JENNIFER ROBERSON'S monumental
CHRONICLES OF THE CHEYSULI:

SHAPECHANGERS
THE SONG OF HOMANA
LEGACY OF THE SWORD
TRACK OF THE WHITE WOLF
A PRIDE OF PRINCES
DAUGHTER OF THE LION
FLIGHT OF THE RAVEN
A TAPESTRY OF LIONS*

and
THE NOVELS OF TIGER AND DEL:

SWORD-DANCER

SWORD-SINGER

SWORD-MAKER

* forthcoming from DAW Books

THE SONG
OF HOMANA

Book Two
of the Chronicles
of the Cheysuli

Jennifer Roberson

DAW BOOKS, INC.

DONALD A. WOLLHEIM, PUBLISHER

375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014

Copyright © 1985 by Jennifer Bobt,^o:i O'^'-fc
Al! Rights Resei vec1
Cover art by fulek Heller

DAW Book Collectors No-635.

To Marion Zimmer Bradley,
for daydreams and realities

and

Betsy Wollheim,
for making mine better

First Printing, July 1985

6789
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
PART I

ONE

I peered through the storm, trying to see Finn. He rode
ahead on a small Steppes pony much like my own, though
brown instead of dun, little more than an indistinct lump
of darkness in the blowing snow. The wind beat against
my face; Finn would not hear me unless I shouted against
it. I pulled the muffling wraps of woo! away from my face,
grimacing as the bitter wind blew ice crystals into my
beard, and shouted my question to him.
' "Do you see anything?"

The indistinct lump became more distinct as Finn turned
back in the saddle. Like me, he wore leather and wool and
furs, hooded and wrapped, hardly a man underneath all
the layers. But then Finn was not what most men would
name a man at all, being Cheysuli.

He pulled wrappings from his face. Unlike me, he wore
no beard in an attempt at anonymity; the Cheysuli cannot
grow them. Something in the blood, Finn had said once,
kept them from it. But what he did not have on his face
was made up for on his head, Finn's hair, of late infre-
quently cut, was thick and black. It blew in the wind,
baring a sun-bronzed predator's face.

"1 have sent Storr ahead to seek shelter," he called back
to me. "Is there such a place in all this snow, he will find
it."

Instantly my eyes went to the side of the narrow forest
track. There, parallelling the hoolprints of our horses—

I 11 I

12 Jennifer Robarson

though glimpsed only briefly in the blowing snow and
wind—were the pawprints of a wolf. Large prints, well-
spaced, little more than holes until the wind and snow
filled them in. But it marked the path of Finn's lir none-
theless; it marked Finn a man apart, for what manner of
man rides with a wolf at his side? Better yet, it marked
me, for what manner of man rides with a shapechanger at
his side?

Finn did not go on at once. He waited, saying nothing
more. His face was still bared to the wind. As I rode up I
saw how he slitted his eyes, the pupils swollen black
against the blinding whiteness. But the irises were a clear,
eerie yellow. Not amber or gold or honey. Yellow.
Beast-eyes, men called them. I had reason to know
why.

I shivered, then cursed, trying to strip my   beard of ice.
Of late we had spent our time in the warmth   of eastern
lands, it felt odd to be nearly home again,   and suffering
because of the winter. I had forgotten what   it was to go so
encumbered by furs and wool and leather

And yet I had forgotten nothing. Especially who I was.

Finn, seeing my shiver, grinned, baring his teeth in a
silent laugh. "Weary of it already? And will you spend
your time shivering and bemoaning the storms when you
walk the halls and corridors of Homana-Mujhar again?"

"We are not even to Homana yet," I reminded him,
disliking his easy assurance, "let alone my uncle's palace."

"Your palace." For a moment he studied me solemnly,
reminding me of someone else: his brother. "Do you
doubt yourself? Still? I thought you had resolved all that
when you decided it was time for us to turn our backs on
exile."

"I did." I scraped at   my beard with gloved fingers,
stripping it again of   the cold crystals. "Five years is long
enough for any man to   spend in exile, it is too long for a
prince. It is time we   took my throne back from that
Solindish usurper."

Finn shrugged. "You will. The prophecy of the   First-
born is quite definite. You will win back the   Lion Throne
from Bellam and his Ihlini sorcerer, and take   your place as
Mujhar." He put out his gloved right hand and   made an

THE SONG OF HOMANA      13

eloquent gesture: fingers spread, palm turned upward.
Tahlmorra. The Cheysuli philosophy that each man's fate
rested in the hands of the gods.

Well. so be it. So long as the gods made me a Idng in
place of Bellam.

The arrow sliced through the storm and struck deeply
into the ribs of Finn's horse. The animal screamed and
bolted sideways in a twisting lunge. Deep snowdrifts fouled
die gelding's legs and belly almost immediately and he
went down, floundering. Blood ran out of his nostrils, it
spilled from the wound and splashed against the snow,
staining it brilliant crimson.

I unsheathed my sword instantly, jerking it free of the
scabbard on my saddle. I spun my horse, cursing, and saw
Finn's outthrust arm as he leaped free of his failing mount.
'Three of them . . . now!"
The first man reached me. We engaged. He carried a
sword as 1 did, swinging it like a scythe as he sought to cut
off my head. I heard the familiar sounds: the keening of
the blade as it slashed through the air, the laboring of his

' mount, the hissing of breath between his teeth as he
grunted with the effort. I heard also my own grinding
teeth as I swung my heavy broadsword. I felt the satisfac-
tory jar of blade against body, though his winter furs

, muffled most of the impact. Still, it was enough to double
him in the saddle and weaken his counterthrust. My own
blade went in through leathers and into flesh, slowed by

~ the leathers, then quickened by the flesh. A thrust with
my shoulder behind it, and the man was dead.

I jerked the sword free instantly and spun my horse yet
again, cursing his small size and wishing for a Homanan
warhorse as he faltered. He had been chosen for anonymi-
ty's sake, not for his war-sense- And now I must pay for it.
I looked for Finn. I saw instead the wolf. I saw also the
dead man, gape-mouthed and bleeding in the snow; the
third and final man was still ahorse, staring blankly at the
wolf. It was no wonder. He had witnessed the shapechange,
which was enough to make a grown man cry out in fear; I

' did not only because I had seen it so many times. And yet

^ I feared it stilL

14 Jennifer Roberson

The wolf was large and ruddy. It leaped even as the
attacker cried out and tried to flee. Swept out of the
saddle and thrown down against the snow, the man lay
sprawled, crying out, arms thrust upward to protect his
throat. But the teeth were already there.

"Finn!" I slapped my horse's rump with the flat of my
bloodied blade, forcing him through the deep drifts. "Finn,"
I said more quietly, "it is somewhat difficult to question a
dead man."

The wolf, standing over the quivering form, turned his
head to stare directly at me. The unwavering gaze was
unnerving, for it was a man's eyes set into the ruddy,
snow-dusted head. A man's eyes that stared out of the
wolfs head.

Then came the blurring of the wolf-shape. It coalesced
into a void, a nothingness that hurt the eyes and head and
made my belly lurch upward against my ribs. Only the
eyes remained the same, fixed on me: bestial and yellow
and strange. The eyes of a madman, or the eyes of a
Cheysuli warrior.
I felt the prickling down my spine even as I sought to
suppress it. The blurring came back as the void dissipated,
but this time the faint outline was that of a man. No more
the wolf but a two-legged, dark-skinned man. Not human;

never that. Something else. Something more.

I shifted forward in the saddle, urging my horse closer.
The little gelding was chary of it, smelling death on Finn's
mount as well as on the first two men, but he went closer
at last. I reined him in beside the prisoner who lay on his
back in deep snow, staring wide-eyed up at the man who
had been a wolf.

"You," I said, and saw   the eyes twitch   and shift over to
me. He wanted to rise;   I could see it.   He was frightened
and helpless as he lay   sprawled in the   snow, and I meant
him to acknowledge it.   "Speak," I told   him, "who is your
master?"

He said nothing. Finn took a single step toward him,
saying nothing at all. The man began to speak.

I suppressed my twitch of surprise. Homanan, not
Ellasian. I had not heard the tongue for five years, except
from Finn's mouth; even now we kept ourselves to

THE SONG OF HOMANA   15

Caledonese and Ellasian almost always. And yet, here in
Ellas, we heard Homanan again.

- He did not look at Finn. He looked at me. I saw the
fear, and then I saw the shame and anger. "What choice
did I have?" he asked from his back in the snow. "I have a
wife and daughter and no way to support them. No way to
clothe them, feed them, keep them warm in winter. My
croft is gone because I could not pay the rents. My money
was spent in the war. My son was lost with Prince Fergus.
Do I let my wife and daughter starve because I cannot
provide? Do I lose my daughter to the depravity of Bellam's
court?" He glared at me from malignant brown eyes. As
he spoke the anger grew. and the shame faded. All that
was left was hostility and desperation. "I had no choice! It
was good gold that was offered—"

The knife twisted in my belly, though the blade did not
exist. "Bloodied gold," I interrupted, knowing what he
would say.

"Aye!" he shouted. "But worth it! Shaine's war got me
nothing but a dead son, the loss of my croft and the
beggaring of my family. What else am I to do? Bellam
ofiers gold—bloodied gold\—and I will take it. So will we
all!"
"All?" I echoed, liking little of what I heard. Was all of
Homana desiring to give me over to my enemy for his
Solindish gold, my life was forfeit before the task was
begun.

"Aye!" he shouted. "All! And why not? They are de-
mons. Abominations. Beasts\"

The wind shifted. iLthrew ice into my face again, but I
made no move to rid myself of it. I could not. I could only
stare at the man in the snow, struck dumb by his admission.

And then I looked at Finn.

Like me, he was quite still. Silent. Staring. But then,
slowly, he lifted his head and looked directly at me. 1 saw
the shrinking of his pupils so that the yellow of his eyes
- stood out like a beacon against the storm. Yellow eyes.
Black hair. The gold that hung at his left ear, bared by the
'wind that blew the hair from his face- His alien, predator's
face.

I looked at him with new eyes, as I had not looked at

16 Jennifer Roberson

him for five years, and realized again what he was. Cheysuli.
Shapechanger. A man who took on the form of a wolf at
wiU.

And the reason for the attack,

Not me. Not me at all. I was insignificant. The prisoner
did not know that my head—delivered to Bellam—would
give him more gold than he could imagine. By the gods,
he did not even know who I wasi

Another time, I might have laughed at the irony. Been
amused by my conceit, that I thought all men knew me
and my worth. But here, in this place, my identity was not
the issue. Finn's race was,

"Because of me," he said, and that only.

I nodded. Sickened by the realization, I nodded. What
we faced now was more impossible than ever. Not only
did we come home to Homana after five years of exile to
raise an army and win back my stolen throne, but we had
to do it in the face ofHomanan prejudice. Shaine's purge—
the Cheysuli .call it qumahlin—was little more than the
pretty vengeance of a mad king, and yet it had not ended
even with the sundering of his realm.

They had not come to slay me or even take me prisoner.
They had come for Finn, because he was Cheysuli.

"What did they do to you?" I asked. "The Cheysuli.
What did this man do to you?"

The Homanan stared up at Finn in something akin to
astonishment. "He is a shapechanger!"

"But what did he do to you?" I persisted. "Did he slay
your son? Take your croft? Rape your daughter? Beggar
your family?"

"Do not bother," Finn said. "You cannot straighten an
ill-grown tree."

"You can chop it down," I returned. "Chop it down and
into pieces and feed it to the fire—" I wanted to say more,
but I stopped. I saw his face, with its closed, private
expression, and I said nothing more. Finn was not one for
sympathy, or even anger expressed in his behalf. Finn
fought his own battles.

And now there was this one.

"Can he be turned?" I asked. "His need I understand—a
desperate man will do desperate things—but his target I

THE SONG OF HOMANA I 17

will not tolerate. Go into his mind and turn him, and he
can go home again."

Finn's right hand came up. It was empty. But 1 saw the
clenching of his fingers, as if he sought to clasp a knife. He
was asking for my approval, ^ie was liege man to the
Prince of Homana, and he asked to mete out a death.

"No," I said. "Not this time. Use your magic instead."

The man spasmed against the snow. "Gods, no! No! No
sorcery—"

"Hold him," I said calmly, as he tried to leap up and
run.

Finn was on him at once, though he did not slay him.
He merely held him on'his knees, pressing him into the
snow, on one knee himself with an arm thrust around the
throat and the other gripping the head. One twist and it
would be done.

"Mercy!" the dead man cried. But could 1 do it, I would
leave him alive.

Finn would not ask again. He accepted my decision. I
saw the hand tighten against the Homanan's head and the
look of terror enter the brown eyes. And then they were
empty, and I knew Finn had gone in to do as I had
ordered.
It shows in the eyes. I have seen it in the faces and eyes
of others Finn has used his magic on. But I also saw it in
Finn's eyes each time: the total immersion of his soul as
he sought the gift of compulsion and used it on another.
He went away, though his body remained. That which was
Finn was elsewhere; he was not-Finn. He was something
less and something awesomely more. He was not man, not
beast, not god. Something—apart.

The man wavered and sagged, but he did not fall.
Finn's arm remained locked around his throat. The hand
was pressed against his skull, but it did not break it. It did
not snap the neck. It waited.

Finn twitched and jerked. The natural sunbronzing of
his face was suddenly gone; he was the color of death. All
gray and ivory, with emptiness in his eyes. I saw the
slackening of his mouth and heard the rasp in his throat.
And then, before I could say a word, he broke the man's
neck and threw the body down.

18 Jennifer Roberson

"Finn!" I was off my horse at once, thrusting my sword
blade down into the snow. I left it there, moving toward
Finn, and reached out to grab what I could of his leathers
and furs. "Finn, I said (urn him, not slay him—"

But Finn was lurching away, staggering in the snow,
and I knew he had not heard me. He was not himself. He
was still—elsewhere.

"Finn." I caught his arm and steadied him. Even be-
neath the thickness of winter furs I could feel the rigidity
in his arm. His color was still bad; his pupils were nothing
but specks in a void of perfect yellow. "Finn—"

He twitched again, and then he was back. He swung his
head to look at me, and only then realized I held his arm.
At once I released it, knowing he was himself again, but I
did not relax my stance. It was only because he was Finn
that I had left my sword behind.

