The Song of Homana

by Jennifer Roberson

  “My lord!” It was Rowan as Lachlan rode up. “They come!”

  And so they did. Almost all fifty of them, charging up the hill, to swallow us within their ringmailed fist.

  I smiled grimly, unsurprised. I saw the frustrated, impotent anger on Rowan’s young face as he put his hand to his sword; he did not draw it because he saw no reason to. We were too soundly caught.

  Lachlan said something in his Ellasian tongue. A curse, I thought, not recognizing it, or perhaps a plea to his All-Father; whatever it was, it sounded like he meant to chew up their bones, did they bother to come close enough.

  Tourmaline, white-faced, shot me a glance that said she understood the brevity of our greeting. What fear I saw in her face was not for herself but for me. Her brother, who had been sought for six long years, was home at last. And caught.

  The Solindish captain wore a mail coif that hid all of his head but his face. A wide, hard, battle-scarred face, with brown eyes that had undoubtedly seen everything in war, and yet now expressed a bafflement born of disbelief. His Homanan was twisted by his Solindish accent, but I understood him well enough. “Surely a boy would know better.”

  My horse stomped beneath me, jarring my spine against the saddle. I did not answer.

  “Carillon of Homana?” the captain asked, as if he could not believe he had caught the proper quarry.

  “The Mujhar,” I agreed calmly. “Do you mean to take us to the usurper on his stolen throne?”

  Tourmaline drew in a sudden breath. Lachlan moved his horse closer to my sister’s, as if to guard her. It was for me to do, not him, but I was occupied at the moment.

  “Your sword,” the captain said. “There is no hope of escape for you.”

  “No?” I smiled. “My sword is my own to keep.”

  The first shadow passed over my face, moving on quickly to blot out the captain’s face. Then another. Yet a third, and the ground was suddenly blotched with moving darkness, as if a plague of shadows had come to settle across us all. All men, save me, looked up, and saw the circling birds.

  There were dozens of them. Hawks and eagles and falcons, owls and ravens and more. With wings outstretched and talons folded, they danced upon the air. Up, then down, then around and around, bent upon some goal.

  Rowan began to laugh. “My lord,” he said at last, “forgive me for doubting you.”

  They stooped. They screamed. They slashed by the enemy and slapped wings against staring eyes, until the Solindish soldiers cried out in fear and pain. No man was slain; no man was even wounded, but their skill and pride and dignity was completely shredded. There are more way of overcoming the enemy than merely by slaying him. With the Cheysuli, half the defeat comes from knowing what they are.

  Half the birds broke away. They dipped to the ground with a rustle of outspread wings; the soughing of feathers folded away. They were birds no more, but men instead, as the shapechange swallowed them all.

  I heard the outcries of utter panic from the Solindish troop. One or two retched and vomited against the earth, too frightened to hold it in. Some dealt with horses threatening to bolt. Others sat perfectly still in their saddles, staring, with no hands upon their weapons.

  I smiled. With Rowan, my sister and Lachlan at my back, I broke passage through the enemy to the freedom outside the shattered fist. And when we were free again, guarded against attack by more than half a hundred warriors, I nodded. “Put them to death,” I said. “All but five. They may escort the lady to her father.”

  “My lord?” It was Rowan, questioning the need for sparing even five Solindishmen to fight us another day.

  “I want Bellam to know,” I said. “Let him choke upon what I have done.”

  “Do you leave him his daughter?” Lachlan asked.

  I looked past the silent troop to the five men who guarded Electra so closely at the bottom of the hill. I saw the tension in their bodies. Hands rested on their swords. Electra, too distant for me to make out her expression, sat equally still. No doubt she thought I would take her back. No doubt she knew I wanted to.

  “I leave him his daughter,” I said at last. “Let her spend her time in Homana-Mujhar wondering when I will come.” I looked at the Cheysuli warriors surrounding the captured Solindish. Horses trembled; so did men. I thought it a fitting end.

