The Shapechangers

by Jennifer Roberson

  “No,” she said clearly. “I am Cheysuli, aye, but I came only for Carillon. You bind him harshly, my lord. There is no honor in your heart.”

  Keough laughed at her. “I have no heart, witch. None at all.”

  Duncan moved forward until he stood next to Alix. “My cheysula has the right of it. Carillon deserves better.”

  Keough pressed his hands against the table and rose. He was unarmed save for a sheathed knife at his belt, but he did not reach for it.

  “I warn you, shapechanger. I am not an easy man to slay.”

  Duncan smiled grimly. “You will not be slain this night, my lord. It is not your tahlmorra. It would not serve the prophecy.”

  Keough’s red brows lanced down. “What mean you?”

  “Nothing, save I desire Carillon’s release.”

  “Your price for leaving me alive?” Keough laughed. “What if I refuse?”

  Duncan shrugged. “I have said you will not die this night. I have never lied. Even to my enemies.”

  The huge Atvian lord smiled. “I give you nothing, shapechanger. What you will have, you must take.”

  Alix sensed the billowing of the doorflap behind and turned quickly, expecting an Atvian guard. But instead she saw a familiar silver wolf, and Finn beside him.

  He grinned at her. “So, meijha, you will do for yourself what you cannot convince us to do.”

  “I asked,” she said tightly. “You would not come.”

  “Enough,” Duncan said softly.

  Thorne burst through the draped pavilion entrance, sword drawn and raised to slash its way into flesh and bone. Finn spun noiselessly and drew his knife, knocking the blade away. Thorne fell sprawling to the ground, a Cheysuli knife pressed against his throat as Finn knelt by him.

  Duncan looked solemnly at Keough. “Your son’s life, my lord, in exchange for Carillon’s release.”

  Keough spat out an Atvian oath between his teeth and grabbed up the keys from an open chest. He flung them at Duncan.

  Alix followed Duncan’s silent order and left the pavilion. Duncan followed her out, leaving Finn and Storr to keep the Atvian rulers contained.

  “Where is he?” Duncan asked.

  “By the horses. Duncan—”

  “We will speak of it another time.”

  Alix winced. “What else could I do?”

  “We will speak of it another time.”

  She stopped to protest, then became aware of the odd stillness shrouding the encampment. She realized not a single Atvian or Solindish soldier moved against the Cheysuli invaders.

  Alix turned puzzled eyes on Duncan. “What have you done?”

  He smiled grimly. “We have used the third gift of the gods, Alix. We could not force all into submission, but we found the captains and took their minds from them for a time. They, in turn, do as we ordered, and keep the common soldiers from fighting. The Homanan captives have been freed.”

  She drew back a step. “By the gods…you are so powerful?”

  “It is a thing we rarely do. It takes the spirit from a man, and that is a thing no Cheysuli would do if there were another way.” His eyes were reproving. “You have brought this about, cheysula.”

  Her hands clenched into fists. “I would do the same for you!” she burst out. “For you I would give my life. How can you deny me this for Carillon?”

  He sighed and jangled the keys against his leg. “Alix, we will speak of this later. You have forced me to free the prince, so let me be about it. Do you come?”

  She started to walk on, then stopped stiffly and turned back. “The boy!”

  “What boy?”

  “Rowan.” She gestured at the post and saw the boy was gone. “He was there. Tied. I freed him.” She frowned. “I thought he had not the strength to leave this place.” Alix’s face cleared. “But if he is Cheysuli—”

  Duncan took her arm. “Come, cheysula. If the boy is free, it is fortunate for him.”

  She went with him to Carillon.

  The prince still sat in the tumbril, legs drawn up. Moonlight spilled across the iron on his legs and hands, illuminating the drawn hollows around his eyes. When he saw Alix he shifted forward, ignoring the clank of chain.

  “You are safe!”

  She smiled and slid a quick sideways glance at Duncan. “Aye, I am.”

  Carillon blinked in surprise as he saw the Cheysuli warrior. Then a wariness came into his face. “What have you come for, shapechanger?”

