The Shapechangers

by Jennifer Roberson

  “Then I will be waiting again; unknowing,” she protested. “It will be no different than at the Keep.”

  His hands clasped her belted waist possessively. “Alix, I understand what you fear. In your place, I could not do it. But I cannot have you by my side as I go into war. It would divide my concentration, and that is deadly to any warrior.”

  “By myself?” she whispered.

  “I will leave Cai. I would not have you go unattended.” He smoothed back her tousled hair. “Cheysula, say you will do as I ask.”

  “Duncan, how am I to deal with this? You leave me in the middle of a fallen city and say I must not worry. That is the cruelest torture I could know.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and saw Carillon returning. He sighed and left his horse in the street, taking Alix into the building half-destroyed by Ihlini sorcery. Before she could protest, Duncan lifted her and set her on a tumbled wall.

  “You will stay here, with Cai.”

  “Without your lir you cannot shapechange.”

  “There are Ihlini here. I cannot seek lir-shape anyway.”

  “Duncan—”

  “Do as I ask. Keep yourself safe here, away from fighting.”

  He sighed and one broad, long-fingered hand slid to cover her stomach. “I must name the child, cheysula.”

  “Name it…now?”

  “Aye. It is a warrior’s custom to name an unborn as he goes into battle.” He shrugged. “So that it is gods-blessed, regardless of the jehan’s fate.”

  Cold slid through her bones as she grabbed at his hands. “Duncan, I would sooner have you stay with me!”

  “I cannot,” he said gently. “It is not my tahlmorra to turn my back on Homana’s need.”

  “You will come back for me!”

  “Of course, cheysula. Do you think so poorly of my warrior skills?”

  “But I am not a warrior. I cannot judge.”

  “You are warrior enough for me.” He silenced any protest with a kiss of such longing and poignancy she could say nothing when he at last released her. She stared into his face beseechingly, and saw the pride and strength she had ever loved.

  “He shall be Donal,” he said softly. “Donal.”

  Perversely, she scowled at him. “And if I bear a girl?”

  Duncan grinned. “I think it will be a boy.”

  “Duncan—”

  “I will come for you, when it is done.”

  Anguish filled her. “Cheysul—”

  “It is tahlmorra, small one,” he said firmly, and left her in the darkness.

  Chapter Two

  Alix paced through the rubble like a madwoman. For a long time she saw nothing of the place in which Duncan had left her, feeling only the turmoil and anger of her spirit, until at last she stopped in the middle of the tumbled building and stared into its shadowed depths. The emptiness of the place oppressed her until she wanted to run screaming from it. Then she realized it was not the tumbled wreckage that beat at her so much, but the acknowledgment of her own futility.

  She wrapped both arms tightly around herself as if they would lend her warmth and security. She attuned her senses to her surroundings and heard the skittering of rats in dark corners, and the creaking of weakened timbers. Slowly she lifted her eyes to the broken roof and stared into the black night sky with its scattered stars.

  I am here, liren, Cai said softly. I am here.

  Her mouth twisted. I respect you, Cai, but you are not Duncan, You are not the father of this child I carry.

  The bird shifted somewhere above. He has left me to make certain you fare well. Not to take his place.

  She smiled into the blank open doorway. Cai…sometimes I forget you are a hawk and think of you almost as a man.

  A tiny pebble fell from the timber over her head. I am not so different, liren. Because I have wings and talons does not make me insensitive to a woman’s fears. His tone warmed. He is a brave warrior, liren.

  “But they die,” she said aloud. “Even the bravest die.”

  The hawk seemed almost to sigh. I cannot say if he lives or dies this night, liren. Only that he fights for his beliefs. Should he die, I will be lirless and you without a cheysul. But he would be content he had done what he could for the prophecy.

  “Prophecy!” she cried aloud, clutching at the abdomen that carried Duncan’s child. “I think it is more like a curse!”

  Cai shifted overhead and scattered another handful of pebbles to the floor. Alix stared blindly at the invisible fall.

  The prophecy is your tahlmorra, the hawk said at last, gently. As it is mine, and my lir’s. Even, I think, your child’s.

