The Shapechangers (23 page)

“But I am no longer so innocent, Duncan.
You
have seen to that.”

He shrugged, purposefully solemn. “Better a clan-leader, I think, than a mere warrior.”

“Warrior…
what
warrior?”

“Finn.”

“You beast!” she cried, striking him a glancing blow on the shoulder. “Why must you remind me of him? Even now he calls me
meijha
and torments me by suggesting I be his light woman.”

Duncan arched his brows. “He seeks only to irritate you,
cheysula.
Even Finn knows better than to seek a clan-leader’s woman, when she is unwilling.” His brows lowered, “I think.”

“Finn would dare anything,” Alix said darkly.

He smiled. “But if he did not, small one, he would be a tedious
rujholli
indeed.”

“I would prefer him tedious.”

“You, I think, would prefer him slain.”

She looked at him sharply, startled. “No, Duncan! Never. I wish death on no man, not even one like Shaine who would have all Cheysuli slain.” She recalled the guardsmen killed in her behalf. “No.”

His hand was gentle on her head, caressing her shorn hair. It had grown, but still barely touched her shoulders. “I know,
cheysula;
I only tease.” He sighed heavily as his hand fell away. “But if we join this war, there may be many deaths.”

“But the Mujhar will not have you with his armies. You have said.”

“In time, perhaps, he may
have
to.”

Alix, hearing the weariness of reluctant acceptance in his tone, leaned her head against his bare shoulder and tried to think of other things.

Now, as she took up the black boot again, she wondered how Carillon fared.

She had not lost her affection for the prince, even though she
had spent nearly three months with the clan in Ellas. Carillon had been the first man she had fastened her fancy on; though it had been an impossible dream, she dreamed it with great joy. Duncan had replaced Carillon in her dreams, dominating her thoughts and desires, but she did not forget the first one she had loved. That love had been childish, immature and unfulfilled, but it had been true.

Alix fingered the thick black fur absently, lost within her thoughts. Duncan had showed her what it was to be a woman; what it was to be Cheysuli; what it was to have a
tahlmorra.
Already her roots had twined themselves around his own so deeply she knew she could never be herself again without him. She wondered if that was what it was to have a
lir.

The adjustment had not been easy. Alix missed Torrin and the croft; missed the green valleys she had ever known. At times she awoke in the night sensing an odd disorientation, frightened by the strange man at her side, but it always faded when full awareness came back. Then she would press herself against Duncan’s warmth, seeking comfort and safety, and always he gave it; and more.

She thought again of Carillon. She had heard only that the prince was in the field with his father, fighting the Solindish and Atvian troops. Duncan—sensing her loyalty—was unusually reticent with her when speaking of Carillon. Finn was not. He taunted his brother with the fact the prince had shared a place in Alix’s heart first, and relished giving her news of Carillon if only to tease Duncan. His attitude irritated Alix, but it was a way of getting news.

As if hearing her thoughts, Finn walked up to her and sat down on the gray pelt spread before the large fire cairn. Alix glared at him, expecting his normal mocking manner, but she saw something else in his face.

“It has come, Alix,” he said quietly.

“What do you say?” she asked in dread.

“It is time the Cheysuli defied the
qu’mahlin
and went again into Mujhara.”

“Mujhara!” She stared at him, shaken by his somber tone. “But the Mujhar…”

Finn smoothed the nap of the pelt absently, staring at his hand. “Shaine will be too occupied with real sorcerers to waste much time on us.” His eyes lifted to hers. “The Ihlini have broken into the city.”

“No…oh, Finn! Not Mujhara!”

He stood. “Duncan sent me for you. Council is calling all into
the clan pavilion.” He put out a hand to help her up. “We go to war,
meijha.
”

Silently she took his hand and rose, shaking out her green skirts. She looked at Finn for more information, apprehensive, but he said nothing else. He merely led her to the Council pavilion, a huge black tent painted with every
lir
-symbol imaginable.

Duncan sat before the fire cairn on a spotted pelt, watching his clan file into the black interior in pensive silence. At his right lay an ocher-colored rug, and it was to this Finn took Alix. The heaviness of the silence fell on her like a cloak. She sat down on the rug, watching Duncan’s face closely. Finn sat beside her.

