The Shapechangers

by Jennifer Roberson

  The Cheysuli did not tell either captive where they rode, only that their Keep lay at the end of their journey. When Carillon demanded his instant release and that of Alix, threatening the Mujhar’s displeasure and retribution, Duncan refused courteously. Alix, watching him silently during much of the day’s ride, wondered at the difference so evident in the brothers. Finn seemed the more aggressive of the two; Duncan kept his own council and gave nothing away to supposition. Though Alix wanted nothing more than to leave the shapechangers’ presence with Carillon accompanying her, she far preferred Duncan’s company to Finn’s.

  In the evening she sat before a small fire with Carillon, staring into the flames in exhaustion. The prince had shed his green cloak and draped it over her shoulders. She folded it around herself gratefully. He looked tired and worn as he stretched his hands out to the fire’s warmth; for all it was the beginning of summer, the nights were still cold. Alix knew her own appearance was no better. Her braid was loosened and tangled and her gown showed the results of too long a time spent in it. Her face felt grimy and the welt left by the tree limb stung.

  The Cheysuli, she marked, took little with them on a raiding mission. Their mounts were packed lightly and the warriors carried only a belt-knife and the hunting bows for weaponry. Alix eyed them glumly as they quickly set up a small camp, spreading blankets where they would sleep and building tiny fires to heat their evening ration of journey-stew. The colored pavilions were kept packed away; Alix realized she would spend the night unprotected by anything save a blanket.

  Uneasily she slanted a glance at Carillon, seated next to her on Duncan’s blood-red blanket. “I would near give my soul to be safe in my own bed in my father’s croft.”

  Carillon, gazing blankly into the fire, looked over to her with an effort. Then he smiled. “Had I a choice, I would be in my own chambers within Homana-Mujhar. But even your croft would do me well this night.”

  “Better than here,” she agreed morosely.

  Carillon shifted and sat cross-legged. The flames glinted off the whiteness of his teeth as he smiled maliciously.

  “When I have the chance, Alix, these demons will regret what they have done.”

  A strange chill slid down her spine as she looked sharply at his determined face. “You would have them all slain?”

  His eyes narrowed at her reproving tone. Then his face relaxed and he touched her ragged braid, moving it to lie across her shoulder. “A woman, perhaps, does not understand. But a man must serve his liege lord in all things, even to the slaying of others. My uncle’s purge still holds, Alix. I would not serve him by letting this nest of demons live. They have been outlawed. Sentenced to death by the Mujhar himself.”

  Alix pulled the cloak more tightly around her shoulders. “Carillon, what if there was no sorcery used against your House? What if the Cheysuli have the right of it? Would you still see to their deaths?”

  “The shapechangers cursed my uncle’s House when Hale took Lindir away with him. The queen consequently died of a wasting disease, and Shaine’s second wife bore no living children. If not sorcery, what else could cause these things?”

  Alix sighed and stared at her hands clasping the green wool. She pitched her voice purposely low, almost placating. But what she said had nothing to do with placation.

  “Perhaps it was what the Cheysuli call tahlmorra. Perhaps it was no more than the will of the gods.”

  His hand moved from her braid to her jaw and lifted her face into the light. “Do you champion the demons again, Alix? Do you listen to them because of what you have learned?”

  She looked at him steadily. “I do not champion them, Carillon. I give them their beliefs. It is only fitting to acknowledge the convictions of others.”

  “Even when the Mujhar denounces them as sorcerers of the dark gods?”

  Alix touched his wrist gently and felt the ridged scars of the bite from Storr. Once again the image of Finn shifting his shape before her eyes rose into her mind, and it was only with considerable effort she kept the frightened awe from her voice.

  “Carillon, will you allow him to denounce me?”

  He sighed and closed his eyes, withdrawing his hand. He rubbed wearily at his brow and irritably shoved hair from his eyes.

  “Shaine is not an easy man to convince. If you go before him claiming you are a shapechanger, and his granddaughter, you touch his pride. My uncle is a vain man indeed.” Carillon smiled at her grimly. “But I will not allow him to harm you. I will have that much of him.”

