When she broke out of the pavilion and air rushed gloriously through her outstretched wings she knew she had succeeded, and rejoiced.
At first she wheeled in exultation, dipping and circling, playing among the currents. Below her lay the Keep, spreading to shelter the last of Homana’s ancient race. The pavilion was a speck of slate against the neutral tones of the Keep and surrounding forest.
Then Alix put away the joy of such freedom and flew on to seek a lir.
But she wearied quickly. Unaccustomed to prolonged flight, Alix at last admitted defeat and perched herself upon a tree. She was weary and hungry, tense with the effort to keep lir-shape, and realized she had nearly reached her limit.
She flew again to the ground and blurred herself from her falcon-shape into human form. Again she marveled at the gods-given ability of the lir-bond, for her clothing changed with her when she assumed lir-shape, and returned when she shifted back.
That is fortunate, she thought wryly. I would not care to be caught in the middle of a forest unclothed.
Alix climbed up a gentle spill of dirt packed against the mountainside and halted as she found a brush-covered hollow half-hidden in the shadows of dusk. Carefully she moved closer, peering through the boughs. The limbs and leafy branches had been woven together roughly, as if to form a cover, and as she inspected it closely she knew it could only be human-made. She pulled the covering aside and crept into the shallow cave.
She discovered a coarse, poorly woven brown blanket spread on the uneven floor of the rocky cave. Next to it lay a leather bag fastened with a wooden pin, and a small fire snapped at freshly piled kindling. She hesitated, wondering suddenly if she would not be welcome. Perhaps she trusted too easily.
The sound of breaking twigs sent her whirling on hands and knees, eyes widened in fear.
The man ducked his head as he crawled into the cave through the narrow opening, eyes on the stone floor. Over his shoulder he wore a crude bow, but the long-knife at his belt looked more efficient. Under one arm he held the drooping body of a slain rabbit.
Alix withdrew farther, stone wall biting at her back as she pressed against it. The sound penetrated the silence like an enemy’s shout. The man dropped the rabbit and drew his long-knife in a single motion, bracing himself on one knee as he came up from the floor to strike.
Then she saw shock and amazement flare in his brown eyes as he realized she was a woman.
He swore softly in wonder and shoved the knife back into its sheath. Carefully he eased into a squatting position, as if he feared to frighten her.
“Lady, I will not harm you. If you seek shelter here, you must be a refugee from Bellam’s troops also.”
“Refugee!”
He nodded. “Aye. From the war.” He frowned. “Surely you have heard of the war, lady.”
“I have heard.” She stared blankly at his crusted, age-cracked leather-and-mail, and the soiled scarlet tunic bearing the Mujhar’s rampant black lion. His mail was rusted, as if washed with blood, and she shivered against the sudden foreboding in her bones.
“My name is Oran,” he said, rubbing a dirty hand through matted, lank brown hair. “I am a soldier of Homana.”
She frowned at him. “Then why are you here? Should you not be with your lord?”
“My lord is slain. Keough of Atvia, Bellam’s foul accomplice, overran the army twenty days ago like a pack of savage dogs.” His eyes narrowed angrily. “It was night, moonless and dark. We slept, wearied from a three-day battle. The Atvian host crept upon us in all stealth, and routed us before the dawn.”
Alix wet her dry lips. “Where, Oran? Mujhara?”
He laughed. “Not Mujhara. I am not one of the Mujhar’s fine guard. I am a common soldier who once was a tenant crofter for Prince Fergus, the Mujhar’s own brother.”
“Fergus.” She eased herself away from the rocky wall, kneeling before him. “Then it was Fergus you served in the field?”
“Aye, seven days’ ride out of Mujhara.” He hawked and spat, turning his head from her. He wiped the spittle from his lips and looked at her bleakly. “Prince Fergus was slain.”
“Why did you not stay?” she demanded. “Why did you forsake your lord?”
