JENNIFER ROBERSON'S 
CHRONICLES OF THE CHEYSULl 
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* 
CHRONICLES OF THE CHEYSULl: 
BOOK THREE 
LEGACY 
QFTHE SWORD 
JENNIFER ROBERSON 
*forthcoming 
DAW BOOKS, INC. 
DONALD A. WOLLHEIM, PUBLISHER 
1633 Broadway, New York, NY 10019 
Copyright \a169, 1986 by Jennifer Roberson O'Green. 
All Rights Reserved. 
Cover art by Juiek Heller 
DAW Book Collectora No. 669. 
First Printing, April 1986 
56789 
PRINTED IN THE U.S. A 
This book is for C.J. Cherryh 
who is, quite simply, 
the best. 
PARTI 

ONE 
Hondarth did not resemble a city so much as a flock of 
sheep pouring down over lilac heather toward the glass-gray 
ocean beyond. From atop the soft, slope-shouldered hills 
surrounding the scalloped bay, gray-thatched cottages appeared 
to huddle together in familial affection. 
Once, Hondarth had been no more than a small fishing 
village; now it was a thriving city whose welfare derived 
from all manner of foreign trade as well as seasonal catches. 
Ships docked daily and trade caravans were dispatched to 
various parts of Homana. And with the ships came an influx 
of foreign sailors and merchants; Hondarth had become almost 
cosmopolitan. 
The price of growth. Dona) thought. But I wonder, was 
Mujhara ever this\a151haphazard? 
He smUed. The thought of the Mujhar's royal city\a151with 
the palace of Homana-Mujhar a pendent jewel in a magnificent 
crown\a151as ever being haphazard was ludicrous. Had not 
the Cheysuli originally built the city the Homanans claimed for 
themselves? 
Still smiling, Donal guided his chestnut stallion through the 
foot traffic thronging the winding street. Few cities know the 
majesty and uniformity of Mujhara. But I think I prefer 
Hondarth, iff must know a city at alt. 
And he did know cities. He knew Mujhara very well 
indeed, for all he preferred to live away from it. He had, of 
late, little choice in his living arrangements. 
Donal sighed. / think Carillon will see to it my wings are 
11 
12 Jennifer Roberson 
clipped, my talons filed ... or perhaps he will pen me in a 
kennel, like his hunting dogs. 
And who would complain about a kennel as fine as 
Homana-Mujhar ? 
The question was unspoken, yet clearly understood by 
Donal. He had heard similar comments from others, many 
tiroes before. Yet this one came not from any human companion 
but from the wolf padding at the stallion's side- 
Padding, not slinking; not as if the wolf avoided unwanted 
contact. He did not stalk, did not hunt, did not run from man 
or horse. He paced the stallion like a well-tamed hound 
accompanying a beloved master, but the wolf was no dog. 
Nor was he particularly tame. 
He was not a delicate animal, but spare, with no flesh 
beyond that which supported his natural strength and quickness. 
The brassy sunlight of a foggy coastal late afternoon 
tipped his ruddy pelt with the faintest trace of bronze. His 

eyes were partially lidded, showing half-moons of brown and 
black. 
/ would complain about the kennel regardless of its aspect, 
Donal declared. So would you. Lorn. 
An echo of laughter crossed the link that bound man to 
animal. So I would, the wolf agreed. But then Homana- 
Mujhar will be kennel to me as well as to you. once you have 
taken the throne. 
That is not the point, Donal protested. The point is. Carillon 
begins to make more demands on my time. He takes me 
away from the Keep. Council meetings, policy sessions . . . 
all those boring petition hearings\a151 
But the wolf cut him off. Does he have a choice^ 
Donal opened his mouth to answer aloud, prepared to 
contest me question. But chose to say nothing, aware of the 
familiar twinge of guilt that always accompanied less than 
charitable thoughts about the Mujhar of Homana. He shifted 
in the saddle, resettled the reins, made certain the green 
woolen cloak hung evenly over his shoulders , , . ritualized 
motions intended to camouflage the guilt; but they emphasized 
it instead. 
And then, as always, he surrendered the battle to the wolf. 
There are times I think he has a choice in everything, lir, 
Donal said with a sigh. / see him make decisions that are 
utterly incomprehensible to me. And yet, there are times I 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
13 
almost understand him . . . Almost . . . Donal smiled a little, 
wryly. But most of the time I think I lack the wit and sense to 
understand any of Carillon's motives. 
As good a reason as any for your attendance at council 
meetings, policy sessions, boring petition hearings. . . . 
Donal scowled down at the wolf. Lorn sounded insufferably 
smug. But arguing with his lir accomplished nothing\a151 
Lom, like Carillon, always won the argument. 
Just like Taj. Donal looked into the sky for the soaring 
golden falcon. As always, I am outnumbered. 
You lack both wit and sense, and need the loan of ours. 
Taj's tone was different within the threads of the link. The 
resonances of rtr-speech were something no Cheysuli could 
easily explain because even the Old Tongue lacked the explicitness 
required. Donal, like every other warrior, simply 
knew the language of the link in all its infinite intangibilities. 
But only he could converse with Taj and Lom. 
/ am put in my place. Donal conceded the battle much as 
he always did\a151with practiced humility and customary resignation; 
the concession was nothing new. 
The tiny street gave out into Market Square as did dozens 
of others; Donal found himself funneled into the square al

most against his will, suddenly surrounded by a cacophony of 
shouts and sing-song invitations from fishmongers and 
streethawkers. Languages abounded, so tangled the syllables 
were indecipherable. But then most he could not decipher 
anyway, being limited to Homanan and the Old Tongue of 
the Cheysuli. 
The smell struck him like a blow. Accustomed to the rich 
earth odors of the Keep and the more subtle aromas of 
Mujhara, Donal could not help but frown. Oil. The faintest 
tang of fruit from clustered stalls. A hint of flowers, musk 
and other unknown scents wafting from a perfume-merchant's 
stall. But mostly fish. Everywhere fish\a151in everything; he 
could not separate even the familiar smell of his leathers, 
gold and wool from the pervasive odor of fish. 
The stallion's gait slowed to a walk, impeded by people, 
pushcarts, stalls, booths, livestock and, occasionally, other 
horses. Most people were on foot; Donal began to wish he 
were, if only so he could melt into the crowd instead of riding 
head and shoulders above them all. 
14 Jennifer Roberson 
Lorn? he asked. 
Here, the wolf replied glumly, nearly under the stallion's 
belly. Could you not have gone another way? 
When I can find a way out of this mess, I will. He grimaced 
as another rider, passing too close in the throng, jostled his 
horse. Knees collided painfully. The man, swearing softly 
beneath his breath as he rubbed one gray-clad knee, glanced 
up as if to apologize. 
But he did not. Instead he stared hard for a long moment, 
then drew back in his saddle and spat into the street. 
"Shapechanger!" he hissed from between his teeth, "go 
back to your forest bolt-hole! We want none of your kind 
here in Hondarth!" 
Donal, utterly astonished by the reaction, was speechless, 
so stunned was he by the virulence in words and tone. 
"I said, go back!" the man repeated. His face was reddened 
by his anger. A pock-marked face, not young, not old, 
but rilled with violence. "The Mujhar may give you freedom 
to stalk the streets of Mujhara in whatever beast-form you 
wear, but here it is different! Get you gone from this city, 
shapechanger!" 
No. It was Lom, standing close beside the stallion. What 
good would slaying him do, save to tend credence to the 
reasons/or his hatred? 
Donal looked down and saw how his right hand rested on 
me gold hilt of his long-knife. Carefully, so carefully, he 
unlocked his teeth, took his hand away from his knife and 
ignored the roiling of his belly. 
He managed, somehow, to speak quietly to the Homanan 
who confronted him. "Shame's qu'mahlin is ended. We 
Cheysuli are no longer hunted. I have tile freedom to come 

and go as I choose." 
"Not hereV The man, dressed in good gray wool but 
wearing no power or rank markings, shook his dark brown 
head. "/ say you had better go." 
"Who are you to say so?" Donal demanded icily. "Have 
you usurped the Mujhar's place in Homana to dictate my 
comings and goings?" 
"I dictate where 1 will, when it concerns you shapechangers." 
The Homanan leaned forward in his saddle. One hand gripped 
me chestnut's reins to hold DonaTs horse in place. "Do you 
hear me? Leave this place. Hondarth is not for such as you." 
L\a163GACY OF THE SWORD 
15 
Their knees still touched. Through the contact, slight though 
it was, Donal sensed the man's tension; sensed what drove 
the other to such a rash action. 
He is afraid. He does not do this out of a sense of justice 
gone awry. or any personal vendetta\a151he is simply afraid. 
Frightened, men will do anything. It was Taj, circling in 
seeming idleness above the crowded square. Lir, be gentle 
with him. 
After what he has said to me? 
Has it damaged you? 
Looking into brown, malignant eyes, Donal knew the other 
would not back down. He could not. Homanan pride was not 
Cheysuli pride, but it was still a powerful force. Before so 
many people\a151before so many Homanans and facing a dreaded 
Cheysuli\a151the man would never give in. 
But if I back down, I will lose more than just my pride. It 
will make it that much more difficult for any warrior who 
comes into Hondarth. 
And so he did not back down. He leaned closer to the man, 
which caused the Homanan to flinch back, and spoke barely 
above a whisper. "You are truly a fool to mink you can chase 
me back into the forests. I come and go as 1 please. If you 
think to dissuade me, you will have myself and my iir to 
contend with." A brief gesture indicated the hackled wolf 
and Taj's attentive flight. "What say you to me now?" 
The Homanan looked down at Lom, whose ruddy muzzle 
wrinkled to expose sharp teeth. He looked up at Taj as the 
falcon slowly, so slowly, circled, descending to the street. 
Lastly he looked at the Cheysuli warrior who faced him: a 
young man of twenty-three, tall even in his saddle; blackhaired, 
dark-skinned, yellow-eyed; possessed of a sense of 
grace, confidence and strength that was almost feral in its 
nature. He had the look of intense pnde and preparedness that 
differentiated Cheysuli warriors from other men. The look of 
a predator. 

"I am unarmed," the Homanan said at last. 
Donal did not smile. "Next time you choose to offer insult 
to a Cheysuli, I suggest you do so armed. If 1 was forced to 
slay you, I would prefer to do it fairly." 
The Homanan released the stallion's rein- He clutched at 
his own so violently the horse's mouth gaped open, baring 
massive teeth in silent protest. Back, back . . . iron-shod 
16 Jennifer Roberson 
hooves scraped against stone and scarred the cobbles. The 
man paid no heed to the people he nearly trampled or the 
collapse of a flimsy fruit stall as his mount's rump knocked 
down the props. He completely ignored the shouts of the 
angry merchant. 
But before he left the square he spat once more into the 
street. 
Donal sat rigidly in his saddle and stared at the spittle 
marring a single cobble. He was aware of an aching emptiness 
in his belly. Slowly that emptiness filled with the pain of 
shock and outraged pride. 
He is not worth slaying. But Lorn's tone within the pattern 
sounded suspiciously wistful. 
Taj, still circling, climbed back into the sky. You will see 
more of that. Did you think to be free of such things? 
"Free?" Donal demanded aloud. "Carillon ended Shaine's 
qu'mahlinf'1 
Neither lir answered at once. 
Donal shivered. He was cold. He felt ill. He wanted to spit 
much as the Homanan had spat, wishing only to rid himself 
of the sour taste of shock. 
"Ended," he repeated. "Everyone in Homana knows Carillon 
ended the purge." 
Lom's tone was grim. There are fools in the world, and 
madmen; people driven by ignorant prejudice and fear. 
Donal looked out on the square and slowly shook his head. 
Around him swarmed Homanans whom he had, till now, 
trusted readily enough, having little reason not to. But now, 
looking at them as they went about their business, he wondered 
how many hated him for his race without really understanding 
what he was. 
Why? he asked his lir. Why do they spit at me? 
You are the closest target. Taj told him. Not because of 
rank and title. 
Homanan rank and title, Donal pointed out. Can they not 
respect that at ieasfl It is their own, after all. 
If you tell them who and what you are, Lom agreed. 

Perhaps. But he saw only a Cheysuli. 
Donal laughed a little, but there was nothing humorous in 
it. Ironic, is it not? That man had no idea I was the Prince of 
Homana\a151he saw a shapechanger, and spat. Knowing, maybe 
he would have shut his mouth, out of respect for the title. But 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 17 
others, other Homanans\a151knowing what Carillon has made 
me\a151resent me for that title. 
A woman, passing, muttered of beasts and demons and 
made a ward-sign against the god of the netherworld. The 
sign was directed at Donal, as if she thought he was a servant 
of Asar-Suti. 
"By the gods, the world has gone mad!" Donal stared 
after the woman as she faded into the crowded square. "Do 
they think I am IhliniT' 
No, Taj said. They know you are Cheysuli. 
Let us get out of this place at once. But even as Donal said 
it, he felt and heard the smack of some substance against one 
shoulder. 
And smelled its odor, also. 
He turned in the saddle at once, shocked by the blatant 
attack. But he saw no single specific culprit, only a square 
choked with people. Some watched him. Others did not. 
Donal reached back and jerked his cloak over one shoulder 
to see what had struck his back, though he thought he knew. 
He grimaced when he saw the residue of fresh horse droppings. 
In disgust he shook the cloak free of manure, then let 
the folds fall back. 
We are leaving this square, he told his lir. Though I would 
prefer to leave this city entirely. 
Donal turned his horse into die first street he saw and 
followed its winding course. It narrowed considerably, twisting 
down toward the sea among whitewashed buildings topped 
with thatched gray roofs. He smelled salt and fish and oil, 
and the tang of the sea beyond. Gulls cried raucously, white 
against the slate-gray sky, singing their lonely song. The clop 
of his horse's hooves echoed in the narrow canyon of the 
road. 
Do you mean to stop? Taj inquired. 
When I find an inn\a151ah, there is one ahead. See the sign? 
The Red Horse Inn. 
It was a small place, whitewashed like the others, its 
thatched roof worn in spots. The wooden sign, in the form of 
a crimson horse, faded, dangled from its bracket on a single 
strip of leather. 
Here? Lom asked dubiously. 

It will do as well as another, provided I may enter. Donal 
felt the anger and sickness rise again, frustrated that even 
18 Jennifer Roberson 
Carillon\a151with alt that he had accomplished\a151had not been 
able to entirely end the qu'mahlin. But even as he spoke, 
Donal realized what the wolf meant; (he Red Horse Inn 
appeared to lack refinement of any sort. Its two horn windows 
were puttied with grime and smoke, and the thatching 
stank of fish oil, no doubt from the lanterns inside. Even the 
white-washing was grayed with soot and dirt. 
You arc the Prince of Homana. That from Taj, ever vigilant 
of such things as princely dignity and decorum. 
Donal smiled. And the Prince of Homana is hungry. Perhaps 
the food will he good. He swung off his mount and tied 
it to a ring in the wall provided for that purpose-Birfe here 
with the horse. Let us not threaten anyone else with your 
presence. 
You are going in. Lom's brown eyes glinted for just a 
moment. 
Donal slapped the horse on his rump and shot the wolf a 
scowl. There is nothing threatening about me. 
Are you not Cheysuli? asked Taj smugly as he settled on 
the saddle. 
The door to the inn was snatched open just as Donal put 
out his hand to lift the latch. A body was hurled through the 
opening. Donal, directly in its path, cursed and staggered 
back, grasping at arms and legs as he struggled to keep 
himself and the other upright. He hissed a Cheysuli invective 
under his breath and pushed the body back onto its feet. It 
resolved itself into a boy, not a man, and Donal saw how the 
boy stared at him in alarm. 
The innkeeper stood in the doorway, legs spread and arms 
folded across his chest. His bearded jaw thrust out belligerently. 
"I'll not have such rabble in my good inn!" he growled 
distinctly. "Take your demon ways elsewhere, brat!" 
The boy cowered. Dona! put one hand on a narrow shoulder 
to prevent another stumble. But his attention was more firmly 
focused on the innkeeper. "Why do you call him a demon?" 
he asked. "He is only a boy." 
The man looked Donal up and down, brown eyes narrowing. 
Donal waited for the epithets to include himself, halfbraced 
against another clot of manure\a151or worse\a151but instead 
of insults he got a shrewd assessment. He saw how the 
innkeeper judged him by the gold showing at his ear and me 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 19 
color of his eyes. His /t'r-bands were hidden beneath a heavy 
cloak, but his race\a151as always\a151was apparent enough. 
Inwardly Donal laughed derisively. Homanans! If they are 
not judging us demons because of the shapechange, they 

judge us by our gold instead. Do they not know we revere our 
gold for what it represents, and not the wealth at all? 
The Homanans judge your gold because of what it can buy 
them. Taj settled his wings tidily. The freedom of the Cheysuli. 
The innkeeper turned his face and spat against the ground. 
"Demon," he said briefly. 
"The boy, or me?" Donal asked with exaggerated mildness, 
prepared for either answer. And prepared to make his 
own. 
"Him. Look at his eyes. He's demon-spawn, for truth." 
"No!" the boy cried. "I'm not!" 
"Look at his eyes!" the man roared. "Tell me what you 
see!" 
The boy turned his face away, shielding it behind one arm. 
His black hair was dirty and tangled, falling into his eyes as if 
he meant it to hide them. He showed nothing to Donal but a 
shoulder hunched as if to ward off a blow. 
"Do you wish to come in?" the innkeeper demanded 
irritably. 
Donal looked at him in genuine surprise. "You throw him 
out because you believe him to be a demon\a151because of his 
eyes\a151and yet you ask me in?" 
The man grunted. "Has not the Mujhar declared you free 
of taint? Your coin is as good as any other's." He paused. 
"You do have coin?" His eyes strayed again to the earring. 
Donal smiled in relief, glad to know at least one man in 
Hondarth judged him more from avarice than prejudice. "I 
have coin." 
The other nodded. "Then come in. Tell me what you 
want." 
"Beef and wine. Falian white, if you have it." Donal 
paused. "I will be in in a moment." 
"1 have it." The man cast a lingering glance at the boy, 
spat again, then pulled the door shut as he went into his inn. 
Donal turned to the boy. "Explain." 
The boy was very slender and black-haired, dressed in 
dark, muddied clothing that showed he had grown while the 
clothes had not. His hair hung into his face. "My eyes," he 
20 Jennifer Roberson 
said at iast. "You heard the man. Because of my eyes." He 
glanced quickly up at Donal, then away. And then, as if 
defying the expected reaction, he shoved the tangled hair out 
of his face and bared his face completely. "See?" 
"Ah," Donal said, "I see. And I understand. Merely 
happenstance, but ignorant people do not understand that. 

They choose to lay blame even when there is no blame to 
lay." 
The boy stared up at him out of eyes utterly unremarkable\a151 
save one was brown and the other a clear, bright blue. 
"Then\a151you don't think me a demon and a changeling?" 
"No more than am I myself." Donal smiled and spread his 
hands. 
"You don't think I'll be putting a spell on you?" 
"Few men have that ablity. I doubt you are one of them." 
The boy continued to stare. He had the face of a street 
urchin, all hollowed and pointed and thin. His bony wrists 
hung out of tattered sleeves and his feet were shod in strips of 
battered leather. He picked at the front of his threadbare shirt 
with broken, dirty fingernails. 
"Why?" he asked in a voice that was barely a sound. 
"Why is it you didn't like hearing me called names? I could 
tell." He glanced quickly at Donal's face. "I could feel the 
anger in you." 
"Perhaps because I have had such prejudice attached to 
me," Donal said grimly. "I like it no better when another 
suffers the fate." 
The boy frowned. "Who would call you names? And 
why?" 
"For no reason at all. Ignorance. Prejudice. Stupidity. But 
mostly because, like you, I am not\a151precisely like them." 
Donal did not smile. "Because I am Cheysuli." 
The parti-colored eyes widened. The boy stiffened and 
drew back as if he had been struck, then froze in place. He 
stared fixedly at Donal and his grimy face turned pale and 
blotched with fear. "Shapechanger!" 
Donal felt the slow overturning of his belly. Even this 
boy\a151 
"Beast-eyes!" The boy made the gesture meant to ward 
off evil and stumbled back a single step. 
Donal felt all the anger and shock swell up. Deliberately, 
with a distinct effort, he pushed it back down again. The boy 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 21 
was a boy, echoing such insults as he had heard, having 
heard them said of himself. 
"Are you hungry?" Donal asked, ignoring the fear and 
distrust in the boy's odd eyes. 
The boy stared. "I have eaten." 
"What have you eaten\a151scraps from the innkeeper's 
midden?" 
"I have eatenV 

Anger gave way to regret. That even a boy such as this will 
fall prey to such absolute/ear\a151 "Well enough." He said it 
more sharply than intended. "I thought to feed you, but I 
would not have you thinking I seek to steal your soul for my 
use. Perhaps you will find another innkeeper less judgmental 
than this one." 
The boy said nothing. After a long moment of shocked 
silence, he turned quickly and ran away. 
TWO 
I
n the morning, Donal found only one man willing to give 
him passage across the bay to the Crystal Isle, and even that 
man would not depart until the following day. So, ieft to his 
own devices, Donal stabled his horse and wandered down to 
the sea wall. He perched himself upon it and stared across the 
lapping waves. 
He focused his gaze on the dark bump of land rising out of 
the Idrian Ocean a mere three leagues across the bay. Gods, 
what will Electra be like? What will she say to me? 
He could hardly recall her, though he did remember her 
legendary beauty, for he had been but a young boy when 
Carillon had banished his Solindish wife for treason. Adultery 
too, according to the Homanans; the Cheysuli thought little of 
that charge, having no strictures against light women when a 
man already had a wife. In the clans, cheysulas, wives, and 
meijhas, mistresses, were given equal honor. In the clans, the 
birth of children was more important than what the Homanans 
called proprieties. 
Treason. Aye, a man might call it that. Electra of Solinde, 
princess-born, had tried to have her royal Homanan husband 
slain so that Tynstar might take his place. Tynstar of the 
Ihlini, devotee of Asar-Suti, the god of the netherworld. 
Donal suppressed a shudder. He knew better than to attribute 
the sudden chill he felt to the salty breeze coming inland 
from the ocean. No man, had he any wisdom at all, dismissed 
the Ihlini as simple sorcerers. Not when Tynstar led them. 
He wishes to throw down Carillon's rule and make Homana 
22 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 23 
his own. For a moment he shut his eyes. It was so clear, so 
very clear as it rose up before his eyes from his memory: the 
vision of Tynstar's servitors as they had captured his mother. 
Alix they had drugged, to control her Cheysuli gifts. Torrin. 
her foster father, they had brutally slain. And her son they 
had nearly throttled with a necklace of heavy iron. 

Donal put a hand against his neck. He recalled it so well, 
even fifteen years later. As if it were yesterday, and I still a 
boy. But the yesterday had faded, his boyhood long outgrown. 
He opened his eyes and looked again upon me place men 
called the Crystal Isle. Once it had been a Cheysuli place, or 
so the shar tahls always said. But now it was little more than 
a prison for Carillon's treacherous wife. 
The Queen of Homana. Donal grimaced. Gods, how could 
he stay wed to her? I know the Homanans do not countenance 
the setting aside of wives\a151it is even a part of their 
laws\a151but the woman is a witch! Tynstar's meijha. He scrubbed 
a hand through his hair and felt the wind against his face. 
Cool, damp wind, filled with the scent of the sea. If he gave 
her a chance, she would seek to slay him again. 
Taj wheeled idly in the air. Perhaps it was his tahlmorra. 
Homanans have none. Not as we know it. Donal shook his 
head. They call it fate, destiny . . . saying they make their 
own without the help of the gods. No, the Homanans have no 
tahlmorra. And Carillon, much asJ respect him, is Homanan 
to the bone. 
There is that blood in you as well, returned the bird. 
Aye. His mouth twisted. But I cannot help it, much as I 
would prefer to forget it altogether. 
It makes you what you are, Taj said. That, and other 
things. 
Donal opened his mouth to answer aloud, but Lom urgently 
interrupted. Lir, there is trouble. 
Donal straightened and swung his legs over the wall, rising 
at once. He looked in the direction Lom indicated with his 
nose and saw a group of boys wrestling on the cobbles. 
He frowned. "They are playing, Lom." 
More than thai. Lom told him. They seek to do serious 
harm. 
Taj drifted closer to the pile of scrambling bodies. The boy 
with odd eyes. 
Donal grunted. "I am not one of his favorite people." 
24 Jennifer Roberson 
You might become so. Lorn pointed out, if you gave him 
the aid he needs. 
Donal cast the smug wolf a skeptical glance, but he went 
off to intervene. For all the boy had not endeared himself me 
day before, neither could Donal allow him to be beaten. 
' 'Enough!'' He stood over the churning mass of arms and 
legs. "Let him be!" 
Slowly the mass untangled itself and he found five Homanan 

boys glaring up at him from the ground in various attitudes of 
fear and sullen resentment. The victim, he saw, regarded him 
in surprise. 
"Let him be," Donal repeated quietly. "That he was born 
with odd eyes signifies nothing. It could as easily have been 
one of you." 
The others got up slowly, pulling torn clothing together 
and wiping at grimy faces. Two of them drifted off quickly 
enough, tugging at two others who hastily followed, but the 
tallest, a red-haired boy, faced Donal defiantly. 
"Who're you to say, shapechanger?" His fists clenched 
and his freckled face reddened. "You're no better'n him\\ My 
Da says men like you are nothing but demons yourselves. 
Shapechanger!" 
Donal reached out and caught the boy's shoulder. He heard 
the inarticulate cry of fear and ignored it, pulling the boy in. 
He thought the redhead was perhaps fourteen or fifteen, but 
undernourished. Like all of them. "What else does your 
father say?" 
The boy stared at him. He hunched a little, for Donal still 
gripped his left shoulder, but soon became defiant. "Th-that 
Shaine the M-mujhar had the right of it! That you should all 
be slain\a151like beasts'." 
"Does he, now?" Donal asked reflectively, desiring no 
further answers. He felt sickened by the virulence of me 
boy's hate. He only mouthed his father's words, but it was 
enough to emphasize yet again that not all Homanans were 
prepared to accept the Cheysuli, no matter what Carillon had 
done to stop Shaine's purge. 
Almost twenty years have passed since Carillon came back 
from exile to make us welcome again, declaring us free of 
qu'mahlin, and still the Homanans hate us\\ 
Lom came up to press against his leg, as if to offer 
comfort. It brought Donal back to full awareness immedi- 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 25 
ately, and he realized he still held me redhead's shoulder. 
Grimly, he regarded the frightened boy. 
But not so frightened he forgets his prejudice\a151 Donal took 
a deep breath and tried to steady his voice- "Do you think 1 
will eat you, boy? Do you think I will turn beast before your 
eyes and rip the flesh from your throat?" 
"M-my Da says\a151" 
"Enough of yowjehan, boy!" Donal shouted. "You face 
me now, not your father. It is you who will receive what 
punishment I choose to give you for the insult you have 
offered." 
The boy began to cry. "D-don't eat me! Please don't eat 
me!" 

In disgust, Donal shook him. "I will not eat you! I am not 
the beast your father says I am. I am a man, like he is. But 
even a man grows angry when boys lose their manners." 
Lir, Lom said in concern. 
Donal silenced him through the link and kept his attention 
on the boy. "What punishment do you deserve? What 1 
would give my own son for such impertinence. And when 
you run home to tell your Da, tell him also that you sought to 
harm an innocent boy. See what he says then." 
Even as he said it, Donal grimaced to himself. Most likely 
he will send his son out to find another helpless soul. Contempt 
and hatred beget more of.the same. He tightened his 
grip on the redhead. "Now, perhaps you wilt think better of 
such behavior in the future." 
Donal spun the boy quickly and held him entrapped in his 
left arm. Before the redhead could protest, Donat swatted him 
twice\a151hard\a151on his bony rump and sent him stumbling toward 
the nearest street. "Go home- Go home and leam some 
manners." 
The boy ran down the street and quickly disappeared. 
Donal turned at once to the victim, meaning to help him up, 
then thought better of it. Why give him another chance to 
revile me for my race? 
But the boy evidently no longer held Donal in such contempt. 
He scrambled to his feet, tried to put his torn and 
muddied clothing into some semblance of order, and gazed at 
Donal with tentative respect. "You didn't have to do that." 
"No," Donal agreed. "1 chose to." 
"Even after\a151after what I called you?" 
26 Jennifer Roberson 
"I do not hold grudges," Donal grinned suddenly. "Save, 
perhaps, against Carillon." 
The parti-colored eyes widened in shock. "You hold a 
grudge against the MujnarT1 
"Upon occasion\a151and usually with very good reason." 
Donal hid a second smile, amused by the boy's reaction, 
"He is the Mujhar! King of Homana and Lord of Solinde!" 
"And a man,- like myself. Like you will be, one day." He 
put out a hand and touched the ugly swelling already darkening 
the skin beneath the boy's blue eye. The brown one was 
unmarred. "This will be very sore, I fear." 
The boy recoiled from the touch. "It\a151doesn't hurt." 
Donal, hearing the boy's fear, took away his hand. "What 
is your name? 1 cannot keep calling you 'boy,' or *brat,' as 
the innkeeper did." 
"Sef," whispered the boy, 

"Your age?" 
Cheeks reddened. "Thirteen\a151I think." 
Donal gently clasped one thin shoulder, ignoring the boy's 
sudden flinch. "Then go on your way, Sef, as you will not 
abide my company. But I suggest you avoid such situations in 
the future, do you wish to keep your bones whole and your 
face unblemished." 
Sef did not move as Donal removed his hand. He stood 
very stiff, very still, his parti-colored eyes wide, apprehensive, 
as he watched Donal turn to walk away. 
"Wait!" he called. "Wait\a151please\a151" 
Donal glanced back and waited. The boy walked slowly 
toward him, shoulders raised defensively, both hands twisting 
the drawstring of his thin woolen trews. 
"What is it?" Donal asked gently. 
"What if\a151what if I said I did want your company?" 
"Mine?" Donal raised his brows. "I thought you feared it, 
Sef." 
"t\a151i do. I mean, you shift your shape.'" Briefly he 
looked at the wolf. "But I'd rather go with you." 
"With me?" Donal frowned, "I will willingly buy you a 
meal\a151even a week's worth, if need be, or give you coin 
enough so you could go to another town\a151but I had not 
thought to take you with me." 
"Please\a151" One hand, briefly raised, fell back to his side. 
He shrugged. It was the barest movement of his ragged 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 27 
clothing, intensely vulnerable. "I have no one. My mother 
is\a151dead. My father\a151I never knew." 
Donal frowned. "I do not live here." 
"It doesn't matter. Hondarth isn't my home. Just\a151just a 
place I live, until I find better." The thin face blazed with 
sudden hope. "Take me with you! I'll work for my wage. 1 
can tend your horse, prepare the food, clean up afterwards! 
I'll do anything." 
"Even to feeding my wolf?" Donal did not smile. 
Sef blanched. He stared blindly at Lom a moment, but then 
he nodded jerkily. 
Donal laughed. "No, no\a151Lom feeds himself. I merely 
tease you, Sef." 
The boy's face lit up. "Then you will take me with you?" 
Donal glanced back toward the Crystal Isle. What Carillon 
had sent him to do offered no place for a boy, but perhaps 

after. Having a boy to tend his horse and other small chores 
would undoubtedly be of help. 
And there is always room for serving-boys in Homana- 
Mujhar. He turned back to Sef and nodded. "I will take you. 
But there are things you must know about the service you 
undertake." 
Sef nodded immediately. "I will do whatever you say." 
Donal sighed. "To begin, I will not countenance pointless 
chatter among other boys you may meet. 1 understand what 
pride is, and what youth is, and how both will often lead a 
boy\a151a young man\a151into circumstances beyond his control, 
but this case is very special. I am not one for unnecessary 
elaborations, and I dislike ceremony, but there will be times 
for both. You will know them, too. But you must not give in 
to the temptation to speak of things you should not to other 
boys." 
Sef frowned intently. "Other boys? Do you have so many 
servants?" 
Donal smiled. "I have no servants\a151at least, not as / think 
of them. But there are pages and body-servants where we will 
go, when I finish my business here, and I must have your 
promise to keep yourself silent about my affairs." 
Sets dirt-streaked face grew paler. "Is it\a151because you're 
Cheysuli?" 
"No. And I do not speak of secret things, merely things 
that are very private. And sometimes quite important." He 
28 Jennifer Roberson 
studied Sets face and then brought his right hand up into the 
muted sunlight. "See this? Tell me what it is." 
Sef frowned. "A ring." 
"Surely you are more observant than that.'" 
The frown deepened. "A gold ring. It has a red stone in it, 
and a black animal in the stone. A\a151lion." Sef nodded. "A 
black lion\a151'' 
*'\a151rampant, upon a scarlet Mujharan field," Donal finished. 
"Do you know what that is?" 
Sef started to shake his head. And then he stopped. "Once, 
I saw a soldier. He wore a red tunic over his ringmail, and on 
the itunic was a lion. A black lion, rearing up." He pointed. 
"Like that one." 
Donal smiled. "That soldier was Carillon's man, as they 
all are. So am I. But\a151I am not a soldier. Not as you know 
soldiers." 
"A warrior." Sef dipped his black head down. "I know 
about the Cheysuli." 
"Not enough. But you will learn." Donal smiled and 

reached down to catch Sefs chin. He tipped up his head. 
"My name is Donal, Sef, and I am the Pnnce of Homana." 
Sef blanched white. Then he turned red. And finally, 
before Dona! could catch him, he fell downward to smack his 
bony knees against the salt-crusted cobbles. "My lord'." he 
whispered. "My lord\a151the Prince of Homana\\" 
Donal suppressed a laugh. It would not do to embarrass the 
boy simply because he was so in awe of royal rank. "I do not 
stand on ceremony. Serve me as well as you would serve any 
man, and I will be well-pleased." 
"My lord\a151" 
Donal reached down and caught a handful of thin tunic, 
men pulled Sef up from the cobbles. "Do not be so\a151 
overwhelmed. I am flesh and bone, as you are." He grinned. 
"If you are to serve me, you must team I am not some petty 
lordling who seeks elevation in the eyes and service of others. 
You may come with me as my friend, but not my servant. I 
left enough of those back at Homana-Mujhar." His voice was 
gentle. "Do you understand me?" 
"Aye," Sef whispered. "Oh ... my lord . . . aye!" 
Donal released the ragged tunic. / will have to buy him 
better clothing, perhaps in Carillon's colors\a151well, that will 
have to wait. But some manner of fitting clothing will not. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 29 
"You shall have to earn your passage, Sef." Donal looked 
down at the boy solemnly. "Are you willing to work for that 
passage?" 
"Aye, my lord!" 
"Good." Donal squeezed a narrow shoulder. "All 1 require 
of you is your company. Come along." 
"My lord!" 
Donal turned back. "Aye?" 
"My lord\a151" Sef broke off, pulling again at his ill-fitting, 
muddied clothing. "My lord\a1511 wish only to say\a151" He 
broke off yet again, obviously embarrassed, vivid color flooding 
his cheeks. 
Donal smiled at him encouragingly. "Before me, you may 
say what you wish. If you speak out of turn, I will say so, but 
I will never strike you. Say what you will, Sef." 
The boy sucked in a deep breath. "I wished only to thank 
you for coming to my aid, and to say that usually I win the 
fights." 
Donal smothered a laugh- "Of course." 
"They were five to my one," Sef pointed out earnestly. 
"I counted them. You are right." Donal nodded gravely. 

Set studied Donal a moment. Then, anxiously, "You said I 
may say what I wish. Do you mean I may ask it as well?" 
"You may always ask. I may not always answer." 
The boy smiled tentatively. -"Then\a151I'd ask you what 
you'd do against five men, ifvow were ever attacked." 
"I?" Donal laughed. "Well, it would be a different situation. 
You see, I have two lir." 
"They would fight, too?" Sef stared at Lom in amazement, 
then turned his bi-colored gaze to the sky to pick Taj 
out from the crying gulls. 
"They will always fight, to aid me. That is what /i'r are 
for." 
That, and other things, Lom reminded him dryly. 
"Then five men couldn't stop you?" 
Donal understood what Sef inquired, even if the boy did 
not. "I do not doubt you fought well, Sef, and that bad 
fortune put you on the losing side. You need not make 
excuses. As for me, you must recall I am Cheysuli. We are 
taught to fight from birth." His smile faded into a grim line. 
"There is reason enough for that- Even now, I begin to 
think." 
30 Jennifer Roberson 
"Cheysuli," Sef echoed. He stood very still. "Will you 
tell me what it's like?" 
"As much as I can. But it is never easily done." Donal 
nodded his head in Taj's direction, then gestured toward the 
wolf. "There is the secret of the Cheysuli, Sef. In Taj and 
Lom. Understand what it is to have a Ur, and you will know 
what it is to be blessed by the gods." 
Set glanced at him skeptically. "'Gods'! I don't think there 
are any." 
"Ah, but there are. I am no shar tahl, dedicating my life to 
the prophecy and the service of me gods, but 1 can tell you 
what I know. Another time." Donai smiled. "Come along." 
This time, Sef fell into step beside him. 
THREE 
I
n the morning the ship's captain, paid generously beforehand 
in freshly minted gold coin, cast off readily enough for 
the Crystal Isle. Donal questioned him and learned all traffic 
to the island was closely watched by men serving the Mujhar; 

the man had agreed to transport Donal and Sef only after a 
close look at the royal signet ring. For once, Donal was glad 
Carillon made him wear it. 
The captain was a garrulous man, perfectly content to 
while away the brief voyage by telling Donal all about the 
Queen of Homana's confinement. He confided there were 
Cheysuli on the island with Electra so she could use none of 
her witch's ways, and they kept Tynstar from rescuing her. 
He seemed little impressed with the knowledge that he transported 
the Prince of Homana himself, being rather more 
impressed with how he could use the knowledge to his own 
best advantage in fashioning an entertaining story full of 
gossip and anecdotes. Donal did not doubt a tale of his visit 
to the island would soon make the rounds of the taverns, 
undoubtedly much embellished. He quickly grew tired of the 
one-sided conversation and withdrew with what politeness he 
could muster, turning his back on the man to stare across the 
glassy bay. 
Behind them, Hondarm receded. The painted cottages merged 
into clustered masses of glowing white, luminescent in the 
mist against a velvety backdrop of heathered hills. Before 
them, the island grew more distinct as the ship sailed closer, 
31 
32 Jennifer Roberson 
but Donal could see none of the distinguishing features. Just a 
shape floating on the water, wreathed in clouds of fog. 
He became aware of Sef edging in close beside him. The 
mist shrouded them both and settled into their clothing, so 
that Sef\a151wrapped in a deep blue cloak Donal had purchased 
for him the day before, along with other new clothing\a151looked 
more fey than human. His black hair curled against his thin 
face\a151now clean\a151and his parti-colored eyes stared out at the 
island fixedly. 
"!t should not frighten you," Donal said quietly. "It is 
merely an island. A place." 
Sef looked at the eerie, silent blanket of sea-spray and 
morning fog. Even the crying of the gulls was muted in the 
mist. "But it's an enchanted place. I've heard." 
"Do you know the old legends, then?" 
Sef seemed hesitant. "Some. Not all. I'm\a151not from 
Hondarth." 
"Where are you from?" 
The boy looked away again, staring at the deck. Then, 
slowly, he raised his head. "From many places. My mother 
earned bread by\a151by . . ." He broke off uncertainly. His 
face colored so that he looked younger than the thirteen years 
he claimed. His voice was nearly a whisper. "Because of\a151 
men. We\a151didn't stay long in any single place." He shrugged, 
as if he could dismiss it all. But Donal knew such things 
would never entirely fade, even with adulthood. "She died 

almost a year ago, and I had no place else to go. So\a151I 
stayed." 
Donal heard the underlying note of shame and loneliness in 
Sefs tone- "Well, travel befits a man," he said off-handedly, 
seeking to soothe the boy without insulting him with sympathy. 
In the clans, the Cheysuli rarely resorted to emphasizing 
unnecessary emotions. "You are of an age to leam the world, 
and Hondarth is as good a place as any to begin." 
Sef did not look at him. He looked instead at the Crystal 
Isle as they sailed closer yet. The fog thickened as they 
approached, wrapping itself around the ship until it clung to 
every line and spar, glistening in the brassy sunlight so muted 
by the mist. Droplets beaded the railing and their cloaks, 
running down the oiled wool to fall on the deck. Their faces 
were cooled by the isle's constant wind, known to Cheysuli 
as the Breath of the Gods. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 33 
"Will you still keep me with you?" Sef asked very softly. 
Donal looked at him sharply, frowning. "I have said 1 
would. Why do you ask?" 
Sef would not meet his eyes. "But\a151that was before you 
knew I was a\a151bastard." 
Donal made a quick dismissive gesture. "You forget, Sef\a151I 
am Cheysuli, not Homanan." Inwardly he shut his ears to the 
voice that protested the easy denial of his Homanan blood. 
"In the clans, there is no such thing as bastardy- A child is 
bom and his value is weighed in how he serves his clan and 
the prophecy, not in the question of his paternity." Donal 
shook his head. "I care not if yourjehan\a151your father\a151was 
thief or cobbler or soldier. So long as you earn your keep." 
"Then the Cheysuli are wiser than most." The bitterness 
in Sets young voice made Donal want to put a hand on one 
narrow shoulder to gentle him, but he did not. The boy was 
obviously proud as well as uncertain of his new position, and 
Donal had more cause than most to understand the feeling. 
He pointed toward the island. "Tell me what you know, 
Sef." 
Sef looked, "They say there are demons, my lord." 
Donal smiled. "Do they? Well, they are wrong. That is a 
Cheysuli place, and there are no Cheysuli demons. Only 
gods, and the people they have made." 
"What people?" 
"Those of us now known as the Cheysuli. Once, we were 
something different. Something\a151better." Like the boy, he 
stared across the glass-gray ocean toward the misted island. 
Finally it grew clearer, more distinct. It was thickly forested, 
cloaked in lilac heather. Through the trees glowed a faint 

expanse of silver-white. "The Firstborn, Sef. Those the gods 
made first, as their name implies. Later, much later, were the 
Cheysuli bom." 
Sef frowned, concentrating, so that his black brows overshadowed 
his odd eyes. "You're saying once there were no 
people?" 
"The shar tahls\a151our priest-historians\a151teach us mat once 
the land was empty of men. It was a decision of me gods to 
put men upon the Crystal Isle and give it over to them freely. 
It is these original men we call the Firstborn. But the Firstborn 
soon outgrew the Crystal Isle, as men will when there 
are women, and went to Homana: a more spacious land for 
34 Jennifer Roberson 
their growing numbers. They built a fine realm there, ruling it 
well, and the gods were pleased. As a mark of their favor, 
they sent the ;i'r to them. And because of the earth magic, the 
Firstborn were able to bond with the Ur, to leam what lirshape 
is\a151" 
"Shapechangers," Sef interrupted involuntarily, shivering 
as he spoke. 
Donal sighed. "The name is easily come by, but we do not 
use it ourselves. Cheysuli is the Old Tongue, meaning children 
of the gods. But men\a151Homanans\a151being unblessed, all 
too often resort to the word as an insult." He thought again 
of the Homanan in me Market Square; the woman who had made 
the sign of the evil eye; the splatter of manure against his cloak. 
And all because he could shift his shape from man into 
animal. 
Surely the gods would never give such gifts to us was there 
any chance we would use them for evil! Why must so many 
believe we would? 
They do not understand. Taj floated lightly, pale gold in 
me silver mist. They are unblessed, and blind to the magic. 
Why do the gods not make them see? 
Blindness often serves a purpose, Lom explained. Sight 
recovered is often better than original vision. 
Donal looked directly at Sef. "Shapechanger," he said 
clearly. "Aye, it is true\a1511 shift my shape at will. I become a 
wolf or falcon. But does it make me so different from you? I 
do not doubt there are things you do that I cannot. Should I 
castigate you for it?" 
Sef shivered again. "It isn't the same. It isn't the same. 
You become an animal, while I\a151" he shook his head violently, 
denying the image, "\a151while / remain a boy. A 
normal, human boy." 
"Unblessed/' Donal agreed, for a moment callous in his 
pride- 
Sef looked at him then, staring fixedly at Donal's face. His 
disconcerting gaze traveled from yellow eyes to golden ear

ring, and he swallowed visibly. "The\a151the Firstborn," he 
began, "where are they, now?" 
"The Firstborn no longer exist. And most of their gifts are 
lost." 
Sef frowned. "Where did they go? What happened?" 
The taffrail creaked as Donal shifted his weight. "It is too 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 35 
long a story. One night, I promise, I will tell you it all\a151but, 
for now, this will have to content you." He looked directly at 
the boy and saw how attentive he was. "I am told the 
Firstborn became too inbred, that the gifts began to fade. And 
so before they died out they gave what they could to their 
children, the Cheysuli, and left them a prophecy." For a 
moment he was touched by the gravity of what his race 
undertook; how important the service was. "It is the Firstborn 
we seek to regain by strengthening the blood. Someday, 
when the proper mixture is attained, we will have a Firstborn 
among us again, and all the magic will be reborn." He 
smiled. "So the prophecy tells us: one day a man of all blood 
shall unite, in peace, two magical races and four warring 
realms." Fluidly, he made the gesture of tahlmorra\a151right 
hand palm-up, fingers spread\a151to indicate the shortened form 
of the Old Tongue phrase meaning, in Homanan, the fate of a 
man rests always within the hands of the gods. 
"You said\a151they lost their gifts\a151?" 
"Most of them. The Firstborn were far more powerful than 
the Cheysuli- They had no single ;i'r. They conversed with 
every lir, and took whatever shape they wished. But now, 
each warrior is limited to one." 
"You have two!" Sef looked around for Taj and Lom. 
"Are you a Firstborn, then?" 
Donal laughed. "No, no, I am a Cheysuli halfling, or\a151 
perhaps more precisely\a151a three-quarteriing." He grinned. 
"But my half Homanan jehana bears the blood of the 
Firstborn\a151as well as some of me gifts\a151and by getting a 
child by my Cheysuli jehan she triggered that part of herself 
mat has the Firstborn magic. I have two /('r because of her, 
and I may converse with any, but nothing more than that. I 
am limited to those two shapes." 
Sef turned to stare at the island. "Then\a151this is your 
birthplace." 
"In a manner of speaking." Donal looked at the island 
again. "It is the birthplace of the Cheysuli." 
"That is why you go?" Sets odd eyes were wide as he 
looked up at Donal. "To see where your people were born?" 
"No, though undoubtedly every Cheysuli should." Donal 
sighed and his mouth hooked down into a resigned grimace, 
"No, I go there on business for the Mujhar." He felt the curl 

36 Jennifer Roberson 
of unhappiness tighten his belly. "What I am about is secur- ^ 
ing the throne of Homana." 
"Securing it\a151?" Sef frowned. "But\a151the Mujhar holds it. 
It's his." 
"There are those who seek to throw down Carillon's House 
to set up another," Dona! told him grimly. "Even now, in 
Solinde ... we know they plan a war.'' 
Sef stared. "Why7 Who would do such a thing?" 
Donal very nearly did not answer. But Sef was avid in his 
interest, and he would leam the truth one way or another, 
once he was in Homana-Mujhar. "You know of the Ihlini, do , 
you not?" 
Sef paled and made the gesture warding off evil. "Solindish 
demons'" 
"Aye," Donal agreed evenly. "Tynstar and his minions 
would prefer to make the throne their own and destroy the 
prophecy. He wishes to have dominion over Homana\a151and 
all me other realms, I would wager\a151in order to serve Asar- 
Suti." He paused. "Asar-Suti is your demon, Sef, and 
more\a151he is the god of the netherworld. The Seker, he is 
called, by those who serve him; the one who made and dwells 
in darkness," He saw fear tauten Sets face. "In the name of 
his demon-god, Tynstar wishes to recapture Solinde from 
Carillon and make me realm his own, as tribute to Asar-Suti- 
And, of course, his ambition does not stop there\a151also he 
wants Homana. He plots for it now, at this moment\a151but we 
know this, so we are not unprepared; we are not a complacent f 
regency in Solinde. And so long as Carillon holds the throne\a151 " 
and his blood after him\a151the thing will not be done. The Lion 
Throne is ours." 
Sets hands were tight-wrapped around the rail. "You'll 
hold the throne one day, won't you? You're the Prince of 
Homana!" 
He glanced down at the attentive boy. "Now, do you see ? 
why I must teach you how to hold your tongue? Honesty is i 
all well and good, but in Royal Houses, too much honesty may : 
be construed as grounds for beginning a war. You must be ? 
careful in what you say as well as to whom you say it." 
Sef nodded slowly. "My lord\a151I have promised to serve ^ 
you well. 1 give you my loyalty." ^ 
Donal smiled and clasped one thin shoulder briefly. "And I 
that is all I require, for now." "' 
LA-'^mv-1 \\JI i nc. awuKU 
His hand remained a moment longer on Sef's shoulder. 
The boy needed good food in him to fill out the hollows in 
his pasty-white face and to put some flesh on his bones, but 

his attitude was good. For a bastard boy living from hand to 
mouth it was very good indeed. 
Donal chewed briefly at his bottom lip. Being little more 
than an urchin, he may not prove equal to the task. He may 
not mix well with the other boys. But then I cannot judge 
men by how they conform to others\a151how boring that life 
would be\a151and I will not do it with Sef. I will give him what 
chance I can. He smiled, and then he laughed. Perhaps I 
have found someone to serve me as well as Rowan serves 
Carillon. 
The prison-palace on the Crystal Isle stood atop a gentle 
hill of ash-colored bracken and lilac heather. The forest grew 
up around the pedestal of the hill, hiding much of the palace, 
but through the trees gleamed the whitewashed walls, attended 
by a pervasive silver mist. Stretching from the white 
sand beaches through the wind-stirred forest was a path of 
crushed sea shells, rose and lilac, pale blue and gold, creamy 
ivory. 
Donal stood very still upon the beach, looking inland 
toward the forest. He did not look at the palace\a151it was not 
so ancient as the island and Homanan-made at that\a151but at 
the things the gods had made instead. Then he closed his eyes 
and gave himself over to sensation. 
The wind curled gently around his body, caressing him 
with subtle fingers. It seemed to promise him things. He 
knew without doubting that the isle was full of dreams and 
magic and, if he sought it, a perfect peace and solitude- 
Carillon might have banished his treacherous wife to the 
island, but the place was a sacred place. Donal had thought 
perhaps the incarceration profaned the Crystal Isle. 
But he sensed no unhappiness, no dissatisfaction in the 
wind. Perhaps the island was used for mundane Homanan 
concerns, but at heart it was still Cheysuli, still part and 
parcel of the Firstborn. It merely waited. One day. someone 
would return it to its proper state. 
Donal feared to tread the crushed shells of the pathway at 
first, admiring its delicate beauty, but he saw no other way to 
38 Jennifer Roberson 
the palace on its green-and-lilac hill. He took nothing with 
him save his lir and Sef- And, he hoped, his courage. 
The isle was full of noise. Soft noise; gentle noise, a 
peaceful susurration. He and Sef and Lorn trod across crushed 
shell. They passed through trees that sighed and creaked, 
whispering in the wind. They heard the silences of the depths, 
as if even the animals muted themselves to honor the sanctity 
of the place. 
Sef tripped over his own feet and went sprawling, scattering 
pearly shells so that they spilled out of the boundaries of 
the pathway, disturbing the curving symmetry. Aghast, he 
hunched on hands and knees, staring at what he had done. 
Donal reached down and caught one arm, pulling him to 

his feet. He saw embarrassment and shame in the boy's face, 
but also something more. "There is nothing to fear, Sef," he 
promised quietly. "There are no demons here." 
"I\a151Ifeet something . . . I feel it\a151" He broke off, standing 
rigidly before Donal. His eyes were wide and fixed. His 
head cocked a trifle, as if he listened. As if he heard. 
"Sef\a151" 
The boy shuddered. The tremor ran through his slender 
body like an ague, Donal felt it strongly in his own hand as it 
rested upon Sets arm. His thin face was chalky gray. He 
mouthed words Donal could neither hear nor decipher. 
-Sef-" 
Sef jerked his arm free of Donal's hand. For a moment, a 
fleeting moment only, his eyes turned inward as if he sought 
to shut out the world. He raised insignificant fists curled so 
tightly the bones of his knuckles shone through thinly stretched 
flesh. Briefly his teeth bared in an almost feral grimace. 
"They know that I am here\a151" As suddenly he broke off. 
The eyes, filled by black pupils, looked upon Donal with 
recognition once again. "My lord\a151?" 
Donal released a breath. The boy had looked so strange, as 
if he had been thrown into a private battle within himself. But 
now he appeared recovered, if a trifle shaken. "I intended to 
say it was only the wind and your own superstitions," Donal 
told him. "But\a151this is the island of the gods, and who am I 
to say they do not speak to you?" 
Especially if he is Cheysuli. Donal felt the cool breeze run 
fingers through his hair, stripping it from his face. The wind 
u_ur^'-i f-fi 
was stronger than before, as if it meant to speak to him of 
things beyond his ken. 
"They know it," Sef said hollowly. And men his mouth 
folded upon itself, pressing lip against lip, as if he had made 
up his mind to overcome an enemy. "It doesn't matter." 
Donal felt the breath of the gods against the back of his 
neck. He shivered. Then he helped put Sets clothing into 
order once again. "I will not deny I feel something as well, 
but 1 doubt mere is anger in it. I think we have nothing to 
fear. 1 am, if you will pardon my arrogance, a descendent of 
the Firstborn." 
"And I am not," Sef said plainly. Then something flickered 
in his eyes and his manner altered. He looked intently at 
Donal a moment, then shrugged narrow shoulders. "I don't 
know what I am." 
Donal smoothed the.boy's black hair into place, though the 
wind disarranged it almost at once. "The gods do. That is 
what counts." He tapped Sef on the back. "Come along. Let 
us not keep the lady waiting." 

The interior of the expansive palace was pillared in white 
marble veined with silver and rose. Silken tapestries of rainbow 
colors decked the white walls and fine carpets replaced 
rushes which, even scented, grew old and rank too quickly. 
Donal did not know how much of the amenities had been 
ordered by Electra\a151or, more likely, by Carillon\a151but he was 
impressed. Homana-Mujhar, for all its grandeur, was somewhat 
austere at times. This place, he thought, would make a 
better home. 
Except it is a prison. 
Racks of scented beeswax candles illuminated the vastness 
of the entry hall. Servants passed by on business of their 
own, as did occasional guards attired in Carillon's black-andcrimson 
livery. Donal saw a few Cheysuli warriors in customary 
leathers and gold, but for the most part his fellow 
warriors remained unobtrusive. 
When the woman came forth to greet Donal, he saw she 
wore a foreign crest worked into the fabric of her gown: 
Electra's white swan on a cobalt field. The woman was 
slender and dark with eyes nearly the color of the gown; he 
wondered if she had chosen it purposely. And he recalled that 
Carillon had also exiled the Queen's Solindish women. 
He wondered at the decision. Would it not have been better 
40 Jennifer Roberson 
to send the women home? Here with Electra, they could all 
concoct some monstrous plot to overthrow the Mujhar. 
How? Taj asked as he lighted on a chairback. Carillon has 
warded them well. 
I do not trust her, lir. 
Nor does Carillon, Lorn told him. There is no escape for 
her. There are Cheysuli here. 
The Solindish woman inclined her head as she paused 
before Donal. She spoke good Homanan, and was polite, but 
he was aware of an undertone of contempt. "You wish to see 
the Queen. Of course- This way." 
Donal measured his step to the woman's. She paused 
before a brass door that had been meticulously hammered and 
beveled into thousands of intricate shapes. The woman tapped 
lightly, then stepped aside with a smooth, practiced gesture. 
"Through here. But the boy must wait without\a151there, on the 
bench. The Queen sees no one unless she so orders it\a151and I 
doubt she would wish to see him." 
Donal restrained the retort he longed to make, matching the 
woman's efficient, officious manner as he inclined his head 
just enough to acknowledge her words. Then he turned to 
Set. "Wait for me here." 
Sets thin face was pale and frightened as he slowly sat 
down on the narrow stone bench beside the door. He clasped 
his hands in his lap, hunching within his cloak, and waited 
wordlessly. 

"Be not afraid," Donal said gently. "No one will seek to 
harm you. You are the Prince's man." 
Sef swallowed, nodded, but did not smile. He looked at his 
hands only, patently prepared to wait with what patience he 
thought was expected, and wanting none of it. 
Knowing he could do nothing more, Donat gave up the 
effort and passed through the magnificent door. It thudded 
shut behind him. 
Taj rode his right shoulder. Lom paced beside his left leg. 
He was warded about with lir, and still he felt apprehensive. 
This was Electra he faced. 
Witch. Tynstar's meijha. More than merely a woman. But 
he went on, pacing the length of the cavernous hall. 
Electra awaited him. He saw her standing at the end of the 
hallway on a marble dais. And he nearly stopped in his 
tracks. 
LEGACY OF THE SWUKD 41 
He had heard, as they all had, that Electra's fabled beauty 
was mostly illusory, that Tynstar had given it to her along 
with me gift of youth and immortality; so long as she was not 
slain outright, she\a151like Tynstar\a151would never die. He had 
heard that the beauty would fade, since she was separated 
from Tynstar. But Donal knew how much power rumors 
had\a151as well as how little truth\a151and now as he saw the 
woman again for the first time in fifteen years, he could not 
say if she was human or immortal; ensorceled or genuine. 
By the gods . . . separation from Tynstar has not dulled 
her beauty; has not dispersed the magic! 
Her pale gray eyes, watched him approach the dais. Longlidded, 
somnolent eyes; eyes that spoke of bedding. Her hair 
was still a fine white-blonde, lacking none of its shine or 
texture. Loose, it flowed over her shoulders like a mantle, 
held back from her face-by a simple fillet of golden, interlocked 
swans. Her skin lacked none of the delicate bloom of 
youth, and her allure was every bit as powerful as it had been 
the day she trapped Carillon in her spell. 
Donal looked at her. No longer a boy, he saw Electra as a 
man sees a woman: appraising, judgmental and forever wondering 
what she would be like if she ever shared his bed- He 
could not look at her without sexual fantasy; it was not that 
he desired her, simply that Electra seemed to magically inspire 
it. 
/ have been blind, he realized. No more can I say to 
Carillon I cannot comprehend what made him keep her by 
him, even when he recognized her intent. He swallowed 
heavily. / have been such a fool. . . . But he would never 
admit it to her\a151or to Carillon. 
Electra wore a simple gown of silvered gray velvet, but 
over it she had draped a wine-purpled mantle of sheer, pearly 
silk. Unmoving, she watched him- Watching her watching 

him, Donal made up his mind to best her. 
"You come at last." Her voice was low and soft, full of 
the cadences of Solinde. "I had thought Carillon's little 
wolfling would keep himself to his forests.'' 
Donal managed to maintain an impassive face as he halted 
before the dais. A word within the link to Taj sent the falcon 
fluttering to perch upon upon the back of the nearest chair. 
Lorn stood at Donal's left knee, ruddy pelt rising on his 
shoulders. 
4Z Jennifer KoOerson 
As I/ he too senses the power in the woman. 
Electra was not a tall woman, though her tremendous 
self-possession made her seem so. The dais made her taller 
yet, but even marble could not compete with Donal's Cheysuli 
height. 
It was an odd moment. She stood before him, impossibly 
beautiful and immortally young. Too young. He came to 
speak of her daughter, when she appeared hardly old enough 
to bear one. 
He smiled. / have you, Electra, and you do not even know 
it. 
She watched him. The clear, gray-pale eyes did not move 
from his face, as if she judged him solely by his own eyes. 
Well, he knew what she saw: a clear, eerily perfect yellow; 
eyes bestial and uncanny, full of a strange inborn wisdom and 
wildness, and a fanatic dedication to the prophecy of the 
Firstborn. 
We are enemies. We need say nothing to one another; it is 
there. It was there from the day I was born, as if she knew 
what I would come to mean to her and the Ihlini lord she 
serves. 
"I have come to fetch home your daughter, lady," he said 
quietly. "It is time for us to wed." 
Electra's head moved only a little on her slender neck. Her 
voice was quiet and contained. "I do not give my permission 
for this travesty to go forth. No." 
"The choice is not yours\a151" 
"So you may say." Slender, supple hands smoothed the 
silk of her mantle, drawing his eyes to their subtle seductiveness. 
"Think you I will allow my daughter to wed a Cheysuli 
shapechanger? No." She smiled slowly. "I forbid it." 
He set his teeth. "Forbid what you will, Electra, it will do 
you little good. If you seek to rail at me like a jackdaw 
because of your fate, I suggest you look at the cause of your 
disposal. It is because of you Carillon has made me heir to 
Homana and your daughter's intended husband. You, lady. 
Because you conspired against him." 

Long-nailed fingers twisted the wine-red fabric of her mantle. 
Her eyes held a malignant fascination. "Your prophecy 
says a Cheysuli must hold the Lion Throne of Homana before 
it can be fulfilled. Undoubtedly all of the shapechangers think 
that man will be you, since Carillon has let everyone know\a151no 
LEQA^.'Y Uh I Mb SWUKU 
matter how unofficially\a151that he intends to proclaim you his 
heir. 'Prince of Homana,' are you not styled, even before the 
proper time?" Electra smiled. "But that is not the prophecy 
Tynstar chooses to serve . , . nor is it mine\\ We will put no 
Cheysuli on the Lion Throne but an Ihlini-born man instead, 
and see to Carillon's death." 
"You have tried," he said with a calmness he did not feel. 
"You have tried to slay him before, and it has failed. Is 
Tynstar so inept? Is he a powerless sorcerer? Or has the Seker 
turned his face from his servant, so that Tynstar lacks a 
lord?" He waited, but she made no answer- Even in her 
anger, she was utterly magnificent. He felt the tightening of 
his loins, and it'made him angry with himself as well as with 
the woman. "Eiectra, I ask you one thing: have you said this 
to your daughter? Do you tell her what you intend to do? He 
is, after all, her father." 
"Aislinn is not your concern." 
"Aislinn will be my cheysula." 
"Use no shapechanger words to me!" she snapped. "Carillon 
may have sent me here, but this is my hall! My palace! / 
rule here!" 
"What do you rule?" he demanded. *'A few pitiful acres 
of land, served only by those who serve the Mujhar, except 
for your loyal women. An impressive realm, Electra." He 
shook his head. "It is a pity you hold no court. Instead, you 
have only the memories of what you once had the ordering 
of." He smiled ironically. "The grandeur of Bellam's palaces 
in Solinde and the magnificence of Homana-Mujhar. But 
all of that is gone, Electra\a151banished by your treachery and 
deceit. Curse not me or mine when you must first curse 
yourself." 
For the first time he had shaken her composure utterly. He 
could see it. She trembled with fury, and clutched at the silk 
of her mantle so that the fabric crumpled and rent. Rich color 
stood high in her face. "First you must wed her, shapechanger, 
to merge the proper blood. But what is not yet done shall 
remain undone . . . and the prophecy shall fail." 
Electra stretched out a hand toward him. He saw the merest 
crackle and flare of purple flame around one pointing finger, 
but the color died. The hand was nothing more than a band- 
Before a Cheysuli, the arts Tynstar had taught her failed. 
"Tynstar's sorcery keeps you young now, Electra," Donal 
44 Jennifer Roberson 
said gently. "But you should remember: you are a woman of 
fifty-five. One day, it will catch up to you." He walked 

slowly toward the dais, mounted it even as she opened her 
mouth to revile him, and slowly walked around her. "One 
day he will be slain, and then what becomes of you? You will 
age, even as Carillon ages. Your bones will stiffen and your 
blood will flow sluggishly. One day you will not be able to 
rise, so feeble will you have become, and you will be bound 
to chair or bed. And then you shall have only endless empty 
hours in which to spin your impotent webs." He stopped 
directly before her. "That is your tahlmorra, Electra ... I 
wish you well of it." 
Electra said nothing. She merely smiled an unsettling smile. 
"What of me?" asked a voice from a curtained opening. 
"What do you wish for me?" 
FOUR 
D. 
'onal spun around and saw the young woman gowned in 
snowy white. A girdle of gold and garnets spilled down the 
front of her skirts to clash and chime against the hem. Redgold 
hair flowed loosely over her shoulders, in glorious disarray. 
Her lustrous white skin and long gray eyes were her 
mother's; her pride was Carillon's. 
"Aislinn!" It was the only word he could muster. For two 
years he had not seen her, knowing her only through her 
letters to Carillon. And in those two years she had crossed the 
threshold between girlhood and. womanhood. She was still 
young\a151too young, he thought, for marriage\a151but all her 
awkward days were over. 
He smiled at her, prepared to tell her how much she had 
changed\a151and for the better. But his smile slowly began to 
fade as she moved into the hall. 
Aislinn let the tapestry curtain fall from a long-fingered 
hand. The gems in the girdle flashed in the candlelight. Gold 
gleamed. A fortune clasped her slender waist and dangled 
against her skirts. And Donal, knowing that Carillon's taste 
in gifts to his daughter ran to merlins, puppies and kittens, 
realized the girdle was undoubtedly a present from Electra- 
He looked at Aislinn's face. It was taut and forbidding, set 
in lines too harsh for a young woman of sixteen years, but if 
she had heard his final words to Electra he was not at all 
surprised she should view him with some hostility. 
The girdle chimed as Aislinn moved. And Donal wondered 
45 
40 
Jennifer Roberson 
uneasily if Electra had somehow purchased her daughter's 

loyalty. 
Carillon should never have sent her . . . not for so long. 
Not for two years. The gods know he meant well by it, 
realizing the girl needed to see her jehana . . . but he should 
have had her brought back much sooner, regardless of all 
those letters begging to remain a little longer. Two years is 
too long. The gods know what the witch has done to Aislinn's 
loyalties. 
The girl halted before him, glancing briefly at tile wolf. 
Donal thought she might greet her old friend, but she made 
no move to kneel down and scratch Lorn's ears as she had in 
earlier days. 
Aislinn's pride was manifest. "Well? What say you, Donal?" 
Her tone was a reflection of her mother's, cool and supremely 
controlled. "What of me?" 
"By the gods, Aislinn!" he said in surprise. "I have no 
quarrel with you. It is your jehana who lacks manners'" 
It was obviously not what she expected him to say. She 
lost all of her cool demeanor and stared at him in astonishment. 
"How dare you attack my mother!" 
"Donal." Electra's voice sounded dangerously amused, 
and he looked at her warily. "Are you certain you wish to 
wed my daughter?" 
He wanted to swear. He did not, but only because he shut 
his mouth on the beginning of the word. He glared at Electra. 
"Play no games with me, lady. Aislinn and I have been 
betrothed for fifteen years. We have been friends as long as 
that." 
Electra smiled: a cat before a mousehole. ' Triends, aye\a151at 
one time. But are you so certain she is the woman you would 
wish to keep as your wife the rest of your life?" 
No, he said inwardly. Not Aislinn . , . but what choice do I 
have? 
He gritted his teeth and made up his mind not to lose the 
battle. Not to Electra. He knew she took no prisoners. "I 
imagine you have done what you could to mm Aislinn against 
this marriage in the two years you have hosted her." He 
glanced at the girl and saw contempt for him in her eyes. 
Electra's eyes, so cool and shrewd. Contempt, where once 
there had been childlike adoration. "Aye," he agreed grimly, 
"I see you have. But I have more faith in Aislinn's integrity." 
"Integrity has nothing to do with it," Eiectra said gently. 
"Ask Aislinn what she thinks of bearing unnatural children." 
Shock riveted him. He stared at the woman in horror. 
^Unnatural children\a151" 
"Ask Aisiinn what she thinks of babies bom with fangs 
and claws and tails, and the beast-mark on their faces," 
Electra suggested softly. "Ask Aislinn what she thinks of 
playing mother\a151no, jehana\a151" she twisted the Old Tongue 
cruelly ' '\a151to a thing not wholly human nor wholly animal\a151 

but bestial instead." The perfect mouth smiled. "Ask Aislinn, 
my lord Prince of Homana, what she thinks about sharing a 
bed with a man who cannot control his shape\a151i'n bed or out 
of it." 
He took a single lurching step away from the dais and the 
woman. "What filth have you told her\a151?" 
"Filth?" Electra arched white-blond brows. "Only the 
truth, shapechanger. Or do you deny the gold on your arms, 
in your ear ... the animals your kind call the UrV An 
expressive gesture encompassed gold and wolf and bird. 
He felt ill. He wanted to turn his back on the woman and 
flee the hall, but he could not do it. He would not do it. He 
would not allow her to win. "Lies," he said flatly. "And 
Aislinn knows it. Do you forget?\a151she has known me since 
her birth." 
"I forget nothing." Electra smiled with all the guilelessness 
of a child- "But you have the right of it, of course . . . 
Aislinn knows you well." 
Donal stood his ground- "We played together as children, 
Electra. Scraped knees, tended bee stings, shared one another's 
bread. Do you think, lady, such memories can be destroyed 
with but a few words from you?'' 
"I have had her two years, Donal." Electra allowed the 
violet mantle to slither to her hip, exposing the low-cut neck 
of her gown and the pale flesh of the tops of her breasts. "Do 
you recall what I did to Carillon in two monthsT' 
He did. And he turned at once to Aislinn. "Two years is 
more than enough time to fill your head with lies, and she is 
good at that. But do you forget yowjehan^ It is Carillon with 
whom you lived for fourteen years before you came to Electra." 
A pale hand smoothed the gameted chains hanging from 
Aislinn's girdle. Her pinched face told him she did indeed 
recall their childhood friendship and her girlish attraction to 
48 Jennifer Roberson 
him. "I\a151believe my mother has told me the truth. We are 
children no longer . . . and why would she lie to me?" 
"To use you." He had no more time for tact or diplomacy. 
"By the gods, girl, are you blind? Do you forget why she is 
here? She will try to bring down Carillon any way she can- 
Even now she stoops to perverting you!" 
Fingers tangled in the gameted golden chains. "But\a151it is 
not the Mujhar she speaks of, Donal ... it is you. It is you 
she warns me against, knowing your animal urges\a151" 
"Animal urges!" He was aghast. "Have you gone mad? 
You know me, Aislinn\a151what urges do you speak of?" 
Her face had caught fire, as if to match me richness of her 
hair. "We were children, then ... we are adults, now. You 
are\a151a man . . . and she has told me what to expect." She 

averted her eyes from his, staring fiercely at the floor. "I 
have only to look at Finn, if I want to see what you will 
become." 
"Finn?" He stared- "What has Finn to do with this?" 
Aistinn managed to look at him again, though the chiming 
of her girdle told him how she trembled. "Will you deny that 
he stole your own mother because he wanted her\a151as an 
animal wants another? Will you deny that he stole also the 
Mujhar's sister\a151who later died because of his neglect?" Aislinn 
sucked in a shaking breath. "I look at Finn, Donal, your own 
uncle . . . and I see what you will become." 
By the gods, Electra has driven her mad\a151 He felt his 
bands clench into fists, unclenched them with effort, and tried 
to speak coherently through his astonishment and anger. 
"We will\a151speak of this another time. In some detail. But 
for now, I must tell you to have your things packed." 
"Have you gone mad?" she demanded. "Do you think I 
will go withyoy?" 
"1 think so," he said grimly. "It is the Mujhar's bidding I 
do, not my own. Aislinn\a151he bids us end our betrothal. The 
time has come for us to wed." 
For a long moment, she simply stared. He saw how she 
looked at him, appraising him even as her mother had. What 
she saw he could not say. But her face was very pale, and 
there was true apprehension in her eyes. 
She turned quickly to face her mother. "He cannot make 
me go if I wish to stay with you." The question, even 
through her declaration, was implicit in her tone. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
49 
"You have been with your jehana two years, Aislinn\a151 
longer than was intended," Donal pointed out, "Carillon 
allowed you to stay because you wished it. He has been 
overly generous, I think\a151but now it is time you returned to 
him." 
Electra smoothed the supple silk of her purple mantle. "He 
is a shapechanger, Aislinn. He can make man or woman do 
anything, does he wish it." Her cool eyes glinted as she 
looked at him. "Can you not?" 
Grimly, he wished he could slay her where she stood, even 
before her daughter- 
Electra merely smiled. 
"I will not," Aislinn declared. "I will go nowhere I have 
no wish to go." 
Inwardly, he sighed. "Then you defy your jehan, Aislinn. 
It is Carillon who wants you back in Homana-Mujhar." Not 
me, he thought. Oh gods, not me. 

"And you do nof?" she demanded triumphantly, as if she 
had won the battle and proved her point. 
Donal laughed, but me sound lacked all humor. "No," he 
said bluntly. "Why should I?" 
Slowly, so slowly, the color flowed out of her face. Her 
gray eyes were suddenly blackened pits of comprehension. 
Color rushed back and lit her face. "Do you mean\a151" 
"\a151do I mean I do not want you?" he interrupted rudely. 
"Aye, that sums it up. So gainsay your foolishness, Aislinn, 
and order your belongings packed. Carillon wants you home." 
The breath rattled in her throat. "Wait you\a151wait you\a151" 
She shut her mouth, tried to recover some of her vanished 
composure, and frowned at him. "To gain the throne, you 
must have me." 
"Oh, aye," he agreed, "but have I ever said I wanted it?" 
"But\a151it is the throne\a151" She gestured. "The throne of all 
Homana . . . and now Solinde. The Lion Throne.*' Her 
frown deepened. "And yet you tell me you do not want it?" 
"I do not," he said distinctly. "Do you understand, now? 
We were betrothed because Carillon had no sons, only a 
daughter\a151and no cheysula\a151no proper one\a151to share his bed 
and bear him any more children." His eyes went to Electra, 
standing stiffly on the dais. "And so, by betrothing his 
daughter to his cousin's son, Carillon gets an heir for the 
throne of Homana." He spread his hands. "Me." The hands 
Jennifer Roberson. 
50 
Hopped down. "That is why I am here, no matter what your 
jehana tells you." 
Aislinn gathered the heavy girdle in both hands, wadding 
the chain into the soft flesh of her palms. She was pale, so 
pale; he thought she might cry. But she did not. He saw her 
reach within herself to regain her composure. 
She looked at her mother. She looked at her mother, and 
waited. 
When he could, Donal looked at the woman also. She 
stood but two paces from him, close enough that he could put 
out his hands and throttle her. He knew, for the first time, a 
measure of the futility Carillon had experienced, and knew 
himself a fool for undervaluing the woman. 
Gods . . . even now she does not give up. She will hound 
him to his death\a151 He was brought up short. Which is what 
she wants. Even now. Even imprisoned on this island, she 
will do what she can to slay him . . . even to using her 
daughter. He felt ill. / cannot deal with this\a151 
Electra regarded him quietly. "Do you see?" she asked. 
"You may win back a part of her, in time\a151I do expect it, of 

course\a151but there is a portion of Aislinn I will always hold." 
Her right hand scribed an invisible rune in the air between 
them, as if she dallied idly. She smiled composedly. "Her 
soul, Cheysuli wolfling. I have made that completely mine 
. . . and what is mine is also Tynstar's." 
Donal watched her hand, so slim and pale, as it closed 
upon the invisible rune. By the gods, what has she done to 
Aislinn7 
He looked at the girl. She stood very still, staring fixedly at 
her mother, and Donal felt an uprush of chilling apprehension. 
There are Cheysuli here\a151Electro can practice no magic. 
And yet he knew, watching the woman, that she retained a 
measure of her power. How much or how little he could not 
say, but there was power in her eyes. And Aislinn, Homanan 
and Solindish, was completely unprotected. Vulnerable to her 
mother. 
Before a Cheysuli. the Ihlini lose much of their power. But 
not all! There are still tricks they can perform. Electra may 
only know such tricks as Tynstar taught her, being no Ihlini 
herself, but I cannot say she is as helpless as we thought\a151 
Donal looked sharply at Aislinn. He saw how pale she 
was, how she continued clenching the golden girdle with all 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
51 
its rich cold stones. Her hands were shaking, and yet her 
voice was quite steady, quite calm. 
As if she has made a discovery, and is strengthened because 
of it. 
"Is that why you wanted me?" Aislinn did not move. 
"For me Ihlini?" She ignored Electra's abortive attempt at 
speech. "And are you so certain your perverted magic has 
worked on me?" 
Donal stared at Aislinn. So did Electra. The silence was 
unbroken in the hall. 
Garnets rattled as Aislinn clutched the girdle. *'I have 
listened to Donal just now, 1 have listened to you as well, 
hearing you mouth all the things you have told me these past 
two years. And\a151I know you better than ever before: / know 
you." 
"Aislinn\a151" Electra began. 
"Listen to me!" Aislinn's shout reverberated. "I will hear 
no more lies about my father\a151no more lies. Oh, aye ... 1 
know what you sought to do\a151I know why you sought to do 
it! Make the daughter into a weapon against the father." 
Aislinn's voice shook. "He told me\a151he told me: once he 
truly loved you. But you gave yourself to Tynstar. You 
wasted yourself on an Ihlini sorcerer! And now you mink to 
twist me in spirit as Tynstar has twisted my father in body?" 
Hysterically, she laughed, and the sound filled up the hall. "I 
do know Donal\a151and he is not what you say he is!" 

Electra's lips were pale. She stood very still on the marble 
dais. "He is a shapechanger. What I have told you is true." 
Aislinn shook her head violently. "What you have told me 
are lies'. Did you think I would not know? Did you truly 
believe I would listen to that vile filth you spewed when 1 
have known him longer than I have yo\a171?" Again, Aislinn 
laughed. "You do not live up to your reputation, mother! I 
am amazed at how easily I saw through your plans." 
Electra's face was bone-white. Suddenly, even through the 
magnificence of her beauty, she was old. 
But still she summoned a smile. "Then I will tell you the 
truth in one thing, Aislinn\a151heed me well, I do not lie. What 
is mine is also Tynstar's, and I have made you mine." One 
hand stabbed upward to cut off Aislinn's angry words. "Wait 
you, girl, and you will see. Do not seek to denigrate my 
power when you have hardly known it." This time, it was 
52 Jennifer Roberson 
Electra who laughed. "Run along, then, and pack your things. 
Perhaps it is time 1 sent you home to the cripple who sired a 
useless daughter when all he wanted was a son." 
"Aislinn, do not." Donal's quiet tone overrode the beginnings 
of Aislinn's outcry. "Let it be. You know what she 
is." He touched the girl's arm. He felt her body tremble. 
"Go. Pack your things. And look forward to seeing your 
jehan, who truly loves you." 
White-faced, with tears staining the fairness of her cheeks, 
Aislinn turned and ran from her mother's hall. 
When he could better master himself, Donal turned back to 
face Electra. "I am grateful to you." He said it very quietly. 
"You have let the girl see for herself precisely what you are, 
and I need never say another word. You have made my work 
easier, Electra. I thank you for it." 
"Do you?" The overwhelming beauty was back and all the 
odd fragility was banished. Electra was once more herself. 
"Then I am heartened. It will make it so much sweeter when 
my plans are quite fulfilled." 
Donal shook his head. "You have power, lady\a151that I 
willingly admit\a151and no doubt Tynstar has taught you how to 
use it, but you forget- You forget something very important." 
He forced a smile, "Aislinn loves her father, Electra . . . and 
the power of that love you can never destroy." 
Electra considered a moment. "Perhaps not," she conceded, 
"but then must we always speak of Carillon? Why not 
of you, instead?" 
"Does it matter?" he demanded. "You have lost her 
entirely." 
"Have I? No, I think not. She may believe so for now\a151 
she is welcome to that innocence\a151but she will soon see that 
she cannot deny me. I am no idle practitioner of the little 

love-spells other women like to think they weave. No, no\a151I 
am much more. Tynstar has made me so." Slowly, she 
gathered up the red-purple mantle and draped it over one 
velveted shoulder. "Aislinn is all mine. You will see it. So 
shall she. And in the end, I shall win." 
"What can you do?" he demanded derisively. "What spell 
do you think you can cast? You have seen and heard your 
daughter, Electra\a151she is none of yours. How can you think 
to gainsay us?" 
Lt-t-lA^Y Ut- 1 Mt. bWUKU 
The woman smiled slowly, with all the seductiveness in 
her soul. "Quite easily, as you will see." Electra laughed 
once more. "Surely you know the law, Donal: No marriage 
is binding if it is not consummated.'' 
FIVE 
T
he ship creaked as she broke swells on her way back 
toward the mainland. Behind her lay the mist-shrouded island. 
Already the sun shone more brightly, even as it sank 
toward the horizon and set the seas ablaze. 
"I am sorry for what I said to you in the hall." Aislinn, 
standing before Donal as he leaned against the taffrail, ignored 
his dismissive gesture. tt! said them because my mother 
made certain I would, though I did not realize it then. She 
had told me so much of you, and I almost believed her." The 
lowering sun set her hair aglow. "I am\a151shamed by my 
behavior, which was not fitting for a princess." Her voice 
trembled. "Oh Donal\a151I am so ashamed\a151" 
"Aislinn\a151" 
"No." She made a chopping gesture with her right hand. 
Her young face was blotched and swollen with tears, so that 
most of her burgeoning beauty was replaced with anguish. "I 
almost believed her. Though I have known you for so long. 
And then, when I heard her confidence\a151when I heard how 
she intended to use me\a151I could not bear it! I thought of my 
father as I looked into your face, and I knew what she meant 
to do." 
Donal turned from the rail to face her directly. "Do you 
say, then, you did not know before today what it was she 
sought to do?" He asked it gently, knowing it needed to be 
asked; knowing also she was extremely vulnerable to the pain 
engendered by such questions. 
The wind played with Aislinn's red-gold hair, though she 

54 
Lt-U/V-Y UT- I Ht- &WUKU 
had braided it into a single plait for traveling. The rope of 
hair hung down her back to her waist, bright against the dull 
brown of her traveling cloak. Stray curls pulled free of the 
braid and crept up to touch her face. 
Impatiently, she stripped mem back with one hand as she 
brushed more tears away, "I\a151knew something of what she 
intended. At least\a151I thought I did." Aislinn shrugged slightly. 
"Perhaps it is just that now 1 wish to deny what sway she 
held over me, so 1 can find some pride again." She turned 
away from him. "Toward me end, during my last days, I 
began to understand better what she wanted. And I knew 1 
wanted no part of it. But I was\a151afraid. I thought\a151if I told 
her I wished to go home to my father, she would forbid it. 
So\a151I waited. And when I heard you had come, I thought 1 
would ask you to take me back. But\a151I heard what you said 
to her, how you reviled her, and I recalled all me things she 
had told me\a151about what me Cheysuli can do\a151and I became 
afraid again." She lowered her eyes. 
She was young. So very young. He was unsurprised Electra 
had chosen to use her; even less so that Aislinn had so easily 
been taken in. He could not begin to imagine what it had 
been like for her in Homana-Mujhar, princess-born and bred 
by her father me Mujhar, knowing all the while her exiled 
mother was imprisoned on the Crystal Isle. 
"Aislinn." He put out his hands and drew her away from 
the railing, cradling her shoulders in his palms. "I am sorry 
for the scene involving your jehana. But that is done now, 
and you must face the things that lie ahead." 
Almost at once he felt ludicrous\a151he was not the girl's 
father, but her betrothed\a151and here he was speaking like a 
wise old man when he was more ordinarily an unwise young 
one. 
Donal smiled wryly. "Listen to us, Aislinn. One would 
think we hardly know one another." 
She moved closer, seeking solace. "I think perhaps we do 
not." Her eyes beseeched his. "Will you be easy with me? I 
am sometimes a foolish girl." 
"And I am sometimes a foolish boy." Donal set a hand to 
her head and smoothed back the blowing hair. "We will have 
to grow up together." 
Aislinn laughed a little. "But you are already grown, no 
matter what you say. While I feel like an infant." 
Jennifer Roberson 
"Hardly that- You should look in the polished silver," 

A glint crept into Aislinn's eyes. She arched her brows. "I 
have." 
He tugged her braid. "And vain of what you see, are 
you?" He laughed at the beginnings of her protest. "I am no 
courtier, Aislinn, but I can tell you this much: you are a 
woman now, and quite a beautiful one." 
She touched his bare arm lightly. "My thanks, Donal. I 
was afraid\a151I was afraid I would not please you. And 1 do 
desire to please you." 
It was eamestness he heard in her voice, and honesty, not 
seductiveness. And yet even in her simplicity, there was a 
powerful allure about her. She lacked Electra's guile, but 
none of her mother's power to bind a man. 
He disengaged from her as easily as he could and stepped 
away. He could not afford to be bound. 
The same Homanan sailed them back to the mainland, 
silent now in his astonishment at what he heard and from 
whom he heard it. Sef sat on a coil of rope nearby, watching 
Donai and Aislinn with the rapt attention of a hound guarding 
his master. Taj perched upon a spar high above them. Lom, 
deck-bound, paced the length of the ship again and again, as 
if something troubled him. 
Lir? Donal asked. 
Something. Something. I cannot say. And Lom would say 
no more. 
Taj? 
The falcon's tone was troubled. Nor have I an answer. 
Aislinn clutched at the taffrail for support as the ship broke 
swells. Donal reached out and set an arm behind her back. 
"Forgive me, Aislinn\a151what I must ask is harsh, I know . . , 
but you must realize that others have known what Etectra is 
for years. How can you have escaped it?" 
Her young mouth twisted bitterly. "Oh, aye, I heard all the 
stories. How could I not in Homana-Mujhar? We have all heard 
the lays from the harpers\a151how it was the Queen of Homana 
sought to slay her wedded husband." Aislinn looked away 
from him, staring instead at the mainland as the ship sailed 
closer. "I heard them all," she muttered, "but she is my mother, 
and I wanted to see her. Oh, how I longed to see her!" 
LtAJAUfW I Mt, SWORD 
57 
"Because she was the stuff of legend?" He could not let it 
pass. 
Aislinn's chin rose defensively. "That, too. She was Electra 
of Solinde, Bellam's daughter, ensorceled by Tynstar himself." 
Her fair skin was flushed with shame. "And I wondered: 
did I have any of the Solindish witch in me? I could 
not help but wonder." 

"No." Donal shifted against the rail. "Aislinn\a151you 
must know I do not blame you. I cannot say I know 
Electra well\a151like you, I know her through the legends\a151but 
1 do know that what you said was what she had put into 
your mind. She is a witch, with powers we cannot fully 
comprehend." 
"And you are Cheysuli." Aislinn's gray gaze, though 
red-rimmed from her anguish, was very steady. She had more 
of Electra in her features than Carillon, but he saw a shadow 
of her father in her pride and confidence. "Can your magic 
not overcome hers?" 
"She can use none on me," he agreed, "because of my 
Cheysuli blood. But she is free to use what she will on you. 
You are Homanan\a151" 
"\a151and Solindish." She said it very clearly. "Do you 
wonder, now, if I am the enemy also? If what she said about 
me is true, then perhaps I am nothing but a tool to be used 
against my father ... or even you." 
"There is no truth in Electra's mouth." Donal tugged 
her braid again, and then the hand slipped under the rope 
of hair to press against the cloak and her back beneath 
the wool. "We must make a marriage, you and I, for the 
sake of your jehan's realm. But if you have even the 
smallest bit of Carillon in you, 1 need have no fear of Electra's 
influence." 
Aislinn stared fixedly at me shoreline. "You said you did 
not desire the throne." Her voice trembled just a little. "You 
said\a151and clearly\a151you did not desire me." 
He was not a man of stone, to hear the pain in her voice 
and not respond. But he could not lie to her, not even to salve 
her pride. 
"The truth," he said gently. "No. I do not desire you. I 
think of you as a rujholla, not a cheysula.''1 
58 Jennifer Roberson 
"1 am not your sister." Her spine was rigid beneath his 
hand. "And I do not think of you as a brother." 
She never had; he knew that. He had known it from the 
beginning. Before she was old enough to know what betrothal 
meant, she had decided to marry him. 
Aislinn turned and faced him. "We were young together, 
briefly; you grew up too fast. You already had your Ur\a151you 
were a warrior, not a boy, and too soon you wearied of 
playing with little girls. Me. Your sister. Meghan." She 
shrugged. "You left us all behind. But now\a151now\a1511 am 
trying to catch up." 
He knew what she wanted. Some confirmation there could 
be love between them. And he knew he could not offer it- 
/ will hurt her. One day . . .1 will have to. 