  Alix jerked her head up and stared at his shadow-shrouded form. “What do you say? Do you tell me you know what will come to all of us? Do you say we are only game pieces the gods move as suits their will?”

  Liren, he said softly, we were the first. The gods made lir before they made men. We know many things.

  She wrenched her hands from her abdomen. “Then will you not tell me? Will you not say what road lies before me?”

  I cannot, liren. The prophecy unveils itself in the fullness of time. The lir cannot precipitate it.

  “Cai!”

  No, he said calmly.

  “It is not fair!” she cried. “If he should die, you will tell me it is his tahlmorra and I should not grieve. Yet if he lives, and returns to me to see his child when it is born, you will say that is meant also! Cai, you speak to me in tangled words and snarled threads. I cannot say I like this tapestry you weave!”

  The hawk was silent a long moment. It is not my tapestry, he said at last, but that of the gods. They have said what will come. It is up to the shar tahls to show you what has gone before, and what may follow.

  “It is not fair,” she repeated.

  No, he agreed, nor ever shall be.

  Alix stared blindly into the darkness and cursed her soul for its unquiet depths. After a moment she went to the wall Duncan had perched her on and climbed up to seat herself on it gingerly.

  Repeating the action did no good. Duncan was not there, and she felt only the emptiness of her heart.

  “Cai,” she said at last, hearing the whisper of an echo in the shattered dwelling, “I am not meant to wait so patiently, or so silently.”

  You are never silent, liren.

  She did not smile. “I will not remain here.”

  He wished it.

  “I wish to be with him.”

  Silence crept into the ruin. Then Cai shifted on the beam and sent a brief shower of debris raining down on her.

  Liren, he has said what he wants from you.

  “I will work myself into a frenzy,” she said calmly, “and that will do the child no good at all.”

  Yet if you go, you risk both of you.

  She closed her eyes. “Duncan does what he must, and expects me not to question it. But I do, Cai. I must. There is something-different—in myself. I cannot sit calmly by and wait for him to return to me…if he can.”

  Liren…

  Alix opened her eyes, decision made. “I must do what I must, bird. Perhaps it is my own tahlmorra.”

  The great hawk lifted and flew from the timber to the broken wall before her. She saw his dark eyes glinting in the moonlight.

  Liren, it is not for me to gainsay you. I have said what I can. Alix smiled. “Cai, you are truly a blessing of the old gods.”

  The hawk fixed her with a bright eye. So is the child you carry.

  She slid off the shattered wall and straightened her creased leathers. “Cai, I will carry this child to full term. It is a part of my own tahlmorra.”

  He sounded oddly amused. You have only just come to us, liren, yet you speak as a learned one who has the magic of the shar tahls.

  Alix walked from the dwelling into the cobbled street and stared down the empty alley. “Perhaps I have a measure of that magic, Cai. Now, do you come?”

  The great hawk mantled and took to the air. I come, liren.
<
br />   Alix moved softly, mimicking Duncan’s stealth. She was very aware of the knife in her boot, wishing she had better but knowing she would be incapable of using it against another anyway. She was no warrior.

  Cai winged overhead silently, saying nothing to her as she walked carefully through the empty streets and alleyways. The night sky was clear save for stars, but she felt a heaviness in her bones as if the buildings of the Mujhar’s city leaned in on her. And she smelled the stench of death, unable to escape its cloying touch.

  Occasionally she passed a tumbled wall still smoldering, still caressed by odd purple fire. She swallowed heavily as she recalled Tynstar and his odd method of departing her presence. A shiver of foreboding coursed through her body as she stepped carefully through the broken fragments of a dwelling, and her right hand dropped instinctively to shield her unborn child.

  Alix froze suddenly as a shadow streaked across the street before her, hissing malevolently. Instinctively she pressed herself against the nearest wall, hoping the bricks might provide protection. Then she saw it was only a cat, fur raised and ears flattened as it fled the night terrors. For a moment she held herself against the wall, eyes closed tightly as she tried to still her lurching heart. Cai, drifting over her, sent a burst of his own confidence.