Duncan waited until the pavilion was filled, ringed with dark faces and yellow eyes. Then he looked to the
shar tahl
, seated across from him, and nodded to himself. Slowly he got to his feet.

“Vychan, in Mujhara, has sent his
lir
to us. The message is one we have expected these past months. Tynstar has led his Ihlini sorcerers into Mujhara, and they have taken the city.”

Alix, sickened with fear, swallowed against the foreboding in her soul. The others, she saw, waited mutely for Duncan’s words.

“The western borders fell three months ago. Keough of Atvia fights for Bellam, marching toward Mujhara where the Ihlini await them, Only Homana-Mujhar has not fallen.”

Alix closed her eyes and conjured the Great Hall with all its candleracks and rich tapestries.

And Shaine…

“If Homana-Mujhar falls, Homana herself falls. We, as the descendants of the Cheysuli who built both palace and city, cannot allow it to happen.”

Finn shifted. “So you will send us into the Mujhar’s city,
rujho
, and have us fight two enemies.”

Duncan shot him a sharp glance. “Two?”

“Aye,” he said briefly. “Do you forget Shaine? He will set his guardsmen against us, when he would do better to use them against the Ihlini.”

Duncan’s mouth was a thin line. “I do not forget Shaine,
rujho.
But I will set aside our personal conflicts to save Homana.”

“Shaine will not.”

“Then we will give him no choice.” Duncan looked slowly and deliberately around the pavilion, marking each attentive face. “All of us cannot go. We must leave warriors to defend the Keep. But I have need of strong men willing to go into the city and fight the Ihlini with any method at hand. We are not many.
Any force we send will have to be selectively efficient. Open warfare will result in too high a death toll. We must answer the Ihlini with stealth of our own.” His eyes returned to Finn. “I send the best and the strongest. And some will be lost.”

Finn smiled crookedly. “Well,
rujho
, you say nothing I do not already know. It is ever so, I think.” He shrugged. “I go, of course.”

Other warriors echoed Finn’s words, committing themselves to a war the Mujhar would not welcome them to. Alix, listening blankly to them, realized why Duncan had wanted to remain solitary. He had known all along the Cheysuli would risk their few numbers to save their ancestral home.

It is tahlmorra
, she whispered within her mind.
Ever tahlmorra.

Alix walked back to the pavilion alone, lost within fears and worries. In her time with Duncan she had learned of his strength of will, determination and selfless dedication to serving the prophecy. Nothing would deter him from leading his warriors into Mujhara. She knew better than to ask him to remain in safety with her, and though she wished he did not have to involve himself so deeply, she also knew he would lessen himself in her eyes if he did choose to stay. Duncan was, perhaps, less aggressive than Finn in his desire to fight, but his pride ran just as deep.

The fire cairn had burned itself to ash, so Alix spent her time rekindling it for warmth and illumination. The pavilion was her security now, as much as Torrin’s croft had been. Even the tapestry meant much to her, for Duncan had carefully explained each runic device and the designs stitched within the patterning of rich blue yarns. The tapestry contained much of Cheysuli lore, highlighting the strengths and traditions of the race. She wondered, as she knelt by the fire, if more history would be added with the warriors’ return to the city.

Duncan came in softly, easing aside the doorflap. Alix, seeing the quietude in his eyes, met him with a measure of her own solemnity.

“Duncan,” she began softly, “how soon do you leave for Mujhara?”

He went to his weapons chest and took out his war bow, a compact instrument of death similar to his plain hunting bow. But this was dyed black, polished, inlaid with gold and tiger-eye. The string also was black, humming tautly as he strung the bow and tested it.

He dug his black arrows out of the chest and sat down cross-legged, beginning the laborious examination of each one.
The arrows were fletched with yellow feathers, and the obsidian heads gleamed.

Alix waited silently, patiently, and finally he answered her. “In the morning.”

“So soon…”

“War does not wait for men,
cheysula.
”

Carefully she smoothed her green skirts over her thighs as she knelt upon the spotted pelt. “Duncan,” she said at last, “I wish to go.”