His grimy, stubbled face was ugly. “I sickened of it. I was not meant to slay men like beasts on the order of a man who keeps himself safe behind the ensorcelled walls of Homana-Mujhar.” Oran spat again. “Shaine has set wards, lady; instruments of sorcery to keep the Ihlini out. He keeps himself safe, while thousands die in his name.”
Alix drew a trembling breath, clenching fists against her knees. “What of Carillon? What of the prince?”
Oran’s mouth twisted. “Carillon is prisoner to Keough himself.”
“Prisoner!”
“Aye. I saw him slay two who sought to take him, fighting like a demon, but it was Keough’s own son who broke his guard and disarmed him. Thorne. The Atvian prince took Carillon’s sword, then Carillon himself, and marched him to his father.” Oran stared at her narrowly. “They will slay him, lady, or take him to Bellam in Mujhara.”
“No…”
He shrugged. “It is his lot. He is the Mujhar’s heir, and valuable. Keough will keep him close until he is in Bellam’s hands. Or Tynstar’s.”
Alix closed her eyes and summoned up his face, recalling his warm blue eyes and stubborn jaw. And his smile, whenever he looked on her.
Oran shifted and she opened her eyes. He grinned, displaying broken, yellowed teeth, and took up the leather pouch. He undid the pin and spilled the contents across the blanket.
It was a stream of gems glowing richly in the shadowed cave. Brooches, rings of delicate gold and silver, and a wristband of copper. Oran prodded the cache with a finger.
“Solindish, lady. And fine, as you can see.”
She frowned at them. “Where did you get them?”
He laughed crudely. “From men who no longer had need of such things.”
She recoiled. “You stole them from dead men?”
“How else does a poor soldier make his way? I am not one of your rich lordlings, like Carillon; nor am I a Mujhara noble born to silks and jewels. How else am I to get such things?”
Avarice glinted in his eyes. She saw them travel her body expectantly. She wore the golden lir-torque Duncan had given her and delicate topaz drops hung at her ears.
“So,” she said on a long breath, “you will slay me for my wealth as well.”
He grinned. “There need be no slaying, lady. You have only to give them to me.” He stroked his bottom lip. “I have never seen your like before. Are you some lord’s light woman?”
The insult did not touch her. Oran, in his commonness, did not recognize it as such. And the Cheysuli had begun to change her perceptions of such things.
Alix slowly tensed. “No.”
“Then how came you by such things?”
Enlightenment flared within her mind. Carefully she damned the sudden realization of her power and looked at him calmly.
“My cheysul gave them to me.”
He scowled at her. “Speak Homanan, lady. What do you say?”
“My husband, Oran. He made me these things.”
He grinned. “Then he can make more, Here, lady; give them to me.”
“No.” She looked at him levelly. “It is not wise for a Homanan to seek that fashioned by a Cheysuli.”
“Cheysuli!” His brows slid up. “You live among the shapechangers?”
“I am one.”
For a moment fear flashed in his eyes. Then it faded, replaced with determination and greed. “The shapechangers are under the Mujhar’s death decree. I should slay you, and then all you have would be mine.”
It angered her past caution. “I doubt you could accomplish it.”
His hand flashed to his knife. “Can I not, shapechanger witch? You do not frighten me with your sorcery. Only your warriors shift their shape, so you offer little threat.”
He grinned and lifted the knife. “
What do you say now, witch?”
Alix said nothing. He effectively blocked the cave entrance with his mailed bulk, and as he moved slowly toward her she saw she had no chance to avoid him. The wall curved snuggly against her back.
“Do not,” she said softly.
Oran laughed silently and put his hand on the torque at her throat.
Alix summoned the magic and blurred herself into a wolf.
He gaped at her, then fell back with a cry of terror. The knife fell from limp fingers as he scrabbled on the floor. The wolf-bitch snarled and leaped over him, avoiding his body, but forcing him flat on his back as she moved. She heard his scream of horror as she drove past his trembling body and into the darkened forest.
She paused a moment, free of the place, and sent an exultant howl soaring to the dark heavens.
Then she went on in lir-shape.
