar, did I go."

 

He challenged me with his eyes. I smiled, but Finn did

not. "Aye, I doubt not." I turned to Finn. "Have we

food?"

 

"Something like," he affirmed, "but only if you are

willing to eat coney-meat. Game is scarce."

 

I sighed. "Coney is not my favorite, but I prefer it to

none at all."

 

Finn laughed. "Then at least I have taught you some-

thing in these past years. Once you might have demanded

venison."

 

48 Jennifer Roberson

 

"I knew no better, then." I shook my head. "Even

princes leam they have empty bellies like anyone else,

when their titles are taken from them."

 

Lachlan's hands were on his harp as he set it within its

case. "Which title?" he asked. "Prince or Mujhar?"

 

"Does it matter? Bellam has stolen them both."

 

When the coneys were nothing but gristle and bone—

and Storr demolished the remains quickly enough—Lachlan

brought out a skin of harsh wine from his saddlepacks and

passed it to me. I sat cross-legged on my two peits, trying

to ignore the night's cold as it settled in my bones. The

wine was somewhat bitter but warming, and after a long

draw I handed it to Finn. Very solemnly he accepted it,

then invoked his Cheysuli gods with elaborate distinction,

and I saw Lachlan's eyes upon him. Finn's way of mocking

another man's beliefs won him few friends, but he wanted

none. He saw no sense in it, with Storr.

 

Lachlan retrieved the skin at last, drank, then passed it

on to me. "Will you tell me what I must know, then? A

saga is built out of fact, not fancy. Tell me how it was a

king could destroy the race that had served him and his

House so well."

 

"Finn would do better to tell it." If he would.

 

Finn, sitting on his pelts with Storr against one thigh,

shrugged. The earring glinted in the firelight. In the shad-

ows he seemed more alien than ever, part of the nighttime

itself. "What is there to say? Shaine declared qu'mahlin on

us for no good reason . . . and we died." He paused.

"Most of us."

 

'"You live," Lachlan commented.

 

Finn's smile was not precisely a smile, more a move-

ment of his lips, as if he would bare his teeth. "The gods

saw another way for me. My tahlmorra was to serve the

prophecy in later years, not die as a helpless child." His

hand went out to bury itself in Storr's thick hair.

 

Lachlan hesitated, cradling his harp case. "May I have

the beginning?" he asked at last, with careful intonation.

 

Finn laughed. There was no humor in it. "What is the

beginning, harper? 1 cannot say, and yet I was a part of

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     49

 

it." He looked at me a moment, fixedly, as if the memo-

ries had swallowed him-

 

1 swallowed, remembering too. "The fault lay in a man's

overweening pride." I did not know how else to begin.

"My uncle, Shaine the Mujhar—who wanted a son and

had none—tried to wed his daughter to Ellic of Solinde,

Bellam's son, in hopes of ending the war. But that daugh-

ter sought another man: Cheysuli, Shaine's own liege man,

turning her back on the alliance and the betrothal. She

fled her father, fled Homana-Mujhar, and with her went

the warrior."

 

"My^ehon," Finn said before I could continue. "Father,

you would say. Hale. He took Lindir from her tahlmorra

and fashioned another for them both. For us all; it has

resulted in disaster." He stared into the fire. "It took a

king in the throat of his pride, strangling him, until he

could not bear it. And when his cheysula died of a wasting

disease, and his second bore no living children, he deter-

mined the Cheysuli had cursed his House." His head

moved slightly, as if to indicate regret. "And he declared

qu'mahlin on us all."

 

Lachlan frowned intently. "A woman, then. The catalyst

of it all."

 

"Lindir," I agreed. "My cousin. Enough like Shaine, in

woman's form, to be a proper son. Except she was a

daughter, and used her pride to win her escape."

 

"What did she say to the result?"

 

I shook my head. "No one knows. She came back to her

father eight years later when she was heavy with Hale's

child, because he was dead and she had no other place to

go. Shaine took her back because he needed a male heir;

 

when the child was born a girl he banished her to the

woods so the beasts could have their shapechanger halfling.

But Alix lived because Shaine's arms-master—and the

Queen of Homana herseu—begged the Mujhar to give her

to man instead of beast." I shifted on my pelts. "Lindir

died bearing Alix. What she thought of the qumahlin I

could not say, but it slew her warrior and nearly destroyed

his race."

 

Lachlan considered it all. And then he looked at Finn.

 

50 Jennifer Roberson

 

"How is it, then, you serve Carillon? Shaine the Mujhar

was his uncle."

 

Finn put out his hand and made the familiar gesture.

"Because of this. Tahlmorra. I have no choice." He smiled

a little. "You may call it fate, or destiny, or whatever

Ellasian word you have for such things ... we believe

each child is born with a tahlmorra that must be heeded

when the gods make it known. The prophecy of the First-

born says one day a man of all blood shall unite, in peace,

four warring realms and two magic races. Carillon is a part

of that prophecy." He shook his head, solemn in the

firelight. "Had I a choice, I would put off such binding

service, but I am Cheysuli, and such things are not

done."

 

"Enemies become friends." Lachlan nodded slowly, star-

ing fixedly into the Bre as if he already heard the music.

"It would make a fine lay. A story to break hearts and rend

souls, and show others that hardships are nothing com-

pared to what the Cheysuli have suffered. Do you give me

leave, Finn, I will—"

 

"—do what?" Finn demanded. "Embellish the truth?

Change the story in the interests of rhyme and resonance?

No. I deny you that leave. What I have suffered—and my

clan—is not for others to know."

 

My hands, hooked loosely over my knees, curled into

fists that dug the bluntness of my nails into the leather of

my gloves. Finn rarely spoke of his past or his personal

feelings, being an intensely private man, but as he spoke I

heard all the pain and emotion in his voice. Raw and

unfettered, in the open at last.

 

Lachlan met his eyes. "I would embellish nothing, with

such truth," he said quietly. "I think there would be no

need."

 

Finn said something in the Old Tongue, the ancient

language of the Cheysuli. I had learned words and phrases

in the past years, but when Finn resorted to it out of

anger or frustration—or high emotions—I could under-

stand none of it. The lyrical syllables became slurred and

indistinct, yet managed to convey his feelings just the

same. I winced, knowing what Lachlan must feel.

 

But Finn stopped short. He never yelled, having no

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     51

 

need, but his quietness was just as effective Yet silence

was something altogether different, and I thought per-

haps something had stopped him. Then I saw the odd

detached expression in his face, and the blankness of his

eyes, and realized Storr conversed with him.

 

What the wolf said I cannot guess, but I saw Finn's face

darken in the firelight with heavy color, then go pale and

grim. Finally he unlocked his jaw and spoke.

 

"I was a boy." The words were so quiet 1 could hardly

hear them over the snap and crackle of the flames. "Three

years old." His hand tightened in the silver fur of Storr's

neck. I wondered, with astonishment at the thought, if he

sought support from his fir to speak of his childhood

clearly. It was not something he had said to me before,

not even when I had asked "I had sickened with some

childish fever, and kept to my jehana's skirts like a fool

with no wits." His eyes hooded a little, but he smiled, as if

the memory amused him. Briefly only; there was little of

amusement in the tale. "Sleep brought me no peace, only

bad dreams, and it was hot within the pavilion. It was

dark, so dark, and I thought the demons would steal my

soul. I was so hot." A heavy swallow rippled the flesh of

his throat. "Duncan threw water on the fire to douse it,

thinking to help, but he only made it smoke, and it

choked me. Finally he fell asleep, and my jehana, but I

could not "

 

I glanced at Lachlan. He was transfixed.

 

Finn paused. The firelight filled his eyes. "And then the

Keep was full of the thunder of the gods, only the thunder

came from men. The Mujhar's men. They swept into our

Keep like demons from the netherworld, determined to

destroy us all. They set fire to the pavilion."

 

Lachlan started. "With children inside?"

 

"Aye," Finn said grimly. "Ours they knocked down with

their horses, then they dropped a torch on it." His eyes

flicked to Lachlan's astonished face. "We paint our pavil-

ions, harper. Paint bums very quickly."

 

Lachlan started to speak, as if to halt the recital. Finn

went on regardless, perhaps purging his soul at last.

 

"Duncan pulled me from the fire before it could con-

sume us all. My jehana took us both into the trees, and

 

52 Jennifer Roberson

 

there we hid until daylight. By then the men were gone,

but so was most of our Keep." He took a deep breath. "I

was young, too young to fully understand, but even a child

of three leams how to hate." The eyes came around to me.

"I was bom two days before Hale went away with Lindir,

and still he took her. Still he went from the Keep to

Homana-Mujhar, and helped his meijha, his mistress, es-

cape. And so Shaine, when he set his men upon us, made

certain Hale's Keep was the first."

 

Lachlan, after a long moment of silence, shook his head.

"I have gifts many men do not, because of Lodhi and my

Lady. But even I cannot tell the tale as you do." His face

was very still. "I will leave it to those who can. I will leave

it to the Cheysuli."

 

FIVE

 

When at last we drew near the Keep a day later, Finn

grew pensive and snappish. It was unlike him. We had

dealt well together, though only after I had grown used to

having a Cheysuli at my side, and after he had grown accus-

tomed to riding with a Homanan. Now we had come home

again, at least to his mind, home again, would Finn put off

his service?

 

It set the hairs to rising on my neck I had no wish to

lose Finn. I needed him still. I had teamed much in the

years of exile, but ] had yet to leam what it was to lay

claim to a stolen throne. Without Finn, the task would be

close to impossible.

 

He pulled up his mount sharply, hissing invectives be-

neath his breath. And then his face went blank with the

uncanniness of the fir-bond and I knew he conversed with

the wolf.

 

Lachlan, wise harper, said nothing. He waited as I did.

But the tension that was a tangible thing did not appear to

touch him.

 

Finn broke free of the contact at last. I had watched his

face; had seen it grow hard and sharp and bleak, like his

eyes. And now I grew afraid.

 

"What is it?" I hissed.

 

"Storr sends a warning." Finn shivered suddenly, though

the sunlight that glittered off his earring was warm upon

our shoulders. "I think I feel it myself. I will go in. Keep

 

I 53 I

 

54 Jennifer Roberson

 

yourself here." He looked at Lachlan a moment, consider-

ing something, by the look in his eyes. Then he shrugged,

dismissing it. "Keep yourself here, as I said, until I come

back for you."

 

He spoke lightly enough, no doubt for Lachlan's bene-

fit, but I could not wait for subterfuge. I caught the rein of

his horse and held him still. "Tell me. What is it?"

 

Finn looked again at Lachlan, and then he looked at

me. "Storr can touch no lir."

 

"None?"

 

"Not even Alix."

 

"But—with her Old Blood—" I stopped. He need say

no more. Could Storr touch no lir at all, the situation was

grave indeed. 'There may be danger for you as well," I

told him quietly.

 

"Of course. So I go in Zir-shape." He dropped off his

horse at once, leaving me with a skittish animal at the end

of a leather rein. "Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu,"

he said to me, shrugging, and then he was no longer a

man.

 

I watched Lachlan, As the space in which Finn stood

emptied, swallowed instead by the void, Lachlan's eyes

stretched wide. And then they narrowed as he frowned,

staring as if he would learn it himself. His Hngers dropped

to the harp case at his knee, touching it as if to reassure

himself he was awake, not asleep. By the time I looked

back at Finn the man-shape was completely gone, re-

placed by the blurred outline of a wolf. I felt the familiar

rolling of my belly, swallowed against it, as always, and

looked at Lachlan again. His face had taken on a peculiar

greenish hue. I thought he might vomit up his fear and

shock, but he did not.

 

The ruddy wolf with Finn's yellow eyes flicked his tail

and ran.

 

"They do not merit fear," I told Lachlan clearly, "unless

you have done something to merit their enmity." I smiled

as his eyes turned to me, staring as if he thought I too

might be a wolf, or something equally bestial. "You are an

innocent man, you have said: a harper . - . what have you

to fear from Finn?"

 

But a man does not stop fearing the specter of childhood

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    55

 

nightmares so easily, no matter how innocent he is.

Lachlan—with, perhaps, more guilt than he claimed—might

have better reason to fear what he saw. He stared after

Finn, seeing nothing now, but the greenish pallor had

been replaced by the white of shock and apprehension.

"Wolves cannot know reason! Does he know you in that

shape?"

 

"Finn, in that shape, knows everything a man knows," I

said. "But he also claims the wisdom of a wolf. A double

threat, you might say, for one who deserves careful con-

sideration." I shifted in the saddle, half my mind with

Finn and the other half knowing what Lachlan felt. I had

felt it myself, the first few times. "He is not a demon or a

beast. He is a man who claims a god-gift in his blood,

much as you claim it in yours. It is only his gods manifest

their presence a little differently." I thought of the magic

he made with his music, and then I laughed at his horri-

fied expression. "Think you he worships Lodhi? Not Finn.

Perhaps he worships no god, or gods, but he serves his

own better than any man I have ever known. How else do

you think he would keep himself to my side?" Finn's horse

tried to wander, searching for grass in the snow, and I

pulled him back. "You need have no fear he might turn on

you, wolflike, and tear your throat from your body. He

would do that only if you gave him reason." I met the

harper's eyes steadily, keeping my tone light. "But then

you have no wish to betray me, have you? Not with your

saga at stake."

 

"No." Lachlan tried to smile, but I could see the thoughts

in his head. No man, seeing the shapechange for the first

time, forgets it so quickly. If at all. "What was it he said to

you, before he changed himself?"

 

I laughed. "A philosophy, of sorts. Cheysuli, of course,

and therefore alien to Homanans or Ellasians." I quoted

the words: "Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu. It

means, roughly, the fate of a man rests always within the

hands of the gods." I made the gesture, being very dis-

tinct as I lifted my right hand and spread my fingers. "It is

usually shortened to the word tahlmorra, which says more

than enough quite simply."

 

Lachian shook his head slowly. "Not so alien to me, I

 

56 J«nnlfwr Robafon

 

think. Do you forget I am a priest? Admittedly my god is

singular, and far different from those Finn claims, but I

am trained to understand the faith a man holds. More than

trained; I believe it with all my heart, that a man may

know and serve his deity." His hand tapped the harp case.

"My gift is there. Carillon. Finn's is elsewhere, but just as

strong. And he is just as devout, perhaps more so, to give

himself up to his fate." He smiled. "Tahlmorra lujhala mei

wiccan, cheysu. How eloquent a phrase."

 

"Have you any like it?"

 

Lachlan laughed. "You could never say it. You tack an

Ellasian throat." He thumped the harp case. "This one is

not so hard: Yhana Lodhi, yffennog faer." He smiled. "A

man walks with pride forever when he walks with Lodhi,

humble."

 

And then Finn was back, two-legged and white-faced,

and I had no more time for philosophy. I held out the rein

as Finn reached for it, but I could ask none of the ques-

tions that crowded my mouth. Finn's face had robbed me

of my voice.

 

"Destroyed," he said in a whisper. 'Tom down. Burned."

His pallor was alarming. "There is no Keep,"

 

I was over the broken stonework before I realized what

it was, setting my horse to jumping though he lacked the

legs to do it. He stumbled, scrabbling at the snow-cloaked

heaps of mortared stone, and then I knew. The wall, the

half-circle wall that surrounded every Keep. Shattered

and broken upon the ground.

 

I pulled up at once, saving the horse, but also saving

myself. I sat silently on the little gelding, staring at what

remained of the Keep. Bit by bit I looked, allowing myself

one portion at a time; I could not bear to see it all at once.

 

Snow covered nearly everything, but scavenger beasts

had dug up the remains. I saw the long poles, some

snapped in two, some charred. I saw scraps of soiled cloth

frozen into stifihess, colors muted by time and harsh

weather. The Brecairns that had stood before each pavilion

lay in tumbled fragments, spilled by hostile feet and de-

structive hooves. All of it gone, with only ragged remnants

of a once-proud Keep.

 

In my mind I saw it as I had seen it last: undressed,

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    57

 

unmortared stone standing high to guard the Keep; bil-

lowing pavilions of varied hues emblazoned with painted

lir. The perches and pelts existing for those lir, and the

children who feared nothing of the wild. Save, perhaps,

for those who knew to fear Homanans.

 

I cursed. It came viciously out of my mouth along with

the spittle. I thought of Duncan, clan-leader of his Keep,

but mostly 1 thought of Alix.

 

I rode on then. Directly to the proper place. 1 knew it

well enough, though nothing remained to mark it. And

there I slid off my horse, too stiff to dismount with any skill

or grace, and fell down upon my knees.

 

One pole pierced its way through snow to stab out of

the ruins like a standard. A scrap of fabric, stiff from

freezing, still clung to the wood. I tugged at it and it came

away, breaking off in my hand. Slate-colored, with the

faintest blur of gold and brown. For Cai, Duncan's hawk.

 

Not once had I thought they might be dead. Not once,

in all the time spent in exile, had I thought they might be

gone. They had been the one constant in my life, along

with Finn. Always I had recalled the Keep and the clan-

leader's pavilion, filled with Duncan's pride and Alix's

strength, and the promise of the unborn child. Never once

had I even considered they might not be here to greet

me.

 

But it was not the greeting I missed. It was the convic-

tion of life, no matter where it existed. Nothing lived here

now.

 

I heard the sound behind me and knew at once it was

Finn. Slowly, suddenly old beyond my years, I stood up. I

trembled as if with illness, knowing only a great sorrow

and rage and consuming grief.

 

Cods . . . they could not be dead—

 

Lachlan made a sound. I looked at him blindly, thinking

only of Alix and Duncan, and then I saw the expression of

realization in his eyes.

 

Finn saw it also. As he leaped, still in human form, I

caught him in mid-stride. "Wait—"

 

"He knew."

 

The words struck me in the face. But still I held Finn.

 

58 Jwnntfr Robwon

 

"Wait. Do you slay him, we will learn nothing from him.

Wait—"

 

Lachlan stood rooted to the earth. One hand thrust

outward as if to hold us back. His face was white. "I will

tell you. I will tell you what I can."

 

I let go of Finn when I knew he would do nothing

more. At least until he had better reason. "Then Finn has

the right of it: you knew."

 

Lachlan nodded stiffly. "I knew. Have known. But I had

forgotten. It was—three years ago."

 

"Three years." I stared around the remains of the Keep.

"Harper—what happened?"

 

He looked steadily at me. "Ihlini."

 

Finn hissed something in the Old Tongue. I merely

waited for further explanation. But I said one thing: "This

is Ellas. Do you say Tynstar has influence here?"

 

Dull color came up into Lachlan's face. "I say nothing of

that. Ellas is free of Ihlini domination. But once, only

once, there was a raid across the border. Ihlini and

Solindish, hunting the Cheysuli who sheltered in this

realm, and they came here." A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"There have been songs made about it, but it is not

something I care to recall. I had nearly forgotten."

 

"Remember, "Finn said curdy. "Remember it all, harper."

 

Lachlan spread his hands. 'The Ihlini came here. They

destroyed the Keep. They slew who they could of the

Cheysuli."

 

"How many?" Finn demanded.

 

"Not all." Lachlan scrubbed a hand across his brow. as if

he wished to free himself of the silver circlet of his calling.

"I—do not know, perhaps, as much as I should."

 

"Not enough and too much, all at once," Finn said

grimly. "Harper, you should have spoken earlier. You

knew we came to the Keep."

 

"How am I to know them all?" Lachlan demanded.

"The High King gives the Cheysuli shelter, but he does

not count them. old or young. I doubt Rhodri can say how

many Keeps or how many Cheysuli are in Ellas. We

merely wefcome them all."

 

This time it was Finn who colored, but only for a

moment. The grief and tension were back at once, etching

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    59

 

lines into his face. He wore his mask again, the private

mask, stark and hard in his insularity. "They may all be

dead. And that would leave only me—" He broke off.

 

Lachlan took a deep breath. "1 have heard that those

who survived went back into Homana. North. Across the

Bluetooth River."

 

Finn frowned. "Too far," he muttered, looking at Storr.

Too far even for the fir-link,"

 

I looked directly at Lachlan. "You have heard much for

a man who recalls so little. To Homana, you say. North,

across the Bluetooth. Are you privy to information we

have no recourse to?"

 

He did not smile. "Harpers are privy to much, as you

should know. Had you none in Homana-Mujhar?"

 

"Many," I said briefly. "Before Bellam silenced the

music."

 

Finn turned his back. He stared again at the remains of

Duncan's slate-gray pavilion. I knew he meant to master

himself. I wondered if he could.

 

"May I suggest," Lachlan began, "that you use my harp

skill in trying to rouse your people? I could go into taverns

and sing The Song of Homana, to test how the people feel.

How better to learn their minds, -and how they will an-

swer their rightful king's call?"

 

"The Song of Homana?" Finn said doubtfully, turning

to stare at Lachlan.

 

"You have heard it," the harper said, "and I saw what it

did to you. It has a magic of its own."

 

He spoke the truth. Did he go into Homanan taverns

and play that song on his Lady, he would know sooner

than anyone else what my people were capable of. Had

Bellam cowed them, it would take time to rebuild their

spirit. Were they merely angry, I could use it.

 

I nodded at Lachlan. "The horses require tending."

 

For a moment he frowned, baffled, and then he under-

stood. Silently he took away our horses and gave us room

to speak freely, without fear he might overhear.

 

"I give you leave to go," I told Finn simply.

 

Something flickered in his eyes. "There is no need."

 

"There is. You must go. Your clan—your kin—have

gone north across the Bluetooth. Home to Homana, where

 

60 Jennifer Roberson

 

we are bound. You must go and find them, to set your

soul at peace."

 

He did not smite. "Healing Homana is more important

than seeking out my clan."

 

"Is it?" I shook my head. "You told me once that clan-

and kin-ties bind more closely than anything else in Cheysuli

culture. I have not forgotten. I give you leave to go, so I

can have you whole again." I held up a silencing hand.

"Until you know. it will eat at your soul like a canker."

 

The flesh of his face was stiff. "I will not leave you in

companionship to the enemy."

 

I shook my head. "We do not know if he is an enemy."

 

"He knows too much," Finn said grimly. "Too much

and too little. I do not trust him."

 

"Then trust me." I put out my gloved hand and spread

my fingers, palm up. "Have you not taught me all you can

in the art of staying alive, even in dire adversity? I am no

longer quite the green princeling you escorted into exile. I

think I may have some control over my life." I smiled.

"You have said it is my tahlmorra to take back the Lion

Throne. If so, it will happen, and nothing will gainsay it.

Not even this time apart."

 

He shook his head slowly. "Tahlmorras may be broken,

Carillon. Do not mislead yourself into believing you are

safe."

 

"Have more faith in me," I chided. "Go north and find

Alix and Duncan. Bring them back." I frowned a moment.

"Bring them to Tori-in's croft. It was Alix's home, and if he

is still alive it will be a place of sanctuary for us all."

 

He looked at the ruined pavilion, buried under snow.

And then he looked at Storr. He sighed. "Rouse your

people, my lord of Homana. And 1 will bring home the

Cheysuli."

 

SIX

 

Mujhara. It rose out of the plains of Homana like an eagle

on an aerie, walled about with rose-red stone and portcul-

lised barbican gates. Homana-Mujhar was much the same:

 

walled and gated and pink. The palace stood within the

city on a hill. Not high, but higher than any other. Lachlan

and I rode through the main gate into Mujhara, and at

once I knew I was home.

 

Save I was not. My home was filled with Solindish

soldiers, hung about with ringmail and boiled leather and

glinting silver swords. They let us in because they knew no

better, thinking Homana's rightful lord would never ride

so willingly into his prison.

 

I heard the Solindish tongue spoken in the streets of

Mujhara more than I heard Homanan. Lachlan and I

spoke Ellasian merely to be safe. But 1 thought I could say

anything and be unacknowledged; Bellam's soldiers were

bored. After five years and no threat from without, they

lived lazily within.

 

The magnificence was gone. I thought perhaps it was

my own lack of discernment, having spent so long in

foreign lands, but it was not. The city, once so proud, had

lost interest in itself. It housed a Mujhar who had stolen

his throne, and the Homanans did not care to praise his

name. Why should they praise his city? Where once the

windows had glittered with glass or glowed with horn,

now the eyes were dark and dim, smoked over, puttied at

 

I 61  )

 

62 Jennifer Roberson

 

corners with dirt and grime. The white-washed walls were

dingy and gray, some fouled with streaks of urine. The

cobbled streets had crumbled, decayed until the stench

hung over it like a miasma. I did not doubt Homana-

Mujhar remained fit for a king, but the rest of the city did

not.

 

Lachlan .ooked at me once, then again. "Look not so

angry, or they will know."

 

"I am sick," I said curtly. "I could vomit on this vile-

ness. What have they done to my city?"

 

Lachlan shook his head. "What defeated people do

everywhere: they live. They go on. You cannot blame them

for it. The heart has gone out of their lives. Bellam exacts

overharsh taxes so no one can afford to eat, let alone wash

their houses. And the streets? Why clean dung when the

great ass sits upon the throne?"

 

I glanced at him sharply. He did not speak as Bellam's

man. saying what he should to win my regard. He spoke

like a man who understood the reasons for Mujhara's

condition—disliking it, perhaps, as much as I, but tolerat-

ing it better. Perhaps it was because he was Ellasian, and

a harper, with no throne to make his own.

 

"I am sorry you must see it this way," I told him with

feeling. "When /—" I broke it off at once. What good lies

in predicting something that may not happen?

 

Lachlan gestured. "Here, a tavern. Shall we go in?

Perhaps here we will find better fortune than we found at

the village taverns."

 

We had better. Failure rankled, though I understood it.

It is difficult to ask poor crofters to give up what little they

have to answer the call of an outlawed prince. It was

soldiers I needed first, and then what other men I could

find.

 

I stared at the tavern grimly. It looked like all the

others: gray and dingy and dim. And then I looked at

Lachlan.

 

He smiled, but it lacked all humor, a hooking down of

his mouth. "Of course. We will go on to another . . . one

you will choose for yourself."

 

I jumped off my horse, swore when I slipped in some

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     63

 

muck, and scraped my boot against a loosened cobble.

"This will do well enough. Come in, and bring your harp."

 

Lachlan went in before me when he had taken his Lady

from his saddle. I paused to let him enter alone, then

went in behind him, shoving open the narrow, studded

door.

 

At once I ducked. The beamwork of the dark roof was

low, so low it made me wince against its closeness. The

floor beneath my feet was earthen, packed, but bits of it

had been scraped into ridges and little piles of dirt, as if

the benches and tables had been dragged across it to rest

in different places. I put up a hand to tear away the sticky

webbing that looped down from the beam beside my

head. It clung to my fingers until I scrubbed it off against

the cracked, hardened leather of my jerkin.

 

A single lantern depended from a hook set into the

central beam, painted black with pitch. It shed dim light

over the common room. A few candles stood out on the

tables, fat and greasy and stinking. There was little tight in

the place, just a sickly yellow glow and the haze of ocher-

ous smoke.

 

Lachlan, with his harp, was welcomed at once. There

were perhaps twenty men scattered around the common

room, but they made way for him at once, drawing up a stool

and bidding him begin. I found a table near the door and

sat down, asking for ale when the tavern-master arrived. It

was good brown ale when it came, hearty and woody; I

drank the first cup down with relish.

 

Lachlan opened with a sprightly lay to liven them up.

They clapped and cheered, urging him on, until he sang a

sad song of a girl and her lover, murdered by her father. It

brought a less exuberant response but no less a liking for

Lachlan's skill. And then he picked out the opening notes

of The Song of Homana.

 

He got no more than halfway through the tale. Abruptly

a soldier in Solindish ringmail and too much wine pushed

to his feet and drew his sword. Treason!" he shouted. He

wavered on his feet, and I realized how drunk he was.

"You sing treason!" His Homanan was poor, but he was

clearly understandable. So was his implication as he raised

the shining sword.

 

64 Jennifer Robarson

 

1 was on my feet at once. My own sword was in my

hand, but other men had already seized the soldier and

forced him down on his stool, relieving him of his sword.

It clanged to the floor and was kicked away. Lachlan, I

saw, had set down his Lady in the center of a table, and

his hand was near his knife.

 

Four men held the soldier in place. A fifth moved to

stand before him. "You are alone here, Solindishman," he

said. "Quite alone. This is a Homanan tavern and we are

all Homanans; we invite the harper to finish his lay. You

will sit and listen . . . unless I bid you otherwise." He

jerked his head. "Bind him and stop up his mouth!"

 

The soldier was instantly bound and gagged, propped

upon the stool like a sheep held down for shearing. With

less tenderness. The young man who had ordered him

bound cast an assessive glance around the room. I saw his

eyes on me, black in the dimness of the candlelight. They

paused, oddly intent though seemingly indifferent, and

moved on.

 

He smiled. He was young, eighteen or nineteen, I

thought, with an economy of movement that reminded me

of Finn. So did his black hair and the darkness of his face.

"We have silenced this fool," he said calmly. "Now we

shall let the harper finish."

 

I sheathed my sword and sat down slowly- I was aware

of the men who had moved in behind me, ranging them-

selves along the wall. The door, I saw, was barred. This

was not an unaccustomed occurrence, then; the Solindish

were the hunted.

 

The knowledge made me smile,

 

Lachlan completed his lay. The final note, dying out,

was met with absolute silence. I felt a trickle of forboding

run quickly down my spine; I shivered, disliking the sen-

sation. And yet I could not shake it from me.

 

"Well sung," the black-eyed young man said at last.

"You have a feel for our plight, it seems. And yet you are

Ellasian."

 

"Ellasian, aye." Lachlan raised a cup of water to his

mouth and sipped. "But I have traveled many lands and

have admired Homana for years."

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    65

 

"What is left to admire?" the Homanan demanded. "We

are a defeated land."

 

"For now. aye, but do you not wait only for your prince

to return?" Smiling, Lachlan plucked a single string of his

Lady. The sound hung in the air a moment, and then it

faded away. "The former glory you aspire to have again

... it may come."

 

The young man leaned forward on his stool. "Tell me—

you travel, as you say—do you think Carillon hears of our

need? Do you sing this song wherever you go, surely you

have had some response!"

 

"There is fear," Lachlan said quietly. "Men are in fear

of Solindish retribution. What army could Carillon raise,

were he to come home again?"

 

"Fear?" The other nodded. "Aye, there is fear. What

else could there be in this land? We need a lord again, a

man who can rouse this realm into rebellion." He had all

the dedication of the fanatic, and yet there was little of the

madness in him, I thought, He was desperate; so was I. "I

will not lie and say it would be easy, harper, but I think

Carillon would find more than a few ready to rally to his

standard."

 

I thought of the crofters, muttering into their wine and

ale. I thought of what little success we had had in learning

if Homana desired my return.

 

"What would you do," Lachlan asked, "were he to come

home again?"

 

The other laughed with a bitterness older than his years.

"Join him- These few you see. Not many, but a beginning.

Still, there are more of us yet- We meet in secret, to plot,

and to aid Carillon however we may. In hopes he will

come home."

 

"Bellam is powerful," Lachlan warned, and I wondered

what more he knew.

 

The Homanan nodded. "He is indeed strong, and claims

many troops who serve him well. And with Tynstar at his

side, he is certainly no weak king. But Carillon brought

the Cheysuli into Homana-Mujhar before, and nearly de-

feated the Ihlini. This time he might succeed."

 

"Only with help."

 

"He will have it."

 

66 Jennifer Roberson

 

Lachlan nodded idly. "There are strangers among you.

Even I, Ellasian though I may be."

 

"You are a harper." The young man frowned. "Harpers

have immunity, of course. As for the soldier, he will be

slain."

 

Lachlan looked at me across the room. "And the other?"

 

The Homanan merely smiled. And then the men were

at my back, asking for my knife and sword. After a mo-

ment's hesitation, I gave them into their hands. Two men

remained behind me, another at my left side. The young

man was taking no chances. "He will be slain, of course.'

 

Of course. I smiled at Lachlan, who merely bided his

time.

 

The knife was given to the young man. He looked at it

briefly, frowning over the Caledonese runes and scripture,

then set it aside on the nearest table. The sword was given

to him then, and he did not at once put it down. He

admired the edge, then saw the runes set into the silver.

His eyes widened. "Cheysuli" made!" He glanced sharply

at me. "How did you get this?" For a moment something

moved in his face. "Off a dead man, no doubt. Cheysuli

swords are rare."

 

"No," I said. "From a live one. And now, before you

slay me, I bid you do one thing."

 

"Bid me?" He stared, brows rising beneath the black

hair. "Ask, perhaps . . . but it does not mean I will answer."

 

I did not move. "Cut the leather free."

 

His hands were on the hilt. I saw him look down at the

leather, feeling the tautness of it. I had wrapped it well,

and would do so again.

 

"Cut the leather free."

 

His stare challenged me a moment. And then he drew

his knife and did precisely as I asked.

 

The leather fell free of his hand. He stared at the hilt;

 

the rampant, royal lion of purest Cheysuli gold, the bur-

nished grip, the massive ruby clutched in curving prongs.

The magnificent Mujhar's Eye.

 

"Say what it is, so all will know," 1 told him quietly.

 

"The lion crest of Homana." His eyes moved from the

hilt to my face, and I smiled.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    67

 

"Who carries this sword, this crest?"

 

Color had left his face. "The blood of the House of

Homana " He paused. Then, in a rush of breath and

words, "But you might have stolen this sword!"

 

I glanced pointedly at my guards. "You have disarmed

me. Say I may come forward."

 

"Come, then." Color was back in his face. He was

young, and angry, and afraid of what he thought he might

hear.

 

I rose, pushing away my stool- Slowly I walked forward,

looking only at the young man, and then I stopped before

him. He was tall, Cheysuli-tall, but I was taller still.

 

I pushed back the sleeve on my left arm, showing him

the scar that ringed my wrist. "See you that? I have

another exactly like it, on my right. You should know

them both. Rowan." He flinched in surprise. "You were

prisoner to Keough of Atvia, as I was. You were flogged

because you spilled wine on Keough himself, even though

I asked them to spare you. Your back must show signs of

the flogging, even as my arms show the mark of the iron."

I let go the sleeve. "May I have my sword back, now?"

 

Stiffly, he lowered his head to look at it in his hands.

And then, as if realizing the history of the blade, he thrust

it out to me. I accepted it, feeling safer almost at once,

and then he dropped to his knees.

 

"My lord," he whispered. "Oh, my lord . . . forgive

me!"

 

I slid the sword home in its sheath. "There is nothing to

forgive. You have done what you should have done."

 

He stared up at me. I saw how his eyes were yellow in

the candlelight, I had always thought him Cheysuli. It was

Rowan who denied it. "How soon do we fight, my lord?"

 

I laughed at his eagerness. "It is late winter now. It will

take time to gather what men we can. In true spring,

perhaps, we can begin the raiding parties." I gestured.

"Get up from there. This is not the place- I am not the

Mujhar quite yet."

 

He remained where he was. "Will you formally accept

my service?"

 

I reached down and caught his woollen shirt and leather

:-jerkin, pulling him to his feet. "I told you to get up from

 

68 Jennifer Roberson

 

the floor," I said mildly, startled to find him so grown. He

had been but thirteen the last time I had seen him.

 

Rowan straightened his clothing. "Aye, my lord."

 

I turned to the other men. Rowan's, all of them, intent  ,•

upon rebellion- And now intent upon the scene before

them; not quite believing the prince he had promised had

come into their midst.

 

I cleared my throat. "Most of you are too young to recall

Homana before the days of the qu'mahlin, when my uncle

the Mujhar ordered every Cheysuli slain. You have grown   ,,

up fearing and distrusting them, as I did myself. But I   |

learned differently, and so must you." I put up a silencing   ;

 

hand. "They are not demons. They are not beasts. They

serve nothing of the netherworld, they serve me." 1 paused.

"Has any of you ever even seen a Cheysuli warrior?"

There was a chorus of denials, even from Rowan. I looked   ,;

 

at each man, one by one. "I will have no bloodshed among

my men. The Cheysuli are not your foes."

 

"But—" one man began, then squirmed beneath my

eye.

 

"It is not easy to forget a thing you have been taught to

believe," I went on. more quietly. "I know that better   ^

than you think. But I also think, once you have got over

your superstitious fears of something you cannot compre-

hend, you will see they are no different from any other." I

paused. "You had better."

 

Rowan, behind me, laughed once. I thought there was

relief in his tone.

 

"Will you serve me," I asked, "even with the Cheysuli

by my side?"

 

Agreement. No denials. I searched for reluctance and

found none.

 

"And so the Song continues," murmured Lachlan, and

at that I laughed aloud.

 

It was Rowan who told me of my kin, what remained of

it: my mother and my sister. We sat alone at a comer

table, speaking of plans for the army we must gather. He

spoke clearly and at length, having spent much of his time

considering how best it could be done, and I was grateful

for his care. He would make the preparation much easier.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    69

 

But when at last he chanced to say, off-handedly, that my

mother no doubt missed my sister's company, I raised my

hand to stop him.

 

"Is Tourmaline not at Joyenne?"

 

Rowan shook his head. "Bellam took her hostage. Years

ago; I think it was not long after you escaped from

Homana-Mujhar."

 

Escaped—Tynstar had let me go. I picked at the scarred

wood of the table and bid Rowan to continue.

 

He shrugged, at a loss for what to tell me. "The Lady

Gwynneth is kept at Joyenne, well-guarded. Princess Tour-

maline, as I said, is at Homana-Mujhar. Bellam seeks to

hold anything that might bring you to him. He dares not

allow either of them freedom, for fear they could be used

as a rallying point for the rebellion."

 

"Instead of me?" I rail a hand through my beard to

scratch the flesh beneath. "Well, Bellam will be busy with

me. There is no need for him to hold two women."

 

"He will," Rowan asserted. "He will never let them

go." He stopped a moment, eyeing me tentatively. "There

is even talk he will wed the lady, your sister."

 

I spat out an oath and nearly stood up, hand to my

re-wrapped sword hilt. Instead I sat down again and hacked

at the table with my knife, adding yet more scars to the

wood. "Torry would not allow it," I said flatly, knowing

she would have little to say about it. Women did not when

it came to their disposal.

 

Rowan smiled. "I had heard she was not an acquiescent

hostage. And with two women in one castle—" He laughed

aloud, genuinely amused.

 

-Two?"

 

"His daughter, the Princess Electra." Rowan frowned.

"There is talk she is Tynstar's light woman."

 

"Tynstar's." I stared at him, sitting upright on my stool.

"Bellam gives his daughter over to that?"

 

"I heard it was Tynstar's price." Rowan shifted on his

bench. "My lord, there is little I can tell you. Most is

merely rumor. I would not dare claim any of it as truth."

 

"There is some truth in rumor," I said thoughtfully,

taking up my ale again. "If she is Tynstar's light woman,

there is a use for her in my plans."

 

70 Jennifer Roberson

 

"You wish to use a woman against the sorcerer?" Rowan

shook his head. "Begging your pardon, my lord, I think

you are mistaken."

 

"Princes are never mistaken." I grinned at his instant

discomfort. "All men can be mistaken, and fools if they

think not. Well enough, we shall have to consider a plan.

Two of them—to wrest my mother from Joyenne, and

Tony from Homana-Mujhar." I frowned, wishing Finn

were with me. To set a trap without him—I focused on

Rowan again. "For a man who swears he is not Cheysuli,

you are the perfect image of a warrior."

 

Dark color moved through Rowan's face. "I know it. It

has been my bane."

 

'There is no danger in it, with me. You could admit it

freely—"

 

"I admit nothing!" I was pleased he did not hide his

anger, even before his prince. Treacherous are men who

are all obsequious nods and bows, never letting me see

their hearts. "I have said I am not Cheysuli," he repeated.

"My lord."

 

I laughed at his stiff, remembered formality. And then

the laughter died away, for I heard Lachlan harping in the

background. Making magic with his Lady.

 

I turned to look at my enigmatic ally. Ellasian. A stranger

who wished to be my friend, he said. Bellam's man? Or

Tynstar's? Or merely his own, too cunning to work for

another? I still doubted him.

 

Slowly 1 rose. Rowan rose with me, out of courtesy, but

I could see the puzzlement in his eyes. I went across the

room and stopped at Lachlan's table, seeing how his blue

eyes were black in the yellow light of the tavern.

 

He stopped playing at once, his fingers still resting

upon the gleaming strings. His clustered audience, seeing

my face, moved away in silence.

 

I drew my sword from its sheath. I saw the sudden

Haring of fear in Lachlan's eyes. A sour, muted note sang

from his harp and then stilled, but the candles and lantern

guttered out.

 

Darkness. But not so dark there was no light. Merely

shadows. And the sorcerous green stone in Lachlan's Lady

gave off enough brilliance to see by.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     71

 

His fingers were in the strings. But so was the tip of my

sword.

 

I saw it in his face: the fear I would harm his harp. Slay

it, like an animal, or a man. As if the wood and wire lived.

 

"Put her down—your Lady," I said gently, having felt

her magic twice.

 

He did not move. The stoneglow washed across the

blade of my sword, setting the runes to glinting in its

light. And in that light I knew power, ancient and strong

and true.

 

The blade was parallel to the strings, touching nothing.

Slowly I turned it. One string whined its protest, but I

held it back from death.

 

Lachtan bent forward a little, sliding the harp free of my

sword. Carefully he set his Lady in the center of the table

and took his hands away. He waited then, quietly, his

arms empty of his harp.

 

I put my left hand on my sword, on the blade below the

crosspiece. I took my right hand off the hilt. That I offered

to Lachlan.

 

"The Solindish soldier," I said calmly. "Slay him for me,

harper."

 

SEVEN

 

"Forgive me, my lord," Rowan said quietly. "Is it wise

you should go, and alone?"

 

I sat upon a rotting tree stump, high on the hill behind

Ton-in's croft. Alix's foster father was indeed still alive,

and he had been astonished to Bnd me the same when I

had arrived at his dwelling some weeks before. He had

given me the story of the Ihlini attack much as Lachlan

had, verifying that what remained of the clan had gone

north across the Bluetooth. So now, using Torrin's croft as

a temporary headquarters, I gathered what army I could.

Here I was safe, unknown; the army camped in the shel-

tering forest in the hills behind the valley, practicing with

swords and knives.

 

I stirred, knocking snow off my boots by banging heels

against the tree stump. The day was quite clear; I squinted

against the sunlight. "Wise enough, does no one find me

out." I glanced at Rowan, standing three steps away, in

the attitude of a proper servant. I thought it would ease

with time, so that he served through desire instead of

rigid dedication. "I have told no one but you and Torrin of

my plan."

 

Rowan nodded as the color came and went in his sun-

bronzed face. He was not accustomed to being in my

confidence. It rested ill with him, who thought himself

little more than a servant no matter how often I said he

was much more. "There is the harper," he offered quietly.

 

72

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    73

 

I grunted, shifting my seat on the rotting stump, "Lachlan

believes he has proven his worth by slaying the soldier. 1

will let him think it. He has, to some extent . . . but not

all." I bent and scooped up a stone, idly tossing it through

the trees. "Say what is in your mind, Rowan. At my

behest."

 

He nodded, head bowed in an attitude of humility. His

hands were behind his back. His eyes did not look at me

but at the snow-covered ground beneath his boots. "You

distrust the harper, still, because you do not know him

well enough. My lord—I say you know me little better."

 

"I know enough," 1 said. "I recall the thirteen-year-old

boy who was captive of the Atvians along with me. I recall

the boy who was made to serve the Lord Keough himself,

though he be cuffed and struck and tripped." Rowan's

eyes came up to mine, stricken. "I was in the tent also,

Rowan. That you must surely recall. And I saw what they

did to your back."

 

His shoulders moved, tensing, rippling beneath the

leather and wool. I knew what he did, flinching from the

lash. He could not help it, no more than I at times, when

I recalled the iron upon my wrists.

 

At that, the flesh twinged. I ruboed at both wrists, one

at a time, not needing to feel the ridges to know they were

there. "I know what it was. Rowan," I said unevenly. "No

man, living through that, would willingly serve the en-

emy. Not when his rightful lord is come home."

 

He stared again at the ground. I saw the rigidity in his

shoulders "I will do whatever you require." His voice was

very quiet.

 

"I require you to wait here while I go, and to be vigilant

in your watching." I smiled. "Lachlan may fool us all, in

the end, by being precisely what he claims, but I would

know my enemy before I give him my back. I trust to you

and Torrin in this. See to it the harper does not leave and

make off for Mujhara, to carry Bellam word of my where-

abouts. See to it he cannot give any of us away."

 

Through the trees came the clashing of swords and the

angry shout of an arms-master. The men drilled and drilled

until they would drop, cursing the need for such practice

even while they knew it was necessary. They had been

 

74 t JennMw Rob«r«on

 

gone from war too long, most of diem; some of them had

never known it. Men came from crofts and cities and even

distant valleys, having heard the subtle word.

 

CarUlon, it said. CariUon is come home.

 

I stood up, slapping at my leather breeches. The snow

was slushy now, almost sodden; I thought the thaw would

come soon. But not yet- I prayed not yet. We were

nowhere close to being an army, and in spring I wanted to

start my campaign against Bellam's men.

 

I smiled. In spring, when the planting began, so no one

would be expecting battle. I would anticipate a summer

campaign, and throw Bellam into disarray.

 

I hoped.

 

"He will know," Rowan said, "the Solindish king. He

will send men."

 

I nodded. "Take the army deeper into the forest. Leagues

from here. Leave no one with Torrin; I do not wish to

endanger him. I want no fighting now. Better to hide like

runaway children than give ourselves over to Bellam's

men. See they do it, Rowan."

 

He crossed his arms and hugged his chest, as if he were

suddenly cold. "My lord—take you care."

 

I grinned at him. "It is too soon to lose me yet. Does it

come, it will come in battle." I turned away to my horse

and untied his reins from a slender sapling. The same

little dun Steppes gelding, still shaggy and ragged and

ugly. Nothing like the warhorse my lather had given me

five years before.

 

Rowan's face was set in worried, unhappy lines. All his

thoughts were in his eyes: he thought I would die and the

rebellion come to an end.

 

I mounted and gathered in my reins. "She is my lady

mother. I would have her know I live."

 

He nodded a little. "But to have to go where you know

there are soldiers—"

 

'They will be expecting an army, not a single man." I

touched the hilt of my sword, wrapped once again and

scabbarded at my saddle. "I will be well enough."

 

I did not look back as I rode away from the young man I

had learned to trust. But I knew he stood in the shade of

the trees, squinting against the sun.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA I 75

 

The walnut dye turned my hair dark and stiff and dull.

Grease made it shiny and foul. One braid, bound with a

leather lace, hung before my left ear. The beard was

already dark, and unknown to any who had seen me at

eighteen.

 

My teeth were good and I still boasted all of them. I

rubbed a resinous gum into them to turn them yellow and

foul my tongue. My clothes were borrowed, though I

doubted I would return them; the man who wore mine no

doubt preferred them to his, they being much better than

his rags. What I wore now was a threadbare woollen tunic,

once dark green, now brown with mud and grease. Match-

ing woollen trews bagged at my knees, reaching only

halfway to my ankles. I had put off my boots and replaced

them with leather buskins.

 

Leather bracers hid my wrist scars, something a guard

might look for. No doubt Bellam had described me as tall,

tawny-dark and blue-eyed, with shackle scars on both

wrists. I was still tall, but now walked stooped, hitching a

leg, one shoulder crooked down as if a broken bone had

been improperly set. There was nothing of Bellam's

pretender-prince about me as I walked toward the village

surrounding Joyenne. Not even the sword and the bow,

for both could give me away. Both I had buried in the

snow beneath a rowan tree, marked with a lightning gash.

I carried only the knife, and that was sheathed beneath

my tunic against my ribs.

 

I scuffed through snow and slush, kicking out at the

dogs who ran up to see the stranger. Joyenne-town was

little more than a scattered village grown up because of

the castle. There were no walls, only dwellings, and the

.people passing by. They took no note of me.

 

I could smell the stink of myself. More than that, I

could smell the stink of a broken homeland. The village I

had always known had been a good place, full of bustle

and industry- Like all villages it claimed its share ofrepro-

•bates, but the people had mostly been happy. I had known

,,Some of it well, as young men will, and I recalled some of

;the women who had been happy to show favor to their

 

76

 

Jennifer Roberson

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA

 

77

 

lord's tall son. And I wondered, for the first time in my

life, whether I had gotten children on any of them.

 

The main track led directly to the castle. Joyenne proper,

built upon a hill, with walls and towers and the glittering

glass of leaded, mullioned casements. My father had taken

great joy in establishing a home of which to be proud.

Joyenne was where we lived, not fought; it was not a

bastion to ward off the enemy but a place in which to rear

children. But the gods had seen fit to give them stillborn

sons and daughters, until Torry and then myself.

 

Joyenne was awash with sunlight, gold and bronze and i-

brown. The ocher-colored stone my father had chosen had  ;

 

bleached to a soft, muted color, so that the sunlight glinted

off comers and trim. Against the snowy hill it was a great

blot of towered, turreted stone, ringed by walls-and ram-

parts. There was an iron portcullis at the frontal gate, but

rarely was it ever brought down. At least in my father's ^

day. Joyenne had been open to all then, did they need to   f:

 

converse with their lord.

 

Now, however, the great mortar mouth was toothed

with iron. Men walked the walls with halberds in their  ^

hands. Ringmail glinted silver in the sunlight. Bellam's ,|

banner hung from the staffs at each tower: a rising white  ^'

sun on an indigo field.                                   ^

 

Because I was a poor man and fouled with the grime of  '''•

years, I did not go to the central gate. I went instead to a

smaller one, stooped and crooked and hitching my leg

along. The guards stopped me at once, speaking in poor

Homanan. What was it, they asked, I wanted?

 

To see my mother, I said civilly, showing stained and

rotting teeth. The scent of the gum was foul and sent

them, cursing, two steps back. My mother, I repeated in a

thick and phleginy voice. The one who served within the

castle.

 

I named a name, knowing there was indeed a woman

who served the hall. I could not say if still she lived—she

had been old when I had gone to war—but a single

question would tell the men I did not lie. She had had a

son, I knew, a son twisted from childhood disease. He had

gone away to another village—her everlasting shame—but

now, I thought, he would come back. However briefly.

 

The guards consulted, watching me with disgusted, ar-

rogant eyes. They spoke in Solindish, which I knew not at

all, but their voices gave them away. My stink and my

grease and my twisted body had shielded me from closer

inspection.

 

Weaponed? they asked gruffly.

 

No. I put out my hands as if inviting them to search.

They did not. Instead they waved me through.

 

And thus Carillon came home again, to see his lady

mother.

 

1 hitched and shuffled and stooped, wiping my arm

beneath my nose, spreading more grease and fouling my

beard. I crossed the cobbled bailey slowly, almost hesi-

tantly, as if I feared to be sent away again. The Solindishmen

who passed me looked askance, offended by my stink. I

showed them my yellowed, resined teeth in the sort of

grin a dog gives, to show his submission; to show he

knows his place.

 

By my appearance, I would be limited to the kitchens

(or the midden.) It was where the woman had served. But

my lady mother would be elsewhere, so I passed by the

kitchens and went up to the halls,-scraping my wet bus-

kins across the wood of the floor.

 

There were few servants. I thought Bellam had sent

most of them away in an attempt to humble my mother.

For him, a usurper king, it would be important to wage

war even against a woman. Gwynneth of Homana had

been wed to the Mujhar's brother; a widow now, and

helpless, but royal nonetheless. It would show his power if

he humbled this woman so. But I thought it was unlikely

he had succeeded, no matter how many guards he placed

on the walls, no matter how many Solindish banners flut-

tered from the towers.

 

I found the proper staircase, winding in a spiral to an

upper floor. I climbed, sensing the flutter in my belly. I

had come this far, so far, and yet a single mistake could

have me taken. Bellam's retribution, no doubt, would see

me kept alive for years. Imprisoned and humiliated and

tortured.

 

I passed out of the staircase into a hall, paneled in

honey-gold wood. My father's gallery, boasting mullioned

 

78 Jennifer Roberson

 

windows that set the place to glittering in the sun. But the

beeswax polish had grown stale and dark, crusted at the

edges. The gallery bore the smell of disuse and disinterest.

 

My hand slipped up between the folds of my soiled

tunic, sliding through a rent in the cloth. I closed my

fingers around the bone-handled hilt of my Caledonese

knife. For a moment I stood at the polished wooden door

of my mother's solarium, listening for voices within. 1

heard nothing. It was possible she spent her time else-

where, but I had learned that men or women, in trying

circumstances, will cling to what they know. The solar had

ever been a favorite place. And so, when I was quite

certain she was alone, I swung open the oiled panel.

 

I moved silently. 1 closed the door without a sound. I

stood within the solar and looked at my mother, and

realized she had grown old.

 

Her head was bent over an embroidery frame. What

she stitched there I could not say, save it took all her

attention to do it. The sunlight burned through the

mullioned panes of the narrow casement nearest her and

splashed across her work, turning the colored threads

brilliant in the dimness of the room. I noticed at once

there was a musty smell, as if the dampness of winter had

never been fully banished by the warmth of the brazier

fires. This had ever been a warm, friendly room, but now

it was cold and barren.

 

I saw how she stitched at the fabric. Carefully, brows

furrowed. In profile to me. And her hands—

 

Twisted, brittle, fragile things, knobbed with buttons of

flesh at her knuckles and more like claws than fingers. So

painstakingly she stitched, and yet with those hands I

doubted she could do little more than thrust needle through

fabric with little regard for the pattern. Disease had taken

the skill from her.

 

I recalled then, quite clearly, how her hands had pained

her in the dampness. How she had never complained, but

grew more helpless with each month. And now, looking at

her, I saw how the illness had destroyed the grace my

father had so admired.

 

She wore a white wimple and coif to hide her hair, but a

single loop escaped to curve down the line of her cheek.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    79

 

Gray, all gray, when before it had been tawny as my own.

Her face was creased with the soft, fine tines of age, like

crumpled silk.

 

She had put on indigo blue, ever a favorite color with

her. 1 thought I recognized the robe as an old one she had

given up more than seven years before. And yet she wore

it now, threadbare and thin and hardly worthy of her

station.

 

Perhaps 1 made a sound. She lifted her head, searching,

and her eyes came around to me.

 

I went to her and knelt down. All the words I had

thought to say were flown. I had nothing but silence in my

mouth and a painful cramping in my throat.

 

I stared hard at the embroidery in her lap. She had let

it fall, forgotten, and I saw that the pattern—though ill-

made—was familiar. A tall, bearded soldier on a great

chestnut stallion, leading the Mujhar's army. I had loved

it as a child, for she had called the man my father. It

seemed odd that I would look now and see myself.

 

Her hand was on my head. At first I wanted to flinch

away. knowing how foul the grease and dye had made me,

but I did not move. With her other hand she set her

fingers beneath my chin and turned up my face, so she

could look upon me fully. Her smile was brilliant to see,

and the tears ran down her face.

 

I reached out and caught her hands gently, afraid 1

might break them. They were so fragile in my own. 1 felt

huge, overlarge, much too rough for her delicacy.

 

"Lady." My voice came out clogged and uneven. "I

have been remiss in not coming to you sooner. Or sending

word—"

 

Fingers closed my mouth. "No." She touched my beard

lingeringly, then ran both hands through my filthy hair.

"Was this through choice, or have you forgotten all the

care I ever taught you?"

 

I laughed at her, though it had a hollow, brittle sound.

"Exile has fashioned your son into another sort of man, I

fear."

 

The lines around her eyes—blue as my own—deepened.

And then she took her hands away as if she had finished

with me entirely. I realized, in that instant, she was

 

80 Jennifer Robaraon

 

sacrificing the possessiveness she longed to show me. In

her eyes I saw joy and pride and thankfulness, and a deep

recognition of her son as a man. She was giving me my

freedom.

 

I rose unsteadily, as if I had been too long without food.

Her smile grew wider. "Fergus lives on in you."

 

I walked to the casement, overcome for the moment,

and stared out blindly to watch the guards upon the ram-

parts. When I could, I turned back. "You know why I

have come."

 

Her chin lifted. I saw the delicate, draped folds of the

silkin wimple clustered at her throat. "I was wed to your

father for thirty-five years. I bore him six children. It was

the gods who decreed only two of those children would

live to adulthood, but I am quite certain they have learned,

•both of them, what it is to be part of the House of

Homana." The pride made her nearly young again. "Of

course I know why you have come."

 

"And your answer?"

 

It surprised her. "What answer is there to duty? You

are the House of Homana, Carillon—what is left for you to

do but take back your throne from Bellam?"

 

I had expected no different, and yet it seemed passing

strange to hear such matter-of-factness from my mother.

Such things from a father are never mentioned, being

known so well, but now I lacked a father. And it was my

mother who gave me leave to go to war.

 

I moved away from the window. "Will you come with

me? Now?"

 

She smiled. "No,"

 

I made an impatient gesture. "I have planned for it. You

will put on the clothes of a kitchen servant and walk out of

here with me. It can be done. / have done it. It is too

obvious for them to suspect." I touched my fouled, bearded

face. "Grease your hair, sully your skirts, affect the man-

ners of a servant. It is your life at risk—you will do well

enough."

 

"No," she said again. "Have you forgotten your sister?"

 

"Tony is in Homana-Mujhar." I thought it answer enough

as I glanced out the casement again. "It is somewhat more

difficult for me to get into Homana-Mujhar, but once we

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     81

 

are safely gone from here, then I will turn my plans to

Torry."

 

"No," she repeated, and at last she had my complete

attention. "Carillon, I doubt not you have thought this out

well, but I cannot undertake it. Tourmaline is in dan-

ger. She is hostage to Bellam against just this sort of

thing; do you think he would sit and do nothing?" I saw

the anguish in her eyes as she looked into my frowning

face. "He would leam, soon enough, I had gotten free of

his guards. And he would turn to punish your sister."

 

I crossed to her at once, bending to catch her shoulders

in my hands. "I cannot leave you here! Do you think I

could live with myself, knowing you are here? You have

only to look at this room, stripped bare of its finery and

left cold, no doubt to freeze your bones. Mother—"

 

"No one harms me," she said clearly. "No one beats

me. I am fed. I am merely kept as you see me, like a

pauper-woman." The twisted hands reached up to touch

my leather-clad wrists. "I know what you have risked,

coming here. And were Tourmaline safe, I would come

with you. But I will not give her over to Bellam's wrath."

 

"He did it on purpose, to guard against my coming."

That truth was something I should have realized long ago,

and had not. "Divide the treasure and the thieves are

defeated." I cursed once, then tried to catch back the

words, for she was my lady mother.

 

She smiled, amused, while the tears stood in her eyes.

"I cannot. Do you understand? I thought you were dead,

and my daughter lost. But now you are here, safe and

whole, and I have some hope again. Go from here and do

what you must, but go without me to hinder you." She

put out her hands as I sought to speak. "See you how I

am? I would be a burden. And that I refuse, when you

have a kingdom to win back."

 

I laughed, but there was nothing of humor in it. "All my

fine plans are disarranged. I thought to win you free of

here and take you to my army, where you would be safe.

And then I would set about planning to take Torry—or

take Homana-Mujhar." I sighed and shook my head, sens-

ing the pain of futility in my soul. "You have put me in my

place."

 

Jennifer Roberson

 

82

 

"Your place is Homana-Mujhar," She rose, still clasping

my hands with her brittle, twisted fingers. "Go there. Win

your throne and your sister's freedom. And then I will go

 

where you bid me."

 

I caught her in my arms and then, aghast, set her aside

 

with a muttered oath. Filthy as I was—

 

She laughed. She touched the smudge of grease on her

crumpled-silk face and laughed, and then she cried, and

this time when I hugged her I did not set her at once

aside.

 

EIGHT

 

I went out of Joyenne as I had gone in: with great care.

Stooping and hitching I limped along, head down, making

certain I did not hasten. I went out the same gate I had

come in, muttering something to the Solindish guards,

who responded with curses and an attempt to trip me into

a puddle of horse urine pooling on the cobbles. Perhaps

falling would have been best, but -my natural reflexes took

over and kept me from sprawling as the leg shot out to

catch my ankle. I recalled my guise at once and made

haste to stumble and cry out, and when I drew myself up

it was to laughter and murmured insults in the Solindish

tongue. And so I went away from my home and into the

village to think.

 

My mother had the right of it. Did I take her out of

Joyenne, Bellam would know instantly I had come back,

and where. Who else would undertake to win my mother

free? She had spent five years in captivity within her own

home and no one had gotten her out. Only I would be so

interested as to brave the Solindish guards.

 

It is a humbling feeling to know all your plans have

been made for naught, when you should have known it at

the outset. Finn, I thought, would have approached it

differently. Or approached it not at all.

 

I retrieved my horse from the hostler at a dingy tavern

and went at once, roundabout, to the rowan tree to un-

earth my sword and bow. It felt good to have both in my

 

Jennifer Roberson

 

84

 

hands again, and to slough off the tension my journey into

Joyenne had caused me, I hung my sword at my hips

again, strapped on the Cheysuli bow, and mounted the

 

gelding once more.

 

1 rode out across the snowfields and headed home again.

To a different home, an army, where men planned and

drilled and waited. To where Homana's future waited.

And I wondered how it had come to pass men would claim

a single realm their own, when the gods had made it for

 

all.

 

I thought of Lachlan then, secure within his priesthood.

He had totd me how it was for him; how Lodni's service

did not require celibacy or cloistering or the foolishness of

similar things. His task, he had said, was merely to speak

of Lodhi to those who would listen, in hopes they would

learn the proper way. 1 had acknowledged his freedom to

do so, knowing my own lay in other gods, but he had

never pressed me on it, and for that I was grateful indeed.

 

The sun burned yellow in an azure sky, reflecting from

the snow. The horse sweated and so did 1; the grease

stank so badly I wanted to retch and rid myself of its

stench- But until I had time to bathe myself I would have

 

to remain as I was.

 

I saw them then, silhouetted against the skyline. Four

men atop a hill, shapes only, with sunlight glittering off

their ringmail. All save one, who wore dark clothes in-

stead. No mail. No sword at all.

 

My heart moved within my chest in the squirm of

sudden foreboding. Intentionally I kept my hand from my

sword, riding onward along the narrow track beaten into

the slushy snow. Men had the freedom to come and go as

they pleased; Solindish or not. they had the right to ride

where they would. And I had better not gain their atten-

tion with a show of arms or strength.

 

The hill lay to my right, and ahead. I rode on doggedly,

round-shouldered and slumped, affecting no pride or curi-

osity. The four waited atop the hill, well-mounted and

silent, still little more than shapes at this distance, yet

watching. Watching always.

 

I did not quicken the gelding's pace. I made no move-

ment to call attention, and yet I could feel their eyes as

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    85

 

they watched me, waiting, as I passed the crest of their

hill. Still it lay to my right, bulging up out of a rift through

which ran the smallest of snow-melt streams. That stream

lay to my left; I rode between water and men. The gelding

snorted, unimpressed, but I thought he sensed my tension.

 

The ringmail blazed in the brilliant sun. Solindishmen,

I knew. Homanan mail was darker, duller, radiating less

light in the sun. Showing less light in the starlit darkness

when armies moved to set an ambush. It was something

my father had taught me; perhaps Bellam was too sure of

his men and saw no need for such secrecy.

 

I rode on. And so did they.

 

Three of them. The men in mail. They came directly

down the hill toward me, moving to cut me off, and I saw

them draw their swords. This was no parley, no innocent

meeting of strangers. It was blood they wanted, and I had

none to spare.

 

I doubted I could outrun them. The snow was thick and

slushy, treacherous footing to any horse, but to mine in

particular: short-legged and slighter of frame. Still, he was

willing, and when I set him to a run he plunged through

the heavy going.

 

Snow whipped into the air in a fine, damp spray, churned

up beneath driving hooves. I bent low and forward, shift-

ing weight over the moving shoulders. I heard the raspy

breathing of my horse and the shouts of men behind me.

 

The gelding stumbled, recovered, then went down to

his knees. Riding forward as I was, the fall pitched me

neatly off over his head. It was not entirely unexpected; I

came up at once, spinning to face the oncoming men, and

stripped the bow from my back.

 

The arrow was nocked. Loosed. It took the first soldier

full in the throat, knocking him off his horse. The next

shaft blurred home in the second man's chest, but the

third one was on me and there was no more time for a

bow.

 

The sword stashed down to rip the bow from my hands,

I stumbled, slipping to my knees in the slushy snow, and

wrenched free the sword in my scabbard. Both hands

clamped down on the leather-wrapped hilt. I pushed my-

self up to my feet.

 

86 Jennifer Rotwrson

 

The Solindishman swung back, commanding His horse

with his knees. I saw the sunlight flashing off his blade as

the man rode toward me. I saw also the badge he wore:

 

Bellam's white sun on an indigo field.

 

The soldier rode me down. But he paused to deliver

what he thought was the death-blow; I ducked it at once

and came up with my blade, plunging it into the horse's

belly. The animal screamed and staggered at once, floun-

dering to his knees. The soldier jumped off instantly and

met me on common ground.

 

His broadsword was lifted high to come down into my

left shoulder. I caught his blade on my own and swung it

up diagonally from underneath, wrist-cords tightening be-

neath the leather bracers. He pulled away at once, drop-

ping to come under my guard; I met his blow with a

downward stroke across my body. He changed then, shift-

ing his stance to come at me another way, but 1 broke his

momentum and slid under his guard with ease, plunging

my sword to the hilt through his ribs. Steel blade on steel

mail shrieked in disharmony a moment, and then I freed

my sword as the body slumped to the snow.

 

I turned at once, searching for the man who wore no

ringmail or sword, but saw no one. The crest of the hill

was empty. I listened, standing perfectly still, but all I

heard was the trickling of the tiny streamlet as it ran down

through its channel.