He looked past me to the body in the snow. "Tynstar,"
he said. "I touched—Tynstar."

I stared. "How?"

He frowned and pushed a forearm across his brow, as if
he sweated. But his face was dusted with snow, and he
shivered from the cold. Once, but it gave away his bewil-
derment and odd vulnerability. "He was—there. Like a
web, soft but sticky . . . and impossible to shed." He
shook himself, like a dog shaking off water.

"But—if he and the others were hunting Cheysuli and
not the Prince of Homana ..." I paused a moment.
"Would Tynstar meddle in the qu'mahlin?"

"Tynstar would meddle in anything. He is Ihlini."

I nearly smiled. But I did not, because I was thinking
about Tynstar. Tynstar, called the Ihlini, because he ruled
(if that is the proper word) the race of Solindish sorcerers.
Much like the Cheysuli were the magical race of Homana,
the Ihlini sprang from Solinde. But they were evil and did
the bidding of the demons who served the netherworld.
There was nothing of good about the Ihlini. They wanted
Homana, and had aided Bellam to get her.

"Then he does not know we are here," I said, still
thinking.

"We are in Ellas," Finn reminded me. "Homana is but
a day or two away, depending on the weather, and I do

THE SONG OF HOMANA   19

not doubt Bellam has spies to watch the borders. It may
well be these men were sent to catch Cheysuli—" he
frowned, and I knew he wondered what tokens Beliam
required as proof of a Cheysuli kill. Probably the earring,
perhaps the armbands as well. —"but it may be they
sought Homana's exiled prince." He frowned again. "I
cannot be sure. I had no time to leam his intent."

"And now it is too late."

Finn looked at me levelly. "If Tynstar is meddling with
Homanans and sending them out against the Cheysuli,
they must be slain." For a moment he looked at the body
again. Then his eyes came back to me. "It is a part of my
service to you to keep you alive. Can I not do the same for
myself?

This time I looked at the body. "Aye," I said finally,
harshly, and turned back to retrieve my sword.

Finn moved to his dead horse and stripped him of the
saddlepacks. I mounted my horse and slid the sword home
in the scabbard, making certain the blade was clean of
blood. The runes ran silver in the white light of the storm.
Cheysuli runes, representing the Old Tongue which I did
not know. A Cheysuli sword for a Homanan prince. But
then that was another thing the prophecy claimed: one
day a man of all blood would unite, in peace, four warring
realms and two magic races. Perhaps it would no longer
be a Cheysuli sword in the hand of a Homanan prince. It
would merely be a sword in the hand of a king.

But until then. the golden hilt with its rampant, royal
lion and the huge brilliant ruby in the prong-toothed
pommel would remain hidden by leather wrappings. At
least until I claimed the Lion Throne again and made
Homana free.

"Come up," I told Finn. "You cannot walk in all this
snow."

He handed up his saddlepacks but did not move to
mount behind me. "Your horse carries enough bulk, with
all of you." He grinned. "I will go on as a wolf."

"If Storr is too far ahead—" I stopped. Though the
shapechange was governed by the distance between war-
^ rior and lir, it was obvious this time there was no impedi-
^ ment. The peculiar detached expression I knew so well

20 Jennifer Roberson

came over Finn's face. For a moment his body remained
beside my horse, but his mind did not. It was elsewhere,
answering an imperative call, his eyes turned inward and
blank and empty, as if he conversed with something—or
someone—no one else could hear.

And then he was back, grinning in genuine pleasure and
the attack on us both forgotten. "Storr says he has found
us a roadhouse."

"How far?"

"A league, perhaps a bit more Close enough, I think,.
after days without a roof over our heads." He ran a hand
through his black hair and shook free the powdery snow.
"There are great advantages to lir-shape. Carillon. I will
be quicker—and certainly warmer—than you."

I ignored him. It was all I could ever do. I turned my
horse back to the track and went on, leaving behind three
dead men and one dead horse—the others had run away. I
cursed the storm again. My face was numb from the ice in
my beard. Even the wrappings did not help.

When Finn at last went past me, it was in wolf-shape:

yellow-eyed, ruddy-furred, fleet of foot. And wanner, no
doubt, than I.

TWO

The common room was crowded with men seeking respite
from the storm. Dripping candles puddled into piles of
cooling, ^waxy fat on each table, shedding crude light and a
cruder pall of smoke into the low beamwork of the road-
house. The miasma was thick enough to make me choke
against its acrid odor, but there was warmth in abundance.
For that I would share any stench.

The door hitched against the hardpack of the frozen
earthen floor. I stopped short, ducking to avoid smacking
my head against the doorframe. But then few roadhouse
doors are built to accommodate a man of my height; the
years spent in exile had made me taller than I had been
five years before and nearly twice as heavy. Still, I would
not complain, did the added height and weight—and the
beard—keep me unknown on my journey home, I would
not care if I knocked myself silly against Ellasian doorframes.

Finn slipped by me into the room as I wrestled with the
door. I broke it free, then swung it shut on half-frozen
leather hinges, swearing as a dog ran between my legs and
nearly upset me. For a moment I thought of Storr, seek-
ing shelter in the forest. Then I thought of food and wine.

I settled the latch-hook into place and marked absently
how the stout iron loops were set for a heavy crossbeam
lock. I could tell it was but rarely used, but I marked it
nonetheless. No more did I have room in my life for the
ease of meaningless friendships found in road- and alehouses.

21

22 Jennifer Roberson

Finn waited at the table. Like the others, it bore a
single candle. But this one shed no light, only a clot of
thick smoke that fouled the air where the flame had glowed
a moment before. Finn, I knew. It was habit with us both.

I joined him, shedding furs and leathers. It felt good to
be man again instead of bear, and to know the freedom of
movement. I sat down on a three-legged stool and glanced
around the common room even as Finn did the same.

No soldiers. Ellas was a peaceful land. Crofters, most of
them, convivial in warmth and the glow of liquor. Travel-
ers as well, bound east or west; Ellasians; Homanans;

Falians too, by their accents. But no Caledonese, which
meant Finn and I could speak Ellasian with a Caledonese
twist and no one would name us other.

Except those who knew a Cheysuli when they saw one,
and in Ellas that could be anyone.

Ellasians are open, gregarious folk, blunt-speaking and
plain of habits. There is little of subterfuge about them,
for which I am grateful. I have grown weary of such
things, though I have, of necessity, steeped myself in it. It
felt good to know myself accepted for what I appeared in
the roadhouse: a stranger, foreign, accompanied by a
Cheysuli, but welcome among them regardless. Still, it
was to Finn they looked twice, if only briefly. And then
they looked away again, dismissing what they saw.

I smiled. Few men dismiss a Cheysuli warrior. But in
Ellas they do it often. Here the Cheysuli are not hunted.
And then I recalled that Homanans had come into Ellas
hunting Cheysuli and I lost my smile entirely.

The tavern-master arrived at last, wiping greasy hands
on a frayed cloth apron. He spoke with the throaty, blurred
accent of Ellas, all husky and full of phlegm. It had taken
me months to learn the trick, but I had learned. And I
used it now.

"Ale," he said, "or wine. Red from Caledon, a sweet
white from Falia, or our own fine Ellasian vintage." His
teeth were bad but I thought the smile genuine.

"Have you usca?" I asked.

The grizzled gray brows rose as he considered the ques-
tion. "Usca, is't? Na, na, I have none. The plainsmen of
the Steppes have naught of trade wi' us now, since Ellas

THE SONG OF HOMANA    23

allied wi' Caledon in tiast war." His pale brown eyes
marked us Caledonese; my accent had won us that much.
Or me; Finn did not in the least resemble a Caledonese.
"What else would you have?"

Finn's yellow eyes were almost black in the dim candle-
light, but I saw the glint in them clearly. "What of Homanan
honey brew?"

At once the brows drew down into a scowl. The Ellasian's
hair, like his eyebrows, was graying, close-cropped against
his head. A blemish spread across one cheek; some child-
hood malady had left him scarred. But there was no suspi-
cion or distrust in his eyes, only vague disgust.

"Na, none of that, either. Tis Homanan, as you have
said, and little enough of Homana comes across our bor-
ders now." For a moment he stared at the gold earring
shining in Finn's black hair. I knew what the Ellasian
thought: little enough of Homana crossed the borders,
unless you counted the Cheysuli.

"No trade, then?" I asked.

The man picked at snags in his wine-stained apron. He
glanced around quickly, judging the needs of his custom-
ers out of long practice. "Trade, after a fashion." he agreed
in a moment, "but not wi' Homana. Wi' Bellam instead,
her Solindish king." He ripped his head in Finn's direc-
tion. "You might know."

Finn did not smile. "I might," he said calmly. "But I
left Homana when Bellam won the war, so I could not say
what has befallen my homeland since."
The Ellasian studied him. Then he leaned forward,
pressing both hands flat against the table. "I say 'tis a sad
thing to see the land brought down so low. The land
chafes under that Solindish lord. And his Ihlini sorcerer."

And so we came to the subject I had wanted to broach
all along, knowing better than to bring it up myself. Now,
did I say nothing and ask no questions, I made myself out
a dullard, and almost certainly suspect. The man had
proved talkative; I had best not disabuse him of that.

"Homana is not a happy land?" My tone, couched in
Caledonese-tinged Ellasian, was idle and incurious; strang-
ers passed time with such talk.

The Ellasian guffawed. "Happy? Wi' Bellam on her throne

24 JwmMT Robwon

and Tynstar's hand around her throat? Na, not happy,
never happy . . . but helpless. We hear tales of heavy
taxes and over-harsh justice- The sort of thing that trou-
bles us little enough in Ellas, under our good High King."
He hawked and turned his head to spit onto the earthen
floor. "They do say Bellam desires an alliance with Rhodri
himself, but he'll not be agreeing to such a miscarriage of
humanity. Bellam's a greedy fool; Rhodri is not. He has no
need oft, wi* six fine sons." He grinned. "I hear Bellam
offers his only daughter to the High Prince himself, but I
doubt there will be a match made. Cuinn has better thighs
to part than Electra of Solinde's."

And so the talk passed-to women, as it will among men.
But only until the Ellasian left to see about our food, and
then we said nothing more of women, thinking of Homana
instead. And Bellam, governed by Tynstar.

"Six sons," Finn mused- "Perhaps Homana would not
now be under Solindish rule, had the royal House proved
more fertile."

I scowled at him. I needed no reminders that the
House of Homana had been less than prolific. It was
precisely because Shaine the Mujhar had sired no son at
all—let alone MX of them!—that he had turned to his
brother's only son. Ah, aye, fertility and infertility. And
how the issues had shaped my life, along with Finn's. For
it was Shaine's infertility—except for a defiant daughter—
that had left an enormous legacy to his nephew. Carillon
of Homana, and the Cheysuli shapechanger who served
him. The Lion Throne itself, upon the Mujhar's death,
and now a war to fight.

As well as a purge to end.

The tavern-master arrived bearing bread for trenchers
and a platter of steaming meat, which he set in the center
of the table. Behind him came a boy with a jug of Ellasian
wine, two leathern mugs and a quarter of yellow cheese- I
saw how the boy looked at Finn's face, so dark in the
amber candlelight. I saw how he stared at the yellow eyes,
but he said not a single word. Finn was, perhaps, his first
Cheysuli. And worth a second look.

Neither boy nor man lingered, being too pressed by
other custom, and Finn and I set to with the intentness of

THE SONG OF HOMANA    25

starving men. We were £iit starving, having eaten at the
: break of day, but stale j( urney-loaf eaten in a snowstonn is
not nearly as toothsome as hot meat in a warm roadhouse.
^ I unsheathed my knife and sliced off a chunk of venison,
" dumping it onto my trencher. It was a Caledonese knife I
..used now in place of my own, a bone-handled blade
wrought with runes and scripture. The hilt had been cut
from the thigh of some monstrous beast, or so the king of
^.iCaledon had told me upon presentation of it. The blade
Iftself was bright steel, finely honed; the weight of it was
^"perfect for my hand. Still, it was not my own; that one—
^Cheysuh-made—was hidden in my saddlepacks.

$ I ate until I could hardly move upon my stool, and
^ordered a second jug of wine. And then, even as I poured
^Our mugs full again, I heard the hum of rising conversa-
^tion. Finn and I both looked instantly for the cause of the

^ heightened interest.

,t The harper came down the ladder with his instrument
^.clasped under one long arm. He wore a blue robe belted
^.at the waist with linked silver, and a silver circlet held

-^back the thick dark hair that curled on his shoulders. A
^wealthy harper, as harpers often are, being hosted by
?; kings and gifted with gold and gems. This one had fared
y. well- He was tall, wide-shpuldered, and his wrists—showing
;' at the edges of his blue sleeves—were corded with mus-
^cle. A powerful man, for all his calling was the harp
;fc instead of the sword. He was blue-eyed, and when he
^ smiled it was a professional smile, warm and welcoming.
^   Two men cleared space for him in the center of the
; room and set out a stool- He thanked them quietly and sat
.'down, settling harp against hip and thigh. I knew at once
^ the instrument was a fine one, having heard so many of
^ the best with my uncle in Homana-Mujhar. It was of rich
^ honey-gold wood, burnished to a fine sheen with years of
^ use. A single green stone was set into the top. The strings
|t glowed gossamer-fine in the smoke and candlelight. They

-^ glinted, promising much, until he touched them and ful-
H' filled that promise with the stroke of a single finger.

J^   Like a woman it was, answering a lover's caress. The
,.- music drifted throughout the room, soft and delicate and
^ infinitely seductive, and silenced the voices at once. There

26 J—mtfT Robwon

is no miL\ alive who cannot lose himself in harpsong,
unless he oe utterly deaf.

The harper's voice, when he spoke, was every bit as
lovely as '••10 harp. It lacked the feminine timbre of many I
had hearof, yet maintained the rich liquid range the art
requires. The modulation was exquisite; he had no need to
speak leudly to reach all corners of the room. He merely
spoke. Men listened.

"I will please you as I please myself," he said quietly,
"by giving you what entertainments I can upon my Lady.
But there s a task I must first perform." From the sleeve
of his robe he took a folded parchment. He unfolded it,
smoothed it. and began to read. He did not color his tone
with any emotion, he merely read. But the words were
quite enough.