  And then I saw Duncan. He stood to one side with Cai upon his shoulder. The great hawk sat quietly, a mass of gold and brown next to the blackness of Duncan’s hair. The clan-leader seemed to support him effortlessly, though I could imagine the weight of the bird. In that instant I thought back to the time, six years before, when I had been imprisoned by the Cheysuli; when Finn had held and taunted me. Duncan it was who had ruled, as the Cheysuli are ruled, by numbers instead of a single man. But there was no doubting who held the power in the clan. There was no doubting it now.

  Cai lifted and returned to the air, stirring the fine veil of dust with his great outspread wings, and soared into the heavens along with the other lir. The shadows continued to blotch the land and the fear continued to live.

  Duncan was unsmiling. “Shall I begin with the captain?”

  I released a breath and nodded. Then I looked at Tourmaline. “It is time we found the camp.”

  Her eyes, blue as my own, were wide and staring as she looked upon the Cheysuli. I recalled she had seen none before, though knew of them as I had for so many years. To her, no doubt, they were barbaric. To her, no doubt, they were worse than beasts.

  She said nothing, knowing better than to speak freely before the enemy, but I did not doubt she would when we were free.

  “Come,” I said gently, and turned her horse away.

  FIFTEEN

  The wind came up at sunset as we rode into the newly settled encampment. It blew dust in our faces and tangled Tourmaline’s hair, until she caught it in one hand and made it tame, winding it through her fingers. Lachlan muttered something in his Ellasian tongue—it had to do with Lodhi, as usual—and Rowan blinked against the grit. As for me, I relished it. The wind would blow away the taste of blood and loss. For I had led my men into death, and I would not forget.

  “A storm,” Torry said. “Rain, do you think?”

  The cookfires, which pocked the open landscape, whipped and strained against the wind. I smelled the aroma of roasting meat and it set my mouth to watering. I could not recall when last I had eaten—surely it was this morning?

  “No rain,” I said finally. “Only wind, and the smell of death.”

  Tourmaline looked at me sharply. I saw a question forming in her face, but she asked nothing. She glanced instead at Lachlan, seeking some assurance, then turned her attention to her horse as I led them to my pavilion when I had asked directions of a passing soldier.

  When we reached the doorflap, I jumped from my horse and turned to Torry’s mount. She slid out of the saddle and into my arms, and I felt the weariness in her body. Like me, she was in need of rest, sustenance and sleep. I thought to set her down and take her inside, to get her properly settled, but she wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged with all her strength. There were tears, warm against my flesh, and I knew she cried for us both.

  “Forgive me,” she whispered into my sweat-dried hair. “I prayed all these years that the gods would let you live, even as Bellam sought you, yet when you come I give you thoughtless welcome. I thought you grown harsh and cruel when you ordered them slain, but I—of all—should know better. Was not our father a soldier?”

  “Torry—”

  She lifted her head and looked me in the face, for while I held her she was nearly as tall as I. “Lachlan told me what odds you face, and how well you face them; it is not my place to reprove you for your methods. Harsh times require harsh measures, and the gods know war is not for gentle men.”

  “You have not reproved me. As for gentle, no. There is little room in me for that.” I set her on her feet and reached out to tousle her hair. It was an old game between us, and I saw she recalled it well. Ever th
e older sister telling the youngest child what to do. Except the boy had grown up at last.

  “In my heart,” she said softly, “I reproved. It is my fault for having expectations. I thought, when you came, it would be the old Carillon, the one I used to tease. But I find it is the new one, and a different man who faces me.”

  There were strangers among us, though I knew their names, and we could not say precisely what we wished. But for the moment it was enough to see her again and know her safe, as she had not been safe for years. So I said something of what I felt. “I am sorry. I should have come home sooner. Somehow, I should have come—”

  She put her hand across my mouth. “No. Say nothing. You are come home now.” She smiled the brilliant smile of our mother and the lines of tension were washed from her face. I had forgotten the beauty of my sister, and I saw why Lachlan was smitten.

  The wind cracked the folds of the pavilion beside us. Lachlan’s horse stepped aside uneasily; he checked it with a tightened rein. I looked up at Rowan and squinted against the dust. “See you she has food and wine. It will be your task to make certain she is well.”

