Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (2 page)

 
          
Legacy of the Sword
focuses on Donal's
slow assumption of power within Homana, and his personal assumption of his role
in the prophecy. Because by clan custom a warrior is free to take both wife and
mistress, Donal has started a Cheysuli family even though he will one day have
to marry Carillon's daughter to cement his right to the Lion Throne. By his
Cheysuli mistress he has two children, Ian and Isolde; by Aislinn, Carillon's
daughter, he eventually sires a son who will become his heir. But the marriage
is rocky immediately; in addition to the problems caused by a second family,
Donal's Homanan wife is also under the magical influence of her mother,
Electra, who is mistress to Tynstar. Problems are compounded by the son of Tynstar
and Electra, Strahan, who has his father's powers in full measure. On
Carillon's death Donal inherits the Lion, naming his legitimate son, Niall, to
succeed him. But to further the prophecy he marries his sister, Bronwyn, to
Alaric of Atvia, lord of an island kingdom. Bronwyn is later killed by Alaric
accidentally while in
lir
-shape, but
lives long enough to give birth to a daughter, Gisella, who is mad.

 
          
In
Track of the White Wolf
, Donal's son
Niall is a young man caught between two worlds. To the Homanans, fearful of
Cheysuli power and intentions, he is worthy only of distrust, the focus of
their discontent. To the Cheysuli he is an "unblessed" man, because
even though far past the age for it, Niall has not linked with his animal. He
is therefore a
lirless
man, a warrior
with no power, and such a man has no place within the clans. His Cheysuli
half-brother is his liege man, fully "blessed," and Ian's abilities
serve to add to Niall's feelings of inferiority.

 
          
Niall
is meant to marry his half-Atvian cousin, Gisella, but falls in love with the
princess of a neighboring kingdom, Deirdre of Erinn.
Lirless
, and with Gisella under the influence of Tynstar's Ihlini
daughter, Lillith, Niall falls prey to sorcery. Eventually he links with his
lir
and assumes the full range of
Cheysuli powers, but he pays for it with an eye. His marriage to Gisella is
disastrous, but two sets of twins are born—Brennan and Hart, Corin and Keely—which
gives Niall the opportunity to extend his range of influence via betrothal
alliances. He banishes Gisella to Atvia after he foils an Ihlini plot involving
her, and then settles into life with his mistress, Deirdre of Erinn, who has
already borne Maeve, his illegitimate daughter.

 
          
A Pride of Princes
tells the story of
each of Niall's three sons. Brennan, the eldest, will inherit Homana and has
been betrothed to Aileen, Deirdre's niece, to add a heretofore unknown
bloodline to the prophecy. Brennan's twin, Hart, is Prince of Solinde, a
compulsive gambler whose addiction results in a tragic accident involving all
three of Niall's sons. Hart is banished to Solinde for a year, and the
rebellious youngest son, Corin, to Atvia. Brennan is tricked into siring a
child on an Ihlini-Cheysuli woman; Hart loses a hand and nearly his life in a
Solindish plot; in Erinn, Corin falls in love with Brennan's bride, Aileen,
before going to Atvia. One by one each is captured by Strahan, Tynstar's son,
who intends to turn Niall's sons into puppet-kings so he can rule through them.
All three manage to escape, but not after each has been made to recognize
particular strengths and weaknesses.

 
          
For
Keely, sister to Niall's sons, things are different. In
Daughter of the Lion
, Keely herself is caught up in the
machinations of politics, evil sorcery, and her own volatile emotions. Trained
from childhood in masculine pursuits such as weaponry, Keely prefers the
freedom of choice and lifestyle, and as both are threatened by the imminent
arrival of her betrothed, Sean of Erinn, she fights to maintain her sense of
self in a world ruled by men. She is therefore ripe for rebellion when a
strong-minded, powerful Erinnish brigand—and possible murderer—enters her life.

 
          
But
Keely's battles are increased tenfold when Strahan chooses her as his next
target. Betrayed, trapped, and imprisoned on the Crystal Isle, Keely is forced
through sorcery into a liaison with the Ihlini that results in pregnancy. But
before the child can be born, Keely escapes with the aid of the Ihlini bard,
Taliesin. On her way home she meets the man believed to be her betrothed, and
realizes not only must she somehow rid herself of the unwanted child, but must
also decide which man she will have—thief or prince—in order to be a true
Cheysuli in service to the prophecy.

 
          
«^
»

 
          
He
was small, so very small, but desperation lent him strength. The
need
lent him strength, even though
fright and tension threatened to undermine it. He placed small hands on the
hammered silver door and
pushed
as
hard as he could, grunting with the effort; pushing with all his might.

 
          
The
door opened slightly. Then fell back again, scraping, as his meager strength
failed.

 
          
"
No
," he muttered aloud between
clenched teeth. "No, I will not
let
you."

 
          
He
shoved very hard again. This time he squeezed into the opening before the door
could shut. When it shut, it shut on
him;
gasping shock and fright, Aidan thrust himself through. His sleeping robe tore,
but he did not care. It did not matter. He was in at last.

 
          
Once
in, he froze. The Great Hall was cavernous. Darker than night—a thick, heavy
blackness trying to squash him flat. Darkness and
something
calling to him.