  Duncan regarded Carillon solemnly. “I lost something, my lord. I came to recover it.” He spread his hands. “But while I am here, I may as well see to your welfare. My foolish cheysula has forced me to do her bidding.”

  Carillon nearly smiled. Alix saw the struggle in his face as he tried to keep his emotional distance from the Cheysuli. But his relief and good nature won out.

  “She is a foolish woman. I told her so when first she appeared, but she would have none of it.” He shrugged. “Women are willful creatures.”

  Duncan lost his solemnity and grinned. “Aye, especially this one. I think it is the royalty in her.”

  Carillon laughed. Alix, disgruntled by the amusement in them both at her expense, glared at Duncan.

  “Have you brought the keys for nothing, Duncan? See to your prince!”

  Duncan banished his smile but not the glint in his eyes. He bent and unlocked the leg shackles. Then he unlocked the heavy bands around his wrists.

  The iron fell away. Alix hissed as she saw the raw wounds ringing Carillon’s wrists, as if he still wore the shackles. Carefully he stretched out his hands and tried to work them.

  Duncan stopped him. “Do not. If you will suffer it, I can take away the pain when we are free of this place.” His eyes were very watchful. “Will you suffer it?”

  Carillon sighed. “It seems I must. Alix has chastised me for my unremitting distrust of your race. Perhaps it is time I listened to her.”

  A glow came into Duncan’s eyes. “If she has caused you to reconsider the feelings most Homanans hold for us, then her foolishness has some merit.”

  “Duncan!” she cried in frustration.

  His brows lifted as he turned to her. “Well, it was foolishness. First you left the Keep, where I ordered you to remain; then you joined us when I would have you go back; and now you have come into an enemy camp. What else am I to think of your behavior?”

  Alix took a deep breath and glared at him, hands on hips. “My behavior is mine to do. It has nothing to do with you. Because I have wed you according to your barbaric shapechanger custom and carry your halfling child does not mean you have the ordering of me.”

  “Alix!” Carillon cried. He looked first at Duncan, then at her. After a moment he looked back at Duncan. “Does she always speak this way?”

  “When it suits her. I have not found her a diplomatic cheysula.”

  Alix scowled at him.

  Carillon shook his head slowly. “No, I think not. I had not known of her sharp tongue.” He grinned suddenly. “Well, that is not entirely true. I recall her words when I destroyed her garden.”

  Alix shoved her hair back from her face. “I begin to wish I had not come.”

  Carillon frowned at her. “Who cut off your hair?”

  “Duncan.”

  Carillon, astonished, looked at the warrior. “Why?”

  Duncan’s mouth twisted. “She required a lesson.” He dropped the keys and stretched out his hand. “Come, my lord; it is time we took you from this place.”

  Carillon heaved himself from the tumbril with Duncan’s help. His face went white and he gasped in pain as his muscles screamed their agony. He remained on his feet only because Duncan held him there.

  “Give me a sword,” Carillon said between clenched teeth. “I must have a sword. I owe a death to someone.”

  “I have none.” Duncan’s eyes were opaque and blank. “The last sword the Cheysuli held was Hale’s. You, my lord, have lost it for us.”

  Carillon blanched beneath the
quiet reproach. “I had little to do with it! Thorne disarmed me, and took it.” His pale face twisted. “I will slay that man. I have been chained like a beast and treated as common filth. They have made me watch as they ordered my men slain, and Thorne has laughed at it all.” He took a slow breath. “But the worst has nothing to do with me. It was the boy. Because of him, and the rest, Thorne will die by my hand.”

  Alix moved closer. “The boy, Carillon. I saw him closely. Is he Cheysuli?”

  Carillon sighed. “I thought so. He had the color for it. But he said no, when I asked him. He was afraid. I think, if anything, he is a bastard got on some Cheysuli woman. He said he was raised Homanan by a man and a woman not his parents.” He looked back at Duncan. “If I cannot have a sword, shapechanger, then lend me a knife.”

  Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “I have a name, princeling. You would do well to use it. I have committed my clan to your survival, and that of Homana. You and I have, I think, gone beyond being opponents of any sort. There is more than that between us, now. My lord.” Duncan studied him dispassionately. “If you would earn the respect of the Cheysuli—which you must have to keep Homana intact—you would do well to save your hatred for the Ihlini.”