  “My lord,” she said, “your pavilion?”

  “Hers, now.” I smiled. “I have learned these past years what it is to make my bed upon the ground.”

  Lachlan, laughing, demurred at once. “Are you forgetting harpers are given their own sort of honor? Pavilions are part of it. Does it not ruffle your Mujhar’s pride and dignity, you may share mine with me.”

  “It ruffles nothing,” I retorted. “And will not, so long as you refrain from singing—or praying—in your sleep.” I looked at Torry again. “This is an army encampment, rude and rough. There is little refinement here. I must ask you to forgive what you hear.”

  She laughed aloud with the pleasure of her retort. “Well enough, I shall forgive your men. But never you.”

  The wind blew a lock of her unbound hair against my chest. It caught on the links of my ringmail, snagging, and I sought to free it without tearing the strands. I felt the clean silk against my callused, blood-stained hands, and knew again what manner of man her brother had become.

  It was no wonder she had reproved me, even in her heart.

  I pulled aside the doorflap and gestured her within. “Rowan will bring food and wine, and anything else you might require. Sleep, if you will. There will be time for talking later.”

  I saw the questions in her eyes and her instant silencing of them. She nodded and ducked inside, and I saw the glow of a lighted candle. She would not be left in darkness.

  I glanced up at Lachlan, who watched her disappear as the flap dropped down behind her. Inwardly I smiled, knowing the edge of the weapon; outwardly I was casual. “No doubt she would welcome company.”

  His face colored, then blanched. He had not realized how easily I saw his feelings. His hands touched his silver circlet as if to gather strength. “No doubt. But yours, I think, not mine.”

  I let it go, knowing I might use it later to bind him to me. Through Tourmaline, at least, I could know the harper’s intentions. “Come, then. We must tell Finn what has happened. It was his plan, not mine, and he should know.”

  Rowan started. “His?”

  I nodded. “We made it in Caledon one night, or something like it, when we had nothing better to do.” I smiled with the memory. “It was a summer night, like this one, but lacking the wind, and warmer. The evening before a battle. We spoke of plots and plans and strategies, and how it would be a fitting trick to set loose in Bellam’s midst.” My smile faded. “But that night we did not know if we would one day come home again, or if there would be so many Cheysuli.”

  Again the pavilion fabric cracked. Lachlan stepped down from his horse, hair tamed by the circlet. “But there are Cheysuli, my lord…and you have come home again.”

  I looked at him and saw again the dull brown hair. I thought of him in love with my sister. “Will you harp for me tonight?” I asked. “Give me ‘The Song of Homana.’”

  It was the harp I saw first as I entered the infirmary tent; Lachlan’s Lady, with her brilliant green eye. She stared at us both as the doorflap fell behind us, and I thought, oddly, the harp was like a lir. That Lachlan served her I did not wonder; that she served Lachlan, I knew. I had felt the magic before when they wove it between them.

  “Ah,” said Finn, “he has not forgotten me. The student recalls the master.”

  I grinned, relieved past measure to hear his voice so full of life. Yet even as I looked at him I could not help but wince, at least inwardly; the stitches held his face together, but the scar would last forever. It would be that men—and women—saw before anything else.

  Lachlan slipped past me to gather his harp into his arms. He had spent much of the day without his Lady; I wondered if it hurt.

  As for Finn, he did not smile. But, knowing him, I saw the hint of pleasure in his eyes and, I thought, relief. Had he thought I would not come back?

  “Have they all left you alone?” I hooked the stool over with a foot.

  Finn’s laugh was a breath of sound. He was weak still, I could see it. But I thought he would survive. The magic had given him that much, even had it not made him fully well. “Alix has spent all day with me. Only now have I managed to send her away.” He shifted slightly on the pallet, as if the leg yet pained him. “I told her I needed time alone, and I do. There is no need to coddle me.”