 

The Solindish warhorse was dead. The horses belonging

to the two soldiers dead of arrows had gone off, too far for

me to chase. I was left with my shaggy Steppes horse,

head hanging as he sought to recover from his flight.

 

I sheathed my sword, reclaimed my bow and mushed

over to him through the snow, cursing the wet of my

buskins and the chill of ice against my flesh. The ragged

clothing I wore was soaked through from the flight and the

fight. And I still stank.

 

I put out my hand to catch dangling reins and felt

something crawl against the flesh of my waist. I slapped at

it at once, cursing lice and fleas; slapped again when the

tickling repeated itself. I set my hand against the hilt of

my Caledonese knife and felt it move.

 

I unsheathed it at once, jerking it into the sunlight. For

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    87

 

a moment I stared at it, seeing blade and bone, and then I

saw it move.

 

Every muscle tensed. The horse snorted uneasily be-

hind me. I stood there and stared, fascinated as the bone

reshaped itself.

 

It was growing. In my hand. The smooth, curving hilt

lengthened, pulling itself free of the blade's tang. The

runes and scripture melted away into the substance of the

bone, as if the pieces carved away to make the shapes

were replacing themselves.

 

And then 1 knew I was watched.

 

I looked up at once, staring at the low ridge of the hill

from which the Solindishmen had come. There, dark against

the blue of the sky, was the fourth man. The one without

ringmail or sword. Too far for me to discern his features,

save I knew he watched and waited.

 

Ihlini, I knew instantly.

 

I threw the knife away in a convulsive, sickened move-

ment. I reached at once for my bow, intending to loose an

arrow. But 1 stopped almost at once, because an arrow

against sorcery claims no strength.

 

The bone. The thighbone of a monstrous beast, the king

of Caledon had said. And the Ihlini had conjured the

source of the bone, placing it before me in the snowfields

of Homana.

 

The bones knit themselves together. From one came

another, then another, until they ran together and built

the skeleton. The spine, ridged and long. Massive shoul-

der joints. And the skull, pearly white, with gaping orbits

for eyes.

 

Then, more quickly, the viscera. The brain. The vessels

running with blood. The muscles, wrapping themselves

into place, until the flesh overlay it all- And the hide on

top of that.

 

I gaped at the beast. I knew what it was, of course; my

House had used it forever as a crest, to recall the strength

and courage of the mythical beast, long gone from the

world.

 

The lion of Homana.

 

It leaped. It gathered itself and leaped directly at the

horse, and took him down with the swipe of one huge

 

98 Jennifer Rob«rson

 

paw. I heard the dull snap of a broken neck, then saw the

beast turn toward me.

 

1 dropped my bow. I ran. So did the lion run. It was a

huge flash of tawny golden-yellow; black-maned past his

shoulders, tail wiry as if it lived. I ran, but I could not

outrun it. And so I turned, unsheathing my sword, and

tried to spit the lion on it.

 

It leaped. Up into the air it leaped, hind legs coiling to

push it off the ground, front paws reaching out. My ears

shut out the fearful roar so that I heard only the pounding

of my blood as it ran into my head.

 

One paw reached out and caught me across the head.

But I ducked most of the weight, in ducking, I saved my

life. The blow, had it landed cleanly, would have broken

my neck at once. As it was part of the paw still caught me,

knocking me down, so that I feared my jaw was shattered.

Blood ran freely from my nose.

 

Even as I went down I kept my sword thrust up. I saw

the blade bite into the massive chest, tearing through the

hide. It caught on bone, then grated as the lion's leap

carried it past.

 

I was flat on my back in the snow. I was up almost at

once, too frightened to take refuge in the pain and shock.

My head rang and blood was in my mouth. My sword was

no use against the lion unless I hit a vital spot. To try for

that would put me too close, well within its range. 1 did

not relish feeding it on my flesh.

 

The lion's snarl was a coughing, hacking sound. Its

mane stood out from the hide, black and tangled. But the

muscles rippled cleanly against the tawny-gold, the wound

had done nothing to gainsay it. Blood flowed, but still it

came on.

 

I knew, instinctively, it would not die. I could not slay

it by conventional means. The beast had been summoned

by a sorcerer.

 

My foot came down on something hard as I backed away

from the lion. I realized I had run in a circle, so that I was

back where I had begun. The horse lay where the lion had

put it. And the bow lay under my feet.

 

I dropped the sword at once and caught up the bow I

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    89

 

snatched an arrow from my quiver. As the beast leaped

yet again I nocked the arrow and spun—

 

—let fly. But not at the lion. At the man.

 

The shaft went home in the sorcerer's chest. I saw him

stagger, clutching the arrow, then he slumped down to his

knees. He was abruptly haloed in a sphere of purple fire

that sprung up around his body. And then the arrow burst

into brilliant crimson flames and he was dead.

 

1 swung back. The beast was nothing but bone. A

single, hilt-shaped bone, lying in the snow.

 

I sank down to my knees, slumping forward, until only

my arms braced stiffly against the snow held me up. My

breath came from deep in my chest in wheezing gasps,

setting my lungs afire. Blood still ran from my nose,

staining the snow, and my head ached from the blow. I

spat out a tooth and hung there, spent, to let my body

recover.

 

When at last I could stand again I weaved like a man too

far gone in wine, I shook in every bone. I stumbled to the

snow-melt stream and knelt there, scooping cold water

and ice to cleanse my face and mouth of blood and filth

and my mind of the blanking numbness.

 

I pushed to my feet again. Slowly, moving like an old,

old man, I gathered up bow and sword. The knife hilt I

left lying in the snow. That I would never carry again.

 

The Ihlini was quite dead. His body was sunken within

his clothing, as if the arrow had somehow loosed more

than life, but a force as well; released, its shell had shrunk.

It was a body still, but not much of a man.

 

The Ihlini's horse stood part way down the backside of

the ridge. It was a dark brown gelding, not fine but good.

An Ihlini's horse, and ensorcelled?

 

I caught the reins from the ground and brought the

horse closer. Taller than the dun. Shedding his winter

hair. He had kind eyes, clipped mane and short tail. One

spot of white was on his face. I patted his jaw and mounted.

 

I nearly fell off again. My head spun and throbbed with

renewed ferocity; the lion had rattled my senses. I hud-

dled in the saddle a long moment, eyes shut. waiting for

the pain and dizziness to diminish.

 

Carefully I touched my face and felt the swollen flesh.

 

90 Jwinlfr Robwon

 

No doubt 1 would purple by nifihtfall. But my nose, for all

it ached, was whole. And then, done marking my numer-

ous aches, I turned the horse and rode eastward.

 

Ton-in's dog ran out to meet me. In the weeks since we

had come he had grown, now more dog than pup, but his

ebullience was undiniinished. He loped along next to my

horse and warned Ton-in of my presence. It was not

necessary; Ton-in was at the well fishing up the bucket.

 

In five years, Ton-in had not changed much. His gray

hair was still thinning, still cropped against his head. He

still bore seams in his flesh and calluses on his hands.

Crofting had changed his body from the bulk of an arms-

master's to the characteristic slump of a man who knew

sheep and land, but I could still see his quiet competence.

He had been born to blades, not the land, and yet for

Alix's sake he had given all of that up. Because Shaine had

wanted to be rid of her, and Ton-in could not bear to see

the infant left to die.

 

I rode up slowly. The horse made his way to the well

and put his head into the bucket Ton-in held. Torrin,

looking up at me from brown eyes couched in fleshy folds,

shook his head. "Was that Solindish-done?"

 

He meant my face. I touched it and said no. "Ihlini. He

summoned a beast. A lion."

 

The color changed in his leathered cheeks. "Bellam

knows—"

 

I shook my head before he could finish. "He may not.

The men who sought to slay me are dead. I have no doubt

he knows I am back—most people do—but there is no one

left to tell him where I am. I think we will be safe a little

longer."

 

He looked troubled, but I had no more time to wonder

at it. I bent forward and swung off the horse slowly,

wincing from the bruises. I left the horse with Torrin and

slowly made my way to the croft. Wood smoke veiled the

air.

 

"My lord, I think—"

 

I turned back before the door. interrupting in my weari-

ness. "You have a half-cask, do you not? Clothes I left with

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     91

 

you. Soap and water? Hot. I wish to boil myself free of

this stench."

 

He nodded, brow furrowed. "Do you wish me to—"

 

"No." I lifted a hand in a weary wave. "I will see to it

myself." It was something I had learned in exile. I needed

no servants to fetch and carry.

 

"My lord—" he tried again, but I went into the croft.

 

And stopped. It was Alix.

 

She stood by the table before the fire, with her arms

plunged into a bubble of bread dough set out on a board.

Flour reached to her elbows. I saw at once her dark brown

hair had grown long enough to braid, pinned against her

head with silver clasps tha^: glittered in the sunlight slant-

ing in the open door.

 

I saw again the girl I had befriended, when a prince had

so few real friends. I saw again the girl who had been the

reason for my capture by Finn and his raiding party. I saw

again the girl whose Cheysuli tahlmorra was so firmly

linked with my own Homanan fate.

 

But mostly I saw the girl who had become a woman,

and I hated the time I had lost.

 

There was a question in her eyes, and bafflement. She

knew me not, in my foul and filfhy state, bearded and

greased and bruised. I thought of what kind of man I had

been five years before, and what I was now. and I laughed.

 

And then, as her mouth shaped my name, I crossed the

tiny room and caught her in my arms.

 

She hugged me as tightly as I hugged her, saying my

name again and again. She smelled of bread dough and

wood smoke, and laughed as if she could not stop.

 

"So filthy—" she said. "and so humble—"

 

I had never been that. But I laughed with her, for what

she saw was true if, perhaps, to a lesser extent than she

thought. Or for different reasons. I was humbled, it was

true, by the very thing that elevated so many men: I

wanted her. And so. unable to help myself, I cupped her

head in my hands and kissed her.

 

Only once had I kissed her before, and under such

circumstances as she could claim it a token of my thanks. I

had meant that, then, too, but more as well. But by then,

when she rescued me from the Atvians, she had already

 

92 Jannlfer Roberson

 

pledged herself to Duncan. She had carried his child in

 

her belly.

 

Now, she did not rescue me. There was nothing of

gratefulness about what I was feeling, she could not con-

strue it as such. In five years I had had time to think of

AJix, and regret what had not happened between us, and I

could not hide my feelings.

 

And yet there was Duncan, still, between us.

 

I let her go. 1 still longed to touch her, but I let her go.

She stood quietly before me, color high in her face, but

there was a calmness in her eyes. She knew me better

than I did.

 

"That much you may have, having taken it already," she

said quietly, "but no more."

 

"Are you afraid what might grow up from this beginning?"

 

She shook her head once. "Nothing can grow up from

this beginning. There is nothing—here." She touched her

left breast, indicating her heart. Her gaze was perfectly

steady.

 

Almost I laughed. It was so distinct a change. She had

gained understanding and comprehension, aware of what

she was. Gone was the virgin, confused by body and

emotions. Now she was woman, wife and mother, and she

knew. I was not enough.

 

"I have thought of you for years," I said. "All those

nights in exile."

 

"I know." Her tone did not waver for an instant. "Had

you been Duncan, I would have felt the same. But you

were—and are—not. You are yourself. You are special to

me, it is true, but it is far too late for more. Once, perhaps

. . . but all of that time has passed."

 

I took a deep breath and tried to regain my composure.

"I did not—did not mean to do this. I meant only to greet

you again. But it seems I cannot keep my hands from you

now any more than I ever could." I smiled wryly. "An

admission few men would make to a woman who will not

have them."

 

Alix smiled. "Finn said much the same. His greeting

was—similar."

"And Duncan?"

"Duncan was—elsewhere. He is not an insensitive man."

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     93

 

"Nor ever was." I sighed and scratched my jaw beneath

the beard. "Enough of this. I came in to wash, as you

see."

 

"Good." Some of the tension vanished and the light

came into her eyes. The warm, amber eyes I recalled so

well—so perfect a melding of Cheysuli and Homanan,

more beautiful to me than either. "I doubt I could stand

your stink one more moment." She turned away at once to

the fire in the low stone fireplace, kneeling to add wood,

then glanced over her shoulder at me. "Perhaps you would

fill the cauldron with water?" And then color blazed up

high in her face, as if she recalled I was royal and above

such lowly things.

 

I grinned. "I will fetch it and set out the cask. Do you

forget?—I have been with Finn all these years. I am not

quite the same as you knew me." I left her then, having

caught up the heavy cauldron, and went out to fill it with

water.

 

Ton-in sat on the edge of the stone-ringed well, smoking

his clay pipe. His grizzled eyebrows rose. "I thought to

warn you she was here," he said around the stem.

 

I grunted as I began to crank up-the bucket. "I had not

thought it was so obvious to everyone."

 

"To me." Ton-in got up to steady the bucket as it came

up from the water. He caught it and poured its contents

into the cauldron. "She was so young when first you met

her. Then so new to her heritage, knowing little of royal

things. And finally, of course, there was Duncan."

 

The name dropped into my soul like a stone. "Aye . . .

he had more sense than I. He saw what he wanted and

took it."

 

"He won it," Ton-in said quietly. "My lord—do you

think to win her back from him, think again. I was her

father for seventeen years. Even now, I feel she is mine. I

will not have her hurt, or her happiness harmed. She

loves him deeply." He dropped the bucket down when it

was emptied and met my eyes without the flicker of an

eyelid. As he had, no doubt, met my uncle's unwavering

stare. "You are the Mujhar, and have the right to do what

you will, even with the Cheysuli. But I think you have

more sense than that."

 

94 Jennifer Roberson

 

For most of my life I had been given what I wanted,

including women. Alix I had lost before 1 knew how much

I wanted her. And now, knowing it keenly, I knew how

much it hurt to lose.

 

Especially to Duncan.

 

Alix came to the door of the white-washed, thatch-

roofed croft with its gray stone chimney. "The fire is

ready." Around her neck shone the golden torque made in

the shape of a flying hawk, wings outspread and beak

agape, with a chunk of amber caught in the clutching

talons. A fir-torque and Cheysuli bride-gift. Made for her

by Duncan.

 

I hoisted the cauldron and lugged it inside, hanging it

from the iron hook set into the stone of the blackened

fireplace. I sat on a stool and waited, aware of her every

movement, and stared at the fire as she kneaded the

dough again.

 

"When did you come?" I asked at last.

 

"Eight days ago. Finn brought us here." A warm, bright

smile shone on her face.

 

"He is back?" I felt better almost at once.

 

"He brought us down from the North." The silver pins

in her coiled braids glittered in the sunlight as she worked.

The folds of her moss-green gown moved as she moved,

shifting with the motion of her body. The overtunic, with

sheepskin fleece turned inward, was dyed a pale, soft

yellow, stitched in bright green yarn. It hung to her

knees, belted at her waist with brown leather and a golden

buckle. Cheysuli finery, not Homanan; she was all Cheysuli

 

now.

 

I scratched at my itching face. "He is well?"

 

"Finn? Oh, aye—when is he not? He is Finn." She

smiled again, beating the dough with her hands. "Though

I think he has another thing to occupy himself with, now."

 

"A woman," I predicted. "Has he found someone among

the clan?"

 

She laughed. "No, not a woman. My son." Her smile

widened into a grin. "There are times Donal is more like

his su'fali than his jehan. And now they have become

close friends as well, I have only Finn to blame for my

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    95

 

son's little indescretions. One was bad enough; now there

are two."

 

"Two Finns?" I thought about it, laughing, and saw Alix

shake her head.

 

"Shall I bid them come?" she asked, still kneading. "1

have only to speak to Cai and Storr."

 

I thought again of the power she held, the boundless

magic that ran in her veins. Old Blood, it was, a gift reborn

of the gods. Alix. and only Alix, could converse with any

lir. Or take any shape at will.

 

"No," I said. "I will go up myself, when I have shed my

weight of dirt." I checked the water and found it nearly

hot. Then I asked for the'half-cask; Alix told me where it

was and I dragged it out of the tiny antechamber, if a croft

could be said to have a proper one. The half-cask was

bound with hammered copper. It still smelled faintly of

cider, betraying its original purpose. In Homana-Mujhar I

had bathed in oak-and-silver cask-tubs polished smooth, so

no splinters threatened my flesh. I doubted this one was

as good, but it would serve. In exile I had learned to be

grateful for anything.

 

I rolled the cask into Ton-in's tiny bedchamber, contain-

ing a pallet, chest and chair. There I tipped the cask on its

end, then began filling it from the cauldron. When at last

it stood ready I went seeking cloth and soap.

 

Alix gave me both. 'Ton-in has changed nothing since I

left," she said with a nostalgic smile, and I wondered if

she recalled the day Finn had stolen us both.

 

How could she not? I did. Too well. And the changes

that had occurred since then.

 

I looked at her a long moment, my hands full of thread-

bare cloth and hard brown soap. I wished there was more

I could say. And then I said it anyway. "I will insult

neither you nor your husband by pursuing you where I am

not wanted."

 

Color flared in her face again. I marked how the years

had melted away the flesh of youth, leaving her with the

characteristic angular, high-planed Cheysuli face. Her face

was more like Finn's than ever before; the children show-

ing the father's blood.

 

"There was no need to say it," she told me softly.

 

96 Jennifer Roberson

 

"There was. Otherwise I could not account for my ac-

tions." Briefly I touched her face with the backs of two

fingers. "Alix—once we might have shared so much. Let

us keep of it what we can." I took my hand away and went

into the gloomy bedchamber where the water steamed in

the air. I pulled the curtain closed and stripped out of rny

filthy garb.

 

I could not put her from my mind. I thought of her in

the other room, kneading away, knowing she had Duncan

close at hand. I thought of her with him, at night. I

thought other as I had known her: a young, sweet-natured

girl with coltish grace and an integrity few men possess.

 

And I thought how odd a thing it is that two people can

inhabit a single room, each knowing how the other one

feels, and knowing there is no good in it.

 

No good at all. Only pain.

 

NINE

 

The half-cask, unfortunately, did not accommodate a man

of my size. It was an awkward bath. I sat with my knees

doubled up nearly beneath my chin and my spine crushed

against the wood. But it was wet and hot and 1 scrubbed

with every bit of strength I had, ridding myself of all the

dirt and grease. Even that in my hair and beard.

 

When at last I could breathe again, stripped of the

stench of my disguise, I relaxed. I nung my legs outside of

the cask and sat back, tipping my head against the wooden

rim. The flesh of my face still ached from the lion's blow;

 

the rest of my body hurt as much. 1 felt older than my

years. The lion had drained my strength; that, and the

knowledge of Ihlini sorcery.

 

The water cooled, but not so fast 1 could not take my

time getting out. And so I did. I let go of all my breath, let

my muscles turn to rags, and promptly went to sleep.

 

"Carillon"'

 

I jerked awake. My spine scraped against the rough

wood and I cursed, staring in some confusion at Finn, who

stood just inside the doorway with the curtain pulled

closed behind him. Thoughtful of my modesty, for once;

 

perhaps it was Alix who elicited such care.

 

I sat upright and pulled my legs back in, scowling at

him. Finn merely smiled, amused to find me in such a

state, and leaned back against the wall with bare arms

folded across his chest. He had put off his winter leathers

 

1    97    I

 

98 Jennifer Roberson

 

in deference to the thaw; I saw again the heavy gold that

banded his arms above the elbows. Wide, beautiful things,

embossed with runes and wolf-shape. He wore snug leath-

ers again; leggings and a sleeveless jerkin. At his belt hung

the Steppes knife, and I thought again of the sorcery I had

 

Sfpn-

 

seen.

 

"When did you get back?" he asked quite calmly.

 

I stood up, dripping, and reached for the blanket he

tossed me from Ton-in's pallet. "Not so long ago that I

have had time to fill my belly."

 

"But time for a bath." His tone was perfectly flat. but I

had little trouble discerning his intent. I had not had that

trouble for some years now.

 

"Had you seen me—or swelled me—you would have

pushed me in yourself." I climbed out of the cask and

pulled on the dark brown breeches, then bent to jerk on

the knee boots. My shirt was green. I put a brown jerkin

over it and belted it with leather and bronze. "I thought I

would go up to the army. Will you come?"

 

"Ah, the army." Finn smiled his ironic smile. "Do you

wish to call it that."

 

I scowled at him, combing my fingers through my wet

hair. It tangled on my shoulders and dampened the fabric

of shirt and jerkin. "Rowan has done what he can to

assemble men willing to fight. I will use what I can. Do

you expect me to gather the thousands Bellam has?"

 

"It makes no difference." Finn followed me through to

the other room, where Alix knelt to hang the pot of bread

dough over the fire. "You will have the Cheysuli, and that

is enough, I think." He put out a hand to Storr, seated by

the table.

 

I scoffed. "I have you. And no doubt Duncan, and

perhaps those he has managed to persuade to join me in

the name of the prophecy." I scooped up a clay jug of

Ton-in's sour wine and poured myself a cup, pouring a

second for Finn- as he nodded willingness to drink.

 

"You have more than a few." He accepted the cup

without thanks and swallowed half the wine at once. "How

many would you ask for, could you have a larger number?"

 

I returned the jug to its place on the sideboard near the

fireplace and perched upon the table as I drank. "The

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    99

 

Cheysuli are the finest fighting men in all of Homana." He

did not smile at my compliment, it was well known. "And

with each warrior I would gain a lir, so double the number

at once." I shrugged. "A single warrior is worth at least

five of another, so with a lir it is ten to one," I shook my

head. "It is folly to wish for what I cannot have. Nonethe-

less, I would be more than pleased with one hundred."

 

"What of three hundred?" Finn smiled. "Perhaps even

 

more.

 

I stared at him, forgoing my wine altogether. "Have you

turned sorcerer, to conjure up false men?"

 

"No." Finn tossed his empty cup to Alix, who caught it

and put it with the jug. "I have conjured up men I

thought long dead. Shaine, you see, did not slay as many

as we feared."

 

I set my cup down very precisely in the center of the

table. "Are you saying—?"

 

"Aye." He grinned. "While searching for my clan, I

found others. The Northern Wastes boast many places

where a clan may hide, and I found several of them. It

took time, but we have gathered together every warrior

we could find." He shrugged. "All the clans are here; we

are building a Keep beyond the hill."

 

He said it so simply: "All the clans are here; we are

building, a Keep beyond the hill."

 

I stared at him. A Keep. With three hundred warriors

and their lir.

 

i whooped. And then I was on my feet, clasping him in

my arms as if I could not let him go. No doubt too

demonstrative for Finn's sensibilities, but he knew the

reason. And he smiled, stepping away when I was done.

 

"My gift to you," he said lightly. "Now, come with me

and I will show you."

 

We went out at once, leaving Alix to tend her bread,

and Finn gave me back my Ihlini horse. His eyes were on

it, for he had known me to ride the dun, but he waited

until we were free of the croft and riding toward the hill

before he asked me about it, and then obliquely.

 

"Ton-in said you had gone to Joyenne."

 

"Aye. To get my lady mother out."

 

"You did not succeed?"

 

100 Jennifer Roberson

 

"No, but only because she refused to come." The sun-

light was bright in our eyes. I put up a hand to block the

stunning brilliance. "Bellam holds Tourmaline, my sister.

He has for some time. I do not doubt he keeps her safe,

being who she is, but I want her free of him." 1 swore

suddenly as the anger boiled over. "By the gods, the man

threatens to wed heri"

 

We rode abreast with Storr leading the way. Finn,

frowning, nodded, saying little. "It is the way of kings.

Especially usurper kings.'

 

"He will not usurp my sister\"

 

"Then do you mean to dance into Homana-Mujhar as

easily as you did into Joyenne?"

 

And so I knew what he thought of my actions. 1 scowled

at him blackly. "I got in and got out with little trouble. I

was careful. No one knew me."

 

"And did you yourself put those bruises on your face?"

 

I had nearly forgotten. My hand went to my jaw and

touched the sore flesh. "The Ihlini did this. Or rather: his

conjured beast."

 

"Ah." Finn nodded in apparent satisfaction. "No trouble

at Joyenne, you say, but an Ihlini set a beast on you." He

sighed, shaking his head. "Why should I concern myself

with your welfare? All you manage to do is tangle with one

ofTynstar's minions."

 

His irony, as ever, galled me. "Enough. It was not my

fault the men found me. They could have found me here."

 

"Men? First it was an Ihlini and his beast. Now there

are more." He gestured to direct me up the hill.

 

I glared at him. "Why not Just compel me to tell you

the truth, as you did Lachlan?^"

 

"Because I had believed you knew enough to tell me

willingly."

 

I sighed and leaned forward as my horse climbed the

hill toward the treeline. "You should not worry. I slew

them all, even the Ihlini."

 

"I have no reason to worry," he agreed. "What have I

done, save swear a blood-oath to serve you always?" For

the first time a hint of anger crept into his voice. "Do you

think I waste my time? Do you wish to do this alone?

Think how many times over you would have been slain

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    101

 

without me. And now, when I leave you to seek my

clan—at your behest—you place yourself in such jeopardy

even a child knows better.'

 

"Finn—enough."

 

"Not enough." He glared at me openly now. "There is

some little of my life invested in you. AU of it, now. What

we do is not entirely for you. Carillon, and for Homana,

but for the Cheysuli as well." His mouth tightened as he

reined his horse back even with mine. "Were you to die

now, in some foolish endeavor of your own devising, the

rebellion would fail. Bellam would rule forevermore. He

would likely wed your sister, get new sons on her. and put

them on the throne behind himself. Is that what you

 

wish?"

 

I reached out and caught his reins, jerking his horse to a

 

halt. All the anger and frustration came pouring out as

 

pride. "1 am your prince!"

 

"And I your liege man!" He ignored the jerk of the reins

 

against his hands. "Do you think it is so easy for me to

watch you as a father with a son? 1 am not your jehan,

Carillon, merely your liege man. And a cousin, of a sort,

because my jehan saw fit to lie with a haughty Homanan

princess when he had a cheysula-eA home!"

 

He had never said so much before. Had coming home

done it? I knew the differences in myself. Perhaps there

 

were some in Finn as well.

 

I let go his reins and minded my own, though I did not

start up the hill quite yet. "Does the service grow so

tedious, seek another," I suggested bitterly.

 

His laugh was a short bark of sound. "How? The gods

have tied me to you. Better yet: they have set iron around

your neck as well as mine, and locked them together, like

 

oxen in a yoke."

 

I sat in the blinding gold of the late afternoon sun and

said nothing for a long moment. And then when I did, I

asked a question I had not thought to ask before: "What

 

do you want from this life?"

 

He was surprised. I could see it in his eyes. He under-

stood perfectly well what I asked, and probably why, but

he went on to step around the question. "I want you on

the throne of Homana."

 

102 Jennifer Roberson

 

"Given that," I agreed, "what more?"

 

"The Cheysuli free to live as they would again."

 

"Given that." Had I to do it, I would ask him until the

moon came up.

 

Finn squinted into the sun, as if the light would shield

his feelings from me, or lessen the pain of the question.

He appeared to have no intention of answering me, but

this once I would make him.

 

"Finn." I said patiently, with all the solemnity I could

muster, "were the gods to give you anything, anything at

all, what would you ask for?"

 

At last he looked directly at me. The sunlight, striking

through the trees like illuminated spears, was my unwit-

ting servant. All of Finn's soul was bared to me in the

light. This once, just once, but enough for me to see it.

"You have not met Donal, have you?"

 

I thought it a question designed to lead me away from

the quarry, like a dog led away by a clever fox. "Alix's son?

No. I have only just got here, Finn—"

 

But he was serious. "Could I have it, I would ask for a

son." He said it abruptly, as if the admission endangered

the hope, and then he rode away from me as if he had

shared too much.

 

There were no tracks to mark an army, no pall of smoke

hanging above the treeline to mark the army's presence.

There was nothing Bellam could use to seek me out. Finn

took me into the forest away from the valley and I knew

the army was safe. Rowan had done my bidding by taking

them deeper into cover; even I could not say there was an

army near, and it was mine.

 

The forest was overgrown with vines and creepers and

brambles and bushes. Ivy fell down from the trees to trip

the horses and foul the toes of my boots. Mistletoe clus-

tered in the wooden crotches and a profusion of flowers

hailed our passing. Homana. At last. Home again, for

good, after too long a time spent in exile.

 

Sunlight spilled through the leaves and speckled the

forest floor into goldens, greens and browns. Finn, riding

before me, broke a pheasant from cover and I heard the

whirring of its wings as it flew, whipping leaves and stir-

 

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    103

 

ring sunmotes in its passage to the sky. I thought, sud-

denly, of the last time I had supped on pheasant: in

Homana-Mujhar, feasting a guest, when my uncle had

been pleased with a new alliance made. Too long ago. Too

long being mercenary instead of prince.

 

I heard the harp and nearly stopped. There was nothing

else save the threshing of the horses tearing through the

brush and vines and creepers. But the harpsong overrode

it all, and 1 recognized the hand upon the strings. "Lachlan,"

1 said aloud.

 

Finn, reining in to ride abreast of me, nodded. "He has

come each day, sharing his music with us. Once I might

have dismissed it as idle whimsy, but no more. He has

magic in that harp. Carillon—more even than we have

seen. Already he has begun to give the Cheysuli what we

have lacked these past years: peace of spirit," He smiled,

albeit wryly. "Too long have we forgotten the music of our

ancestors, thinking instead of war. The Ellasian has re-

minded us, he has given us some of it back again. I think

there will be music made in the Keep again."

 

We passed through the final veil of leaves and vines and

into the Keep. And yet it was no proper Keep, lacking the

tall stone wall that circled the-pavilions ordinarily. This

was not a true Keep at all, not as I had known it, but a

wide scattering of tents throughout the forest. There was

no uniformity, no organization.

 

Finn ducked a low branch, caught it and held it back as

I rode by. He saw the expression on my face. "Not yet. It

will come later, when Homana is made safe again for such

things as permanent Keeps." He released the branch and

fell in next to me. "This is easily defensible. Easily torn

down, do we need to move on again."

 

The tents huddled against the ground, like mushrooms

beneath a tree. They were the colors of the earth: dark

green, pale moss, slate-gray, rust-red, brown and black

and palest cream. Small and plain, without the fir-symbols

I remembered: tents instead of pavilions. But a Cheysuli

Keep, for all its odd appearance.

 

I smiled, though it pained my injured face. I could not

count them all. I could not see them all, so perfectly were

they hidden, even though I knew how to look. And Bellam?

 

104 Jannifr Rotrrson

 

No doubt his men, if they came so far, would miss the

Keep entirely.

 

Defensible? Aye—when an enemy does not see until

too late. Tom down fast? Oh, aye—requiring but a mo-

ment to collapse the earth-toned fabric. A perfectly porta-

ble Keep,

 

And full ofCheysuli.

 

I laughed aloud and halted my horse. Around me spread

the Keep, huddled and subtle and still. Around me spread

my strength, equally subtle and silent and still. With the

Cheysuli and an army besides, Bellam could never stop

me.

 

"Tahbrwrra lujhalla met wiccan, cheysu," I said softly.

The fate of a man rests always within the hands of the

 

gods.

 

Finn, so silent beside me, merely smiled. "You are

welcome to Homana, my lord. And to the homeplace of

my people."

 

I shook my head, suddenly overcome. "I am not worthy

of it all . . ."In that moment, I was certain of it. I was not

up to the task,

 

"Are you not," my liege man said simply, "no man is."

 

When I could, I rode farther into the Keep And thanked

the gods for the Cheysuli.

 

TEN

 

The harpsong filled the forest. The melody was so deli-

cate, so fragile, and yet so strong. It drew me as if it were

a woman calling me to her bed; Lachlan's Lady, and I a

man who knew her charm. I forgot the warriors Finn had

promised and followed a song instead, feeling its magic

reach out to touch my soul.

 

I found him at last perched upon the ruin of a felled

beech, huge and satin-trunked. The tree had made its

grave long since, but it provided a perfect bench—or

throne—for the harper. The sunlight pierced the sur-

rounding veil of branches and limbs like enemy spears

transfixed upon a single foe: the harp. His Lady, so dark

and old and wise, with her single green eye and golden

strings. Such an eloquent voice, calling out; such a geas he

laid upon me. I reined in my horse before the beech and

waited until he was done.

 

Lachlan smiled. The slender, supple fingers grew quiet

upon the glowing strings, so that music and magic died,

and he was merely a man, a harper, blessed with Lodhi's

pleasure.

 

"I knew you would come," he said in his liquid, silken

 

voice.

 

"Sorcerer," I returned.

 

He laughed. "Some men call me so. Let them. You

should know me better now." For a moment there was a

 

105

 

106

 

glint of some unknown emotion in his eyes. "Friend," he

said. "No more."

 

I realized we were alone. Finn I had left behind. And

that, by itself, was enough to make me fear the Ellasian

harper.

 

He saw it at once. Still he sat unmoving upon the beech

trunk, his hands upon his Lady. "You came because I

wished you to, and because you wished it," he said qui-

etly. "Finn I did not require; not yet. But he will come,

and Duncan." The sunlight was full upon his face. I saw

no guile there, no subterfuge. Only honesty, and some

little dedication. "I am a harper," he said clearly. "Har-

pers require men of legend in order to do what they do.

You, my lord, are legend enough for most. Certainly for

me." He smiled. "Have I not proven my loyalty?"

 

"Men will slay whom they are told to, do they have

reason enough for it." I remained upon my horse, for I did

not fully trust him with that harp held in his hands. "You

slew the man I bid you to, but a spy would do so easily

enough, merely to maintain his innocence."

 

He took his hands from the harp and spread them. "I

am no spy. Save, perhaps, your own."

 

"Mine." I said nothing more; for the moment he had

made me speechless. And then I looked deeper into his

eyes. "Would you, an Ellasian, serve me. a Homanan, in

anything I bid you?"

 

"Providing it did not go against my conscience," he said

at once. "I am a priest of the All-Father; I will not trans-

gress any of His teachings."

 

I made a dismissing gesture. "I would ask no man to go

against his lights. Not in something such as his gods. No. I

mean, Lachlan, to see just how loyal you are."

 

'Then bid me," he returned. "I am here because I wish

to be, not because some Ihlini sorcerer or Solindish king

has sent me. And if they had, would I not take them the

news they wish to hear? Would I still be here, when I

could tell them the location of the Cheysuli and your

army?"

 

"A wise spy, spies," I told him natly. "The hare that

breaks too soon is caught quickly by the fox."

 

He laughed. Lachlan's laugh is warm, generous, a true

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA 1 107

 

casement of his soul. "But it is not a fox I fear, my lord

... it is a wolf. A Cheysuli wolf." His eyes went past me.

1 did not turn. knowing who stood there.

 

"What would you do, then?" I asked.

 

The laughter had died. He looked at me directly. "Spy

for you. Carillon. Go into Mujhara, to the palace itself,

and see what Bellam does."

 

"Dangerous," Finn said from behind me. "The hare

asks to break."

 

"Aye," Lachlan agreed. "But who else could do it? No

Cheysuli, that is certain. No Homanan, for whom would

Bellam admit without good reason? But I, J am a harper,

and harpers go where they will."

 

It is true harpers are admitted to places other men

cannot go. I knew from my own boyhood, when my uncle

had hosted harpers from far and wide within Homana-

Mujhar. A harper would be a perfect spy, that I did not

doubt.

 

And yet—"Lachlan of Ellas," I said, "what service would

you do me?"

 

His fingers flew against the strings. It was a lively tune,

evocative of dance and laughter and youth. It conjured up

a vision before my eyes: a young woman, lithe and lovely,

with tawny-dark hair and bright blue eyes. Laughter was

in her mouth and gaiety in her soul. My sister, Tourma-

line, as I recalled her. At nineteen, when I had seen her

last, though she would be twenty-four now.

 

Tourmaline, hostage to Bellam himself. And Lachlan

knew it well.

 

I was off my horse at once, crossing to the beech in two

long steps. My hands went out to stop his fingers in the

strings, but I did not touch them after all. I felt a sudden

upsurge of power so great it near threw me back from the

man. 1 took a single step backward against my will, all

unexpected, and then I stood very still.

 

His fingers slowed. The tune fell away until only an

echo hung in the air. And then that, too. was gone, and

silence built a wall between us.

 

"No," he said quietly. "No man gainsays the truth."

 

"You do not ensorcell me!"

 

"/ do not," he agreed. "What power there is comes of

 

108 Jennifer Roberson

 

Lodhi, not His servant. And do you seek to injure my

Lady, she will injure you." He did not smile. "I mean you

no harm, my lord, nor my harp; yet harm may come to the

man who means me harm."

 

I felt the upsurge of anger in my chest until it filled my

throat. "I meant you no harm," I said thickly. "I merely

wanted it to stop—"

 

"My Lady takes where she will," he said gently. "It is

your sister who lives within you now, because of Bellam's

power. I merely wished to show it to you, so you would

know what I can do."

 

Finn was at my side. "What would you do?" he asked.

"Free his sister from Bellam?"

 

Lachlan shook his head. "I could not do so much, not

even with all of Lodhi's aid. But I can take her any word

you might wish to give her, as well as learn what I can of

Bellam's and Tynstar's plans."

 

"Gods!" The word hissed between my teeth. "Could I

but trust you ..."

 

"Do, my lord," he said gently. "Trust your liege man, if

not me. Has he not questioned my intent?"

 

I let out my breath all at once, until my chest felt

hollow and thin. I looked at Finn and saw the solemnity in

his face. So much like Duncan, I thought, and at such odd

times.

 

He looked directly at Lachlan. The sunlight set his

ftr-gold to shining like the strings in the harper's Lady.

Neither man said a word, as if they judged one another; I

found my own judgment sorely lacking, as if I had not the

mind to discern what should be done. I was weary and

hungry and overcome, suddenly, with the knowledge of

what I must do.

 

"Trust him," Finn said finally, as if disliking the taste.

"What is the worst he could do—tell Bellam where we

are?" His smile held little humor. "Does he do that, and

Bellam sends soldiers, we will simply slay them all."

 

No doubt he could do it, with three hundred Cheysuli

warriors. And no doubt Lachlan knew it.

 

He stood up from the beech with his Lady clasped in

his arms. Slowly he went down on one knee, still hugging

the harp, and bowed his head a little. A proud man,

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    109

 

Lachlan, the homage was unexpected. It did not suit him,

as if he were meant to receive it instead of offer. "I will

serve you in this as I would have you serve me, were the

roles reversed." His face was grimly set, and yet I saw the

accustomed serenity in his eyes. That certainty of his fate.

 

Like Finn and his tahlmorra.

 

I nodded- "Well enough. Go you to Homana-Mujhar,

and tend my service well."

 

"My lord." He knelt a moment longer, supplicant to a

king instead of a god, and then he rose. He was gone

 

- almost at once, hidden by the shrubbery, with no word of

parting in his mouth. But the harpsong, oddly, lingered

on, as if he had called it from the air.

 

"Come," Finn said finally, "Duncan waits."

After a moment I looked at him. "Duncan? How does

'• he know I have come?"

 

Finn grinned. "You are forgetting, my lord—we are in a

.' Keep, of sorts. There are lir. And gossiping women, I do

 

- not doubt." The grin came again. "Blame me, or Storr, or

" even Cai, whom Storr tells me is the one who told Dun-

^ can you had come. He waits, does my rujho, somewhat

^ impatiently,"

 

'^   "Duncan has never been impatient in his life." In irrita-

p- tion 1 turned back to my horse and swung up into the

|. saddle. "Do you come? Or do I go without you?"

I   "Now who is impatient?" He did not wait for an answer,

 

-4 which I did not intend to give; he mounted and led the

^ way.

 

^    I saw Duncan before he saw me, for he was intent upon

', his son. I thought it was his son; the boy was small enough

: for a five-year-old, and his solemnity matched that I had

, seen so often on his father's face. He was a small Cheysuli

;- warrior, in leathers and boots but lacking the gold, for he

".' was not a man as yet and had no lir. That would come in

;" time.

 

The boy listened well. Black hair, curly as was common

; in Cheysuli childhood, framed his dark face with its in-

'l quisitive yellow eyes. There was little of Alix in the boy, I

thought, and then he smiled, and I saw her, and realized

^how much it hurt that Donal was Duncan's son instead of

t mine.

 

110 Jennifer Roberson

 

Abruptly Duncan bent down and caught the boy in his

arms, sweeping him up to perch upon one shoulder. He

turned, smiling a wry, familiar smile—Finn's smile—and I

realized there was much of Duncan I did not know. What

I had seen was a rival, a man who sought the woman I

sought; the man who had won her, when I could not. The

man who had led an exiled race back from the edge of

death to the promise of life again. I had given him little

thought past what he had been to me. Now I thought

about what he was to the Cheysuli . . . and to the boy he

carried on his shoulder.

 

The boy laughed. It was a pure soprano tone, girlish in

its youth, unabashed and without the fear of discovery. No

doubt Donal knew what it was to hide, having hidden for

all of his short life, but he had not lost his spirit with it.

Duncan and Alix had seen to it he had his small freedoms.

 

The Keep suddenly receded. The humming of voices

and the laughter of other children became an underscore

to the moment. I knew, as I looked at Duncan and his

son, I looked upon the future of Homana. From the man

had come the son, who would no doubt rule in his father's

place when Duncan's time was done. And would my son

rule alongside him? Homanan Mujhar and Cheysuli clan-

leader. Under them would a nation be reborn from war

and purge into life again. Better, stronger than ever.

 

I laughed. It rang out, bass rather than DonaFs soprano,

and for just a moment the voices mingled. I saw the

momentary surprise on Duncan's face and then the recog-

nition, and finally the acknowledgment. He swung his son

down from his shoulder and waited, while I got off my

horse.

 

It was Donal I went to, not his father. The boy, so small

beside the man, and so wary of me suddenly. He knew

enough of strangers to know they sometimes brought dan-

ger with them.

 

I dwarfed him, taller even than Duncan- At once I went

down on one knee so as not to loom over him like a

hungry demon. It put us on a level: tall prince, small boy,

warriors both, past. present and future.

 

"I am Carillon," I told him, "and I thank the gods you

are here to give me aid."

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA I 111

 

The wariness faded, replaced by recognition. I saw won-

der and confusion and uncertainty, but 1 also saw pride.

Donal detached his hand from his father's and stood be-

fore me, frowningly intent, with color in his sun-bronzed

cheeks. He was a pretty boy; he would make a handsome

man. But then the Cheysuli are not an ugly race.

 

"My jehan serves you," he said softly.

 

"Aye."

 

"And my su'fali."

 

I thought of Finn, knowing he was behind me. "Aye.

Very well."

 

Donal's gaze did not waver. There was little of indeci-

sion in him, or hesitation. I saw the comprehension in his

face and knew he understood what he said, even as he said

it. 'Then I will serve you also."

 

Such a small oath, from so small a boy. And yet I

doubted none of its integrity, or his honor. Such things

are in all of the Cheysuli, burning in their blood. Donal

was years from being a warrior, and yet I did not doubt his

resolve.

 

I put both hands on his slender shoulders. I felt sud-

denly overlarge, as I had with my mother, for there was

little of gentleness about me. And nothing at all of

fatherhood.

 

But honor and pride I know, and I treasured it from

him. "Could I have but one Cheysuli by my side, it would

be you," I told him, meaning it.

 

He grinned, "You already have my su'faW

 

I laughed. "Aye, I do, and I am grateful for him. I

doubt not I will have him for a long time. But should I

need another, I know to whom I will come."

 

Shyness overcame him. He was still a boy, and still

quite young. The intimacy had faded; I was a prince again,

and he merely Duncan's son, and the time for such oaths

was done.

 

"Donal," Finn said from behind me, "do you wish to

serve your lord as I do, you might see to his mount. Come

and tend it for him."

 

The boy was gone at once. I turned, rising, and saw the

light in his face as he ran to do Finn's bidding- My horse's

reins were taken up and the gelding led away with great

 

112 Jennifer Roberson

 

care toward the picket-string in the forest. Finn, like

Donal, walked, and I saw the calm happiness in his face as

he accompanied the boy. Indeed, he needed a son.

 

"You honor me with that," Duncan said.

 

I looked at him. His voice held an odd tone; a mixture,

I thought, of surprise, humility and pride. What had he

expected of me? A dismissal of the boy? But I could do

nothing so cruel, not to Alix's son.

 

And then I realized what he meant. He had forgotten

none of what lay between us, perhaps he had even dreaded

our Brst meeting. No, not dreaded; not Duncan, who

knew me too well for that. Perhaps he had merely antici-

pated antipathy.

 

Well, there was that. Or would be. There was still Alix

between us.

 

"I honor you with that," I agreed, "but also the boy

himself. I have not spent five years with Finn without

learning a little of your customs, and how you raise your

children. I will not dishonor Donal by dismissing him as a

child, when he is merely a warrior who is not fully grown."

 

Duncan sighed. I saw a rueful expression leach his face of

its customary solemnity. He shook his head. "Forgive me,

Carillon, for undervaluing you."

 

I laughed, suddenly light-hearted. "You have your brother

to thank for that. Finn has made me what I am."

 

"Not in his image, I hope."

 

"Could you not stand two?"

 

"Gods," he said in horror, "two of Finn? One is too

muchi" But I heard the ring of affection in his tone and

saw the pleasure in his face; I realized, belatedly, he had

undoubtedly missed Finn as much as Finn had missed

him. No matter how much they disagreed when they were

together.

 

I put out my hand to clasp his arm in the familiar

Cheysuli greeting. "I thank you for him, Duncan. Through

him, you have saved my life many times."

 

His hand closed around my upper arm. "What Finn

knows, he learned elsewhere," he retorted. "Little enough

of me is in him. Though the gods know I tried—" He

grinned, forgoing the complaint. "He did not lie. He said

you had come home a man."

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    113

 

That got me laughing. "He would not say that within my

hearing."

 

"Perhaps not," Duncan conceded, "but he said it within

mine, and now I have told it to you."

 

Men judge men by handclasps. We held ours a mo-

ment, remembering the past, and there was no failing in

his grasp, nor none in mine. There was much between us,

and neither of us would forget.

 

We broke the clasp at last, two different men, 1 thought,

than we had been before. Some unknown communication

had passed between us: his recognition of me as someone

other than 1 had been, when he had first known me, and

my recognition of what he was. Not a rival, but a friend,

and a man I could trust with my life. That is not so easy a

thing to claim when a king has set gold on your head.

 

"My tent is too small for Mujhars," he said quietly, and

when I looked harder I saw the glint of humor in his eyes.

"My tent is particularly too small for you, now. Come with

me, and 1 will give you a throne better suited, perhaps,

than another. At least until you have slain the man who

makes it his."

 

I said nothing. I had heard the grim tone in his voice

and realized, for the first time, Duncan probably hated as

well as I did. I had not thought of it before, so caught up

in my own personal—and sometimes selfish—quest. I

wanted the throne for myself as well as Homana. Duncan

wanted me to have it for his own reasons.

 

He took me away from the tents to a pile of huge

granite boulders, gray and green and velveted with moss.

The sunlight turned the moss into an emerald cloak, thick

and rich and glowing, like the stone in Lachlan's Lady.

The throne was one rump-sized stone resting against an-

other that formed a backrest. The moss offered me a

cushion. Gods-made, Finn would say; I sat down upon it

and smiled.

 

"Little enough to offer the rightful Mujhar." Duncan

perched himself upon a companion rock. The veil of tree

Umbs hanging over us shifted in a breeze so that the

sunlight and shadow played across his face, limning the

planes and hollows and habitual solemnity. Duncan had

always been less prone to gaiety than Finn, steadier, more

 

114 Jennifer Rob«rson

 

serious, almost dour. Seeming old though he was still

young by most men's reckoning. Young for a clan-leader, I

knew, ruling because his elders were already dead in

Shaine's qu'mahlin.

 

"It will do, until I have another," I said lightly.

 

Duncan bent and pulled a single stalk of wild wheat

from the soggy ground. He studied the lime-green plant

as if it consumed his every interest. It was unlike Duncan

to prevaricate, I thought; unless I had merely gotten old

enough to prefer the point made at once.

 

"You wilt have trouble reconciling the Homanans with

Cheysuli,"

 

"Not with all." I understood him at once. "Some, per-

haps; it is to be expected. But I will have no man who

does not serve willingly, whether it be next to a Cheysuli

or myself." I sat forward on my dais of moss and granite.

So different from the Lion Throne. "Duncan, I would

have this qu'mahlin ended as soon as may be. I will begin

with my army."

 

He did not smile. "There is talk of our sorcery."

 

"There will ever be talk of your sorcery. It is what made

them afraid in the first place." 1 recalled my uncle's rant-

ings when I was young; how he had said all of Homana

feared the Cheysuli, because he had made them feared.

How the shapechangers sought to throw down the House

of Homana to replace it with their own.

 

Their own. In Cheysuli legend, their own House had

built Homana herself, and gave her over to mine.

 

"There is Rowan," he said quietly.

 

I did not immediately take his meaning. "Rowan serves

me well. I could not ask for a better lieutenant."

 

"Rowan is a man caught between two worlds." Duncan

looked at me directly. "You have seen him, Carillon. Can

you not see his pain?"

 

I frowned. "I do not understand. ..."

 

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "He is Cheysuli. And now

the Homanans know it."

 

"He has ever denied—" I halted the unfinished com-

ment at once. It was true he had always denied he was

Cheysuli. And I had ever wondered if he were regardless,

with his Cheysuli coloring.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    115

 

"Cai has confirmed it," Duncan said. "I called Rowan

here and told him, but he denies it still. He claims himself

Homanan. How a man could do that—" He broke it off at

once, as if knowing it had nothing to do with the subject.

"I bring Rowan up because he illustrates the troubles

within your army, Carillon. You have Homanans and

Cheysuli, and you expect them to fight together. After

thirty years of Shaine's qu'mahlin"

 

"What else can I do?' I demanded. "I need men—any

men—and I must have you both! How else can I win this

war? Bellam cares little who is Cheysuli and who is

Homanan—he will slay everyone, do we give him the

chance! I cannot afford to divide my army because of my

uncle's madness."

 

"It has infected most of Homana." Duncan shook his

head, his mouth a flat, hard line. "I do not say all of them

hate us. Does Torrin? But it remains that you must fight

your own men before Bellam, do you let this hostility

flourish. Look to your army first, Carillon, before you

count your host."

 

"I do what I can." I felt old suddenly, and very tired.

My face ached from its bruising. "Gods—I do what I can

. . . what else is there to do?"

 

"I know." He studied his stalk of wheat. "I know. But I

have put my faith in you."

 

I sighed and clumped down against my mossy throne,

feeling the weight of my intentions. "We could lose."

 

"We could. But the gods are on our side."

 

I laughed shortly, with little humor in the sound. "Ever

so solemn, Duncan. Is there no laughter in you? And do

you not fear the Ihlini gods are stronger than your own?"

 

He did not smile. His eyes appraised me in their quiet,

competent way, and I knew again the chafing of youth

before an older, wiser man. "I will laugh again when I do

not fear to lose my son because his eyes are yellow."

 

I flinched beneath the bolt as it went cleanly home in

my soul. In his place, I might be like him- But in my

place, what would he do?

 

"Were you Mujhar—" I began, and stopped when I saw

the flicker in his eyes. "Duncan?"

 

116 Jennifer Roberson

 

"I am not." No more than that, and the flicker was

gone.

 

I frowned at him, sitting upright again on my rock. "I

will have an answer from you: were you Mujhar, what

would you do?"

 

He smiled with perfect calm. "Win back my throne. We

are in accord, my lord—you have no need to fear your

throne is coveted. You are welcome to the Lion."

 

I thought of the throne. The Lion Throne, ensconced

within Homana-Mujhar. In the Great Hall itself, crouched

down upon the marble dais, dark and heavy and brooding.

With its crimson cushion and gilt scrollwork, set so deeply

in the old, dark wood. How old? I could not say. Ancient.

And older still.

 

"Cheysuli," I said, without meaning to.

 

Duncan smiled more warmly. The smile set creases

around his eyes and chased away the gravity, stripping his

face of its age. "So is Homana, my lord. But we welcomed

the unblessed, so long ago. Will you not welcome us?"

 

I set my face against my hands. My eyes were gritty; I

scrubbed at them and at my skin, so taut with worry and

tension. So much to do—and so little time in which to do

it. Unite two warring races and take a realm; a realm held

by sorcery so strong I could not imagine the power of it.

 

"You are not alone," Duncan said quietly. "Never that.

There is myself, and Finn . . . and Alix."

 

I sat hunched, eyes shut tightly against the heels of my

hands as if the pressure might carry me past all the pain,

past all the battles, past all the necessities of war to the

throne itself. Could it be done, I would not have to face

the risks and the losses and the fears.

 

But it could not be done so easily, and a man learns by

what he survives, not by passing o'er it.

 

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned my face away

from my hands and looked into Duncan's eyes, so wise

and sad and compassionate. Compassion, from him; for a

man who wished to be his king. It made me small again.

 

"Tahlmorra lujhalla mei wiccan, cheysu," he said qui-

etly, making the gesture with his right hand. "Now, my

lord, come and sup with me. Wars are lost on empty

bellies."

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA I 117

 

I pushed myself off the rock with a single thrust of my

hand. The fate of a man rests always within the hands of

the gods.

 

My gods? I wondered. Or Bellam's?

 

ELEVEN

 

Cai sat upon a polished wooden perch sunk into the ground

next to Duncan's slate-gray tent. His massive wings were

folded with perfect precision, not a single feather was out

of place. The great hooked beak shone in the dim firelight

and the red glow of the setting sun: dark and sharp and

deadly. And his eyes, so bright and watchful, missed not a

single movement within the Keep.

 

I stood outside the tent. Duncan, Finn and the boy

remained within, finishing what supper there was: hot

stew, fresh bread, cheese and Cheysuli honey brew. And

Alix, who had come up from Tori-in's croft with the bread,

had gone off to another tent.

 

I had put on a Cheysuli cloak, wrapping myself in the

harsh woollen folds to ward off the chill of dusk. TTie fabric

was so deep a green I melted into the surrounding dark-

ness, even with the light from the firecairns on me. No

longer did I wonder how the Cheysuli achieved their

secrecy; a man, standing still, can hide himself easily

enough. He need only affect the proper coloration and

wait, and the enemy wilt come to him.

 

Cai turned his head. The great hawk looked directly at

me, dark eyes glittering in the dying light. He had the

attentiveness of a man in his gaze, and yet more, for he

was a Ur and a lir is better than a man, or so the Cheysuli

claim. I had no reason to dispute it. I had known Storr

 

I 118 I

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    119

 

long enough to acknowledge his virtues, and be thankful

for his service.

 

I shivered, though it was not from the evening chill- It

was from the pervasive sense of destiny within the Cheysuli

Keep, for a Keep is where a man is, with his lir, and here

sat a lir beside me. Cai, the great dark hawk with the

wisdom of the ages, and the knowledge of what was to

come. Divulging it never, to no man, not even Duncan,

who served his gods better than any I had known. Such a

harsh service, I thought, requiring death and sacrifice.

What the Cheysuli bore in their bones was a weight I

could not carry. The shapechange was magic indeed, but I

would not pay its price. ,

 

I turned away and pulled aside the doorQap. The dim

light from the small iron brazier filled the tent with shad-

ows, and I saw three pairs of yellow eyes fixed upon my

face.

 

Beast eyes. . . .

 

Even friendship does not dampen the residual fear en-

gendered by such eyes.

 

"I will go up to the army encampment. I have spent

enough time away from my men."

 

Finn rose at once, handing his cup to Duncan. The light

glittered off the Steppes knife in his belt, and suddenly I

recalled I had none to wear at my own. The bone-hilted

Caledonese weapon lay in the snowfields near Joyenne.

 

Finn caught up a night-black cloak and hung it over his

shoulders. It hid the gold on his arms entirely, turning

him black from brown in the dim glow of light. His hair

swung forward to hide his earring, and all I saw was the

yellow of his eyes. Suddenly, in the presence of three

Cheysuli, I found myself lacking, and I the Prince of

Homana.

 

Finn smiled. "Do we go?"

 

I needed no weapon, with him. He was knife and bow

and sword.

 

"We go." I looked past him to Duncan with his son by

his side. "I will think well on what you have said. I will

speak to Rowan and see what pain is in his heart, so I may

have a man beside me free of such cares."

 

He smiled. In the dim light he seemed older, but the

 

120

 

Jennifer Robwon

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA

 

121

 

boy by his side made him young again. The future of his

race. "Perhaps it will be enough for Homana to know her

Mujhar again."

 

I stepped aside and Finn came out. Together we walked

through the darkness to our horses, still saddled at the

picket line. The Cheysuli trust no one this close to Mujhara;

 

nor do I.

 

"The army will not be far." Finn ducked a low branch.

"I think even Homanans know the value in three hundred

Cheysuli."                                             »

 

"They will when we are done with them."               I,

 

He laughed softly, nearly invisible in the deepening    ||

night.                                                     •S

 

I untied and mounted my dark Ihlini horse. Finn was

up on his mount a moment later, heading through the    ^

trees, and I followed. Storr slipped along behind me,    ||

guarding my back as Finn preceded his lord. It is an   iJ^

exacting service, and one they perform with ease.           %

 

The moon rose full above us, above the stark black,    ^

skeletal trees: a silver plate in the dark night sky. I looked    .^

through the screen of trees that arched over my head.    ^

Beyond the screen were the white eyes of the stars, star"    ||

ing down. I heard the snap of twigs and branches broken    j|

by the hooves and the soft thunk of iron shoe against turf   ^

track. The forest sang with scent and the nightsounds I    ^

had so long taken for granted. Crickets called out our    ^

passage: a moth fluttered by my face on its journey toward    ^

the light. But there was no light. Not here, so deep among    ^~

the trees.                                                H-

 

And then such joy at being in Homana again rose up in    H,

my chest that I could hardly breathe. It did not last, and    JP-

for a moment I was taken aback, but then I gave myself   ^

over to it. Finn was welcome to his ftr-bond and the magic    ^,

of his race, I longed only for Homana. Even an exiled    ^

Mujhar can find joy in such exile, does it bring him home    _':

 

again,                                                         j

 

We rode along the crest of a hill, rising upward through    A^

the trees, and then down it, like water down a cobbled    ^

spillway Finn took me down into a tiny bowl of a valley,

skirting the edges so the trees gave cover. Clustered amid

the night and darker shadows were pinpoints of flickering

 

light. Tiny lights, little more than the luminance shed by

the flame moths. Like the Cheysuli, my army kept itself to

subtle warmth and illumination. One would have to look

hard to see it; expecting it, it was not so hard for me to

discover. A pinpoint here and there, lost within the shad-

ows, screened by trees and brush.

 

A circlet of light rimmed the bowl-like valley It crowned

the crests like a king's fillet crusted with glowing gem-

stones, glittering against the darkness. We rode closer,

still clinging to the trees, and then I learned how well-

guarded was the army.

 

"Hold!" shouted a voice. I heard the rustling in the

leaves and placed each man, a semi-circle of five, 1 thought.

"Say who is your lord." The order was clipped off, lacking

the smoothness of aristocratic speech, but Homanan all

the same.

 

"Carillon the Mujhar." I said quietly, knowing Finn's

accent would give away his race. In the darkness, the men

might slay him out of hand.

 

"How many?" came the voice.

 

"Three." I smiled. "One Homana, one Cheysuli . . .

and one lir."

 

I felt the indrawn breath in five'throats, though I heard

nothing. Good men. I was grateful for that much, even

though I grew cold upon my horse.

 

"You are Homanan?"

 

"I am. Would you have me speak more for you, to

discern my accent?" I thought it a worthwhile test; the

Solindish speech does not mimic ours and would give

away an enemy.

 

"You have said enough. What weapons do you bring?"

 

"A sword and a bow, and a Cheysuli warrior. Weapons

enough, I think."

 

A grunt. "Come ahead, with escort."

 

We went on, Finn first, surrounded by the men. Not

enough to gainsay Finn did he seek to slay them all; I

could account for at least two myself, possibly three And

Storr a few more. It would take ten to stop us, perhaps

more. I found I liked such odds.

 

More rustles in the bushes and the crunching of night-

crisped snow. At last we halted near the outer rim of a

 

122 Jiuittar Robwon

 

firecairn's light, and I saw the glint of weapons. Silent,

shadowed men, grave-faced and wary-eyed, watching. Storr

they watched the most, as any man will, knowing only a

wolf. And Finn, cloaked in black with raven hair, dark-

faced and yellow-eyed. Me they hardly marked at all, save

perhaps to note my size.

 

The leader stepped forward into the firelight. He wore a

long-knife in his belt and a sword upon a baldric. He was

squat,, well-proportioned, with close-cropped, graying red

hair and bright green eyes. His body cried out for a

soldier's leather and mail, though he wore only wool. He

had the calm authority of a born leader, I knew at once he

was a veteran of my uncle's wars against Solinde.

 

Other men had gathered around the tiny firecaim. There

was not enough light to see them all clearly, merely arms

and legs and faces, shadowed in the darkness. Silence and

waiting and wariness, the mark of hunted men. Bellam

had made them so.

 

"What do you call yourselP" I asked the leader.

 

"Zared," he said calmly. "And you?"

 

I grinned. "Mercenary. And Finn, with Storr the wolf."

I shifted in the saddle and saw hands move to hilts. "Put

up your weapons, for I am Homanan-bom and wish only

to go to war. 1 am impressed by your competence, but

enough of it for now." I paused. "I am Carillon."

 

Zared's green eyes narrowed. "Come down from that

horse."

 

I did so and stood before the man while he looked

closely at my face.

 

"I fought with Prince Fergus, Carillon's father," he said

abruptly. "I saw the son taken by Throne himself. Do you

tell me you are that boy?"

 

His tone was dubious, but there was no humor in that

moment. I put out both hands and pushed back the sleeves

from my wrists. In the dim firelight the scars were nearly

black, ridged bracelets in my flesh. Zared's eyes were on

them, then rose to my face again. They narrowed once

more. "Stories have it you were slain in exile."

 

"No. I am as you see me " I put my arrns down again.

"Is there more proof you would see?"

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    123

 

"Many men have been chained." An odd argument, but

I understood him.

 

"Take the sword from my saddle."

 

He flicked a finger. One man stepped to the far side of

my horse and unhooked the scabbard, then brought it to

Zared. He pulled the blade partway free of the sheath so

the runes writhed upon the metal, but the hilt, wrapped

again in taut leather, looked an unmade thing.

 

"Cut it free," I said, yet again.

 

He did so with his knife, freeing the gold at last. The

rampant lion clawed upon the metal as the shadows shifted

upon it. The lion of Homana. And in the pommel glowed

the ruby.

 

'That I know," he said in satisfaction. And he gave the

sword to me.

 

"If you thought I was dead, why did you join the army?"

I asked curiously

 

"I am a soldier," he said simply. "I serve Homana.

Even without a Mujhar to follow—a Homanan Mujhar—I

will fight to defend my land. But I could not do it alone,

and before now few were willing to risk themselves." He

smiled a little, and it put lines in his rough-worked face.

"Now we have more than a thousand men, my lord, and at

last a prince to lead them."

 

I saw the others staring at me. They had just heard their

leader admit I was their lord. It is sometimes an awesome

thing for men to see who rules, when often he is only a

name.

 

I turned back to my horse and hooked my scabbarded

blade to it again. "Direct me to Rowan."

 

"Rowan?" Zared sounded surprised. "You wish to speak.

to him?"

 

"Why should I not? It was he who began this army." I

swung up into the saddle again. "Would you have it said

another has done it, when it was Rowan?"

 

Dull color flushed his face. "My lord—it is said he is

Cheysuli . . Cheysuli do not lead Homanans." The tone

was harsh, the words clipped off, he did not look at Finn.

 

The nakedness of it stunned me. Zared I judged a fair

man, a good soldier, worthy of any rank I chose for him.

 

124 Jennifer Roberson

 

And he, even knowing the skill of the Cheysuli, could

continue to resent their presence.

 

I drew in a steadying breath and spoke exceedingly

calmly. "We will dismiss any man who chooses to hate the

Cheysuli. Any man. We will not argue with what my

uncle's purge has put into your mind—he worked hard

enough to do it—but we do not have to tolerate it in our

anny. Those of you who wish to continue Shame's policy

of Cheysuli extermination may leave now. We will have

none of you with us."

 

Zared stared, openly stunned. "My lord—"

 

"We want none of you," I repeated. "Fight Bellam and

Tynstar, but no other. Not Cheysuh. They serve us too

well." I gathered in my reins. "Direct us to Rowan at

once."

 

Zared pointed toward a distant flicker. "There, my lord.

There."

 

"Think on what I have said," 1 told him. "When we

have won this war the Cheysuli will know freedom again

We will begin that policy now."

 

"My lord—"

 

I heard nothing more of his comment, for I left his fire

as fast as the horse would take me.

 

Rowan sat alone by his tiny firecairn He was sur-

rounded by clustered trees, as if he had gathered about

himself a royal guard, stolid and silent. And yet within his

guard he was a man alone, untouched by all save his grief.

He had been found out, and no more was the secret kept.

 

The firecairn was not enough to warm him, I knew;

 

probably not enough to warm the leathern cup of wine he

held in rigid fingers. But the tiny light threw illumination

over his face in the thick darkness, and I saw the gaunt

expression of loss.

 

I swung off my horse and moved toward the caim so

that he had to acknowledge me. His head came up For a

moment he stared, still lost in his reverie, and then slowly

he moved forward onto his knees. It was an old man's

ungainly movement.

 

I saw past the shock. I saw past the outer shell of loss to

the resignation beneath.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    125

 

He had known

"How long?" I asked. "And why did you hide it from

 

?"