"Know ye all men that Bellam the Mujhar,
King of Solinde and Mujhar of Homana;

Lord of the cities Mujhara and Lestra;

Sets forth the sum of five hundred gold pieces
to any man bringing sound word of Carillon,
styling himself Prince of Homana,
and wrongful claimant to the Lion Throne.

"Know ye all men that Bellam the Mujhar
desires even more the presence of the pretender,
offering one thousand gold pieces
to any man bringing CariUon—or his body—
into Homana-Mujhar."

The harper, when finished, folded the parcliment pre-
cisely as it had been and returned it to his sleeve. His
blue eyes, nearly black in the smoky light, looked at every
man as if he judged his thoughts. All idleness was gone; I
saw only shrewd intensity. He waited.

I wondered, in that moment, if he recruited. I won-
dered if he was Bellam's man, sent out with the promise of
gold. I wondered if he counted the pieces for himself.
Five hundred of them if he knew I was here. One thou-
sand if he brought me home to Homana-Mujhar.

Home. For disposal as Bellam—or Tynstar—desired.

THE SONG OF HOMANA   27

?. I saw what they did, the Ellasian men. They thought of
'Cthe gold and the glory. They thought of the task and the
1, triumph. They considered, for a moment, what it might
I: be to be made rich, but only for a moment, for then they
% considered their realm. Ellas. Not Homana. Rhodri's realm.
t. And the man who offered such gold had already swallowed
^ one land.

"^, The Ellasians, I knew, would do nothing for Bellam's
a'" gold. But there were others in the room, and perhaps they
P^ would.

I looked at Finn. His face was a mask, as ever; a blank,
sun-bronzed mask, with eyes that spoke of magic and
myth and made them both quite real.

The harper began to sing. His deep voice was fine and
sweet, eloquently expressing his intent. He sang of the
bitterness of defeat and the gut-wrenching carnage of war.
He sang of boys who died on bloodied fields and captains
who fell beneath Solindish and Atvian swords. He sang of
a king who hid himself in safety behind the rose-red walls
of Homana-Mujhar, half-mad from a crazed obsession. He
sang of the king's slain brother, whose son was trapped in
despair and Atvian iron. He sang of the same boy, now a
man and free again, who lived flis life in exile, fleeing
Ihlini retribution. He sang my life, did this stranger, and
brought the memories alive.
Oh gods . . . the memories . . .
How is it that a harper can know what was? How is it
that he captures the essence of what happened, what I
am, what I long to be? How is it that he can sing my song
while 1 sit unknowing, knowing only it is true, wishing it
were otherwise?
How is it done?

The poignancy nearly shattered me. I shivered once
convulsively, then stared hard at the scarred wooden table
while the shackle weals beneath the sleeves of my leather
shirt ached with remembered pain. I could not look at the
harper. Not while he gave me my history, my heritage,
my legacy, and the story of a land—my land—in her death
struggle.

"By the gods—" I murmured before I could stop,
I felt Finn's eyes on me. But he said nothing at all.

THREE

"I am Lachlan," said the harper. "I am a harper, but also a
priest of Lodhi the All-Wise, the All-Father, would you
have me sing of Him?" Silence met his question, the
silence of reverence and awe. He smiled, his hands un-
moving upon the harp. "You have heard of the magic we
of Lodhi hold. The tales are true. Have you not heard
them before?"

I looked over the room. Men sat silently on their benches
and stools, paying no mind to anyone save the harper. I
wondered again what he intended to do.

"The All-Father has given some of us the gift of song,
the gift of healing, the gift of words. And fewer of us claim
all three " He smiled. It was an enigmatic, eloquent smile.
"I am one, and this night I will share what I can with
you."

The harp's single green stone cast a viridescent glow as
his fingers danced across the strings, stirring a sound that
at once set the flesh to rising on my bones. His eyes
passed over each of us again, as if'he sought to compre-
hend what each one of us was about. And still he smiled.

"Some men call us sorcerers," he said quietly. "I will
not dispute it. My Lady and I have traversed the leagues of
this land and others, and what I have seen I have learned.
What I will give you this night is something most men
long for: a return to the innocent days, A return to a time
when cares were not so great and the responsibilities of

I 28 I

THE SONG OF HOMANA   29

manhood did not weigh so heavily. I wilt give you your
greatest day." The blue eyes swelled to black. "Sit you
still and listen, hearing only my Lady and myself, and 1
will give you the gift of Lodhi."

I heard the music begin. For a moment I thought

. nothing of it: it was harpsong as ever, boasting nothing
more than what I had already heard. And then I heard the
underscore moving through the melody. A strange, eerie
tone, seemingly at odds with the smoother line. I stared at
the harper's hands as he moved them in the strings, light
glittering off the strands. And then I felt him inside my

. head.

'f   Suddenly I was nothing but music. A single, solitary
note. A string plucked and plucked again, my use dictated
by the harper whose hands were on my soul. I stared at
the eloquent fingers moving, caressing, plucking at the
strings, and the music filled my head.

The colors of the room spilled away, like a wineglass
tipped and emptied. Everything was gray, dark and light,
with no blacks and no whites. I saw a harper in a gray robe

. with gray eyes and grayish hair. Only the harp held true:

honey-gold and gleaming, with a single emerald eye. And

', then even that was gone . . .
No more war—no more blood—no more wishing for

\ revenge. Only the sense of other days. Younger days, and
a younger Carillon, staring with joy and awe at the great

; chestnut warhorse his father had gifted him on his eigh-
teenth birthday. I recalled the day so well, and what I had
thought of the horse. I recalled it all, for on that day I was
named Prince of Homana, and heir to the Lion Throne.

Again I clattered down the winding staircase atJoyenne,
nodding at servants who gave me morning greeting, think-

', ing only of the promised gift. I had known it was to be a

i'.horse, a warhorse, but not which one. I had hoped—

—and it was. The great red stallion had gotten a
matching son on my father's best mare, and that son was
mine at last. FuU-grown and fuUy trained, ready for a
warrior. I was not so much a warrior then, knowing only
the practice chamber and tourney-fields, but 1 was more
^than ready to prove what I could of my skill. And yet I

\ could not have wished for that chance to come so soon.

30 Jennifer Roberson

1 saw then the underside of the harper's spell. It was
true he gave me my innocent days, but with those days
came the knowledge of what had followed. He could not
have summoned a more evocative memory had he tried
for it; I think he did it purposely. I think he reached into
my mind, digging and searching until he found the proper
one And then he gave it to me.

The memory altered. No more was I the young prince
reaching out to touch the stallion. No. I was someone else
entirely: a bloodied, soiled, exhausted boy in a man's
body, his sword taken from him and his wrists imprisoned
in Atvian iron. Taken by Thorne himself, Keough's son,
who had ordered the iron hammered on.

All my muscles knotted. Sweat broke out on my flesh. I
sat in a crowded common room of a roadhouse in the
depths of an Ellasian storm, and I sweated. Because I
could not help myself.

And then, suddenly, the colors were back The grays
faded. Candlewicks guttered and smoked, turning faces
tight and dark, and then I realized I sat still upon my stool
with Finn's hand imprisoning my right wrist. It was not
iron, it was flesh and bone, holding my arm in place. And
then I saw why. In my fist was gripped the bone-handled
knife, the blade pointing toward the harper.

"Not yet," Finn said quietly "Perhaps later, when we
have divined his true intent."

It made me angry, Angry at Finn, which was wrong,
but I had no better target. It was the harper I wanted, for
manipulating me so, but it was Finn who was too near.

I let go the knife. Finn let go the hand. I drew it in to
my body, massaging the ridges of scar tissue banding my
wrist as if it bore iron still. And I glared at him with all the
anger in my eyes. "What did he give you? A Cheysuli on
the throne?"

Finn did not smile "No," he said, "He gave me Alix."

It took the breath from my chest. Alix. Of course. How
better to get to Finn than to remind him of the woman he
had wanted badly enough to steal? The woman who had
turned her back on him to wed Duncan, his brother.

The woman who was my cousin, that I wanted for
myself.

THE SONG OF HOMANA    31

x^

Vi.

I laughed bitterly. "A skillml harper indeed ... or more
likely a sorcerer, as he claims." I stared across at the
blue-robed man who was calmly refusing to sing again.
"Ihlini. do you think? Sent from Bellam to set a trap?"

Finn shook his head. "Not Ihlini; I would know. And 1
have heard of this All-Father god." He grimaced in distaste.
"An Ellasian deity, and therefore of less importance to
me, but powerful nonetheless." He shifted slightly on the
stool, leaning forward to pour himself more wine. "I will
have a talk with him."

He had named himself Lachlan, and now he moved
around the room to gather up his payment in coin and
baubles and wine. He carried his harp tucked into the
crook of one arm and a cup in his other hand. Light
glittered off the silver links around his waist and the
circlet on his brow. He was a young man still, perhaps my
own age, and tall, but lacking my substantial height and
weight. Still, he was not slight, and I thought there was
strength in those shoulders.

He came last to our table, as I expected, and I pushed
the winejug forward so he would know to help himself.
And then I kicked a stool toward him. "Sit you down.
Please yourself with the wine. And this." I drew forth
from my belt-purse a jagged piece of gold, stamped with a
crude design. But it was good gold, and heavy, and few
men would look askance at its crude making. I slid it
across the table with a forefinger, pushing it around the
bone-handled knife.

The harper smiled, nodded and sat down upon the
stool. His blue eyes matched the rich hue of his robe. His
hair, in the dim candlelight, showed no color other than a
dull dark brown. It looked as if the sun had never touched
ft, to bleach it red or blond. Dyed, I thought, and smiled
to myself.

He poured wine into the cup he held. It was a fine
silver cup, though tarnished with age. The house cup for a
harper, I thought, seeing little use I doubted it was his

own.

"Steppes gold." He picked up the coin. "I do not often
see payment of this sort." His eyes flicked from the coin to

32 Jennifer Roberson

my face. "My skill is not worth so much, I think, you may
have it back." He set the coin on the table and left it

The insult was made calmly and clearly, with great care.
Its intent was unknown, and yet I recognized it regard-
less. Or was it merely a curious man gone fishing for an
outsize catch? Perhaps an exiled pnnce.

"You may keep it or not, as you wish." I picked up my
own mug. "My companion and I have just returned from
the Caledonese war against the plainsmen of the Steppes—
alive and unharmed, as you see—and we are generous
because of it." I spoke Ellasian, but with a Caledonese
accent.

The harper—Lachlan—swirled wine in his tarnished cup.
"Did it please you," he said, "my gift?"

I stared at him over my mug. "Did you mean it to?"

He smiled. "I mean nothing with that harpsong. I merely
share my gift—Lodhi's gift—with the listener, who will
make of it what he will. They are your memories, not
mine; how could I dictate what you see?" His eyes had
gone to Finn, as if he waited.

Finn did not oblige. He sat quietly on his stool, seem-
ingly at ease, though a Cheysuli at ease is more prepared
than any man I know. He turned his mug idly on the table
with one long-fingered hand. His eyes were hooded slightly,
like a predator bird's, but the irises showed yellow below
the lids.

"Caledon." The harper went on as if he realized he
would get nothing from Finn. "You say you fought with
Caledon, but you are not Caledonese. 1 know a Cheysuli
when I see one." He smiled, then glanced at me. "As for
you—you speak good Ellasian, but not good enough. You
have not the throat for it. But neither are you Caledonese;

I know enough of them." His eyes narrowed. "Solindish,
perhaps, or Homanan. You lack the lilt of Palia."

"Mercenaries," I said clearly, knowing it was—or had
been—the truth. "Claiming no realm, only service."

Lachlan looked at me. I knew he saw the thick beard
and the uncut, sunstreaked hair that tangled on my shoul-
ders. I had hacked off the mercenary's braid I had worn
for five years, bound with crimson cord, and went as a free
man again, which meant my sword was available. With a

THE SONG OF HOMANA   33

,. Cheysuli at my side, I would be a valuable man. Kings
ir would pay gold for our service.

'v   "No realm," he said, and smiled. Then he pushed away
y' from the table and got to his feet, cradling the harp. He
;i picked up the blackened silver cup and nodded his thanks
(< for the wine.

"Take your payment," I said. "It was made in good
faith."

§    "And in good faith, I refuse it." He shook his head.
t "You have more need of it than I. I have no army to
H raise."

H    I laughed out loud. "You misunderstand mercenaries.
I; harper. We do not raise armies. We serve in them."
I,   "I said precisely what I meant." His face was solemn,
f^ eyes flicking between us shrewdly. And then he turned
^ away.

j    Finn put out his hand and gathered up his knife. No,
9 not his precisely; like me, he hid his away. He carried
'i instead a knife taken from a Steppes plainsman, and it
',• served its purpose. In Finn's hand, any knife did.
^    "Tonight," he said quietly, "I will have conversation
|p with that harper."

I,    I thought fleetingly of the Ellasian god the harper claimed
? to serve. Would Lodhi interfere? Or would Lachlan
I? cooperate?
j^    I smiled. "Do what you have to do."

^    Because the storm had driven so many inside for the
^ evening, the roadhouse was crowded to bursting. There
were no private rooms. The best I could do was give gold
to the tavern-master for two pallets on the floor of a room
already occupied by three others. When I went in alone,
later than I had intended, they already slept. I listened
;\ silently just inside the open door, to see if anyone feigned
® sleep to lure me into a trap, but all three men were deep
I. asleep. And so I shut the door, set my unsheathed sword
I   on the lice-ridden pallet as I stretched out my legs, and
^ waited for Finn to come in.

A-   When he did, it was without sound. Not even the door
^ squeaked, as it had for me. Finn was simply in the room.

34 Jennifer Roberson

"The harper is gone," he said. It was hardly a sound, but I
had learned how to hear it.

I frowned into the darkness as Finn knelt down on the
other pallet. "In this storm?"

"He is not here."

I sat back against the wall, staring thoughtfully into the
darkness. My right hand, from long habit, touched the
leather-wrapped hilt of my sword. "Gone, is he?" I mused-
"What could drive a man into an Ellasian snowstorm,
unless there be good reason?"