"Aislinn\a151let it come of its own time if the gods desire it. 
You are young. There is time." 
"I am young." Aislinn agreed, "but I am old enough. The 
priests will see to that." 
Donal touched her braid again. "Aye, so they will. I am 
sorry, Aislinn. But I will not give you falsehood or false 
dreams." 
She turned abruptly and faced him. "Do you not care for 
me at a;;?" 
He wanted to retreat, but did not. He owed her more, no 
matter how horrible he felt. And he felt. More deeply than he 
had believed possible. He was fond of Aislinn, very fond; she 
had always been a winsome girl, and he had always enjoyed 
her company. But it was girl to man, not man to woman; he 
had another woman for that. 
"Aislinn," he said at last, "What you know of a man and 
woman has been twisted by yow jehana. You would do well 
to speak to mine, to know the truth of things." 
Aislinn set her jaw. It was delicately feminine, but he did 
not forget what man had helped to form it. "Alix is your 
mother," Aislinn declared. "She will think only ofyo\a171, and 
not at all of me." 
"She is not blind to my faults," Donal told her wryly. 
"She knows me very well." 
"But would she admit them openly to me?" 
He laughed. "Do you think there are so many?" 
"Sometimes." She pushed strands of hair out of her face. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
59 
"They say you are much like Finn. And what I have heard of 
him\a151" 
"From Electraf" Donal wanted to spit. "Gods, Aislinn, 
there is nothing but hatred between them." 
"From others. You know what the servants say in Homana- 
Mujhar." 
He overrode her at once. "Most of those stories are false. 
They are made-up things, tales to entertain those who enjoy 
such petty nonsense." He shook his head. "Do you think 
your jehan would keep by him a liege man who had done all 
the things the tales say Finn did?" 
"He is your uncle," Aislinn retorted. "I think you will not 
admit he has faults." 
Donal smiled wryly. "Oh, aye, my su'fali has faults. 
Many of them\a151but not so many as all these people so 
willingly ascribe to him." He sighed, frowning a tittle, "But\a151 
Carillon says I am more like my jehan ... He said the last 

part wistfully, revealing more of his feelings than he realized; 
knowing only he longed to be as much like his father as he 
could. 
Aislinn looked at him sharply. He was aware of the intensity 
of her appraisal. After a moment she looked away again. 
"You\a151never speak of your father. You never did. At least\a151 
not often." 
"No." Donal turned away to lean against the taffrail, belt 
buckle scraping against wood. "No. For a long time, I could 
not. Now, although I can, [ find I prefer to keep him private." 
"Because that way he is yours, and you do not have to 
share him." Aislinn stood next to him. Her nearness\a151and 
unexpected understanding\a151was disconcerting. He would have 
preferred another woman standing at his side, blonde instead 
of red-haired, but she was not there. Aislinn was. "I never 
knew Duncan," she said quietly. "1 was too young when he 
died." She cast him a sidelong glance, then looked more 
directly at him, as if she threw him a challenge. "He did die, 
did he not?" 
"He died. As a /Mess Cheysuli dies." His tone was more 
clipped than he intended. But it was difficult to speak of his 
father's fate when he resented his loss so much. He recalled 
too clearly how Carillon had given him the news, saying 
Tynstar had slain Duncan's /i'r. Dead Ur. dead Cheysuli. As 
simple as that. 
60 Jennifer Roberson 
Except it was not. He knew\a151as every Cheysuli knew\a151 
that death was the end result of lirlessness, but no one knew 
how it happened. How the life was ended at last. 
Your/other is dead. Carillon had said. Tynslar slew his lir. 
Very little else had been necessary, though Carillon had 
said the words anyway. Even at eight years of age, Donal 
understood precisely what lirlessness meant. 
"What was he like?" Aislinn asked. 
"He was clan-leader of the Cheysuli. A warrior. He served 
the prophecy." He thought it was enough; at least, for her. 
"That says what he was. Not who." 
Donal pushed the breath through the constriction in his 
throat. "He was\a151more. More than most. One man may 
claim he is the best hunter, another may claim the best shot, 
another the premier tracker. But\a151my jehan was all of those 
things. Clan-leader at my age, because he was the wisest of 
those young warriors who survived Shaine's qu'mahlin. More 
dedicated; he knew what faced the Cheysuli and he brought 
them through it. He brought Carillon to the knowledge of 
what he was; of what he had to be. Gods ... he gave up his 
own freedom in service to the prophecy, knowing he would 
die. Knowing Tynstar would win their personal battle." 
"He knew\\" Clearly, Aislinn was shocked. "How can a 

man foresee his own death, and then go to it?" 
Donal put out his right hand and made the Cheysuli gesture: 
palm up, fingers spread, encompassing infinity. "Tahlffwro," 
he said. "My jehan had a clearer vision than most, 
and he did not turn away. He knew what he had to do. He 
knew what the price would be." 
"Tynstar slew him," She stared fixedly toward the shoreline. 
"There are so many legends about that sorcerer." 
"Tynstar slew his /i'r." He shrugged. "One and the same, 
in the end." 
Aislinn looked at him sharply. "Then\a151he did what a 
lirless Cheysuli does? He simply walked away?" 
He was somewhat surprised she knew that much. It was 
not often spoken of, even in the clans. Cheysuli simply knew. 
But he had not expected Aislinn to know. 
"The death-ritual." DonaPs hands closed tightly on the 
rail. "It is customary. But personal for each warrior." 
Aislinn shivered. "I could never do it." 
"You will never have to." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
61 
After a moment, she reached out and touched his arm, as if 
to comfort him. "So\a151you came to live at Homana-Mujhar in 
the wake of your father's death." 
"No. I came to spend time there at Carillon's behest, not 
to live there. The Keep is my home." 
Aislinn looked at him steadily. "And when we are wed? 
Do you think / could live in such a place?'' 
He shook his head- "No, of course not. You will live in 
Homana-Mujhar, as you have always done. But you must 
know there will be times\a151perhaps many times\a151when I will 
go to the Keep. There are\a151kinfolk there." 
Aislinn nodded. "I understand. My father has said I cannot 
expect you to forget the blood in your veins." She shook her 
head a little. "I do not understand it\a151what it is to be 
Cheysuli\a151but he has said I must give you your freedom 
when I can. That you tame a Cheysuli by keeping your hand 
light." She smiled at the imagery, 
Donal did not. Inwardly, he grimaced. And yet he blessed 
Carillon for preparing the girl for his absences, no matter 
what images were used. 
But she will have to know sometime. I cannot keep her in 
ignorance forever. 
He looked past her at the shoreline. "Aislinn\a151we are 
here. You have come home again to Homana." 

Her reddish brows slid up. "Is not the island part of 
Homana, then?" 
"The Crystal Isle is\a151different." He thought to let it go at 
that, but could not when he saw her frown. "It was a 
Cheysuli place long before Homana was settled by the 
Firstborn." 
She flicked one hand in a quick, dismissive gesture. "Your 
history is different from mine." 
"Aye," he agreed ironically. More different than you can 
imagine. 
"What do we do now?" she asked as the boat thudded 
home at the dock. 
"We see to it your trunks are offloaded, and then we shall 
find an inn that meets with your royal standards." He took 
her elbow to steady her. "Tomorrow will be soon enough to 
start out for Homana-Mujhar." 
He had thought, originally, to stay the night on the Crystal 
Isle, but after his bout with Electra he felt he had to leave, to 
62 Jennifer Roberson 
take Aislinn back to the mainland quickly. The girl had been 
terrified her mother would use magic on her, to force her to 
stay against her will. And so Donal had taken her off the 
island alone with Sef and his ;t'r, since Aislinn would have 
none of her mother's Solindish women with her. And now 
they faced the journey ahead without a proper escort for the 
Princess of Homana. 
Well. Sef will lend some measure of respectibility to the 
journey. I hope. 
Donal watched silently as Aislinn's trunks were offloaded 
and placed on the dock at Hondarth. Sef, as had already 
become his habit, stood near him. The boy had been unusually 
silent since he had followed Donal out of Electra's 
palace, but then Donal knew he himself had not been the best 
of company. The confrontation with Electra had left a foul 
taste ie his mourn, particularly since she had nearly accomplished 
what she had intended. 
She almost made me doubt her daughter. She nearly made 
me wonder how much of Aislinn's soul is still her own. But I 
thank the gods the girl has her own mind, because it has 
saved her from her mother's machinations. 
He glanced at Sef. The boy was still pale, still secret in his 
silences, watching as me captain piled up all the chests. The 
odd parti-colored eyes seem fastened on the distances, as if 
the island had touched him somehow, and he was still lost 
within its spell. 
Well, perhaps he is. Perhaps he begins to understand what 
it is to be Cheysuli-\a151what the weight of history is. Does he 
wish to serve me, he will have to understand it. 
The dock was busy with men. Donal turned to one of 

them, hired him with a nod, and gestured toward the growing 
pile of chests. "Hire men and horses to take these to Homana- 
Mujhar, in Mujhara." Briefly he showed the ruby signet ring 
with its black rampant lion. The man's eyes widened. "Lose 
none of these things, for the Mujhar's daughter prizes her 
belongings . . . and the Mujhar prizes his daughter's contentment." 
The man bobbed his head in a nervous bow, accepting the 
plump purse Donal gave him, but his eyes slid to Aislinn as 
she walked unsteadily down the plank. She was wrapped in 
the heavy brown traveling cloak but, with her bright hair, 
Ltn^/v^T ur i nn SWUKU 
unconscious dignity and a subtlety of manner that somehow 
emphasized her rank, her identity was hardly secret. 
"See it is done," Donal said clearly, "The Mujhar will 
reward you well." 
The man looked at him again; at the yellow eyes and 
golden earring. The cloak hid Donal's leathers and the rest of 
his gold, but there was no need to show it. His race was 
stamped in his face; a Cheysuli, even one born to his clan 
instead of a throne, wears royalty like his flesh. 
The man bobbed another bow, then quickly went about his 
business. 
Aislinn, having come to stand next to Donal, watched the 
man closely. "They serve you through fear," she said clearly, 
as if making a discovery. "Not loyalty. Not even knowing 
you are the Prince." She looked into DonaTs face. "They 
serve because they are afraid not to." 
"Some," he agreed, preferring not to lie. "It is a thing 
most Cheysuli face. As for me\a151it does not matter." 
Her coppery brows drew down. "But I saw how it grated 
with you: his fear. I saw how you wished it was otherwise." 
"I do," he admitted. "The man who desires to see fear in 
the faces of his servants is no proper man at all." 
"And you are?" She showed white teeth, small and even, 
in a teasing, winsome smile. "What proper man takes on the 
shapes of animals'!" 
He was relieved to see the humor and animation in her 
face. So, in keeping with her bantering, he opened his mouth 
to retort that she should know, better than most, what it 
meant to be Cheysuli. She had grown up with enough of them 
around her at her father's palace. 
But then he recalled that it was to him she had directed her 
questions, and how reluctant he had been to answer. She had 
been a child, a girl; he had been older, already blessed with 
his lir, and therefore considered a warrior. Then, he had felt, 
he had little time for a cousin with questions when there were 
other more important concerns. 
Now he knew he had erred, even as he teased. He would 

have to spend time with her; he would have to educate her, so 
she could understand. Particularly if she were to comprehend 
the sometimes confusing customs of the Cheysuli, which 
often conflicted with the Homanan ones she knew so well. 
Uneasily, he wondered if he could explain them all properly. 
64 Jennifer Roberson 
"We cannot stay here. We must find an inn, sup, then get 
a good night's rest so we may start back for Mujhara in the 
morning." Donal glanced at Sef. "You know Hondarth better 
than I. Suggest an inn suitible for the Princess of Homana, 
then go and fetch my horse while I escort the lady." 
Sef thought it over. "The White Hart," he said at last. "It 
is not far\a151" he pointed "\a151up that way, and around the 
comer there . . . it's a fine inn. I can't say I've seen its best 
parts\a151" he smiled a little "\a151but I'm sure it'll suit the 
princess. I'll bring your horse. And should I speak to the 
hostler about buying another for the princess?" 
Donal smiled. Sef had taken his service to heart, seeking to 
do everything Donal would have a grown man do. "And for 
yourself? Or do you intend to walk?" He laughed as Sets 
face reddened. "Fetch back my horse and you may speak to 
the hostler. Perhaps he has two good mounts for sale." 
Sef nodded, bowing clumsily in Aislinn's direction, and 
scrambled up the dock-ramp to the quay beyond. He vanished 
In an instant. 
Aislinn frowned. "I have not known you to keep boys 
before. Especially ones like that." 
"I took Sef on because he is earnest and willing . . . and 
because he needs a home." Donal bent to run his fingers 
through Lom's thick coat. "He is a good boy. Give him a 
chance, and I think you will see how helpful he can be." He 
slanted her an arch glance. "Is it not part of a princess's 
responsibilities to succor where succor is needed?" 
Color flared in her face. "Of course. And\a151I will do so." 
She snugged the furred cloak more tightly around her body 
and turned her back on him, heading for the dock-ramp. 
Donal laughed to himself and followed. 
Seabirds screeched, swooping over the waterfront. Fisherfolk 
lined the shore, hauling in their catches. The pervasive smell 
of fish hung over everything; Aislinn wrinkled her nose with 
its four golden freckles and set a hand over her mouth. ' 'How 
much farther?" 
Donal reached out and caught her elbow, steadying her at 
once. "Sef said it was around this comer." 
"Have we not already gone around that comer?" 
"Well, perhaps he meant another. Come, it cannot be so 
far." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 

65 
The sun fell below the horizon and set the white-washed 
buildings ablaze in the sunset, pink and orange and purple. 
Lanterns were lighted and set into brackets or onto window 
ledges, so that the twisting streets were full of light and 
shadows. Aislinn's hair was suddenly turned dark by the 
setting sun, haloed by gold-tipped, brilliant curls. 
Behind them lay the ocean, gilded glassy bronze by the 
sunset. White gulls turned black in silhouette; their cries 
resounded in the canyons of myriad streets. The uneven and 
broken cobbles grew treacherous underfoot, hidden in light 
and darkness, until Donal took Aislinn's arm and helped her 
over the worst parts. 
"Maybe he meant this comer," Aislinn said, as they rounded 
yet another. 
Lir, Taj said, flying overhead. Then, more urgently, Lir! 
Five men came into the street. From out of the shadows 
they flowed, bristling with weapons. Three behind and two in 
front. Donal cursed beneath his breath. 
Aislinn hesitated, then glanced up at him. He tightened his 
grasp on her arm, hoping to go on without the need for 
conflict, but the men moved closer together. All exits were 
blocked, unless he flew over their heads. But that would 
leave Aislinn alone. 
One man grinned, displaying teeth blackened by a resinous 
gum he chewed even as he spoke: "Shapechanger," he said, 
"we been watching you. You with your pretty girl." The 
grin did not change. He bared his teeth. "Shapechanger, why 
do you come out of your forest? Why do you foul our 
streets?" 
Donal glanced back quickly, totaling up the odds. With Taj 
and Lom, he was hardly threatened, but there was Aislinn to 
think about. 
The man stepped closer, and so did the others. "Shapechanger," 
he said, "Homanan girls are not for you." 
"Nor are they for you." Silently, Donal told Taj to continue 
circling out of range. Lom moved away from his leg to 
widen their circle of safety. 
"Donal!" Aislinn cried. "Tell them who you are!" 
"No." He knew she would not understand. But men such 
as these, now bent on a little questionable pleasure, might see 
the implications rife in holding me Mujhar's daughter. Fortunes 
could be made. 
66 Jennifer Roberson 
"Donal\a151!" 
Black-teeth laughed. "Who are you, then? What does she 
want you to say?" 

"Move away, Aislinn," Donal said. "It is me they want, 
not you." 
"Is it?" Black-teeth asked. "What does a man do when 
faced with a woman who consorts with the enemy?'* 
"Donal\a151stop them\a151!" 
One of the men scooped up a stone and hurled it at Donal. 
He heard it whistle in the air and twisted, trying to duck 
away, but even as that stone missed another one did not. It 
struck a glancing blow across his cheek, smacking against the 
bone. And then all of the men were throwing. 
He heard Aisiinn cry out. But mostly he heard the cruel 
hatred in their voices as the men taunted him. 
"Shapechanger!" they cried. "Demon\a151!" 
To/, he asked, where are you? 
About to impale the leader\a151 
Lorn\a151? 
Can you not hear the man screaming? 
He could. One of the men reeled away, clutching at his 
right leg. Lom released him and leaped for an arm, closing 
on his wrist. The man screamed again, crying out for help, 
but the others were too busy. 
Black-teeth fell away, clawing at his back. Taj still rode 
his shoulders with his talons sunk into flesh. Donal, left with 
three men, drew his knife to face them. 
No more rocks did they throw. In their hands were knives. 
No longer did he face Homanans merely out to trouble a 
Cheysuli, but men instead intent upon his death. 
He was angry. Dangerously angry. He felt the anger well 
up inside, trying to fill his belly. Not once had he faced a 
man merely trying to steal his purse; not once had he faced a 
man simply wishing to fight, as men will sometimes do. Not 
once had he faced any man attempting to lake his life. And 
now that he did, it frightened him. 
But the fright he could overcome, or turn to for strength. It 
was the anger that troubled him most; the anger that came 
from knowing they saw him for his race, and marked him for 
death because of it. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD fi7 
When a man dies. he should die for a reason\a151nor this 
senseless prejudice\a151 
And with an inward snap of rage and intolerance, he 
summoned the magic. 

SIX 
H
le knew what the Homanans saw. What Aislinn saw. A 
blurring voice. A coalescing nothingness. Where once had 
stood a man, albeit a Cheysuli man, now there was an 
absence of anything. 
It was enough. Carillon had said once, to make a man 
vomit. The Mujhar had seen such happen before, when Finn 
had taken ///--shape. Apparently it was true, for one of the 
men cried out and soiled himself even as Donal changed. 
It was so easy. He reached out from within, seeking the 
familiar power. He sank every sense down into the earth. 
Almost at once he was engulfed by taste, touch, scent, sound 
and all the bright colors of the magic. He was no longer 
Donal, no longer human, no longer anything identifiable. He 
was a facet of the earth, small and humble and incredibly 
unimportant\a151until one looked at what he had done and 
would do, and the effect it would have on others. No CheysuH, 
fully cognizant of his place within the tapestry of the gods, 
could possibly deny the need for loyal service. Donal, closer 
to the tapestry than most, did not even think of it. 
The magic came at once to his call, filling him until he 
thought he might burst. He felt tension and urgency and utter 
need, a physical compulsion. Sul'harai, the Cheysuli called 
it; having no Homanan word to describe the act of the 
shapechange, they likened it to the instant of perfect love 
between man and woman. In that moment when he was 
neither man nor animal, Donal was more complete than at 
68 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
69 
any other time, for he put himself into the keeping of the 
earth and took from it another form. 
He felt excess flesh and bone melting away, sloughing off 
his body to flow into the earth. There it would find safekeeping, 
allowing him to set aside fear for the loss of his human 
form while he assumed another. It was a manner of trading, 
he knew; while the earth held his human shape, it gave him 
another to replace the one he put off. But he could not say 
which cast was better\a151or which, in fact, held the essence of 
the true Donal. 
He felt the alteration in sinew and skin. He felt the wholeness 
that came with being completed. He felt the vivid vitality 
pouring through altered veins, muscles and flesh. No more 
was he Donal as the others knew him, having voluntarily put 
off that mold. In its place was a male wolf, yellow-eyed and 
silver-coated. And when he heard the screaming he knew the 
change was done. 

Donal bunched his powerful haunches, letting all his strength 
pour into the latter half of his body. He tensed and the fur of 
his ruff stood on end until he was hackled to the tail. And 
then he launched himself at the nearest man's chest, jaws 
opening to display rows of serrated teeth. 
The body crumpled, collapsing beneath his weight. It crashed 
against the ground, blackened teeth clicking in inarticulate 
words of pain and horror. 
/ could take his throat\a151tear it out\a151watch the blood spill 
out to soak into the cobbles. What harm would it do? He 
sought to slay me. Why not slay him instead? 
Wolf-shaped, Donal stood over the man, head lowered, 
teeth bared, almost slavering. A mist of anger and bloodthirst 
rose before his eyes. Everything he looked at had a fuzzy rim 
around it, as if it bled over into another form. Black-teeth's 
gurgling moan of horror was lost as Donal gave in to the 
wolfish growl rising in his throat. And the other men, their 
terror-inspired paralysis vanishing, tore away. 
Donal could smell Black-teeth's fear. It clogged up his 
nose until he was immersed in the rankness of the stench. 
Tongue lolling, he could taste the terror. It flowed out of the 
man like a miasma. And for a moment, a long moment, 
Donal teetered on the brink. He was angry, too angry; he was 
losing himself fast. In a flicker of lucid disbelief he saw 
himself clearly: wolf, not man; beast, not animal. 
70 Jennifer Roberson 
Gods, is this what they meant when they told me never to 
resort to \\vc-shape when I was angry^ 
He retreated at once, lunging away from the madness. He 
realized how close he had come to the fine line between 
control and animal rage. A warrior in /ir-shape maintained his 
own mind and his comprehension of things, but the balance 
was delicate indeed. Donal had been warned many times that 
fir-shape carried its own degree of risk. Did a warrior grow 
so angry that he lost himself completely within his /ir-shape, 
he also lost his mind. He would become a wolf utterly, with 
all a wolfs savage power, awesome strength and lack of 
human values. 
And without recourse to human form. 
Donal fell back again, within and without, backing away 
from the sobbing man. He heard his own breath and how it 
rattled hoarsely in his wolf-throat; how he panted in despair. 
He heard also the echo of his own anger and his desire to slay 
the man. 
/ have come too close, too close\a151by the gods, I nearly lost 
myself\a151 
At once, he sought to take back his human form. The 
response was sluggish, painful; he had gone too close to the 
edge. What was the essence of wolf in him did not wish to 
give up its shape. 
It hurt. Donal gasped, clawing out toward the earth. He 

had no wish to stay locked in wolf-shape. Not when he was 
meant to be a man. 
Then, all at once, the shapechange slipped into place. He 
was on one knee, one hand pressed against the cobbles. Paws 
turned to hands and feet, fur to hair, canines to human teeth. 
Man-shape once again, but he was not certain how much of 
the wolf remained. 
Lirf 
It echoed within the link. Taj and Lorn, both warning him 
at once. 
He spun around, thrusting himself upward, one hand going 
up to thwart the blow. He saw Aislino then, whom he had 
forgotten\a151a wild look on her face as she sought to stab 
Donal with her knife. 
^Aislinn\a151" 
In the bloodied light of sundown he saw the flash of the 
blade as she brought it up from her side. Not overhand, not 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
71 
slashing downward, as novices usually did- From underneath, 
jabbing upward, as if she knew precisely what she did. 
She does . . .by the gods\a151she does\a151 
For a moment, for one fatal moment, he hesitated. But she 
did not. She thrust upward with the knife even as he sought to 
jerk out of her way, and the blade sliced across the knuckles 
of one hand. He cursed, jumping back, and then he saw Sef 
hurl himself at Aislinn. 
"No\a151no\\ I won't let you hurt him!" 
Aislinn cried out. Donal saw the flash of the blade as Sef 
set his teeth into her wrist; me knife was perilously close to 
the boy's thin face. But Sef ignored it, shutting his teeth into 
flesh, and Aislinn cried out in pain. 
Donal stepped in at once. But Sets teeth had done their 
work; the knife fell clattering to the street- Donal prudently 
kicked it out of reach, then caught Aislinn's arm and one of 
Sefs shoulders. 
"Enough\a151enough\\ Sef\a151let be ... I have her now." 
Donal caught Aistinn under both arms and set her against the 
wall, pinning her there with his left hand. The right one he 
carried to his mouth, sucking at his bleeding knuckles. He 
tasted the acrid salt of blood and the bitterness of futility. 
"Aislinn . . . AislinnV He held her against the wall as she 
struggled feebly to get away, "What idiocy is this?" 
"Witchcraft." Sef whispered. "Look at her eyes." 
Donal looked. To him, they appeared swollen black with 

fear and senselessness. Her face was the color of death. 
"Aislinn\a151this is madness\a151" 
But she said nothing at all. 
It was Eleclra. It must have been Electro! Gods, will the 
woman never give up? Still holding Aislinn, he glanced back 
at the man on the ground. Black-teeth was alone, deserted by 
his cohorts. But he remained, gibbering incoherently. 
Was all of this planned? Donal wondered suddenly. This 
attack, knowing how Hondarth feels about Cheysuli, and 
then. having failed, an attack from Aislinn herself? 
It made him ill. He felt the slow roiling of his belly and the 
hollowness of his chest. 
He looked at Aislinn again. Did Electra tell the truth? Has 
she made Aislinn into a weapon against her father\a151or even 
against me? 
Aislinn was stil! his prisoner. She had fallen into silence, 
72 Jennifer Roberson 
staring blankly at the ground. The hood had slipped from her 
head to bare the rose-gold hair. It glowed brightly in the 
sunset. 
Donal closed his eyes. He felt unsteady, unbalanced by the 
attempt. But then no one had ever tried to slay him before, 
and he did not doubt it was unsettling for any man. / would 
not care to repeat it. 
You may have to, in the future. Taj pointed out. There are 
enemies in every corner. 
Including my betrothed? 
The lir chose not to answer, which was answer enough for 
Donal. 
"My lord?" It was Set. "What do we do now?" 
Donal looked again at Aislinn. One of the stones had 
struck her, bloodying her brow. He lifted his wounded hand 
to wipe it away, then did not. The hand dropped back to his 
side. She gets no tenderness from me, until I know what she 
plans. He glanced at Sef. "Did you fetch my horse?" 
Sef gestured. "There." 
The chestnut stallion stood patiently in the shadows. Donal 
nodded. "Then find us this inn you suggested." 
Sef looked at Black-feeth, still cringing on the cobbles, and 
at Aislinn, bloodied and vacant. Then at Donal, who still felt 
distinctly ill. The eyes were huge in his thin, pale face. 
"What\a151what will you do to her?" 
"I do not know." Donal gestured. "Sef\a151show us to this 
inn." 
Sef, bent down and picked up the knife. "My lord\a151?" 

"Keep it," Donal told him. "But never give it to the 
princess, or I may lose more than a little flesh." He sucked 
again at the cut across his knuckles. 
"But why?" Sef whispered. "Why would she try to slay 
you?" 
"I think she has been\a151influenced\a151by herjehana." 
"The Queen?" Sefs eyes widened further. "You say the 
Queen set her own daughter on you?" 
"Or Tynstar, through his meijha, if it is true what Electra 
told me." Donal gestured, "Sef\a151walk. I have no wish to 
tarry here a moment longer." 
Sef no longer tarried. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 73 
The White Hart Inn was everything Sef said it was. It 
boasted good food, better wine, warm beds and spacious 
rooms. Donal took one for himself and Sef and another for 
me princess. 
Donal led Aislinn up to her room and sat her down on the 
edge of the bed. Then, gently, he sponged away the dirt and 
blood on her face with a clean cloth borrowed from the 
innkeeper, along with a basin of water. Aislinn sat on the bed 
and let him minister to her, though at first she had flinched 
from his touch. 
When she was clean again, though too pale, he gave me 
basin to Sef to return. Then he turned to Aistinn. "Do you 
understand what you have done?" 
He was not certain she would answer. She had not spoken 
since she had attacked him. 
But this time she broke her silence. Slowly she looked up 
to meet his eyes, and he saw how her own were clouded and 
unfocused. "Done? What have I done?" 
"Do you not recall it?" 
She seemed bewildered by his questions. "What is it you 
wish me to recall?" 
Donal put out his hand. She flinched back. then allowed 
him to touch her. Gently he fingered the lump where the 
stone had struck. There was hardly a mark to show what had 
happened, though\a151with her fair skin\a151he was certain there 
would be a bruise in the morning. 
Yet he did not think the stone had struck hard enough to 
damage her memories. Unless they were damaged before . . . 
by someone with reason to do so. 
Aislinn's eyes, Electra's eyes, regarded him almost blindly. 
Gently, he traced one brow and then the other with his 
fingertips. "Aislinn, do you trust me?" 
"She said I should not\a151she warned me I should not, 

but\a1511 do." She frowned a little. "Is it all right?" 
"Aye," he said roughly, "it is all right. I would never 
harm you. But\a151I think someone has. I think someone has 
meddled with your mind." He leaned closer to her. "Aislinn\a151 
there is a thing 1 must do. But I will not do it with you 
unknowing ... or unwilling. You say you trust me\a151let me 
prove the worthiness of that trust." 
Her eyes were almost vacant. "What would you have me 
do?" 
74 Jennifer Roberson 
He wet his lips before he spoke. "Allow me to touch your 
mind." 
She put up her hand. Her fingers touched his own. But she 
did not still their gentle movement across her brow. "You 
mean to use your magic." 
"Aye," he admitted. "I must. 1 must see what Electra has 
done." 
Her very disorientation seemed to lend credence to his 
suspicions. Aislinn merely shrugged. 
Again, he wet his lips. He slipped his free hand up to 
cradle her head in his palms. Slowly, with great care and 
gentleness, he slipped out of his skull and went into hers, 
tapping the strength of his magic. 
Gods, do not let me harm her. If Tynstar has set a traplink, 
or Electra\a151 He discontinued the thought at once. The 
implications were too serious. A trap-link might well have 
been set in Aislinn's mind, waiting to snare him\a151or any 
other Cheysuli entering her mind\a151and hold him for later 
disposal. 
Unless, of course, the trap was set to slay him. 
He dismissed the thought. If such a trap existed, it was 
already too late. 
He felt the slow consummation of his bonding with the 
earth. He tapped the source of Cheysuli magic, drawing it up 
through an invisible conduit, until it filled him with power 
and strength. He sliced through Aislinn's young barriers painlessly 
and slipped into her mind. And he faced, for the first 
time in his life, the full knowledge of his power and abilities. 
He had only to twist here, touch there, and Aislinn's will 
would be replaced with his own. 
But the thought was anathema to him. He was Cheysuli, 
not Ihlini. 
Aislinn's eyes widened, then drifted closed. He saw how 
pale she was, how her jaw slackened so that her mouth parted 
to expose small portions of her upper teeth. She was his 
completely\a151 
Or is she? Someone else has been here before me\a151! 

He withdrew at once, lunging out of her mind and back 
into his own, badly frightened by what he had felt. Residue. 
An echo. A feeling of other sentience. 
Gods\a151is it Tynstar? Did Electra speak the truth? 
"My lord?" It was Sef, kneeling by the bed. Donal saw 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
75 
how pale the boy*s face was; how fixed were his odd-colored 
eyes. And how fright was in every posture of his body. "My 
lord\a151did it hurt you?" 
For a moment, Donal shut his eyes. He needed time to 
regain his senses completely. But there was none. He took his 
hands away from Aislinn's head, and smiled wearily at me 
boy. "I fare well enough. But 1 should have warned you\a151" 
"Was that\a151magicV Sets eyes were widening. "Did you 
cast a spell here in this roomT' 
"It was not a spell. We do not cast spells. We\a151borrow 
power from the earth. That is all." Donat looked at Aislinn- 
"I had the need to know if sorcery had been worked, and so I 
used my own." 
"Had it?" Sef whispered. 
Donal did not hear him. He watched Aislinn, frowning 
slightly as he saw how she began to rouse. Color was returning 
to her face. 
"My lonl?Was it?" 
Donal glanced back. "What?\a151oh, aye. It was- But I could 
not discover the whole of it, or who had the doing of it. 
Electra, most likely\a151or Tynstar, through Electra herself." 
He supressed a shudder. "But now, I think it is time we all 
got some rest. The princess particularly." He glanced back at 
her. She seemed almost to sag into the bed, though she 
continued to sit; Donal set a hand onto her shoulder. "Aislinn, 
I know you were merely the gamepiece. But no matter how 
small the piece, it can overtake even the highest." 
He rose. How in the names of all the gods am I to tell 
Carillon what Electra has done to his daughter? 
And then, as he turned to go, he felt a wave of heat wash 
up to engulf his body. And he fell. 
SEVEN 
T
_ he Mujhar himself poured two cups of steaming spiced 

wine. He had dismissed the servant, even Rowan, which was 
an indication in itself that the conversation was to be expressly 
private. Warily, Donal accepted the cup and waited. 
Carillon turned. "Tell me how Sorcha and tan fare." 
In bed, bathed in sweat and filled with pain, Donal stirred. 
He groaned, inwardly ashamed of his weakness, yet knowing 
there was nothing he could do. The sorcery had drawn him 
in. All he could do was lose himself in memories he would 
rather forget. 
"fan has a fever," he told Carillon. "A childhood thing, 
they tell me\a151but he is better. Sorcha is well." He paused. 
"My jehana says the child will be born in four weeks. I would 
like to be with her when the pain comes upon her." 
Carillon sipped idly at his wine. But his eyes. half hidden 
beneath creased eyelids, were bright and shrewd. "Provided 
you are returned, I have no quarrel with that." 
"Returned!" Donal lowered his cooling cup. "Where is it 
I am to go?" 
"To the Crystal Isle." 
"The Crystal Isle?" Donal could not see any reason he 
should go there. It was nothing more than a convenient place 
for Carillon to keep his exiled wife imprisoned. "Why would 
you send me there?'' He grinned. ' 'Or have I displeased you 
of late?" 
Carillon did not return the smile. "You please me well 
76 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 77 
enough . . . for a prince who has more interest in Cheysuli 
things than Homanan." 
"I am Cheysuli\a151" 
"\a151and Homanan!" Carillon finished. "Do you forget 
your mother is my cousin? There is Homanan blood in those 
veins of yours, and it is time you acknowledged it." Carillon 
set down his wine and paced to the firepit. His age- and 
illness-wracked hands went out to bathe in the heat, and 
Donal saw the edges of the leather bracers he wore on either 
wrist. For decoration, most thought, to hide the old Atvian 
shackle scars. But Donal knew better. Carillon needed them 
to guard his waning strength. 
"I do acknowledge it." Donal damped down his impatience 
and frustration. "But I have lir and responsibilities to 
my clan. To my su'fali, who is clan-leader. To my jehana, to 
my son. and certainly to my meijha." He paused. "Wouldyou 
wish me to turn my back on my heritage and tahlmorra?" 
' 'Part of that heritage places you first in the line of succession," 
Carillon said flatly, still warming himself at the fire. 
"So does your gods-dictated destiny. I would have you 
remember all the responsibilities you have, for there are 
those to Homana as well. Not merely the Keep and your 

clan." 
Donal twisted in the bed. Every portion of his flesh ached 
until he wanted to cry out with me pain. Fire had settled into 
the pit of his belly, burning relentlessly, and against his will 
he began to double up. Fists dug into the flesh of his belly, 
trying to knead the pain away, but it did not go. 
"Do you say I neglect Homana?" he whispered through 
his pain. 
"Aye, I do." Carillon turned to face him squarely. "You 
neglect my daughter, who is to be your wife." 
Donal stared at him. The wine cup was forgotten in his 
hands. The frustration and rising anger melted away into 
shock. "Aislinn?" he said at last. "But\a151you sent her away 
to visit her jehana." 
"Aye. And I would have you fetch her back to Homana- 
Mujhar, so I may have her with me again." 
Donal felt a wave of relief sweep through him. If Carillon 
only wanted her brought back for company, the fetching would 
not be so bad. "I will go, of course. But\a151surely you could 
78 Jennifer Roberson 
send Gryffth or Rowan, or someone else. I wish to be with 
Sorcha when the child is born." 
' 'I will give you leave for that, if you are back with Aislinn 
in time. I have said it." Carillon's voice was steady. "But I 
think it is time you thought also of wedding my daughter." 
Donal tried to smile. "I have thought of it. Many times. 
But Aislinn is still very young\a151" 
"Not so young. Old enough to be wedded and bedded." 
Carillon's tone did not soften. "And was not Sorcha but 
sixteen when she bore your first child?" 
"And it died!" Donal cried it aloud, thrashing against the 
bed. Hands were on him, pressing him against the mattress, 
but he did not know them. "The child died, and Sorcha 
nearly did! Even with lan the time was hard. And now 
that she will bear again-\a151'' 
"It does not matter." Carillon's voice was implacable. "It 
is past time you got yourself an heir." 
Donal gestured. "You are only forty. Hardly ancient, no 
matter what Tynstar's Ihlini arts have done to you. I doubt 
you will die any time soon. Give Aislinn a few more years\a151" 
'Wo." Carillon said it softly. "I cannot. Look again upon 
me, Donal, and do not mouth such nonsense. Tynstar's sorcery 
took away twenty years from me and\a151for all I feel but 
forty in my heart\a151I cannot hide the truth forever. Not from 
you or anyone else." He stretched out his twisted hands. 
"You see these. Each day they worsen. So do my knees, my 
spine, my shoulders. A crippled man is not the Mujhar for 
Homana." 

"You would never abdicate!" It was unthinkable in the 
face of Carillon's pride. 
"Abdication is hardly the point," the Mujhar said. "I 
doubt I have so many years left as you would prefer to 
believe. I prefer to have the throne secured . . . and so 
should you. It is, for all that, a Cheysuli thing." 
Donal scowled. "You play me as Lachlan might play his 
Lady. Pluck this string, that one, and the proper tune is 
heard. You call my Cheysuli heritage into conversation, and 
you know what I will do." 
"Then do it." For a moment. Carillon smiled. "Aislinn is 
spoiled, as I have spoiled her, but she is also a warm and 
giving girl. I think you will find it no chore to wed my 
daughter.'' 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
79 
But Donal could not reconcile the loss of Cheysuli freedom 
with the Homanan title the Mujhar promised. 
Aloud, he muttered: "I would rather wait. Not\a151long. A 
six-month. Perhaps a year." Donal twisted. "Surely you can 
see your way clear to granting me the time. And Aislinn will 
need months of preparation . . , women do, and she is a 
princess\a151'' 
"Donal." Carillon said gently. 
"Aislinn is like a rujholla to me." 
"But she is not your sister, is she?" 
He felt the sudden desperation well up in his soul. "But 1 
would rather wed with Sorcha!" he shouted aloud. "I will 
not lie to you\a151it is Sorcha who should be cheysula instead of 
meijha\a151" 
"That I do not doubt." Carillon sounded more compassionate. 
"I question nothing of her honor or her worth, 
Donal, as I think you know. But Homana requires all manner 
of sacrifices, and this one is yours to make." 
"So, you would have me play the stud to Aislinn's mare, 
merely to get a cott." He said it clearly into the room at the 
White Hart Inn. "Yet even me Cheysuli, who have had more 
cause than most, cannot sanction their women to be treated as 
mere broodmares." 
"/ have cause," Carillon retorted gently. "I have cause, I 
have reason, I have more than justification, though kings 
rarely have need of anything more than whim. Oh. aye. I 
have all the cause in the world." He turned his back on the 
firepit. "1 have a kingdom to rule as well as I possibly can. I 
have people to husband. Heirs to beget." He smiled, but 
without humor. ' 'but then we know I failed at that task, do we 
not? There is only Aislinn, only a daughter from my loins." 
The smile fell away. "Do you not wed Aislinn, she will go to 

a foreign prince. And then we run the risk of losing Homana, 
into the hands of another realm. The Cheysuli, so odd and 
eerie in their magic, may become little more than game, once 
again. Hunted, branded demons . . . slain. It happened once, 
Donal. Can you tell me it will never happen again?" 
Donal could not. He knew it would destroy me prophecy, 
destroy the tahlmorra of his people . . . destroy, perhaps, 
even Homana herself. 
He thrashed, sweating, and doubled up yet again from the 
pain. With great effort, he gave the Mujhar his answer- "I 
Jennifer Roberson 
80 
guarantee nothing. Carillon. I know it as well as you. Perhaps 
better, since I bear the tainted blood." He did not smile. It 
was not a joke. In some circles, it was said Shaine's qu'mahlin 
should still take precedence over Carillon's peace. 
But those were circles Donal did not patronize, being in no 
position to know them personally; did he know them, they 
would slay him. 
"/ do not do it to you." Carillon's tone was ragged. Gone 
was the strength of his rank, replaced with the need of the 
man. "I do itforHomana." 
Even as he forces me to do it for the Cheysuli. After a 
moment, Donal nodded. "I will fetch her back." 
Carillon sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "I will give you 
this much\a151you may have eight weeks of freedom when you 
have brought Aislinn back. It is\a151not long, I know. But it is 
all I can spare." Twisted fingers slipped up to comb through 
a silvered forelock. "I would have you fully acclaimed before 
the year is done." 
Donal, hearing the Homanan portion of his fate sealed, 
could only nod. Then he glanced up and saw the Mujhar's 
ravaged face. 
Carillon watched him with a hunger and sadness Donal 
could not comprehend. It sent a chill coursing down his 
spine. He stared back at the Mujhar, not knowing his own 
face reflected the very expression that had conjured Carillon's 
pain. "I have lost you," the Mujhar said quietly. "lam 
bound as cruelly by my royal heritage as you are by your 
tahlmorra, and I have lost you because of it." 
"My lord?" Donal's tone was soft. 
Carillon sighed and waved a twisted hand. "It is nothing. 
Only memories of the man whose face you wear.'' He smiled 
faintly. "Your father lives in you, Donal. . . you have all of 
Duncan's pride and arrogance and convictions. I did not 
fully understand him and I do not understand you. I only 
know that by pressing for this marriage, I have lost what little 
of you I once had.'' 
"You have me still." Donal spread his hands. "Do you 

see me?\a151I am not gone. I stand before you. I will ever be 
your man." 
"Perhaps." Carillon did not smile. "It simply must be 
done." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
81 
"/ know it, my lord Mujhar." Donal put out his right 
hand, gestured defeat. "Tahlmorra, Carillon." 
"By the gods\a151" he blurted, lunging upward against the 
hands that tried to hold him. Small hands, two sets, one 
toughened, one soft and delicate. Sef, he knew, and\a151Aislinn? 
His eyes snapped open. He saw the dark wooden walls 
revolve until the movement dizzied him; he shut his eyes at 
once. A sour harshness preyed on his throat. 
"Lie down again," Aislinn said. "So much thrashing is 
not good for you\a151it brings more pain." 
He looked at her, and did not protest as she and Sef urged 
him down again. The bedclothes were soaked beneath him. 
He shivered. "It was you\a151" 
"Not me," she declared. "Oh, aye, it was I who cut your 
ringers, but I swear I knew nothing of the poison. That, I fear, 
was my mother.'* 
Weakness washed over him. "Lir," he said raggedly. 
Here, upon the roof-beam, said Taj, though Donal could 
not summon the strength to look. 
And I. That from Lorn, sitting by the bed. 
Donal's hand moved out to touch the wolfs muzzle. Lom 
nuzzled him gently, then pressed his nose into Donal's limp 
hand. 
"Donal," Aislinn whispered. "I am so sorry. I did not 
know ... I swear it. Oh gods, do not die. What would 
become of me?" 
Through siitted eyes he watched her. The single braid was 
tumbled, as if she had spent no time on it for days. Strands of 
bright hair straggled into her face and he saw how furrows of 
concern had dug their way into the smooth flesh of her brow. 
Her cool, pale eyes were fastened on his face. 
Gods . . . those are Electro's eyes ... He swallowed and 
knew again the stripped feeling in his throat. "Aislinn, I 
swear\a151do you lie to me\a151" 
"No!" She leaned forward on the stool, reaching out to 
clasp his hand. "Oh Donal, no. I do not. Sef has\a151told me 
what I did, and what you did after\a151to find out why I did it. 
He\a151he said you found something." Shakily, she touched her 
temple, "Is mere\a151something in my head?" 
"Someone," he said wearily. "I do not doubt it is your 

jehana's doing, or perhaps even Tynstar's through the link to 
Electra." 
82 Jennifer Roberson 
She paled. "Then\a151if that is true, it is not that I do these 
things willingly. Donal\a151do you truly think I could mean to 
slay you?" 
"I could not say, Aislinn." Vacancy threatened to steal his 
senses from him. "I think\a151I think if they have meddled with 
your mind . . . you are capable of doing anything." 
"Is there no way of gainsaying it?" she demanded in 
horror. 
He laughed. It rasped in his throat painfully, and he hardly 
knew the sound. "Oh, aye\a151there is always a way. But I 
think you would not like it ... and I doubt you would 
agree." 
She stared down at the hand she held, dark against her 
own, though the illness had lent pallor to his flesh. "I will do 
what you wish, Donal," she said quietly. "How else am I to 
prove I am innocent of this connivance?" 
"And if you are not?" He had to ask it. "If you are not, 
and seek this way of advancing Tynstar's bid to throw down 
Carillon, you would do better to try another method." He 
shut his hand upon hers almost painfully. "I am not the one 
to do it\a151I am still too young, and lack the experience one 
must have\a151but there are those who could do it for me." He 
watched her eyes and saw how she stared back. She was 
clearly frightened, and there was no hint of satisfaction in her 
manner, as there might be if she sought the test out of some 
perverse plan to gain his confidence. "Even unknowing, do 
you agree to this?" 
"Aye," she whispered finally. "I will\a151do what you wish." 
He lifted her hand. "Then I hold you to it. You will be 
tested. Do you understand?" 
She nodded. "But\a151may I know who will have the doing 
of it?" 
"Aye," he said carelessly, releasing her hand. "I will ask 
my su'fati to do it." 
Aislinn's head jerked up. "Finn?" 
"Who better?" He looked directly at her. "He is clanleader 
of the Cheysuli. And he has had some experience with 
Ihlini trap-links before." Donal did not smile. 
"But\a151" She broke off. 
"I think," said Donal, "we will know the truth at last." 
"I swear it," she whispered. "I did not know." 
Waves of pain radiated upward from his belly, Donal felt 

LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
83 
the cramping of his muscles and knew again the total helplessness 
as he curled up against the fire. Even Taj and Lorn, 
seeking to lend him strength, could not reach him. The pain 
was absolute. 
"My lord?" It was Sef, bending over the bed. "My lord\a151is 
there nothing I can do?" 
"Watch," Donal said huskily. "Watch Aislinn for me." 
He heard her indrawn breath of dismay. But he had no 
strength to regret his cruelty. He dared not trust her now. 
He recovered. Sef brought him hot broths at first to soothe 
the emptiness and ache in his belly, then brought stew when 
Donal could keep it down and finally, after ten days, brought 
meat, bread, cheese and wine. Donal ate a little of each food, 
drank down half a cup of wine, then set it all aside. 
"Enough. I will burst. More will have to wait." He looked 
at Aislinn, sitting silently on the stool across the room, and 
saw she intended to offer no speech. "Well, lady\a151I think we 
shall be on our way to Mujhara in the morning." 
The light from the lantern was gentle on her face. It set 
up brilliant highlights in her hair and painted her face quite 
fair, gold instead of silver, though\a151save for her bright hair\a151 
she had the fairness of her mother. She had changed from 
plain brown gown and cloak to equally plain moss-green, 
save for the copper stitching at collar and cuffs. An overtunic 
of darker green hid much of her femininity, though no man 
would name her boy. Her features were too delicate. 
One day. she may rival her jehana'5 beauty, though it be a 
different sort. Brighter, warmer, less cold and seductive as 
Electro's\a151well, if I must take her as my cheysula, better a 
pretty one than a plain. Then he smiled inwardly, knowing 
the irony in his statement. Already you think of making her 
the cheysula Carillon wants, when she may be plotting against 
your life. Fool. 
No, said Taj. Practical. 
Realistic. That from Lorn. 
Donal sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of the 
bed. He was still in his clothing, he discovered; Sef, undoubtedly, 
had lacked the strength to strip him of the sweat-soaked 
leathers, and it was not Aishnn's place to do it. He was rank 
with his own stench, and ordered Set to fetch up a half-cask 
for bathing at once. 
84 Jennifer Roberson 
Aislinn, still sitting silently on the stool, colored, clenching 
her hands in her lap. "You will send me out, of course." 
"Have you not had your own room?" 
"You are in it," she said softly. "When you fell, the most 

we could do was drag you into my bed. Sef would allow no 
one near you, not even the innkeeper's wife. And so we tended 
you." She shrugged. "We have been together here with you 
. . . Set, you see, would not allow me to be alone." 
He frowned. "Not at all?" 
Her gaze lifted to meet his. "But you said he must watch 
me," she said simply. "1 have begun to think of him as my 
jailer\a151or, perhaps, your third /ir." She did not smile. "He 
is\a151obdurate. You chose him well, Donal. I do not doubt he 
will serve you as well as General Rowan serves my father." 
"And so you have been here with me for all this time?" 
He shook his head. "Perhaps it was best, but I am sorry if it 
caused you inconvenience. Sef is\a151unaccustomed to royalty." 
He sat very straight, then arched his spine to crack all the 
knots. His midsection was extremely tender, within and without, 
and his muscles felt like rags. Even the fir-bands on his 
bare arms fit a little loosely\a151he had lost flesh as well as ten 
days. 
He clasped each band, squeezing it against his arm. Beneath 
his fingers curved the shapes of wolf and falcon, honoring 
Taj and Lom in traditional Cheysuli fashion. When a 
Cheysuli boy became a man, acknowledged so by the bonding 
of his lir, he put on the traditional armbands and earring 
to mark warrior status. Donal, gaining his lir younger than 
most, had worn his gold for fifteen years. 
"You seem much improved." Aislinn ventured. 
"Aye. Weary and sore, but both shall pass soon enough." 
He rolled his head from side to side, loosing the tautness of 
his tendons. "You need not be frightened of me, Aislinn. I 
do not take retribution on the woman 1 must wed." 
"Must wed," she echoed, and he saw how tightly set was 
her jaw. "That is it, is it not?\a151you must wed me. My father 
has taken the choice from you." 
"You knew mat." Carefully he rose, steadying himself by 
pressing his calves against the bedframe. He felt old, at least 
as old as Carillon\a151 "Gods'" he blurted. "Have you done 
that to me?" 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
85 
"What?" she demanded crossly. "Do you accuse me yet 
again?" 
"Am I old?" He tried to take a step forward and found it 
weak, wobbly, lacking all grace or strength. Before him rose 
the specter of premature aging, and what it had done to 
Carillon. "Have you made me tike the Mujhar?" 
Aislinn made a rude, banishing gesture. "You can only 
hope to be like my father ... no man can match him, Donal. 
Do not try." 
He lifted one hand and saw firm, sun-bronzed flesh, taut 

and still youthful, though the palms were callused and tough. 
He made a fist, and saw how quickly the muscles responded. 
Not old. then . . . just\a151weakened. But that will pass. 
The hand flopped back down at his side. "Aislinn\a151" 
She rose. The stool scraped against the pegged wood of the 
uneven floor. "I want to^know who she is." 
For a moment he could only stare. "Who do you mean?" 
"Sorcha." She was pale and very stiff in her movements. 
And every inch the princess. Donal, who had intended to ask 
her what had caused her change in manner, suddenly understood 
it very clearly. 
"Ah." He sat down slowly on the, edge of the bed. 
"Sorcha." 
"Who is she?" 
There was no help for it, he knew; the time had come for 
truth. Evasion was no longer an option. "Sorcha is my 
meijha," he answered evenly. "In the Homanan tongue it 
means light woman." 
Aislinn's gray eyes widened. "Your whore\a151?" 
"No." He cut her off at once. "We have no whores in the 
clans. We have meijhas, who hold as much honor as cheysulas." 
Color stood high in Aislinn's fair face. "You see? There 
are many Cheysuli customs I do not know." An accusation; 
he did not run from me guilt. "Then it is so: because we are 
betrothed\a151and because my father would never allow it, having 
no other male heir\a151you cannot wed your meijha. You 
must wed me instead," Aislinn stood rigidly before him: a 
small, almost fragile young woman, yet suddenly towering in 
her pride. "Do 1 have the right of it?" 
"Aye." That only; more would be redundant. 
"And\a151Ian?" 
"lan is my son." 
86 Jennifer Roberson 
Aislinn paled. He realized, belatedly, Aislinn would probably 
fee! a woman with a child posed more of a threat than 
simply a woman alone. "A bastard\a151" 
"My son." He pushed himself out of the cot. "Aislinn\a151I 
know you only echo what words you have heard before . . . 
but I will allow neither my meijha nor my children to be 
abused." 
"Children!" She gazed at him in shock. "There are more?" 
There was no easy way. And so he told her as simply as he 
could. "Sorcha is due to bear another child within the month. 
It is why I wish to leave this place and hasten back\a151" 

"\a151to the Keep." She nodded jerkily. "That is why, is it 
not?\a151not that you wish to fulfill my father's wishes." 
"Aye," he told her gently. "I want to go home to my 
family." 
She stared up at him, clearly stunned as well as hurt. He 
saw how her mouth trembled, though she fought to keep it 
steady. "Then\a151there is no hope for me. I am bound to a 
loveless marriage . . . and all because of the throne\a151" 
"Aye," he said softly. "You have begun to feel its weight\a151 
the weight we must share." 
"Then I do not want it." Aislinn's hands rose to cover her 
mouth. She looked directly at him. "I will have this betrothal 
broken." The words were muffled, but he understood them. 
For just an instant, he felt a surge of hope well up from 
deep inside. Does even Aislinn ask it, Carillon will have to 
break the betrothal. And I will be free. 
But the hope, as quickly, died away, and in its place was 
futility. "Aislinn," he said helplessly. "1 doubt he will 
agree." 
"He will," she said. "He will do as I ask." She drew in a 
trembling breath and tried for a steady smile. "He agrees to 
whatever 1 want." 
Donal admired her brave attempt at confidence, even though 
it failed. But inwardly, he knew the truth. He will not agree 
to this, my determined Homanan princess. Not when realm 
and prophecy depend so much upon it. 
But he had no heart to tell her. 
EIGHT 
((^ 
\\^ods!" Sef breathed. "Is this where you live?" 
Donal looked at the boy. His mouth hung open inelegantly 
as he stared about the inner bailey of Homana-Mujhar; though 
it was far smaller than the outer bailey, the inner one was, 
nonetheless, impressive. Massive rose-colored walls jutted up 
from the earth, thick as the span of a man's outstretched 
arms. The outer wall was thicker yet, hedged with ramparts 
and towers. The clean, unadorned lines of the walls and 
baileys lent Homana-Mujhar an austere sort of elegance. But 
Donal thought the legends told about the palace formed at 
least half of its fabled reputation- 
And we Cheysuli built it. Inwardly, he laughed. Outwardly, 
he smiled at Sef. "This is where the Mujhar lives, and the 
princess. I\a151visit here often, but the Keep is my home." 
Donal gestured eastward. "It lies half a day's ride from here. 

If you wish, I will take you there some time." 
But Sef appeared not to hear him. He twisted his shaggy 
head on a thin neck, staring around at the walls and towers 
and the liveried guardsmen passing along the walkways. In 
the midday sun the ringmail and silver of their steel glittered 
brightly. 
The iron-shod hooves of the three horses clopped and 
scraped across slate-gray cobbles. Donal led Sef and Aislinn 
past the garrison toward the archivolted entrance of the palace. 
Though he himself preferred a side door in order to 
avoid an excess of royal reception, for Aislinn he would enter 
through the front. 
87 
88 Jennifer Roberson 
And then, as he saw Carillon come out the open door to 
wait at the top of the marble steps, he knew he had chosen 
correctly. 
Donal turned to speak to Aislinn, then shut his mouth at 
once. He saw how she stared at her father; he saw the shock 
and disbelief reflected in her eyes. Before him the color 
drained out of her face, even from her lips, and he saw how 
her gloved hands shook upon the reins. 
"Aislinn\a151?" 
"He is\a151grown so old\a151" she whispered. "When I left, he 
did not took so\a151so used up." Aislinn turned a beseeching 
face to Donal. "What has happened to him?" 
Donal frowned. "You have heard the story, Aislinn: how 
Tynstar used his sorcery to try and slay your jehan, and in 
doing so aged him twenty years. That is what you see." 
"He is worse\a151" She spoke barely above a whisper. "Look 
at him, Donal!" 
Accordingly, he looked more closely at the Mujhar, and 
saw precisely what Aislinn meant. 
She sees more because she has not seen him in two years, 
while {\a151having seen him so often for those two years\a151do not 
mark the little changes. But Aislinn has the right of it- 
Carillon has aged. Tynstar's sorcery holds true. 
In truth, the Mujhar was but forty years of age, yet 
outwardly\a151because of sorcery leveled against him fifteen 
years before\a151he bore the look of a sixty-year-old man. His 
once-tawny hair had dulled to a steely-gray. His face, though 
partially hidden by a thick silvering beard, was care-worn, 
weathered to the consistency of aged leather. The blue eyes, 
deep-set, were crowded around by clustered creases. And 
though a very tall and exceptionally strong man\a151once\a151age 
had begun to sap the vitality from his body. The warrior's 
posture had softened. Pain had leeched him of any pretense of 
youth. 
That, and Tynstar's retribution. Donal felt a flutter of 

forboding. If he grows so old this quickly, what does it mean 
for me? 
He saw how stiffly the shoulders were set, how they 
hunched forward just a little, as if they pained Carillon 
constantly. Perhaps they did. Perhaps his shoulders had caught 
up at last to his knees and hands as the disease ate up his 
joints. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 89 
Gods, but I hope I never know the pain he knows, Donal 
thought fervently. He ignored the twinge of guilt that told 
him he was selfish to think of himself when Carillon stood 
before him. Spare me what Carillon knows. I think I lack the 
courage it takes to face what he has lost. 
He looked briefly at the hands that hung at Carillon's sides- 
The reddened fingers were twisted away from his thumbs, 
almost as if someone had broken all the bones. And the 
knuckles were ridged with swollen buttons of flesh. How he 
managed to hold a sword Donal could not say. But he did. 
Carillon is what keeps Homana strong . . . Carillon and 
the Cheysuli. Does he fail any time soon, it is all left to 
me\a151and I do not want it! 
"Aislinn!" Carillon called. "By the gods, girl, it has been 
too long!" He put out his twisted hands, and Aislinn\a151 
forgetting her royal status and the need for proprieties\a151jumped 
down from the saddle before the stable lads could catch the 
reins. 
Donal bent over and caught Aislinn's mare before she 
could follow the girl up the marble steps. He reined her back, 
then handed the leather over to the first boy who arrived to 
take the horse. 
Aislinn gathered her skirts and ran up the black-veined 
steps, laughing as she climbed. Carillon caught her at the top 
of them, lifting her into the air in a joyous, loving hug. 
Donal, watching, saw yet again how close was the bond they 
shared. 
It is almost as if she spent no time with Electra. She nearly 
makes me think she is nothing but a girl not quite become a 
woman\a151but I dare not trust her. Not until Finn has tested 
her. 
The Mujhar did not appear an aged, aging man as he 
hugged his only child. The twisted hands pressed into the 
fabric of her blue cloak, tangling in the wool. His face, seen 
over Aislinn's right shoulder, was younger than ever before. 
But the image faded as he set her upon her feet, and Donal 
saw again how Carillon had grown older in two years. 
"Donal, climb down from that horse and come in!" Carillon 
called, one arm still circling his daughter's shoulders. 
"And tell me why it is that the baggage train arrived ahead of 
you." 
"Dismount," Donal said in an aside to Sef. "This is the 

90 Jennifer Roberson 
Mujhar you face, but be not overcome by him. He is not a 
god, just a man." 
Sets expression was dubious. But he shook free of his 
stirrups and slithered down from the saddle, scraping his 
belly against the leather. Another stable lad took his horse; 
yet a third caught Donal's reins with a low-voiced "Welcome 
back, my lord.'* 
"My thanks, Corrick." Donal gestured to Sef. "Come 
with me." 
"Now?" Sef demanded. "But\a151you go with the Mujhar!" 
"So do you." Donal gestured him up the stairs, and after a 
monumental hesitation, Sef climbed. 
"You are somewhat late," Carillon said quietly when they 
reached the top of the steps. "Some manner of delay?" 
"Some manner," Donal agreed blandly. 
"He was ill," Aislinn declared. "Someone\a151poisoned him." 
Carillon made no movement, no sound of dismay. His face 
tightened a little, but otherwise Donal observed nothing that 
indicated concern. "Well then, you had best come in. As you 
do not appear in imminent danger of dropping dead at my 
very feet, I must assume you arc completely recovered.'' 
Donal smiled a little. "Aye, my lord, I am." But he had 
never been good at lying. 
Carillon did not seem to notice. "Well enough. Let us 
leave off standing out of doors- It may be spring, but it is 
cold enough to qualify as fall." He turned and escorted his 
daughter into the palace as Donal, Sef and the fir followed. 
/(is not so cold, Donal thought, concerned. Not so cold as 
to trouble a man. But he said nothing to the Mujhar. He 
merely followed him into the palace. 
"I will have you fed first," Carillon said, "and then you, 
Aislinn, must rest. I doubt not you are weary." 
"I have not seen you in two years," she protested, "yet 
you send me to bed like an errant child." 
"You are an errant child. Have you not kept yourself from 
me for longer than I wished?" 
Her right arm was at his waist as they paused in the entry 
hall. He had not thickened or put on weight with advancing 
age, but he was considerably larger than she. "I must speak 
with you, father. It is important\a151" 
"Another time." Carillon's tone left no room for argument, 
even from a beloved daughter. "If you do not wish to 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 

91 
look like me before your time, you must get the rest you 
require." 
Aislinn, shocked, pulled back from his side. "Do not say 
that! You are not old!" 
Sadly, Carillon bent and kissed her on the crown of her 
head. "Ah, but you give yourself away with so valiant a 
protest. Aislinn, Aislinn, I have seen the silver plate. Give 
me truth, not falsehood; I value that over flattery." 
With tears in her eyes, she nodded. "Aye," she whispered. 
"Oh gods, I have missed you! It was not the same 
without you!" 
Canllon hugged her again as she leaned against his chest. 
Over her head, he met Donal's eyes. "Aye, I do know the 
truth. There is much we must speak about." 
Mutely, Donal nodded. Then he cleared his throat. "My 
lord, I would have you meet Sef. It is my hope you will allow 
him to remain in Homana-Mujhar. Let him be trained as a 
page, if you wish, or perhaps\a151when he is old enough\a151as 
one of your Mujharan guards. 1 think there is good blood in 
him, albeit unknown." 
Carillon looked at the boy. Sef was pale but he drew 
himself up to stand very straight, as if he already bore sword 
and wore the lion in the name of his Mujhar. 
"Do you wish it?" Carillon asked. "I will harbor no boys 
who do not willingly accept the service." 
"M-my lord!" Set dropped awkwardly to his knees. "My 
lord\a151how could a boy wish not to serve his king?" 
The Mujhar laughed. "Well, you will be serving your 
prince, not your king\a151I think you will do better with Donal. 
But I suggest, first, you put flesh on your bones and better 
clothing on that flesh. You are too small." 
Donal marked how Carillon asked nothing about the boy's 
background, or how he came to be riding with the Prince of 
Homana. He did not embarrass the boy, nor did he embarrass 
Donal with unnecessary questions. He simply accepted Sef. 
Sef, still kneeling, nodded. Black hair flipped down into 
his face, hiding the blue eye. But, for the first time, Donal 
saw Sef deliberately push the hair back. 
As if he has accepted what he is. Well, Carillon inspires all 
manner of devotion. He smiled. "Enough, Sef\a151few things 
are accomplished on stone-bruised knees." 
92 Jennifer Roberson 
Sef did not move. "My lord," he appealed to Carillon, "is 
it true you nearly defeated the Ihlini demon?" 

"Tynstar?" Slowly, Carillon shook his head. "If that is 
what the stories say about me, they are wrong. No, Sef\a151 
Tynstar nearly defeated me." 
"But\a151" Quickly, Sef glanced at Donal. He was asking 
permission to speak, and Donal gave it with a nod. "My lord 
Mujhar\a151I thought no one escaped an Ihlini. At least\a151not 
Tynstar." 
Carillon tousled Sets wind-ruffled hair. "Even Tynstar is 
not infallible. More powerful than any I have known, it is 
true, because of the power he has borrowed from Asar-Suti, 
but he is still a man. And when faced with a Cheysuli\a151" He 
smiled grimly. "Let us say: Tynstar is a formidable foe, but 
not an impossible one." 
"But\a151" Again Sef hesitated, and again Donal gave him 
permission to speak. "I heard, once, that Tynstar had slain a 
Cheysuli clan-leader." 
Donal felt the sudden wrenching movement in his belly. 
That he had not anticipated. 
Carillon looked at him. Compassion was in his eyes. "Aye," 
he answered Sef quietly. "Tynstar slew Duncan's fir, and so 
Duncan sought the death-ritual as is Cheysuli tradition." 
Slowly, Sef worked it out. And when he had, his eyes 
turned at once to Donal. His face was a mask of horrified 
realization. "Then if Taj and Lom are slain\a151" 
"\a151so am / slain," Donal finished. "Aye. It is\a151difficult 
for the unblessed to understand. But it is the price of the 
hr-bond, and we honor it." 
Aislinn's eyes widened. "You would not do it if you were 
Mujhar\\" 
She meant it as a declaration. It sounded more like a 
question. Donal realized, in that moment, she had assumed 
once they were wed, the customs of the Cheysuli would not 
be so binding upon him. And he realized she believed he 
would turn his back on many of them once he was Mujhar. 
"Aye," he told her. "Warrior or Mujhar, 1 am constrained 
by the traditions of my people. And I intend to honor them." 
"You are Homanan as well as Cheysuli\a151" 
"I am Cheysuli first," 
He saw shock, realization, and rebellion in her face. And a 
mute denial of his statement. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
93 
Carillon's hands came down on her shoulders. "You are 
weary," he said in an even tone. "Go to bed, AisUnn." 
"No," she said, "first there is a thing we must discuss\a151" 
"Go to bed," he repeated. "There will be lime for all 

these discussions." 
She flicked a commanding glance at Donal, as if she meant 
him to bring up the possibility of breaking the betrothal; he 
did not. He had no intention of it. Done with waiting, she 
picked up her skirts and ran. 
Carillon turned lo Sef. "I am sure you are hungry. I 
suggest you ask in the kitchens for food." He gestured and 
one of the silent servants waiting nearby came at once. 
"Escort the boy to the kitchens and see he is fed until he 
cannot keep his eyes open. Until the prince or I call for him, 
he is free to leam his way about me palace." 
"Aye, my lord." The'young man, tunicked in Carillon's 
livery, nodded and looked at Sef. He waited. 
Sef, still kneeling, looked up at Donal. "My lord?" 
Carillon laughed. "I see he knows his master." 
Donal gestured Sef up from the floor. "You may go." 
Silently, Sef stood up, bowed quickly, and went with the 
liveried servant. 
"I am sorry for what the boy said." Carillon's tone was 
compassionate. "You need no reminding about your father's 
fate." 
"One warrior's tahlmorra is not necessarily easily accepted 
by his kin," Donal responded evenly. "But\a151I hope 
the gods grant me a life as effective as his." 
"Effective?" Carillon did not smile. "A modest way of 
describing Duncan's loyalty and dedication. And odd, from 
his son\a151" 
"It does no good to dwell upon it," Donal interrupted. He 
felt the clenching of his belly; the sudden cramping of his 
throat. He had said more of his father to Aislinn than he had 
said to anyone in a very long time. And it was no easier 
speaking of him to Carillon, who had known Duncan better 
than most. "Tynstar defeated my jehan, but not before he 
accomplished what he was meant to.'' 
"Siring yow?" Carillon's mouth twisted a little. "Aye, he 
sired you\a151and in doing so forged the next link in the 
prophecy." 
The link that excluded a Homanan Mujhar. Donal won- 
94 Jennifer Robersori 
dered for the hundredth time whether Carillon himself resented 
the upstart Cheysuli prince as much as everyone else. 
So much had been given to him when he deserved none of it. 
An accident of birth. No more. And yet Donat knew it was 
not. The gods had decreed his fate. 
Carillon appraised Donal. "For a poisoned man, you seem 
uncommonly fit. Is what Aislinn said true?*' 

"True. And I am fully recovered." He was not; Donal 
knew it. He was weary from the ride, too weary. He needed 
food and rest. But his pride kept him from saying so to Carillon, 
who faced more poor health than any man Donal knew. 
"Good. Come and show me." Carillon turned abruptly 
and headed toward a corridor. 
"Show you?" Donal went after him. "Show you whatV 
Carillon's stride was crisp and even. His back was rigid. 
There was no sign of advancing age in him, save for the 
twisted fingers. "Rowan!" The shout echoed along the corridor. 
Donal, hastening in the Mujhar's footsteps, frowned into 
the candle-lit passageway. 
Shortly after a second shout, Rowan stepped out of a 
doorway. His black hair was tousled and damp, and his 
clothing was a little awry, as if he had only just put them on 
following a bath. "Aye, my lord?" 
"My sword is in my chambers," Carillon said briefly. 
"Do me the favor of bringing it to the practice chamber." 
Rowan's yellow eyes reflected startled speculation. "Aye, 
my lord. At once." 
"Carillon, what do you mean to do?" Donal at last fell 
into step with the Mujhar. 
"I mean to find out what order of skill you claim." 
"Sword skill?" Donal, hastening his steps yet again, shook 
his head. "Carillon, you know\a151" 
"\a151know what? That you, as a Cheysuli, claim yourself 
above the use of a sword? Inviolate to its threat?" 
"No, of course not." Donal bit his tongue to repress his 
exasperation- "I can be wounded as easily as a Homanan\a151it 
is only . . . Carillon, will you slow down\a151?" 
"Only what?" The Mujhar did not slacken his pace. "Is it 
only that you would simply prefer to keep yourself to bow 
and knife?" 
"I am good enough with both!" Donal, pride stung, stopped 
dead in his tracks. Carillon also paused. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 95 
"Aye," he agreed, "you are. But the future Mujhar of 
Homana must also wield a sword." He stretched out his hand 
as Rowan came striding down the corridor with a scabbard 
clenched in his hand. "This sword," Carillon said, accepting 
it from Rowan. 
Donal scraped one hand down through his hair and over his 
face. "Canllon." His voice was nearly throttled in his attempt 
to remain calm. "Do you forget I am CheysuliT9 
"I think that is impossible." Carillon's voice, raspy now, 
sounded harsh in the shadowed corridor. "You take such 

pains to remind me whenever the chance arises." Methodically, 
he held the scabbard in his left hand and placed his 
right on the heavy golden hilt. At the edge of his hand, set 
into prongs in the pommel of the hilt, glowed the dead-black 
stone that had once been brilliant crimson. A blood-red ruby, 
called the Mujhar's Eye, and perverted by Tynstar's sorcery. 
Donal looked at Rowan. He saw nothing in the general's 
face save a perfect blankness. Cheysuli blankness. He uses 
his race to thwart even me. 
At last he looked at Carillon. "You wish me to spar 
against you." 
"Aye. As we have done in the past." 
Donal nodded his head in the direction of the sword. "You 
have not used that against me before." 
"Then perhaps it is time I did. It is your grandsire's 
sword." 
"He made it," Donal retorted. "He never used it himself. 
The Cheysuli never do." 
"Hale was all Cheysuli," Carillon agreed. "But you claim 
a full quarter of Homanan blood, and thai much entities you 
to learn the proper use of a sword." 
Again, Donal glanced at Rowan. And again, he saw the 
blank expression. Carillon's man to the core. For all he is 
Cheysuli, he seems more Homanan than Carillon himself! 
Pointedly, Donal looked at Rowan's left side. At me sword 
sheathed there. A Homanan sword, but wielded by a Cheysuli. 
Color came into Rowan's dark face. Cheysuli-bom, Homananbred; 
adversity had taught him to stay alive, during Shaine's 
qu'mahlin, by ignoring the truth of his origins. And now, 
though free to embrace the customs of his race, he did not. 
Cheysuli on the outside, Homanan on the inside; Carillon's 
right-hand man. 
96 Jennifer Roberson 
In place of my su'fali, a proper liege man. 
But Donal did not blame Rowan. Not entirely. Finn's 
dismissal from Carillon's service had been initiated by someone 
else entirely, and aided\a151albeit unintentionally\a151by Carillon 
himself. 
There was, suddenly, tension in Rowan's face. And Donal 
was ashamed. It is not his fault. He was raised by the 
unblessed. Lacking a lir, he lacks also a heart and soul. But 
he does the best he can. 
"Come," Carillon challenged, "show me what you know." 
Donal looked at the royal sword of Homana, knowing it 
was Cheysuli. And then he looked at Rowan. 
Silently, Rowan pulled his forth. He offered the hilt to 

Donal. 
NINE 
T
he practice chamber 1iad no aesthetics about it. It was a 
plain chamber of unadorned dark-blue stone, even to the 
floor, which had been worn into a perfectly smooth indigoslate 
sheet from years of swordplay and footwork. Each wall 
bore only weapons racks: swords, long-knives, spears, halberds, 
axes. bows and other accouterments of war. Wooden 
benches lined the sides for students who chose to or were 
ordered to watch. Wall sconces with fat candles in them lit 
the room with a pearly glow. Donal had been in the chamber 
many times in fifteen years, but he far preferred the training 
sessions with Finn and others in the Keep. 
Carillon stood in the precise center of the smooth, dark 
floor. He was still fully dressed, not bothering to shed even 
his doublet of mulberry velvet. His boots were low-cut, of 
soft gray leather, lacking the heavy soles of thigh-high riding 
boots. And in his twisted hands was gripped the gold-hilted 
sword with its baleful, blackened eye. 
Idly, Donal slapped the flat of Rowan's blade against his 
leather-clad leg. He stripped out of his cloak and dumped it 
onto the nearest wooden bench. Sighing, he turned to face 
Carillon. "My lord, this will be a travesty." 
"Will it?" Carillon smiled. "Then I am pleased you so 
willingly admit you lack what skill any soldier should possess." 
He gestured sharply, "Rowan\a151the door. It may be 
the Prince of Homana will not desire anyone to see this\a151 
travesty." 
Briefly Rowan dipped his still-damp head in an acknowl- 
97 
98 Jennifer Roberson 
edging nod, then pulled the door tightly shut. He crossed his 
arms and leaned against the wall, watching both men in an 
attitude of nonchalance, yet intently aware of each. 
Donal yet held the sword in one hand negligently. The hilt 
was unfamiliar, being made for Rowan's hand, but then the 
hilt of any sword was unfamiliar to him. He had spent hours 
with an arms-master, being drilled until he thought he would 
go mad, but he had always been an indifferent student. He 
knew, did the time come when he would have to fight, it 
would be with knife or Cheysuh warbow. 
Or Mr-shape. This is foolishness. 
"'Come forth," Carillon invited, "And tell me how it was 
you were poisoned." 

Donal's short laugh was a bark. "I can tell you that 
without resorting to this. Carillon. And I think the answer is 
easy enough to come by. It was your cheysula, my Lord 
Mujhar. The Queen of Homana herself.** 
"Come forth." Carillon's tone brooked no refusal. "I, at 
least, can speak while I spar. Can you?" 
He baits me ... by the gods, he baits me! Donal moved 
forward, clad more comfortably than Carillon in snug Cheysuli 
leggings and sleeveless jerkin dyed a warm, soft yellow. 
Though he hated swordplay, he could not help but move into 
a defensive posture as Carillon settled the rune-kissed blade 
more comfortably. 
Carillon grunted. "Electra, was it? I would have guessed 
the Ihlini.*' 
"Oh, Tynstar may have encouraged it." Donal shifted 
Rowan's sword until it rested more comfortably in his hands. 
"But Electra had the doing of this, I am quite sure. But\a151not 
alone. She had help." 
"Who? Have I traitor on the island?" 
"Traitors, rather . . . though I think it is too harsh a 
word. I believe she was unknowing." Donal touched his 
blade gently to Carillon's in brief salute. "It was Aislinn. my 
lord." 
"Aislinn\a151!" The Cheysuli blade lowered slightly before 
Carillon caught himself. "What is this idiocy?" 
Donal shook his head. "No idiocy, my lord\a151it is me 
truth. Ask the girl; better yet, ask Sef. He saw what she tried 
to do.*' 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
99 
"Come at me!" Carillon rasped. "Tell me this over the 
sword-song!" 
Donal stepped in. He parried Carillon's opening maneuver, 
parried again, and ducked a vicious two-handed swipe that 
whistled near his ear. He hissed in startled surprise, then 
danced aside yet again as the sword swooped back to catch 
him on its return. 
"Say again," Carillon ordered. "Say again it was my 
daughter!" 
"It was." Donal skipped aside, blessing his Cheysuli quickness. 
Sparring this might be, but Carillon did not spar as most 
men did. He was strong enough to stop a powerful blow even 
as he loosed it to the full extent of the maneuver, and so he 
sparred with little held back. Except he is no longer as strong 
as he once was . . . gods!\a151he could take my head with 
another swipe like that! - 
"Do not hang back like a fearful child!" Carillon shouted. 

"At me, Donal! I am the enemy!" 
The royal blade blurred silver in the air, so that the runes 
bled into the steel and became invisible. Donal saw only the 
displacement of air and heard the swoop of slicing steel. He 
moved in instinctively, answering Carillon's challenge, and 
tried to turn the blow aside. But his blade was battered aside 
almost at once, then twisted out of his hands. His wrists and 
forearms cried out their abuse as he fought to hold on, but the 
hilt slipped from his hands. The sword fell against the floor. 
Carillon took a single step forward. The tip of his blade 
rested lightly against Donal's abdomen, scraping softly on the 
gold and topaz of his buckle. "It is your life, boy," me 
Mujhar rasped. "It is not me you face, but the enemy. 
Perhaps a Solindish soldier, or an Atvian spearman. Neither 
will allow you time to retrieve a fallen weapon." 
"Do you expect me to believe such a transparent ploy as 
that?" Donal snapped. "Or do you say we go to war 
tomorrowV 
The tip pressed more threateningly. "Not tomorrow. Perhaps 
the day after." Carillon's jaw was set like stone- "I 
have been receiving regular messages from couriers out of 
Solinde these past four weeks. Royce, in Lestra, believes 
there will be a mil-scale rebellion before a sixth-month is 
past." 
"Rebellion." Donal felt the clenching of his belly. "You 
100 Jennifer Roberson 
have feared it, I know ... and you have not let me forget 
what might happen did Tynstar ever rally the Solindish again. 
But why would they follow him after so many years of 
peace?" 
"Peace?" Carillon laughed. "You might call it that, having 
no knowledge of what war is. But Solinde is far from 
peaceful. Royce has put down insurgents time and time again, 
and there is talk Tynstar does move, even now, to unite the 
Solindish rebels." 
"If he does\a151" 
"If he does, we will go to war again. Not today, perhaps 
not even tomorrow\a151but very soon." Carillon regarded his 
heir, "Now, as you know so much, tell me about Osric of 
Atvia." 
"Osric! The Atvian king?" Donal frowned. "He is at 
home, is he not, quarreling with Shea of Erinn over an island 
title?" 
"Aye," Carillon agreed. "But what if Osric, deciding to 
avenge his father's death at Homanan hands\a151as well as 
tiring of paying me twice-yearly tribute\a151quits quarreling 
with Shea of Erinn and chooses to march on Homana?" 
"End the tribute," Donal suggested. "It would give him 
one less reason to consider such a march." 

Carillon's smile held little amusement. "I instigated the 
tribute in retribution for coming against me the last time- 
Thome paid for it with his life, leaving his son to succeed 
him; therefore the son must also pay for the father's folly. Do 
I end the tribute, Osric will judge me weak. It would be an 
indication that Homana's aging Mujhar, at last, is losing 
strength, opening an avenue of attack for Osric. No, no\a151 
policy dictates I continue to ask tribute to Atvia. There is no 
other choice." 
Donal had no desire to entangle himself in the intricacies of 
kingcraft, even verbally. "We were not speaking of the 
potential for war, my lord, but of your daughter's complicity 
in Electra's attack on me. Should we not finish that topic 
before we begin another?" 
"Gods, but you drive me mad!" Carillon said through gritted 
teeth. "Look at me, Donal! What do you see? An old man 
growing older, and more quickly than anyone might have 
thought." Briefly, he shrugged, and a faint wince of pain cut 
across his face. "It was your father who told me Tynstar gave 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 101 
me nothing I would not experience anyway; that the disease 
would devour my body eventually regardless of what I did 
. . . and it does. Oh, aye\a151it does. Who is to say I will live 
to see the new year?" 
"You are the one speaking idiocy now!" Donal was taken 
aback by Carillon's intensity. "Aye, you grow older, but 
even now you wield a sword. Even now you defeat a 
Cheysuli!" 
"Aye, I do. And no warrior I have ever heard of gives in 
to an enemy so easily." The tip pressed close yet again. 
"You speak of Aislinn's complicity? Then you had best 
speak a little more clearly. Now.^ 
Donal sighed. "I cannot say for certain, Carillon. There is 
no doubt she was\a151involved. It was her hand that held the 
knife." He put up his hand and wiggled his lingers. "Healed 
now, and easily enough\a151it was not so much of a cut\a151but I 
got the cut because Aislinn tried to put a knife in my back. 
And would have, had my /ir not warned me. And even then, 
she cut me. It was Sef who held her back." 
"Aislinn\a151did that?" Carillon's eyes were on the sunbronzed 
knuckles. 
"Aye, she did. But I doubt it was her decision\a151I am sure 
she was ensorceled." 
"How?" Carillon snapped. 
"By Electra, my lord\a151who else?" 
The creased lids with their silvered lashes flickered just a 
little. "Aislinn is her daughter- Do you tell me Electra would 
stoop to such perversion?" 
Donal did not smile. "You know her better than I. Tell 
me, my lord, if Tynstar's meijha would." 

The breath was expelled suddenly; an explosion of disbelief 
and horrified acknowledgment. The sword tip wavered 
against Donal's abdomen. "She would," he whispered. "By 
the gods, she would. And / sent Aislinn there\a151" 
"My lord." Donal did not move; not even in the face of 
Carillon's emotions did he dare give the sword tip a chance. 
"My lord\a151what else could you have done? She was of an 
age where she needed to see her jehana . . . even one such as 
Electra.'' 
"Oh no ... I could have refused. I should have. And now 
you tell me Aislinn tried to slay you?" 
Donal was moved to offer any sort of reassurance, though 
102 Jennifer Robe/son 
the transgression was serious enough. He could not bear to 
see a man who was so strong be overcome by the plotting of 
his treacherous wife. "My lord\a151at least shefailed.'^ 
Carillon was not amused by the purposeful mildness of the 
statement. "This time. But if it is true she was ensorceled, 
who is to say she will not try again?" 
Dona) drew in a careful breath. Deliberately he kept his 
tone light, seemingly offhand. "There is a way. I could 
determine if the ensorcelment is still in effect." 
"How?" 
"Let me take her to the Keep. Let my su'fali go into her 
mind." 
Carillon's brows drew down. "Why Finn? Why not you? 1 
know you have the power." 
"I have tried," Donal said gently. "There is a barrier 
there, the residue of someone else's presence." 
"A trap-link?" Carillon demanded at once. "Do you say 
Tynstar has touched my daughter through Electra?' * 
"That\a151that is better left to Finn to determine." 
"Then we shall let him," Canllon rasped, "but only on 
one condition." 
Donal stared. "You speak of conditions when this may 
be your daughter's sanity?" 
"When I am forced to. And you force me, Donal." Carillon 
was unsmiling. "I set you a task. A simple task, for a 
Cheysuli." Suddenly, the smile was there. "Finn could do it. 
He has done it. That Duncan could have, I do not doubt. And 
now it is your turn." He laughed. "Are you not their blood 
and bone?" 
Donal regarded him suspiciously. "What would you have 
me do?" 
"Take the sword from me." Carillon laughed again. "Win 

back your grandsire's sword!" 
"From you?" Donal shook his head. "Carillon, I could 
not. More than one realm knows what a renowned fighter you 
are. The harpers sing lays about you\a151I recall Lachlan's Song 
ofHomana even if you do not! I would be a fool to try." 
"A fool not to." Canllon beckoned with two of his twisted 
fingers. "Come, Donal . . . take this Cheysuli sword from 
the hand of a Homanan." 
Donal swore beneath his breath. And then, invoking what 
skills he had learned from Finn and other warriors, he moved 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
103 
in against the blade. He ignored the bite of steel, concentrating 
instead on the surprise in Carillon's eyes, and lifted a 
flexed forearm against the Hat of the blade in a quick, chopping 
motion. And men, even as Carillon subtly shifted position 
to try another attack, Donal hooked a leg around his 
ankles and jerked him to the ground. 
"My lord\a151!'* It was Rowan, moving from his place by 
the door, until Donal stopped him with an outthrust hand. 
"Do you want the same?" he asked. "This is between 
Carillon and me." 
"Donal\a151you do not know\a151" 
"I know well enough!" Donal retorted. "He goaded me 
into this ... let him reap what seed he sows." 
Slowly, Carillon hitched himself up on one elbow, wincing 
and swearing. He glared up at Donal. After a moment he 
stopped cursing and nodded absently. "Perhaps it is not so 
necessary for you to leam a sword after all. You are dangerous 
enough with nothing." 
Donal felt a pang of guilt and concern as he looked down 
upon the Mujhar. He saw again how twisted were the callused 
hands. "Carillon, I did not mean\a151" 
"I care naught for what you meant, or did not mean!" 
Carillon's shout was undimmished even by his undignified 
sprawl upon the stones. "Never apologize for downing your 
enemy. I might have slain you with that sword; instead, you 
disarmed me." He smiled. "As I ordered." 
Donal bent down. "Here\a151take my hand\a151" 
"Tend your wound, Cheysuli," Carillon said crossly. "You 
are bleeding, and 1 am old enough to know how to find my 
feet." He found them, pushing himself up from the floor, but 
he could not entirely hide a sharp grimace of pain. 
Donal put a hand to his abdomen and felt the slice in the 
leather as well as the blood seeping through. The wound did 
not appear to be deep, but it hurt. Stilt, he shrugged. "It is 
nothing. Of no account. Honor enough, in itself." He grinned, 

relieved to see Carillon standing before him, apparently all of 
a piece. "It is a scar gotten from Homana's Mujhar, and a 
token of accomplishment. I am still alive. How many others 
can claim that after a confrontation with you?" 
Carillon eyed him suspiciously. "You have a facile tongue. 
You must have got it from Alix." 
104 Jennifer Roberson 
Donal smiled innocently. "My jehana taught me only 
reverence for royalty, my lord Mujhar." 
Carillon muttered something beneath his breath and gestured 
to the Cheysuti sword lying on the ground. "You may 
at least return my weapon to me. I may have need of more 
practice\a151for our next meeting." 
Donal, laughing, bent and grasped the sword by its blade. 
He ceremoniously offered it hilt-first to Carillon, making a 
solemn production out of me gesture. The Mujhar reached out 
to take it with a muttered oath. His mouth twisted in a 
grimace of acknowledgment, but before his fingers closed on 
the hill, he froze. 
"The rubyV The shocked outcry came from Rowan. 
Instantly Donal glanced down at the stone set so deeply in 
the prongs of the pommel. And then he lost his smile- 
Like the stare of an unblinking serpent, the Mujhar's Eye 
glared back at him. But no longer was it the tainted black of 
Ihlini sorcery. It glowed a rich blood-red. 
He felt a frisson of fear and shock. "It was black\a151it has 
always been black\a151" 
"No," Carillon said hoarsely. "Before I plunged it into 
the purple flames of Tynstar's sorcery, it was red as the blood 
in my veins. Do you see? That is a Cheysuli ruby, Donal, set 
there by your grandsire's hand. Whole and unblemished, as it 
was meant to be, until tainted by Ihlini sorcery." 
As Carillon closed his hand on the hilt, Donal released the 
blade at once. And the ruby turned black again. 
'Wo\a151" Donal blurted. 
"Aye." Carillon's voice was hoarse, uneven. "By the 
gods\a151I understand it." His eyes, rising to meet Donal's, 
were filled with sudden comprehension. "I know now what 
Finn meant when he explained it to me.'' 
"Explained whatT' 
Carillon gestured. "How a Cheysuli sword knows the hand 
of its master. How it will serve well any man who wields it, 
because it must, but comes to life only in the hands of the 
warrior it was meant for. Do you not know your own legends?" 
Donai stared in horrified fascination at the black stone in 
the golden hilt with its rampant Homanan lion. "I\a151have 
heard. But never have I seen the story proven\a151" 

"Then look upon it, Donal. This sword was made for 
you." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 105 
Slowly, Donal shook his head from side to side. "Oh, I 
think not ... 1 think not. 1 am Cheysuli, and we do not deal 
with swords." 
"A Cheysuli made it ... as once your race made the 
finest swords in the world, though none of the warriors would 
use them." Carillon nodded. "Finn taught me much of the 
Cheysuli, Donal, and\a151once, for a very little while\a1511 was 
Cheysuli myself." He shrugged at Donal's twitch of startled 
disbelief. "You do not yet understand, but you will. There 
will come a time\a151" He shook his head quickly. "Never 
mind. What we speak of now is how this sword was made for 
you." 
"No." It came a burst of involuntary sound, but he knew 
no other answer. "Not\a151mine. It is yours." 
Carillon turned the sword in the candlelight, so the flames 
ran down the blade and set the runes afire. "Do you see? 1 
know you read Cheysuli Old Tongue. Decipher these runes 
for me." 
Donal looked at them. He saw the figures wrought in the 
shining steel. He saw them clearly enough to read them, and 
then he drew back once more. "I will not." 
"Donal\a151" 
"1 cannot!" he shouted. "Are you blind? You tell me my 
grandsire made this sword for me while knowing what would 
happen, and I dare not acknowledge what it means." 
"The runes, Donal. I can have them read by another. I 
would rather you read them to me." 
He took yet another step back. "Do you not see? If that 
sword were truly made for me, it means I must succeed you. 
And I am not certain I can!" 
"Why can you not?" Carillon, stricken, stared at him over 
the shining sword. "Do you say I have chosen the wrong 
man?" 
Donal clapped both hands over his face. "No, oh no, not 
the wrong man\a151the right man!" His voice was muffled 
behind his palms. "But how am I to follow you? After all 
mat you have done?" Donal stripped the black hair back from 
his face. "Gods, Carillon, you are a legend by which all men 
measure themselves. And you are living! Can you imagine 
how they will measure me when you are gone?" 
Carillon's aging face lost its color. "It is that, then. You 
fear you cannot live up to your predecessor." 
106 Jennifer Roberson 
"Aye." Donal sighed and let his hands drop down to slap 
against his thighs. "Gods\a151who could? You are Carillon." 