 

mer

 

"All my life," he said dully, still kneeling on the ground,

"As for hiding it from you—what choice did I have? Few

Homanans are like you, my lord ... 1 thought they would

revile me. And they have."

 

I dropped the reins and moved closer yet, motioning

him up from his knees. Slowly he sat again upon the

campstool. The cup in his hands shook. 'Tell me," I said

calmly.

 

He shut his eyes a moment. In the stark light he was the

image of a childhood demon. Cheysuli.

 

"I was five," he said quietly. "I saw the Mujhar's men

murder my kin. All save me." A quiver passed over his

young face. "They came on us in the trees, shouting they

bad found a nest of demons. I ran. Myjehan SLndjehana—

and my rujhoHa—could not run in time. They were slain."

 

The Cheysuli words from Rowan's mouth were a shock

to me. He had always spoken with the accent of Homana,

lacking the Old Tongue entirely—and now I knew he had

more claim to it than most.

 

1 heard Finn come up beside my horse. I did not look at

him, but Rowan did. They were as much alike as two

leaves from the same vine; like enough to be father and

son. Perhaps they were even kin.

 

"I had no choice," Rowan said. "I was found by a couple

who had no children. They were EIIasian. but they had

come to live in Homana. The valley was distant, insular,

and there were none there who had seen Cheysuli. I was

safe. And I kept myself so, until 1 came here."

 

"You must have known you would be discovered."

 

He shrugged. "I knew there was the chance. In Mujhara,

I was careful. But the men interested in fighting Bellam

were young, like myself, and they had never seen a Cheysuli

shapechanger. So I named myself Homanan, and they

believed it. It has been so long since the Cheysuli were

free to go where they choose—much of Homana does not

know her ancient race." Briefly he looked at me. "Aye. I

have known what I am. And what I am not." He turned

his face to the fire. "I have no lir."

 

126 Jennifer Roberson

 

I did not fully understand. And then I thought of Finn's

link with Storr and the price it carried, and I knew what

Rowan meant "You cannot mean you will seek out your

death'"

 

"There is no need for that," Finn said. He swung down

from his horse and came into the firelight with Storr

pacing at his side "He never had a Hr, which is somewhat

different from losing one. Where there is no loss, a man is

not constrained to the death-ritual."

 

Rowan's face was leached of color, painted bleak by the

firelight. "The ritual is already done, though it be a

Homanan one. I am named shapechanger, and stripped of

what honor once I had."

 

I thought of the men in the tavern where Lachlan and I

had found Rowan. Those men had followed him willingly.

It was Rowan who had gathered most of those who were

here. Word of mouth had gathered the others and still

did, but Rowan had begun it alt.

 

"Not all of them," I told him, ignoring Zared's attitude.

"Those who are men, know men. They do not judge by

eyes and gold." I realized, too, he wore no fir-gold. He

had not earned the right.

 

"The gods are blind to you," Finn said quietly

 

I stared at him in shock. "Do you seek to destroy what

is left of him?"

 

"No. I tell him what he knows. You have only to ask

him." Finn's voice and eyes were implacable. "He is lirless,

Unwhole. Haifa man, and lacking a soul. Unblessed, like

you, though he be Cheysuli instead of Homanan." He

went on, ignoring the beginnings of my protest "He is not

a warrior of the clan, lacking a lir. He will have no passage

to the old gods "

 

My hand was on his arm. I felt the hard sinews beneath

his flesh as my fingers clamped down. I had never before

put my hand on him in anger.

 

He stopped speaking. He waited. And when I took my

hand away he explained the words to me. "He gave it up

willingly, Carillon. Now he must suffer for it."

 

"Suffer!"

 

"Aye." His eyes flicked down to Rowan's hunched fig-

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    127

 

ure- "Had it been me with the choice, I would have taken

the risk."

 

"And died," I returned angrily.

 

"Oh, aye," he said matter-of-factly. "but I could not

have lived with it, else."

 

"Do not listen," I told Rowan wearily. "Finn sometimes

speaks when he would do better to hide his sentiments."

 

"Let him speak," Rowan said wearily. "He says what I

have expected all my life. My lord—there is much of the

Cheysuli you do not know. Much / do not know, having

given up my soul." A bitter, faint smile twisted his mouth

into a travesty of the expression. "Oh aye, I know what I

am. Soulless and lirless, unwhole. But it was the choice I

made, too frightened to seek my death. And I thought I

would die, when the time for the fir-bond came."

 

"You knew?" I stared at him. "You knew when the time

had come?"

 

"How could I not? I was sick for days, until my foster

parents feared I would die. The longing, the need, the

emptiness within me." A terrible grimace twisted his face.

"The pain in the denial—"

 

"You had only to answer that need," Finn said harshly.

"The gods fashioned a lir for you, an'd you gave it over into

death. Ku'reshtin! You should have died for what you

did."

 

"Enough!" I shouted at him. "Finn—by the gods!—I

want support from you! Not condemnation for a man I

need."

 

Finn's hand stabbed out to point at Rowan's lowered

head. "He lived, while the lir died. Can you not see what

it makes him? A murderer. Carillon—and what he slew

was a gift of the gods themselves—"

 

"Enough," I repeated. "No more."

 

"Look at Storr," Finn snapped. "Think how your life

would have been had / ignored my chance to link with

him. He would have died, for a lir who does not link when

the need is upon him gives himself over to death. It is the

price they pay, as a warrior does when his lir is slain." His

teeth showed briefly in a feral baring, like a wolf prepared

to leap.

 

A wolf—Finn.

 

1Z8 Jennifer Robarson

 

"Leave Rowan be," I said at last. "You have said more

than was required."

 

"I would say it all again, and more, did I think it would

make him see what he has done."

 

"I know what I have done!" Rowan was on his feet at

last, his arms coming up as if to ward off the words Finn

said. "By the gods, do you think I have not suffered? Do

you think I have not cursed myself? I live with it each day,

shapechanger! The knowledge will never go away."

 

I saw then that each suffered. Rowan, for what he never

had; Finn, for what he could not comprehend: that a

Cheysuli could give up his birthright and continue to

survive. It was not Rowan who was left out, but myself.

Carillon. The Homanan, who could not possibly know

what it was to have a lir, or what it was to give one up.

 

"I need you both," I told them finally as they faced one

another across the firelight. "I will have no disharmony

among my men. Neither Cheysuli-Homanan conflict, nor

that between men of a single race, blessed or not." I

sighed, suddenly disgusted. "By the gods, do I know

anything at all of the Cheysuli? I begin to think I cannot."

 

"This much I know," Rowan said, still looking at Finn.

"No man, unblessed, can ever know the grace of the gods

or understand the prophecy."

 

Finn laughed, though it had a harsh sound. "Not so

soulless after all, are you? You have enough blood in you

for that much."

 

' The tension lessened at once. They still faced one an-

other like predatory beasts: one a wise wolf, the other a

man who lacked the gifts of the fir-bond, and yet claimed

all the eerie charisma of the race.

 

"Unblessed," I growled. "By the gods, now there are

two of you prating this nonsense. ..." I turned away to

my horse, my Ihlini horse, who was as much a stranger as

I to the world of the Cheysuli.

 

I mustered my forces in the valley the following day,

Cheysuli and Homanan alike. I watched them come, silent

upon my horse, and waited until they filled the bowl-

shaped valley. It was a small place and made my army

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    129

 

look smaller still, I had so few men beneath my standard.

And yet more came each day, trickling in with the thaw.

 

I thought of haranguing them with all the arguments

and commands until all went away with the taste of Caril-

lon in their mouths. I was angry enough that my Homanans

could disregard the Cheysuli when we needed every man;

 

did they wish to lose this war? And yet I understood, for I

too had been raised to hate and fear the race. 1 had

learned my lesson, and well, but only in adversity. Many

of the Homanans I faced had lacked the teacher I had.

 

Instead of haranguing, I talked. Shouted, rather, since I

could not reach them all by merely speaking, but I left my

anger behind I told them what we faced; told them how

badly we were outnumbered. I would have none of them

saying later I had led them unknowing into war. Did a

man go to his death, I wanted him to know the risks.

 

I broke them into individual units, explaining my strat-

egy to them, We could not afford the pitched battles we

had ever known before, there being too few of us, and

none I could spare in such futile attacks. Instead we would

go in bit by bit, piece by piece, harrying Bellam's patrols.

They would be fewer now, with .harvest, and we would

stand a better chance of catching them unawares.

 

The units I kept separate, knowing better than to mix

Cheysuli with Homanan. Many of our Homanans were

veteran enough to recall the days before the qu'mahlin,

and they readily accepted the Cheysuli as expert fighting

men, these men I put in charge of raiding parties. I

counted on them to quash the rumbles of discontent. All

men knew the ferocity and incredible abilities of the

Cheysuli; I thought, in the end, they would prefer to have

them with us than against us.

 

Few questions were asked. I wondered how many men

came out of a true conviction of my goal, or merely desir-

ing a change from daily life. Some, I did not doubt, were

like Zared in their desire to free Homana from Bellam's

rule. But others likely sought a release from what they had

known, wanting merely a different life. I could promise

them that much. They would go home vastly different, did

they go home at all.

 

I named my captains. Rowan was one of them. Him I

 

130 Jennifer Roberson

 

placed with the men he had gathered in the tavern, know-

ing he could not lead other Homanans until he had proved

himself. The Cheysuli would not accept him either, I

thought, judging by Finn's reaction.

 

I dismissed the men into their units, tasking the cap-

tains with the goal I wanted: superior raiding parties. Men

willing to sweep down quickly on Solindish patrols, slaying

as they could, and sweeping away again as quickly as they

had come. No time wasted; fewer lives lost. Cheysuli

warfare, and more effective than most. I knew it could

work, if they were willing to act as I desired.

 

"You have mastered them." This from Finn, sitting

behind me on his horse.

 

I smiled, watching the army depart. "Have I? Then you

are deaf to all the mumbled complaints."

 

"Men will ever complain. It is the nature of the beast."

He kneed his mount forward and came up next to me. "I

think you have won their hearts."

 

"I need that and their willingness to fight."

 

"And I think you will have it." He pulled something

from his belt and held it out. A knife. A Cheysuli long-

knife hilted in silver, with a gleaming wolfs-head pommel.

It was my own, given to me by Finn so many years before.

"I took it from your things," he said quietly. "A Mujhar

ever carries one."

 

I thought of the one I had left behind. The piece of

bone. I thought of the one I had replaced it with: a

Homanan knife of army issue, when there was my own.

But I had hidden it so long— Abruptly I put out my hand

and accepted the Cheysuli knife. And then I told Finn

how it was I had lost the other. I told him of the sorcerer,

and of the lion-beast.

 

His brows drew down as he listened. Gone was the calm

expression of the loyal liege man, although even then

there was the hint of mockery. Now he listened, thinking

even as I spoke, and when I was done with words he

nodded a little, as if I had told him nothing new.

 

"Ihlini," he said on a sigh, as if there were need for

nothing more,

 

"That was obvious."

 

For a moment his eyes were on me, but he saw some-

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    131

 

X

 

thing more than myself. Then his gaze cleared and he

looked at me, smiling in a grim parody of the Finn I knew.

"So obvious? —no. That he was Ihlini, no doubt—but not

that he had used so much of his sorcery."

 

"So much?" It puzzled me. "There are degrees in it?"

 

He nodded, shifting in the saddle. "There is much of

the Ihlini I do not know. They hide themselves in mys-

tery. But it is known they have gifts similar to our own."

 

I stared at him, struck by the revelation. "Do you mean

to say they shift their shapes?"

 

"No. That is a Cheysuli thing." His thoughtful frown

was becoming a scowl. "But they can alter the shapes of

other things, such as weapons." He looked at the Cheysuli

knife I held in my hand. "Had you borne that, he could

have conjured no beast. Do you see? He touched that

which was not alive—nor made of Cheysuli skill—and

fashioned it into an enemy for you." He shook his head. "I

had heard . . . but I have never seen it."

 

I felt my gorge rise. I had faced the lion, knowing it was

a sorcerous thing, and yet I had fought it as if it had been

real, a thing Homanan-bom, to be slain before it slew me.

I had known it had grown out o£ the Caledonese bone

hilt—how else would it have appeared?—but somehow I

had ignored the implications of it. If the Ihlini had such

power over objects, I faced a more dangerous foe than I

had thought.

 

"What else can they do?" I demanded. "What magic

should I expect?"

 

A stray breeze lifted a lock of black hair from Finn's left

shoulder. The earring glittered. Seated on his dark horse

in his dark leathers, he reminded me of the stories I had

heard of man-horses, half of each, and inseparable. Well,

so was Finn inseparable. From his lir, if not from his

horse.

 

"With the Ihlini," he said, "expect anything."

 

The last of the Homanans disappeared into the trees to

gather with their captains. To plan. To do as I wished,

which was to strip Beltam of men and power until I could

steal it all back from him.

 

I felt a roll of trepidation in my belly "I am afraid," I

said flatly, expecting ridicule—or worse—from him.

 

132 Jennifer Roberson

 

"No man, facing what you face, denies his fear," Finn

said calmly "Unless he lies. And you are not a liar."

 

I laughed, albeit oddly. "No, not a liar A fool, perhaps,

but not a liar." I shook my head, tasting the sharp tang of

apprehension in my mouth. "What we face—

 

"—we face," he finished. "As the gods desire." He

made the familiar gesture. "Tahlmorra, my lord. It will go

He closed his hand abruptly, the gesture banished.

 

on.

 

His hand was a fist, a hard brown fist of flesh and bone,

and the promise of death to come.

 

TWELVE

 

Our first strikes against Bellam were successful. My raid-

ing parties caught the Solindish patrols by complete sur-

prise, as I had intended, slaying everyone rapidly and

then departing more quickly than they had come. But

Bellam was no fool; soon enough he put up a defense. In

two months the Solindish patrols had cut down many of

my men. But still more flocked to join me, won over by

the knowledge I had come home at last to take back my

throne. In those first days I had had thirteen hundred

men, Cheysuli and Homanan alike. Now the number was

four times that many, and still more came.

 

Carefully I split my raiding parties and sent them out to

harry Bellam from all directions. I took several of my best

captains, experienced veterans all, and dispatched them

with their men to distant parts of Homana. Slowly, from

all four directions, they would work their way toward

Mujhara and Bellam's principal forces. Little by little they

would gnaw their way inward, chewing holes in Bellam's

martial fabric, until the cloth was weakened. Even a large

army can be defeated by small insects.

 

Much of my time was taken up with army matters,

allowing me small chance to do any fighting myself, but I

was not unready to take the field and I did whenever I

could. Finn fought with me, and Storr, along with Rowan

and his men. And when I could not fight, too busy with

 

f 133 I

 

134 JannffT Roberson

 

other matters, I practiced when I could against sword and

bow and knife.

 

Zared was often my partner, for the red-haired soldier

had proved an invaluable fighter. He had come to me not

long after the first few strikes, offering apology for his

words concerning Rowan. I had listened in silence, allow-

ing him what he would say, and then ordered Rowan

fetched so Zared could say it again to the one who de-

served the words. Rowan had come, listened in a silence

similar to mine, and accepted the apology. I thought he

felt better for it.

 

Since then Zared and I had been on friendly terms, and

I had come to know him better. He knew much of war,

having fought for years under my father, and for that alone

I was grateful. There were not many left who could recall

the man who sired me, for with him had perished thou-

sands. The memory still hurt, for I had been spared where

my father had not. And all because I was heir to Shaine

the Mujhar. Unexpendable, while my father was not.

 

Zared and I, between strikes against Bellam's patrols,

sparred within a clearing in the forest. We did not main-

tain the camp in the same place for longer than a few days

at the most, knowing more permanency would make us

easier to track down. We moved constantly but with little

grumbling. The army understood that our safety remained

in secrecy.

 

I had stripped to breeches and boots, bare-chested in

the late spring warmth and extra activity. Zared wore little

enough as well, concentrating on footwork; I outweighed

him considerably and towered over him, so though to

most we seemed unevenly matched, it merely afforded us

a chance to fight against different styles. He was a superb

swordsman, and I still had need of such tutors. Finn had

taught me nothing of the sword, for the Cheysuli do not

believe in using a sword where a knife will do. What I had

learned I had learned from arms-masters within Homana-

Mujhar, and from exile in foreign lands.

 

The bout had gone on for a considerable length of time.

My thighs burned and my arms ached. And yet I dared

not call halt, or Zared would claim himself the victor.

More often than not I won, being younger and stronger,

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    135

 

but when he took a bout it was with great finesse and

much shouting to let the others know he had beaten his

Mujhar. My pride stood it well enough, after the first

time, but my battered body did not like it so much. I

fought to win.

 

Zared, on the point of thrusting at me with his sword,

suddenly fell back. I followed with a counterthrust, nearly

drove the blade through when he did not move to deflect,

and stopped short. Zared remained in one spot. staring

past me. His sword drooped in his hand. I saw the

expression—shock and awe and utter desire—and turned

to see what had caused it.

 

A woman. Women are not unheard of in an army camp—

even I had taken my ease in camp followers—but this one

was different. This one was no light woman or crofter's

daughter seeking a soldier in her bed.

 

I forgot I held a sword. I forgot I was half-naked and

sweaty, wet-haired and smelling of exertion. I forgot who I

was entirely, knowing only I was a man, and a man who

wanted that woman.

 

I felt the fist knot up deep in my belly, making me

aware of what I needed. Wanted, aye. but needed as well.

With the sudden recognition of such things, I knew I

wanted to bed the woman before the day was done.

 

She had not come of her own volition. That much was

clear. Finn held her arm roughly, and he brought her to

me with infinite satisfaction in his demeanor. I had never

seen him so pleased before, and yet his pleasure was not

something others—certainly not the woman—could see. It

showed only in the deep feral light in his eyes and the set

of his mouth, too calm for Finn. He did not smile, but I

saw the laughter in his soul.

 

He brought her to me. I remembered all at once what it

was she saw, and for once I was displeased with my liege

man. No doubt the woman was a prisoner, but surely he

could have done me the courtesy of allowing me time to

put on fresh clothing and wipe the sweat from my face. It

dripped from my hair and beard to trickle down my bare

chest.

 

She was stiff and clumsy with rage- White-blond hair

spilled free of its sheer silken covering, tumbling past

 

136 Jennifer Rotrrson

 

slender shoulders clad in slate-gray velvet. Her gown was

torn and stained; flesh showed through the rents, but her

pride was undiminished. Even as she stood before me in

obvious disarray, in the open for all to see, the sight other

pride struck the smile from my face.

 

Her eyes fixed themselves upon me. Wide-spaced eyes,

gray and cool as water, long-lidded and filled with virulent

scorn. An apt emotion for the man who stood before her,

rank from exertion, a bared blade in his callused hand.

 

I saw again the wild light in Finn's eyes. "We took a

procession out of Mujhara, bound for Solinde."

 

I looked at the woman again. Her skin was pale as

death, but that changed as color crept into her face. An-

ger, I knew, and defiance.

 

And then she spoke. "Do you mean to tell me, shape-

changer, this man is the pretender-prince?"

 

"Carillon of Homana," I informed her, and a suspicion

formed in my mind. I looked at Finn for confirmation and

saw his satisfied smile. At that I had to add my own.

"Pretender-prince, am I? When I was born to that throne?

I think not, lady. I think it is your father who pretends. A

usurper king, and you his daughter." I laughed then, into

her angry face. "Electra!" I said. "Oh, aye, you are well

come to this camp. And I thank the gods for their gift."

 

Her teeth showed briefly in a faint, feral baring, much

as I had seen in Finn from time to time. But there was

nothing of the Cheysuli in her. She was pale, so pale, like

winter snow. White on white, with those ice-gray eyes.

Gods, what a woman was this!

 

"Electra," I said again, still smiling. Then I gestured

toward Finn. "Take her to my tent. Guard her well—we

dare not lose this woman."

 

"No, my lord." I saw the appraisal in his eyes. No

doubt it was obvious what I wanted. To her as well as him.

 

I watched her move away with him, one slim arm still

caught in his sun-bronzed hand. The torn gown hid little

of her body. It was with great effort that I dispatched

Zared for cloth and fresh wine. When he came back I

dried myself as best I could, drank down two cups of harsh

red wine and put on my shirt and leather jerkin. Little in

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    137

 

my apparel made me a prince, but I thought it would not

matter. There was more on my mind than rank.

 

I went into my tent at last. Electra stood precisely in

the center, resolutely turned away from Finn, and now

myself. The tent boasted little of fine things, being a field

pavilion. There was a rude bed, a table and stool, tripod

and brazier. There was little room for more.

 

Except, perhaps, Electra.

 

Finn turned. He was unsmiling now, but I saw some-

thing in the set of his mouth and the tautness of his face. I

wondered what she had said or done to set him so on

edge. I had seen him like this rarely, especially with a

woman.

 

We measured each other in that moment. But it was

Electra who broke the silence by turning to face us both.

"This is ill-done, Homanan. You take me from my women

and leave him to the shapechangers."

 

"See to your men," 1 told Finn briefly "You may leave

her with me."

 

He knew dismissal when he heard it. More often than

not we played at lord and liege man, being better friends

than most men of such rank, but this time he heard the

command. I had not meant it to come out so baldly, but

there was nothing for it. There was no room for Finn in

this.

 

He smiled grimly. "Beware your weapon, my lord

Mujhar."

 

The euphemism brought crimson flags to her face as he

left and I wondered how much she knew of men. No

doubt Bellam claimed his daughter a virgin, but I thought

it unlikely. She did not look at me with any of the virgin's

fear or curiosity. She was angry still, and defiant, but

there was also the look of a woman who knows she is

wanted by a man.

 

The tent was of thin, pale fabric. Though the doorflap

hung closed, enough light crept through the gap to lend a

dusky daylight to the interior. The roof draped down from

the ridgepole, nearly brushing my head, and the breeze

billowed the side panels. She stood very still in the cen-

ter, head raised and arms at her sides, keen-edged as any

 

138 Jennifer Roberson

 

blade. It reminded me that I bore a sword, unsheathed,

and no doubt she took it as a threat.

 

1 moved past her to the table and set the blade upon it.

I turned back, watching as she turned, and saw the seduc-

tiveness in her movements. She knew well enough what

she did: she watched me as well as I watched her.

 

"Electra." Her eyes narrowed as I spoke. "Do you know

what men call you?"

 

Her head, on her pale, slender neck. lifted. Gold glim-

mered in her ears and at her throat. She smiled back at

me slowly, untouched by the insinuation in my tone. "I

know."

 

I poured a cup of wine and deliberately kept it for

myself, offering her none- She made no indication she

cared, and suddenly I felt ludicrous. I set down the cup so

hard the wine slopped over the rim and spilled, crawling

across the parchment map upon the table like a crimson

serpent seeking its lair.

 

'Tynstar's light woman," I said, "An Ihlinfs whore."

 

Her pale eyes were still and cool in her flawless face.

She appraised me from head to toe, even as I assessed

her, and I felt the heat creep up from my belly to engulf

my face. It was all I could do to keep my hands from her.

 

"You are a princess of Solinde," I reminded her, per-

haps unnecessarily. "1 know it, even if you have forgotten.

Or is it that Bellam does not care what men say about his

daughter?"

 

Electra smiled. Slowly she reached out and took up the

forgotten wine cup, lifting it to her mouth. She held my

eyes with her own and drank three sips, then threw down

the cup with a gesture of condescension. The red wine

colored her lips and made me all the more aware of her,

when I needed no reminding.

 

"What else have they said, my lord?" Her tone was

husky and slow. "Have they said I am more witch than

woman?"

 

"You are a woman. Do you require more witchcraft than

that?" I had not meant to say it. It had given her a

weapon, though perhaps she had held it all along.

 

She laughed deep in her throat. Her accent was exqui-

site- "Aye, pretender-prince, perhaps it is. But I will tell

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    139

 

you anyway." One slender, fine-boned hand smoothed a

pale strang of hair away from her face. "How old am 1,

Carillon?"

 

The Solindish accent made the syllables of my name

sing. Suddenly I wanted her to say it again, in my arms, in

my bed, as she assuaged the knot in my belly. "How old?"

I asked, distracted.

 

"Surely you can give me an age."

 

The vanity of women. "Perhaps twenty."

 

Electra laughed. "When Lindir ofHomana—your cousin,

I believe?—was promised to my brother, I was ten years

old." She paused. "In case you cannot count, my lord—

that was thirty years ago."

 

The grue slid down my spine. "No."

 

"Aye, Carillon." Two fingers traced the gold around her

throat. It was a twisted piece of wire. simple and yet

elegantly suitable. "Are not Tynstar's arts impressive?"

 

My desire began to spill away like so much unwanted

seed. Tynstar's arts—Tynstar's light woman. Gods. "Elec-

tra." I paused. "I think you have a facile tongue. But you

undervalue my intelligence."

 

"Do I? Do you disbelieve me?" The velvet on her

shoulders wrinkled in a shrug. "Ah well, believe as you

will. Men do, for all they claim themselves an intelligent

race." She smiled. "So—this is what you face: this poor

little tent, in your desire to seek my father's throne."

^'    "My throne, lady."

 

"Bellam took it from Shame," she said calmly. "It be-

longs to the House of Solinde."

i '     I smiled with a confidence I did not entirely feel, facing

her. "And I will take it back."

 

"Will you? How? By selling me?" Her cool eyes nar-

rowed. The expression did not suit their long-lidded, som-

nolent slant. "What will you do with me, my lord?"

 

"I have not decided."

 

"Ransom me? Stay me?"

 

'      I frowned. "Shy you—I? Why should 1 desire your

death?"

 

"Why not? I am your enemy's daughter."

;    I laughed. "And a woman such as I have never seen.

 

140 Jennifer Roberson

 

Slay you? Never. Not when there is so much I would

rather do."

 

I saw the subtle change in her mouth; in the shape of

her jaw. She had me, not 1 her, and she knew it. She

smiled. It was a faint, slow, seductive smile, and went

straight to the knot in my belly. The long-lidded eyes took

their measure of me, and I wondered if she found me

lacking somehow.

 

Electra moved swiftly, diving for the Cheysuli sword on

the table next to me, I spun and caught her waist as she

slipped by; she clawed for the sword even as my hands

closed on her. She had it in her hands, both hands,

jerking it from the table. The blade flashed in the pale,

muted light and I caught her wrist, knocking her arm

against my upraised leg. She hissed in pain and lost the

sword, dropping it to the hard-packed earth.

 

The white-blond hair was a curtain across her face,

hiding it from me as the fine strands snagged on the

leather of my jerkin. I released one of her arms and

smoothed away the hair from her angry face, drawing her

inexorably closer. And then, even as she caught my neck

in her arms, I ground my mouth onto hers.

 

She was like the finest wine, subtle and heady and

powerful. She went straight to my head, blurring my

senses and addling my wits. I could do nothing but drown,

drinking more even as I drowned, wanting only to take

her with me. I could not think of letting her go. And she did

not insist upon it, reaching up to catch my damp hair in

two doubled fists. But her teeth sank into my bottom lip,

tearing, and I cursed and jerked my face free.

 

"Rape?" she demanded.

 

"Who rapes?" I asked. "You or I? I think you have as

much interest in this as I."

 

I had not let her go. I did not, even as I set the back of

one hand against my bleeding lip. The other hand was

caught in the fabric of her gown, one arm locked around

her spine. I could feel every line of her body set so hard

against mine. Gods, but it would be easy to simply bear

her down and take her here—

 

"Electra," I said hoarsely, "are you Tynstar's light

woman?"

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    141

 

"Does it matter?" Her breasts rose against my chest.

"Does it matter so much, pretender-prince?"

 

My Up still bled. And yet I cared little enough for the

pain. I wanted to share it with her. "Oh aye, it matters.

For he will pay dearly for you."

 

She stiffened at once. "Then you will seek ransom—"

 

"I seek what I can get," I told her bluntly. "By the

gods, woman, what do you seek to do? Ensorcell me?"

 

She smiled. "I do what I can." She touched my lip with

a gentle finger. "Shall I take the pain away?"

 

"Witch," I accused.

 

"Woman," This time she was the aggressor as much as

I, and she did as she had offered. She took the pain from

my mouth and centered it much deeper, where I could

not control myself,

 

"How much will you ask for me?" she whispered against

my mouth.

 

"My sister."

 

Her head rose. "Tourmaline?"

 

"Aye. I care little enough for gold. It is my sister I

want."

 

"My father will never pay it."

 

"He will. I would." And I knew as I said it, she had had

the truth from me.

 

Electra laughed. "Carillon, oh Carillon—such words from

you already? Do you give in to my witchcraft so soon?"

 

I set her away with effort. I felt unsteady, as if sickening

from some fever. I was hot and cold and ringing with the

tension as well as the demand.

 

I realized, with a sense of astonishment, that the sword

still lay on the ground between us. I had not recovered it.

It had lain there, blade bare, as if in promise of what

might lie between us in the future.

 

Electra stood by the table. Her mouth was still red from

the wine and stained by my blood. The long-lidded eyes

regarded me calmly, assessively, as if she judged me within

her mind. I dared not ask what she saw; I had not the

courage.

 

I bent and picked up the sword. Slowly I slid it home in

the scabbard and set it on the table. Within reach. She

had only to pick it up again.

 

142 Jennifer Roberson

 

Electra laughed. "You are too quick for me, my lord,

and far too strong. You are a man, you see, and I merely a

woman."

 

"Merely," I said in disgust, and saw her contented

smile. "No rape," I told her, "though I doubt—judging by

what 1 have tasted—you would be so unwilling. But no

rape." I smiled. "I do not rape what I will have in marriage."

 

"Marriage!" she shouted, and I knew I had broken

through her guard at last.

 

"Aye," I agreed calmly. "When I have slain your father—

and Tynstar—and once again hold my throne ... I will

make you Queen of Homana."

 

"No!" she shouted. "I will not allow it!"

 

"Do you think I care what you will allow?" I asked her

gently. "I will take you to wife, Electra. None can gainsay

me, now."

 

"I will gainsay you!" She was so vividly angry I could

scare draw breath. "You puling fool, 7 will gainsay you!"

 

I merely smiled at her, and offered more wine.

 

Finn, seated on a stool within my tent, nearly dropped

his cup of wine. "You will do wW?"

 

"Wed her." I sat on the edge of my army cot, boots

kicked oS and wine in my wooden cup. "Would you have

a better idea?"

 

"Bed her," he said curtly. "Use her, but do not wed

her. The Mujhar of Homana wed to Bellam's daughter?"

 

"Aye," I agreed. "That is how alliances are made."

 

"Alliance!" he lashed. "You are here to take back the

throne from the man who usurped it, not win his approval

as a husband for his daughter. By the gods, what has put

this foolishness in your head?"

 

I scowled at him. "You name me a fool? Are you blind?

This is not just a thing between a man and a woman, but

between realms and people as well." I shifted on the cot.

"We cannot force war on Homana forever. When I have

slain Bellam and won back the Lion, there will still be

Solinde. The realm is large and strong, and I would prefer

not to fight it forever. Do I wed Electra to cap my victory,

I may well settle a lasting peace."

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    143

 

It was Finn's turn to scowl. His wine was untouched.

"Do you recall, my lord, how it was the qu'mahlin was

begun?"

 

"I recall it well enough," I snapped impatiently. "And I

do not doubt Electra will also refuse to wed with me, as

Undir refused to wed with Ellic, but she will have no

choice when the throne is mine."

 

Finn said something in a tone of deep disgust, but it

was in the Old Tongue and I could not understand it. He

reached down and tugged at one of Storr's ears as if

seeking guidence. I wondered what the wolf told him.

 

"I know what I am doing," I said quietly.

 

"Do you? How do you know she is not Tynstar's min-

ion? How do you know she will not slay you in your

wedding bed?"

 

It was my rum to swear, though I did it in Homanan.

"When I am done with this war, Tynstar will be dead."

 

"What will you do with her now?"

 

"Keep her here. Bellam will send word concerning Terry's

release, and then we shall see to returning his daughter to

him." I smiled. "If he is not dead by then himself."

 

Finn shook his head. "Keeping her I can see, for it is a

tool to use against your rujholla's captivity. But wedding

her? No. Seek your cheysula elsewhere."

 

"Would you have me wed a Cheysuli, then?" I scoffed.

"The Homanans would never allow it."

 

"Cheysuli women wed Cheysuli men," he said flatly.

"No woman would look outside her clan."

 

"What of the men?" I asked. "I have not seen the

warriors keeping to their clan. Not even you." I smiled at

his wary expression. "There was Alix, only half Cheysuli,

and not knowing it at all." I paused. "And now, perhaps,

Electra?"

 

He sat upright so quickly wine slopped over the rim of

his cup and splashed across Storr's head. The wolf sat up

as quickly as Finn, shaking his head to send droplets flying

in all directions. The look he flashed Finn was one of such

grave indignation I could not help but laugh, though Finn

found little humor in it.

 

He rose and set the cup down on the table, still scowl-

ing. "I want none of Electra."

 

144 Jennifer Roberson

 

"Yon forget, I know you. I have seen you with women

before. She touched you, Finn, as much as she touched

me."

 

"I want none of her," he repeated.

 

I laughed at him. And then the laughter died, and I

frowned. "Why is it we are attracted by the same women?

There was Alix first, and the red-haired girl in Caledon,

and now—"

 

"A liege man knows his place." The comment overrode

me- "Do you truly think he seeks what woman his lord

will make his queen?"

 

"Finn." I rose as he turned away. "Finn, I know you

better than that."

 

"Do you?" His face was uncommonly grave. "I think

not. I think not at all."

 

I put down my cup of wine. "I take her to wife because

she is worthy of that much. I will not get her another

way."

 

"Put out your hand and take her." Finn said. "She will

come to you like a cat to milk."

 

The wall went up between us, brick by brick. Where

once its name had been Alix, now it was Electra. And,

though I thought what he felt for Electra was closer to

dislike than anything akin to love, I could not see the way

of tearing it down again. Kingdoms take precedence even

over friendships.

 

"There are things a king must do," I said quietly.

 

"Aye. my lord MuJhar." This time he did leave, and the

wolf went with him.

 

THIRTEEN

 

I jerked aside the doorflap and went out, buckling on my

swordbelt with its weight of Cheysuli gold. No longer did

I wrap the hilt in leather to hide the crest and ruby. All

men knew I had come at last—including Bellam—and no

longer did I wish to hide my presence or my identity.

 

Finn stood waiting with the horses. He, like myself,

wore his warbow slung across one shoulder, But he wore

no ringmail or boiled leather, trusting instead to his skill

to keep him free of harm. No Cheysuli wore armor. But

perhaps I too would leave it off, did I have the chance to

wear an animal's form.

 

I took the reins from him and turned to mount. But I

stopped the motion and turned back as Rowan called to

me.

 

"My lord—wait you!" He hastened toward me in a rattle

of mail and sword. Like us, he prepared to lead an attack

against one of Bellam's patrols. "My lord, the lady is

asking for you." He arrived at last, urgency in face and

voice.

 

"Electra asks for nothing," I told him mildly. "Surely

you mean she has sent."

 

Color rose in his face. "Aye," he said, "she has sent."

He sighed. "For you."

 

I nodded. Electra sent for me often, usually two or

more times in a single day. Always to complain about her

captivity and to demand her immediate release. It had

 

I 145 I

 

146 Jennifer Roberson

 

become a game between us—Electra knew well enough

what she did to me when I saw her. And she played upon

that effect.

 

In the six weeks since Finn had captured her, nothing

had been settled between us except out mutual attraction.

She knew it as well as 1. Ostensibly enemies, we were also

eventual bedmates. It was simply a matter of time and

circumstance. Did I wish to, I could have her before her

internment was done. But I gambled for higher stakes—-

permanency. in reign and domesticity—and she knew it.

She used it. And so the courtship rite went on, bizarre

though it was.

 

"She waits,' Rowan reminded me.

 

I smiled. "Let her." I swung up on my horse and

gathered the reins, marking how my men waited. And

then I was gone before Rowan could speak again.

 

Finn caught up to me not far from the camp. Behind us

rode our contingent of soldiers: thirty Homanans armed to

the teeth and ready for battle once more. Scouts had

already brought reports of three Solindish patrols; I would

take one, Rowan another, Duncan the third. Such warfare

had worked well in the past months; Bellam already shouted

impotent threats from his stolen throne,

 

"How much longer do we keep her?" Finn asked.

 

No reference was necessary. "Until I have Tony back."

I squinted against the sun. "Bellam's last message said he

would send Torry out of Mujhara with an escort—and

Lachlan also. Electra will be back with her father soon

enough."

 

"Will you let her go?"

 

"Aye," I said calmly. "It will be no hardship to let her

go when I will have her back so soon."

 

He smiled. "No more hedging, from you. No more

modesty."

 

"No," I agreed, grinning. "I have come home to take

my uncle's throne, and I have every intention of doing it.

As for Betlam, we have harried him long enough. In a

month, or two or three, he will come out of Mujhara to

fight. This thing will be settled then."

 

"And his daughter?"

 

I looked directly at him, tasting the dust of warfare in

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    147

 

my mouth as we moved toward our battle- "She is Tynstar's

light woman, by all accounts—including her own. For that

alone, I will make her mine."

 

"Revenge." He did not smile. "I understand that well

enough, Carillon, having tasted it myself—but I think it is

more than that."

 

"Political expediency," I assured him blandly. "She is a

valuable tool."

 

A scowl pulled his face into grim lines. "In the clans, it

is not the same,"

 

"No," I agreed quietly. "In the clans you take women as

you will and care little enough for the politics of the

move." I glanced back at my soldiers. They followed in a

tight unit, bristling with swords and knives and ringmail.

"Men have need of such things as wives and children," I

told him quietly. "Kings have need of more."

 

"More," he said in disgust, and his eyes were on Storr.

The wolf loped by Finn's horse, silver head turned up so

their eyes locked: one pair of eerie, yellow eyes; one pair

of amber, bestial eyes. And yet I could not say who was

truly the beast.

 

Or if either of them were.

 

Our attack swept down on Bellam's patrol and engulfed

the guardsmen. I halted my horse some distance from the

melee and set about loosing arrow after arrow into se-

lected targets. The Atvian longbow, for all its range was

good, lacked the power of my Cheysuli bow; until my

arrows were gone, I would be well-nigh invincible.

 

Or so 1 thought, until one Atvian arrow, half-spent,

struck the tender flesh of my horse's nose and drove him

into a frenzy of pain. I could not control him. Rather than

lose myself to a pain-crazed horse in place of an Atvian

arrow, I jumped from the horse and set about doing what

I could on foot.

 

My Homanans fought well, proving their worth. There

was no hesitation on their part. even facing the archers

who had so badly defeated them six years before. But we

were greatly outnumbered. Bellam's men turned fiercely

upon my own, slashing with swords, stabbing with knives,

screaming like utter madmen as they threw themselves

 

148 Jennifer Roberson

 

into the fight. So many times we had swarmed upon them

like gnats; at last they swatted back.

 

I discarded my bow when my arrows were gone, turn-

ing instead to my sword. I waded into the nearest knot of

men, slashing at the enemy. Almost instantly I was en-

gaged by an Atvian wielding a huge broadsword. I met

blade with blade and gasped as the jar ran up through my

arms to my shoulders, lodging in knotted muscles. I disen-

gaged, counterthrust, then sank my own blade deep in his

chest.

 

The man went down at once. I wrenched my sword free

and staggered across the body, ducking another scything

sweep near my head, swung around and cut loose the arm

that swung the blade. The Solindishman went down scream-

ing, spraying blood across matted grass already boggy with

gore. One glance showed me the battle had turned decid-

edly in Solindish favor.

 

The trick was now to get out. My horse had been left

behind. But most of the enemy was on foot as well, since

we struck first at their mounts, and a foot race is more

commonly won by men with greater reason to run. 1 had

reason enough.

 

I looked for Finn and found him not far from me, as

ever, shouting something as he closed with a Solindish

soldier. He wore his human form, eschewing the savagery

that accompanies the shapechange in the midst of battle.

It was a matter of balance, he had told me once; a Cheysuli

warrior remains himself even in fir-shape, but should he

ever lose himself in the glory of a fight, he could lose

himself forever. It was possible a warrior, crossing over

the boundaries of balance, might remain a beast forever.

 

I did not care to think of Finn locked into his wolf-

shape. Not forever. I needed him too much as himself.

 

And then I saw Storr running between two men. His

tail was straight out as he streaked across the bloodied

field. His ears were pinned back against his head and his

teeth were bared. I knew then he ran to aid Finn, and I

knew he was too late.

 

The sword came down and bit into the wolfs left shoul-

der. His yelp of pain pierced through the din of battle like

a scythe. Finn heard it at once, or else he heard some-

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    149

 

thing more within the link. Helplessly 1 watched him turn

away from his enemy to look for Storr.

 

"No!" I roared, trying to run through the slippery grass.

"Finn—look to yourself."

 

But he did not. And the Atvian spear drove into his

right leg and buried itself in the hillside.

 

1 threw myself over dead and wounded, enemy and

Homanan alike. Finn was sprawled on his back against the

ground, trying to wrench the spear from his thigh. But it

had gone straight through, pinning him down, even as he

sought to break the shaft with his hands.

 

The Atvian spearman, seeing his advantage, pulled his

knife from its sheath and lunged.

 

1 brought down my sword from the highest apex of its

arc, driving it through leather and mail and flesh. The

body toppled forward. I caught it before it fell across Finn

and dragged it away, tossing it to one side. And then I

cursed as I saw the damage that had already been done;

 

how he had laid open the flesh of Finn's face with his

knife. The bloody wound bisected the left side from eye to

jaw.

 

I broke the spear in my hands and rolled Finn onto one

side, grateful he was unconscious. I pulled the shaft free

as the leg twitched and jumped beneath my hands. Blood

ran freely from the wound, pooling in the matted, tram-

pled grass. And then I pulled my liege man from the

ground and carried him from the field.

 

Finn screamed Storr's name, lunging upward against

my restraining hands. I pressed him down against the

pallet, trying to soothe him with words and wishes alone,

but he was too far gone in fever and pain. I doubted he

heard me, or even knew I was there,

 

The tiny pavilion was rank with heat and the stench of

blood. The chirurgeons had done what they could, stitch-

ing his face together again with silk thread and painting it

with an herbal paste, but it was angry and swollen and

ugly. The wound in his thigh they had drained and poul-

ticed. but one man had gone so far as to say he thought it

must come off. I had said no instantly, too shocked to

 

150 Jennifer Rober«on

 

consider the amputation, but now that some time had

passed I understood the necessity of the suggestion.

 

Did the leg fill with poison, Finn would die. And I did

not wish to give him over to such pain.

 

1 knelt rigidly at his side, too stiff and frightened to

move away. The doorflap hung closed to shut out the

gnats and flies, the air was heavy and stifling. Rowan stood

beside me in the dimness of the tent, saying nothing, but

I knew he felt his own measure of shock and apprehen-

sion. Finn had ever seemed invincible, even to those he

hardly knew. To those of us who knew him best of all—

 

"He is Cheysuli." Rowan meant to reassure me.

 

I looked down on the pale, sweating face with its hid-

eous wound. Even stitched closed, the thing was terrible.

It snaked across his face from eye to jaw, puckering the

flesh into a jagged, seeping serpent. Aye, he was Cheysuli.

 

"They die,' I said in a ragged tone. "Even Cheysuli

die."

 

"Less often then most." He moved forward a little. Like

me, he was splattered with blood. Rowan and his men had

gotten free without losing a single life. I had lost most of

my unit, and now perhaps Finn as well. "My lord—the

wolf is missing."                                         H

 

"I have dispatched men to search. . . ."I said nothing   \

more. Storr's body had not been found upon the field.    *:

 

And I myself had seen the sword cut into his shoulder.

 

"Perhaps—once he is found—"                         \s,

 

"For a Cheysuli, you know little enough of your cus-   ij,

toms." Abruptly I cursed myself for my curtness. It was    v

not my place to chastise Rowan for what he could not

help. I glanced up at his stricken face, realized he risked

as much as I in this endeavor, and tried to apologize.

 

He shook his head. "No. I know what you say. You have

the right of it- If the wolf is already slain—or dies—you

will lose your liege man."

 

"I may lose him anyway." It seemed too much to hope   ,,

he would live. And if I gave the order to take his leg—

 

"Carillon." It was Alix. pulling aside the doorflap, and I

stared in blank astonishment. "They sent for me." She

came into the tent, dropping the flap behind her, and I

saw the pallor of her face. "Duncan is not here?"

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     151

 

"I have sent for him."

 

She moved closer and knelt down at my side, amber

eyes fixed on Finn. Seeing him again through her vision, I

nearly turned away. He wore a death's-head in place of his

own.

 

Alix put out her hand and touched his bare arm. The

fir-gold with its wolf-shape was smeared with blood, dulled

by grime; it seemed a reflection of his death. But she

touched his arm and then clasped his slack hand, as if she

could not let him go.

 

I watched her face. She knelt at his side and held his

hand so gently. There was a sudden horrified grief in her

eyes, as if she realized she would lose the man who had

given her over to her heritage, and that realization broke

down the wall between them. Ever had they been at one

another's throats, cutting with knives made of words and

swords made of feelings. They were kin and yet more than

that, so much more, and I think she finally knew it.

 

She tipped back her head. I saw the familiar detached

expression enter her eyes, making them blank and black

and odd. Suddenly Alix was more Cheysuli than I had

ever seen her, and I sensed the power move into her soul.

So easily she summoned it, and then she released a sigh.

 

"Storr is alive."

 

I gaped at her.

 

"He is sorely hurt. Dying." Grief etched lines into her

smooth face. "You must go. Fetch him back at once, and

perhaps we can save them both."

 

"Where?"

 

"Not far." Her eyes were on Finn again and still she

clasped his hand. "Perhaps a league. Northwest. There is

a hill with a single tree upon it. And a cairn marker." She

shut her eyes a moment, as if she drew upon the memory

of the power. "Carillon—go now ... I can reach Duncan

through Cat."

 

I stood up at once, hardly aware of the protests of my

body. I did not need to tell her to tend him well. I merely

went out in my bloody, crusted leather-and-mail and or-

dered a horse at once.

 

152 Jennifer Roberson

 

Rowan came out of the pavilion as I rode up with Storr

clasped in my arms. I dismounted carefully, loath to give

the wolf over to anyone else, and went in as Rowan pulled

aside the doorHap. It was then I was conscious of the

harpsong and Lachlan's nimble fingers.

 

He sat on a campstool at Finn's side. His Lady was set

against his chest, resting on one knee, and he played.

How he played. The golden notes, so sweet and pure,

poured forth from the golden strings. His head was bowed

and his eyes were shut. His face was rigid with concentra-

tion. He did not sing, letting the harp do it for him, but I

knew what magic he sought.

 

A healer, he had called himself. And now he tried to

heal.

 

I knelt down and set Storr at Finn's side as gently as I

could. Carefully I placed one limp brown hand into the

stiffened silver fur. then moved back. The harpsong played

on, dying away, and at last there was silence again.

 

Lachlan shifted a little, as if he awoke "He is—beyond

my aid. Even Lodhi's, I fear. He is Cheysuli—" He stopped,

for there was little left to say.

 

Alix was in the shadows. She had left Finn's side as I

entered, making room for Storr, and now she stood in the

center of the tent. Her braids were coiled and pinned

against her head but glittered not, for it seemed there was

no light within the tent. No light at all.

 

"Duncan comes," she said softly.

 

"In time?"

 

"I cannot say."

 

I crossed my arms and hugged my chest as if I could

keep the pain from showing on my face. "Gods—he is my

right hand! I need him still—"

 

"We all need him." Her quiet words reproved me for

my selfishness, though I doubt she meant them to.

 

A single note rang out from the harp as Lachlan shifted

again on his stool. He silenced it at once, very grave of

(ace. "How do you fare. Carillon?"

 

"Well enough," I said impatiently, and then I realized

he referred to the blood on my mail. "I am unharmed. It

was Finn they struck instead." The wolf lay quietly at his

side, still breathing; so, thank the gods, was Finn.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    153

 

"My lord." It was Rowan's tentative voice. "Shall I tell

the princess the harper is come?"

 

For a moment I could not understand him. And then I

knew. Lachlan had come from Bellam to direct the ex-

change. Electra for Tourmaline. And now I could hardly

think.

 

Lachlan's eyes were on me. "Your sister is well. Caril-

lon. Somewhat weary of being held in Bellam's command,

but she has taken no harm. None at all." I was aware of an

odd note in his voice. "She is well indeed . . . and lovely."

 

I looked more sharply at him. But I had no time to

untangle the subtleties I heard, or the emotions of the

moment. There were other things more pressing. "Where

is she?"

 

"Not far from here. Bellam sent her out with a Solindish

guard, and myself. They wait with her. I am to bring the

Princess Electra, and then escort Tony back," He caught

himself at once. "The Princess Tourmaline,"

 

I did not wish to think of Electra, nor even Tourmaline.

And yet I must. Impatiently I nodded at Rowan. 'Tell her

Lachlan is come, and to ready herself. When there is

time, the exchange will be made." '

 

Rowan bowed and left at once, perhaps grateful for a

task. There is nothing so helpless as a man who must

watch another die.

 

The flap was ripped aside. Duncan stood in the open-

ing, backlighted by the sunlight, and suddenly the pavil-

ion was filled with illumination. He was a silhouette against

die brilliance until he came in, and then I saw how harshly

set was his face.

 

"Alix." She went to him at once. Duncan hardly looked

at me, for his attention was fixed on Finn. "Harper," he

said, "I thank you. But this is Cheysuli-done."

 

Lachlan took the dismissal with good grace, rising in-

stantly from the stool and moving out of the way. Duncan

pushed the campstool away and knelt down with Alix at

one side. He said nothing at all to me.

 

"I have never done this." There was fear in Alix's voice.

 

The heavy gold on Duncan's arms glowed in the shad-

ows, reflecting the light that crept in through the gaps in

the door-flap. "You have the Old Blood, cheysula. You

 

154 Jennifer Roberson

 

need fear nothing of this. It is the earth magic we seek.

You need only ask it to come, and it will use you to heal

Finn. And Storr." Briefly he cupped her head in one hand

and pressed it against one shoulder. "I promise you—it

will be well done."

 

She said nothing more. Duncan released her and set

one hand against the wound in the wolfs side. Of the two,

Storr seemed to have a more fragile hold on life. And if he

died before they healed Finn, the thing was futile indeed.

 

"Lose yourself," Duncan said. "Go down into the earth

until there is nothing but the currents of life. You will

know it—be not afraid. Tap it, Alix, and let it flow through

you into the wolf. He is lir. He will know what we do for

him."

 

I watched the changes in Alix's face. At first she was

hesitant, following Duncan's lead, and then I saw the first

indication of her own power. She knelt beside the wolf

with her hands clasped lightly in her lap, eyes gone in-

ward to face her soul. For a moment her body wavered

and then it straightened. I saw the concentration and the

wonder as she slipped from this world into another.

 

I nearly touched her then. I took two steps, intending to

catch her in my arms, but the knowledge prevented me.

What she did was beyond my ken—what she was, as

well—but I knew Duncan. I knew he would never risk

her. Not even to save his brother.

 

A tiny sound escaped her mouth, and then she was

gone. Her body remained, so still and rigid, but Alix was

gone. Somewhere far beneath the earth she roamed, seek-

ing the healing arts her race claimed as their own, and

Duncan was with her. I had only to look at his face and

see the familiar detachment. It was profoundly moving,

somehow, that a man and woman could link so deeply on a

level other than sexual, and all to save a wolf.

 

Cheysuli magic goes into the earth, taps the strength of

the ancient gods and lends it to the one who requires the

healing. The sword wound in Storr's shoulder remained,

but it lacked the unhealthy stink and appearance. His

breathing steadied. His eyes cleared. He moved, twitch-

ing once all over, and came into the world again.

 

Alix sagged. Duncan caught her and clasped her against

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     155

 

his chest, much as Lachlan clasped his Lady. I saw the

fear and weariness etched in his face and wondered if he

had lied to her, saying it was safe when such magic took a

part of the soul away. Perhaps, for Finn, he would risk

Alix.

 

It made me profoundly angry. And then the anger died,

for I needed them both. I needed them all.

 

"No more," Duncan told her. "Storr is well enough. But

now it is my task to heal Finn."

 

"Not alone!" She sat up, pulling out of his arms. "Do

you think I will give you over to that when I have felt it

myself? No, Duncan—call the others. Link with them all.

There is no need for you to do this alone."

 

"There is," he told her gently. "He is my rujho. And I

am not alone . . . there is Cai." He smiled. "My thanks for

your concern, but it is unwisely spent. Save it for Finn

when he wakens."

 

And then he slipped away before she could protest,

sliding out of our hands like oil. The shell we knew as

Duncan remained, but he was gone. Whatever made him

Duncan had gone to another place, and this time he was

gone deeper and longer, so deep and so long I thought we

had lost them both.

 

"Alix!" I knew she meant to follow. I bent to pull her

from the ground.

 

She turned an angry face to me. "Do not keep me from

him, Carillon! Do you think I could bear to lose him like

this? Even for Finn—"

 

"You risked yourself for me, once, when I did not wish

you to," I told her harshly. "When I lay chained in Atvian

iron, and you came as a falcon to free me. Do you think I

would have given you permission for such a thing?" I

shook my head. "What Duncan does is for him to do. Did

he want you with him, he would have asked it."

 

She wrenched her head around to stare again at her

husband. He knelt by Finn's side, there and yet not. And

Finn, so weak upon the pallet, did not move.

 

"I could not make a choice," she said in a wavering

voice. "I ever thought I would say Duncan before anyone

else, but I could not. I want them both. ..."

 

"I know. So do I. But it is for the gods to decide."

 

156 Jennifer Robarson

 

"Has Lachlan turned you priest?" She smiled a little,

bitterly. "I never knew you to prate of such things."

 

"I do not prate of them now. Call it tahlmorra, if you

will." I smiled and made the gesture. "What is there for

us to do but wait and see what will happen?"

 

Duncan said something then. It was garbled, tangled up

in the Old Tongue and his weariness, but it was a sound.

He moved as if to rise, could not, and fell back to knock

his head against the campstool. Lachlan set down his Lady

and knelt at once to give him support, even as Alix

wrenched herself free of me.

 

"You fool," Finn said weakly. "It is not for a man to do

alone."

 

I stared at him, unsure I had heard him correctly. But it

was Finn, white as death, and I saw tears in his eyes.

 

Duncan pushed himself upward with Lachlan's help,

He sat half-dazed, legs sprawled, as if he could not come

back to himself. Even as Alix knelt down before him he

seemed not to know her.

 

I saw Finn push an elbow against the pallet to lever

himself up. And again it was myself who pushed him

down. "Lie you still."

 

"Duncan—" he said thickly, protesting ineffectively.

 

"Come back!" Alix shouted. "By the gods, you fool—"

And she struck Duncan hard across the face with the flat

of her hand.

 

It set up brilliant color in his face, turning his cheek

dark red. But sense was in his eyes again. He looked at

Alix, at me, at Finn, and then he was Duncan again.

"Gods," he said weakly. "I did not know—"

 

"No," Finn agreed, with my hand upon his shoulder in

case he moved again. "You did not, you fool. Did you

think I would wish to trade your life for mine?" He gri-

maced then, and instantly hissed as the expression pulled

the stitches against his swollen flesh. "By the gods—that

Atvian—"

 

"—is slain," I finished. "Did you think 1 would let him

finish what he had begun?"

 

Finn's hand was in Storr's matted pelt. His eyes were

shut in a gray-white face. I thought he had lost conscious-

ness again.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA

 

157

 

"Rujfw," Duncan said, "there is something you must

do."

 

"Later," Finn said through the taut line of his mouth.

 

"Now." Duncan smiled. "You owe thanks to Carillon."

 

I looked at him in surprise. Finn's eyes opened a slit,

dilated black and glittering with the remnants of his fever.

"It was you who—"

 

"Aye," Duncan interrupted, "but it was Carillon who

carried you from the field. Else you would still be there,

and dead."

 

I knew what he did. Finn has never been one for

showing gratitude, though often enough I knew he felt it.

I myself had trouble saying what I meant; for Finn it was

harder still. I thought of protesting, then let Duncan have

his way. He it was who had had the raising of Finn, not

me.

 

Finn sighed. His eyes closed again. "He should have

left me. He should not have risked himself."

 

"No," Duncan agreed, "but he did. And now there are

the words to be said."

 

I thought Finn was asleep. He did not move, did not

indicate he heard. But he had. And at last he looked at me

from beneath his heavy lids. "Leijhana tu'sai," he muttered.

 

I blinked. And then I laughed. "In the Old Tongue, I

would not know if you thanked me or cursed me."

 

"He thanked you," Duncan said gravely. And then,

"Leijhana tu'sai. Carillon."

 

I realized I was the only one standing. Even Lachlan

knelt, so close to Duncan, with his Lady gleaming on the

table. It was an odd sensation to have such people in such

postures, and to know one day it would be expected.

 

I looked at Lachlan. "We have an exchange to conduct."

 

He rose and gathered his harp. But before we left the

tent I glanced back at Finn.

 

He slept. "Leijhana tu'sai," I said, "for living instead of

dying."

 

FOURTEEN

 

I left the tent, my legs trembling with the aftermath of

fatigue and tension. I stopped just outside, letting the

doorfiap fall shut behind me. For a moment I could only

stare blankly at the few pavilions scattered across the turf

in apparent confusion, lacking all order. I had taken the

idea from the Cheysuli, although here we lacked the trees

to hide ourselves adequately, We had camped on a grassy

plain, leaving the forests behind as we moved closer to

Mujhara; closer to Bellam and my throne. The encamp-

ment was little more than a scattering of men with cookfires

here and there. But it had served us well.

 

I sucked in a deep breath, as deep as I could make it,

filling my lungs with air. The stink of the army camp faded

to nonexistence as I thought how close I had come to

losing Finn. I knew perfectly well that had my chirurgeons

pressed to take his leg. he would have found another way

to die. A maimed warrior, he had told me once, was of

little use to his clan. In Finn's case, it was worse; he

would view himself as useless to his Mujhar as well, and

that would pervert his tahlmorra and his very reason for

living.

 

Lachlan slipped through the entrance. I heard the hiss

of fabric as he moved, scraping one hand across the woven

material. Few of us had tents to claim as shelter, I, being

Mujhar, had the largest, but it was not so much. This one

served as a temporary infirmary; the chirurgeons had kept

 

I 158 I

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    159

 

all others free of it when I had brought Finn. He would be

nursed in private.

 

Lachlan's arms were empty of harp for once. "Finn will

live. You need fear no more."

 

"Have you consulted Lodhi?"

 

He made no indication my comment bothered him.

"There is no need for that. I asked His help before, but

there was nothing in Finn I could touch. He was too far

from this world, too lost in his pain and Storr's absence.

But when Duncan and Alix worked their magic—" He

broke off, smiling a little. "There is much I cannot under-

stand. And until I know more of the Cheysuli, I cannot

hope to make songs of them."

 

"Most men cannot understand the Cheysuli," I told

him. "As for songs—I doubt they would wish it. There are

legends enough about them." I stared at the tiny field

pavilion farthest from where we stood. It was guarded by

six soldiers, "How many men are with my sister?"

 

"Bellam sent a guard of fifty with her." His face was

grave. "My lord—you do not intend to go yourself—"

 

"She is my sister." I set off toward the saffron-colored

tent as Lachlan fell in beside me. "I owe Tourmaline what

honor there is, and of late there is little. I will send no

man in my place."

 

"Surely you will take some of your army with you."

 

I smiled, wondering if he sought the information for

simple curiosity's sake. "No."

 

"Carillon—"

 

"If it is a trap, the teeth will close on air." I signaled to

the soldiers guarding Electra's tent. They stepped away at

once, affording me privacy, though they remained within

earshot. "You would know, perhaps, what Bellam intends

for me."

 

Lachlan smiled as I paused before the tent. "He did not

divulge his plans to me, unfortunately. He welcomed me

as a harper, not a confidant I cannot say he sends men to

take you, but I think it very likely." His eyes went past

me to study the scattered encampment "You would do

well to take a substantial escort."

 

"No doubt," I said blandly.

 

I turned and pulled aside the door-flap, but did not go in

 

160 Jennifer Roberson

 

at once. I could not. The sunlight was brilliant as it slashed

into the interior, illuminating the woman who sat within.

She wore a dark brown gown laced with copper silk at

throat and cuffs. A supple leather belt, clay-bleached to a

soft yellow, bound her slender waist, fastened with a

copper buckle. The gown was from Alix, fashioned by her

own hands, given freely to replace the soiled gray velvet

Electra had worn the day Finn caught her. The new one

fit well enough, for they were of a like size, though noth-

ing like in coloring.

 

Electra waited quietly, seated on a three-legged camp-

stool with the folds of her dark skirts foaming around her

feet like waves upon a shore. She sat erect, shoulders put

back, so that the slender, elegant line of her neck met the

jaw to emphasize the purity of her bones. She had braided

her hair into a single loose-woven rope that hung over one

shoulder to spill into her lap, coiled like a serpent. The

smooth, pale brow cried out for a circlet of beaten gold,

or—perhaps better—silver, to highlight the long-lidded,

magnificent eyes.

 

I knew Rowan had been here to tell her. She waited,

hands clasped beneath the rope of shining hair. Silently

she sat upon the stool as the sunlight passed through the

weave of the saffron-colored tent to paint her with a pas-

tel, ocherous glow. She wore the twisted gold at her

throat, and it shone.

 

By the gods, so did she. And I wanted so much to lose

myself in it. In her. Gods, but what a woman can do to a

man—

 

Even the enemy.

 

Forty years, this woman claimed. And I denied it, as

ever.

 

I put out my hand to raise her from the stool. Her

fingers were still, making no promises, though I had had

that of her, as well.

 

"You have been in battle." Her voice was cool as ever,

with its soft, Solindish cadence.

 

1 had not put off the blood-crusted leather-and-mail. My

hair, dried now from the sweat of my exertions, hung

stiffly against my shoulders. No doubt I smelled of it as

well, but I wasted no time on the niceties of such things

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    161

 

while I had a war to fight. "Come, lady—your father

waits."

 

"Did you win your battle?" She allowed me to lead her

from the tent, making no move to remove her hand from

 

my grasp.

 

I shook my head. Rowan stood outside with four horses.

I saw no good in gaming with her, denying my loss to

gain a satisfaction that would not last. I had lost, but

Bellam still lacked his pretender-prince.

 

Electra paused as she saw the empty saddles. Four

horses only, and no accompaniment. "Where are my

women?"

 

"I sent them back long ago." I smiled at her. "Only you

were brought here. But then you were compromised the

moment Finn took you captive. What should it matter,

Electra—you are an Ihlini's light woman.*'

 

Color came into her face. I had not expected to see it,

from her. She was a young woman suddenly, lacking the

: wisdom of experience, and yet I saw the glint of knowl-

edge in her eyes. I wondered, uneasily, ifTynstar's arts

had given her youth in place of age. "Does it grate within

your soul?" she asked. "Does it make you wish to put your

stamp upon me, to erase Tynstar's?" She smiled, a mere

curving of the perfect mouth. "You fool. You could not

begin to take his place."

 

"You will have the opportunity to know." I boosted her

into the saddle without further comment, and felt the

rigid unyielding in her body. I had cut her, somehow: but

then she had cut me often enough. I nodded at Rowan.

"Send for Zared, at once."

 

When Zared came he bowed respectfully. His gray-red

hair was still cropped closely against his head, as was

common in soldiery. I had not taken up the custom be-

cause it had been easy enough, in Caledon, to braid it and

bind it with the scarlet yarn of a mercenary. It had been

what I was.

 

"See to it the camp is dispersed," I told him. "I want no

men here to receive Bellam's welcome, for you may be

quite certain his daughter will tell him where we have

been." I did not look at her, having no need; I could sense

 

162 Jennifer Roberson

 

her rigid attention. "When I am done with this exchange,

I will find the army."

 

"Aye, my lord Mujhar." He bowed, all solemn servi-

tude, and stepped away to follow orders.

 

Lachlan mounted next to me, and Rowan next to Electra.

She was hemmed in on both sides, closely kept. It would

not do to lose her now, before I claimed my sister.

 

Electra looked at us all. "No army to escort you?"

 

"Need I one?" I smiled. I glanced to Lachlan and saw

his gesture. Westward, toward Mujhara, and Tourmaline,

my sister.

 

The sun beat down upon our heads as we waited on the

hilltop. We silhouetted ourselves against the horizon, a

thing I had not done in the long months of bitter war, but

now I did it willingly. I wanted Tourmaline to see us

before the exchange was made, so she would know it was

us in truth, and not some trick of Bellam's.

 

The plains stretched below us. No more spring; it was

nearly midsummer. The sun had baked the green from the

land, turning it yellow and ocher and amber, and the dust

rose from the hooves of more than fifty horses to hang in

the air like smoke. Through the haze I could see the men,

in Sotindish colors, glittering with ringmail and swords. A

troop of men knotted about a single woman like a fist

around a hilt.

 

I could not see Tourmaline well. But from time to time

I saw the dappled gray horse and the slender, upright

figure, wearing no armor but a gown instead, an indigo-

colored gown and no traveling mantle to keep the dust off

her clothing; Even her head was bared, and her tawny-

dark hair hung down freely to tangle across the horse's

gray rump.

 

I heard Lachlan's quiet, indrawn breath. I heard my

own as well, but it lacked the note I heard in his. I

glanced at him a moment, seeing how avidly he watched

the troop approach; how intent were his eyes upon the

woman. Not my sister, in that instant, but a woman.