  Alix pushed away and moved on, releasing a breath that rasped through her dry throat. After a moment she paused, bending, and took the knife from her boot. The feel of it in her hand gave her a measure of renewed confidence, and she walked on softly.

  You can go back, Cai said. You can wait for my lir, as he wished.

  No, she said silently.

  Liren…

  No.

  Alix felt better for her determination, recalling the urge that had originally driven her into the streets. For all she was frightened of what might befall her, she was more frightened of what might happen to Duncan. She would far prefer being with him, in danger, than without him in comparative safety.

  A stone rattled on the cobbles before her. Alix slipped into a recessed doorway, knife drawn up to her chest in readiness.

  Another stone skittered across the uneven street and came to rest near her foot. She followed its path with her eyes until she saw the figure move silently through the street.

  It was a man, she thought, for the cloaked form was tall and moved with the subtle grace of a warrior. She had seen its like in warriors of the clan, marveling at the body’s ability to take on the aspect of animal suppleness while maintaining human form. For a moment she thought the man Cheysuli, then recalled none had gone cloaked on this mission into Mujhara. Alix drew in a breath and waited.

  He moved past her, half-hidden in the shadowy folds of his cloak. For a moment he paused, very near her, and she feared discovery. A hand rose and pushed the hood free of his face, sliding the draped material to his shoulders. Alix, certain he somehow knew her presence, waited for him to speak.

  But the man said nothing. He glanced into the sky, marked the hawk’s idle flight, and smiled to himself. Then he moved on.

  Alix waited until he was gone. Then she slipped out of the doorway and hastened from the street, fearing belated discovery. When she reached for Cai’s soothing pattern she felt an odd current pushing against her, almost as if it sought to prevent communication with the hawk. She strengthened her call and relaxed as the bird’s tone came to her.

  Ihlini, liren.

  Alix paused, frowning against the effort it took to hear him. Ihlini?

  Aye, the cloaked man.

  She stared into the darkness. Then why do I hear you at all?

  Perhaps it is the blood in you, liren. Perhaps whatever power it is that prevents other Cheysuli from seeking their lir does not block you from it. His shadow drifted over her. Liren, you are fortunate indeed.

  But she felt the strain within the pattern and sensed a draining of her resources. It frightened her, for she dared not risk the child. She broke off the link to Cai and decided to keep it broken, for fear it might harm the unborn. Cai seemed to approve, and she went on in greater solitude than before.

  Alix knew herself lost. Her visit to Mujhara with Carillon had not accustomed her to the twistings and turnings of the narrow streets, and she realized she might be moving farther from Homana-Mujhar instead of going to it. Frustrated and fearful, she turned yet again and kept her steady pace. She longed to question Cai, knowing he could tell her, but fought down the instinct. She would not involve the hawk unless forced to.

  She heard a child crying in the distance. As she drew closer the piteous wail drove into her spirit like a shaft, beckoning her. Alix broke into a trot, then a run as the crying seemed to weaken. She was breathless as she rounded a corner and tripped over a body in the street.

  It was a woman, clothed in a soiled and torn gown. Alix got to her knees and replaced her knife as she put a trembling hand toward the woman’s face. Then she saw the staring eyes were blank, bulging in death, and something elemental curled deeply within her soul. She hesitated, then put gentle fingers to the eyelids and closed them. The cold stillness of the flesh shot a convulsive shudder down her spine.

  The crying renewed itself. Alix jerked her head around and stared wide-eyed into the darkness. After a moment she located the focus of the sound and rose, moving quietly to the broken wall of a charred building. Behind the scattered stone, placed carefully beneath a sheltering piece of broken door, lay a naked baby.

  Soundlessly Alix cried out. Then her hands were on the infant, lifting it free of its protection. It was a boy-child, cold to the touch, and his chest rose feebly in an attempt to breathe. Alix knelt and cradled him to her breast, feeling a mixture of longing and pain in her soul as she sensed the ambiance of her own unborn child.