  Alix drew up her knees, clasping her arms around them. “Tell me of Homana-Mujhar, Carillon. I have ever been afraid to ask before, but no more. Tell me of the Mujhar’s great walled palace.”

  He smiled at her wistful tone. “It is a thing of men’s dreams. A fortress within a city of thousands. I know little enough of its history, save it has stood proudly for centuries. No enemy force has ever broken its walls, nor entered its halls and corridors. Homana-Mujhar is more than a palace, Alix; it is the heart of Homana.”

  “And you have lived their always?”

  “I? No. I have lived at Joyenne, my father’s castle. It is but three days from Mujhara. I was born there.” He smiled as if reminiscing. “My father has ever preferred to keep himself from cities, and I echo his feelings. Mujhara is lovely, a jeweled city, but I care more for the country.” He sighed. “Until my acclamation as formal heir last year, I lived at Joyenne. I spent time at Homana-Mujhar; I am not indifferent to its magnificence.”

  “And I have not even seen Mujhara,” she said sadly.

  “That is something I cannot understand. The city belongs to the Mujhar and it is well-protected. Women and children go in safety among its streets.”

  Alix kept her eyes from his. “Perhaps it was a promise made to the Mujhar by Torrin; that he would not allow Lindir’s shapechanger daughter to enter the city.”

  Carillon stiffened. “If you are that child,”

  Alix closed her eyes. “I begin to think I am.”

  “Alix…”

  She turned her head and rested her unblemished cheek against one knee, looking solemnly into Carillon’s face, “I converse with the animals, my lord. And I understand. If that is not shapechanger sorcery, then I must be a creature of the dark gods.”

  His hand fell upon her shoulder. “Alix, I will not have you say this, You are no demon’s get.”

  “And if I am Cheysuli?”

  Carillon’s eyes slid over the shadowed camp, marking each black-haired, yellow-eyed warrior in supple leathers and barbaric gold. He looked back at Alix and for a moment saw the leaping of flames reflected in her eyes, turning them from amber to yellow.

  He swallowed, forcing himself to relax. “It does not matter. Whatever you are, I accept it!”

  Alix smiled sadly and touched his hand. “Then if you accept me, you must accept the others.”

  He opened his mouth to deny it, then refrained. He saw the bleakness in her eyes and the weariness of her movements as she shifted into a more comfortable position. Carillon put a long arm out and drew her against his chest.

  “Alix, I have said it does not matter.”

  “You are the heir,” she said softly. “It must matter.”

  “Until I am the Mujhar, what I believe does not matter at all.”

  And when you are the Mujhar, will you slay my kin? she wondered.

  In the morning Duncan led Carillon’s chestnut warhorse to them. Alix looked from the horse to the clan-leader and marked his solemn expression. Finn, standing with him, smiled at her suggestively. Alix colored and ignored him, watching Duncan instead.

  “You rode well enough yesterday, my lord,” he said quietly. “You have our leave to go. Finn will accompany you.”

  Carillon glared at him. “I can find my own way back, shapechanger.”

  Duncan’s lips twitched. “I have no doubt of that. But the Cheysuli have spent twenty-five years fleeing the unnatural wrath of the Mujhar, and we would be foolish indeed to
lead his heir to our new home. Finn will see you do not follow us to the Keep.”

  Carillon reddened with anger but ignored the Cheysuli’s dry tone. He took the scarlet leather reins from Duncan and turned to Alix.

  “You may ride in the saddle before me.”

  Duncan stepped swiftly between the horse and Alix as she moved to mount. His eyes were flat and hard. “You remain with us.”

  “You cannot force me to stay!” she said angrily. “I have listened to your words, and I respect them, but I will not go with you. My home is with my father.”

  “Your home is with your father’s people.”

  Alix felt herself grow cold. Without thought she had spoken of Torrin, but the clan-leader reminded her, in a single sentence, she was no longer a simple Homanan croft-girl.

  She steadied her breath with effort. “I want to go with Carillon.”

  His hawk earring swung as he shook his head. “No.”