 

I knew then. beyond any doubt at all, that Lachlan plot-

ted no treachery, no betrayal. I was certain of it, in that

instant. To do so would endanger Tourmaline, and that he

 

163

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA

 

would never countenance. I had only to look at his face as

he looked for hers, and at last I had my answer.

 

If for nothing else, he would be loyal to me out of

loyalty to my sister. And what a weapon he gave me, did I

find the need to use it.

 

The SoUndish troop stopped at the foot of the hill. The

sun glittered off their trappings; off their ringmail; off their

intention. Fifty men bent on taking Bellam's enemy. And

that enemy with only a token escort at his side.

 

;    It was warm on the hilltop. The air was quite still; the

'^ silence was broken only by the jingle and clash of horse

^ trappings and the buzzing hum of an occasional insect.

|| The dust was dry in my mouth and nose; I tasted the flat,

y" bitter salt of summer-swept plains. Come fall, turf would

H spring up beneath a gentler sun. Come winter, snow

I- would blanket the world. Come spring, I should be King.

 

^   If not before.

 

^   I looked through the clustered troop to the treasure

^ they guarded so closely. Tourmaline, a princess of Homana.

^ The woman Bellam had threatened to wed; the woman he

^; could not because I had taken his daughter. A princess for

 

f. a princess.

 

?a    She sat quite still upon her horse, her hands holding the

^ reins. But she was not entirely free. A soldier flanked her

:s directly on either side; a lead-rope tied her horse to a man

^ who rode before her. They meant not to lose her so easily,

 

t- did I give them cause to fight.

^     Lachlan's breath was audible in his throat. It rasped,

 

sliding through the constriction slowly, so that Rowan

''"• glanced at him. There was curiosity in Rowan's eyes;

 

. knowledge in Electra's. She would know. She would know

what he felt; a man in love with a woman, looking at her

 

with desire.

 

"Well?" I said at last. "Are we to confront one another

 

in silence all day, or is there a thing I must do?"

 

Lachlan wrenched his attention back to me. "I am to

escort Electra down, and bring Torry back with me."

 

;,    "Do it"

•   He rubbed at the flesh beneath the silver circlet on his

 

^ brow. Nothing more?"

|f   "Am I to think you seek to warn me of some treachery?"

 

164 Jennifer Roberson

 

I smiled. "Do what you have said must be done. I want

my sister back."

 

His jaw tightened. Briefly he glanced at Electra. She sat

very still on her horse, like Torry, hardly moving her

hands upon the reins. But I saw her fingers tense and the

subtle shift other weight. She meant to run, with Tourma-

line still held.

 

I reached out and caugh't one of her wrists, clamping

down tightly. "No," I said calmly. "Do you forget 1 have a

bow?"

 

Her eyes went to the Cheysuli bow at once. And my

quiver, freshly filled. "You might slay some," she con-

ceded coolly, "but I doubt you could slay them all before

they took you."

 

"No," I agreed, "but have I spoken of slaying men?"

 

She understood at once. I saw the color move into her

face swiftly, setting flags of anger into her cheeks. The

somnolent, ice-gray eyes were blackened with frustration,

but only for a moment. She smiled. "Slay me, then, and

you purchase your fate from Tynstar."

 

"I do not doubt I have done so already," I told her

calmly. "I think my sister is worth dying for. But are

you?"

 

"So long as you do the dying." She did not look at me.

She looked instead at the troop of men her father had sent

to fetch her.

 

1 laughed and released her wrist. "Go, then, Electra.

Tell your father—and your sorcerer—whatever you wish

to say. But remember that I will have you as my wife."

 

Loathing showed on her face. "You will have nothing,

pretender-prince. Tynstar will see to that."

 

"My lord." Rowan sounded uneasy. "They are fifty to

our three."

 

"So they are." I nodded to Lachlan. "Take her down,

and bring my sister back."

 

Lachlan put out his hand to grasp Electra's rein. But

she did not let him. She pulled the horse away and set

him to walking down the hill. Lachlan fell in close beside

her almost at once, and I watched as they rode toward the

troop. I unstrapped the bow so the captain could see it,

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    165

 

though I did not intend to use it. I did not think I would

need it.

 

Electra was swallowed almost at once by the Solindish

soldiers and I was left without a target. Unless one counted

the captain and his men. But Electra had the right of it; I

could not slay them all. Even with Rowan at my side.

 

He shifted in his saddle. "My lord—"

 

"Be patient," I chided gently.

 

Lachlan waited at the edge of the hard-eyed throng.

The sun on his dyed hair treated it poorly, turning it dull

and lifeless. Only the glint of silver on his brow lent him

authenticity, and that only won through his harp. I won-

dered again what made him the man he was, and how it

was to be a priest.

 

The troop parted. Tourmaline came forward on her

dappled gray horse. Like Electra, she did not hasten, but

I saw the tension in her body. Doubtless she feared the

trade would not be finished.

 

Well, it was not finished yet.

 

Lachlan put out his hand to her. Briefly she held it

tightly with her own, as if thanking him for his care; I

watched in bemusement. It was all well and good for a

harper to love a princess—that happened with great regu-

larity, to judge by the content of their lays—but I was not

certain Tourmaline's apparent regard for him pleased me

one whit. He was a harper, and she was meant for a

prince.

 

"They come," Rowan said softly, more to himself than

to me.

 

They came. Side by side, no longer clasping hands,

their shoulders rigid against the Solindish guard. Dust

rose up from the ground and enyeloped them in a veil;

 

Tourmaline's eyes were squinted against it as she came yet

closer to me. And then she was laughing, calling out my

name, and kicked her horse into a run.

 

I did not dismount, for all it would have been an easier

greeting on the ground. She set her horse into mine, but

gently, and our knees knocked as she reached out to hug

my neck. It was awkward on horseback, but we got it

done. And then, as she opened her mouth to speak again,

I waved her into silence.

 

166 Jennifer Roberson

 

"My lord!" It was Rowan as Lachlan rode up. "They

come!"

 

And so they did- Almost all fifty of them, charging up

the hill, to swallow us within their ringmailed fist.

 

I smiled grimly, unsurprised. I saw the frustrated, im-

potent anger on Rowan's young face as he put his hand to

his sword; he did not draw it because he saw no reason to.

We were too soundly caught.

 

Lachlan said something in his Ellasian tongue. A curse,

I thought, not recognizing it, or perhaps a plea to his

All-Father; whatever it was, it sounded like he meant to

chew up their bones, did they bother to come close enough.

 

Tourmaline, white-faced, shot me a glance that said she

understood the brevity of our greeting. What fear I saw in

her face was not for herself, but for me. Her brother, who

had been sought for six long years, was home at last. And

caught.

 

The Solindish captain wore a mail coif that hid all of his

head but his face. A wide, hard, battle-scan-ed face, with

brown eyes that had undoubtedly seen everything in war,

and yet now expressed a bafflement born of disbelief. His

Homanan was twisted by his Solindish accent, but I un-

derstood him well enough. "Surely a boy would know

better."

 

My horse stomped beneath me, jarring my spine against

the saddle. I did not answer.

 

"Carillon of Homana?" the captain asked, as if he could

not believe he had caught the proper quarry.

 

"The Mujhar," I agreed calmly. "Do you mean to take

us to the usurper on his stolen throne?"

 

Tourmaline drew in a sudden breath. Lachlan moved

his horse closer to my sister's, as if to guard her. It was for

me to do, not him, but I was occupied at the moment.

 

"Your sword." the captain said. "There is no hope of

escape for you."

 

"No?" I smiled. "My sword is my own to keep."

 

The first shadow passed over my face, moving on quickly

to blot out the captain's face- Then another. Yet a third,

and the ground was suddenly blotched with moving dark-

ness, as if a plague of shadows had come to settle across us

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    167

 

all. All men, save me, looked up, and saw the circling

birds.

 

There were dozens of them. Hawks and eagles and

falcons, owls and ravens and more. With wings outstretched

and talons folded, they danced upon the air. Up, then

down, then around and around bent upon some goal.

 

Rowan began to laugh. "My lord," he said at last, "for-

give me for doubting you."

 

They stooped. They screamed. They slashed by the

enemy and slapped wings against staring eyes, until the

Solindish soldiers cried out in fear and pain. No man was

slain; no man was even wounded, but their skill and pride

and dignity was completely shredded. There are more

ways of overcoming the enemy than merely by slaying

him. With the Cheysuli, half the defeat comes from know-

ing what they are.

 

Half the birds broke away. They dipped to the ground

with a rustle of outspread wings; the soughing of feathers

folded away. They were birds no more, but men instead,

as the shapechange swallowed them all.

 

I heard the outcries of utter panic from the Solindish

troop. One or two retched and vomited against the earth,

too frightened to hold it in. Some dealt with horses threat-

ening to bolt. Others sat perfectly still in their saddles,

staring, with no hands upon their weapons.

 

I smiled. With Rowan, my sister and Lachlan at my

back, I broke passage through the enemy to the freedom

outside the shattered fist. And when we were free again,

guarded against attack by more than half a hundred war-

riors, I nodded. "Put them to death," I said. "All but five.

They may escort the lady to her father."

 

"My lord?" It was Rowan, questioning the need for

sparing even five Solindishmen to fight us another day.

 

"I want Bellam to know," I said. "Let him choke upon

what I have done."

 

"Do you leave him his daughter?" Lachlan asked.

 

I looked past the silent troop to the five men who

guarded Electra so closely at the bottom of the hill. I saw

the tension in their bodies. Hands rested on their swords.

Electra, too distant for me to make out her expression, sat

 

168 Jennifer Roberson

 

equally still. No doubt she thought I would take her back,

No doubt she knew I wanted to.

 

"I leave him his daughter," I said at last. "Let her spend

her time in Homana-Mujhar wondering when I will come."

I looked at the Cheysuli warriors surrounding the cap-

tured Solindish. Horses trembled, so did men. I thought it

a fitting end

 

And then I saw Duncan. He stood to one side with Cai

upon his shoulder. The great hawk sat quietly, a mass of

gold and brown next to the blackness of Duncan's hair.

The clan-leader seemed to support him effortlessly, though

I could imagine the weight of the bird. In that instant I

thought back to the time, six years before, when I had

been imprisoned by the Cheysuli; when Finn had held

and taunted me. Duncan it was who had ruled, as the

Cheysuli are ruled, by numbers instead of a single man.

But there was no doubting who held the power in the

clan. There was no doubting it now.

 

Cai lifted and returned to the air, stirring the fine veil of

dust with his great outspread wings, and soared into the

heavens along with the other lir. The shadows continued

to blotch the land and the fear continued to live.

 

Duncan was unsmiling. "Shall I begin with the captain?"

 

I released a breath and nodded. Then I looked at Tour-

maline. "It is time we found the camp."

 

Her eyes, blue as my own, were wide and staring as she

looked upon the Cheysuli. I recalled she had seen none

before, though knew of them as I had for so many years.

To her, no doubt, they were barbaric. To her, no doubt,

they were worse than beasts.

 

She said nothing, knowing better than to speak freely

before the enemy, but I did not doubt she would when we

were free.

 

"Come." I said gently, and turned her horse away.

 

FIFTEEN

 

The wind came up at sunset as we rode into the newly

settled encampment. It blew dust in our faces and tangled

Tourmaline's hair, until she caught it in one hand and

made it tame, winding it through her fingers. Lachlan

muttered something in his Ellasian tongue—it had to do

with Lodhi, as usual—and Rowan blinked against the grit.

As for me, I relished it. The wind would blow away the

taste of blood and loss. For I had led my men into death,

and I would not forget.

 

"A storm," Tony said. "Rain, do you think?"

 

The cookfires, which pocked the open landscape, whipped

and strained against the wind. I smelled the aroma of

roasting meat and it set my mouth to watering. I could not

recall when last I had eaten—surely it was this morning?

 

"No rain," I said finally "Only wind, and the smell of

death."

 

Tourmaline looked at me sharply. I saw a question

forming in her face, but she asked nothing. She glanced

instead at Lachlan, seeking some assurance, then turned

her attention to her horse as I led them to my pavilion

when I had asked directions of a passing soldier.

 

I jumped from my horse by the door-flap and turned to

Terry's mount- She slid out of the saddle and into my

arms, and I felt the weariness in her body. Like me, she

was in need of rest, sustenance and sleep. I thought to set

her down and take her inside, to get her properly settled,

 

I 169 I

 

170 Jennifer Rotwson

 

but she wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged

with all her strength. There were tears, warm against my

flesh, and I knew she cried for us both.

 

"Forgive me," she whispered into my sweat-dried hair.

"I prayed all these years that the gods would let you live,

even as Bellam sought you, yet when you come I give you

thoughtless welcome. I thought you grown harsh and cruel

when you ordered them slain, but I—of all—should know

better. Was not our father a soldier?"

 

"Torry—"

 

She lifted her head and looked me in the face, for while

I held her she was nearly as tall as I. "Lachlan told me

what odds you face, and how well you face them; it is not

my place to reprove you for your methods. Harsh times

require harsh measures, and the gods know war is not for

gentle men."

 

"You have not reproved me. As for gentle, no. There is

little room in me for that." I set her on her feet and

reached out to tousle her hair. It was an old game be-

tween us, and I saw she recalled it well. Ever the older

sister telling the youngest child what to do. Except the

boy had grown up at last.

 

"In my heart," she said softly, "I reproved. Ifis my fault

for having expectations. I thought, when you came, it

would be the old Carillon, the one I used to tease. But I

find it is the new one, and a different man who faces me."

 

There were strangers among us, though I knew their

names, and we could not say precisely what we wished.

But for the moment it was enough to see her again and

know her safe, as she had not been safe for years- So I said

something of what I felt. "I am sorry. I should have come

home sooner. Somehow, I should have come—"

 

She put her hand across my mouth. "No. Say nothing.

You are come home now." She smiled the brilliant smile

of our mother and the lines of tension were washed from

her face. I had forgotten the beauty of my sister, and I saw

why Lachlan was smitten.

 

The wind cracked the folds of the pavilion beside us.

Lachlan's horse stepped aside uneasily; he checked it with

a tightened rein. I looked up at Rowan and squinted against

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    171

 

the dust. "See you she has food and wine. It will be your

task to make certain she is well."

 

"My lord," he said, "your pavilion?"

 

"Hers, now." I smiled. "I have learned these past years

what it is to make my bed upon the ground."

 

Lachlan, laughing, demurred at once. "Are you forget-

ting harpers are given their own sort of honor? Pavilions

are part of it. Does it not ruffle your Mujhar's pride and

,-„ dignity, you may share mine with me."

 

"It ruffles nothing," I retorted. "And will not, so long as

^ you refrain from singing—or praying—in your sleep." I

 

- looked at Torry again. "This is an army encampment, rude

 

-.. and rough. There is little refinement here. I must ask you

;.' to forgive what you hear."

 

;   She laughed aloud with the pleasure other retort. "Well

^ enough, I shall forgive your men. But never you."

 

*   The wind blew a lock of her unbound hair against my

,-. chest. It caught on the links of my ringmail, snagging, and

\'! sought to free it without tearing the strands. I felt the

^ clean silk against my callused, blood-stained hands, and

 

{"'. knew again what manner of man her brother had become.

It was no wonder she had reproved me, even in her

^ heart.

 

I pulled aside the doorflap and gestured her within-

¥ "Rowan will bring food and wine, and anything else you

^ might require. Sleep, if you will. There will be time for

 

Stelking later."

 

,  I saw the questions in her eyes and her instant silencing

^ of them. She nodded and ducked inside, and I saw the

^ glow of a lighted candle. She would not be left in darkness.

H, I glanced up at Lachlan, who watched her disappear as

 

* the flap dropped down behind her. Inwardly I smiled,

^knowing the edge of the weapon; outwardly I was casual.

;b"'"No doubt she would welcome company."

^'J His face colored, then blanched. He had not realized

H'how easily I saw his feelings. His hands touched his silver

||,Circlet as if to gather strength. "No doubt. But yours, I

11|'think, not mine."

 

^ I let it go, knowing I might use it later to bind him to

|a;Bae. Through Tourmaline, at least, I could know the har-

L'per's intentions. "Come, then. We must tell Finn what

 

17Z Jennifer Roberson

 

has happened. It was his plan, not mine, and he should

know.'

 

Rowan started. "His?"

 

I nodded. "We made it in Caledon one night, or some-

thing like it, when we had nothing better to do." I smiled

with the memory. "It was a summer night, like this one,

but lacking the wind, and warmer. The evening before a

battle. We spoke of plots and plans and strategies, and

how it would be a fitting trick to set loose in Bellam's

midst." My smile faded. "But that night we did not know

if we would one day come home again, or if there would

be so many Cheysuli."

 

Again the pavilion fabric cracked. Lachlan stepped down

from his horse, hair tamed by the circlet. "But there are

Cheysuli, my lord . . . and you have come home again."

 

I looked at him and saw again the dull brown hair. I

thought of him in love with my sister. "Will you harp for

me tonight?" I asked. "Give me The Song of Homana."

 

It was the harp I saw first as I entered the infirmary

tent; Lachlan's Lady, with her brilliant green eye. She

stared at us both as the doorflap fell behind us, and I

thought, oddly, the harp was like a lir. That Lachlan

served her I did not wonder, that she served Lachlan, I

knew. I had felt the magic before when they wove it

between them,

 

"Ah," said Finn, "he has not forgotten me. The student

recalls the master."

 

I grinned, relieved past measure to hear his voice so full

of life. Yet even as I looked at him I could not help but

wince, at least inwardly; the stitches held his face to-

gether, but the scar would last forever. It would be that

men—and women—saw before anything else.

 

Lachlan slipped past me to gather his harp into his

arms. He had spent much of the day without his Lady; I

wondered if it hurt.

 

As for Finn, he did not smile. But, knowing him, I saw

the hint of pleasure in his eyes and, I thought, relief. Had

he thought I would not come back?

 

"Have they all left you alone?" I hooked the stool over

with a foot.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     173

 

' '

: v

 

Finn's laugh was a breath of sound. He was weak still, I

could see it. But I thought he would survive. The magic

had given him that much, even had it not made him fully

well. "Alix has spent all day with me. Only now have I

managed to send her away." He shifted slightly on the

pallet, as if the leg yet pained him. "I told her I needed

time alone, and I do. There is no need to coddle me."

 

"Alix would hardly coddle you." I looked more closely

at his face and saw the sallow tinge. It was better than the

ashy hue of death, but he lacked the proper color. There

was no fever, that much I could tell, but he was obviously

weary. "Is there aught I might bring you?"

 

"A Mujhar, serving me?" This time there was a smile,

.though it was very faint. "No, I am well, Alix has done

more than enough. More than I ever expected."

 

"Perhaps it is her way of compensation," I suggested

without a smile.

 

"Perhaps," he agreed in his ironic manner. "She knows

what she lacks. 1 have impressed it upon her on several

occasions."

 

Lachlan, leaning against the table, struck a note on his

harp. "I could put it to song. How you wooed and lost a

maiden; how the brother was the victor."

 

Finn cast him a scowl, though it lacked its usual depth.

"Harper, you would do well to think of your own women,

and leave mine to me."

 

Lachlan's smile froze, then grew distracted, and I knew

he thought of Torry. His fingertips brushed the glowing

golden strings and I heard the breath of sound. It con-

jured up the grace and elegance in a woman, and I thought

at once of Electra. No doubt he thought of my sister;

 

Finn—no doubt Finn remembered Alix. Alix before she

knew Duncan.

 

"The exchange was accomplished," I said quietly. "My

sister is safe, and Electra returns to her father."

 

"I thought you might keep her."

 

I scowled at the ironic tone. "No. I have set my mind to

winning the throne before I win the woman. Did it come

to a choice, you know which one I would take."

 

Finn's brows lifted a bit. "There have been times, of

late, I have not been so sure." He shifted a little, restless,

 

174 Jennifer Roberson

 

and I saw the twinge cross his face. Storr, lying next to

him, settled his body closer. One brown arm with its

weight of gold cradled the wolf as if Finn feared to release

him.

 

"Will you be well?" I asked it more sharply than I

intended. "Has the earth magic not healed you fully?"

 

He gestured briefly with a limp hand. "It does not

always restore a body completely, it merely aids the heal-

ing. It is dependent on the injury." For a moment tenta-

tive fingers touched the bandage binding the thigh. "I am

well enough—for a man who should have died."

 

I took a deep breath and felt the slow revolution of the

shadows in the tent. I was so tired . , . "The plan we

made was ideal. Duncan brought all the winged lir. The

Solindish stood no chance."

 

"No," he agreed. "It is why I suggested it."

 

Lachlan laughed softly. "Does Carillon do nothing with-

out your suggestion?"

 

For a moment Finn's expression was grim, for a face

that was mostly ruined by swelling and seeping stitches.

"There are times he does too much."

 

"As when I decide whom to wed." I smiled at Lachlan's

expression of surprise. "The lady who goes to her father

will become the Queen of Homana."

 

His eyebrows rose beneath the circlet. "Bellam might

not be willing."

 

"Bellam will be dead when I wed his daughter." I rolled

my head to and fro, popping the knots in my neck. My

back was tense as wefl, but there was no help for that. I

would have to work it out with proper sleep and exercise;

 

the former I would not see, no doubt, but the latter was a

certainty.

 

"I had heard she was offered to High King Rhodri's

heir." Lachlan's fingers brought a singing cadence from

the strings.

 

I shrugged. "Perhaps Bellam offered, but I have heard

nothing of Rhodri's answer. You, being Ellasian and his

subject, might know better,"

 

Lachlan's mouth twisted thoughtfully. "I doubt he would

stand in your way. What I know of Cuinn I have learned

mostly first-hand, from being hosted in the castle. The

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    175

 

High Prince is an idle sort. though friendly enough, with

no mind to marriage so soon." He shrugged. "Rhodri has

strength of his own; I doubt he will demand his heir's

marriage as yet. But then who am I to know the minds of

tangs?' He grinned at me. "There is only you, my lord,

and what do I know of you?"

"You know I have a sister."

 

His face went very still. "Aye. I do." Briefly he glanced

at Finn. "But if we speak of it more, you will set your

liege man to laughing.

 

Finn smiled. "Has a princess caught your eye? But what

else?—you are a harper."

 

The golden notes poured forth, and yet Lachlan did not

smile. "So I am, with thanks to Lodhi's power. But there

are times I could wish myself more ..."

 

So a princess might look his way? No doubt. But though

harpers hold high honor in the courts of kings, they do not

have enough to wed a woman ofTorry's rank.

 

I leaned forward a moment and scrubbed at my gritty,

burning eyes. And then I heard the scream.

 

Finn tensed to rise and then fell back; no doubt he

feared it was Alix. But at once I "knew it was not. The

. sound belonged to my sister.

 

I do not recall how I got from Finn's tent to my own,

nor do I recall Lachlan at my side holding his gleaming

harp. He was simply there, clasping his Lady, and the

curses poured from his mouth. I hardly heard them. In-

stead I heard the echo ofTorry's scream and the pounding

of my blood.

 

Men stood around my pavilion. Someone had pulled the

Awrflap aside and tied it. I saw shadows within, and

silhouettes; I tore the throng apart and thrust myself in-

side, not caring whom I hurt.

 

Tourmaline stood in one comer, clutching a loose green

|,robe of my own around her body. A single candle filled

Idle tent with muted, smoky light; it painted her face rigid

r and pale and glowed off the gold in her hair.

 

I  She saw me and put up a hand at once, as if to stay me.

| As if to tell me she had suffered no harm. It passed

|through my mind then that my sister was a stronger

 

176 Jennifer Roberson

 

woman than I had supposed, but I had no more time for

that. It was Rowan I looked at, and the body he bent over.

 

"Dead?" I demanded.

 

Rowan shook his head as he reached down to pull a

knife from the man's slack hand. "No, my lord. I struck

him down with the hilt of my sword, knowing you would

have questions for him."

 

I moved forward then, reaching to grasp the leather-and-

mail of the man's hauberk. The links bit into my hands as I

jerked him over and up, so I could see him clearly. I

nearly released him then, for the light fell on Zared's face.

 

He was half-conscious. His eyes blinked and rolled in

his head, which lolled as I held him up. "Well?" I asked of

Rowan. "You were set to guard her."

 

"Against Zared?" His tone was incredulous. "Better to

guard against me."

 

I felt the bum of anger in my belly. "Does even that

need doing, I will do iti Answer the question 1 asked!"

 

The color fell out of his face. I heard Tourmaline's

sound of protest, but my attention was taken up with

Rowan. For a moment there was a Hare of answering

anger in his yellow Cheysuli eyes, and then he nodded.

He did not seem ashamed, merely understanding, and

accepting. It was well; I did not want a man who put his

tail between his legs.

 

"I heard her cry out," he said. "I came in at once and

saw a man standing over the cot, in the darkness. He held

a knife." Rowan lifted a hand and I saw it. "And so I struck

him down. But it was not until he fell that I saw it was

Zared."

 

"Tourmaline?" I asked, more gently than I had of Rowan.

 

"I had put the candle out, so I could sleep," she told me

quietly. "I heard nothing; he was very quiet. And then

suddenly there was a presence, and a shape, and I

screamed. But I think, before that last moment, he knew it

was not you."

 

Zared roused in my hands and I tightened my grip. The

ring-mail was harsh against my fingers but I did not care. I

dragged him up, thrust him out of the pavilion and saw

him tumble through the throng. He was left alone to fall;

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    177

 

they closed him within a circle of glittering, ringmailed

leather but did not touch. They waited for me to act.

 

Zared was fully conscious. He shifted as if to rise, then

„ fell back to kneel upon the ground as the throng took a

? single step forward. He knew the mettle of the men. He

 

-! knew me.

 

He touched fingers to the back of his neck where Rowan

had struck him. Briefly he looked at Torry, standing in the

open doorflap, and then he looked at me. "I did not mean

. to harm the lady," he told me calmly. "I admit freely: it

^ was you I wanted."

 

^   "For that, my thanks," I said grimly. "If I thought it was

\ my sister you meant to slay, your entrails would be

r burning."

 

1\ "Get it done," he returned instantly. "Give me over to

^,the gods."

 

^    I looked at him, kneeling there. At the compact, power-

^ fill veteran of my uncle's Solindish wars. My fathers man,

' once, and now he sought to slay his son. "After an expla-

nation," I agreed.

 

He turned his head and spat. "That for your explana-

 

•I tion." He sucked in a breath as the gathered men mut-

W- tered among themselves. "I owe you nothing. I give you

t "nothing. There will be no explanation."

 

I took a step forward, angry enough to strike him as he

% knelt, but Lachlan's hand was on my arm. "No," he said,

I "let me—"

 

'r   He said nothing more. He did not need to. His fingers

had gone into the strings of his Lady, plucking them, and

the sound silenced us all.

 

The pavilion cracked behind me- I heard the breath of

(he wind as it whipped at nearby fires. Torry said a word,

a single sound, and then not another one was made.

^  The harp music took us all. I felt it more than heard it

 

as it dug within my soul, and there it stayed. So did I. The

^ wind blew dust into my eyes, but I not blink. I felt the

I* beating of grit against my face, but did not move to wipe it

" away. I stood quite still as the others did, and listened to

 

Lachlan's soft promise.

A "You misjudge, Zared." he said. "But how you misjudge

 

178 Jennifer Roberaon

 

my Lady. She can conjure visions from a blind man . . .

words from a dumb man. And put madness in its place. ..."

 

Zared cried out, cringing, and clapped his hands to his

ears. The song went on, weaving us all in its spell. His

fingers dug rigidly into his flesh, as if he could block the

sound. But it sang on, burrowing into his mind even as it

blanked ours out.

 

"Lachlan," I said, but no sound came out of my mouth.

Zared's hands fell away from his head. He knelt and

stared, transfixed as any child upon an endless wonder:

 

jaw sagging, drool falling, eyes bulging open in a terrible

 

joy-

 

The harp sang on, a descant to the wind. So subtle,

seductive and sly. Lachlan himself, with his dyed hair

blowing and his blue eyes fixed, smiled with incredible

power. I saw his face transfigured by the presence of his

god, he was no more the harper but an instrument of

Lodhi, perhaps the harp herself, and a locus for the magic.

Pluck him and she sounded, sharp and sweet. Pluck her

and he quivered, resonating in the wind.

 

I shivered. It ran over me like a grue, from scalp to

toes, and I shivered again. I felt the hair stand up from my

flesh and the coldness in my soul. "Lachlan," I begged,

"no—"

 

The harpsong reached out and wrapped Zared in a

shroud And there he sat, soundless, as it dug into his

mind and stripped it bare, to make his memories visible.

 

A pavilion. The interior. Ocher and amber and gray.

One candle glowed in the dimness. It glinted off the

ringmail hauberk and tarnished sword hilt. The man stood

in silence with his ruddy head bowed. He dared not look

upon the lady.

 

She moved into the light. She wore a brown gown and a

yellow belt. She glowed at throat and wrists from the

copper-dyed silk But it was the hair that set her apart,

that and her unearthly beauty.

 

She put up a hand. She did not touch him. He did not

look at her. But as she moved her fingers they took on a

dim glow. Lilac, I thought. No—purple. The deep purple

 

r ill. .       .                                 ~                 c- r   r

 

or Ihlmi magic.

 

She drew a rune in the air. It hissed and glowed,

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    179

 

clinging to the shadows, spitting sparks and tails of flame,

Fearfully Zared raised his head.

 

His eyes fastened upon it. For a moment he tried to

look away, to look at her, but I could see he had not the

power. He could stare only at the rune. The delicate

tracery of purest purple glowed aginst the air, and as

Electra bid him he put up his hand.

 

"Touch it," she said. "Take it. Hold it. It will give you

the courage you need."

 

Zared touched a trembling fingertip to the rune. In-

stantly it spilled down across his flesh, consuming his hand

in livid flame, until he cried out and shook his arm as if to

free it. But by then it was done. I saw the rune, so lively

and avid, run up his arm to his face, his nose, and then it

slid into his nostrils-

He cried out, but it was a noiseless sound. His body was

beset by tremors. His eyes bulged out and blood ran from

his nose, two thin trails of blackened blood. And then, as

he reached for his knife, the trembling was gone and

Electra touched his hand.

 

b "It is done," she said calmly. "You have watched me so

Mcmg, desiring me so, that I could not help but give you

your wish. I will be yours, but only after this thing is

done. Will you serve me in this?"

 

Zared merely nodded, eyes transfixed on her face. And

Electra gave him his service.

"Slay him," she said. "Slay the pretender-prince."

The harp music died. Lachlan's Lady fell silent. I heard

Ae wind strike up the song and the echo in my soul. So

easily she had done it.

 

Zared sat slumped against the earth. His head sagged

upon his chest as if he could not bear to meet my eyes.

Perhaps he could not. He had meant to slay his lord.

 

I felt old. Nothing worked properly- I thought to cross

to the man and speak to him quietly, but the muscles did

not answer my intentions. And then I heard the harp

again, and the change in the song, and saw the change in

Lachlan's eyes.

 

"Lachlani" I cried, but the thing was already done.

He conjured Electra before us. The perfect, fine-boned

face with its fragile planes and flawless flesh. The winged

 

180 Jennifer Roberson

 

brows and ice-gray eyes, and the mouth that made men

weak. Lachlan gave us all the beauty, and then he took it

from her.

 

He stripped away the flesh. He peeled it from the bone

until it fell away in crumpled piles of ash. I saw the gaping

orbits of vanished eyes, the ivory ramparts of grinning

teeth. The hinge of the jaws and the arch of her cheeks,

bared for us all to see. And the skull, so smooth and

pearly, stared upon us all.

 

No man moved. No man could. Lachlan had bound us

all.

 

The music stopped, and with it Zared's heart.

 

I wavered, caught myself, and blinked against the dust.

I put a hand to my face to wipe it free of grit, and then I

stopped, for I saw the tears on Lachlan's face.

 

His hands were quite still upon the strings. The green

stone in the smooth dark wood was dim and opaque. And

his eyes looked past me to Torry.

 

"Could I undo it, I would," he said in toneless despair.

"Lodhi has made me a healer, and now I have taken a life.

But for you, lady, for what he nearly did to you . . . there

seemed no other way."

 

Torry's hand crept up to crush a fold of the green

woolen robe against her throat. Her face was white. But 1

saw the comprehension in her eyes.

 

"Lachlan." My voice was oddly cramped. I swallowed.

clearing my throat, then tried again to speak. "Lachlan, no

man will reprove you for what you have done. Perhaps the

method was—unexpected, but the reasons are clear

enough."

 

"I have no dispute with that," he said. "It is only that I

thought myself above such petty vengeance." He sighed

and stroked two fingers along his Lady, touching the green

stone gently. "Such power as Lodhi bestows can be used

for harm as well as good. And now you have seen them

both."

 

I cast an assessive glance around at the staring throng.

There was still a thing to be said. "Is there yet a man who

would slay me? Another man willing to serve the woman's

power?" I gestured toward Zared's body on the ground. "1

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     181

 

'charge you to consider it carefully when you think to

strike me down."

 

I thought there was need for nothing more, though

something within me longed to cry out at them all, to

claim myself inviolate. It was not true. Kings and princes

„ are subject to assassination more often than death from old

^ age. And yet I thought it unlikely more would strike now,

rafter what had just occurred.

 

|f 1 looked at the body. It resembled that of a child within

^ the womb, for I had seen a stillbirth once; the arms were

 

! wrapped around the double-up knees, fingers clawed. The

feet were rigid in their boots. Zared's head was twisted on

his neck and his eyes were open. Staring. I thought I

might get myself the reputation of a man surrounding

, himself with shapechangers and Ellasian sorcerers, and I

 

fought it just as well. Let any man who thought to slay

 

|llis king think twice upon the subject.

 

^ "Go," I said, more quietly. "There are yet battles to be

 

I'fought, and winejugs to be emptied."

 

| I saw the smiles. I heard the low-voiced comments.

 

'What they had seen would not be forgotten, used instead

| to strengthen existing stories. They would drink them-

 

: selves to sleep discussing the subject of death, but at least

 

.they would sleep. I thought it unlikely I would.

 

g, I touched Lachlan on the shoulder. "It was best."

 

P But he did not look at me. He looked only at my sister

 

iwhile she stared at Zared's corpse.

 

, "Does it please you," asked Finn, "to know how much

 

;the woman desires your death?"

 

I spun around. He was pale and sweating, white around

I the mouth, and his lips were pressed tightly closed. I saw

| immense tension in the line of his shoulders. The stitches

I-stood out like a brand upon his face. He stood with such

frigidity I dared not touch him, even to help, for fear he

I-might fall down.

 

| "It does not please me," I answered simply. "But it

|does not surprise me, either. Did you really think it

||would?" I shook my head. "Still ... I had not known she

 

^neld such power."

 

f- "She is Tynstar's meijha," Finn said clearly. "A whore,

 

l.to keep from dirtying the Old Tongue with her name. Do

 

182 Jennifer Roberson

 

you think she will let you live? Be not so blind. Carillon—

you have now seen what she can do. She will fill your cup

with bitter poison when you think to drink it sweet."

 

"Why?" Torry asked sharply. "What is it you say to my

brother?"

 

I lifted a hand to wave him into silence, then let it drop

back to my side. Finn would never let silence rule his

tongue when there was something he wished to say.

 

"Has he not told you? He means to wed the woman."

 

The robe enveloped her in a cloud of bright green wool

as she came from the tent to me. Her hair spilled down

past her waist to ripple at her knees, and she raised a

doubled fist. "You will do no such thing! Electra? Carillon—

have sense! You have seen what she means to do—Electra

desires your death!"

 

"So does Bellam and Tynstar and every other Solindish-

man in Homana. Do you think I am blind?" I reached out

and caught her wrist. "I mean to wed her when this war is

done, because to do so will settle peace between two lands

that have warred too long. Such things are often done, as

you well know. But now, Tourmaline, now—perhaps we

can make it last."

 

"Alliance?" she asked. "Do you think Solinde will agree

to any such thing? With Bellam dead—"

 

"—Solinde will be without a king," I finished. "She

will have me instead, and no more Ihlini minions. Think

you what Shaine meant to do when he betrothed Lindir

to Ellic! He wanted a lasting peace that would end these

foolish wars. Now it is within my grasp to bring this peace

about, and I have every intention of accomplishing it. I

will wed Electra, just as you, one day, will wed a foreign

prince."

 

Her arm went slack in my hand. Color drained from her

face. "Carillon—wait you—"

 

"We will serve our House, Tourmaline, as all our ances-

tors have done," I said clearly. "Shall I name them for

you? Shaine himself wed Ellinda of Erinn, before he took

Homanan Lorsilla. And before that—"

 

"I know\" she cried. "By the gods. Carillon. I am older

than you! But what gives you the right to say whom I will

have in marriage!"

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    183

 

"The right of a brother," I said grimly, disliking to hurt

her so. "The right of the last surviving male of our House.

But most of all ... the right of the Mujhar."

 

Her arm was still slack in my hand. And then it tight-

ened and she twisted it free of my grasp. "Surely you will

let me have some choice—"

 

"Could I do it, I would," I said gently. "But it is the

Mujhar of Homana the envoys will approach, not his spin-

ster sister." I paused, knowing how much I hurt her, and

knowing whom she wanted, even as he heard me. "Did

you think yourself free of such responsibility?"

 

"No," she said finally. "No - . . not entirely. But it

seems somewhat precipitate to discuss whom I will wed

" when you still lack the Lion Throne."

:,   "That is a matter of time." I rubbed at my aching brow

•:. and shifted my attention to Finn. "If I give you an order,

. wi\\ you obey it?"

 

^   One black brow rose slightly. "That is the manner of my

k service . . . usually."

 

,€   "Then go to the Keep as soon as you are able." He

IK opened his mouth to protest, but this time 1 won. "I am

y sending Torry, so she will be safe and free of such things

^' as she has encountered tonight." I-did not say she would

4 also be separated from Lachlan, whom I thought might

'•'r offer too much succor for his sake as well as hers. "You I

^'want healed," I went on. "Alix will no doubt wish to

I'' return to Donal, so she can give Torry proper escort.

^itemain until you are fully recovered. And there, my liege

^man, is the order."

 

„,'  He was not pleased with it, but he did not protest. I

^•had taken that freedom from him. And then, before I

^ could put out a hand to aid him as I intended, he turned

~ ."and limped away.

 

S3

 

;/ The wind rippled Torry's hair as we watched him go. I

^ .heard surprise and awe in her voice, and recalled she

i^fenew little of the Cheysuli. Only the legends and lays.

^'That," she said, "is strength. And such pride as I have

l^iever seen."

 

I smiled. That." I said merely, "is Finn."

 

SIXTEEN

 

It was bright as glass as I sat outside my pavilion, and the

sunlight beat off my head. I sat on a three-legged camp-

stool with my legs spread, Cheysuli sword resting across

my thighs. I squinted against the brilliant flashes of the

mirrored blade and carefully checked its edges. From

elsewhere, close by, drifted the curl of Lachlan's music.

 

Come, lady, and sit down beside me,

 

settle your skirts in the hollowed green hills

 

and hear of my song

 

for 1 am a harper

 

and one who would give of himself

 

to you.

 

Rowan stood at my right, waiting for my comment. He

had spent hours honing and cleaning the blade. At first I

had not thought to set him to the task, for in Caledon I

had learned to tend my weapons as I tended my life, but

this was not Caledon. This was Homana, and I must take

on the behaviors of a king. Such things included in that

were having men to tend my weapons, mail and horse.

Still, it had been only this morning that I had trusted my

sword to another.

 

The ruby, the Mujhar's Eye, glowed brilliantly in the

pommel. The gold prongs holding it in place curved snuggly

around it, like lion's claws; apropos, I thought, since it

 

I 184 I

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    185

 

was the royal crest. The rampant beast depicted in the hilt

gleamed with a thorough cleaning, and I thought overall it

would do. I touched fingertips to the runes, feeling the

subtle ridges beneath my flesh, and nodded. "Well done,

Rowan. You should have been an arms-master."

 

"I prefer being a captain," he said, "so long as it is you I

serve,"

 

I smiled and used a soft cloth to rub the oil of my

fingers from the glory of the steel. "I am not a god,

Rowan. I am as human as you."

 

"I know that." Some of his awe had faded, that was

obvious. "But given the choice, I would continue to serve

(he Mujhar. Human or not," I glanced up and saw his

smile.

 

A thin veil of dust hung in the air to layer the men who

caused it. I heard the sound of arms-practice, wrestling,

argument and laughter. But I also heard the harp, and

Lachlan's eloquent voice.

 

Come, lady, and hear of my harp;

 

I wiU sing for you, play for you,

wait for you, pray for you

to say you love me, too,. . .

as much as I love you.

 

I lifted my swordbelt from the ground and set the tip of

 

the blade against the lip of the sheath. Slowly I slid it

ithome, liking the violent song. Steel against leather, boiled

 

and wrapped; the hissing of blade against sheath. Better, I

 

thought, than the chopping of blade hacking flesh or the

. grate of steel against bone.

 

"Hallooo the camp!" called a distant voice. "A message

 

from Bellam!"

 

The dust cloud rolled across the encampment. Four

..men rode in: three were guards, the fourth a Homanan I

^had seen only once before, when I had set him to his task.

' The guards brought him up, taking away his horse as he

; jumped from the mount and dropped to one knee in a

 

quick, impatient gesture of homage. His eyes sparkled

-.with excitement as I motioned him up. "My lord, I have

t:word from Mujhara."

 

186 Jennifer Roberson

 

"Say on."

 

"It is Bellam, my lord. He desires a proper battle, two

armies in the field, with no more time and blood spent in

pointless skirmishes." He grinned; he knew what I would

say.

 

I smiled. "Pointless, are they? So pointless now he begs

me hold back my men, because we have undermined his

grip upon Homana. So pointless he wishes to settle the

thing at last." I felt the leap of anticipation within my

chest. At last. At last. "Is there more?"

 

He was winded, trying to catch his breath. I had taken

up the practice of posting men in relays along the major

roads, ostensibly itemerants or crofters or traders; any-

thing but soldiers. Some had even been sent to Mujhara

to leam what they could firsthand, and to expand on the

insight Lachlan had given us as to Bellam's mind.

 

"My lord," the man said, "it seems Bellam is angry and

impatient. He is determined to bring you down. He chal-

lenges you, my lord, to a battle near Mujhara. A final

battle, he claims, to end the thing at last."

 

"Does he?" I grinned at Rowan, "No doubt there were

assorted insults to spice these words of his."

 

The messenger laughed. "But of course, my lord! What

else does a beaten man do? He blusters and shouts and

threatens, because he knows his strength is failing." Color

stood high in his face. "My lord Carillon, he claims you

fight such skirmishes because you are incapable of com-

manding an entire army within a proper battle. That you

rely on the Cheysuli to ensorcel his patrols, having no skill

yourself. My lord—do we fight?"

 

His eagerness was manifest. I saw others gathering near;

 

not so close as to intrude, but close enough to hear my

answer. I did not mind. No doubt all my men felt some of

the impatience that nipped at Bellam's heels.

 

"We will fight," I agreed, rising from my stool. The

cheer went up at once. "Seek you food and rest, and

whatever wine you prefer. Tonight we will feast to Bellam's

defeat, and tomorrow we shall plan."

 

He bowed himself away and went off to do my bidding.

Others hastened away as well to spread the word, I knew

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    187

 

the army grapevine would do what I could not, which was

speak to every man- There were too many now.

 

Rowan sighed. "My lord—it is well. Even I would relish

a battle."

 

"Though you may die in it?"

 

"There is that chance each time I lead a raid," he

answered. "What difference to me whether I die with

twenty men or two hundred? Or even twenty thousand?"

 

The hilt of my sword was warm against my palm and the

royal ruby glowed. "What difference, indeed?" I stared

across the encampment with its knots of clustered men.

"Is a Mujhar's strength measured by the number of men

whose blood is spilled—or merely that it spills?" Then I

frowned and shook the musing away. "Find me Duncan.

Last I saw, he was with Finn, now that his brother is back.

There are things we must discuss."

 

Rowan nodded and went off at once. I buckled on my

swordbelt and turned to go inside my pavilion, intending

to study my maps, but I paused instead and lingered.

 

Come, lady, and taste of my wine,

 

eat of my fruit

 

and hear of my heart,

 

for I long for you, cry" for you,

 

ache for you, hate for you

 

to say you will not come.

 

I grimaced and scrubbed fingers through my beard to

scratch my tight-set jaw. It was not Tony who was saying

she would not come, but her brother commanding it. And

in the eight weeks since 1 had sent her to the Keep,

Lachlan had kept himself to his thoughts and his Lady,

forgoing the confidences we once had shared.

 

"A fool," I muttered. "A fool to look so high". . . and

surely a harper knows it."

 

Perhaps he had, once. He had spent his time with

kings. But a man cannot always choose where he will love,

no more than a princess may choose what man she will

wed.

 

The harpsong died down into silence. I stood outside

 

188 Jmntfur Robwon

 

my pavilion and heard the hissing of the wind across

the sandy, beaten ground. And then I cursed and went

inside.

 

"Carillon."

 

It was Finn at the doorflap, but when I called to him to

enter, he merely pulled the flap aside. He stood mostly in

shadow with the darkness of fall night behind him.

 

I sat up, awake at once—for I had hardly slept in the

knowledge I would face Bellam at last—and lighted my

single candle. I looked at Finn and frowned. Of a sudden

he was alien to me, eerie in his intensity.

 

"Bring your sword and come."

 

I glanced at the sword where it lay cradled in its sheath.

It waited for me now as much as it waited for the morning;

 

the morning. And, knowing Finn did nothing without

sound reason, I put on my boots and stood up, fully

clothed as was common in army camps. "Where?" I pulled

the sword from its sheath.

 

"This way." He said nothing more, merely waited for

me to follow. And so I went with him, following Storr, to

the hollow of a hill. We left the encampment behind, a

dim, smoky glow across the crest of the hill, and I waited

for Finn to explain.

 

He said nothing at first. I saw him look down at the

ground, searching for some mark or other indication, and

then I saw it even as he did.

 

Five smooth stones, set in a careful circle. He smiled

and knelt, touching each stone with a fingertip as if he

counted, or made himself known to all five. He said some-

thing under his breath, some unknown sentence; the Old

Tongue, and more obscure than usual. This was not the

Finn I knew.

 

Kneeling, he glanced up. Up and up, until he tipped

back his head. It was the sky he stared at, the black night

sky with its carpet of shining stars, and the wind blew his

hair from his face. I saw again the livid scar as it snaked

across cheek and jaw, but I also saw something more. I

saw a man gone out of himself to some place far beyond.

 

"Ja'hai,"he said. "Ja'hai, cheysu, Mujhar."

 

The wolf walked once around the circle. I saw the

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    189

 

•mber glint of his eyes. Finn glanced at him briefly with

the unfocused detachment of fir-speech, and I wondered

what was said.

 

The night was cool. The wind blew grit against my face,

catching in my beard. I put one hand to my mouth,

intending to wipe my lips clean, but Finn made a gesture

( had never seen and I stopped moving altogether, I

looked up, as he did, and saw the garland of stars-

Five of them. In a circle. Like a torque around a wom-

an's neck. A moment before they had been five among

many, lost in the brilliance of thousands, and now they

stood apart.

 

Finn touched each stone again with a gentle fingertip.

Then he placed one palm -flat against the earth as if he

gave—or sought—a blessing, and touched the other hand

to his heart.

 

'Trust me." I realized this time he spoke to me.

 

It took me a moment to answer. The very stillness made

me hesitate. "When have I not trusted you?"

 

"Trust me." I saw the blackness of his eyes, swollen in

die darkness.

 

I swallowed down my foreboding. "Freely. My life is

yours."

 

He did not smile. "Your life has ever been mine. For

now, the gods have set me a farther task ..." For a

moment he closed his eyes. In the moonlight his face was

all hollows and planes, leached free of its humanity. He

was a shadow-wraith before me, hunched against the

ground. "You know what we face tomorrow." His eyes

were on my face. "You know the odds are great. You know

f also, of course, that should we fail—and Bellam keeps

' Homana—it is the end of the Cheysuli race."

 

'The Homanans—"

 

"I do not speak of Homanans." Finn's tone was very

; distant. "We speak now of the Cheysuli, and the gods who

" made this place. There is no time for Homanans."

 

"/ am Homanan—"

 

"You are a part of our prophecy." For a moment he

smiled the old, ironic smile. "Doubtless you would prefer

 

•- it otherwise, given a choice—no more than 1, Carillon—

; but there is none. If you die tomorrow; if you die within a

 

190

 

week in Bellam's battles, Homana and the Cheysuli die

with you."

 

I felt the slow churning in my belly. Finn—you set a

great weight upon my shoulders. Do you wish to bow me

down?"

 

"You are Mujhar," he said softly. "That is the nature of

the task."

 

I shifted uneasily. "What is it you would have me do?

Strike a bargain with the gods? Only tell me the way."

 

There was no answering smile. "No bargain," he said.

"They do not bargain with men. They offer; men take, or

men refuse. Men all too often refuse." He set one hand

against the ground and thrust himself to his feet. The

earring winked in the moonlight. "What I tell you this

night is not what men prefer to hear, particularly kings.

But 1 tell you because of what we have shared together

. , . and because it will make a difference."

 

I took a deep, slow breath. Finn was—not Finn. And

yet I knew no other name. "Say on, then."

 

"That sword." He indicated it briefly. "The sword you

hold is Cheysuli-made, by Hale, myjehan. For the Mujhar

it was said he made it, and yet in the Keep we knew

differently." His face was very solemn. "Not for Shaine,

though Shaine was the one who bore it. Not for you, to

whom Shaine gave it on your acclamation. For a Mujhar,

it is true . . . but a Cheysuli Mujhar, not Homanan."

 

"I have heard something of the sort before," I said

grimly. "It seems these words—or similar ones—have been

often in Duncan's mouth."

 

"You fight to save Homana," Finn said. "We fight to

save Homana as well, and the Cheysuli way of life. There

is the prophecy. Carillon. I know—" he lifted a hand as I

sought to speak— "I know, it is not something to which

you pay mind. But I do; so do we all who have linked with

the lir." His eyes were on Storr, standing so still and

silent in the night. "It is the truth. Carillon. One day a

man of all blood shall unite, in peace, four warring realms

and two magic races." He smiled. "Your bane, it appears,

judging by your expression."

 

"What are you leading to?" I was grown impatient with

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    191

 

his manner. "What has the prophecy to do with this

 

sword?"

 

"That sword was made for another. Hale knew it when

 

he fashioned the blade from the star-stone. And the prom-

ise was put in there." His fingers indicated the runes

running down the blade. "A Cheysuli sword, once made,

waits for the hand it was made for, That hand is not yours,

and yet you will carry the sword into battle."

 

I could not suppress the hostility in my tone. "Cheysuli

sufferance?" I demanded. "Does it come to this again?"

 

"Not sufferance," he said. "You serve it well, and it has

kept you alive, but the time draws near when it will live in

another man's hands."

 

"My son's," I said firmly. "What I have will be my

son's. That is the nature of inheritance."

 

"Perhaps so," he agreed, "do the gods intend it."

 

"Finn—"

 

"Lay down the sword, Carillon."

 

I faced him squarely in the darkness. "Do you ask me to

give it up?" I weighted my words with care. "Do you

mean to take it from me?"

 

"That is not for me to do. When the sword is given over

to the man for whom it was made, it will be given freely."

For a moment he said nothing, as if listening to his words,

and then he smiled. Briefly he touched my arm with a

gesture of comradeship I had seen only rarely before.

"Lay down the sword. Carillon. This night it belongs to

the gods."

 

I bent. I set the sword upon the ground, and then I rose

again. It lay gleaming in the moonlight: gold and silver

and crimson.

 

"Your knife," Finn said.

 

And so he disarmed me. I stood naked and alone, for all

I had a warrior and wolf before me, and waited for the

answers. I thought there might be none; Finn only rarely

divulged what was in his mind, and this night I thought it

unlikely I would get anything from him. I waited.

 

He held the knife in his hand, the hand which had

fashioned the weapon. A Cheysuli long-knife with its wolfs-

head hilt; no Homanan weapon, this. And then I under-

stood.

 

192 Jennifer Roberson

 

This night he was all Cheysuli, more so than ever be-

fore. He put off his borrowed Homanan manners like a

soldier slipping his cloak. No more the Finn I knew but

another, quieter soul. He was full of his gods and magic,

and did I not acknowledge what he was I would doubtless

regret it at once. As it was, I had not seen him so often in

such a way as to lose my awe of him.

 

Suddenly I stood alone on the plains of Homana with a

shapechanger waiting before me, and I knew myself afraid.

 

He caught my left wrist in one hand. Before I could

speak he bared the underside to the gods and cut deeply

into the flesh.

 

I hissed between my teeth and tried to pull back the

arm. He held me tightly, clamping down on the arm so

that my hand twitched and shook with the shock of the

cutting.

 

I had forgotten his strength, his bestial determination

that puts all my size to shame. He held me as easily as a

father holds a child, ignoring my muttered protest. He

forced my arm down and held it still, and then he loos-

ened his fingers to let the blood well free and fast.

 

It ran down my wrist to pool in my palm, then dropped

off the rigid fingers. Finn held the arm over the patch of

smooth earth with its circle of five smooth stones.

 

"Kneel." A pressure on the captive wrist led me down-

ward, and I knelt as he had ordered.

 

Finn released my wrist. It ached dully and I felt the

blood still coursing freely. I lifted my right hand to clamp

the cut closed, but the look on Finn's face kept me from

it. There was more he wanted of me.

 

He took up my sword from the ground and stood before

me. "We must make this yours, for a time," he said

gently. "We will borrow it from the gods. For tomorrow,

for Homana . . . you must have a little magic." He pointed

at the bloodied soil. 'The blood of the man, the flesh of

the earth. United in one purpose—" He thrust the sword

downward until the blade bit into the earth, sliding in as if

he sheathed it, until the hilt stood level with my face as I

knelt. The clean, shining hilt with its ruby eye set so

firmly in the pommel. "Put your hand upon it."

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    193

 

Instinctively I knew which hand. My left, with its bloody

glove.

 

I touched the hilt. I touched the rampant lion. I touched

the red eye with the red of my blood, and closed my hand

v upon it.

 

The blood flowed down the hilt to the crosspiece and

then down upon the blade. The runes filled up, red-black

in the silver moonlight, until they spilled over. I saw the

scarlet ribbon run down and down to touch the earth

where it merged with the blood-dampened soil, and the

ruby began to glow.

 

It filled my eyes with crimson fire, blinding me to the

world. No more Finn, no more me . . . only incarnadine

fire.

 

"ja'hai," Finn whispered unevenly, "ja'hai, cheysu,

Mujhar ..."

 

Five stars. Five stones. One sword. And one battle to

be won.

",   The stars moved. They broke free of their settings and

 

•.moved against the sky, growing brighter, trailing tails of

fire behind them. They shot across the sky, arcing, like

arrows loosed from bows, heading toward the earth. Shoot-

ing stars I had seen, but this was different. This was—"

 

"Gods," I whispered raggedly. "Must a man ever see to

believe?"

 

f  I wavered on my knees. It was Finn who pulled me up

 

- and made me stand, though I feared I would fall down and

 

shame myself. One hand closed over the cut and shut off

, the bleeding. He smiled a moment, and then the eyes

were gone blank and detached, so that I knew he sought

the earth magic.

 

When he took his hand away my wrist was healed,

bearing no scar save the shackle wound from Atvian iron, I

 

• flexed my hand, wiggling my fingers, and saw the familiar

\ twist to Finn's smile. "I told you to trust me."

 

"Trusting you may give me nightmares." Uneasily I

 

*;' glanced at the sky. "Did you see the stars?"

 

'^;  "Stars?" He did not smile. "Rocks," he said. "Only

 

^- rocks."

 

^ He scooped them up and showed me. Rocks they were,

 

194 Jennifer Roberson

 

in his hand, I put out my own and held them, wondering

what magic had been forged.

 

I looked at Finn. He seemed weary, used up, and

something was in his eyes. I could not decipher the ex-

pression. "You will sleep." He frowned in abstraction.

"The gods will see to that."

 

"And you?" I asked sharply.

 

"What the gods give me is my own affair." His eyes

were back on the sky.

 

I thought there was more he wished to say But he shut

his mouth on it, offering nothing, and it was not my place

to ask. So I put my free hand on the upstanding hilt and

closed my fingers around the bloodied gold But I knew,

as I pulled it from the earth, I would not ask Rowan to

clean it.

 

"Rocks," Finn murmured, and turned away with Storr,

 

I opened my hand and looked at the rocks. Five smooth

stones. Nothing more.

 

But I did not drop them to the ground. I kept them,

instead.

 

It was Rowan who held the tall ash staff upright in the

dawn. The mist clung to it; droplets ran down the staff to

wet the fog-dampened ground, as my blood had run down

the sword. The banner hung limply from the top of the

staff; a drapery of crimson cloth that did not move in the

stillness. Within its silken folds slept the rampant black

lion of Homana, mouth agape and claws extended, waiting

for 'ts prey.

 

The tip of the staff bit into the ground as Rowan pushed

it. He twisted, worked the standard into the damp, spongy

ground until the ash was planted solidly. And then he took

his hands away, waiting, and saw it would remain.

 

A cheer went up. A Homanan cheer, the Cheysuli said

nothing They waited on foot at my back, separated from

the Homanans, and their standard was the lir who stood at

their sides or rested on their shoulders.

 

I tasted the flat, dull tang of apprehension tinged with

fear in my mouth. I had never rid myself of the taste, no

matter how many times I had fought. I sat on my horse

with my sword in its sheath, ringmail shrouding my body,

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     195

 

and knew I was afraid. But it was the fear that would drive

me on in an attempt to overcome it, in doing so I would

also, I prayed, overcome the enemy.

 

I turned my back on that enemy. Bellam's troops lay in

wait for us on the plains, the dawning sunlight glittering

off weapons and mail. They were too far to be distinct,

were merely a huge gathering of men prepared to fight.

Thousands upon thousands.

 

I turned my back so 1 could look at my army. It spread

across the hill like a flood of legs and arms and faces.

Unlike Bellam's hordes, we did not all boast ringmail and

boiled leather Many wore what they could of armor, that

being leather bracers, stiff leather greaves and a leather

tunic A breastplate, here" and there; perhaps a toughened

hauberk But many wore only wool, having no better, yet

willing to fight. My army lacked the grandeur of Bellam's

silken-tunicked legions, but we did not lack for heart and

determination.

 

I pulled my sword from its sheath. Slowly I raised it,

then closed my callused hand around the blade, near the

tip. I thrust the weapon upright in the air so that the hilt

was uppermost, and the ruby caught fire from the rising

sun.

 

"Bare your teeth!" I shouted. "Unsheathe your claws!

And let the Lion roar!"

 

SEVENTEEN

 

The sun, I knew, was setting. The field was a mass of

crimson, orange and yellow. But I could not be certain

how much of the crimson was blood or setting sun.

 

The ground was boggy beneath my knees, the dry grass

matted, but I did not get up at once. I remained kneeling,

leaning against my planted sword, as I stared into the

Mujhar's Eye. The great ruby, perhaps, was responsible

for the color Perhaps it painted the plains so red.

 

But I knew better. The field was red and brown and

black with blood, and the dull colors of the dead. Already

carrion birds wheeled and settled in their eternal dance,

crying their victory even as men cried their defeat It was

all merely sound, another sound, to fill my ringing head.

 

The strength was gone from my body. I trembled with a

weakness born of fatigue that filled my bones, turning my

limbs to water. There was nothing left in me save the

vague realization the thing was done, and I was still alive.

 

A step whispered behind me I spun at once, lifting the

sword, and set the point at the man.

 

He stood just out of range, and yet close enough had I

the strength to try for a lunge. I did not. And there was no

need, since Finn was not the enemy.

 

I let the tip of the sword drop away to rest against the

ground. I wet my bloodied lips and wished for a drink of

wine, Better yet: water, to cool my painful throat. My

 

I 196 I

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    197

 

voice was a husky shadow of my usual tone; shouting had

leached it of sound.

 

"It is done," Finn said gently.

 

"I know it." I swallowed and steadied my voice. "I know

it."

 

"Then why do you remain on your knees like a supplicant

to Lachlan's All-Father creature?"

 

"Perhaps I am one . . ." 1 sucked in a belly-deep breath

and got unsteadily to my feet. The exertion nearly put me

down again, and I wavered. Every bone in my body ached

and my muscles were shredded like rags. I shoved a

mailed forearm across my face, scrubbing away the sweat

and blood. And then I acknowledged what I had not dared

say aloud before, or even-within my mind. "Bellam is—

defeated. Homana is mine."

 

"Aye, my lord Mujhar." The tone, as ever, was ironic

and irreverent.

 

I sighed and cast him as much of a scowl as I could

muster. "My thanks for your protection, Finn.' I recalled

how he had shadowed me in the midst of the day-long

battle; how he had let no enemy separate me from the

others. In all the tangle of fighting, I had never once been

left alone.

 

He shrugged. "The blood-oath does bind me . . ." Then

he grinned openly and made a fluid gesture that said he

understood. Too often we said nothing to one another

because there was no need.

 

And then he put out a hand and gripped my arm, and I

accepted the accolade in silence only because I had not

die words to break it.

 

"Did you think we would see it?" I asked at last.

 

"Oh, aye. The prophecy—"

 

I cut him off with a wave of one aching arm, "Enough.

Enough of the thing. I grow weary of your prating of this

and that." I sighed and caught my breath. "Still, there is

Mujhara to be freed. Our liberation is not yet finished."

 

"Near enough," Finn said quietly. "I have come to take

you to Bellam."

 

I looked at him sharply. "You have him?"

 

"Duncan—has him. Come and see."

 

We walked through the battlefield slowly. All around

 

198 Jennifer Robercon

 

me lay the pall of death; the stench of fear and futility.

Men had been hacked and torn to pieces, struck down by

swords and spears alike. Arrows stood up from their flesh.

Birds screamed and shrieked as we passed, taking wing to

circle and return as we passed by their bounty. And the

men, enemy and companion alike, lay sprawled in the

obscene intercourse of death upon the matted, bloody

grass.

 

I stopped. I looked at the sword still clutched in my

hand- The Cheysuli sword. Hale-made, with its weight of

burning ruby. The Mujhar's Eye. Or was it merely my

eye, grown bloody from too much war?

 

Finn put his hand on my shoulder. When I could, I

sheathed the sword and went on.

 

Duncan and Rowan, along with a few of my captains,

stood atop a small hill upon which stood the broken

shaft of Bellam's standard, trampled in the dust. White

sun rising on an indigo field. But Bellam's sun had

set.

 

He was quite dead. But of such a means I could not

name, so horrible was his state. He was no longer pre-

cisely a man.

 

Tynstar. I knew it at once. What I did not know was the

reason for the death. And probably never would.

 

It—Bellam was no longer recognizably male—was curled

tightly as if it were a child as yet unborn. The clothes and

mail had been burned and melted off. Ash served as a

cradle for the thing. Ringmail, still smoking from its

ensorcelled heat, lay clumped in heaps of cooling metal.

The flesh was drawn up tightly like brittle, untanned hide.

Chin on knees; arms hugging legs; nose and ears melted

off. Bellam grinned at us all from his lipless mouth, but his

eyes were empty sockets.

 

And on the blackened skull rested a circlet of purest

gold.

 

When I could speak again without phlegm and bile

scraping at my throat, I said two words: "Bury it."

 

"My lord," Rowan ventured, "what do you do now?"

 

"Now?" I looked at him and tried to smile. "Now I will

go into Mujhara to claim my throne at last."

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA I 199

 

"Alone?" He was shocked. "Now?"

"Now," I said, "but not alone. With me go the Cheysuli."

 

We met token resistance in the city. Solindish soldiers

with their Atvian allies still fought to protect their stolen

palace, but word spread quickly of Bellam's death and the

grisly manner of it. It wondered at Tynstar's decision;

 

surely the Solindish would hate and fear him for what he

had done. Had he not broken the traditional bond be-

tween Bellam and the Ihlini? Or would the sorcery prove

stronger even than fear, and drive the Solindish to follow

him still?

 

The resistance at Homana-Mujhar broke quickly enough.

I left behind the bronze-and-timber gates, dispatching

Cheysuli and lir into the interior of the myriad baileys and

wards to capture the turrets and towers along the walls,

the rose-colored walls of Homana-Mujhar. I dismounted

by the marble steps at the archivolted entrance and went

up one step at a time, sword bare in my hand. By the

gods, this place was mine . . .

 

By the gods, indeed. I thought of the stars again.

 

Finn and Duncan were a few steps behind me and with

them came their lir. And then, suddenly, I was alone.

Before me stood the hammered silver doors of the Great

Hall itself. I heard fighting behind me but hardly noticed;

 

before me lay my tahlvwrra.

 

I smiled. Tahlmorra. Aye. I thought it was. And so I

threw open the doors and went in.

 

The memories crashed around me like falling walls.

Brick by brick by brick. I recalled it all—

 

—Shaine, standing on the marble dais, thundering his

displeasure . , . Alix there as well, beckoning Cai within

the hall, and the great hawk's passage extinguishing all the

candles. . . . Shaine again, my uncle, defying the Cheysuli

within the walls they built so long ago, destroying the

magic that kept the ihlini out and alhwing Homana's

defeat. . . My hand tightened on my sword. By the gods,

I did recall that defeat!

 

I went onward toward the dais. I ignored the Solindish

coats-of-arms bannering the walls and the indigo draperies

with Bellam's crest. I walked beside the unlighted firepit

 

200 JfinlfT Roberwon

 

as it stretched the length of the hall with its lofty hammer-

beamed ceiling of honey-dark wood and its carven animal

shapes. No, not animal shapes. Lir-shapes. The Cheysuli

had gone from carving the lir into castles to painting them

onto pavilions. The truth had been here for years, even

when we called them liars.