  Alix feared they might come to blows. Carillon glared angrily at Duncan, as if he would slay him, and Duncan exhibited no intention of retracting his sharp words.

  Finally she put a hand on each of their arms. “Come, my warriors. We should leave this place.” When Duncan made no signs of moving she deliberately pressed her nails into his bare arm. “Cheysul, so you forget I carry your son? Get me free of this place.”

  That drove both of them into motion. Carillon wavered on his feet, recovered, and made as if to walk. Duncan caught his arm and led him away from the tumbril. But his other hand was on Alix’s wrist, and she felt herself dragged after him.

  Satisfied she had achieved her goal, she smiled to herself and went along amicably.

  Chapter Seven

  Duncan stole an Atvian horse and helped Carillon mount. The prince’s face was stretched taut with pain and the struggle to keep it unspoken, but Alix sensed every screaming fiber of Carillon’s mistreated body. Silently she watched him compose himself in the saddle, gathering reins with swollen, discolored hands.

  Duncan turned to her. “Ride behind him, cheysula.”

  Carillon glared at him. “I have no need of a woman to keep me in the saddle, shapechanger.”

  “This woman has accounted for your rescue, princeling,” Duncan returned. “And as for your ability to keep yourself in the saddle, that is for you to do. It is Alix I am concerned about, and the health of our child.”

  Carillon, about to say something more, snapped his mouth shut.

  Alix shook her head. “I go with you, Duncan.”

  “The others leave this place in lir-shape,” he said calmly. “I will walk, leading this horse. Whether you realize it yet, you are doubtless weary. Ride, Alix.”

  Duncan’s words awoke all the trembling in her limbs and the comprehension of what she had accomplished. Alix felt her bones turn to water. Though she longed to protest she withheld it as she saw the understanding in Duncan’s eyes. Silently she let him lift her onto the horse, and carefully clasped her fingers into the leather of Carillon’s belt.

  “Where do we go?” he asked.

  “Not far. Perhaps two leagues from here.” Duncan took the horse’s bridle and led it out. “Come, we will see to your welfare when we are free of this place.”

  Duncan took them from the open plains into the depths of the shadowed forests, moving so silently Alix heard only the horse’s steps muffled against the bedding of the forest floor. Occasionally she saw flitting shapes of animals slipping by and realized the lir and their warriors gave the clan-leader and his charges protection. She felt very safe.

  At last Duncan turned the horse into a tiny clearing invisible to the untrained eye. Alix pushed free of the horse and dropped to the ground, ignoring Duncan’s disapproving comment. She stepped out of the way and watched as he helped Carillon dismount.

  “I will be well enough,” Carillon said curtly.

  Duncan did not remove his steadying arm. “It is no disgrace to require help after so much time spent in close confinement.” He met Carillon’s eyes, “Or is it only Cheysuli aid you spurn?”

  Alix sighed wearily and pushed hair from her face. “Must you ever go at one another with no basis other than pride and arrogance?” she asked. “Can neither of you forget your race and simply conduct yourselves as men?”

  Carillon stared at her. After a moment something softened his expression and twisted his mouth briefly. He looked back at Duncan.

  “You have proven your loyalty to me, at least, this night. It is not my place to reprove you for it.”

  Duncan smiled and indicated a fallen log. “Come, my lord. We will see if you are worth saving,”

  Alix followed as Duncan led Carillon to the log. The prince lowered himself carefully to the ground and leaned against the fallen tree, sighing as his limbs fell once more into the positions they had grown accustomed to in captivity.

  “Build a fire, cheysula,” Duncan said quietly as he knelt by Carillon’s side.

  She felt a spasm of fear in her chest. “So close to the Atvians?”

  “We must, Alix. Carillon can go no farther this night.”

  Unhappily she did his bidding, locating stones and building them into a small fire cairn. She lay small sticks and broken kindling upon it, and kept herself from twitching in surprise as a Cheysuli warrior appeared to light it. When she glanced up she saw the clearing was filled with returned warriors.