"I do not want that!" Carillon cried. "Gods, Donal, be 
yourself! Do not flunk about what others would have you 
be." 
"How not? There is nothing else I can do." Donal caught 
his breath. The sparring session had sapped even more of his 
strength. The chamber wavered a little. He shoved a forearm 
against his brow to wipe the sweat away. "Surely you must 
see it. Carillon. Surely you must hear it. How they worship 
you even as they curse the heir you chose." 
"Curse you\a151" 
"Aye." Donal's throat was dry. His voice scraped through 
the hoarseness. "There are times I almost hate myself. I play 
the polished plate and reflect the things they see. Cheysuli. 
Arrogant. Believing myself better than any Homanan. And 
yet even as they mutter to one another how I will be given the 
Lion instead of earning it, I wonder if I am worthy of your 
trust." He looked into the older man's face. "Gods, Carillon\a151 
there are times I want nothing more than to turn my back on 
you, so I can keep a piece of myself." 
"No," Carillon said hollowly. "Do not think of it. Without 
you, there is nothing." 
Donal raised both hands briefly and let them slap down at 
his sides. "The shar tahls say it is my tahlmorra to accept 
the Lion from you. But\a151I would sooner accept nothing from 
my jehan." 
Carillon flinched visibly. Donal saw it and realized he had 
hurt the man, though he had not intended to. He would not 
hurt Carillon for the world, not intentionally. And yet there 
were times he felt his very presence hurt him, because he 
knew himself living testimony to Carillon's failure to produce 
a legitimate son of his own flesh and blood. 
"1 care nothing for what others may think of you," Carillon 
said. "They are fools. Homanan I may be, but I am not 
blind. I spent too many years with Finn to disbelieve in 
tahlmorra and a man's place within the tapestry of the gods." 
One comer of his mouth twitched in an effort to steady his 
voice. "There was a time Duncan himself told me how he 
longed to turn his back on his tahlmorra so he could share his 
life with his son. But his dedication was such that he could 
not ignore what lay before him, and so he met Tynstar and 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
107 
died. But\a151you should not judge yourself by others, Donal. 
Never." 
Insecurity suddenly overcame him. "I know I can never be 
what they would have me be. 1 am not you." 
"Be Donal," Carillon said- "By the gods, you will be the 
first Cheysuli Mujhar in four hundred years!" 
"Aye," Donal agreed. "I will have your throne one day. 

That is more than enough. I will not take your sword." 
"But it is yours. Yours, Donal. You must accept it now." 
Carillon held it out. 
Donal took a single step away. "No. Not yet." 
"Do you deny your grandsire's wishes?" 
"Aye." Donal stared at the runes. The runes that beckoned 
him; the runes he had to deny. And do I deny the power? 
Carillon drew in a raspy breath. "Then\a151if not now . . . 
will you accept it at your acclamation?" The Mujhar smiled a 
little. "Shaine gave me this sword upon my acclamation as 
Prince of Homana. Surely you could accept it then." 
"No." Yet another step away. "Carillon\a151I have no wish 
to strip you of your power. One day there will be no choice, 
but for now there is. And I have made it." 
Carillon's eyes, staring down at the blackened ruby, were 
bleak in his care-wom face. It was the face of a man who 
sees his own ending, when he has only just gotten past his 
beginning. It was the face of a man who recognizes his 
tahlmorra and all the futility and insignificance of his presence 
within the palm of the gods. The face of a man who, 
when confronted with his chosen successor, knows mat successor 
was already chosen long before. 
The Mujhar looked at Rowan. "It is Donal," he said 
clearly. "It is Donal, after all." He laughed, but the sound 
was the sound of bittersweet discovery. "For all Finn and 
Duncan told me how important / was to the prophecy, it does 
not come down to me at all." Slowly, he shook his head. 
"To Donal. I am only the caretaker of this realm . . . until 
another's time has come." 
TEN 
D, 
L/onal, mounted on his chestnut, watched sidelong as Carillon 
mounted his own gray stallion. Tail as he was, he 
seemed to have trouble reaching up to the stirrup. But he 
mounted. With less grace than Donal had witnessed before, 
perhaps, but Carillon got himself into the saddle. 
The Mujhar let go a short breath of effort completed and 
squinted in the morning sunlight, glancing over at Donal. 
"You look somewhat done in. Did you resort to the wine jug 
last night?" 
Donal, who had resorted to nothing but his own imaginings 
following the confrontation with Carillon in the practice chamber, 
shook his head a little. "No. I did not sleep." 
Carillon's silvering brows rose. "Did not\a151or could not?" 

Donal grunted. "One and the same, last night." 
The Mujhar nodded. "Neither did I." He glanced across 
Donal's mount to the smaller bay horse beyond, its rider 
nearly out of earshot. "So, you bring your new servant 
along." 
Donal drew rein as his horse fidgeted, stomping one hoof 
against the cobbles of the bailey. Automatically he looked for 
Lom, concerned for his welfare, but the wolf waited at some 
distance from the horses. Taj perched upon the bailey wall- 
"Now is as good a time as any for Sef to see what a Keep 
is," Donal told Carillon. "But where is Aisiinn?" 
"Delaying for as long as she can," Carillon said dryly. 
"She wants no part of this." 
"She said she was willing before." 
108 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 109 
"Aye. Before." Carillon was unsmiling. "Before she knew 
aught of Sorcha and the boy." 
Donal felt the clenching of his belly. "Then\a151she told you 
how she found out.'' 
"Aye. She was\a151less than happy about it." Carillon looked 
directly at his heir. "We have never played games with each 
other, Donal\a151we knew one day it would come to this. Even 
when you and Sorcha grew close\a151you knew." 
Carillon, Donal knew, did not precisely accuse. But he was 
Aislinn's father and, though he understood Cheysuli customs 
better than any Homanan, no doubt he felt the relationship 
between Donal and his Cheysuli meijha was an insult to his 
daughter. 
Donal drew in a deep breath that was just the slightest bit 
unsteady. "I\a151know. As you say, there have been no games. 
And I mean no offense even now . . . surely you must see 
that." 
"I see it." Carillon shifted in his saddle, as if his muscles 
pained him. "Donal\a151I care deeply for my daughter. I would 
not have her hurt. But neither do I wish to trespass on 
Cheysuli customs." He stared down at his twisted hands as 
he clutched reins and saddlebow. "Aisiinn said she wished to 
break off the betrothal. In the face of her tears and tattered 
pride, I had to refuse her, of course ... I had no choice." 
"No doubt it is difficult for a jehan to deny his child 
anything he or she wants." Donal made his answer as judicious 
as he could. 
Carillon's smile was slightly sardonic. "Aye. And, soon 
enough, I doubt not you will leam it for yourself, lan is of an 
age to exert his needs and desires." 

"I am sorry. Carillon," Donal said wretchedly. "I would 
spare her as much pain and heartache as I could, were there 
another way." 
"I know that. But\a151I think there wilt come a day when 
you find you must make a choice." He gestured with a nod 
of his head toward the marble steps. "And here is my tardy 
daughter." Carillon motioned for one of the stable lads to 
lead the dun-colored mare forward. 
Aislinn's shining hair was plaited lightly, then doubled up 
and bound with green woolen yam. The knot of bright hair 
hung over one brown-cloaked shoulder. Her dark green skirts 
were kilted up for ease of riding, and her legs were booted to 
110 Jennifer Roberson 
the knees. With the grace of youth she mounted, unaffected 
in her movements, and gathered in her reins. Like most 
Homanan women, she disdained a sidesaddle and rode astride. 
She glanced sidelong at Donal. He saw how red-rimmed 
me eloquent eyes were, as if she had cried me night through; 
her face was a little swollen and her mouth did not hold a 
steady line. But her pert nose with its four golden freckles 
was lifted toward the sky. "Do we go? Let us get this 
travesty over." 
Donal, despite the haughty words, sensed her unhappiness 
clearly. Aislinn was a young girl, badly frightened by what 
•be faced, and resorted to what attitude she could in an effort 
to control her fear. He understood it. He had done it before 
himself. 
Her horse was close to his own. He leaned out of the 
saddle slightly and caught the back of her neck, squeezing 
gently. "You will do well enough." 
Her demeanor seemed less arrogant. "Will I?" she whispered. 
"Gods ... I am so afraid\a151" 
"Fear has its proper place\a151or so I am told." He released 
her and reined his stallion around. "But I think there is little 
need for it in the Keep." 
"But\a151it is Finn\a151" 
"He is the last warrior you should fear. That much I 
promise you." 
Aislinn's hands, gloved in supple amber-dyed leather, tightened 
on her reins. The dun mare crowded Donal's chestnut. 
"Then I hold you to your promise." 
"If you wish, I will go in with Finn. You have felt my 
touch before. There is little I can do, lacking the necessary 
experience, but I can monitor what he does.'' Dona! shrugged. 
"Would it lend you some reassurance?" 
Her gray eyes, pale as water, studied him a long moment. 
Then, reluctantly, she nodded. He saw the twisting of her 
mouth. "Aye. 1 want you there as well." 

He pushed the mare's mouth away from his knee before 
her metal bit could bang against him painfully. "Then I will 
be there." 
But her fear remained. He could see it. 
"Let us go," Carillon said. "Sooner done, is it done 
with." He gathered his reins and spurred the gray stallion 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 111 
about. But before he could go. Rowan called for him from 
the top of the marble steps. 
"My lord\a151my lord\a151wait you." The general ran down 
the steps rapidly. "Carillon\a151a courier has come. From Duke 
Royce in Lestra." Rowan caught hold of one rein and held 
back the Mujhar's horse. "1 think, my lord, you had best 
hear what he has to say." 
At once. Carillon looked at Aisiinn. His indecision was 
manifest- But even as she reined her horse closer to his, 
preparing to plead her case, he became more decisive. 
"Aislinn\a151you will be safe enough with Donal. You have 
heard what the general has said." 
"You promised to go with me!" 
"And now I cannot." His tone was gentle, but equally 
inflexible. "Were this testing not so necessary, I would say it 
could wait for another time. But it cannot, no more than can 
this courier." He reached out and caught the crown of her 
head with one broad hand and cupped his twisted fingers 
around the dome of her skull. "I am truly sorry, Aislinn . . . 
but I know you wil! be safe with Donal." 
"You give me no choice," she accused unhappily. "You 
give me no choice in anything'." Wrenching her mare around, 
she headed for the gates. 
Carillon sighed heavily. "Be patient," he told Donal. 
"She is young . . . and till now her lot as my daughter has 
been little more than a beautiful game. Now she knows its 
price." 
"I will bring her back before nightfall," Donal promised. 
"As for what she will face\a151there is nothing for you to fear. 
It is Finn who will do the testing." 
Briefly, Carillon smiled. "After all these years, it comes 
again to Finn. And I think it will amuse him." Slowly, he 
swung down out of the saddle and patted the horse's shoulder. 
"Safe journey, Donal. And now you had best go after 
her before she gets so far ahead you lose her entirely." 
It was Sef, edging his horse close to Donal's. who remarked 
about the vastness of the Keep. "There are pavilions 
everywhere.'' 
The oiled pavilions, dyed warm earth and forest tones and 
painted with myriad lir, spread through the forest like a 
scattering of seed upon the ground. The Cheysuli, when they 

112 
Jennifer Roberson 
could, left the trees standing, setting up their pavilions in 
clustered copses of oak and elm and beech with vines and 
bracken still intact. Surrounding the permanent encampment, 
snaking across the ground, stood the curving gray-green granite 
wall. 
"It seems so, now," Donal agreed. "When I was a boy, 
there were not so many as this. But that was when we lived 
across the Bluetooth River, trying to stay free of Ihlini retribution 
and Bellam's tyranny." He glanced around the Keep 
as they rode through, reining around cookfires and running 
children. "This is a true Keep now, with the half-circle walls 
and painted pavilions. But for years\a151too many years\a151we 
lived as refugees and outlaws." He glanced at Aislinn, locked 
up in her silence. "It was Carillon who allowed us the 
freedom to come home." 
Sefs parti-colored eyes were fixed on Donal. "It's no 
wonder they sing songs and tell stories about him, then. Look 
at what he's done." 
Donal felt a stab of sympathy for Carillon, even in his 
absence. We have made him into a legend for us to idolize, 
and we have stripped him of his freedom. It must be more 
difficult for him to live up to the name, and he is the one who 
wears it. 
"My father is a great man," Aislinn said flatly. "There is 
no one like him in all the kingdoms of the world. No one will 
ever be able to match him." Her gray-pale eyes were fastened 
with great deliberation upon Donal's face. 
"Aislinn," he said gently, "I do not compete with your 
jehan. And I will not even when his throne has passed to 
me." Trying to break the moment, he glanced around the 
Keep. "This is smaller now than it was when first we came 
here. But some of the clans have gone back across the 
Bluetooth to return to the Northern Keep." Involuntarily, he 
shivered. "It was cold there\a151too close to the Wastes, I 
prefer this Keep. And now\a151here is Finn's pavilion." 
"Another wolf," Sef said. He pointed at the green pavilion 
with its gold-painted wolf on the side. "Lom's father?" 
Donal grinned down at the ruddy wolf as Lom snorted in 
surprise. "No. More like grandsire, perhaps, did lir age 
normally. But as they do not, it makes no difference." He 
jumped off his chestnut stallion even as Taj settled on the 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
113 
ridgepole of the pavilion. "Come down, Set . . . there is 
nothing to harm you here." 
"You said that about the Crystal Isle." Sef slid off his 
brown horse. 

"And was there?" Donal looped his reins about a convenient 
tree branch and turned to help Aislinn down. 
"There was," Sef said, "but I didn't let it." 
Ignoring the boy's superstitions. Donal ducked under the 
reins and scratched at the pavilion doorflap. "Su'fali," he 
called. "Are you in?" 
"No. 1 am out, but very nearly in." Finn came around the 
side of the pavilion with Storr padding at his side. The wolfs 
muzzle had grayed and grizzled, showing as much of age as a 
lir could, for his lifespan parallelled Finn's. Until his warrior 
died, Storr was free of normal aging. 
Finn's black brows ranup beneath his silver-flecked, raven 
hair. But for that and a few deep lines etched into the flesh at 
the comers of his yellow eyes, he hardly looked old enough 
to have a nephew of twenty-three. The dark flesh of his bare 
arms was still stretched taut over heavy muscles; his /fr-bands 
gleamed in the sunlight. "You have been a stranger to your 
Keep, Donal. What brings you here now?" 
"Aislinn," he said briefly, and sensed her instant tension. 
Finn glanced at her. "You are well come to the Keep, 
lady. Meghan will be pleased to know you are here. She is 
with Alix just now, but I can send Storr for her." 
"No." Aislinn's face was tight with apprehension. "I have 
not come to see Meghan. I have come because Donal made 
me promise, and my father insisted I keep it." 
"As one should, particularly a princess." But Finn had 
lost his welcoming smile as he glanced again at Dona). "This 
is not a casual visit." 
"No," Donal agreed. "Aislinn, as you know, has been 
with Electra on the Crystal Isle. She has been\a151tampered 
with." 
"A trap-link?" Finn's hand shot out and clamped on 
Aislinn's head before she could move. And by the time she 
did move, crying out and pulling away, Finn was done with 
his evaluation. "No. Something else. Bring her inside." He 
turned and pulled the doorflap aside. 
Aislinn hung back. She looked at Donal, and he saw the 
114 Jennifer Roberson 
terror in her face. Gently, he set one hand on her shoulder. 
After a moment, she slipped inside the pavilion. 
Sef, like Aislinn, hung back. But for different reasons. "It 
isn't my place," he said. "He'll work magic in there. 1*11 do 
better out here." 
"Come in," Donal insisted mildly. "What Finn will do is 
nothing 1 cannot do myself, and I do not doubt you will be 
witness to it sooner rather than late. It may as well be now." 
He settled one browned hand around Set's arm and ushered 

him into the pavilion, leaving Lorn to trade greetings with 
Storr\a151as welt as the grooming ritual\a151and Taj to converse 
with the other /*r. 
Finn sat on a spotted silver fur taken from a snow leopard. 
As clan-leader he was entitled to a iarge pavilion, and he had 
accepted that right. Furs of every texture and color cushioned 
the hard-packed earthen floor, and fine-worked tapestries divided 
the pavilion into sections. One of those sections, Donal 
knew, belonged to Meghan, Finn's half-Homanan daughter. 
Thinking of Meghan reminded him that Finn had said she 
was with Alix. And his mother, no doubt, was with his 
meijha. Quite suddenly, Donal longed to be there as well, 
wishing to forget all about Aislinn and her troubles. 
But he had promised, and he did not break his oaths. 
A small firepit glowed in front of Finn- The smoke was 
drawn up to the top of the pavilion, where it was dispersed 
through a ventflap. Through the bluish haze, Finn's eyes 
were almost hypnotic. 
Aislinn half-turned as if to flee, but Donal blocked her 
way. Defeated, she turned reluctantly back. Her fingers crept 
up to pull nervously at the wool binding her braid. 
Finn laughed. "You remind me a little of Alix, when first 
she joined the clan. All doe-eyed and frightened, yet defiant 
enough to spit in my face. That is what you would prefer to 
do, Aislinn ... is it not?" 
"Aye!" she answered, summoning up her own measure of 
defiance. "I want no part of this. It is Donal who says I 
am\a151tainted." Her voice wavered just a little. "He said\a151she 
has meddled with my mind." 
Finn did not smile. He did not appear privately amused, as 
he so often did. His tone, when he spoke, was quiet and 
exceedingly gentle. "If she has, small one ... 1 will see that 
we rid you of it." For a moment he studied her silently. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
115 
"There is no need to fear me, Aislinn. Do you not know me 
through my daughter? You and Meghan are boon companions." 
Aislinn's eyes were huge, almost colorless in the muted 
light of the pavilion. "But\a151/ have heard all the stories." 
"All of them?" Finn shook his head. "I think not. You 
had best ask Carillon for more." Now he smiled, just a little, 
and looked past her to Donal. "Who is the boy you have 
brought?" 
Donal prodded Sef forward. "Answer him. His lir may be 
a wolf, but it does not mean he will devour you. Any more 
than / will." 
Sef moved forward three steps. His hands were wound into 
the black woolen tunic that bore a small crimson rampant lion 

over his left breast, "Sef," he said softly, keeping his eyes 
averted. "lam\a151Sef." 
"And I am Finn." Finn smiled his old ironic smile. "You 
almost resemble a Cheysuli. Donal has not brought you home, 
has he? As I brought Alix home?" 
Color rushed into Sets pale face, then washed away almost 
at once. His eyes, blue and brown, stared fixedly at 
Finn. "No," he said on a shaking breath. "I am not Cheysuli." 
Finn shrugged. "You have the black hair and strongboned 
face for it, albeit you are too fair for one of us." For 
just a moment, a teasing glint lit his eyes. "Perhaps you are 
merely a halfling gotten unknown on some poor Homanan 
woman\a151'' 
Finn stopped. Donal, looking at him, saw the glint in his 
eyes fade; heard the teasing banter die. Finn frowned a little, 
looking at Sef, as if he sought an answer to some unknown 
question. 
Donal laughed aloud. "Perhaps your haifling, su'falH" 
Finn looked at him sharply. "Mine?" 
"You are no priest, su'fali, who keeps himself from 
women." Donal, still grinning, shrugged. "Sef himself says 
he does not know who hisjehan was." 
"He was not Cheysuli!" Sef declared hotly. 
Donal looked at him quickly, startled by his vehemence. 
"Would it matter so much if he wereV he asked. "What if 
he were Finn himself?" 
Sets eyes locked onto Fmn*s. So intense was his regard he 
seemed almost transfixed. "No," he said. That word only, 
and yet its tone encompassed an abiding certainty. 
116 Jennifer Roberyon 
"No," Finn agreed, and yet Donal saw a faint frown of 
puzzlement. Then Finn flicked a dismissive hand. "To get to 
the point: Electra has once more meddled with someone's 
mind, and this time it is Aislinn's." He looked at the frightened 
princess. "Sit down, girl, and 1 will discover what I 
can." 
"Donal tried," she blurted- "He could do nothing." 
"I am not Donal, and I have had somewhat of a more\a151 
personal\a151experience with such tilings as Ihlini trap-links." 
Briefly he looked at Storr, lying on a pelt nearby, as if the 
words evoked some private memory they shared. "Aislinn, 1 
will not harm you. Do you think Carillon would allow it?" 
She stared at the furs beneath her feet. "No." 
Donal placed a gentle hand on Aislinn's head. "Sit down. 
I am here with you, Aislinn." 
She shut her eyes a moment. And then she sat down where 

Finn indicated, cross-legged, across the firecaim from him. 
"Now," he said quietly, "if Donal has done this to you, 
you know it will not hurt." 
"Have you had it done?" she challenged with a defiance 
that only underscored her fear and vulnerability. 
An odd look passed over Finn's dark, angular face. The 
scar twisting across the left side of his face had faded from 
avid purple to silver-white with the passing of seventeen 
years, but it still puckered the flesh from eye to jaw, lending 
him a predatory expression he did not entirely require, having 
me look of a predator already. "Not\a151precisely," Finn answered 
at last. "But something similar was done to me. It 
was\a151Tynstar. And yowjehana. Together, they set a trap for 
me, and nearly slew me." He studied her face closely, 
unsmiling. "But I survived, though something else did not." 
Aislinn, startled, sucked in a breath. "What did not survive?" 
"An oath," Finn said flatly. "We broke it, ywrjehan and 
I, because there was nothing left to do." He reached out and 
touched her eyelids with two gentle fingers. "You are not 
yowjehana, Aistinn, and I doubt she has done much to you 
mat cannot be undone. Be silent, do not fear, and forget the 
stories you have heard." 
Silently, Donal knelt down at Aislinn's side. He watched 
as Finn put his hands out, reaching through the smoke to 
touch her face. Finn ran his fingers softly across the delicate 
flesh of her brow, her nose, her eyelids, keeping himself 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
117 
silent. And then he spread his fingers and trapped her skull in 
his palms. 
His hands held her head carefully, cupping thumbs beneath 
her jaw and splaying fingers through her hair. For a long 
moment he only looked at her pale, rigid face with its tightshut 
eyes, and then his mouth moved into a grim line. He 
glanced quickly at Donal. "Do you come?" 
"Aye, su'fali." 
"Then come." The grimness faded into relaxation, and the 
yellow eyes turned vague and detached. Finn was patently 
elsewhere. 
Donal knew what he did. Finn sought the power in the 
earth magic, tapping the source as he himself had done, 
drawing it up into his body until he could focus it onto 
Aislinn. He channeled it into the girl, seeking out the knotted 
web of Ihlini interference. Could he do it, he would untangle 
the web and disperse it. 
Finn's head dipped down a little in an odd echo of Aislinn's 
posture. His eyes, fixed and unblinking, turned black as the 
pupils swelled. His mouth loosened; his chin twitched once; a 
slight tremor ran through his body. 

Donal took a breath and slipped into the link with care. He 
felt his knowledge of body and surroundings fade away at 
once, dissipating into nonexistence, until he was but a speck 
of pulsing awareness in a void of black infinity. It was 
nothingness, complete and complex, and yet it was the essence 
of everything. Earth power, raw and unchanneled, 
surged up around him, threatening to smother him. 
Carefully, Donal pushed it back. He maintained his awareness 
of self and the knowledge of what he did, remaining 
Donal in the face of such overwhelming power. And slowly, 
the power fell back. allowing him room to move. Quickly he 
sought Finn and found his presence in the void, the bright, 
rich crimson spark that was the essence of his uncle. 
Su'fali, Donal greeted him. 
That which was Finn returned the greeting. As they made 
contact, Donal felt the flare of two Cheysuli souls joined in 
an odd form of intercourse. Together they would locate and 
evaluate the residue of sorcery that resonated in Aislinn's 
mind, and they would free her of it. 
There, said Finn within the vastness of their link. 
Dona! saw it. Caught in the countless strands of Aislinn's 
118 Jennifer Roberson 
subconsciousness was a mass of knotted darkness; a spider's 
web. It looked tenuous as any thread, and yet he knew it was 
not. Tynstar's "thread" would be tensile as the strongest 
wire. 
Gently, Finn said. Gently. Springing the trap must be 
carefully done, or it will catch unwanted prey. 
Donal crept slowly closer to the trap-link. He prepared to 
lend Finn what strength he could\a151 
\a151and felt the sudden painful wrenching of a broken link. 
Awareness exploded into a vast shower of burning fragments, 
hissing out one by one. Donal thought at first it was 
something within Aislinn, some form of ward-spell, then felt 
the scrape of a hand upon his shoulder. No longer was he free 
of his body, but bound by flesh again. 
Dimly, he heard Aislinn's garbled outcry. Finn was swearing. 
Donal caught himself before he fell face-first into the 
flames, then thrust an arm against the pelts to steady himself. 
He was disoriented and badly shaken, feeling distinctly ill. 
Angrily, he turned. "To touch a Cheysuli in mind-link\a151" 
But he broke it off. He saw how Set slumped down on the 
fur pelt just behind, his face corpse-white in the blue-smoked 
air. The boy shuddered spasmodically and his mouth gaped 
open as if he could not breathe. Donal thrust himself up in 
one movement and caught Sef before he tumbled into the fire. 
Donal looked back at Aislinn. Finn still held her, and by 

the look of his eyes he had not stepped out of the link. 
Aislinn still drifted in the trance and Finn still sought me 
trap-link. But there was no doubting Donal's broken link had 
affected them both. The shattering had been too powerful. 
Donal closed his eyes a moment. He still felt ill. His ears 
buzzed. Lights fired in his eyes. But somehow he managed to 
stand up with Sef in his arms and stagger out of the pavilion. 
He set the boy down against a tree. Even as he did so, Sef 
began to rouse. Donal, seating himself on the ground, put his 
head down against his knees and tried to regain his composure. 
Lir? It was Lorn, thrusting his nose beneath Donal's elbow. 
Lir? 
Even as Sef stirred, Donal raised his head. Broken link, he 
told the wolf. Sef touched me. 
You should have told him, lir. You should have warned the 
boy. 
My fault, Donal said, and blew out a heavy breath. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
119 
Color crept back into Sets face. He blinked, rubbed dazedly 
at his temple, then tried to sit bolt upright. 
Donal pressed him back down. "No. Be still. Do you 
recall what happened?" 
Sef frowned blankly. '*I\a151I was drowning. I was being 
sucked down. It was like I was buried alive." He stared at 
Donal. "Was it the magic? Did I feel it?" 
Donal sought the best words. "Sef\a151what you did was 
done out of ignorance. I understand- And I should have 
warned you: never touch a Cheysuli when he has gone into 
another's mind." 
Sets eyes widened. "What could happen?" 
Donal rubbed at burning eyes. His ears still buzzed, though 
the sound had almost faded. "Many things, depending upon 
the severity of the break, and how deeply the warrior has 
gone. And a link is a link\a151in touching me you touched 
Aislinn and Finn. You might have injured us all in addition to 
yourself." 
Sef sucked in a strangled breath. "Oh my lord, I'm sorry\a151" 
Donal caught one thin shoulder. "Do not fret. It is over 
with. No permanent harm was done, that I can see." 
"I was so afraid." Sef looked steadfastly at the ground. I 
was\a151afraid." 
"Fear is nothing to be ashamed of," Donal told him 
gently. "It strikes all men, at one time or another, and mimics 
many things. You were not drowning. You were not being 
buried alive." 

Lom still pressed against Donal's side. The boy is more 
than frightened, lir. There is something . . . else. 
Is the boy a halfling'! Donald asked. 
The wolf seemed to shrug. / cannot say. Perhaps\a151but I 
leave him to you. Lom turned and went back to his place on 
the rug by Finn's tent, sharing it with Storr. 
Sets eyes were fixed on Donal's face. "You are\a151different," 
he said gravely. "Never do you make me feel a child. Oh, 
aye, there are times I deserve chastising, and you deliver 
it\a151but never do you treat me as if I were unworthy of 
courtesy. Others do." 
Donal smiled. "Maybe it is because I am used to boys 
asking questions. I have a son, you see, though he lacks ten 
of your years." 
Jennifer Robereon 
120 
"A\a151son?" Sef sat more upright. "But\a151I thought you 
were to wed the princess!" 
"I am. But I have a Cheysuli meijha, and she has given me 
a son." He glanced back at the pavilion, wishing to go back 
in so he could join again in the link with Finn. 
"I didn't know that." Sefs brows drew down in a frown, 
Donal smiled. "Does it matter? You are still my sworn 
man, are you not?" 
"What of your son?" 
"He is too young yet. lan has years before he can serve me 
as you do." He pulled Sef to his feet. "If the pavilion is too 
close for you, or you feel too frightened to enter, wait here. I 
wilt be out when I can." He released Sets wrist, but as he 
did he felt something soft and supple against his fingers. 
"What is this?" he asked, peeling back Sets sleeve. 
It was a narrow bracelet of feathers bound around Sefs 
wrist. Brown and gold and black. 
Sef jerked his wrist away and covered up the band with his 
other hand. "A\a151charm." Color blazed into his face. "Protection 
against strong magic." His eyes flicked toward the 
pavilion. "I was\a151afraid. When\a151when I was given time of 
my own to spend as I wished, I went into the city. I\a151found 
an old woman who makes charms and love-spells." He 
shrugged defensively. "1 said I was afraid of the Cheysuli, 
and she gave me this." He exposed the feathered band briefly 
as the color ran out of his face. "Are you ashamed of me?" 
"Only if you paid her all the coin I gave you," Donal said 
wryly. "Did you?" 
Sets eyes widened. "Oh no\\ Do you think I'm a fool? I 

only gave her half of it." 
Donal tried not to laugh and did not entirely succeed. 
"Well enough, you drove a good bargain. But Mujharan 
prices are higher than those in Hondarth, I will wager." He 
squeezed SeFs shoulder. "There is no need for the charm. 
Shall I take it from your wrist?" 
'Wo\a151" Sef took a single backward step. "No," he said 
more quickly. "I know you would never hurt me," he muttered, 
"but what of all the others?" 
Donal shook his head and sighed. "There is much for you 
to team, I see. Well enough, keep your ward-spell and know 
yourself safe from Cheysuli 'sorcery.' " He turned to re-enter 
the pavilion, then glanced back. "You may stay here or 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
121 
wander, as you like. But it will be best that you do not come 
in again." 
Blood came and went in Sets face. "No, my lord. I 
won't." 
Donal pulled aside me flap and went back inside the tent. 
Aislinn, he saw, was slumped over, held limply in Finn's 
arms. He bent down at once to take her. 
"No," Finn said. "She will be well enough. It is only the 
aftermath." Strain had etched new lines in his dark face. Like 
Carillon, he had once been touched by Tynstar, and it showed 
occasionally in his appearance and slowed reflexes. But Finn, 
unlike Carillon, had not lost so many years. "It was\a151difficult." 
Donal knelt down quickly. "Is she all right? Did you 
destroy the trap-link?" 
Finn frowned. "There was no trap-link, not as I know 
them. There was something, aye\a151you saw it as well as 
1\a151but not of Tynstar's doing. And I think Electra, even 
using what arts Tynstar taught her, is not capable of setting 
one herself. But she did work some form of magic on Aistinn. 
There was an echo, a residue of\a151something. I could not 
catch it all ... it was too elusive. And once the boy broke 
your portion of the link ..." Finn shrugged, cupping Aislinn's 
lolling head as if she were an infant. "I do believe Aislinn 
was somehow ensorceled to carry out Electra's plans, but I 
think I have ended that." 
"I hope you are certain, su'fali," Donal said dryly. "I 
think I would be disinclined to wed a woman who wishes to 
see me slain." 
Finn grinned. "I do not doubt Aislinn has personal reasons 
for viewing you with some disfavor\a151having known Homanan 
women before\a151but I hardly think you need worry about a 
knife in the back in your nuptial bed." Then the humor 
slipped away. "Who is that boy?" 

"A foundling. He was in Hondarth alone, living in the 
streets and eating what he could find." Donal shrugged. "He 
begged to come with me when I had done him a service, and 
so I let him come. Why? Do you think he may really be your 
son?" 
Finn flicked him a glance from half-lidded eyes. "I will 
not discount the possibility." 
Donal sat back on his heels. "You do think he is\a151" 
122 Jennifer Roberson 
"I said: I would not discount the possibility." Finn repeated 
firmly. "That does not mean I claim he is." 
"No," Donal conceded. He chewed at me inside of his left 
cheek. "But\a151why should you think so? Bumed dark, he 
might be one of us\a151but he lacks me yellow eyes." 
"SodoesAlix. Sodomanyofourhalflings." Finn shrugged. 
"Perhaps he is mine, perhaps he is another's. There is definitely 
something familiar about him, but I think it does not 
matter." 
"Not matter[" Donal stared at him in surprise. "How can 
you be so callous?" 
Finn's black brows lifted. "1 will force paternity on no 
one, Donal. And he did not seem over fond of me Cheysuli." 
"He has not had a chance to know us. Given time\a151" 
"Given time, he may find himself content to be your 
man." Finn smiled. "Not a liege man, perhaps, but a loyal 
companion. And I think you are in need of one." 
"I have my lir. They are more man enough." 
"Aye. But you will also have Aislinn." Finn looked down 
on me sleeping princess in his amis. "Odd, how she resembles 
both and neither of her parents. It is the coloring, I 
think\a151strip the red from her hair and make it blond, and she 
is nearly Electra come again." 
Donal reached out and touched Aislinn's hair, smoothing it 
against her scalp. She looked younger as she slept, but she 
was no longer a little girl. "No. Not Electra. Perhaps she has 
the features, but none of the witch's ways." He sighed and 
took his hand away. 
"Donal." Finn's tone was oddly serious, for a man who 
only infrequently sought decorum. "I know what you face, 
now that you must wed her. But you are Duncan's son, and 1 
know you have the strength." 
"Do I?" Donal looked again at Aislinn. "I am not my 
jehan, much as I long to be more like him. And I could not 
begin to say if I share his dedication." 
"He was bom with that no more than any man," Finn 
said. "He learned it because he had to. So will you." He 

nodded toward the doorflap. "Go and see your meijha. You 
owe her a little time." 
"Aislinn?" 
"I will keep her with me." 
Donal felt the guilt begin to pain him sorely. "My thanks, 
LEGACY OF TtiE SWORD i23 
su'fali. It is every bit as difficult as you warned me, that dav 
so long ago." 
The scar writhed as Finn's jaw tightened. "I am not your 
jehan. nor can ever be. But I would give you what aid I can 
It is only that eventually you must bear the weight yourself "' 
Again he motioned with his head. "Go and see your 
meijha. I will give you what time I can." 
ELEVEN 
D, 
L^onal stepped outside the pavilion, glad to feel the fresh 
air again, and found his sister in deep conversation with Sef. 
In all excitement of having Aislinn tested by Finn, he had 
forgotten Bronwyn entirely. He had not seen her for longer 
than he cared to admit. But then, he put her from his mind as 
often as he could. 
No. Not Bronwyn. What Bronwyn could become. 
She turned as he stepped out. She resembled their mother 
mostly, with Alix's amber eyes and lighter complexion, but 
her hair was Cheysuli black. 
Or Ihlini black. In that she could take after Tynstar. 
Donal shut off the thought at once. He could not clearly 
recall precisely how or when his mother had told him Bronwyn 
was not Duncan's daughter, but another man's entirely. And 
neither was he Cheysuli, but Tynstar himself. Tynstar of the 
Ihlini. No, Donal could not recall the words, but he could all 
too easily summon up the disbelief and astonishment he had 
felt. 
That, and the fear. 
One day, she will learn what powers she claims. She will 
begin to play with them. . . . 
He did not want to think of that day. It had been fifteen 
years since Alix had escaped from Tynstar's lair bearing the 
sorcerer's child in her belly. Bronwyn as yet had shown no 
signs of Ihlini powers, but she had been increasingly moody 
lately. The lir themselves had been unable to predict when 
she might come to know her powers; all they could discern in 

124 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 125 
her was the Cheysuli blood she claimed from her mother's 
side, as if Alix's Old Blood were canceling out that of the 
Ihlini. No one but Alix, Finn, Carillon, Sorcha and himself 
knew the girl's true paternal heritage, not even Bronwyn 
herself. But it was possible her father's legacy might wake in 
her at any time, and so they watched her more closely each 
day. 
She wore a gown of deepest purple trimmed with wine-red 
yarn in a linked pattern of animals. Birds and bears and cats 
promenaded at collar and cuffs. The front of her skirts was 
hooked over the tops of her leather boots, as if she had been 
running. As it was Bronwyn, she probably had been. She 
rarely ever walked. 
She is wild. So wild. Someone else might say it was the 
recklessness of girlhood. But\a1511 cannot help but wonder if 
there is more to it than that. 
"Rujho." Bronwyn smiled at him, exposing even white 
teeth in a face darker than Sets but lighter than her brother's. 
"1 came to see you, not knowing you were busy. Sef told me 
what you sought to do." Her smile faded. "Is Aislinn all 
right?" 
"Aislinn is fine. Whatever was there does not seem to be 
permanent." He glanced at Sef. "I assume the introductions 
have been concluded?" 
"1 told her my name," Sef answered. "Should I have said 
more?'' 
"Not unless there is more." 
Sef looked back at Bronwyn. Donal, having seen young 
boys impressed with girls before, hid a smile. He had the 
distinct feeling that Sef, if Bronwyn were interested, would 
spill more of his life to her than to anyone else, including the 
Prince of Homana. 
"Then I leave you in companionship to one another," he 
told them. "I have private business now." 
"With Sorcha?" Bronwyn asked as he turned to go. 
Donal abruptly turned back. Bronwyn as well as anyone in 
the Keep knew what he shared with Sorcha. She knew also he 
was betrothed to Aislinn; it was common knowledge in the 
clans. But Bronwyn was Aislinn's friend, and he did not 
doubt she felt conflicting loyalties nearly as much as he did, 
if in a different way. 
126 Jennifer Roberson 
"Aye, with Sorcha,*' he said at iast. "Bronwyn\a151you will 
give Aislinn what comfort you can\a151?" 
Bronwyn lifted her head. She had pulled her hair back in a 

manner too severe for her young face, braided very tightly 
and entirely bound with purple yam. The color was striking 
on her, but it reminded him of the Ihlini. It reminded him of 
Tynstar, and the lurid fire he summoned from the air. 
"Aislinn loves you," Bronwyn told him. "When we are 
together\a151here or at the palace\a151she tells me how you make 
her feel." Abruptly she looked away, embarrassed. "Donal\a151 
1 know what there is between meijha and warrior ... but I 
do not think Aislinn does. The Homanans do not share." 
Donal flicked a glance at Sef. The boy listened, but he did 
so from behind a tactful mask. That much he had learned of 
royal customs. 
"Aislinn must leam," Donal said finally, knowing he 
sounded colder than he felt; not knowing how else to sound. 
"You learned. Meghan teamed." 
"Meghan and I were born of the clans." Bronwyn's voice 
was pitched low, as if she recalled Aislinn inside the tent. 
"There is a difference." 
Donal turned to face her directly. "You are nearly Aislinn's 
age. And you and Meghan know her better than anyone. Tell 
me what you would do in Aislinn's place." 
Bronwyn clearly had never considered it. She looked thoughtful, 
then shrugged and spread her hands. Her expression was 
deeply troubled. "I have been taught a warrior may have both 
meijha and cheysula. It is difficult for me to think of it 
differently. But\a151I have heard how Aisiinn speaks of you, 
and how she dreams of the wedding and the marriage\a151" 
Bronwyn stopped short as anguish filled her eyes. "Oh rujho, 
be gentle with her. I think she will never understand." 
"Oh, gods . . ." he said aloud, and men he turned and left 
them both. 
He went straight to the pavilion he shared with Sorcha 
without paying much attention to how he got there. He was 
distantly aware of the normal sounds of the Keep\a151children 
laughing, babies crying, a woman singing, a crow calling\a151 
and myriad other noises. The Keep had stood so long the 
ground underfoot was beaten flat, fine as flour. Grass grew 
only in patches beneath the trees. The wall was a gray-green 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
127 
serpent snaking through the trees, showing a flank of stone. 
Donal smelled roasting meat. 
And then he stood before the slate-gray pavilion he had 
adorned with silver paint; running wolf and flying falcon. The 
breeze caused the oiled fabric to billow as he pulled aside the 
doorflap, then passed through and set the firecaim to smoking. 
Blue-gray, it flowed through the interior like thin. insidious 
fog. 
"Sorcha?" He let the flap settle behind him. 

A slim hand caught the edge of the tapestry curtain dividing 
me sleeping area from the front section of the pavilion. 
He saw Sorcha's face as she pulled the curtain back, and the 
hugeness of her belly. 
"Gods," he said in surprise, having lost track of the 
months upon sight of her. "Are you certain you will not 
bursty 
Sorcha laughed, splaying one hand across her swollen 
belly. "No more than I did the last time." 
Donal crossed to her, kissed her tenderly. "Where is lan?" 
His hands went to her unbound hair and smoothed it back 
from her face. 
"Meghan has him. I sent him out with her, to give me a 
little peace. Bronwyn wanted to, but\a151" She broke off. He 
knew what she would not say, because she had no wish to 
hurt him. And he did not blame-her for her growing distrust 
of his sister. None of them could afford to trust too much to 
an Ihlini, no matter how she was raised. 
Except/or myjehana. 
A brief grimace of pain cut across Sorcha's face. She 
placed a hand against the smalt of her back. "A boy, I think. 
Again. And soon. Very soon." 
"How soon?" He was alarmed by the pallor of her face. 
Beneath his questing hand he felt the contraction in her belly. 
"Sorcha\a151the baby comes already^' 
"Oh, aye . . . impatient little warrior, is he not?" Her 
smile wavered. "Different from lan. Different from the first 
unfortunate boy." She grimaced. "I think\a151I think perhaps I 
had best lie down after all. Help me\a151?" 
He guided her down onto the pallet of pelts they shared. 
Sorcha's tawny hair spread against the fur of a ruddy fox; he 
pulled a doeskin mantle over her and pushed a folded bearskin 
beneath her back for support. "Should I fetch myjehanaT' 
128 Jennifer Roberson 
"Not yet," she answered breathlessly. "Soon. But I want 
to share you with no one for at least a little while." Her eyes 
were green. Half Homanan, Sorcha showed no Cheysuli blood. 
But she had been born and raised in the clan, and her customs 
were all Cheysuli. "Aislinn is here," she said. 
There was bitterness in her tone, and an underlying hostility. 
Never had he heard either from her before. He would 
have questioned her about it, but he saw how her face stretched 
taut with effort. Her hand clung to his as he knelt beside the 
pallet. 
"Aislinn is here," she repeated, and this time he heard 
fear. 
"Aye. Aislinn is here." He had never lied to her before; 

he would not begin now. No more than he would with 
Aislinn. 
"Does she know about me?" 
"She knows." 
Sorcha smiled a little. "Proud, defiant warrior, close-mouthed 
as can be ... letting no one see what goes on inside your 
head or your heart- But I know you, Donal." The tension in 
her face eased as the contraction receded. "1 can imagine 
how difficult it was to find the words." 
"Now is not the time to speak of Aislinn." He stroked her 
hand with his thumb. 
"Tell me what you told her." 
"Sorcha\a151" 
"Tell me what you said." 
He brushed hair out of his face. The urgency in her tone 
worried him. "Gods, Sorcha\a151-this is nonsense . . . there are 
better times to speak of this\a151'' 
"No better time." Her fingers were locked on his hand. "I 
have borne you two sons and now perhaps another. I would 
bear you more willingly; I would do anything you asked me 
to." She swallowed visibly. "But I will not give you up. 1 
will not let you be swallowed up by that witch's Homanan 
daughter." 
"Sorcha\a151you are half Homanan," he reminded her mildly. 
Sweat glistened at her temples. "And I would open my 
veins if I thought it would purge me of my Homanan blood. I 
would cut off a hand if 1 thought it would relieve me of me 
taint. But it would not\a151it would not\a151and all I can do is look 
at my son and thank the gods he has so little Homanan in 
LEGACY OF I Mb. bWUKU 
him." She sucked in a breath against the pain. "Gods, 
Donat\a1511 hate the Homanan in me! 1 would trade anything to 
claim myself all Cheysuli\a151'* 
"But you cannot." He had never heard her speak so 
vehemently, so bitterly or with a spirit so filled with prejudice. 
It seemed as if the pains bared her soul. "Meijha, do 
you forget there is Homanan in me as well?" 
"Gods!" she cried. "It is not the same with you. You are 
the chosen\a151you are the one we have waited for\a151you arc the 
one with the proper blood who will take the Lion from 
Homana and give it back to the Cheysuli\a151" She shut her 
mouth on a cry of pain and bit deeply into her lip. Her fingers 
dug into the flesh of his hand. "Oh Donal, do you see? You 
will leave us all behind. You will turn your back on your 
clan. They will make you into a toy for the Homanans\a151" 
Sorcha writhed against the pallet. "Never forget you are 
Cheysuli. Never forget you are a warrior. Never forget who 
sired you . . . and do not allow the witch's daughter to turn 

you against your heritage with her Homanan ways\a151" 
"Enough'." He said it more sharply man he intended. 
"Sorcha, you are doing yourself harm with this." 
"You do yourself harm." Her eyes were tightly closed 
against the pain. "You\a151do yourself harm ... by leaving the 
clan behind. ..." 
"I cannot rule Homana from the Keep," he said flatly. 
"The Homanans would never accept it.** 
"Do you see?" she asked in despair. "Already they begin 
their theft of you." 
"1 am not leaving," he said. "I will come here as often as 
I may. Sorcha\a151I am not Mujhar yet\a151" 
"But you will wed the Mujhar's daughter, and he will 
make you his son instead of Duncan's\a151" 
"Never." His hand clamped down on hers. "Not that. 
Never. Do you think I am so weak?" 
"Not weak," she gasped. "Divided. Homanan and Cheysuli, 
because they make you so. But 1 beg you, Donal, do one 
thing for me\a151?'' 
He gave up, but only because she needed her strength for 
other things. "Aye." 
"Make the Lion Cheysuii again . . . and your sons and 
daughters as well\a151" 
In horror, he watched her knees come up, tenting me soft 
Jennifer Roberson 
130 
doeskin coverlet. The mound of her belly rolled as she cried 
out. What he had meant to say to her was instantly forgotten; 
he summoned Taj through the /ir-link and sent him to bring 
his mother. 
Alix came at once and met her son just inside the doorflap. 
"You," she said, "must go." 
"Go?" 
"Go- Anywhere. But go away from here." Her hands 
were on one arm, tugging him toward the entrance. "Do as I 
say." 
He did not move, being too big for her to push this way 
and that anymore. "Sorcha is in pain. 1 would rather stay 
with her." 
"Loyalty does you credit, Donal\a151" Alix stopped tugging, 
as if she realized the futility in the effort, and merely pointed 
toward the entrance, "\a151but this is no place for a man about 
to become zjehan." 

"I have been one twice before," he reminded her. "I let 
you shoo me away then\a151perhaps I should have refused." 
"Donal\a151just go. I have no time for you right now." 
Alix\a151still slim in a rose-red gown\a151turned away from him 
and pulled aside the curtain. Silver clasps in her dark braids 
glittered, and then she was gone behind the divider. He heard 
her speak to Sorcha, but could not decipher the words. 
Yet another outcry from Sorcha; Donal walked out of the 
tent into the light of a brilliant day and petitioned the gods for 
the safe delivery of woman and child. 
And came face to face with Aislinn. 
She had shed her cloak, gowned in dark green, and in the 
sunlight her red-gold hair was burnished bronze. Her face 
was very pale. "Finn would not tell me where you were," 
she told him quietly- "He tried to keep me with him. But\a151 
Bronwyn told me the truth. I thought I should come and meet 
my rival." 
She was all vulnerability, suddenly fragile in the tight; pale 
lily on a slender stalk with a trembling, delicate bloom. But 
she was also pride; a little bruised, a trifle shaken, but pride 
nonetheless. As much as claimed by any Cheysuli. 
Donal drew in a deep breath that left him oddly lightheaded- 
"Aislinn\a151the gods know I have done you dishonor 
by keeping Sorcha a secret, but now is not the time." 
From the pavilion there came the muted cry of a woman in 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
131 
labor, and Aislinn's gray eyes widened. "The baby\a151\\ You 
told me the child was due\a151" She broke off, covering her 
mouth with one hand, and her eyes filled up with tears. But 
almost as quickly she blinked them away. "No," she said. 
"My mother told me tears are not the way to win a man's 
regard. Strength, she said, and determination . . . and the 
magic of every woman bom\a151" 
"Aislinn!" He caught her arms and shook her. "By the 
gods, girl, I am not a prize to be won. As for what Electra 
has told you\a151" 
"Then how can I turn your affections to me?" she interrupted. 
"Can I leash you, like a hound? Can 1 hood you, like 
a hawk? Can I bridle you, like a horse?" Her body was rigid 
under his hands. "Or do I give you over to freedom, and 
know I have lost you forever?" 
He heard Sorcha's warning sounding in his head; \a151do not 
allow the witch's daughter to turn you against your heritage\a151 
"No," he said aloud. "I am Cheysuli first." 
"And Homanan last?" Aislinn asked bitterly. "Is this the 
heir my Homanan father chose?" 

His hands closed more tightly upon her arms. Too tightly; 
Aislinn cried out, and he loosed her only with great effort. 
"You push me too far." he warned through gritted teeth. 
"Both of you\a151pushing and pushing and pushing, pulling me 
this way and that\a151dividing my loyalties. What would you 
have me do?\a151divide myself in two? Give each of you half of 
me? What good would that do for you? Salve your wounded 
pride?" 
"Give up\a151" Aislinn stopped dead. The color drained out 
of her face. 
"Give up Sorcha? Is that what you meant to say?" Donal 
shook his head, knowing only he wanted to go away from it 
all. "I would sooner give up myself." He laughed a little, 
albeit with a bitter tone. "For all that, it might be easier." 
Aislinn stared at the ground as if she wished it would 
swallow her up. The sun was blazing off the red-gold of her 
hair. "1 had no right to ask it. I know it. You have told me 
how it is with\a151meijhas and cheysulas. But\a151I will not lie to 
you. I want you for myself." Her head came up and she 
challenged him with a stare. "She has had you longer, but I 
will have you yet." 
Wearily, Donal pushed a strand of hair from Aislinn's 
132 Jennifer Roberson 
face. "You sing the same song. Were it not for me, you 
might be friends." And then he recalled Sorcha's prejudice, 
and knew it could never be. 
There came another cry from the pavilion, but this one did 
not belong to Sorcha. As it rose up to a wail of outraged 
astonishment, Donal knew the travail was done. 
So did Aislinn. White-faced, she turned from him and 
walked regally away. 
But he knew she wanted to run. 
Alix did not send him away when he entered the pavilion. 
She did not seem to notice him at all, being too occupied with 
tending Sorcha and the baby. Softly he approached the partially 
open divider and stopped short. 
Sorcha's eyes were closed; Donal thought she slept. Lines 
of strain were graven in her face. She looked older and very 
weary, but there was peace and contentment in the slackness 
of her mouth. 
"A girl, Donal," Alix said calmly. "You have a daughter 
now." 
He could not move. He stood frozen in place, staring down 
at the bundled baby with her pink, outraged face as she lay 
snug at Sorcha's side, and knew a vast humility. 
"I do not imagine you recall being in a similar position, 
once," Alix said wryly. "I do not recall it so much myself. 

But it was Raissa who helped me bear you. as I have aided 
Sorcha." 
"Granddame," he said, and felt guilty that he had nearly 
forgotten the woman who had died so long before. 
Slowly he knelt down beside the pallet and put a tentative 
finger to the perfect softness of the baby's black-fuzzed head. 
No Homanan girl, this; she had her father's color. 
"Let them sleep. Later, you may hold the girl." Alix rose, 
shaking out her rose-red skirts. Donat saw the faint shine of 
silver threads in Alix's dark brown hair and realized his 
mother, like Finn and Carillon, also aged. But less dramatically. 
Her skin was still smooth, still stretched taut over 
classic Cheysuli bones, and when she smiled it lit her amber 
eyes. "It makes one aware of one's own transience, man or 
woman, and how seemingly unimportant are such things as 
dynastic marriages when a son or daughter is born," she said 
gently. "Does it not?" 
Lt-lJA^Y Uf I Ht. bWUKU 
133 
He rose also. "You heard Aislinn and me outside the 
tent." 
"Bits and pieces. I was too preoccupied to understand it 
all." Alix glanced back at Sorcha and the child. "They will 
do well enough without us. 1 think we can leave them for a 
while." 
This time when she urged him toward the doorflap, he did 
not resist. He went with her willingly. 
He walked with her to the perimeter of the Keep, along me 
moss-grown wall. Unmortared, it afforded all manner of 
vegetation the opportunity to plant roots into cracks and 
crannies, digging between the stones. Ivy, deep red and 
deeper green, mantled the wall against the sunlight. Twining 
flowers climbed up the runners and formed delicate ornamentation; 
jewels within the folds of the velvet gown. He smelled 
wet moss and old stone; the perfume of the place he knew as 
home. Not Homana-Mujhar. Not the rose-red walls and marbled 
halls, hung about with brilliant banners. No, not for 
him. 
Even though it would be. 
"Aislinn has loved you for some time, since she was old 
enough to understand what can be between a man and a 
woman," Alix said gently. "Surely you knew she did." 
"I thought she might outgrow it." 
"Why should she? Do you not wish for love in this marriage?" 
At his frown, his mother laughed. "Oh, 1 know\a151the 
Cheysuli do not speak of love, seeking to keep such things^ 
impossibly private- But you will have to leam to deal with it, 
Donal, as yowjehan and su'fali did." When he said nothing, 
having no answer for her, Alix caught his right hand and 
stopped him beside the wall. She turned the hand over until 

the palm was face-up and the strong brown fingers lay open. 
"With this hand you will hold Homana," she said evenly. 
"You are the hope of the Cheysuli, Donal, and a link in the 
prophecy. Deny mis marriage and you deny your heritage." 
He expelled a brief, heavy breath in an expression of irony. 
"Sorcha said differently. Sorcha said the marriage would 
force me to turn my back on my heritage." 
Alix squeezed his hand and then let it go. "Sorcha 
is\a151bitter." 
"She never was before." He shook his head in bewilderment. 
"Is it because the child was coming?" 
134 Jennifer Roberson 
"Partly." Alix touched him and urged him into motion 
once again. "I do not doubt she was frightened as well as in 
pain\a151the birth was exceedingly easy, but she could not have 
predicted that. As for bitterness. . . ." Alix stopped to pull a 
flower from the earth; delicate, fragile blossom of palest 
violet. "For all these years she has known you would one day 
marry Aislinn, not her, but it was easy to set that knowledge 
aside. Now she cannot. Now she must face it, and she does 
not want to do it." 
"She hates Aislinn. That, I think, I can readily understand; 
I do know what jealousy is. But\a151jehana, she hates the 
Homanans as well." Again he shook his head- "How do I 
deal with that, when I am meant to be Mujhar?" 
Alix cupped the blossom in her hands. "A violet flower 
among the white is easily plucked, Donal. Easily crushed and 
broken. There is no protection from the others when your 
coloring is different-'' She lifted her head and looked at him 
instead of the flower. "I do not speak of blond hair and green 
eyes. I speak of blood, and the knowledge of what one is. 
Prejudiced, aye, because she is more Cheysuli than Homanan\a151 
and yet no one will give her that." 
"In the clans, people do not care. You are half Homanan; 
have you felt different from any other?" 
"Aye," she said softly. "I spent seventeen years with the 
Homanans and twenty-four among the Cheysuli. But still I 
feel mostly Homanan; 1 do not doubt Sorcha does as well." 
"But she was horn to the clan\a151" 
"It does not matter." She lifted me fragile blossom. "This 
flower is violet. It bloomed this color. It will never be able to 
claim itself another color, no matter how hard it tries." She 
smiled and let the blossom fall to the ground, where it settled 
into the trembling carpet of snow-white blooms. "Once it 
might have been purple. But never will it be white." 
Donal stopped walking. He turned to face his mother. 
"Then\a151if I am that vioiet flower, I will never fit in with the 
white Homanans." 

"No," she said. "But why wish to fit in when one must 
rule?" 
He turned her to face the way they had come. "Let us go 
back. 1 want to see my son as well as my newbom daughter.'' 
LEGACY Of- WE. SWORD 
135 
"^fcon?" 
The soft voice intruded into his thoughts. Donal turned, 
shielding the newborn body in his arms, and saw his son 
standing in the doorflap with Meghan at his side. lan's black 
hair was curly as was common in Cheysuli childhood, and bis 
yellow eyes were bright as he gazed at his father. But his 
expression was decidedly reticent. 
Donal put out a hand. "Come, lan . . . come see your new 
rujholla." 
The boy moved quickly across the floor pelts, dropping 
down to kneel at Donal's side. His curiosity was manifest, 
but he did not touch the baby until Donal pulled back the 
linen wrappings and showed him the crumpled face. 
He glanced at Sorcha as she drifted slowly back into sleep. 
"Your turn, meijha\a1511 named the last one." 
Sorcha smiled drowsily. "Isolde, then. I like the soundlan 
and Isolde." 
Donal smiled at his rapt three-year-old son. "She is Isolde, 
lan. And she will require your protection. See how small she 
is?" 
Meghan, who had brought lan soon after Donal had returned 
to his pavilion, moved forward and craned her neck to 
peer over Donal's shoulder. "Black hair," she said, "and 
brown eyes, which will lighten soon enough. A Cheysuli, 
then, with little Homanan about her." 
Sorcha's anile widened, and Donal saw triumph in her 
eyes even as she closed them. 
He glanced up at Finn's daughter. There was no bitterness 
in Meghan's tone, only discovery and matter-of-factness; it 
seemed neither to trouble nor please Meghan that she was me 
image of her Homanan mother: tawny-haired, blue-eyed, fairskinned; 
Carillon's dead sister to the bone. And she claimed 
all of Tourmaline's elegance and grace, even at fifteen years. 
Yet she lived among the clans with a jehan who was clanleader, 
and she felt no lack that she bore Homanan blood in 
her veins. No lack at all. If anything, she was more Cheysuli 
than most because Finn saw to it she was. 
No Homanan marriage/or Meghan. Finn will wed her to a 
warrior. Donal smiled ruefully. But then I am sure she will 
have more than enough to choose from. 
He glanced up at Alix regretfully. "Will you take Isolde? 
Much as I would prefer to stay, 1 promised Carillon I would 

136 Jennifer Roberson 
have Aislinn back by nightfall. And\a151there are things to be 
settled between us." When Alix had taken the baby, Donal 
bent forward and kissed the drowsing Sorcha softly on the 
mouth. "Sleep you well, meijha. You have earned a sound 
rest." 
He rose, scooping lan up into his arms. "And a hug for 
you, small warrior. You will be busy from now on." He 
glanced at Meghan. "My thanks for seeing to him. Soon 
enough you will have your own children to tend.'' 
She laughed, blue eyes dancing in her lovely face. "Not so 
soon, I hope. I wish for a little freedom, first." 
"Do we go?" lan asked as Donal carried him from the 
pavilion. 
"No, small one, only 1 am going. You must stay here." 
He saw Lom get up from his place in the sun by the doorflap 
and shake his heavy coat, yawning widely. 
A cub and a bitch, Lom observed. How symmetrical. 
Donal snorted. A boy and a girl, /ir. There is nothing 
wolflike about either of them. 
Unless the boy bonds with one of my kind. 
Do you say he will? Donal hoped suddenly for greater 
illumination into the bonding process, wondering suddenly if 
all the lir knew which of them was meant for each Cheysuli 
bom. 
Lom paused and lifted one hind leg to scratch, doglike, at 
his belly. No. Such things are left to the gods. 
Taj's shadow passed overhead. Perhaps he will gain a 
falcon. 
Or a hawk. Donal nodded. / would like him to have a 
hawk. How better to honor his grandsire? 
As you do yours? Lom asked. 
Donal, heading toward Finn's green pavilion, glanced sharply 
at the wolf. How do I honor Hale? 
The sword. Taj said. One day, it will be yours, as it was 
ever intended. 
Donal did not respond- Instead, as he approached with 
Meghan, he watched how Sef and Bronwyn sat together in 
front of Finn's pavilion, speaking animatedly. His sister's 
purple-wrapped braid hung over one shoulder, coiling against 
her skirts. Unlike Meghan or Aislinn, Bronwyn lacked conscious 
knowledge of her femininity. She moved and acted 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 137 
more boy than girl, though Donal knew she would outgrow 
it. 

Now, as she laughed and chattered with Sef, he saw how 
she would lack the pure beauty Meghan and Aislinn already 
began to claim, but her light would be undiminished. She was 
his mother come again. 
And who else7 his conscience asked. Is her jehan in her as 
well7 
He stopped by them both, still holding his son, and looked 
down upon mem as they glanced up in laggard surprise. He 
saw how Sef had peeled back his right sleeve to show off the 
feathered band; how Bronwyn had drawn pictures in the dust 
with a broken stick. Runes, not pictures, he noted on closer 
inspection. But none were Cheysuli. 
Bronwyn sprang to her feet and obscured the runes at once, 
hands thrust behind her back as if she meant to hide the stick. 
Purple skirts were filmed with dust, tangled on her boot-tops, 
but she ignored her dishevelment- "I heard the baby has 
come!" 
Troubled, Donal nodded. "The baby has come. A girl. 
Sorcha has named her Isolde." 
"May I see her?" Her face was alight with expectation. 
"No." He almost cursed his shortness. "Not\a151now. She is 
sleeping. So is Sorcha. They need time alone." He saw how 
her bright face fell. "Later, ntjholla." And she was his 
sister, for all she was Tynstar's daughter; he hated to disappoint 
her. She had had no say in what man sired her. 
But he dared not give her the chance to prove herself 
Ihlini. 
Slowly the color spilled out of her face. "What is wrong? 
Is it something I have done? You are so short\a151" 
"No." Again, he said it more sharply than he intended. 
Against his will, he looked once more at the runes she had 
drawn in the dust and then tried to obscure. Odd, alien runes, 
with the look of sorcery. 
"Rujho\a151T' 
"Nothing," he said. "You have done nothing wrong. 
Bronwyn\a151what are those?" He would ignore the runes no 
longer. 
She looked down in surprise at the drawings in the dust, 
then shot a glance at Sef. It was mostly veiled beneath lids 
and lashes, but he saw the silent signal. 
138 Jennifer Roberson 
As tfshe means to protect him . . . "Bronwyn!" The tone 
was a command, and he knew she would not ignore it. 
**A secret game," she answered promptly- **We took an 
oath not to tell." Deliberately, she erased toe rest of the runes 
with the toe of one booted foot, 

He looked into her face and saw nothing of guile, only me 
expression she normally wore. And that mask he could not 
lift. "Bronwyn\a151" But he broke it off when Finn came out 
of the tent. With him was Aislinn; Donal's brows slid up in 
surprise. He had not thought she would seek him on purpose. 
Before Finn could protest, Donal set lan into his arms. 
"We must go, or me sun will set before we reach Mujhara." 
He grinned as ian locked an arm around Finn's neck and 
snuggled closer. Without thinking about it, Finn settled the 
boy more comfortably; he had had practice enough with 
Meghan. 
Donal bent and kissed lan briefly on the forehead. "Care 
for your new rujholla. I will come back to you when I may." 
He turned and helped a silently staring Aislinn mount her 
horse. Then he retrieved the reins of his own mount and 
swung up into the saddle. Even as he settled, Lom was at the 
horse's side and Ta} was in the air. 
Finn reached out and caught one rein. "How does Carillon 
fare?" 
Donal saw the true concern in his uncle's face. For all they 
hardly saw one another now their paths had parted, Donal 
knew mere remained a link that would always bind Finn and 
Carillon. Prince and liege man had spent five years in exile 
together; two more when the prince had become Mujhar. It 
was treachery that had parted them, and a broken oath mat 
held- 
Donal glanced briefly at Aislinn. But he saw no use in 
lying; she herself had marked her father's deterioration. "He 
ages," he said quietly. "Each day\a151more so than most men, 
1 think. It is the disease . . ." He paused. "Is there nothing 
to be done?" 
The sun shone off the heavy gold bands clasping Finn's 
bare arms as he rubbed idly at the chestnut's muzzle. He said 
nothing for a moment, but when he looked up into the 
sunlight Donal saw how he too had aged. 
Gods, they shared so much . . . and now they share so 
tittle. 
Lt-^J/V^Y Ut- 1 Mt. &WUKU 
"Tynstar did not give Carillon anything he would not have 
suffered anyway, one day," Finn said tonelessly. "He merely 
brought it on prematurely. We cannot undo what the gods see 
fit to bestow upon a man." 
"He is the Mujhar'." Donal lashed out. "Can the gods not 
see how much Homana needs him?" 
Finn sighed. "No doubt there are reasons for it, Donal. 
The gods do nothing without them." Abruptly he slapped the 
stallion's shoulder. "Go back, then. See Aislinn safely to her 
jehan. Do not tarry here longer if Carillon is waiting." 
He serves him still . . . he would not admit it, but he does. 
In his heart, if nowhere else. He shifted in the saddle. "Aye, 
su'fali. Have you a message for him?" 

Finn lifted a hand to block out the blinding sunlight. 
"Aye," he said. "Tell him I will come to Homana-Mujhar." 
"You will?" Donal stared. "You have not been there in 
seventeen years!" 
Finn smiled. "I think it unlikely I would miss my harani's 
wedding. I will come to Homana-Mujhar." 
Donal laughed, and then he reached down to clasp his 
uncle's arm as it hugged lan closely. "My thanks, su'fali 
... it has been too long. I think even the servants miss 
you." 
"No. They miss the stories they told about me ... no 
doubt they want fresh fodder." Finn slapped the stallion on 
his broad chestnut rump. "Go. Do not let the Mujhar fret 
about his daughter." 
"No," Donal agreed. But I will fret about mine, and with 
no one the wiser for it. He motioned for Sef to mount his 
horse. "Tarry no longer, Sef. 1 do not wish to lose the sun 
before we reach Mujhara." 
The boy caught his reins from the tree and climbed up into 
his saddle. He looked intently down at Bronwyn. "Perhaps I 
will see you again." 
She sti!l clasped her arms behind her back. Her amber eyes 
were slitted against the sunlight; they almost looked yellow. 
"Aye. Come back. Or I will come to Homana-Mujhar." 
Sef eyed Donal. "If my lord allows me to." 
"You will come to Homana-Mujhar, Bronwyn," Aislinn 
put in. "You and Meghan. When I am Queen, I will have to 
have women by me\a151I would have both of you." 
Jennifer Roberson 
140 
Finn frowned at once. "Meghan does not belong at court. 
Her place is in the Keep." 
"Jehan," the girl protested softly. "If Aislinn needs me 
there, of course 1 will go." 
His tone was implacable. "This Keep is your home, Meghan. 
Homana-Mujhar would stifle you." 
"Could i not leam it for myself?" She put a slim hand on 
his bare arm, and Donal saw how already she claimed a 
woman's gentle guile. "The Keep will always be my home, 
just as it is yours. But did you not spend years out of it?" 
"Aye," Finn said harshly. "And you have heard what 
such folly brought me." His eyes were in AisHnn, but his 
tone indicated it was not the girl he saw. "The witch may no 
longer be there ... but her memory survives." 

TWELVE 
D< 
'onal's personal chambers were, perhaps, a bit ostentatious 
for a Cheysuli warrior better accustomed to the Keep\a151 
and preferring it\a151but he could not deny that the luxuries 
conferred a comfort he occasionally appreciated. Thick woven 
carpets of rich muted tones softened the hard stone floor, 
woolen tapestries of every hue hid the blank rock walls. A 
single fat white beeswax candle set in each of four shadowed 
casement ledges turned me stained glass into jewel-toned 
panoramas of Homanan history. 
The chamber was warm as well; Donal's body-servant had 
lighted a fire that tinged the air with the smell of oak and ash. 
Donal did not doubt Torvald had also set warming pans 
beneath the bedclothes of his draped tester bed, but he had no 
intention of seeking his rest so soon. The sun had barely gone 
down. Aislinn had been delivered. It was early yet, and a task 
was left to do. 
On the table near the bed rested a flagon of rich red 
Ellasian wine and four silver goblets. Donal filled two goblets, 
then motioned to Sef. 
The boy, hanging back by the half-open door, stared, 
"Me, my lord?" 
"There is no one else in the room." Donal smiled. "1 
poured the wine for you- Will you join me in a toast?" 
Slowly, Sef moved forward. He accepted the goblet from 
Donal's hand and peered into the wine-filled depths. Light 
from candles and fire set the goblet's contents aflame and 
bathed Sets pale face with a rosy glow. The hammered silver 
141 
142 Jennifer Roberson 
cast sparks of light into his eerie eyes. "My lord," he said, 
"a toast?" 
Donal raised his goblet. "To my daughter- To Isolde of the 
Cheysuli." 
Sefs breath fogged the silver of the goblet as he peered 
nervously at Donal. "But\a151shouldn't this be shared with 
someone other than meT1 
Donal shrugged. "Perhaps, were I the sort to care about 
such things. But, I can hardly ask the Mujhar to bless the 
birth of my bastard daughter." Donal did not smile. "You are 
here with me, and I would have you share my toast." 
Sef stared at him over the rim of his silver goblet. Then, 
grinning suddenly, he drank deeply. 
Watching the boy, Donal was glad of his companionship. 

He felt flat, empty, as if he yearned for a fulfillment he could 
not quite comprehend. He only knew he felt cheated of time 
with his meijha, his son and his daughter, and all in the name 
of Homana. 
Sorcha has the right of it. Fearing me for a shapechanger, the 
Homanans will do what they can to strip my Cheysuli habits 
from me and put Homanan in their place. 
Instinctively he looked for Taj and Lorn, knowing no 
Homanan in all the world could strip him of those habits. 
Because if he were, there would be no Prince of Homana. 
There would be no Donal at all. 
Lom lay curled upon the tester bed, half hidden behind 
gauzy draperies. Like Donal, the wolf did not ignore luxury 
when it was offered. Taj had settled upon his perch in a 
comer of the chamber, setting beak to wing to smooth the 
shining feathers. 
"My lord?" It was Sef, upper lip painted with wine until a 
tongue reached up to carry the smear away. "You said once 1 
could ask you any question." 
"Aye." Donal sat down on the nearest stool. "Why? Have 
you one?" 
SeFs face was very solemn in the muted wash of candlelight. 
"Aye, my lord. I wondered why you do not like your 
sister." 
Donal nearly dropped his goblet. ."Sef! What makes you 
ask such a thing?'' 
"You said I could." 
Donal, still shocked, stared at the boy whose set jaw 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
143 
indicated a burgeoning stubbornness. "But\a151that question," 
Donal said, when he could make sense out of his words 
again. "What would make you ask it? Of course I like my 
rujholla." 
Sef averted his eyes and stared down into his goblet, as if 
his brief courage had failed him. "My lord\a151when we were 
at the Keep today . . . 1\a151" He shrugged with discomfiture. 
"I just\a151thought perhaps you didn't like her. I mean\a151you 
seemed troubled by something." The eyes flicked up to meet 
Donal's again. "Was it because of what Bronwyn drew in the 
dust?" 
Donal tossed down the remaining wine in his goblet and set 
it down on the rug with a thump. The boy's words troubled 
him deeply, but not because Sef had noticed his reaction at 
the Keep. Because he had reacted at all. 
"A game," he said. "She said it was a game between the 
two of you." 

"She told me it was\a151magic." Sef hunched thin shoulders. 
"I\a151I didn't want to draw the signs, but she said if I was to 
prove 1 was grown\a151" Color came and went in the fair face. 
"She said I was to draw the same signs she drew, because we 
could make the magic stronger. But\a1511 was afraid." Sefs 
fingers clutched the goblet more tightly. "I remembered what 
you said about Cheysuli meaning no one any harm, but\a1511 
was afraid. She said I had to. And then she\a151laughed." 
Abruptly he drank more wine. It slopped against his face and 
washed over the rim of the goblet, trickling down the front of 
his livery. This time he did not lick the spillage from his 
upper lip. "My lord\a151Bronwyn frightens me. . . ." 
And me. But Donal did not say so. 
He bent and caught up his goblet, then rose and went 
to the table to fill the cup again. He did not look at the 
boy, did not consider the contradiction between the boy's 
words and his earlier actions, being too lost within his 
thoughts, and when he heard the voice at first he thought it 
was Sets. 
And then he realized it was Rowan, standing in the open 
doorway. "The Mujhar desires your presence in the Great 
Hall at once." 
Rowan's smooth Cheysuli face, as always, expressed controlled 
calm neutrality. But Donal heard a faint note of tension 
in his tone. 
144 Jennifer Roberson 
He frowned. "I have just now gotten back from the Keep. 
Is it truly so important?" He made a gesture that included the 
remaining goblets. "Can you not join us in a drink to toast 
my daughter's birth?" 
The candles sent a wash of light and shadows across 
Rowan's dark face. He wore a plain doublet of dark blue 
velvet, freighted with silver at the collar; it glinted in the 
candlelight. "Electra," he said, "is free." 
Sef gasped, shocked, then drew back awkwardly into me 
shadows, as if he knew it was not his place to interrupt prince 
and general. He clutched the goblet but did not drink. 
A blurted denial died on Donal's tongue. He had only to 
look at Rowan's face to know the truth. "How?" he asked 
instead. 
"We do not, as yet, have all the information we need. A 
messenger came\a151" Rowan shrugged. "The news was simply 
that the Queen had disappeared." 
"From the Crystal IsleT' Donal shook his head. "There 
were Cheysuli with her!" 
"They are dead," Rowan said. "Simply\a151dead. It appears 
they were poisoned. As for the Homanan guards . . . once 
the Cheysuli were dead, Electra was free to use her magic." 
Unsteadily, Donal set his goblet down on the table. 
* *Cheysuli\a151murdered?' * 

He could not conceive of how it had been accomplished. 
Cheysuli warriors with attentive /t'r did not succumb to poison, 
not when they guarded a known witch. Not when they 
guarded the woman Tynstar called his own. 
"Poison," he said intently, recalling his bout with the 
same. "Could she have grown it, or had it grown?" 
"All food was brought in from Hondarth. All food," 
Rowan said, "The Cheysuli inspected it." 
"Tynstar," Donal said instantly. 
The faintest flicker of consternation creased Rowan's brow. 
"Every precaution was taken." His voice, once untroubled, 
now was underscored with frustration. "She was guarded by 
Cheysuli for that very purpose. No Ihlini could have gotten 
past the warriors." 
Donal, frowning, chewed at his bottom lip. "I would not 
put it beyond Electra's abilities to concoct the poison herself, 
with Tynstar's help. They are linked. How else could Electra 
have entered Aislinn's mind?" 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
145 
Rowan shook his head. The firelight picked out the faintest 
flecks of silver in his thick black hair. "All in all, it is less 
important to know how it was accomplished than to discover 
where she is. Where she is Tynstar will also be ... and he is 
the one we must slay." 
"Then\a151it is war." Donal felt the breath leave his chest. 
"By the gods\a151it is\a151" 
"Did you think it would never come?" Rowan said grimly. 
"Did you believe the Mujhar spoke of the possibility out of 
boredom, having nothing else to do?" 
Donal heard the faint undertone of scorn. Aye, he was due 
mat from Rowan. Too often the general had watched Carillon's 
heir seek escape from princely duties. Too often mat 
heir had turned his back on Homana-Mujhar to spend his time 
at the Keep. 
The gods know Rowan has sacrificed enough for his lord. 
He would expect me to do the same. 
But for the moment, he put off the guilt and lost himself in 
consideration. "You wish to know where Tynstar is?" He 
frowned, staring blindly toward the hearth. "He is in Solinde. 
He will rouse the nobles in me name of Bellam, their fallen 
king, and in the name of Electra. He needs her. To the 
people, she is the rightful Queen of Solinde. And he will 
promise sorcerous aid from the god of the netherworld . . . 
the Solindish, having turned to such things before, will turn 
to it again." 
The dark flesh drawn so taut over Rowan's prominent 
cheekbones softened just a little. He did not smile, but a 

weight seemed to lift from his velvet-clad shoulders. "You 
have more awareness than I expected\a151I thought Carillon 
would have to explain it all to you." 
Donal shook his head intently. "I have learned more over 
the years than you may know, for all I was a poor student. 
But I see it more clearly now." He thought again of Electra, 
free; Electra, aiding Tynstar. Oh gods, how do we stop the 
carnage that will come of this alliance? He blew out a breath 
and looked at Rowan. "We will have to go to Solinde-" 
There was a glint of appreciation in Rowan's eyes. "We 
move an army into Solinde. Our borders are patrolled, but we 
will need to send aid, and soon. We cannot afford to let 
Tynstar breach our borders." 
"When?" 
146 Jennifer Roberson 
"That is for Carillon to say. But I think you will know 
soon enough, if you go to see him as he wishes." 
"Of course." Donal looked for the boy. "Sef\a151the time is 
your own. I will send for you if I need you.*' 
"Aye, my lord\a151my lord\a151!" The boy hastened forward as 
Donal turned to go. "My lord\a151if you go to war . . . will 
you take me with you?" 
Donal looked down on the anxious boy. "War, i have 
heard, is not particularly pleasant. Perhaps you would do 
better staying here." 
"I'd rather go with you." Sets tone was defiantly adamant, 
but his thin face was hollowed with fear. 
/ am his only security, Donal realized in surprise. He 
would rather go with me into danger than stay behind in 
safety. 
He set one hand on Sets thin shoulder. "I will not leave 
you, Sef. Your service is with me." 
The Great Halt lay deep in shadow. The candleracks were 
crowded with pale, fat tapers, but all had been snuffed out. 
Donal smelled the faint odor of beeswax and smoking wicks; 
that, and the scent of dying coals. The firepit\a151a trench 
stretching the length of the massive hall\a151was heaped with 
ash and glowing coals. The center of the hall was illuminated 
only by the pit, and a single torch in a bracket near the 
throne. 
For a moment, night-blinded by distorting shadows, Donal 
believed the place deserted- He stared down the length of the 
hall, frowning into the darkness, but then\a151as his eyes became 
accustomed to the glow from the firepit coals\a151he saw 
Carillon at last. 
He sat sunken into the ancient wooden throne carved in the 
shape of a lion. It crouched on curling paws with claws 
extended, gilded with golden paint. The headpiece was a 

snarling face, rearing up over Carillon's head. The lion seemed 
almost to spring out of the darkness as if it sought prey. 
The torch cast flickering light across the wood, glinting on 
me gold. Illumination painted Carillon's bearded face and 
crept down to silver the knife at his belt. A Cheysuli longknife 
with a wolf-shaped hilt, made and once owned by Finn- 
Donal halted before the dais. He felt oppressed by me huge 
hall. The arching hammer-beamed limbers loomed over his 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
147 
head; the far wall, full of weapons, crests and leaded casements, 
menaced him as it never had before. He took a deep 
breath and tried to steady the banging of his heart. 
"Rowan\a151told me." His voice echoed in the vastness of 
the blackened hall. 
Carillon did not stir. "Did he? Did he tell you what it 
means?" 
After a moment, Donal nodded. "It means war has come 
at last." 
Slowly Carillon leaned forward. The torch behind me throne 
spilled light down his back, setting the crimson velvet of his 
doublet aglow like a dim beacon amid the shadows of the 
dais. "War was expected. 1 am not taken unaware by the 
news. But\a151the manner of it is somewhat unexpected." He 
put his age-wracked hands to his weary face. His fingers 
massaged the flesh of his brow and pushed back a lock of hair 
from his eyes. "Electra, with Tynstar\a151after all these years 
... we face potential disaster." 
Donal stepped forward. "We face war, my lord. Forget 
those who are involved, and think only upon the strategies 
necessary." 
The hands dropped from the face. Carillon actually smiled. 
"Do you seek to teach me what war is about?" But before 
Donal could answer, he waved a twisted hand. "No, no, say 
nothing. The mood, for the moment, has passed. It is only 
that I recalled what she did to me so many years ago\a151how 
she nearly castrated me, without even touching a blade. Ah, 
no\a151her weapon was merely herself. Gods\a151but what a woman 
she was." Stiffly, he pushed himself up from the throne. "1 
do not expect you to understand. But what you must comprehend 
is that paired, they are doubly dangerous. Tynstar will 
use her to gather all the Solindishmen he will need\a151me 
warhost will be massive. It will be an exceedingly difficult 
conflict." He moved to the torch and took it down from its 
bracket. "Donal\a151do you do as I bid you?" 
Donal watched him step off the dais and walk purposefully 
toward the far end of the hall. "Usually," he answered 
cautiously. 
"Then do so now." Carillon's voice echoed. "Come with 
me to the Womb of the Earth." 

A grue ran down DonaPs spine. The hairs stood up on the 
148 Jennifer Roberson 
back of his neck. "1 have\a151heard of it," he said. "In the 
histories of my race." 
Carillon took the light with him, leaving Donal in the 
shadowed darkness of the throne. "Now you wilt see it, 
Donal. Now you will go where I have gone," 
"You!" Donal turned to stare after the Mujhar. "You have 
been to the Womb of the Earth?" 
"A Homanan." Carillon's tone was scored with caustic 
irony. "Aye, 1 have. I thought Finn might have told you." 
"There are secret things in every man's life." Donal belatedly 
followed in Carillon's wake. "My su'fali does not tell 
me everything . . . nor, apparently, do you." He stopped 
short as Carillon halted at the edge of me firepit. 
"Here," the Mujhar said. "The entrance is\a151here." 
Donal frowned. His gesture encompassed the tiles of the 
floor. "Here?" 
"Blind," Carillon muttered in disgust. "A Cheysuli 
warrior\a151and blind." He thrust me torch into Donal's hands 
and stepped over the rim of the firepit. Before Donal could 
blurt out his surprise, the Mujhar kicked aside unlighted 
wood and pushed away the residue of former fires. 
Donal coughed as a layer of ask rose into the air. Carillon 
bent down and grasped an ash-filmed iron ring set into the 
bottom of the trench. Donal heard the grate of metal on stone, 
and then Carillon went down on one knee. His breath was 
ragged in his throat. 
"Carillon\a151?" Donat moved forward at once, bending to 
touch one hunched shoulder. "My lord\a151?" 
Carillon shook his head and waved a hand. "No\a151no\a151I 
am well enough. But\a151I think it will require a younger, 
straighler back." Slowly he rose, one hand pressing against 
his spine. "Give me the torch. The task is yours to do." 
Donal handed him the torch and stepped into the firepit. 
Frowning, he bent and grasped the ring with both hands, 
half-expecting to flinch from the warmth of the metal. But it 
was cool to the touch, though gritty with ash and charcoal. 
He spread and braced his legs, gathering his strength. 
Then, grunting with the effort, he peeled back the iron plate 
that formed a lid and let it fall clanging against the stone. He 
stared down into blackness. 
Stale air engulfed his face. Instantly he lunged backward, 
seeking a safer distance. "Gods," he said, "down thereT' 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
149 

"Why not?" Carillon asked. "The last man down there 
was me." 
Donal scowled. He knew what Carillon did. The Mujhar 
had only to appeal to his pride, and his invitation became a 
thing Donal had to do. 
"I have the light," Carillon sounded suspiciously amused. 
"I will lead the way." 
"Should I summon my fir?" Donal said with subtle condescension, 
though he still felt genuine consternation. 
"No. There are plenty of them where we go." Carillon 
stepped past Donal and slowly made his way down the narrow 
stairs. 
Donal was left alone in the darkness of the hall. After a 
moment, he followed the guttering torch. 
It is a hole in the earth, Donal thought. A deep, utterly 
black hole, seeking to swallow me up. Down he went, following 
the Mujhar. Carillon has gone mad. The news of Electro's 
escape has driven him over the edge. But even as he thought 
it, he knew it was not true. Electra's escape would simply 
make Carillon more careful in his planning. 
He could hardly see, for the torch Carillon carried smoked 
badly in the darkness, casting shadows into indistinct planes 
and hollows so that walls merged with ceiling and the steps, 
shallow and tapering, faded into opacity. He put one hand 
against the nearest wall, to steady, himself. 
The surface was cool, growing more damp with every step. 
He smelled the moldy odor of dampness, the spice of ancient 
stone. It filled his senses with the perfume of agedness, and 
his belly with trepidation. 
"There are a hundred and two of them." Carillon's voice 
echoed oddly in the narrow staircase. "I counted them, once." 
"A hundred and two?" 
"Steps.** Carillons's brief laugh was distorted. "What did 
you think I meant? Demons?" 
Donal did not laugh. His bare arms and face were filmed 
with clammy moisture. His hair hung limply against his 
shoulders and fell into his eyes. "How much farther?" 
"We are here." The echo sounded closer. Torchlight flared 
up to fill me passageway and Donal saw that they stood in a 
space the size of a privacy closet. The Mujhar waited. Against 
me blackness, painted by torchlight, his hair formed a silver 
nimbus. "Do you see?" Carillon pointed. 
150 Jennifer Roberson 
Donal looked. He saw almost immediately what the Mujhar 
indicated: a line of runes carved into the damp stone walls. 
Time and seepage had shallowed the figures until they were 
little more than faint greenish tracings, but Donal recognized 

the shapes. 
He looked at Carillon. "Cheysuli built this palace. It does 
not surprise me that in the very foundations would be the Old 
Tongue runes." 
"Firstborn runes." Carillon did not smile. "It was your 
father who brought me here, Donal. With no explanation, he 
brought me here to show me the Womb of the Earth, so 1 
would know what it was to be Cheysuli." 
Quick resentment flared in Donal's chest. "You are 
Homanan. No man save a warrior can know what it is to be 
Cheysuli." 
"For four days, I did. It was\a151necessary." Carillon put 
out a hand to the wall, seeking me proper stone. He found it, 
pressed, and a portion of the wall turned on edge. 
A gust of stale air rushed out of the vault, but it was tinged 
with the tang of life. Shut up the place may have been, but it 
was not a deathtrap. A man could go in with impunity. 
Carillon thrust the torch through the opening and the flames 
lit up the darkness. Donal, still hanging back at the bottom of 
the steps, saw the merest trace of creamy color within the 
vault, and the sheen of polished marble. 
The torchlight was cruel to Carillon's face. Donal saw 
every crease, every line, every etching emphasized by the 
flames. But the eyes were endlessly patient. 
He stepped past the Mujhar and entered the cream-colored 
vault. Torchlight danced and hissed, sending the shadows 
scuttling up walls and ceiling into cracks and crevices. The 
walls seemed almost to move as he entered, and he saw how 
me gold-veined marble took life from the roaring flames. 
Lir. Lir upon fir, leaping out of the stone. He saw bear and 
hawk and owl and boar, fox and wildcat and wolf. He saw 
all the lir and more, lining every inch of the marble walls and 
ceiling. No surface was untouched, uncarved. 
"Cheysuli i'halla shansu," Carillon said very quietly. 
'Vo'/iai, cheysu, Mujhar." 
Donal spun and faced the man. The words had been fluent 
and unaccented: May there be Cheysuli peace upon you, and 
accept this man, this Mujhar. He almost thought it was a 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
151 
Cheysuli who spoke the Old Tongue. But it was Carillon, 
Homanan to the bone, who faced him in the vault. 
He drew in a careful breath. "Are you not a little 
premature?" 
"Because I ask the gods to accept you?" Carillon smiled. 
"No. Acceptance may be requested at any time; only occasionally 
is it given when one asks it." For a moment, he said 

nothing. When be spoke again, his voice was eloquently 
gentle, as if he spoke to a simple child. "Donal\a151you will be 
Mujhar. But it is up to you to make your peace with it if me 
gods are to accept you." 
Resentment flared; he thought of Sorcha, begging him not 
to leave his heritage behind. And here was Homanan Carillon 
admonishing him the same. "My tahimorra is quite clear, my 
lord Mujhar," he said with a deadly pointedness. "1 accepted 
it long ago, since neither you nor the gods\a151nor my jehan\a151 
ever gave me a choice." 
Carillon did not indicate that the answer\a151or tone\a151troubled 
him in die least. He seemed supremely indifferent to Donal's 
feelings, as if what his heir thought was of no importance to 
him when weighed against the balance of the present and me 
future. 
"Look around you, Donal," he said gently. "No man who 
is to be Mujhar can avoid facing his heritage. Duncan proved 
mat to me when he brought me here. For all I am not 
Cheysuli, he made me see it was your race which made 
Homana strong. I accepted it and, for a brief time, I accepted 
me gift the gods saw fit to give me. For me, it was held 
within those depths." He nodded in the direction behind 
Donal's head. "For you, it may be something else." 
Slowly Donal glanced around the vault. Gold and ivory 
gleamed. Momentarily he thought he saw a falcon's wingtip 
move; then he saw me patch of blackness in the floor. It was 
a hole. A perfectly round hole, extending into me depths. 
"Oubliette," he breathed. Swiftly he looked at Carillon as 
the implications came very clear. "You do not mean\a151" 
Carillon's voice was perfectly steady. "For me, it was 
required. For you\a151I cannot say. It is a thing between you 
and me gods." 
Donal moved closer to the oubliette. The torchlight was 
swallowed up, and he could see nothing past the perfectly 
rounded rim. Nothing at all. 
152 Jennifer Roberson 
And yet he saw everything. 
He closed his eyes. The iron collar of comprehension was 
locked around his throat, "When will the marriage be made?" 
"Within the month." Carillon sounded neither surprised 
nor pleased, as if he had expected the comprehension. "It 
gives us time to gather guests so it can all be done quite 
properly. I cannot have Tynstar believing he has frightened 
me into this move merely to secure the throne." 
"Of course." Donal was aware of an odd tack of emotion 
in himself. Shock? He thought not. Perhaps it was merely 
that there was no more room for vacillation. "And the march 
into Solinde?'' 
"Within two months after the wedding." Carillon did not 
smile. "It gives you time to beget an heir." 