 

I stopped before the dais. The marble, so different from

the cold gray stone of the hall floor, was light-toned, a

warm rose-pink with veins of gold within it. A proper

pedestal, I thought, for the throne that rested on it.

 

The Lion. It hunched upon its curling paws and claws,

its snarling face the headpiece upon the back of the throne.

Dark, ancient wood, gleaming with beeswax and gilt within

the scrollwork. Gold wire banded the legs. The seat was

cushioned in crimson silk with its rampant black lion walk-

ing in its folds. That much Bellam had not changed. He

had left the lion alone.

 

My lion; my Lion.

 

Or was it?

 

I turned, and he stood where I expected.

 

"Yours?" I asked. "Or mine?"

 

Duncan did not attempt to dissemble or pretend to

misunderstand. He merely sheathed his bloodied knife,

folded his arms, and smiled. "It is yours, my lord. For

 

now.

 

I heard the shouts of fighting behind him. Duncan stood

j'ust inside the open doorway, framed by the silver leaves.

His black hair hung around his shoulders, bloody and

sweaty like mine, and he bore bruises on his face. But

even for all the soiling of his leathers and the smell of

death upon him, he outshone the hall he stood in.

 

The breath rasped in my throat. To come so far and

know myself so insignificant— "The throne," I said hoarsely,

"is meant for a Cheysuli Mujhar. You have said."

 

"One day," he agreed. "But that day will come when

you and I are dead."

 

"Then it is like this sword—" I touched the glowing

ruby. "Made for another man."

 

"The Firstborn come again." Duncan smiled, "There is

a while to wait for him."

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    201

 

A soft, sibilant whisper intruded itself upon us- "And

shall you wait a while for me?"

 

I spun around, jerking my sword from its sheath. Tynstar,

^ Tynstar, came gliding out of the alcove so near the throne.

 

He put up his hand as Duncan moved. "Do not,

shapechanger! Stay where you are, or I will surely slay

him." He smiled. "Would it not grieve you to know you

* have lost your Mujhar the very day you have brought him

1 to the throne?"

 

He had not changed. The ageless Ihlini was smiling. His

bearded face was serene, untroubled, his hair was still

thick—black touched with silver. He wore black leathers,

and bore a silver sword.

 

I felt all the fear and rage"and frustration well up within

my soul. It was ever Tynstar, enforcing his will; playing

with us like toys.

 

"Why did you slay Bellam?" When I had control of my

voice, I asked.

 

"Did I?" He smiled. He smiled.

 

I thought, suddenly, of Zared, and how he had died.

How Lachlan had harped him to death upon his Lady. I

recalled quite clearly how Zared's corpse had looked, all

doubled up and shrunken, as Bellara's had been.

 

For only a moment, I wondered. And then I knew

better than to let Tynstar bait me. "Why?"

 

An eloquent shrug of his shoulders. "He was—used up.

I had no more need of him. He was—superfluous." A

negligent wave of the hand relegated Bellam to nonexist-

ence. But I recalled his body and the manner of his going.

 

"What more?" 1 asked in suspicion. "Surely there was

more."

 

Tynstar smiled and his black eyes held dominion. On

one finger gleamed a flash of blue-white fire. A ring. A

crystal set in silver. "More," he agreed. "A small matter of

a promise conveniently forgotten- Bellam was foolish enough

to desire an Ellasian prince for his lovely daughter, when

she was already given to me." Amusement flickered across

' the cultered, guileless face. "But then, I did tell him he

would die if he faced you this day. There are times your

gods take precedence over my own."

 

The sword was in my hand. I wanted so to strike with it,

 

202 JannlfT Robot-son

 

and yet for the moment I could not. I had another weapon.

"Electra," I said. "Your light woman, I have heard. Well,

I shall forget her past while I think of her future—as my

wife and Queen of Homana."

 

Anger glittered in his eyes. "You will not take Electra to

wife.'

 

"I will." I raised the sword so he could see the glowing

ruby. "How will you stop me, when even the gods send

me aid?"

 

Tynstar smiled. And then, even as I thrust, he reached

out and caught the blade. "Die," he said gently. "I am

done with our childish games."

 

The shock ran through my arm to my shoulder. The

blade had struck flesh, and yet he did not bleed. Instead

he turned the sword into a locus for his power and sent it

slashing through my body.

 

I was hurled back against the throne, nearly snapping

my spine. The sword was gone from my hand. Tynstar

held it by the blade, the hilt lifted before my eyes, and I

saw the ruby go dark.

 

"Shall I turn this weapon against you?" His black eyes

glittered as brightly as his crystal ring- "I have only to

touch you—gently—with this stone, and poor Carillon's

reign is done."

 

The sword came closer. My sword, that now served

him. I slid forward to my knees, intending to dive and

roll, but Tynstar was too fast.

 

And yet he was not. Even as the ruby, now black and

perverted, touched my head, a knife flew home in Tynstar's

shoulder. Duncan's, thrown from the end of the hall. And

now Duncan was following the blade.

 

I found myself face-down against the marble. Somehow

I had fallen, and the sword lay close at hand. But the

ruby, once so brilliant, now resembled Tunstar's eyes.

 

Duncan's leap took Tynstar down against the dais, not

far from where I lay. But Tynstar struggled up again, and

Duncan did not. He lay, stunned by the force of his

landing, sprawled across the steps. One bare brown arm

with its gleaming far-band stretched across the marble,

gold on gold, and blood was staining the floor.

 

"Tynstar!"

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    203

 

It was Finn, pounding the length of the hall, and I saw

the knife in his hand. How apropos, I thought, that Tynstar

would die by a royal Homanan blade.

 

But he did not die. Even as Finn raced toward him, the

Ihlini pulled Duncan's knife from his shoulder and hurled

it down. Then he sketched a hurried rune in the air,

wrapped himself in lavender mist, and simply disappeared.

 

I swore and tried to thrust myself upright, I failed

miserably, flopping hard against the dais. And so I gave up

and lay there, trying to catch my breath, as Finn knelt

beside his brother.

 

Duncan muttered something. I saw him press himself

up off the floor, then freeze, and it was Finn who kept him

from falling. "A rib, I think," Duncan said between tight-

locked teeth. "I will live, rujho."

 

"All this blood—"

 

"Tynstar's " Duncan winced as he settled himself upon

the top step, one hand pressed to his chest. "The knife

was mostly spent by the time it reached him, or he surely

would have died." He glanced at me briefly, then ges-

tured to his brother. "Finn—see to Carillon."

 

Finn heaved me up into a sitting position and leaned

me against the throne. One curving, clawed paw sup-

ported my head. "1 thought perhaps I could slay him," I

explained, "and save us all the worry of knowing he is

free."

 

Finn picked up the sword. I saw the color spill out of

his face as he looked at the ruby. The black ruby. "He did

this?"

 

"Something did." I swallowed against the weariness in

my bones. "He put his hand on the blade and the stone

turned black, as you see it."

 

"He used it to fix his power," Duncan said. "All of

Carillon's will and strength was sucked out through the

sword, then fed back with redoubled effect. It carried the

sorcery with it." He frowned. "Rujho, the sword has ever

been merely a sword. But for it to become accessible to

Ihlini magic, it had to have its own. What do you know of

this?"

 

Finn would not meet Duncan's eyes. I stared at him in

 

204 Jennifer Robwon

 

astonishment, trying to fathom his emotions, but he had

put up his shield against us all.

 

"Rujho," Duncan said more sharply. "Did you seek the

star magic?"

 

"He found it. He found something." I shrugged, "Five

stones, and blood, and the stars fell out of the sides. He

said—" I paused, recalling the words exactly, "—ja'hai,

cheysu, Mujhar."

 

Duncan's bruised face went white. At first I thought it

was fear, and then I saw it was anger. He spat something

out in the Old Tongue, something unintelligible to me—

which I thought best, judging by the fury in his tone.

Having never seen Duncan so angry, I was somewhat

fascinated by it. And pleased, very pleased, I was not the

focus of it.

 

Finn made a chopping motion with his right hand, a

silencing gesture I had seen only rarely, for it was consid-

ered rude. It did not have much effect on Duncan.

 

He did not shout. He spoke quietly enough, but with

such violence in his tone that it was all the more effective.

I shifted uneasily against the throne and thought to inter-

rupt, but it was not my afiair. It had become a thing

between brothers.

 

Finn stood up abruptly. Still he held the sword, and the

ruby gleamed dull and black. Even the runes seemed

tarnished. "Enough!" he shouted, so that it echoed in the

hall. "Do you seek to strip me entirely of my dignity? I

admit I was wrong—I admit it!—but there is no more

need to remind me. I did it because I had to."

 

"Had to!" Duncan glared at him, very white around the

mouth, yet blotched from pain and anger. "Had the gods

denied you—what then? What would we have done for a

king?"

 

"King?" I echoed, seeing I had some stake in this fight

after all. "What are you saying, Duncan?"

 

Finn made the chopping motion again. And again Duncan

ignored it. "He asked the gods for the star magic. I am

assuming they granted it, since you are still alive."

 

"Still alive^" I sat up straighter. "Do you say I could

have died?"

 

Duncan was hugging his chest. "It is a thing only rarely

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    205

 

done, and then only because there is no other choice. The

risk is—great. In more than six hundred years, only two men

have survived the ceremony."

 

I swallowed against the sudden dryness in my mouth.

"Three, now."

 

Two." Duncan did not smile. "I was counting you

before."

 

I stared at Finn. "Why?"

 

"We needed it for Homana." He looked at neither of us.

His attention was fixed on the sword he held in his hands.

"We needed it for the Cheysuli."

 

"You needed it for you," Duncan retorted. "You know

as well as I only a warrior related by blood to the maker of

the sword can ask the gods for the magic. It was your

chance to to earn your jehans place. Hale is gone, but

Finn is not. So the son wished to inherit the jehans

power." Duncan looked at me. "The risk was not entirely

your own. Had the petition been denied, the magic would

have struck you both down."

 

I looked at Finn's face. He was still pale, still angered

by Duncan's reaction, and no doubt expecting the worst

from me. I was not certain he did not deserve it.

 

"Why?" I asked again.

 

Still he stared at the stone. "I wanted to," he said, very

low. "All my life I have wanted to ask it. To see if I was

my jehans true son." I saw bitterness twist his face. "I had

less of him than Duncan ... his hu'sala. I wanted what I

could get; to get it, I would take it. So I did. And I would

do it all again, because I know it would succeed."

. "How?" Duncan demanded. 'There is no guarantee."

 

"This time there is. You have only to look at the

prophecy."

 

Silence filled the hall. And then Duncan broke it by

laughing. It was not entirely the sound of humor, but the

tension was shattered at last. "Prophecy," he said. "By the

gods, my rujholli speaks of the prophecy. And speaks to

me gods." He sighed and shook his head. "The first I do

often enough, but the second—oh, the second . . . not for

a bu'sala to do. No. Only a blood-son, not a foster-son."

For a moment Duncan looked older than his years, and

very tired. "I would trade it all to claim myself Hale's

 

206 Jennifer Roberson

 

blood-son. And you offer it up to the gods. A sacrifice. Oh

Finn, will you never learn?"

 

Finn looked at his older brother. Half-brother They

shared only a mother, and yet looking at them I saw the

father in them both, though he had sired only one

 

I said nothing for a long moment. I could think of

nothing to fill the silence. And then I rose at last and took

my sword back from Finn, touching the blackened ruby- I

returned the weapon to my sheath. "The thing is done," I

said finally. "The risk was worth the asking And I would

do it all again "

 

Finn looked at me sharply- "Even knowing?"

 

"Even knowing." I shrugged and sat down in the throne.

"What else was there to do?"

 

Duncan sighed. He put out his hand and made the

familiar gesture, a spread-fingered hand palm-up.

 

I smiled and made it myself.

 

EIGHTEEN

 

•'- I received the Solindish delegation dressed befitting my

 

•/ rank. Gone was the cracked and stained ringmail-and-

T leather armor of the soldier; in its place I wore velvets and

^ brocaded satins of russet and amber. My hair and beard I

.^had had freshly trimmed, smoothed with scented oil; I felt

^.,Bearly a king for the first time in my life.

 

;aK,' I knew, as the six Solindish noblemen paced the length

fc'bf the Great Hall, they were not" seeing the man they

^expected. Nearly seven years before, when Bellam had

^taken Homana, I had been a boy. Tall as a man and as

^"strong, but lacking the toughness of adulthood. It seemed

^.so long ago as I sat upon my Lion. I recalled when

^ Keough's son had divested me of my sword and thrown me

^f into irons. I recalled the endless nights when sleep eluded

"^fliy mind. I recalled my complete astonishment when Alix

&faad come to my aid. And I smiled.

 

^t- The Solindishmen did not understand the smile, but it

X'did not matter. Let them think what they would; let them

y judge me as I seemed. It would all come quite clear in

'time.

 

s' I was not alone within the hall. Purposely I had chosen

^B Cheysuli honor guard. Finn, Duncan and six other war-

?riors ranged themselves on either side of the throne,

treading across the dais. They were solemn-faced. Silent.

/atoning from impassive yellow eyes.

Rowan, who had escorted the Solindish delegation into

 

 

 

 

I 207 I

 

208 Jennifer Roberson

 

the Homanan-bedecked hall, introduced each man Duke

this. Baron that; Solindish titles 1 did not know. He did it

well, did my young Cheysuli-Homanan captain, with the

proper note of neutrality in a tone also touched with

condescension. We were the victors, they the defeated,

and they stood within my palace.

 

Essien. The man of highest rank and corresponding

arrogance. He wore indigo blue, of course, but someone

had picked the crest from the left breast of his silken

tunic. I could see the darker outline ofBellam's rising sun,

a subtle way of giving me insult, so subtle I could do

nothing. Outwardly he did not deny me homage. Did I

protest, he could no doubt blame the coffer-draining war

for the loss of better garments. So I let him have his

rebellion. I could afford it, now.

 

His dark brown hair was brushed smoothly back from a

high forehead, and his hands did not fidget. But his brown

eyes glittered with something less than respect when he

made his bow of homage. "My lord," he said in a quiet

tone, "we come on behalf of Solinde to acknowledge the

sovereignty of Carillon the Mujhar."

 

"You are aware of our terms?"

 

"Of course, my lord." He glanced briefly at the other

five. "It has all been thoroughly discussed. Solinde, as

you know, is defeated. The crown is—uncontested." I saw

the muscles writhe briefly in his jaw. "We have no king

... no Solindish king." His eyes came up to mine and I

saw the bitterness in them. "There is a vacancy, my lord,

which we humbly request you fill."

 

"Does Bellam have no heirs?" I smiled a small, polite

smile that said what I wanted to say. A matter of form,

discussing what all knew. "Ellic has been dead for years,

of course, but surely Bellam had bastards."

 

"Aplenty," Essien agreed grimly. "Nonetheless, none is

capable of rallying support for our cause. There would

be—contention." He smiled thinly "We wish to avoid

such difficulties, now our lord is dead. You have proven—

sufficient—for the task."

 

Sufficient. Essien had an odd way of speaking, spicing

his conversation with pauses and nuances easily under-

stood by one who had the ears to understand it. Having

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    Z09

 

grown up in a king's court surrounded by his advisors and

courtiers, I did.

 

"Well enough," I agreed, when I had made him wait

long enough. "I will continue to be—sufficient—to the

task. But mere was another request we made."

 

Essien's face congested. "Aye, my lord Mujhar. The

question of proper primogeniture." He took a deep breath

mat moved the indigo tunic. "As a token of Solinde's

complete compliance with your newly won overlordship of

our land, we offer the hand of the Princess Electra, Bellam's

only daughter. Bellam's only surviving legitimate child."

His nostrils pinched in tightly. "A son born of Solinde and

Homana would be fit to hold the throne."

 

"Proper primogeniture," I said reflectively. "Well enough,

we will take the lady to wife. You may tell her, for Caril-

lon the Mujhar, that she has one month in which to gather

the proper clothing and household attendants. If she does

not come in that allotted time, we will send the Cheysuli

for her."

 

Essien and the others understood quite clearly. I knew

what they saw: eight warriors clad in leather and barbaric,

shining gold, with their weapons hung about them. Knife

and bow, and lir. They had only to-look at the lir in order

to understand.

 

Essien bowed his head in acknowledgment of my order.

?fi The conversation was finished, it seemed, but I had one

^" final question to ask. "Where is Tynstar?"

S^   Essien's head snapped up. He put one hand to his hair

^ and smoothed it; a habitual, nervous gesture. His throat

i^inoved in a swallow, then again. He glanced quickly to the

^ others, but they offered nothing. Essien had the rank.

^  "I do not know," he said finally, excessively distinct.

 

X- "^° man can ^ wnere tne Ihlmi goes, no man, my lord.

^He merely goes." He offered a thin smile that contained

^•'subtle triumph as well as humor ... at my expense. "No

^ doubt he plans to thwart you how he can, and he will, but

^1 can offer you nothing of what he intends. Tynstar

^is—Tynstar."

 

^ "And no doubt he will be abetted," I said without

.'inflection. "In Solinde, the Ihlini hold power—for now,

 

210 JenrrifT Roberson

 

But their realm—his realm—shall be a shadow of what it

was, for we have the Cheysuli now."

 

Essien looked directly at Finn. "But even in Solinde we

have heard of the thing that dilutes the magic. How it is a

Cheysuli loses his power when faced with an Ihlini." His

eyes came back to me. "Is that not true?"

 

I smiled. "Why not ask Tynstar? Surely he could explain

what there is between the races."

 

I watched his expression closely. I expected—hoped—I

would see the subtleties of his knowledge, betraying what

he knew. He should, if he knew where Tynstar was, give

it away with something in his manner, even remaining

silent. But I saw little of triumph in his eyes. Only a faint

frown, as if he considered something he wished to know,

and realized he could not know it until he discovered the

source. He had not lied.

 

I moved my hand in a gesture of finality- "We will set a

Homanan regency in the city of Lestra. Royce is a trusted,

incorruptible man. He will have sovereignty over Solinde

in our name, representing our House, until such a time as

we have a son to put on the throne. Serve my regent well,

and you will find we are a just lord."

 

Essien shut his teeth. "Aye, my lord Mujhar."

 

"And we send some Cheysuli with him." I smiled at

the Solindman's expression of realization. "Now you may

 

go."

 

They went, and I turned to look at the Cheysuli.

Duncan's smile was slow. "Finn has taught you well."

"And with great difficulty." The grin, crooked as usual,

 

creased the scar on Finn's dark face. "But I think the time

 

spent was well worth it, judging by what I have seen."

I got up from the throne and stretched, cracking the

 

joints in my back. "Electra will not be pleased to hear

 

what I have said."

 

"Electra will not be pleased by anything you have to say

 

or do," Finn retorted. "But then, did you want a quiet

 

marriage I doubt not you could have asked for someone

 

else."

 

I laughed at him, stripping my brow of the golden

 

circlet. It had been Shame's once, crusted with diamonds

 

and emeralds. And now it was mine. "A tedious marriage

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     211

 

is no marriage at all, I have heard." I glanced at Duncan.

"But you would know better than I."

 

For a moment he resembled Finn with the same ironic

grin. Then he shrugged. "Alix has never been tedious."

 

I tapped the circlet against my hand, thinking about the

woman. "She will come," I muttered, frowning. "She will

come, and I will have to be ready for her. It is not as if I

took some quiet little virgin to tremble in my bed . . . this

is Electra-"

 

"Aye," Finn said dryly. "The Queen of Homana, you

make her."

 

I looked at Rowan. He was very silent, but he also

avoided my eyes. The warriors avoided nothing, but I had

never been able to read them when they did not wish it.

As for Duncan and Finn, I knew well enough what they

thought.

 

I wiU take a viper to my bed ... I sighed. But then I

recalled what power that viper had over men in general,

myself in particular, and I could not suppress the tighten-

ing of my loins By the gods, it might be worth risking my

life for one night in her bed . . . well, I would.

 

I looked again at Finn. "It brings peace to Homana."

 

He did not smile. "Whom do you seek to convince?"

 

I scowled and went down the dais steps. "Rowan, come

with me, I will give you the task of fetching my lady

mother from Joyenne as soon as she can travel And there

is Tony to fetch, as well . . . though no doubt Lachlan

would be willing to do it." I sighed and turned back.

"Finn. Will you see to it Torry has escort here?"

 

He nodded, saying nothing, I thought him still disap-

proving of my decision to wed Electra. But it did not

matter. I was not marrying Finn.

 

A sound.

 

Not precisely a noise, merely not silence. A breath of

' sound, subtle and sibilant, and I sat up at once in my bed.

 

My hand went to the knife at my pillow, for even in

Homana-Mujhar I would not set aside the habit. My sword

and knife had been bedfellows for too long; even within

the tester bed I felt unsafe without my weapons. But as I

-jerked the draperies aside and slid out of the bed, I knew

 

212 J*nntfT Robwon

 

myself well taken. No man is proof against Cheysuli

violence.

 

I saw the hawk first. He perched upon a chair back,

unblinking in the light from the glowing torch. The torch

was in Duncan's hand. "Come," was all he said.

 

1 put the knife down. Once again, a Cheysuli sum-

moned me out of the depths of a night. But this one I

hardly knew; what I did know merely made me suspi-

cious. "Where? And why?"

 

He smiled a little. In the torchlight his face was a mask,

lacking definition. His eyes yellowed against the light,

with pinpricks for pupils. The hawk-shaped earring glinted

in his hair. "Would you have me put off my knife?

 

I felt the heat and color running quickly into my face,

"Why?" I retorted, stung. "You could slay me as easily

without."

 

Duncan laughed. "I never thought you would/ear me—"

 

"Not fear, precisely," I answered. "You would never

slay me, not when you yourself have said how important a

link I am in your prophecy. But I do suspect the motives

for what you do,"

 

"Carillon," he chided, "tonight I will make you a king."

 

I felt the prickle in my scalp. "Make me one?" I asked

with elaborate distinctness, "or another?"

 

"Come with me and find out."

 

I put on breeches and shirt, the first things I could find.

And boots, snugged up to my knees. Then I followed him,

even as he bid Cat remain, and went with him as he led

me through my palace.

 

He walked with utter confidence, as a man does who

knows a place well. And yet I knew Duncan had never

spent excess time in Homana-Mujhar. Hale had, I knew,

brought him to the palace at least once, but he had been a

child, too young to know the mazes of hallways and cham-

bers. And yet he went on through such places as if he had

been bom here,

 

He took me, of course, to the Great Hall, And there he

took down a second torch from its bracket on the wall,

lighted it with his own and handed them both to me.

"Where we are going," he said, "it is dark. But there will

be air to breathe."

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    213

 

I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck. But I

refrained from asking him where. And so I watched in

silence and astonishment as he knelt by the firepit rim.

 

He began to pull aside the unlighted logs. Ash floated

up to settle on his hair. Suddenly he was an old man

without the wrinkles, gray instead of black, while the gold

glowed on his arms. I coughed as the ash rose high enough

to clog my nose, and then I sneezed. But Duncan was

done rearranging my firepit quickly enough; he reached

down and caught a ring of iron I had never seen.

 

I scowled, wondering what other secrets Duncan knew

of Homana-Mujhar. And then I watched, setting myself to

be patient, and saw him frown with concentration. It took

both hands and all of his strength, but he jerked the ring

upward.

 

It was fastened to a hinged iron plate that covered a

hole. Slowly he dragged up the plate until the hole lay

open. He leaned the cover, spilling its coating of ash,

against the firepit rim, then grimaced as he surveyed the

ruin of his leathers.

 

I leaned forward to peer into the hole. Stairs. I frowned.

"Where—F

 

"Come and see." Duncan took back his torch and stepped

down into the hole. He disappeared, step by step. Uneas-

ily, I followed.

 

There was air, as he had promised. Stale and musty, but

air. Both torches continued to burn without guttering, so I

knew we would be safe. And so I went down with Dun-

can, wondering how it was he knew of such a place.

 

The staircase was quite narrow, the steps shallow. I had

to duck to keep from scraping my head- Duncan, nearly as

tall, did as well, but I thought Finn would fit. And then I

wished, with the familiar frisson of unease, that he was

with me as well. But no. I had sent him to my sister, and

left myself to his brother's intentions.

 

"Here." Duncan descended two more steps to the end

of the staircase into a shallow stone closet. He put his

fingers to the stone, and I saw the runes, old and green

with dampness and decay. Duncan's brown fingers, now

gray with ash, left smudges on the wall. He traced out the

 

214 J«nnKT Robfson

 

runes, saying something beneath his breath, and then he

nodded. "Here."

 

"What do—" I did not bother to finish. He pressed one

of the stones and then leaned against the wall. A portion of

it grated and turned on edge, falling inward.

 

Another stairway—? No. A room. A vault. I grimaced.

Something like a crypt.

 

Duncan thrust his torch within and looked. Then he

withdrew it and gestured me to go first.

 

I regarded him with distinct apprehension that increased

with every moment.

 

"Choose," Duncan said. "Go in a prince and come out a

Mujhar ... or leave now, and forever know yourself

lacking."

 

"I lack nothing!" I said in rising alarm. "Am I not the

link you speak about?"

 

"A link must be properly forged." He looked past me to

the rising staircase. "There lies your escape. Carillon. But

I think you will not seek it. My rujholli would never serve

a coward or a fool."

 

I bared my teeth in a grin that held little of humor.

"Such words will not work with me, shapechanger. I am

willing enough to name myself both, does it give me a

chance to survive. And unless you slay me, as you have

said you would not do, I will come out of here a Mujhar

even if I do not to into that room." I squinted as my torch

sputtered and danced. "You are not Finn, you see. and for

all I know I should trust you—we have never been easy

with each other."

 

"No," he agreed. "But what kept us from that was a

woman, and even Alix has no place here. This is for you to

 

do."

 

"You left Cai behind." Somehow it incriminated him.

 

"Only because here, in this place, he would be a super-

fluous lir."

 

I stared at him, almost gaping. Superfluous lir? Had

Duncan said this? By the gods, if he indicated such a

willingness to dispense with the other half'of his soul,

surely I could trust him.

 

I sighed. I swallowed against the tightness in my throat,

thrust the torch ahead of me, and went in.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     215

 

Superfluous. Aye, he would have been. For here were

all the lir of the world, and no need for even one more.

 

It was not a crypt. It was a memorial of sorts, or perhaps

a chapel. Something to do with Cheysuli and lir, and their

gods. For the walls were made of lir, lir upon lir, carved

into the pale cream marble.

 

Torchlight ran over the walls like water, tracking the

veining of gold. From out of the smooth, supple stone

burst an eagle, beak agape and talons striking. A bear,

hump-backed and upright, one paw reaching out to buffet.

A fox, quick and brush-tailed, head turned over its shoulder.

And the boar, tusks agleam, with a malevolent, tiny eye.

 

More. So many more. I felt my breath catch in my

throat as 1 turned in a single slow circle, staring at all the

walls. Such wealth, such skill, such incomparable beauty,

and buried so deeply within the ground.            /

 

A hawk, touching wingtips with a falcon. A mountain cat,

so lovely, leaping in the stone. And the wolf; of course,

the wolf, Storr-like with gold in its eyes. Every inch, from

ceiling to floor, was covered with the lir.

 

Superfluous. Aye. But so was I.

 

I felt tears burn in my eyes. Pain, unexpected, was in

my chest. How futile it was, suddenly, to be Homanan

instead of Cheysuli; to lack the blessings of the gods and

the magic of the lir. How utterly insignificant was Carillon

of Homana.

 

"Ja'hai," Duncan said. "Ja'hai, cheysu, Mujhar."

 

I snapped my head around to stare at him. He stood

inside the vault, torch raised, looking at the lir with an

expression of wonder in his face. "What are those words?"

I demanded. "Finn said those words when he talked to

the gods, and even you said he should not have done it."

 

"That was Finn." The sibilants whispered in the shad-

ows of the lir. "This is a clan-leader who says them, and a

man who might have been Mujhar." He smiled as my

mouth flew open to make an instant protest. "I do not

want it. Carillon. If I did, I would not have brought you

down here. It is here, within thejehana's Womb, that you

will be bom again. Made a true Mujhar."

 

"The words," I repeated steadfastly. "What do they

mean?"

 

216 Jcnnffar Roberson

 

"You have learned enough of the Old Tongue from Finn

to know it is not directly translatable. There are nuances,

unspoken words, meanings requiring no speech. Like

gestures—" He made the sign oftahlmorra. "}a hai, cheysu,

Mujhar is, in essence, a prayer to the gods. A petition. A

Homanan might say; Accept this man; this Mujhar."

 

I frowned. "It does not sound like a prayer."

 

"A petition—or prayer—such as the one Finn made—

and now / make—requires a specific response. The gods

will always answer. With life ... or with death."

 

Alarm rose again. "Then I might die down here—?"

 

"You might. And this time you will face that risk alone."

 

"You knew about it," I said suddenly. "Was it Hale who

told you?"

 

Duncan's face was calm, "Hale told me what it was. But

most Cheysuli know of its existence." A faint smile ap-

peared. "Not so horrifying. Carillon. It is only the Womb

of the Earth."

 

The grue ran down my spine. "What womb? What

earth? Duncan—"

 

He pointed. Before, I had looked at the walls, ignoring

the floor entirely. But this time I looked, and I saw the pit

in the precise center of the vault.

 

Oubliette. A man could die in one of those-

 

1 took an instinctive step back, nearly brushing against

Duncan just inside the door, but he merely reached out

and took the torch from my hand.-! turned swiftly, reach-

ing for a knife I did not have, but he set each torch in a

bracket near the door so the vault was filled with light.

Light? It spilled into the oubliette and was swallowed

utterly.

 

"You will go into the Womb," he said calmly, "and

when you come out, you will have been born a Mujhar."

 

I cursed beneath my breath. Short of breaking his neck—

and I was not at all certain even I could accomplish

that—I had no choice but to stay in the vault. But the

Womb was something else. "Just—go in? How? Is there a

rope? Hand holes?" I paused, knowing the thing was

futile. Oubliettes are built to keep people in. This one

would oner no aid in getting out.

 

"You must jump."

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    Z17

 

"Jump." My hands shut up into fists that drove my nails

into my palms. "Duncan—"

 

"Sooner in, sooner out." He did not smile, but I saw the

glint of amusement in his eyes. "The earth is like most

jehanas. Carillon: she is harsh and quick to anger and

sometimes impatient, but she ever gives other heart. She

gives her child life. In this case, it is a Mujhar we seek to

bring into the world."

 

"I am in the world," I reminded him. "I have already

been born once, birthed by Gwynneth of Homana. Once

is more than enough—at least that one I cannot remem-

ber. Let us quit this mummery and go elsewhere; I have

no taste for wombs."

 

His hand was on my shoulder. "You will stay. We

will finish this. If I have to, I will make you."

 

I turned my back on him and paced to the farthest

corner, avoiding the edge of the pit. There I waited,

leaning against the stone, and fett the fluted wings of a

falcon caress my neck. It made me stand up again.

 

"You are not Cheysuli," Duncan said. "You cannot be

Cheysuli. But you can be made to better understand what

it is to think and feet tike a Cheysuli."

 

"And this will make me a man?" I could not entirely

hide my resentment.

 

"It will make you, however briefly, one of us." His face

was solemn in the torchlight. "It will not last. But you will

know, for a moment, what it is to be Cheysuli. A child of

the gods." He made the gesture oftahlnwrra. "And it will

make you a better Mujhar."

 

My throat was dry. "Mujhar is a Cheysuli word, is it

not? And Homana?"

 

"Mujhar means king," he said quietly. "Homana is a

phrase: of all blood."

 

"King of all blood," I felt the tension in my belly "So,

since you cannot put a Cheysuli on the throne—yet—you

will do what else you can to make me into one "

 

"Ja'hai, cheysu," he answered, "ja'hai, cheysu, Mujhar."

 

' No!" I shouted. "Will you condemn me to the gods?

Duncan—I am afraid—"

 

The word echoed in the vault. Duncan merely waited.

 

It nearly mastered me. I felt the sweat break out and

 

218 Jennifer Roberson

 

run from my armpits; the stench of fear coated my body. A

shudder wracked my bones and set my flesh to rising. I

wanted to relieve myself, and my bowels had turned to

water.

 

"A man goes naked before the gods."

 

So, he would have me strip as well. Grimly, knowing he

would see the shrinking of my genitals, I pulled off my

boots, my shirt, and lastly the snug dark breeches. And

there was no pity in Duncan's eyes, or anything of amuse-

ment. Merely compassion, and perfect comprehension.

 

He moved to the torches. He took each from the brack-

ets and carried them out into the stairway closet. The door

to the vault stood open, but I knew it was not an exit.

 

"When I shut up the wall, you must jump."

 

He shut up the wall.

 

And I jumped—

 

NINETEEN

 

Jahai, cheysu, Mujhar—

 

The words echoed in my head.

ja'hai, cheysu, Mujhar—

 

I fell. And I fell. So far. . . Into blackness; into a

^ perfect emptiness. So far. . . .

I screamed.

 

The sound bounced off the walls of the oubliette; the

round, sheer walls I could not see. "Redoubled, the scream

came back and vibrated in my bones.

I fell.

 

I wondered if Duncan heard me. I wondered—I won-

dered—I did not. I simply fell.

Ja'hai, cheysu, Mujhar—

 

It swallowed me whole, the oubliette; I fell back into

the Womb. And could not say whether it would give me

;' up again—

 

~  Duncan, oh Duncan, you did not give me proper warning

, . . But is there a proper way? Or is it only to fall and, in

falling, learn the proper way?

 

Down.

 

'   I was stopped. I was caught. I was halted in mid-fall.

Something looped out around my ankles and wrists. Hands?

No. Something else; something else that licked out from

! the blackness and caught me tightly at wrists and ankles,

^chest and hips. And I hung, belly-down, suspended in

Ltotal darkness.

 

I 219 I

 

220 Jennifer Roberson

 

I vomited. The bile spewed out of my mouth from the

depths of my belly and fell downward into the pit. My

bladder and bowels emptied, so that I was nothing but a

shell of quivering flesh. I hung in perfect stillness, not

daring to move, to breathe; praying to stay caught by

whatever had caught me.

 

Cods—do not let me faU again—not again—

 

Netting? Taut, thin netting, perhaps, hung from some

unseen protrusions in the roundness of the oubliette. 1

had seen nothing at the lip of the pit, merely the pit itself,

yet it was possible the oubliette was not entirely smooth.

Perhaps there was even a way out.

 

The ropes did not tear my flesh. They simply held me

immobile, so that my body touched nothing but air. I did

not sag from arms and legs because of the ropes at chest

and hips. I was supported, in a manner of speaking, and

yet remained without it.

 

A cradle. And the child held face-down to float within

the Womb.

 

"Duncan?" I whispered it, fearing my voice would upset

the balance. "Is it supposed to be this way?"

 

But Duncan was gone, leaving me completely alone,

and I knew why he had done it. Finn had said little of

Cheysuli manhood rites, since most warriors were judged

fully grown by the bonding of the lir, but I thought there

might be more. And I would remain ignorant of it, being

Homanan and therefore unblessed, unless this was the

way to discover what made the Cheysuli, Cheysuli.

 

Tonight I will make you a king.

 

A king? I wondered. Or a madman? Fear can crush a

soul.

 

I did not move. I hung. I listened. I wondered if Dun-

can would return to see how I fared, I would hear him. I

would hear the grate of stone upon stone, even the subde

silence of his movements. I would hear him because I

listened so well, with the desperation of a man wishing to

keep his mind. And if he came back, I would shout for him

to let me out.

 

Probably I would beg.

 

Co in a prince and come out a Mujhar.

 

Gods, would it be worth it?

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    221

 

•^

 

f

 

fr

^~

 

Air. I breathed. There was no flavor to it, no stench to

make it foul. Just air. From somewhere trickled the air

that kept me alive; perhaps there were holes I could use

to escape.

 

I hung in total silence. When I turned my head, slowly,

I heard the grating pop of spinal knots untying. I heard

my hair rasp against my shoulders. Hardly sounds. Mostly

whispers. And yet I heard them.

 

I heard also the beating begin: pa-thump, pa-thump,

pa-thump.

 

Footsteps? No. Duncan? No.

 

Pa-thump, pa-thump, pa-thump.

 

I heard the wind inside my head, the raucous hissing

roar. Noise, so much noise, hissing inside my head. I shut

my eyes and tried to shut off my ears.

 

Pa-thump, pa-thump, pa-thump.

 

I hung- Naked and quite alone, lost within the darkness.

 

The Womb of the Earth. A child again, I was; an un-

born soul caught within the Womb. It was the beating of

my own heart I heard; the noise of silence inside my head.

A child again, was I, waiting to be born.

 

"Duncannnn—!"

 

1 shut my eyes. I hung. The chut of fear began to fade. I

lost my sense of touch, the knowledge I was held.

 

I floated.

. Silence.

 

Floating—

 

No warmth. No cold. Nothingness. I floated in the

absence of light, of sound, of touch, taste and smell. I did

not exist.

 

I waited with endless patience.

 

Ringing. Like sword upon sword. Ringing. Noise—

It filled my head until I could taste it. I could smell it-

It sat on my tongue with the acrid tang of blood. Had I

 

bitten myself? No. I had no blood. Only flesh, depending

 

from the ropes.

 

My eyes, I knew, were open. They stared. But I was

 

blind. I saw only darkness, the absolute absence of light,

 

222 Jennifer Roberson

 

And then it came up and struck me in the face, and the

light of the world fell upon me.

 

I cried out. Too much, too much—will you blind me

with the light?

 

It will make you, however briefly, one of us.

 

"Duncan?"

 

The whisper I mouthed was a shout. I recoiled in my

ropes and recalled I had a body. A body. With two arms,

two legs, a head. Human. Male. Carillon of Homana.

 

You will know, for a moment, what it is to be Cheysuli.

 

But I did not.

 

I knew nothing.

 

I thought only of being born.

 

I heard the rustling of wings. The scrape of talons. Cai?

No. Duncan had left him behind.

 

Soughing of wings spread, stretching, folding, preening.

The pipping chirp of a falcon; the fierce shriek of a hunting

hawk. The scream of an angry eagle.

 

Birds. All around me birds. I felt the breath of their

wings against my face, the caress of many feathers. How I

wanted to join them, to feel the wind against my wings

and know the freedom of the skies. To dance. Oh, to

dance upon the wind—

 

I felt the subtle seduction. I opened my mouth and

shouted: "I am man, not bird! Man, not beast! Man, not

shapechanger!"

 

Silence soothed me. Pa-thump, pa-thump, pa-thump.

 

Whispering.

 

DemonDemonDemon—

 

I floated.

 

DemonDemonDemon—

 

I stirred. No.

 

SHAPEchangerSHAPEchangerSHAPEchanger—

 

NoNoNo. I smiled. ManManMan.

 

YouShiftYouShtftYouShtft—

 

Gods' blessing, I pointed out. Cannot be denied.

 

BeastBeast Beast—

 

No'No!No!

 

I floated. And I became a beast.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    223

 

I ran. Four-legged, I ran. With a tail slashing behind

me, I ran. And knew the glory of such freedom.

 

The warm earth beneath my paws, catching in the curv-

ing nails. The smells of trees and sky and grass and brush.

The joyousness of playful flight, to leap across the creeks.

Ilie hot red meat of prey taken down, the taste of flesh in

my mouth. But most of all the freedom, the utter, perfect

freedom, to cast off cares and think only of the day. The

moment. Not yesterday, not tomorrow; the day. The mo-

ment. Now.

 

And to know myself a lir.

 

Lir? I stopped. I stood in the shadow of a wide-boled

beech. The glittering of sunlight through the leaves spat-

tered gems across my path.

 

Lir?

 

Wolf. Like Storr: silver-coated, amber-eyed. With such

grace as a man could never know.

 

How? I asked. How is it done?

 

Finn had never been able to tell me in words I could

-understand. Lir and warrior and lir, he had said, knowing

no other way. To part them was to give them over to

death, be it quick or slow. The great yawning emptiness

would lead directly into madness, and sooner death than

such an end.

 

For the first time I knew the shapechange. I felt it in

my bones, be they wolfs or man's. I felt the essence of

myself run out into the soil until the magic could be

tapped.

 

The void. The odd, distorted image of a man as he

exchanged his shape for another. He changed his shape at

will, by giving over the human form to the earth. It spilled

out of him, sloughing off his bones, even as the bones

themselves altered. What was not needed in fir-shape,

such as clothing, weapons and too much human weight,

went into storage in the earth, protected by the magic. An

exchange. Give over excess and receive the smaller form.

 

Magic. Powerful magic, rooted in the earth. I felt the

heavy hair rise upon my hackles, so that I saw the trans-

formation. Of soul as well as flesh.

 

I knew the void for what it was. I understood why it

 

224 I JennlfT Robttrxon

 

existed. The gods had made it as a ward against the

dazzled eyes of humans who saw the change. For to see

flesh and bone before you melt into the ground, to be

remade into another shape, might be too much for even

the strongest to bear. And so mystery surrounded the

change, and magic, and the hint of sorcery. No man,

seeing the change for what it was, would ever name the

Cheysuli men.

 

And now, neither could I.

 

The fear came down to swallow me whole and I recoiled

against my ropes.

 

Ropes. I hung in the pit. A man, not a wolf, not a beast.

But until I acknowledged what the Cheysuli were, 1 would

never be Muj'har.

 

Homana was Cheysuli.

 

I felt the madness come out of my mouth. "Accept!" I

shouted. "Accept this man, this Mujhar!"

 

Silence

 

"Ja'hai!" I shouted. "Ja'hai, cheysu. Ja'hai—Ja'hai, cheysu,

Mujhar!"

 

"Carillon."

 

"Ja'hai," I panted. "Ja'hai!" 0 gods, accept 0 gods,

acceptAcceptAccept—

 

"Carillon."

 

If they did not—if they did not—

 

"Carillon."

 

Flesh on flesh. Flesh on flesh. A hand supporting my

head.

 

"Jehana?" I rasped. "Jehana? Ja'hai. . .jehana.ja'hai—"

 

Two hands were on my head. They held it up. They

cradled it, like a child too weak to lift himself up. I lay

against the cold stone floor on my back, and a shadow was

kneeling over me.

 

My blinded eyes could only see shape. Male. Not my

Jehana.

 

"Jehan?" I gasped.

 

'No," he said. "Rujholli. In this, for this moment, we

are." The hands tightened a moment. "Rujho, it is over."

 

"Ja'hai—?"

 

'Ja'hai-na." he said soothingly. "Ja'hai-na Homana

Mujhar. You are born."

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    225

 

BomBomBom. "Ja'hai-na?"

 

"Accepted," he said gently. "The king of all blood is

Jbom."

 

.. The Homanan was back on my tongue, but the voice

Was hardly human. "But I am not." Suddenly, I knew it.

"I am only a Homanan."

 

"For four days you have been Cheysuli. It will be

 

trough."

 

I swallowed. "There is no light. I can barely see you."

i^Ul I could see was the darker shape of his body against

,Ae cream-colored walls, and the looming of the Ur.

, "I left the torch in the staircase and me door is mostly

ihut. Until you are ready, it'is best this way."

 

My eyes ached. It was from the light, scarce though it

was, as it crept around the opening in the wall. It gleamed

on his gold and nearly blinded me with its brilliance, it

made the scar a black line across his face.

Scar. Not Duncan. Finn.

 

"Finn—" I tried to sit up and could not. I lacked the

'litrength.

 

' He pressed me down again. "Make no haste. You are

not—whole, just yet."

f. Not whole? What was I then—?

 

"Finn—" I broke off. "Am I out? Out of the oubliette?"

]|( seemed impossible to consider.

 

' He smiled- It chased away the strain and weariness I

TWP stretching the flesh of his shadowed face "You are out

 

-flf the Womb of the Earth. Did I not say you had been

 

torn?"

 

^.

 

^ Tlie marble was hard beneath my naked body. I drew

up my legs so I could see my knees, to see if I was whole.

I was. In body, if not in mind. "Am I gone mad? Is that

 

-»faat you meant?"

 

'." "Only a little, perhaps. But it will pass. It is not—" He

broke off a moment. "It is not a thing we have done very

 

ten, this forcing of a birth. It is never easy on the

 

&nt."

 

I sat up then, thrusting against the cold stone floor.

 

uddenly I was another man entirely. Not Carillon, Some-

ig else. Something drove me up onto my knees. I

 

226 Jennifer Roberson

 

knelt, facing Finn, staring into his eyes. So yellow, even

in the darkness. So perfectly bestial—

 

I put up a hand to my own. I could not touch the color

They had been blue ... I wondered now what they were

I wondered what I was . . .

 

"A man," Finn said.

 

1 shut my eyes. I sat very still in the darkness, knowing

light only by the faint redness across my lids. I heard my

breathing as I had heard it in the pit.

 

And pa-thump, pa-thump, pa-thump.

 

"Ja'hai-na." Finn said gently, "ja'hai-na Homana Mujhar."

 

I reached out and caught his wrist before he could

respond. I realized it had been the first time I had out-

thought him, anticipating his movement. My fingers were

clamped around his wrist as he had once clasped mine,

preparing to cut it open. I had no knife, but he did. I had

only to put out my other hand and take it.

 

I smiled. It was flesh beneath my fingers, blood beneath

the flesh. He would bleed as I had bled. A man, and

capable of dying. Not a sorcerer, who might live forever

 

Not like Tynstar. Cheysuli. not Ihlini.

 

I looked at his hand. He did not attempt to move. He

merely waited. "Is it difficult to accomplish?" I asked.

"When you put your self into the earth, and take out

another form? I have seen you do it. I have seen the

expression on your face, while the face is still a face, and

not hidden by the void." I paused. "There is a need in me

to know."

 

The dilation turned his eyes black. "There are no

Homanan words—"

 

"Then give me Cheysuli words. Say it in the Old Tongue."

 

He smiled "Sul'harai, Carillon. That is what it is."

 

That I had heard before. Once. We had sat up one night

in Caledon, lost in our jugs ofusca, and spoke as men will

about women, saying what we liked. Much had not been

said aloud, but we had known. In our minds had been

Alix- But out of that night had come a single complex word.

sul'harai. It encompassed that which was perfect in the

union of man and woman, almost a holy thing. And though

the Homanan language lacked the proper words for him. I

had heard it in his tone.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    227

 

Sul'harai. When a man was a woman and a woman a

man, two halves of a whole, for that single fleeting instant.

And so at last I knew the shapechange.

 

Finn moved to the nearest wall and sat against it, rest-

ing his forearms on his drawn-up knees. Black hair fell

into his face, it needed cutting, as usual. But what I

noticed most was how he resembled the ^ir-shapes upon

(he wall, even in human form. There is something preda-

tory about the Cheysuli. Something that makes them wild.

 

"When did you come back?"

 

He smiled. "That is a Carillon question; I think you are

yecovered." He shifted. Behind him was a hawk with open

. wings- The stone seemed to encase his shoulders so that

' %e appeared to be sprouting wings. But no, that was his

brother's gift. "Two days ago I came. The palace was in an

uproar: the Mujhar, it was said, had gone missing. Assassi-

nation? No. But it took Duncan to tell me, quite calmly,

 

-he had brought you here to be born."

 

• I scrubbed an arm across my head. "Did you know

about this place?"

 

"I knew it was here. Not where, precisely. And I did

not know he had intended such a thiag." His brow creased.

\ "He reprimanded me because I had risked you in the star

J.aaoagic, and yet he brought you down here and risked you

fIftB over again. I do not understand him."

^ "He might have been Mujhar," I said reflectively, feel-

'^ing the rasp in my throat. "Duncan, instead of me. Had

^ .the Homanans never ruled ..."

^ Finn shrugged. "But they—you—did. It does not mat-

'^ter what might have been. Duncan is clan-leader, and for

^a Cheysuli it is enough."

 

I put up a hand and looked at it. It was flesh stretched

^'-Over bone. Callused flesh. And yet I thought it had been a

ifcpaw. "Dreams," I murmured.

 

||T "Divulge nothing," Finn advised. "You are the Mujhar,

js not I, you should keep to yourself what has happened. It

awakes the magic stronger."

 

^ The hand flopped down to rest across my thigh. I felt

'QO weak to move. "What magic? I am Homanan."

, "But you have been born again from the Womb of the

Sarth. You lack the proper blood, it is true, and the

 

 

 

 

228 Jennifer Rob«rson

 

fir-gifts as well . . . but you share in a bit of the magic."

He smiled, "Knowing what you survived should be magic

enough."

 

Emptiness filled my belly. "Food. Gods, I need food!"

 

"Wait you, then. I have something for you." Finn rose

and went away, stepping out of the vault. I stared blankly

at all the walls until he came back again. A wineskin was in

his hand.

 

I drank, then nearly spat it out. "Usca\"

 

"Jehana's milk," he agreed. "You need it, now. Drink.

Not much, but a little. Stop dribbling like a baby."

 

Weakly I tried to smile and nearly failed in the attempt.

"Gods, do I not petfood—"

 

'Then put on your clothes and we will go out of here."

 

Clothes. Unhappily, I looked at the pile. Shirt, breeches,

boots. I doubted I could manage even the shirt.

 

And then I recalled how I had lost control of my body in

the oubliette, and the heat rushed up to swallow my

flesh.

 

"Gods," I said finally, "I cannot go like this—"

 

Finn fetched the clothing, brought it back and began

putting it on me, as if I were a child. "You are too big to

carry,' he said when I stood, albeit wobbly, in my boots.

"And it might somewhat tarnish your reputation. Carillon

the Mujhar, drunk in some corner of his palace. What

would the servants say?"

 

I told him, quite clearly, what I thought of servants

speaking out of turn. I did it in the argot of the army we

had shared, and it made him smile. And then he grasped

my arm a moment.

 

"Ja'hai-na. There is no humiliation."

 

I turned unsteadily toward the door and saw the light

beyond. I wavered on my feet.

 

"Walk, my lord Mujhar. Your jelwna and rujolla are

here."

 

"Stairs."

 

"Climb," he advised. "Unless you prefer to fly."

 

For a moment, just a moment, I wondered if I could.

And then I sighed, knowing I could not. and started to

climb the stairs.

 

TWENTY

 

I stared back at myself from the glitter of the polished

/-Silver plate set against the wall. My hair was cut so that no

^nger did it tangle on my shoulders, and the beard was

primmed. I was less unkempt than ] had been in years. I

'hardly knew myself.

 

"No more the mercenary-prince,"^ Finn said.

I could see him in the plate. Like me, he dressed for

^the occasion, though he wore leathers instead of velvet.

^yhite leathers, so that his skin looked darker still. And

^Igold. On arms, his ear, his belt. And the royal blade with

,^fts rampant lion. Though at a wedding no man went armed

iSsave the Mujhar with his Cheysuli sword, the Cheysuli

*Were set apart. Finn more so than most, I thought; he was

lore barbarian than man with all his gold; more warrior

ian wedding guest.

"And you?" I asked. "What are you?"

He smiled. "Your liege man, my lord Mujhar."

I turned away from the plate, frowning. "How much

me?"

 

 

 

 

"Enough," he returned. "Carillon—do not fret so. Do

ou think she will not come?"

 

"There are hundreds of people assembled in the Great

(all," I said irritably. "Should Electra choose to humiliate

Ie by delaying the ceremony, she will accomplish it.

ready I feel ill." I put one hand against my belly. "By

gods—I should never have agreed to this—"

 

I 229 I

 

230 Jennifer Roberson

 

Finn laughed. "Think of her as an enemy, then, and not

merely a bride. For all that, she is one. Now, how would

you face her?"

 

I scowled and touched the circlet on my head, settling it

more comfortably. "I would sooner face her in bed than

before the priest."

 

"You told me it was to make peace between the realms.

Have you decided differently?"

 

I sighed and put my hand on the hilt of my sword. A

glance at it reminded me of what Tynstar had done, the

ruby still shone black. "No," I answered. "It must be

done. But I would sooner have my freedom."

 

"Ah," His brows slid up. "Now you see the sense in a

solitary life. Were you me—" But he broke off, shrugging.

"You are not. And had I a choice—" Again he shrugged.

"You will do well enough."

 

"Carillon." It was Tony in the doorway of my cham-

bers, dressed in bronze-colored silk and a chaplet of pearls.

"Etectra is nearly ready."

 

Something very akin to fear surged through my body.

Then I realized it was fear. "Oh gods—what do I do? How

do I go through with this?" I looked at Finn. "I have been

a fool—"

 

"You are often that," Torry agreed, coming directly to

me to pry my hand off the sword. "But for now, you will

have to show the others you are not, particularly Electra.

Do you think she will say nothing if you go to her like

this?" She straightened the fit of my green velvet doublet,

though my body-servant had tended it carefully.

 

Impatiently, I brushed her hands aside. "Oh gods, there

is the gift. I nearly forgot—" I moved past her to the

marble table and pushed back the lid on the ivory casket.

In the depths of blue velvet winked the silver. I reached

in and pulled out the girdle dripping with pearls and sap-

phires. The silver links would clasp Electra's waist very

low, then hang down the front other skirts.

 

"Carillon!" Torry stared. "Where did you find such a

thing?"

 

I lifted the torque from the casket as well, a slender

silver torque set with a single sapphire with a pearl on

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    231

 

either side. There were earrings also, but I had no hands

for those.

 

Finn's hand shot out and grabbed the torque. I released

it, surprised, and saw the anger in his eyes. "Do you know

what these are?" he demanded.

 

Tourmaline and I both stared at him. Finally I nodded.

"They were Lindir's. Ail the royal jewels were brought to

me three weeks ago, so I could choose some for Electra. I

thought these—"

 

"Hale made these." Finn's face had lost its color, yet the

scar was a deep, livid red. "Myjehan fashioned these with

^uch care as you have never known. And now you mean

them for her?"

 

Slowly I settled the girdle back into the ivory casket.

"Aye," I said quietly. "I am sorry—I did not know Hale

made them But as for their disposition, aye. I mean them

for Electra."

 

"You cannot. They were Lindir's." His mouth was a

thin, pale line. "I care little enough for the memory of the

Homanan princess my jehan left us for, but I do care for

, what he made. Give them to Torry instead."

 

I glanced at my sister briefly and saw the answering

pallor in her face. Well, I did not blame her. Without

shouting, he made his feelings quite clear

 

I saw how tightly his fingers clenched the torque. The

silver was so fine I thought he might bend it into ruin.

Slowly I put out my hand and gestured with my fingers.

 

"Carillon—" Torry began, but I cut her off.

 

"Give it over," I told Finn. "I am sorry, as I have said.

But these jewels are meant for Electra. For the Queen."

 

Finn did not release the torque. Instead, before I could

move, he turned and set it around Torry's throat. "There,"

he said bitterly. "Do you want it, take it from your rujholla."

 

"No!" It was Torry, quite sharply. "You will not make

me the bone of contention. Not over this." Swiftly she

pulled the torque from her throat and put it into my

hands. Their eyes locked for a single moment, and then

Finn turned away.

 

- I set the torque back into the casket and closed the lid.

il-For a moment I stared at it, then picked it up in both

 

232 Jennifer Roberson

 

hands. 'Torry, will you take it^ It is my bride-gift to

her."

 

Finn's hands came down on the casket. "No." He shook

his head. "Does anyone give over the things my jehan

made, it will be me. Do you see? It has to be done this

way."

 

"Aye," I agreed, "it does. And is it somehow avoided—"

 

"It will not be." Finn bit off the words. "Am I not your

liege man?" He turned instantly and left my chambers,

the casket clutched in his hands. I put my hand to my

brow and rubbed it, wishing I could take off the heavy

circlet.

 

"I have never seen him so angry," Torry said finally.

"Not even at the Keep when Alix made him spend his

time in a pavilion, resting, when he wished to hunt with

Donal."

 

1 laughed, glad of something to take my mind from

Finn's poor temper. "Alix often makes Finn angry, and

he, her. It is an old thing between them."

 

"Because he stole her?" Torry smiled as I looked at her

sharply. "Aye, Finn told me the story . . . when I asked.

He also told me something else." She reached out to

smooth my doublet one more time. "He said that did he

ever again want a woman the way he had wanted Alix, he

would let no man come between them. Not you; not his

brother." Her hand was stiff against my chest, her gaze

intense. "And I believe him "

 

I bent down and kissed her forehead. "That is bitterness

speaking, Torry. He has never gotten over Alix. I doubt

he ever will." I tucked her hand into my arm. "Now

come. It is time this wedding was accomplished."

 

The Great Halt was filled with the aristocracy of Solinde

and Homana, and the pride of the Cheysuli. I waited at

the hammered silver doors for Electra and regarded the

assembled multitude with awe. Somehow I had not thought

so many would wish to see the joining of two realms that

had warred for so long, perhaps they thought we would

slay each other before the priest.

 

I tired to loosen the knots in jaw and belly. My teeth

hurt, but only because I clenched them so hard. I had not

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    233

 

thought a wedding would be so frightening. And I, a

soldier ... I smiled wryly. Not this day. Today I was

merely a bridegroom, and a nervous one at that.

 

The Homanan priest waited quietly on the dais by the

throne. The guests stood grouped within the halt tike a

cluster of bees swarming upon the queen. Or Mujhar.

 

1 searched the faces for those I knew: Finn, standing

near the forefront. Duncan and Alix; the former solemn,

as usual, the latter uncommonly grave. My lady mother

sat upon a stool, and beside her stood my sister. My

mother still wore a wimple and coif to hide the silver hair,

but no longer did she go in penury. Now she was the

mother of a king, not the fl-iother of a rebel, and it showed

quite clearly in her clothing. As for Tourmaline, she set the

hall ablaze with her tawny beauty. And Lachlan, near her,

knew it.

 

I sighed. Poor Lachlan, so lost within his worship of my

sister. I had had little time of late to spare him, and with

Torry present his torture was harder yet. And yet there

was nothing I could do. Nothing he could do, save with-

stand the pain he felt.

 

"My lord."

 

I froze at once. The moment had come upon us. 17s; it

was Electra who spoke. I turned toward her after a mo-

ment's hesitation.

 

She was Bellam's daughter to the bone. She wore white,

the color of mourning, as if to say quite clearly—without

speaking a word—just what she thought of the match.

Well, I had expected little else.

 

' She regarded me from her great gray eyes, so heavy-

lashed and long-lidded. The mass of white-blonde hair fell

past her shoulders to tangle at her knees, unbound as was

proper for a maiden. I longed to put my hands into it and

pulf her against my hips.

 

"You see?" she said. "I wear your bride-gift."

 

She did the silver and sapphires justice. Gods, what a

woman was this—

 

Yet in that moment she reminded me not so much of a

'woman as a predator. Her assurance gave me no room for

doubt, and yet I wanted her more than ever. More, even,

than I could coherently acknowledge.

 

234 Jennifer Roberson

 

I put out an arm. "Lady—you honor me."

 

She slipped a pale, smooth hand over the green velvet

of my sleeve. "My lord . . . that is the least I will do to

you."

 

The ceremony was brief, but I heard little of it. Some-

thing deep inside me clamored for attention, though I

longed to ignore it. Finn's open disapproval kept swim-

ming to the surface of my consciousness, though his face

was bland enough when I looked. By each time I looked at

Electra I saw a woman, and her beauty, and knew Only

how much I wanted her.

 

I spoke the vows that bound us, reciting the Homanan

words with their tinge of Cheysuli nuance. It seemed

apropos. Homana and the Cheysuli were inseparable, and

now I knew why.

 

Electra repeated them after me, watching me as she

said the words. Her Solindish mouth framed the syllables

strangely, making a parody of the vows. I wondered if she

did it deliberately. No. She was Solindish . . . and un-

doubtedly knew what she said even as she said it.

 

The priest put a hand on her head and the other rested

on mine. There was a moment of heavy silence as we knelt

before the man. And then he smiled and said the words of

benediction for the new-made Mujhar and his lady wife.

 

I had taken the woman; I would keep her. Electra was

mine at last.

 

When the wedding feast was done, we adjourned to a

second audience hall, this one somewhat smaller but no

less magnificent than the Great Hall with its Lion Throne.

A gallery ran along the side walls. Lutes, pipes, tambors,

harps and a boys' chorus provided an underscore to the

celebration. It was not long before men warmed by wine

neglected to speak of politics and waited to lead their

ladies onto the red stone floor.

 

But the dancing could not begin until the Mujhar and

his queen began it. And so I took Electra into the center

of the shining floor and signaled the dance begun.

 

She fell easily into the intricate patter of moving feet

and swirling skirts. Our hands touched, fell away. The

dance was more of a courtship than anything else, filled

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    235

 

with the subtle overtures of man to woman and woman to

man. I was aware of the eyes on us and the smiling

mouths, though few of them belonged to the Solindish

guests There was little happiness there.

 

"Tell me," I said, as we essayed a pass that brought us

close in the center of the floor, "where is Tynstar?"

 

She stiffened and nearly missed a step. I caught her arm

and steadied her, offering a bland smile as she stared at

me in shock.

 

"Did you think I would not ask?" I moved away in the

pattern of the dance, but in a moment we were together

again.

 

She drew in a breath that set the sapphires to glowing

against the pale flesh of her throat. The girdle chimed in

the folds of her skirts. "My lord—you have taken me

unaware."

 

"I do not think you are ever taken unaware, Electra." I

smiled. "Where is he?"

 

The pattern swept us apart yet again. I waited, watch-

ing the expressions on her face. She moved effortlessly

because she claimed a natural grace, but her mind was not

on the dance.

 

"Carillon—"

 

"Where is Tynstar?"

 

Long lids shuttered her eyes a moment, but when she

raised them again I saw the hostility plainly Her mouth

was a taut, thin line. "Gone. I cannot say where."

 

I caught her hand within the pattern of the dance Her

fingers were cool, as ever, I recalled them from before.

"You had best content yourself with me, Electra. You are

my wife."

 

"And Queen?" she countered swiftly.

 

I smiled. "You want a crown, do you?"

 

The high pride of royalty burst forth at once. "I am

worthy of it! Even you cannot deny me that."

 

We closed again within the figure. I held her hand and

led her the length of the hall. We turned, came back

again, acknowledging the clapping from the guests The

courtship had been settled, the lady had won.

 

"Perhaps I cannot deny it to you," I agreed "You will

be the mother of my heir."

 

236 Janntfer Roberson

 

Her teeth showed briefly. 'That is your price? A child?"

 

"A son. Give me a son, Electra."

 

For only a moment there was careful consideration in

her eyes. And then she smiled. "I am, perhaps, too old to

bear your children. Did you never think of that?"

 

I crushed the flesh and bones of her hand with my own.

"Speak not of such nonsense, lady! And I doubt notTynstar,

when he gave you permanent youth, left your childbear-

ing years intact."

 

Dull color stained her cheeks. The dance was done; no

longer did she have to follow my lead. And yet we were

watched, and dared not divulge our conversation.

 

Electra smiled tightly. "As you wish, my lord husband.

I will give you the child you want."

 

I thought, then, the celebration went on too long. And

yet I could not take her to bed quite yet. Propriety de-

manded we wait a little while.

 

But even a little can be too long.

 

Electra looked at me sidelong. I saw the tilt of her head

and the speculation in her eyes. She judged me even as I

judged her. And then I caught her fingers in mine and

raised them to my mouth. "Lady—I salute you," I mur-

mured against her hand.

 

Electra merely smiled.

 

1 thought, later, the world had changed, even if only

a little. Perhaps more than just a little. What had begun

in lust and gratification had ended in something more,

Not love; hardly love, but a better understanding. The

recriminations were gone, replaced with comprehension,

yet even as we moved toward that comprehension I

knew it would not be easy. We had been enemies too

long.

 

Electra's legs were tangled with mine, and much other

hair was caught beneath my shoulder. Her head was upon

my arm, using it for a pillow, and we both watched the

first pink light of dawn creep through the hangings on the

bed.

 

We had spent the remainder of the night in consumma-

tion of our marriage, having escaped the dancing at last,

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    237

 

and neither of us had been surprised to find we were so

well-matched. That had been between us from the begin-

ning. But now, awake and aware again of what had hap-

pened, we lay in silent contemplation of the life that lay

before us.

 

"Do you forget?" she asked. "1 was Tynstar's woman."

 

I smiled grimly at the hangings that kept the chill from

our flesh. "You share a bed with me now, not Tynstar. It

does not matter."

 

"Does it not?" Like me. she smiled, but, I thought, for

a different reason.

 

I sighed. "Aye, it matters. You know it does, Electra.

But it is me you have wed, not him, let us leave him out of

our marriage."

 

"I did not think you would admit it." She shifted closer

to me. "I thought you would blame me for everything."

 

I twisted my arm so I could put my fingers in her hair.

"Should I?"

 

"No," she said, "lay no blame on me. I had no choice in

the matter." She twisted, pulling free of my arm and

sitting up to kneel before me in the dawn. "You cannot

know what it is to be a woman, -to know yourself a prize

meant for the winning side. First Tynstar demanded me—

his price for aiding my father. And then you, even you,

saying you would wed me when we had lost the war. Do

you see? Ever the prize given to the man."

 

'Tynstar's price?" I frowned as she nodded again. 'The

cost of Inhlini aid ..." I shook my head. "I had not

thought of that—"

 

"You thought I wanted him?"

 

I laughed shortly. "You were quite convincing about it.

You ever threw it in my face—"

 

"You are the enemy!" She sounded perplexed I could

not understand. "Am I to go so willingly into surrender?

Am I to let you think I am yours for the easy taking? Ah

Carillon, you are a man, like other men. You think all a

woman wants is to be wanted by a man." She laughed.