  Finn laughed at her. “You cannot wish to leave us so soon, rujholla. You have hardly learned our names. There is much more for you to learn of the clan.”

  “I am still half Homanan,” she said steadily. “And free of any man’s bidding save my father’s.” She challenged Duncan with a defiant glance. “I will go with Carillon.”

  The prince moved beside her, setting a possessive hand on her shoulder. “By your own words you have said she is my cousin. I will have her with me in Homana-Mujhar, You cannot deny her that.”

  Finn raised his brows curiously. “Can we not? Your fates were decided in Council last night, while you slept. It was my position we should keep you both, forcing you to see we are not the demons you believe, but I was overruled. My rujholli would have you returned safely to your uncle, who will send guardsmen to strike us down.” He shrugged. “Some even believed you would be won to the belief we are only men, like yourself, did you spend time with us, but I think you would only plan to harm us how you could.” Finn smiled humorlessly. “What would you have done, princeling, had you stayed with us?”

  Carillon’s fingers dug into Alix’s shoulder. “I would have found my escape, shapechanger, and made my way back to Mujhara. You have the right of it. I would aid my kinsman in setting troops after you.”

  “At the risk of her life?” Finn asked softly.

  Alix shivered. Carillon’s hand dropped to his sword hilt. “You will not harm her, shapechanger.”

  “We do not harm our own,” Duncan said coldly. “But does Shaine bid his men spare the life of a single Cheysuli? They are not discriminating men. If you allow them to follow us and attack, you risk the girl.”

  “Then let me go,” Alix said. “Perhaps the Mujhar would not send his troops.”

  “Alix!” Carillon said sharply.

  Finn grinned cynically. “Do you see, meijha, what manner of man your princeling is? Yet he would have you believe we are the bloodthirsty demons. I say it was the Homanans who began the qu’mahlin and the Homanans who perpetuate it. It was none of Cheysuli doing.”

  “No more of this!” Alix cried. “No more!”

  Carillon stepped from her and drew his sword hissing from its sheath. He stood before them with the massive blade gleaming, clenched in both hands. Alix saw the ruby wink redly in the sunlight, then drew in her breath. Down the blade ran runic symbols very similar to those on Duncan’s bow.

  “You do not take her,” Carillon said softly. “She comes with me.”

  Finn crossed both arms over his chest and waited silently, armbands flashing in the light. Alix, frozen in place, felt an odd slowing of time. Carillon stood next to her with blade bared, feet planted, his size alone warning enough to any man. Yet Duncan stood calmly before the weapon as if it did not concern him in the least.

  Her skin contracted with foreboding. Will I see a man die this day because of me? She swallowed heavily, wishing she could look away and knowing she could not. Lindir’s actions set the purge into motion; if I am truly her daughter, does this not add to it?

  Duncan smiled oddly. “You had best recall the maker of that blade, my lord.”

  Finn’s teeth showed in a feral smile. “A Cheysuli blade ever knows its first master.”

  Alix looked again at the runes on the sword, transfixed by their alien shapes and the implications of them.

  Carillon held his ground. “You do not even use swords yourselves, shapechanger!”

  Finn shrugged. “We prefer to give men a close death. A sword does not serve us. We fight with knives.” He paused, glancing at Alix. “Knives…and lir-shape.”

  “Then what of your bows?” Carillon snapped.

  “They were for hunting, originally,” Duncan said lightly. “Then the Mujhars of Homana began requiring our services in war, and we learned to use them against men.” His yellow eyes were implacable. “When the qu’mahlin began, we used them against those we once served.”

  Finn moved forward, so close to Carillon the tip of the broadsword rested against his throat. “Use it,” he taunted in a whisper. “Use it, princeling. Strike home, if you can.”

  Carillon did not move, as if puzzled by the invitation. Alix, sickened by the tensions, bit at her bottom lip.

  Finn smiled and put his hand on the blade. His browned fingers rested lightly on the finely honed edges. “Tell me, my lord, whom Hale’s sword will answer. The heir of the man who began the qu’mahlin, or Hale’s only blood-son?”

  “Finn,” Duncan said softly. Alix thought he sounded reproachful.