The flames roared in the marble vault with its ivory menagerie. 
"Do you take the torch with you?" 
"Of course. It is a part of the thing." 
Donal nodded. Curiously, he felt no fear, no desperation, 
no resentment of Carillon's calm pronouncement of his fate. 
He merely felt that all of it had to be done, in order to temper 
the links in the chain they forged. 
He smiled at Carillon. "Ja'hai-na, my lord Mujhar. 
Cheysuli i'halla shansu." 
THIRTEEN 
I
H
Ie heard the scrape of stone on stone; the sibilant grate of 
limestone wall against marble floor. The torch was gone, 
leaving only the crackle of vanishing flames in his ears and 
me blossom of fading fire in his eyes. When the noise and the 
light were gone, he was left alone in darkness. 
Donal shivered. The vault was cool, but he thought the 
quiver through his body came from more than merely that. 
He was not precisely afraid, but neither was he perfectly at 
ease. Given the choice again, he might walk out of the vault 
instead of allowing the Mujhar to leave him. 
He sucked in a belly-deep breath, held it a moment, then 
released it. He shut his eyes, seeking to measure the darkness 
of the vault against the darkness all men claimed, and found 
it brighter behind his lids. He opened them again. 
"Shansu," he said, to see if the word would echo. It did, 
but oddly, falling away into the oubliette that gaped in the 
floor of the vault. 
He put out his hand toward the wall that formed a door. He 
found it silk-smooth from the skill of the master craftsman 
who had brought the lir to life. Like the walls, the door was 
made of marble except for the corridor side, which was dark, 
pitted limestone. Through the darkness, he knew this side 
was a perfect creamy ivory, veined with purest gold. In 
another palace, it would be a monument for all to admire; in 
Homana-Mujhar, it was a place of subtle secrets. 
"Ja'hai," he said. Slowly, he moved away from the wall. 
The edge of the pit felt near. Carefully, he poised himself on 
153 
154 Jennifer Roberson 
the rim, and knelt to make his obeisance to the gods. 

"Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan. cheysu." 
He tucked his boots beneath him, settling his knees against 
the marble. His palms he pressed flat against the floor; his 
fingers curled over me circular rim of me oubliette. He 
bowed his head and opened himself to what me gods would 
send him. 
Silence. Darkness. A perfect cessation of movement. 
He sat. He felt me beating of his heart. He felt the rush of 
blood through his veins. He heard the quiet whisper of his 
breathing. He let himself go. 
Slowly. 
One piece at a time. 
He freed himself from the bindings of his body, and let his 
spirit expand. He felt his awareness slipping away. 
He let it slip\a151 
\a151and then it came rushing back. 
Light blazed up in the vault. He stared blindly at the 
marble wall so full of shining /ir, and saw the shadow cast 
upon it. 
Slender. Hooded. Cloaked. 
Moving toward me\a151 
\a151and the torch raised to strike him down. 
Donal thrust himself upward, spinning in place at the edge 
of the oubliette. He saw only the outline of the shrouded 
figure; no face, merely two delicate, slender hands. And me 
torch. 
The flames bumed his eyes, now used to darkness, and he 
knew the fire would blind him. 
In silence, he thrust up his bare left arm. He felt the heat of 
the flames as they scorched his flesh; he smelled the stench of 
the charnelhouse. Pain blossomed. He heard himself cry out. 
Again the torch thrust for his face; again he thrust it away. 
He felt the burned flesh of his arm crack, and the sticky 
wetness of blood. 
The attack had done its work. Off-balance, teetering on the 
brink, Donal reached out to catch the assassin's arm and 
caught the flames instead. He fell backward into darkness. 
With a muted scream, he stretched out his arms and tried to 
catch the rim. 
Fingers scraped. Bone bruised. Clawing grip slipped and 
released. 
His head, thrown back on an arching neck. knocked against 
the edge of the marble pit. 

Tumbling. 
Blind, he felt his body twisting helplessly. He had no 
coordination. A hand scrabbled briefly against a wall; an 
elbow banged; bootleather scrapped itself raw. But mostly he 
tumbled, touching nothing but air. 
Blind. Deaf. Tasting the hot acid spurt of bile into his 
throat. 
And then he opened his mouth and shouted a denial of his 
fate. 
His arm dragged briefly against the silk-smooth, rounded 
wall. Muscles protested, stretching; he heard the chiming 
scrape of metal against the marble. 
His ftr-band. 
Gods\a151I am a Cheysuii warrior! Why fall when S can fly\a151? 
He thrust out both arms. Human arms, lacking feathers or 
falcon bones. Frenziedly he reached for ^r-shape, but nothing 
answered his call. 
Slow . . . it is so slow . . . I will never strike the ground. 
And if he did not strike the ground, perhaps he would not 
die. 
He felt the air against his body. There was no wind, except 
air rushing past as he fell. The part of him that was falcon, 
the part that understood the patterns of flight realized he 
would have to slow himself significantly if he was to alter a 
downward fall into the uprush of life-saving flight. 
He twitched. Sweat broke out on his body. He reached for 
the shapechange again. 
Upside down. The jerk of trapped air against outstretched 
wings. 
Carefully he tipped one wing, swung over, and tried to 
angle a climb. But he had miscalculated. The sudden change 
in size and distribution of his weight sent him slicing through 
me air, directly at the wall. His fall was curbed, but now his 
momentum smashed him toward the marble. 
The falcon's wings strained toward even flight. Willpower 
lifted him upward, veering away from the wall. And yet the 
oubliette, in its purity of form, nearly defeated him. The left 
wingtip caught the silk of the marble and the vibration ran up 
into his body. His direction changed. He slipped sideways 
into the opposite side. 
156 Jennifer Roberson 
Left wing snapping with dull finality. 
Somehow, he flogged the air. Pain screamed through his 
hollow bones and reverberated in his skull. Still, somehow, 
he flew. Perhaps he had not fallen as far as he had feared. He 
flew, desperately shedding pinfeathers, and reached the edge 

of the pit. 
Falling. 
He felt the floor rise up to strike him, battering brittle 
bones, and then he lost the shapechange. In human-form, 
Donal flopped across the stone- 
Sound filled up the vault. He heard it clearly: a husky, 
raspy, throaty sobbing, as if it came from a man with no 
breath left to cry aloud. 
He was wet with sweat. His leathers were soaked, rank 
with the smell of his fear. He lay belly-down on the floor of 
the vault and pressed his face into the stone, compressing 
flesh against the bone. 
No light. 
The torch was gone. He lay in total darkness. But for the 
moment he did not care; all he wanted was to know he was 
alive. 
His left arm, he knew, was broken. An injury in fir-shape 
translated to the same in human form. How badly the bone 
was broken he could not say; the dull snap of his falcon's 
wing indicated it was not a simple fracture. It was possible 
me bone had shattered. Bound, it might heal, but it was 
difficult to bind up flesh already badly burned. 
' 'Lir,'' he said aloud. It hissed in the darkness of the vault. 
He gathered what strength he could and sent the appeal 
through the link. Lir . . . by the gods, how I need you! 
When he could, Donal pulled his sound arm back toward 
his body, doubling the elbow beneath his ribs. He tensed, 
levered himself up, then curled up onto his knees to sit upon 
his legs. The left arm he cradled briefly against his belly, 
rocking gently on his heels as if he were a child, but left off 
both cradling and rocking almost immediately. It hurt too 
much to move or touch the arm. 
"My thanks," he said aloud, and heard the hoarseness of 
his voice. "If this was the test of acceptance ... I would not 
care to repeat it." 
He tried to regulate his breading. He tried to hoard his 
waning strength. Lir-shape was gone, he knew; he was in too 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 157 
much pain to hold either form. But it would do little good if 
he could. With the wall shut, even a wolf or falcon would 
know captivity. 
He felt the sweat of pain drip off his face. He shut his eyes 
and waited. 
"Donal-" 
A band of dull pain cinched his brow like a fillet of heavy 
iron. His lip bled from where he had bitten it. He tasted the 
salt-copper tang. Sweat ran down his face; no more the damp

ness of fear. 
He dared not open his mouth, even to ease his lip, or he 
would disgrace himself. 
"Donal." It was Carillon's voice, from where he stood at 
his bedside. "Donal\a151Finn is here." 
His eyes snapped open. Through a haze of fever and pain 
he saw Finn come into the room. "Su'fali," he whispered 
hoarsely, "tell them no, tell them no\a151" He shifted against 
the bedclothes, trying to outdistance the pain. "Su'fali, tell 
them no. They want to take my arm." 
Carillon looked at Finn compassionately, but tension was 
in his tone. "The bones are badly broken. And the bums\a151 
they could poison him in three days." 
"You cannot take his arm." Finn moved toward the bed 
with Storr padding at his side. "You know better. Carillon." 
"What do I know? That foolishness about a maimed warrior 
not being a useful man?" Carillon thrust out his twisted 
hands. "See you these? / am crippled, Finn\a151but I rule 
Homana still!" 
Finn bent over his nephew. "A maimed warrior cannot 
fight. He cannot hunt. He cannot tend his pavilion. He cannot 
protect his woman or his children. He cannot protect himself." 
He felt Donal's burning brow. "You know all this, 
Carillon\a151I was the one who told you. A maimed warrior 
cannot serve his clan, nor can he serve the prophecy. He is 
useless to his people." 
Carillon stood at the bedside. He was trembling. Donal 
saw it in his hands, in his face; in me rigidity of his spine- 
The grayish pallor of shock was slowly replaced with the 
flush of rising anger. "You threaten that very prophecy by 
sentencing him to death." 
158 Jennifer Roberson 
"I sentence Donal to nothing. I will heal him. Is that not 
why you sent for me?" 
"And if the healing does not work?" Carillon challenged. 
"Occasionally it does not." 
"Occasionally, when the gods see fit to deny it.*' Finn did 
not spare a glance for the lord he had once so loyally served. 
"Donal\a151what happened?" 
His arm pained. "Carillon took me to the Womb of me 
Earth," he said breathlessly. "He left me there. 1\a151gave 
myself up to the gods. But someone came. Someone\a151came 
at me with the torch. I\a151fell." He shut his eyes a moment. 
"When 1 could, 1 took /ir-shape, but\a151I could not control the 
fall. I\a151could not\a151fly properly. And so\a151I hit the wall." 
Finn nodded. He glanced around for a stool, found one, 
hooked it over with a booted foot. In the light from a dozen 
candles, the gold of his fir-bands gleamed. "Nothing more," 
he said quietly, sitting down upon the stool. "Nothing more 

until I am done, and the arm is whole again." Briefly he 
smiled. "Shansu, Donal ... 1 will take the pain away." 
"Ru'shatia-tu," Donal said weakly. May it be so. 
He closed his eyes. He felt the encouragement of both his 
lir and the presence of Storr as well. Finn did not touch 
him\a151he merely sat on the stool and looked at Donal\a151but 
after a moment his eyes went opaque and detached. The 
yellow was swallowed by black. 
Donal drifted- He was bodiless, bound by nothing but the 
pain. It flared and died, pulsing in time with his heart; he 
wondered if they were linked. But then, slowly, he felt the 
pain diminish, and the beating stopped altogether- 
Am / dead? he wondered briefly, and found he did not 
care. 
Floating\a151 
\a151painlessness swallowed him. 
Donal slept for three days following the healing, and on the 
fourth he got out of bed. In dressing he discovered there was 
no pain in his healed arm, no stiffness in the bone. Only new 
flesh, too pink against the sunbronzing of older skin. 
Shall we come with you? Lom inquired as Donal tugged on 
his boots. 
No. I only go to see Carillon. 
Taj, fluffed to twice his size as he hunched on his perch, 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 159 
emitted a single permissive sound. Lorn yawned, stretched, 
then rose to seek out a warmer place in Donal's bed. Wolflike, 
he turned three times in place before settling down. L/rlike, 
he thanked Donal for his leftover warmth. 
Donal went at once to Carillon's private solar to speak of 
what had happened, and found Finn and Alix there as well. 
He had vague memories of them standing at his bedside, 
discussing the state of his health; he recalled also that he had 
tried, once, to tell them to go away, so he could get some 
sleep. He had slept, but he did not know if they had heeded 
his suggestion. 
Alix sat on a three-legged stool before the fireplace, indigo 
skirts spread around her feet as she nursed a goblet of hot 
wine; Donal could see the faintest breath of steam rising from 
the surface. Finn sat in a deep-silled casement, silhouetted 
against the sunlight and framed by chiseled stone. At his feet 
lay Storr, eyes shut. Carillon filled a tooled leather chair with 
his legs stretched out before him. From the tight-drawn look 
of the flesh around the Mujhar's eyes, Donal knew he was in 
pain. 
"One good thing has come of this. . . ." Donal shut the 
heavy door. "It brought my su'fali back to Homana-Mujhar." 
Finn swung a booted foot. His smile was very faint. "I 

said I would come to your wedding. This is not so very 
premature." 
"Should you be up?" inquired his mother. "Finn told us 
you might sleep for days." 
"I have." He waved her back down as she started to rise. 
"And aye, I should be up\a151or I wilt take root in that bed." 
He scratched idly at the new flesh above and below the heavy 
golden /ir-band on his arm. "Well, at least this way you two 
aging warriors may speak of old times without a hundred 
sycophants listening to every word." 
Carillon shifted in the chair, clutching an armrest with one 
hand. "Old times can wait. For now, we need to leam 
precisely what has happened." He moved into a more upright 
position, straightening the hunched shoulders. "Gods . . . 
when I remember the howling Lom set up ... and Taj would 
not stop flying around the hall. . . ." He shook his head. "1 
left you alone in the Womb because that is the way it must be 
done. Lirless. Absolutely alone. I gave orders for no one to 
enter the hall. How could anyone have known?" 
160 Jennifer Roberson 
"The Womb is not entirely secret," Finn pointed out. "All 
Cheysuli know of it\a151though not precisely where; we are 
taught about it as children. It is one of the first lessons the 
shar tahls give us." He frowned. "Still\a1511 doubt any 
Homanans would know of it, save yourself. Who else is in 
this palace?" 
"Oh Finn, you cannot expect us to believe someone from 
Carillon's household did this!" Alix shook her head. "They 
are too loyal to Carillon." 
"Loyal to Carillon and Homana," Finn said evenly. "Rank 
aside, there is a fundamental difference between Carillon and 
Donal." 
Alix looked back at him levelly. The sunlight lay full on 
her face, leaching shadows from planes and angles to give her 
youth again. Donal could almost see the seventeen-year-old 
girl Finn had stolen from Carillon, men lost to his older 
brother. 
But the moment was fleeting; Donal, looking from his 
mother to his uncle, saw only a warrior and a woman, kin to 
one another through their father. Hale was in their faces. 
And had it not been/or that jehan and Carillon's foolish 
cousin, none of us would be here. 
"Foreigners, then." Carillon scratched at his beard. "Well, 
there is Gryffth. The Ellasian Lachlan sent me\a151was it fifteen 
years ago?" He frowned, plainly shocked to find so much 
time had passed. "But he is me only foreigner in the palace 
at the moment. And Gryffth I trust with my life, as well as 
Donal's. He helped Duncan and me win Alix free ofTynstar." 
Carillon shook his head. "No, not Gryffth." 
"No." Finn agreed. One boot heel tapped against the wall. 

Donal perched himself upon the edge of a sturdy table and 
helped himself to wine. "I could not begin to hazard a guess- 
1 know mere are Homanans who would sooner see me something 
other than Carillon's heir\a151and back in the Keep, no 
doubt\a151" he shrugged a little, mouth twisted wryly "\a151but I 
doubt any of them would wish to have me slain\a151" Abruptly, 
he set the wine cup down. "No\a151perhaps I am wrong. My 
reception in Hondarth was not precisely\a151warm." 
"What arc you saying?" Carillon sat upright in his chair. 
"What have you been keeping from me?" 
Donal saw how attentively Finn and Alix waited for his 
answer. And so he told them all, briefly > of the confrontation 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
161 
with the Homanan and the manure that had been thrown. "I 
felt it was not significant enough to tell you," he said finally 
to Carillon. "It was\a151unpleasant\a151but nothing to fret the 
Mujhar." He turned the cup in circles on the wooden tabletop, 
idly watching how the silver rolled against the satiny 
hardwood finish. "But\a151I do begin to see that not all of 
Homana is reconciled to the ending of the qu'mahlin." 
"Nor ever will be," Finn agreed. 
Alix, mute but obviously disturbed, picked worriedly at the 
nap of her indigo skirts. 
"I am not surprised," Finn went on calmly. "I think there 
arc many Homanans who care little enough that we exist\a151 
there is nothing they can do about that, short of starting 
another gu'mahlin\a151but I also mink they would actively resist 
a Cheysuli as Mujhar. And you arc next in line." 
Donal frowned. "But'would they try to have me slainV 
Alix's mouth was grim as she looked at Finn, "Would 
they?" 
He shrugged. "It is possible. Shaine's qu'mahlin was a 
powerful thing. It bred hatred and fear upon hatred and fear, 
and fed off of violence and ignorance." He glanced at me 
Mujhar. "I remember what it was like when Carillon and I 
came back from Caledon. The purge was over, but there were 
many Homanans who desired to see me dead." For the first 
time a trace of bleakness entered his tone. "We would be 
wise not to discount the possibility that the qu'mahlin still 
exists for those who wish it to." 
"Even now?" Donal demanded. "You and Carillon came 
back nearly twenty years ago. Time has passed. Things change. 
People get older and less inclined to violence." He shrugged. 
"Perhaps there arc some bigots left, but surely not enough to 
do Homana harm." 
Finn eyed him. "I am fifty. Old, to your way of thinking, 
harani. And would you consider me a nonviolent man?" 
Fifty. Dona] had not counted up me years lately. To him, 

Finn was ageless. And certainly never incapable of violence. 
"No," he said distinctly, and Finn smiled his ironic smile. 
Carillon rubbed wearily at his brow. "Gods\a151will it never 
end? What will happen when I am dead?" 
"When you arc dead it will be Donal's problem." Finn 
stretched out one foot and touched the toe of the boot to 
162 Jennifer Roberson 
Storr's left ear. "There is another problem for us to settle 
before that one comes upon us." 
"Such as: who tried to murder my son," Alix said flatly. 
"Oh, aye, let us turn our attention to that." 
Donal shook his head. "I saw nothing clearly. Only light, 
fire\a151a shape. Someone hooded and cloaked.'* 
"Think back," Finn advised- "Call up the memory. Think 
what you saw before you fell." 
"Fire," Donal repeated, recalling that too clearly. "Bames 
from the torch. It was thrust at me\a1511 threw up my arm to 
block it." He suited action to words. "1 was thrown off 
balance\a1511 stepped back . . . and fell." He shuddered, recalling 
the sensation of weightlessness. "I did not even hear the 
wall open." 
"Think again," Finn said patiently. "You saw a hooded, 
cloaked figure. Tall? Short? Heavy? Slender?" The toe caressed 
Storr's ear, flipping it up and down. "Think of everything 
you saw\a151even the bits and pieces. If there is an 
assassin in this place, he will likely try again." 
Donal was conscious of their waiting faces, reflecting expectations. 
He frowned in concentration, summoning up the 
memory in vivid recollection. "Much shorter than I\a151even 
you, su'fali. Slender. The cloak was not a large one. And I 
remember hands." He sat up so rigidly he nearly overturned 
the table. "Hands! The hands upon the torch!" He stared 
blindly at Finn, seeing only the hands upon the torch. "Slim, 
pale, delicate hands, clutching a torch that seemed too heavy, 
too awkward for a man\a151" He stopped short. Stunned, he 
turned to Carillon. "My lord\a151it was a woman\a151" 
Color drained out of Carillon's face and left it a bearded 
deathmask. "By the gods\a151say it was not Electra\a151" 
Finn shook his head. "Electra is not here. Believe it\a151I 
would know it. The trap-link has bound us forever." 
Donal still stared at Carillon. "But\a151what if it were 
Aislinn\a151" 
"Oh, Donal, no!" Alix cried as Carillon thrust himself out 
of his chair. 
"Have you gone mad?" the Mujhar asked hoarsely. "Do 
you think Aislinn could seek to push you into the Womb of 
the Earth?" 

"No more than Bronwyn could," Alix said. 
Donal's hand, reaching for the goblet, knocked it over 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 163 
abruptly. He heard the dull chime of silver rim against dark 
hardwood; the sibilant splatter of wine against carpeted floor. 
But he did nothing to pick up the overturned goblet, instead, 
he looked at his mother in something akin to shock. 
"How can we say that?" he asked. "How can we say for 
certain Bronwyn would never do it?" 
Alix thrust herself up from her stool. "Have you gone 
mdrf?" Unconsciously, she echoed Carillon. "She is your 
sister\a151'' 
"And Tynstar's daughter, do not forget." That from Finn, 
still seated in the casement. "Alix\a151before you seek Carillon's 
knife to throw at me\a151make yourself think clearly a 
moment." He swung his foot again idly. "She is Tynstar's 
daughter. Ihlini as well as Cheysuli, no matter what you have 
done to hide it from her and everybody else. Who can say 
what Bronwyn is capable of if the Ihlini in her seeks to 
dominate?" 
"No," Alix said tautly. "Not Bronwyn, how could she? 
She is at the Keep." 
"Not Aislinn," Carillon said. "Look to another culprit." 
"Aislinn tried to slay me in Hondarth," Donal reminded 
him deliberately, and saw the shock in his mother's face. 
"Aye\a151I did not tell you. It was Electra's ensorcelment. But 
who is to say she has not tried it yet again?'' 
Carillon thrust a hand in Finn's direction. "You said he 
tested her!" 
"I tested her." Finn slid out of me casement and stood 
before his Mujhar. "I swear\a1511 tested her. There was an 
echo\a151a resonance\a151I thought I had rid her of it." 
Donal grimly picked up the fallen goblet and set it straight 
again. "And if you did not?" 
"If I did not, and she is Tynstar's weapon, there is yet 
another test," Finn said simply. "Let her try again." 
Donal opened his mouth to protest vehemently, but his 
intention was overridden by a thin voice raised on the other 
side of the door. "My lord! My lord! A message for you 
from the Keep!" 
"Sef," Donal said, and went to tug open the heavy door. 
Sef nearly fell into the room. His hair was blown back 
from his face and he breathed as if he had run all the way up 
dree flights of spiraling stairs. "My lord\a151a message from 
the Keep. From your meijha." He paused, caught his breath. 

164 Jennifer Roberson 
"She says your sister is missing. Bronwyn is not at the 
Keep." 
Donal heard the swift, indrawn breath from Alix standing 
behind him. "What else does Sorcha say?" he asked the boy. 
"She says you had better come home to look for Bronwyn. 
She has been gone since yesterday." 
Oh\a151^octs . . . was all Donal could manage in the face of 
his mother's fear. 
But it was Finn who had the answer, "Lir-shape," was all 
he said. "It will be faster than going by horse." 
"Wolf-shape, then," from Alix- "You have no recourse to 
wings." 
Lir, Donat called, and led the way out of the solar. 
And behind them, as they left the old man with the boy, 
Carillon cursed his infirmities. 
Five wolves and a falcon fled through sunlight into the 
shadows of the sunset. Silver Storr and ruddy Finn; ruddy 
Lorn and grayish Donal ran shoulder to shoulder with Alix, 
the pale silver wolf-bitch with black-tipped tail. And above 
them all flew a fleet golden falcon. 
In Kr-shape, Donal was aware of an edge to his apprehension. 
He was frightened for what they might find once they 
found her, he was worried that they would not find her at all. 
And if they did not, and she had come at last into a share of 
her father's powers, only the gods could say what Bronwyn 
might do to them all. 
But the edge began to creep out from under his fear and 
express a new emotion. Anger. Frustration. Impatience and 
helplessness. And they drove him to the edge of infinity. 
What if I stayed in wolf-shape? he wondered. What happens 
if a warrior chooses to give up his human form for the 
other shape he claims? 
Inwardly, he flinched away from the questions. All Cheysuli, 
male and female alike, were taught that fir-shape was only a 
temporary guise, borrowed from the earth. In borrowing, the 
borrower must return that form which is borrowed. Donal 
had always believed the statement redundant; borrowing something 
meant it had to be returned, or it was stealing. Even as 
a child, he had understood the concepts very well. 
But now, so lost within the essence of the shape, he 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
165 
wondered how it could be considered stealing when what he 
wore was an integral part of his self. 

A lirless Cheysuli is not a man, but a shadow. He dwells in 
darkness of mind and body. He is driven mad by the loss, and 
gives himself over to death. 
There was a ritual, of course, because there had to be. 
Otherwise, the giving over of a life to the gods would be 
considered suicide, and that was taboo. 
Vines and creepers slashed Donal's face. A thorn tore at 
his muzzle, drawing beads of blood. Curving nails dug deeply 
into me damp, cool soil, gouging furrows and leaving tracks. 
But the tracks were spoor of the wolf, not the trail of a man. 
He heard himself panting- But how could he be weary? In 
this shape he had almost endless endurance, because he knew 
how to pace himself. 
Odors filled his nose". Moist earth, old wood, rotting bark, 
nearby stream ... but mostly he smelled fear. On himself 
and on the others. 
Can a warrior maintain lir-shape as long as he desires it? 
As a child, he had asked his father. Duncan had told him a 
warrior probably could retain ^r-shape for as long as he 
desired; perhaps longer man he desired, 
The last had frightened him. Intuitively, he had understood. 
A man left too long in /ir-shape might never turn back 
into a man. 
But would that be so bad? 
No. But what if he were ever to change his mind again, 
and found himself locked inside the body of a wolfor falcon 
forever? 
No, he decided. No. 
Weary. So weary. His left foreleg ached. And then he 
recalled how it had been burned, broken, in human form; me 
healing could not give back that which had been lost. The 
magic was not absolute. He had not given the injured limb 
enough time to recover. 
Through the /('r-link, he passed me message to Lom. He 
must stop. Stop. It was dark now, but the moon, full, had 
risen, and they were nearly there. They could walk the rest of 
the way. 
Donal stopped running. He panted, head hanging; he tucked 
his tail between his legs. Slowly, so slowly, the shapechange 
altered his body. He faced them as a man again. 
166 Jennifer Roberson 
Man-shaped, he leaned against the nearest tree. "\a151Sorry," 
he said. "Too tired\a151can we rest?" 
Alix put a hand upon his arm. A hand, not a paw. "We 
should have ndden at least half the way." 

Donal shook his head. "No. We needed to get home as 
quickly as possible." 
Finn's smile was very faint. "Sorcha should not worry; 
you will always be Cheysuli." 
"Because 1 call the Keep home?'* Donal laughed breathlessly. 
"Aye\a151I could not become a Mujharan if the prophecy 
commanded it." 
Atix glanced around. "We are almost there. Oh gods, let 
the girl simply be lost ..." 
"Unhkeiy." But Finn's tone was gentle. "She is your 
daughter, Alix , . . with all your stubbornness. Perhaps\a151" 
"Perhaps what, Finn?" Alix scraped fallen hair away from 
her face. "Perhaps she decided to visit another Keep? No. 
She was helping Sorcha with the baby." 
Finn's hand clasped her shoulder gently. "Meijha, do not 
fret so\a151" 
Donal nearly smiled at Finn's use of the inaccurate term. 
Alix had never been Finn's meijha, but that had not stopped 
him from wishing she would someday change her mind. 
"Do you not fret about Meghan from time to time?" Alix 
asked in irritation. "You are ajahan, Finn, as much as I am 
ajehana. Tell me you do not know what that entails," 
Looking at them, Donal saw two worried people. More 
worried than they intended him to know. For only a moment. 
he saw the possibilities through their eyes: Bronwyn, IhUni, 
attempting to use her burgeoning powers ... or instinctively 
seeking her father. 
"But she thinks Duncan is her jehan." He said it aloud, 
distinctly; Alix and Finn looked at him in surprise. 
"Aye, of course, but\a151" 
Finn's hand across Alix's mouth cut her sentence off. He 
made a quieting gesture with his other hand and they instantly 
obeyed. 
In silence, they waited. And in silence, they heard the 
other approach. 
Because in the forest, at night, absolute silence betokens a 
presence coming. 
LEQA<.Y W I lit &WUKU 
ID/ 
Bronwyn\a151? Donal wondered briefly. She knows how to 
move as quietly as any\a151 
But it was not Bronwyn. It was not a woman. It was a 
man. A man who had once been Cheysuli. 

He was a shadow within shadows, a wraith among the 
trees. There was no sound, only silence; the silence born of 
the passing of a spirit on its way to the afterworld, Insubstantiality, 
Donal thought; yet it had substance. It was not a 
wraith, but a man- Not a shadow: a man who was once a 
warrior. 
A warrior without a Ur. 
Out of the shadows a man stepped into the luminescence of 
me moon, and they saw his face clearly; old/young; human/ 
inhuman; of sorrow and bittersweet joy. And his face, in the 
moonlight, was Donal's, but carved of older, harder wood. 
"Forgive me," he said; two words, but filled with an 
agony of need. 
Donal felt his senses waver. For an instant, the ground 
seemed to move beneath his feet. He put out a hand to steady 
himself, and when his fingers touched the trunk of the nearest 
tree he found himself turning to press against it. Clinging to 
it. Clinging, as if he could not stand up. 
And he knew, as he clung, he could not. He could only 
press his face against the bark and let it bite into his flesh. 
Jehan? Jehan? But he could not ask it aloud. He no longer 
had a voice. No tongue. No teetfi. No mouth. He had lost the 
means to speak. 
He shut his eyes. Tightly. So tightly he saw crimson and 
yellow and white. When he opened them again he blinked 
against the shock of sight once more, and realized the impossible 
remained. 
/(is my jehan-\a151 And yet he knew it could not be. 
It was Alix who moved first. Donal expected her to run to 
Duncan. To grab him, kiss him, hold him. To cry out his 
name and her love. But she did none of those things. 
Instead, she turned her back. 
Her face, Donal saw, was ravaged. "If I look\a151if I look\a151he 
will be gone . . . gone . . . again. If I look\a151he will be 
gone." 
Gone . . . Donal echoed. But how can he be here? 
The bark of the tree bit into his face. But he welcomed the 
pain; it kept him from losing possession of his senses, 
168 Jennifer Roberson 
Slowly Finn reached out and closed a hand around one of 
Alix's arms. Donal saw how the fingers pressed against the 
fabric of her gown\a151pressing, pressing\a151until Donal thought 
she would cry out because of the pain. 
But Alix did not. 
It was Finn. 
"No," Duncan said. "Oh no . . ," 

"You." Finn's voice was ragged. "You stoop to apostasy\a151" 
"No\a151" Alix, wrenching free of Finn's hand, spun around to 
face Duncan again. "How can you call a miracle apostasy\a151?" 
"He can," Duncan said. "He must. Because it is the 
truth." 
"Because you are aliveT' Alix shook her head. Donal saw 
how she trembled. "I begged you not to go. Why waste a 
life? But you denied me. You said you had to go because 
your lir was slain." She tried to steady her voice. "How can 
you come back now? Why did you stay away\a151if the deathritual 
could be left unheeded?" 
Finn stopped her from going to the man. "Wait." 
"Wait?" She tried to wrench free again. "Wait1! Have you 
gone mad? That is Duncan\a151'' 
"Is it?" 
Duncan moved a single step closer to all of them. And his 
face was free of shadow, open to them all. 
It was in the eyes. Donal saw it even as Finn and Alix did. 
Emptiness, aye. Sorrow: an abundance of it. Such pain as a 
man, left sane, could never know. 
But there was no sanity left in Duncan. 
Oh gods . . . oh gods\a151! Donal shut his eyes. He felt the 
trembling start up in his limbs; the roiling in his belly. He is 
back\a151he is back\a151and yet he is not my jehan\a151 
Finn jerked Alix back beside him. "Rujho," he said, 
"stop." 
Duncan stopped. His head twisted quickly, faintly, oddly 
to one side, jerking his chin toward his shoulder. Twice; no 
more. A nervous tic, Donal thought dazedly. He knew other 
men who had them. But\a151this was something more, 
"I need you," Duncan said. "/ need you ail." 
"Why?" Finn asked flatly. "Why does a dead warrior 
need help from any man?" 
"Finn\a151" That from Alix, in horror, but he cut her off 
again. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 169 
"A lirless man is a dead man, of no value to his clan. He 
is half a man, and empty, lacking spirit, lacking soul." 
Finn's chant sounded almost bitter. "Is that not what we 
believe?" 
We believe\a151we believe\a151 Donal bared his teeth. But how 
do we believe? My jehan has come back to us\a151 
Duncan twitched again. Briefly, so briefly; Donal almost 
did not see it. But he found himself, in fascinated horror, 

anticipating yet another. 
"I need your help." Duncan's hair was silver in the moonlight. 
"I need your help. I need to find the magic to make me 
whole again." 
"Whole? You are lirless. How can you be whole?" 
"Finn!" Duncan cried. "Would you have me beg for 
this?" 
Do not beg. do not "beg\a151not you\a151not Duncan of the 
Cheysuli-\a151that man does not beg\a151 
Without waiting for an answer, Duncan dropped to his 
knees. His head, tilted up, exposed the look of mute appeal. 
He was a supplicant to his brother. To his wife. And to his 
son. "Can you not see why I come to be here?" 
Now, they could. Clearly. It showed in the eyes; in altered 
pupils, altered shape. It showed in the set of his shoulders, 
almost hunched upon themselves. It showed in the mottled 
skin of his arms, bare and naked of /ir-gold. It showed in the 
bones of his hands: fragile, brittle bones, rising up beneath 
the flesh to fuse themselves together and turn the fingers into 
talons. 
Not a man. But neither a hawk. Some place between the 
two. 
"Cai was dead'." Finn cried. "How is this possible?" 
"I am abomination," Duncan said. "Can you make me 
whole again?" 
"But\a151you are lirless." In Finn, the cracks began to show. 
"Rujho, you are lirless ..." 
"You can make me whole again." 
Alix, trembling, went down on her knees before the kneeling 
man. She put out her arms and drew him in until his face 
was against her breasts. "Shansu," she said, "peace. We 
can make you whole again." 
"He is lirless!" It burst out of Donal's mouth in something 
near incoherence. 
170 Jennifer Roberson 
Alix did not hear. "1 promise. 1 promise. We will make 
you whole again." 
"Tynstar took the body. Tynstar took me body," Duncan 
said against her breasts. "I could not give my ;ir proper 
passage to the gods." 
"Oh gods," Finn said. "Oh\a151gods. . - ,*' 
"1 could not die," Duncan said. "There was no ritual. 
Tynstar had the body, and there was no ritual." 
"Shansu," Alix said. "We will make you whole again." 

"Not without Cai's body," Finn said. "Oh rujho, surely 
you must see!" 
Duncan's head twitched against Alix arms- The taloned 
fingers came up in a twisted gesture of supplication. 
Donal at last wrenched himself from the tree and faced 
them all. "The earth magic!" he cried. "There are three of 
us, and the Ur. More than enough, is there not? We can 
summon up the healing and make him whole again!" 
Alix stroked Duncan's silver hair. "Do you see? Your son 
is much like you. He will be a wise Mujhar." 
"Donal\a151" Finn began, and then he shut his eyes. 
"Make me whole again," Duncan begged. 
Ur. For the first time, Lom spoke. Ur, what he requests is 
dangerous. 
But it can be done? 
There is much power in the earth, Taj said from a nearby 
tree. With three of you to summon it, augmented by three Ur, 
you can coil upon powerful sources. But there is danger in it. 
And worth it, Donal said. This man is my jehan! 
Slowly, Finn knelt down. He bowed his head in acquiescence. 
Dangerous, Lom said. 
Shakily, Donal went to the kneeling triad. There were so 
many things he wanted to say to his father, whom he had not 
seen in fifteen years. So many, many things; he thought none 
of them would get said. 
"Join hands," Finn said. "The link must be physical as 
welt as emotional and mental. What we do now will stretch 
the boundaries of the power; if those boundaries break, all 
will be unleashed. The magic will be wild." 
Donal, kneeling between fattier and uncle, looked at Finn 
sharply. "Wild\a151? " 
"Before there were men and women in the world, there 
was magic in abundance- And all of it was wild. It made the 
LC-U/V^T ur im-ow^M^ 1,1 
world what it is. But it must be held in check if we are to live 
in the world." 
"Then\a151this could destroy the world. . . -" 
"Duncan would never risk that," Alix said suddenly. She 
looked at the silver-haired man. "Would you? That much 
risk?" 
His malformed hands trembled in hers; in Donal's- "I am 
abomination. Make me whole again." 
"Duncan would not risk it," Finn said quietly. "But this 

man is not Duncan." 
White-faced in the moonlight, Alix looked at Finn. "Then\a151 
what we do is wrong." 
"Is it?" Finn looked at Donal. "Is it wrong to do this, 
haranH" 
Deliberately, Donal looked into the eyes of the raptor who 
had once been his father. "It is not wrong if we can control 
the magic. Stretching the boundaries is not evil, if we leam 
from what we do. A risk not taken means nothing of consequence 
is ever learned." Donal drew in an unsteady breath. 
"1 say it must be done." 
"Down," Finn whispered. "Down . . . and down - . . and 
down. ..." 
Drifting. 
\a151drifting\a151 
\a151down\a151 
He sank through layers of earth, of rock, of rock, drifting, 
drifting down, until he was a speck of sentience in the midst 
of omniscient infinity, aware only of his insignificance in the 
ordering of things. 
Atone? 
No. There were other specks, all black and glassy gray, as 
if they had bumed themselves out. As if the infinity had 
become, all at once, finite, and the sentience emptied out. 
Down. 
\a151down\a151 
\a151down\a151 
Jehan, he asked, are you here? 
Down. 
He felt the void reach out for him. Reaching, it caught 
him. Catching, it tugged him in; tugging, tugging, until he 
172 Jennifer Roberson 
was a fish on a line; a cat in a trap; a man at the end of a 
sword\a151 
\a151with the hilt in another man's hands. 
Pain. 
The sword pierced flesh, muscle; scraped across rib bone. 
And entered the cage around his heart. 
\a151pain\a151 
He cried out. The speck, in me midst of the void, cried out 
to the other specks that he was in pain, in pain, and he knew 
it should not be so. 

The line was cut; me trap was sprung; the sword was 
shattered. And Donal, hurled back through infinity to know 
fmiteness once more, heard the words screamed from his 
mother's mouth: "Ihlini trap-link\a151" 
And then he knew the truth. 
Not my jehan after alH 
Pain. 
He lay on his face. His mouth was filled with dirt and 
leaves. He spat. The sound reverberated in his skull. 
Lir. Lorn, whose muzzle was planted solidly in Donal's 
neck, shoving. Donal felt the tip of a tooth against the flesh 
of his neck. Lom's nose was cold. 
Lir. Taj, who stirred dirt and debris into Donal's face with 
the force of his flapping wings. The falcon was on the 
ground, but his wings continued to flap. 
He felt a hand on his arm. "Donal. Donal!" 
Finn's voice. Hoarse. Donal allowed the hand to drag him 
up from the ground. He flopped over onto his back. 
Through slitted lids and merging lashes he saw Finn's face. 
In the moonlight the scar was a black ditch dug into the flesh; 
the other side of his face was dirty- Scraped. As if he had 
been hurled bodily against the ground. His learners were 
littered with dirt and leaves. 
"Gods\a151" Donal shoved himself up from the dirt. He 
wavered on his knees, pressing one hand against the ground. 
And then he saw his mother. "Jehana\a151?" Stiffly, be crawled 
across the clearing- "JehanaT" 
Finn sat down suddenly in the dirt as if he could no longer 
stand. One hand threaded rigid fingers through his silverspeckled 
hair; he stripped it back from his eyes. He bared the 
face of his grief to his nephew, who still could not believe. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 173 
Storr sat down next to Finn, leaning a little against him, as if 
he knew without his support Finn would surely fall. 
"He was sent," Finn said. "That was not my rujho. Not 
yow jehan. Not my rujholla's cheysul. That was Ihlini retribution." 
He lifted his head and looked at Donal. "He was 
saved, and he was sent. We are alive because of Alix." 
Donal could only stare at his mother's body. 
Finn's voice droned on. "We are alive because when she 
saw how the trap-link would swallow us all, she threw us out 
of it. There was power enough in the trap to slay four 
hundred C}\\eysul\\, four hundred . . . not just four . . . but\a151 
she threw us out of the link . . . and let it swallow her." 
Donal's vision wavered. He blinked. He could not say if it 
were tears or the aftermath. He thought it might be both. 

Alix was clearly dead. She lay sprawled on her back, arms 
and legs awry, spilling awkwardly from her clothing in me 
obscenity of death. Blood still crawled sluggishly from nose, 
ears, mouth. Her amber eyes were closed. 
Transfixed, Donal looked slowly from mother to father. 
Like Alix, Duncan was sprawled in the dirt. The silent shadows 
lay across him, hiding malformed hands, hunching shoulders, 
the predatory eyes. 
But not the fact that Duncan was not\a151quite\a151dead. 
Donal twitched in shock as life spilled back into his body. 
Awkwardly he scrambled across to his father. He saw the 
blood in Duncan's nostrils. He felt it in his own. 
"JehanT" His voice was a ragged whisper as he hunched 
beside the form. "Jehan\a151have we made you whole again?" 
"A toy," Duncan said thickly, and there was\a151briefly\a151 
sanity in his eyes; his human, Cheysuli eyes. "Tynstar\a151 
made me\a151a toy\a151" 
"Jehan\a151T- 
"For fifteen years\a151a toy\a151" 
Almost frcnziedly, Donal dragged Duncan's head and shoulders 
into his lap. Tentative hands stroked his father's silvered 
hair. "'Jehan," he begged, "do not go\a151I have only just 
found you again\a151'' 
And in his arms, his father died. 
FOURTEEN 
D
'onal sat in his mother's pavilion. Around him were her 
belongings, waiting for her return: wooden chests filled with 
clothing and trinkets; the tapestry she had painstakingly worked 
for his father so many years before; cook pots and utensils; 
the jewelry his father had given her; many other things. And 
all of them spoke of Alix. 
She had, over the years, made Duncan's things hers, though 
she had given many to her son. The pavilion no longer was 
me clan-leader's pavilion; mat was Finn's. But once, mis 
pavilion had known the laughter the three of them had shared; 
the tears; me evenings of stories and future plans. Once it had 
known fullness. Now it knew emptiness. 
He had spent the long night with Sorcha, trying to ease his 

grief in her words and her womanhood. She had soothed him 
as only she could, and yet he had found himself longing for 
another woman entirely. The one Sorcha could not be. 
They had spoken of his father; of what Duncan had once 
been, and who, but not what Tynstar had made him. For 
Donal, the memory of the night before was too vivid. Too 
real. He needed time to understand it and put it in its place. If 
he could ever find a place for what he had experienced. 
fa the morning he had left Sorcha, his children, his lir. He 
came alone to his mother's pavilion and sat upon the ragged 
bear pelt she had kept long past its usefulness, saying Duncan 
had given it to her and she would never be rid of it- He had 
sat on it as a child, and now he sat on it again; a man grown, 
but knowing himself helpless as the child he had once been. 
174 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 175 
A slim hand slid inside the doorflap and pulled it aside. 
Donal heard the sibilant scrape of fabric against fabric. He 
watched in silence, waiting, as Bronwyn slipped into the 
pavilion. Her black hair was mussed, pulled loose from its 
single braid. Some hung into her face, veiling much of it 
from Donai. She was smiling a little, as if she knew a secret. 
Her amber eyes were alight with inner knowledge. But she 
was different- Very different. Aside from the fact she wore 
the leathers of a warrior in place of traditional skirts, he 
thought she looked more alive than he had ever seen her. 
She saw him and stopped short. "Donal!" 
He waited. 
The flap, half-closed, was caught on Bronwyn's shoulder. 
But she did not slide it free or step away. She stood in the 
shadows of the entrance and stared at her silent brother. 
"Are you healed?" she asked. "Your arm?" 
"Healed," Donal said. "Bronwyn. Where have you been?" 
She looked away from him, staring at the pelted floor. 
Color came and went in her face. And then she seemed to 
make up her mind to face him down. She lifted her head 
again. "I wanted to see if I could do it. And I can. I have the 
Old Blood, too." 
He stared at her blankly. He was full of his mother's death 
and me ruination of his father; he could not comprehend 
anything Bronwyn said. "Old Blood?" He thought only of 
Tynstar's blood. 
"Aye," she said firmly. "Jehana said perhaps someday I 
might be able to leam as she had learned. And so I made up 
my mind to do it." 
"Do what?" His response was sluggish. The aftereffects 
of Alix's throwing him out of the trap-link had not entirely 
dissipated. He still felt weak. Disoriented. 

"Take /ir-shape," Bronwyn answered "I went away to 
try." 
Awareness returned at once. "Lw-shape! You' 
Color surged into Bronwyn's face. "Aye! Do you think I 
am not worthy because I am a woman?" 
Donal thrust himself to his feet. "Do not mouth such 
foolishness when owjehana is dead!" 
He had not meant it to come out so badly; so cruelly. But 
all he could think of was his mother dying to save them all 
while Bronwyn played her games. 
176 Jennifer Roberson 
But perhaps they were not games. Not if she could 
shapechange. And he could not discount the possibility; Alix 
had claimed the gift. If her daughter did as well, perhaps the 
Old Blood might yet counteract the Ihlini in her. 
"Dead." Bronwyn gaped at him. "Ow jehana\a151?" 
"Last night." He saw the twitch of shock in her face; the 
beginnings of comprehension. "It was an Ihtini trap-link." 
Bronwyn flinched visibly. "Ihlini! But\a151howT' 
He could not tell her how. That meant he must also tell her 
of his father; he could not do it. It was too private. Too 
personal. The pain was his alone. 
"Donal\a151" 
"Tynstar laid a trap. He wanted Finn and me as well . . . 
all he got was our jehana." 
"Tynstar\a151" Bronwyn's amber eyes were full of tears. 
"Tynstar slew our jehana\a151?" 
"She has been given passage to the gods," With Duncan, 
but Donal did not say it. 
Disjointedly, Bronwyn fell down upon her knees. She stared 
blankly at the unlighted firecairn. Donal, still looking for 
some indication of guilt, some telltale sign she dissembled, 
saw only grief and bewilderment. "Why would he want our 
jehanal What would he want with her? Why would he slay 
OUT jehana\a151?" 
He knew she would not hear him. And so he did not try. 
He simply went to his sister, knelt down, and pulled her 
against his chest so she would not have to grieve alone- 
"Rujho," Bronwyn begged, "why would he slay our 
jehanaT' 
"Retribution," he answered unevenly. "The Ihlini require 
no reason." 
"Dead," she whispered. "Dead? But\a1511 wanted to tell her 
about it. I wanted to say what I did. I wanted her to know 
how her blood is in me, too. The Old Blood ... as much as 

in her son." Bronwyn pressed her face against his shoulder. 
"1 wanted to have importance ... I wanted to be someone 
who counted ... I wanted to be different..." 
Oh Bronwyn, he mourned, you are more different than you 
can know. 
Her tangled hair was soft beneath his chin. He smoothed 
the knots against her scalp as if she were a child, and in his 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 177 
heart he knew she was, regardless of her age. As much as he 
himself was, in his bitter grief. 
"I wanted her to know," Bronwyn sobbed, "and now she 
never will." 
"Shansu," he said, "shansu. Be certain mat she knows." 
After a moment, Bronwyn drew away from him. "Donal\a151 
what happens to me, now? What becomes of me?" 
One last time he pushed a lock of hair out of her face. 
"You may stay here, if it suits. The Keep is your home. Finn 
and Meghan are here; so is Sorcha and the children, and all 
your clan-mates. But\a151if you prefer\a151you may come to 
Homana-Mujhar. Aislinn could use the company. There is a 
wedding she must prepare for\a151in less time than I care to 
acknowledge." He felt the twist of reluctance in his belly. 
Fifteen days. But he knew better than to ask Carillon for a 
delay, even in light of the circumstances. Homana was at 
stake. 
"Wedding," Bronwyn echoed. "I do not feel much like a 
wedding. Even a royal one. Not without my jehana\a151" But 
she shut her mouth on anything more, as if she could not dare 
to say what she felt. 
Slowly he stood, pulling her up as well. "I am sorry, but I 
must go back\a151" 
"Now?" She stared at him. "After what has happened?" 
Donal sighed, wanting refuge "from the bewildered pain in 
her voice. He did not blame her; he wanted to stay as well. 
"Much as I would prefer to remain, Carillon would have my 
head. There are responsibilities\a151" But he did not explain 
them to her. In her grief, she would never understand. 
"Rujholla ... do not forget our su'fali. You may find 
comfort in comforting him." 
After a moment, Bronwyn nodded. "Tell Aislinn I will 
come. But\a151not just yet. I think I could not bear it." 
He bent and kissed her forehead, hoping to offer solace. 
But what he found was doubt. Oh gods . . . what if I am 
wrong? What if the Old Blood in her is tainted by the other? 
And yet he knew he might be doing his sister a grave 
injustice. He had no proof it had been Bronwyn in the 
Womb. None at all. The possibility seemed remote, now that 
he knew where Bronwyn had been. 

And Aislinn? Where was she? 
178 Jennifer Roberson 
He said nothing more to Bronwyn. He left her to grieve in 
private, according to Cheysuli tradition. 
The guests had gathered. The vows had been said. The 
acclamation was made. In the space of an hour Donal went 
from unnamed Prince of Homana to the actual thing itself; 
there was an instantaneous change. He could feel it in the air. 
A tension. A vibrating urgency. No more was it a someday 
thing; Homana would have a Cheysuli Mujhar. 
When the feasting was done and the hall was prepared for 
celebratory dancing, Donal discovered he was now the prey 
of many courtiers. In his years as informal heir, the men who 
inhabited Carillon's court had mostly tried to ignore him. No 
doubt they had thought\a151or, more likely, hoped\a151me Mujhar 
might elevate a bastard son to legitimacy and send Donal 
back to the Keep. But the Mujhar had not; Donal was not 
certain there were any bastard sons, though there had been 
rumors of one or two. And so now the circle was halfway 
complete; the shapechanger was Prince of Homana. 
They oppressed him, the noblemen of Homana. They stifled 
him with their insincere sudden change of regard, expressing 
condolences for his mother's death as an opening 
gambit. He stood his ground for as long as he could, using 
the Homanan courtesy traditions Alix had taught him as well 
as what diplomacy he had learned in his years within the 
palace walls. But courtesy and diplomacy ran out; he retreated. 
And at last, tiring of his evasiveness, they left him 
alone. 
They do not know me. though all have known me for years. 
They realize they must deal with me one day, and would 
rather gain sway with me now. so they may lay the groundwork 
to make me a puppet-prince, and a Mujhar\a151when it 
comes to that\a151in their pockets. 
He knew also that the freedom he had just won would 
never last; soon enough they would learn his moods and his 
habits, and would play him like a harp. 
Donal stood well back from the dancing and laughing and 
drinking. He leaned against the tapestried wall and watched 
in silence, considering his newly won rank. And against his 
wilt he touched the golden circlet on his brow. 
Carillon had put it there during the ceremony. It represented 
his princely status; it represented the future of Homana. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
179 
A simple circlet of plain, unworked gold, lacking significant 
weight. But it was enough to bind him eternally to his 
tahlmorra. 

Donal smiled. But if they expected me to be a Homanan 
prince, no doubt my leathers shocked them. Good. 
As a concession to Homana, he wore the royal colors. His 
jerkin was crimson suede, his leggings were black; black 
boots were stitched in scarlet. A belt of filigreed gold set with 
rubies the size of his thumbnail clasped his waist. But for that 
and his lir-go\\d and newly gained circlet, he was a conservative 
Cheysuli. Other warriors were not so subdued. 
He leaned against the wall. But mis time he watched 
Aislinn as she left her women to dance. He watched as she 
swayed to and fro with a glittering young Homanan nobleman, 
touching fingertips and dancing flirtatiously. 
She moved with a grace almost foreign to her. Aislinn had, 
growing up, been a coltish girl, even when attempting regal 
dignity. Since her sojourn on the Crystal Isle with Electra, 
she had learned a new and supple grace that was almost sheer 
seductiveness. There was nothing coltish about her now. 
The bright, rich hair swung at her hips as she moved. 
Unbound, as was proper for a maiden, it flowed loosely over 
her shoulders, cloaking the pale blue gown. At ears and 
throat and waist glowed sapphires set in silver. 
Electro's wedding jewels from'Carillon long ago. It is no 
wonder he nearly made Aislinn take them off. But even a 
Mujhar cannot take back what is given freely, and so she has 
a legacy from her jehana, 
He looked more closely at her as she danced with the 
nobleman- In the weeks since Finn had healed his burned and 
broken arm, Aislinn had been busy with wedding preparations. 
They had hardly seen one another. Seeing her now, he 
thought the preparations were well-made; she was lovely. She 
was almost a woman, with girlhood nearly banished completely. 
What is mine is also Tynstar's. 
He heard the words clearly, as if spoken into his ears. He 
snapped upright, free of the wall, and sought Electra in the 
throng. 
But all he saw was Aislinn spinning slowly in the dance. 
He stared. Her hair, a rich red-gold, seemed to fade before 
his eyes. He saw how it blurred, running into a duller color, 
180 Jennifer Roberson 
until the red was replaced with silver-gray. And then the 
silver turned to white. 
But not the white of age. The pure white-blond of youth; 
Electra's ensorceled youth. 
Aislinn's eyes caught his. She stared at him as she stepped 
lightly through the pattern. He did not know what she thought; 
be was aware only of her eyes. Electra's eyes, pale as water 
and full of subtle promises. But the dreams she promised 

were nightmares. 
The heavy girdle spun out from her twisting skirts. He saw 
how the silver tangled; heard how it chimed, the dull clink of 
interlocked links. A rattle of stones as the sapphires clattered. 
And men the laughter was in his head. 
What is undone shall remain undone . . . what is mine is 
also Tynstar's. 
Donal flinched as a winecup was pressed into his hand. 
"Drink deep," Finn advised. "It will be a long night before 
you can bed your bride." 
He looked up again at Aislinn, shaken to the core. Gods\a151is 
Electra somewhere here? 
"I must kiss you for luck!" It was Bronwyn, coming up to 
clasp his arms. "Bend down, Donal\a151you are too tall for 
me!" 
He saw how the blue-enameled torque and earrings glittered 
against her skin. She had none of me dark coloring of 
the Cheysuli, showing the Homanan in her instead. 
Or the Ihlini? He bent slowly, still lost in what he had 
heard inside his head. "You are certain this will work?" 
"Everyone says it will. It must be done, you know." She 
kissed him soundly on one cheek, then laughed up at him. 
"Every woman who wants a cheysul must kiss (he most 
recent bridegroom.'' 
"Every woman\a151?" He recoiled in exaggerated horror. 
"Every single one." She twisted her head to seek someone 
in the crowd. "There\a151Meghan will undoubtedly be next." 
"Meghan! Meghan is too young to think of marriage\a151and 
so, for that matter, are you." 
Bronwyn laughed. "I am only a year younger than Aislinn. 
Perhaps by the time / am sixteen, I will have found a cheysul. 
Her amber eyes glinted. "After all, I am dancing with men, 
not boys. I have danced with Gryffth, and Rowan himself has 
already asked me twice." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
181 
"Rowan is being polite." Donal unthreaded his arm from 
hers. "Then go dance, rujholla. Do not keep your partners 
waiting." 
Laughing, she whirled in a swirl of sky-blue skirts and 
hastened back to the throng of young women. 
"She is nearly grown," Finn said quietly. "She has the 
right of it\a151by next year she may be wed." 
A twinge of unease unsettled Donal's belly. "It may be 
best we do not let her wed. We\a151do not know what powers 

she might claim in the coming years." 
Finn looked at him squarely. "If you stifle her, Donal\a151if 
you seek to keep her leashed, no matter how light the chain\a151 
you will surely twist her spirit. Right now, there is nothing of 
Tynstar in her." 
"And when there is?" 
"If there is ... we will deal with it then." 
"As we must deal with her ability to assume /ir-shape?" 
Finn looked sharply at Donal. "Bronwyn? Are you certain?" 
"She says so. Did she not tell you?" 
"No." Finn frowned into his wine. "She\a151has kept very 
apart since Alix's death. Oh\a151she spends time with Meghan, 
but not much with me. I have tried. ..." He stopped speaking. 
His dark face was stark, as if he deeply regretted his 
inability to deal with Alix's daughter. "She spends more time 
with Storr than with me, but if, she has learned how to take 
tir-shape, that is why." 
"Storr said nothing to you?" 
"Storr said nothing to me when Alix learned to shapechange." 
Finn's tone was wry, but Donal saw the trace of 
remembered pain in his uncle's eyes. "The lir protect those 
with the Old Blood. More so, I sometimes think, than they 
protect those without.'' 
Donal frowned, "Then could they protect her against 
herself?" 
"If she began to show signs of Ihlini powers?" Finn 
shrugged a little. "Who can say? All we know is the lir are 
constrained against attacking the Ihlini, no matter what the 
odds." 
"Gods," Donal said, "what my poor rujholla faces\a151" 
"We do not know." Finn said deliberately. "She may be 
free of the evil, even with the blood." 
Donal swirled wine within the confines of the goblet. 
182 Jennifer Roberson 
"Aye, but\a151" He broke it off. A stranger approached, and he 
had no wish to share Bronwyn's parentage with anyone but 
Finn. 
"May I join you?" the stranger asked. 
Finn turned to face him, then fell back a step- For a 
moment there was blatant shock in his eyes. "Caritlon did 
not tell me you were coming." 
"1 was not certain I could." The man\a151tall, very blond, 

with a silver circlet banding his head\a151smiled at Donal. "I 
think your nephew does not recall who I am. But why should 
he?\a151it was nearly sixteen years ago when last "he saw me, 
and he was only a boy." 
Donal released a breath of laughter. "I remember you, 
Lachlan! How could I nofi It was your Song of Homana so 
many of us sang the summer when you had gone." He shook 
his head. "No more the humble harper, are you, with all your 
fine clothes and jewels." An eloquent Hip of his hand indicated 
me blue velvets and flashing diamonds. "No more hiding 
your identity, but the High Prince of Ellas in all your power 
and grace." 
"Eloquent, is he not?" Finn observed lightly. "I mink he 
gels it from me." 
Lachlan's smile was warm and nostalgic. "Does he get 
anything from you, Finn, it would surety be your gift for 
inspiring\a151trust." The jibe was gentle, but the sting was 
clearly present. And then it faded. "I have just come from 
Carillon. Donal\a151I am sorry for Alix's death. I admired and 
respected her greatly. But\a151as for Carillon. . . ." Briefly, he 
glanced over his shoulder. Near one of the trestle tables 
Carillon stood head and shoulders above the men who clustered 
around him; Homanans, mostly, but a few Solindish 
guests. "In his letters, Carillon said Tynstar had stolen away 
his youth, but I did not realize he meant as much as that." 
Lachlan's voice was even, but Donal heard the undertone of 
concern. "Is there nothing to be done?" 
Finn shrugged. "He ages. All men age. Tynstar has merely 
given it to him sooner." 
Lachlan regarded Finn's expressionless face closely. "And 
have you tried to reverse it with your magic?" 
"It cannot be done," Finn said flatly. "Ihlini powers and 
Cheysuli gifts arc in direct opposition. We cannot undo what 
an Ihlini has done when it is of such magnitude as that." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
183 
Briefly, he looked at the Mujhar. His eyes belied his tone. "I 
mink he has accepted it." 
"Perhaps I, with Lodhi's aid\a151" 
"No." Finn's voice was flat and inflexible. "It is a part of 
his tahlmorra." 
"Lodhi," Lachlan muttered, "you and your destiny\a151!" 
Donal cleared his throat. "Lachlan\a151where is your harp? 
Have you left your Lady behind?" 
The Ellasian's blond hair shone in the candlelit room. Unlike 
Carillon or Finn, he seemed not to have aged at all, save for a 
fine tracery of lines at the corners of his blue eyes and faint 
brackets at his mouth. Blond, he was a stranger; Donal 
recalled him from a time when he had dyed the fair hair dark. 

"No. She is in my chambers. Why?\a151do you want a 
lesson?" Lachlan smiled. "When you asked me once before, 
as a boy, I said you had me hands of a warrior instead of 
a harper." He glanced at his own supple hands- "And, as for 
tonight\a151surely mere will be other things for you to master." 
Finn's tone was subtly mocking- "And what have you 
mastered since last we saw one another?" 
"I?" Lachlan's handsome face smoothed into a hospitable 
blankness, while diplomacy ruled his tongue. "1 have mastered 
happiness, Finn , . . and you?" The tone altered a 
little. "How is it with you\a151now that Tourmaline is dead?" 
Donal saw the taut muscles of linn's jaw relax just a little- 
It was shock, he knew; Finn, with most things, was imperturbable. 
But then no one mentioned his dead cheysula to his 
face, 
Finn's face remained expressionless, but only the habitual 
solemnity of a Cheysuli gave him the control- Donal saw 
through it quite easily. 
But then the control was released. Donal saw his uncle's 
eyes naked for the first time in his life, and the intensity of 
the pain stunned him. 
Finn looked directly at Lachlan. "Had I to do it over 
again, I would give her up to you." 
The High Prince of Ellas was clearly shocked. "Lodhi\a151 
why? Tony wanted you. She went with you willingly." 
The tone of Finn's voice was hollowed- "You could have 
kept her alive." 
Color drained out of Lachlan's face. His hand, holding a 
goblet of gold filled with rich red wine, shook enough to 
184 Jennifer Roberson 
make the metal glitter. "But-^t was you she wanted. All 
along. Carillon made it quite clear." 
"And you she should have taken." Finn glanced at Donal. 
"It is\a151hard to admit it when one has made a mistake. I was 
too selfish, too proud. Duncan had won Alix\a151I would not 
allow Torry also to go to another man when I wanted her for 
myself. I was\a151wrong. But the price was exacted from her." 
"I am sorry," Lachlan said finally. "I had no right to 
bring it up. This is not the time for recriminations\a1511 banished 
those long ago." Briefly, he smiled. "And I am wed 
now myself\a151a lovely woman. She loves me well, and I am 
content with her." 
Finn smiled ironically. "Where would you find such a fool 
asfW?" 
Lachlan grinned back, unoffended. "In Caledon, of course, 
since our realms have made a peace at last. We have two 
sons." 

Finn's mouth hooked down sourly. "Aye, your House runs 
to boys. How many brothers have you?" 
"Five. And five sisters." Lachlan laughed at Donal's startled 
glance. "Speaking of that: would you care to meet 
another of Rhodri*s sons?" 
"Who?" Finn asked suspiciously. "Is this one a harper, 
too?" 
"No. Not even a priest of Lodhi, though he does, when he 
must, admit to calling upon the All-Wise. Usually when he is 
in dire need of assistance." Lachlan turned and gestured. A 
young man approached: blue-eyed, dark-haired, well-dressed 
in quiet brown with little jewelry. He moved with Lachlan's 
fluid grace. He was not as tall and did not claim the same 
purity of features, as if they had blurred in him somehow, but 
he was handsome enough and his mouth was expressively 
mobile. 
He looked at his brother quizzically; there was a glint in his 
sleepy eyes. "Aye, my lord High Prince?" 
Lachlan sighed. "This is Evan, my youngest brother. Twenty 
years divide us, but we are closer than the rest. All the others 
are dutiful sons; Evan and I are the rebels." He smiled at his 
brother. "He decided to come to Homana because he had 
heard all the lays I sang of Carillon's exploits. He said he 
must meet these Cheysuli warriors, to see if the stories were 
true." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 185 
Evan executed a graceful bow before a startled Donal. "I 
must admit I expected something other man civilized behavior 
from you, my lord, 1 thought Cheysuli were spawned with 
tails and fangs." 
For a moment, Donal thought he meant it. Then he heard 
the ironic humor in Evan's tone. He smiled. "Beware your 
back\a151when the moon is whole we seek the souls of such 
men as you." 
Evan grinned and took the goblet from his brother's hand, 
swallowing most of the wine before Lachlan could protest. 
He handed it back with a challenging smile. Then he nodded 
at Donal. "She is a lovely bride, my lord." 
"My name is Donal, and aye\a151she is." 
Evan appraised him briefly. "I would drink to your future 
gladly\a151had i some wine." 
Donal lifted his own winecup. "Then we shall go and find 
some. My cup is drunk quite dry." 
"And I have none at all," Evan pointed out. 
They went directly to the nearest trestle table holding all 
manner of liquor. Donal judiciously stayed with the vintage 
he had already tasted; Evan, methodically precise, tried four 
cups before he found the wine he preferred. Then he offered 

several elaborate toasts in honor of the Prince of Homana and 
his bride, all spoken in the husky unintelligible language of 
Homana's eastern neighbor. Having scorched his throat with 
the words, Evan returned to Homanan and his wine. 
The Ellasian prince was full of good spirits, sweet wine 
and dry wit. He was patently unimpressed by Donal's rank or 
warrior status; he was too obsessed with having a good time. 
Donal, accustomed to wary dealings with Homanans disturbed 
by his shapechanging or turned obsequious because of 
his rank, found it a novel experience. He relaxed with Evan 
as he only rarely relaxed with others. They were, he decided, 
kinspirits, drawn together by mutual liking, respect and 
circumstances. 
Evan watched the dancers. Donal watched Evan. "Will 
you inherit the Ellasian throne?" 
Evan burst into laughter, nearly spraying wine all over 
himself. "I? Never! There are four brothers between Lachlan 
and myself, and he has two sons. And his wife has conceived 
again; likely it will be a boy, and I will be farther away from 
the throne even yet." He grinned- "Only if war, famine or 
186 Jennifer Roberson 
plague slew all of them^ leaving only me, would I inherit 
Ellas." He shrugged, sounding insufferably contented with 
his lot. "I am insignificant within my House. I find I prefer it 
dial way." 
"Why?" Donal was fascinated. 
*'As Lachlan said\a151I am somewhat a rebel son. Being 
insignificant leaves me the freedom to be whom I wish and to 
do what 1 wish. Within the bounds of reason. Of course, 
there are times my father forgets the order of my birth\a151was 
it fourth? No? Fifth?\a151but all in all I like it better this way." 
His sleepy blue eyes were shrewd behind dark lashes. "Lachlan 
is the heir\a151you have only to look at him to see what the title 
means. He far preferred being a priest of Lodhi the All-Father 
and a simple wandering harper, but he was firstborn, and 
therefore High Prince of Ellas. Those years he spent with 
Carillon were his freedom. Now he must be a proper son to 
our father." 
Donal looked at Lachlan still in conversation with Finn. 
"And does he resent it?" 
Evan laughed and quaffed more wine. "Lachlan resents 
nothing. He has not me darkness in him for that. None of us 
do." He grinned and arched an eyebrow. "That is Ellas for 
you, Donal: a land of laughter and happy people." His eyes 
followed the pattern of the dance. "Your wife enjoys herself 
with countless Homanan nobles. Is it not time you partnered 
her?" 
"It is customary for the bride to dance with all the men 
before she dances with her husband." He shrugged, "Or so I 
have been told. Dancing is a Homanan custom. I learned 
because I had to." 

Evan watched as Aislinn slipped through the pattern. "But 
she should not have so much freedom just after you have 
wed. She will think to seek it much too often." 
Donal regarded him in amusement. "What do you know of 
women, Evan? You are younger than I." 
"Twenty," he said, unoffended. "I know more than you 
mink. Now there is a lady I would care to know better than I 
do at the moment." 
Donal looked. He shook his head at once. "Never Meghan." 
"Why not?" Evan demanded archly. "Do you think 1 
could not win her?" 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
187 
and 
"To win her you would have to win her father . . . 
that you could never do," 
Evan tossed back a gulp of wine. "In Ellas, I have frequent 
experiences with fathers. When they know who I am, 
the thing is always settled." 
"Finn, I fear, would be less impressed by your rank than 
with your intentions toward his daughter.'' 
Evan's head turned sharply. "Finn? The CheysuH?" 
"My su'fali\a151" Donal smiled. "Uncle, in Homanan." 
"Then\a151she is Carillon's niece\a151" Evan frowned. "Perhaps 
I looked too high. Still, she is a pretty thing ... no, I 
think not. Why antagonize Cheysuli or Mujhar?" He tapped 
his silver cup against his teeth. "What of ACT?" 
Again, Donal looked. And again, he shook his head. "No." 
Evan's brows shot up beneath his dark brown hair. "No? 
Why say you no? Is she close to the Mujhar?" 
"Closer to me, Ellasian. Bronwyn is my sister." 
Evan swore in disgust. "Are there no women here who are 
not kin to royalty?" 
"Very few." Donal grinned and pushed his cup into Evan's 
hands. "I think I will do as you suggest and dance with 
Aislinn . . . before you look to her." 
FIFTEEN 
B
before Donal could reach Aislinn, Carillon intercepted him. 
"Donal\a151come with me. There are men you should meet." 
Politics, of course. "I mean to dance with Aislinn." He 
thought perhaps an appeal to Carillon's parental prejudice 
would delay the need for such discussions. 

Carillon smiled, seeing through the tactic at once. "Aislinn 
can wait a few moments. These are men you will need to 
know." The Mujhar's hand was on Donal's arm as he turned 
him away from the dance floor. "I know, this is your wedding 
celebration\a151but you will soon leam that such occasions 
offer opportunities other times do not." 
Reluctantly, Donal went with him to the knot of noblemen. 
Two of them he knew, having seen them year in and year out 
in Homana-Mujhar while they danced attendance on Carillon. 
Three others were strangers to him, but their accents were 
Solindish. 
Carillon conducted me introductions smoothly with lightheaded 
authority. The nuances told Donal the Mujhar meant 
to emphasize that this Cheysuli was now me Prince of Homana; 
did the Solindish seek to discount him, they discounted the 
man who would one day rule their realm. 
But it was the Homanans Donal watched more closely. He 
expected hostility from the Solindish; it came as no shock 
when he perceived it, however veiled. But the two Homanans, 
watching him silently, seemed tense, expectant, 
Gods\a151it is worse than I thought it might be. Surely Caril- 
188 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
189 
Ion can see it. These men and others like them will never 
accept me as Mujhar. 
Carillon's hand was on Donal's shoulder. "Of course we 
all realize the alliance between our two realms precludes any 
more war\a151" his smile was eloquently bland 'l\a151so I doubt 
Donal will ever see it. No doubt he will value the ongoing 
peace as highly as I do." Carillon inclined his head at the 
Solindish nobles. "It will be a mark of Donal's tenure as 
Mujhar that his reign will know only peace, and will no 
longer need petty squabbling." The hand tightened. "It would 
please me well to know I am succeeded by a man who can 
hold the peace so truly." 
"Peace is indeed something all of us desire," murmured 
one vermillion-clad Solindishman. 
"Of course, I do not doubt the people of Solinde will be 
somewhat alarmed by the ascension of a Cheysuli in place of 
their own Solindish House\a151" Carillon's smile, once more, 
held the faintest touch of irony "\a151but perhaps by the time it 
comes to that, they will be reconciled to Donal." 
There was a quick exchange of glances among the Solindishmen 
and the Homanans, Donal noted. 
"Perhaps it is time I sent for Duke Royce to come home 
from Lestra," Carillon mused. "He has been regent of Solinde 
for more than fifteen years\a151he is no longer young- I think 

Solinde might benefit from another, younger man." He did 
not smile as he looked at the Solindishmen. "How better to 
accustom a realm to its future Mujhar than to send that man 
there now?" 
Gods\a151is he serious? But Donal dared not show his surprise 
at Carillon's intentions. 
One of the Homanans stared. "You send him there now?" 
It was not, Donal knew, the reaction Carillon wanted. At 
least, not from the Homanans. 
The Mujhar shrugged. "First he and my daughter shall 
spend some time together as befits those newly married. At 
Joyenne, I think, before they go to Lestra." Carillon's hand 
tightened yet again on Donal's shoulder, as if he meant to 
pull him closer in a brief hug of parental approval. 
And then the woman screamed. 
Donal spun even as Carillon did. He saw a mass of colors, 
staring eyes and open mouths, all clustered within the hall, all 
190 Jennifer Roberson 
running into another in a collage of shock and stillness. And 
then he saw the man with the sword in his hand. 
His thoughts were disjointed. \a151coming at Carillon . . . a 
sword\a151-at a wedding\a151? Bur\a151no man may bear a sword into 
the Mujhar's presence . . . and all the guards are in the 
corridor\a151 
His own hand flashed down to clasp his long-knife and 
came up filled with steel and gold. Next to him. Carillon too 
had armed himself. But the enemy's sword, even as it sliced 
through the air in a blaze of shining steel, fell free of the 
assailant's hand. And the man himself, so close to the Mujhar, 
dropped a moment later to join his weapon on the floor. 
A knife, hilt-deep, stood up from the dead man's back in 
the very center of his spine. Dona! knew the blade at once: a 
royal Homanan knife, with rampant lion and ruby eye. And 
he knew what man had thrown it- 
Carillon stood over the body. But he did not look at it. 
Instead, he looked at the warrior who had thrown the royal 
knife. 
Finn's bare arms were folded across his chest. "It does 
appear, my lord, you lack a proper liege man." 
"Aye," Carillon agreed. His tone, though light, sounded 
hoarse in the silent hall- "Since I tost the one I had for so 
many years, I have been unable to find another." 
The question was implicit in his tone- Donal, staring at 
Finn, felt a strange wild hope build up in his breast. 
Gods\a151did Finn return to Carillon . . . things would be as 
they were before\a151 Except he knew they would not. Time 
had altered them both. 

Finn smiled faintly, darkly. "Aye," he agreed. "It is 
difficult to find a man well-suited to the post. I have always 
understood a liege man to be\a151 irreplaceable," 
"Unless replaced with the original warrior." Carillon's 
face was perfectly blank. 
Donal looked not at Finn but at Rowan. The most loyal and 
dedicated of all Carillon's generals wore, as Donal did, the 
colors of the realm. But Rowan's garb, rather than Cheysuli 
leathers, was the silks and velvets of Homana. 
Yet it was not the clothing Donal looked at, but the face. 
The sunbronzed Cheysuli face which had abruptly lost its 
color, gone ash-gray in shock. Rowan's hand was on the hilt 
of his long-knife, as if he had intended to draw it in Caril- 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 191 
Ion's defense. And yet\a151he did not look at Carillon. He 
looked instead at Finn. 
He waits, Donal realized abruptly. He waits for Finn's 
answer. Though he is no proper liege man, he is everything 
else to Carillon. He has served him so well for all these 
years. I do not doubt he felt he could take Finn's place in 
some small measure\a151perhaps more\a151and now he realizes 
Finn might return to Carillon's side. Donal blew out a breath. 
/ would not wish to live like that, ever on the edge. Ever 
wondering. 
But at last the wondering could stop- 
Finn looked down at the dead man. The golden hilt glittered 
in the torchlight. "No," he said finally, with the faintest 
note of regret underscoring his tone. "I think those times 
are done. I have a clan to lead. Warriors to train." He looked 
up and met Carillon's eyes. For a long moment they seemed 
to share an unspoken communication. Briefly, Finn looked at 
the twisted hands and the hunching of Carillon's shoulders. 
"There is something i can offer you. If you will let me do 
it." 
"Aye," Carillon agreed, "when I have cleared my hall of 
vermin." He replaced his own knife\a151a wolfs-head Cheysuli 
long-knife\a151then bent and pulled the bloodied knife from the 
assailant's back. He gave the royal blade over to Finn, then 
motioned to the guards who had come in at the woman's 
scream. Quickly and efficiently two of them gathered up the 
body, the sword, and took both from me hall. The other six 
waited for Carillon's command. 
He did not look at the Solindish noblemen who clustered 
near the center of the crowd. "Take them\a151" a wave of his 
hand indicted all six "\a151and escort them to their quarters. 
They will return home in the morning." 
"But\a151my lord Mujhar\a151!" The gray-haired lord in vermillion 
velvet spread his jeweled hands wide. "My lord\a151we 
had nothing to do with this\a151!" 
"On the day of my daughter's wedding. I have been 
attacked in my own hall," Carillon said inflexibly. "Let 

there be no more diplomacy between us, Voile\a151our two 
realms will soon be at war. This assassination attempt might 
have won it for Solinde before the thing was begun, had it 
succeeded. But it failed, and you are uncovered\a151like a grub 
192 Jennifer Roberson 
beneath a rock\a151your plan has gone awry." He signaled his 
guards to surround the Solindish nobles. 
Donal watched the guards take the Solindishmen away. In 
a flurry of low-voiced commands Carillon ordered the music 
and dancing begun again; the celebration would continue. 
Then he and Finn took their leave from the hail, and Donal 
slowly put his knife back into its sheath. 
He turned, meaning to find a servant with wine, and nearly 
stumbled over Bronwyn who stood directly in his path. He 
caught her arms and steadied her, marking how pale she was. 
Her hand went out to touch him. "Donal\a151how do you 
fare?" 
"Well," he told her. "Bronwyn\a151the thing is over now." 
Fingers locked on me blue enameled torque around her 
neck. "The sword came so close\a151" 
"I am well," he repeated. "Come, you had best go back 
to ourjehana." 
But Bronwyn stood in place. "Why does Carillon think it 
was him the assassin wanted?" 
Donal frowned. "It was, Bronwyn. Who else would such a 
man want?" 
"You," she said distinctly. "Oh Donal... I saw how the 
man looked at you. Not at the Mujhar." Her amber eyes 
began to fill with tears. "It was you he wanted, rujho. I 
swear\a151I saw it in his face." 
"Bronwyn\a151" He glanced past her toward the door through 
which Finn and Carillon had gone. "Bronwyn\a151are you quite 
certain?'' 
"Aye." Earrings flashed as she nodded her head. "I danced 
with him, rujho. He asked me questions about you. I thought 
nothing of it\a151most people do not know you. But then he left 
me. He left the hall. And when he came back, he had a 
sword." 
Donal frowned. "Were you not made suspicious by all the 
Solindishman's questions?" 
She stared up into his face. "But\a151Donal ... he was a 
Homanan." 
He felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. The flesh rose up 
on his bones. "Bronwyn\a151are you certain?" 
"Aye," she said. "Oh Donal, 1 am afraid\a151" 
No more than I am, rujholla. But he did not say it aloud. 

Instead, he looked for his new wife. "Where is Aislinn?" 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 193 
Bronwyn gestured. "There\a151do you see her? Over in the 
comer." 
He saw her. He saw how she stood away from the crowd, 
as if she could not bear to be a part of it. Sapphires and silver 
glittered. In both hands she held a hammered goblet and 
raised it to her mouth. He saw her grimace of distaste once 
she had swallowed. But he could not say if it was the wine 
that caused it, or the failure of the assassin. 
Aislinn . . . I think there are things between us to be 
settled. 
Donal looked down at Bronwyn. "Stay here. with the 
others. I think it is time I took my cheysula from the crowd." 
"But\a151what of the bedding ceremony?" 
He smiled grimly. "I think, tonight, it would be better 
Aislinn did without it." But he did not say he intended more 
for Aislinn than a simple nuptial bedding. 
He left his sister behind and smoothly worked his way 
through the crowd. The thought of dancing had fled his mind 
completely, though it was expected of the Prince and his 
princess. Somehow, the assassination attempt had ruined his 
taste for celebration. 
As he reached her, Donat put out his hand and took the 
goblet out of hers. Aislinn stared at him in surprise. "Do you 
want it? Or do you need it?" Suspicion made him cruel. 
"What?" 
He looked into her face. He saw pale pink underlying the 
pallor of her cheeks; the hectic glitter in her gray eyes. 
Sensuous eyes; he knew, for all she was still young, she had 
learned something of a woman's seductive ways from her 
incredibly seductive mother. 
He reached out and caught one slender wrist. "You tremble, 
Aislinn. For me or for youxjehanT' 
"I thought he would slay my father\a151" 
"He did not want Carillon. The assassin was after me." 
"You! Why would he want you?" 
Her surprise was sincere. He could not doubt it. It was less 
than flattering, perhaps\a151in an odd sort of way\a151that she 
would think him so insignificant a target, but he was relieved. 
He did not think the emotion was feigned. 
"There are some men who might desire me dead," he told 
her evenly, still appraising her reactions. "Undoubtedly some 
women, as well; Electra, perhaps?" He saw how her color 
194 Jennifer Roberson 

faded. "Carillon ages. He will not hold the Lion forever. 
How better to wrest the throne from the proper line than by 
slaying the man who will inherit from the Mujhar?" 
"Oh gods," she said. "Will it always be like this?" 
That was not precisely the reaction he had expected, not if 
she were a part of the plot against him. "1 hope not," he 
answered fervently. "If this is what the rank entails\a151" 
"You do not think you are up to it?" Her tone was very 
cool. In her silver and sapphires, she was more like her 
mother each moment. 
"Well," he said, "I think Carillon will rule for years yet. 
By the time he is ready to relinquish the Lion, I ought to be 
up to me task." He smiled at her blandly. "You are hiding in 
the comer, Aislinn. Are you avoiding me?" 
Color rushed into her face. Her wrist went stiff in his hand, 
"Are you?" he asked in surprise. 
"A\a151little. I have been told what to expect of the bedding 
ceremony." 
She sounded faintly disgusted as well as uncomfortable. He 
smiled. "Aye. They will do all they can to discomfit bride 
and groom. A Homanan custom, I am told; in the clans, a 
woman moves into a warrior's pavilion, and that is that." 
"That is a;/?" Her gray eyes were huge. "At this moment, 
1 would prefer this were a Cheysuli ceremony." 
"Then we shall make it one." He closed her hand within 
his own. "Come with me. We will escape the predators." 
Arrangements had been made for them to share royal apartments 
on me floor above their separate personal chambers. 
No one attended them; even the corridor was deserted. Privacy 
was absolute. But Donal took care to lock the door 
anyway. 
Aislinn stood at one of the narrow, glassless casements. He 
wondered what she saw, staring so fixedly out of the opening. 
Her back was to him, and he clearly saw the rigidness of 
tension in her spine. 
She turned. The heavy girdle clashed. He heard the rattle 
of the sapphires in the thickness of her skirts. 
The room was made of shadows. The draperied bed was a 
cavern full of promises. He could almost hear the whispered 
endearments, the sighs of lovers pleased. 
Aislinn faced him in silence. The wash of light from a 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 195 
single candle touched her hair with gold. At her throat shone 
the silver torque with its weight of brilliant sapphire. "I 
am\a151a little afraid." 