"There are other things than that—things such as power—"

 

I pulled her down again. "Then the war between us is

done?"

 

238 JennlfT Robwson

 

The light on her face was gentle. "I want no war in our

bed. But do you seek to harm my realm, I will do what 1

can to gainsay you."

 

I traced the line of her jaw and settled my fingers at her

throat. "Such as seeking to slay me again?"

 

She stiffened and jerked her head away. "Will you

throw that in my face?"

 

I caught a handful of hair so she could not turn away.

"Zared might have succeeded. Worse yet, he might have

slain my sister. Do you expect me to forgive—or forget—

that?"

 

"Aye. I wanted you slain!" she cried. "You were the

enemy! What else could I do? Were I a man, my lord

Mujhar, you would not question my intention. Are you

not a soldier? Do you not slay? Why should I be differ-

ent?" Color stood high in her face. "Tell me I was wrong

to try to slay the man who threatened my father. Tell me

you would not have done the same thing had you been in

my place. Tell me I should not have used what weapon I

had at hand, be it magic or knife or words." She did not

smile, staring intently into my face. "I am not a man and

cannot go to war. But I am my father's daughter. And

given the chance, I would do it again . . . but he is no

longer alive. What good would it do? Solinde is yours and

you have made me Queen of Homana. Were you to die,

Solinde would be no better off. A woman cannot rule

there." A muscle ticked in her jaw. "So I have wed you.

my lord, and share your bed, my lord, which is all a

woman can do."

 

After a moment I took a deep breath. 'There is one

more," I said gently. "You can also bear a son."

 

"A son!" she said bitterly. "A son for Homana, to rule

when you are dead. What good does that do Solinde?"

 

"Two sons," I said. "Bear me two, Electra . . . and the

second shall have Solinde."

 

Her long-lidded eyes sought out the lie, except I offered

none. "Do you mean it?"

 

"Your son shall have Solinde."

 

Her chin thrust upward. "My son," she whispered, and

smiled a smile of triumph.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    239

 

I was falling. Another oubliette. But this time a woman

caught me and took the fear away.

"Ja'hai," I murmured. "Ja'hai, cheysu, Mujhar."

Accept this man; this Mujhar. . .

But it was not to the gods I said it.

 

PART II

 

ONE

 

fJt stared at Finn in anguish. "Why will it not be born?"

 

He did not smile, but I saw faint amusement in his

yes. "Children come in their own time. You cannot rush

iem, or they hang back—as this one does."

"Two days." It seemed a lifetime. "How does Electra

ear it? / could not—I could not bear a moment of it."

"Perhaps that is why the gods gave women instead of

an the task of bearing children." Finn's tone lacked the

y humor 1 expected, being more understanding than I

d ever heard him. "In the clans, it is no easier. But

lere we leave it to the gods."

 

"Gods," I muttered, staring at the heavy wooden door

Uttudded with iron nails. "It is not the gods who got this

Jl^hild on her . . . that took me."

 

1; "And your manhood proven." Finn did smile now.

^PCarilton—Electra will be well enough. She is a strong

%^oman—"

 

^f "Two days," I repeated "She might be dying of it."

y "No," Finn said, "not Electra. She is far stronger than

|you think—"

 

 

 

 

I cut him off with a motion of my hand. I could not bear

listen. I had found myself remarkably inattentive of

[e, being somewhat taken up with the birth of my first

iild. All I could think of was Electra on the other side of

door, Electra in the bed with her women around her

 

I Z43 I

 

244 Jennifer Roberson

 

and the midwife in attendance, while I waited in the

corridor like a lackey.

 

"Carillon," Finn said patiently, "she will bear the child

when the child is ready to come."

 

"Alix lost one." I recalled the anger I had felt when I

had learned it from Duncan. The Ihlini attack on the Keep

had caused her to lose the child, and Duncan had said it

was unlikely she would ever bear another. And I thought

again of Electra, realizing how fragile even a strong woman

could be. "She is—not as young as she appears. She could

die of this."

 

Finn shut his mouth and I saw the lowering of his

brows. Like most, Finn forgot Electra was twenty years

older than she appeared. My reminding him of it served

as vivid notice that she was more than merely woman and

wife; she was ensorcelled as well, with a definite link to

Tynstar. No more his meijha, perhaps, but she bore the

taint—or blessing—of his magic.

 

I leaned against the door and let my head thump back

upon the wood. "Gods—I would almost rather be in a war

than live through this—"

 

Finn grimaced. "It is not the same at all—"

 

"You cannot say," I accused. "Z sired this child, not you.

You cannot even lay claim to a bastard."

 

"No," he agreed, "I cannot." For a moment he looked

down at Storr sitting so quietly by his side. The wolfs eyes

were slitted and sleepy, as if bored by his surroundings. I

wished I could be as calm.

 

I shut my eyes. "Why will they not come and tell me it

is born?"

 

"Because it is not." Finn put a hand on my arm and

pulled me away from the door. "Do you wish it so much, I

will speak to her. I will use the third gift on her, and tell

her to have the child."

 

I stared at him. "You can do that?"

 

"It is no difierent from any other time I used it." Finn

shrugged. "Compulsion need not always be used for

harm—it can exact an obedience that is not so harsh, such

as urging a woman to give birth." He smiled faintly. "I am

no midwife, but I think it likely she is afraid. As you say,

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    245

 

she is not so young as she looks—she may fear also she will

^a0t bear a son."

 

,, I swore beneath my breath. "Gods grant it is, but I

efer simply to have her safe. Can you do that? Make her

ar the child in safety?"

 

"I can tell her to do whatever it is women do while

/ing birth," he said, with excess gravity, "and I think it

kely the child will be born."

I frowned. "It sounds barbaric."

 

"Perhaps it is. But babies are born, and women go on

Baring them. I think it will not harm her."

"Then come. Do not waste time out here." I hammered

the door. When the woman opened it I ignored her

rtests and pushed the door open wider. "Come," I

ected Finn, and he came in behind me after a mo-

aent's frowning hesitation.

 

A circle of shocked women formed a barricade around

he bed in the birthing chamber. Doubtless my presence

^^l^fts bad enough, but Finn was a shapechanger. To their

 

-Blinds we were both anathema.

 

^ I thrust myself through them and knelt down beside her

 

Ipcd. Dark circles underlay her eyes and her hair was

 

i|)anip and tangled. Gone was the magnificent beauty I so

 

admired, but in its place was an ever greater sort. The

 

^Bpoman was bearing my child.

 

^ "Electra?"

 

-i^ Her eyes flew open and another contraction stabbed

Hferough the huge belly covered by a silken bedcloth.

^'I^Carillon! Oh gods, will you not leave me be? I cannot—"

^ I put my hand on her mouth. "Hush, Electra. I am here

itSO ease your travail. Finn will make the baby come."

 

' Her eyes, half-crazed by pain, looked past me and saw

^IPinn waiting just inside the doorway. For a moment she

.Only stared, as if not understanding, and then suddenly

^dte opened her mouth and cried out in her Solindish

 

-.tongue.

 

^ . I gestured him close, knowing it was the only way to

^Mse her. And yet she cried out again and tried to push

' a"self away- She was nearly incoherent, but I could see

t fear alive in her face.

'Send him away!" she gasped. A brief grunt escaped her

 

246 Jennifer Roberson

 

bitten lips. "Carillon—send him away—" Her face twitched

"Oh gods—do as I say—"

 

The women were muttering among themselves, closing

ranks. I had allowed Electra Solindish women to help her

through her lying-in because 1 knew she had been lonely,

surrounded by Homanans, but now I wished they were

gone. They oppressed me.

 

"Finn," I appealed, "is there nothing you can do?"

 

He came forward slowly, not noticing how the women

pulled their skirts away from his passage. I saw hand

gestures and muttered invocations; did they think him a

demon? Aye, likely. And they Solindish, with their Ihlini

sorcerers.

 

I saw a strangeness in Finn's face as he looked on

Electra. It was a stricken expression, as if he had suddenly

realized the import of the child, or of the woman who bore

it, and what it was to sire a child. There was a sudden

crackling awareness in him, an awareness of Electra as he

had never seen her. I could feel it in him. In nine months 1

had seen him watching her as she watched him, both with

grave, explicit wariness and all defenses raised. But now,

as he squatted down beside the bed, I saw an awakening

of wonder in his eyes.

 

on

 

Electra's pride was gone. He saw the woman instead,

not the Ihlini's meijha, not the haughty Solindish princess,

not the Queen of Homana who had wed his liege lord.

And I knew, looking at him, I had made a deadly mistake.

 

I thought of sending him away. But he had taken her

hand into both of his even as she sought to withdraw, and

it vas too late to speak a word.

 

He was endlessly patient with her, and so gentle I

hardly knew him. The Finn of old was gone. And yet, as

he looked at her, I had the feeling it was not Etectra he

saw. Someone else, I thought; the change had been too

abrupt.

 

"Ja'hai," he said clearly, and then—as if knowing she

could not understand the Old Tongue—he translated each

word he spoke. "Ja'hai—accept. Cheysuli i'halla shansu "

He paused. "Shansu, meijhana—peace. May there be

Cheysuli peace upon you—"

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    247

 

"I spit on your peace!" Electra caught her breath as

another contraction wracked her.

 

Finn had her then. I saw the opaque, detached expres-

' ston come into his eyes and make them empty, and I knew

„ he sought the magic. I thought again of the vault in the

; earth and the oubliette that waited, recalling the sensa-

v^Bons I had experienced. I nearly shivered with the chill

 

ifaat ran down my spine, raising the hairs on my flesh, for

'. 1 was more in awe of the magic than ever before. For all

4 the Cheysuli claimed themselves human, I knew now they

^were not. More; so much, much more.

 

Finn twitched. His eyes shut, then opened. I saw his

?ad dip forward as if he slept, then he jerked awake. The

ankness deepened in his eyes, and then suddenly I

iew something had gone wrong. He was—different. His

•sh turned hard as stone and the scar stood up from his

sh. All the color ran out of his face.

Electra cried out, and so did Finn.

I heard growling. Storr leaped into the room, threading

s way through the women. I heard screaming; I heard

relying, I heard Electra's hissing Solindish invectives. I

'fJieard the low growl rising; oh gods, Storr was in the

^room—

 

 

 

 

«y ,

^€

^

 

,^; Finn was white as death with an ashen tinge to his

s^BOUth. I put a hand on his arm and felt the rigid, upstand-

^Bg muscles. He twitched again and began to tremble as if

^witfa a seizure; his mouth was slack and open. His tongue

''';was turning dark as it curled back into his throat.

^ And then I saw it was Electra who held his hand and

'that he could not break free of her grasp.

 

I caught their wrists and jerked, trying to wrench their

hands apart. At first the grip held; Electra's nails bit into

'his skin and drew blood, but it welled dark and thick.

then I broke the grip and Finn was freed, but he was

hardly the Finn I knew. He fell back, still shaking, his

yellow eyes turned up to show the whites. One shoulder

scraped against the wall. I thought he was senseless, but

he was awake. Too awake, I found.

 

His eyes closed, then opened, and once more 1 saw the

yeBow. Too much yellow; his pupils were merest specks.

^JHe stared with the feral gaze of a predator.

 

X

^

 

248 Jennifer Roberson

 

He growled. Not Storr. Finn. It came out of a human

throat, but there was nothing human about him.

 

I caught his shoulders as he thrust himself up and

slammed him against the wall. There was no doubt of his

prey. One of his arms was outstretched in her direction

and the fingers were flexing like claws.

 

"Finn—"

 

All the muscles stood up from his flesh and I felt the

tremendous power, but it was nothing compared to my

fear. Somehow I held him, pressing him into the wall. I

knew, if I let him go, he would slay her where she lay.

 

His spine arched, then flattened. One hand fastened on

my right arm and tried to pull it free, but I thrust my

elbow against his throat. The growl was choked off, but I

saw the feral grimace. White teeth, man's teeth, in a

bloodless mouth, but the tongue had regained its color.

 

I gritted my teeth and leaned, pressing my elbow into

the fragility of his windpipe, praying I could hold him.

"Finn—"

 

And then, as suddenly as it had come on him, the

seizure was past.

 

Finn sagged. He did not fall, for I held him, but his

head lolled forward against my arm and I saw his teeth cut

into his bottom lip. I thought he would faint. And yet his

control was such that he did not, and as Storr pushed past

me to his /*r I saw sense coming back in Finn's eyes.

 

He pressed himself up. His head smacked into the wall.

He sucked in a belly-deep, rasping breath and held it

while the blood ran from his mouth. He frowned as if

confused, then caught himself as once more his body

sagged. With effort he straightened, scraping his /ir-bands

against the wall. I saw the white teeth bared yet again,

this time in a grimace of shock and pain.

 

"Finn—?"

 

He said a single word on a rush of breath, but I could

not hear it for the exhaustion in his tone. It was just a

sound, an expulsion of air, but the color was back in his

face. I knew he could stand again, but I did not let him

 

go;

 

'Tynstar—' It was barely a whisper, hoarse and aston-

ished. 'Tynstar—here—"

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    249

 

The women were clustered around the bed and I knew

I had to get Finn from the room. Electra was crying in

exhaustion and fear while the contractions wracked her

body. I dragged Finn to the door and pushed him out into

the corridor while Storr came growling at my heels, all his

hackles raised.

 

Finn hardly noticed when I set him against the wall. He

moved like a drunken man, all slackness, lacking grace.

Not Finn, not Finn at all. "Tyn5tar—" he rasped again.

"Tynstar—here—"

 

My hands were in the leather of his jerkin, pushing him

into the stone. "By the gods, do you know what you did?

Finn—"

 

If I took my hands away, he could fall. I could see it in

his eyes. "Tynstar," he said again. "Carillon—it was

Tynstar—"

 

"Not herel" I shouted. "How could he be? That was

Electra you meant to slay!"

 

He put a hand to his face and I saw how the fingers

trembled. He pushed them through his hair, stripping it

from his eyes, and the scar stood out like a brand against

cheek and jaw. "He—was—here-1—" Each word was dis-

tinct. He spoke with the precise clarity of the drunken

man, or the very shaken. A ragged and angry tone, laced

with a fear I had never heard. "Tynstar set a trap—"

 

"Enough of Tynstar!" I shouted, and then I fell silent.

From inside the room came the imperative cry of a new-

bom soul, and the murmur of the women. Suddenly it was

there I wanted to be, not here, and yet I knew he needed

me. This once, he needed me. "Rest," I said shortly.

"Take some food—drink something! Will you go? Go ...

before I have to carry you from this place."

 

I took my hands away He leaned against the wall with

legs braced, muscles bunching the leather of his leggings,

He looked bewildered and angry and completely devoid of

comprehension.

 

"Finn," I said helplessly, "will you go?"

 

He pushed off the wall, wavered, then knelt upon the

floor. For one insane moment I thought he knelt to offer

apology; he did not. I thought he prayed, but he did not.

 

Z50 Jennifer Roberson

 

He merely gathered Storr into his arms and hugged him

as hard as he could.

 

His eyes were shut. I knew the moment was too private

to be shared, even with me Perhaps especially with me. I

left them there, wolf and man, and went in to see my

child.

 

One of the women, as I entered, wrapped the child

hastily in linen cloth, wiping its face, then set it into my

arms. They were all Solindish, these women, but I was

their king—and would be, until I sired a second son.

 

And then I looked at their faces and knew I lacked a

first.

 

"A girl, my lord Mujhar," came the whisper m accented

Homanan.

 

I looked down on the tiny face. It lacked the spirit of a

person, little more than a collection of wrinkled features,

but I knew her for mine

 

What man cannot know immortality when he holds his

child in his arms? Suddenly it did not matter that I had no

son; I would in time. For now, I had a daughter, and I

thought she would be enough.

 

I walked slowly to the bed, cradling the child with

infinite care and more than a little apprehension. So help-

less and so tiny, I so large and equally helpless. It seemed

a miracle I had sired the girl. I knelt down at the bedside

and showed Electra her baby.

 

"Your heir," she whispered, and I realized she did not

know. They had not told her yet.

 

"Our daughter," 1 said gently.

 

Sense was suddenly in her eyes; a glassy look of horror.

"Do you say it is a girl—?"

 

"A princess," I told her. "Electra, she is a lovely girl."

Or will be, I thought; I hoped. "There will be time for sons.

For now, we have a daughter."

 

"Gods!" she cried out. "All this pain for a girl? No son

for Homana—no son for Solinde—" The tears spilled down

her face, limning her exhaustion "How will I keep my

bargain? This birth nearly took me—"

 

I gestured one of the women to take the baby from me.

When I could, I slipped one arm beneath Electra's shoul-

ders and cradled her as if she were the child instead.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     251

 

"Electra, be at peace There is no haste in this. We have a

daughter and we will have those sons—but not tomorrow.

Be at ease. I have no wish to see you grieve because you

have borne a girl."

 

"A girl," she said again. "What use is a girl but to wed?

I wanted a son—!"

 

I eased her down against the pillows, pulling the bed-

clothes close. "Sleep. I will come back later. There is the

news to be told, and I must find Finn—" I stopped. There

was no need to speak of Finn, not to her. Not now.

 

But Electra slept. I brushed the damp hair from her

brow, looked again on the, sleeping baby, then went from

Ae room to give out the news.

 

Soon enough the criers were sent out and the bells

began to peel. Servants congratulated me and offered

good wishes. Someone pressed a cup of wine into my hand

as I strode through a corridor on my way to Finn's cham-

 

• bers Faces were a blur to me; I hardly knew their names.

I had a daughter, but I also had a problem.

 

Finn was not in his chambers. Nor was he in the kitch-

 

„ ens, where the spit-boys and cooks fell into bows and

curtseys to see their Mujhar in their presence. I asked

after Finn, was told he had not come, and went away

 

-again.

 

It was Lachlan who found me at last, very grave and

concerned. His arms were empty of his Lady and with

him came my sister. I thought first they would give me

good wishes when I told them; instead they had news of

Finn.

 

"He took the wolf and left," Lachlan said quietly. "And

no horse for nding."

 

"Lir-shape," I said grimly.

 

"He was—odd." Torry was white-faced. "He was not

himself But he would answer none of our questions." She

gestured helplessly. "Lachlan was playing his Lady for

me. I saw Finn come in. He looked—ill. He said he had

to go away."

 

"Away!" I felt the lurch in my belly "Where?"

;  "To the Keep," Lachlan answered. "He said he re-

quired cleansing for something he had done. He said also

you were not to send for him, or come after him yourself."

 

252 Jennifer Roberson

 

He glanced a moment at Tony. "He said it was a Cheysuli

thing, and that clan-ties take precedence, at times, over

other links."

 

I felt vaguely ill. "Aye But only rarely does he invoke

them—" I stopped, recalling the wildness in his eyes and

the growling in his throat. "Did he say how long he would

stay there?"

 

lorry's eyes were frightened. "He said the nature of the

cleansing depended on the nature of the offense. And that

this one was great indeed." One hand crept up to her

throat "Carillon—what did he do?"

 

"Tried to slay the Queen." It came out of my mouth

without emotion, as if someone else were speaking. I saw

the shock in their eyes. "Gods!" I said on a rushing breath,

"I must go after him. You did not see what he was—" I

started out the door and nearly ran into Rowan. "

 

"My lord!" He caught my arm. "My lord—wait you—"

 

"I cannot." I shook loose and tried to move on, but he

caught my arm again. "Rowan—"

 

"My lord, I have news from Solinde," he persisted.

"From Royce, your regent in Lestra."

 

"Aye," I said impatiently, "can it not wait? I will be

back when I can "

 

"Finn said you should not follow," Lachlan repeated.

"Doubtless he has good reason—"

 

"Carillon." Rowan forsook my title and all honorifics,

which told me how serious he was. "!t is Thorne of Atvia.

He readies plans to invade."

 

"Solinde?" I stared at him in amazement.

 

"Homana, my lord " He let go my arm when he saw I

was not moving. I could not, now "The news has come

into Lestra, and Royce sent on a courier. There is still

time, Royce says, but Thorne is coming. My lord—" He

paused. "It is Homana he wants, and you. A grudge for

the death of his father, and Atvians slain in Bellam's war.

The courier has the news." His young face was haggard

with the implications. "Thome intends to take Hondarth—"

 

"Hondarth!" I exploded. "He will not set foot in a

Homanan city while I am alive!"

 

"He means to raise Solindish aid," Rowan said in a quiet

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    253

 

"%.

 

^i

 

voice. "To come overland through Solinde. and by ships

across the Idrian Ocean, bound for Hondarth."

 

I thought of the southern city on the shores of the

Idrian Ocean. Hondarth was a rich city whose commerce

depended on fishing fleets and trading vessels from other

lands. But it was a two-week ride to Hondarth, going fast;

 

an even longer march. And the marshes would slow an

army.

 

I shut my eyes a moment, trying to get my senses

sorted. First Finn's—seizure, my daughter's birth; now

this. It was too much.

 

I set a hand on Rowan's shoulder. "Where is this cou-

rier? And find you what advisors you can. We must send

for those who have gone home to their estates. It will take

time—ah, gods, are we to go to war again, we must

reassemble the army." I rubbed at my gritty eyes. "Finn

will have to wait."

 

When I could, I broke free of planning councils and

went at last to the Keep. And, as I rode out across the

plains, I came face to face with Finn.

 

He had left Mujhara without a-horse, but now he had

one. Borrowed from the Keep, or perhaps it was one of his

own. He did not say. He did not say much at all, being so

shut up within himself, and when I looked at him I saw

how the shadow lay on him, thick and dark. His yellow

eyes were strange.

 

We met under a sky slate-gray with massing clouds.

Rain was due in an instant. It was nearly fall, and in four

months the snow would be thick upon the ground. For

now there was none, but I wore a green woolen cloak

pulled close against plain brown hunting leathers. Finn,

bare-armed still, and cloakless, pulled in his horse and

waited. The wind whipped the hair from his face, exposing

the livid scar, and I swore I saw silver in his hair where

before it had been raven's-wing black. He looked older,

somehow, and more than a trifle harder. Or was it merely

that I had not noticed before?

 

"I wanted to come," I said. "Lachlan said no, but I

wanted it. You seemed so distraught." I shrugged, made

uncomfortable by his silence. "But the courier had come

 

254 JennWr Roberson

 

in from Lestra . . ." I let it trail off, seeing nothing in his

face but the severity of stone.

 

"I have heard." The horse stomped, a dark bay horse

with a white slash across his nose and a cast in one eye.

Finn hardly noticed the movement save to adjust his

weight.

 

"Is that why you have come back?"

 

He made a gesture with his head, a thrusting of his chin

toward the distances lying behind me. "Mujara is there. I

have not come back yet."

 

The voice was flat, lacking intonation. I tried to search

beneath what I saw. But I was poor at reading Cheysuli;

 

they know ways of blanking themselves. "Do you mean

to?"

 

The scar ticked once. "I have no place else to go."

 

It astonished me, in light of where he had been. "But—

the Keep—"

 

"I am liege man to the Mujhar. My place is not with the

clan, but with hnn. Duncan has said—" He stopped short;

 

something made him turn his head away. "Duncan has

not—absolved me of what I tried to do. As the shar tahl

says: if one is afraid, one can only become unafraid by

facing what causes the fear." The wind, shifting, blew the

hair back into his face. I could see nothing of his expres-

sion. "And so I go to face it again. I could not admit my

fear—i'toshaa-ni was not completed. I am—unclean."

 

"What do you face again?' I asked, uneasy. "I would

rather you did not see Electra."

 

He looked at me squarely now, and the strangeness was

in his eyes. "J would rather not see her, also. But you

have wed her, and my place is with the Mujhar. There is

little choice, my lord."

 

My lord. No irony: no humor. I felt the fear push into

my chest. "Did you truly intend to slay her?"

 

"Not her," he said softly, "Tynstar."

 

The anger boiled over. I had not realized how fright-

ened I was that he might have succeeded; how close I had

come to losing them both. Both. Had Finn slain Electra,

there was no choice but execution. "Electra is not Tynstar!

Are you blind? She is my wife—"

 

"She was Tynstar's meijha," he said quietly, "and I

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    255

 

doubt not he uses her still. Through her soul, if not her

body."

 

"Finn—"

 

"It was I who nearly died!" He was alive again, and

angry. Also clearly frightened. "Not Electra—she is too

strong. It was I, Cheysuli blood and all." He drew in a

hissing breath and I saw the instinctive baring of white

teeth. "It nearly took me down, it nearly swallowed me

whole. It was Tynstar, I tell you—it was."

 

"Go, then," I said angrily. "Go on to Homana-Mujhar

and wait for me there. We will face whatever it is you

have to face, and get this finished at once. But there are

 

-things I have to discuss with Duncan."

 

There was gray in his hair; I saw it clearly now. And

bleakness in his eyes. "Carillon—"

 

"Go." 1 said it more quietly. "1 have a war to think of

again. I will need you at my side."

 

The wind blew through his hair. The sunlight, so dull

 

-and brassy behind the clouds, set his lir-go\d to shining in

, the grayness of the day. His face was alien to me; I

thought again of the vault and oubliette. Had it changed

me so much? Or was it Finn who had been changed?

"Then I will be there," he said, "for as long as I can."

An odd promise. I frowned and opened my mouth to

 

-ask him what he meant, but he had set his horse to

trotting, leaning forward in the saddle. And then, as I

turned to watch, he galloped toward Mujhara. Beside him

ran the wolf.

 

TWO

 

I rode into the Keep just as the storm broke. The rain fell

heavily, quickly soaking through my cloak to the leather

doublet and woolens beneath. The hood was no help; I

gave up and pushed it back to my shoulders, setting my

horse to splashing through the mud toward Duncan's slate-

colored pavilion. It was early evening and I could hardly

see the other pavilions, only the dim glow of their interior

firecaims.

 

I dropped off my horse into slippery mud and swore,

then noticed Cai was not on his perch. No doubt he sought

shelter in a thick-leafed tree, or perhaps even inside.

Well, so did I.

 

Someone came and took my horse as I called out for

entrance. I thanked him, then turned as the doorflap was

pulled open. I looked down; it was Donal. He stared up at

me in surprise, and then he grinned. "Do you see?"

 

I saw. His slender arms, still bared for warmer weather,

were weighted with lir gold, albeit lighter than the heavy

bands grown warriors wore. And in his black hair glittered

an earring, though I could not see the shape. Young, I

thought; so very young.

 

Duncan's big hand came down on Donal's head and

gently moved him aside. "Come in from the rain. Caril-

lon. Forgive my son's poor manners."

 

I stepped inside- "He has a right to be proud," I de-

murred. "But is he not too young?"

 

I 256 I

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    257

 

I

 

"There is no too young in the clans," Duncan said on a

sigh. "Who is to say what the gods prefer? A week ago the

craving came upon him, and we let him go Last night he

received his fir-gold in his Ceremony of Honors."

 

I felt the pang of hurt pride. "Could / not have wit-

nessed it?"

 

Duncan did not smile. "You are not Cheysuli."

 

For four days, once I had been. And yet now he denied

me the honor.

 

1 looked past him to Alix. "You must be proud."

 

She stood on the far side of the firecairn and the light

played on her face. In the dimness she was dark, more

Chey&uii than ever, and I felt my lack at once "I am," she

said softly. "My son is a warrior now."

 

He was still small Seven, I thought. I did not know.

But young.

 

"Sit you down," Duncan invited. "Donal will move his

wolf."

 

I saw then what he meant, for sprawled across one of

the pelts carpeting the hard-packed earth was a sleeping

wolf-cub. Very young, and sleeping the sleep of the dead,

or the very tired. He was damp and the pavilion smelled

of wet fur, I did not doubt Donal 'had been out with the

wolfling when the rain began.

 

Donal, understanding his father's suggestion at once,

knelt down and hoisted half of the cub into his arms. The

wolf was like a bag of bones, so limp and heavy, but Donal

dragged him aside The cub was ruddy, not silver like

Storr, and when he opened one eye I saw it was brown.

 

"He is complaining," Donal said, affronted. "He wanted

to stay by the fire."

 

"He has more hair than you," Alix retorted. "Lorn will

be well enough farther back. This is the Mujhar we

entertain."

 

I waved a hand. "Carillon, to him. He is my kin, for all

that." I grinned at the boy. "Cousins, of a sort."

 

"Taj is weary ofCai's company," Donal said forthrightly.

"Can He not come in, too?"

 

"Taj is a falcon and will remain outdoors," Duncan said

firmly as he sidestepped the Hopping wolf-cub. "Cai has

stood it all these years; so will Taj."

 

258 Jennifer Roberson

 

Donal got Lorn the wolf settled and sat down close

beside him, one small hand buried in damp far. His

yellow eyes peered up at me with the bright intentness of

unsuppressed youth. "Did you know I have two?"

 

"Two lir?" I looked at Atix and Duncan. "I thought a

warrior had only one."

 

"Ordinarily." Duncan's tone was dry as he waved me

down on the nearest pelt. Alix poured a cup of hot honey

brew and handed it across. "But Donal, you see, has the

Old Blood."

 

Alix laughed as I took the cup. "Aye. He got it from me.

It is the Firstborn in him." She sat back upon her heels,

placing herself close to Duncan. "I took fir-shape twice

while 1 carried him, as wolf and falcon both. You see the

result."

 

I sipped at the hot, sweet brew. It was warm in the

pavilion, though somewhat close; I was accustomed to

larger quarters. But it was a homey pavilion, full of pelts

and chests and things a clan-leader holds. A heavy tapes-

try fell from the ridge-pole to divide the tent into two

areas; one, no doubt, a bedchamber for Alix and Duncan.

As for Donal, he undoubtedly slept by the fire on the

other side. And now with his wolf.

 

"How fares the girl?" Duncan asked.

 

I smiled. "At two months of age, already she is lovely.

We have named her Aislinn to honor my mother s mother."

 

"May she have all of her jehan's wisdom," Duncan

offered gravely.

 

I laughed. "And none of my looks, I trust."

 

Alix smiled, but her face soon turned pensive. "No

doubt you have come to see Finn- He is no longer here."

 

The honey brew went sour in my mouth. I swallowed

with effort. "No. I met him on the road. He is bound for

Homana-Mujhar. And no, I did not come to speak to him.

I came to speak of Homana."

 

I told them what I could. They listened in silence, all

three of them; Donal's eyes were wide and full of wonder.

It was, no doubt, the first he had heard of war from the

Mujhar himself, and 1 knew he would always remember. 1

recalled the time I had sat with my own father, listening

to plots and plans—and how those things had slain him.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    259

 

S

 

But death was not in DonaTs mind, that much 1 could see.

He was Cheysuli. He thought of fighting instead.

 

"I must have allies," I finished. "I need more than just

the Cheysuli."

 

"Then you offer alliances." Duncan nodded thought-

ftilly. "What else is there to give?"

 

"My sister," 1 said flatly, knowing how it sounded. "I

have Tourmaline to offer, and I have done it. To Ellas, to

Falia, to Caledon. All have marriageable princes."

 

Alix put a hand to her mouth and looked at Duncan.

"Oh Carillon, no. Do not barter your sister away."

 

"Torry is meant for a prince," I said impatiently. "She

will get one anyway, why should I wait? I need men, and

Torry needs a husband. A proper husband." I could not

help but think of Lachlan. "I know—it is not a Cheysuli

custom to offer women this way. But it is the way of most.

royal Houses. How else to find a man or woman worthy of

die rank? Torry is well past marriageable age, the dowry

will have to be increased. There will be questions about

her virginity." I looked again at Donal, thinking he was

too young. But he was Cheysuli, and they seemed always

older than I. "Bellam held her for years; he even spoke of

wedding her himself. There will'be questions asked of

that. But she is my sister, and that will count for some-

thing. I should get a worthy prince for her."

 

"And allies for Homana." Duncan's tone lacked inflec-

tion, which told me what he thought. "Are the Cheysuli

not enough?"

 

"Not this time," I answered flatly. "Thorne enters in

more than one place. Bellam came at us straight away. But

Thome knows better; he has learned. He will creep over

my borders in bits and pieces. If I split the Cheysuli, I

split my strongest weapon. I need more men than that, to

place my armies accordingly."

 

Duncan studied me, and then he smiled. Only a little.

"Did you think we would not come?"

 

"I cannot order you to come, any of you," I said quietly.

"I ask, instead."

 

The smile widened and I saw the merest glint of white

teeth- Not bared, as Finn's had been; a reflection of true

amusement. "Assemble your armies, Carillon. You will

 

260 JwnnffT Roberson

 

have your Cheysuli aid. Do whatever you must in the way

that you must, to win the allies you need. And then we

shall send Thorne back to his island realm." He paused.

"Provided he survives the encounter."

 

Alix glanced at him, and then she looked squarely at

me- "What did Finn say to you when you met him on the

road?"

 

"Little."

 

"But you know why he came ..."

 

I shifted on the pelt. "I was told it was something to do

with cleansing. A ritual of sorts."

 

"Aye," Duncan agreed. "And now he has had to go

back."

 

The cup grew cool in my hands. "He said he had no

other place to go. That you had, in essence, sent him out

of the Keep." I meant to keep my tone inflectionless and

did not succeed. It was a mark of the bond between Finn

and me that I accused even his brother ofwrongml behavior.

 

"Finn is welcome here," Duncan demurred. "No Cheysuli

is denied the sanctuary when he requires it, but that time

was done. Finn's place is with you."

 

"Even so unhappy?"

 

Alix's face was worried. "I thought he should not go—"

 

"He must learn to deal with that himself." Duncan took

my cup and warmed it with more liquor, handing it back.

It was high honor from a clan-leader; I thought it was

simply Duncan. "Finn has ever shut his eyes to many

things, going in the backflap." An expressive flick of his

fingers indicated the back of the pavilion. "Occasionally,

when I can, I remind him there is a front."

 

"Something has set him on edge." 1 frowned and sipped

at the liquor. "He is—different. I cannot precisely say. . . ."

I shook my head, recalling the expression in his eyes.

"What happened with Electra frightened me. I have never

seen him so."

 

"It is why he came," Duncan agreed, "and why he

stayed so long. Eight weeks." His face was grim. "It is

rare a liege man will leave his lord for so long unless it has

something to do with his clan- and kin-ties. But he could

not live with what he had done. and so he came here to

renew himself; to touch again the power in the earth

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    261

 

through i'toshaa-ni." He looked tired suddenly. "It comes

upon us all, once or twice; the need to be cleansed"

 

The word, even in Homanan, had a nuance I could not

sAvine. Duncan spoke of things that no Homanan had

''shared, though once I had shared a fleeting moment of

^Aeir life. Such stringent codes and honor systems, I thought;

 

could I bind myself so closely?

 

Duncan sipped at his honey brew. I noticed then that

: his hair was still black, showing no silver at all. Odd, I

"thought; Duncan was the elder.

 

^ "I am not certain he was cleansed at all," Alix said in a

j^wry low voice. "He is—unhappy." Briefly she looked at

^Duncan. "But that is a private thing."

|| "Can he say nothing to me?" I could not hide the

Desperation in my voice. "Be the gods, we have been

closer than most. We shared an exile together, and then

H.^nly because of me. He might have stayed behind." I

 

•^IhxMced at them both, almost pleading to understand. "Why

4^an he say nothing to me?"

 

"It is private," Duncan repeated. "But no, he can say

othing to you. He knows you too well."

,1 swore, then glanced in concern to Donal. But boys

row up, and I did not doubt he had heard it before. Finn

ad taught me the Cheysuli invectives. "He told you what

e did, then. To Electra?"

"To Tynstar," Duncan said.

 

 

 

 

^ I heard the firecaim crackle in the sudden silence. A

^tussing mote of sparks flew up. "Tynstar?" I said at last.

'H-.. "Aye. It was not Electra he meant to slay; did you think

^"ft was?" He frowned. "Did he tell you nothing?"

'&;. I recalled how he had said it over and over, so hoarse

ilH'and stricken: Tynstar was here. And how I had ignored it.

^ ."He said—something—"

 

?  "Tynstar set a trap," Duncan explained, echoing Finn's

'^own words. "He set it in Electra's mind, so that anyone

 

• using the earth magic on her would succumb to the

 

^ possession."

; My body twitched in surprise. "Possession/"

 

The firelight cast an amber glaze across the face before

, toe. Smoke was drawn upward to the vent-flap, but enough

.•'remained to shroud the air with a wispy, ocherous haze.

 

262 Jennifer Roberson

 

Duncan was gold and bronze and black in the light, and

the hawk-earring transfixed my gaze. I smelled smoke and

wet for and honey, sweet honey, with the bittersweet tang

of spice.

 

"The Ihlini have that power." Duncan said quietly. "It

is a balance of our own gift, which is why we use it

sparingly. We would not have it said we are anything like

the Ihlini." Minutely, he frowned, looking downward into

his cup. "When we use it, we leave a person his soul. We

do little more than suggest, borrowing the will for a mo-

ment only." Again the faint frown that alarmed me- He

was not divulging something. "When it is Ihlini-done, the

soul is swallowed whole. Whole . . . and not given back at

all."

 

Silence. Duncan put out a hand and touched his son,

tousling Donal's hair in a gesture that betrayed his con-

cern as the boy crept closer, between father and lir. I

thought Duncan knew how avidly the boy listened and

meant to calm any fears. The gods knew I had a few of my

own.

 

"Finn reacted the way any Cheysuli would react; per-

haps even you." He did not smile. "He tried to slay the

trapper through the trap. It is—understandable." His eyes

lifted to meet mine squarely. "In that moment she was not

Electra to him, not even a woman. To Finn, she was

simply Tynstar. Tynstar was—there."

 

I frowned. "Then Tynstar knew it was Finn he had—"

 

"I do not doubt it," Duncan said clearly. "An Ihlini trap

will kill. He did not intend to leave Finn alive. But

something—someone—prevented the death by shattering

the trap-link."

 

"/ broke it." I recalled how Electra had grasped Finn's

hand, leaving blood in the scratches she had made. How

he had been unable to break free.

 

And I recalled, suddenly, how he had slain the Homanan

assassin in the Eliasian blizzard, more than a year before.

How he had said he touched Tynstar, who had set the man

a task—

 

I stood up- Bile surged into my throat. Before they

could say a word I bent down and swept up my damp

cloak, then went out of the pavilion shouting for my horse.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    263

 

Alix, running out into the rain, caught my arm as I

moved to sling on the cloak. "Carillon—wait you! What

^areyou doing?"

 

f- The hood lay on my shoulders and the rain ran into my

s mouth. "Do you not see?" I was amazed she could be so

 

•Sfelind. "Finn thought he slew Tynstar through Electra.

' ..Tynstar thought he slew him—" I swung up on my horse.

^ "If one is afraid, one can only become unafraid by facing

^uwat causes the fear."

 

•^' "Carillon!" she shouted, but I was already gone.

 

v&

 

f I heard the howling when I ran into Homana-Mujhar.

^Sowling. Gods, was Finn a-wolf—?

y The white faces were a blur, but I heard the frightened

Invoices. "My hrd!" "My lord Carillon!" "The Mujhar!" I

1-pushed past them all and answered none of them, con-

^Scious only of the great beating of fear in my chest.

 

i Howling. Gods, it was Storr. Not Finn. But the scream-

 

||ng was Elecra's.

 

t Weight hung off my shoulders as I pounded up the

 

''twisting red stone stairs. I ripped the cloak-brooch from

ll'ffiy left shoulder and felt the fabric -tear. Weight and gold

%Se\\ behind me; I heard the clink of brooch on stone and

Hlhe soft slap of soaked wool falling to the stairs. "My lord!"

 

But I ran on.

 

^ I burst through the women and into the room. I saw

H Electra first, white-faced and screaming though Lachlan

^" suggested she be quiet. No need, he said; no need to

^acream- Safe, he said; unharmed. The wolf was held at

Itfcay.

 

^ Electra was whole. I saw it at once. She stood in a

^. comer with Lachlan holding her back, his hands upon her

 

arms. Holding her back—

 

"  —from Finn. From Finn, who was capably cornered by

' Rowan with his sword, and another man-at-arms. They

caged him with steel, bright and deadly, and the wolf in

man's shape was held at bay.

 

,  He bled. Something had opened the scar so that his face

ran with blood. It stained the leather jerkin and splattered

: down to his thighs, where I saw more blood. His right

 

Z64 JonnHrr Roberson

 

thigh, where the Atvian spear had pierced. There was a

cut in his leggings and blood on Rowan's blade.

 

He was Hat against the wall, head pressed back so that

his throat was bared, Blood ran from the opened scar to

trickle down his throat, crimson on bronze; I smelted the

tang of fear. Gods, it swallowed him whole and left noth-

ing to spit out.

 

I looked again at Electra and heard the women's fright-

ened conversation. I understood little of it, knowing it to

be only Solindish. But I understood the screams.

 

I went to her and set a hand on Lachlan's shoulder. He

saw me, but he did not let her go. I knew why. There was

blood on her nails and she wanted more; she would rip the

flesh from his bones.

 

"Electra," I said.

 

The screaming stopped. "Carilhn—"

 

"I know." I could hear the howling still. Storr, locked

somewhere within the palace. Locked away by his /ir.

 

1 turned away again, looking back at Finn. His eyes

were wide and wild- Breath rasped in his throat. Even

from here, I saw how he shook; how the trembling wracked

his bones.

 

"Out!" I shouted at the women. "This will be better

done without your Solindish tongues!"

 

They protested at once. So did Electra. But I listened to

none of it. I waited, and when they saw I meant it they

gathered their skirts and scuttled out of the room. I slammed

the heavy door shut behind them, and then I went to

Finn.

 

The man-at-arms—Perrin, I knew—stepped out of my

way at once. Rowan hesitated, still holding Finn at

swordpoint, and I set him aside with one ungentle thrust

of my arm. I went through the space where Rowan had

stood and caught the jerkin in both hands, pulling Finn

from the wall even as he sagged.

 

"Ku'reshtin!" I used the Cheysuli obscenity, knowing

he would answer no Homanan. "Tuhalla deil" Lord to

liege man, a command he had to acknowledge.

 

I felt the shaking in the flesh beneath my hands. Fists

clenched and unclenched helplessly, clawless and hu-

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    265

 

^man, but betrayal nonetheless. I had seen the bruises on

 

r'Electra's throat.

 

§•' I heard the labored breathing. The howling filled the

* halls. Human and wolf, both driven to extremes. But at

fctfus moment I thought Storr, at least, knew what was

 

^ap)ing on.

 

^ I thrust Finn into the corner, fenced by two walls of

 

I^^Stone. 1 drew back one fist and smashed it into his face,

 

g-ITfaiocking skull against brick. Blood welled up in a broken

 

i^   ,„

 

No! Rowan caught my arm.

 

"Get you gone!" 1 thrust him back again. "I am not

fating him to death, I anr beating him to sense—"

A hand closed on my wrist. Finn's hand, but lacking all

rength. "Tynstar—"

 

At least he could speak again. "Finn—you fool! You

oV. It was a trap—a trap—" I shook my head in despera-

»n. "Why did you go in again? Why did you give him the

iance?"

 

'Tynstar—" It hissed out of his bloodied mouth. 'Tyn-

ir—here—"

 

"He nearly slew me!" Electra's-voice was hoarse and

roken. "Your shapechanger tried to slay me!"

'Tynstar was here—"

 

"No." I felt the futility well into my chest. "Oh Finn,

•—not Tynstar. Electra. It was a trap—"

Tynstar." For a moment he frowned in confusion, trying

 

to stand on his own. He knew I held him, and I thought

 

toe knew why. "Let go."

 

"No." I shook my head. "You will try for her again."

It focused him. I saw sense in his eyes again, and the

 

^fear came leaping back to swallow him whole once more.

I slammed him against the wall once more as he thrust

mselffrom the stone. Electra shouted again, this time in

>lindish, and I heard the rage in her voice. Not only fear,

ough there was that. Rage. And wild, wild hatred.

"Finn—" I set the elbow against his throat and felt him

 

"jftiflen at once. We had done it all before.

 

"My lord." Rowan's voice was horrified. "What will you

 

>?"

 

Tynstar's meijha," Finn rasped. Tynstar was here—"

 

266 Jennifer Robwson

 

I let him go. I let go of the wrist I held, took my arm

from his throat and stood back. But this time the sword

was in my hand, my sword, and he stopped when I set the

point against his throat. "No," I said. "Hold. I will get the

truth from you one way or another." I saw the shock in his

eyes. "Finn, I understand. Duncan has said what it was,

and I recall how you were in the Ellasian snowstorm." I

paused, looking for comprehension in his eyes. "Do not

make it any worse."

 

He was still white as death. Blood welled in the opened

scar. Now. seeing him in extremity, I saw clearly the

silver in his hair. Even beneath the blood his face was

harder, more gaunt at eyes and beneath his cheeks. He

had aged ten years in two months.

 

"Finn," I said in rising alarm, "are you ill?"

 

"Tynstar," was all he said, and again: "Tynstar. He put

his hand on me."

 

When I could I looked at Rowan, standing silent and

shocked beside me. "How did you come to be here?"

 

He swallowed twice. "The Queen screamed, my lord

We all came." He gestured at Lachlan and Perrin. "There

were more at first, but I sent them away. I thought you

would prefer this matter handled in private."

 

I felt old and tired and used up. I held a sword against

my liege man. I had only to look at his face to know why it

was necessary "What did you find when you came?"

 

"The Queen was—in some disarray. Finn's hands were

on her throat." Rowan looked angry and confused. "My

lord—there was nothing else I could do. He was trying to

slay the Queen."

 

I knew he meant the leg wound. I wondered how bad it

was. Finn stood steadily enough now, but I could see the

pain in the tautness of his gaunt, bloody face.

 

Lachlan spoke at last. "Carillon—I have no wish to

condemn him. But it is true. He would have taken her

life."

 

"Execute him." Electra's tone was urgent. "He tried to

slay me. Carillon."

 

"It was Tynstar," Finn said clearly. "It was Tynstar I

wanted."

 

"But it was Electra you would have slain." The sword,

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    267

 

for the slightest moment, wavered in my hand. "You fool,"

^i I whispered, "why have you done this to me? You know

It? what I must do—"

 

"No!" It exploded from Rowan's throat. "My lord—you

 

f cannot—"

 

[ "No," 1 said weanly, "I cannot—not that. But there is

 

^something else—"

 

|||  "Execute him!" Electra again. "There is nothing else to

H^be done. He sought to slay the Queen!"

 

;' "1 will not have him slain."

 

;  It was Lachlan who understood first. "Carillon! It will

 

"bare your back to the enemy!"

 

'  "I have no choice." I looked directly at Finn, still caged

 

^by the steel of my sword. "Do you see what you have

 

:done?"

 

He raised his hands. He closed them both on the blade,

 

| blocking out the runes. The ones his father had made.

 

pVo."

 

|& I was nearly shaking myself. "But you would do it again,

 

II would you not?"

 

^ The grimace came swiftly, bared teeth and the sugges-

 

^tion of a deep growl in a human throat. "Tynstar—"

 

^ "Electra," I said. "You would do it again, would you

 

hiot?"

 

I "Aye ..." A breathy hiss of sound expelled from a

 

? constricted throat. He was shaking.

 

} "Finn," I said, "it is done. I have no choice. The service

 

-is over." I stopped short, then went on when I could

 

1-speak. "The blood-oath is—denied."

 

^ His eyes were fixed on mine. After a moment I could

 

Knot bear to look at them, but I did. I had given him the

L;task; it was mine to do as well.

 

^  He took his hands from the blade. I saw the lines

Impressed into his palms, but no blood. He bled enough

 

thready, inside as well as out.

 

;' His voice was a whisper, "ja'hai-na," he said only.

 

'Accepted.

 

; I put the sword away, hearing the hiss of steel on boiled

 

^leather as it slid home. The lion was quiescent, the bril-

liant ruby black.

 

Finn took the knife from the sheath at his belt and

 

268 Jennifer Roberson

 

offered it to me. My own, once, the royal blade with its

 

golden Homanan crest.

 

It nearly broke me. "Finn," I said, "I cannot."

"The blood-oath is denied." His face was stark, old,

 

aging. "Ja'hai, my lord Mujhar."

 

I took it from his hand. There was blood upon the gold.

 

"Ja'hai-na," I said at last, and Finn walked from the room.

 

THREE

 

?"When I could, I went out into the corridor and moved

I slowly through the dimness. The torches were unlighted.

I, The hallway was empty of people; my servants, knowing

l^feow to serve, left me to myself.

 

u No more howling. Silence. Storr, with Finn was gone.

^My spirit felt as extinguished as the torches.

• I went alone to the Great Hall and stood within its

^darkness. The firepit was banked. Coals glowed. Here, as

^well, none of the torches was lighted.

Silence.

 

I tucked the Homanan blade into my belt beside the

'Cheysuli knife in its sheath and began shifting the un-

bumed logs in the firepit with my booted feet. The coals I

also kicked aside until I bared the iron ring beneath its

^ heavy layer of ash. Then I took a torch, pushed the shaft

I'through the ring, and levered it up until the heavy plate

Hi rose and fell back, clanging against the firepit rim. The ash

';3 puffed up around it.

 

ji^  I lighted the torch and went down when the staircase

^ lay bare. I counted this time: one hundred and two steps.

•gi I stood before the wall and saw how the rain had soaked in

^- from the storm. The walls were slick and shiny with damp-

^ ness. The runes glowed pale green against the dark stone.

^ I put my fingers to them, tracing their alien shapes, then

^found the proper keystone. The wall, when I leaned,

 

, grated open.

 

269

 

270 Jennifer Roberwon

 

I stood in the doorway. Lir-shapes, creamy and veined

with gold, loomed at me from the walls. Bear and boar,

owl and hawk and falcon. Wolf and fox, raven, cat and

more. In the hissing light of the iron torch they moved,

silent and supple, against the silken stone.

 

I went into the vault. I let the silence oppress me.

 

FoolFoolFool, I thought.

 

I took the Cheysuli knife from my sheath. The light

glittered off the silver. I saw the snarling wolfs-head hilt

with its eyes of uncut emerald. Finn's knife, once.

 

I moved to the edge of the oubliette. As before, the

torchlight did not touch the blackness within. So deep, so

soft, so black. I recalled my days in there, and how I had

become someone other than myself. How, for four days, I

had thought myself Cheysuli.

 

I shut my eyes. The glow of the torchlight burned

yellow against my lids. I could see nothing, but I recalled

it all. The soft soughing of shifting wings, the pip of a

preening falcon. How it was to go trotting through the

forest with a pelt upon my back. And freedom, such

perfect freedom, bound by nothing more than what the

gods had given me.

 

"Ja'hai.' I reached out my hand to drop the knife into

the pit.

 

"Carillon."

 

I spun around and teetered on the brink while the torch

roared softly against the movement,

 

I might have expected Finn. But never Tourmaline.

 

She wore a heavy brown traveling cloak, swathed in

wool from head to toe. The hood was dropped to her

shoulders and I saw how the torchlight gleamed on the

gold in her tawny hair. "You have sent him away," she

said, "and so you send me as well."

 

All the protests leaped into my mouth. I had only to

say them in a combination of tones; impatience, confusion,

irritation, amazement and placation. But none of them

were right. I knew, suddenly and horribly; I knew. Not

Lachlan. Not Lachlan at all, for Torry.

 

The pieces of the fortune-game, quite suddenly, were

thrown across the table from their casket and spread out

before me in their intricate, interlocking patterns that

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    271

 

double too often as prophets. The bone dice and carven

rune-sticks stood before me in the shape of my older

sister, and I saw the pattern at last.

 

Torry," was all I said. She was too much like me. She

let no one turn her from one way when it was the way she

wanted to go.

 

"We did not dare tell you," she said quietly. "We knew

what you would do. He says—" already she had fallen into

the easy attribution so common to women when they

speak of their men "—that in the clans women are never

bartered to the warriors. That a man and woman are left to

their own decisions, without another to turn them against

their will."

 

"Tourmaline . . ." I felt tired suddenly, and fall of aches

and pains. "Torry, you know why I had to do it. In our

House rank is matched with rank; I wanted a prince for

 

-, you because you deserve that much, if not more. Torry—I

 

'did not wish to make you unhappy. But I need the aid

 

[from another realm—"

 

^ "Did you think to ask me?" Slowly she shook her head

and the torchlight gleamed in her hair. "No. Did you

 

'.think I would mind? No. Did you think I would even

 

^protest?" She smiled a little. "Think you upon my place,

 

^Carillon, and see how you would feel."

 

The pit was at my back. I thought now another one

yawned before me. Torry," I said finally, "think you I

had any choice in whom 1 wed? Princes—and kings—have

no more say than their women. There was nothing I could

 

; do,"

 

t "You might have asked me. But no, you ever told. The

 

h Mujhar of Homana orders his sister to wed where he will

 

• decide." She put up a silencing hand. Her fingers seemed

. sharp as a blade. "Aye, I know—it has ever been this way.

' And ever will be. But this once, this once, I say no. I say I

choose my way."

"Our mother—"

 

"—is gone home to Joyenne." She saw my frown of

surprise. "I told her, Carillon. Like you, she thinks me

mad- But she knows better than to protest." The smile

came more freely. "She has raised willful children,

Carillon—they do what they will do when it comes to

 

272 Jennifer Roberson

 

whom they marry." She laughed softly. "Think you that I

was fooled about Electra? Oh Carillon, I am not blind. I do

not deny she was a pathway to Solinde, but she is more

than that to you- You wanted her because—like all men

who see her—you simply had to have her. That is a

measure of her power."

 

'Tourmaline—"

 

"I am going," she said calmly, with the cool assurance of

a woman who has what she wants in the way of a man.

"But I will tell you this much, for both of us: it was not

intended." Tourmaline smiled and I saw her as Finn must

see her: not a princess, not a gamepiece, not even Caril-

lon's sister. A woman; no more, no less. It was no wonder

he wanted her. "You sent him to the Keep to recover from

his wounds. You sent me there for safety. I tended him

when Alix could not, wondering what manner of man he

was to so serve my brother's cause, and he gave me the

safety I needed. Soon enough—it was more." She shook

her head. "We meant to do no harm. But now it comes to

this. he is dismissed from his tahlmorra, and mine is to go

with him."

 

"Tahlmorra is a Cheysuli thing," I told her bleakly.

"Torry, no. I do not wish to lose you as well."

 

"Then take him back into your service."

 

"I cannot!" The shout echoed in the vault, bouncing off

the silent lir. "Do you not see? Electra is the Queen, and

he a Cheysuli shapechanger. No matter what / say in this,

they will always suspect Finn of wishing to slay the Queen.

And if he stayed, he might. Did he not tell you what he

tried to do?"

 

Her lips were pale. "Aye. But he had no choice—"

 

"Nor do I have one now." I shook my head. "Do you

think I do not want him back? Gods, Torry, you do not

know what it was for the two of us in exile. He has been

with me for too long to make this parting simple. But it

must be done. What else is there to do? I could never

trust him with Electra—"

 

"Perhaps you should not trust her."

 

"I wed her," I said grimly. "I need her. Did I allow

Finn to stay and something happened to Electra, do you

know what would happen to Homana? Solinde would rise.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    273

 

No mere army could gainsay an outraged realm. Murder,

Torry." Slowly I shook my head. "Think you the qu'mahlin

is ended? No. Be not so foolish. A thing such as that is

stopped, perhaps, but never forgotten. For too long the

Cheysuli have been hated. It is not done yet." The torch

hissed and sputtered, putting shadows on her face. "This

time, a race would be destroyed. And with it, no doubt,

^' would also fall Homana."

 

Tears were on her face, glittering in the light. "Caril-

, Ion," she whispered, "I carry his cl^ild."

:T   When I could speak, albeit a trembling whisper, I said

^ his name. Then, to myself. "How could I not have seen

it?"

 

4.

 

"You did not look. You did not ask. And now it is too

^•late." She gathered her skirts and cloak with both her

yhands. "Carillon—he waits- It is time I left you."

 

""    um        "

 

Torry—

 

"I will go," she said gently. "It is where I want to be.

We faced each other in the flickering light in a vault full

| of marble lir. I heard the faint cry of hawk and falcon; the

howl of a hunting wolf. I remembered what it was to be

; .Cheysuli.

 

"" I dropped the torch into the oubliette. "I can see no one

^fa this darkness. A person could stay or she could go—and

'I would never know it."

 

Dim light crept down the stairs behind her. Someone

i' held a torch. Somone who waited for Torry.

 

I saw the tear on the curve of her cheek as she came up

to kiss me. And then she was gone, and I was left alone

with the silence and the lir.

 

I let the cover fall free of my hands and slam shut

against the mouth. The gust of air sent ash flying. It

 

-settled on my clothing but I did not care. I kicked coals

and pushed wood over the plate again, hiding the ring in

ash, and went out of the Great Hall alone.

 

I meant to go to bed, though I knew I would not sleep.

I meant to drown myself in wine, though 1 knew it would

 

-leave me sober. I meant to try and forget, and I knew the

%,task was futile.

 

274 Jennifer Roberson

 

Come, lady, and hear of my soul,

 

for a harper's poor magic

 

does little to hold

 

a fine lady's heart

 

when she keeps it her own.

 

I stopped walking. The music curled out to wrap me in

its magic and I thought at once of Lachlan. Lachlan and

his Lady. Lachlan, whose lays were all for Torry.

 

Come, lady, and listen.

I will make for you music

from out of the world

if you wait with me,

stay with me,

lay with me, too . .

/ will give you myself

and this harp that I hold.

 

1 followed the song to its source and found Lachlan in a

small private solar, a nook in the vastness of the palace.

Cushions lay on the floor, but Lachlan sat on a three-

legged, velvet-covered stool, his Lady caressed by a lov-

er's hands. I paused inside the door and saw the gold of

the strings: the gleam of green stone.

 

His head was bowed over his harp. He was lost within

his music. I ->aw how his supple fingers moved within the

strings: plucking here, touching there, ever placating his

Lady. He was at peace, eyes shut and face gone smooth,

so that I saw the elegance in his features. A harper is

touched by the gods, and ever knows it. It accounts for

their confidence and quiet pride.

 

The music died away. Silence. And then he looked up

and saw me, rising at once from his stool. "Carillon! I

thought you had gone to bed."

 

"No."

 

He frowned. "You are all over ash, and still damp. Do

you not think you would do better—"

 

"He is gone." I cut him off. "And so is Tourmaline."

 

He stared, uncomprehending. "Torry! Torry—?"

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    275

 

"With Finn." I wanted it said so the cut would bleed

more quickly, to get rid of the pain at once.

 

"Lodhi!" Lachlan's face was bone-white. "Ah, Lodhi—

no-—" He came three steps, still clutching his Lady, and

then he stopped. "Carillon—say you are mistaken. ..."

 

"It would be a lie." I saw how the pain moved into his

eyes; how it stiffened the flesh of his face. He was a child

suddenly, stricken with some new nightmare and groping

for understanding.

 

"But—you said she was meant to wed. You meant her

for a prince."

 

"A prince," I agreed. "Never a harper. Lachlan—"

"Have I waited too long?" His arms were rigid as he

clasped the harp to his chest. "Lodhi, have 1 waited too

long?"

 

"Lachlan, I know you have cared. I saw it from the

beginning. But there is no sense in holding onto the hope

^that it might have been."

 

^  "Get her back." He was suddenly intent. "Take her

[ from him. Do not let her go—"

 

!<'  "No." I said it firmly. "I have let her go because, in the

g,end, there was no way I could stop her. I know Finn too

^ well. And he has said, quite clearly, he will allow no one

J to keep him from the woman he wants."

g^  Lachlan put one hand to his brow. He scraped at the

^'silver circlet as if it bound him too tightly, Then abruptly,

I as if discovering it himself, he pulled it from his head and

held it out in one fist as the other arm clasped his Lady.

 

"Harper!" His pain was out in the open. "Lodhi, but I

have been a fool!"

"Lachlan—"

 

He shook his head. "Carillon, can you not get her back?

I promise you, you will be glad of it. There is something I

would say to her—"

 

"No." This time I said it gently. "Lachlan—she bears

Finn's child."

 

He lost the rest of his color. Then, all at once, he sat

^ down on the three-legged stool. For a moment he just

^ stared at the wooden floor. Then, stiffly, he set his Lady

>^and the circlet on the floor, as if he renounced them both.

J|""I meant to take her home," was all he said.

 

276 Jennifer Roberson

 

"No." I said it again. "Lachlan—I am sorry."

 

Silently he drew a thong from beneath his doublet. He

pulled the leather from around his head and handed the

trinket to me.

 

Trinket? It was a ring. It depended from the thong. I

turned it upward into the candlelight and saw the elabo-

rate crest; a harp and the crown of Ellas.

 

'There are seven of those rings," he said matter-of-

factly. "Five rest on the hands of my brothers. The other

is on my father's finger." He looked up at me at last. "Oh,

aye, I know how things are in royal Houses. I am from one

myself."

 

"Lachlan," I said. "Or, is it?"

 

"Oh, aye. Cuinn Lachian Llewellyn. My father has a

taste for names." He frowned a little, oddly distant and

detached. "But then he has eleven children, so it is for the

best."

 

"High Prince Cuinn of Ellas." The ring fell out of my

hand and dangled on its thong. "In the names of all the

gods of Homana, why did you keep it secret?"

 

A shrug twitched at his shoulders. "It was—a thing

between my father and myself. 1 was not, you see, the sort

of heir Rhodri wanted. I preferred harping to governing

and healing to courting women." He smiled a little, a

mere twisting of his mouth. "I was not ready for responsi-

bility. I wanted no wife to chain me to the castle. I wanted

to leave Rheghed behind and see the whole of Ellas, on

my own, without a retinue. The heirship is so—binding."

Tills time the smile held more of the Lachlan I knew.

"You might know something of that, 1 think."

 

"But—all this silence with Torry. And me\" I thought he

had been a fool. "Had you said anything, none of this

might have happened!"

 

"I could not. It was a bond between my father and me."

Lachlan rubbed at his brow, staring at his harp. He hunched

on the stool, shoulders slumped, and the candlelight was

dull on his dyed brown hair.

 

Dyed brown hair. Not gray, as he had said, pleading

vanity, but another color entirely.

 

I sat down. I set my back against the cold wall and

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    277

 

waited. I thought of Torry and Finn in the darkness and

rain, and Lachlan here before me. "Why?"

 

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "Originally, it was a

,>fiE»me I wished to play How better to see your realm than

 

•. to go its length and breadth unknown? So my father

^^agreed, saying if I wanted to play at such foolishness, I

^'.would have to play it absolutely. He forbade me to divulge

.-.Biy name and rank unless I was in danger."

t,  "But to keep it from me . . ."I shook my head.

M "It was because of you." He nodded as I frowned.

|¥"When I met you and learned who you were, I wrote at

|h0nce to my father. I told him what you meant to do, and

ow I thought you could not do it. Take Homana back

rom Bellam? No. You had no men, no army. Only Finn

"7. and me." He smiled. "I came with you because I

ranted to, to see what you could do And I came because

ay father, when he saw what you meant to do, wanted

MI to win."

 

I felt a sluggish stirring of anger deep inside. "He sent

ie no aid—"

 

'To the pretender-prince of Homana?" Lachlan shook

is head. "You forget—Bellam encroached upon Ellas, He

JFered Electra to Rhodri's heir. It was not in Ellas's

aterests to support Carillon's bid for the throne." He

rftened his tone a bit. "For all I would have liked to give

au what aid I could, I had my father's realm to think of,

>o. We have enemies. This had to remain your battle."

"Still, you came with me. You risked yourself."

"I risked nothing. If you recall, I did not fight, playing

^,the harper's role." He shook his head. "It was not easy. I

Jihave trained as a warrior since I was but a child. But my

Rather forbade me to fight, and it seemed the best thing to

 

-f do. And he said also I was to go to watch and learn what I

I'could. If you won the war and held your realm for a

^twelve-month and a day, Rhodri would oner alliance."

H "It has been longer than that." I did not need to count

^ ithe days.

 

"And did you not just send to other realms, offering the

i"hand of your sister in marriage?" The color moved through

^ris face. "It is not my place to offer what I cannot. My

Hfether is High King. It was for him to accept your offer,

 

Z78 Jennifer Roberson

 

and I had to wait for him." He shut his eyes a moment.

"Lodhi, but I thought she would wait ..."

 

"So did I." The stone was cold against my spine. "Oh

Lachlan, had I known—"

 

"I know. But it was not for me to say." His face was

almost ugly. "Such is the lot of princes."

 

"Could you have said nothing to her?"

 

He stared at the cushion-strewn floor. "I nearly did.

More times than I can count. Once I even spoke of Rhodri's

heir, but she only bid me to be quiet. She did not wish to

think on marriage." He sighed. "She was ever gentle with

my feelings, seeking to keep me—a harper—from looking

too high, as did her brother, the Mujhar." He did not

smile. "And I thought, in all my complacency, she would

say differently when she knew. And you. And so I savored

the waiting, instead."

 

I shut my eyes and rested my head against the stone. I

recalled the harper in the Ellasian roadhouse, giving me

my memories. I recalled his patient understanding when I

treated him with contempt, calling him spy when he was

merely a friend and nothing more.

 

And how I had bidden him slay a man to see if he would

do it.

 

So much between us, and now so little. I knew what he

would do. "You had no choice," I said at last. "The gods

know I understand what it is to serve rank and responsibil-

ity. But Lachlan, you must not blame yourself. What else

could you have done?"

 

"Spoken, regardless of my father." He stared at the

floor, shoulders hunched. So vulnerable, suddenly, when

he had always been so strong. "I should have said some-

thing to someone."