He meticulously inspected the fletching of each arrow. “Go?”

“To Mujhara.”

“No.”

“I will be safe.”

“It is no place for you, small one.”

“Please,” she said clearly, not begging. “I could not bear to remain here, waiting out each day without knowing.”

“I have said no.”

“I would not hinder you. I too can assume
lir
-shape. I would be no trouble.”

He studied her impassively a moment, half his attention on his arrows. Then he smiled. “You are
ever
trouble, Alix.”

“Duncan!”

“I will not risk you.”

“You risk
yourself
!”

He set down one arrow and picked up another. “The Cheysuli,” he said slowly, “have ever risked themselves. For Homana, it is worth it.”

“But for Shaine?”

“The Mujhar
is
Homana. Shaine has held these lands safely for more than forty years, Alix. Our race has not benefited from him, perhaps, but all else have. If he requires help to hold the land now, we must give it to him.” His eyes dropped. “And we must think of the one who will succeed him.”

Alix took a trembling breath. “Let me give my aid as well. Shaine is my grandsire…and Carillon my cousin.”

He set the arrow aside and clasped his hands loosely in his lap. Alix found herself avoiding his eyes, focusing instead on the heavy gold banding his bared, bronzed arms. She saw the embossed, incised hawk-shape of his
lir
and the runic designs worked into the gleaming metal on either side of the hawk. When she could look at his face again, she saw pride and warmth in his eyes.

“Cheysula,”
he said gently, “I know your determination. I am thankful for it. But I will not have you risking yourself,
especially for the man who cast you out at birth and then again so many years later.”

“Yet you risk yourself,” she repeated hollowly, sensing defeat.

He sighed minutely. “It is a warrior’s place,
cheysula
, and a clan-leader’s
tahlmorra.
Do not deny me it.”

“No,” she said. She reached for the bow and picked it up, caressing the smooth patina and gleaming ornamentation. She slid careful fingers down the taut bowstring, testing its tension and vibrancy. “Will you be careful?” she asked in a low voice.

“I am usually little else, as Finn often tells me.”

“
Very
careful?”

He smiled wryly. “I will be very careful.”

Alix gently set the bow in front of him. “Well, I would not want your first son born without a father.”

He was silent, Alix, eyes downcast in a submissive position unfamiliar to her, waited for his astonishment and joy.

But Duncan reached out and grabbed her shoulders, jerking her upright onto her knees. He glared at her wrathfully.

“And you would
risk that
by coming to an embattled city?”

“Duncan—”

“You are a fool, Alix!” He released her abruptly.

She stared at him open-mouthed as he rose stiffly and stalked from her, halting at the open doorflap to stare out.

“I thought you would be pleased,” she told his rigid back.

He turned on her “Pleased? You beg to go to war and then tell me you have conceived? Do you wish to
lose
this child?”

“No!”

He glared at her. “Then remain here as I have said, and conduct yourself as a clan-leader’s
cheysula.
”

Alix, driven into speechlessness by the intensity of his anger, said nothing at all as he turned away from her and left the pavilion.

She shivered once, convulsively, then folded both arms across her still-flat belly and bent forward, hugging herself tightly.

She let the tears come unchecked and rocked back and forth in silent grief.

When the doorflap was pulled aside Alix sat up hastily and wiped the tears away. She was prepared to meet Duncan with dignity, but when she saw Finn staring in at her she lost her composure.

“Duncan is not here,” she said shortly.

Finn studied her a moment. “No, I know he is not. He passed me but a moment ago, black of face and very black of mood.” He paused. “Have you had your first battle,
meijha
?”

She scowled at him, fighting back the impulse to cry again. “It is none of your concern.”

“He is my
rujholli;
you my
rujholla.
It is ever my concern.”

“Go away!” she cried, and burst into tears.

Finn did not go away. He watched her in ironic amazement a moment, then stepped inside the pavilion. Alix turned her back on him and cried into her hands.

“Is it truly so bad?” he asked quietly.

“You are the last person I would tell,” she managed between sobs.