He leaned against the door so that the carved wood pressed 
into his spine. He watched her, saying nothing. He could not, 
for the moment. He was taken too much by surprise. Somehow 
he had not expected the strong desire he was suddenly 
feeling. 
For Aislinn? When there is Sorcha. who is everything to 
me? 
Everything, perhaps. But for the moment there was also 
Aislinn. 
Slowly, Aislinn moved away from the blackened casement. 
She went to a table. There was a flagon of wine and two 
gleaming goblets; a gift from the Atvian king. The bowls of 
the goblets were glass. The stems were wrought silver, flowing 
up around the bottom of each bowl in the shape of raven's 
wings. In the decanter, the wine was red as blood. 
Aislinn filled the goblets, then offered one to Donal. "Will 
you share the nuptial cup?" 
He pressed himself off the door. He approached. He saw 
how her long nails curved around the wine-filled crystal. 
When he reached her, he put out his hands and closed them 
over hers. 
"Shansu," he said. "Do you" think I would hurt you, 
Aislinn?" 
"You would never hurt me," she answered clearly. "I 
have seen the look in your eyes." Unexpectedly, she smiled. 
Donal, still clasping her hands and the goblet, lifted it 
toward her mouth. "I hope the vintage is good." 
The rim was at her lips. Luminance flowed across her face. 
"The cask was a gift from my mother." 
Abruptly, he jerked the goblet away. Wine splashed across 
them both, staining the pale blue silk of Aislinn's gown in a 
vivid blood-red gout. He felt the splatter on his arms, against 
his face. The wine was tepid, warm as blood; he nearly 
gagged on the heavy scent. 
The goblet fell. It struck the carpet and shattered. 
"Do you risk yourself as well?" he demanded. 
"Risk? What risk? It was a gift\a151" 
"To you? Or meant for me?" 
Color flowed out of her face. Wine droplets glittered against 
196 Jennifer Roberson 
die smooth flesh of one perfect cheek, then rolled down to 
splash against the gown. "Do you forget, husband, that/ was 
to drink as well?" 
"No more than I forget you spent two years with that witch 
on the Crystal Isle," he answered. "How am I to know she 
did not dose you with the poison bit by bit each day, until 

you grew immune?" 
"You/fw;!" she snapped. "Do you think I would wish for 
your death?" 
"1 accuse you of nothing." He could not, yet; there was no 
proof of complicity. 
"Finn tested me!" she cried. "You yourself were there. 
Am I not free of me taint of sorcery?" 
"You have been tested." That much he could give her. 
"But you still distrust me." The vivid hair curtained her 
face on either side. "Do you not? Do you think the assassin 
was also my doing? Do you really believe 1 desire to slay you 
when all I desire is you?" 
He took three steps, reached out, caught her wrist. He 
looked at me slim, delicate hand. He could see it again before 
his eyes: the creamy, gold-veined vault with all its marble lir, 
and the hands mat held the torch meant to thrust him to his 
death. 
"Aislinn," he said, "you frighten me. I know not what 
you will do." 
"You are a fool." She said it without heat. "A fool, to be 
afraid, when I would never slay you. I would slay anyone 
who tried. 1 love you, Donal." 
He believed her. In that moment, he was certain she told 
the truth. And Finn had tested her- 
Silently, he unfastened torque and girdle. He left born in a 
spill of silver and sapphire across the dark wood of the table. 
And then he took her to me bed, 
Slowly he untied the lacings of her gown, baring her 
smooth, pale, delicate back. As he touched her, her flesh 
responded- 
Naked, she lay against the bedclothes. She watched him 
with the eyes of a woman desiring a man. And so he divested 
himself of his clothing and slipped into bed beside her. 
Perhaps it will not be so ill-matched a union after all. . . 
But as he put a hand upon her breast, Aislinn screamed. 
All he could think to do was clamp a hand over her mouth. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
197 
-'k 
' '^ 
But she lunged away from him before he could, scrambling to 
the farthest comer of the bed. 
"At'Jlinn\a151" He got out of the bed at once, afraid he might 
frighten her further. 

"Wolf." She said it with cold precision. "Your blood is 
the blood of a wolf\a151your hands the claws of a wolf\a151your 
face the face of a wolf\a151do you think I will lie with you\a151?" 
He stared at her in horror and his flesh crawled. 
Aislinn twitched. He saw an alteration in her eyes. Briefly, 
a cessation of hostility, replaced with bewilderment. But as 
he opened his mouth to say her name, she twitched again and 
the words spilled out of her mouth. 
"Beast, not man ... not a human man ... she has told 
me\a151she has told me ... she has said it would be like\a151" 
"Aislinn, no\a151" 
"She said you will take me as a wolf because you can take 
me no other way." A shudder wracked her body. "Donal? 
Donal? What is wrong? Donal?" One trembling hand covered 
her mouth. "What is wrongT' 
"Aislinn\a151" slowly he moved one step closer to the bed 
"\a151she has filled your head with lies\a151" 
Aislinn's eyes were black. "Wolf\a151wolf\a151oo man ... no 
man - - . demon instead\a151to take me as a wolf\a151 ' 
"Aislinn, I promise you\a151" 
"Donal\a151" She twitched. "Do you think I will breed with 
you?" 
He felt the trembling begin in himself. Facing her, he 
could not help it. She crouched, beastlike, against the tester 
of the bed, knees thrust up beneath her chin and one hand 
twisted into her brilliant hair. But her other hand came up 
sharply and made the gesture against Cheysuli evil. 
' 'Beasssst,'' she hissed ' 7 will bear you no demon children.''' 
Before such fear and hatred, he was totally unmanned. All 
thoughts of bedding her, no matter how tender, fell utterly 
out of his mind. Staring at her, all he could see was Electra. 
Electra on the dais of the palace on the Crystal Isle, facing 
him defiantly: 
"No marriage is binding if it is not consummated." 
"Aislinn," he said, "oh Aislinn, do you see what she has 
done?" 
Tears were running down her face. "Donal\a151? What is 
wrong? What has she done to me\a151?" 
198 Jennifer Robe/son 
"She has twisted you\a151" But he stopped. Aislinn was 
beyond comprehension. 
Sickened, Donal put on his leathers again. And then he 
turned back to her, "Aislinn\a151" 
"/ will not lie with a wolf." 

Clumsily, Donal unlocked the door and went out. In the 
darkened corridor he stood, sickened and bereft, wanting only 
to lick the pain of injured pride. He thought at once of 
Sorcha, longing for the comfort of her arms. But he could not 
go to the Keep. Not on his wedding night. 
A sound. He looked up sharply and saw movement in the 
shadows. He heard the sibilance of silk aginst the stone. His 
hand went at once to his knife. He half-drew it, men saw the 
shadows take on the form of a man and woman embracing. 
The sound became a feminine giggle. 
After a moment, the couple moved closer yet, into the spill 
of torchlight. The man glanced up as he heard the slide and 
click of knife going back in its sheath. "What\a151is it Donal? 
Have we disturbed the bride and groom?" Closer yet, and the 
man's identity was revealed. 
"Evan." Donal found he could say nothing more. 
The Ellasian came onward, one arm slung around the 
woman. Donal did not know her, save to know she was 
Homanan. Evan apparently had given up his attraction to 
women who were kin to royalty and had found a willing girl 
of noble birth. "Do you tarry out here while your bride 
awaits? Or has she sent you away while she divests herself of 
her clothing." Evan kissed me girl quickly, then grinned 
archly at Donal. And then the grin faded. 
Evan kissed the girl again, more soundly, men patted her 
silken skirts, "Go back," he said, with only a hint of regret 
in his tone. "1 have business with the pnnce." 
Her protest died. She slewed her dark eyes in Donal's 
direction, then gathered up her skirts and hastened back along 
the corridor. 
Evan faced Donal squarely. "There is no need to speak. I 
have only to look at your face." His sleepy blue eyes held 
nothing of humor in them. "I know a remedy, my lord, if 
you will accompany me." 
Donal stirred at last. "There is no remedy for this." 
"Ah, but mere is. I promise you, there is." Evan smiled. 
"Will you show me me taverns of Mujhara?" 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
"All of them, Ellasian?" 
Evan merely shrugged. "As many as you can 
before the break of dawn." 
Slowly, Donal smiled. "Let us set this city afire. 
SIXTEEN 
T 

he Cheysuli were not brawlers ordinarily. They were warriors, 
bred in adversity and trained to slay quickly and effortlessly 
in order to protect kin, clan and king. To fight for the 
sheer enjoyment of such things seemed utter foolishness. Yet 
Dona), who had imbibed so much harsh wine he no longer 
saw anything without a blurred halo surrounding it, found 
himself embroiled in the midst of a tavern brawl. 
He did not precisely recall how it began. Merely that 
somehow he had discerned an insult to his person and his 
race, and mat redress was necessary. He dimly recalled the 
offending man had gone down easily enough\a151and then everyone 
else in the common room joined in the affray. 
He felt himself waver on his feet. Then a shoulder came 
against his spine and braced him. Without looking he knew, 
it was Evan, giving him what aid he could. 
And I need it\a151 
The tavern was a shambles. Groaning bodies sprawled 
under tables and fallen benches, counting bruises and fingering 
cuts. Other bodies, still limply strewn in comers of the 
room, did not move at all- Donal was dimly aware he and 
Evan had accounted for all the wreckage; the knowledge 
made him groggily happy. He was upholding the honor of his 
race. 
The EUasian fights like a Cheysuli . . . pity he must go 
home with Lachlan, now the marriage is made\a151 
A great weight landed on him from behind. He folded 
beneath it, experiencing mild surprise as his face scraped 
200 
LEQACY OF THE SWORD 
201 
against the wine-stained boards of the plankwood floor. He 
struggled briefly, felt an arm wrenched behind his back and 
grunted with unexpected pain. Then he was jerked to his feet 
and held quite still by a powerful arm thrust around his 
throat. 
Evan, he saw, was in a similar position. The foreign prince 
was bruised and bloodied, his face battered, but he was 
smiling. He did not appear unduly perturbed by the sudden 
cessation of the fight or that he was so easily contained. 
"[ will pay the damages," he announced. "There is no 
need to hold us for the watch." 
A short, squat man wearing the rough woolen tunic and 
breeches of a dalesman pushed his way through the wreckage 
and stopped before Donal. He was thickset, a common sort, 
with small brown eyes and a small, pursed mouth. The mouth 
formed his words oddly, twisted by his thick dalesman's 
dialect. 
He stared up into Donal's battered face. "Shapechangers 
be not welcome here." He spat on Donal's boot. 

Donal swallowed. "I was," he said, "before the Homanans 
began to lose." 
Small brown piglet eyes, malignant and unblinking. "Shame 
the Mujhar put purge on your sort, shapechanger. Years ago, 
'twas - . . and those of us'n here still be holdin' with't." 
Donal was dizzy and disoriented, but the mists were clearing 
from his head. He stared at the pig-eyed man in dazed 
amazement. "Shaine is dead. Carillon is me Mujhar." 
"Demon-spawn," the short man said clearly. "Yourkind'll 
be bumin' in the name of good an' clean Homanan gods, 
unspoiled by the foulness of shapechanger demons." 
Donal heard stunned disbelief in Evan's voice. "You would 
slay a man because of his raceT' 
"Demons," the man repeated, and spat again against the 
floor. Mucous fouled Donal's boot. "I be Harbin, leader of 
these men. We all of us'n here be servin* the memory of the 
rightful Mujhar of Homana." 
"Shaine is dead!" Donal repeated. "Carillon is in his 
place." 
"Carillon be a weaklin* king, bespelled by Cheysuli magic. 
We don't be followin' him." 
Donal became aware of the tension in the tavern. This was 
not some simple disagreement or mere displeasure over the 
202 Jennifer Roberson 
outcome of the fight- Carefully he took a breath, feeling the 
arm press more tightly against his throat cutting off the 
indrawn breath- "Carillon has declared the qu'mahlin ended. 
Do you slay me, you slay a man sworn to the Mujhar." 
Harbin stared up at him. Thick arms were crossed against 
his wool-clad chest; his heavy boots were planted firmly 
against the plankwood floor. "Carillon be bespelled. He 
holds Homana because of that. Because of his masters, the 
shapechangers. E'en now he plots to be givin* the throne 
back into the hands\a151the paws!\a151of demon-spawn. Us'n be 
helpless to reach Carillon himsel', but can reach the Cheysuli.'' 
His eyes shone in the candlelight. "One at a time, us'n be 
slayin' them. Us'n begin with you." 
"No!" Evan cried. "You know not whom you threaten!" 
Harbin ignored him, staring fixedly at Donal. Then his lips 
stretched wide over strong yellowed teeth as his eyes took in 
the ;i'r-bands, belt and circlet; the earring shining in black 
hair. "You be, for all, a wealthy demon." He jerked his 
head. "Strip him of his gold!" 
Donal struggled briefly, was contained, and had to stand 
stiffly as hands grabbed for belt and knife and circlet. But 
when they sought to pull the /ir-gold from his arms and ears, 
it was Evan who shouted to them. 

"Look at him! He is the Prince of Homana!" 
Harbin's head snapped around on his neck. "What folly 
you be speakin' at me, stranger?" 
"He is Carillon's heir\a151" Evan grimaced as an arm nearly 
shut off his voice. "He is your prince, you fool\a151he is Donal 
of Homana\a151" 
Harbin looked back at Donal sharply. He motioned the 
others away, save for the men that held him captive. 
"Is it true?" a voice asked in belated discovery. 
"Hold yon tongue!" Harbin snapped. He moved closer to 
Donal. His broad, stubbled face wore a scowl of consideration. 
"Is't true? Be claimin' yersel our prince, you be? 
Carillon's own heir? You wear enow gold for it!" He laughed 
suddenly, harshly. "Donal o' Homana, is't? Us'n caught us a 
prize worth the bumin'!" 
"If he is the prince\a151" one man began. 
"Hush'ee!" Harbin shouted. "He be a shapechanger. See 
that beast-gold on his arms and in his ear? The mark of 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 203 
demons on him." Harbin's breath came quickly and noisily. 
"Must be burned for it. Must be sacrificed." 
"We can't bum him here\a151" another protested weakly. 
The dalesman's piglet eyes narrowed as he picked at his 
yellowed teeth. "No. But he can still be cut here, and the 
body taken away for proper offerin'." He nodded. "Aye, 
aye\a151no one be takin' notice of a drunken man carried out of 
a tavern in the middle of the night." He spun around suddenly 
and faced Evan. "You be fearin' for your own life, 
stranger? Nay. We be not evil men. We be bumin' only 
demons." 
Evan's mobile face was darkening with bruises. His mouth 
twisted as he sought to speak clearly. "He is your prince\a151" 
"There bein' the greater offerin'." Harbin turned back, 
indicating a long wooden table still upright in the center of 
the common room. "Lay him there, and pin him down. On 
his back, barin' his throat to the gods. We be makin' this 
sacrifice as our old'uns did." 
Donal felt fingers dig into his arms, broken and grimy nails 
scoring bare, vulnerable flesh. He bared his teeth at the 
closest man and saw him fall back in terror. But the others 
bore him to the table. 
Fingers hooked into the heavy bands on either arm. He felt 
the nails cut as they twisted into his flesh. The lir-gold was 
forcibly dragged from his arms until he was naked without 
either band. But when a man set hand to the earring, Donal 
tried to jerk away. 
"Lay him down!" Harbin shouted. "Pin him to the wood!" 

They threw him down and stretched him flat on his back. 
His shoulders smashed against the table as they pinned him 
with countless hands, forcing his head back so that it hung off 
the end of the tabletop. 
His senses reeled. He heard Evan shouting. Frenziedly he 
lashed out with a booted foot, smashing at any flesh and bone 
he could reach, but they caught and held him, jerking his legs 
apart until he was spread-eagled and utterly helpless. Hands 
grasped at his hair and yanked down his head, baring his 
throat to the blackened roof beams. 
Donal cried out hoarsely, unconsciously reverting to the 
Old Tongue of his race. He writhed on the table, straining to 
break free, but he was held too firmly. 
Lir! he screamed. Why did I leave you behind? Blood 
204 Jennifer Roberson 
welled into his mouth as he bit the inside of his cheek. By the 
gods . . . I have slain myself\a151 
Harbin drew a shearing knife from his belt and approached, 
eyes fixed on the bared column of Donal's throat. Viewing 
the dalesman upside down, Donal saw only a face twisted by 
madness and the rising of the blade. 
Gods . . . I should have stayed with Aislinn\a151 
He opened his mouth to cry out a denial\a151 
\a151a waiting howl curled around the corners of the common 
room and echoed within the timbers of the roof. 
Then another came, closer still, and no man dared move. 
The hom window smashed as the ruddy wolf leaped through 
and drove straight at Harbin, taking him in the throat. The 
knife fell as Harbin fell and the gurgling cry breaking out of 
his throat was the last sound he ever made. 
A second man screamed as a striking bird of prey streaked 
in through the broken window and stooped, slicing with 
upraised talons at wide-open, staring eyes. 
Rigid hands released rigid flesh. Donal, freed, came up 
from the table in a writhing twist. He stood atop the wood, 
balanced above them all, breath hissing between his tightlocked 
teeth. He felt a terrific upsurge of rage and the tremendous 
backlash of fear. He loosed himself, summoning up the 
magic, and blurred before them all. 
Men ran screaming from the tavern, stumbling over others 
as they fought to escape the nightmare. Some did not make it, 
for Evan had caught up a fallen sword and cut off several 
fleeing men, driving them into a comer where he held them. 
Lom, blood-spattered and ablaze with fury, released his 
third kill. He turned, seeking other prey. Taj, having raked 
the eyes from one man and sliced open the face of another, 
screamed from the rafters. 

"Hold!" Evan shouted. "Donal\a151it is done\\" 
Donal, locked in wolf-shape, heard the shout as a blur of 
sound, meaningless to him. He was caught up in the sheer 
lust for blood, snarling in ferocious joy as he stalked a man 
already bloodied from the encounter. Nails scratched against 
stained wood. Tail bristled. Hackles raised. Ears went flat 
against the sleek, savage, silver head. 
"Donal," Evan gasped breathlessly. "There is no more 
need to fight. Look around you!" 
The wolf moved away from the man who huddled pitifully 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 205 
against an overturned bench, crying and shaking. For a moment 
the wolf stared fixedly at the EIlasian, yellow man-eyes 
eerie and half-mad. But then he seemed to understand. The 
animal shape slid out of focus, blurring to leave a void in the 
air. Then Donal stood in its place. Blood ran from his mouth 
and painted his naked arms, but he was whole, and wholly 
human. 
Four men had escaped. Evan held three against the wall. 
Five lay dead and two more badly wounded. Donal, standing 
in the middle of the tavern, shuddered once, and was still. 
"Were 1 a vindictive man\a151" he said hoarsely, "\a151were 1 
a man such as Harbin, I would order my iir to slay you all." 
Evan stared at him. "Donal\a151don't. Do not besmirch your 
race and name." 
Donal pushed a forearm, across his sweat-damp brow, shoving 
sticky hair aside. He left behind a smear of blood. 
"Should I not? Should I let them go?" For a moment, he 
shut his burning eyes. "Gods\a151what has happened here?" He 
opened his eyes again and looked around the tavern blankly. 
"What madness infects Homana?" 
"Donal," Evan said. 
He shook his head. "No. I will not slay them. 1 will not 
besmirch my race and name." Again, he pushed dampened 
hair from his battered face. "But I wilt let them see what it is 
to be Cheysuli." He moved toward the three men Evan held 
in the comer. "Step away from them, EIlasian. This does not 
concern you." 
Evan, dropping the sword in a gesture of distaste, did as he 
was ordered. He moved to the broken window and watched 
as Donal paced slowly closer to me men. He held them with 
only his eyes, pinning them to the wall. 
"We claim'three gifts," he told them clearly. "One is the 
gift of /ir-shape, which you call the shapechange. A second is 
that of healing, which you refuse to believe, believing instead 
we are demon-spawn and evil. And the third, the final gift, is 
truly terrible." Donal drew in an unsteady breath. "It gives 
us the power to force a man's wilt, to replace it with our 
own. It is the gift of compulsion." His voice was a whiplash 

of sound. "Look at me." 
They looked. They could do nothing else. 
Donal held them all. "Take your wounded and care for 
them. Tell your women and children what you have done this 
206 Jennifer Roberson 
night, and what you meant to do, and what both things have 
earned you. And know that you will never again lay hands 
upon a Cheysuli with ill intent." He stared at their blank, 
slack faces; their empty eyes. He had taken will and initiative 
from them, putting his own in the places left empty by his 
magic. The surge of anger within him was so powerful he 
wanted only to break them all, destroying their minds with a 
single, savage thought, but he did not. "Go from here," he 
said thickly, and turned away to lean against the table that 
had nearly been his beir. 
The men gathered up their dead, their wounded, one by 
one, and carried them from the tavern. When they were done, 
leaving Donal alone with Evan and the ;i'r, he set a hand to 
his aching head. "Now\a151you have seen what it is to be 
Cheysuli." 
Evan, slowly sitting down on a righted stool, nodded. "I 
have seen it." 
"And do Lachlan's lays exaggerate?" 
"No." Evan smiled faintly. "I think even Lachlan cannot 
capture what it is to see a man shift his shape into that of an 
animal. But I think also the magic exacts a price from the 
men who know it fully." 
Donal bent down. He gathered up the fallen /('r-bands. In 
his hands, the gold seemed to recapture its luster. "It\a151exacts 
a price," Donal agreed. Carefully he slid both bands over his 
hands and up his forearms, until they rested in place above 
his elbows. "I walked too close to the edge of madness." 
Again he bent. He scooped up his belt, his knife, the golden 
circlet of his rank. And then, too weary to rise again, he sat 
down and leaned against the table. 
Lom came to him at once, pressing his muzzle against 
Donal's chest. Donal hung one bruised arm around the wolfs 
neck and hugged him briefly, putting his bloodied face against 
Lom's ruddy head. Taj fluttered down from the rafter and 
settled on the table, pipping at Donal quietly. 
"What do they say?" Evan asked. 
"They wish me well," Donal told him. "They wish I 
might have kept myself from the encounter. They wish I had 
not seen fit to go out with an Ellasian princeling when I might 
have remained at Homana-Mujhar instead, and safe from 
such violence." He smiled. "They wish me nothing I do not 
already wish for myself." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
207 

"/ could not have said the evening would end like this!" 
Evan was cleariy affronted. "In Ellas, we do not have madmen 
out to sacrifice others for their blood." 
Donal draped the filigreed belt across one forearm as he 
propped the elbow across his knee- The rubies glowed dully 
in the torch-lit room. Like blood. Like all the blood on his 
arms. Absently, he smeared it across his flesh and dulled the 
gold as well." 
"In Homana," he said, "we have two races vying for a 
single throne. A Cheysuli throne, once\a151we gave it up to the 
Homanans four hundred years ago. For peace. Because they 
feared our magic. And now, because of Shaine, they fear us 
again, and seek to usurp us." 
"You will be the king of Homana." 
Donal looked at the Ellasian. "One day. One day, when 
Carillon is dead . . . and if/am still alive." 
"There will always be fools in the world, and madmen." 
Evan indicated Harbin's body. "You will have to cull them, 
Donal. Before they cull you." 
Donal rubbed me heel of his hand across his gritty eyes. 
"Evan," he said. "Gods\a151I am weary unto death. What 1 
have done this night is not lightly undertaken. I will pay the 
price for such sorcery." He stared blearily at the Ellasian. 
"Will you see to it I am brought safely home?" 
"Of course," Evan agreed, surprised- "But why do you 
ask?" 
Donal managed a final, sickly smile. Then he toppled 
sideways to the floor. 
On the first day, he built a shelter out of saplings. He wove 
them together with vines. He took stones from the ground and 
made afirecairn in the center of the shelter. He lighted afire 
and put herbs into the flames, until smoke rose up to fill the 
tiny shelter. 
He stripped out of his leathers and folded them into a pile 
outside the shelter. He took off armbands and earrings, 
setting them on top of the piled clothing. Naked, lirless, 
alone, he entered and sat down. cross-legged, and allowed 
the smoke to cloak his body. 
It grew warm within the shelter. Too warm. What flesh had 
first shrunk from the twilight chill now exuded sweat that 
208 Jennifer Roberson 
formed in droplets and ran down sun-bromed flesh to the 
earth. Breathing grew labored, and husky. 
He did not close his eyes. Smoke entered them. Burned; 
burning, his eyes began to water. Tears coursed down his 
face to drip against his chest, where it joined the sheen of 
sweat that bathed his flesh. 

He sat. He waited. When the herbs and wood burned away 
and the rocks of the cairn grew cool. still he waited. He did 
not eat. He did not sleep. He did not move at all. 
On the second day. he stalked and slew a silver wolf. He 
drained the blood from the body, and then he smeared it onto 
his flesh from head to toe. It dried. Itched. Flaked. But he 
ignored it. 
He ate raw the wolfs warm heart. 
The taste was vile. 
But he disregarded it. 
On the third day, he bathed in a glass-black pool. He 
scraped blood and grime and smoke-stench from his flesh 
with heavy sand. Blood speckled up where he scraped too 
hard; his blood; that which was now cleansed as the flesh 
was cleansed, as the spirit was cleansed; that which made 
him Cheysuli. 
He had sweated out the impurities from within. 
He had slain his other self; devoured that which had nearly 
devoured him; renewed the self he had slain in the bloody 
christening ritual. 
He was cleansed. 
I'toshaa-ni. 
"Five days," Rowan said. "You might have told the 
Myhar." 
Donal, holding [an in his arms as he stood before his 
pavilion, met Rowan's eyes levelly. "There was a thing 1 
had to do." 
A muscle ticked in Rowan's jaw. "You might have told 
the Mujhar," he repeated implacably. "The EIlasian prince 
came back telling a tale of near-murder and violence - . - and 
yet you see fit to leave the city without a word to anyone." 
"I saw fit." As lan squirmed, Donal set him down. The 
boy steadied himself against his father's leather-clad leg, then 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 209 
ran off to chase a new-fledged hawk as it tried to ride the 
wind. 
Rowan held the reins of two horses. One of them was 
Donal's chestnut stallion. "You have no choice." he said. 
"There is ever a choice, for me." Donal did not smile. "I 
did not flee, general. I did not run from Carillon's wrath. I 
came home to my Keep because there was a thing I had to 
do. A form of expiation." His face still bore traces of the 
tavern beating, (hough most of the soreness had passed. 
"I'toshaa-ni, Rowan ... or do your Homanan ways preclude 
you from comprehension?" 

Dull color darkened Rowan's taut brown skin. For the 
briefest of moments Donal saw the general's tight-shut white 
teeth when his lips peeled back as if he would speak. But he 
did not. He merely pressed his lips together again tensely and 
held out the reins to the chestnut horse. 
"1 might prefer /ir-shape," Donal said quietly. 
"Do you challenge me?" Rowan's voice gained emotion. 
There was anger in it, raw, rising anger. "Do you challenge 
me?" He cut off the beginnings of Donal's answer with a 
sharp gesture. A Cheysuli gesture, quite rude, demanding the 
silence of another. "Aye, I know what you do, my lord. You 
look down from your Cheysuli pride and arrogance and count 
me an ignorant man. Unblessed, am I?\a151a man without a ;i'r? 
Do you think I do not know? Do you think I do not feel your 
opinion of me?" Rowan stared at Donal with a predator's 
challenge; with the unwavering stare of a dominant wolf 
facing a younger cub wishing to fight for the rule of the pack. 
"Lirless I may be, Donal, but\a151by the gods!\a151I am Carillon's 
man! What I do, I do for Homana. You would be better 
to think of me as someone who means you well, rather than 
your keeper." 
Resentment rose up in Donal's belly. But also guilt, and a 
tinge of honest regret. Mutely, he took the reins from Rowan's 
hands. "I was in need of cleansing," he said in low 
voice. "Rowan\a151I needed i'toshaa-ni." 
"No doubt you will need it twice or thrice before this war 
is done." Rowan swung up on his horse, pulling his crimson 
cloak into place across the glossy rump of his tall white 
stallion. He looked down upon Donal, and his face was very 
grim. "Carillon has no more time for the follies of youth in 
his heir- And neither, I think, do I." 
210 Jennifer Robefson 
"Youf" Dona! mounted and spun his horse to face Rowan 
squarely. "You are not of my clan\a151my kin\a151you are not 
even a proper warrior. Aye, I look down on you from Cheysuli 
arrogance\a151how can I not? You are a Uriess man, and yet 
you live. You live, while the iir you might have had is dead 
all these long, long years." 
"Would you rather have me dead?" Rowan's hand caught 
the reins of DonaTs horse. "By me gods, boy, you may be 
Duncan's son, but you have none of his sensitivity. I hear 
more of Finn in you\a151too quick to judge another man by what 
feelings are in yourself." Still he held the fretting stallion. 
Dust rose into the air. "Do you think I feel nothing? Do you 
consider me little more than Carillon's puppet, titled out of 
courtesy?" Rowan's lips drew back. "Ku'reshtin1.\a151you should 
know better. 1 earned what rank I hold, which is more man 
you can claim. No\a151" Again, the sharp gesture cut Donal 
off. "I was bom, as you were, to the clan. But Shaine's 
qu'mahlin raged, and my life was endangered the moment I 
drew breath. My kin. in running, were slain, and I was left to 
the Ellasians who found me. Am I less a man for that? Am I 
less a man because I claim no /i'r?" His eyes held Donal's 
without flinching. "Less a warrior, aye, as you would count 
a warrior\a151but not less a man than you. I am what I have 

made myself. And I am content with that." For a moment, 
his hand tightened on the reins of Donal's horse. "Homanan 
puppet, some men call me. But what will they call you? You 
claim the Homanan blood . . , while I am all Cheysuli." 
Donal glared. "I claim nothing but the favor of the gods." 
Rowan laughed. The sound rang out raucously, and he 
threw the leather rein back at Donal. "Do you, now? Are you 
better, then, than others?" But he stopped laughing. The 
ironic humor left his voice. Donal saw the tautness in Rowan's 
mouth and heard the too-smooth note of elaborate condescension 
in his tone. "And does your divinity preclude you 
from lying with your wife?" 
Donal felt his breath flow out of his chest. He stared back 
and saw minute disgust in Rowan's eyes. 
Disgust . . . with me ... "What has Aislinn said?" 
Rowan shrugged with studied negligence and gathered in 
his reins. "You wilt have to ask that of Carillon." 
"Then let us do it." Donal set heels to his horse- "By the 
gods, let us do it\a151" 
SEVENTEEN 
C
larillon sat in his favorite private solar, soft-booted feet 
propped up on a three-legged footstool and torso slumped 
back into the depths of a padded velvet chair. In his hands he 
cradled a goblet of pale yellow wine; he nursed it, sipping 
almost absently. A fresh flagon sat on the table beside the 
chair. 
Donal, facing him, felt impatience rise. He had sought out 
the Mujhar and confronted him, demanding to know what 
Aislinn had said of their failed wedding night. Carillon had 
said nothing, merely waving him into silence as if he must 
think things over. And so Donal waited. 
Taj perched atop the high back of a second chair; Lom, 
sleepy-eyed, slumped loosely against the stones in front of 
the fireplace. Neither offered comment: Donal thought they, 
like he. waited. 
Carillon stared fixedly into the half-gone goblet of pale 
sweet wine, as if he dreamed. Donal thought he looked lost 
somehow, elsewhere entirely; there was a slackness about his 
spirit, a lessening of the intensity Donal had always known in 
him. But after a moment he stirred. "I am told you left 
Aislinn to seek entertainments with Lachian's brother; that 
you embroiled yourself in a brawl that quickly became more 
than a misunderstanding. Evan says you are fortunate to be 
alive." 

"Aye." Donal controlled his voice with effort. "I am\a151 
fortunate. But 1 left Aislinn because she would not have me 
lie with her. There were\a151impediments." 
211 
212 Jennifer Roberson 
"Impediments?" Carillon straightened in his chair. One 
hand gripped the goblet, the other clenched on the knobbed 
end of the wooden chair arm. "If you speak of a young 
bride's natural modesty, you should know that a canng husband 
can overcome impediments such as that." He did not 
smile. "You and Sorcha were quite young when first you lay 
together. And yet you managed it. Why could you not manage 
this?" 
Donal felt the coil of distaste and embarrassment tighten 
within his belly. "She would not have it," he said quietly. 
"She swore she would not have it. There were\a151words of 
insult. Words meant to hurt, to unman me\a151and they did." 
Donal looked straight at the Mujhar. "What I heard were 
Electra's thoughts, Electra's words in Aislinn's mouth, and I 
refuse to lie with her." 
Carillon sat forward in the chair, hunching, both hands 
clutching the goblet. "Electra," he said hoarsely. "By the 
gods, I wish that woman were dead!" 
Donal moved forward, "But she is not," he said evenly. 
"She is alive, and well, and no doubt abetting Tynstar as he 
seeks to attack Homana." He paused before the Mujhar, a 
man grown old before his time, and aging too quickly even 
now. "But\a151she is also here, my lord . . . within your 
daughter's mind. And while she dwells there, there will be no 
heirs to the Lion Throne." 
For just a moment, the twisted hands on the goblet shook. 
Wine spilled, splashing against the soft leather of Carillon's 
boots. "And so they shall win this realm because there are no 
children of my daughter and her husband," he said. "War 
becomes\a151incidental. Unnecessary, somehow. Because they 
can destroy us another way." Carillon drank. He tossed back 
the wine as if it were water, then poured a second goblet. But 
this time he only stared into it, his face lined with bitterness 
and regret. 
And then he looked at Donal. "Can you not shut her 
away? Shut her out of Aislinn's mind?" 
Donal shrugged. "She is the parasite and Aislinn is the 
host. A rapacious parasite . . . and a fragile, erratic host." 
Carillon sighed and shut his eyes. For a long moment he 
kept himself in silence. Then, "Name me a monster, if you 
will, but I must bid you to use force. Use the power I know 
you have." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
213 
Donal stared at him in shock. "You would have me force 

your daughter?" 
"Not rape." Carillon shook his head. "No, never that. 
Use the third gift. Compel her to lie with you. I know you 
will not harm her." He pushed himself out of the chair. 
"Poor Aislinn\a151it is not her choosing, what Electra has done 
to her. She has become a valuable gamepiece, a gamepiece 
which Electra can use to raze the House of Homana. She 
infests Aislinn now, so that against her will Aislinn heeds 
what Electra intends, even to attempting murder." He ran 
twisted fingers through the heavily silvered hair. "But one 
way of making certain Electra does not succeed is to overcome 
her with magic stronger than what she has learned from 
Tynstar-" 
"It is force," Donal said. "Kin to rape, or worse\a151 you 
ask me to take her will from her and replace it with my 
own." 
Carillon set the goblet down on the table and moved slowly 
to one of the sun-drenched casements. He stared out, but 
Donal thought he saw nothing. "It is not force if it be 
replaced with willingness." 
Donal crossed to the table and picked up Carillon's goblet, 
meaning to wash the foul taste from his mouth with a swallow 
of sweetened wine. But the Mujhar, turning back, saw it. 
"No!" he said sharply, crossing to catch the goblet from 
DonaTs hand. "No\a151I am sorry ... it is my favorite, and 
the cask is nearly empty. Until more is delivered, I am 
limited to a single goblet each night ... and I am a selfish 
man." Carillon smiled. "I think you might do better to keep 
yourself from wine this night and think of what awaits you in 
your bed." 
Donal shook his head. "I have no taste for this." 
"I do not ask you to have taste," Carillon said raggedly. 
"I ask only that you perform a service any man should be 
ready and willing to perform." 
"Ready and willing!" Donal threw at him. "This is your 
daughter. Carillon ... not some silly chambermaid!" 
"Do you think I do not know?" Carillon shouted back. His 
voice shook a little, and Donal saw the anguish in the depths 
of the fading blue eyes. "Ah gods, would that I had never 
married the woman, so this would not be necessary. Would 
that I had wed someone else\a151" He broke off. Tears shone in 
Jennifer Roberson 
214 
his eyes. "They warned me. Finn, mostly. And Duncan. 
Even Alix and my sister. Do not wed Eiectra, they said, she 
is Tynstar's meijha and will only seek to slay you. Oh, aye, 
they had the right of it... and now I pay the price." 
Donal drew in a deep breath, knowing somehow he had to 
offer comfort to the man. "You took her for the alliance 
between Homana and Solinde. You have spent these past 
fifteen years teaching me the rudiments of kingcraft\a151I think 

I understand at least a little of it. You wed her because you 
had to." 
"Had to?" Carillon's twisted smile was bittersweet. "Oh, 
aye\a151I had to. For the alliance ... but something else as 
well." He stared into the goblet. "Aye . . . there was socery 
and witchcraft, but much more to the woman than that. She 
was\a151unlike any other 1 had ever known. Even now. And\a1511 
think I even loved her ... for a little while." Slowly, he 
lifted the recaptured goblet and drank down what remained of 
the pale, sweet wine. "Do what you must," he said at last. 
"but be gentle with her, Donal." 
Looking at him, Donal felt a chill of apprehension run 
down the length of bis spine. Gods . . . grant me health, 
grant me the kindness ofnever putting such choices before me. 
He waited until it was very late and most of the servants 
were abed. Then, telling his lir to remain in his chamber, he 
went down the corridor to Aislinn's suite of apartments, and 
pushed open the heavy door. 
He had half expected it to be locked. But perhaps Aislinn, 
knowing her actions had driven him into the city streets and 
then to Sorcha in the Keep, thought he would not return to 
her. And so his way was unimpeded as he entered the darkened 
chamber. 
One candle burned in the far comer. Donal had never 
understood the Homanan penchant for leaving candles lit 
when sleep was sought; if there were demons sent to catch a 
man, a candle would not stop them. And if it were meant to 
ward off mortal enemies, the light destroyed night vision and 
left the victim more vulnerable than ever. 
But he did not blow it out. He wanted Aislinn to know him 
when she saw him. 
Noiselessly he walked to her draperied bed. He could see 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 215 
nothing through the sheen of silk and gauze. But he could 
hear her breathing. 
Gods . . . does Carillon know what he asks7 But he knew 
the Mujhar did. 
Quickly Donal shed boots and leathers. Naked, he stripped 
aside the draperies, prepared to slip into the bed\a151 
\a151and found Aislinn waiting for him, kneeling amid the 
folds of the coverlet. 
In the shadows of the curtained bed. her eyes were blackened 
hollows. Dim candlelight threaded its way through the 
draperies and burnished bronze her red-gold hair. She wore a 
thin silken nightshift; nothing else, except her pride. 
"You knew," he said. 

"I knew. No one told me, but\a151I knew." She drew in an 
uneven breath. "All my .life 1 have been brought up to know 
my task in mis world is to bear children for my lord. All my 
life I have known my first-bom son would become Mujhar in 
his father's place, as you will when mine is dead. Well . . . 
there will be no son if I do not lie with you." 
She was frightened even as she smiled a wry little smile, 
stating the obvious; that much he could tell. But frightened of 
herself, not of him. "It is not you, Aislinn," he told her. "It 
is what that witch has done to you." 
She swallowed visibly. "I know it. But\a151knowing it does 
not undo what she has done." 
Gently, he asked, "You know what / must do?" 
Aislinn briefly shut her eyes. "Gods, Donal\a151I would 
trade almost anything to make this bedding pleasurable for us 
both! Do you think I wish to spew such vileness from my 
mouth?" Her fingers were locked into the neckline of her 
nightshift, twisting at the fabric- "For as long as I can 
remember, you were the man I wanted. Even as children, 1 
knew I could go to you for anything. And now\a151now, when I 
can have you\a151I drive you instead to her." 
Her. Aislinn knew very well what competition Sorcha 
offered- And yet he did not, for the moment, see jealousy in 
her face. Only dashed hopes and forlorn self-hatred, because 
Aislinn blamed herself. 
He nearly put out his hands to reach for her, to touch her 
hair, to stroke her shoulders, but he stopped himself, "Aislinn," 
he said gently, "if there were another way I would seek it. I 
have no taste for this." 
216 Jennifer Roberson 
She nodded. And then her eyes beseeched him. "Do you 
think\a151it is possible whatever my mother did to me has 
faded? Perhaps\a151perhaps it was meant only for the wedding 
night." 
"Perhaps." He knew better\a151she grasped at straws\a151but 
said nothing of it. "Aislinn\a151come and sit beside me." He 
himself sat down on the edge of the bed, knowing the posture 
was unthreatening. And after a moment, she did as he had 
bidden. 
She laughed an odd little laugh. "I feel like a fool. Like an 
untried girl, nervous before her lord." 
"Are you not?" 
She sighed. "I am. Donal\a151" She stopped short, glancing 
sideways at his nudity, her eyes dark with passion and fear. 
Tentatively, she put up a hand and touched the /ir-goid on his 
arm. "Do you never take it off?" 
"Rarely. It is a part of me." He let her touch the gold, 
knowing the motion took more than a little courage. 
Her fingers explored the armband. "1 see Taj and Lorn in 

the patterns," Aislinn said. "The craftsmanship is superb\a151I 
have seen many fine gifts offered to my father, but none, I 
think, so fine as Cheysuli ;(r-gotd. The knife he wears\a151" 
"Finn's, once. They exchanged knives when they swore 
the oath of liege man and Mujhar." 
"And broke it." Aislinn shook her head a little. "What I 
know of Finn and what I am told are two different things. All 
those stories . . . and yet, he is different from what is said. It 
seems odd, to know a man, and yet realize others know him 
differently from the years before I was born." 
Donal thought of his father. He had been told countless 
stories of Alix, Finn, Carillon and others about Duncan. So 
many of those stories dated from before his birth, even before 
his mother and father had married, Cheysuli-fashion. For 
many years he had treasured the tales, storing them away in 
the sacred trunk of memory, cherishing all the contents. And 
now Tynstar had smashed that trunk, destroying the memories. 
"I remember when you were bora." He did, though not 
well. But perhaps it was time they began to fashion their own 
memories for the future. "There was rejoicing throughout 
Homana, that the Queen had been delivered of a healthy 
child." He did not say how that rejoicing had been tempered 
with disappointment; Homana had needed a son. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
217 
Her fingers had left the gold to touch his arm. Now she 
withdrew them. "The Queen." Aislinn's mouth twisted. 
"When men speak of the Queen, they link her name with 
Tynstar. Not with Carillon, who wed her and made her 
Queen of Homana. No. With that vile, wretched Ihlini!" 
Bitterness balled her hands into fists. "I wish\a151I wish he 
were dead! I wish someone would slay him!" 
"Someone will, someday." No longer did she seem intimidated 
by his nudity. "Aislinn\a151" 
She did not let him finish, turning instead to face him 
squarely. Hesitantly, she reached out both hands to touch his 
shoulders, closing fingers on the muscles. "I want it. I want 
you\a151I have always wanted you." 
Donal did what he had desired since he first pulled back 
the draperies. He set -his hands into her hair and threaded 
persuasive fingers, tugging her closer to him. For him, at that 
moment, Sorcha receded; his present was only Aislmn. 
"Gods . . ." She breathed it against his mouth. "No one 
said I would feel like this\a151'' 
"Who could?" he asked. "Electra? You see what she has 
done." 
"My mother is a fool\a151" Aislinn was in his arms, twisting 
shoulders free of her garment to press her bare flesh against 
his. "My mother\a151" 

He felt her body abruptly go rigid beneath his hands. 
"Aislinn\a151?" But even as he said her name, he knew what 
was happening. 
"No!" she cried. "No, no\a151" The shudder wracked her 
body. Donal saw her head arch back, back, until her throat 
was bared to him and her hair spilled down against the 
tangled sheets. The sound she made was one of terror mixed 
with madness. 
"No more!" he hissed. "By alt the gods of the Firstborn, 1 
will not let Electra win\a151!" 
A physical link was not necessary, but he sought it anyway. 
Aislinn, utterly limp in his arms, he lay on her back 
against the bed. He knelt over her, sinking hands through her 
hair to cup each delicate temple. He felt the pulse-beat beneath 
the flesh, against the palm of his hands. 
"Not this time," he said grimly. "Not this time, Solindish 
witch\a151" 
But what Electra had done was not easily broken. Donal 
218 Jennifer Roberson 
met resistence as he sought a way through the barriers to 
Aislinn's subconscious. Something battered back at him, trying 
to throw him away. Instantly he threw up his own shields and 
advanced, gritting his teeth against the intensity of Electra's 
spell. 
"Aislinn . . . fight her ... fight Electra\a151not me!" 
But Aislinn was too lost within the ensorcelment. She 
fought him mentally and physically, sweating and crying in 
her efforts. 
He would lose. And by losing, lose Aislinn entirely. He 
could not see any way to win without risking Aislinn's welfare. 
The witch set her trap very well indeed . . . if she does not 
catch me in it, she may well catch her daughter\a151 
And then he realized there was a way to win. It was not 
fair. He risked Aislinn even as Electra risked her, but if he 
did not try, she was lost without a fight of any sort. Donal 
thought she was worth more than that. And so he sought the 
essence of the shapechange. 
He would not change before the girl\a151did not dare to, 
when that was Electra's key\a151but he could use a measure of 
the concentration //r-shape required. It was honed sharp as 
any blade, but offering danger to Aislinn as well as himself. 
It was a matter of balance again. In such circumstances as 
these, he coutd tip over the edge so easily. 
Donal summoned up the strength. And without warning the 
helpless girl, he tore through her mental barriers and forced 
his will upon hers. 
He had told Carillon it was tantamount to rape. Donal 
knew only that as he forced his will upon the girl, he forced 

more than mental persuasion. 
And yet, even as he fought to win Aislinn back from her 
mother and the Ihlini, Donal became dimly aware of a part of 
himself that understood the need for compulsion. A part of 
him knew physical release as well as mental was required, 
since he sought consummation as a result of forcing her will, 
and not just persuasion. With a man, there was no question it 
was merely a mental rape. The compulsion was never sexual. 
But with a woman, with Aislinn, whom he desired anyway, 
the compulsion was linked with intensifying need. 
Perversion? He thought not. But\a151would he think it was 
while lost in the power of such overwhelming desire? 
Man, not wolf . . . man, not falcon . . . And yet he knew, 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
219 
as he slid closer to the edge, it would not be difficult to shift 
into either form. It was possible he might mimic the being his 
father had been, neither one nor the other; a thing caught 
between. 
He felt a wild rage building up inside of him. Not at 
Aislinn. But at Electra. At Tynstar. For using an innocent, 
vulnerable girl as bait to trap a Cheysuli. For setting up the 
obscene circumstances that required such violence. 
For turning him into an animal, even in human form. 
Will they never stop? Will they never give up their abuse of 
human beings7 
Distantly, he heard Aislinn crying out. So near the edge, 
too near the edge; he silenced her with me only gag he had 
left: his mouth. 
Aislinn, I swear . .'. I never wanted it this way. . . . And 
until the night of their wedding, Donal had not believed he 
wanted it at all. 
Now he knew he had wanted it longer than he cared to 
acknowledge. He recalled clearly the young woman who had 
met him on the Crystal Isle: haughty, defiant princess; later, 
vulnerable, frightened girl. An assassin as well, but it was yet 
another facet of her being. She was neither the complaisant, 
spiritless woman so many Homanans were, nor the cold, 
powerful sorceress Electra had made of herself. Aislinn 
was merely\a151Aislinn. And in their mutual battle against her 
mother, each sought release whatever way they could find it. 
Sul'harai. He did not know the Homanan word for the 
concept. He only knew that with Sorcha, the experience was 
familiar. The simultaneous sharing of the magic in their union. 
Not one-sided. That was easy enough for a woman; easier for 
a man. Simultaneous. And now, he found he wanted it as 
much with Aislinn- 
*'I will win, Electra\a151" And with the strength of the 
/ir-bond, Donal smashed all of Aislinn's barriers and left 

nothing in his wake, emptying her resistance like a seedbag 
spilling grain. 
And as she lay empty before him physically and emotionally, 
he replaced the abhorrence Electra had put there with a 
terrible need for him. 
Not rape . . . not rape, if she wants me as I want her\a151 
But he realized, as she roused to his hands and his mouth, 
the compromise was a curse as well as a blessing. Because if 
Jennifer Roberson 
220 
the time came Aislinn ever turned to him out of genuine 
affection, he would never know it. 
At dawn, Donal stood at the edge of me oubliette. One 
torch roared against the silences of the vault. Light rushed 
across the creamy, gold-veined marble, and the lir leaped out 
at him, 
He teetered. Closed his eyes. Oh gods. what have I done\a151 
what have I done to the girl\a151? 
The torch roared. Everything else was silence. 
Except for his screaming conscience. 
Remorse? That, and worse. Yet he welcomed the guilt, the 
anger, the horror; the sickness that turned his belly. It meant 
he was a man after all, not a beast; not a thing who took and 
was pleased by the taking, not caring how it was taken or 
who was hurt. When she awakened Aislinn would recall only 
a part of what had happened, because the compulsion worked 
mat way, but he would know it all. He would remember 
everything. 
See what I have become^ 
He stared down into the void. It was not death he sought; 
not suicide. Not a form of expiation, to pay for the loss of his 
soul. He had no wish to die regardless of the reason. Suicide 
was taboo; he was too much a warrior to consider denying 
himself the afterworid. But he wanted a way of assuaging 
some of the pain. 
"My lord\a151?" 
Donal spun at the brink of the void. He was reminded 
suddenly of the other time he had visited the Womb, and how 
someone had tried to push him in. Memory flared; he threw 
up an arm against the assassin. 
"My lord\\" Sets voice, and shocked. Memory faded; 
Donal saw the boy standing just inside the open door. His 
odd eyes were stretched wide in fear. "You do not mean to 
jump\a151" 
"No." The weight of the Womb was at his back, begging 
him to give himself to the Jehana. "No, Sef\a151I do not mean 
to jump." Donal felt sweat sting his armpits; he smelted the 
fear on himself. No, he had not meant to jump, and yet he 
had come close to it regardless. "What are you doing here?" 

He said it more sharply than he intended- Sets face blanched 
white. "1\a151couldn't sleep. Bevin had a girl with him, and\a151" 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 221 
He broke off, plainly embarrassed. Sharing a room with 
Bevin meant sharing a room with many women as well. 
"I\a151went out to walk. I\a151went to the Great Hall, to see the 
Lion sleeping." Color washed back into his face. "There was 
a stairway in the firepit, and so I came down to see where it 
went." He looked sidelong at the walls with their leaping lir. 
"What is this place, my lord?" 
"The Womb of the Earth." Donal saw no sense in secrecy, 
not when the boy had seen it himself. "Cheysuli made 
it long, long ago. Legends say a man who will be Mujhar 
must go back into the Womb to be reborn a king." 
"Have you?" 
"Gone in? \a151no. For me, I think there is no need." He did 
not pursue it further. For Carillon, the rebirth had been 
required; for a man bom. to the clans with the gifts of the Old 
Blood, there were other initiations. 
Set stared around the vault. "So many animals . . . they 
look so alive." 
"They are not- At least\a151not now." Donal frowned a 
little. Who was to say the lir had never been alive? Perhaps 
they only waited for the Firstborn to come again before they 
broke free of the stone. 
Donal shivered. And Sef, staring at the oubliette again, 
mimicked him unconsciously. "My lord\a151this place frightens 
me." 
"Then let us leave it together. There is nothing more for 
me here." Donal took the torch from the bracket. "Come, 
Sef. I think it is time you learned some geography." 
"My lord?" Sef stared. 
"Maps. If you cannot sleep, look at maps. It is better than 
counting trees." 
He led Sef out of the vault and back up the one hundred 
and two steps to the Great Hall with its sleeping Lion- Donal 
shut the hinged plate and kicked ash and logs back over the 
iron to hide it. Then he took Sef to one of Carillon's council 
chambers. Donal set the torch into an empty bracket, selected 
the appropriate map and spread it out on the table, then 
lighted the fat white candle. He touched a blue-shaded portion 
of the map. "There. That is SoHnde." 
"A// of that?" Sef stood next to the stool upon which 
Donal sat. The boy stared avidly at me map, hands clasped 
behind his back, afraid to touch the valuable hide. 
222 Jennifer Roberson 
"All of this, aye." Donal's finger swept around the blue 

borders of the realm. "Lestra is here, you see ... the city, at 
the molnent, is loyal; but much of the aristocracy is not\a151 
these men want to sever the alliance between Homana and 
Solinde, to claim the land their own." 
"But\a151don't they also want Homana?" 
Donal glanced at the boy as he hung over the map. "Tynstar 
wants Homana. The Mujhar believes the Solindish aristocracy 
would be content enough to ignore Homana, given Solinde 
again\a151but under Tynstar's dominion, they give tacit approval 
to the war. The armies will ride against us while 
Tynstar, as ever, watches from a distance." 
"Then\a151Solinde isn't really your enemy," Sef said. "It's 
me sorcerer, isn't it?" 
Donal sighed, smiling wryly. "You ask things 1 am not fit 
to answer. These are questions with historical implications\a151 
being clan-bom and bred, I know more of me Cheysuli than 
me Homanans. But I can tell you mis much: for years upon 
years, Solinde\a151under Bellam\a151fought to take Homana. 
Bellam, being an acquisitive man, wanted Homana for himself. 
But I do not doubt Tynstar blew a fire from the embers 
with exceedingly careful breaths," Idly, Donal rested his chin 
in the palm of one hand. "Bellam is dead now and Carillon 
holds both realms\a151but I doubt the Ihlini will ever give up 
entirely. They will ever be our bane." 
Sef frowned, screwing his pale face into an expression of 
concentration. "Then\a151if you slew the demon, Tynstar\a151we 
would be free of this war?" 
"Perhaps not entirely, but I do not doubt Tynstar's death 
would have great effect on Solinde. In time, did he die, the 
traditional enemies might make a lasting peace." 
Sef straightened from his hunched position over the table. 
"Then\a151why not send someone to slay him?" 
"Tynstar?" A wry smile that twisted DonaTs mouth. "Could 
that be done, it would have been long ago." 
"But\a151he's a man, isn't he? A sorcerer, aye\a151but a man. 
Can't he die like others?" 
Donal regarded the boy's'intensity. "Tynstar is a man, of 
course, and no doubt he can die. But he has escaped death for 
three hundred years\a151it will never be easily done." 
Sef blanched. ' 'Three hundred years\a151?'' 
"He has the gift of immortal life frorn Asar-Suti himself." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
223 
"Gods\a151" Sef whispered. "How will we ever win?" 
"With my help, it will hardly prove so difficult." Evan of 
Ellas, striding through the open door, grinned at them both. 
"1 am coming with you." 

Donal stared at him in shock. "I thought you had gone 
home to Ellas! After mat tavern brawl\a151" 
"That brawl?" Evan asked nonchalantly. "I have seen 
worse in a brothel. No, 1 have not gone home to Ellas. Not 
yet. I prefer to stay here a bit." 
"To come to war." Donal shook his head. "A foolish way 
to pass the time, Evan. Ellas has no stake in mis. If she lost a 
prince\a151" 
"She has seven others, if you count Lachlan's sons." 
Sleepy eyes alight. Even shrugged negligently- "I have neither 
wife nor sons\a151that I know of\a151with which to concern 
myself, 1 will come with you." 
Sef spoke up before Donal could. "But what would the 
Crown Prince say?'' 
"Lachlan?" Evan's brows rose, though he looked a bit 
surprised at Sets presumption. But it was Donal he answered, 
not me boy. "Lachlan knows he cannot gainsay me 
when I put my mind to a thing." He grinned. "You need my 
help, Donal. You may as well admit it." 
"It isn't Ellas's war," Sef said. 
Donal glanced sharply at me boy. Sef stood stiffly by the 
table, facing Evan squarely. His chin was thrust upward, as if 
he prepared to do battle. "Sef- This is better left to me Prince 
of Ellas and me. You may go." 
Sef stared fiercely at Evan a moment, then abruptly turned 
to Donal." "Aye, my lord. But\a151" He broke off and shrugged- 
"1 just\a1511 just want to come with you." 
"And you think I will not take you if the Prince of Ellas 
comes?" Donal shook his head. "Sef, I have already said 
you may go to war with me\a151though I do not understand why 
you would want to, any more than I understand him." His 
glance included Evan. "You may come. Now\a151you may 
go-" 
Sef went. Donal shook his head and Evan, staring after me 
boy, merely signed a little and shrugged. "He worships you, 
Donal. I think he would give his life for you." 
"So long as he does not have to." Donal looked at Evan 
and began to smile. With the Ellasian prince he felt a weight 
224 Jennifer Robersort 
lifting from his soul. Before Evan, he was free to be the man 
he so seldom had been able to be. "I think we will show 
Solinde how two princes can force a realm to its knees." 
Evan raised one dark eyebrow. "If we can destroy a single 
tavern, we should surely have no difficulty with an entire 
kingdom." 

EIGHTEEN 
hen the Homanan army marched at last across the western 
borders into Solinde, it met with little resistance. Carillon 
took care to distinguish between Solindish crofters and citizens 
who had no stake in the battle beyond trying to survive 
while their realm was battered by war, and those who supported 
Tynstar. Much of the realm still served Carillon's 
interests, albeit reluctantly. Still, the tension was apparent 
from the moment they crossed the border. 
The Cheysuli moved within the ranks independently, under 
me command of their clan-leaders who dealt directly with 
Carillon. Donal, who had grown up in the aftermath of 
Shaine's qu'mahlin, had known only a grudging peace between 
the two races. The incident in the tavern\a151compounded 
by recollections of his reception in Hondarth and the reaction 
to his wedding\a151served to remind him that the restoration of 
his race was hardly completed. 
He found that most of the soldiers accepted the Cheysuli 
readily enough\a151the races had fought together to help win 
Carillon his throne\a151but there was uneasiness within the ranks. 
It was Carillon who kept the peace. And Rowan, whose 
Homanan ways and Cheysuli appearance made him a man of 
both and neither races. 
Evan proved an easy companion for Donal. Together they 
argued and debated and discussed all manner of strategy in all 
varieties of emotions, but always recognizing the bond of true 
friendship. A bond Donal had never experienced before, 
being caught between his Homanan rank and Cheysuli war- 
225 
226 Jennifer Robe/son 
nor status, and he found it was one he valued greatly. It was 
not the same as the link with his lir, but it was very satisfying 
nonetheless. 
Now, seated across the table from Carillon in the Mujhar's 
crimson field pavilion, Donal realized his present companion 
was somewhere else in spirit if not in body. Carillon, done 
with eating, sat back on his three-legged campstool. One 
hand cupped the footed silver goblet filled with his favorite 
wine- 
It was mid-summer and temperate. An evening breeze 
rippled the brilliant fabric of the pavilion. Light from the 
setting sun crept through the weave of the fabric and splashed 
color into the interior, so that the blood wood of table and 
chairs was dyed a rich ocher-bronze. The silver shone golden 
in the light. 
Donal smelled roasting boar, spitted in the center of the 
camp. He smelled the bouquet of Carillon's wine and a faint 
tinge of bitterness he ascribed to the coals in the brazier. He 
smelled the aroma of war, though they had barely met a soul 
in battle. He smelled death and futility, and the strivings of 

men who would spend their lives in defense of a throne they 
would never see, a throne that one day would be his. 
Carillon slowly turned his goblet in circles on the wood. 
"Where is Evan tonight? I invited both of you." 
Donal smiled. "You recall those Solindish crofters' daughters 
who felt compelled to follow us? Evan found several 
more than willing to share their favors with him. He sends his 
regrets." 
Carillon laughed- "I am glad one of us can lose his cares 
in a woman's flesh tonight." Abruptly, he sat upright on his 
stool. "Gods\a151I have forgotten! A message for you from 
Aislinn came earlier today\a151I put it aside and forgot it. 
There\a151in the small chest by my cot." 
Donal pushed back from the table and rose, going at once 
to the teak casket near the bed. Inside it he found a parchment 
scroll sealed with wax, stamped with the royal Homanan 
crest. 
He broke the seal. He was afraid as well as curious; in the 
two months since the army had marched into Solinde, there 
had been no letters from Aislinn. There had been nothing but 
silence between them. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 227 
Donal read the message, then stared blankly at the lettering. 
"She has\a151conceived." 
Carillon rose slowly to his feet. "She is certain?" 
"There has been confirmation." Donal sucked in a deep 
breath. "Well, my lord . . . forced or not, it seems to have 
succeeded." 
"Thank the gods," Carillon said fervently, "the throne is 
secured at last." 
Donal shook his head, "Only if the child is a boy." 
"You have already sired one\a151is it so foolish to think there 
may be another?" But Carillon turned away to pour more 
wine in his goblet, not bothering to wait for a response, 
though Donal offered none. 
He watched Carillon drink. Of late the Mujhar drank more 
and more, no doubt to ease his pain. Even in the dry warmth 
of a Solindish summer, his swollen joints ached. 
/ could not bear it, Donal knew. / swear\a151I could not bear 
it . . . and he leads us all to battle. 
He looked again at the message, penned in a wavering 
hand. From Aislinn herself, he did not doubt; a scribe would 
do it more carefully. 
Gods, what is she thinking . . . what does she think of me? 
"She says she is well," he told Carillon. "But\a151first births 
are often hard. With Sorcha\a151" He broke off abruptly, knowing 
it was not the time to speak-of his meijha. But then he 

turned sharply to Carillon. Of late there had been a bond 
between them of mutual affection and circumstances. Donal 
recalled how Carillon had taught him to read a map and 
explained the battles he had fought with Finn at his side. But 
now, with the specter of Sorcha suddenly between them, he 
felt the faint tension rise up to mock them both- "You hate 
me for that, do you not?" Donal asked. "For keeping Sorcha 
when Aislinn is my cheysula.1'1 
Carillon moved to one of the supple leather chairs and sat 
down slowly, lowering himself carefully into the seat. "I 
have learned, over the years, to respect many Cheysuli customs. 
I admit I do not understand most of them, but I have 
learned what integrity there is in your race. Though, given a 
choice, I would prefer you set aside your meijha\a151for my 
daughter's sake\a151I will not ask it of you." 
"You did not answer my question." 
Carillon smiled. "No, I did not. Well enough." He shifted 
228 Jennifer Roberson 
in the chair and drank more wine; the pale, sweet wine with 
its acidic bouquet, that Carillon allowed no one else to touch. 
"I do not hate you, Donal. I kept myself to Electra when we 
were together because I desired no other\a151she would inspire 
fidelity in any man, regardless of his tastes ... but it does 
not mean I cannot comprehend your ability to wed one woman 
and keep another as well." He gazed into the brazier coals. 
"For all that, I am the last to speak of such things as a man 
desiring only one woman when there is another one he cares 
for. The gods know I wanted your mother badly enough, 
even when both of us were wed to other people." There was 
pain in his voice as he said it, immense pain; he had taken the 
news of Alix's death very badly. 
Donal's hand closed spasmodically on the parchment, crumpling 
it into ruin. "My jehana\a151?" 
Carillon turned. In his eyes was an arrested expression. 
"Did she never tell you?" 
"Myy'efcana?" It was all Donal could manage. 
Carillon sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. "An old 
story, Donal. ... 1 thought surely you must know it by 
now." Twisted fingers scraped silver hair back from his 
pain-wracked face. "Gods\a151I cannot believe she is gone. Not 
Mix. After all she has been to me ... after all she has 
done. . . ." 
And myjehan'7 Donal wanted to ask. You say nothing of my 
jehan. Is it that even in death you competed 
Aloud. Donal said, "What old story, my lord?" 
Carillon shook his head after a moment. "I never stopped 
caring for her, Donal, even after she wed your father. Even 
after she had borne you." He swirled wine in his goblet. "I 
wed Electra. And when that marriage was finished, I turned 
again to your mother." 

Possessiveness overruled Donal's empathy, "Even while 
she was Duncan's cheysula\a151?" 
"No." Carillon looked at him. "Your father was already 
lirless. Dead\a151or so we believed." Carillon's brow furrowed 
a little, as if reflecting a measure of his grief. "The day I 
took you and your mother back to the Keep, I asked her to 
marry me. I would have made her Queen." 
My jehana, the Queen of Homana\a151 But the wonderment 
did not last. "She wanted no one but my jehan." He said it a 
trifle cruelly, but he felt threatened by Carillon's admission. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 229 
For so many years he had known how deeply his parents had 
loved one another, and how deeply Alix grieved for Duncan. 
Now, to think of her wed to Carillon\a151 "No," Donal said. 
"She was Cheysuli." He thought it was enough. 
Carillon lifted his head and looked directly at Donal. There 
was no hesitation in his tone, no tact. Just raw, clean emotion. 
"It would have made you my son ... as much as if you 
were my own." 
Donal stared at the aging face; at the lines and creases and 
brackets put there by Tynstar's sorcery. He saw sorrow and 
regret and anguish in that face, and an almost inhuman 
strength of will coupled with unexpected vulnerability. 
Donal drew in a breath. "1 never knew, my lord." 
Carillon smiled a little. "She would not have me. She 
would not put another man in Duncan's place. And so we did 
not wed\a151" He broke off a moment. When he resumed, it 
was with careful intonations so as not to display the magnitude 
of his grief. But Donal heard it regardless. "Together, 
they died. And you are still Duncan's son." 
"My lord!" The urgent voice came from outside the pavilion. 
"Rowan\a151" Carillon straightened in his chair. "Come in 
at once!" 
Rowan pulled aside the flap and came through part way, so 
that the crimson fabric hung over one shoulder like a cloak- 
"Carillon\a151you had best come. There is something you should 
see." 
The Mujhar pushed himself up from his chair awkwardly 
and moved at once to pick up his sword and sheathe it. The 
black ruby glittered in the candlelight; Donal, seeing it again, 
felt guilty that he had not yet accepted it from Carillon. But 
somehow he could not. 
"Come." Carillon went with Rowan out of the pavilion. 
Donal, waiting for his ;ir, threw down the crumpled parchment 
and followed a moment later. 
Outside, Donal frowned- Something was\a151different. Something 
was\a151not right. There was a tension in the air, a 
sensation that set the hairs to rising on the back of his neck. 
A prickle ran down his spine. 

Sorcery. That from Taj, flying above in me darkness. 
Ihlini, Lom agreed as he paced next to Donal's left leg. 
The light was wrong. Instead of normal deepening twilight, 
it was nearly black as pitch. Torchlight illuminated the en- 
230 Jennifer Roberson 
campment, but the flames seemed almost muted, swallowed 
by the darkness. Something muffled sight, sound, smell, as 
if the camp had been swept beneath a carpet. 
Rowan took them westward to a line of gentle hills that 
rolled out to ring the camp. He gestured briefly to the moon 
hanging so low against the starless sky: its face was filled 
with darkness. A thick, viscid darkness. The color was deepest 
purple. 
Carillon stopped at the crest of a grassy hill where another 
man waited with his wolf. In the light from the dying moon, 
the slender stalks of grass glowed a luminous lavender. 
"Ihlini," Finn said. 
Donal frowned. Wreaths of cloying mist rose up from the 
flatlands below die hills: bog steaming in a storm. There was 
the faintest of hisses, almost lost in the heavy darkness. 
"Some form of spell?" 
"More like a warning\a151or a greeting." Carillon's hand 
was on his sword. "Who can say what Tynstar means by 
anything he does?" 
Rowan, next to them, frowned. "How can he summon 
sorcery before so many Cheysuli?" 
Carillon's eyes did not stop moving as he studied the lay of 
the land and the mist that rose to obscure it. "Here, there 
are four times as many Homanans. Tynstar strikes at them." 
Finn's expression was stark in the purpled moonlight. "Even 
face to face with a Cheysuli, the Ihlini still have recourse to 
simple tricks and illusions. With so many Homanans present, 
he need not concern himself with us. He need only play upon 
the superstitions of the Homanans, as he has done in the 
past." 
Lir, Donal said. / wish you could do something. 
Nothing, Lorn answered- You know the law. We cannot 
fight Ihlini. 
And yet Ihlini fight us. 
/ did not say the law was fair. Lom's tone was ironic. / 
only know we of the lir honor what the gods have given us. 
If I die, you and Taj are dead. 
It is all a part of the price. 
Too high, Donal retorted. You should tell the gods. 

Why not do it yourself? 
Ground fog rolled. Within the violet wreaths flashed tiny 
sparks of deepest purple, as if fireflies danced in the mist. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 231 
"The men are understandably\a151concerned," Rowan said 
pointedly. 
"They are afraid." Finn had no time for wordplay. "As 
Tynstar means them to be." 
Donal glanced around. Behind the rim in the shallow bowl 
gathered all of the Homanan army. He heard whispers and 
mutters and curses as the river of fog flowed over the hill and 
downward. The muffled silence of the night was palpable. 
Donal shivered. Lir\a151call me a coward. I do not like this 
at ail. 
Taj still hung in the air. Then all of us are cowards. 
Carillon gestured sharply to Rowan. "Go and speak to the 
captains. I will not have my men fleeing Ihlini illusions." 
"Aye, my lord, at once," Rowan departed with alacrity, 
wading through rolling fog. 
"Donal? Donal?" It was Evan's voice, as the Ellasian 
climbed the hill. "Is this what you meant when you told me 
about Ihlini magic?" 
Donal waited until Evan had reached the top of the hill. 
"Somewhat," he answered tersely. "Evan\a151it is not a joking 
matter." 
The Ellasian prince frowned as he looked out across the 
blackened land. "No," he said after a moment. "It is not. 
Lodhi\\\a151-but what a coil!" 
Donal looked at his uncle worriedly. "You think he intends 
no harm, then\a151if he uses only illusion?" 
Finn shook his head. "It is not Tynstar's way to join in 
battle without first seeking to fill men's minds with fear." 
His mouth hooked down. "What better than to win before 
blood is shed?" 
"That would never stop him," Carillon answered. "He 
will spill all the blood he must." 
"Look\\" Evan cried. 
The mist parted, sliced neatly as if cloven with an ax. In 
the wound stood a fountain of purple flame with a heart so 
brilliant it burned a pristine white. The illumination pouring 
from the fountain filled the world up with light, bathing each 
face with a starkness from which there was no hiding. Men 
squinted, holding up their arms to shield their eyes. Picketed 
horses screamed and tried to bolt. Cries of fear rose from the 
clustered mass of men. 

Carillon spun around to face them all, thrusting up a 
232 Jennifer Roberson 
belaying hand. "No! It is only Ihlini illusion. Do not fear 
what is not real!" 
But Donal watched the burning fountain. It cracked open 
and spilled out a sinuous gout of flame that crept across the 
grass. Blackness spread out around it; what it touched it 
consumed, and anything else nearby. 
"Lodhi!" Evan whispered dazedly. 
A serpent, Donal thought. Tynstar's serpent, sent to do his 
slaying for him\a151 
"Carillon," Finn warned. 
The Majhar turned. Ten feet from them all, on the crest of 
the hill, the writhing serpent halted. It coiled, rose upward, 
stretched itself toward the sky. It thickened, as if it had been 
fed. It swelled, as if heavy with child. 
And then the swollen beily spit open, and the serpent gave 
birth to a man. 
He was wrapped in a purple cloak so dark it was nearly 
black. A silver brooch glinted at one shoulder; silver earrings 
flashed in his lobes; a ring was on one hand. But it was the 
eyes, not the jewelry, that Donal saw more than anything 
else; the eyes, black and beguiling, set in the smooth flesh of 
eternal youth. The smile, framed by black and silver beard, 
was singularly sweet. 
For the first time Donal faced the man who done so much 
to destroy his life, and he found he was afraid. 
Gods\a151I am not/it to hold the throne\a151I can barely look at 
the man\a151 
"I bid you farewell. Carillon." The voice was warmly 
affectionate, lacking the hostility Donal had expected. "We 
have been good enemies, you and I, but I am done with you 
at last. The time for your death has come." 
Donal looked quickly at Carillon. He could not conceive of 
what he might say, did Tynstar speak to him. But Carillon 
was more accustomed to facing the man. 
The Mujhar laughed aloud. "Tynstar, you fool\a151what makes 
you think you will succeed this time? Have you not failed 
repeatedly before? Even the last time we met, nearly sixteen 
years ago, you could not end my life. Oh, aye, you shortened 
it\a151but I am still alive to thwart you." 
Donal was more than a tittle amazed by Carillon's composure 
and the audacity of his answer. But then, the Mujhar had 
had years in which to refine his courage. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 233 
Tynstar's smite was genuinely amused. "It is true you 

have guarded yourself well. The Cheysuli ever serve their 
Mujhar." He looked at Finn. Then at Donal. "But now there 
is one of their own who waits to take the throne\a151and you are 
no longer needed." 
Carillon shook his head. "You will not put me in fear of 
the warriors who serve me so well. I am not Shaine, Ihlini. I 
do not succumb to such transparent tricks as these." 
The flame around Tynstar rippled, as if the serpent writhed. 
"Shaine succumbed to his own fears and inner madness. You 
will succumb to something else." Light glinted off his silver 
ornaments. "Carillon, you have played out your part in the 
prophecy. You are toothless now, like an old lion\a151useless 
and merely a bore. There is another who serves the prophecy 
now, even as it serves him," One hand rose to point directly 
at them. "Do you see him? You have only to look at me 
warrior who wards your left side, so solemn and silent beside 
you." The sorcerer smiled. "A man at last, Donal ... no 
more the boy 1 sought to make my own so many years ago." 
Unconsciously, Donal put one hand to the flesh of his 
throat. He could feel the kiss of the iron collar, the weight of 
his vulnerability. Then he forced his hand away. "You are a 
fool indeed if you think I will turn against Carillon." 
Tynstar smiled. "No. I am quite aware of the folly in 
trying that. You are not so pliant as I could wish. No, you 
will not turn against Carillon . . . but you will not have to. 
He will be dead within a year." 
"And the throne?" Carillon rasped. 
"Mine," Tynstar said simply. "As it was ever meant to 
be." 
"Mine," Donal retorted. "The Lion will never accept an 
Ihlini. The gods intend it for us." 
Tynstar, cloaked in purple shroud and brilliant flame, merely 
shook his haloed head. "Your shar tahi has failed your clan, 
Donal. You know nothing of the histories." 
"Ku'reshtin!" Donal swore. 
"Resh'ta-ni," Tynstar returned equably, clearly fluent in 
the language. 
Donal stared. But he told himself anyone could learn the 
Old Tongue\a151including an Ihlini\a151if there were reason enough 
to do it. 
234 Jennifer Roberson 
Casually, Tynstar made the gesture of tahlmorra. "1 shall 
have to instruct you, I see, to reduce your alarming ignorance," 
Finn laughed. "An amusing idea, Ihlini. You instructing 
usT' 
"I know the truth of the histories," Tynstar said- "And 1 
will willingly share them with you." 

"I will not listen," Donal told him flatty- "Do you think I 
would heed your words?" 
"Take them to the Keep with you and question your shar 
tahl," Tynstar challenged. "See then who lies. See then who 
speaks the truth." He put up a silencing hand. "Have you 
never wondered why the Firstborn left Homana to the Cheysuli? 
Have you never wondered precisely how an entire race died 
out?" 
"You are an unlikely tutor," Carillon told him. "I think 
you had better go\a151or do what you came to do, so we may 
end this travesty." 
"I come, I go\a151I do as I wish.'* Tynstar did not smile. 
"Heed me well, all of you\a151I give you insight into a truth 
you have never encountered." Again, the hand was raised. 
He looked directly at Donal. "Cheysuli warrior, you are\a151 
with a little Homanan blood. Because the shapechangers 
serve the prophecy of the Firstborn, who gave it to them 
before the race died out. Do you know why?" 
"A legacy," Donal answered. "We are the children of the 
Firstborn\a151'' 
"\a151who were the children of the gods." The flame burned 
more brightly around Tynstar, as if it answered some secret 
bidding. "But are you so proud, so insular, so arrogant, as to 
believe they sired no others?" 
A blurt of sound escaped Donal. He felt Lorn go rigid 
beside him. 
"What are you trying to say\a151'* But Finn was interrupted. 
"They sired a second race," me sorcerer said. "They sired 
the Ihlini . . . who bred with the Cheysuli." 
'Wo!" burst simultaneously from Finn and Donal. 
A rasp. Metal sliding. It hissed, almost like the serpent 
cloaking Tynstar. Carillon drew forth his Cheysuli sword. 
Tynstar laughed. "That cannot slay me. Carillon. Have 
you not tried with it before? Have you not seen the blackened 
stone?" 
"Aye," Carillon agreed evenly, "and would you care to 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
235 
see it again?" Before the image in me flames could answer, 
Carillon turned and thrust the sword into Donal's reluctant 
hands. "Show him. Show him the blackened stone'.'9 
Donal held the edged blade in one hand, clasping it beneath 
the hilt. He could feel the runes against his palm. 
Slowly he raised the sword, thrusting outward with a stiffened 
arm as if to ward off evil. Against the flame the sword 
was a silhouette, lacking all colors save the blackness of the 
night. As if Tynstar had leached it of life. 

But then the ruby turned brilliant crimson and set the hill 
afire. 
The fog evaporated at once. The ruby blazed, and as its 
magic burned away the Ihlini mist Donal felt the thrumming 
of power in his hand. He thought at first he might drop 
the sword, so startled .was he by the growing strength, 
but he found he could not. From him the sword took life; 
from the sword he took strength. A perfect exchange of 
power. 
Tynstar's smooth face exhibited mild surprise, but very 
little concern. "So\a151Hale's sword at last finds its master- I 
feared it might happen one day. I thought perhaps I might 
gainsay him in time when I slew him in the forest, but 
obviously not." 
"You slew him!" Finn took a single step forward. "It was 
Shaine's men who slew my jehan\a151" 
"Was it?" Tynstar smiled. "Do not be such a fool. I 
sought Hale because 1 knew his was the seed that could 
destroy the Ihlini race. Think you I could let him live?" A 
dismissive wave of a graceful, negligent hand. "Lindir I 
intended to slay as well, before she could bear the child\a151but 
she escaped me and fled to Homana-Mujhar. So I slew Hale 
after I slew his lir\a151I meant to take the sword. But he had 
given it to Shaine." For a moment his beautiful, bearded face 
altered into something less sanguine, much more malevolent. 
"I should have known it would be Alix's child for whom it 
was meant. I felt it in her, before she lay with Duncan. I 
should have slain her too, as I took Duncan's hawk. It would 
have gainsaid the propecy and saved me the trouble of meeting 
you here." 
Donal lowered the sword. The ruby had dimmed a little, as 
if knowing much of its job was done; only Tynstar remained, 
surrounded by his cocoon of living flame. The fog and the 
Jennifer Roberson 
236 
serpent were gone. "You slew her anyway. And my jehan. 
When you sent him to trap us." 
"That was not my idea," Tynstar said. "It was my\a151 
apprentice's suggestion." He smiled. "Was it not a good 
one? Nearly successful, as well." 
Donal drew in an unsteady breath, recalling how his mother 
and father had died. "I do not believe your lesson." 
Tynstar's shrug was slight. "I know your prophecy very 
well, Donal. I helped make it, merely by being bom three 
centuries ago. I understand what a tahlmorra is much better 
man you or any other Cheysuli, for 1 have known the gods 
much longer than any of you." 
"Dare you speak of gods when you worship that filth of 
the netherworld?" Carillon demanded. 

"I worship nothing," Tynstar retorted. "I serve, even as 
you pretend to serve. The Seker does not require the nonsense 
of obeisance and ritualistic loyalty. He knows what lies in a 
man's true soul." He touched the brooch at his left shoulder- 
"Aye, I am an integral part of the same prophecy that orders 
Donal's life\a151but I serve it not. I seek only to break its 
power, before the Ihlini are destroyed." For a moment, there 
was a touch of humanity in his eyes. "Can you not see? I do 
mis for the salvation of my race." 
No one answered. Donal stood with Finn, Evan and Carillon 
as the Ur locked themselves in silence, and looked at the 
Ihlini. The sword was heavy in his hand. 
"Salvation." After a moment, Donal shook his head. "I 
do not believe you. Were the Ihlini truly children of the 
Firstborn, we would not be mortal enemies." 
"Ask the Ur why they will never attack an Ihlini," Tynstar 
suggested. 
Donal could not answer. Neither did Taj or Lorn. 
Tynstar smiled- "You are idealistic, Donal\a151or perhaps 
merely young. Comprehension will come with age. You see, 
we Ihlini desired more gifts than those the Firstborn gave us. 
More\a151power. We turned to me only source that would heed 
us when the Firstborn would not\a151" 
"\a151Asar-Suti," Carillon finished. 
"The god of the netherworld, who made and dwells in 
darkness." That from Finn. 
"Aye," Tynstar agreed. **A generous lord, in fact. He did 
not stint what powers he gave those who wished to serve 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 237 
him." His eyes were on the sword still clasped limply in 
DonaFs hand. "But the Firstborn sought to destroy us when 
they learned of our oath to serve the Seker. Knowing they 
would die before this destruction could be accomplished, they 
fashioned a prophecy instead, and left the destruction to the 
Cheysuli\a151" 
"No," Donal said. 
Tynstar did not allow the interruption to interfere. "They 
instilled within you all a perfect and blind obedience that 
even now binds your soul. They gave each warrior a fate and 
called it a tahlmorra, to make certain the task would be 
fulfilled. They turned you into soldiers for the gods, as 
dedicated to preserving and fulfilling the prophecy as we are 
to its downfall. Because that fulfillment, once achieved, means 
the annihilation of my race." Tynstar's voice was harsh. "An 
Ihlini qu'mahlin, Donal\a151instituted by the Cheysuli." 
Donal shook his head. "The prophecy says nothing of 
annihilation. It speaks of a Mujhar of all blood uniting four 
warring realms and two magic races. Is that so horrible a 

fate?" 
Tynstar's teeth showed briefly. "It means the mingling of 
Cheysuli blood and Ihlini, Donal. It means the swallowing of 
our races and a merging of the power. No more independence. 
No more\a151apartness. The Ihlini and Cheysuli will die 
out, drowned in each other's blood." 
Gods . . . tell me he is wrong . . . Donal felt as if he had 
been walking in darkness all of his life. Blind. Deaf. Mute. 
Yet now he could see and hear and speak. Tynstar had given 
him sight and hearing: Tynstar had loosed his tongue. 
But he did not speak. He lifted me sword and hurled it at 
the image as if the blade were a spear. 
The ruby blazed a trail of incarnadine fire as it arced 
downward toward the column of flame that housed Tynstar's 
image. The sword fell, slicing through the fire like a scythe; a 
ringed hand flashed up and slapped the blade aside. The 
sword fell, point first, and stuck into the ground. There it 
stood, sheathed in flame, like a headpiece to a grave. 
"No\a151" Finn caught DonaPs arm as he started forward 
blindly. 
"Wait you\a151" Carillon whispered. 
The ruby flickered. Tynstar, smiling, reached down to 
Jennifer Roberson 
238 
touch the stone with a single finger. Again, it flickered. Then 
it turned to black- 
Tynstar laughed. "Shall I make it mine? I have only to 
shut my hand around the hilt. I will take it into my hands and 
caress the shining blade\a151until the runes are wiped away. 
And then Hale*s sword will be nothing but a sword, intended 
for any man, even a common soldier." He reached down, 
threatening languidly; one finger touched it, another; the palm 
slid down to rest against the grip. 
"M?!" Donal cried. 
And then, as Tynstar sought to shut his hand upon the hilt, 
the ruby blazed up again. 
The Ihlini cried out. He snatched back his hand instantly; 
Donal heard his breath hissing in startled comprehension. 
But the hand stretched out again. It lifted. Paused. Considered. 
The silver ring winked in the sorcerous flames. 
Tynstar scribed a rune in the air and split the darkness 
apart. 
NINETEEN 

•M 
l-ly lord ... my lord\a151" 
Hands caught at his shoulders, urging him to rise. Donal, 
mourn tasting of dirt and flame, realized it was Sef. 
"My lord\a151please ... are you hurt?" 
He thought perhaps he was. His head was filled with a 
darkness rimmed by colored light. Sets voice was distant, 
fogged, distorted by the humming in Donal's ears. Even the 
hands on his clothing did not seem real. 
"My lord!" Sef cried in desperation. "Please\a151get up\a151" 
Slowly, Donal rolled onto his'side, then pressed himself 
^ upward. He sat on one hip, braced against a stiffened arm. 
S. Squinting against the brilliance in his head, he tried to see 
^ Sets face. 
Abruptly, he recalled what had caused his present condition. 
He jerked around, drawing his legs beneath him as if 
! preparing to leap- Splayed fingers pressed against die ground; 
^ the other hand half drew me long-knife at his belt. 
I- But mere was no enemy. Where Tynstar had been was only 
;^ a charred patch of smoking ground, and the sword. 
The sword- Still it stood upright, though tilted, sheathed in 
the earth from which it drew power. The moon, clean and 
unobscured once more, flooded me hilltop with silvered light. 
The rune-kissed blade shone with an eerie luminance. The 
ruby, cradled in its golden prongs, was a crimson beacon in 
the night. 
"My lord?" Sef whispered. 
Donal came out of his crouch. He rose slowly, aware of a 
239 
240 Jennifer Roberson 
faint tingling numbness in his bones. But he did not approach 
the sword. He looked instead for the others. 
Lorn stood but two or three paces away, legs spraddled as 
he shook his coat free of dirt and debris. Taj still spiraled in 
the air. Evan was sitting upright, spitting out dirt and muttering 
of Lodhi and sorcerers. Finn stood even as Donal rose. 
He went at once to Carillon and put down a hand to him Just 
as Rowan arrived. 
"Carillon\a151!" In his urgency, Rowan nearly shouldered 
Finn out of the way. "My lord?" 
Finn did not give ground. His very silence transmitted 
itself to Rowan, who\a151bending down to aid Carillon\a151glanced 
up at him in irritated impatience. 
Watching them both as Carillon sat up and brushed his 
clothing, Donal was struck by their eerie resemblance. In the 
moonlight the differences in their faces were set aside. All 

Cheysuli resembled one another, but some more than others. 
They are alike in more than appearance. Donal thought. 
Both of them serve the Mujhar. Finn may have given up his 
rank as liege man to Carillon, but the loyalty is still there. 
He saw the momentary flash of possessiveness in Rowan's 
eyes. No, he had not taken Finn's place when the oath had 
been broken; no man could. But he had made a new place at 
Carillon's side, and Donal knew he was indispensable. Facing 
Finn, it would be difficult for Rowan to give way. 
"Get me up from here!" Carillon said testily, and caught 
Rowan's outstretched hand. Donal saw how Finn remained 
very still a moment, and then moved a single step away. 
Relinquishing the service yet again . . . Donal saw the pain 
graven deeply in Carillon's face; me taut starkness of his 
expression and the incredibly tight set of his jaw. Like Donal's; 
tike everyone else's, his face was smeared with traces of 
ash. Moisture glittered on Carillon's brow, and Donal realized 
it was the sweat of unbearable pain. 
Andyet he bears it. . . Donal moved to him at once, "My 
lord\a151Carillon . . . how do you fare?" 
Briefly, Rowan's teeth were bared in a feral, possessive 
snarl. "How does he fare? Look at him, Donal! How do you 
fare after what Tynstar did?" 
"Enough." The word issued hoarsely from Carillon. He 
stood nearly erect as they surrounded him, allowing the pain 
no opportunity to swallow him whole. One handed rested on 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
241 
Rowan's shoulder as if in placation; Donal saw how the 
sinews stood up against the flesh of Carillon's hand and knew 
he clutched the shoulder for support. "Tynstar is\a151gone. Let 
us go as well: down from mis hill to our pavilions. Tomorrow, 
I do not doubt, we will be tested by the Solindish." 
"He sought to slay us," Donal said. "Who is to say he 
will not do it again?'' 
Carillon's eyes were couched in brackets of strain. "That 
was not an attempt to slay us. That was his manner of 
leave-taking. No doubt he might have tried to slay us, but the 
sword prevented that.'' A fleeting grimace crossed his face as 
he glanced back at the shining sword- "Hale's blade begins 
to serve its master.'' 
Donal shivered once. "No. That sword is yours." 
Set, standing between Donal and Evan, wrenched his head 
around to stare. "That's the magic sword?" 
Donal looked at him sharply. "What are you saying, Sef?" 
The boy shrugged self-consciously. "I\a151I've heard it's got 
magic in it. There's a story around Homana-Mujhar that it'll 

be your sword, and when it is\a151" 
"Enough!" Donal cut him off with the sharp Cheysuli 
gesture. "There are better things to do with your time than 
listen to stories. Go on, Sef\a151go back to camp. Is there 
nothing for you to do?" 
Color moved through the boy's face. For a moment his 
vitality dimmed, then came rushing back. He flicked a glance 
at the Mujhar with his odd, uncanny eyes, then looked directly 
at Donal. "But they say the sword was made for you." 
Donal's bones tingled. His head ached. He glared at Sef 
through eyes that burned from smoke and flame. He pointed 
at the sword. "Then go and fetch it, Sef, and see what 
nonsense you mouth." 
Sef shrank back. "No! / can't touch it!" 
"Do not be foolish, Sef." Donal, still somewhat disoriented, 
felt his patience slipping. "What is to keep you from 
touching the sword?" 
"It\a151it might stop me." He shrugged. "Somehow. It might. 
You don't know it wouldn't." Furtively he looked at the 
sword. "It's a magic sword, my lord. It isn't meant for a boy 
like me." 
"Donal." Carillon's voice, with the snap of command in 
242 Jennifer Roberson 
it. "Fetch die sword yourself. I have no more time to waste 
on Tynstar and his tricks." 
The Mujhar turned away. With Rowan's aid he made his 
way down from the crest of the scorched hill and walked 
through his gathered army, speaking quietly to frightened 
men. Finn and Evan were silhouetted against the horizon, 
lighted only by the moonlight. Lom waited as well, and Taj, 
still drifting in me heavens. 
Donal turned from Sef to fetch me sword. The blade was 
half-buried in charred earth. He reached down, clasped me 
hilt and tugged. 
At once he felt again the thrumming of life in bones and 
muscles; the promise of power and strength. Gods . . . is mis 
what has kept Carillon strong all these years as his body 
decayed^ A sword\a151? 
He pulled it free of the earth. The blade was perfectly 
clean, unblemished by ash or dirt. The runes seemed to 
writhe upon the steel- 
In the silvered darkness, Sefs pale face was almost translucent. 
"Hale's sword," he said, "is not meant for such as 
me." 
"This sword," Donal said deliberately, "is meant for any 
man who can wield it." 
"Oh?" Finn's voice held a familiar undertone of irony. 
"Is that why it warded us against Tynstar?" 