 

And yet it would have done no good. We both realized

it, saying nothing because the saying would bring more

pain. A man may love a woman while the woman loves

another, but no man may force her to love where she has

no desire to do so

 

"By the All-Father himself," Lachlan said wearily, "I

think it is not worth it." He gathered up his Lady and

rose, hooking one arm through the silver circlet. He had

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    279

 

more right to it than most, though it should have had the

•^hine of royal gold.

 

l^' I stood up stiffly and faced him. I held out the ring on

^•fts leather thong. "Lachlan—" I stopped.

^ He knew. He took the ring, looked at the crest that

,-^inade him a man—a prince—apart, then slipped the thong

Iwer his head once more. "I came a harper," he said

^ quietly. "It is how I will leave in the morning."

'^ "Do you leave me, old friend, I will be quite alone." It

|was all I could say to him; the only plea 1 would ever

Imake.

 

I saw the pain in his eyes. "I came, knowing I would

ave to leave. Not when,.but knowing the time would

ame. I had hoped, for a while, I would not leave alone."

|Pnie line of his jaw was set; the gentleness of the harper

1 fled, and in its place 1 saw the man Lachlan had ever

3n, but showing it to few. "You are a king. Carillon.

igs are always alone. Someday—I shall know it, too."

te reached out and caught my arm in the ritual clasp of

riendship. "Yhana Lodhi, yffennogfaer."

"Walk humbly, harper," I said softly

He went out of the room into the shadows of the corn-

or, and his Song of Homana was done.

 

I went into my chambers and found her waiting. She

|was in shadow with a single candle lighted. She was wrapped

|in one of my chamber robes: wine-purple velvet hned

|with dappled silver fur. On her it was voluminous, I could

isee little but hands and feet.

 

I I stopped. 1 could not face her now. To look at her was

|to recall what Finn had done, and how it had ended in

Banishment. How it had ended with Tony and Lachlan

^ gone as well. To look at her was to look on the face of

 

g^aloneness, and that I could not bear.

 

•^ "No," she said, as I made a movement to go. "Stay you.

 

^Do you wish it, 1 will go."

 

||  Still in shadow. The wine-colored velvet melted into the

 

^ shadows. The candlelight played on her hair—unbound,

 

"^-and hanging to her knees.

 

fe I sat down because I had no strength to stand. On the

ledge of my draperied bed. I was all over ash, as Lachlan

 

280 Jennifer Roberson

 

had said, and still damp from the storm outside. No doubt

I smelled of it as well: wet wool and smoke and flame.

 

She came and stood before me. "Let me lift this grief

from you."

 

I looked at her throat with the bruises on it; the marks

of a crazed man's madness.

 

She knelt and pulled off my heavy boots. I said nothing,

watching her, amazed she would do what I, or a servant,

could much more easily do.

 

Her hands were deft and gentle, stripping me of my

clothing, and then she knelt before me. "Ah my lord, do

not grieve so. You put yourself in pain."

 

It came to me to wonder whether she had ever knelt for

Tynstar.

 

She put one hand on my thigh. Her fingers were cool. I

could feel the pulse-beat in her palm.

 

I looked again at the bruises on her throat. Slowly I

reached out and set my hands there, as Finn had set his,

and felt the fragility other flesh, "Because of you," I said.

 

"Aye." Her eyes did not waver from mine. "And for

you, good my lord, I am sorry he had to go."

 

My hands tightened. She did not flinch or pull away. "I

am not Tynstar, lady "

 

"No." Neither did she smile.

 

My hands slid up slowly to cup her skull with its weight

of shining hair. The robe, now loosened, slid off her

shoulders and fell against the floor: a puddle of wine-dark

velvet- She was naked underneath.

 

I pulled her up from the stone and into my arms,

sagging back onto the bed. To be rid of the loneliness, I

would lie with the dark god himself.

 

"I need you," 1 whispered against her mouth. "By the

gods, woman, how I need you. ..."

 

FOUR

 

bie infirmary tent stank of blood and burning flesh. I

l^vatched as the army chirurgeon lifted the hot iron from

JIfiowan's arm, studied the seared edges of the wound and

|ftodded. "Closed. No more blood, captain. You will keep

lithe arm, I think, with the help of the gods."

 

^ Rowan sat stiffly on the campstool, white-faced and

Shaking. The sword had cut into the flesh of his forearm,

Hbut had missed muscle and bone. He would keep the arm

Hand its use, though I did not doubt he felt, at the moment,

Ute if it had already been cut off.

 

H He let out his breath slowly. It hissed between his

Uteeth. He put out his right hand and groped for the cup of

I sour wine Waite had set out on the table. Fingers closed

| on the cup, gripping so hard the knuckles shone white,

|and then he lifted it to his mouth. I smiled. Waite had put

|.a powder in it that would ease the pain a bit. Rowan had

^originally refused any such aid, but he had not seen the

^ powder. And now he drank, unknowing, and the pain

It; would be eased somewhat.

 

§  I glanced back over my shoulder through the gap in the

P entrance flap. Outside it was gray, gray and dark blue,

J|| with the weight of clouds and winter fog. My breath,

Hijeaving the warmth of the infirmary tent, plumed on the

^Sair, white as smoke.

 

'i "My thanks, my lord." Rowan's voice still bore the

1'strain, but it lessened as the powder worked its magic.

 

I 281 I

 

282 Jennifer Roberson

 

He began to pull on his fur-lined leathers, though I

knew the motion must hurt. I did not move to help

because I knew he would not allow it, me being his

Mujhar, and because it would hurt his pride. Like all the

Cheysuli, he had his pride; a prickly, arrogant pride that

some took for condescension. It was not, usually. It was

merely a certainty of their place within the boardgame of

the gods. And Rowan, though he was less Cheysuli in his

habits than Homanan, reflected much of that traditional

pride without even knowing it.

 

I shifted in the entrance, then grimaced in response to

the protests of my muscles. My body was battered and

sore, but I bore not a single wound from the last encoun-

ter earlier in the day. My blood was still my own, unlike

Rowan's—unless one counted what I had lost from my

nose when struck in the face by my horse's head. The

blow had knocked' me half-senseless for a moment or two,

making me easy prey, but I had managed to stay in the

saddle. And it was Rowan, moving to thrust aside the

attacker's sword, who had taken the blow meant for me.

We were both fortunate the Atvian had missed his target.

 

"Hungry?" I asked.

 

Rowan nodded. Like us all, he was too thin, pared

down to blood and bone. Because of his Cheysuli features

his face was gaunter than mine, because of my beard, no

one noticed if I seemed gaunt or not. It had its advan-

tages; Rowan looked ill, I did not, and I hated to be asked

how I fared. It made me feel fragile when I was not, but

that is the cost of being a king.

 

Rowan pulled on his gloves, easing into the right one

because the movement hurt his arm. He was still pale,

lacking the deeper bronze of Cheysuli flesh because of the

loss of blood. With his eyes gone black from the drug and

the pallor of his face, he looked more Homanan than

Cheysuli.

 

Poor Rowan, I thought: forever caught between the

worlds.

 

He scrubbed his good arm through his heavy hair and

glanced at me. He forced a smile. "It does not hurt, my

lord."

 

Waite, putting away his chirurgeon's tools, grunted in

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    283

 

itisgust. "In my presence, it hurts. Before the Mujhar, it

loes not. You have miraculous powers of healing, my lord

Is. . . perhaps we should trade places."

 

|| . Rowan colored. I grinned and pulled aside the doorflap,

jiwaving him outside even as he protested I should go first.

IftThe mist came up to chill our faces at once. Rowan hunched

|[,liis shoulders against the cold and cradled his aching arm.

|p'*It is better, my lord."

 

H I said nothing about the powder, merely gestured

^Boward the nearest cooldire. "There. Hot wine and roasting

Hlboar. You will undoubtedly feel better once your belly is

||fall again."

 

H. He walked carefully across the hardpacked, frozen ground,

|trying not to jar the injured arm. "My lord . .  I am

|sorry."

 

^ "For being injured?" I shook my head. "That was my

|wound you took. It requires my gratitude, not an apology

Ifrom you."

 

"It does." Tension lines marred the youthfulness of his

ce. He watched the ground where he walked and the

lick black hair hid most of his face. Like me, he had not

lit it for too long. "You would do better with Finn at your

Side. I am—not a liege man." He cast me a quick, glinting

"ance out of drug-blackened eyes. "I have not the skill to

"ep you safe, my lord."

 

I stopped at the cookfire and nodded at the soldier who

iided the roasting boar. He began to cut with a greasy

life. "You are not Finn, nor ever can be," I said clearly

» Rowan. "But I want you by my side."

"My lord—"

 

I cut him off with a gesture of my hand. "When I sent

IFfinn from my service six months ago, I knew what I was

,,"risking. Still, it had to be done, for the good of us all. I do

ot dismiss the importance his presence held. The bond

etween Cheysuli liege man and his Mujhar is a sacred

Iling, but—once broken—there is no going back." I grasped

this uninjured arm, knowing there was no lir-ba.nd under-

Ifteath the furs and leathers. "I do not seek another Finn. I

alue you. Do not disappoint me by undervaluing your-

elf." The soldier dropped a slice of meat onto a stab of

augh bread and put it into my hands. In turn, I put it into

 

284 Jennifer Roberson

 

Rowan's. "Now, eat. You must restore your strength so we

can Bght again."

 

The mist put beads of water into his hair Damp, it

tangled against his shoulders. His face was bleak, pale,

stretched taut over prominent bones, but I thought the

pain came from something other than his arm.

 

A pot of wine was wanning near the firecairn. I knelt,

poured a cup and handed it up to Rowan. And then, as I

turned to pour my own, I heard someone shout for me.

 

"Meat, my lord?" asked the soldier with the knife.

 

"A moment." I rose and turned toward the shout. In the

mist it was hard to place such sounds, but then I saw the

shapes coming out of the grayness. Three men on horse-

back: two of them my Homanans, the third a stranger.

 

They were muffled in mired leathers and woolen wrap-

pings. The mist parted as they rode through and showed

them more clearly, then closed behind them again. "My

lord!" One of the men dismounted before me and dropped

to one knee, then up again. "A courier, my lord."

 

The gesture indicated the still-mounted stranger. He

rode a good horse, as couriers usually do, but I saw no

crest to mark him. He wore dark leathers and darker wool;

 

a cap hid most of his head so that only his face showed.

 

The hot wine warmed my hands, even through my

gloves. "Atvian?" I put no inflection in my tone.

 

The stranger reached up to pull woolen wraps from his

face. "No, my lord—Ellasian." Mouth bared, the words

took on greater clarity. "Sent from High Prince Cuinn."

 

Lachlan. I could not help the smile. "Step you down,

friend courier. You are well come to my army."

 

He dismounted, came closer and dropped to one knee

in a quick bow of homage. Neatly done. He had a warm,

friendly face, but was young, and yet he seemed to know

his business. He was red-haired beneath the cap,, judging

by his brows, and his eyes were green. There were freck-

les on his face.

 

"My lord, it pleases me to serve the High Prince. He

bids me give you this." He dug into a leather pouch at his

belt and withdrew a folded parchment, A daub of blue wax

sealed it closed, and pressed into it was the royal crest: a

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    285

 

^fcarp and the crown of Ellas. It brought back the vision of

^Lachlan and his Lady, when he told me who he was.

X I broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. It crack-

,€,led in the misted air; its crispness faded as the paper

H^wilted. But the words were legible.

 

S&&'

 

^ Upon returning home to Rheghed, I was met with

warm welcome from the king my father. So warm,

indeed that he showered me with gifts. One of these

gifts was a command of my own, did I ever need to

use it. I doubt Rhodri ever intended me to be so

generous as to loan the gift to you, but the thing is

already done. My men are yours for as long as you

need them. And does it please you to offer a gift in

return, I ask only that you treat kindly with Ellas

when we seek to make an alliance.

 

By the hand of the High Prince,

Cuinn Lachlan Llewellyn

 

I grinned. And then I laughed, and set my cup of hot

rtne into the hands of the courier. "Well come, indeed," I

Ad. "How many. and where?"

 

He grinned back when he had drunk. "Half a league

1st, my lord. As to the number—five thousand. The

toyal Ellasian Guard."

 

I laughed again, loudly. "Ah Lodhi, I thank you for this

ourier! But even more I thank you for Lachlan's mend-

hip!" I clapped the courier on his shoulder. "Your name."

 

"Gryffth, my lord."

 

"And your captain's?"

 

"Meredyth. A man close to the High Prince himself."

iryflth grinned. "My lord, forgive me, but we all know

'iat Prince Cuinn intended. And none of us is unwilling.

 

all I send to bring them in?"

 

"Five thousand. ..." I shook my head, smiling at the

 

Might. "Thome will be finished in a day."

 

Gryffth brightened. "Then you are near to winning?"

 

"We are winning." I said. "But this will make the

nding sweeter. Ah gods, I do thank you for that harper."

 

took the cup from Gryffth as he went to remount his

 

286 Jennifer Roberson

 

horse, and watched him ride back into the fog with his

 

Homanan guides.

 

"Well, my lord," Rowan said, "the thing is done at last."

"A good thing, too." I grinned "You are not fit to fight

 

with that arm, and now you will not have to."

 

"My lord—" he protested, but I did not listen as I read

 

Lachlan's note again.

 

The map was of leather, well-tanned and soft It was a

pale creamy color, and the paint stood out upon it. In the

candlelighted pavilion, the lines and rune-signs seemed to

glow.

 

"Here." I put my forefinger on the map. "Mujhara. We

are here—perhaps forty leagues from the city northwest "

I moved my finger more westerly. 'The Cheysuli are

here, closer to Lestra, though still within Homana." I

lifted the finger and moved it more dramatically, pointing

out the Solindish port ofAndemir "Thome came in here,

Atvia is but eight leagues across the Idrian Ocean, directly

west of Solinde. He took the shortest sea route to Solinde,

and the shortest land route to Homana." I traced the

invisible line across the map. "See you here? —he came

this way, cutting Solinde in half. It is here our boundary

puts its fist into Solinde, and it is where Thorne was

bound."

 

"But you stopped him " The Ellasian captain nodded.

"You have cut him off, and he goes no farther."

 

It seemed odd to hear the husky accent again, though

we spoke Homanan between us and all my captains There

were other Ellasians as well, clustered within my tent; I

meant Lachlan's gift to know precisely what they were

doing.

 

"Thorne let it be known he was splitting his army," I

explained. "He would come overland through Solinde,

gaining support from the rebels there. But he also sent a

fleet—or so ail the reports said. A fleet bound for

Hondarth—down here." I set my finger on the mark that

represented Hondarth, near the bottom of the map and

directly south of Mujhara. "But there was no fleet—no

real fleet. It was a ruse."

 

Meredyth nodded. "He meant you to halve your army

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    287

 

and send part of it to Hondarth, so that when he came in

here—full strength—he would face a reduced Homanan

warhost." He smiled. "Clever. But you are more so, my

.-lord Mujhar."

 

, - I shook my head. "Fortunate. My spies are good. I

..^teard of the ruse and took steps to call back those I had

^dispatched to Hondarth; thank the gods, they had not

^ gotten far. We have Thome now, but he wilt not give up.

£-He will send his men against me until there is no one

 

^fcft-'

 

^; "And the Solindish aid he wanted?"

y "Less than he desired." Meredyth was older than I by

'^gt least twenty years, but he listened well. At first I had

1-pesitated to speak so plainly, knowing him more experi-

^fcBced than I, but Lachlan had chosen well. Here was a

,' man who would listen and weigh my words, then make his

" idgment upon them. "He came into Solinde expecting to

ad thousands for the taking, but there have been only

indreds. Since I sent the Cheysuli there, the Solindish

 

•e—hesitant to upset the alliance I made."

Meredyth's expression showed calm politeness. "The

ll^ueen fares well?"

 

/ I knew what he asked. It was more than just an inquiry

ler Electra's health. The future of Solinde rested upon

ie outcome—or issue—of the marriage; Electra would

 

*ar me a second child in three months and, if it were a

Jy, Solinde would be one child closer to freedom and

 

I.Alitonomy. It was why Thome had found his aid so thin.

 

1-That, and the Cheysuli.

 

||t" "The Queen fares well," I said.

 

J|"' Meredyth's smile was slight. "Then what of the Ihlini,

 

^roy lord? Have they not joined with Thome?"

 

i|»  "There has been no word of Ihlini presence within the

 

||Atvian army." Thank the gods. but I did not say it. "What

 

^j^tye face are Atvians with a few hundred Solindish rebels."

 

L^? made a quick gesture. "Thome is clever, aye, and he

 

as. knows how to come against me. I am not crushing him as I

 

iKfflight wish, not when he uses my own methods against

 

^sac. No pitched battles, merely raids and skirmishes, as I

 

i^mployed against Bellam. As you see, we have been here

 

w1

 

288 Jennifer Roborson

 

six months; the thing is not easily won. At least—it was

not, until Lachtan sent his gift."

 

Meredyth nodded his appreciation. "I think, my lord,

you will be home in time to see the birth of your heir."

 

"Be the gods willing." I tapped the map again. "Thome

has sent some of his army in here, where I have posted

the Cheysuli. But the greater part of it remains here,

where we are. The last skirmish was two days ago. I doubt

he will come against me before another day has passed.

Until then, I suggest we make our plans "

 

Thorne of Atvia came against us two days later with all

the strength he had. No more slash and run as he had

learned from me, he fought, this time, with the determi-

nation of a man who knows he will lose and, in the losing,

lose himself. With the Ellasian men we hammered him

back, shutting off the road to Homana. Atvian bowmen

notwithstanding, we were destroying his thinning ofiense.

 

I sought only Thorne in the crush of fighting. I wanted

him at the end of my blade, fully aware of his own death

and who dealt it. It was he who had taken my sword from

me on the battlefield near Mujhara, nearly seven years

before. It was he who had put the iron on me and ordered

Rowan flogged. It was Thorne who might have slain Alix,

given the chance, had not the Cheysuli come. And it was

Thorne who offered me insult by thinking he could pull

down my House and replace it with his own.

 

When the arrow lodged itself in the leather-and-mail of

my armor, I thought myself unhurt. It set me back in the

saddle a moment and I felt the punch of a sharpened fist

against my left shoulder, but I did not think it had gone

through to touch my flesh. It was only when I reined my

horse into an oncoming Atvian that I realized the arm was

numb.

 

I swore. The Atvian approached at full gallop, sword

lifted above his head. He rode with his knees, blind to his

horse, intent on striking me down. I meant to do the

same, but now I could not. I had only the use of one arm.

 

His horse slammed into mine. The impact sent a wave

of pain rolling from shoulder to skull. I bent forward at

once, seeking to keep my seat as the Atvian's sword came

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    289

 

down. Blade on blade and the screech of stee —the de-

flected blow went behind me, barely, and into ny saddle.

I spun my horse away and the Atvian lost his sword. It

remained wedged in my saddle, offering precarious seat-

ing, since an ill-timed movement might result in an opened

buttock, but at least I had disarmed him. 1 stood up in my

stirrups, avoiding the sword, and saw him coming at me.

 

He was unarmed. He screamed. And he threw himself

from his horse to lock both hands through the rings of my

mail.

 

My own sword was lost. I felt it fall, twisting out of my

hand, as the weight came down upon me. He was large,

too large, and unwounded. "With both hands grasping the

ringmail of my armor, he dragged me from my horse.

 

I twisted in midair, trying to free myself. But the ground

came up to meet us and nearly knocked me out of my

senses. My left arm was still numb, still useless.

 

His weight was unbearable. He ground me into the

earth. One knee went into my belly as he rose up to reach

for his knife and I felt the air rush out. And yet somehow I

gritted my teeth and unsheathed my own knife, jabbing

upward into his groin.

 

He screamed. His own weapon dropped as he doubled

over, grabbing his groin with both hands. Blood poured

out of the wound and splashed against my face. And yet 1

could not move; could not twist away. His weight was

upon my belly and the fire was in my shoulder.

 

I stabbed again, striking with gauntleted hands. His

, screams ran on, one into another, until it was a single

' sound of shock and pain and outrage. I saw the blindness

in his eyes and knew he would bleed to death.

 

He bent forward. Began to topple. The knee shut off

my air. And then he fell and the air came back, a little,

but all his dead weight was upon me. His right arm

was flung across my face, driving ringmail into my mouth,

and I felt the coppery taste of blood spring up into my

teeth. Blood. Gods, so much blood, and some of it my

own. . . .

 

I twisted. I thrust with my one good arm and tried to

topple him off. But his size and the slackness of death

 

290 Jennifer Robarcon

 

undid me, the heaviest weight of all, and 1 had no strength

left to fight it. I went down, down into the oubliette, with

no one there to catch me. . . .

 

Shadows. Darkness. A little light. I thrust myself up-

ward into the light, shouting out a name.

 

"Be still, my lord," Rowan said. "Be still."

 

Waite took a swab of bloody linen from me and I real-

ized he tended my shoulder. More blood. Gods, would he

turn to cautery? It was no wonder Rowan seemed so calm.

He had felt the kiss of hot steel and now expected me to

do the same.

 

I shut my eyes. Sweat broke out and coursed down my

face. I had forgotten what pain was, real pain, having

escaped such wounds for so long. In Caledon, once or

twice, I had been wounded badly, but I had always forgot-

ten the pain and weakness that broke down the soul.

 

"The arrow was loosed from close by," Waite said conver-

sationally. "Your armor stopped most of the force of it, but

not all. Still, it is not a serious wound; I have got the

arrowhead out. If you lie still long enough, I think the

hole will heal.

 

I opened one eye a slit. "No cautery?*'

 

"Do you prefer it?"

 

"No—" I hissed as the shoulder twinged. "By the gods—

can you not give me what you gave Rowan?"

 

"I thought you gave me something," Rowan muttered.

"I slept too well that night."

 

Waite pressed another clout of linen against the wound.

It came away less bloody, but the pain was still alive. "I

will give you whatever you require, my lord. It is a part of

a chirurgeon's service." He smiled as I scowled-. "Wait you

until I am done with the linens, and you shall have your

powder." He gestured to Rowan. "Lift him carefully, cap-

tain. Think of him as an egg."

 

I would have laughed, had I the strength. As it was I

could only smile. But when Rowan started to lift me up so

Waite could bind the linens around my chest, I nearly

groaned aloud. "Gods—are all my bones broken?"

 

"No." Waite pressed a linen pad against my shoulder

and began to bind strips around my chest. "You were

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA     291

 

,fbund beneath three hundred pounds of mailed Atvian

bulk. I would guess you were under it for several hours,

while the battle raged on. It is no wonder you feel half-

crushed— there, captain, I am done. Let him down again,

gently. Do not crack the eggshell."

 

I shut my eyes again until the sweat dried upon my

body. A moment later Waite held a cup to my mouth,

1 "Drink, my lord. Sleep is best for now."

 

It was sweetened wine. I drank down the cup and lay

" my head down again, trying to shut out the pain. Rowan,

 

kneeling beside my cot, watched with worried eyes.

T   I shivered. Waite pulled rugs and pelts up over my

 

body until only my head was free. There were braziers all

.-'around my cot. In winter, even a minor wound can kill.

 

My mouth was sore, no doubt from where the ringmail

v. had broken my lip. I tongued it, feeling the swollen cut,

If then grimaced. What a foolish way to be taken out of a

I: battle.

 

^'  "I must assume we won the day," I said. "Otherwise I

^ would doubtless be in an Atvian tent with no chirurgeon

^ and no captain " I paused. "Unless you were taken, too."

^  "No." Rowan shook his head. "We won, my lord, re-

^. soundingly. The war as well as the'day. The Atvians are

^ broken—most of them who could ran back into Solinde. I

"doubt they will trouble us again."

^ "Thorne?"

^  "Dead, my lord."

if-   I sighed. "I wanted him."

 

^   "So did I." Rowan's face was grim. "I did not heed you,

^ my lord, I went into battle myself. But I could not find

^ him in the fighting."

 

^>  The powder was beginning to work. Coupled with the

^ weakness from the wound, it was sucking me into the

< darkness. It grew more difficult to speak. "See he is bur-

. ied as befits his rank," I said carefully, "but do not return

J his body to his people. When my father lay dying of his

 

wounds on the plains near Mujhara, and Thorne had taken

\ me, I asked for a Homanan burial. Thorne denied it to

 

him. And so I deny an Atvian rite to Thorne."

^  "Aye, my lord." Rowan's voice was low

i.   I struggled to keep my senses. "He has an heir. Two

 

292 Jennifer Roberson

 

sons, I have heard! Send—send word the Mujhar of Homana

asks fealty. I will receive Thome's sons in Homana-Mujhar—

far their oaths." I frowned as my lids sealed up my eyes.

"Rowan—see it is done—"

 

"Aye, my lord."

 

I roused myself once more. "We leave here in the

morning. I want to go back to Mujhara."

 

"You will not be fit to go back in the morning," Waite

said flatly. "You will see for yourself, my lord."

 

"I am not averse to a litter," I murmured. "My pride

can withstand it, I think."

 

Rowan smiled. "Aye, my lord. A litter instead of a

horse."

 

I thought about it. No doubt Electra would hear. I did

not wish her to worry. "I will go in a litter until we are but

half a league from Mujhara," I told him clearly. "Then I

will ride the horse."

 

"Of course, my lord. I will see to it myself."

 

I gave myself over to darkness.

 

Waite, unfortunately, bad the right of it. Litter or no. I

was not fit to go back in the morning. But by the third day

I felt much better. I dressed in my warmest clothing,

trying to ignore the pain in my shoulder, and went out to

speak to Meredyth and his fellow captains.

 

Their time with me was done. Their aid had helped me

accomplish Thorne's defeat, and it was my place now to

send them home- I saw to it each captain would have gold

to take back to Ellas, as well as coin for the common

soldiers. The war with Thome had not impoverished me,

but I had little to spare. All I could promise was a sound

alliance for the High King, which seemed to please

Meredyth well enough. He then asked a boon of me,

which I gave him gladly enough: Gryfflh had asked to stay

in Homana to serve Ellas in Homana-Mujhar, more an

envoy than simple courier. And so the Royal Ellasian

Guard went home, lacking a red-haired courier.

 

I also went home, in a litter after all—too worn to spend

time on horseback—and spent most of the journey home

sleeping, or contemplating my future. Atvia was mine, did

I wish to keep it, although there was a chance Thorne's

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    293

 

sons might wish to contest it. I thought they were too

young, but could not set an age to them. Yet to try to

govern Atvia myself was nearly impossible. The island was

'' too distant. A regent in Solinde was bad enough, and yet I

, had no choice. I did not want even Solinde; Bellam had,

: more or less, bequeathed it to me with his death, and the

" marriage had sealed it. Although I was not averse to

^ claiming two realms my own in place of the single one I

, wanted, I was not greedy. In the past, far-flung realms

^Shad drained the coffers of other kings, I would not fall into

£the trap. Atvia was Atvian. And did Electra give me an

^heir this time, I would be happy enough to see Solinde go

^ to my second son.

 

'J,  It was days to Mujhara by litter, and it was well before

half a league out that I took to a horse at last. The wound

in my shoulder ached, but it was beginning to heal. I

thought, so long as I did not push myself too hard, I could

ride the rest of the way.

 

And yet when at last I rode through the main gates of

[my rose-walled palace, I felt the weariness in my body.

|f My mind was fogged with it. I could hardly think. I

^Wanted only to go to bed, my bed, not to some army cot.

^And with Electra in my arms.

 

,t  I acknowledged the welcome of my servants and went at

|once to the third floor, seeking Electra's chambers. But a

ITSolindish chamberwoman met me at the door and said the

| Queen was bathing, could I not wait?

 

No, I said, the bath could wait, but she giggled and said

the Queen had prepared a special greeting, having re-

ceived the news of my return. Too weary to think of

waving such protestations aside—and wondering what

^ Electra could be planning—I turned back and went away.

^   If I could not see my wife, I could at least see my

^ daughter. I went to the nursery and found eight-month-

/ old Aislinn sound asleep in an oak-and-ivory cradle, at-

.' tended by three nursemaids. She was swathed in linens

, and blankets, but one fist had escaped the covers She

' -. clutched it against her face!

 

^  I smiled, bending down to set a hand against her cheek.

i^So soft, so fair . I could not believe she was mine. My

^hand was so large and hard and callused, touching the

 

294 Jennifer Roberson

 

fragile flesh. Her hair, springing from the pink scalp, was

coppery-red, curling around her ears. And her eyes, when

they were open, were gray and lashed with gold. She had

all of her mother's beauty and none of her father's size.

 

"Princess of Homana," I whispered to my daughter.

"who will be your prince?"

 

Aislinn did not answer. And I, growing wearier by the

moment, thought it better to leave her undisturbed. So I

took myself to my chambers and dismissed my body-

servant, falling down across my bed to mimic my daugh-

ter's rest.

 

I came up out of the blackness to find I could not

breathe. Something had leached the air from my lungs

until I could not cry out, could not cry, could not speak.

All I could do was gape like a fish taken from the water,

napping on the bank.

 

There was no pain. Merely helplessness and confusion;

 

pain enough, to a man who knows himself trapped. And

does not know why.

 

A cool hand came down and touched my brow. It floated

out of the darkness, unattached to an arm, until I realized

the arm was merely covered by a sleeve.

 

"Carillon. Ah, my poor Carillon. So triumphant in your

battles, and now so helpless in your bed."

 

Electra's voice, Electra's hand- I could smell the scent

upon her. A bath, the woman had said; a special greeting

prepared.

 

The cool fingers traced the line of my nose; gently

touched my eyelids. "Carillon ... it ends. This travesty of

our marriage. You will end, my lord." The hand came

down my cheek and caressed my open mouth. "It is time

for me to go."

 

Out of the darkness leaped a rune, a glowing purple

rune. and in its reflection I saw my wife. She wore black

to swath her body, and yet I saw her belly. The child. The

heir of Homana. Did she dare to take it from me?

 

Electra smiled. A hood covered all her hair, leaving

only her face in the light. One hand came up to cradle her

belly. "Not yours," she said gently. "Did you really think

it was? Ah no. Carillon ... it is another man's. Think you

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    295

 

I would keep myself to you when I can have my true lord's

love?" She turned slightly, and I saw the man beyond her.

 

I mouthed his name, and he smiled. The sweet, beguil-

ing smile that I had seen before.

 

He moved forward out of the darkness. It was his rune

that set the room afire. In the palm of his right hand it

danced.

 

Tynstar set his hand to the wick of the candle by my

bed, and the candle burst into flame. Not the pure yellow

fire of the normal candle, but an eerie purple flame that

hissed and shed sparks into the room.

 

The rune in his hand winked out. He smiled. "You have

been a good opponent. It-has been interesting to watch

you grow, watch you come to manhood, watch you learn

what it is to rule. You have learned how to manipulate

men and make them bend to your will without making

them aware what you do. There is more kingcraft in you

than I had anticipated, when I set you free to leave this

place eight years ago."

 

I could not move. I felt the helplessness in my body and

the futility in my soul. I would die without a protest,

unable to summon a sound. At least-let me make a sound—

 

"Blame yourself," Tynstar told me gently. "What I do

now was made possible by you, when you sent the Cheysuli

from your side. Had you kept him by you—" He smiled.

"But then you could not, could you, so long as he threat-

ened the Queen. You had Etectra to think of instead of

yourself. Commendable, my lord Mujhar; it speaks well of

your priorities. But it will also be your death." The flame

danced upon its wick and sculpted his bearded face into a

death's head of unparallelled beauty. "Finn knew the truth,

He understood- It was Finn who saw me in Electra's bed."

His teeth showed briefly as I spasmed against the sheets.

One hand went to Electra's belly.

 

I tried to thrust myself from the bed but my limbs

would not obey me. And then Tynstar moved close, into

the sphere of light, and put his hand upon me.

 

"I am done playing with you," he said. "It is time for me

to rule." He smiled. "Recall you what Betlam was, when

you found him on the field?"

 

I spasmed again and Tynstar laughed. Electra watched

 

296 Jennifer Robercon

 

me as a hawk will watch a coney, delaying its stoop until

the perfect moment.

 

"Cheysuli i'halla shansu," Tynstar said. "Give my greet-

ings to the gods."

 

I felt the change within my body. Even as I fought

them, my muscles tightened and drew up my limbs. But-

tocks, feet and knees, cramping so that I nearly screamed,

while my legs folded up to crush themselves against my

chest. My hands curled into fists and a rictus set my

mouth so that my teeth were bared in a feral snarl. I felt

my flesh tightening on my bones, drying into hardness.

 

What voice there was left to me lost itself in a garbled

wail, and I knew myself a dead man. Tynstar had slain his

quarry.

 

Cheysuli i'halla shansu, he had said. May there be

Cheysuli peace upon you. An odd farewell from an Ihlini

to a Homanan. Neither of us claimed the magic the Cheysuli

held, and yet Tynstar reminded me of it. Reminded me of

the four days I had spent in the oubliette, believing myself

Cheysuli.

 

Well, why could I not again? Had I not felt the power of

the race while I hung in utter darkness?

 

My eyes were staring. I shut them. Even as I felt my

muscles wrack themselves against my bones and flesh, I

reached inward to my soul where I could touch what I

touched before: the thing that had made me Cheysuli.

 

For four days, once, I had known the gods- Could I not

know them again?

 

I heard the hiss of steel blade against a sheath. And

then I heard nothing more.

 

FIVE

 

Silence. The darkness was gone and the daylight pierced

my lids- It painted everything orange and yellow and

crimson.

 

I lay quite still. I did not breathe; did not dare to,

until at last my lungs were so empty my heart banged

against my chest protesting the lack. I took a shallow

breath-

 

I saw the shadow then. A dark blot moved across

the sunrise of my vision. It whispered, soughing like a

breeze through summer grass. Like spreading wings on

a hawk.

 

Afraid I would see nothing and yet needing to see, I

opened my eyes. I saw. The hawk perched on the chair

back, hooked beak gleaming in the sunlight and his bright

eyes ftill of wisdom. And patience, endless patience. Cai

was nothing if not a patient bird.

 

I turned my head against the pillow. The draperies of

my bed had been pulled back, looped up against the

wooden tester posts and tied with ropes of scarlet and

gold. Sunlight poured in the nearest casement and glit-

tered off the brilliance. Everywhere gold. On my bed and

on Duncan's arms.

 

I heard the rasp of my breath and the hoarseness of my

voice. 'Tynstar slew me."

 

"Tynstar tried."

 

I 297 I

 

298 Jennifer Roberson

 

I was aware of the bed beneath my body. It seemed to

press in on me, oppressing me, yet cradling my flesh.

Everything was emphasized. I heard the tiniest sounds,

saw colors as 1 had never seen them and felt the texture of

the bedclothes. But mostly I sensed the tension in Dun-

can's body.

 

He sat upright on a stool, very still as he waited. I saw

how he watched me, as if he expected something more

than what I had given him. I could not think what it

was—we had already discussed Finn's dismissal. And yet I

knew he was afraid.

 

Duncan afraid? No. There was nothing for him to fear.

 

I summoned my voice again. "You know what hap-

pened—?"

 

"I know what Rowan told me."

 

"Rowan " I frowned. "Rowan was not there when Tynstar

came to slay me."

 

"He was." Duncan's smile was brief. "You had best

thank the gods he was, or you would not now be alive. It

was Rowan's timely arrival that kept Tynstar's bid to slay

you from succeeding." He paused. "That . . . and what

power you threw back at him."

 

I felt a tiny surge within my chest. 'Then I did reach

the magic!"

 

He nodded. "Briefly, you tapped what we ourselves

tap. It was not enough to keep Tynstar in check for long—he

would have slain you in a moment—but Rowan's arrival

was enough to end the moment. The presence of a

Cheysuli—though he lacks a lir—was enough to dilute

Tynstar's power even more. There was nothing he could

do, save die himself when faced with Rowan's steel, So—he

left. But not before he touched you." He paused. "You

nearly died. Carillon. Do not think you are unscathed."

 

"He is gone?"

 

"Tynstar." Duncan nodded. "Electra was left behind."

 

I shut my eyes. I recalled how she had come out of the

darkness to tell me the truth of the child. Gods—Tynstar's

child—

 

I looked at Duncan again. My eyes felt gritty. My

tongue was heavy in my mouth. "Where is she?"

 

"In her chambers, with a Cheysuli guard at the doors."

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    299

 

Duncan did not smile. "She has a measure of her own

power. Carillon; we do not take chances with her."

 

"No." I pushed an elbow against the bed and tried to sit

up. I discovered no part of my body would move. I was

stiff and very sore, far worse than after a battle, as if all the

dampness had got into my bones. I touched my shoulder

then, recalling the healing wound. There were no ban-

dages. Just a small patch of crinkled flesh. "You healed

me ..."

 

"We tried." Duncan was very grave. "The arrow wound

was easily done. The —other—was not. Carillon—" For a

moment he paused, and then I saw his frown. "Do not

think Ihlini power is easily overcome. Even the earth

magic cannot restore that which has been taken from a

soul. Tynstar has power in abundance. What was taken

from you will never be regained. You are—as you are "

 

I stared at him. And then I looked down at myself and

saw myself. There seemed to be no difference. I was very

stiff and sore and slow, but a sojourn in bed will do that.

 

Duncan merely waited. I moved again to sit up, found it

every bit as difficult as before, but this time I prevailed. I

swung my legs over the side of the bed, screwed up my

face against the creaking of my joints, and sat there as all

my muscles trembled.

 

It was then I saw my fingers. The knuckles were en-

larged hugely, the flesh stretched thin over brittle bones.

I saw how the calluses had begun to soften, shedding the

toughness I needed against the use of a sword. I saw how

the fingers were vaguely twisted away from my thumb.

And I ached. Even in the sunlight, I ached with a bone-

deep pain.

 

"How long?" I asked abruptly, knowing I had spent

more than days in my bed.

 

"Two months. We could not raise you from the stupor "

 

Naked, I wrenched myself from the bed and stumbled

across the chamber, to the plate upon the wall. Tjie pol-

ished silver gave back my face, and I saw what Tynstar

had done.

 

Carillon was still Carillon, certainly recognizable. But

older, so much older, by twenty years at least.

 

"It is my father," I said in shock, recalling the time-

 

300 Jennifer Roberson

 

worn face. The tawny-dark hair was frosted with gray with

the beard showing equal amounts. Creases fanned out

from my eyes and bracketed nose and mouth, though most

were hidden by the beard. And set deeply into the still-

blue eyes was the knowledge of constant pain.

 

It was no wonder I ached. I had the same disease as my

mother, with her twisted hands and brittle bones, the

swollen, painful joints. And with each year, the pain and

disability would worsen.

 

Tynstar had put his hand on me and my youth was

spent at once.

 

I turned slowly and sat down on the nearest chest. I

began to shake with more than physical weakness. It was

the realization.

 

Duncan waited, saying nothing, and I saw the compas-

sion in his eyes. "Can you not heal me of this?" I gestured

emptily. "The age and gray I can live with, but the illness

. . . you have only to see my lady mother—" I stopped. I

saw the answer in his face.

 

After a moment he spoke. "It will improve. You will not

be as stiff when some time has passed. You have spent two

months in bed and it takes its toll on anyone—you will

find it not so bad as it seems now. But as for the disease

..." He shook his head. 'Tynstar did not give you any-

thing you would not have known anyway. He inflicted

nothing upon you that time itself would not inflict. He

merely stole that time from you, so that a month became

ten years. You are older, aye, but not old. There are many

years left to you."

 

I thought of Finn. I recalled the silver in his hair and

the hard gauntness of his face. I recalled what he had said

of Tynstar; "He put his hand on me."

 

The chest was hard and cold against my naked buttocks.

"When my daughter is older, I will be old. She will have a

grandsire for a father."

 

"I doubt she will love you the less for that. 'r

 

I looked at him in surprise. A Cheysuli speaking of

love? —aye, perhaps, when the moment calls for an hon-

esty that can bring me back to myself.

 

My body protested against the dampness of the cham-

ber. I got up and walked—no, limped—stiffly back to my

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA

 

301

 

^

 

V

 

I-

 

bed, reaching for the robe a servant had left. "I will have

to deal with Electra."

 

"Aye. And she is still the Queen of Homana."

 

"As I made her." I shook my head. "I should have

listened to you. To Finn. I should have listened to

someone."

 

Duncan smiled, still sitting on his stool "You know

more of kingcraft than I do. Carillon. The marriage brought

peace to Homana—at least regarding Solinde—and I can-

not fault you for that. But—"

 

"—but I wed a woman who intended my death from the

first moment she ever saw me." The pain curled deeply

within my loins. "Gods—I should have known by looking

at her. She claims more than forty years—I should have

known Tynstar could give those years as well as take

them." I rubbed at my age-lined face and felt the twinges

in my fingers. "I should have known Tynstar's arts would

prevail when I had no Cheysuli by me. No liege man."

 

"They planned well, Tynstar and Electra," Duncan

agreed. "First the trap-link, which might have slain Finn

and rid them of him sooner. Then, when that did not

work, they used it to draw him into a second trap. Finn, I

do not doubt, walked in on Tynstar and Electra when he

meant only to confront her. He could not touch Tynstar,

but Tynstar touched him, then took his leave and Finn

had only Electra. And yet when he told you Tynstar had

been present, you thought of the trap-link instead." Dun-

can shook his head and the earring glittered in the sun-

light, "They played with us all, Carillon . . and nearly

won the game."

 

'They have won." I sat huddled in my robe. "I have

only a daughter, and Homana has need of an heir."

 

Duncan rose. He moved to Cai and put out a hand to

the hawk, as if he meant to caress him. But he did not

touch him after all, and I saw how his fingers trembled.

"You are still young, for all you feel old." His back was to

me. 'Take yourself another cheysula and give Homana

that heir."

 

I looked at his back, so rigid and unmoving. "You know

Homanan custom. You were at the wedding ceremony; do

you not recall the vows? Homanans do not set wives aside.

 

302 Jenntfer Roberson

 

It is a point of law, as well as being custom. Surely you,

with all your adherence to Cheysuli custom, can under-

stand the constraints that places on me. Even a Mujhar."

 

"Is the custom so important when the wife attempts to

slay the husband?"

 

I heard the irony in his tone. "No. But she did not

succeed, and I know what Council will say. Set her aside,

perhaps, but do not break the vows. It would be breaking

Homanan law. The Council would never permit it."

 

Duncan swung around and faced me. "Electra is Tynstar's

meijha! She bears his child in her belly! Would the

Homanan Council prefer to have you dead?"

 

"Do you not see?" I threw back. "It has been taken

from my hands. Had Tourmaline not gone with Finn,

wedding with Lachlan instead, I could have sought my

heir from her. Had she wed any prince, Homana would

have an heir. But she did not. She went with Finn and

took that chance from me."

 

"Set her aside," he said urgently. "You are Mujhar—

you can do anything you wish."

 

Slowly I shook my head. "If I begin to make my own

rules, I become a despot. I become Shaine, who desired

to destroy the Cheysuli race. No, Duncan. Electra re-

mains my wife, though I doubt I will keep her here. I

have no wish to see her or the bastard she carries."

 

He shut his eyes a moment, and then I understood. I

knew what he feared at last.

 

I was tired. The ache had settled deeply in my bones. I

felt bruised from the knowledge of what I faced. And yet I

could not avoid it- "There is no need to fear me," I said

quietly.

 

"Is there not?" Duncan's eyes were bleak. "I know what

you will do."

 

"I have no other choice."

 

"He is my son—"

 

"—and Alix's, and Alix is my cousin." I stopped, seeing

the pain in the face Alix loved. "How long have you

known it would come to this?"

 

Duncan laughed, but it had a hollow, desperate sound.

"All my life. it seems. When I came to know my tahlmorra."

He shook his head and sat down upon the stool. His

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    303

 

shoulders slumped and he stared blankly at the floor. "I

have always been afraid. Of you ... of the past and future

... of what I knew was held within the prophecy for any

son of mine. Did you think I wanted Alix only out of

desire?" Anguish leached his face of the solemnity I knew.

"Alix was a part of my own tahlmorra. I knew, if I took

her and got a son upon her, I would have to give up that

son, I knew. And so I hoped, when she conceived again,

there would at least be another for us ... but the Ihlini

took even that from us." He sighed. "I had no choice. No

choice at all."

 

"Duncan," I said after a moment, "can a back not be

turned upon tahlmorra?'''

 

He shook his head immediately. "The warrior who turns

his back on his tahlmorra may twist the prophecy. In

twisting it, he destroys the tahlmorra of his race. Homana

would fall. Not in a year or ten or twenty—perhaps not

even a hundred—but it would fall, and the realm would

| be given over to the Ihlini and their like." He paused.

^ "There is another thing: the warrior who turns his back on

his tahlmorra gives up his afterlife. I think none of us

would be willing to do that.'

 

I thought of Tynstar, and others like him, ruling in

Homana. No. It was no wonder Duncan would never

consider trying to alter his tahlmorra.

 

I frowned. "Do you say then that even a single warrior

turning his back on his tahbnorra may change the balance

of fate?"

 

Duncan frowned also. For once. he seemed to grope for

the proper words, as if he knew the Homanan tongue

could never tell me what I asked. But the Old Tongue

would not serve; I knew too little of it. And what I did

know I had learned from Finn; he had never spoken of

such personal Cheysuli things.

 

Finally Duncan sighed. "A crofter goes to Mujhara to-

day instead of tomorrow. His son falls down a well. The

son dies." He made the spread-fingered, palm-up gesture.

"Tahlmorra. But had the crofter gone tomorrow instead of

today, would the son yet live? I cannot say. Does the

death serve a greater pattern? Perhaps. Had he lived,

would it have destroyed the pattern completely? Perhaps—I

 

304 Jennifer Robemon

 

cannot say." He shrugged. "I cannot know what the gods

intend."

 

"But you serve them all so blindly—"

 

"No. My eyes are open." He did not smile. "They have

given us the prophecy, so we know what we work toward.

We know what we can lose, if we do not continue serving

it. My belief is such: that certain events, once changed,

can alter other events. Are enough of them altered, no

matter how minor, the major one is changed. Perhaps

even the prophecy of the Firstborn."

 

"So you live your life in chains." I could not compre-

hend the depth of his dedication.

 

Duncan smiled a little. "You wear a crown, my lord

Mujhar. Surely you know its weight."

 

"That is different—"

 

"Is it? Even now you face the overwhelming need to

find an heir. To put a prince on the throne of Homana you

will even take my son."

 

I stared at him. The emptiness spread out to fill my

aching body. "I have no other choice."

 

"Nor have I, my lord Mujhar." Duncan looked suddenly

weary. "But you give my son into hardship."

 

"He will be the Prince of Homana." The rank seemed,

to me, to outweigh the hardship.

 

He did not smile. "It was your title, once. It nearly got

you slain. Do not belittle its danger."

 

"Donal is Cheysuli." For a moment I was incapable of

saying anything more. I realized, in that moment, that

even I had served the gods. Duncan had said more than

once it was a Cheysuli throne, and that one day there

would be a Cheysuli Mujhar in place of a Homanan. And

now I, with only a few words, made that prediction come

true.

 

Are men always so blind to the gods, even when they

serve them?

 

"Cheysuli," Duncan echoed, "and so the links are forged."

 

I looked at Cai. I thought of the falcon and wolf Donal

claimed, two lir instead of one. Things changed. Time

moved on, sometimes far too quickly. And events altered

events.

 

I sighed and rubbed at my knees. "The Homanans will

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA

 

305

 

not accept him. Not readily. He is Cheysuli to the bone

despite his Homanan blood."

 

"Aye," Duncan agreed, "you begin to see the danger."

 

"I can lessen it. I can take away the choice. I can make

certain the Homanans accept him."

 

Duncan shook his head. "It has been less than eight

years since Shaine's qumahlin ended because of you. It is

too soon. Such things are not easily done."

 

"No. But I can make it easier."

 

"How?"

 

"By wedding him to Aislinn."

 

Duncan stood up at once. "They are children!"

 

"Now, aye, but children.become adults." I did not care

to see the startled, angry expression on his face, but I had

no choice. "A long betrothal, Duncan, such as royal Houses

do. In fifteen years, Donal will be—twenty-three? Aislinn

nearly sixteen: old enough to wed. And then I will name

him my heir."

 

Duncan shut his eyes. I saw his right hand make the

eloquent sign. "Tahlmorra lujhalla mei wiccan, cheysu"

All the helplessness was in his voice, and I knew it chafed

his soul. Duncan was not a man who suffered helplessness

with any degree of decorum.

 

I sighed and mimicked the gesture, including the

Cheysuli phrase for wishing him peace: Cheysuli i'halla

sfwnsu.

 

"Peace!" It was bitterly said; from Duncan, a revelation.

"My son will know none of that."

 

I felt the dampness in my bones and pulled the heavy

robe more tightly around my shoulders. "1 think 7 have

known little of it. Have you?"

 

"Oh, aye," he returned at once, with all the force of his

bitterness. "More than you. Carillon. It was to me that

Alix came."

 

The bolt went home. 1 grimaced, thinking of Electra,

and knew I would have to deal with it before more time

went by. The gods knew Tynstar had stolen enough.

 

"I will send for Alix," I said at last, hunching against the

chill he did not seem to feel. "And Donal. I will explain

things to them both. I would have you send Cai, but there

is a task I have for you." I expected a refusal, but Duncan

 

306 Jennifer Roberson

 

said nothing at all. I saw the weariness in his posture and

the knowledge in his eyes. He was ever a step before me.

"Duncan—I am sorry. I did not mean to usurp your son."

 

"Be not sorry for what the gods intend." He gestured

the hawk to his arm. How he held him, I cannot say; Cai

is a heavy bird. "As for your task, I will do it. It will get

me free of these walls." For a moment his shoulders

hunched in, mirroring my own, but for a different reason.

"They chafe," he said at last. "How they chafe . . . how

they bind a Cheysuli soul."

 

"But the Cheysuli built these walls." I was surprised at

the vehemence in his tone.

 

"We built them and we left them." He shook his head.

"I leave them. It is my son who will have to learn what it

is to know himself well-caged. I am too old, too set in my

ways to change."

 

"As I am," I said bitterly. "Tynstar has made me so."

 

"Tynstar altered the body, not the mind," Duncan said.

"Let not the body anect the heart." He smiled a moment,

albeit faintly, and then he left the room.

 

I went into Electra's chambers and found her seated by

a casement. The sunlight set her hair to glowing and made

her blind to me. It was only when the door thumped

closed that she turned her head and saw me.

 

She did not rise. She sat upon the bench with the black

cloak wrapped around her like a shroud of Tynstar's mak-

ing. The hood was draped across her shoulders, freeing

her hair, and 1 saw the twin braids bound with silver. It

glittered against the cloak.

 

Tynstar's child swelled her belly. Mine had done it

before. It made me angry, but not so angry as to show it. I

merely stood in the room and faced her, letting her see

what the sorcery had wrought; to know it had been her

doing that changed me so.

 

Her chin lifted a little. She had not lost a whit of her

pride and defiance, even knowing she was caught.

 

"He left you behind," I said. "Was that a measure of his

regard?"

 

I saw the minute twitch of her mouth. I had put salt in

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    307

 

;.

-

i

 

the open wound. "Unless you slay me, he will have me

still."

 

"But you do not think I will slay you."

 

She smiled. "I am Aislinn's mother and the Queen of

Homana. There is nothing you can do."

 

"And if I said you were a witch?"

 

"Say it," she countered. "Have me executed, then, and

see how Solinde responds."

 

"As I recall, it was Solinde you wanted freed." I moved

a trifle closer. "You wanted no vassal to Homana."

 

"Tynstar will prevent it." Her eyes did not shift from

mine. "You have seen what he could do. You hswefelt it."

 

"Aye," I said softly, approaching again. "I have felt it

and so have you, though the results were somewhat re-

versed. It seems I have all the years you shed, Electra,

and like to keep them, I think. A pity, no doubt, but it

does not strip me of my throne. I am still Mujhar of

Homana—and Solinde a vassal to me."

 

, "How long will you live?" she retorted. "You are forty-

five, now. No more the young Mujhar, In five years, ten,

you will be old. Old. In war, old men die quickly. And

you will know war, Carillon; that I promise you."

 

"But you will never see it." I bent down and caught one

of her wrists, pulling her to her feet. She was heavy with

Tynstar's child. Her free arm went down to cradle her

belly protectively beneath the heavy cloak. "I exile you,

Electra. For the years that remain to you."

 

Color splotched her face, but she showed no fear. "Where

do you send me, then?"

 

"To the Crystal Isle." I smiled. "I see you know it. Aye,

a formidable place when you are the enemy of Homana. It

is the birthplace of the Cheysuli and claims the protection

of the gods. Tynstar could never touch you there. Not

ever, Electra. The island will be your prison." I still held

her wrist in one hand. The other I put out to catch one

braid and threaded my fingers into it. "You will be treated

as befits your rank. You will have servants and fine cloth-

ing, good food and wine. proper accoutrements. Every-

thing except freedom. And there—with his child—you

will grow old and die." My smile grew wider as I felt the

 

308 Jennifer Roberson

 

silk of her hair. "For such as you, I think, that will be

punishment enough."

 

"I will bear that child in less than one month." Her lips

were pale and flat. "A journey now may make me lose it."

 

"If the gods will it," I agreed blandly. "I send you in the

morning with Duncan and an escort of Cheysuli. Try your

arts on them, if you seek to waste your time. They, unlike

myself, are invulnerable."

 

I saw the movement deep in her eyes and felt the touch

of her power. Color returned to her face. She smiled

faintly, knowing what 1 knew, and the long-lidded eyes

drew me in. As ever. She would always be my bane.

 

I let go of her wrist, her braid, and cupped her head

with both hands. I kissed her as a drowning man clings to

wood. Gods, but she could move me still , . . she could

still reach into my soul—

 

—and twist it.

 

I set her away from me with careful deliberation and

saw the shock of realization in her face. "It is done,

Electra. You must pay the price of your folly."

 

The sunlight glittered off the silver cording in her braids.

But also off something else: tears. They stood in her great

gray eyes, threatening to spill.

 

But I knew her. Too well. They were tears of anger, not

of fear, and I went out of the room with the taste of defeat

in my mouth.

 

SIX

 

I The arms-master stepped back, lowering his sword. "My

lord Mujhar, let this stop. It is a travesty."

 

My breath hissed between my teeth. "It will remain a

travesty until I learn to overcome it." I gripped the hilt of

my Cheysuli sword and lifted the blade yet again. "Come

against me, Cormac."

 

' "My lord—" He stepped away again, shaking his crop-

; haired head. "There is no sense in it."

 

I swore at him. I had spent nearly an hour trying to

• regain a portion of my skill, and now he denied me the

chance. I lowered my sword and stood there, clad in

breeches and practice tunic while the sweat ran down my

arms. I shut my eyes a moment, trying to deal with the

; pain; when I opened them I saw the pity in Cormac's dark

brown eyes.

 

"Ku'reshtin!" I snapped. "Save your pity for someone

else! I have no need of such—" I went in against him

then, raising the sword yet again, and nearly got through

his belated guard.

 

He danced back, danced again, then ducked my swing-

ing sword. His own came up to parry my blow; I got

under it and thrust toward his belly. He sucked it in.

leaped aside, then twisted and came toward my side. I

blocked, tied up his slash and pushed his blade aside.

 

The rhythm began to come back. It was fitful and very

slow, but I had lost little of my strength. The stamina was

 

I 309 I

 

310 Jennifer Roberson

 

blunted, but it might return in time. I had only to leam

what it was to deal with the stifihess of my joints and

forget about the pain.

 

Cormac caught his lip between his teeth. I saw the light

in his eyes. His soft-booted feet hissed against the floor as

he slid and slid again, ducking the blows I lowered. We

did not fight for blood, sparring only, but he knew I meant

to beat him. He would allow me no quarter, not even if I

were to ask it.

 

It was my hands that failed me finally, my big-knuckled,

aching hands. In the weeks that had followed since I had

regained my senses, I had learned how weakened they

were. My knees hurt all the time, as if some demon

chewed upon them from the inside moving toward the

outside, but when I was moving I forgot them. Mostly. It

was when I stopped that I was reminded of the ache in my

bones. But my hands, in swordplay, were the most impor-

tant, and I had found them the largest barrier to regaining

my banished skill.

 

My wrists held firm, locked against his blow, but the

fingers lost their grip. They twisted, shooting pain up

through my forearms. The sword went flying from my

hands, clanging against the stone, and I cursed myself for

being such a fool as to let it go. But when Cormac bent to

retrieve it I set my foot upon it. "Let it go. Enough of

this. We will continue another time."

 

He bowed quickly and took his leave, taking his sword

with him. My own still lay upon the floor, as if to mock

me, while I tried to regain my breath. I set my teeth

against the pain in my swollen hands. In a moment I bent

down, grimacing against the sudden cramp in my back,

and scooped up the blade with one hand.

 

The sweat ran into my eyes. I scrubbed one forearm

across my face and cleared my burning vision. And then,

giving it up, 1 sat down on the nearest bench. I stretched

out my legs carefully and gave into the pain for a moment,

feeling the fire in my knees. I set back and head against

the wall and tried to shut it all out.

 

"You are better, my lord, since the last time."

 

When I could, I rolled my head to one side and saw

Rowan. "Am I? Or do you merely let me think so?"

 

THE SONG OP HOMANA     311

 

"I would not go up against you," he said flatly, coming

closer. "But you should not hope for it all, not so soon. It

^•'will take time, my lord."

 

"I have no time. Tynstar has stolen it from me." I

scraped my spine against the wall and sat up straight

again, suppressing a grimace, and drew in my feet. Even

my ankles hurt. "Have you come on business, or merely

^ to tell me what you think I want to hear?"

1' "There is a visitor." He held out a silver signet ring set

J; with a plain black stone.

 

I took it and rolled it in my hand. "Who is it, then? Do

I know him?"

 

, "He names himself Alaric of Atvia, my lord. Crown

Prince, to be precise."

 

I looked up from the ring sharply. "Thome is slain. If

this boy is his son, he is now Lord of Atvia in Thorne's

place. Why does he humble himself?"

 

"Alaric is not the heir. Osric, his older brother, sits on

the Atvian throne." He paused. "In Atvia, my lord."

 

I scowled. "Osric is not come, then."

 

"No, my lord."

 

I gritted my teeth a moment, swearing within my mind.

I was in no mood for diplomacy, especially not with a

child. "Where is this Atvian infant?"

 

Rowan smiled. "In an antechamber off the Great Hall,

where I have put him. Would you prefer him somewhere

else?"

 

"No. I will save the Great Hall for his brother." I stood

up, using the wall for a brace. For a moment I waited,

allowing the worst of the pain to die, and then I gave

Rowan my sword. I shut up the ring in my fist and went

out of the practice chamber.

 

The boy, I discovered, was utterly dwarfed by his sur-

roundings. The Great Hall would have overtaken him

completely, and I was in no mood for such ploys. Alaric

looked no older than six or seven and would hardly com-

prehend the politics of the situation.

 

He rose stiffly as 1 came into the chamber, having

dressed in fresh clothing. He bowed in a brief, exceed-

ingly slight gesture of homage that just missed condescen-

 

312 Jannlfar Roberson

 

sion. The expression in his brown eyes was one of sullen

hostility, and his face was coldly set.

 

I walked to a cushioned mahogany chair and sat down,

allowing no hint of the pain to show in my face. I was

stiffening after the sparring. "So . . . Atvia comes to

Homana."

 

"No, my lord." Alaric spoke quietly. "My brother, Lord

Osric of Atvia, sends me to say Atvia does not come to

Homana. Nor ever will, except to conquer this land."

 

I contemplated Aiaric in some surprise. He was dressed

as befitted his rank, and his dark brown hair was combed

smooth. A closer look revealed him older than I had

thought. He was perhaps a year or two older than Donal,

but the knowledge in his eyes seemed to surpass that of a

grown man.

 

I permitted myself a smile, though it held nothing of

amusement. "I have slain your father, my lord Alaric,

because he sought to pull down my House and replace it

with his own. I could do the same to your own, beginning

with you." I paused. "Has your brother a response to

that?"

 

Alaric's slender body was rigid. "He does, my lord. I am

to say we do not acknowledge your sovereignty."

 

I rested my chin in one hand, elbow propped against

the arm rest. "Osric sends you into danger with such

words in your mouth, my young Atvian eagle. What say

you to remaining here a hostage?"

 

Angry color flared in Alaric's face, but he did not waver

a bit. "My brother said I must prepare myself for that,"

 

I frowned. "How old is Osric?"

 

"Sixteen."

 

I sighed. "So young—so willing to risk his brother and

his realm."

 

"My father said you had ever been Atvia's enemy, and

must be gainsaid." Grief washed through the brown eyes

and the mouth wavered a little, but he covered it almost

at once. "My brother and I will serve our father's memory

by fighting you in his place. In the end, we will win. If

nothing else, we will outlive you. You are an old man, my

lord . . . Osric and I are young."

 

1 felt a fist clench in my belly. Old, was I? Aye. to his

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    313

 

eyes. "Too young to die," I said grimly. "Shall I have you

slain, Alaric?"

 

Color receded from his face. He was suddenly a small

boy again. "Do what you wish, my lord—I am prepared."

The voice shook a little.

 

"No," I said abruptly, "you are not. You only think it.

You have yet to look death in the face and know him; had

you done it, you would not accept him so blithely." I

pushed myself up and bit off the oath I wished to spit out

between my teeth- "Serve your lord, boy . . . serve him

as well as you may- But do it at home in Atvia; I do not

slay or imprison young boys."

 

Alaric caught the heavy, ring as I threw it at him. Shock

was manifest in his face. "I may go home?"

 

"You may go home. Tell your brother I give him back

his heir, though I doubt not he will have another one soon

enough, when he takes himself a wife."

 

"He is already wed, my lord."

 

I studied the boy again. 'Tell him also that twice a year

Homanan ships shall call at Rondule. Upon those ships

Osric shall place tribute to Homana. If you wish continued

freedom from Homana, my young lordling, you will pay

the tribute." I paused. "You may tell him also that should

he ever come against me in the field, I will slay him."

 

The small face looked pinched. "I will tell him, my lord.

But—as to this tribute—"

 

"You will pay it," I said. "I will send a message for your

brother back with you in the morning, and it will include

all the details of this tribute. You must pay the cost of the

folly in trying to take Homana." I signalled to one of the

waiting servants. "See he is fed and lodged as befits his

rank. In the morning, he may go home."

 

"Aye, my lord."

 

I put a hand on Alaric's shoulder and turned him toward

the man. "Go with Breman, my proud young prince. You

will not know harm in Homana-Mujhar." I gave him a

push from my swollen hand and saw him start toward

Breman. In a moment they both were gone.

 

Rowan cleared his throat. "Is he not a valuable hostage?"

 

"Aye. But he is a boy."

 

314 Jennifer Roberson

 

"I thought it was often done. Are not princes fostered

on friendly Houses? What would be the difference?"

 

"I will not take his childhood from him." I shivered in

the cold dampness of the chamber. "Osric is already wed.

He will get himself sons soon enough; Alaric will lose his

value. Since I doubt Osric has any intention of coming-so

soon against Homana, I lose nothing by letting Alaric go."

 

"And when, in manhood, he comes to fight?"

 

"I will deal with it then."

 

Rowan sighed. "And what of Osric? Sixteen is neither

child nor man."

 

"Had it been Osric, I would have thrown him into

chains." I paused. "To humble that arrogant mouth."

 

Rowan smiled. "You may yet be able to, my lord."

 

"Perhaps." I looked at Rowan squarely. "But if he is

anything like his father—or even Keough, his grandsire—

Osric and I shall meet in battle. And one of us will die."

 

"My lord." It was a servant in the doorway, bowing with

politeness. "My lord Mujhar, there is a boy."

 

"Breman has taken Alaric," I said. "He is to be treated

with all respect."

 

"No, my lord—another boy. This one is Cheysuli."

 

I frowned. "Say on."

 

"He claims himself kin to you, my lord—he has a wolf

and a falcon."

 

I laughed then. "Donal! Aye, he is kin to me. But he

should have his mother with him in addition to his lir."

 

"No, my lord." The man looked worried. "He is alone

but for the animals, and he appears to have been treated

harshly."

 

I went past him at once and to the entry chamber.

There I saw a falcon perched upon a candlerack with all

the wicks unlighted. The wolf stood close to Donal, shor-

ing up one leg. Donal's black hair was disheveled and his

face was pinched with deprivation. Bruises ringed his

throat.

 

He saw me and stared, his eyes going wide, and I

realized what he saw. Not the man he had known. "Donal,"

I said, and then he knew me, and came running across the

floor.

 

"They have taken my jehana—" His voice shook badly.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    315

 

He shut his eyes a moment, blocking out the tears, and

tried to speak apain. "They have taken her . . . and slain

Torrin in the croft!"

 

I swore, though I kept it to myself. Donal pressed

himself against me, hanging onto my doublet, and I wanted

nothing more than to lift him into my arms. But I did not.

I know something of Cheysuli pride, even in the young.

 

I set one hand to the back of his head as he tucked it

under my chin. I thought, suddenly, of Aislinn, wonder-

ing what she would think of him when she was old enough

to know. This boy would be my heir.

 

"Come," I said, rising, "we will speak of this else-

where." I turned to take' him from the chamber but he

reached up and caught my hand. Instantly I forgot my

resolution and bent to pick him up, moving to the nearest

bench in a warmer chamber. I sat down and settled him

on my lap, wincing against the pain. "You must tell me

what happened as clearly as you can. I can do nothing

until I know."

 

Lom flopped down at my feet with a grunt, but his

brown eyes did not leave Donal's face. The falcon flew in

and found another perch, piping his agitation.