  Flames licked at the kindling and caught, illuminating the clearing into eerie, flickering shadows. Alix saw the dark face of each man and the glowing yellow eyes, acknowledging again her own kinship to the magic of the gods. The lir, four-footed and winged, waited silently with their warriors.

  Cai? she asked silently.

  He rustled in the nearest tree. Here, liren.

  I accomplished what I said I would.

  Aye, liren. He sounded amused. You are truly Cheysuli.

  Alix grinned. Those words from you are honor indeed, Cai.

  Yet once you would not admit it, liren.

  Alix sighed and knelt by the fire, watching her husband at Carillon’s side. But then I was foolish, Cai, and unwilling to learn.

  You have learned much, the bird agreed. But there is still much left to you.

  She peered into the tree, trying to distinguish the hawk’s form from distorting branches. What do you say?

  In time, you will know.

  A stifled exclamation from Carillon took her attention from the bird and she moved closer to the prince. Duncan, she saw in alarm, manipulated Carillon’s hands with little regard for his pain.

  “Can you not let them be?” Carillon asked between gritted teeth. “They will heal.”

  “It is worth the pain to let me see to them, my lord. Iron can damage more than flesh. It can take away the little life within the muscles themselves. But you, I think, will hold a sword again.”

  “And when I hold that sword, I will plunge it into Thorne’s black heart.”

  Alix’s eyes widened as she saw Finn step out of the darkness into the ring of firelight. Storr flanked him on one side.

  “What sword will you use, princeling?” Finn demanded. “You have lost the one my jehan gifted to the Mujhar.”

  Color flooded Carillon’s face. “I admit it.”

  Finn raised one eyebrow. “Well, I had expected denials and excuses from you. You surprise me.”

  “This can wait,” Duncan said reprovingly.

  Finn moved closer and drew a tooled leather sheath from behind his back. The gold hilt of a broadsword gleamed in the firelight, and the brilliant ruby in it glistened like blood.

  The warrior lifted it into the light, focusing all eyes on it. “Hale’s sword was meant for one man, Carillon. I cannot say if that man is you, but if
it is—you had best take care. This is twice you have lost my jehan’s sword. Next time I may not see it back in your hands.”

  Carillon said nothing as Finn held the sheathed weapon down. For a long moment his hands lay still in his lap, where Duncan had released them. Then, when Finn made no move to withdraw it, Carillon closed one hand around the scabbard.

  “If you are so dedicated to overcoming my succession,” he began, “why, then, do you persist in restoring this blade to me? In your hands it might prove far more powerful.”

  Finn shrugged, folding bronzed arms across his chest. “A Cheysuli warrior does not bear a sword. And I am that before anything else.”

  Carillon set the sword across his lap and stared at the Homanan lion crest stamped into its hilt. Then he let the pain and fatigue take his mind, and he fell asleep with Hale’s sword held firmly against his chest.

  Alix looked on his bruised, gaunt face and suddenly longed for the first days of their meetings in the forest near the croft. His fine clothes were gone, replaced by soiled and scarred leathers and blood-rusted chain mail. His sword-belt was missing and his hair had grown shaggy and tangled in weeks of captivity. The only thing princely about him was the ruby seal ring on his right forefinger, and the determination inherent in his face even in exhausted sleep.

  She sighed and felt a hollowness enter her spirit, knowing Carillon’s personal tahlmorra would take him farther from her yet.

  Duncan rose and turned to her, looking down on her expressionlessly. Something in his eyes made her realize her face gave away her feelings, and for an odd moment she saw before her a stern shapechanger warrior who had forced her into his clan against her wishes.

  Then the oddness slid away and she saw him clearly.

  He is Duncan, she recalled. Duncan…

  Somehow, it was enough.

  He moved to her and slowly raised her. She felt the strength in his hand on her arm and marveled again that this man had taken an unschooled croft-girl into his pavilion, when he might have had another.

  “Come with me,” he said softly, guiding her out of the clearing to the forest beyond.

  When he found a shattered tree stump he set her down upon it and stood resolutely before her, dark face unreadable in the shadows.