Evan shook his head. "In Ellas, magic is limited to such 
things as simple tricks and potions, or to the harpers of 
Lodhi. You have seen Lachlan's power. But\a1511 have never 
seen anything like mis." 
Donal looked down at the sword. In his hand, the grip was 
warm. The ruby blazed bright red. "Nor have I." He could 
deny the sword no longer. And so he turned and left me hill. 
The pavilion held two cots, two stools, one chair, a tiny 
three-legged table. Tripod braziers stood in two of the corners. 
The fabric was pale saffron. The candlelight, thrown 
against the sides, painted me interior burnt gold, pale cream 
and ivory. It reminded Donal of the Womb with all its marble 
lir. 
He sat in the chair. Beside him slumped Lom, sleepy-eyed 
in the glow of fat white candles. Taj perched precariously on 
Donal's chairback: he could feel the meticulous balance of 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
243 
the falcon. In front of him stood the table, and set on the 
knife-scarred wood was the sword. No more did the ruby 
blaze, but neither was it black. It was the rich blood-red of a 
Cheysuli ruby, no more, no less\a151yet full of significance. 
"In the clans, it is held a Cheysuli-made sword has a life 
of its own when matched with the proper master. I have heard 
of others made for foreign kings and princes because of all 
the legends ... but this one\a151this one Hale made for Shaine. 
I know the story. It was Shaine who gave it to Carillon when 
he became Prince of Homana ... it has been his weapon for 
years and years. It is a part of the tales they tell about him. 
And now he thrusts it upon me, says it is mine\a151" 
Evan, sprawled inelegantly across the cot, shrugged. He 
held a cup of wine in his hand. "Perhaps it is. Does it matter 
so much?" 
"Aye, Cheysuli do not use swords." 
Evan snorted, "Then what is the use of making them?" 
"We do not, now. When the qu'mahlin was declared, no 
longer did we make weapons with which to arm the Homanans." 
Faintly, he frowned. "If\a151if it is true Hale made that sword 
for me\a151why? I am Cheysuli." 
"And Homanan, are you not?" 
Donal shifted in his chair, disturbing the falcon. Taj reprimanded 
him gently. "Aye," he said grimly. "But none of 
me wants that sword." 
"And if Carillon leaves it to you?" 
"1 will not use it," Donal declared. "Never will I fight 
with it. There is my knife, my bow\a151even fir-shape. Why 
would 1 want a sword?'' 

Evan smiled. "Just because you don't want it, does not 
mean it wasn't meant for you." 
Donal's smile was wryly crooked. "You sound almost like 
a warrior discussing his tahlmorra." 
Evan drank for a moment, then shifted his posture to sit 
more upright. "Well, every man has a fate. Some men make 
theirs. I may not be Cheysuli, but I am a son of Lodhi\a151for 
all I may not seem so." 
"The All-Father," Donal said wryly. "Is it true you Ellasians 
believe he sired all of you?" 
"Well, He did not precisely lie with my lady mother, if 
that is what you mean." Evan grinned and drank again. "But 
244 Jennifer Roberson 
aye, in a way. He did. You see, Lodhi lay with a single 
mortal woman, and from that union sprang Ellas." 
Donal, losing interest, looked again at die sword. He rubbed 
absently at his chin. "This sword is Carillon's\a151" Abruptly, 
he rose. He snatched up the sword and went out of the 
pavilion, ignoring Sets startled question as me boy rose up 
from his mat outside the doorflap. Donal ignored everyone as 
he strode through the encampment; he was intent upon his 
mission. 
Carillon's crimson tent stood apart from the others. Tall 
wooden stave torches had been thrust into the earth around the 
pavilion to bathe it with light. Shadows flickered against the 
crimson fabric; Donal saw there were no guards. 
No guards\a151? 
And then he heard the Mujhar's startled cry of pain. 
Donal ran. He felt the grip settle more comfortably into his 
palm. His fingers found ridges meant to cradle his bones; the 
remaining space beckoned his other hand. The metal was 
warm, alive; he could feel the power rising. It bled into his 
body and spread to fill the very marrow of his bones. He 
almost wanted to fight. 
His free hand ripped aside the crimson doorflap. Automatically 
it dropped the fabric and went unerringly to the hilt, 
closing around the gold. He felt the blade rising, rising, 
incredibly light in his hands and yet substantially weighted as 
well. The balance was perfect. The sword was a part of his 
body, an extension of his hands, his arms, his mind\a151 
\a151"No!" he shouted as he saw me man bending over 
Carillon's body in the cot. 
Candlelight flashed off the blade. The reflection struck full 
across the man's face as he turned; Donal saw a haze of gold 
and black and bronze. And eyes- Yellow eyes, staring back at 
Donal. 
The blow faltered. His arms sagged. Donal let the weight 

drop down, releasing his left hand so that the sword dangled 
limply from his right. "By the gods, su'fali... I might have 
had your head\a151" 
"And regretted it later, no doubt." Finn straightened. His 
hands were empty. But he stood at Carillon's bedside, and 
the Mujhar was clearly unconscious- 
"What are you doing?" Donal demanded in alarm. "What 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
245 
is wrong with Carillon?" He moved closer to the cot, fingers 
clenching the sword hilt. "Gods\a151he is not dead\a151" 
"No." Finn glanced down at the Mujhar's slack face. 
"No, not yet." 
"Yet?" Donal stopped beside the cot, but he did not look 
at Carilion. He stared instead at Finn. "You do not mean\a151" 
**\a151I mean he has little time," Finn said flatly. "Are you 
blind, Donal, to say you do not know it?" 
"But\a151but he is so strong\a151" Donal gestured with his 
empty left hand. He rules\a151'' 
"\a151stolen time," Finn said, and his voice had roughened a 
little. "Tynstar took it from him\a151I have stolen it back. A 
little. Not enough. But\a151as with all things, it carries a price." 
He looked down at Carillon. "Donal\a151are you prepared to be 
Mujhar?" 
"No!" It burst out of him instantly. "No, su'fali\a151no." 
"Have you learned nothing from Carillon?" 
At last, Donal looked down at the man who ruled Homana. 
He saw how the flames overlay the face and emphasized the 
slackness of the flesh, the banishment of the strength inherent 
in Carillon's bones. The beard had silvered, thinning, so that 
the line of the jaw was visible- The hair, fallen back from his 
face, no longer hid the fragility of his temples; Donal saw 
clearly the hollows of age, the upstanding threading of veins, 
the prominent bones of the nose. ' 
But it was not the face that shocked Donal. It was the 
leather that had been wrapped around Carillon's naked torso. 
Stiff leather, laced together; it held his spine perfectly straight, 
almost too straight. Straps ran over both broad shoulders. The 
leather bracers, which Donal had always believed were mere 
cuffs providing some measure of support, were reinforced 
with metal. 
"Years ago, when the disease began to twist his spine and 
shoulders, he had that made." Finn's tone was expressionless. 
"It allows him to resemble a man instead of a blighted 
tree. It allows him to hold the sword you have just returned." 
He is dying. I see it, now\a151 "Gods!" Donai whispered. 
"Oh, su'fali\a151say it is not true." 

"I will not lie to you." 
Donal felt pain knot up his belly, rising to fill chest and 
throat. "Is there nothing you can do?" 
246 
Jennifer Roberson 
"I have done it." The tone was minutely unsteady, yet 
tight, controlled. "I gave him tetsu root." 
Donal blanched. "How much?" 
Finn's smite lacked humor. "Enough to do some good. 
And it has. He has been\a151better\a151since the wedding." 
Donal felt a chill. ^Su'fali\a151tetsu root is deadly." 
"So is growing old." Finn looked down at Carillon's 
unconscious body. "It was his choice, Donal. 1 did not force 
him. I did not hide it in his wine. I simply told him about 
tetsu and what it could do for him. He said he would take the 
risk." 
"Risk? There is no risk! Tetsu always kills." Donal gestured 
emptily again. "Have you known a man to set it aside 
once he has begun drinking it regularly? / have not. Every 
warrior who desires it has taken it once, then twice, and soon 
enough there is no stopping it, not until the root slays. By me 
gods, su'fali, you have given him over to death!" 
"I have lessened some of his pain," Finn declared. "For 
him, I could do no less." 
Donal stared at the Mujhar. Alt the grief welled up and 
made him feel helpless. Carillon was dying more quickly than 
was natural. Tynstar had seen to that. But Finn, in a final 
obscene service performed by a loyal liege man, had made it 
more immediate. 
"How long?" he whispered. 
**A month. Two. Perhaps a little longer." Finn looked 
down at his friend. "What Tynstar did tonight destroyed 
many of Carillon's defenses. His will has been such that he 
would not give in to disease or drug. But now\a151time is 
running out." 
Donal tried to swallow down the swelling in his throat. 
"Does\a151does he know it?" 
"He knows it." 
Donal looked down. He would not cry before his uncle, who 
would have no tolerance for such things. Instead, he stared 
hard at the sword. In his hands the ruby glowed, catching the 
candlelight; the rampant lion seemed to move upon the hilt. 
"Do not tell him I know," he said, barely above a whisper. 
"Do not tell him I came." Mutely, he held out the blade 
to Finn. "Say 1 sent a servant with the sword." 

Finn relieved him of the weapon. "Ja'hai," he said. "Ja'hai, 
cheysu, Mujhar." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 247 
"Not yet," Dona! said. "Oh, no ... not yet. Not while 
Carillon breathes." 
"He will breathe a little longer," Finn said, "but one day 
he will stop. And you will hold the throne." 
" 'Su'fati\a151do not." 
"Do not what? Speak the truth?" Finn did not smile. 
"You will have to accept it, Donal. It is for this you were 
born." 
Donal looked at Carillon. And then he turned away. 
TWENTY 
D< 
'onal gasped at the impact of bodies meeting. The Sohndish 
soldier weighed more heavily on him than he had expected. 
He reached in, thrusting a forearm against the man's sword 
hilt, and drove the blade off course. The tip of the sword 
hovered, then drifted back near his ribs; he leaned away, 
pivoting from the hips, and took a firmer grasp on the longknife 
in his right hand. 
He thrust. The tip struck leather-and-ringmail, catching in 
steel circles linked together. The blade scraped; a screech of 
subtle protest. Donal wrenched it away and thrust yet again. 
Upward this time, beneath the Solindishman's arm. He sought 
the vulnerable, unmailed flesh of the armpit. 
The gap\a151there.' 
The blade slid in. He felt it catch on leather, slowing, then 
digging deeper into flesh, where there was less resistance. 
The entire length of the blade sank in; he twisted. 
The Solindish soldier cried out. His sword wavered in his 
hand, then fell free altogether. Blood pumped out of the man, 
flooding his side and painting his ringmail red. Donal felt the 
warm wetness flow down to wash across his hand, his arm, 
dripping from his elbow. 
As the man sagged, the knife went with him. The hilt 
slipped out of Donal's blood-smeared hand. He followed it 
down, bending to regain the weapon; as he caught the hilt 
once more, he heard Evan's warning cry. 
"Donal! 'ware sword!" 
He dropped to one knee, ducking instantly. The whistle of 

248 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
249 
a blade near one ear told him how close he had come to 
losing his head. A wrench freed the knife at last; he twisted, 
spinning on the knee, and came up offensively, slipping 
beneath the swinging sword. One hand caught the soldier's 
wrist, the other thrust again with Cheysuli long-knife. 
Again, blade met ringmail. Cursing inwardly, Donal tried 
to draw back and thrust again. But this man brought up a 
knee in an attempt to catch him in the groin. 
He twisted and caught the blow on the thigh- He grunted as 
the impact nearly knocked him down; grimly, he stood his 
ground and leveled a vicious knife swipe at the Solindish 
soldier. The swordsman's reach was greater, but the maneuver 
nonetheless took him by surprise. He jumped back instinctively 
and left Donal free of the sword. 
Donal backed away^ First one step, then another. And 
then, as the soldier prepared to follow, he flipped the knife in 
his hand and threw it with a snap of his wrist that sent the 
blade slicing through the tough leather collar at the man's 
throat and through it, into the flesh beneath. 
He turned. Evan, he saw, had engaged yet another soldier. 
The field was rilled with men: Homanans, Cheysuli, Solindish. 
Those of the clans he knew by their h'r-gold and yellow eyes; 
the Homanans and Solindish, save for blazons on their tunics, 
he could not tell apart. In the .midst of battle, one grimy, 
blood-stained face looked very much like another. 
From the comer of his eye he saw a flash of muted gold, 
feathers blurred in flight- Taj, stooping, scythed through the 
air. Donal watched him choose his target: the swordsman 
who confronted Evan. The Solindishman, intent upon his 
Ellasian prey, never saw the bird. Taj closed talons on leather 
gauntlets, slicing through to rend flesh and muscle. 
"Hah!" Evan cried as the man staggered back, sword 
falling from wounded hands. "My thanks, Donal!" 
"Not my doing," Donal returned. But the conversation 
went no further. A dying Solindishman, falling at Donal's 
feet, struck a final blow. Knife blade flashed in the sunlight 
of midaftemoon; tip bit through the leather of Donal's left 
boot and into flesh, cutting to the bone. Donal, staggering 
back, wrenched himself free of the knife. But not before he 
realized he had lost most of his mobility. 
He hopped back again, favoring the wounded leg. Curses 
250 Jennifer Roberson 
filled up his mind and mouth; teeth gritted, he hobbled away 
from the dying man. 
Lir, It was Lorn, shoring up his side. Lir, seek help. 

Not yet, he answered, testing the leg. / can still stand well 
enough. 
He sheathed his bloodied knife. Quickly he unstrapped his 
compact Cheysuli warbow, pulled an arrow from the quiver 
and nocked it, seeking out a target. But even as he raised the 
bow, preparing to let fly, he smelled the stink of sorcery. 
Tynstar\a151? he wondered vaguely. 
But there had been no sign of the Bilini since the battle had 
begun. 
Fog. Fingers of it, violet, drifting along the ground. And 
men, almost instantly, the fog thickened. Stretched. Swallowed 
up the field, 
He could see nothing. His eyes were filled with haze. The 
smell of it, sickly sweet and cloying, coated his tongue, and 
he bent to spit it out- Damp, malodorous arms seemed to 
twine around his neck, putting fingers into his ears. He was 
cold, wet, nauseatingly sickened by the smell. 
"Donat! Lodhi\a151there are demons\a151" 
Evan's voice, raised in honest horror- Donal turned, staggering 
one one leg, and tried to locate his friend. But the 
vapor was like clay, sealing up his eyes. They burned. They 
teared. He cursed. 
Lir? Lir\a151? 
Here, Lom's voice sounded distant, swallowed up by the 
fog. Lir\a151this is the Ihlini's doing." 
Donal put away his arrow and the bow. Neither could help 
him now. Taj? he asked. 
Above, me falcon answered. Lir\a151it is everywhere\a151I can 
see no sky\a151 
"Evan!** Donal shouted. "Tell me where you are!" 
There was no answer. In the depths of the heavy fog Donal 
could hear other voices, all muffled, all indecipherable. But 
the tones were clear enough. Fear. Horror. Blind, unreasoning 
terror. 
' 'Evan!'' 
"Demons!" Evan shouted. And men the Ellasian screamed. 
Lir, go to Evan, Donal ordered, hobbling through the 
choking mist. 
/ cannot even find you, Lom retorted. But then the wolf 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
251 
loomed up through the fog, a solid ruddy shape in the pervasive 
violet shroud. Lir, you are limping. 

Aye, Donal agreed. He felt safer with the warmth of the 
wolf against one knee. Gods\a151where is Evan\a151? 
Here, sent Taj. To your right by seven steps. 
Seven steps. Donal hobbled. It took him more than seven 
steps. But at last he saw the body, belly down, sprawled 
against the ground. 
"Evan!" Fear shot through him. He dropped to both knees, 
ignoring the pain in his leg, and put one hand on Evan's 
shoulder. 
The Ellasian prince came up from the ground in a twisting, 
convulsive lunge. His blue eyes were wide in a pale face, his 
mouth agape in fear. But a knife in his hand, and he nearly 
thrust with it. 
Donal fell back, sprawling on his rump against the earth. 
"Evan\a151wait you\a151" 
Bream rasped in Evan's throat. He stopped hunched, legs 
spread, nearly swaying on his feet. "Donat?" He peered 
uncertainly. "Lodhi\a151is it .vow?" 
"I," Donal agreed. It felt better to sit than to stand. 
"What demons do you mean?" 
The knife shook a little. "There was one. There was. It 
came at me out of the fog ... Lodhi!\a151but what a vile, 
horrid stinking thing it was! It had no mouth\a151no eyes ... it 
was a slimy, foul, wretched tentacted thing\a151" Evan shuddered. 
"It wrapped itself around my head and nearly smothered 
me\a151" He turned his head and spat upon me ground. 
^Lodhi\a151I can still taste the horrid thing!" 
"But now it is gone?" Donal had seen nothing. He thought 
it likely the demons were illusion called up by the Buini for 
those of the enemy who were not Cheysuli. 
Evan sucked in a steadying breath. "Gone. I thought\a151 
when you touched me\a151I thought it had come again. But now 
even me fog is clearing." Evan looked down at Donal. "You 
are hurt." 
Donal glanced down at the torn, bloodied leather of his 
boot. "A slice. Nothing more." 
Evan knelt, putting away his knife, and peeled aside the 
leather. In the flesh of Donal's shin, not far above the ankle, 
was a deep, clean-edged cut. "To the bone, and beyond. You 
are fortunate the bone is whole." He reached out and caught 
252 Jennifer Roberson 
Donal's elbow. "Come up. I will see you to a chirurgeon's 
tent." 
Donal glanced around as he fought to regain his balance. 
"The battle seems to be ended. I see both sides withdrawing." 
"But no victory, I will wager." Evan steadied Donal's 

progress. "How much longer will this Solindish folly 
continue?" 
"In two months, we have got nowhere," Donal said. 
"Neither side has won. Who is to say how much longer this 
will go on?" 
"Aye," Evan agreed grimly as Lorn trailed Donal. "We 
have the Cheysuli, but the Solindish have Tynstar and his 
minions. The advantages are cancelled." 
Donal sighed, wincing as movement jarred his aching leg. 
"We will win, Evan ... the gods are on our side." 
The Ellasian snorted. "Aye. And no doubt the Solindish 
claim the same thing\a151just that their gods are different." 
Donal gritted his teeth. "Let us cease discussing war." 
"Aye!" Evan agreed. "Why speak of war when there are 
women in the world?" 
Regardless of his pain, Donal had to smile. 
Carillon came in as the army chirurgeon tied the last silken 
knot of the stitches in DonaPs leg. Donal himself was too 
intent on locking his teeth against the pain to pay much 
attention to the Mujhar, but he was aware of Carillon's entry. 
"Not serious, then?" the Mujhar asked. 
The chirurgeon shook his head. "Hardly, my lord. It will 
hamper him a little, but should heal well enough." 
"Good." Carillon's bulk blocked most of the sunlight 
from the open doorflap. "Rumors said you had nearly lost the 
leg." 
"No\a151though it feels like it now." Donal scowled at the 
ehirurgeon as he bound the calf with tight linen bandages - 
"Do you think you will need a crutch?" inquired Evan in 
mock solicitude. 
Knots tied off, Donal brushed the chirurgeon aside with a 
muttered word of thanks. Then he glanced up at Carillon. 
"My lord\a151" 
His words trailed off. He was faced again with the advancing 
age of the Mujhar; with the knowledge of what Finn had 
done to him. And Carillon's willingness. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 253 
"Aye?" Carillon waited. 
"No," Donal muttered, looking away. "Nothing." 
"Courier!" called a voice. "Courier for the Mujhar!" 
Carillon turned back toward the entrance. "Here!" 
A moment later a young man in royal livery bowed before 
the Mujhar. "My lord\a151messages for you and the Prince of 

Homana." 
Carillon accepted them. Like Dona! and Evan, he was 
obviously weary, clothing torn and bloodied. Hands soiled by 
the dirt of sweat and boiled leather closed around the scrolls, 
and Donal saw again the leather bracers at his wrists 
"Yours." Carillon passed one over. 
Donal, frowning, broke the crimson seal. He read the two 
brief lines and the signature, and felt the cot shift beneath his 
weight. 
He became aware, suddenly, that Carillon was demanding 
to know what was wrong. His face must show what he felt. 
When he could, Donal looked up and met the anticipatory 
eyes. "Aislinn, my lord. She has miscarried of a son." 
For a long moment Carillon stood unmoving in the sunlight 
as it slanted inside the tent. But then he reached out and 
caught the parchment from Donal's hand, nearly tearing it in 
half. He read it, and then he shut his eyes. 
Slowly, so slowly, one hand crumpled the message. The 
parchment crackled in the silence. Donai saw how the fingers 
spasmed, shutting, and how the callused, grimy hands took 
on the aspect of a corpse's. 
The Mujhar expelled a breath that hissed upon the air. His 
eyes, when he opened them again, were filled with a quiet 
desperation. "I am sorry," he said at last. "The loss of an 
unborn son . . ." He did not finish the sentence. 
Donal felt the kindling of distant grief into something very 
real. A son unborn ... It had happened once before, when 
Sorcha had miscarried his first child. lan and Isolde had come 
into the world safely, and he had grown complacent. He had 
thought Aislinn would bear him a healthy child; he had not 
considered a loss. He had not thought of what it meant to lose 
an heir. 
"My lord\a151" Donal stopped and cleared his throat. "My 
lord\a151Aislinn says she is recovered. She says she does well 
enough." 
"Aye. For which I thank the gods." Carillon looked at the 
254 Jennifer Roberson 
scroll given to him. "Perhaps this is from Aislinn as well\a151 
perhaps there was something more she wished to say\a151" He 
broke the seal, read the message, then stared blindly at them 
all. 
"My lord\a151?" Donal nearly rose. 
Carillon turned away from them. He stepped into the opening 
and shouted for Rowan. He said nothing at all until the 
general came, and then his words lacked all ceremony. 
"Osric," he said clearly. "Osric of Atvia invades through 
the port of Hondarth." 
"Osric\a151/" Donal blurted. 

Rowan hardly glanced at him. "He means, then, to march 
on Mujhara while we dally here with Tynstar." 
"Aye." Carillon sighed in utter weariness. "To protect 
one we risk the other." 
"There is no other way," Rowan said flatly. "You must, 
my lord." 
The Mujhar nodded. "He has been stopped a week out of 
Hondarth, on his way to Mujhara\a151just this side of the fenlands. 
The domestic troops hold him for now, but for how 
long?" 
Rowan's tunic was stained and torn. The rampant lion 
hung in tatters. "We are a month's march out of Mujhara. 
Osric is only a week away from the city. My lord\a151we must 
go now." 
"And lose Solinde entirely." Carillon grimly crumpled the 
message. "That may be Tynstar's plan. Can you not see him, 
Rowan? He suggests to Osric the time is now\a151the Atvian 
sails to Hondarth while we wrestle here with Tynstar. Faced 
with no army to gainsay him, Osric takes Hondarth and 
marches toward Mujhara. Once he overcomes what few domestic 
troops there are, he has trapped us between Tynstar 
and himself: a grub between two stones." He turned to 
Donal. "Do you understand what we must do?" 
Donal felt a hollowness in his belly. "We must stop them 
both, somehow\a151Tynstar as well as Osric." 
Evan frowned. ' 'My lord\a151if you were to shift your warhost 
from Solinde to Homana, would you lose this realm entirely?" 
"With Tynstar here?\a151of course." Carillon looked at Donal. 
"Tel! me what we should do." 
Dona! stared down at the earthen floor of the infirmary 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 255 
tent. "We fight on two fronts, my lord. We split the army in 
half." 
"Our only chance, and a desperate one." Carillon turned 
back to Rowan. "Speak to the other officers and the clanleaders 
as well. We will leave half the army here\a1511 want the 
Cheysuli here to fight the Ihlini\a151while the rest of us go to 
Osric. Rowan, you will come with me to Mujhara." He cast 
Donal a level glance. "And you. But you wilt remain in 
Mujhara only a week or two, and then return here to command 
the army." 
"Carillon\a151no\a151" That from Rowan, even as Donal thought 
to echo the identical words. "He is unschooled in warfare 
and the leading of men. Leave me here instead." 
"You I take with me." The tone was inflexible. 
"Rowan has the right of it." Donal pushed himself up 
from the cot and rose, suppressing a grimace of pain. "What 

do I know of leading men into battle?" 
"These are veterans." Carillon's voice was harsh. "These 
men do not require you to hold their hands. They will teach 
you what there is to know\a151it is time you learned how to 
conduct yourself as a soldier must in order to survive\a151and to 
keep others alive as well." 
"Then why send me to Mujhara?" Donal demanded. "Why 
not leave me here?" 
"Because Aislinn is in Mujhara." Carillon's face was 
completely expressionless. "It is difficult to conceive a child 
when man and wife are so many leagues apart." 
"By the gods\a151" Donal said raggedly. "She has only just 
recovered! There is no decency to this\a151" 
"There is no time for such things as decency in war," 
Carillon said baldly. "I have an heir; you do not. It is 
necessary for you to make one." He turned back to Rowan 
again. "Make certain my half of the army is prepared to 
leave in the morning." 
"Ay, my lord Mujhar." Rowan stepped aside as Carillon 
brushed past him. 
"He is gone mad," Donat said hoarsely. "By the gods\a1511 
think he has\a151" 
Rowan raised his brows. "What madness is there in trying 
to hold Homana\a151and in serving the prophecy?" 
"Like thts\a151T' 
256 Jennifer Roberson 
"If this is what it takes." Rowan did not smile. "Be ready 
to ride in the morning." 
The borderlands of Solinde did not have the varied beauty 
of Homana. The land was flat, and low, scrubby trees barely 
broke the straight line of the horizon; to Donal it looked as 
though it stretched forever. 
A barren, dismal place . . . fitting for the Ihlini. 
He and Carillon rode out ahead of the army bound for 
Homana. Not far. Just barely out of eyesight- Rowan had 
protested the lack of escort regardless, but Carillon had overruled 
him. 
The Mujhar rode in silence. Donal, watching him with 
subtle, sidelong glances, saw how the morning sun glinted off 
the silver of his hair. He wore few ornaments to mark his 
rank: his ring and a collar brooch of gold and emerald. His 
clothing was exceedingly simple: ringmail over a boiled leather 
hauberk. Black breeches. Thighboots. Bracers banded with 
slender ribs of steel. 
Gods, what a man he is\a151what a warrior still . . . would 
that I could have known him before Tynstar stole his youth\a151 

And what will they say of you? Taj asked, wheeling idly in 
the air. 
Of me? Inwardly, Donal grimaced. That I could never be 
Carillon's equal. 
Is that truly what you desire? Lorn asked from beside the 
stallion. Did he not make his own way in the world\a151just as 
you yourself will? 
Aye. Donal sighed. What they say, I will know in time. And 
perhaps they will have the right of it after all. 
On the crest of a rise. Carillon halted his horse. Still he sat 
in silence, staring eastward toward Homana. Donal, waiting 
beside him, heard the buzz of a bee in the air. 
"I thank you for coming with me to this place," Carillon 
said at last. "You might have refused." 
"Refused you\a151?" 
Carillon rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "Aye. You may 
refuse me, Donal. I have not stripped you of your freedom 
entirely\a151it only seems that way." 
The chestnut stallion stomped to discourage a bothersome 
fly. Dust rose. Donal smelled the pungent tang of freshly 
crushed plains grass. Absently, he tapped his mount with a 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 257 
heel and reprimanded him gently, urging him into stillness. 
"It is\a151difficult to refuse you." 
"Because that is what I wanted." Still Carillon stared 
eastward. "But I am done telling you what you must be, 
what you must say, how you must behave. I am done locking 
the shackles around your wrists." At last, he looked at 
Donal. "I have brought you here so 1 may ask your 
forgiveness." 
Donal started, frowning. "Forgiveness\a151? From me?" 
"Aye," Carillon said gently. "Duncan left me a chunk of 
naked metal and I did my best to shape it into a sword\a151even 
to tempering it to my liking, knowing what weight and 
balance I desired. But I am no arms-master, and I may have 
unwittingly set blemishes in the steel." His mouth hooked 
down in a brief ironic twist. "Now I seek to blood the blade 
after keeping it sheathed for nearly sixteen years." 
"My lord\a151" 
"I am sorry, Donal. I could offer you countless reasons 
and excuses for what I have become\a151and what I have done 
to you\a151but I am finished with that. I am finished with\a151 
much." His brows twisted briefly; Donal heard the undertone 
of despair in the steady voice. "I am sorry. 1 am sorry. For 
you ... for Aislinn ... for the child that must come of 
this." He looked at his ruined hands as they clasped the 
saddlebow. "Last night I said there was no time for decency 
in war. Perhaps I meant it then, but it is not true. War may be 

obscene, but it is also necessary. So is decency, if you are to 
retain a measure of humanity." His faded blue eyes met and 
held Donal's. "My wars are nearly over. It is you who will 
fight them for me, and eventually for yourself. I pray you do 
it with the decency I denied . . . and the humanity you will 
need." 
"Ru'shalla-lu," Donal said thickly. I pray the gods it may 
be so. 
Slowly Carillon smiled. "Ja'hai, Donal. Cheysuli i'halla 
shansu." 
After a moment, Donal put out his arm. Their hands met 
and locked in the firm Cheysuli clasp. "Accepted," he said. 
"May there be Cheysuii peace upon you." 
Carillon at last broke the clasp. "We had best go back to 
the army. Rowan will be worried." 
258 Jennifer Roberson 
"As well he should be," agreed a sinuous voice. "Have 1 
caught you two alone?" 
Donal spun his horse even as Carillon mimicked him- 
Before them, unmounted, stood Tynstar. And with him was 
Electra. 
She laughed. "We have taken them by surprise." 
Tynstar smiled. "I think we have made them mute." 
"No," Carillon said. "Hardly that. But I am surprised you 
come to us here. The army is not so far." 
"What I mean to do will not take much time," Tynstar 
said benignly, "and whenever has an army been able to 
gainsay me?" 
Electra's cool gray eyes watched Donal. He felt the power 
of her gaze. "You wanted Carillon, and now we have the 
wolfling as well. Will you give him to me, my love?" 
Donal felt a frisson slip down his spine. Apprehension 
filled his belly. Lir\a151 
What is there to do? Lorn asked wretchedly. 
Taj circled in agitation. It is law, lir, our law, given by the 
gods. We do not attack the Ihiini. 
Because we are bioodkin? For the first time, Donal wondered 
if Tynstar's falsehood might hold some truth after all. 
Is that why you keep the law? 
Neither bird nor wolf answered. 
Tynstar smiled sweetly. "If you want him, Electra, I will 
give him to you when I am done with Carillon." 
Donal straightened in his saddle. "If you think I will sit 
idly by while you attack Carillon, you are a fool indeed." 

"Not a fool," Tynstar answered. "Merely\a151patient." He 
raised a hand noncommittally. "For now, I do not desire 
your meddling." 
The Bilini flicked a single finger. A blow knocked Donal 
off his horse and into nothingness. He floated, bodiless and 
mindless, knowing only fear and helplessness and a strange, 
wild grief. Then he landed against me ground and all such 
fleeting sensations were knocked utterly from his head, along 
with the breath from his lungs. 
He struggled up on one elbow, trying to catch his banished 
breath, and saw the tableau take life before him. Taj flew in 
circles, shrieking in desperation; Lorn tipped back his head 
and howled in despair. 
Donal's leg throbbed. He sank his teeth into his lip, tried to 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 259 
rise, and found himself fastened to the ground. He could not 
move at all. 
"You sent Osric to Hondarth," Canlton challenged. 
"I take Homana how I can," the sorcerer agreed. "Would 
you not do the same? You have learned what it is to be 
ruthless in order to get what you desire." 
Carillon glanced back at Donal. Indecision and concern 
showed briefly in his eyes. But the indecision faded; Donal 
saw him smile\a151 
\a151and set spurs to the flanks of his stallion. 
Carillon rode at Tynstar. The Ihtini, unmounted, was prey 
to a galloping horse. He was prey to the sword the Mujhar 
drew. 
But he merely lifted a languid hand and split the air with 
flame. 
Concussion knocked Carillon from the saddle. Donal saw 
the Mujhar crash against the ground, sword dropping free of 
his hand- 
Another gesture brought a bolt of lightning lancing out of 
the sky. It blasted the ground around Carillon's sprawling 
body, splattering him with dirt. 
"Slowly," Electra said. "Let him know he dies." 
"Old man," Tynstar said, "shall 1 release you from your 
pain?" 
Slowly, Carillon pushed himself to his knees. Donal saw 
how his body trembled, how the chest heaved in complete 
exhaustion. Dust filmed his face; part of his beard was burned 
away. 

He slumped. Slumping, his hands went to the ground. 
Fingers splayed. Elbows stiffened. He braced himself with 
every ounce of his waning strength. 
Gods\a151 Donal begged, do not let it end like this! 
Failing, Carillon's body curled forward, slumping\a151 
\a151but did not fail. Instead, he jerked the knife from his belt 
and hurled it through the air. 
"No\a151!" Electra screamed. 
The knife went home high in Tynstar's chest. 
Carillon laughed. "Whose death today, Ihiini? Mine\a151or is 
it yoursT' 
Tynstar's right hand clawed at the hilt. A hissing exhalation 
poured from between his lips. "Seker\a151" he said, 
"Seker\a1511 call upon the Seker\a151" 
260 Jennifer Roberson 
"What?" Carillon asked, still kneeling on the ground. 
"Do your powers begin to fade? Do you call upon your 
god?" 
"Seker\a151" Tynstar hissed. "I call upon the Seker\a151" 
"Before a Cheysuli warrior?" Carillon climbed unsteadily 
to his feet. "I think the petition will fail." 
Tynstar thruat his right hand upward into the air. The 
fingers shook. "Asar-Suti!" he shouted. "/ summon you to 
me.91' 
Carillon did not wait. He hurled himself forward and came 
down near the forgotten sword. He rolled rapidly and thrust 
his failing body upward, leveling the blade in a vicious, 
scything sweep. 
Electra screamed. Tynstar's upthrust hand dropped limply 
back at his side. He stood a moment longer, then buckled at 
the knees. 
But his head struck the ground before his body did. 
The scream went on and on. It sliced through Donal's head 
like a blade, and then it stopped. Abruptly. 
Eiectra simply stared. 
Donal slowly got up. He looked at the severed neck. The 
blow had been quite clean, no wasted effort. 
Blood, thick and viscid, oozed slowly from the trunk. But 
the color was not red, but deepest black. 
Carillon turned to Donal. "How do you fare?" 
"He did not harm me, but\a151Carillon, look to Electra\a151" 
The Mujhar spun around. But Electra made no move to 

attack. Instead, she walked unsteadily toward the decapitated 
body and knelt beside it. 
White-blond hair spilled down her breasts and trailed into 
the blood. Slowly, the blackness benighted the shining strands. 
It stained the pale lilac of her gown. 
"Electra." Carillon walked slowly toward his wife, 
"Electra\a151he is dead." 
She leaned forward. She moaned. She put her hands on the 
bloodied shoulders of the body. She slid them down across 
the torso in a morbid caress. 
She jerked the knife from the chest\a151 
\a151and came up, spinning, aiming for Carillon's belly\a151 
\a151in time to spit herself to the hilt of Carillon's waiting 
sword. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 261 
"Such beauty . . ." he whispered in a ragged, helpless 
voice. 
The knife dropped from her hand. Knees buckled. She fell, 
and Carillon caught her. 
Carefully, he pulled the blade from her body. He set the 
sword upon the ground. Then he shut the lids of her gray-pale 
eyes and straightened her silken skirts. Her hands, still stained 
with Tynstar's blood, he folded beneath her breasts. The 
glorious hair, half-black, half-blond, he smoothed away from 
her flawless face. 
Carillon knell. Donal saw the bloodstain spreading beneath 
Electra's folded hands. Black. Black and thick and viscid. 
With Tynstar dead\a151with Electra dead . . . is Aisiinn free 
at last? 
The Mujhar rose. He took up the sword again. He turned to 
face his heir- "You must go back. Return to the encampment. 
I must go on to vanquish Osric\a151I will send your 
regrets to my daughter." 
Donal stared. "But\a151I thought you wished me to go to 
her.'' 
"I was wrong." He looked down at the body of his wife. 
"Once, she must have been a woman. A woman ... not a 
witch." Slowly he sheathed his sword. He clasped Donal's 
shoulder, squeezing firmly, as if he were young again. "Go, 
my lord. Win back Solinde for me." 
Donal turned away. He mounted his chestnut stallion and 
eased his throbbing leg into the stirrup. Taj perched on the 
saddlebow; Lom stood by his side. He turned westward, 
toward the camp that lay so many miles behind them. 
But when he looked back he saw Carillon standing over the 
bodies of his wife and the Ihlini. 

As if he mourns them both\a151 
TWENTY-ONE 
\a187efs odd eyes were stretched wide in shock. "The demon 
is dead?" 
Donal sat on the edge of his cot and worried at his boot, 
trying to strip it off without causing more pain to the injured 
leg. Sef stood stock still in front of his master, not helping. 
"Aye." Donal caught heel and toe and pulled, gritting his 
teeth. "At last, we are free of Tynstar's plotting ... it may 
be this war will end sooner than we hoped." His foot moved 
in the boot. He tugged harder, grunting with effort. "Sef\a151 
help me with this. Stop gaping at me like a fish." 
Sefs usually efficient hands caught the boot clumsily and 
pulled it off. "But you did not slay him\a151?" 
"No. The Mujhar did." Donal, frowning, felt at his bandaged 
leg. "But it was Electra who slew herself. Had she not 
tried to slay Carillon, she would not now be dead." He 
wiggled his toes experimentally. "So we arc rid of them 
both." 
"And now?" Sef asked. "What happens to all the other 
Ihlini\a151the ones who still fight here?" 
"The race is still powerful," Donal told him. "All of them 
claim some measure of the dark arts. But without Tynstar to 
lead them, I think perhaps we will have less trouble with 
them all. Carillon cut the head from the serpent\a151it may be 
all the little snakelets will wriggle about in confusion, with no 
knowledge of how to strike." He stretched out carefully and 
lay back on his cot. "Ru'shalla-tu." 
262 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 263 
Sef, moving to the table to pour a cup of wine, twisted his 
head to stare over his shoulder. "What do you say?" 
"May it be so. Old Tongue saying." Donal scrubbed the 
heel of his hand across his forehead. "Gods, but when I 
recall the sight of Tynstar's head falling from his body\a151" 
For a moment, he shut his eyes and summoned the vision 
again. "And all the blackened blood\a151" 
Sef spun around, nearly spilling the wine. "Blackened 
blood! Tynstar's blood was blackT' 
"Black and thick and heavy." Donal levered himself up on 
one arm and accepted the cup of wine. "Electra's too\a151" He 
grimaced. "It is enough to give one nightmares." Abruptly, 
he looked at Sef with his pale face and staring eyes. "Gods, I 

am sorry. I should not have spoken so plainly." 
Sef shrugged. "No. No, better I know the truth . . ." He 
shrugged again, as if to ward off the gooseflesh of fright. 
"But\a151what will happen now? Here\a151to us?" 
Donal sipped. "We continue to battle. The Mujhar and his 
portion of the army will try to stop Osric before he reaches 
Mujhara\a151here, we must put a stop to the Solindish-Ihlini 
uprising." 
"Then\a151we will stay here until this war is done\a151and then 
return to Homana?" 
Donal nodded as he swallowed down the wine. "Aye. 
Carillon has left me a task. I am to lead these men while he 
confronts the Atvian." 
"Then\a151Osric doesn't know the demon has been slain." 
Sef frowned. "Does he?" 
"No. Perhaps it will aid Carillon's campaign\a151he will go 
against Osric knowing the sorcerer is dead, while Osric anticipates 
Tynstar's help." Donal smiled. "A surprise for the 
Atvian\a151one that should help our cause." 
Sets voice was tentative. "Then\a151these are politics?" 
Donai laughed. "More like strategies. But often enough 
they appear to be one and the same." 
It was gloomy inside the tent. Night had fallen; candles 
illuminated the saffron interior of the pavilion and turned it 
pale ocher and dull gold. Evan had absented himself to spend 
time with one of his women; most of the encampment celebrated 
Tynstar's downfall. Donal had passed on the news 
calmly enough, then retired to rest his throbbing leg. 
264 Jennifer Roberyon 
"I will rest, Sef. If you wish to go out and celebrate with 
the other boys, please yourself." 
"My thanks." Sef had grown a little since joining Donal's 
service, but he was still thin, still almost delicate. The sleeves 
of his tunic and shirt were too short now; bony wrists protruded. 
Inwardly, Donal smiled. More clothing, yet again. "You 
may go, Sef. I will not need you again until the morning." 
The boy grinned crookedly. "I will drink the cider, my 
lord\a151I will drink a toast to the victory over Tynstar!" 
"Go." Donai waved a hand, and the boy ran out of the 
tent. 
He sipped his wine- He stared into the shadows and thought 
of how he had come to be the victim of circumstance. Nearly 
twenty-four years before a child had been bom to a warrior 
and his woman. Their freedom, like the child's, did not exist. 
The gods had seen fit to give them all another fate. 
Taj perched upon the chairback. He pipped softly, preening 

his feathers into perfection, hardly aware of Donal's presence. 
On the floor, next to the cot, lay Lom, curled upon 
rough matting, nose covered by the tip of his ruddy tail. He 
twitched, and Donal knew he dreamed. 
He sighed. He stretched out to set the cup of wine upon the 
table, and then he lay back, head pillowed on arms thrust 
beneath his neck. He shut his eyes, and slept. 
He dreamed. He saw a palace and a dais and a woman 
upon the dais. She was beautiful. She was deadly. She had 
the power to twist his soul. 
Beside her stood a man. Cloaked in black with a silver 
sword hanging at one hip. In his outstretched hand glowed a 
violet rune. It danced. Subtly. Seductively. Promising many 
things. 
From behind them came a girl. Half-woman, half-child, 
trapped between youth and adulthood. Like her mother, she 
was lovely, but her beauty was unfulfilled. Like her father, 
she was strong, hut without a will the strength was blunted. 
"Donal," someone said, "Donal, you must come." 
He frowned. None of the mouths had moved. The rune still 
danced in the sorcerer's hand. 
"Donal\a151rouse yourself\a151" 
A hand on his shoulder, and he was suddenly awake. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 265 
Awake\a151the dream was banished. He blinked dazedly at Evan 
and saw how the sleepy eyes were filled with grave concern. 
He bent at once and picked up his boot, pulled it on with 
effort. Evan waited, solemn-faced and silent. There was no 
frivolity in his face; no hint of celebration. 
Donal rose, suppressing a grimace of pain. "Is it better 
told or shown?" 
"Shown," Evan said. "Words would not describe it." 
Lir, Donal summoned, and they went with him out of the 
tent. 
Evan led him through the encampment to a hollow in the 
hills ringing the huddled tents. Not far. But away from the 
bonfires and clustered soldiers who still celebrated Carillon's 
victory over Tynstar. 
The night was cool. The light had changed; it was nearing 
dawn. He had slept longer than he intended. 
He saw three men standing at the edges of the hollow. Two 
Homanan sentries. The other a Cheysuli. 
Finn turned as Donal came up with Evan. His face, like the 
others, was solemn, etched with tension. But there was something 
more in the eyes. Something that spoke of a hope 
destroyed. 

He put out a hand and halted Donal- "There is grief in it 
for you." 
Both sentries held flaming torches. Light hissed and flared, 
shedding faulty illumination. In the hollow, Donal saw shapes 
huddled on the ground, sprawled awkwardly in the macabre 
dance of death. Outflung arms, legs; limp, questioning hands. 
Faces, stricken with amazement and terror. Open eyes, staring 
into the heavens. 
Boys, all of them. 
One of the sentries stirred. "My lord\a151the others would 
not have them at the fires. They said it was for men to do, 
without the company of boys. And so they came here to 
celebrate on their own." 
Donal counted the bodies. Fourteen that he could differentiate 
from others. Fourteen boys who had run messages between 
the captains and tended their noble lords. 
As Sef had- 
His head snapped around as he stared at Finn. "Is he 
here?" 
266 Jennifer Roberson 
Mutely, Finn gestured to one of the sprawled bodies. It 
was mostly hidden by another. 
Donal went to the body and knelt. The flickering torchlight 
showed him shadowed, ghostly faces; slack, childish mourns. 
He gently moved the body off Sets legs, then beckoned one 
of the sentries over, 
The torch was unmerciful. Sefs head was twisted slightly, 
so that his face was turned away. But his neck was bared, and 
the cut in his throat showed plainly. From ear to ear it 
stretched. The ground was sodden with his blood. 
Red blood, Donal thought. None of the blackened Ihlini 
ichor\a151 "Fourteen boys," he said aloud. "Surely one of 
them must have heard the Sotindish coming." 
"This was Ihlini-done," Finn told him grimly. 
Donal snapped his head around. "Are you certain? This 
smells of raiders to me." 
"It is meant to. But see you this?" Finn held something 
out. 
Donal, frowning, took it from his uncle's hand. It was a 
stone, a round, dull gray stone with a vein of black running 
through it. 
"An Ihlini ward-stone," Finn explained- "Apart from me 
other four, it is worthless. But it tells us who was here." 
"Dropped?" Donal rolled the stone in his hand. "Used to 
make them helpless\a151silencing their cries . . ." He looked 

again at Sef. Near one bent knee lay a flaccid wineskin. 
Donat smelled the tang. Wine. not cider; boys had tried to 
mimic men. 
Carefully, Donal closed the staring odd-colored eyes. He 
recalled Carillon performing the same service for Electra. 
And then such grief welied up as to nearly unman him before 
the others. "Gods\a151" he choked "\a151why did it have to be 
boys\a151T' 
"Because they knew what it would do." Briefly, Finn 
touched Donal's rigid shoulder. "I know what he was to you. 
I am sorry for what has happened." 
"To me\a151?" Donal stared up at his uncle. "What of you? 
What if he was your son\a151or kin or some other kind? What 
then, su'faUT'1 
The scar jumped once. "It changes nothing," Finn said 
evenly. "The boy is dead." 
"Dead," Donal echoed. Gently, he touched Sefs right 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
267 
wrist. He felt the feathered band. He recalled how it was 
meant to be a charm against sorcery. 
Cheysuli sorcery. 
Deftly, Donal untied the knot in the leather lace on the 
underside of the cool, limp wrist. He took the band and 
tucked it into his belt-purse. 
Not strong enough, he told the murdered boy. Was I not 
charm enough against the sorcery you fearecH 
But men, looking again at the fourteen bodies, he knew he 
had not been. 
Donal rose stiffly. He could not look at Finn. "We need a 
burial detail." 
The other sentry inclined his head. "My lord\a151I will see to 
it." With the torch smoking in his wake, the Homanan went 
away. 
PART II 
ONE 

D
'onal stared gloomily out at the drowning world from 
the open flaps of his saffron pavilion. It was late evening, just 
past supper. It was cold. Summer was gone; fall had settled 
in. In Solinde, it rained during the fall. He was bored, 
restless and weary, and heartily wishing Carillon had left 
someone else to lead the army. 
He had led it, now, for two months. Occasional word came 
from Carillon that Osric of Atvia still pressed them on the 
plains between Hondarth and Mujhara. Worse, it seemed 
unlikely there would be any immediate resolution. Osric, 
Carillon claimed, was a master strategist. The two armies 
were utterly deadlocked. 
Donal sighed and turned away from the rainy darkness to 
watch Evan rattle a small wooden casket. It held ivory dice 
and slender sticks of rune-carved wood. The Homanans called 
it the fortune-game. There were two levels of play: a straightforward 
dicing game for unimaginative gamblers, and the 
more elaborate rune-stick portion involving portents and 
prophecies. 
/ weary of prophecies. Let Evan play at being Seer\a151-I have 
enough to concern myself with. 
The Ellasian prince had unmatched skill with both dice and 
rune-sticks. Dice and sticks fell his way repeatedly, but Donal 
knew he did not cheat. The game itself was not Evan's, but 
won from a Homanan soldier in an unconnected wager. 
Evan rattled the casket. "Come, my lord of Homana\a151let 
us see what your fortune says." 
271 
272 Jennifer Robe/son 
Donal smiled wryly. "Have you wearied of taking my 
coin? Now you wish to steal my fortune also?" 
Evan raised dark brows in feigned indignation, one hand 
touching his heart. '7, my lord? Do you mistrust me, then? 
But here\a151I will show you. . . . / shall throw and read you 
what 1 see." 
Donal watched idly as Evan chanted over the rune-sticks 
and dice as he rattled them in their casket. Boredom settled 
more deeply in his bones. 
Solinde, of late, had been peaceful. The Ihlini, perhaps 
stunned by Tynstar's death, were quiet. The Solindish did not 
attack. The most recent encampment had stood safely for 
three weeks. It was possible the rebellion was over; also 
possible the Solindish meant to trap the Homanans into leaving 
prematurely. And so the warhost waited. 
Evan spilled out the dice and nine-sticks across the wooden 
table. Ivory rattled; rune-sticks rolled, then settled. Evan 
frowned in concentration. "Ah!" he cried in discovery. "Fortune 
looks kindly on you, my lord. See here the rune signifying 
the Wanderer^ And the die here for modification? It 

means within days you shall find yourself traveling on a 
journey filled with adventure and discovery\a151see you here? 
Jester and Charlatan." Evan's grin was sly. "A Woman as 
well, Donal\a151see you this rune here?" 
"I see the folly of idleness," Donal retorted. Before Evan 
could speak, he scooped up dice and rune-sticks without 
dropping them into the casket, and threw them across the 
table. "There. Read them for me now." 
Evan stared at the pattern. After a moment he lifted his 
head and met Donal's eyes squarely, "You mock the game, 
my friend. Not wise. Now what you see is a genuine destiny." 
Donal snorted. "I was promised a destiny long ago, 
Ellasian\a151all Cheysuli are. Read me my fortune." 
Evan looked back at the tumbled dice and rune-sticks. He 
touched none of them, but he pointed to the indicators. 
"There. A Minor rune, representing Youth. But, coupled 
with a Major one, so\a151" he pointed to another rune on the 
same stick "\a151that is the Magician, Donal, and a very 
powerful rune." 
Donal, still smiling, nodded. "Say on. Seer." 
Evan*s habitual sleepy expression was gone. "Here\a151this 
is the Prisoner. This die signifies time spent\a151months. And 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 273 
this rune is another Major\a151it is the Executioner." He met 
Donal's eyes again. "Conjoined with what I threw just before 
you did, the fortune is a powerful one." 
"Aye?" Donal waited. 
Evan sighed. "Wanderer: you will embark upon a journey. 
Charlatan and Jester: you will meet those who are more than 
what they seem. Woman is obvious\a151perhaps she is also the 
Magician. And at the end of the journey there is imprisonment 
and potential death\a151there is an Executioner." Evan 
gestured. "There, my friend, is your fortune." 
"A full one," Donal said lightly. "You do not underplay 
the moment, Evan." 
"1 underplay nothing\a151" Evan began, but his words were 
drowned out in a shout from outside the pavilion. Donal 
heard his own name called. 
He turned to the doorflap at once. Framed in the opening 
was a cloaked and hooded man, nearly indistinguishable from 
the rain and darkness. "My lord." The voice was raised to 
reach above the downpour. One hand came up to move the 
hood and the shadows shifted. 
"Rowan! Come in." Donal stepped aside at once and 
gestured the general in. "Word from Carillon?" 
Rowan moved past him into the pavilion. Rain ran down 
the muddled cloak and splattered against the hard-packed 
floor; he threw it back from his shoulders. He wore leather

and-ringmait, and his rumpled crimson tunic was stained with 
blood and grime. The brazier cast harsh shadows across his 
face and limned his weariness. 
"My lord," he said without ceremony. "Carillon is dead." 
Donal stared at him. For a moment he felt nothing, as if 
the words were syllables of nonsense. But then they came 
together into a sentence he understood. Shock reared up in his 
soul. "Carillon . . ." he whispered. 
Rowan reached into his belt-pouch. From it he took an 
object and placed it on the table. In the candlelight, the 
bloodstains shone dark red. 
A ring. A gold ring, set with a black stone, and into the 
stone was carved the rampant lion of Homana. 
Rowan bent his head. Silver shone in his hair. And then, 
with a gracelessness that emphasized his grief and utter weariness, 
he kneit upon the floor. "My lord," he said. "You 
are Mujhar of Homana." 
274 Jennifer Roberson. 
Donal looked down at him. Rowan knelt stiffly and his 
head was bowed. The wet cloak molded itself to his body and 
tangled on his spurs. He was wet, wet and weary, and stark 
pain was in his voice. 
For a moment Donal shut his eyes. Beneath his lids he saw 
Carillon as he had seen him last. Standing over the bodies of 
Tynstar and Electra, knowing he too would be dead before 
the year was out- 
He knew. He knew\a151I knew . . . and still I am unprepared. 
He looked blankly at Rowan again. No. It was not right. 
The posture was incorrect. He was not the man for whom the 
homage was intended. "Get up from there," he said unsteadily. 
"You do not kneel to me." 
Rowan raised his head- "I kneel to the Mujhar." 
Again, the words were unconnected. He heard them, but 
he could not acknowledge them. Slowly he shook his head. 
"Carillon is your Mujhar." 
The older man's face did not change expression. It was a 
mask, a blank, weary mask, hiding what he felt. "You are in 
his place, my lord. And I must offer my fealty." 
"Get up from there!" Donal shouted. "You do this purposely!" 
His voice cracked. He stopped speaking. He felt the 
trembling in his body. And then, only then, did he see the 
tears in Rowan's eyes. 
He nearly turned away. He could not face the man's grief, 
or it would swallow up his own. instead he stared blankly at 
the ring. 
Now it is meant for me. He looked down at his right hand. 
On his forefinger the ruby signet ring meant for the Prince of 

Homana. No longer was it his. He must replace it with the 
other. Gods . . . I am not worthy. 
"Donal." It was Evan, speaking softly. "Donal\a151will you 
keep him on his knees the length of me night?" 
Abruptly, Donal looked back at the general. He saw how 
the sun-bronzed skin had lost much of its color. It was 
stretched taut over the strong, prominent bones, shadowed in 
the light. Rowan looked almost old. 
He has lost so much . . . Donal bent. He caught Rowan's 
left arm and raised him up. "Do you think I would not accept 
you?" His voice was steadier now. "Did you think I would 
dismiss you?" 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 275 
"I am Carillon's man," Rowan said clearly. "1 can never 
be anyone else's." 
Donal did not answer at once. He lacked a voice; the 
words. Somehow, he had always known it. Rowan was Carillon's 
man, as he himself had claimed. For more years than 
Donal had been alive. Rowan had served his lord. He had 
dedicated his life to Carillon utterly. And now the task was 
finished. 
He will never serve me. To him, I am a makeshift man, not 
fit to assume the Lion. I can never take Carillon's place. 
He looked at the older man. "Surely you will aid me. My 
task will not be easy." 
"Nor was his." The tears were gone from Rowan's eyes. 
His face was a mask again. 
Gods\a151he will never acknowledge me. Donal looked at the 
ring again. He felt empty and full all at once. Empty in spirit 
because Carillon was gone; full of the grief it brought. 
"Rowan," he said softly, "I will need your help." 
The other Cheysuli drew in a deep, uneven breath. "Years 
ago. Carillon gave me an estate as a reward for my services. 1 
have had it administered for me through all the years I 
remained at Homana-MuJhar ... but I intended, when this 
time arrived, to leave royal service." 
"Leave." Donal felt the apprehension spill into his belly. 
"Do you think I can do this alone?" 
"1 doubt you can do it at all." The tone was uninflected. It 
made the words more cruel. 
"Oh, gods," Donal said. "Do you hate me so much?" 
"I do not hate you at all." Neither tone nor expression 
changed. "You are not\a151Carillon. That is all. It is not fair, I 
know ... but then nothing is fair. Is it?" Rowan's eyes were 
filled with bittersweet empathy. "You are resented by die 
Homanans because Carillon made you his heir. Oh, aye\a151 
they begin to accept the prophecy, but they would prefer to 
accept it later. With you, that time is now." Rowan sighed 

and closed his eyes briefly. "There are foreign realms who 
view the succession with alarm and distaste: they must deal 
with a man who shifts his shape. And, of course, there are the 
Cheysuli, who view you as something like unto an avatar of 
all the ancient gods. How can I hate a man as swallowed up 
as VOM?" 
276 Jennifer Roberson 
Swallowed up\a151 Aye, he was, or would be. The Lion 
would regurgitate a different man. 
Fear lodged in his throat. "Rowan\a151I will need your help." 
After a moment. Rowan nodded. "And I will see that you 
have it." 
Donal turned to the table and poured a cup of wine. He 
offered it to Rowan. "Here. You are in need of food and rest. 
But for now . . . will you tell me how it was? Supposedly it 
is a painless ending." 
Rowan, accepting the wine, looked at him sharply- "Painless? 
His deaf/i?" 
Donal gestured emptily. "I am told the root is\a151gentle. 
That at the last a man simply slips away in his sleep. I had 
hoped it would be so for Carillon." 
Rowan stared, the wine forgotten. "Root? What do you 
say?" Then his mouth dropped open. "Are you speaking of 
tetsuT' 
"Aye," Donal answered. Then, in shock, "Did you not 
know? I thought he told you everything." 
Color drained from Rowan's face. "Gods\a151was that it? 1 
knew he was in pain\a151the disease was eating his bones. But 
not once\a151never did I think he would resort to such as tetsu.'v 
His mask had slipped. There was bewilderment in his face. 
"But where would he get it? It is a Cheysuli thing, and kept 
hidden from Homanans." He looked at Donal questioningly. 
"How would he know of tetsu, and who would give it to 
him?" 
Donal felt his jaw clench. "It was Finn who gave it to 
him." 
Shock flared in Rowan's eyes. "Finn!" He caught his 
breath. "Aye\a151it would be.' Leave it to Finn to give poison to 
Carillon!" 
"For the pain," Donal protested. "He said Carillon desired 
it." 
"And so he stole more time!" Rowan said bitterly. "Did 
he tell him what it would do? Did Finn say to him he would 
lose what little time was left?" His hands shook in his anger. 
Donal's fingers curled against his palms until the nails bit 
in. "I am certain Finn told him everything. He is not a 
murderer. Rowan." 

"He has been that, and worse." Rowan's tone was harsh, 
the words clipped. "Most of the stories of him are true." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
277 
An answering spark of anger flared in Donal's chest. "Finn 
was loyal to the Mujhar! What he did was because Carillon 
desired it! Do you dare intimate to me that Finn wanted him 
to die?" 
Rowan shut his eyes. "No ... no ... I\a151do not. No. 
Forgive me, I am not myself. But\a151tetsu root? Why?" 
"He was in pain," Donal answered. "Did you not tell me 
that often enough?" 
The older visage was haggard in the candlelight. Rowan 
passed a hand across his face and rubbed at his circled eyes. 
"Gods\a151he meant to rule until the end ... he meant not to 
give himself over into imbecility from the pain . . . aye, I see 
it. A man such as Carillon would take tetsu and give up 
quantity for quality. It was his way." Suddenly a breath of 
ironic laughter issued hollowly from his mouth. "And then, 
for all that, it was Osric who took his life." 
Breath spilled out of Donal's body. "Osric! Osric?" 
Rowan nodded. "Three weeks ago we rode into battle 
against Osric. And it was done with. We had won the day. 
We had only to gather our dead and wounded." He drew in a 
heavy breath. "I saw him. Carillon was mounted, standing 
on a hilltop. Just\a151looking. Looking across the battlefield as 
we went out to gather our dead. I saw him sitting there, 
watching ... I wondered why he was so stilt. Now. I think it 
might have been the root. It\a151affects a man's perceptions." 
His brows twisted together in a spasm of grief. "I\a151saw him 
falL" 
"Fall\a151" 
Jerkily, Rowan nodded. "He fell." The words spilled out. 
"He went down by the hooves of his horse. For a moment I 
could not understand\a151Carillon would never fall!\a151and then I 
saw the arrow in his chest." He stopped talking. "I was\a151too 
far ... too far\a151I could not reach him in time. But\a151I saw 
the Atvian archer\a151I saw him ride up to my lord. Even as I 
ran across the hill, I saw him kneel down by my Mujhar. I 
shouted\a151gods, how I shouted!\a151but the archer did not listen. 
And by the time I reached my lord, the Atvian was gone." 
Silence. Donal heard the sibilance of the rain. It ran off the 
pavilion and splattered against the ground- "More?" he asked 
raggedly. 
Tears ran unchecked down Rowan's Cheysuli face. "He 
knew it was done," he said. "He said I must not trouble 
278 Jennifer Roberson 
myself to send for a chirurgeon. He said\a151he said he wished 

Finn were with him, or Duncan, so they could take away the 
pain." For an instant, his voice shook. "He told me it was 
Osric himself\a151the Atvian archer was Osric . . . that he 
named himself to Carillon as he knelt down beside him. And 
then\a151then he said I was to carry the sword to you, because 
now you would accept it." 
"The sword . . ." Donal echoed. "Gods\a151now it is mine." 
Rowan's face was gray. "My lord\a151Osric has the sword." 
' 'Osric!'' 
"I could not tell Carillon," Rowan whispered wretchedly. 
"That is what the Atvian took." 
Donal recalled the sparring match he had had with Carillon 
so many months before. How they had discovered that, in his 
hand, the blade knew its true master. Not Carillon's sword at 
all, for all it served him. Meant for another man. 
Donal looked down on Rowan. "Then 1 will have to get it 
back." 
Rowan's voice shook. "I served him for twenty-five years." 
He spoke with a dry factuality, as if that would somehow 
hide his grief. "I was twelve. Did you know that? Twelve. 
He was only eighteen himself, but he was so far above me I 
could hardly see him for the brightness of his spirit. And he 
saw to it I was saved ... he saw to it I was rescued, while he 
remained in iron." His smile was bittersweet. "I swore then 1 
would do what I could to serve him. Even while he and Finn 
kept themselves in exile, I did what I could to serve him. I 
kept his memory alive." The smile faded away. "And when 
he came home, he took me into his service\a151my tahlmorra, if 
you will\a151" He smiled no longer. "And now it comes to 
this." He nearly crushed the silver cup. "That service is 
ended by Osric's arrow." 
And that arrow makes me king\a151 Donal turned away from 
Rowan. He could not bear to look at his face. 
On the table he saw the ring, still stained with Carillon's 
blood. His ring, now. Slowly, with a dreadful fascination, he 
drew off the one on his forefinger and set it down beside the 
other. His son's, if Aislinn ever bore one. 
And I pray the gods she will . . . I am in need of an heir, 
am I to be Mujhar. His inward smile was ragged with irony. 
Donal took up the heavy black ring with its incised ram- 
LEOACY OF THE SWORD 279 
pant lion. Carefully he pushed it onto his naked forefinger 
and felt his flesh form itself to the metal. 
He turned to Evan. "See to it the general has food and 
rest. Then find Finn and have him wait for me here. I will 
come to him when I can." 
"But\a151how long should he wait?" 

"Until 1 have come back." Without picking up his woolen 
cloak he went out into the rain- 
He ran. He thought it might ease the pain. But it only 
deepened it. He felt it fill up his belly until he wanted to vomitonto 
the ground. But he was empty. He was empty of all save 
grief and fear. 
He ran\a151 
\a151and when he stopped, it was because he knew he had to. 
Because his lungs burned and his belly ached and his soul had 
shrunk up within his chest. There was nothing left but breathlessness 
and sorrow, and a wild, wild rage. 
He stood upon an escarpment. Below him lay the valley 
and the encampment. The sky was brackish with clouds; 
neither moon nor stars shone against the darkness. 
He clenched his right fist and felt the heavy ring bite into 
his finger. "You take them all," he said aloud. "My jehan, 
my schema\a151the boy . . . now Carillon as well. You take 
them all from me\a151and you thrust this upon me too soon!" 
Do you think yourself unworthy? Taj, spiralling in the 
misty drizzle. 
/ am unworthy. 
You are a Cheysuii warrior. You are worthy of anything. 
Lom's tone was inflexible. It sounded like Carillon's. 
Donal shook his head. "I am afraid," he said clearly. "Do 
you understand that? Afraid. Because I cannot begin to rule 
as he has ruled. 1 cannot be Carillon. 1 cannot take his 
place!" 
Lom's eyes glinted. You are not meant to take his place. 
You are meant to make a new one. 
Taj circled closer. In death, as in life, he served the 
prophecy. 
"He was Homanan, not Cheysuii! Why did he have to take 
the risk?" 
A life without risk is empty. Lorn retorted. A life not risked 
for something as high as the prophecy of the Firstborn is not 
a life at all. 
280 Jennifer Roberson 
"And mine?" Donal demanded. "What is mine to be?" 
Lorn pressed against his leg. Why not have the Ellasian 
dice you your destiny? 
Donal's laugh was bitter. 
Taj circled more closely. Who is to say he will be wrong? 
Donal stared across the soaked plains. He saw the guttering 
sparks of reluctant firecaims built beneath fabric rainbreaks. 
His army\a151his army\a151spread across the land like a silent tide. 
And it was time he returned to it. 

When he ripped aside the doorflap on his pavilion he found 
it empty save for Finn. For a moment he thought perhaps his 
uncle did not know. but then he saw past the subtle control. 
The scarred face was perfectly blank. But the fury and 
grief in his posture was such that it struck Donal like a blow. 
Donal drew in a slow, even breath. "I go to Homana in the 
morning." 
Finn, half-hidden in the shadows, did not move at all. 
"You have an army here." 
The flat impersonality of the tone shocked Donal. Their 
eyes met across the pavilion. Then Donal made a dismissive 
gesture with his hand. "Solinde, for the moment, is quiet. I 
wilt go to Homana." 
"Why?" Finn demanded. 
Rain ran from Donal's soaked leathers and spilled across 
the floor. "You were his liege man for nearly ten years. You 
commanded Cheysuli and Homanan alike in the wars that 
won Homana back from Bellam's tyranny. I nee4 you to 
command this army while I fetch home my sword." 
Finn smiled tightly. "The Homanans will never suffer a 
Cheysuli in command." 
"They have suffered me these past months!" 
"At Carillon's behest." 
"What of Rowan?" 
"At Carillon's behest!" 
Donal brought his right hand up into the light so that the 
ring was clearly visible. "At their Mujhar's behest, surely 
they will accept you as temporary commander." 
Finn moved forward until he stood no more than two paces 
away from Donal. His breath hissed through his teeth as he 
spoke. "/ will go to Homana and slay the Atvian serpent. / 
will take his life. Not you. / am owed this death!" 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
281 
"Are you?" Donal held his eyes. "You said once I must 
choose my own path. I have done it. You will remain here 
and command the army, as once you did for Carillon, and I 
will go to Homana." 
Finn bared his teeth. "/ am owed that death!" 
"I," Donal said. "I am his heir. I will do it. Osric will die 
by my hand, and I will bring home the sword again." 
Finn spat out something in the Old Tongue that set the 
hairs to rising on the nape of Donal's neck. He felt color 
drain out of his face. "Insult?" he asked, and heard the 
waver in his voice. He fought to steady it. "I am your 

bloodkin, su'fali! I have spent my life honoring you for 
wisdom, strength, and power, and now you offer insult\a151" 
"Aye!" Finn snapped. "And will again, do you mean to 
deny me this." 
"/ am your Mujhar!" Donal's voice was hoarse with the 
effort of swallowing the shout. "Do you fail me in this, think 
you the Homanans will accept me?" 
Finn's hand spasmed as he closed it on his knife. "I want 
only the life of a single Atvian lordling\a151'' 
"Shansu, su'fali," Donal said gently. "Do you think I do 
not grieve at least half as much as you?" 
The scar writhed on Finn's dark face. For a moment there 
was such grief and anguish in his eyes Donal feared he might 
go mad. But Finn contained his emotions. 
When he could, he drew in a slow breath and released it 
carefully. "Duncan would say I am a fool ... too impetuous 
for my own good\a151he told me so often enough\a151and perhaps 
it is the truth." Finn's voice was hoarse. "Perhaps I am. 
Perhaps I must recall all the good advice he gave me and let 
his son offer it as well." The sigh was ragged around the 
edges. "I suppose\a151so long as Osric is slain\a151it matters little 
who has the doing of it.'' 
Donal reached out his arms and waited, and at last Finn 
accepted the brief clasp that sealed their bond again. "Osric 
will be slain," Donal told him clearly. "That I promise 
you." 
TWO 
Fie thought it a little like the Womb of the Earth. The walls 
were intaglioed with marble carvings, but the stone was pale 
pink and the shapes were not lir but men instead; the sarcophogi 
of kings. 
Effigies and marble coffins filled the shadowed vault. Donal 
stood in the half-open doorway and looked in on the silent 
dead. It was a Homanan thing to carve iikenessess of the dead 
into polished stone. A Homanan thing to hide them away in 
privacy. A Homanan thing to store them all together in the 
bowels of Homana-Mujhar, which was a Cheysuli place. To 
Donal, the practice was abhorrent. 
Aislinn was within. She was alone, unaware of his presence. 
Grieving by herself. Of all the candleracks only-one 
was lighted, throwing the intaglios and effigies into stark 
relief. The illumination emphasized the sepulchral silence of 
the mausoleum. But Aislinn did not seem to care. She held a 
single candle over a plain, undressed marble coffin. 
Donal moved through the doorway. His step sounded, loud 
in the vault; Aislinn spun around with a gasp and dropped the 
candle onto the coffin. It rolled, snuffed out; spilled hot wax 
across the stone. A curl of smoke drifted upward and filled 

Donal's nose with the odor of scented beeswax. 
"Donal!" Aislinn gasped, one hand clutching at her robe. 
He moved into the vault, a fat candle clenched in his hand. 
The flame flared and guttered as he moved, striking odd 
shadows across the pinched face before him. He saw the glint 
of tears and the lines of bitter grief. 
282 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
283 
"They have put him here?" he asked. "Why here? Why 
not above the ground, in freedom?" 
Her eyes were black in the muted light. "This\a151this is 
where all the kings are placed." 
"Shaine too?" 
"Sh-shaine?" She stared at him in amazement, as if she 
could not believe he would speak of such inconsequential 
things in the face of her father's death. "No. When Beltam 
took the palace, Shaine was already dead. He was not entombed 
with honor. Bellam disposed of the body; no one 
knows where those bones lie." 
"Good," he said quietly. "Shaine was not deserving of 
any honor." 
"Donal\a151!" 
He looked at her levelly. "Shaine was a madman and a 
fool. Carillon deserves better company." 
She turned from him then, lurching back to face the marble 
coffin. Her hands went flat against the undressed lid. Fingers 
splayed out. She bent her head, and Donal saw how her 
shoulders trembled. "I saw him," she whispered. "I saw 
him. They told me 1 had to see him while they prepared him 
for entombment\a151so that no one could claim the Mujhar yet 
lived, and use that for some purpose." 
He heard the note of horror mixed with anguish. "But he 
does," Donal told her. "The Mujhar does yet live." 
She spun, pressing her back against the coffin. "What\a151" 
He overrode her unfinished question- "I am Carillon's 
heir, Aislinn . . . / am Mujhar of Homana." 
Color drained from her face, but her voice was surprisingly 
steady. "You do not waste time." 
"1 have none." The light from his candle played on the red 
of her heavy braid, turning it to gold. "Do I falter now, the 
war may well be lost. There is no time for a leisurely 
expression of royal grief. Not even for Carillon." 
"Then why do you come hereT' She was wrapped in a 
robe of cerulean velvet. It slid off one shoulder and displayed 

the linen of her nightshift; he had thought to spend his time in 
the vault alone, since his arrival was quite late, but Aislinn 
did not look as if she had slept at all. 
"I came to see how you fared," he told her, "and to bid 
my good-bye to Carillon." 
284 Jennifer Roberson 
Tears glittered in her eyes, "I fare well enough\a151for a 
woman who has lost both unborn son and father." 
He wanted to go to her, to take her into his arms and offer 
the comfort she needed. But he was afraid. Cheysuli honored 
the dead with deep respect and solemnity, and the keening of 
women was abhorrent. He dared not sacrifice his own tenuous 
control to acknowledging Aislinn's need, 
"I am alone," she said. "1 have no one in all the world." 
He held himself very still. He felt the pain blossom in his 
chest, then slowly rise to fill up his throat. He found he could 
hardly breathe. 
Slowly, he set his candle down on the coffin. Then he 
touched her fingertips. When he felt their trembling he knew 
he was undone. 
Aislinn moved into his arms. She clung but she did not 
break down. She cried but it was silently, with a sort of 
dignity he had not expected. Somehow, it made the moment 
more poignant. 
"How long do you stay?" she asked at last, when the tears 
had dried on her cheeks. 
"I do not stay," he answered. "I must go on to the 
Keep." 
Aislinn stiffened. "You go to herT' 
"Aye, there is Sorcha," he admitted, "but also there are 
my children." 
She stepped back from him, leaving his arms empty again. 
"Then\a151you will not spend the night with me?" He saw how 
she twisted the fabric of her robe. "You\a151forgo a husband's 
responsibilities?" 
"Aislinn," he said gently, "you recall how it was last 
time. Are you prepared for that again?" 
"I think\a151I think there will be no need." Color flared in 
her face. "I think you will find me a willing wife instead of a 
lunatic girl." 
He looked at her. It was true there was greater awareness 
in her eyes. Save for a natural embarrassment and proper 
modesty, she appeared to lack the fear she had shown before. 
Perhaps\a151now that Tynstar and Electro, are dead\a151she is 
free of the link entirely. 
After a moment, he shook his head. "Aislinn\a151I am sorry. 

But tonight there is no time. I must go on to the Keep, and 
then I will join the army. There is a death 1 must mete out." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
285 
"Osric's?" 
He nodded. 
"I thought it might be that. Well then, I will not keep you. 
It is not my place to reprove you for avenging my father's 
death." She turned, reaching for his candle. "Will you sup 
with me? You look weary. After that, I will not gainsay 
you." 
Somberly, she led him from the vault. 
He ate. He drank. He told her what he could of the battles 
in Solinde. She listened attentively, and he found she had 
gained a new maturity in the months since he had left her. 
The shape of her face seemed different. Excess flesh had 
faded so that he saw the line of her bones clearly, as he had 
seen them in Electra. No more the young woman who only 
hinted at adulthood; conceiving the child and then losing it 
had done much to banish her girlhood. 
They were alone. His fir were in his apartments in another 
wing. They dined in her chambers; the servants she had 
dismissed, saying they would tend to themselves in privacy. 
Now, as she set her goblet down, she regarded him more 
closely. "You look so weary, Donal." 
He leaned against one elbow. "I came directly from Solinde. 
It is taxing to hold tir-shape so long without proper rest, 
but\a151I felt the circumstances warranted the sacrifice." He 
sipped from his cup of wine. "That is partly why I am out of 
sorts. If 1 was cruel to you in the vault, I am sorry for it." 
"You are unhappy." She poured more wine for him. "I 
see it clearly. The heirship has been a long one, and now mat 
it has ended and the throne is truly yours, you find you do not 
like it," 
"I never wanted it," he said wearily. "I told you that, 
once. But\a151Carillon needed an heir, and I have a drop or two 
of royal blood." 
"More than a drop," she retorted. "For all you flaunt your 
Cheysuli blood, there is Homanan in you as well. And,-as for 
heirs\a151we should make some of our own." Her long-lidded 
eyes flicked a slanting glance at him. "Do you not agree?" 
He smiled. "I agree. And when I am done with this war, I 
shall do my best to sire some." 
"Will the war take so long?" Reddish brows knitted together 
over her lambent gaze. 
286 Jennifer Roberson 

Donal scratched an eyelid thoughtfully. "Osric has entrenched 
himself in the plains just north of the fenlands. 
Mujhara is not precisely threatened . . . but it might be if we 
do not continue to hold him. While our strength is split, there 
is little we can do. Carillon meant to stop him permanently\a151 
now it is up to me." 
She reached across the table and caught his hand before he 
could withdraw. "Donal\a151stay with me this night. Delay a 
day or two." 
Her flesh was warm against his. "I have said why I 
cannot. And you agreed you would not gainsay me." 
"I lied." Her single braid had loosened so that her bright 
hair tumbled around her face. Deftly she undid the lacing 
until the hair fell free of its confinement. The robe slid off her 
shoulders; through the thin fabric of her nightshirt he could 
see the lines of her breasts. 
"Aislinn," he said, "enough." 
"No." She rose, pressing her hands against the table. She 
shook back her hair and smiled. "I am free, Donal. No more 
Ihlini magic. I can be what you wish me to be." 
He was not indifferent to her. But in his weariness, in his 
single-mindedness, he thought he could refuse her. "AisUnn, 
please be patient. We will have our time." 
Slowly, she rounded the table and stood behind his back. 
Her hands settled on his neck. "That time is now." 
"Aislinn\a151" 
"Do you think I play a game?" She bent forward and 
pressed herself against his rigid back. Her hair hung down to 
fall across his shoulders. "This is not a game. This is my 
retribution." Abruptly she caught two handfuls of his hair. 
"Do you know what it was like?" she demanded. "Can you 
conceive of what it was like? Can you consider what it is to 
know such utter helplessness as what you gave to me?" 
He caught her hands and rose, stepping free of the stool 
beside the table. "Aislinn\a151this is nonsense\a151" 
"Is it?" Her wrists were trapped in his hands. "/ say it is 
retribution." 
He shook his head, baffled. "Aislinn\a151are you mad\a151?" 
"You will stay the night with me." He saw the intensity in 
her clear gray eyes. "I want you to know what it is like. / 
want you to feel the helplessness, as I did, knowing I could 
do nothing!" 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 287 
He wavered. A shudder coursed through his body. His 
tongue felt thick in his mouth- "Aislinn\a151what have you 
done?" 
"Sought power where I can get it." Her long eyes were 

wide and watchful. "You have drunk much wine, my lord. 
You are weary. You require rest. But when a husband is 
stubborn, a wife must make shift where she can." 
"By the gods\a151you are your jehana'f daughter\a151" 
"I am what I must be." Her image wavered before him. 
She retreated. He followed, trying to catch a hand so he could 
hold her still. 
She said nothing as he fell against the bed. He struggled to 
push himself upright, clinging to the carved tester and heavy 
tapestries. His clawing hand pulled down the silken folds. 
"You will know what it is like," she said in a hard, brittle 
voice. "I want you to feel what it is like. I want\a151" 
But he did not hear what else she wanted. 
He dreamed of Sorcha. And sought release in her supple 
body. 
Donal sat bolt upright in the bed, shocked into full 
wakefulness so quickly his heart lurched within his chest and 
his head pounded. He thought he might be ill. 
He stared at the woman blindly. He swallowed twice, 
tasting a flat foulness on his tongue- "Aislinn, what have you 
done?'' 
She turned from her belly to her back. Languorously, she 
stretched, then pulled silken sheets up demurely to cover her 
nakedness. "1 took your will away." 
He rubbed at his face with one hand, trying to vanquish the 
tingling numbness. His body told him he had lain with a 
woman last night; his mind recalled nothing of it. "I did not 
intend to spend the night\a151I was going to the Keep, and then 
on to the army." 
"I know." Aislinn's smile reminded him of Electra's. 
"What was it like, my lord, to know yourself so helpless?" 
He swore violently and got out of the bed, but clutched one 
of the testers for support- "Witch. No better than your 
jehana\a151*' 
"We will not speak of her." Aislinn hitched herself upright 
in bed and wrapped herself more tightly in the sheets. 
288 Jennifer Roberson 
"I did not bewitch you, Donal ... 1 merely drugged your 
wine." 
Dizzy, he sat back down on the edge of the bed. "But\a151 
why did you not simply slay me? The gods know you have 
tried before. Unless you have a different plan, now that 
Electra and Tynstar are dead." 
"Plan?" Aislinn frowned. "What do you say? Why would 
I try to slay you? What do you mean\a151I have done it before?" 
He glared at her sourly. "In Hondarth, Aislinn. Do you not 

recall? That is a fine example." 
Color mshed into her face and one hand flew to cover her 
mouth. "But that was my mother's doing!" 
"And last night was yours." He rubbed at his head again, 
suppressing a groan of pain. 
She shifted closer to him, kneeling at his side- "1 did not 
mean for you to feel ill. But you drank more wine than 
usual\a151you swallowed more of the drug than I intended." 
Her hand, reaching out to his shoulder, fell away. "By the 
gods, Donal!\a151what do you expect me to do? Last time you 
took my will from me with your magic and forced me to lie 
with you. I only wanted you to know what it was like! Can 
you blame me? And\a151and\a151it is true we need an heir. We 
cannot put off such need," 
"We can." \a151And now we will. 
"We cannot' Do you think I am blind to the requirements 
of a queen?" Her eyes were blazing at him. "You seek your 
light woman, my lord\a151what else am I to do when I am in 
need of a son?" 
"Aislinn\a151" 
"I want a baby," she said with a desperate dignity. '*to 
replace the one I lost." 
He opened his mouth to answer harshly, then shut it again. 
He had never thought what it was to be a woman, waiting 
only to bear sons to inherit a throne. And in Aislinn's case it 
was imperative she bear them soon; sooner, now Carillon was 
dead. 
He slumped on the bed and stared at her; at her pale eyes 
and paler face. She had much of her mother's beauty and all 
of her father's pride. 
Slowly, he rose from the bed and dressed. He said nothing 
until he was done, and then he walked to the door. "Perhaps 
a woman must do a thing she dislikes for a reason that 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
289 
demands it\a151but I cannot forgive you for it. No more than 
you have forgiven me." 
"I do not want forgiveness!" She rose up on her knees 
before him. "If you cannot bring yourself to get sons on me I 
will do what I have to do." Her voice shook with tears. "Go 
back to your light woman, Donal\a151go back to your shapechanger 
whore!" 
It was all he could do not to cross the room and take her 
throat into his hands. But he did not. "You have delayed me 
long enough," he told her curtly. "Now I must ride directly 
to the army, without stopping at the Keep." He looked at her 
angry face and felt his own anger intensify. "You had best 
hope for a son from this travesty . . . you will get no more 

children from me." 
Her anger fell away. "But\a151Homana must have an heir\\" 
"I have a son already." 
Aislinn scrambled out of the bed. She stood before him, 
perfectly nude, but her fury was unimpaired. "You would not 
claim her child Prince of Homana!" 
"If there is no other, what else could I do?" 
Pale fists clenched. "The Homanan Council would never 
accept a bastard by your Cheysuli whore," she said flatly. 
"Never." 
Donal smiled grimly. "I am Mujhar. In the end. they will 
do as I tell them." 
Aislinn glared back at him. But the quality of her anger 
had undergone a change. Her tears were dry. He saw a new 
awareness in her eyes. A cool guardedness in her appraisal. 
She smiled Electra's smile. 
Donal took a horse from Homana-Mujhar, knowing if he 
went straight to the army in ^'r-shape he would be too weary 
to go directly into battle. He sent Taj on to the Keep to pass 
word to Sorcha that he would not be home after all. He did 
not relish the confrontation when at last they did meet. She 
would claim the Homanans turned him from his Cheysuli 
heritage, and in a way, he thought perhaps she was right. 
As the fleet bird disappeared Donal felt a twinge of regret. 
Without Taj he felt half naked. A part of himself was missing, 
and would be, for a while- He had told Taj to fly ahead 
to the army when he had finished his business at the Keep. 
Still, he was more fortunate than other warriors. He would 
290 Jennifer Roberson 
lack die ability to assume falcon-shape while separated by 
such distance, but his link to Lom remained intact. 
Donal slowed the horse as the forest grew more dense. The 
track narrowed to tittle more than a footpath, but hoofprints 
marked the ground. Branches slapped at his head. Fighting 
the vines grew tedious. 
Lom, trotting ahead, glanced over one shoulder. Catch me 
if you can. With a flick of his tail he was gone. 
The wolf was at home in the forests of Homana; the horse 
was not. But Donal gave it a try- 
He bent low in the saddle, hugging with his legs while his 
heels urged the stallion faster. He rode high on the chestnut 
withers, shifting his weight unobtrusively- Hands gave the bit 
to the horse. Flying mane whipped against his face and he 
tasted the acrid salt of horsehair. 
Lir\a151Ur\a151lir\a151 
Lom's agonized scream scythed through Donal's mind as 

the path before the horse fell away into a pit. He felt weightless 
and a sudden blaze of fear. 
Donal threw himself free of saddle and stirrups. 
He caught a twisted, buried root in one hand. Gnarled and 
whiplike, the root dropped him three more feet before jerking 
him to a halt. He felt shoulder muscles tear. 
He swung in perfect silence, eyes shut tightly against me 
pain as he reached out with his other hand. As he grasped the 
root he pulled himself upward, taking me weight from his 
injured shoulder. Sweat ran down his face as he tried to 
detach himself from the link with Lom, for the wolfs pain 
compounded his own. Taj was too far, there was no hope of 
flying out. 
He swung himself gently against the earthen wall of the 
pit, clinging with both hands. Slowly he forced himself upward, 
hand-over-hand, boot toes digging into the crumbling 
sides. Inch by inch he rose, dragging himself upward to the 
rim. For a moment he hung suspended, gathering his strength, 
then lurched upward and clawed at the tangled roots that 
fringed the pit. 
He grunted with effort; tasted the salt-copper tang of blood 
against his teeth; smelled the sweat of his effort and the 
stench of his growing fear. The link with Lom vibrated with 
the intensity of the wolfs pain. But he dragged himself over 
the edge of the pit and fell down against the ground. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 291 
He coughed. His breath whistled in his throat. His belly 
heaved as it tried to draw in breath. Lorn! he shouted silently, 
and received no answer through the link. Only pain. Pain and 
emptiness. 
Donal struggled to his knees, nursing his aching shoulder. 
Dazedly he pushed himself to his feet and staggered toward 
the trees, trying to follow the thin threat of contact with his 
/(•r. 
\a151bind a lir and a Cheysuli is bound . . . harm a Ur and a 
Cheysuli is harmed . . . trap a lir and a Cheysuli is trapped\a151 
The litany clamored inside his skull. His jehan had explained 
it once in terms a boy could understand; a boy who 
had received his lir too soon, sooner than anyone else. He 
had never forgotten the lesson. 
He fell against a tree. jan-ing his sore chest and aching 
shoulder. He stumbled on, responding to the desperate compulsion 
in his body. 
Lir\a151Ur\a151Ur\a151 
He tripped. He fell to hands and knees. 
A figure stepped out of the trees and stood before him. 
Donal, half-blinded by pain, saw the boots first, then slowly 
looked up. 