"Gold is often a good reason." Finn shed a few of his
furs and dropped them over his legs. He stretched out
upon his pallet and was silent. I could not even hear him
breathe.

I bit at my left thumb, turning things over in my mind.
Questions arose and I could answer none of them. Nor
could Finn, so I wasted no time asking him. And then,
when I had spent what moments I could spare considering
the harper, I slid down the wall to stretch full length upon
the lumpy pallet and went to sleep.

What man—even a prince with gold upon his head—
need fear for his safety with a Cheysuli at his side?

It was morning before we could speak openly, and even
then words were delayed. We went out into the ethereal
stillness of abated storm, saddled and packed our horses
and walked them toward the rack. The snow lay deep and
soft around my boots, reaching nearly to my knees. The
track was better, packed and shallow, and there I waited
while Finn went into the trees and searched for his lir.

Storr came at once, bounding out of the trees like a dog,
hurling himself into Finn's arms. Finn went down on one
knee, ignoring the cold, and cast a quick, appraising look
toward the roadhouse. I thought it highly unlikely anyone
could see us now. Satisfied, Finn thrust out an arm and
slung it around Storr's neck, pulling the wolf in close.

What their bond is, I cannot say precisely. I know only
what Finn has told me, that Storr is a part of his heart and
soul and mind; half of his whole. Without the wolf, Finn
said, he was little more than a shadow, lacking the gifts of
his race and the ability to survive. I thought it an awe-

THE SONG OF HOMANA    35

somely gruesome thing, to claim life only through some
sorcerous link with an animal, but I could not protest what
so obviously worked. I had seen him with the wolf before
during such greetings, and it never failed to leave me
feeling bereft and somehow empty. Jealous, even, for
what they shared was something no other man could claim
save the Cheysuli. I have owned dogs and favorite horses,
but it was not the same. That much I could tell, looking at
them, for Finn's face was transfigured when he shared a
reunion with Storr.

Finn's new horse, a dark brown gelding purchased from
the tavern-master, pulled at the slack reins. I pulled him
back again and got his reins untangled from those of my
little Steppes pony. When I looked again at Finn I saw
him slap Storr fondly on the shoulder, and then he was
pushing back through the snow toward me.

I handed the reins to him. "How does he fare?"

"Well enough." The fond half-smile remained a mo-
ment, as if he still conversed with the wolf. I had thought
once or twice that his expression resembled that of a man
well-satisfied by a woman, he wore it now "Storr says he
would like to go home."

"No more than I." The thought of Homana instead of
foreign lands knotted my belly at once. Gods. to go home
again ... I looped my horse's reins over his ears, pulled
them down his neck and mounted. As ever, the little
gelding grunted. Well, I am heavier than the plainsmen
who broke him. "I think we can reach Homana today,
does the sky remain clear." I looked skyward and squinted
out of habit. "Perhaps we should go to the Keep."

Finn, settling into his saddle, looked at me sharply. He
went hoodless as I did, and the early dawn light set his
earring to glinting with a soft golden glow. "This soon?"

I laughed at him. "Have you no wish to see your brother?"

Finn scowled. "You know well enough I am not averse
to seeing Duncan again. But I had not thought we would
go openly into Cheysuli land so soon."

I shrugged. "We are nearly there. The Keep lies on the
border, which we must cross. And, for all that, I think we
both wish to see Alix again."

Finn did not meet my eyes. It was odd to realize the
36 Jennifer Roberson

time away from Homana had not blunted his desire for his
brother's wife. No more than it had mine

He looked at me at last. "Do you wish to take me to her,
or go for yourself?"

I smiled and tried not to show him my regret. "She is
wed now, and happily. There is no room for me in her life
except as a cousin."

"No more for me except as a rujholli." Finn laughed
bitterly; his eyes on me were ironic and assessive as he
pushed black hair out of his dark, angular face. "Do you
not find it strange how the gods play with our desires? You
held Alix's heart, unknowing, while she longed for a single
word from your mouth. Then I stole her from you, intend-
ing to make her my meijha. But it was Duncan, ever
Duncan ... he won her from us both." Grimly he put out
his hand and made the gesture I had come to hate, for all
its infinite meaning.

"Tahlmorra," I said sourly. "Aye, Finn, I find it passing
strange. And I do not like it overmuch."

Finn laughed and closed his hand into a fist. "Like it?
But the gods do not expect us to like it. No. Only to serve
it."

"You serve it. I want none of your Cheysuli prophecy. I
am a Homanan prince."

"And you will be a Homanan king . . . with all the help
of the Cheysuli."

No man, born of a brief history, likes to hear of another
far greater than his own, particularly when his House has
fallen into disarray. The Homanan House had held the
Lion Throne nearly four hundred years. Not long, to
Cheysuli way of thinking. Not when their history went
back hundreds of centuries to a time with no Homanans,
Only the Firstborn, the ancestors of the Cheysuli, with all
their shapechanging arts.

And the power to hand down a prophecy that ruled an
entire race.

"This way, then." Finn gestured and kicked his horse
into motion.

"You are certain?" I had no wish to get myself lost, not
when I was so close to Homana at last.

Finn cast me a thoroughly disgusted glance. "We go to

THE SONG OF HOMANA     37
the Keep, do we not? I should know the way. Carillon.
Once, it was my home."

I subsided into silence. I am silent often enough around
him. Sometimes, with Finn, it is simply the best thing to
do.

FOUR

The weather remained good, but the going did not. We
had left behind the beaten track that led westward into
Homana, seeking instead the lesser-known pathways.
Though the Cheysuli were welcome within Ellas, they
kept to themselves. I doubted High King Rhodri knew
much of the people who sheltered in his forests. They
would keep themselves insular, and therefore more mys-
terious than ever. There would be no well-traveled tracks
leading to the Keep.

At last, as the sun   lowered in the sky, we turned into
the trees to find a   proper campsite, knowing Homana and
the Keep would have   to wait another day. We settled on a
thick copse of oaks   and beeches.

Finn swung off his mount. "I will fetch us meat while
you lay the fire. No more journey-loaf for me, not when I
have tasted real meat in my mouth again." He threw me
his reins, then disappeared into the twilight with Storr
bounding at his side.

I tended the horses first, untacking them, then hobbling
and graining them with what dwindling rations remained.
Once the horses were settled I searched for stones, in-
tending to build us a proper firecaim. We had gone often
enough without a fire, but I preferred hot food and warmth
when I slept.

I built my caim, fired the kindling we carried in our
saddlepacks and made certain the flames would hold. Then

I 38 I

THE SONG OF HOMANA I 39

I turned to the blankets I had taken from the horses.
Pelts, to be precise; each horse was blanketed with two.
The bottom rested hair-down against the horse, the top
one hangup, to pad the saddle. At night the pelts became
blankets for Finn and me, smelling of sweat and horsehair,
but warm. I spread them now against the snow; after we
ate we could thrust the hot stones beneath them to offer a
little heat.

As \ spread the blankets I heard the muffled movement
in the snow. My hand was on my sword instantly, ripping
it from the sheath at my left hip. I spun, leveling the
blade, and saw the flash of setting sunlight turn the runes
to blinding fire.

Three men before me, running at me out of the thicken-
ing shadows. More than that behind me. I wondered
where was Finn, and then I did not, for I had no time.

I took the first one easily enough, marking the expres-
sion of shock on his face as I swung my blade and cut
through leather and furs and flesh, shearing the bone of
his arm in two just below the shoulder. The momentum of
the blade carried it farther yet, into his ribs, and then he
fell and I wrenched the sword free to use it on yet another.

The second fell as well, thrust'through the lungs, and
then the others did what they should have done at the
first. They came at me at once, en masse, so that even did
I try to take yet a third the others could bear me down. I
did not doubt I would account for at least another death
before I died, perhaps even two—Finn and adversity had
taught me wen enough for that—but the result would be
the same. I would be dead, and Bellam would have his
pretender-prince.

I felt the cold kiss of steel at the back of my neck,
sliding through my hair. Yet another blade was at my
throat; a third pressed against the leather and furs shield-
ing my belly. Three men on me, then, two were dead, and
the last man—the sixth—stood away and watched me.
Blood was splattered across his face, but he bore no wound.

"Stay you still," he told me at once, and I heard the fear
in his voice. As well as the Homanan words.

I gestured toward my belt-purse. "My gold is there."

"We want none of t/our gold," he said quickly "We

40 Jennifer Roberson

came for something more." He smiled. "But we will take
it, since you offer.'

I still held my sword in my right hand. But they did not
let me keep it. One man reached out and took it from me,
then tossed it aside. I saw how it landed across the firecairn,
clanging against the stone. I saw how the hilt was in the
flames, and knew the leather would bum away to display
the golden lion.

"Whose gold do you want, then?" I spoke Homanan,
since they did, but I kept my Caledonese accent.

"Bellam's," he confided, and grinned.

Inwardly I swore- The Solindish usurper had caught me
easily enough. And I had not even reached Homana.
Still, I forced a bewildered frown. "What does Bellam
want with a mercenary? Can he not buy hundreds of
them?"

"You travel with a shapechanger," he stated flatly.

Still I frowned. "Aye. What of   it? Has Bellam declared
it unlawful? I am not Homanan,   I am Caledonese, I choose
my companions where I will." I   looked at the sword hilt
and saw how the leather turned   black and crisp. In a
moment it would peel away, and   I would be unmasked. If
I were not already.

"Cheysuli are under sentence of death," the Homanan
said. "That is one policy Bellam has kept intact since the
days of Shame."

I allowed surprise to enter my face. "You welcome
Bellam as king, then? Though you be Homanan?"

He glanced at the others. They were all familiar: I had
seen them in the roadhouse the night before. And they
had heard Bellam's message the harper had read. But I
wondered how I had given myself away.

The man spat into the snow. "We welcome Bellam's
gold, since we get none of it another way. While he offers
payment for each Cheysuli slain, we will serve him. That
is all,"

I kept my surprise from showing. Once more, it was not
me they sought. Finn again. But it was me they had
caught, and worth more—to Bellam—than five hundred
Cheysuli warriors.

THE SONG OF HOMANA   41

Except there were not five hundred Cheysuli left in all
the world. My uncle had seen to that.

"You have come across the border hunting Cheysuli?" I
asked.

He smiled. "They are hard to find in Homana. But the
Ellasian king gives them refuge, so we seek them here.
How better to earn the gold?"

"Then why," I asked very calmly, "do you disarm me? I
have no stake in this."

"You came in with the shapechanger. By taking you,
we take him He will not turn beast with your life in our
hands."

I laughed. "You count on a bond that does not exist,
The Cheysuli and I met on the trail; we owe each other
nothing. Taking me wins you nothing except a meaning-
less death." I paused. "You do mean to slay me, do you
not?"

He glanced at the others. For a moment there was
Hesitation in his blue eyes, and then he shrugged. His
decision had been made. "You slew two of us. You must
pay."

I heard the jingle of horse trappings. The blades pressed
closer against my neck, throat and belly as the man rode
out of the trees. In his bare hands was a harp, and the
single note he plucked held us all in thrall.

"You will slay no one," the harper said. "Fools, all of
you, when you have Carillon in your hands "

The Homanans did not move. They could not. Like me,
they were prisoners to the harp.

Lachlan looked at me. "They are Homanans, Did you
tell them your name, they might bend knee to you instead
of baring steel."

His fingers tangled in the strings 'and brought forth a
tangle of sound. It allowed me to speak, but nothing
more. "I am a mercenary," I said calmly. "You mistake me
for someone else "

He frowned. His eyes were on me intently, and the
sound of the harp increased. I felt it inside my head, and
then he smiled. "I can conjure up your life, my lord.
Would you have me show it to us all?"

42 Jonnlfttr Robwon

"To what purpose?" I inquired. "You will do what you
will do, no matter what I say."

"Aye," he agreed.

I saw how his fingers played upon the strings, drawing
from the harp a mournful, poignant sound. It conjured up
memories of the song he had played the night before, the
lay that had driven a blade into my belly with the memo-
ries of what had happened. But it was not the same. It had
a different sound. His Lady sang a different song.

The blades moved away from my neck, my throat, my
belly. The Homanans stepped away, stumbling in the
snow, until I stood alone. I watched, mute, as they took
up the men I had slain and bore the bodies away into the
trees. I was alone, except for the harper, but as helpless as
before.

"Ah," I said, "you mean to claim the gold yourself."
"I mean to give you what men I can," he reproved. "I
sent them home to wait until you call them to your
standard."

I laughed. "Who would serve a mercenary, harper? You
have mistaken me, I say."

Quite calmly he set the harp into its case and closed it
up, hooking it to his saddle. Lachlan jumped down from
his horse and crossed the snow to me. He knelt swiftly,
pulled thick gloves from his belt and folded them, then
pulled my sword from the firecairn. The leather had burned
away, and in the last rays of the setting sun the ruby
glowed deep crimson. The lion was burnished gold.

Lachlan rose. He held the blade gingerly, careful of the
heat even through the gloves, but his smile did not fade.
He turned to look at me with subtle triumph in his eyes.
"I have leather in my packs," he said quietly. "You will
have to wrap it again."

Still I could not move. I wondered how long he meant
to hold me. I wondered if he would take me all the way to
Mujhara in his ensorcellment, so that Bellam would see
me helpless. The thought set my teeth to gritting.

And then I smiled. As Lachlan turned to go to his
horse—for the harp, no doubt—Finn stepped around the
horse's rump and blocked Lachlan's path. Around the
other side came Storr. And the ensorcellment was broken.

THE SONG OF HOMANA   43

u

1!»

I reached out and closed   my gloved hand upon the
blade of my sword, still   in Lachlan's careful grasp. I felt
the heat, but it was not   enough to burn me. Simply
enough to remind me what   had so nearly happened.

Lachlan stood quite still. His hands were empty of
everything now save the gloves he held, folded in his
palms. He waited.

Finn moved closer. Storr followed. I could feel Lachlan's
tension increase with every step they took. My own was
gone at last; I felt calm, at ease, content to know the
confrontation was firmly in our hands. No more in a sor-
cerous harper's-

"The others are dead." Finn stopped in front of Lachlan.

The harper started. "You slew them? But I gave them a
task—"
"Aye," Finn agreed ironically. "I prefer to take no
chances."