 

Donal rubbed at his eyes and I saw how glassy they

were. He was exhausted and ready to fall, but I had to

know what had happened. As Rowan came in I signalled

for him to pour Donal a swallow or two of wine.

 

"My jehana and I were coming here," Donat began.

"She said you had sent for us. But there was no urgency to

it, and she wanted to stop at the croft." He stopped as

Rowan brought the cup of wine. I held it to his mouth and

let him drink, then gave it back to Rowan. Donal wiped

his mouth and went on. "While we were there, men

came. At first they gave my jehana honor. They shared

their wine and then watched us, and within moments

Torrin and my jehana were senseless. They—cut Tori-in's

throat. They slew him!"

 

I held him a little more tightly and saw the stark pity in

Rowan's face. Donat had come early to his baptism into

adulthood, but Rowan earlier still. "Say on, Donal . . . say

on until you have said it all."

 

His voice took on some life. Perhaps the wine had done

 

316 Jennifer Roberson

 

it. "I called for Taj and Lorn, but the men said they would

slay my jehana. So I told my lir to go away." Renewed

grief hollowed his face, blackening his eyes. "They put her

on a litter and bound her . . . they put a chain around my

neck. They said we would go to the Northern Wastes. ..."

 

I glanced at Rowan and saw his consternation. The

Northern Wastes lay across the Bluetooth River. There

would be no reason to take Donal or Alix there.

 

"They said they would take us to Tynstar—" Donal's

voice was hardly a whisper.

 

It came clear to me almost instantly. Rowan swore in

Homanan even as I said something in the Old Tongue that

made Donal's eyes go wide in astonishment. But I could

not afford to alarm him. "Was there anything more?"

 

His face screwed up with concentration and confusion.

"I did not understand. They spoke among themselves and

I could make no sense of it. They said Tynstar wanted the

seed of the prophecy—me!—and my jehana for a woman.

A woman to use in place of the one he lost to you." Donal

stared up at me. "But why does he want my jehana?"

 

"Gods—" I shut my eyes, seeing Alix in Tynstar's hands.

No doubt he would repay me for sending Electra to the

Crystal Isle. No doubt he would use Alix badly. They had

opposed each other before.

 

It was Rowan who drew Donal's attention away from my

angry face. "How did you win free?"

 

For a moment the boy smiled. "They thought I was a

child, not a warrior, and therefore helpless. They counted

my lir as little more than pets. And so Taj and Lorn kept

themselves to the shadows and followed across the river.

One night, when the men thought I slept, I talked to Taj

and Lom, and told them how important it was that I get

away. And so they taught me how to take ftr-shape, though

the thing was too early done." His face was pinched again.

"Jehan had said I must wait, but I could not. I had to do it

then."

 

"You came alt the way in far-shape?" I knew how drain-

ing it could be, and in a child ... I had seen Alix, once,

when she had shapechanged too often, and Finn as well,

after too long a time spent in wotf-shape. It upset the

human balance.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA

 

317

 

"I flew." Donal frowned. "And when 1 could not fly, I

went as a wolf. And when it sickened me, I walked as

myself. It was hard—harder than I thought ... I believed

ftr-shape was easy for a warrior."

 

I held him a little more tightly. "Nothing is done so

easily when it bears the weight of the gods." I rose, lifting

him to stand. "Come. I will see you are fed and bathed

and given rest in a comfortable bed."

 

Donal slid down to the floor. "But my jehan is here.

Jehana said he was."

 

"Your jehan has gone to Hondarth and it is too soon for

him to be back. Another week, perhaps. You will have to

wait with me." I tousled-the heavy black hair which had

already lost some of its childhood curl. "Donal—I promise

we will fetch your jehana back. I promise all will be well."

 

He looked up at me, huge yellow eyes set in a dark

Cheysuli face. No Cheysuli trusts easily, but I knew he

trusted me. Well, he would have to. I would make him

into a king.

 

Donal braced both elbows against the table top. He

rested his chin in his hands. He, watched, fascinated as

always, as I traced out the battle markings drawn on the

map of Caledon. In the past ten days we had spent hours

with the maps.

 

"It was here." I touched the border between Caledon

and the Steppes. "Your su'fali and I were riding with the

Caledonese, and we went into the Steppes at this point."

 

"How long did the battle take?"

 

"A day and a night. But it was only one of many battles.

The plainsmen fight differently than the Homanans—Finn

and I had to learn new methods." Well, / had; Finn's

methods were highly adaptable and required no reorgani-

zation.

 

Donal frowned in concentration. He put out a finger

much smaller than mine and touched the leather map.

"My su'faU fought with you—so has my jehan . . . will I

fight with you when I am made a prince?"

 

"I hope I may keep the peace between Homana and

other realms," I told him truthfully, "but does it come to

war no matter what I do, aye, you wilt fight with me.

 

318 JennHw Roberson

 

Perhaps against Atvia, does Osric wish to task me ...

perhaps even Solinde, should the regency fail."

 

"Will it?" He fixed me with intent yellow eyes, black

brows drawn down.

 

"It might. I have sent Electra away, and the Solindish

do not like it." 1 saw no sense in hiding the truth from

him. Cheysuli children are more adult than most. Ponal

was also a clan-leader's son, and I did not doubt he already

knew something of politics.

 

Donal sighed and his attention turned. He pushed away

from the table and got off the stool, sitting down on the

floor with Lorn. The wolf stretched and yawned and put a

paw on Donal's thigh as Donal reached to drag him into

his lap. Taj, perched upon a chair back, piped excitedly

and then Duncan was in the doorway.

 

"Jehan!" Donal scrambled up, dumping Lorn, and ran

across the room. I saw Duncan's smile as he caught his son

and the lessening of tension in his face. He scooped up the

boy and held him, saying something in the Old Tongue,

and I knew he could not know. They had left the telling to

me.

 

"Have you been keeping Carillon from his duties?"

Duncan asked as Donal hugged his neck.

 

"jehan—oh jehan . . . why did you not come sooner? I

was so afraid—"

 

"What have you to be afraid of?" Duncan was grinning.

"Unless you fear for me, which is unnecessary. You see I

am well enough." He glanced at me across the top of his

son's dark head. "Carillon, there is—"

 

"Jehan—" Donal would not let him speak. "Jehan—will

you go now? Will you go up across the river? Will you

fetch her back?"

 

"Go where? Why? Fetch who back?" Duncan grinned

and moved across the rootn to the nearest bench. He sat

down with Donal in his lap, though the boy was too big to

be held. It seemed odd to see Duncan so tolerant of such

things; I knew the Cheysuli did not profess to love, and

therefore the words were lacking in their language. And

yet it was manifest in Doncan's movements and voice as

he sat down upon the bench. "Have you lost someone,

small one?"

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    319

 

f   "Jehana," Donal whispered, and I saw Duncan's tace go

 

still.

:   He looked to me at once. "Where is Alix?"

 

"Alix was—taken." I inhaled a careful breath. "It ap-

f. pears it is Tynstar's doing."

 

"Tynstar—" Duncan's face was ashen.

 

"You had best let Dona! tell you," I said quietly "It was

he who won free and came to me here, to tell me what

had happened."

 

Duncan's arms were slack around the boy. And then

suddenly they tightened. "Donal—say what has happened.

All of it. Tell me what you saw; tell me what you heard."

 

Donal, too, was pale". I doubted he had ever seen his

father so shaken. He sat hunched in Duncan's lap and told

the story as he had told it to me, and I saw the struggle in

Duncan's face. It made my own seem a shadow of true

feeling.

 

At last Donal finished, his voice trailing off into silence.

He waited for his father to speak even as I did, but

Duncan said nothing at all. He merely sat, staring into the

distance, as if he had not heard.

 

"Jehan—? Donal's voice, plaintive and frightened, as he

sat on Duncan's tap.

 

Duncan spoke at last. He said something to Donal in

the Old Tongue, something infinitely soothing, and I saw

the boy relax. "Did they harm her, small one?"

 

"No. jehan. But she could hardly speak." Donal's face

was pinched with the memory and he was frightened all

over again.

 

Duncan's hand on his son's head was gentle in its touch.

The tension was everywhere else. "Shansu, Shansu . . I

will get yow jehana back. But you must promise me to

wait here until we come home again."

 

"Here?" Donal sat upright in Ducan's arms. "You will

not send me back to the Keep?"

 

"Not yet. Your jehana and I will take you there when

we are back." His eyes, staring over Donal's head, were

fixed on the distances again. Duncan seemed to be living

elsewhere, even as he held his son. And then I realized he

spoke to Cai. He was somewhere in the link.

 

When he came out of it I saw his fear, though he tried

 

320 Jennifer Roberson

 

to hide it from Donal. For a moment he shut his eyes,

barricading his soul, and then he held Donal more tightly.

"Shansu, Donal— peace. I will get yowjehana back."

 

But I knew, looking at him, he said it for himself and

not his son.

 

"Duncan." I waited until he looked at me, coming out

of his haze of shock. "I have spoken to your second-leader

at the Keep . . . and the Homanans as well. We are

prepared to go with you."

 

"Go where?" he asked. "Do you know? Do you even

know where she is?"

 

"I assumed the lir could find her."

 

"The lir do not need to find her ... I know where Alix

is. 1 know what he means to do." Duncan set Donal down

and told him to take his lir and go. The boy protested,

clearly frightened as well as offended, but Duncan made

him go.

 

At last I faced him alone. "Where?"

 

"Valgaard." He saw the blankness in my face. "Tynstar's

lair. It is a fortress high in the canyons of Solinde—you

have only to cross the Bluetooth and go directly north into

the mountains. Cross the Molon Pass into Solinde and you

have found it. You cannot help but find it." He rose and

paced across the floor, but I saw how his footsteps hesi-

tated. "He would take her there."

 

"Then we will have to go there and get her."

 

He swung around. One hand was on the hilt of his

longknife; I saw how he wanted to shout, to bring down

the walls, and yet he kept himself very quiet. It was eerie.

It was the intensity I had seen so often in Finn, knowing

to keep my distance. But this time, I could not.

 

"Valgaard houses the Gate," he said in a clipped, hissing

tone. "Do you know what you say you will do?" He shook

his head. "No, you do not. You do not know the Gate."

 

"I admit it. There are many things I do not know."

 

Duncan prowled the room with a stiff, angry stride. He

reminded me of a mountain cat, suddenly, stalking down

its prey. "The Gate," he repeated- "Asar-Suti's Gate- The

Gate to the Seker's world."

 

The words were strange. Not the Old Tongue; some-

 

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA

 

321

 

thing far older, something that spoke of foulness. "De-

:mons," I said, before I could stop.

 

, "Asar-Suti is more than a demon. He is the god of the

,netherworld. The Seker himself—who made and dwells in

darkness. He is the font of Ihlini power." He stopped

fpacing. He stood quite still. "In Valgaard—Tynstar shares

.that power."

 

I recalled how easily he had trapped me in my bed,

^seeking to take my life. I recalled how he had changed the

- ruby from red to black. I remembered how it was he had

stolen Homana from my uncle. I remembered Bellam's

body. If he could do all of that while he was out of

.Valgaard, what could he dp within?

 

; Duncan was at the door. He turned back, his face set in

'stark lines of grief and determination. "I would ask no man

to risk himself in such a thing as this."

 

"Alix risked herself for me when I lay shackled in Atvian

iron."

 

"Alix was not the Mujhar of Homana."

"No." I did not smile. "She carried the seed of the

prophecy in her belly, and events can change events."

 

I saw the shock of realization in his face. The risk he

spoke of was real, but no greater than what Alix had faced.

Had she died in my rescue, or somehow lost the child, the

prophecy might have ended before it was begun.

 

"I will go," I said quietly. "There is nothing left but to

do it."

 

He stood in the doorway. For a long moment he said

nothing at all, seemingly incapable of it, and then he

nodded a little. "If you meet up with Tynstar Carillon,

you will have a powerful weapon."

I waited.

"Electra miscarried the child."

 

SEVEN

 

As one, my Homanan troop pulled horses to a ragged halt.

I heard low-voiced comments, oaths made and broken,

prayers to the gods. I did not blame them. No one had

expected this.

 

No one, perhaps, except the Cheysuli. They did not

seem troubled by the place. They merely waited, mounted

and uncloaked, while the sun flashed off their gold.

 

A chill ran down my spine. I suppressed it and reined in

my fidgeting horse. Duncan, some distance away, rode over

to ask about the delay.

 

"Look about you," I said solemnly. "Have you seen its

like before?"

 

He shrugged. "We have come over the Molon Pass.

This is Solinde. We encroach upon Tynstar's realm. Did

you think it would resemble your own?"

 

I could not say what I thought it might resemble. Surely

not this. I only dreamed of places tike this.

 

We had crossed the Bluetooth River twelve days out of

Mujhara: nine Homanans, nine Cheysuli, Rowan and

Gryffth, myself and Duncan. Twenty-two men to rescue

Alix, to take her back from Tynstar. Now, as I looked

around, I doubted we could do it.

 

The Northern Wastes of Homana lay behind us. Now we

faced Solinde, having come down from the Molon Pass,

with Vaigaard still before us. And yet it was obvious we

drew closer. The land reflected the lair.

 

I 322 I

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA

 

323

 

Icy winds blew down from the pass. Winter was done

^with in Homana, but across the Bluetooth the chill never

quite left the land. It amazed me the Cheysuli could go

_ bare-armed, though I knew they withstood hardship bet-

'ter than Homanans.

 

Snow still patched the ground beneath the trees, man-

' thng the rocky mountains. Great defiles fell away into

canyons, sheer and dark and wet from melting snow. All

around us the world was a great, dark, slick wound, bleed-

ing slowly in the sunlight. Someone had riven the earth.

 

Even the trees reflected the pain of the land. They were

wracked and twisted, as if some huge cold hand had swept

; across them in a monstrous fit of temper. Rocks were split

\ open in perfect halves and quarters; some were no more

than powder where once a boulder had stood. But most of

them had shapes. Horrible, hideous shapes, as if night-

mares had been shaped into stone so all could share the

horror.

 

"We draw close to Vaigaard." Duncan said. "This has

been the tourney-field of the Ihlini."

 

I looked at him sharply. "What do you say?"

"Ihlini power is inbred," he explained, "but the control

must be taught. An Ihlini child has no more knowledge of

his abilities than a Cheysuli child; they know they have

magic at their beck, but no knowledge of how to use it. It

must be—-practiced."

 

I glanced around incredulously. "You say these—shapes—

are what the Ihlini have made?"

 

Duncan's horse stomped, scraping iron-shod hoof against

cold black stone. The sudden sound echoed in the canyon.

"You know the three gifts of the Cheysuli," he said qui-

etly. "I thought you knew what the Ihlini claimed."

 

"I know they can make life out of death," I said sharply.

"One Ihlini fashioned a lion out of a knife."

 

"There is that," Duncan agreed. "They have the power

to alter the shapes of things that do not live." His hand

swept out to indicate the rocks. "You have felt another of

their gifts: the power to quicken age. With the touch of a

hand, an Ihlini can make a man old, quickening the infir-

mities that come with years." I knew it too well, but said

nothing. "There is the possession I have spoken of, when

 

324 Jennifer Roberson

 

they take the mind and soul and keep it. And they can

take the healing from a wound. There is also the art of

illusion. What is, is not, what is not, seems to be. Those

gifts. Carillon, and all shadings in between- That is a facet

ofAsar-Suti. The Seker, who lends his magic to those who

will ask."

 

"But—all Ihlini have magic. Do they not?"

 

"All Ihlini have magic. But not all of them are Tynstar."

He looked around at the twisted trees and shapechanged

rocks. "You see what is Tynstar's power, and how he

passes it on. We near the gate ofAsar-Suti."

 

I looked at my men. The Homanans were white-faced

and solemn, saying nothing. I did not doubt they were

afraid—1 was afraid—but neither would they give up. As

for the Cheysuli, I had no need to ask. Their lives be-

longed to the gods whose power, I hoped, outweighed

that of Tynstar or Asar-Suti, the Seker of the netherworld.

 

Duncan nudged his horse forward. "We must make

camp for the night. The sun begins to set."

 

We rode on in loud silence, necks prickling against the

raw sensation of power. It oozed out of the earth like so

much seepage from a mudspring.

 

We camped at last behind the shoulder of a canyon wall

that fell down from the darkening sky to shield us against

the night wind. The earth's flesh was quite thin- Here and

there the skeleton broke through, stone bones that glis-

tened in the sunset with a damp, sweaty sheen. Tree roots

coiled against the shallow soil like serpents seeking warmth.

One of my Homanans, seeking wood for a fire, meant to

hack off a few spindly, wind-wracked limbs with his heavy

knife and pulled the whole tree out of the canyon wall. It

was a small tree, but it underlined the transience of life

near Valgaard.

 

We made a meal out of what we carried in our packs:

 

dried meat, flat journey-bread loaves, a measure of sweet,

dark sugar. And wine. We all had wine. The horses we fed

on the grain we carried with us, since grazing was so light,

and brought water from melting snow. But once our bel-

lies were full, we had time to think of what we did.

 

I sat huddled in my heaviest cloak for too long a time. I

could not rid myself of the ache in my bones or the

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    325

 

fledge that we all might die. And so, when I could do

inconspicuously, I got up and went away from the small

ncampment. I left the men to their stilted conversations

ad gambling; I went to find Duncan.

I saw him at last when I was ready to give up. He stood

ear the canyon wall staring into the dark distances. His

cry stillness made him invisible. It was only the shine of

tie moon against his earring that gave his presence away

ad so I went near, waited for acknowledgment, and saw

ow rigid his body was.

 

He had pulled on a cloak at last. It was dark, like my

wn, blending with the night. The earring glinted in his

air. "What does he do with her?" he asked. "What does

ie do to her?"

 

I had wondered the same myself. But I forced reassur-

nce from my mouth. "She is strong, Duncan. Stronger

'tan many men. I think Tynstar will meet his match in

er."

 

"This is Valgaard." His voice was raw.

I swallowed. "She has the Old Blood."

He turned abruptly. His face was shadowed as he leaned

ack against the stone canyon wall, setting his spine against

Eit. "Here, the Old Blood may be as nothing."

| "You do not know that. Did Donal not get free? They

|were Ihlini, yet he took (ir-shape before them. It may be

|that Alix will overcome them yet."

 

"Ru'shaUa-tu." He said it without much hope. May it be

so. He looked at me then, black-eyed in the moonlight,

and I saw the fear in his eyes. But he said nothing more of

Alix. Instead he squatted down, still leaning against the

canyon wall, and pulled his cloak more tightly around his

shoulders. "Do you wonder what has become of Tourma-

line?" he asked. "What has become of Finn^"

 

"Every day," I answered readily. "And each day I regret

what has happened."

 

"Would you change it, if Finn came to you and asked to

take your rujholla as his cheysula?"

 

| I found the nearest tree stump and perched upon it.

! Duncan waited for my answer, and at last I gave it. "I

| needed the alliance Rhodri would have offered, did I wed

| my sister to his son."

 

326 Jennifer Roberson

 

"He gave it to you anyway."

 

"Lachlan gave me aid. I got no alliance from Rhodri." I

shrugged. "I do not doubt we will make one when all this

is done, but for now the thing is not formal. What Lachlan

did was between a mercenary and a harper, not a Mujhar

and High Prince of Ellas. There are distinct differences

between the two."

 

"Differences." His tone was very flat. "Aye. Like the

differences between Cheysuli and Homanan."

 

I kicked away a piece of stone. "Do you regret that

Donal must wed Aislinn? Cheysuli wed to Homanan?"

 

"I regret that Donal will know a life other than what I

wish for him." Duncan was little more than a dark blot

against the rock wall. "In the clan, he would be merely a

warrior—unless they made him a clan-leader It is—a

simpler life than that which faces a prince. I would wish

that for him. Not what you will give him."

 

"I have no choice. The gods—your gods—have given

me none."

 

He was silent a moment. "Then we must assume there

is a reason for what he will become."

 

I smiled, though it had only a little humor in it. "But

you have an advantage, Duncan. You may see your son

become a king. But I must die in order to give him the

throne."

 

Duncan was silent a long moment. He merged into the

blackness of the wall as the moon was lost to passing

clouds. I could no longer see him, but I knew where he

was by the sound of a hand scraping against the earth.

 

"You have changed," Duncan said at last. "I thought, at

first, you had not—or very little. I see now I was wrong.

Finn wrought well when he tempered the steel . . . but it

is kingship that has honed the edge."

 

I huddled within my cloak. "As you say, kingship changes

a man. I seem to have no choice."

 

"Necessity also changes," Duncan said quietly. "It has

changed me. I am nearly forty now, old enough to know

my place and recognize my tahlnwrra without chafing,

but each day, of late. I wonder what might have happened

had it been otherwise." He shook his head. "We wonder.

We ever wonder. The freedom to be without a tahlnwrra."

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA

 

327

 

The moon was free again and I saw another headshake.

•"What would happen did I keep my son? The prophecy

would be twisted. The Firstborn, who gave the words to

us, would never live again. We would be the Cheysuli no

longer." I saw the rueful smile. "Cheysuli: children of the

'gods. But we can be fractious children."

 

. "Duncan—" I paused. "We will find her. And we will

take her back from him."

 

; Moonlight slanted full across his face. "Women are lost

'often enough," he said quietly. "In childbirth . . . acci-

dent . . . illness. A warrior may grieve in the privacy of

,his pavilion, but he does not show his feelings to the clan.

;It is not done. Such things are kept—private." His hand

was filled with pebbles. "But were Alix taken from me by

this demon, I would not care who knew of my grief." The

pebbles poured from his hand in steady, dwindling stream.

I would be without her . . . and empty. ..."

 

Near midday we came to the canyon that housed

Valgaard. We rode out of a narrow defile into the canyon

proper and found ourselves hemmed in by the sheer stone

walls that stretched high over our heads. We rode single-

file, unable to go abreast, but as we went deeper into the

canyon the walls fell away until we were human pebbles in

a deep, rock-hard pocket.

 

"There," Duncan said, "do you see?"

 

I saw. Valgaard lay before us: an eagle on its aerie. The

fortress itself formed the third wall of the canyon, a pen-

dant to the torque. But I thought the fit too snug. I

thought the jewel too hard. No, not an eagle. A carrion

bird, hovering over its corpse.

 

We were neatly boxed. Escape lay behind us, Vatgaard

before. I did not like the feeling,

 

"Lodhi." Gryflth gasped. "I have never seen such a

thing."

 

Nor had I. Valgaard rose up out of the glassy black

basalt like a wave of solid ice, black and sharp, faceted like

a gemstone. There were towers and turrets, barbicans and

ramparts. It glittered, bright as glass, and smoke rose up

around it. I could smell the stink from where we stood.

 

326 Jennifer Roberson

 

"The Gate," Duncan said. "It lies within the fortress.

Valgaard is its sentinel."

 

"That is what causes the smoke?"

 

"The breath of the god," Duncan said. "Like fire, it

bums. I have heard the stories. There is blood within the

stone: hot, white blood. If it should touch you, you will

die,"

 

The canyon was clean of snow. Nothing marred its sur-

face. It was smooth, shining basalt, lacking trees and grass.

We had come out of winter into summer, and I found I

preferred the cold.

 

"Asar-Suti," Duncan said. "The Seker himself." Very

deliberately, he spat onto the ground.

 

"What are all those shapes?" Rowan asked. He meant

the large chunks of stone that lay about like so many dice

tossed down Black dice, uncarved, and scattered across

the ground. They were large enough for a man to hide

behind.

 

Or die under, if it landed cocked.

 

"An Ihlini bestiary," Duncan explained. "Their answer

to the Ur."

 

We rode closer and I saw what he meant. Each deposit

of stone had a form, if a man could call it that. The shapes

were monstrous travesties of animals. Faces and limbs

bore no resemblence to animals I had seen. It was a

mockery of the gods, the Ur defiled; an echo, perhaps, of

their deity. Asar-Suti in stone. A god of many shapes. A

god ofgrotesquerie.

 

I suppressed a shiver of intense distaste. This place was

foulness incarnate. "We should beware an obvious ap-

proach."

 

Duncan, falling back to ride abreast, merely nodded. "It

would be unexpected did we simply ride in like so many

martyrs, but also foolish. I do not choose to die a fool. So

we will find cover and wait, until we have a plan for

getting in."

 

"Getting in there?" Rowan shook his head. "I do not see

how."

 

"There is a way," Duncan told him. "There is always a

way to get in. It is getting out that is difficult."

 

Uneasily, I agreed.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA

 

329

 

It was, at last, Gryfith who found the way in. I was

astonished when he offered himself, for he might well be

boiled alive in the blood of the god, but it seemed the only

way. And so I agreed, but only after I heard his explanation.

 

We knelt, all of us, behind the black-frozen shapes, too

distant for watchers to see us from the ramparts. The

white, stinking smoke veiled us even more, so that we felt

secure in our place of hiding. The stones were large enough

to offer shade in sunlight as well. In the shadows it was

cool.

 

Gryffth, kneeling beside me, pulled a ring from his

belt-pouch. "My lord, this should do it. It marks me a

royal courier. It will give me safe entrance."

 

"Should," I said sharply. "It may not."

 

Gryffth grinned a little. His red hair was bright in the

sunlight. "I think I will have no trouble. The High Prince

has said, often enough, that I have the gift of a supple

tongue- I will wind Tynstar around this finger." He made

a rude gesture with his hand, and all the Homanans laughed.

In the months since the Ellasian had joined my service, he

had made many friends. He had wit and purpose, and a

charming way as well.

 

Rowan's face was pensive. "When you face Tynstar, what

will you say? The ring cannot speak for you."

 

"No, but it gets me inside. Once there, I will tell

Tynstar the High King of Ellas has sent me. That he

wishes to make an alliance."

 

"Bhodri would never do it." Rowan exclaimed. "Do you

think Tynstar will believe you?"

 

"He may, he may not. It does not matter." Gryffth's

freckled face was solemn, echoing Duncan's gravity. "I

will tell him High Prince Cuinn, in sending men to the

Mujhiar, has badly angered his father. That Rhodri wishes

no alliance with Homana, but desires Ihlini aid. If nothing

else, it will gain Tynstar's attention- He will likely host me

the night, at least. And it is at night I will open the gate

to let you in." His smile came, quick and warm. "Once in,

you will either live or die. By then, it will not matter what

Tynstar thinks of my tale."

 

"You may die." Rowan sounded angry.

 

330 Jennifer Roberson

 

Gryifth shrugged. "A man lives, a man dies. He does

not choose his life. Lodhi will protect me."

 

Duncan smiled. "You could almost be CheysuH."

 

I saw Gryffth thinking it over. Ellasian-bred, he hardly    &

knew the Cheysuli. But he did not think them demons.    ^.

And so I saw him decide the comment was a compliment.    ||.

"My thanks, Duncan . . . though Lodhi might see it

differently."

 

"You call him the All-Wise," Duncan returned. "He

must be wise enough to know when I mean you well."

 

Gryfith, grinning, reached out and touched his arm.

"For that, clan-leader, I will gladly do what I can to help

you get her back."

 

Duncan clasped his arm. "Ellasian—Cheysuli i'halla

shansu." He smiled at Gryfith's frown of incomprehen-

sion. "May there be Cheysuli peace upon you."

 

Gryfith nodded. "Aye, my friend And may you know

the wisdom of Lodhi." He turned to me. "Does it please

you, my lord, I will go in. And tonight, when I can. I will

find a gate to open,"

 

"How will we know?" Rowan asked. "We cannot go up

so close . . and you can hardly light a fire."

 

"I will send Cai to him," Duncan said. "My lir can see

when Gryfith comes out and tell me which gate he unlocks."

 

Rowan sighed, rubbing wearily at his brow. "It all seems

such a risk ..."

 

"Risk, aye," I agreed, "but more than worth the trying."

 

Gryffth stood up. "I will go in, my lord. I will do what I

can do."

 

I rose as he did and clasped his arm. "Good fortune,

Gryfith. May Lodhi guard you well."

 

He untethered his horse and mounted, reining it around.

He glanced down at Rowan, who had become a boon

companion, and grinned. "Do not fret, alvi. This is what I

choose."

 

I watched Gryfith ride away, heading toward the for-

tress. The smoke hung over it like a miasma, cloaking the

stone in haze. The breath of the god was foul.

 

EIGHT

 

The moon, hanging over our heads against the blackness

of the sky. lent an eerie ambience to the canyon. The

smoke clogged our noses. It rose up in stinking clouds,

warming our flesh against our will. Shadows crept out

from the huge stone shapes and swallowed us all, clutch-

ing with mouths and claws. My Homanans muttered of

demons and Ihlini sorcerers; I thought they were one and

the same.

 

Duncan, seated near me, shed his cloak and rose. "Cai

says Gryffth has come out of the hall. He is in the inner

bailey. We should go."

 

We left the horses tethered and went on by foot. Cloaks

hid our swords and knives from the moonlight. Our boots

scraped against the glossy basalt, scattering ash and pow-

dered stone. As we drew nearer, using the shapechanged

stones to hide us, the ground warmed beneath our feet.

The smoke hissed and whistled as it came out of the earth,

rising toward the moon.

 

We worked our way up to the walls that glistened in the

moonlight. They were higher even than the walls of

Homana-Mujhar, as ifTynstar meant to mock me. At each

of the comers and midway along the walls stood a tower, a

huge round tower bulging out of the dense basalt, spiked

with crenelations and crockets and manned, no doubt, by

Ihlini minions. The place stank of sorcery.

 

The nearest gate was small. I thought it likely it opened

 

I 331 I

 

332 Jennifer Roberson

 

into a smaller bailey. We had slipped around the front of

the fortress walls and came in from the side, eschewing

the main barbican gate that would swallow us up like so

many helpless children. But the side gate opened, only a

crack, and I saw Gryffth's face in the slit between wall

and dark wood.

 

One hand gestured us forward. We moved silently,

saying nothing, holding scabbards to keep them quiet.

Gryfith, as I reached him in the gate, pushed it open

wider. 'Tynstar is not here," he whispered, knowing what

it would mean to me. "Come you in now, and you may

avoid the worst of it."

 

One by one we crept in through the gate. I saw the

shadows of winged lir pass overhead. We had also wolves

and foxes and mountain cats, slipping through the gate,

but I wondered if they would fight. Finn had said the

gods' own law kept the lir from attacking Ihlini.

 

Gryflfth shut the gate behind us, and I saw the two

bodies lying against the wall. I looked at him; he said

nothing. But I was thankful nonetheless. Like Lachlan, he

served me as if born to it, willing, even to slay others.

 

We were in a smaller bailey, away from the main one,

and Valgaard lay before us. The halls and side rooms

bulged out from a centra! mass of stone. But we seemed to

be through the worst of it.

 

We started across the bailey, across the open spaces,

though we tried to stay to the shadows. Swords were

drawn now, glinting in the moonlight, and I heard the

soughing of feet against stone. Out of the bailey toward an

inner ward while the walls reared up around us; how long

would our safety last?

 

Not long. Even as Gryffth led us through to the inner

ward I heard the hissing and saw a streamer of flame as it

shot up into the air from one of the towers. It broke over

our heads, showering us with a violet glare, and I knew it

would blast the shadows into the white-hot glare of the

sun. No more hiding in the darkness.

 

"Scatter!" I shouted, heading for the hall.

 

My sword was in my hand. I heard the step beside me

and swung around, seeing foe, not friend, with his hand

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA

 

333

 

raised to draw a rune. Quickly I leveled my blade and

took him in the throat. He fell in a geyser of blood.

 

Rowan was at my back, Gryfith at his We went into the

hall in a triangular formation, swords raised and ready.

The Cheysuli had gone, slipping into the myriad corri-

dors, but I could hear the Homanans fighting. Without

Tynstar's presence we stood our greatest chance, but the

battle would still be difficult. I had no more time left to

lose,

 

"Hold them!" I shouted as four men advanced with

swords and knives. I expected sorcery and they came at us

with steel.

 

Even as I brought up my sword I felt the twinge shoot

through both hands. In all my practice with Cormac I had

not been able to shed the pain of my swollen fingers. As

yet they could still hold a hilt, but the strength I had

taken for granted was gone. I had to rely more on quick-

ness of body than my skill in elaborate parries. I was little

more than a man of average skill now, because of Tynstar.

 

Gryifth caught a knife from a hidden sheath and sent it

flying across the hall. It took one Ihlini flush in the chest and

removed him from the fight. Three to three now, but even

as I marked their places I saw Rowan take another with his

sword. Myself, for the moment, they ignored. And so,

knowing my sword skill was diminished, I decided to go

on without it. Did the Ihlini want me, they could come for

me. Otherwise I would avoid them altogether.

 

"Hold them," I said briefly, and ran into the nearest

corridor. The stone floor was irregular, all of a slant, this

way and that, as if to make it difficult for anyone to run

through it. There were few torches in brackets along the

walls; I sensed this portion of the fortress was only rarely

used. Or else the Ihlini took the light with them when

they walked.

 

The sounds of fighting fell away behind me, echoing

dimly in the tunnel-like corridor. I went on, hearing the

scrape of sole against stone, and waited for the attack that

would surely come.

 

I went deeper into the fortress, surrounded by black

basalt that glistened in the torchlight. The walls seemed to

swallow the light, so that my sword blade turned black to

 

334 Jennifer Roberson

 

match the ruby, and I felt my eyes strain to see where I

was going. The few torches guttered and hissed in the

shadows, offering little illumination; all it wanted was Tynstar

to come drifting out of the darkness, and my courage

would be undone.

 

I heard the grate of stone on stone and swung around,

anticipating my nightmare. But the man who stepped out

of the recess in the wall was a stranger to me. His eyes

were blank, haunted things. He seemed to be missing his

soul.

 

Silently, he came at me. His sword was a blur of steel,

flashing in the torchlight, and I jumped back to avoid the

slash that hissed beside my head. My own blade went up

to strike his down. They caught briefly, then disengaged

as we jerked away, I could feel the strain in my hands, and

yet I dared not lose my grip.

 

Again he came at me. I skipped back, then leaped

aside, and the sword tip grated on stone. And yet even as I

moved to intercept, the Ihlini's blade flashed sideways to

stop my lunge and twist my sword from my hands. It was

not a difficult feat. And so my weapon clanged against the

black stone floor and I felt the hot pain in my knuckles

flare up to pierce my soul.

 

The blade came at me again, thrusting for my belly. I

sucked back, avoiding the tip, and felt the edge slice

through leather and linen to cut along my ribs. Not deeply,

scraping against one bone, but it was enough to make me

think.

 

I jumped then, straight upward from the floor, grabbing

the nearest torch and dragging it from its brackets. Even as

the Ihlini came at me again I had it, whirling to thrust it

into his face. The flame roared.

 

The sorcerer screamed and dropped his sword, hands

clawing at his face. He invoked Asar-Suti over and over

again, gibbering in his pain, until he slumped down onto

his knees. I stepped back as I saw one hand come up to

make an intricate motion.

 

"Seker, Seker. ..." He chanted, rocking on his knees

while his burned face glistened in the torchlight. "Seker,

Seker. . . ."

 

The torch was still in my right hand. As the Ihlini

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    335

 

invoked his god and drew his rune in the air, the flame

flowed down over the iron to caress my hand with pain.

 

I dropped the torch at once, tossing it toward the wall

while my knuckles screamed with pain. The flame splashed

against the stone and ran down, flooding the floor of the

corridor. As the Ihlini continued to chant, his hands still

clasped to his face, the fire crept toward my boots.

 

I stepped back at once, retreating with little aplomb,

My sword, still lying on the stone, was in imminent dan-

ger of being swallowed. The flame poured acres', the floor

like water, heading for my boots.

 

"Seker, Seker—make him bum\"

 

But he had made a deadly mistake. No doubt he in-

tended only his enemy to bum, but he had not been

clearly distinct. He himself still knelt on the floor, and as

the stone caught fire from the river of ensorcelled flame so

did he. It ran up his tegs and enveloped his body in fire. I

kicked out swiftly and shoved the sword aside with one

boot, then ran after it even as the river of fire followed

me. I left the living pyre in the corridor, scooped up my

sword and ran.

 

It was then I heard the shout. Alix's voice. The tone was

one of fear and desperation, but it held a note of rage as

well. And then I heard the scuffle and the cry.

 

I ran. I rounded the corner and brought up my sword,

prepared to spit someone upon it, but I saw there was no

need. The Ihlini lay on the ground, face down, as the

blood ran from his body, and Alix was kneeling to take his

knife. She already had his sword.

 

She spun around, rising at once into a crouch. The knife

dropped from her hand at once as she took a two-handed

grip on the sword. And then she saw me clearly and the

sword fell out other hand.

 

I grinned. "Well met, Alix."

 

She was so pale 1 thought she might faint where she

stood, but she did not. Her eyes were huge in a bruised

and too-thin face. Her hair hung in a single tangled braid

and she wore a bedrobe stained with blood. It was not her

own, I knew, but from the man she had slain.

 

1 had forgotten the gray in my hair and the lines in my

face; the altered way I had of standing and moving. I had

 

336 Jennifer Roberaon

 

forgotten what Tynstar had done. But when I saw the

horror in Alix's eyes I recalled it all too well. It brought

home the pain again

 

I put out one hand, ignoring the swollen knuckles. "Do

you come?"

 

Briefly, she looked down at the dead Ihlini. Then she

bent and scooped up the knife, moving to my side. Her

free hand was cool in my own, and I felt the trembling in it.

For a moment we stood there, soiled with blood and

grime and in the stink of our own fear, and then we forgot

our weapons and set arms around each other for a desper-

ate moment.

 

"Duncan?" she asked at last, when I let her free of my

arms.

 

"He is here—do not fret, But how did you trick the

Ihlini?"

 

She glanced back briefly at the dead man. "He was

foolish enough to unlock my door. To take me some-

where, he said. He did not expect me to protest, but I

did. I took up a torch and burned his knife-hand with it."

 

1 put out my own knife-hand and touched her hollowed

cheek. "How do you fare, Alix?"

 

Briefly there was withdrawal in her eyes. "I will tell you

another time. Come this way with me." She caught up

the hem of her bedrobe and went on, still gripping the

knife in one hand.

 

We hastened through the corridors and into a spiral

stair. Alix went first and I followed, falling behind as we

climbed. We went up and up and I grimaced, feeling the

strain in my knees. My thighs burned with the effort, and

my breath ran short. But at last she pushed open a narrow

door that I had to duck to get under, and we stepped out

onto the ramparts of the fortress.

 

Alix pointed. 'That tower is a part of Tynstar's private

chambers. There is a stairway down. If we get there, we

can go down unaccosted, then slip into the wards."

 

I caught her hand and we ran, heading for the tower. I

heard the sounds of fighting elsewhere, but I knew we

were badly outnumbered. And then we rounded the tower,

looking for the door, and I stopped dead. Out on the wall

walkway stood a familiar figure— "Duncan!"

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    337

 

Jfc. He spun around like an animal at bay. His eyes were

? startled and fearful "No!" he shouted.

^' Alix jerked free of my hand and started to run toward

^•hun, calling out his name, but something in Ducan's face

aaade me reach out and catch her arm. "Alix—wait you—"

 

The moonlight was mil on Duncan's face. I could see

the heaving of his chest as sweat ran down his bare arms.

,His hair was wet with it. "Go from here—now . . . Alix—do

not tarry!"

 

Alix tried again to free herself from my hand but I held

her tightly "Duncan—what are you saying? Do you think I

will listen to that—?" Briefly she twisted her head to glare

at me. "Let me go—"

 

Duncan took a step toward us, then stopped. His face

turned up toward the black night sky. Then he glanced

back at me, briefly, and put out a hand toward Alix.

"Take her. Carillon. Get her free of this place—" He

sucked in a deep, wavering breath and seemed almost to fall

on his feet. I saw then, in the moonlight, the blood

running down his left arm. "Do you hear me? Go now,

before—"

 

What he intended to say was never heard in the thun-

derclap that broke over our heads. I recoiled, flattening

against the tower, and dragged Alix with me. With the

explosion of sound came a burst of light so blinding it

painted everything stark white and stole our vision away.

 

"Do I have you all, now?" came Tynstar's beguiling

voice.

 

I saw him then, moving along the wall from another

tower. Duncan was between the Ihlini and us. He put out

a hand in my direction and cast a final glance at Alix. "Get

her/rce. Carillon! Was it not what we came to do?"

 

I ran then, dragging her with me, and took her into the

tower. I ignored her protests. For once, I would do what

Duncan wanted without asking foolish questions.

 

I did not dare take a horse for Alix from our mounts for

fear of leaving another man afoot. So I swung up onto my

own, dragged her up behind me and wheeled the horse

about in the shadow of shapechanged stone.

 

336 Jennlfw Roberson

 

Alix's arms locked around my waist. "Carillon—wait

you. You cannot leave him behind."

 

I clapped spurs to my horse and urged him away, send-

ing him from the smokey, stinking haze that clung to

black-clad Valgaard. Away I sent him, toward the defile

and freedom.

 

"Carillon—"

 

"I trust to his wits and his will." I shouted over the

clattering hooves. "Do you not?"

 

She pressed herself against me as the horse slipped and

slid on basalt. "I would rather stay and help—"

 

"There." I interrupted. "Do you see? That is why we

 

run-

 

The nearest stone shape reared up just then, shaking

itself free of the ground. It lurched toward our mount,

reaching out its hands. No, not hands: paws. And claws of

glassy basalt.

 

Alix cried out and pressed herself against me. I reined

in my horse with a single hand and jerked our mount

aside, shouting for Alix to duck. We threw ourselves flat,

avoiding the slashing claws, and the sword I held outthrust

scraped against the beast. Sparks flew from the blade on

stone: steel against a whetstone, screeching as it spun.

 

We rode past at a scrambling run as the horse tried to

keep his balance. Chips of stone flew up to cut our faces as

iron-shod hooves dug deeply into basalt- I saw then that

all the stone shapes were moving, grating across the ground.

They had none of the speed or supple grace of fleshborn

animals, but they were ghastly in their promise. Most

were hardly recognizable, being rough-cut and sharply

faceted, but I saw the gaping mouths and knew they could

crush us easily.

 

Yet another lurched into our path. I reined in the horse

at once and sat him on his haunches, knowing he scraped

his hocks against the cruel stone. Alix cried out and snatched

at my doublet, holding herself on with effort. I spurred

relentlessly, driving the horse to his feet, and saw the

lowering paws.

 

A bear; not a bear. Its shape was indistinct. It lumbered

after us, hackles rising on its huge spinal hump, ungainly

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA

 

339

 

on glassy legs, and yet I knew it might prevail. The horse

was failing under us.

 

Smoke shot up beside us: the breath of the god himself.

It splattered me full in the face and I felt the blood of the

god. It burned, how it burned, as it ate into my beard

But I dared not put a hand to my face or I would lose

control of the horse. And I refused to lose my sword.

 

The smoke shot up with a screeching hiss, venting its

wrath against us. It stank with the foul odor of corruption.

The horse leaped aside, nearly shedding us both, 1 heard

Alix's gasp of surprise. She slid to one side and caught at

my arm, dragging herself back on the slippery rump. I

heard again the scream of the smoke as it vomited out of

the earth,

 

The canyon grew narrow and clogged with stone. The

defile beckoned us on. We had only to get through it

and we would be free of the beasts. But getting to it

would be next to impossible with the failing horse beneath

 

us.

 

Another vent opened before us. The horse ran directly

into it and screamed as the heat bit into his belly. He

twisted and humped, throwing head between knees, and

then shed us easily enough. But I did not complain, even

as I crashed against the stone, for the horse was caught by

the bear.

 

I pushed myself up to my feet, aware of the pain in my

bones. I still had my sword and two feet and I did not

intend to remain. I went to Alix as she sat up from her fall,

grabbed her arm and dragged her up from the stone.

 

"Run," I said, and we did.

 

We dodged the stone beasts and jumped over the smoke,

threading our way as we ran. We gasped and choked,

coughing against the stench. But we reached the defile

and ran through, knowing it too narrow to give exit to the

beasts. We left behind the smoke and heat and went into

the world again.

 

The ground was laced with snow. Twisted trees hung off

the walls and sent roots across the earth, seeking what

strength they could find in the meager soil. Behind us

reared the canyon with its cache of beasts and smoke.

 

Jenntfar Roberson

 

340

 

Atix limped beside me, still clinging to my hand. She

was barefoot; I did not doubt it hurt. Her bedrobe was

torn and burned away in places. But she went on,

uncomplaining, and I put away my sword-

 

1 took her to a screen of wind-wracked trees that bud-

died by a rib of canyon wall. There we could hide and

catch our breath, waiting for the others. I found a broken

stump and sat down upon it stiffly, hissing against the

pain. My aching joints had been badly used and I felt at

least a hundred. No more was I able to perform the deeds

of a younger man, for all I was twenty-five. The body was

twenty years older.

 

Alix stood next to me- Her hand was on my head,

smoothing my graying hair. "I am so sorry. Carillon. But

Tynstar has touched us all."

 

I looked up at her in the moonlight. "Did he harm

you?"

 

She shrugged. "What Tynstar did is done. I will not

speak about it."

 

"Alix—" But she placed one hand across my mouth and

bid -me to be silent. After a moment she squatted down

and linked both hands around my arm.

 

"My thanks," she said softly. "Leijhana tu'sai. What you

have done for me—and what you have lost for me—is

more than I deserve."

 

I summoned a weary smile. "Your son will be Prince of

Homana. Surely hisjehana has meaning to us both,"

 

"You did not do this for Donal."

 

I sighed. "No. I did it for you, for myself . . . and for

Duncan, Perhaps especially for Duncan." I set my swollen

hand to her head and tousled her tangled hair. "He needs

you, Alix. More than I ever thought possible."

 

She did not answer. We sat silently, close together, and

waited for the others,

 

One by one the warriors returned, on foot and mounted

on horseback. Some came in Kr-shape, loping or flying as

they came through the trees; we were not so close that the

magic could be thwarted. But I saw, when they had gath-

ered, that at least four had been left behind. A high toll,

for the Cheysuli. It made it all seem worse.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA

 

341

 

Rowan came finally at dawn. He and Gryflth were

lounted on a single horse, riding double from the defile.

'[X)d had spilled from a head wound to stain Rowan's

ithers dark, but he seemed well enough, if weary. He

Ided Gryffth with an elbow and I saw how the Ellasian

iped against Rowan's back. I got up, feeling the pop in

i knees, and reached out to steady Gryfflh's dismount.

[e had a wound in one shoulder and a slice along one

H-eann, but both had been bound.

Rowan got down unsteadily, shutting his eyes as he put

ie hand to his head. Alix knelt beside him as he sat and

irted his hair to see the wound. He swallowed and

Iwinced as her fingers found-the swelling.

| ' "This is not front a sword," she said in consternation.

 

"No. His sword broke. So he grabbed down to torch

; and came at me. I ducked the flame but not the iron." He

t winced again. "Let it be. It will heal of its own."

i   Alix moved away from him. For a moment she looked at

I §the others, all wounded in her rescue, and I saw how it

^weighted her down. Of us all, I was the only Homanan.

The others, save Grymh, were all Cheysuli.

 

The Ellasian leaned against a boulder, one arm pressed

against his ribs. His freckled face, in the pale sunlight of

dawn, was ashen, streaked with blood and grime, but life

remained in his bright green eyes. He pushed a hand

^through his hair and made it stand up in spikes. "My

thanks to the All-Father," he said wearily. "Most of us got

free, and the lady brought out as we meant."

'   "And for that, my thanks," said Duncan from the ridge.

and Alix spun around.

 

He stepped down and caught her in his arms, crushing

her against his chest. His cheek pressed into her tangled

hair and I saw the pallor of his face. Blood still ran from

|tthe wound in his left arm. I saw how it stained his leathers

^.and now her robe. But neither seemed to care.

 

|t I pushed myself up from my tree stump. I moved stiffly,

 

I cursing myself for my slowness, and then stood still, giv-

ing them their reunion. It was the least I could do.

 

"I am well," Duncan answered her whispered question.

I am not much hurt. Do not fear for me." One hand wove

 

342 Jennifer Roberson

 

itself into her loosened braid. "What of you? What has he

done to you?"

 

Alix, still pressed against his body, shook her head. I

could not see her face, but I could see his. His exhaustion

was manifest. Like us all, he was bloodstained and filthy

and stinking of the breath of the netherworld. Like us> all,

he was hardly capable of standing.

 

But there was something more in his eyes. The knowl-

edge of terrible loss.

 

And 1 knew.

 

Duncan put Alix out of his arms and sat her down on

the nearest stump, the one I had vacated. And then,

without a word, he stripped the gold from his arms and set

it into her lap. With deft fingers he unhooked the earring

and pulled it from his lobe. He was naked without his gold.

Still clothed in leather, he was naked without the gold.

 

And a dead man without his lir.

 

He set the earring into her hand. "Tahlmorra lujhalla

mei wiccan, cheysu.'

 

She stood up with a cry and the gold tumbled from lap

and hands. "Duncan—no—"

 

"Aye," he said gently, "Tynstar has slain my lir"

 

Slowly, tentatively, trembling, she put out her hands to

touch him. Gently at first, and then with possessive de-

mand. I saw how dark her fingers were against the flesh of

his arms that had never known the sun, kept from it by

the ftr-bands for nearly all of his life. I saw how she shut

her hands upon that flesh as if it would make him stay.

 

"I am empty," he said. "Soulless and unwhole. I cannot

live this way."

 

The fingers tightened on his arms. "Do you go," she

said intently, "do you leave me, Duncan . . . / will be as

empty. I will be unwhole."

 

"Shansu," he said, "I have no choice. It is the price of

the fir-bond."

 

"Do you think I will let you go?" she demanded. "Do

you think I will stand meekly by while you turn your back

on me? Do you think 1 will do nothing?"

 

"No. And that is why I will do this—" He caught her

before she could move and cradled her head in his hands.

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    343

 

"Cheysula, I have loved you well. And for that I will

lessen your grief—"

 

"No!" She tried to pull out of his arms, but he held her

too well. "Duncan—" she said, "—do not—"

 

As she sagged he caught her and lifted her up. For a

moment he held her close, eyes shut in a pale, gaunt face,

and then he looked at me. "You must take her to safety-

Take her to Homana-Mujhar." He tried to steady his voice

and failed. "She will sleep for a long time. Do not worry

if, when she wakes, she seems to have forgotten. It will

come back. She will recall it all, and I do not doubt she

will grieve deeply then. But for now ... for us both . . .

this ending is the best."

 

I tried to swallow the cramp in my throat. "What of

Tynstar?"

 

"Alive," Duncan said bleakly. "Once he had struck down

Cai—I had nothing left but pain and helplessness." He

looked at Alix's face again as she slept in his naked arms.

And then he brought her to me and set her into mine.

"Love her well, my lord Mujhar. Spare her what pain you

can."

 

I saw the tears in his eyes and he moved back. Then

one foot struck an armband on the ground, sending it

clinking against the other, and he stopped short. He

touched one naked arm as if he could not believe its toss,

and then he walked away.

 

NINE

 

Donal's young face was pinched and pale. He sat quietly

on a stool, listening to what I said, but I doubt he really

heard me. His mind had gone elsewhere, choosing its own

path; I did not blame him. I had told him his father was

dead-

He stared hard at the Hoor. His hands were in his lap.

They gripped one another as if they could not bear to be

apart. The skin of his knuckles was white.

 

"Jekana," he said. That only.

 

' Your mother is well. She—sleeps. Your father gave her

that."

 

He nodded once. No more. He seemed to understand.

And then his right hand rose to touch his left arm, to

finger the heavy gold. I could see it in his mind: Cheysuli,

and bound by the lir. As much as his father had been.

 

Donal looked up at me. His face was starkly remote. He

said one word: "Tahlmorra."

 

He was an eight-year-old boy. At eight, I could not have

withstood the pain. I would have wept, cried out, even

screamed with the grief. Donal did not. He was Cheysuli,

and he knew the price of the ftr-bond-

 

1 had thought, perhaps, to hold him. To ease what pain

I could. To tell him how Duncan had gotten his mother

free, to illustrate the worth of the risk undertaken. I had

thought also to assuage his guilt and grief by sharing my

 

I 344 I

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    345

 

own with him. But, looking at him, I saw there was no

need. His maturity mocked my own.

Alien, I thought, so alien. Will Homana accept you?

 

I lifted Alix down from her horse. She was light in my

arms, too light; her face was ashen-colored. She had come

home at last to Duncan's pavilion—six weeks after his

death—and I knew she could not face it.

 

I said nothing, I simply held her. She stared at the

slate-colored pavilion with its gold-painted hawk and re-

called the life they had shared. She forgot even Donal,

who slid slowly off his horse and looked to me for

reassurance.

 

"Go in," I told him. "It is yours as much as his."

 

Donal put out a hand and touched the doorflap. And

then he went inside.

 

"Carillon," she said. No more. There was no need. All

the grief was in her voice.

 

I put out my arms and pulled her against my chest.

With one hand I smoothed the heavy hair. "Now do you

see? This is not the place for you. I would have spoken

earlier, but I knew it would do no. good. You had to see for

yourself."

 

Her arms were locked around me. Her shoulders shook

with the tears.

 

"Come back with me," I said. "Come back to Homana-

Mujhar. Your place is there now, with me." I rocked her

gently in my arms. "Alix—I want you to stay with me."

 

Her face turned up to mine. "I cannot."

 

"Do not fret because of Electra. She will not live

forever—when she is dead I will wed you. I will make you

Queen of Homana. Until then . . . you will have to con-

tent yourself with being merely a princess." I smiled.

"You are. You are my cousin. There is a rank that comes

with that."

 

Slowly she shook her head. "I cannot."

 

I smoothed back the hair from her face. "All those years

ago—seven? eight?—I was a fool, I lived in arrogance. I

saw what I was told to see by an uncle I abhorred. But

now I am somewhat older—older, even than that—' I

smiled a little, thinking of my graying beard and aching

 

346 Jennifer Roberson

 

bones—"somewhat wiser, and certainly less inclined to

heed such things as rank and custom. I wanted you then, I

want you now—say you will come with me."

 

"I owe Duncan more than that."

 

"You do not owe him personal solitude. Alix—wait you—"

I tightened my arms as she tried to pull away. "I know

how badly you hurt. I know how badly it bleeds. I know

how deeply the pain has cut you. But I think he would not

be surprised did we make a match of it." I recalled his

final words to me and knew he expected it. "Alix—I will

not press you. I will give you what time you need. But do

not deny me this. Not after all these years."

 

"Time does not matter." She stood stiffly in my arms.

"As for the years—they have passed. It is done. Carillon. I

cannot be your meijha and I cannot be your wife."

 

"Alix—"

 

"By the gods!" she cried. "I carry Tynstar's child!"

 

I let go of her at once and saw the horror in her eyes.

'Tynstar did that to you—"

 

"He did not beat me." Her voice was steady. "He did

not harm me. He did not force me." Her eyes shut for a

moment. "He simply took my will away and got a child

upon me."

 

I thought of Electra, banished to the Crystal Isle. Electra,

who had lost the sorcerer's child. An heir. Not to me or to

my title, but to all of Tynstar's might. He had lost it, and

now he had another.

 

I could not move. I wanted to put out my hands and

touch her, to tell her I did not care, but she knew me

better than that. I could not move. I could only think of

the Ihlini and his bastard in her belly.

 

Alix turned from me. She walked slowly to the pavilion.

She put out one hand and drew back the doorflap, though

she did not look inside. "Do you come in? Or do you go

back?"

 

I shut my eyes a moment, still aching with the knowl-

edge. Again, I lost her. But this time not to Duncan. Not

even to Duncan's memory. That 1 might expect,

 

But not this- Not losing her to Tynstar. To a bastard

Ihlini child!

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA    347

 

By all the gods, it hurt. It hurt like a knife in my loins. I

wanted to vomit the pain.

 

And then I thought of hers.

 

I let out my breath. Looking at her, I could see it hurt

her worse. And I would not increase the pain by swearing

useless vows of vengeance. There was already that be-

tween Tynstar and me; one day, we would end it.

 

I went to her. I took the doorflap out of her hands and

motioned her inside. And then we both turned to go in

and I saw Finn beside the fire.

 

The light was stark on his face. I saw again the livid scar

that marred cheek and jaw, the silver in his hair. Then he

rose and I saw he had'grown thin. The gold seemed

heavier on his arms.

 

"Meijha," he said, "I am sorry. But a tahlnwrra cannot

be refused. Not by an honorable man. And my rujho was

ever that."

 

Alix stood very still but her breath was loud in the tent,

"You knew—?"

 

"I knew he would die. So did he. Not how. Not when.

Not the name of the man who would cause it. Merely that

it would happen." He paused. "Meijhana, I am sorry. I

would give him back to you, could I do it."

 

She moved to him. I saw the hesitation in her steps. I

saw how he put his arms around her and set his scarred

cheek against her hair. I saw her grief reflected in his face.

 

"When a tir is lost," he said, "the others know at once.

Storr told me ... but I could come no sooner. There was

a thing I had to do."

 

1 was wrung out with all the emotions. I needed to sit

down. But I did not, I stood there, waiting, and saw

Donal in the shadows. He sat between two wolves; one a

ruddy young male, the other older, wiser, amber-eyed

Storr.

 

Aiix pulled out of Finn's arms but she did not move

away. I saw how one of his hands lingered in her hair, as

if he could not let it go. An odd possessiveness, in view of

his actions with Torry. But then I could not blame him;

 

Alix needed comfort. From Finn, it would undoubtedly be

best, He was her brother, but also Duncan's. The bloodlink

was closer than that which cousins shared-

 

348 Jennifer Roberson

 

I sighed- "Electra has been banished. She lives on the

Crystal Isle. There is no question about her complicity in

Tynstar's attempt to slay me. Did you wish it—you could

take up your place again."

 

He did not smile. 'That time is done. A blood-oath,

once broken, is never healed. I come home, aye, to live in

the Keep again—but nothing more than that. My place is

here, now. They have named me Cheysuli clan-leader."

 

Alix looked at him sharply. "You? In Duncan's place?"

She caught her breath, then went on. "I thought such

things were not for you."

 

"Such things were for my rujho," he agreed, his gravity

an ironic measure of Duncan's, "but things change. People

change. Torry has made me different." He shrugged. "I

have—learned a little peace." He used the Homanan word.

1 liked shansu better.

 

"I am sorry," I said, "for the time you lost. I should

never have sent you away."

 

He shook his head. "You had no choice. I saw that,

when Torry made me. I do not blame you for it. You let

her go with me. You might have made her stay."

 

"So you could take her from me?" I shook my head.

"No. I knew the folly in trying to stop you."

 

"You should have tried," he said. "You should have kept

her by you. You should have wed her to the Ellasian

prince . . . because then she would still be alive."

 

I felt the air go out of my chest. The pavilion spun

around me. The firecairn was merely a blot of light inside

my skull. "Torry is—dead?"

 

"Aye. Two days before Duncan lost his lir. It was why I

could come no sooner."

 

"Finn," Alix said, "oh, Finn—no—"

 

"Aye," he said roughly, and I saw the new pain in his

eyes. It mirrored that in my own.

 

I turned to go out. I could not stay. I could not bear to

see him, knowing how she had loved him. I could not bear

the grief. I had to deal with it alone.

 

And then I heard the baby cry, and the sound cut

through me like a knife.

 

Finn let go of Alix- He turned and pulled the tapestry

aside. I saw him kneel down and gather a bundle from the

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA

 

349

 

pallet. He was gentle. More gentle than I had ever seen

him. Incongruous, in him. But it seemed to fit him well

once I got over the shock.

 

He brought the bundle to us and pulled away the wrap-

pings from a face. "Her name is Meghan," he said. "She is

four months old ... and hungry. Torry—could not feed

her, so I became a thief." Briefly he smiled. "The cows

were not always willing to be milked."

 

Meghan continued to cry. Finn frowned and shifted her

in his arms, trying to settle her more comfortably, but it

was Alix who intervened. She took the baby from his arms

and sent Donal to find a woman with an infant. She cast a

glance back at Finn before she followed Donal out. "No

more the milk-thief, rujho. I will save your pride by

finding her a wetnurse."

 

I saw a shadow of his familiar grin as she slipped outside

the pavilion. It took the hardness from his face and less-

ened the pain in his eyes. I saw it now, where I had not

before. He had lost more than a brother.

 

And I had lost a sister, "Gods," I said, "what happened?

How did Torry die? Why . . . why?"

 

The smile dropped away. Finn sat down slowly and

motioned me down as well. After ten months, too long a

time, we shared company again. "She was not bred for

privation," he said. "She had pride and strength and de-

termination, but she was not bred for privation. And car-

rying a child—" He shook his head. "I saw she was ill

some three months after we left Homana-Mujhar. She

claimed it was nothing; a fever breeding women some-

times get. I thought perhaps it was; how was I to know

differently? I did not expect her to lie." He threaded one

hand through his hair and stripped it from his face. He

was gaunt, too thin; privation agreed with him no more

than it had with her.

 

"Say on," I said hollowly.

 

"When I saw she got no better, I took her to a village. I

I thought she needed the companionship of women as well

'. as a shelter better than the rude pavilion I provided.

t But—they would not have me. They called me shape-

\ changer. They called me demon. They called her whore

and the child demon's-spawn. Sorcerer's get." The anger

 

350 Jennifer Roberson

 

was in his eyes and I saw the beast again, if only for a

moment. But I also saw the guilt he had placed upon

himself. "Shaine is dead and the qu'mahlin ended . . but

many prefer to observe it. And so she bore Meghan in

what shelter I could provide, and weakened each day

thereafter." He shut his eyes. "The gods would not hear

my petition, even when I offered myself. So I gave her

Cheysuli passing when she was dead, and brought her

daughter home."

 

I thought of lorry, weak and ill. I thought of Torry

bearing the child. I thought of the Homanans who had

cursed her because of Finn. Because of Shame's qu'mahlin.

And I thought how helpless a king I was to stop my uncle's

purge.

 

"I am sorry, Carillon," Finn said. "I did not mean you

to lose her twice."

 

"Blame Shaine," I said wearily. "My uncle slew my

sister." I looked at him across the fire. "Do you mean to

keep Meghan here?"

 

"This is her home," he repeated. "Where else would

Meghan live?"

 

"At Homana-Mujhar," I said. "She is a princess of

Homana."

 

He stared at me. "Have you learned nothing? Are you

still chained by such things as rank? By the gods. Caril-

lon, I thought by now you might have learned—"

 

"I have,' I said. "I have. I do not mean to take her. I

merely wanted you to think. You have admitted Torry

died because the privation was too hard. Do you give the

same life to your daughter?"

 

"I give her a Keep," he said softly. "I give her what her

blood demands: the heritage of a Cheysuli."

 

I smiled. "Who speaks now of rank? You have ever

believed yourself better than a Homanan."

 

He shrugged. "We are as the gods have made us."

 

I laughed. I pushed to my feet and popped my knees,

trying to ease my joints. The ride had tried my strength.

Finn rose as well, saying nothing. He merely waited.

"Privation has rendered you less than what you should

be," I said gruffly. "Have Alix put flesh on your bones.

You look older the way you are.*

 

THE SONG OF HOMANA I 351

 

His black brows rose. "Who speaks of age should look in

the silver plate."

 

"I have," I said, "and turned it to the wall." I grinned

and put out my arm, clasping his again. "Tend Meghan

well, and bring her to me often. She has other blood

besides the shapechanger taint, and I would have her

know it."

 

Finn's grip was firm. "I doubt not your daughter will

need a companion. As for the Mujhar of Homana, he

requires no single liege man. He has all the Cheysuh clans

to render him aid when he needs it."

 

"Nonetheless," I said, "I would have you take the knife

back." I slipped it from the sheath. The gold hilt gleamed

softly in the light from the firecaim: rampant Homanan

lion and a blade of purest steel.

 

I thought he would not take it. Another was in his

sheath, one of Cheysuli craftsmanship. But he put out his

hand and accepted it, though there was no blood-oath to

accompany the acceptance.

 

"Ja'hai-na," he said quietly.

 

I went silently out of the tent.

 

My horse still waited. I took up the reins but did not

mount at once. I thought of Alix, tending to Meghan, and

the child within her belly. She would need Finn. She

would need Meghan. She would need all the strength of

the Cheysuli when Tynstar's child was born. And I knew

she would have it in abundance.

 

I waited a moment, aware of something familiar. I could

not put name to what it was, and then suddenly I knew. It

H- was a flute, a sweet-toned Cheysuli pipe. The melody was

quite simple, and yet I knew it well. The last time I had

heard it, it had been upon a harp, with a master's hands

upon the strings. Lachlan's hands, and the song The Song

of Homana. And now it had come to the Keep.

 

I grinned. Then I laughed. I mounted my horse and

turned him, ready to go at last, but Donal was in my way.

He put up his hand and touched the stallion's nose as I

reined him to a halt. Lorn sat at his left side.

 

"Cousin," Donal said, "may I come?"

 

"I go back to Homana-Mujhar."

 

352 I Jennifer Rob«rson

 

"Jehana has said I may go." He grinned a grin I had

 

seen before."

 

I leaned down and stretched out my hand, swinging

 

him up as he jumped. He settled behind the saddle.

 

"Hold on," I said, "the royal mount may throw us."

Donal leaned forward against my back. "Make him try."

I laughed. "Would you like to see me tumble?"

"You would not. You are the Mujhar of Homana."

'The horse does not know titles. He knows only your

 

substantial weight." I kneed the stallion out and felt the

 

arching of his back. But after a moment he settled.

 

"Do you see?" Donal asked, as the wolf trotted beside

 

the horse. I looked for Taj and found him, a dot against

 

the sky.

 

"I see," I admitted. "Shall we gallop?"

"Aye!" he agreed, and we did.