  She crooned to him softly, smoothing his silken head. He was no more than a few weeks, she knew, and helpless as a blind, newborn rabbit. His slender limbs trembled from exposure and unknown fear, and after a moment Alix lay him down in the street and stripped out of her supple jerkin and belt. The leather was not much, but she realized some wrapping was better than none. Carefully she lifted the child and folded the jerkin around his body, snugging the belt over it to swaddle him as warmly as possible. Chill nipped through the loose weave of her improvised shirt, but she ignored it as she lifted the baby and walked on.

  At last Alix turned a corner and saw before her the red stones of Homana-Mujhar. The walls rose mutely in the moonlight, throwing dark shadows into surrounding streets. And she saw the Solindish and Atvian guards surrounding the place, posted at every gate.’ She wondered if Tynstar had yet broken through Shaine’s wards, taking the palace for Bellam.

  Alix drew back in the sheltering shadows, suddenly at a loss for what to do. She had anticipated finding Duncan no matter how impossible the task seemed, even in the cul-de-sacs and strange turnings. Now she stared worriedly at the bronze-and-timber gates and feared she had acted wrongly.

  Where are they? she asked fearfully. Where are the Cheysuli?

  The child whimpered in her arms. Alix shifted him closer to her chest and placed gentle lips against his forehead, silently promising him safety. But she also feared for her own.

  She glanced back the way she had come and stiffened. Through the narrow street walked a cloaked figure, moving with familiar grace. The hood was drawn up again to hide the man’s features, but she knew him by his movements. Alix pressed back against the wall.

  Then a second figure slid out from the shadows, just behind the cloaked Ihlini. Alix watched in painful silence as the second man moved into the moonlighted street, then caught her breath in a gasp as muted light glinted off gold lir-bands.

  “Ihlini!” the Cheysuli whispered.

  The cloaked figure spun and froze. Alix saw him push his hands out sideways, away from his body, as if to indicate his innocent intent. The Cheysuli moved closer and a shaft of moonlight slanted clearly across his face.

  “Duncan!” she whispered in horror, clutching at the child.

  The
Ihlini’s voice, quiet but pitched to carry, came clearly to her. “We should not fight, you and I. The Cheysuli and Ihlini are much alike. You have your gifts, I mine. We could use them in concert.”

  She heard Duncan’s soft laugh. “There is no likeness between us, sorcerer, save equal determination to serve our own gods.”

  The Ihlini lowered his hands, then pulled his cloak off and dropped it to the cobbles. “Then I will serve my gods, shapechanger, by ridding this land of one more Cheysuli.”

  The fight was sudden and vicious. Alix gasped as Duncan closed with the Ihlini, movements half-hidden. She saw only the glint of knives and heard their grunts of effort as each sought to slay the other.

  “By the gods,” she whispered to herself, horrified, “it is much worse than I thought, Much worse!”

  The child whimpered again and she hugged him closer, seeking her own strength in his need for security. But her mind was with Duncan.

  She saw the Ihlini stumble back. A metallic glint flashed from his left shoulder and she saw the hilt of a Cheysuli knife stand out from his dark leathers. Duncan, crouched in readiness, straightened. Alix felt overwhelming relief flood her body, then realized how much she had longed for the sorcerer’s death. The emotion shocked and sickened her.

  The Ihlini did not fall. His back turned to her and she saw his right arm move to pull the knife from his shoulder. Duncan, hands empty, waited warily.

  Die, Ihlini…she whispered silently, hating herself for desiring another’s death. Die!

  The sorcerer went to one knee. She saw Duncan clearly in the moonlight, feet spread to brace himself against his enemy. Darkness slid down one arm, dulling his lir-band, and she realized the Ihlini’s knife had found at least part of its target. She bit her lip and fought back the instinct to run to him.

  A rattle behind Duncan spun him around. He was unarmed, vulnerable to a second attack, but something in his stance told her he was prepared. Then she saw the Solindish soldier move into the moonlight, sword bared.

  Cai! Alix cried. Cai—do something!

  The pattern was faint. At last Cai answered her. Liren, I cannot. It is an Ihlini he faces…the lir do not interfere. It is part of the gods’ law.