Lachlan opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again.
I saw how rigid was his jaw. After a moment he tried
again. "Then you have taken five men from Carillon's
army. Five men you will miss."

Finn smiled. There was little of amusement in it. "I
would sooner take five men from Carillon's army than
Carillon himself."

Lachlan looked sharply at me. "You disbelieve me when
I say 1 wish only to aid you. Well enough, I understand it.
But he is Cheysuli. He can compel the truth from me. I
know of his gifts; I have my own."

"And, having them, you may withstand mine," Finn
commented.

Lachlan shook his head. "Without my harp, I have no
magic. I am at your disposal. And I am not Ihlini, so you
need fear no loss of your own power."

Finn's hands were a blur, reaching to catch the harper's
head before Lachlan could move away. He held the skull
between both palms, cradling it, as if he sought to crush
it, but he did not. Lachlan's own hands came up, reaching
to peel Finn's fingers away, but they stopped. The hands
fell to his sides. Finn held him there, and went into his

mind.

After a moment, when some sense came back to Finn's

44 Jennifer Robarson

eyes, he looked at me. "He is a harper, a healer and a
priest. That much I can touch. But nothing else. He is
well shielded, no matter that he wishes to claim his
innocence."

"Does he serve Bellam or Tynstar?"

"He does not appear to." The distinction was deliberate.

I looked upon my sword and methodically rubbed the
ash and charring from its hilt. "If he is neither Bellam nor
Tynstar's man, whose man is he? He had his chance to
slay me with that harp, or to take my mind from me.
Bellam would give him his gold for a body or a madman."
I grimaced. "He might even have used the Homanans as a
guard contingent—he has the power with that harp. But
he did none of those things."

"Shall I slay him for you?"
I squinted at the ruby, darkening as the sun went down.
"Harpers are traditionally immune from such things as
assassination. Petty intrigue they cannot help—I think it is
born in them even as the harping is born—but never have
I known one to clothe himself in murder."

"Gold can buy any man."

I grinned at him, brows lifting. "A Cheysuli, perhaps?"

Finn scowled. With (he fortune in gold on his arms and
in his ear, more would hardly tempt him. Or any other
warrior. "He is not Cheysuli," was all he said, and the
meaning was quite clear.

"No," I agreed, sighing. "But perhaps he is only a spy,
not a hired assassin. Spies I can deal with; often they are
useful. How else coufd we have led Bellam this merry
dance for five years?" I smiled again. Bellam had sent
spies to track us down. Five had even found us. Those we
had stripped of their task, giving them a new one instead:

to take word to Bellam that we were elsewhere in the
world. Usually hundreds of leagues away from where we
were. It had worked with three of them.

The others we had slain.

"Then you mean to use him." His tone was perfectly
flat, but I knew he was not pleased.

"We will take him with us and see what he means to
do."

"You tread a dangerous path, Carillon."

THE SONG OF HOMANA   45

I smiled. "It is already dangerous. This will add a fillip."
I laughed at his expression. "It will also keep you in
practice, liege man. You were slow in coming to my aid."

"I had five men to slay before I could reach the harp."
But he frowned a little, and I knew he was not immune to
the knowledge that he had been slow. Faster than anyone
else, perhaps, but slow for a Cheysuli warrior.

"You are getting old, Finn." I gestured. "Set our harper
free. Let us see what he intends to do."

Finn released Lachlan. The harper staggered a mo-
ment, then caught himself, touching his head with a tenta-
tive hand. His eyes were blurred and unfocused. "Have
you done?"

"More than done," I agreed- "Now tell us why you wish
to aid me."
He rubbed his brow, still frowning slightly. "It is a
harper's life to make songs out of heroes and history. You
are both, you and your Cheysuli. You should hear the
stories they tell." He grinned, his senses restored. "A
harper gains his own measure of fame by adding to the
fame of others. I could do worse than to ride with Carillon
of Homana and his equally infamous liege man."

"You could," I agreed, and let him make of that what he
would.

After a moment Lachlan gestured. "Your fire has gone
out. Do you wish it, I can give it life again."

I glanced down at the firecaim. Snow had been kicked
into the fire during the scuffle with the Homanans and the
weight had finally doused it. "I have flint and steel," 1
said.

"Your kindling is damp. What I do will take less effort."
Lachlan turned to go to his horse for the harp, but Storr
was in his way. After a moment a gray-faced harper looked
back at me.

I smiled. "Storr does Finn's bidding, when he does not
do his own. Look to him."

Lachlan did not move. He waited. And finally Storr
moved away.

The harper took down his case from the horse and
turned, cradling it against his chest. "You fear I will use
sorcery against you?"

46 Jennifer Roberson

"With reason," I declared.

"I will not." He shook his dull, dark head. "Not again. I
will use it for you, do you wish it, but not against. Never
against. We have too much in common "

"What," I asked, "does a mercenary have in common
with a harper?"

Lachlan grinned. It was the warm, amused expression I
had seen the evening before, as if he knew what 1 could
not, and chose to keep it that way. "I am many things," he
said obliquely. "Some of them you know: harper, healer,
priest. And one day I will share the rest with you."

1 lifted my sword, With great deliberation I set the tip
against the lip of the sheath and let Lachlan see the runes,
hardly visible in the dying light. Then I slid the sword
home with the hiss of steel filling the shadows. "Do you
admit to complicity," I said softly, "take care."
Lachlan's smile was gone. Hugging his harp case, he
shook his head "Were I to desire your death, your Cheysuli
would give me my own." He cast a quick, flickering glance
at Finn. "This is Ellas. We have sheltered the Cheysuli for
some years, now. Do you think I discount Finn's skill?
No. You need not be wary of me, with him present. I
couid do nothing."

I gestured. "There is that in your hands."

"My Lady?" He was surprised, then smiled. "Oh, aye,
there is her magic. But it is Lodhi's, and I do not use it to
kill."

"Then show us how you can use it," I bid him. "Show
us what other magic you have besides the ability to give us
our memories, or to lift our wills from us."

Lachlan looked at Finn, almost invisible in the deepen-
ing shadows. "It was difficult, with you. Most men are so
shallow, so transient. But you are made of layers. Com-
plex layers, some thin and easily torn away, but in tearing
they show the metal underneath. Iron," he said thought-
fully. "I would liken you to iron. Hard and cold and
strong."

Finn abruptly gestured toward the firecaim "Show us,
harper."

Lachlan knelt down by the firecaim. Deftly he unsealed
the harp case—boiled leather hardened nearly to stone by

THE SONG OF HOMANA   47

some agent, padded thickly within—and took from it his
Lady. The strings, so fragile-seeming, gleamed in the
remaining light. The wood, I saw, was ancient, perhaps
from some magical tree. It was bound with spun gold. The
green stone—an emerald?—glowed.

He knelt in the snow, ignoring the increasing cold, and
played a simple lay. It was soft, almost unheard, but
remarkable nonetheless. And when his hands grew blurred
and quick I saw the spark begin, deep in the damp,
charred wood, until a single flame sprouted, swallowed it
all. and the fire was born again.

The song died upon the harp. Lachlan looked up at me.
"Done," he said.

"So it is, and myself unscathed." I reached down a
gloved hand, caught his bare one and pulled him to his
feet. His was no soft grasp, no woman's touch designed to
keep his harper's fingers limber.

Lachlan smiled as we broke the grip. I thought he had
judged me as quickly as I had him. But he said nothing;

there was nothing at all to say. We were strangers to one
another, though something within me said it would not
always be so.

"You ride a blooded horse," T said, looking at the
dapple-gray.

"Aye," Lachian agreed gravely. "The High King likes
my music. It was a gift last year."

"You have welcome in Rheghed?" I asked, thinking of
the implications.

"Harpers have welcome anywhere." He tugged on his
gloves, hunching against the cold. "I doubt not Bellam
would have me in Homana-Mujhar, did I go."

He challenged me with his eyes. I smiled, but Finn did
not. "Aye, I doubt not." I turned to Finn. "Have we
food?"

"Something like," he affirmed, "but only if you are
willing to eat coney-meat. Game is scarce."

I sighed. "Coney is not my favorite, but I prefer it to
none at all."

Finn laughed. "Then at least I have taught you some-
thing in these past years. Once you might have demanded
venison."

48 Jennifer Roberson

"I knew no better, then." I shook my head. "Even
princes leam they have empty bellies like anyone else,
when their titles are taken from them."

Lachlan's hands were on his harp as he set it within its
case. "Which title?" he asked. "Prince or Mujhar?"

"Does it matter? Bellam has stolen them both."

When the coneys were nothing but gristle and bone—
and Storr demolished the remains quickly enough—Lachlan
brought out a skin of harsh wine from his saddlepacks and
passed it to me. I sat cross-legged on my two peits, trying
to ignore the night's cold as it settled in my bones. The
wine was somewhat bitter but warming, and after a long
draw I handed it to Finn. Very solemnly he accepted it,
then invoked his Cheysuli gods with elaborate distinction,
and I saw Lachlan's eyes upon him. Finn's way of mocking
another man's beliefs won him few friends, but he wanted
none. He saw no sense in it, with Storr.

Lachlan retrieved the skin at last, drank, then passed it
on to me. "Will you tell me what I must know, then? A
saga is built out of fact, not fancy. Tell me how it was a
king could destroy the race that had served him and his
House so well."

"Finn would do better to tell it." If he would.

Finn, sitting on his pelts with Storr against one thigh,
shrugged. The earring glinted in the firelight. In the shad-
ows he seemed more alien than ever, part of the nighttime
itself. "What is there to say? Shaine declared qu'mahlin on
us for no good reason . . . and we died." He paused.
"Most of us."

'"You live," Lachlan commented.

Finn's smile was not precisely a smile, more a move-
ment of his lips, as if he would bare his teeth. "The gods
saw another way for me. My tahlmorra was to serve the
prophecy in later years, not die as a helpless child." His
hand went out to bury itself in Storr's thick hair.

Lachlan hesitated, cradling his harp case. "May I have
the beginning?" he asked at last, with careful intonation.

Finn laughed. There was no humor in it. "What is the
beginning, harper? 1 cannot say, and yet I was a part of

THE SONG OF HOMANA    49

it." He looked at me a moment, fixedly, as if the memo-
ries had swallowed him-

1 swallowed, remembering too. "The fault lay in a man's
overweening pride." I did not know how else to begin.
"My uncle, Shaine the Mujhar—who wanted a son and
had none—tried to wed his daughter to Ellic of Solinde,
Bellam's son, in hopes of ending the war. But that daugh-
ter sought another man: Cheysuli, Shaine's own liege man,
turning her back on the alliance and the betrothal. She
fled her father, fled Homana-Mujhar, and with her went
the warrior."

"My^ehon," Finn said before I could continue. "Father,
you would say. Hale. He took Lindir from her tahlmorra
and fashioned another for them both. For us all; it has
resulted in disaster." He stared into the fire. "It took a
king in the throat of his pride, strangling him, until he
could not bear it. And when his cheysula died of a wasting
disease, and his second bore no living children, he deter-
mined the Cheysuli had cursed his House." His head
moved slightly, as if to indicate regret. "And he declared
qu'mahlin on us all."

Lachlan frowned intently. "A woman, then. The catalyst
of it all."
"Lindir," I agreed. "My cousin. Enough like Shaine, in
woman's form, to be a proper son. Except she was a
daughter, and used her pride to win her escape."

"What did she say to the result?"

I shook my head. "No one knows. She came back to her
father eight years later when she was heavy with Hale's
child, because he was dead and she had no other place to
go. Shaine took her back because he needed a male heir;

when the child was born a girl he banished her to the
woods so the beasts could have their shapechanger halfling.
But Alix lived because Shaine's arms-master—and the
Queen of Homana herseu—begged the Mujhar to give her
to man instead of beast." I shifted on my pelts. "Lindir
died bearing Alix. What she thought of the qumahlin I
could not say, but it slew her warrior and nearly destroyed
his race."

Lachlan considered it all. And then he looked at Finn.

50 Jennifer Roberson

"How is it, then, you serve Carillon? Shaine the Mujhar
was his uncle."

Finn put out his hand and made the familiar gesture.
"Because of this. Tahlmorra. I have no choice." He smiled
a little. "You may call it fate, or destiny, or whatever
Ellasian word you have for such things ... we believe
each child is born with a tahlmorra that must be heeded
when the gods make it known. The prophecy of the First-
born says one day a man of all blood shall unite, in peace,
four warring realms and two magic races. Carillon is a part
of that prophecy." He shook his head, solemn in the
firelight. "Had I a choice, I would put off such binding
service, but I am Cheysuli, and such things are not
done."

"Enemies become friends." Lachlan nodded slowly, star-
ing fixedly into the Bre as if he already heard the music.
"It would make a fine lay. A story to break hearts and rend
souls, and show others that hardships are nothing com-
pared to what the Cheysuli have suffered. Do you give me
leave, Finn, I will—"

"—do what?" Finn demanded. "Embellish the truth?
Change the story in the interests of rhyme and resonance?
No. I deny you that leave. What I have suffered—and my
clan—is not for others to know."

My hands, hooked loosely over my knees, curled into
fists that dug the bluntness of my nails into the leather of
my gloves. Finn rarely spoke of his past or his personal
feelings, being an intensely private man, but as he spoke I
heard all the pain and emotion in his voice. Raw and
unfettered, in the open at last.

Lachlan met his eyes. "I would embellish nothing, with
such truth," he said quietly. "I think there would be no
need."

Finn said something in the Old Tongue, the ancient
language of the Cheysuli. I had learned words and phrases
in the past years, but when Finn resorted to it out of
anger or frustration—or high emotions—I could under-
stand none of it. The lyrical syllables became slurred and
indistinct, yet managed to convey his feelings just the
same. I winced, knowing what Lachlan must feel.

But Finn stopped short. He never yelled, having no

THE SONG OF HOMANA    51

need, but his quietness was just as effective Yet silence
was something altogether different, and I thought per-
haps something had stopped him. Then I saw the odd
detached expression in his face, and the blankness of his
eyes, and realized Storr conversed with him.

What the wolf said I cannot guess, but I saw Finn's face
darken in the firelight with heavy color, then go pale and
grim. Finally he unlocked his jaw and spoke.