  Her fingers twined themselves into the folds of her yellow skirts, scraping against the rough woolen fabric. She knew she would see Finn die; even with his hand on the blade the warrior could never keep Carillon from striking him down. She owed no kindness to Finn, who had stolen her so rudely, but neither did she wish to see him struck down before her eyes. The sour taste of fear filled her mouth.

  “Carillon…” she begged. She swallowed back the constriction in her throat. “Do you begin your uncle’s work already?”

  “As I can,” he said grimly.

  Finn’s fingers on the blade shifted slightly. Alix thought he would drop the hand and move into a defensive posture, but he did not. Before she could cry out he twisted the sword aside with only a hand. His own knife flashed as he stepped into Carillon.

  “No!” she cried, lunging forward.

  Duncan’s hand came down on her arm and jerked her back. She tried to pull free and could not, then stood still as she saw the Cheysuli blade against Carillon’s throat. The broadsword was in his right hand, but she realized the weapon was too bulky to draw back and strike with in close quarters, particularly with Finn so close.

  “Do you see, lordling, what it is for a man to face a Cheysuli in battle?” Finn asked gently. “I do not doubt you have been trained within the walls of your fine palace, but you have not faced a Cheysuli. Until that is done you have not learned at all.”

  Carillon’s teeth clenched as they shut with a click. The muscles of his jaw rolled, altering the line of his face, but he said nothing at all. Nor did he flinch before the knife at his throat.

  Finn slid a bright glance at Alix. “Will you beg me for his life, meijha?”

  “I will not,” she said clearly. “But if you slay him here, I myself will see to your death.”

  His eyebrows shot up in mock astonishment. Then he grinned into Carillon’s still face. “Well, princeling, you have women to argue for you. Perhaps I should respect that.” He shrugged and stepped away, returning the knife to his belt. “But she is Cheysuli, and my rujholla, and I will not risk it.”

  Duncan bent and picked up the scarlet reins Carillon had dropped. He held them out. Silently the prince slid his sword home in its silver-laced leather sheath and took them.

  “Finn will escort you to Mujhara.”

  Carillon looked only at Alix. “I will come back for you.”

  “Carillon…”

  “I will come back for you.”

  Alix nodded and hugged herself, hunching her shoulders defens
ively. She knew he could not win her freedom without sacrificing himself, which would give her no freedom at all. The Cheysuli had disarmed both of them.

  Carillon turned away from her and mounted the big chestnut. From the horse’s great height he looked down on them all.

  “You are foolish,” he said stiffly, “to free me without requiring gold.”

  Finn laughed. “You seek to instruct us at the risk of your own welfare?”

  “It is only that I do not understand.”

  Duncan smiled. “The Cheysuli do not require gold, my lord, save to fashion the lir-tokens and the ornaments our women wear. We desire only to end this war the Mujhar wages against us, and the chance to live as we once did. Freely, without fearing our children will be slain because of their yellow eyes.”

  “If you had not sought to throw down Homanan rule—”

  Duncan interrupted sharply. “We did not. We have ever served the blood of the Mujhars. Hale, in taking Lindir from her jehan, freed her of a marriage she did not desire. In doing that he performed the service to which he bound himself—he served the Mujhar’s blood.” He smiled slightly. “It was not what Shaine expected of his service, perhaps, for Hale was his man. It was only he wanted Lindir more.”

  “Your jehana was a willful woman,” Finn said to Alix, deliberately distinct as if to hammer the point home. “Do you echo her?”

  She brought her head up haughtily, defying him. “Were I within Homana-Mujhar, I would not leave it to go into the forests with a Cheysuli warrior. Do not judge me by my mother.”

  Finn grinned, triumphant. “If I have at last got you to admit to your blood, meijha, I will judge you by anything.”

  Before she could retort he turned and faded into the trees. Alix glared after him, then scowled as he returned a moment later on his dun-colored horse.

  Duncan moved to Carillon’s horse, looking up at the prince. “I would send greetings to Shaine the Mujhar, did I think he would accept them. We do not desire this war.”