  “Alix would hardly coddle you.” I looked more closely at his face and saw the sallow tinge. It was better than the ashy hue of death, but he lacked the proper color. There was no fever, that much I could tell, but he was obviously weary. “Is there aught I might bring you?”

  “A Mujhar, serving me?” This time there was a smile, though it was very faint. “No, I am well. Alix has done more than enough. More than I ever expected.”

  “Perhaps it is her way of compensation,” I suggested without a smile.

  “Perhaps,” he agreed in his ironic manner. “She knows what she lacks. I have impressed it upon her on several occasions.”

  Lachlan, leaning against the table, struck a note on his harp. “I could put it to song. How you wooed and lost a maiden, how the brother was the victor.”

  Finn cast him a scowl, though it lacked its usual depth. “Harper, you would do well to think of your own women, and leave mine to me.”

  Lachlan’s smile froze, then grew distracted, and I knew he thought of Torry. His fingertips brushed the glowing golden strings and I heard the breath of sound. It conjured up the grace and elegance in a woman, and I thought at once of Electra. No doubt he thought of my sister; Finn—no doubt Finn remembered Alix. Alix before she knew Duncan.

  “The exchange was accomplished,” I said quietly. “My sister is safe, and Electra returns to her father.”

  “I thought you might keep her.”

  I scowled at the ironic tone. “No. I have set my mind to winning the throne before I win the woman. Did it come to a choice, you know which one I would take.”

  Finn’s brows lifted a bit. “There have been times, of late, I have not been so sure.” He shifted a little, restless, and I saw the twinge cross his face. Storr, lying next to him, settled his body closer. One brown arm with its weight of gold cradled the wolf as if Finn feared to release him.

  “Will you be well?” I asked it more sharply than I intended. “Has the earth magic not healed you fully?”

  He gestured briefly with a limp hand. “It does not always restore a body completely, it merely aids the healing. It is dependent on the injury.” For a moment tentative fingers touched the bandage binding the thigh. “I am well enough—for a man who should have died.”

  I took a deep breath and felt the slow revolution of the shadows in the tent. I was so tired…“The plan we made was ideal. Duncan brought all the winged lir. The Solindish stood no chance.”

  “No,” he agreed. “It is why I suggested it.”

  Lachlan laughed softly. “Does Carillon do nothing without your sugges
tion?”

  For a moment Finn’s expression was grim, for a face that was mostly ruined by swelling and seeping stitches. “There are times he does too much.”

  “As when I decide whom to wed.” I smiled at Lachlan’s expression of surprise. “The lady who goes to her father will become the Queen of Homana.”

  His eyebrows rose beneath the circlet. “Bellam might not be willing.”

  “Bellam will be dead when I wed his daughter.” I rolled my head to and fro, popping the knots in my neck. My back was tense as well, but there was no help for that. I would have to work it out with proper sleep and exercise; the former I would not see, no doubt, but the latter was a certainty.

  “I had heard she was offered to High King Rhodri’s heir.” Lachlan’s fingers brought a singing cadence from the strings.

  I shrugged. “Perhaps Bellam offered, but I have heard nothing of Rhodri’s answer. You, being Ellasian and his subject, might know better.”

  Lachlan’s mouth twisted thoughtfully. “I doubt he would stand in your way. What I know of Cuinn I have learned mostly first-hand, from being hosted in the castle. The High Prince is an idle sort, though friendly enough, with no mind to marriage so soon.” He shrugged. “Rhodri has strength of his own; I doubt he will demand his heir’s marriage as yet. But then who am I to know the minds of kings?” He grinned at me. “There is only you, my lord, and what do I know of you?”

  “You know I have a sister.”

  His face went very still. “Aye. I do.” Briefly he glanced at Finn. “But if we speak of it more, you will set your liege man to laughing.”

  Finn smiled. “Has a princess caught your eye? But what else?—you are a harper.”

  The golden notes poured forth, and yet Lachlan did not smile. “So I am, with thanks to Lodhi’s power. But there are times I could wish myself more…”

  So a princess might look his way? No doubt. But though harpers hold high honor in the courts of kings, they do not have enough to wed a woman of Torry’s rank.