"I was a boy." The words were so quiet 1 could hardly
hear them over the snap and crackle of the flames. "Three
years old." His hand tightened in the silver fur of Storr's
neck. I wondered, with astonishment at the thought, if he
sought support from his fir to speak of his childhood
clearly. It was not something he had said to me before,
not even when I had asked "I had sickened with some
childish fever, and kept to my jehana's skirts like a fool
with no wits." His eyes hooded a little, but he smiled, as if
the memory amused him. Briefly only; there was little of
amusement in the tale. "Sleep brought me no peace, only
bad dreams, and it was hot within the pavilion. It was
dark, so dark, and I thought the demons would steal my
soul. I was so hot." A heavy swallow rippled the flesh of
his throat. "Duncan threw water on the fire to douse it,
thinking to help, but he only made it smoke, and it
choked me. Finally he fell asleep, and my jehana, but I
could not "

I glanced at Lachlan. He was transfixed.

Finn paused. The firelight filled his eyes. "And then the
Keep was full of the thunder of the gods, only the thunder
came from men. The Mujhar's men. They swept into our
Keep like demons from the netherworld, determined to
destroy us all. They set fire to the pavilion."

Lachlan started. "With children inside?"
"Aye," Finn said grimly. "Ours they knocked down with
their horses, then they dropped a torch on it." His eyes
flicked to Lachlan's astonished face. "We paint our pavil-
ions, harper. Paint bums very quickly."

Lachlan started to speak, as if to halt the recital. Finn
went on regardless, perhaps purging his soul at last.

"Duncan pulled me from the fire before it could con-
sume us all. My jehana took us both into the trees, and

52 Jennifer Roberson

there we hid until daylight. By then the men were gone,
but so was most of our Keep." He took a deep breath. "I
was young, too young to fully understand, but even a child
of three leams how to hate." The eyes came around to me.
"I was bom two days before Hale went away with Lindir,
and still he took her. Still he went from the Keep to
Homana-Mujhar, and helped his meijha, his mistress, es-
cape. And so Shaine, when he set his men upon us, made
certain Hale's Keep was the first."

Lachlan, after a long moment of silence, shook his head.
"I have gifts many men do not, because of Lodhi and my
Lady. But even I cannot tell the tale as you do." His face
was very still. "I will leave it to those who can. I will leave
it to the Cheysuli."

FIVE

When at last we drew near the Keep a day later, Finn
grew pensive and snappish. It was unlike him. We had
dealt well together, though only after I had grown used to
having a Cheysuli at my side, and after he had grown accus-
tomed to riding with a Homanan. Now we had come home
again, at least to his mind, home again, would Finn put off
his service?

It set the hairs to rising on my neck I had no wish to
lose Finn. I needed him still. I had teamed much in the
years of exile, but ] had yet to leam what it was to lay
claim to a stolen throne. Without Finn, the task would be
close to impossible.

He pulled up his mount sharply, hissing invectives be-
neath his breath. And then his face went blank with the
uncanniness of the fir-bond and I knew he conversed with
the wolf.

Lachlan, wise harper, said nothing. He waited as I did.
But the tension that was a tangible thing did not appear to
touch him.

Finn broke free of the contact at last. I had watched his
face; had seen it grow hard and sharp and bleak, like his
eyes. And now I grew afraid.
"What is it?" I hissed.

"Storr sends a warning." Finn shivered suddenly, though
the sunlight that glittered off his earring was warm upon
our shoulders. "I think I feel it myself. I will go in. Keep

I 53 I

54 Jennifer Roberson

yourself here." He looked at Lachlan a moment, consider-
ing something, by the look in his eyes. Then he shrugged,
dismissing it. "Keep yourself here, as I said, until I come
back for you."

He spoke lightly enough, no doubt for Lachlan's bene-
fit, but I could not wait for subterfuge. I caught the rein of
his horse and held him still. "Tell me. What is it?"

Finn looked again at Lachlan, and then he looked at
me. "Storr can touch no lir."

"None?"

"Not even Alix."

"But—with her Old Blood—" I stopped. He need say
no more. Could Storr touch no lir at all, the situation was
grave indeed. 'There may be danger for you as well," I
told him quietly.

"Of course. So I go in Zir-shape." He dropped off his
horse at once, leaving me with a skittish animal at the end
of a leather rein. "Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu,"
he said to me, shrugging, and then he was no longer a
man.

I watched Lachlan, As the space in which Finn stood
emptied, swallowed instead by the void, Lachlan's eyes
stretched wide. And then they narrowed as he frowned,
staring as if he would learn it himself. His Hngers dropped
to the harp case at his knee, touching it as if to reassure
himself he was awake, not asleep. By the time I looked
back at Finn the man-shape was completely gone, re-
placed by the blurred outline of a wolf. I felt the familiar
rolling of my belly, swallowed against it, as always, and
looked at Lachlan again. His face had taken on a peculiar
greenish hue. I thought he might vomit up his fear and
shock, but he did not.

The ruddy wolf with Finn's yellow eyes flicked his tail
and ran.

"They do not merit fear," I told Lachlan clearly, "unless
you have done something to merit their enmity." I smiled
as his eyes turned to me, staring as if he thought I too
might be a wolf, or something equally bestial. "You are an
innocent man, you have said: a harper . - . what have you
to fear from Finn?"

But a man does not stop fearing the specter of childhood

THE SONG OF HOMANA    55

nightmares so easily, no matter how innocent he is.
Lachlan—with, perhaps, more guilt than he claimed—might
have better reason to fear what he saw. He stared after
Finn, seeing nothing now, but the greenish pallor had
been replaced by the white of shock and apprehension.
"Wolves cannot know reason! Does he know you in that
shape?"

"Finn, in that shape, knows everything a man knows," I
said. "But he also claims the wisdom of a wolf. A double
threat, you might say, for one who deserves careful con-
sideration." I shifted in the saddle, half my mind with
Finn and the other half knowing what Lachlan felt. I had
felt it myself, the first few times. "He is not a demon or a
beast. He is a man who claims a god-gift in his blood,
much as you claim it in yours. It is only his gods manifest
their presence a little differently." I thought of the magic
he made with his music, and then I laughed at his horri-
fied expression. "Think you he worships Lodhi? Not Finn.
Perhaps he worships no god, or gods, but he serves his
own better than any man I have ever known. How else do
you think he would keep himself to my side?" Finn's horse
tried to wander, searching for grass in the snow, and I
pulled him back. "You need have no fear he might turn on
you, wolflike, and tear your throat from your body. He
would do that only if you gave him reason." I met the
harper's eyes steadily, keeping my tone light. "But then
you have no wish to betray me, have you? Not with your
saga at stake."

"No." Lachlan tried to smile, but I could see the thoughts
in his head. No man, seeing the shapechange for the first
time, forgets it so quickly. If at all. "What was it he said to
you, before he changed himself?"

I laughed. "A philosophy, of sorts. Cheysuli, of course,
and therefore alien to Homanans or Ellasians." I quoted
the words: "Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu. It
means, roughly, the fate of a man rests always within the
hands of the gods." I made the gesture, being very dis-
tinct as I lifted my right hand and spread my fingers. "It is
usually shortened to the word tahlmorra, which says more
than enough quite simply."

Lachian shook his head slowly. "Not so alien to me, I

56 J«nnlfwr Robafon

think. Do you forget I am a priest? Admittedly my god is
singular, and far different from those Finn claims, but I
am trained to understand the faith a man holds. More than
trained; I believe it with all my heart, that a man may
know and serve his deity." His hand tapped the harp case.
"My gift is there. Carillon. Finn's is elsewhere, but just as
strong. And he is just as devout, perhaps more so, to give
himself up to his fate." He smiled. "Tahlmorra lujhala mei
wiccan, cheysu. How eloquent a phrase."

"Have you any like it?"

Lachlan laughed. "You could never say it. You tack an
Ellasian throat." He thumped the harp case. "This one is
not so hard: Yhana Lodhi, yffennog faer." He smiled. "A
man walks with pride forever when he walks with Lodhi,
humble."

And then Finn was back, two-legged and white-faced,
and I had no more time for philosophy. I held out the rein
as Finn reached for it, but I could ask none of the ques-
tions that crowded my mouth. Finn's face had robbed me
of my voice.

"Destroyed," he said in a whisper. 'Tom down. Burned."
His pallor was alarming. "There is no Keep,"

I was over the broken stonework before I realized what
it was, setting my horse to jumping though he lacked the
legs to do it. He stumbled, scrabbling at the snow-cloaked
heaps of mortared stone, and then I knew. The wall, the
half-circle wall that surrounded every Keep. Shattered
and broken upon the ground.

I pulled up at once, saving the horse, but also saving
myself. I sat silently on the little gelding, staring at what
remained of the Keep. Bit by bit I looked, allowing myself
one portion at a time; I could not bear to see it all at once.

Snow covered nearly everything, but scavenger beasts
had dug up the remains. I saw the long poles, some
snapped in two, some charred. I saw scraps of soiled cloth
frozen into stifihess, colors muted by time and harsh
weather. The Brecairns that had stood before each pavilion
lay in tumbled fragments, spilled by hostile feet and de-
structive hooves. All of it gone, with only ragged remnants
of a once-proud Keep.

In my mind I saw it as I had seen it last: undressed,

THE SONG OF HOMANA   57

unmortared stone standing high to guard the Keep; bil-
lowing pavilions of varied hues emblazoned with painted
lir. The perches and pelts existing for those lir, and the
children who feared nothing of the wild. Save, perhaps,
for those who knew to fear Homanans.
I cursed. It came viciously out of my mouth along with
the spittle. I thought of Duncan, clan-leader of his Keep,
but mostly 1 thought of Alix.

I rode on then. Directly to the proper place. 1 knew it
well enough, though nothing remained to mark it. And
there I slid off my horse, too stiff to dismount with any skill
or grace, and fell down upon my knees.

One pole pierced its way through snow to stab out of
the ruins like a standard. A scrap of fabric, stiff from
freezing, still clung to the wood. I tugged at it and it came
away, breaking off in my hand. Slate-colored, with the
faintest blur of gold and brown. For Cai, Duncan's hawk.

Not once had I thought they might be dead. Not once,
in all the time spent in exile, had I thought they might be
gone. They had been the one constant in my life, along
with Finn. Always I had recalled the Keep and the clan-
leader's pavilion, filled with Duncan's pride and Alix's
strength, and the promise of the unborn child. Never once
had I even considered they might not be here to greet
me.

But it was not the greeting I missed. It was the convic-
tion of life, no matter where it existed. Nothing lived here
now.

I heard the sound behind me and knew at once it was
Finn. Slowly, suddenly old beyond my years, I stood up. I
trembled as if with illness, knowing only a great sorrow
and rage and consuming grief.

Cods . . . they could not be dead—

Lachlan made a sound. I looked at him blindly, thinking
only of Alix and Duncan, and then I saw the expression of
realization in his eyes.

Finn saw it also. As he leaped, still in human form, I
caught him in mid-stride. "Wait—"

"He knew."

The words struck me in the face. But still I held Finn.

58 Jwnntfr Robwon

"Wait. Do you slay him, we will learn nothing from him.
Wait—"

Lachlan stood rooted to the earth. One hand thrust
outward as if to hold us back. His face was white. "I will
tell you. I will tell you what I can."

I let go of Finn when I knew he would do nothing
more. At least until he had better reason. "Then Finn has
the right of it: you knew."

Lachlan nodded stiffly. "I knew. Have known. But I had
forgotten. It was—three years ago."

"Three years." I stared around the remains of the Keep.
"Harper—what happened?"

He looked steadily at me. "Ihlini."

Finn hissed something in the Old Tongue. I merely
waited for further explanation. But I said one thing: "This
is Ellas. Do you say Tynstar has influence here?"

Dull color came up into Lachlan's face. "I say nothing of
that. Ellas is free of Ihlini domination. But once, only
once, there was a raid across the border. Ihlini and
Solindish, hunting the Cheysuli who sheltered in this
realm, and they came here." A muscle ticked in his jaw.
"There have been songs made about it, but it is not
something I care to recall. I had nearly forgotten."

"Remember, "Finn said curdy. "Remember it all, harper."

Lachlan spread his hands. 'The Ihlini came here. They
destroyed the Keep. They slew who they could of the
Cheysuli."

"How many?" Finn demanded.

"Not all." Lachlan scrubbed a hand across his brow. as if
he wished to free himself of the silver circlet of his calling.
"I—do not know, perhaps, as much as I should."

"Not enough and too much, all at once," Finn said
grimly. "Harper, you should have spoken earlier. You
knew we came to the Keep."

"How am I to know them all?" Lachlan demanded.
"The High King gives the Cheysuli shelter, but he does
not count them. old or young. I doubt Rhodri can say how
many Keeps or how many Cheysuli are in Ellas. We
merely wefcome them all."

This time it was Finn who colored, but only for a
moment. The grief and tension were back at once, etching

THE SONG OF HOMANA   59

lines into his face. He wore his mask again, the private
mask, stark and hard in his insularity. "They may all be
dead. And that would leave only me—" He broke off.

Lachlan took a deep breath. "1 have heard that those
who survived went back into Homana. North. Across the
Bluetooth River."
Finn frowned. "Too far," he muttered, looking at Storr.
Too far even for the fir-link,"

I looked directly at Lachlan. "You have heard much for
a man who recalls so little. To Homana, you say. North,
across the Bluetooth. Are you privy to information we
have no recourse to?"

He did not smile. "Harpers are privy to much, as you
should know. Had you none in Homana-Mujhar?"

"Many," I said briefly. "Before Bellam silenced the
music."

Finn turned his back. He stared again at the remains of
Duncan's slate-gray pavilion. I knew he meant to master
himself. I wondered if he could.

"May I suggest," Lachlan began, "that you use my harp
skill in trying to rouse your people? I could go into taverns
and sing The Song of Homana, to test how the people feel.
How better to learn their minds, -and how they will an-
swer their rightful king's call?"

"The Song of Homana?" Finn said doubtfully, turning
to stare at Lachlan.

"You have heard it," the harper said, "and I saw what it
did to you. It has a magic of its own."

He spoke the truth. Did he go into Homanan taverns
and play that song on his Lady, he would know sooner
than anyone else what my people were capable of. Had
Bellam cowed them, it would take time to rebuild their
spirit. Were they merely angry, I could use it.