The wolf-bitch, silvered by moonlight, sifted out of the trees into the Cheysuli camp. She saw the huddled forms of blanketed, sleeping warriors and the shadowed lumps of lir scattered throughout the camp. She sent soothing patterns to the animals so they would not give the alarm and moved smoothly toward the fire. She heard Cai, perched in a tree, send a single word to his lir.
Duncan rolled over instantly and sat up. His movement awoke Finn, next to him, and they got to their feet in silent unison. They parted smoothly, unsheathing knives, watching the wolf-bitch carefully.
Alix, realizing they thought her some wild creature, laughed within her mind.
And Duncan named me helpless…
She sensed his attentiveness. Finn, moving silently, stepped closer to her. She considered leaping at him in mock attack, but gave it up as she realized he would very likely slay her.
Instead, she blurred herself into human form.
Duncan blinked, then frowned.
Finn laughed. “Well, rujho, I have not given you proper credit. You are powerful indeed if she cannot even part with you for two days.”
Alix, suddenly chilled and wearied by the exertion and tension of the past hours, ignored him and walked to the glowing bed of coals. There she dropped to her knees and stretched her hands over the embers.
Duncan slid his knife home in its sheath. He said nothing.
Finn laughed again and gathered up his blanket, dropping it over her shoulders as he moved softly to her. “There, rujholla,” he said mockingly. “If he will let you freeze, at least I will not.”
She slid him a resentful glance and gathered the folds about her. Finn shrugged eloquently and returned to his sleeping place, settling himself cross-legged on the flattened earth.
Duncan stepped behind her, so close she could feel his knees against her back. “I suppose you will tell me why…eventually.”
“It was not what Finn said!”
“Well,” Duncan said, sighing, “it was too much to expect you to obey me. I should have put a spell on you.”
She jerked around so hard the blanket slid off a shoulder. “You can do that?”
He laughed and moved next to her, squatting down. He took a stick and stirred the coals. “You do not know all of our gifts yet, cheysula. There are three. The Cheysuli can assume lir-shape, borrow the earth magic to heal, and also force submission on any save an Ihlini.” He smiled. “But that we save for extremity.”
“Duncan!”
He grinned at the coals. “I would not truly do it, cheysula. But you tempt me, with your forward ways.”
She scowled at him. “You know I have come mostly because of you, Duncan.” She took a breath. “But also because of Carillon.”
His hand stopped stirring the coals. “Why?”
“He requires our help.”
“How would you know that? Or can you also read the minds of men in addition to the lir?”
She disliked the mocking glint in his eyes. “You know I cannot. But I met a man who says he saw Fergus slain and Carillon taken by Thorne, Keough of Atvia’s son. It was a bloody battle, from the appearance of his garments.”
“War is often bloody, Alix. Why else would I seek to keep you from it?”
“We must find Carillon.”
“The prince is no half-grown boy, Alix. And he is valuable. His captivity may well be unpleasant, but it will not be the death of him. Bellam—perhaps even Tynstar—will want him alive, for a time.”
She stared at him. “I begin to think you will allow this jealousy to prevent his rescue.”
“I am jealous of no one!” he snapped, and reddened as he heard Finn’s spurt of laughter.
“Duncan, we must go to him.”
“We go to Mujhara, to fight the Ihlini, They are a bigger threat than Keough.”
“Then you sentence Carillon to death!”
Duncan sighed heavily. “If his death is meant, it will happen. Carillon may not be Cheysuli, but he has his own sort of tahlmorra.”
“Duncan!” she cried incredulously, aware the others watched in silent interest. “You cannot mean to forsake him like this!”
He looked at her harshly. “The Ihlini have taken Mujhara. If the palace falls, Homana is in the hands of Tynstar. Do you not see? Carillon will be kept alive while Bellam wants him, but if Homana-Mujhar falls he will slay all threats to his control. First Shaine, then Carillon.” He released a weary breath. “I know you care for him, cheysula, but we cannot seek out a single man when an entire city may be destroyed.”
“He is your prince,” she whispered.
“And I am your cheysul.”
She scowled at him. “Do you send me back, then?”