He saw a slender figure in dark, unremarkable clothing. 
Pale, delicate hands. And in those hands was clasped the 
sword with the rampant lion on ityhilt. 
Donal's head rose. He saw the smooth, youthful face; the 
parti-colored eyes. 
Set smiled. "My lord Mujhar, this is well-met. Though 
you seem discomfited at the moment." 
"You\a151you are dead\a151" 
"Am I? No. That was another boy. But I am glad the 
illusion held. I lost one of my ward-stones, you see." 
Donal gasped. 'TOM are Ihlini\a151?" 
"My name is Strahan," he said, "not Set. I am the son 
of Tynstar and Electra." 
Donal sat back on his heels. "Electra lost that child! In 
Hondarth\a151on the way to the Crystal Isle\a151my jehan said she 
lost the child\a151" 
Sef\a151Strahan\a151smiled. "So she wanted him to think. But\a151 
when you are Electra of Solinde and you have loyal women 
by you\a151there are many secrets you may keep . . . many 
illusions you may hold." 
292 Jennifer Roberson 
"Not before a Cheysuii." 
"Look at me, Mujhar. Tell me if I lie." 
Donal looked. No more did the boy give him humility and 
innocence. He gave him truth. He smiled the pure, beguiling 
smile of his father, with all the lambent beauty of his mother. 
Donal grasped at his knife with his left hand, knowing his 
right arm too numb, too weak and sore to accomplish the 
task. But the boy set the tip of the sword against his throat, 
and Donal did not move. 
"I hold your wolf, warrior, and therefore I hold you. Do 
you wish him to live, do nothing to gainsay me." 
Donal spat blood from his bitten lip. "It was you in the 
Womb of the Earth. It was you ail those times." 
"Of course. / gave me poison to my mother so she could 
escape imprisonment. / hired the Homanan to attack you 
in the hall, knowing he would fail. I wanted you afraid. I 
wanted you uncertain. I wanted you in a place special to 
the Cheysuii, so I could slay you there." 
"Not Aislinn," Donal said. "And\a151notBronwyn, either." 
Strahan smiled. "Not Aislinn. Not Bronwyn\a151this time." 
The smile widened. "What is it like to know your wife and 
sister are bloodkin to the enemy? They are, do not forget. 
Aislinn through her mother, Bronwyn through her father. 
What is it like, Cheysuii, to know you are kin to Ihlini?" 

He echoes Tynstar's words . . . Donal swallowed heavily 
and looked at the rune-worked sword. In Sets\a151Strahan's\a151 
hands, the weapon was huge. The ruby was half the size of 
his fist. "How did you come by Carillon's sword?" 
"Carillon's? Or yours?" Strahan laughed. "Osric brought 
it to me. I had joined him by then\a151in the aftermath of my 
'death'\a151and I asked for it. As proof of the murderer of my 
mother and father was dead." Fierce anger and a powerful 
hatred burned deeply in the un-matched eyes. "He should 
have left Carillon to me. He should have let me slay him. / 
would have given him a much more fitting death." His teeth 
showed briefly in a smile echoing mat of his father. "Do you 
wonder why 1 touch the sword now? Do you wonder how I 
can? Because of you, my lord\a151you have been so remiss in 
your responsibilities. Oh, aye, this sword knows you\a151a 
tittle. But you have not had the ritual performed. You have 
not held it long enough in your possession for it to know an 
enemy's hand each time one is laid upon it. It knew me on 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 293 
the hilltop\a151knew me for what I was\a151but it has been too 
long now since you touched it. And without the ritual, the 
power is reduced." 
No one has spoken of a ritual to me\a151 But Donal shook his 
head. "/ should have known you. Through my lir . . . an 
Ihlini is ever known." 
"No,** Strahan said gently. "Not while I wore the feathered 
band." 
Donal's left hand went at once to his belt-pouch. But he 
did not try to open it. 
The boy laughed. "Look upon it, Donal. See what has 
helped me so well." 
Unwillingly, Donal unfastened the pouch and took out the 
feathered bracelet. He looked at it mutely. Such a simple thing. 
A slender band of braided feather: black and gold and brown. 
He met Strahan's eyes. "How could this gainsay my ;i'r?" 
"They are from your father's hawk." 
Breath rushed out of Donal's body. He stared blindly at the 
feathers in his hand, and recalled his father's body in his 
arms. How could I not have known\a151? 
"A token, but powerful," the boy explained cheerfully. 
"My father took the hawk's body. And then he took Duncan. 
With them both, dead lir and live warrior, my father fashioned 
a powerful spell. It hid my identity. It allowed me to 
come to you. It even made Finn wonder if I were kin'." 
Strahan laughed. "And it made it an easy thing to infiltrate 
the palace." 
/ kept this to recall Sefs murder . . . but it is a tool of my 
own. He looked up at the boy again. "What do you intend to 
do with me?" 

"Make you a toy," Strahan said. "The way I made one of 
your father.'' 
THREE 
I
.nside his head, the memories were at war. 
He recalled his father from his childhood, when Duncan 
had been clan-leader and responsible for people other than his 
son. But he had still made time for that son, teaching him 
what he could. 
He remembered Duncan in his madness, with empty eyes 
and taloned hands. 
He recalled the first time his father had taken him hunting, 
to teach him what he must know about tracking animals and 
slaying them to help feed the clan. 
He remembered Duncan begging for their help, begging to 
be made whole again; a man. 
He recalled how his mother had taken care to keep his 
father alive in his memories when Duncan was gone because 
all too often memories faded into nothingness. 
He remembered how Alix had saved them ail by sacrificing 
herself. 
But mostly he remembered how his father had died in his 
arms. knowing himself a toy in the hands ofTynstar''s son. 
And Donal knew he was, also. 
No.' he cried. /\a151am\a151 
"\a151not!" 
He jerked awake. He heard his breathing rasping in the 
confines of the cabin. The echo of his shout. The clank of 
heavy iron as it rattled at wrists and ankles, bolting him to the 
bunk aboard the ship. 
Oh gods ... He remembered it all, now. How Strahan had 
294 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 295 
captured him and thrown him into irons, abusing Lom to 
keep Donal a subdued, well-mannered prisoner. 
"Tell me something." The boy's voice; Donal opened his 
eyes. "Tell me something, Donal . . . why was it so easy?" 
Strahan stood in the cabin just inside the door. He wore dark 
blue tunic and trews of the finest wool, belted with leather 
and silver. 

Donal swallowed. He had no intention of answering Strahan, 
but his throat was very dry. 
"All my life my father taught me the Cheysuli were not 
men to be taken without expending great effort ... yet you 
fell easily into my hands and make no effort to break free." 
Black brows knitted over hooded eyes. "Is this an example of 
the power of the Ar-bond? I have heard how consuming it 
is\a151how a warrior gives up his life when the life of a lir is 
taken ... but Lom is not yet dead. Merely\a151confined." 
Strahan did not elaborate on the confinement, but Donal 
knew very well what the wolf had undergone. He could feel it 
in himself as he lay chained to the bunk. Weakness. Hunger. 
Disorientation. Great thirst. Fever. And while Lorn suffered, 
so did he. So would he, until the wolf was free and well. 
The boy moved closer to the bunk. "I expected more from 
you. In all our months together, you led me to believe you 
were a warrior. But I see no warnor. Just a man\a151a human 
man, caught within my trap." Yet another step closer. "Where 
is the falcon, Donal?" 
Donal heard the change in tone. Strahan was a boy, but a 
boy with recourse to all the arcane arts of the netherworld. It 
made him old though young. It made him seem a man when 
he was not. 
He is not a fool. . . and I dare not treat him as one. "TaJ 
is dead." His voice was mostly a croak. 
Strahan laughed. "Do you expect me to believe that! I 
know what that death entails, Donal. I know about the 
madness." 
"Taj is dead." 
"Do not undervalue me!" Color stood high in Strahan's 
face. lt! will paint you a picture, my lord. Let us say the 
falcon is dead. Because you have the wolf, you need not 
concern yourself with the death-ritual; you are released from 
the responsibility. But I hold Lom. Lom is\a151ill. The wolf is 
not himself. And while neither are you yourself, precisely, I 
296 Jennifer Roberson 
would hardly claim you mad." Strahan shook his head. 
"With Taj dead and Lorn so close, you would not be sane." 
"What lies has Tynstar told you?" 
"None at all," the boy said gently. "It is no secret to me. 
A Urtess Cheysuli, left alive, loses what mind he has left. But 
because your race is so proud, so strong, so arrogant, you 
cannot bear to see any warrior lose his mind along with his 
/t'r. And so you created a ceremony. Glorified suicide." 
Strahan smiled. "Oh, aye, I know about the taboo. A Cheysuli 
would never stoop to suicide. But what else does a warrior do 
when his lir is dead? He gives himself over to whatever force 
will slay him." 
"No\a151" 

"Aye. I know it, Dona). Do you forget I held your father?" 
Donal lunged up against his chains. "Get out of my sight!" 
"No." 
"He was not\a151a toy . . . he was a man ... a man\a151you 
did not defeat the warrior! Therefore you did not defeat the 
man! You did not defeat my jehan\a151" 
"Oh, but I think I did." Strahan stared at Donal. The 
faintest underscore of comprehension edged his tone. "And, 
in doing it\a151I think I defeated you\a151'' 
"He was a man ... not a beast, not a bird, not a thing\a151" 
Donal sucked in a breath. "He was Duncan of the Cheysuli, 
from the line of the Old Mujhars ... in the days when the 
Lion of Homana still belonged to us\a151" 
Strahan looked down upon him. "Us," he echoed. "Aye. 
My father has taught me, too. How the Lion belonged to us 
all." 
'Wo!" Donal shut his teeth into his lip. No more\a151give this 
boy no more words to twist around\a151 "The Lion was ever 
ours. Cheysuli\a151never Ihlini. Tynstar spun a tale\a151" 
"Tynstar spun nothing," Strahan retorted. "My father told 
the truth." 
"The old gods take you," Donal said weakly. "There are 
nothing but lies in your head." 
"And nothing but truth on my tongue." Strahan stood next 
to the bunk. "Even if my father lied, do you think he would 
ever claim kinship to you? Would he admit to a taint so 
willingly if there were no need for it?" 
"Taint." Donal nearly spat. "Cheysuli blood would be his 
saving grace." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
297 
Strahan's lips peeled back from his teeth in a smile full of 
spile. "Then consider us nearly saved, my lord. Consider us 
full of grace." 
"Ku'reshtin," Donal swore weakly, but the boy had left 
the cabin. 
He did not know where Lorn was. He had wakened on 
board a ship in heavy iron, half senseless from the blast of 
power Strahan had leveled against him. He knew Lom still 
lived for the link was intact. His Old Blood gave him the 
ability to converse with his lir regardless of the presence of 
Ihiini, but he could not break through the wolfs pain. He 
was, more or less, alone. 
Yet again he entered the link in search of Taj, knowing it 
likely the falcon was JStill too distant to hear his pattern; 

knowing also it was worth trying- With Taj free, he had a 
chance. The falcon could rouse the others and warn of Strahan's 
purpose. 
But there was no answer from Taj. All Donal could do was 
detatch himself from the link and hope Lom would recover in 
time. 
He hung in his chains and sweated into the thin blanket on 
his bunk. 
Donal was brought on deck under close guard. He squinted 
against the sunlight and nearly fell. Confinement in irons had 
stiffened his muscles and slowed his reflexes. He caught 
himself against the taffrail and wrenched himself upright, 
then realized where Strahan had brought him. 
By the gods\a151does he think he can hold the Crystal Isle? 
This is a Cheysuli place! 
The mist still clouded the island, closing down over the 
ship. It settled into his furred leathers. He looked past the 
dock to the beaches and saw the fine white sand; the forests 
that lay beyond. 
Strahan stood nearby. He was wrapped in a crimson, fur-lined 
cloak as fine as any Donal had known in Homana-Mujhar. 
"When last we were here you brought me as a servant, 
thinking to elevate a homeless orphan from the degradation of 
the streets." He laughed, "All my talk of demons\a151all my 
talk of fear! Enough to lull you to my purpose." He gestured. 
"I have made the island mine. I have Atvians and Ihlini to 
298 Jennifer Roberson 
serve me. Pitting, is it not, after you so eloquently told me 
how the Firstborn came from here?" His odd eyes were fixed 
on Donal's face. "How does it feel, warrior, to know I have 
made this an Ihlini place?" 
Donai, clinging grimly to the rail with manacled hands, did 
not choose to answer. What he saw and what he knew 
conflicted in his mind, for before him stood a slender, delicate 
boy who had yet to reach proper manhood, and yet 
claimed all the burgeoning power of the Ihlini. 
Tynstar spent more than three centuries learning his arts. 
Strahan is a boy\a151those centuries stretch ahead. What will he 
be in a hundred, two hundred years from now? 
The Atvian guards took him from the deck and led him off 
the ship. Donal stood silently on the dock, watching how 
Strahan ordered the unloading. He tried to get some glimmer, 
some indication from the gods that they watched what Strahan 
did, but there was nothing. The wind was empty of omniscience. 
Strahan turned to him and laughed. "Where are your old 
gods now, shapechanger? How could this have happened?" 
Silver glinted in his ears. No more was he the urchin but a 
well-dressed young man instead, clothed in fine woolens and 
glittering ornamentation. 

It was useless to remonstrate, to offer Strahan worthless 
threats and promises. If Lorn recovered, there was a chance 
Donal could escape. If Taj at last heard his seeking pattern, 
me falcon could carry warning to Finn and the others as well. 
But there was no certainty of either. 
"Your wolf, Donal." v 
He swung around, taking an involuntary step forward. He 
saw a crate, a wooden crate, rolled end over end down the 
plank, from the ship to the dock below. He heard a muted 
yelp. 
Pain blazed through his mind. What has Strahan done? 
Lorn\a151what has he done to you? 
Guards held him back. He was helpless to aid the wolf. All 
he could do was mouth incoherent appeals, but he voiced 
none of them to Strahan. 
The boy gestured. "Release him. I want him to understand 
what it is to confront a dying fir." 
Donal jerked free of the loosening hands and stumbled 
across to the chest. He fell to his knees, seeking to work stiff 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 299 
fingers through the single narrow opening admitting air to the 
wolf. He touched a crusted nose. 
Lorn! You must not fail! 
The wolfs pattern was very weak. No water\a151no food\a151 
little air\a151 
You cannot die . . . Lorn. / beg you\a151 
You have another. Lorn answered weakly. You will not be 
lirless. You will not face the death-ritual. 
Donal tried to thrust his fingers more deeply but the wood 
compressed his flesh. Lorn\a151I will not let you die\a151 
// is better so. I grow weaker. Were I an unblessed wolf of 
the pack, the others would slay me to protect themselves. The 
crusted nose pressed briefly against his bruised fingers. Lir\a151 
there is also another reason. 
There is no reason worthy of giving in! Donal said angrily. 
Have you gone mad? I need you! 
As I weaken, so do you, Lorn told him. Do not deny it\a1511 
can feel it in the link. Do you lose strength because of me. the 
Ihlini will have his victory. 
Donal could not deny it. In the days since Strahan had 
taken them both he had known a steady lessening of his 
strength; a gnawing weakness in his spirit. While Lorn was so 
ill from his injuries and captivity, Donal was affected as welt. 
Lir\a1511 will not allow you to die. 
"Come," Strahan said. "It is time you saw your quarters." 

Hands on his arms dragged Donal from the chest. Donal 
lashed out in fury with manacled hands and booted feet, 
seeking to slay what he could reach, but the guards were 
well-prepared. He struck out again, then froze as he heard a 
low wail of pain from Lom. 
Lir\a1517 
He turned. He saw the sword in Strahan's hands. The tip of 
the blade protruded into the crate through the narrow opening. 
"Do as I say," Strahan ordered. "Accompany my 
servants." 
"And if he dies?" Donal challenged. "How will you make 
me obey you then?" 
"If he dies, so does your will." Strahan smiled. "You will 
live a while longer because there is still the falcon, but when 
I am done with you the madness will be a blessing." 
One of the Atvians thrust an arm into the air. "My 
lord\a151look\\" 
300 Jennifer Roberson 
A fleet falcon swept through the air toward the ship. It 
circled neatly over them all and dipped toward the dock, 
screaming its agitation. 
Taj! Donal cried within the link. Go! Seek Finn and the 
Cheysuli. Tell them it is Tynstar's brat who holds me\a151the 
boy we thought was Sef\a151 
"By the Seker, it is the falcon!" Strahan shouted. "I will 
slay both of them." 
"Taj," Donal shouted. "Go!" 
Strahan took two steps to Donal and set the Up of the 
sword against his spine. "1 know you. I know your heritage. 
Alix's son, are you not?\a151and she with all the Old Blood. 
Seek you the shapechange? Do not. Or I wili slay you here." 
"Slay me, and you lose your tame Mujhar." Donal bared 
his teeth, feigning a smile. 
"I plan to replace you one day," Strahan pointed out. "It 
can be sooner rather than later." He raised one hand. In the 
other, the sword wavered, tilted downward, too heavy for 
him to hold up. The tip bit into the wood of the dock. 
Fingers stiffened, snapped apart. From the tips came a 
blinding stream of brilliant light. Deepest purple, tinged with 
sparks. An echo of the power Donal had seen in Tynstar. 
He aims for Taj\a151 Donal turned on me Ihlini, striking out 
with shackles and chains. He struck through the flame streaming 
from Strahan's fingers and felt it spark and bum against 
his skin, raising crimson weals. Then the fire abruptly died, 
for the boy lay gasping and blue-faced beneath Donal's weight 
and throttling fingers. 

Hands were on him, jerking him from the boy. Donal 
teetered at the dock's edge as they thrust him roughly away. 
He saw that Taj stilt flew unmolested toward the mainland 
and released a sigh of relief. 
Strahan got unsteadily to his feet. The sword lay on the 
dock, but he ignored it. "Punishment," he promised hoarsely. 
"You will be sony for mat." 
He thrust both arms into the air as if he invoked a deity. 
Donal, recalling how Tynstar had tried to summon Asar-Suti, 
thought Strahan intended the same. He saw the air darken 
around the pale hands; smoke rolled out of the mist. It 
wreathed the hands in flame. 
Strahan laughed. "Would you care to meet my ft'r?" 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
301 
Donal's flesh rose up on his bones. "The Ihiini have no 
lir\a151" 
"No? Well, perhaps she is not a lir precisely\a151but she is 
made of the same blood and bone." Crimson sparks shot out 
of the smoke as it spun around his hands. "She comes from 
the netherworld, from the Gate of Asar-Suti. And such a 
lovely, lovely demon\a151" the flame and smoke exploded 
"\a151shall I fly her for you, Donal?" 
Black smoke and flame took substance. Donal saw talons, 
wings, a wickedly curving beak. And a pair of golden eyes 
that watched him with a malicious intensity. 
"Sakti\a151" Strahan hissed, "\a151take the falcon for me'" 
Donat spun. "Fly!" he shouted at Taj. 
The falcon dipped and dove, streaking from the hawk, but 
Sakti was relentless. She gained, caught up, struck out with 
raking talons. 
"Taj. . .flyr 
Taj flew, but the demon-hawk flew faster. Sakti rose, 
stooped, struck down with curving talons. One pierced the 
falcon's breast. 
"Taj!" Donal screamed. 
The falcon fell out of the sky. 
Taj- 
\a151Tai- 
Taj? 
He drifted, he dreamed. He cried. He knew himself half 
mad. 
Lir\a151 
\a151lir\a151 

Lir? 
He slept. He wakened. He cried. 
He could not help himself. 
\a151"Wanderer," Evan said, "you will embark upon a journey." 
The dice and rune-sticks fell, rattling on the wood\a151 
\a151"Jester and Charlatan: those who are not what they 
seem\a151'' 
\a151Youth\a151 
\a151imprisonment\a151 
\a151Executioner\a151 
302 Jennifer Roberson 
\a151Why not have the Ellasian dice you your destiny? 
\a151Who is to say he will be wrong?\a151 
\a151wrong\a151 
Wrong. 
He slept. 
Dreamed. 
Drifted. 
\a151Your shar tahl has failed your clan. You know nothing of 
the histories\a151 
\a151They sired also a second race\a151 
\a151They sired the Ihlmi\a151 
\a151who bred with the Cheysuli\a151 
"No!" 
\a151who bred with the Cheysuli\a151 
He wakened shouting No. But there was no one there to 
hear. 
For a long time he forgot who he was or why Strahan held 
him. And then he remembered. 
He remembered why. 
He was aione. He was locked within a room that held a 
comfortable bed, a bench, a table and high narrow casements 
that let in the mist and muted sun. The iron remained on his 
wrists, but he had the freedom of the chamber. 
Freedom. 
It almost made him laugh. 
Lom he could not reach. There was a barrier in me link. 
But not the utter emptiness that would signify Lom's death. 
The wolf lived, but Donai could not touch him. 

He tried to follow the days by scratching runes into the 
bedpost with the buckle of his belt, but he knew he had lost 
track. The light was somehow wrong. The fog occluded the 
sun. He could not judge the season or the time. 
But it was cold. One brazier was not enough. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 303 
He ate. 
He drank. 
He was left entirely alone. 
The door crashed open. Donal spun around. 
Strahan stood within the chamber\a151 
\a151and so did Finn and Evan. 
The boy laughed. "It pleases me to reunite you, now that 1 
have you all." 
Donal's breath rattled in his throat as he stared at Finn. 
"He\a151took\a151youT' 
"Evan and I came to rescue you." The tone was wry, 
reproving. 
The Ellasian grinned. "You might at least give us your 
gratitude." 
"Why?" Donal demanded. "How could you come 
alone\a151?" 
"It seemed the best idea." Finn and Evan seemed well 
enough. Unharmed, and certainly less than horrified by the 
presence of Tynstar's son. 
Donal glared at Evan. "What will High King Rhodri say 
when he learns his youngest son has fallen prisoner to Strahan?," 
"Probably that I am a fool, and no loss," Evan said 
lightly. "Perhaps I am, and it is not ... but 1 thought to aid 
a friend." 
Donal thrust out his hands, displaying the heavy shackles. 
"How?" he demanded. "By wearing Ihlini iron?" 
The scar twisted on Finn's cheek as he laughed. "I see a 
lengthy confinement has not improved your temper." 
Donal stared at him. He felt his mouth dry up. "How 
long?" he asked. "How long have I been here?" 
No one answered at once. And then Strahan laughed. 
"Have you lost count? Did you not see the season change? It 
worked\a151it worked\a151I made you forget everything, even the 
time of year!" 
Donal recalled how he had made marks in the bedpost to 
keep track of time. One day, he had stopped. And then the 

time was lost, and he was lost, and now he could not recall 
how long he had been a prisoner of Strahan. 
Gods . . . is this how the madness begins? 
"It workedV Strahan exulted. "Do you not recall all the 
times you begged me for your name? How you begged me for 
304 Jennifer Roberson 
a polished plate so you could see yourself? You believed 
yourself a hawk\a151a hawk, not a falcon. Mimicking your father?" 
"Six months," Donal whispered in horror. 
"Winter has come and gone," Finn said gently- "Donal\a151 
let it go." 
He looked at his hands. Hands only. The fingers were 
fingers, not talons. But he recalled it, a little; he recalled how 
he had feared the shapechange as he slept. As Strahan teased 
him with his power. By the gods . . . I think we have all gone 
mad\a151 
He stared at Finn and Evan. "You are fools." His tone 
was inflectionless. "Fools, both of you . . . you have given 
Homana over to Tynstar's son." 
"1 think not," Finn answered. "You see, the boy is just a 
boy\a151still learning about his power. He may be Tynstar's 
son, but can he lead his race? He is young. Young\a151and 
youth has a way of tripping over hardships before the highest 
goal is won," He turned to Strahan. "Did you think -we fell 
into your hands when we made certain you would take us?'' 
Color shot into Strahan's face. "What do you say to me?" 
he demanded. '"What do you say to me?" 
"That it is time for us to go." 
"You cannot! I hold you! You are my prisoners!" 
Finn's hand was in his belt-pouch. "It is time for us to 
go." 
The boy stretched out his hand. At his fingertips danced a 
rune of brilliant purple. "I am Tynstar's son. / am the 
Ihlinir 
"And you have lost one of your ward-stones." Finn held it 
up so all could see it: a small round rock, dull gray, with a 
single streak of black. "Boy," Finn said, "do you know 
enough to be frightened?" 
Clearly, Strahan did. He backed away, clutching at the 
crimson robe he wore over dark gray winter leathers. His thin 
face turned white, then splotchy red; the rune snuffed out in 
his hand. 
Finn smiled. "I do not suppose you have the other four 
somewhere upon your person\a151?" 
Strahan turned and ran. 

"Apparently he does not." Finn returned the stone to his 
belt-pouch. "I think it is time to go, before he fetches the rest 
of the stones." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 305 
Donal stared at his uncle. "Why? What would happen if he 
did?" 
"Together, the ward-stones augment his power. Apart, 
they can be used against the sorcerer who made them." Finn 
gestured toward the door. "Do you tarry, I will think you 
wish to slay." 
"I need Lom." 
"We will find him." Finn preceded him through the door. 
They ran down a corridor. "What of the other Ihlini?" 
Evan asked. 
"They die like other men." Finn led them down a staircase 
and through an airy chamber. "You have a knife, EUasian\a151 
surely you can use it." 
They went down. Down and down, into the bowels of the 
palace. 
"Su'fali!" Donat cried. "I can touch him . . . there\a151Lom 
is there!" He gestured at a narrow wooden door half hidden 
by an arras. 
Finn tore it aside and jerked open the unlocked door. 
"Storr," he said in satisfaction. The wolf held a guard at 
bay. 
"Lom\a151?" Donal asked. 
"Through there, I would hazard." Finn indicated a second 
door. "And now, Ihlini\a151safe journey to your god\a151" 
Donal's chains clashed as he shouldered open the door. He 
stumbled inside, ducking his head, and nearly fell over his 
lir. 
"Lom!" He dropped to his knees beside the wolf. 
Lom lay on his side in soiled straw. The visible eye was 
rolled back in his head. The tongue, protruding from between 
his jaws, was dry and crusted. But he breathed. Barely, but 
he breathed. 
Donal touched the lusterless, matted fur. Lir\a151I will not 
allow you to die\a151i order you to live\a151 
He felt the faintest flicker of amusement from the tattered 
edges of the link. But it is the lir who have the ordering of the 
Cheysuli. 
Fingers spasmed, then dug more deeply into the pelt. He 
felt the ladder of Lom's protruding nbs. Will you live? 
You still have need of me. 

Donal wavered in relief, then bent and set his face against 
306 Jennifer Roberson 
Lom's shoulder. / could not bear it if you died. Then he 
smiled up at his uncle. "I think he will be all right." 
Finn knelt and gathered the wolf into his arms. "I will take 
him. You arc not much stronger than he." He rose and jerked 
his head at Evan. "See he comes, Ellasian. We have gone to 
too much trouble to lose him so easily now." 
Evan grinned and grasped Donal's arm. "Come, my 
lord\a151we must steal ourselves a boat." 
FOUR 
T
hey won free of the palace proper without coming to 
harm\a151Evan slew three Atvian guards\a151but the high white 
walls of the bailey proved a greater foe than man. Locked and 
attended gates denied them an exit as easy as their entrance. 
They ducked down into the darkness of full night, hiding 
themselves in shadows and vegetation. Finn tended Lorn 
while Evan watched for guards. Donal knelt against the wall 
and pushed a trembling forearm through sweat-dampened 
hair, aware the six months of captivity had leached him of 
grace and quickness. He rested hts head against one doubled 
knee, trying to catch his breath, and felt the hard cold iron of 
Strahan*s shackles on his arms. 
Gods\a151is this what it was for Carillon when he wore Atvian 
iron? Inwardly, he shuddered. /(is a perfect humiliation. 
"Donal\a151?" It was Evan, hunching down beside him. One 
hand touched Donal's leather-clad shoulder. 
Donal lifted his head. "I am well enough, Evan ... see to 
yourself.'' 
Evan, laughing softly, withdrew the hand. "Without me, 
my proud Mujhar, you might still be Strahan's prisoner. Do I 
get no thanks from you?" 
Donal smiled into the darkness- "Would a prince accept 
payment for the aid he rendered a fellow prince?" 
"Mujhar," Evan corrected. "Aye, he might . . . could he 
win it in a fortune-game." Slanting shadow across the Ellasian's 
face hid his eyes and nose, but not his mobile mouth. He 
grinned. "But there may be a better reward than that. There 
307 
308 Jennifer Robe/son 

was a young woman I admired at your wedding celebration. 
Could you give her good word of me, it might be payment 
enough." 
"Which one?" Donal asked dryly. "I cannot recall them 
all." 
"You said her name was Meghan." 
Chains clashed as Donal glanced at Evan sharply. "And do 
you forget?\a151I also told you who sired her." He indicated 
Finn crouching not far from them with Lom still cradled in 
his arms. "Say to him you wish to know his daughter better." 
"Were you to give him good word of me\a151" 
"I think he knows you better than most." But the levity 
quickly faded. Donal moved over to kneel beside his wolf. 
Lorn? 
I have not died yet, lir. 
Donal smiled. Then he glanced up at Finn's face. "He 
requires proper healing." 
"And will have it... but not Just here." 
Donal peered through the bushes at the wall. Absently, he 
chewed at a broken thumbnail. "We can hardly scale the 
walls with an injured wolf\a151" 
"Scale them? Why not fly over them?" 
Donal looked back at him sharply. "Taj is\a151lost. I have no 
recourse to falcon-shape." 
"Do you not?" Finn's mouth hooked down as he shook his 
head. "Can you not even trust your own senses, Donal? Or 
your own sense. Were Taj truly lost, how could Evan and 1 
have found you?'' 
"But\a151I thought you somehow knew Strahan had come 
here\a151" 
"How?" Finn's voice was underscored with contempt. 
"Am I omniscient? Did Evan throw the rune-sticks? And 
how were we to know the boy was Tynstar's get?" Grimly he 
shook his head. "Imprisonment has not improved your sense 
anymore than your temper." 
Donal hunched forward, trying to keep the chains from 
clinking. "I saw it, su'fali\\ Strahan summoned a demon-bird 
from Asar-Suti, and she slew Taj. I saw him fall!" 
"The hawk injured him, aye, and he fell. But he was not 
slain." Finn indicated the wall with his head. "Do you think 
that is Strahan's hawk? Or is it more likely a falcon?" 
Donal's head snapped around. Now that Finn pointed him 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 309 
out, the bird was visible. But only as a shape in the shadows. 

There was no light to give the bird name or color. 
Hope and longing leaped up to fill Donal's chest. "Taj?" 
/ am here, the falcon said. Why do you tarry, lir? Do you 
come, or do you stay? 
"Ley/land tu'sai," he muttered aloud in a prayer of thanksgiving 
to the gods. Then, within the link again; Finn says I 
must fly over the walls. 
You have done such things before. 
Donal laughed to himself wryly. / am somewhat weary, 
lir\a151this has not been an easy imprisonment. 
Then why not leave it behind? 
Donal shook his head in resignation. How many guardsmen, 
Taj? fhlini or Atvians? If they were Ihlini, he had no recourse 
to /('r-shape. And Taj could not help him attack them. 
Six Atvians. 
"Six," Donal said glumly. "And I am only one\a151" 
"Are you?" Finn asked. "I thought you were Cheysuli." 
Donal scowled at him, then turned to Evan. "There is 
something you must do for me. When a warrior assumes 
/ir-shape, that which he touches also changes. I would prefer 
not to take the shackles with me; I need you to hold them, 
and as I change from man to falcon you must pull them free 
of my wings. Can you do that?" 
Evan shrugged. "It does not sound particularly difficult." 
Donal smiled a little. "And if the change encompassed 
you?" 
The Ellasian's blue eyes widened a trifle. "Could it?" 
"Who can say?" Donal, grinning inwardly, held out his 
shackled arms. "Catch hold, Evan, and we shall find out." 
The Ellasian, after only a momentary hesitation, reached 
out and closed his hands around the heavy chains at wrists 
and ankles. Dona!, doubled up in a sitting position, drew in a 
deep breath and shut his eyes. The shapechange required 
extreme concentration, and of late the concept had become an 
alien one. 
He felt the peace come rushing in to fill him up with a 
marvelous sense of well-being. All the pain and anguish of 
the past six months melted away into nothingness. He was at 
peace within himself, and from the center of that calm he 
reached out to tap the power that gave him the gift of the 
shapechange. 
310 Jennifer Robe/son 
Donal froze. Even as he tapped the power and felt it run up 
from the earth to encompass flesh and bones, he thought of 
the thing his father had been. And he could not face himself. 

"Donai!" Finn's voice sounding oddly frightened. "Donal\
a151go one way or the other\a151'' 
So, he was a halfway thing. Even Finn saw the difference. 
Instinctively he reached out to his falcon. Tap 
Trust me. Trust yourself. What Strahan did was Ihliniwrought, 
and not of good, clean earth magic. Do you think 
the gods would allow the magic to fail when it is you who 
asks it? 
No. And he reached out again, let the power enfold him 
utterly, and took flight as the shackies and chains crashed 
against the ground. 
Two falcons drove out of the darkness at the guardsmen, 
striking with deadly talons and hooked, sharp beaks. They 
were not large birds, not as dangerous as eagle or hawk in 
mil attack, but in darkness\a151and unexpected\a151even a small 
creature can prove powerfully effective. 
Men screamed and fell to their knees, arms flailing at the 
birds. When three of them groveled in the dirt, clutching 
bleeding faces, three others drew swords and slashed viciously 
at the attacking falcons. One sought safety in a tree. 
The other flew to the ground and became a man. 
A blade dipped as the hand that held it clenched in spasmodic 
fear; the tip bit into dirt. Donai stepped close and 
broke the man's neck with a single blow, then caught up the 
sword and turned to face the other two. 
He smiled. Leijhana tu'sai. Carillon . . . the skill will not 
go unused after all\a151 
He spun, whirling, as one man sought his unprotected 
back. He swung, felt blade bite through leathers and wool, 
then more deeply, splintering ribs and sundering flesh. But 
his hands were ungloved in the nighttime chill, and the gush 
of warm blood slicked the grip of the blade. It slipped in his 
hands, and as the man crumpled to the ground he took the 
sword with him. 
The last guard came at him as he turned, lacking knife, 
sword or bow. Donal's arms rose slowly as he lifted them 
away from his body, hands spreading in the air. He saw the 
faintest flicker of the sword in the torchlight near the wail; he 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 311 
leaped back, nearly tripped over the dead man's body, then 
lunged backward yet again. 
Lir\a151 he began. 
/ am coming, Taj replied. You require my help after all. 
The falcon swept down out of the tree and dug his talons 
into the guardsman's hands upon the hilt. He bit out a startled 
oath and dropped the sword. Taj veered away, but as he did 
the guardsman drew his long-knife. 

Donal watched the knife blade. But the guardsman was no 
fool; he swung with his other arm and smashed it into Donal's 
face. Ringmail bit in and scored his cheek; Donal swore 
viciously and jerked his head away. The knife sought his 
abdomen even as he held the ringmailed wrist. 
The Atvian slammed him against the gate. The left arm slid 
up to crush Donai's vulnerable throat. 
Thank the gods he is not Ihlini\a151 Donal took /fr-shape 
instantly and left the guardsman staggering against the gate. 
He darted up, then flew down again and took back his human 
form. 
The Atvian plunged forward with his knife. Donal slid 
easily aside. He caught the man's slashing arm as it drove 
past him and snapped it against his upraised thigh. 
He caught the knife as it fell from spasming fingers. He 
allowed the man to fall\a151 
\a151he spun\a151 
\a151threw\a151 
\a151the knife was buried in the back of the Atvian's unprotected 
neck. 
Three more\a151 Donal turned, prepared, but the Atvians 
provided no threat to him. All three still groveled in the dirt, 
hands thrust up before their bleeding faces. One man had lost 
both eyes; the other two bled badly from mouth and nose. 
All cried piteously for help from their gods and Strahan. 
And the man who faced them. 
Donal turned away. Grimly he unbarred the gate and thrust 
open one of the leaves, whistling for Finn and Evan. They 
came, accompanied by Storr, and Lorn clasped in Finn's 
strong arms. 
"Six," Finn remarked as he passed by Donal into the 
darkness. "A warrior after all.'* 
"I slew only three," Donal retorted. 
312 Jennifer Roberson 
"Ah," said Evan, nodding as he slipped by. "That does 
somewhat diminish your accomplishment." 
Donal departed the gate and followed them to the dock. 
"Which boat?" he asked. 
"The closest!" Evan answered. 
They ran\a151 
\a151and Strahan*s black hawk exploded out of darkness- 
Donal was hurled to his knees as the tremendous weight 
drove into back and shoulders. Talons closed. Leather tore 
open; so did flesh and muscle. 

He arched, straining upward in an effort to catch the hawk 
in his hands. Pain vibrated through his body until he thought 
he would scream with it. But his fingers could not touch the 
bird. 
Evan thrust with his knife. But Sakti drove upward, avoiding 
the blade with a snap of her powerful wings. She shrieked, 
wheeled, stooped. Talons slashed past Evan's deperate defense 
and drove again into Donal's back. She hurled him onto 
his face. 
Donal was half-blind with pain. He tasted blood in his 
mouth from having bitten his tongue. His face pressed into 
sand and seashell; he dug handfuls of fine-grained sand. 
"Su'fali!" he cried. Sand and shell crept into his mouth as 
Satki's weight ground his face into the beach. "By the gods, 
su'fali\a151gainsay this demon-bird\a151" 
"No warbow!" Finn raged. "Had I my bow\a151/" 
"Do something'" Evan shouted, diving at the hawk. "Lodhi!\
a151how can we stop this thing\a151?" 
Finn set Lorn down upon the beach. Hastily he sought 
stones. Those few he found he caught up in his hands, and 
searched for me hawk. She spiraled over their heads, drifting 
in apparent idleness; her cries were malevolence given tongue. 
One by one, Finn hurled the stones at the hawk. His aim 
was good, but Sakti was too swift. Strahan's borrowed demon 
began to play with them all. 
Donal pressed himself upward, biting his lip to keep back 
his cry of pain. His back and shoulders were afire, but he 
thrust himself to his knees. "She\a151seeks to delay us\a151for 
Strahan\a151" he said breathlessly. "We must ignore her\a151go 
on\a151get away from here\a151" 
"How?" Evan demanded. "That thing is more than hawk!" 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 313 
"Demon\a151" Donal gasped. "Strahan summoned her from 
the god of the netherworld\a151" 
Sakti wheeled. Stooped. But her target was Evan now. 
His breath exploded from his chest as the hawk drove into 
his ribs, talons closed, knocking him to the ground. But this 
time Finn was prepared. He waited as she rose, preparing to 
stoop again, and as her wings snapped closed he drew his 
knife and hurled it into the air. 
The blade glinted in the moonlight. It sliced upward toward 
the hawk. Sakti, screeching, turned aside. But one foot shot 
out and talons grasped, closing on the hilt. Wings snapped 
shut. She stooped. Now she drove at Finn. 
He dropped to the ground, rolling as the hawk came at 
him. One lone talon slashed across his shoulder, tearing 
fur-lined leather. But she released the knife, and as she hurled 
herself upward to stoop again, Finn thrust himself to his feet 

and caught the hilt as it fell, 
Sakti soared, wings extended against the stars. Finn waited. 
And when she snapped her wings shut he hurled the knife 
again. 
Taj darted out of the darkness directly at the hawk. Sakti's 
size dwarfed the falcon, but Taj did not give in. He flew 
straight at her and turned her from her course into the path of 
the oncoming knife. 
The blade struck home in Sakti's chest. She screamed; 
screaming, she fell. But her talons were still extended. 
Donal, head tipped back to stare upward into the sky, cried 
out as the talons sank into the side of his neck. Sakti's weight 
threw him over onto his back; the talons dug deeper still. 
He clawed at his neck, seeking escape. Sakti quivered and 
was still, but even death did not loosen the clutching talons. 
It was Evan who at last pried them free and clamped a hand 
over the wound in Donat's neck. 
"•Lodhi!\a151how he bleeds!" 
"\a151to death, do we not stanch it." Finn pressed Evan's 
hand more tightly against the wound. "You must keep it 
shut\a151I will take Lom . . . Ellasian, get him up from there! 
We must take him into the forest." 
Donal was half-senseless. He felt Evan urging him to his 
feet, but his limbs would not obey him. He thought it would 
be easier and far less painful did he simply remain lying on 
me beach with the cool sand under his twitching body. 
314 Jennifer Roberson 
"Up\a151get you up\a151" Evan panted. "Lodhi. Donal\a151do 
you wish to bleed to death?'' 
Evan's hand was clamped to Donal's neck. The pressure 
hurt. Donal's own hand rose up to peel the Ellasian's fingers 
away, but Evan withstood his feeble attempt. 
"Finn\a151can you not compel him? Can you not use a little 
of your magic?" 
"Not here; not I. Too many Ihlini present. Donal might 
have the ability\a151" his voice broke off a moment "\a151carry 
him, if you have to!" 
Evan dragged him from the ground. Donal stumbled, staggered, 
nearly fell again. His neck was bound up in pain. 
"Gods\a151" he said hoarsely, "\a151gods\a151" 
"Bring him," Finn said harshly, and carried Lom from the 
beach into the forest - 
\a151pain\a151 
He stumbled. Evan held him up. He staggered. Evan kept 
him from falling. He nearly vomited. Evan merely held on 
more tightly and gave him what words he could of encourage

ment. But most of them were in Ellasian. 
\a151pain\a151 
His left shoulder was wet with warm blood. It soaked 
through his leathers and dampened the fur lining, until he 
could feel it running down his arm in rivulets. It dripped from 
his fingers to the forest floor, splattering onto his boots. 
\a151so much pain . . . pain and blood\a151 
He staggered. But Evan held him up and mumbled Ellasian 
encouragement. 
"Here!" The call came from Finn, hidden by trees, and 
shadow. "Hurry, Ellasian\a151" 
Evan hurried. Donal could not. But at last they broke from 
the trees into a clearing, and saw the tumbled ruin. 
Finn came out of the crooked doorway, lacking Lom, and 
helped Evan cany Donal. "Bring him inside. It is cold, 
damp\a151offering little enough shelter\a151but perhaps Strahan 
will forget this place exists." 
"What is it?" Evan asked. 
Dona!, half-dragged, peered through slitted eyes. He saw 
huddled green-gray stones taller than Carillon, set in a haphazard 
circle. Slotted darkness lay between them; they had 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
315 
lost their uniformity, the perfection of their edges. They 
gaped apart, like a man missing most of his teeth. 
"This place was once used as a place of worship by the 
Firstborn," Finn said grimly, half-carrying his nephew. "There 
are a few remaining in comers of Homana. ... I do not 
doubt this is the first, the oldest. Perhaps it will be our 
protection against the boy. Here\a151let us settle him here, 
against the wall." 
Donal moaned as they put him down on the cold, damp 
ground. The stone was hard and cruel against his torn back. 
"Lay a fire," Finn told Evan. 
"With what, my witH" Evan demanded. "I have no flint." 
Finn dug into his belt-pouch. "Here. Use your knife and 
your wits. This calls for cautery." 
Evan caught the flint as Finn tossed it. "Can you not use 
your healing powers?" 
"I am one man. I have not the strength to seal so deep a 
wound. And you are not your rujholli with his magic harp." 
Evan turned and went out. He brought back chips of wood 
and broken branches and piled them carefully. Sparks flew 
from the flint as he used his knife upon it, but none caught in 

the kindling. 
"Princeling." The twisted title, from Finn, was an insult. 
"Too gendy raised in Rhodri's hall." 
Evan said nothing, but Donal could see the grim line of his 
mouth. Finn, kneeling next to his nephew with one hand 
shutting off the blood, watched impatiently as Evan worked 
the flint. 
"Su'fali\a151" Donal's voice was little more than a broken 
whisper. "Is this how you treated Carillon?" 
Finn stared down at him. His yellow eyes were black in the 
dimness of the chapel. Starlight shone in through the broken 
beamwork, but not enough to illuminate the place. "When he 
was deserving of it," he said at last. Donal saw the crooked 
smile. "That was most of the time." 
The kindling caught at last and began to smolder. Carefully 
Evan coaxed it into a flame, fed it more wood, then set the 
knife blade in the fire. 
"Patience, Donal," Finn said softly. "Shansu, shansu\a151I 
will not let the boy prevail." 
Blood still coursed from beneath Finn's pressing hand. 
316 Jennifer Roberson 
Donat felt weakness and lethargy seep into his flesh and 
spirit. Could he sleep, the pain would go away\a151 
"Donal!" Finn said sharply- "Do you forget your /i'r? He 
needs your aid. When the wound is closed, we will heal him. 
But I need you for that\a151do not give in now!" 
Donal reached instinctively for Lorn, but his own pain and 
Lom's weakness threw up a barrier in the link. He could 
sense the wolfs presence\a151or was it Storr's?\a151but nothing 
more. Taj as well was denied to him. 
Evan sighed and rubbed an arm across his eyes. The knife 
blade glowed crimson at the tip; heat slowly spread up the 
steel. When it had reached the hilt, Evan took off his furlined 
velvet doublet and folded it into a wrap to protect his 
hand as he held the knife. He took it out of the fire and 
carried it back to Finn. 
Donal, transfixed by the glowing blade that danced against 
the darkness, opened his mouth to tell them no. 
Finn nodded. "I will take my hand away. You must sear it 
quickly; I may not be able to hold him." 
"Aye," Evan said roughly. "I am sorry, Donal\a151" 
Finn released the wound. Blood welled up afresh, spilling 
down Donal's chest. But Finn caught his shoulders and pressed 
his back against the wall. "Now\a151" 
Blood hissed as the blade came down. Fluids popped; flesh 
was seared together. Donal's body spasmed and arched like a 

man in the clutches of death. Finn held him, spoke to him, 
but Donal heard nothing. He was eaten aiive with pain. 
"Enough," Finn said. He shut his fingers in the leather of 
Donai's winter shirt. "Rouse yourself! Lom has need of 
you." 
Donai's hand clawed at the cauterized wound, then spasmed 
away as the pain renewed itself. "Gods\a151have you slain 
me?" 
"Rouse yourself," Finn repealed. "Do you deny your 
/i'r?" 
Sense crept back. With Finn's aid, Donal got up onto his 
knees. At Lom's side he shut his eyes and waited for weakness 
to pass, then set his hands against the dry, staring coat. 
"Help me, su'fati. ... I have not the strength to do it 
alone." 
"Nor I." Finn's tone was uncommonly gentle. "Let yourself 
go, Donal, Give yourself over to the earth." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
317 
Donal's head bowed down. The puckered seam in his neck 
blazed up as if newly cauterized. Donal shut his eyes. 
Give myself over . . . give myself over to the earth. But\a151 
what am I to do if the earth does not wish to give me up when 
the healing has been completed? 
But he could not wait for an answer he knew would not 
come. Instead, he sank his awareness into the warmth of the 
earth and sought Finn's presence in the darkness. He found it. 
They linked at once, then sought the healing magic. 
A spring, bubbling up from underground. It flowed. It 
encapsulated their spirits, examined them, understood their 
need, and went onward to the wolf. It flowed, bathing him in 
its strength, until the wounds were healed and the bright 
burning of his spirit was renewed. And then it flowed away. 
"Done," Donal mumbled. "See how he sleeps?" 
"Done," Finn agreed. "Shansu, Donal ... it is your turn 
now. 
Donal opened his mouth to answer. Nothing issued from 
his mouth, not even a final sigh. He felt himself slump 
sideways and struggled to halt his fall, knowing the landing 
would hurt his wounds, but his body did not obey. 
He felt Finn catch him, and then he sank down into a sleep 
as deep as any he had known. 
FIVE 

D. 
'onal roused to pain. It burned in neck and shoulders, 
down his back. He felt as if someone had flayed him alive 
and left the bones to molder in the mins. 
He lay perfectly still, still wrapped around the warmth of 
Lom's furred body. He felt the regular lifting of Lom's side; 
heard the subtle thumping of his heart. He lay relieved, with 
weary exultation: he was free of Strahan, and the wolf would 
recover fully. 
Slowly, he pushed himself into a sitting position. He grunted 
against his will, torn flesh and muscles protested. An exploratory 
hand told him someone had bandaged the talon wounds 
in his back and shoulders. Finn, most likely\a151and with Evan's 
velvet doublet. He felt terribly weak, battered. 
He scowled, trying to clear his vision. He saw gray-green 
stones surrounding them in a tumbled circle. Some stones 
stood upright, sentinels in the dawn; others tilted against 
neighbors; a few lay on the ground. Broken beamwork littered 
the center of the chapel; a ruined altar stood farthest 
from the fire Evan had built- 
Finn squatted by the makeshift caim. "Well?" 
Donal turned his head carefully. The flesh pulled; he touched 
a puckered seam half a man's hand in length in the hollow 
where neck and shoulder met. "You have butchered me, 
su'fali." 
"We did not touch your face," Finn retorted. "When the 
marks of battle have faded, no doubt Sorcha will find you just 
as pretty as before." 
318 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 319 
Donal scowled. 
Finn stood, stretching elborately. Mist drifted in the chapel 
and dew beaded on the stones. "I will fetch us something to 
eat. I go no farther until my belly is full again." 
"Make it plump game," Donal advised. "If Evan is as 
hungry as / am, we shall need a sizable breakfast." 
Finn loosened the Homanan knife in its sheath. Donal, 
looking at the heavy hilt with its rampant royal lion. thought 
again how bitter it must be for Finn to know Carillon was dead. 
For so many years his task was to keep him alive . . . yet 
in the end, he aided his death. 
Finn glanced over at Evan, still curled up on a pile of 
leaves. "The Ellasian sleeps like the dead," he said scathingly, 
and then he went out of the chapel with Storr trotting at 
his side. 

"I am neither asleep nor dead." Evan rolled over and sat 
up. "I was merely trying to get warm." 
"Then move to the fire." Donal did so himself, albeit 
slowly, and put more wood on the flames. 
Evan got up, twisted to unkink his neck and spine, then 
moved to the fire and squatted down. "What is Finn about?" 
"Hunting breakfast." Donal saw how Evan's beard had 
come in, forming dark stubble along his jaw. He scratched at 
it, grimacing, and Donal blessed the gods for seeing to it the 
Cheysuli could not grow beards. Too much trouble to take it 
off each morning. He was amused by the transformation in 
his Ellasian friend. Evan's normally immaculate appearance 
had undergone a decided change. He was dirty, grimy; his 
clothing was soiled and torn. 
Evan put his hands out over the flames. His fingers were 
scraped. Nails were broken. There was not much remaining 
of the prince who had come to Donal's wedding. "I am sorry 
for the pain," Evan said, looking at the bright red weal in 
Donal's neck. "Finn said it was the only way." 
"It was." Donal did not finger the puckered seam. "But I 
do not see why you did not simply sever the rest of my 
neck." 
Evan's mobile mouth hooked down wryly. "1 considered it 
seriously\a151but I thought Homana might wish to see her new 
Mujhar. She has not. you know. . . . Strahan took you too 
soon. There are rumors you are dead." 
"And if I am?" Donal looked at him squarely. "You are 
320 Jennifer Roberson 
the son of a king and know of such things. In Ellas, what 
would happen if the High King were slain?" 
Evan shrugged. "Lachtan would become High King. There 
would be no great stirring among the subjects\a151do you forget 
Rhodri has so many sons? And Lachlan himself has two\a151by 
now, perhaps three. There would be an unremarkable passing 
of the throne from one man to another." 
Donal stared into the fire. "Not here. No, not here. Without 
me, Homana is Homanan again." He bit at a torn flap of 
skin on one thumb- "Perhaps that is what all of this is 
about." 
Evan frowned and added more wood. "What do you say? 
This is Strahan's doing." 
"Strahan's, aye\a151but who else's? There could even be 
Homanans. Not ail are reconciled to Carillon's heir." He 
stood up for the first time, collected his senses, and glanced 
around. "Gods\a151this place\a151it makes a man feel humble." 
He moved around the chapel slowly, looking more closely 
at tumbled stone and broken beamwork, fallen altar and 
vine-choked foundation pedestals. It was sunrise, but only the 

faintest tinge of orange got through the mist. It filled up the 
place with bronze and gold. 
Donal picked his way through the debris to the altar. It 
leaned haphazardly sideways, propped up by another stone. 
Its pedestal was shattered. But on the face of the altar were 
runes, velveted with lichen, corroded by dampness and time. 
He bent, picking at the runes with a broken nail. Pensively, 
he frowned. And then, when he could piece together a portion 
of the inscription, he let out an involuntary blurt of 
sound. 
Evan left the fire. "What is it?" 
"It is no wonder we were not disturbed last night by 
Strahan or his minions. This is a holy place." 
"Finn said it is a chapel." 
"Was. Look at the inscriptions\a151see how they border the 
altar?" Another gesture indicated the other stones. "Each-one 
is inscribed, I will wager, though time has hidden the runes. 
See you here? These runes\a151see how they are cut so deeply 
into the stone?" He tapped with the broken nail. "This place 
offers the guardianship of the gods to any who would seek it 
of Cheysuli or Firstborn blood. Sanctuary, Evan. Even the 
Ihlini cannot touch us here." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
321 
Taj's scream cut through me mist like a scythe. 
Donal spun around and felt the scabbing of his wounds tear 
apart. "Evan\a151come!" 
He ran. He felt the fire in his neck and back and shoulders, 
but he did not pay attention. He ran. 
Thoms snagged at his flesh and leathers as he leaped over 
fallen trees and skipped across tumbled boulders with the 
borrowed energy of fear. He heard Evan coming behind him, 
cursing the briers, but Donal had no time for oaths. Only 
prayers. 
He broke from dense undergrowth into a tiny clearing. He 
stopped. He stopped so quickly Evan ran into him from 
behind. But he said nothing to Evan's irritated question. He 
could not. He could not speak at all. 
Finn lay on his back in the clearing. His limbs were 
sprawled in an obscene parody of his normal fluid grace. He 
stared upward into the misted sky and blood ran from his 
mouth. 
The sword stood up from his ribs like a royal standard. The 
hilt was gold, lion-shaped; the pommel stone was baleful 
black. 
Su'fali\a151 Slowly, jerkily, Donal moved across the clearing 
until he stood at Finn's side. He knelt, knowing shock and 

pain and a tremendous, blossoming grief. "Su'fali!" he 
shouted. 
Finn's left hand lay loosely clasped around the blade. 
Fingers were stained with his blood. Already his furred leather 
shirt was sodden. 
As if it had been twisted in his body . . . Donal felt the 
wild grief break free. He swore softly in the Old Tongue, 
repeatedly, with all the pain and rage he felt. 
Finn's mouth moved in a tiny smile. "You have, at least, 
learned enough of the Old Tongue for that." 
"Su'fali . . . su'fali . . . what can I do?" 
"Do not grieve, kinsman. It is a warrior's death." 
"Who?" Donal heard his voice quaver. "Who has done 
this to you?" 
"The boy. Retribution, he said, for the loss of jehan and 
jehana.'" Finn's face twisted briefly with immense pain; the 
scar writhed upon his cheek. "He\a151wanted the sword back 
when he was done with me. He tried to take it back. But\a151I 
am Hale's son and perhaps the sword knew me\a151the magic 
322 Jennifer Roberson 
came, the sword-magic\a151 Strahan was denied even as he put 
his hands upon die hilt\a151" Muscles in his jaw stood up. "He 
wanted you as well, harani\a151he wanted to slay you with the 
sword Hale made for you\a151to prove the legend false\a151" 
"Say no more," Donal begged. "Waste none of what 
strength is left\a151" 
"He said you had denied the sword time and time again, 
diluting the magic\a151but he was willing to claim it\a151" A 
trickle of blood overspilled Finn's lips. "You must claim it, 
harani. The sword is yours." He swallowed heavily. "It 
begins ... it begins again . . . with yet another generation\a151" 
"Say nothing," Donal ordered desperately. "Be silent, 
su'fali\a151I will seek the magic\a151" 
"There is nothing you can do," Finn said clearly but as 
from a great distance, "Release my spirit when I am dead. 
You know the custom, Donal. The rite for a warrior slain in 
battle." 
"Aye." The word rasped in Donal's swelling throat. 
Finn's fingers traced the shining blade and left a smear of 
blood. "Strahan sought to hurt you by slaying me, but he has 
given you back the sword that will, in the end, defeat him. 
Justice from the gods." 
Justice? No, I think not\a151not when it slays my su'fali\a151 
"Say you will take it . . .*' Finn's voice was just barely 
above a whisper. "Say you will take it and slay Osric of 
Atvia with it\a151to avenge Carillon's death\a151" 

"What of yours\a151?" Donal cried. 
"My death does not matter. It was ever my tahlmorra to 
die in the service of the Mujhar. And\a1511 have served them 
both\a151" Briefly he shut his eyes as pain spasmed across his 
face. "Donal\a151" , 
"Aye?" 
Finn struggled to tap me last of his reserves. 
"You never . . . never understood Carillon ... his reasons 
for doing things the way he did them. Oh, I know\a151you 
arc young, and youth lacks compassion and comprehension 
. . . but\a151he did what needed doing in the best way he knew 
how." Again pain twisted his face. "I\a151did not always agree\a151 
but I cannot dispute results. He took Homana out of the 
flames of war and oppression and made her whole again. He 
restored our race to freedom\a151" 
"Su'fali\a151" Donal begged'1\a151speak not of Carillon now"\a151" 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 323 
"Should I not? But you are so much alike, Donal\a151when I 
speak of him I speak of you." Faintly, Finn smiled. "There 
are differences, of course ... but you claim the same pride 
and strength and determination. I pray me gods you use them 
as well as he did." 
Donal swallowed painfully. "I swear\a151I will see to Osric's 
death." 
Finn caught Donal's hand in his own. The firm grip was 
weak now, like a baby's tentative grasp. "I do not\a151do not 
go into death without having done a portion of my service 
... the boy\a151the boy lacks an ear\a151" 
"Su'fali\a151" 
The bloody hand closed more tightly on Donal's flesh. "I 
bequeath Homana to you, kinsman. . . . Answer your tahlmorra.'" 
Donal could not speak. 
Finn's eyes were nearly shut. "I would ask\a151one more 
thing\a151" 
Donal closed his own. 
"Claim the sword," Finn whispered. "Make it yours from 
this moment forth." 
"Su'fali\a151" 
"Do as I command." The voice was little more than a 
sound. "I am clan-leader of me Cheysuli. . - . You may be 
Mujhar, but you are still a warrior of the clan." 
Donal heaved himself to his feet. He stood over the dying 
man. "Su'fali... I am honored." 

"Ja'hai, cheysu, Mujhar," Finn whispered. "Cheysuli 
i'halla shansu." 
"Accepted." The Homanan word hurt his throat. "Shansu, 
su'fali. Peace." 
Donal put out both hands and touched the hilt. The ruby 
blazed brilliant red. He shut his hands in a stiff-fingered. 
unsteady grasp. 
And pulled. 
"Ja'hai-na," Finn whispered as blood ran out of his body. 
"Oh, Alix . . . you would be so proud of your son\a151" 
Donal stood over the dead warrior with Hale's sword grasped 
tightly in one hand. He felt the silent keening begin to well 
up in his soul. He dared not let it become audible; such things 
were not done. Such things dishonored the code of his clan. 
But as his face twisted with the pain he could not help but 
324 Jennifer Roberson 
wish he were a small child again, unknowing, and free to cry 
out his fear and anguish. 
When he could, he looked from the warrior's face and 
stared blindly at Evan. Tears ran down his face. "I am 
King," he said hoarsely. "Mujhar of Homana and Solinde. 
And I would trade it all could I have him back againV 
Evan's face was still and white as he slowly pointed. 
Donal turned. He dropped the sword instantly when he saw 
Storr. Storr, who stood silently by a huge spreading oak. 
Donal fell to his knees and gathered Finn's beloved /;r into 
his arms. Wolf, 0 wolf . . . he is gone . . . everyone is taken 
from me\a151 
You are not left alone, Storr said gently but with a frightening 
hollowness. You have your lir\a151the Ellasian\a151Rowan\a151 
the women who care for you so. 
Donal pressed his face against the silver pelt. But I lose 
them, one by one . . . I lose them all . . . my jehan and 
jehana\a151Carillon\a151Finn\a151now you\a151 
And one day you will lose more. 
Donat drew back. Storr was wiser than anyone he knew. 
You are in pain, he said in alarm as he saw how heavily the 
wolf panted. 
It does not matter. It is time for me to go. 
You will die iff do not heal you! 
You cannot heal a shattered lir-bond. The wolf pressed his 
muzzle against Donal's arm. / am too old. My time is used 
up. And\a151I have no wish to survive, now my lir is gone. 
Storr\a151wait\a151do not leave me alone\a151 

The magic has ended, kin of my lir . . . it is time for me to 
SODonal 
shut his eyes. / will miss you badly, old wolf. 
No more than I shall miss you. Storr's tone was bittersweet. 
/ had much of the raising of you. 
Donal smiled. He passed a gentle hand through Storr's pelt 
once more, caressed the grizzled muzzle, and knew he could 
not gainsay him. / will tend him, Storr. I will tend your lir as 
he is due. 
He is deserving of honor\a151 The wolfs sigh was heavy, 
ragged; the sound of a life used up. He is deserving of much. 
"Safe journey, old wolf," Donal whispered aloud. 
And in his arms there was nothing but dust. 
SIX 
D. 
'onal and Evan stole a boat on a night with no moon and 
sailed to Hondarth, where they shed their heavy boots and 
slipped overboard near the docks, swimming the rest of the 
way so as not to give warning to the Atvian fleet. Lom swam 
strongly, apparently fully recovered, though still a little thin; 
Taj flew ahead and waited, perching on the seawall. 
They splashed out of the harbor under cover of a dark night 
sky, wrung water from their clothing and headed up toward a 
seaside tavern. Donal clenched the sword in his left hand, for 
he had no belt or scabbard. The blade gleamed in the infrequent 
wash of torchlight; the ruby, black in Strahan's grasp, 
glowed blood-red in his. 
"I am trusting my life to you," Evan whispered as they 
crept into the shadow of an alley by the tavern. 
Donal raised his brows and slanted a curious glance. "To 
me? What of yourself? I thought you ever claimed yourself a 
valiant fighter.'' 
"Oh, aye, I am, I am ... but certainly not as accomplished 
as you. After all, you have wolf and falcon by you 
and the ability to shapechange\a151what have I?" He grinned. 
"And you carry that sorcerous sword." 
Donal looked down at the sword. He thought perhaps it 
was ensorceled somehow; he recalled how it had warded 
them against Tynstar; how it had felt like a living thing in his 
hands when he had nearly beheaded his uncle. 
Briefly, he shut his eyes. Su'fali, oh su'fali\a151 
A sound. His eyes snapped open. He saw two men passing 

325 
326 Jennifer Roberson 
in the darkness, on their way to the tavem. Donal looked 
down at his bare feet and wiggled icy toes. "I could use a 
pair of boots. My feet grow weary of this abuse." 
Evan grinned. "Shall we relieve those two sailors of theirs, 
then?" 
"Aye. But quietly . . . quietly." 
Evan ran lightly through the darkness from the alley with 
Donal at his side. A moment later they dumped two unconscious 
bodies into the shadows, stripped them of their scuffed, 
fish-oiled boots and tugged the footwear on. 
Donal winced. "Too small." 
"Mine will do well enough\a151and no, I will not trade with 
you." Evan pushed a forearm across his grimy face. "What 
do we do now, Mujhar?" 
Donal chewed a ragged fingernail. "I have already turned 
thief with the acquisition of these boots ... I think I shall 
have to worsen my lot and steal a horse as well." 
"No," Evan said. "These horses broke loose of their 
tethers. We only seek out their owners." 
"Ah." Donal smiled. "And where might we look for these 
owners?" 
"The army might do," Evan said thoughtfully. "Rowan is 
there\a151doubtless he could use two more horses." 
"And two more men\a151?" Donal went softly after the two 
horses tied to the tavern's front wall. He released one animal 
and handed the reins to Evan, then took a mount for himself. 
Hooves clopped against the cobbles. Donal bared his teeth 
and cursed, wishing he could somehow muffle the iron shoes. 
But at last he and Evan reached another deep pocket of 
darkness in the rabbit-warren of seaside buildings. They 
mounted and headed north. 
"1 should have made you steal them," Donal said. "It is 
you who requires a mount. 1 can always fly." 
"The proof of a real king lies in his humanity." 
Donal scoffed. "What nonsense do you mouth?" 
"A man who will rule others must learn to treat them as he 
himself would wish to be treated.'' 
Donal laughed. "Such wisdom from a renegade prince!" 
"Well, my father said those things. Rhodri grows pompous 
at times." Evan plucked his torn linen shirt, .still wet and 
grime-stained, from his skin. "I fear I no longer resemble a 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 327 

prince, my lord Mujhar . . . nor do you much resemble a 
king." 
Donal unsheathed the old sword attached to his saddle. It 
was hardly worthy of the name; likely the sailor had carried it 
for appearances in port. He leaned out of the saddle and 
dropped it into a running gutter, hearing the splash and clank 
of poorly tempered steel. 
Carefully, he slid the CheysuU sword into the sheath and 
slid it home. The old leather scabbard was too short; the 
blade extended a handspan from the lip. But it would do. "I 
am not yet a king," he said absently, settling the blade. 
"You are Mujhar. The difference lies only in the name." 
"First I must slay Osric." Donal wished for a cloak against 
the cold; winter had passed into the edge of spring, but nights 
were still quite cool. "Only then will I be worthy of assuming 
the Lion Throne in Carillon's place." 
"Well," said Evan, "I think it is worth the doing. And I 
think you will succeed." 
Donal smiled grimly and rode on, one hand resting on the 
glowing Mujhar's Eye. Beside him ran the ruddy wolf; above 
him flew the falcon. 
They crept around the outskirts of the Atvian host and 
found the Homanan army settled upon a wide plain. It was 
patently obvious the plain had been the site of repeated 
battles. The ground had been churned into a fine, pale feathering 
of dirt. No grass grew. There was no vegetation, but the 
miasma of too much death. 
Donal slipped through the Homanan lines like a wraith, 
with Evan close behind. He spoke quietly to the guards who 
challenged him. When they saw clearly who it was, all men 
fell to their knees and swore allegiance. It was a forcible 
reminder of Carillon's death. Donal\a151accepting the fealty 
offered wholeheartedly\a151nonetheless felt the weight of the 
burden usurping any pride he might have felt by the reception. 
Rowan's vennillion field pavilion was separate from the 
others, perched atop a swell of a hill overlooking the spreading 
plain. The moon was nonexistent; Donal could see the 
tiny fires of Osric's host on the other side of the field. 
He dismounted, forgetting the sword at his saddle, and 
handed the reins to a young boy, who bowed his head shyly. 
Black-haired, he reminded Donal of Sef. 
328 Jennifer Roberson 
Until he remembered who\a151and what\a151Sef was. 
Lorn flopped down outside the doorflap. Taj perched upon 
the ridgepole. Dona! took a deep breath and pulled the flap 
aside. 

Rowan glanced up from the map he studied. Black brows 
drew down in; no doubt he was irritated by the unannounced 
intruder. But his mouth dropped open as he saw Donal clearly 
in the candlelight. The map rolled itself back into itself. 
"Donal! We had begun to fear you were dead." 
"No." 
Rowan shook his head. "We received word from Finn a 
month ago, before he and Evan went in to get you free. 
But\a151we had begun to think the attempt had failed." Rowan's 
gaze sharpened as he saw the weal burned into Donal's 
neck. "By the gods!\a151What is thatV 
"A token from the boy." Donal moved into the pavilion as 
Evan came up behind him. "How fares the army?" 
Rowan gestured them to stools and hooked one over for 
himself. "Well enough. We do not advance, but neither does 
Osric. He is a master strategist. He lacks our numbers, but he 
knows how to make his few work in his favor. It is a long, 
drawn-out affair, my lord. And now\a151he hangs back. As if 
waiting for something." 
"He waits for me," Donal said. 
Evan, who had remained standing in the entrance, moved 
forward. He set the unscabbarded sword down on the table 
with a thud and folded his arms. "He waits for that." 
Rowan started, staring at the blade. "Carillon's sword! 
You have got it back!" 
"1 said I would," Donal said grimly. "Osric gave it to 
Strahan." 
"And you took it back from the boy\a151" 
Donal looked away. "No." His voice shook a little. Slowly 
he reached out and touched the rune-kissed blade. "No ... I 
did not take it. Strahan\a151left it unintentionally." 
Rowan drew in a breath. "Have you slain him, then?" 
"No." Donal could hardly look at him. "He left it because 
it was not his, but mine. He left it because Finn saw to it he 
left it. My su'fali\a151" Donal broke off sharply. When he 
could, he met Rowan's waiting eyes. "He\a151is slain. Rowan 
... by the sword made by his own jehan. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 329 
"Finn\a151" Rowan's breath ran ragged. "Not Finn . . ." he 
begged. "No. Oh ... no\a151no\a151" 
Donal could find no words to answer Rowan, so he gave 
him only silence. 
After a long moment. Rowan slid awkwardly off his stool 
and knelt in the dirt of the pavilion floor. "Forgive me, my 
lord," he whispered. "I did not give you proper honor when 
you came in." 

Donal stared at the general's bent head. They had ever 
been at odds, it seemed. Rowan served Carillon, not his heir, 
and that exacting a service had made him intolerant of Donal's 
small rebellions. But Carillon was dead. And now Finn. 
It left him with no one at all. 
Save me. Donal bent and clasped Rowan's shoulder. "I 
have said I will not have you kneeling to me." 
"It is done." 
"Not this night. Rowan\a151I need your help." 
Rowan stood up. "And I have said you will have it." 
Donal tried to ignore the pain in his back. Finn had not had 
time to heal the talon wounds. "I am Mujhar," he said. 
"Cheysuli . .. but I do not suit." 
Rowan, turning to pour three cups of wine, frowned. "Why 
do you say that?" 
"The prophecy speaks of a man of all blood who unites 
four warring realms. Blood of two races flows in my veins\a151 
not four." 
"Four realms," Rowan said thoughtfully, pouring the cups 
full. "Solinde and Homana, of course\a151we are ever at war 
with Solinde, it seems- And Atvia might be the third. But\a151 
which realm is the fourth?" 
"Ellas?" Donal turned to Evan. 
The Ellasian sat down on his stool near the doorflap. "I 
think not. Ellas has never fought overmuch. Never with 
Homana or the other realms you name. No ... when we 
fight, we fight the Steppes . , . and occasionally Faiia and 
Caledon." He shrugged. "It is why we wed their princesses 
so often\a151to settle alliances. For a while." 
"It leaves Erinn." Rowan handed out the wine. "Erinn of 
the Idrian isles. Not much larger than Atvia\a151but we have 
never fought with Erinn." 
Donal frowned. "Shaine's first cheysula was Erinnish. The 
one who bore Lindir, my Homanan granddame." 
330 Jennifer Roberson 
"But we have not treated with Erinn since then." Rowan 
indicated the map he had been studying. "There has been no 
reason to. Erinn and Atvia fight one another like two mate 
dogs over a single bone with each turn of the season\a151some 
question of a title and imagined insults\a151but Homana has 
never been involved." 
Evan shrugged and stretched out his legs, displaying his 
stolen boots. "Perhaps that is the key. Perhaps Erinn fights 
Atvia, and Atvia fights Homana, while Homana battles 
Solinde." He held up a fist. One by one he flicked up a 
finger as he named the names. "Homana\a151Solinde\a151Atvia\a151 
Erinn. Four realms." 

"But\a151I lack the bloodlines." Donal shook his head. "I 
am not the man in the prophecy." 
Rowan's brows lifted a little. "Perhaps your son will be." 
Donal grimaced. "I think it extremely unlikely lan would 
ever be accepted as my heir. He is a bastard, and the Homanan 
Council\a151" 
"I do not speak of lan," Rowan said steadily. "Aislinn 
has conceived." 
Donal let out a rush of sound. "Aislinn\a151" 
Rowan nodded- "The child is due in two months. We pray 
this one will be full-term." 
Gods . . . she has won . . . that night she drugged me\a151 
Donal shut his eyes. Does she serve Strahan, that child will be 
a travesty! 
"Donal, there is more." Rowan's voice was expressionless. 
"It concerns your meijha and your children." 
Donal's eyes snapped open. "What do you say?" 
Rowan took a breath. "Aislinn\a151summoned Sorcha to 
Homana-Mujhar. What they discussed I cannot say ... but 
not long after it was announced the queen would bear a child, 
Sorcha took the children and left the Keep." 
"'Left\a151" Donal was on his feet. "Aislinn has sent them 
away\a151?" 
"They are well, Donat." Rowan said it sharply. "They are 
well. Aislinn meant them no harm. But Sorcha has taken the 
children and gone up across the Bluetooth, into the Northern 
Wastes." 
"To the other Keep\a151?" Donal slammed down his cup so 
hard wine slopped over to spill across the table. ^1 cannot 
believe she did it ... not Aislinn\a151but\a151" His resolve hard- 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 331 
ened as he recalled how she had tricked him. "I swear\a151if 
she does this out of spite or to serve Strahan, I will do to her 
what Carillon did to herjehana. Send her away from me\a151" 
"Donal." Rowan cut him off in mid-spate. "She was not 
harmed, and neither were the children." 
"Sorcha would never do it," Donal said flatly. "She 
would never leave me. She would not take the children 
away." 
Rowan shrugged, plainly uncomfortable. "Who can say 
what happened between Aislinn and Sorcha? They probably 
argued over you. Sorcha would never give you up. But 
neither would Aislinn." He shook his head. "Never Aislinn. 
She is too much like her father." 
"And she is pregnant," Evan said casually. "My mother 
bore twelve of us. I recall how she was with several of my 

sisters. Breeding women occasionally have\a151odd notions." 
"1 do not care if Aislinn has odd notions'. 1 will not allow 
her to do this to my meijha or my children." He set one 
forefinger into the spilled wine and tapped the map- "1 will 
slay Osric\a1511 will win this war\a151and then I will fetch them 
home." 
"How?" Rowan asked- "We have been fighting Osric for 
more than half a year. Half our army remains in Solinde; 
Osric supplies his men from Hondarth. Do you propose to 
end this war tomorrow?'' 
Donal heard the underlying hint of contempt in Rowan's 
tone. He did not blame him; no doubt it was hard for Rowan 
to serve another, younger master, who had less knowledge of 
war than he did. It was a bittersweet service. 
Like an old dog separated from an older, beloved master. 
Donal sighed. "Not tomorrow. I propose to do it tonight." 
Rowan laughed. But there was nothing of humor in his 
tone. "How?" he repeated. 
"I will go to him as a Cheysuli . . . and Fight him as. a 
king." Donal's eyes were on the sword. 
Evan snorted. "How shall you get through the lines?" 
"Not through them, Evan\a151over them ... as a falcon." 
Evan said nothing more. His silence was heavy; he frowned, 
but swallowed his wine and sat unmoving on his stool. 
"When?" Rowan asked. 
At least he does not try to gainsay me\a151 "Later, when 
332 Jennifer Roberson 
darkness is hard upon us. When I have made this sword truly 
mine." 
Rowan drew in a careful breath. "Do what you must 
do. I will not argue with the gods. But Donal\a151you have 
no heir." 
Donal caressed the shallow runes in me gleaming steel, 
dragging broken nails across the incised edges. "I can name 
none now living. But\a151should aught befall me and Aislinn 
bears a son, he shall be Mujhar." 
"Executioner," Evan said suddenly. "The rune might have 
meant the boy for slaying Finn. Or you, for slaying Osric of 
Atvia.'' 
"It does not matter," Donal said calmly. "I will see to his 
death regardless." 
With his Ur, he stood on the field of battle. Behind him 
stretched the endless leagues of Homana and the endless 
Homanan army. His army. And before him, clear to the dark 
horizon, lay the massive Atvian warhost. 

The moon was a nacreous curving sliver in the blackness of 
me night. But he could see by the light of the ruby. 
Donal had feared, at first, the stoneglow would give him 
away. But what illuminated the area around him was apparently 
invisible to Atvians and Homanans alike, for no man 
came to investigate. 
Or else each army believes it something inconsequential. 
Donal smiled. The ruby\a151and the sword\a151was hardly inconsequential. 
He had come to believe it at last. 
The sword was naked in his hands. Unsheathed, the steel 
was silver in the moonlight. A bright, white silver, wrought 
with eloquent runes. Oh, aye, he could read them. He could 
read what was written there. What Hale had put there for 
him. 
Ja'hai, bu'lasa. Homana tahlmorra ru'maii. 
Donal nearly laughed. How he had run away. How he had 
turned his back. How he had repeatedly refused to accept a 
gift meant for him alone. 
"Ja'hai, bu'lasa. Homana tahlmorra ru'maii." Donal spoke 
the words aloud. First in the Old Tongue, and then in the 
language of Homana: "Accept, grandson. In the name of 
Homana's tahlmorra.''' '. 
He released a tremendous breath. And then slowly he bent 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 333 
and knelt upon the ground. The tip of the blade he set into the 
powdered dirt, and then pressed downward against the 
crossguards. When he let go, the sword stood up of itself. 
"Li'r," he said aloud. "I lack the proper words. I do not 
know the ritual." 
A ritual is what you make it, Lom said. 
Taj flew down and lighted upon the crossguard. Say what 
words you will, and they will be enough. 
Donal wet his lips. Tension knotted his belly. When this 
thing was done, he would have to confront Osric of Atvia. 
For all he was willing to take on the task, he was not sure he 
could do it. 
He drew in a breath and held it. Slowly he closed both 
hands around the blade just below the hilt. Below Taj's 
talons. And then, summoning all his courage, he jerked his 
hands downward, downward, until they touched the ground, 
and he felt the pain fill up his palms. 
"Ja'hai-nal" he cried. "Ja'hai-na, Homana tahlmorra 
ru'maii\\ I accept in the name of Homana's tahlmorra\\" 
He sat back on his heels- His fingers sprang open rigidly; 
he saw the blood pour forth. It spilled through his fingers and 

down his wrists to splatter the ground. 
His arms shook. Pain ran the length of his forearms to his 
elbows, then up into his shoulders. Shock filled his belly with 
sickness. "Ja'hai-na," he breathed. "Accepted." 
Still the blood flowed out of his hands to spill against the 
soil. He saw how the drops soaked in almost immediately, as 
if the battlefield had not had its fill of the blood of men. And 
yet he could smell it. He could smell the stench of war; the 
stink of rotting bodies. All had been burned or buried, but 
still he could smell the stench- 
"More?" he asked. "Is that what you want, Homana?" 
But the earth did not answer him. 
Donal looked at the sword- The runes ran red with his 
blood. But the ruby seemed dull by comparison. 
Slowly he reached out his hands. He closed both of them 
upon the pommel and shut away the ruby from the light of the 
virgin moon. And then he shut his eyes and emptied himself 
of the knowledge of who he was. 
He needed to know what he was, 
\a151he was a boy again, so small, and listening to his/other. 
Listening to the man who was clan-leader of the Cheysuti. 
334 Jennifer Roberson 
wiser than everyone save the shar tahl, who kept all the 
histories. 
"You are a Cheysuti warrior, a child of the Firstborn, and 
beloved of the gods. You are one among many; a man who is 
more than a man; a warrior who serves more than war, but 
the gods and the prophecy. In you lies the seed of that 
prophecy, dormant now, but waiting for the day when you 
will awaken at last and comprehend the tahlmorra of a kingdom. 
Not of a boy, of a man. of a clan. Of a kingdom, and 
you H'i7/ be its king. You will be what no one has been for 
nearly four hundred years: a Cheysuli Mujhar of Homana. 
The man in the prophecy." 
Donal opened his eyes. Took his hands away from the 
sword. The blood-bathed ruby glowed more brilliantly than 
ever. And when he looked at his palms, he saw the wounds 
had healed. 
Osric of Atvia, when Donal finally found him, was ensconced 
in a huge black field pavilion ringed with smoking 
torches. He was alone. He sat at his table and pondered his 
maps, plotting new strategy. Four braziers and two tall 
candleracks illuminated the interior of the tent. Light flashed 
off ruddy hair banded by a plain gold circlet; it glinted as he 
absently smoothed the map with a thick-fingered hand. His 
broad shoulders threw odd shadows on the fabric behind him: 
black on black. He scratched idly at his heavy, sun-gilded 
beard. 

He was not old. Perhaps thirty, a year or two more. He 
was a hardened fighter in his prime; Donal knew he faced 
harsh odds. But he would not turn from them. 
Donal stepped into the glowing light and smiled, carrying 
the sword. Osric, glancing up at the faintest whisper of 
sound, froze. His blue eyes widened minutely, then narrowed; 
he did not otherwise indicate alarm or fear. He appeared 
more irritated than anything- 
"Hist?" he asked curtly in his Atvian tongue. But then he 
saw the sword. He pushed himself to his feet. "You are 
Donal." Now he spoke Homanan, accented heavily. 
"1 am the Mujhar." 
"How did you come by that sword?" 
Donal watched him. "You took it from Carillon. 1 got it 
back from the boy." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 335 
"Strahan gave it to you?" 
"After a fashion." 
Osric was very tall, massive as a tree. Donal recalled 
Carillon's description ofKeough, Osric's grandsire, and thought 
this man must resemble him. He knew himself outweighed 
badly, outrcached as well, and undoubtedly outmatched when 
it came to deadly swordplay. 
"Strahan held you captive, I was told." 
"I was freed. I brought the sword out with me." He 
paused. "It is mine, Osric. My grandsire made it for me." 
Osric's blue eyes glittered. He was so vital Donal could 
sense the strength moving in the man. "I have heard that 
sword holds magic, Shapechanger sorcery." The blue eyes 
dipped to the sword, men lifted to Donal's face. "Hale was 
your grandsire, then?" 
"Aye. You see, do you not, I am not an upstart warrior 
who wishes to grasp at a throne? I have a lawful right to it, 
Osric. I have blood in me that harks back to the Mujhars of 
old, and the Cheysuli Mujhars before them." 
"/ have the right of conquest," Osric said. Then, "How 
did you come through my lines?" 
"I flew." 
"Flew?" 
Donal smiled. "I am a falcon when need be\a151or a wolf 
whenever I choose." He pulled aside the doorflap. Lorn 
came into the pavilion silently. "You have chosen a bad 
enemy," Donal told the Atvian lord. "We Cheysuli do not sit 
idly by while you try to usurp our homeland." 
Osric still stared at Lorn. "My grandsire died because of a 
wolf," he said slowly. "In Homana, it was\a151inside Homana

Mujhar- It was whim\a151a wolfs whim. It did not slay with 
tooth or claw\a151it slew by using fear." 
Donal laughed aloud. "That wolf, ku'reshtin, was my 
mother." 
Osric's teeth showed briefly. "No matter. I know the truth 
of you. Hold that sword if you wish\a151I know the truth. The 
Cheysuli have no sword-skill. 1 do not mind slaying Homana's 
shapechanger Mujhar, but I would prefer a better match." 
Donal shrugged. "It was Carillon who taught me. Judge 
my skill by the reputation of my master's." 
Osric's eyes narrowed. "Carillon is dead. / was the one 
who slew him\a151as once he prophesied." He smiled suddenly 
336 Jennifer Roberson 
as Donal started, "Did you not know? Aye\a151Carillon prophesied 
our meeting. He told it to my brother, Alaric, when 1 
sent him here some sixteen years ago." He laughed. "Carillon 
said\a151if I recall it right\a151that if we ever met on me field 
of battle, one of us would die." He studied Donal closely. 
"Carillon's reputation? Overpraised, I think. As for yours? 
Let us make one now." He turned. He caught up his own 
broadsword from his cot, swung back and advanced on Donal. 
The hilt settled comfortably in DonaTs hands. He felt the 
warmth of the metal. The odd, vibrant life sprang up again. 
Osric was a master swordsman. Donal discovered that very 
quickly. The Atvian's bulk gave him both superior reach and 
strength, but slowed down his reactions. Donal was quicker 
man Osric. 
He ducked under two whistling slashes that clove the air 
near his head. He felt their wind in his hair. Still he ducked 
away, not yet engaging the man. I am no swordsman, for all 
I boasted to him\a151-there is too much I have left to leam\a151 
Osric needed no lessons. He shattered the edge of the table 
with one huge swipe of his broadsword and laughed aloud as 
Donal stumbled back hastily. Teeth gleamed in his sun-gilded 
beard as he lifted the blade, teasing Donal with its tip. "You 
are mine, fool. Homana falls as you fall." 
Donal skipped back as Osric *s blade flashed by his ribs. He 
stumbled over a brazier, overturning it; rolled to his feet as he 
blocked a blow with his blade. Coals burned his legs and 
feet, charring the leather of his boots, but he ignored that as 
Osric came on. 
"Homana has stood firm against you for over half a year 
without me," Donal pointed out, moving constantly. "What 
makes you believe the realm will fall do / fall?" 
"It is the way of battles involving kings." Osric struck 
again; Donal ducked. "Soldiers require leadership, royalty 
preferred. But slay the king and the army is slain, though 
most men walk away." Osric shifted his stance. The sword 
was a splinter in his tremendous hands. "Atvia is but a small 
place. I grow weary of an island. A realm the size of Homana 

will suit me well enough." 
Donal moved back. "After Homana\a151Solinde? Your present 
ally?" 
Teeth gleamed in Osric's beard. "Too soon to say, 
Cheysuli." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 337 
The sword seemed to hum in Donal's hands. He felt it 
protest his poor skill, as if it were disappointed by his lack. 
Donal set his teeth and set up a fence of steel, trying to 
maintain his ground as Osric sought to batter him down. 
He stepped back, back again. The table pressed against his 
spine. Donal threw himself onto the table in a bid to roll 
away and gain his feet, but Osric's sword was in the way. It 
settled at his throat. 
"True," Osric said. "The Cheysuli have no sword-skill." 
The ruby blazed up and created a nimbus around them 
both. Osric, crying out, fell back, eyes popping in their 
sockets. His own sword shook in his hands, but he was too 
much a warrior to give over to fear so easily. 
Donal pressed up from the table, Osric brought his sword 
down. Blades clashed. The immense strength of the Atvian 
drove Donat down again. His torn back pressed against me 
wood. 
The nimbus continued to bum. It splashed blood-red light 
across Osric's face until his blue eyes turned Ihlini purple. 
Donal felt me numbness beginning in his hands, felt the 
sword cleave to his grasp as if it was part and parcel of his 
body. Runes glowed white the length of the blade\a151he swung\a151 
\a151Osric's sword broke in a rain of shining steel- 
He stood there with nothing in his hands but a useless hilt. 
His mouth hung open: a tombstbned cavern in red-gilt hair. 
Donal, still flat on his back on me table, felt the sword lift 
him up; felt the power surge through his arms from shoulder 
to fingertips. He was lifted; he thrust. The blade slid home in 
Osric's belly. 
That for Carillon. That for my su'fali. 
SEVEN 
D, 
•onal took back his human form in front of Rowan's 
pavilion. As he pulled open the doorflap he met Evan in me 
entrance. "Osric?" Evan demanded. 
"Atvia lacks a lord." He could still feel a residual warmth 
and vitality in the sword. The ruby was red against his hand. 