I nodded at Lachlan. "The horses require tending."

For a moment he frowned, baffled, and then he under-
stood. Silently he took away our horses and gave us room
to speak freely, without fear he might overhear.

"I give you leave to go," I told Finn simply.

Something flickered in his eyes. "There is no need."

"There is. You must go. Your clan—your kin—have
gone north across the Bluetooth. Home to Homana, where

60 Jennifer Roberson

we are bound. You must go and find them, to set your
soul at peace."

He did not smite. "Healing Homana is more important
than seeking out my clan."
"Is it?" I shook my head. "You told me once that clan-
and kin-ties bind more closely than anything else in Cheysuli
culture. I have not forgotten. I give you leave to go, so I
can have you whole again." I held up a silencing hand.
"Until you know. it will eat at your soul like a canker."

The flesh of his face was stiff. "I will not leave you in
companionship to the enemy."

I shook my head. "We do not know if he is an enemy."

"He knows too much," Finn said grimly. "Too much
and too little. I do not trust him."

"Then trust me." I put out my gloved hand and spread
my fingers, palm up. "Have you not taught me all you can
in the art of staying alive, even in dire adversity? I am no
longer quite the green princeling you escorted into exile. I
think I may have some control over my life." I smiled.
"You have said it is my tahlmorra to take back the Lion
Throne. If so, it will happen, and nothing will gainsay it.
Not even this time apart."

He shook his head slowly. "Tahlmorras may be broken,
Carillon. Do not mislead yourself into believing you are
safe."

"Have more faith in me," I chided. "Go north and find
Alix and Duncan. Bring them back." I frowned a moment.
"Bring them to Tori-in's croft. It was Alix's home, and if he
is still alive it will be a place of sanctuary for us all."

He looked at the ruined pavilion, buried under snow.
And then he looked at Storr. He sighed. "Rouse your
people, my lord of Homana. And 1 will bring home the
Cheysuli."

SIX

Mujhara. It rose out of the plains of Homana like an eagle
on an aerie, walled about with rose-red stone and portcul-
lised barbican gates. Homana-Mujhar was much the same:

walled and gated and pink. The palace stood within the
city on a hill. Not high, but higher than any other. Lachlan
and I rode through the main gate into Mujhara, and at
once I knew I was home.

Save I was not. My home was filled with Solindish
soldiers, hung about with ringmail and boiled leather and
glinting silver swords. They let us in because they knew no
better, thinking Homana's rightful lord would never ride
so willingly into his prison.

I heard the Solindish tongue spoken in the streets of
Mujhara more than I heard Homanan. Lachlan and I
spoke Ellasian merely to be safe. But 1 thought I could say
anything and be unacknowledged; Bellam's soldiers were
bored. After five years and no threat from without, they
lived lazily within.

The magnificence was gone. I thought perhaps it was
my own lack of discernment, having spent so long in
foreign lands, but it was not. The city, once so proud, had
lost interest in itself. It housed a Mujhar who had stolen
his throne, and the Homanans did not care to praise his
name. Why should they praise his city? Where once the
windows had glittered with glass or glowed with horn,
now the eyes were dark and dim, smoked over, puttied at

I 61   )

62 Jennifer Roberson

corners with dirt and grime. The white-washed walls were
dingy and gray, some fouled with streaks of urine. The
cobbled streets had crumbled, decayed until the stench
hung over it like a miasma. I did not doubt Homana-
Mujhar remained fit for a king, but the rest of the city did
not.

Lachlan .ooked at me once, then again. "Look not so
angry, or they will know."

"I am sick," I said curtly. "I could vomit on this vile-
ness. What have they done to my city?"

Lachlan shook his head. "What defeated people do
everywhere: they live. They go on. You cannot blame them
for it. The heart has gone out of their lives. Bellam exacts
overharsh taxes so no one can afford to eat, let alone wash
their houses. And the streets? Why clean dung when the
great ass sits upon the throne?"

I glanced at him sharply. He did not speak as Bellam's
man. saying what he should to win my regard. He spoke
like a man who understood the reasons for Mujhara's
condition—disliking it, perhaps, as much as I, but tolerat-
ing it better. Perhaps it was because he was Ellasian, and
a harper, with no throne to make his own.

"I am sorry you must see it this way," I told him with
feeling. "When /—" I broke it off at once. What good lies
in predicting something that may not happen?

Lachlan gestured. "Here, a tavern. Shall we go in?
Perhaps here we will find better fortune than we found at
the village taverns."

We had better. Failure rankled, though I understood it.
It is difficult to ask poor crofters to give up what little they
have to answer the call of an outlawed prince. It was
soldiers I needed first, and then what other men I could
find.
I stared at the tavern grimly. It looked like all the
others: gray and dingy and dim. And then I looked at
Lachlan.

He smiled, but it lacked all humor, a hooking down of
his mouth. "Of course. We will go on to another . . . one
you will choose for yourself."

I jumped off my horse, swore when I slipped in some

THE SONG OF HOMANA    63

muck, and scraped my boot against a loosened cobble.
"This will do well enough. Come in, and bring your harp."

Lachlan went in before me when he had taken his Lady
from his saddle. I paused to let him enter alone, then
went in behind him, shoving open the narrow, studded
door.

At once I ducked. The beamwork of the dark roof was
low, so low it made me wince against its closeness. The
floor beneath my feet was earthen, packed, but bits of it
had been scraped into ridges and little piles of dirt, as if
the benches and tables had been dragged across it to rest
in different places. I put up a hand to tear away the sticky
webbing that looped down from the beam beside my
head. It clung to my fingers until I scrubbed it off against
the cracked, hardened leather of my jerkin.

A single lantern depended from a hook set into the
central beam, painted black with pitch. It shed dim light
over the common room. A few candles stood out on the
tables, fat and greasy and stinking. There was little tight in
the place, just a sickly yellow glow and the haze of ocher-
ous smoke.

Lachlan, with his harp, was welcomed at once. There
were perhaps twenty men scattered around the common
room, but they made way for him at once, drawing up a stool
and bidding him begin. I found a table near the door and
sat down, asking for ale when the tavern-master arrived. It
was good brown ale when it came, hearty and woody; I
drank the first cup down with relish.

Lachlan opened with a sprightly lay to liven them up.
They clapped and cheered, urging him on, until he sang a
sad song of a girl and her lover, murdered by her father. It
brought a less exuberant response but no less a liking for
Lachlan's skill. And then he picked out the opening notes
of The Song of Homana.

He got no more than halfway through the tale. Abruptly
a soldier in Solindish ringmail and too much wine pushed
to his feet and drew his sword. Treason!" he shouted. He
wavered on his feet, and I realized how drunk he was.
"You sing treason!" His Homanan was poor, but he was
clearly understandable. So was his implication as he raised
the shining sword.

64 Jennifer Robarson

1 was on my feet at once. My own sword was in my
hand, but other men had already seized the soldier and
forced him down on his stool, relieving him of his sword.
It clanged to the floor and was kicked away. Lachlan, I
saw, had set down his Lady in the center of a table, and
his hand was near his knife.

Four men held the soldier in place. A fifth moved to
stand before him. "You are alone here, Solindishman," he
said. "Quite alone. This is a Homanan tavern and we are
all Homanans; we invite the harper to finish his lay. You
will sit and listen . . . unless I bid you otherwise." He
jerked his head. "Bind him and stop up his mouth!"

The soldier was instantly bound and gagged, propped
upon the stool like a sheep held down for shearing. With
less tenderness. The young man who had ordered him
bound cast an assessive glance around the room. I saw his
eyes on me, black in the dimness of the candlelight. They
paused, oddly intent though seemingly indifferent, and
moved on.

He smiled. He was young, eighteen or nineteen, I
thought, with an economy of movement that reminded me
of Finn. So did his black hair and the darkness of his face.
"We have silenced this fool," he said calmly. "Now we
shall let the harper finish."

I sheathed my sword and sat down slowly- I was aware
of the men who had moved in behind me, ranging them-
selves along the wall. The door, I saw, was barred. This
was not an unaccustomed occurrence, then; the Solindish
were the hunted.

The knowledge made me smile,

Lachlan completed his lay. The final note, dying out,
was met with absolute silence. I felt a trickle of forboding
run quickly down my spine; I shivered, disliking the sen-
sation. And yet I could not shake it from me.

"Well sung," the black-eyed young man said at last.
"You have a feel for our plight, it seems. And yet you are
Ellasian."

"Ellasian, aye." Lachlan raised a cup of water to his
mouth and sipped. "But I have traveled many lands and
have admired Homana for years."

THE SONG OF HOMANA     65
"What is left to admire?" the Homanan demanded. "We
are a defeated land."

"For now. aye, but do you not wait only for your prince
to return?" Smiling, Lachlan plucked a single string of his
Lady. The sound hung in the air a moment, and then it
faded away. "The former glory you aspire to have again
... it may come."

The young man leaned forward on his stool. "Tell me—
you travel, as you say—do you think Carillon hears of our
need? Do you sing this song wherever you go, surely you
have had some response!"

"There is fear," Lachlan said quietly. "Men are in fear
of Solindish retribution. What army could Carillon raise,
were he to come home again?"

"Fear?" The other nodded. "Aye, there is fear. What
else could there be in this land? We need a lord again, a
man who can rouse this realm into rebellion." He had all
the dedication of the fanatic, and yet there was little of the
madness in him, I thought, He was desperate; so was I. "I
will not lie and say it would be easy, harper, but I think
Carillon would find more than a few ready to rally to his
standard."

I thought of the crofters, muttering into their wine and
ale. I thought of what little success we had had in learning
if Homana desired my return.

"What would you do," Lachlan asked, "were he to come
home again?"

The other laughed with a bitterness older than his years.
"Join him- These few you see. Not many, but a beginning.
Still, there are more of us yet- We meet in secret, to plot,
and to aid Carillon however we may. In hopes he will
come home."

"Bellam is powerful," Lachlan warned, and I wondered
what more he knew.

The Homanan nodded. "He is indeed strong, and claims
many troops who serve him well. And with Tynstar at his
side, he is certainly no weak king. But Carillon brought
the Cheysuli into Homana-Mujhar before, and nearly de-
feated the Ihlini. This time he might succeed."

"Only with help."

"He will have it."

66 Jennifer Roberson

Lachlan nodded idly. "There are strangers among you.
Even I, Ellasian though I may be."
"You are a harper." The young man frowned. "Harpers
have immunity, of course. As for the soldier, he will be
slain."

Lachlan looked at me across the room. "And the other?"

The Homanan merely smiled. And then the men were
at my back, asking for my knife and sword. After   a mo-
ment's hesitation, I gave them into their hands.   Two men
remained behind me, another at my left side. The   young
man was taking no chances. "He will be slain, of   course.'

Of course. I smiled at Lachlan, who merely bided his
time.

The knife was given to the young man. He looked at it
briefly, frowning over the Caledonese runes and scripture,
then set it aside on the nearest table. The sword was given
to him then, and he did not at once put it down. He
admired the edge, then saw the runes set into the silver.
His eyes widened. "Cheysuli" made!" He glanced sharply
at me. "How did you get this?" For a moment something
moved in his face. "Off a dead man, no doubt. Cheysuli
swords are rare."

"No," I said. "From a live one. And now, before you
slay me, I bid you do one thing."

"Bid me?" He stared, brows rising beneath the black
hair. "Ask, perhaps . . . but it does not mean I will answer."

I did not move. "Cut the leather free."

His hands were on the hilt. I saw him look down at the
leather, feeling the tautness of it. I had wrapped it well,
and would do so again.

"Cut the leather free."

His stare challenged me a moment. And then he drew
his knife and did precisely as I asked.

The leather fell free of his hand. He stared at the hilt;

the rampant, royal lion of purest Cheysuli gold, the bur-
nished grip, the massive ruby clutched in curving prongs.
The magnificent Mujhar's Eye.

"Say what it is, so all will know," 1 told him quietly.

"The lion crest of Homana." His eyes moved from the
hilt to my face, and I smiled.

THE SONG OF HOMANA   67

"Who carries this sword, this crest?"
Color had left his face. "The blood of the House of
Homana " He paused. Then, in a rush of breath and
words, "But you might have stolen this sword!"

I glanced pointedly at my guards. "You have disarmed
me. Say I may come forward."

"Come, then." Color was back in his face. He was
young, and angry, and afraid of what he thought he might
hear.

I rose, pushing away my stool- Slowly I walked forward,
looking only at the young man, and then I stopped before
him. He was tall, Cheysuli-tall, but I was taller still.

I pushed back the sleeve on my left arm, showing him
the scar that ringed my wrist. "See you that? I have
another exactly like it, on my right. You should know
them both. Rowan." He flinched in surprise. "You were
prisoner to Keough of Atvia, as I was. You were flogged
because you spilled wine on Keough himself, even though
I asked them to spare you. Your back must show signs of
the flogging, even as my arms show the mark of the iron."
I let go the sleeve. "May I have my sword back, now?"

Stiffly, he lowered his head to look at it in his hands.
And then, as if realizing the history of the blade, he thrust
it out to me. I accepted it, feeling safer almost at once,
and then he dropped to his knees.

"My lord," he whispered. "Oh, my lord . . . forgive
me!"

I slid the sword home in its sheath. "There is nothing to
forgive. You have done what you should have done."

He stared up at me. I saw how his eyes were yellow in
the candlelight, I had always thought him Cheysuli. It was
Rowan who denied it. "How soon do we fight, my lord?"

I laughed at his eagerness. "It is late winter now. It will
take time to gather what men we can. In true spring,
perhaps, we can begin the raiding parties." I gestured.
"Get up from there. This is not the place- I am not the
Mujhar quite yet."

He remained where he was. "Will you formally accept
my service?"

I reached down and caught his woollen shirt and leather
:-jerkin, pulling him to his feet. "I told you to get up from

68 Jennifer Roberson

the floor," I said mildly, startled to find him so grown. He
had been but thirteen the last time I had seen him.
Rowan straightened his clothing. "Aye, my lord."

I turned to the   other men. Rowan's, all of them, intent ,•
upon rebellion-   And now intent upon the scene before
them; not quite   believing the prince he had promised had
come into their   midst.