“Would you go if I did?”
“No.”
He grunted. “Then I will save my breath.” He raised her, removed Finn’s blanket and led her over to his pallet. He pressed her down with a hand on her shoulder. “Sleep, cheysula; we ride early.”
“Sleep?” she inquired impishly as he lowered himself next to her and encircled her with his hard arms.
He laughed softly. “Sleep. Would you give my rujholli more to make sport of?”
“It is ever Finn,” she said grumpily, pulling a blanket over them both.
Duncan settled her head upon his shoulder. After a moment he sighed. “If it pleases you, small one, I will send Cai to the prince. He can bring word of Carillon’s welfare.”
“Well,” she said after a silence, “it is something.”
His hand tightened threateningly on her throat. “Can you never be satisfied, Alix?”
“If I told you aye, you would cease trying to please me.” She spread her fingers against the hollow of his throat, feeling its pulse. “Duncan,” she whispered after a moment, “why have you never said you loved me?”
He was very still. “Because the Cheysuli do not speak of love.”
Alix sat bolt upright, dragging the blanket from him. “What do you say?”
His hand reached out and caught hers, pulling her back down against his chest. “I said we do not speak of love. It weakens a warrior, who should think of other matters.” He smiled into the darkness. “For all that, words do not always serve.”
“Then am I supposed to guess?”
He laughed softly and settled the blanket over them again. “There is no need for you to guess. I have given you answer enough, before.” His hand slid down to rest across her stomach as he whispered. “You bear my son, Alix. Is that not enough?”
She stared into the darkness. “For now…”
Chapter Four
Alix spent her days on horseback behind Duncan, clasping his lean waist and anticipating what they would do when they reached Mujhara. She had decided not to bother Duncan with entreaties to go instead to Carillon, for he had sent Cai as promised four days before, and his arguments made sense. For all she still held great esteem and affection for Carillon, she knew even the prince would be more concerned with the welfare of Homana-Mujhar than himself.
Duncan was unusually solicitous of her, so much so that Finn, riding next to them, finally demanded an explanation. Alix, looking a
t him in surprise, realized Duncan had said nothing of the child.
“Well meijha?” he asked. “Have you sickened, or does my rujho simply worry himself over women’s things, now he has a cheysula?”
She felt color rise in her face. “I have not sickened.”
Duncan shot Finn a dark glance. “Do not plague her, rujho. You have done enough of that in the past.”
Finn kneed his horse closer. “Do you seek to tell me something without speaking?”
“No,” Alix said quickly.
Duncan laughed softly. “Perhaps it is time, cheysula. You will not be able to be silent about it much longer.”
“Duncan…” she protested.
Finn scowled at them. “What do you say?”
“Alix has conceived. She bears me a son in six months.”
She waited for Finn’s mocking words and twisted mouth, dreading what he might say. But he said nothing. He glanced at her quickly, then away, head bent as if he studied the ground beneath his horse’s hooves. His face was masklike, as if he feared to set free an emotion he could not control.
Duncan frowned. “Finn?”
Finn glanced up and smiled at his brother. His eyes slid to Alix, then away. “I wish you well of it, Duncan. It is a good thing to know the Cheysuli increase, even if only by one.”
“One is enough for now,” Alix said firmly.
His grin crept back. “Aye, meijha, perhaps it is. I will be glad enough to be uncle to one.”
She watched him, puzzled by his manner. He was a different man. She saw his yellow eyes settle broodingly on Duncan, then a strange regretful smile twisted his mouth. He glanced up and saw her watching him, then gestured expressively with a hand.
Tahlmorra.
Alix opened her mouth to ask a question, sensing something she could not quite understand. But she said nothing as Duncan stiffened before her. She felt the sudden tensing of his muscles as he shuddered once, violently.
“Duncan!”
He did not answer her. Instead he jerked the horse to a stop so unruly it slid Alix along smooth hindquarters until she clutched helplessly at Duncan, trying to stay horseback. It was futile. She landed awkwardly on her feet, hanging onto the stirrup to steady herself.
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