"Good." Evan had shaved; put on fresh clothing wormy 
of his rank. The stolen boots had been replaced with finer 
footwear. "You are unharmed?" 
"As you see me." But Donal thought Evan did not see 
him clearly. There was a drawn tautness at the comers of his 
eyes and mouth, as if he spoke automatically with little 
thought for what he said. "Evan\a151what is it?" 
Evan stepped aside and gestured limply for Donal to enter. 
His hand scraped against the fabric as he let the flap down 
again. "A messenger came eariy this morning, just at dawn, 
while you were still in Osric's encampment." 
The pavilion was empty. The bedclothes on Rowan's cot 
were rumpled. One cup of wine, half-filled, stood on the 
table next to a pile of maps. A fly buzzed around the rim. 
Donal sat down on a stool, hunching a little; he lay the 
blade across his thighs and fingered the hilt with its rampant 
lion. "This message was for me?" 
"No. For me." Evan frowned a little. He looked almost 
bewildered. "My brother is\a151High King." 
Donal looked at him sharply. "Rhodri\a151?" 
"Dead of a sudden fever." Evan combed a hand through 
338 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 339 
his dark brown hair. "It took him too quickly\a151the leeches 
could do nothing." 
Donal stood up again. He understood the puzzled grief in 
Evan's eyes better than before, now that he lacked Finn. He 
reached out and clasped Evan's arm briefly. "I am sorry. Do 
you ride for Ellas immediately?" 
After a moment Evan shook his head. "I would have. At 
once, of course\a151I should go home and pay my respects. 
But\a151Lachlan has said no. He gives me leave to remain 
here," He shrugged a little. "He says\a151he says all of Ellas 
knows how 1 honored my father, and that now I must honor 
the wishes of her new High King." His eyes were full of 
grief and lethargy; his anchor had been taken from him. "He 
says I must stay with you." 
Donal stared at his friend. His own emotions were detached, 
as if Finn's death had drained him of the capacity for 
grief, but he understood what Evan felt. He has only just 
discovered how much his jehan meant to him, for all he has 
spoken casually of their relationship. Donal sat down again. 
"Why would Lachlan wish you to stay here? I am more than 
glad of your company, but perhaps you would do better to go 
home." 
Evan's mouth hooked down on one side. "He heard of 
Carillon's death. Out of sorrow and a wish to keep Homana 
whole, he is sending five thousand men." Evan smiled. "The 
Royal Ellasian Guard . . . which was, I know, dispatched 

once before to Homana, when Carillon needed aid. Out of 
respect for Carillon's memory, Lachlan wishes to make certain 
Homana does not fall. But\a151I think there is more, though 
he did not say it, I think he fears for Ellas as well. Does Osric 
take Homana, there is a good chance he will turn his eyes to 
Ellas one of these years. Why not gainsay that now by 
sending aid to Homana? He could not do so before\a151my 
father preferred to stay out of Homana's troubles\a151but now 
he is High King. He may do what he wishes." 
Donal sighed, staring pensively at the sword. "Whatever 
Lachlan's reasons\a151his gesture is more than welcome." 
Evan nodded. "Rhodri was a worthy king. Ellas loved 
him. But Ellas also loves Lachlan, the scapegrace, priest and 
prince who wandered as a harper for three years, riding with 
an exiled Homanan lord as he sought to win back his realm- 
He will be a valuable ally, Donal." 
340 Jennifer Roberson 
Thinking deeply, Donal scratched at his forehead beneath 
the thick black hair that hung nearly into his eyes. "Five 
thousand men may be more than enough to swing this battle 
to a conclusion. Unless, of course, Osric's death is enough. It 
may be that Lachlan's gift is not necessary. But regardless, I 
must leave Rowan in charge of the Homanan troops, while 
you lead the Ellasians." He frowned. "It would give me time 
to go up across the Bluetooth." 
"Still you will go?" 
"I will. And I will bring Sorcha and the children home\a151 
home to Homana-Mujhar." 
Evan sucked in a whistling breath. "Not wise, Donal. 
Aislinn is already jealous\a151installing your light woman and 
bastards beneath the same roof may not be for the best.'' 
"I do not care." Donal looked up from the sword. "1 am 
not totally blind to Aislinn's reasons for what she has done. 
But there are other factors I must consider. She is Electra's 
daughter. It means 1 can never view her without suspicion\a151 
has she not given me enough reason for mat?\a151because it 
may be that she has a measure of herjehana's power. For all 
I know, the Solindish blood in her holds stronger than the 
Homanan." 
"She bears a child, Donal. Possibly a son, and heir to 
Homana." 
Donal laughed. "I have no intention of slaying her, Evan! 
Nor do I wish to beat her. I intend only to put Sorcha and the 
children where I knew they will be safe." 
Evan shook his head. "Do not put her so close to Aislinn. 
Donal\a151this is merely jealousy. Once Aislinn has borne her 
own, she will not resent Sorcha's children so much." 
Donal shook his head. "For a man who has neither children 
nor cheysula^ you know much about both." 
"I have five sisters," Evan retorted, "and\a151at last count\a151 

fourteen nieces and nephews. Perhaps more, by now\a151my 
sisters breed like coneys. I speak from experience, Donal." 
Donal sighed. "Well, nonetheless, 1 will go to the Northern 
Keep and tend to my meijha and children. Then I will see 
to Aislinn." 
Rowan gave him a new sheath and belt for the sword, since 
Carillon's was missing, presumably somewhere in me Atvian 
encampment\a151unless Strahan still had it. But the new one 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 341 
suited Donal's taste. It was plain dark leather oiled to a 
smooth sheen, worked with Cheysuti runes from top to bottom. 
Donal slid the blade home until the hilt clicked against the 
lip. He looked at Rowan. "Your workmanship?" 
Rowan's angular face was solemn. "Aye. My blood showing 
in me at last. I have the Cheysuli skill." 
Donal looked at him in surprise. "Then you are finally 
admitting openly to your heritage." 
Splotches of color formed in Rowan's face, flushing the 
sunbronzing darker still so that the yellow of his eyes was 
emphasized. "I have not had to deny it for many years," he 
said with a quiet dignity. "Not since I acknowledged the 
truth to Carillon." 
He will judge everything in his life by Carillon. Donal 
sighed and tried to summon what little he knew of tact. "1 
know you have never had a lir, but you are Cheysuli. You 
might have sought a clan instead of the Homanans when you 
were old enough to know me truth." 
Rowan shook his head. "I did not seek the Homanans, 
Donal. I was raised Homanan. Oh, aye ... I knew what I 
was inside, but how could I fight Homanan habits mat grew 
to be second nature? A child becomes what he is made . . . 
and I was made Homanan." 
Donal frowned down at the rune-worked blade. "We are 
so different. The races. So\a151apart. We are different men. 
And I think you cannot be both." 
"You can." Rowan smiled a little. "One day, you may 
see it. One day you may have to. You yourself are less 
Cheysuli than / am, if we are to speak of blood\a151and yet you 
are the one who claims the races are different.'' He shook his 
head. "You do realize, of course, that even though Homana 
has a Cheysuli Mujhar once more\a151that the Cheysuli race 
will not last forever. We will be swallowed up by the truth of 
the prophecy." 
Donal looked at him sharply. The words, oddly, echoed 
what Tynstar has said; what Strahan had emphasized. And 
Donal did not like it. Somehow, it threatened him. "We haye 
lost nothing in thousands of years. We still claim the lir and 
all that bond entails. The earth magic that heals, the power to 
compel\a151" 

"Aye." Rowan interrupted calmly. "But have you never 
thought that when the goal of the prophecy is attained and me 
342 Jennifer Robersan 
Firstborn live again, there will be little room left for the 
Cheysuli?" 
"There will always be Cheysuli in Homana." DonaTs tone 
obliterated room for speculation. "Homanan-raised you may 
have been, but not Homanan-fwrn. Did you not set the runes 
into the leather of this scabbard?" 
"Some things a man never forgets." Rowan looked at the 
devices he had tooled. "1 remember\a151when I was very small\a151 
how my jehon used to write out the runes with a chunk of coal 
on a bleached deerskin. It fascinated me. I would sit for hours 
before the pavilion and watch his hand draw the runes\a151 
making magic. And the birthlines, when the shor tahl showed 
me mine." He smiled reminiscently. "I remembered all the 
runes. So I pieced together the prophecy and the runes, and 
put it all into the leather." 
Donal watched the changes in Rowan's face. In that instant 
he felt closer to the man than ever before. In that instant, 
Rowan was Cheysuli, and Donal could understand him. "What 
else do you remember?" 
The smile fell away. "I remember the day the Mujhar's 
men came across my family. How they stew them all, even 
my small rujhoila. I remember it all very well, though for 
years I denied it." 
"Because your new kin never said you were Cheysuli." 
"They never knew." Rowan shrugged. "They were EUasian, 
come to Homana for a new life. They found a small boy 
wandering dazedly in the forest, unable to speak out of fear 
for what he had seen, and they took him as their own. They 
were\a151good people." 
"But they were not Cheysuli." 
"Half of you is not," Rowan retorted. "When I look at 
you, Donal, I see and hear a Cheysuli warrior, because that is 
what you desire to show to people. You have all the Cheysuli 
characteristics\a151including that prickly pride\a151and you certainly 
bear the stamp. But you also are Homanan, because of 
Alix. You should let it temper that pride. Do not become so 
Cheysuti you cannot understand the people you will rule." 
Donal's fingers closed on me leather scabbard. "I\a151I would 
prefer to have nothing but Cheysuli blood in my veins." 
"But you do not. There is Homanan as well. Else you 
would not be part of the prophecy." Rowan sighed and shook 
his head. "You are what they have made you, your mother 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
343 
and your father. Duncan was all Cheysuli, and Alix\a151out of a 

wish to keep alive the husband she had lost\a151did what she 
could to make you Duncan come again. It is\a151not necessarily 
bad. I could think of worse warriors for you to emulate\a151 
including Finn." Rowan flicked one hand in a silencing 
gesture as Donal moved to protest. "Finn was what the 
prophecy made him. He was what Carillon needed for many 
years. But\a151people change. They grow older, they mature. 
Carillon no longer needed him. And neither, now, do you." 
Donal shook his head in violent disagreement. "I need him 
badly, my su'fali. There is so much left for me to leam." 
"You will leam it. But first you must leam to acknowledge 
the Homanan in you as well as me Cheysuli." 
Donai lifted the hilt. "Do I not wear this now? What 
Cheysuli has ever borne a sword\a151except, perhaps, for you?" 
"It is a beginning," Rowan agreed. 
"It is more than a beginning," Donal muttered. "It is an 
alteration of tradition." 
"Perhaps it is necessary." Rowan smiled. "You are the 
first Cheysuli Mujhar to hold the Lion Throne in four hundred 
years, Donal. That is alteration." 
Pensively, Donai nodded. Then he sighed and looked up at 
Rowan. "There is a thing I would have you do." 
The general shrugged. "What I can, I will." 
"Win this war. Win this gods-cursed war, so I can begin 
my reign in peace." 
Dona! rode northward through Homana, bypassing Mujhara 
entirely, until he reached the Bluetooth River. On the southern 
bank he pulled in his horse, staring at the river. It had 
been sixteen years since he had last seen the Bluetooth, when 
Tynstar's Ihlini servitors had taken him toward the Moton 
Pass for entry into Solinde. He had been Valgaard-bound, 
prisoners, he and Alix, but he had escaped because of Taj and 
Lom's aid in accelerating his ability to take /ir-shape. Alix 
had not. He had left his mother behind, crossing the huge 
river on his escape to Homana-Mujhar. 
Then it had been much colder, for winter had only recently 
left the land. Now it was spring and the waters were quick, 
unclogged by ice and slush. He stared at the wooden ferry on 
the far side and wondered if he should wait for it, or cross 
Cheysuli-fashion. 
344 Jennifer Roberson 
Taj, perching in a nearby tree, fixed him with a bright dark 
eye. Do you recall it. lir? 
I recall. 
You sought the air then. Shall you do it again? 
Donal turned to stare over his shoulder, searching for Lorn. 
A moment later the ruddy wolf broke free of the dense 

vegetation fringing the riverbank. 
No\a151f will ride. I will have Sorcha and the children with 
me. 
Lorn shook dust from his coat. Then I must swim this river, 
unless you bribe the ferry-master to let me pass with you. 
The ferry-master, when he banked his wooden vessel, 
accepted Donal's gold eagerly. He slanted an apprehensive 
glance at the wolf, eyed Donal closely, then gestured mem 
born aboard. Donal led the horse onto the thick wooden 
timbers and waited for Lorn to join him. 
The man cast off and began the lengthy process of pulling 
the ferry back across the wide river. But it did not keep him 
from watching Donal, or from talking. 
He hawked, spat over the side into the water, and jerked 
his head. "Na' meanin' to offend ye, but 'tis curious I am. 
Be ye a halfling, then?" 
"Halfling?" Donal was startled by the rough northern 
dialect. The language seemed hardly Homanan. 
"Halfling. Aye. Lookit yersel'. Yon color is Cheysuli, but 
ne'er I seen one dressit like ye. Leathers, they wear, and 
gold. Be ye only half, then?" 
In shock, Donal realized the Homanan clothing Rowan had 
lent him after his escape from Strahan robbed him of identity. 
He had put off the torn and soiled leathers, replacing them 
with black soldiers' breeches, linen shirt and rich brown 
velvet doublet, which hid the gold on his arms. His hair, left 
uncut for too long, hid his earring. 
He eyed the ferry-master speculatively. "Were I to say I 
was all Cheysuli, what would you do?" 
The man laughed, hawked again, spat over the ferry again. 
"Indeed, nothin'. On'y curious, master. But ye don't be 
lookin' like'ee others. Ne'er hae I seen one wear a sword," 
Donal's hand dropped to the heavy hilt. Possessively, he 
shut his fingers upon it. "A new custom." 
"Yon breed be fierce, master. I seen many of 'em here, 
crossin' south, bound for the Mujhar's city." Interest flared 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 345 
up in the man's brown eyes. "Hae ye been to Mujhara, 
master?" 
Donal smiled. "Aye." 
"Big as they do say?" 
"Bigger." 
"Hae ye seen yon palace, what called Homana-Mujhar?" 
His dialect\a151and several missing teeth\a151ran the syllables together 
until they were nearly indistinguishable. 

"Aye, I have." 
"Ye'll say 'tis grander than I can 'magine, doubtless." 
Donal patted his horse's muzzle. "Aye, it is." 
"And be he the man they do say he is?" 
"Who\a151the Mujhar?" Dona! shrugged. "Tell me what 
they say." 
The ferry-master pulled hard upon the ropes. His mousebrown 
hair was long, clubbed back with a strip of leather. He 
wore rough woolen clothing and heavy boots. Brawny muscles 
played across his back and shoulders as he pulled against 
the current. "They do say Carillon chose hi'self a right'un. A 
man even the 'lini give a wide road to." 
Donal smiled wryly. "I thought the Ihlini feared no one." 
The man eyed him. "I dinna say they feared 'im. The 
'Hni, most likely, fear nae man. But up here I carry passengers 
from all lands and all races, and I do say I hauled a few 
'lini sorcerers 'cross this beast." He shrugged. "Man doesna 
say nae to gude gold." 
Donal stared across the swift-running river to the far side. 
He shivered slightly as the chill wind blasted from the frozen 
mountains of the Molon Pass, several leagues away from the 
river, but close enough to wall them in on one side. "I would 
have thought," he said lightly, "that Ihlini sorcerers had no 
need of a ferry to cross this river." 
The ferry-master laughed. "Aye, so ye would think\a151but 
they dinna fly. Nae more than ye do, master." 
Donal smiled. "But I do." 
"Fly?" The man shook his head. "Ye be jestin' wi' me, 
then." 
"No." Nae, he said silently, liking the dialect. 
The man eyed him closely. "Then why be ye takin' my 
ferry?" 
Donal laughed. "I do not always fly. Besides, I will have 
346 Jennifer Roberson 
company on the way back." He studied the man a moment. 
"Do you fear me, ferry-master?" 
"I hae heard of yon sorcery. Na* feared to say I 'spect it." 
"Respect and fear are two different things." Donal leaned 
idly against the rail. "You have a Cheysuli MuJhar. Do you 
fear him?" 
"I do fear what it might be meanin'." The ferry-master's 
head rose and he met Donal's eyes squarely. "The legends do 
say the shapechangers once held Homana, and gi' her oop to 
men of my race. Now ye hae it back. 'Tis no wonder honest 
Homanans wonder what it all be meanin'." 

"There is no danger in it for any Homanan." Donal told 
him. "The Mujhar means to keep peace in this realm." 
"That I'll be havin' to see fer mysel', then." 
"So you shall." Donal gestured. "We are nearly there." 
The man whipped a quick look at the bank, hauled on the 
brake ropes and brought the ferry in smoothly. Donal led the 
horse onto the bank and mounted. As he waited for Lorn he 
saw me ferry-master watching him in a mixture of curiosity 
and suspicion. Donal raised his hand in a brief wave, then put 
his horse to the northernmost track- 
The Keep was set in the toothy foothills of the mountains. 
Like most Keeps, it was ramparted by high stone walls that 
wound their way up slopes and down again to encircle all the 
pavilions. It was a harsh blue-gray stone, almost indigo, that 
greeted his eyes, not the warm grayish-green he was more 
accustomed to. In the Northern Wastes, many things were 
different. 
He rode up to the entrance and paused. Three warriors 
guarded it; even now, nearly twenty years after Carillon 
ended the qu'mahlin, the clans knew better than to trust any 
stranger who rode in. Even one who appeared Cheysuli. 
One of the warriors came forward from the wall. His 
yellow eyes appraised Donal shrewdly, marking the characteristic 
Cheysuli features; marking also the Homanan clothing. 
There was calm politeness in his tone as he offered 
casual greeting, but Donal saw the slight trace of contempt in 
die eyes. 
Gods\a151he does not see a warrior , . . he sees a city-bred 
Cheysuli\a151 It nearly made him cringe. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
347 
"I am Kaer," the warrior said. "Have you business in our 
Keep?" 
.^ Not quite the ritual greeting of warrior to warrior\a151well, 1 
;;- can expect no better. Not hiding all my gold, even with the 
^ lir. Donal looked down upon Kaer. "My business is with my 
'i-.- kin, who shelter here. Sorcha, my meijha, and our children, 
H lan and Isolde. I am Donal, son of Duncan." 
Kaer's expression altered at once. Quickly he made the 
subtle hand gesture denoting acknowledgment of his rudeness; 
rarely did a warrior admit to such before another warrior, 
since Cheysuli were rarely rude, and so an apology was 
never spoken. The gesture was enough. 
"My lord Mujhar." He reached out to catch the stallion's 
reins. "I will escort you to the clan-leader at once." 
It was proper for a visiting warrior to meet first with me 
keep's clan-leader. Donal badly wanted to see Sorcha and the 
children, but he forced himself into patience as he dismounted, 
gave up the reins of his horse to Kaer and went with him 
across the Keep toward a rust-colored pavilion. On the side a 
yellow mountain cat was painted. 

Kaer paused, called for entrance, was granted it and pulled 
aside the flap. He spoke quietly to someone inside. A moment 
later he turned and gestured Donal within, then disappeared 
with the horse. Donal saw Taj light upon the ridgepole. 
Lorn flopped down beside the doorflap to exchange greetings 
with the sleek tawny mountain cat who sprawled upon a rug. 
Donat went in. A Cheysuli sat cross-legged before the 
small pavilion fire, but he rose fluidly as his guest slipped 
through the doorflap. He smiled. "Be welcome among us. 
Do you hunger, you will be fed. Be you weary, safe rest is 
yours." 
Donal felt the brief flicker of nostalgia rise up, tempered 
with a touch of sorrow. So many times, as a boy, he had 
heard his father say those traditional words to a stranger being 
welcomed into the Keep. And then Finn. Now they were said 
to him. 
"Cheysuli i'halla shansu" he returned. "I am Donal, son 
of Duncan and Alix. My meijha, Sorcha, is here." 
The yellow eyes flickered, then assessed him shrewdly, 
though the warrior's face remained bland. With a flash of 
insight Donal realized he would be judged more harshly by 
348 Jennifer Roberson 
his own race than by any Homanan, The Cheysuli had waited 
for four centuries for one of their own to regain the Lion. 
Now one has, but they do not know me as well as they 
would like to. 
The clan-leader nodded. "I am Tarn." He reached out to 
clasp Donal's arm in a gesture of welcome, then indicated the 
thick brown bear pelt spread by the fire- Donal sat down 
accordingly and accepted the cup of honey brew from Tarn's 
own hands. "I have heard of the war you wage against Osric 
of Atvia." Tam poured his own cup full and drank. 
Donal nodded, sipping at his portion. It was warm, rich 
and satisfying; he had drunk too much wine of late, and 
found he missed the traditional liquor of his race. "We have 
left warriors from my clan in Solinde, but I think the rebellion 
dies. Osric is slain now, and we will soon boast an 
additional five thousand soldiers from Ellas. The war should 
be over soon." He did not ask why Tarn had not sent 
warriors of his own; it was not the proper time- 
Tam nodded. "We are isolated here. But we hear many 
things. Such as Tynstar's death\a151and the rising power of his 
son." 
Donal slowly released a silent breath. "Strahan is yet a 
boy, but powerful. He has learned well from hisjehan. I do 
not doubt Valgaard will soon be inhabited again\a151if it is not 
already." 
"We have heard nothing of that." Tam set down his cup. 
"You have come to see your kin." 

Donal was relieved the casual talk was ended, "Aye. And 
to thank you for taking them in. But now I shall have them 
come home with me." 
"1\a151think not. Not all of them." Tarn's voice was steady. 
"Donal\a151it is unhappy news I bear. Shocking news, as well. 
1 wish there were another way\a151" He broke off. then said it 
plainly. "Sorcha has taken her life." 
Donal dropped the cup. It overturned against his knees, 
spilling hot liquor across the fabric of his breeches to soak 
into his skin. But he felt nothing. Nothing but total shock. 
"Sorcha?" he whispered. "Sorcha\a151? 
Tam nodded. "I sent a messenger to Homana-Mujhar, not 
knowing where you were." 
Donal stared blindly at the man. "I was\a151I was\a151" He 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
349 
stopped speaking. He could not form another word. All he 
could do was stare at the blurred face before his burning eyes. 
"Shansii," Tarn said compassionately. "It grieves me to 
give my Mujhar such news." 
"Suicide . . ." he whispered- "Oh\a151gods\a151no ... she 
has forfeited the afterworld\a151" 
"Aye." Tam would not meet Donal's eyes so as not to 
acknowledge a grief that should be private. 
"But\a151why? Why would Sorcha do such a thing?" 
Still Tarn avoided his eyes. "The women came and spoke 
to me and told me what Sorcha said before she did the 
unspeakable. It was\a151grief and anger and loss, the loss of the 
warrior with whom she had shared her life." 
"She had not lost me\a151" 
"It was anger, much anger, she told mem the Queen had 
sent her here. Banished your meijha, to keep her from your 
sight." Tarn's voice was carefully modulated; he would not 
be judge or arbiter, merely a spokesman for what had happened. 
"She told them she had lost you to the Homanans and 
to Homana's queen; mat you had turned your back on all your 
Cheysuli heritage." 
"Aistinn sent them here . . ." 
"That is what we were told. Sorcha and your children were 
banished here, never to go south of the Bluetoom." 
"But\a151suicide\a151" He could not conceive of me woman 
doing the unspeakable. 
"Sorcha was\a151half-mad with grief and anger. I spoke to 
her when she came. Donal\a151she could not face life without 
you. Sharing you was bad enough, she said; she could not 

bear losing you altogether. Not to the Homanans. And so she 
emptied her veins of blood." 
Donal stared blindly at the damp liquor stain on his breeches. 
She said she wished to, once. To be rid of the Homanan taint 
. . . Oh gods\a151Aislinn is no better than herjehana\a151 He shut 
his eyes. What am I to do? 
"I am sony." Tam said it gently, more gently man Donal 
expected; Sorcha was not deserving of compassion to a clanleader's 
way of thinking. She had done what was never to be 
done. "What will you do, my lord?" 
Donal heard the rank without surprise. Another time, he 
might have remarked upon it; Cheysuli rarely gave rank to 
350 Jennifer Roberson 
another man, and never to warriors other than the shar tahis 
and clan-leaders. 
But things are different, now. He looked levelly at Tarn. 
"I would like to see my children." ; 
"At once. Wait here\a151I will send them." Tarn rose and 4 
stepped outside, speaking quietly to someone. When the flap i 
was pulled aside again, Donal saw his son. 
lan came in silently and conducted himself with grave 
correctness, waiting for encouragement before he moved closer 
yet. He was four now, and Cheysuli pride was already apparent 
in every line of his slender body, from the lifted chin to 
the squared shoulders. He wore winter jerkin and leggings. 
/ wonder . . . will he find his lir as young as I did\a151? 
Then a woman came in with Isolde and he banished everything 
else from his mind. He took the girl from the woman's 
arms. When the woman went away again, he sat alone with 
his children. 
He snugged Isolde into his lap, settling her against his 
chest. She was just over a year now; he realized, with a sense 
of shock, he had lost too much time. Since Isolde's birth he 
had wed, gone to war, been held imprisoned for six months\a151 
too much, too much time. He cradled her silky-haired head in 
one hand and felt the uprush of grief and anger. 
Oh gods . . , oh gods . . . why do you do this to children? 
Why do you take so many people? From me ... and now 
from my children as well. Why do you do this to us? 
He held Isolde there against his chest, eyes closed, softly 
caressing her wispy raven curls- He felt a child himself, badly 
in need of comforting . . . but his jehana and meijha were 
dead. Even Finn, who might have mocked his grief\a151while 
understanding it better than most\a151could do nothing to help 
him now. 
Donal drew in a ragged breath. He looked over Isolde's 
head to the face of his son and saw a matching conflict there. 
lan was frightened, confused, lost. Badly in need of something 
he could easily comprehend. 

No different from myself . . . "She loved you." Donal 
knew perfectly well he broke Cheysuli custom by even discussing 
the emotion, but he did not care. Things were different 
now; he wore a sword at his side. "She loved you\a151and 
so do I." 
Tears welled up into the wide yellow eyes. Trembling, 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
351 
biting his lower lip, lan came forward and knelt at his father's 
side. His right hand hesitantly twined itself into the wide 
sword belt at Donal's waist; the other hastily wiped the fallen 
tears away. 
"Jehan," he began in a small, soft voice, "where do we 
go now?" 
Donal slid an arm around fan's slim shoulders.- Isolde, 
cuddled against him contentedly as a kitten, scratched at the 
nap of his velvet doublet. "We go to me place that will be 
your home." 
lan brightened. "The other Keep?" 
Donal stared into the beseeching eyes of his son and realized 
with a sickening wrench that a Cheysuli keep would 
never again be home to any of his children. His line, and 
theirs, would come to know only me walled palaces of kings- 
Already, it begins. He squeezed the boy's shoulders. "lan, 
you will go to the Keep and see your clan-mates as often as 
you wish. But you I will have by me." 
lan's fingers tightened on the sword belt. "Will she come 
back?" he whispered. "Jehana?" 
"No," Donal told him. "Jehana will never come back." 
Silently, his son's face crumpled, and he began to cry. 
EIGHT 
I
_n the bright, cool light of mid-moming three weeks later, 
Donal rode through the gates of Homana-Mujhar. Isolde he 
held in one arm. guiding the stallion with the other; lan sat 
perched behind him on the broad, smooth rump, clutching his 
father's sword belt. 
Donal was weary unto death. He had refused Tarn's offer 
of an escort with a woman to care for the children; in some 
strange, possessive way he felt it better he should tend to the 
children his meijha had borne him. And so he had ridden 

alone with his children and his lir and knew somehow it was 
best, 
He halted the stallion by the marble steps leading to the 
archivolted entrance. Lads came flying from the stables, all 
vying for the horse. They challenged one another for the 
loudest greeting, but fell silent soon enough when Donal did 
not answer, 
He swung one leg across the stallion's neck, turning in the 
saddle so he would not dislodge his son. Isolde was pressed 
against his chest. He steadied himself against the saddle, then 
offered an arm to lan. The boy slid off as well, clutching his 
father's hand. 
For a moment, Donal shut his eyes. He drew again on what 
little strength he had left. Then he ordered the horse put away 
and turned to climb the steps. 
"Jehan\a151" It was lan, moving closer to Donal's side. 
"This is Homana-Mujhar?" 
"Aye." The tone was flat. lifeless; he was too weary to 
352 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 353 
summon another. "Come up, lan\a151there will be time later for 
you to gape." 
He hardly saw the servants who bowed or curtseyed. He 
saw only endless corridors and marble pillars. And then he 
saw his sister. 
She ran. Both hands clutched at her skirts, pulling them 
nearly up to her knees as she hastened down the corridor. 
"Donal\a151is it trueT1 She stopped short in front of him, 
breathless. "He said Sorcha was dead ... he said he came 
from across the Bluetooth\a151" 
Black hair tangled on her shoulders. Donal thought she 
looked genuinely shocked. Well, she would be; she and 
Sorcha had been close. But looking at her, he remembered 
Strahan. He remembered how closely their blood was linked. 
Even as Aislinn's is linked. He placed his hand on lan's 
head. Then he summoned one of the women servants forward. 
"Take the children. See they are fed and given rest. 
They are weary. It has been a brutal journey." 
To his lir he said, Go to my chambers and wait. 
"Donal\a151" Bronwyn began, but he waved her into silence 
as the woman curtseyed and took Isolde from his arms. 
"Go with her, lan. See how your rujholla goes with her?" 
Without the weight in his arms. he felt empty. Isolde began 
to cry. "lan, do as I have said. And see to your rujholia." he 

gave lan a gentle push in the direction of the woman, then 
turned to face his sister. "Where is Aistinn?" 
Bronwyn reached out and caught me velvet of his doublet. 
"Donal\a151is it true?" 
"Where is Aislinn?" 
She stared up at him in perplexed disbelief. "Can you not 
answer my question? The warrior came down from the north 
bearing horrible news about how Sorcha had taken her life\a151 
can you not even tell me?" 
"She is dead." It hissed between his teeth. "Tell me 
where Aislinn isV He set her aside deliberately and started 
down the corridor. 
"Donal\a151wait\a151" Bronwyn hastened after him. The wind 
whipped from her passing cast shadows against the walls. 
"Donal\a151she is resting\a151" 
"Is she in her chambers?" 
Bronwyn caught his arm and tried to hold him back. "Aye, 
of course\a151she wearies quickly now the birth is only a month 
354 Jennifer Roberson 
away\a151rujho\a151wait . . . you are hardly back, and I heard 
how Strahan kept you prisoner. Donal\a151wait\a151" 
Again, he forcibly set her aside. 
"Donal," Bronwyn called, "what arc you going to do\a151?" 
He did not know. He thought Aislinn might give him the 
answer. 
He said nothing as he entered her chambers. He made no 
sound. He shut the door. Aislinn looked up and saw him, and 
terror was in her eyes. 
"Donal! Donal-\a151" She pushed herself more upright in the 
bed, scrabbling in satin pillows. "Donal\a151wait you\a151" 
Still he said nothing. He crossed the room to the bed and 
stood there, staring down upon her. She looked so young, so 
defenseless\a151 
\a151and so perfectly willing to drive Sorcha to her death. 
"D-Donal\a151!" 
"Should 1 trouble myself to listen to your lies?" 
She shook. Her lips were colorless. "I knew\a151/ knew\a151 
when the messenger came, 1 knew what you would think\a151" 
"You sent her there. You banished her from her home." 
He saw how her taut belly pushed against the linens of her 
nightshirt. "Did you think it would mean nothing to her to 
lose her home as well as me?" 
"Donal\a151I did not send her! She went of her own accord." 

"Do you say you did not meet with her?" 
"We met. We met\a151I called her to the palace. But I never 
sent her away. I merely warned her\a151" 
"Warned her about whatV 
"That I would never give you up." Tears ran freely down 
Aislinn's face. "Oh gods, all I did was say I would fight her 
for you. I never sent her away. Donal\a151I swear\a151" 
He bent over her and pressed her shoulders against the 
pillows. "\a151swear nothing! Let me see for myself instead." 
Her mouth shaped his name in a cry of terror, but by then 
he was in her mind. 
He felt the shock of the contact reverberate through her 
body. Her head pressed back against the satin, but her eyes 
were not closed. They stared at the timbers of the roof beams; 
blind, senseless eyes, filled with emptiness. 
Faintly, very faintly, he heard the protests from his distant 
lir, who knew very well what he did. And he deliberately 
ignored them. 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
355 
\a151barriers\a151 
Weak. Hardly enough to justify the name. There was no 
defense as there had been before; no effort to gainsay his 
entrance. He pushed against her barriers and felt them go 
down, collapsing, like a castle made of sand. 
\a151fear\a151 
That he could deal with easily. For the first time in his life 
he did not try to soothe her. He did not try to banish the fear 
from her mind. Instead, he intensified it, letting her see what 
he could do. 
Aislinn moaned. 
\a151a stirring in her mind\a151 
Donal smiled grimly. 
\a151retreat\a151 
Pursuit. 
He allowed his awareness to seek out her own, impinging 
itself upon her will, until she turned and ran from him. In his 
arms, limp and twitching, she was helpless; in her mind, 
chased by his will, she was even more so. 
Aislinn moaned. She spasmcd once, and was still. 
Beware the trap-link, even now\a151 He warded himself quickly 
with what skill he had, drawing in upon himself. He focused, 

focused, until he could stash through the web of deceit\a151 
\a151and then he found there was none. 
For a moment, he retreated. Then he touched her awareness 
again, probing it tentatively. He recalled how he had 
made contact with something before, something that had 
caused him to withdraw as quickly as he could. But this time, 
there was nothing. No shadow of a link. No trace of any 
meddling. Aislinn was simply Aislinn. 
\a151and nothing but innocence\a151 
He touched her emotions then. Fear was uppermost. But he 
caught also the last fading traces of love and trust, as though 
she knew, even as he forced her, he would never hurt her. 
But I have! 
Donal withdrew at once. He fell out of her mind and into 
his own, aware he had stolen will and wits from her. It was 
worse, far worse than what Finn had done in his testing. This 
time it had been much more. 
"Aislinn!" His hands still clasped her shoulders. She hung 
limply in his arms. But her eyes were open. And blank. 
356 Jennifer Roberson 
"Aislinn\a151come back\a151" He shook her. Oh gods\a151what have 
I done to her\a151? 
He heard, dimly, voices outside the door. Bronwyn, calling 
to ask him what was wrong. But he could not take time to 
answer. 
He pulled Aisluin against his chest, pressing her against it 
as if she were a child. "Aisfinn\a151Aislinn\a151oh gods, do you 
hear me? Aislinn\a151/ was wrong\a151 ' 
Her belly moved- He felt it. It spasmed against his own. In 
horror, he realized he had brought on her labor too soon. . 
Carefully, so carefully, he lay her down against the bed. 
Still her eyes stared blankly at the roof beams. Donal felt bile 
rise up to fill his mouth, and turned to flee the room. 
Bronwyn stood in the open doorway, one hand pressed 
against her mouth. Behind her stood several others; faces he 
knew but could not name. 
He stopped. He stared at them. And then, as Aislinn cried 
out in pain, he pushed through them all and ran. 
\a151and ran, until he burst through the hammered silver 
doors and nearly fell into the Great Hall. 
It was empty. Sunlight slanted through the stained glass 
casements and cast their shapes upon the floor, all tales of 
Homanan lore. That, and Cheysuli history. But Donal hardly 
saw them, 
Instead, he saw the Lion, It crouched upon the dais as if it 
stalked him, hunching in long grass. But there was no grass, 

only the cold heart of rose-red stone and the ivory, goldveined 
marble dais. The Lion was brown and gilt and gold; 
its shape was static, trapped in aging wood. But Donal could 
almost see it beckon. 
Slowly, he walked the length of the hall. He was surrounded 
by ornaments of the past, relics other men kept to 
remind themselves of what they once had been. Tapestries 
worked by their women to show their feats of strength and 
glory. Weapons hung up upon the stone, stained dark with 
forgotten blood. Banners, some faded to dreary monotones; 
keepsakes of ancient wars. But even without them, even 
without the banners, weapons and tapestries, and the glowing, 
brilliant casements, there was yet another monument to 
the men who had lived before. 
And its name is Homana-Mujhar. 
Donal stopped before the dais. In the dim, pink light of 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
357 
mid-moming in the hall, he looked upon the Lion. And felt 
old. Old and wrong. 
He sat down. But not upon the throne. Instead, he turned 
his back on the silent Lion and settled upon the dais. He 
stared into the firepit, empty of coals or logs. 
He thought of going to his chambers, but he could not face 
his lir. Even in their silence, Taj and Lorn would make him 
confront the truth. And so he faced the guilt alone. 
His eyes burned. His throat was raw. His chest was heavy 
with the weight of what he had done. He waited for someone 
to come. 
\a151to tell me she is dead\a151 
But he was not expecting Evan. 
He heard the footsteps. He did not look up. He stared 
blindly at the fabric of his breeches stretched over his doubled 
knees. He sat with elbows in his lap; hands dangled between 
his thighs, hair falling into his face. 
Evan walked the length of the hall until he reached the 
dais. After a moment's hesitation, he joined him on the 
smooth, cool marble. "Is there anything I can do?" 
"No." He hardly knew his own voice. "1 think / have 
done enough." 
Evan sighed. For the briefest moment their shared silence 
was almost companionable, lacking the tension of knowledge. 
"I arrived a week ago. There was no need for me to 
stay\a151the war with Atvia is over." He shifted his seat upon 
the stone. "When you slew Osric, you took the heart from 
them. Two days after you left, the Atvians sent an envoy to 
our camp, offering their surrender." 

"That is something." Donal ran a hand through his hair 
and stripped it from his face. "Evan\a151" 
"Alaric, I think, will also offer fealty," Evan went on, 
"but\a151he is home in Atvia, fighting Shea of Erinn over a 
silly, pompous title: Lord of the Idrian Isles." His tone was 
underscored with contempt. "Still, I think he will come. I 
think he will ask alliance." Again, he shifted on the dais. 
"Rowan has gone on to Solinde. The rebellion there is nearly 
finished; he should be home in a month or two, with words of 
victory. I do not know why those fools still fight. . . . They 
lack Tynstar now. Their cause is no better than it was before. 
They should give up." 
"They want freedom from Homana," Donal said dully. "I 
358 Jennifer Roberson 
might be moved to give it to them\a151except Carillon was the 
one who won the realm, and I cannot let go of what he has 
held. Not if I wish to keep the Homanans satisfied." He 
sighed. "If I could know Solinde would never again invade 
Homana\a151" He shook his head. "But I cannot. Not yet. 
Perhaps\a151someday.'' 
"Perhaps. After more wars." 
Donal thought of the battles he had seen. He thought of 
how he had slain Osric in retribution for Carillon's death, and 
because Finn had asked it. He had been proud to know that 
he had accomplished the task his uncle had set him; now, 
seated on cool, hard marble with the Lion crouching behind 
him, he could think only of the young woman. Carillon's 
daughter, whom he had effectively slain. 
He shut his eyes. "You know what I have done." 
"I know what you have done." 
"And will you curse me for it? I know the others will. The 
Homanans\a151" He broke off- "Gods\a151they have every right. 
I nearly slew me Queen. And if I am exceedingly fortunate, this 
will not begin a war." 
"Aye," Evan agreed. Then, gently, "How could you 
think it of her, Donal? Aislinn is not the enemy." 
"Not the enemy, no; me victim. Sorcha's victim, as much 
as Sorcha was victim herself." He buried his head in his 
hands, pressing his forehead. "Oh, gods\a151how can I believe 
it? Sorcha\a151gone . . . and making Aislinn look so guilty!" 
"She must have been very unhappy. To love you so much 
and yet hate you so much\a151" 
"Hate me?" Donal's head snapped up. "It was Aislinn she 
hated, and the Homanans." 
"And you. For leaving her, even briefly." Evan shook his 
head. "I never knew her. I cannot explain much about her, 
except to say that there are women\a151and men\a151whose affection 
becomes obsession." 

"She said I would turn away from the clans. Turn away 
from our customs. Seek instead the Homanan way of living." 
"And you did." Evan put up a silencing hand. "No, / 
know you did not\a151but it probably appeared so to her. You 
were gone for months on end. You wed Aislinn, then went 
away to war. Returned long enough to get a child on your 
Homanan wife, then got captured by the Ihlini. Sorcha met 
with Aislinn, as Rowan said, and undoubtedly the discussion 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
359 
was\a151heated. Aislinn has a powerful pride. No doubt Sorcha 
thought she had lost you for good, and to the Homanans. And 
so she went away, intending to take her own life, but intending 
also to make it look as if Aislinn had driven her to it." 
"And succeeded." He dug fingers into his hair. "Evan\a151" 
He broke it off. Meghan had come into the hall. 
"Donal?" Her call echoed in the timbers. "Donal?" 
She comes with news of Aislinn\a151 Donal shut his eyes. 
"Aye?" he said. "Meghan\a151I am here." 
She picked up her skirts and hastened toward the dais. 
"Donal\a151you have a son!" 
He stared at her as she arrived before them both, a little 
breathless; gods knew how long she had been looking for 
him. "A son?" 
Tawny hair tumbled over her shoulders. "A healthy son, 
Donal. She has given you an heir." 
He felt the guilt rise up to stab him in the belly. "Aislinn?" 
he asked hoarsely. 
Meghan raked a hand through her shining hair. "She is\a151 
very weak. Donal . . . you had best go to her." 
He felt cold, cold and empty, sucked dry of all but the 
knowledge of his guilt. Slowly he pushed himself to his feet. 
"Aye ... 1 will go." 
When at last he looked upon his wife, he saw a child in the 
bed; a child whose glorious hair spread across the pillows in 
rich red disarray. Her fair skin was whiter still with the waxy 
look of the ill. Gold-tipped lashes lay against the dark circles 
beneath her eyes. The bedclothes were pulled up under her 
chin, but one arm lay across the coverlet, blue-veined against 
me fairness of her flesh, 
Oh gods, what have 1 done to her? How could you let me 
do it? But he knew, even as he asked it, the question was 
unfair. He had only himself to blame, 
Donal sat down on the edge of her bed. He was alone with 
her, having dismissed her women, and now all he wanted was 
to see her looking at him from her great gray, shining eyes. 

Electro's eyes\a151 Abruptly he shook his head. No, her own. 
I am done laying Electro's machinations at the feet of her 
innocent daughter. 
He smoothed the strands of fine hair back from her brow. 
He traced the winged line of her eyebrows and the cool silk 
360 Jennifer Roberson 
of her eyelids. "Aislinn," he said. "She was all 1 ever 
wanted. A Cheysuli warrior may take as many women as he 
chooses, providing the women are willing, but for me\a151for 
me it was always Sorcha. Ever since we were young." He 
looked down on her pale, still face. "You yourself are so 
young\a151you cannot know what it is to love someone from 
childhood\a151" He broke it off. By all the gods!\a151I wrong her 
again, as I have wronged her all along. I pride myself on 
knowing I have loved Sorcha all these years\a151and all the 
while I was no younger than Aislinn is now when I knew what 
Sorcha meant to me. She bore me a child when she was not 
so much younger than Aislinn is now. Gods\a151I have been 
such a selfish brute\a151 
He clasped her hand in his. Then, slowly, he slid off the 
bed and knelt beside it, setting his forehead against the silk of 
the counterpane. 
He sent the call winging deep into the earth, praying the 
magic would answer him though he had already used it 
wrongly. He could not afford another mistake. Not with her 
life at stake. 
Donal drifted. He felt the wispy, tensile strength of the 
magic in the earth. He abased himself before it, admitting 
freely his guilt. He did not hide what he had done. He opened 
himself up to the omniscience of the earth and let it see what 
manner of man he was. 
And at last, when he thought it would not answer, the 
power flowed up from the earth to bathe Aislinn in its magic. 
When Aislinn roused, moving beneath the bedclothes like a 
fretful child, he released her fingers and rose. He put out his 
hand and caught the nearest bedpost to steady himself; he was 
dizzy, disoriented. The healing should not have been done 
alone. He had nearly lost himself within the overwhelming 
power of the magic, and he still trembled from the knowledge. 
But he felt the risk worth it; after what he done to her, 
it was time he did something/or her. 
But Aislinn stared up at him in astonishment. "No," she 
whispered, clearly terrified. "Oh, gods . . . no\a151" 
"It heals," he said hoarsely, "All it does is heal. I promise 
you that\a151" 
"Promise me? You will slay me!" Her eyes were blackened 
by fear. "As you sought to slay me before\a151" 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 361 
"No." He said it as clearly as he could, but his mouth did 
not work properly. He felt his knees buckle and clung desper

ately to the bedpost, sliding slowly to the floor. "1 sought\a151 
sought only to know the truth. ... I would not have slain 
you\a151I swear\a151" 
Aislinn stared at him like a doe cornered by the huntsman. 
Red-gold hair tumbled over her shoulders; her mouth trembled. 
"I loved you," she said. "I loved you all my life. 
But\a151you already had her." Color crept into her waxen 
cheeks. "It was you I wanted, Donal\a151ever since I was a 
child. And\a151I wanted to bear children for you, as many as I 
could\a151but even that she had already given you'" One shaking 
hand was touched to her mouth as if she sought to halt her 
words, but she iet them spill out with a ragged dignity. 
"There was no gift left J could give you that she had not 
already given\a151no gift at ail ... oh aye, I wanted her 
gone\a151I wanted her gone from here\\ But I swear I did not 
send her. Donal, 1 did notV 
"I know." He held himself up against the post. "I know 
it, Aislinn\a151" 
"What have you done to me?" Tears spilled down her 
face. "What have you done to me?" 
"Healing," he mumbled, "only healing. I want you strong 
again." 
She recoiled utterly. "Why? So you may send me away as 
my father sent my mother?" 
Donal felt his last reserve crumble. All the savage grief he 
had tried to suppress surged up into his chest until he nearly 
choked on it. He took handfuls of the silken counterpane, 
clenched it tightly in white-knuckled fists and wept. "i have 
no one." It hissed through a throat nearly sealed by grief. "/ 
have no one left at all\a151" he closed his eyes "\a151except for 
you." 
Aislinn said nothing at alt. 
"Tahlmorra," he said thickly. "All of it\a151" And he put 
his face down against the bed and knelt before her, a supplicant 
to the gods. 
Aislinn's breath was audible. ' 'Do you expect forgiveness?'' 
He heard the savagery in her tone. "No," he said, but the 
word was muffled against the bed. 
"Then what do you want from me?" 
He lifted his head and saw her face. The deathbed pallor 
362 Jennifer Roberson 
was replaced by an angry flush high in her cheeks. Her 
emotion-darkened eyes glittered balefully. 
"1 want you to live," he told her plainly. "I ask for 
nothing from you save that." 
"Why? So you may hurt me again?" Her hand shook as 
she touched her breast. "So you may hurt my heart again?" 

Her broken, vulnerable tone broke the final barriers against 
emotion. "What promises can I make you?" he asked in 
desperation. "What words would you have me say? After all 
I have done to you, do you expect me to change with a wave 
of a hand?" He felt bitterness in his mouth. "Would you 
wish to have me beg? I will do it.'' 
"Beg me?" She stared. 
He shut his eyes. "Tell me what you want." 
She swallowed heavily. "Once\a151I wanted your love. But 
that was too much to ask ... you had given it to her.'' Tears 
ran down her face. One shaking hand tried to hide the quivering 
of her mouth. "I only\a151I only wanted a chance\a151a 
chance to know what it was\a151'' 
He could not answer her. He could only shut his eyes and 
put his head down on the bed again. 
"You do not love me." The intonation was precise, as if 
she wished to make >t clear. 
He looked at her sharply, fearing she sickened again. But 
he saw high color in her face and a startled recognition in her 
eyes. "You do not love me," she repeated, with wonder in 
her voice, "but you need me. You need me." 
The breath slipped out of his throat. "I need you," he 
admitted. "By all the gods, I do." 
Aislinn stared at him a long moment, all manner of emotion 
in her face. He saw anger and pain and grief and regret, 
but he also saw something else. Something akin to possessiveness. 
"Well," she said in an intense, peculiar triumph, "perhaps 
that will be enough." 
NINE 
E
<van raised his goblet. "To Niall, the Prince of Homana. 
Four weeks old and thriving." 
Donal smiled. He brought up his goblet to clash against 
Evan's, then drank down a swallow of wine. 
They sat over their cups in Donal's private solar. Sunlight 
spilled through the casements. Evan sat slumped deeply in a 
chair; Donal stretched out on a snow bear pelt with Lorn 
collapsed against his side. Taj perched on a chairback- 
Evan put up his feet on a three-legged stool. "What will 
you do about Strahan?" 

Donal scowled into his cup of wine. "What can I do? He 
is Ihlini\a151he has what freedom he can steal." 
"Could you not set a trap for him?" 
"He has gone underground. There is no word of him. He 
could be in Valgaard by now, high in the Molon Mountains. 
He could be in Solinde, sheltered by those who still serve the 
Ihtini. He could be almost anywhere, Evan\a151there is nothing I 
can do. Except wait." And the gods know I will do that, no 
matter how long it takes. 
Evan sighed and swirled his wine, "I know, I know\a151but 
it seems so futile to do nothing. You know he will do what he 
can to throw you down from the throne." 
"He is a boy," Dona! said. "I discount neither his power 
nor his heritage\a151but he is a boy. I think it likely he will wait 
until he grows older, old enough to inspire trust in other men. 
Oh, he will lead the Ihlini on the strength of his blood 
363 
364 Jennifer Roberson 
alone\a151but how many others will follow? I think he will play 
at patience." 
"Donal?" It was Aislinn, standing in the open doorway. 
"A messenger has just come with word from Alaric of Atvia. 
It seems he is in Mujhara, intending to see you." 
Donal pressed himself upright. "Alaric is hereT' 
Evan nodded. "I said he would come, did I not? He will 
offer fealty, does he have any sense at all." 
Aislinn, hair braided and threaded with silver cord, pulled 
her pale green mantle more closely about her shoulders. 
"Shall we have his baggage moved into the palace?" 
Donal, frowning, nodded. "Aye. It would transgress all 
decency did we leave him at an inn. Aye, send servants for 
his baggage. Gods!\a151I need a bath!" 
Evan laughed. "Let him see you as you are." 
Donal, draining the rest of his wine, cast Evan a sour 
glance. "I intend to\a151but I also intend to show him what 
courtesy 1 can muster . . . can I muster any." He turned to 
leave the room. *' Aislinn\a151have Torvald set out fresh clothing. *' 
"Aye," she said. "Cheysuli or Homanan?" 
He stopped in the doorway. She faced him squarely, exhibiting 
no fear. What had passed between them after the healing 
had fashioned her into another woman. 
One I do not know. "Which would you say is more fitting 
to receive a man who was once an enemy?" 
Aislinn smiled. "The shapechanger, my lord. How can 
you consider anything else?" 

Donal received Alaric in the Great Hall. ensconced in the 
Lion Throne. He had put on blue-dyed Cheysuli leathers and 
a torque of gold around his throat to match his heavy belt. To 
Ataric, he did not doubt, he would resemble nothing more 
than a crude barbarian. Which was precisely what he desired. 
So I may lull him into carelessness? On the throne, Donal 
smiled. 
Alaric was nothing like his brother. His height was average, 
no better; hair and eyes were dark brown. He dressed 
well but conservatively, in black breeches and velvet doublet, 
showing no ornamentation other man a silver ring set with 
black stone on one hand and a narrow chain of office\a151also 
silver\a151around his shoulders. He was accompanied by five 
Atvian nobles, all dressed more richly than himself, but none 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 365 
F
E
i
I
of them claimed the same intensity or the air of absolute 
command Alaric held even in silence. 
Donal considered the formal greetings he had learned. He 
discarded them all at once. He disliked Alaric instantly; he 
disliked diplomacy even more. 
He waited. 
Alaric stood before the dais. He inclined his head a trifle. 
"My lord\a151I have come to offer fealty\a151and to tender an 
alliance." 
"Why?" Donal asked. 
A minute frown twitched the arched eyebrows. But Alaric's 
face retained its bland, cool expression. "Plainly, my lord, 
you have overcome my realm. My brother is slain and I am 
Lord of Atvia in his place . . . but I do recognize the virtue in 
admitting our defeat. You have\a151quite effectively proved 
your competence as a king." 
Donal regarded him appraisingly. "Have I? Enough to 
keep you from our borders forever?\a151or only until you rally 
an army again?" 
A muscle jumped in Alaric's shaven face. "A king does 
not offer fealty to another unless he intends to honor it, my 
lord." 
"Usually." Donal relaxed in the Lion. "Not always, but\a151" 
He waved a hand. "Enough of mis- You offer fealty, which 
you owe me, and an alliance, which undoubtedly you need 
more than I do," 
Alaric's mouth was tight. "Aye, my lord\a151like you, I do 
not doubt it." 

Donal studied him. He knew instinctively Alaric was more 
than a competent warrior. He was also a strategist. A diplomat. 
He would give up much to gain more. But what does he 
want? And what will he give up in order to get it? He 
gestured idly. "Once before you came here. To Carillon, 
after he slew Thorne, your jehan. Then, you said Atvia 
would offer fealty to no foreign king." 
Alaric inclined his head. "I was a boy then. I am a man 
now\a151and king in my brother's place\a151and I must do what is 
best for my realm." 
"Your fealty I will have\a151you can hardly refuse me now\a151 
but the alliance I must consider. What do you offer me?" 
Alaric gestured eloquently. "My brother died without heirs. 
He had two sons, but both are dead of fever. I myself am 
366 Jennifer Roberson 
unmarried, without legitimate heirs. What I offer Homana is 
quite simple: myself. And a binding peace between our realms 
when children are born of this match." 
Donal frowned. "You wish to wed a Homanan woman?" 
"No. I wish to wed your sister." 
Donal's hands spasmed against me clawed armrests of the 
throne. "You wish to wed with Bronwyn?" 
"Aye, my lord. If that is her name." Alaric did not smile. 
Gods . . . he cannot mean it\\ But he knew Alaric did. 
When he could, he asked a single question. "Why?" 
Alaric's smile was very slight. "My lord, I have said\a151to 
settle a peace between our lands." 
"What elsef We can make a peace without wedding my 
rujholla to you." 
"Perhaps." Alaric's tone was negligent. "Perhaps not. 
But consider it in this light, if you will: a princess of Homana\a151 
though she be Cheysuli\a151is wed to the Lord of Atvia- From 
that union, provided the gods see fit to bless it, will come 
children. Sons, of course. And the eldest to rule in my place 
when 1 am dead." Alaric gestured idly. "He would be your 
nephew, my lord Mujhar\a151and never an enemy. How better 
to insure peace between our realms?" 
"How better for you to make yourself a claimant for the 
Lion!" Donal's fist smacked down on the throne. "Do not 
play me for a fool, Atvian\a151I am no courtier with silken 
tongue and oiled palms, but\a151by the gods!\a151neither am I 
blind. You desire peace between our realms? Then keep your 
armies from my borders'" 
Alaric's dark brown eyes glittered, but only a little. He 
kept himself under control. "But of course, my lord\a151I had 
intended to. And yet\a151it seemed such a perfect way to link 
our realms. As for me desiring to claim the Lion Throne, I 

say no. Of course not. Do you not have a legitimate heir?" 
Donal smiled thinly. "Aye, my lord, 1 do." 
"Then the continuance of your House is certainly insured." 
Alaric smiled- "I offer this alliance because I desire to insure 
the continuation of my House. And nothing more." 
"Nothing more?" 
"Perhaps support against Shea of Erinn." 
Donal sat back again, conforming his back to the crimson 
cushion. "What quarrel have you with Shea?" 
"He has usurped my brother's title: Lord of the Idrian 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 367 
Isles. It was my father's. It was his father's. Shea claimed it 
when Osric died." Alaric shrugged. "I want it back." 
Donal frowned- "With Homanan help? Why should I offer 
that? Homana has no quarrel with Erinn." 
"No- Nor do I wish to begin one." Alaric spread his 
hands. "Mere word of this marriage would send Shea back 
behind the walls of Kilore and keep him from my shores until 
I can regroup my demoralized army\a151demoralized because of 
my brother's death. I would not ask men of you, my lord, 
merely me appearance of support. It would be more than 
enough." 
Donal frowned at the toes of his soft leather boots. "1 
cannot see a single sound reason for agreeing to this. It gets 
Homana nothing. You say it gets us peace, but that we should 
have anyway. We have defeated you." 
Alaric shrugged. "And eventually the Atvian throne. Your 
nephew will be my heir. There will be Cheysuli princes in 
Atvia-" 
Donal shrugged- "I am not so certain that would serve 
anything\a151" Abruptly, he stopped speaking. His belly turned 
in upon itself. By the gods\a151it is the prophecy . . . even from 
the mouth of the enemy! He stared at Alaric in shock. Four 
warring realms\a151 
He pushed himself back in me throne before he could 
display his shock to the Atvian. The pattern lay before him as 
clearly as if Evan had thrown it himself. If I wed Bronwyn to 
him. her son will have the throne. Cheysuli in Atvia. Adding 
one more realm to the prophecy. By the gods, it will come 
true! 
Bronwyn in Ativa. No, he could not see it. She would 
never agree. The Cheysuli did not barter women or use them 
for sealing alliances, 
And yet, things changed. So many things had to change- 
His own mother had told him how Finn had stolen her from 
the Homanans because for years the Cheysuli had needed to 
steal Homanan women, to strengthen the clan again. It was 

alien to him, but no less alien than the thought of wedding his 
sister to Alaric. 
If I do it\a151if I do it\a151Bronwyn would never forgive me\a151 
Alaric still watched silently, all politeness, waiting for an 
answer. He was like a cat ready to spring, elegant in his 
readiness; Donal did not like him. He did not like him at all. 
368 Jennifer Roberson 
Give my rujholla to this ku'reshtin of Atvia? 
And yet, if he did not and it was part of the prophecy\a151 
/ w(7/ not decide this now. There is no need to decide this 
now\a151 He steadied his breathing with effort- And then, as he 
prepared to give Alaric a diplomatic reason to delay the 
expected answer, he realized with blinding clarity the marriage 
could never take place. Even if the prophecy demanded 
it. 
Slowly, Donal sat back. "You arc guests of Homana," he 
said evenly. "Cheysuli i'holla shansu." But he knew he did 
not mean it. 
Alaric frowned as Donal moved to rise. "My lord\a151your 
answer? May I know when you will give it?" 
Donal stood. "I give it now," he said. "My rujholla may 
never marry." 
Bronwyn, whom he tracked down in Aislinn's solar, looked 
on in silence as he banished everyone from the chamber save 
herself. She stood before an open casement with light falling 
on her shoulders. She wore a simple indigo gown embroidered 
with interlocking leaves in silver thread. He looked at 
her silently, wondering when she had grown up. She had 
done it without his knowledge; he clearly recalled her girlish 
laughter at his wedding; her tomboyish way at the Keep. Now 
she was a woman. Only sixteen and still young, but there was 
a new maturity in her eyes and grace to her movements. 
He gestured her to sit down upon a stool even as he himself 
did. "A man is here," he said. "He has come to Homana- 
Mujhar because he wishes to wed the Mujhar's rujholla." 
Color blossomed in her cheeks. "Wed me?" 
"Aye. He offers you the chance to be a queen." 
"Queen'" Bronwyn was clearly shocked. "Who would 
wish me to be his queen?" 
"Alaric of Atvia." 
Bronwyn shot to her feet. "Alaric of Atvia\\" 
Donal rose slowly. He heard the horror in her tone. As least 
I may save her that. "Bronwyn\a151Bronwyn, you do not have 
to wed him. I promise you that. Do not think I will send you 
away." 
She shut her eyes. A breath of relief hissed out of her 
mouth. "Thank the gods\a151thank the gods\a1511 thought it might 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 369 
be a political thing\a151" She shuddered. "There are dangers in 
being rujholla to the Mujhar." 

"It would be a political thing," Donal pointed out. "Alaric 
offers alliance to Homana. It would also be a dynastic thing, 
binding the realms together." 
She understood him perfectly. "It\a151seems to be sound 
reasoning\a151to bind the realms together." Her tone was very 
Hat. 
"Bronwyn, you need fear nothing. There can be no royal 
marriage. There can be no marriage at all." 
"Not with Alaric." Relief put life back into her tone. "But 
someday\a151" 
"No." He said it plainly, wishing to have it done with. 
"Bronwyn, you will never be able to marry." 
She stared. "Have you gone mad? Of course I will many! 
What would keep me from it?" 
"I would." He said it flatly. "I have no other choice." 
She laughed. The tone was incredulous and perplexed, 
"You have gone mad. Donal . . . what are you saying?" 
He reached out and caught her shoulders. "That because of 
the blood in you, I can never let you wed- You can never 
bear any children." 
She went stiff in his hands. He felt the convulsive shiver 
that shook her limbs. She tore herself from his grasp- "You 
are mad\a151you are mad\a151how can you say such things? How 
can you tell me this?" Slowly she shook her head. "Do you 
think my children would threaten the throne? By the gods, 
Donal\a151I am your rujholla! Our jehana bore us both! Our 
jehan\a151" 
"\a151sired only me." He saw the spasm in her face. "Gods, 
Bronwyn, I wish I could spare you this. I wish it were not 
true. But\a151when you say I fear your children may threaten 
the throne\a151you may have the right of it 1 cannot shut my 
eyes to the possibility." 
Her eyes were fixed on his face. "You said\a151you said we 
do not share a jehan\a151" 
"No. Another man sired you." 
"Who?" she demanded. "Gods, rujho, I beg you who I 
am\a151" 
He felt the tightness his throat. "You are Tynstar's 
daughter." 
Silence. Bronwyn stared. He could not look away. 
370 Jennifer Roberson 
"Oh\a151" she said. "Oh\a151oh\a151no\a151" 
"Aye," he told her gently, and reached out to steady her. 
Slowly he guided her to the stool and made her sit down 
again. "Bronwyn, you are still my rujholla, still owjehaiw's 

daughter. Almost half Cheysuli, and bloodkin to the clan. It 
changes nothing. It changes nothing." 
"It changes everything." The words were dead in her 
mouth. 
"No, Bronwyn, it does not. Do you think I will send you 
away? There is too much blood between us\a151" 
"\a151too much spilled blood between us." She looked up 
blankly to meet his gaze. "Why was I never told?" 
"There was no reason for for it. You were raised Cheysuli\a151 
it was hoped you would never show Tynstar's power. And\a151 
unless you have purposely hidden it\a151you never have." 
Trembling, she touched the vicinity of her heart. "I have 
ever felt Cheysuli . . - Cheysuli and Homanan." 
"You are both. You are. But\a151there is also Ihlini in you." 
"How\a151?" 
Donal sat down again. "You have heard how Tynstar had 
our jehana taken to Valgaard- I was just a boy. He wanted 
me as well, but I managed to escape." He looked down at 
her shaking hands as she clutched them in her lap, "He kept 
ourjehana captive. And while she was there\a151" 
"\a151he raped her?" Bronwyn shuddered. "Gods, oh gods\a151it 
makes me feel so dirty\a151" 
"Nol" He reached out and caught her hands. "It has 
nothing to do with you." 
"But I do not feel Ihlini!" she cried. "How do you know 
it is true?" 
He put out his arms as she slid off the stool to kneel on the 
floor. He soothed her head against his shoulder, as if she 
were Isolde requiring special comfort. One arm slid around 
her shoulders. He held her close, knowing he could never 
share her grief. 
A woman told she cannot bear a child\a151 He shut his eyes. 
He whispered inanities. 
Bronwyn clutched at his leather jerkin. "I begin to see\a151all 
the times I sensed a barrier between us ... something keeping 
us apart. That was it, was it not? The knowledge I was 
Tynstar's daughter?" 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
371 
"Oh rujholla, I would do anything to lift this grief from 
you." 
"Jehana never said. Never did she say\a151" 
"She told it to no one. Only a few of us knew, and none of 
us ever spoke of it to others.*' 

"Why did you let me live?" The question was hardly a 
sound. 
"Bronwyn! Oh, gods, Bronwyn\a151do you think we would 
ever desire to have you slain? What do you think we are?" 
"You are Cheysuli. And\a151I am the enemy." 
"No enemy. No enemy!" And yet he recalled all the times 
he had watched her, wondering, and felt the guilt in his soul. 
Not an intentional enemy. 
"But you will never let me wed." The tears welled up 
again. "Do you distrust me so much? Do you think I will 
work against you? Do you think I would ever aid the boy who 
slew our su'faliT' Bronwyn shook her head. "Gods, Donal\a151I 
would never do such a thing! You know I would not. We are 
kin. There is blood between us." 
"There is blood between you and Strahan." He shook his 
head. "It is not you I do not trust\a151it is how your power 
might be used. By another, if not by you." 
"Power!" she shook her head. "I have no power, Donal. I 
would know it. I swear\a151I would know it. There is nothing in 
me. Do you think I would not know?" 
"Bronwyn\a151" 
"Then test me." She rose and stood before him. "Test 
me, Donal! See if there is power.'' 
He shook his head. "Bronwyn, I could not\a151" 
"You did it to Aislinn!" she snapped. 
"And I nearly slew her! Gods, Bronwyn, have sense\\ Do 
you think I wish to harm you?" 
"You harm me now," she said. "You tell me I cannot 
wed, cannot bear children\a151you name me Tynstar's daughter. 
How can I live with that? You have given me a life of 
emptiness!" 
He could not answer. He had no answer for her. 
"Donal," she said, "I beg you." 
He threaded his fingers into hers and pulled her down to 
kneel against the tapestry rug. He looked into her eyes. "Do I 
do this\a151do I test you, and learn you are Ihlini . . . you must 
promise never to wed. Never to bear a child." 
372 Jennifer Roberson 
Bronwyn shut her eyes. "Ja'hcd-na," she said. "Accepted." 
Tentatively, he parted the curtain of her awareness. He 
slid through, hardly disturbing the threads of his sister's 
consciousness. What she felt he could not say; what he felt 
was a sudden unexpected communion that nearly threw him 
out of the link. It had been different with Aislinn, who had 
received him unwillingly. What he had done to her was little 
different from rape. But Bronwyn understood. Bronwyn de

sired his presence. She welcomed him willingly, but he sensed 
a trace of fear. She was not certain what he would find. 
Gently. Gently. He left no residue of his passing. 
The barriers went down. 
In the web of her consciousness he saw the junctions of 
inner knowledge that buried itself so deeply. He allowed his 
own awareness to expand, touching the junctions carefully. 
He feared no trap-link in his sister, but it was possible that 
Ihiini were born with warding powers. That somehow, unconsciously, 
she would move to throw him back. 
But she did not. He sensed only complete acceptance; a 
trust that nearly unmanned him. She had seen what he did to 
Aislinn, yet she did not fear the same for herself. 
Gently, he expanded his awareness. And her own surged 
up to meet him. 
Patterns linked. Meshed. Knotted. Everything fell into place. 
He knew, without a doubt, Duncan had sired them both. 
Bronwyn sagged. He caught her against his chest and stood 
up, holding her on her feet. Gently, he said her name, until 
she opened her eyes. She was dazed, clearly disoriented. But 
sense moved into her eyes. 
"Rujho?" 
He hugged her as hard as he dared. "Rujho, aye\a151there is 
no Ihiini in you." He felt the tears in his eyes. All those 
years, all those years . . . oh rujholla, how we all have 
wronged you\a151 
Bronwyn's laughter was little more than a breath of sound. 
"It was worth it, rujho ... oh, it was! To know I am not 
that demon's daughter!" She hugged him, laughing against 
his chest. But then she went stiff in his arms. "Gods\a151oh 
gods\a151there was the boy! He told me the truth\a151" 
Donal drew back. "Bronwyn\a151" 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 373 
Her hand was at her mouth. "He said\a151oh, I recall it so 
welt! We sat outside su'fali's pavilion while he tested Aislinn. 
He showed me those runes\a151he asked me to try my own\a151'' 
Her breath was harsh in her throat. "None of this was 
necessary! Sef gave me the answer then." 
"Sef! What answer could he give\a151" And then he recalled 
it also. How he had seen them kneeling in the dust, drawing 
foreign runes. 
Bronwyn nodded. "Something he said made no sense. I 
thought nothing of it. But\a151he said I was not who you 
thought I was.*' She frowned, shaking her head. "It made no 
sense: You are not the woman your brother thinks you are." 
She clutched at his shoulders. "Oh gods, Donal\a151he knew\a151he 
knew I was not Ihiini!" 

"He tested you." The words were bitter in his mouth, 
"Even as Finn tested Aislinn, Strahan tested you." 
Bronwyn shuddered. "How could I have been such a 
fool\a151?" 
"No more so than any of us." Donal loosened his arms 
and turned her toward the door. "1 am no less glad than you 
are to have it settled at last. But we have no more time for it 
now, either of us. Bathe and dress yourself as fits a princess, 
Bronwyn\a151we feast the Atvian tonight." 
Bronwyn made a face. "Could I not plead sickness? I 
would rather not see this man who thought I would wed 
him." 
"Let him see you\a151to know what he has lost." 
She laughed. But then she frowned. "But I have nothing to 
wear!" 
Donal merely sighed. 
TEN 
D, 
•onal saw Alaric's amazement when first he set eyes on 
Bronwyn. Undoubtedly he had prepared himself to charm a 
barbaric CheysuH woman who hardly understood the niceties 
of courtship. Instead, he saw a lovely young woman in 
copper-colored silk with her heavy hair bound up in a mass of 
looped, shining braids pinned against her head with gold. 
Garnets glittered at' ears and throat; a matching girdle of tiny 
bells dripped down her heavy skirts. 
Donal realized, as he watched her, she knew precisely 
what she was about. He smiled inwardly. Does my young 
rujholia play at being a woman? Well\a151perhaps she should. 
No longer is she a girl. 
Bronwyn, during the feast in the Great Hall, was seated 
next to Alaric. Donal, watching them both, noticed how 
quickly Alaric saw through his partner's subterfuge. He did 
not set out to charm her, as he had undoubtedly first intended; 
instead, he spoke courteously and sparingly. But Bronwyn was 
not won over. 
Throughout the feast Alaric and his countrymen were unceasingly 
polite to the Homanan nobles. Nowhere was there a 
sign of hostility or resentment. Nor were there any signs the 
Atvians considered themselves the vanquished. They moved 
quickly, smoothly, speaking of unification. More and more 
Donal saw how members of the Homanan Council looked 
first at Alaric and then at Bronwyn. More and more he saw 
consideration in their eyes. 

374 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 375 
They will ask, he knew. Oh, aye, they will ask . . . and I 
•will have to answer them. 
And after the food was taken away, with Donal in an 
adjoining antechamber, the council members asked. 
Donal listened. He heard the arguments for and against the 
match. Some members said Atvia was too distant, too unknown; 
the Mujhar could never keep constant watch on political 
happenings. Others said the match would unify the two 
realms, much as Carillon's marriage to Electra had, while it 
lasted, unified Homana and Solinde\a151save for a few insurgents 
who fought against the alliance. 
But it was an elderly man, Vallis, former counselor to 
Shaine himself, who spoke most clearly to them all. "Many 
of us, my lord Mujhar, understand we are here to serve the 
gods. Cheysuli, Homanan ... it does not really matter by 
what names we call our gods. It merely matters that we serve 
them." He was in his eighties, and frail, with a thin, soft 
voice and thinner hair. The dome of his skull was mottled 
pink. Only the merest fringe of fine white hair curled around 
his ears. "While it is true as Homanans we do not dedicate 
ourselves to this prophecy of the Firstborn, we do acknowledge 
its existence. We do not discount it\a151or should not." 
He looked at each of the men with rheumy, pale blue eyes. 
"Before the purge, Cheysuli and Homanans intermarried. 
You yourself, my lord, claim blood from both those races. 
And does not this prophecy say there must be more?" 
Donal agreed warily. 
Vallis nodded. "What I tell you now is by wedding your 
sister to Alaric of Atvia, you move one step closer to fulfilling 
that prophecy." 
"I am aware of that." Donai kept his tone very even, 
giving nothing away of his private thoughts. "Say on, Valiis." 
The old man braced himself against a chair. Ropes of veins 
stood up beneath his flesh. "Prince Niall bears the blood of 
Homana and Solinde, as well as the Cheysuli. Do you wed 
your sister to Alaric, and she bears him a daughter, in time 
that daughter could be wed to the Prince of Homana." 
Donal raised his brows. "And does she bear him a son 
instead?" 
Vallis shrugged narrow shoulders. "Doubtless by then, 
you and the Queen will have daughters'enough to wed into 
every royal House." 
376 Jennifer Roberson 
He felt their eyes upon him. Slowly he walked to a casement 
and stared out, though he could see little in the darkness. 
Then he turned to face them. "Bronwyn does not desire 
it." 

Some of the others smiled. Some faces expressed outright 
surprise. He knew his statement made no sense to them; 
Homanans wed their daughters to men most able to advance 
their rank or wealth. 
Like bartering horses. He shook his head. "Bronwyn does 
not desire it." 
They knew it was his answer. They had learned that much 
of him since he had become Mujhar. And so they filed from 
the antechamber and back into the hall, while Vallis stayed 
behind. 
"My lord," he said, "I know you value your sister. Do 
not lump me in with the others. I am an old, old man ... 1 
have seen the Cheysuli elevated by Shame and then destroyed 
by him\a151I know your customs well. She is not a broodmare. 
She is not a ewe. She is not a favorite bitch. She is a woman, 
a Cheysuli woman ... but she is also a part of the prophecy." 
Slowly, the old man put out a palsied hand. Palm 
uppermost, with the fingers spreading. "Tahlmorra lujhala 
mei wiccan, cheysu." 
Donal turned and left the chamber, returning to the hall. 
Evan came up to him, holding two cups of wine. One he 
held out. "So solemn, Donal ... did they put you into a 
comer and make you listen to their babble?" 
Donal, smiling grimly, accepted me wine. "You know 
court habits very well." 
Evan laughed. "Ellas is no different! Only the language." 
But his laughter died away. "I must go, Donal. It is time I 
went back to Ellas." 
The taste of the wine turned flat. "Evan! So soon?" 
"Soon?" Evan stared. "I have been here nearly a year." 
"Stay another." 
He shook his head. "I cannot. It is time I went home. 
There are things in Ellas for me." 
Donal drank down the rest of his wine, gave the empty cup 
to a passing servant and got another to replace it. He saw his 
sister across the hall, laughing with Aislinn and Meghan. 
"Have you told Meghan you intend to leave?" 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 377 
Evan's mouth turned down wryly. "No. 1 dislike tears 
cried into my velvet doublets." 
"Tears from Meghan'?" Donal shook his head. "She is 
stronger than you think." 
"Oh, aye\a151strong. . , if you count willfulness as strength." 
Evan scowled into his wine. "No, no tears from Meghan. 
But I could wish for more complaisance." 

"I warned you," Donal told him. "She is not meant for 
just any man- Not even for Evan of Ellas\a151does he desire no 
more than an evening in her bed." 
"Ah, but he does desire more." Evan ran the rim of the 
cup across his bottom lip. "Lodhi protect me\a151but I invited 
her home with me." 
"To EllasT' Donal stared at Evan in surprise. "Did you 
really think she would go?" 
"I\a151-hoped." Evan shrugged. "It was useless. She refused 
me." 
Donal saw the genuine unhappiness in the Ellasian's sleepy 
eyes. It was not like Evan to exhibit anything other than mild 
distress when a woman refused him; it did not happen very 
often, and generally he found another who suited him as well. 
But Meghan was different. And Donal realized Evan knew it. 
He smiled. "I am sorry. She may be Cheysuli, but there is 
Homanan in her also. Living so close to Aislinn lately may 
have given her Homanan sensibilities when it comes to such 
things as men." 
"Because she would not become my light woman?" Evan 
shook his head- "But I asked her to wed me." 
"You?" 
"Aye," Evan said gloomily. "And a waste of time it 
was." 
Donal sighed. "I am sony. I did not know it had gone so 
far." 
"Oh, it had not. But I thought it was the only way I might 
get her to lie with me." Evan grinned. "Unlike all of the 
others, she did not believe I meant it." 
Donal laughed and nearly spilled his wine. "You fool! Do 
you forget she is Finn's daughter? She will take a man on her 
terms, if she takes a man at all." 
Evan raised his goblet. "To Meghan," he said. "And to 
the warrior who sired her." 
378 Jennifer Roberson 
Donal lifted his cup. And then, abruptly, he told Evan not 
to go. "What will I do without you?" 
"Learn to govern Homana without me to offer bad advice." 
Evan shook his head. "My time here is done. I am 
sorry\a151but I must go." 
"When?" 
"Probably in the morning. Or, depending on my head after 
this celebration, perhaps in the afternoon. But I do have to 
go." 
Donal reached out and clasped his arm. "In advance, I will 

wish you safe journey and good fortune in your games. 
And\a151I wish I did not have to lose you." 
"No more than Carillon wished to lose Lachtan." Evan 
grinned. "But I am not so bound by responsibility as my 
brother, and I think I will come back- At least to bother 
Meghan once or twice more." 
Donal released Evan's arm and glanced back across the 
hall. Alaric still lingered near Bronwyn. Hoping, no doubt, 
she will have him. But why does he want her? What does he 
expect her to bring? Peace with Homana? Support for the 
island wars? Gods\a151I wish I could read that man. 
But he could not. Grimly, he drank more Falian wine. 
"You have heard, of course, that Alaric wishes to wed with 
Bronwyn." 
Evan's tone was wry. "Who has not, by now? But\a151with 
her Ihlini blood, you dare not allow the match." 
"She has no Ihlini blood. I tested her today." 
"None!" Evan turned sharply to him. "None at all?" 
"She is my full rujholla, Evan, She is Duncan's daughter." 
The Ellasian shook his head, frowning perplexedly. "Then\a151 
if you could have tested her all along, why did you wait so 
long?" 
"Because it could not have been done without her knowledge, 
without her willingness." Donal sighed. "It was our 
jehana. She wished to leave Bronwyn in peace. She did not 
wish to awaken potential powers or bring grief to Bronwyn. 
And so\a151she was kept in innocence." 
Evan's blue eyes were fixed on the girl as she laughed with 
her two kinswomen. "Then\a151there is nothing preventing this 
marriage." 
"No," Donal said. "There is nothing preventing this 
marriage." 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
379 
Evan looked at him sharply. "Lodhi!\a151you do intend to 
honor Alaric's request!" 
Donal shut his fingers on the heavy cup. "All my life I 
have been told there would be choices placed before me. 
Choices I would hate. I knew it, of course\a151but it is so easy 
to push the knowledge away." He heard the unevenness in 
his voice and worked to steady it. "I remember all the times I 
wanted to call Carillon a fool because of the choices he made 
. . . particularly the ones he made regarding me. And now\a151 
now it will be Bronwyn's turn to ask me what I do, and 
how\a151in the name of all the gods\a151can I possibly even 
consider it." 
"I understand what you do." Evan said. "Being a prince, 

I can hardly ftHJunderstand why you do it. But\a151I do not 
envy you." 
"No," Donal agreed. "But too many other people do." 
Donal stepped forward. He waited until his stillness silenced 
them all- And then he beckoned Alaric forward. "Tonight, 
in this hall, we feast you, my lord of Atvia. Tonight 
we give you good welcome and blessings for your health. But 
you came to us with a purpose, that being to pledge us your 
fealty." Donal met Alaric's wary eyes. He did not smile. 
"Then pledge it, my lord. Here in this hall before us all." 
Alaric's lips parted. Briefly, Donal saw the tic of a muscle 
in his jaw. But he knelt. In elegance, he knelt, making it not 
an act of submission but of calm willingness to sacrifice 
anything for his realm. 
Donal unsheathed the Cheysuli sword. The ruby blazed in 
the pommel as he raised the blade toward Alaric's face. 
"Swear," he said, "by all the gods you have." 
Alaric bent forward. He placed his lips upon the runechased 
blade and gave it the kiss of fealty. ' 'I swear by all the 
gods of Atvia, by my rank and by my birth, that 1 am vassal 
to Donal of Homana. My sword, my life, is his. I pledge this 
in all good faith. I break this oath only upon my death. My 
liege\a151will you accept me?'' 
Unless he were a false man, willingly surrendering birthright 
and royal holdings, Alaric would die before renouncing 
so binding an oath. Donal did not believe the Atvian would 
risk his place so casually. 
"I accept your oath and do hold you by it," he agreed. 
"Rise, my lord of Atvia." 
380 Jennifer Roberson 
Alaric rose. His intense gaze did not move from Donal's 
face. He waited. 
Donal slid home the sword in his sheath. "By my right as 
Mujhar of Homana, I enter into willing alliance with this 
man. Let all know there is peace between our realms." He 
inhaled a steadying breath. "By my right as Mujhar of Homana, 
I enter into willing agreement with this man: that this oath of 
fealty be sealed with a wedding. He has asked for my sister in 
marriage." 
He heard Bronwyn's gasp clearly- "Donal! Donal\a151no! 
You said I would not have to!" She thrust herself out of the 
crowd to face him in the center of the hall. She did not look 
at Alaric. "You said\a151" 
"1 said." His tone was harsher than he meant it to be. "1 
said, aye. But now it must be done." 
"My lord." It was Alaric, urbane and calmly pleased. 
"My lord, you honor me." 
"1 do not honor you. I honor the prophecy." He would nol 
hide the truth, blatant though it was; he would not hide his 

open dislike of the man. "Because of that, my lord of Atvia, 
I will give Bronwyn into marriage. But mere are agreements 
you must make." 
Alaric inclined his head and spread his hands. "Name 
them, my lord." 
"That should Bronwyn bear you a son and heir, any 
daughter the Queen of Homana bears me shall be wed to him, 
thus fixing the succession." He did not smile. "That should 
Bronwyn bear you a daughter, mat daughter will come to 
Homana and wed Niall, the Prince of Homana." 
Alaric's smile was one of subtle triumph. "Aye, my lord, I 
agree." 
"Ku'reshtinf" Bronwyn cried. "You are no rujhoili of 
mine!" 
"Fetch a priest," Donal told a servant. 
"How can you do this to me?" 
He looked into her angry face. "For the prophecy, I will 
do anything." 
It was quickly done; too quickly. The priest was brought. 
The ceremony performed in front of everyone present over 
loud protestations from Bronwyn; so loud Donal doubted 
anyone else could hear the vows. It did not seem to matter to 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
381 
Alaric. He smiled a cool, satisfied smile. But the priest was 
cleariy offended by her words. And a Homanan priest at that. 
At last Donal stepped in and caught her elbow. "Rujholla," 
he said quietly, "you lend credence to the belief we are little 
more than beasts with such noise." 
"Noise!" She stared at him through tear-filled amber eyes, 
"I will make more noise than this, given the chance. I want 
no part of this!" 
"It is done," he told her. "You are wife to Alaric of 
Atvia." 
"And I promise a fine celebration when we have reached 
Rondule," Alaric said calmly. 
"I want nothing to do with celebrations' 1 want nothing to 
do with you. I want none of it, do you hear? And I want none 
of my rujhoili, who turns his back on Cheysuli customs.'*' 
"Bronwyn\a151" 
"You do\\" she cried. "You sell me off to a stranger, just 
to make an alliance\a151" 
"Bronwyn, you cheapen your jehana's name with such 
behavior." 

"You cheapen it as well, Donal." Bronwyn shut her eyes a 
moment, teeth clenched so hard the muscles stood up along 
her jaw. "I swear, / swear, when I am given the chance I 
will show you all what gifts I claim. I will show you what the 
Old Blood means\a151" 
"Old Blood," Alaric frowned. "I have heard rumors . . - 
the girl has it, you say?" 
"The girl is now your cheysula, my lord of Atvia, and 
your queen. You might give her proper rank," Donal said 
tightly."And aye, she does. Why? Does it make you wish to 
end the marriage almost as soon as it is made?" 
"Not at all," Alaric said smoothly. "I welcome the Cheysuli 
with all their arts. I must. It may be that my children will 
reflect their mother*s gifts\a151'' 
"There will be no children," Bronwyn said bitterly. "I 
will see to that\a151" 
"Enough," Donal said gently. "You will send all our 
guests from here muttering of your intended witchcraft." 
"Let them. Let them. Do you think I care?" And then, 
before he could move, Bronwyn brought the flat of her hand 
across his face. "I renounce you. / renounce .you.You are no 
nyhofli of mine1." 
382 Jennifer Roberson 
For a moment, Donal shut his eyes against the pain and 
humiliation. Then he swung around to face them all. "Get 
you gone}" he shouted. "Can you not see the celebration is 
done?" 
Blindly, he watched them go. Bronwyn. Alaric. Even 
Aislinn, Meghan, Evan. And then the hall was empty save 
for a single man. 
His hair was disheveled. A smear of dirt marred his face. 
His clothes were soiled. Mud clotted his boots. He wore no 
leathers, no gold; there were no lir at his side. But as he 
faced his Mujhar, Donal knew he was a Cheysuli. 
"So, the travesty is concluded." 
"Rowan\a151" He broke it off; the time for defense was past. 
"It is done." 
Rowan smiled a little. "I came to bring news of a final 
victory in Solinde. Instead, as I make my way through the 
hordes of departing guests, I am given news of my own: the 
Mujhar of Homana has wed his rujholla to Alaric of Atvia." 
"For the prophecy." The words came out listlessly. 
"Of course. Everything is done for the prophecy." Rowan 
laughed, and then the laughter died away. "But I wonder\a151 
what would Alix say to see her daughter bartered away\a151" 
Donal flinched. "We do not speak of my jehana! I have 
done this thing!" 

"Oh, aye, you have. And now you must live with it." 
Donal wanted to turn away. But he did not. The time for 
that was also passed. He was Mujhar; he must behave as a 
Mujhar. "I will live with it." 
"Am I to assume the Homanan Council also desired this 
match?" 
"Aye. And campaigned most eloquently for it." Donal 
stared down at the cup in his hand. He had forgotten to drink. 
The tang of the wine filled his nose and head. 
"So quickly you succumb to the desires of Homanans. Do 
you think Clan Council would have agreed?" 
Sluggishly, anger rose in his defense. "This was done for 
Homana\a151Homana and the prophecy! A son of Bronwyn's 
will one day sit on the Atvian throne." 
Rowan's eyes narrowed. Tiny creases fanned out across his 
cheeks. "Do you care so much for kingship?" 
"Aye," Donal answered harshly. "Would you tell me I 
LEGACY OF THE SWORD 
383 
should nofi Is it not what Hale left to me when he fashioned a 
sword and took a Mujhar's daughter as his meijhaV 
Rowan slowly closed his eyes. "Ah gods, ah gods . 
you have accepted it at last ... after so many years." He 
opened his eyes and smiled a bittersweet smile. "Carillon 
used to despair that you would ever know the cost. The 
legacy of the tiling. And a man, never knowing the cost of 
kingship, is never really a king." 
"Carillon despaired ..." The pain was worse than he had 
expected. "And you as well?" 
"From time to time." Rowan's smile was a little broader, 
but his tone was still ironic. "Now\a151do you see what it does 
to others? Do you see what it does to you?" 
"You do not approve." Somehow, he wanted Rowan to 
approve. He needed someone's approval. 
"It is not my place to approve or disapprove." 
At last Donal succumbed and turned his back on the man. 
He faced the Lion instead. "Do I see what it does to others?" 
he cried- "Aye, I see what it does! No doubt it was much the 
same for Carillon. And now\a151only now\a151I understand why a 
man curses his birth if only to escape the demands of his 
entrance into the world." He drew in a ragged breath- 
"Bronwyn's children will bring us another bloodline. / do 
what I must do." 
He expected Rowan to answer. When he did not, Donal 
turned. And found himself alone. 

He wanted his meijha. He wanted his mother. He wanted 
his father, his uncle, his lir. He wanted his rujholla. And he 
could have none of them, because this he must face alone. 
Donal turned back to look at the hall. He saw the casements, 
glowing dimly; the banners, the tapestries, the weapons. 
The Lion upon the dais. 
Slowly, he walked the length of the hall. He stood before 
the throne. He felt all the pain and grief and fea( well up into 
chest and throat. He could not bear it. He thought he might 
burst with all the anger and frustration. 
Before he could consider the blasphemy of his actions, he 
hurled the cup of wine against the ancient wood. "A;/ of 
them, gone!" he shouted. "A// of them you have taken. You 
have robbed me of even my pride, even the pride in my 
heritage, because I must be a ruler before I am a Cheysuli. A 
384 Jennifer Roberson 
man before a warrior. And a lion before a man: The Lion of 
Homana" 
Wine spilled down to stain the crimson cushion. The Lion 
bled. Or cried. He could not tell the difference. 
Donal put his hand upon the hilt of his sword and drew it 
from the scabbard Rowan had made. He heard the steel-song 
as it slid; the hiss when it rattled free. 
By the blade, beneath the crossguard, he held it. He looked 
at me hilt from gritty, burning eyes, and saw how the weapon 
shook in his trembling hand. 
Gold. Solid gold, with the mark of men's hands upon it. 
The curving prongs that caged the ruby, brilliant Mujhar's 
Eye; the avatar of his soul. 
And the lion. The royal rampant lion. 
Donal laughed. It was a sound of discovery, lacking all 
humor; the futile sound of a man who. knows himself trapped 
by what he has done and what things he still must do. 
He laughed, and the sorrow filled up the hall. 
"I am Donal," he said when the echoes had died. "Just\a151 
Donal. Son of man and woman. Born of the Cheysuli and a 
dutiful child of the prophecy. But\a151just once\a151jusf once\a151I 
wish I could turn my back upon it all and be nothing but a 
man!" His challenging stare shifted from sword hilt to crouching 
Lion, looming on the dais- And then, abruptly, he shut 
his eyes. 
/ wish Carillon were here. 
After a moment he turned, intending to leave. He stopped. 
Aislinn stood in the doorway with their child in her arms. 
Waiting. 
Donal sheathed the sword and went to his wife and son.