 
          
He
would not be squashed. He would
not
—and
yet his belly knotted. Who was he to do this? Who was he to come to his
grandsire's Great Hall, to confront the Lion Throne?

 
          
Small
hands tugged at hair, twisting a lock through fingers. Black hair by night; by
day a dark russet, red in the light of the sun. He peered the length of the
hall, feeling cold stone beneath his feet. His mother would have told him to
put on his slippers. But the
need
had
been so great that nothing else mattered but that he confront the Lion, and the
thing in the Lion's lap.

 
          
He
shivered. Not from cold: from
fear
.

 
          
Compulsion
drove him. Aidan moaned a little. He wanted to leave the hall. He wanted to
turn his back on the Lion, the big black beast who waited to devour him. But
the need, so overwhelming, would not let him.

 
          
No
candles had been left lighted. The firepit coals glowed only vaguely. What
little moon there was shone fitfully through the casements, its latticed light
distorted by stained glass panes.

 
          
If
only he could
see
.

 
          
No.
He knew better. If he could see the Lion, he would fear it more.

 
          
Or
would he? The light of day was no better. The Lion still glared, still bared
wooden teeth. Now he could barely see it, acrouch on the marble dais. Could it
see him?

 
          
Aidan
bit a finger. Bowels turned to water; he wanted the chamber pot. But he was
prince and also Cheysuli. If he retreated now, he would dishonor the blood in
his veins.

 
          
But,
oh, how he wanted to leave!

 
          
Aidan
rocked a little. "
Jehana…
"
he whispered, not knowing that he spoke.

 
          
In
the darkness, the Lion waited.

 
          
So
did something else.

 
          
Aidan
drew in a strangled breath in three gulping inhalations very noisy in the silence.
Pressure in his bladder increased. He bit into his finger, then slowly took a
step.

 
          
One.
Then two. Then three. He lost count of them all. But eventually all the steps
merged and took him the length of the hall, where he stood before the Lion. He
looked at eyes, teeth, nostrils. All of it wood, all of it.
He
was made of flesh.
He
would rule the Lion.

 
          
With
effort, Aidan looked into the lap. In dim light, something glowed.

 
          
It
was a chain, made of gold. Heavy, hammered gold, alive with promises. More than
wealth, or power: the chain was heritage. His past, and his future: legacy of
the gods. He reached for it, transfixed, wanting it,
needing
it, knowing it was for him; but when his trembling hand
closed over a link the size of a large man's wrist, the chain shapechanged to
dust.

 
          
He
cried out. Urine stained his nightrobe. Shame flooded him, but so did
desperation. It had been right
there;
now there was nothing. Nothing at all remained. The dust—and the chain—was
gone.

 
          
He
did not want to cry. He did not
intend
to cry, but the tears came anyway. Which made him cry all the harder, ashamed
of his emotion. Ashamed of his loss of control. Of his too-Homanan reaction;
Cheysuli warriors did not cry. Grief was not expressed.

 
          
But
he was more than merely Cheysuli. And no one let him forget.

 
          
Only
one more bloodline needed. One more outcross required, and the prophecy was
complete. But even he, at six, knew how impossible it was. He had heard it
often enough in the halls of Homana-Mujhar.

 
          
No Cheysuli warrior will ever lie down with
an Ihlini and sire a child upon her.

 
          
But
even he, a boy, knew better. A Cheysuli warrior
had;
in fact,
two
had:
his grandsire's brother, Ian, and his own father, the Prince of Homana, who one
day would be Mujhar.

 
          
Even
at six, he knew. And knew what he was meant for; what blood ran in his veins.
But it was all very confusing, and he chose to leave it so.

 
          
Grief
renewed itself.
I want my chain
.

 
          
But
the chain—
his
chain—had vanished.

 
          
A
small ferocity was born:
I want my CHAIN
—

 
          
One
of the doors scraped open. Aidan twitched and swung around unsteadily,
clutching the sodden nightrobe in both hands. It was his mother, he knew. Who
else would come looking for a boy not in his bed? And she would see, she would
know
—

 
          
"Aidan?
Aidan—what are ye doing here? 'Tis far past your bedtime!"

 
          
Shame
made him hot. He fought tears and trembling.

 
          
She
was white-faced, distraught, though trying to hide it. He knew what she felt;
could
feel
it, as if her skin was
his. But she tried so hard to hide it.

 
          
The
familiar lilt of Erinn echoed in the Great Hall. "What are ye doing, my
lad? Paying homage to the Lion?" Aileen's laugh was forced. " 'Twill
be
your
beastie, one day—there's no
need for you to come in the night to see it!"

 
          
She
meant well, he knew. She always meant well. But he sensed her fear, her
anguish, beneath forced cheerfulness.

 
          
She
hurried the length of the hall, gathering folds of a heavy robe. By the doors
stood a servant holding a lamp. Light glowed in the hall. The Lion leaped out
of the shadows.

 
          
Aidan
fell back, thrusting up a warding arm, then realized it was no more than it
ever was: a piece of wood shaped by man. And then his mother was beside him,
asking him things fear distorted, until she gathered the reins of her worry and
knotted them away.