I cleared my throat. "Most of you are too young to recall
Homana before the days of the qu'mahlin, when my uncle
the Mujhar ordered every Cheysuli slain. You have grown   ,,
up fearing and distrusting them, as I did myself. But I   |
learned differently, and so must you." I put up a silencing     ;

hand. "They are not demons. They are not beasts. They
serve nothing of the netherworld, they serve me." 1 paused.
"Has any of you ever even seen a Cheysuli warrior?"
There was a chorus of denials, even from Rowan. I looked   ,;

at each man, one by one. "I will have no bloodshed among
my men. The Cheysuli are not your foes."

"But—" one man began, then squirmed beneath my
eye.

"It is not easy to forget a thing you have been taught to
believe," I went on. more quietly. "I know that better   ^
than you think. But I also think, once you have got over
your superstitious fears of something you cannot compre-
hend, you will see they are no different from any other." I
paused. "You had better."

Rowan, behind me, laughed once. I thought there was
relief in his tone.

"Will you serve me," I asked, "even with the Cheysuli
by my side?"

Agreement. No denials. I searched for reluctance and
found none.

"And so the Song continues," murmured Lachlan, and
at that I laughed aloud.

It was Rowan who told me of my kin, what remained of
it: my mother and my sister. We sat alone at a comer
table, speaking of plans for the army we must gather. He
spoke clearly and at length, having spent much of his time
considering how best it could be done, and I was grateful
for his care. He would make the preparation much easier.

THE SONG OF HOMANA     69

But when at last he chanced to say, off-handedly, that my
mother no doubt missed my sister's company, I raised my
hand to stop him.
"Is Tourmaline not at Joyenne?"

Rowan shook his head. "Bellam took her hostage. Years
ago; I think it was not long after you escaped from
Homana-Mujhar."

Escaped—Tynstar had let me go. I picked at the scarred
wood of the table and bid Rowan to continue.

He shrugged, at a loss for what to tell me. "The Lady
Gwynneth is kept at Joyenne, well-guarded. Princess Tour-
maline, as I said, is at Homana-Mujhar. Bellam seeks to
hold anything that might bring you to him. He dares not
allow either of them freedom, for fear they could be used
as a rallying point for the rebellion."

"Instead of me?" I rail a hand through my beard to
scratch the flesh beneath. "Well, Bellam will be busy with
me. There is no need for him to hold two women."

"He will," Rowan asserted. "He will never let them
go." He stopped a moment, eyeing me tentatively. "There
is even talk he will wed the lady, your sister."

I spat out an oath and nearly stood up, hand to my
re-wrapped sword hilt. Instead I sat down again and hacked
at the table with my knife, adding yet more scars to the
wood. "Torry would not allow it," I said flatly, knowing
she would have little to say about it. Women did not when
it came to their disposal.

Rowan smiled. "I had heard she was not an acquiescent
hostage. And with two women in one castle—" He laughed
aloud, genuinely amused.

-Two?"

"His daughter, the Princess Electra." Rowan frowned.
"There is talk she is Tynstar's light woman."

"Tynstar's." I stared at him, sitting upright on my stool.
"Bellam gives his daughter over to that?"

"I heard it was Tynstar's price." Rowan shifted on his
bench. "My lord, there is little I can tell you. Most is
merely rumor. I would not dare claim any of it as truth."

"There is some truth in rumor," I said thoughtfully,
taking up my ale again. "If she is Tynstar's light woman,
there is a use for her in my plans."

70 Jennifer Roberson

"You wish to use a woman against the sorcerer?" Rowan
shook his head. "Begging your pardon, my lord, I think
you are mistaken."
"Princes are never mistaken." I grinned at his instant
discomfort. "All men can be mistaken, and fools if they
think not. Well enough, we shall have to consider a plan.
Two of them—to wrest my mother from Joyenne, and
Tony from Homana-Mujhar." I frowned, wishing Finn
were with me. To set a trap without him—I focused on
Rowan again. "For a man who swears he is not Cheysuli,
you are the perfect image of a warrior."

Dark color moved through Rowan's face. "I know it. It
has been my bane."

'There is no danger in it, with me. You could admit it
freely—"

"I admit nothing!" I was pleased he did not hide his
anger, even before his prince. Treacherous are men who
are all obsequious nods and bows, never letting me see
their hearts. "I have said I am not Cheysuli," he repeated.
"My lord."

I laughed at his stiff, remembered formality. And then
the laughter died away, for I heard Lachlan harping in the
background. Making magic with his Lady.

I turned to look at my enigmatic ally. Ellasian. A stranger
who wished to be my friend, he said. Bellam's man? Or
Tynstar's? Or merely his own, too cunning to work for
another? I still doubted him.

Slowly 1 rose. Rowan rose with me, out of courtesy, but
I could see the puzzlement in his eyes. I went across the
room and stopped at Lachlan's table, seeing how his blue
eyes were black in the yellow light of the tavern.

He stopped playing at once, his fingers still resting
upon the gleaming strings. His clustered audience, seeing
my face, moved away in silence.

I drew my sword from its sheath. I saw the sudden
Haring of fear in Lachlan's eyes. A sour, muted note sang
from his harp and then stilled, but the candles and lantern
guttered out.

Darkness. But not so dark there was no light. Merely
shadows. And the sorcerous green stone in Lachlan's Lady
gave off enough brilliance to see by.

THE SONG OF HOMANA    71

His fingers were in the strings. But so was the tip of my
sword.

I saw it in his face: the fear I would harm his harp. Slay
it, like an animal, or a man. As if the wood and wire lived.

"Put her down—your Lady," I said gently, having felt
her magic twice.

He did not move. The stoneglow washed across the
blade of my sword, setting the runes to glinting in its
light. And in that light I knew power, ancient and strong
and true.

The blade was parallel to the strings, touching nothing.
Slowly I turned it. One string whined its protest, but I
held it back from death.

Lachtan bent forward a little, sliding the harp free of my
sword. Carefully he set his Lady in the center of the table
and took his hands away. He waited then, quietly, his
arms empty of his harp.

I put my left hand on my sword, on the blade below the
crosspiece. I took my right hand off the hilt. That I offered
to Lachlan.

"The Solindish soldier," I said calmly. "Slay him for me,
harper."

SEVEN

"Forgive me, my lord," Rowan said quietly. "Is it wise
you should go, and alone?"

I sat upon a rotting tree stump, high on the hill behind
Ton-in's croft. Alix's foster father was indeed still alive,
and he had been astonished to Bnd me the same when I
had arrived at his dwelling some weeks before. He had
given me the story of the Ihlini attack much as Lachlan
had, verifying that what remained of the clan had gone
north across the Bluetooth. So now, using Torrin's croft as
a temporary headquarters, I gathered what army I could.
Here I was safe, unknown; the army camped in the shel-
tering forest in the hills behind the valley, practicing with
swords and knives.

I stirred, knocking snow off my boots by banging heels
against the tree stump. The day was quite clear; I squinted
against the sunlight. "Wise enough, does no one find me
out." I glanced at Rowan, standing three steps away, in
the attitude of a proper servant. I thought it would ease
with time, so that he served through desire instead of
rigid dedication. "I have told no one but you and Torrin of
my plan."

Rowan nodded as the color came and went in his sun-
bronzed face. He was not accustomed to being in my
confidence. It rested ill with him, who thought himself
little more than a servant no matter how often I said he
was much more. "There is the harper," he offered quietly.

72
THE SONG OF HOMANA     73

I grunted, shifting my seat on the rotting stump, "Lachlan
believes he has proven his worth by slaying the soldier. 1
will let him think it. He has, to some extent . . . but not
all." I bent and scooped up a stone, idly tossing it through
the trees. "Say what is in your mind, Rowan. At my
behest."

He nodded, head bowed in an attitude of humility. His
hands were behind his back. His eyes did not look at me
but at the snow-covered ground beneath his boots. "You
distrust the harper, still, because you do not know him
well enough. My lord—I say you know me little better."

"I know enough," 1 said. "I recall the thirteen-year-old
boy who was captive of the Atvians along with me. I recall
the boy who was made to serve the Lord Keough himself,
though he be cuffed and struck and tripped." Rowan's
eyes came up to mine, stricken. "I was in the tent also,
Rowan. That you must surely recall. And I saw what they
did to your back."

His shoulders moved, tensing, rippling beneath the
leather and wool. I knew what he did, flinching from the
lash. He could not help it, no more than I at times, when
I recalled the iron upon my wrists.

At that, the flesh twinged. I ruboed at both wrists, one
at a time, not needing to feel the ridges to know they were
there. "I know what it was. Rowan," I said unevenly. "No
man, living through that, would willingly serve the en-
emy. Not when his rightful lord is come home."

He stared again at the ground. I saw the rigidity in his
shoulders "I will do whatever you require." His voice was
very quiet.

"I require you to wait here while I go, and to be vigilant
in your watching." I smiled. "Lachlan may fool us all, in
the end, by being precisely what he claims, but I would
know my enemy before I give him my back. I trust to you
and Torrin in this. See to it the harper does not leave and
make off for Mujhara, to carry Bellam word of my where-
abouts. See to it he cannot give any of us away."

Through the trees came the clashing of swords and the
angry shout of an arms-master. The men drilled and drilled
until they would drop, cursing the need for such practice
even while they knew it was necessary. They had been

74 t JennMw Rob«r«on

gone from war too long, most of diem; some of them had
never known it. Men came from crofts and cities and even
distant valleys, having heard the subtle word.
CarUlon, it said. CariUon is come home.

I stood up, slapping at my leather breeches. The snow
was slushy now, almost sodden; I thought the thaw would
come soon. But not yet- I prayed not yet. We were
nowhere close to being an army, and in spring I wanted to
start my campaign against Bellam's men.

I smiled. In spring, when the planting began, so no one
would be expecting battle. I would anticipate a summer
campaign, and throw Bellam into disarray.

I hoped.

"He will know," Rowan said, "the Solindish king. He
will send men."

I nodded. "Take the army deeper into the forest. Leagues
from here. Leave no one with Torrin; I do not wish to
endanger him. I want no fighting now. Better to hide like
runaway children than give ourselves over to Bellam's
men. See they do it, Rowan."

He crossed his arms and hugged his chest, as if he were
suddenly cold. "My lord—take you care."

I grinned at him. "It is too soon to lose me yet. Does it
come, it will come in battle." I turned away to my horse
and untied his reins from a slender sapling. The same
little dun Steppes gelding, still shaggy and ragged and
ugly. Nothing like the warhorse my lather had given me
five years before.

Rowan's face was set in worried, unhappy lines. All his
thoughts were in his eyes: he thought I would die and the
rebellion come to an end.

I mounted and gathered in my reins. "She is my lady
mother. I would have her know I live."

He nodded a little. "But to have to go where you know
there are soldiers—"

'They will be expecting an army, not a single man." I
touched the hilt of my sword, wrapped once again and
scabbarded at my saddle. "I will be well enough."

I did not look back as I rode away from the young man I
had learned to trust. But I knew he stood in the shade of
the trees, squinting against the sun.

THE SONG OF HOMANA I 75

The walnut dye turned my hair dark and stiff and dull.
Grease made it shiny and foul. One braid, bound with a
leather lace, hung before my left ear. The beard was
already dark, and unknown to any who had seen me at
eighteen.

My teeth were good and I still boasted all of them. I
rubbed a resinous gum into them to turn them yellow and
foul my tongue. My clothes were borrowed, though I
doubted I would return them; the man who wore mine no
doubt preferred them to his, they being much better than
his rags. What I wore now was a threadbare woollen tunic,
once dark green, now brown with mud and grease. Match-
ing woollen trews bagged at my knees, reaching only
halfway to my ankles. I had put off my boots and replaced
them with leather buskins.

Leather bracers hid my wrist scars, something a guard
might look for. No doubt Bellam had described me as tall,
tawny-dark and blue-eyed, with shackle scars on both
wrists. I was still tall, but now walked stooped, hitching a
leg, one shoulder crooked down as if a broken bone had
been improperly set. There was nothing of Bellam's
pretender-prince about me as I walked toward the village
surrounding Joyenne. Not even the sword and the bow,
for both could give me away. Both I had buried in the
snow beneath a rowan tree, marked with a lightning gash.
I carried only the knife, and that was sheathed beneath
my tunic against my ribs.

I scuffed through snow and slush, kicking out at the
dogs who ran up to see the stranger. Joyenne-town was
little more than a scattered village grown up because of
the castle. There were no walls, only dwellings, and the
.people passing by. They took no note of me.

I could smell the stink of myself. More than that, I
could smell the stink of a broken homeland. The village I
had always known had been a good place, full of bustle
and industry- Like all villages it claimed its share ofrepro-
•bates, but the people had mostly been happy. I had known
,,Some of it well, as young men will, and I recalled some of
;the women who had been happy to show favor to their

76

Jennifer Roberson

THE SONG OF HOMANA

77

lord's tall son. And I wondered, for the first time in my
life, whether I had gotten children on any of them.

The main track led directly to the castle. Joyenne proper,
built upon a hill, with walls and towers and the glittering
glass of leaded, mullioned casements. My father had taken
great joy in establishing a home of which to be proud.
Joyenne was where we lived, not fought; it was not a
bastion to ward off the enemy but a place in which to rear
children. But the gods had seen fit to give them stillborn
sons and daughters, until Torry and then myself.

Joyenne was awash with sunlight, gold and bronze and i-
brown. The ocher-colored stone my father had chosen had   ;

bleached to a soft, muted color, so that the sunlight glinted
off comers and trim. Against the snowy hill it was a great
blot of towered, turreted stone, ringed by walls-and ram-
parts. There was an iron portcullis at the frontal gate, but
rarely was it ever brought down. At least in my father's ^
day. Joyenne had been open to all then, did they need to   f:

converse with their lord.

Now, however, the great mortar mouth was toothed
with iron. Men walked the walls with halberds in their ^
hands. Ringmail glinted silver in the sunlight. Bellam's ,|
banner hung from the staffs at each tower: a rising white ^'
sun on an indigo field.                                   ^

Because I was a poor man and fouled with the grime of '''•
years, I did not go to the central gate. I went instead to a
smaller one, stooped and crooked and hitching my leg
along. The guards stopped me at once, speaking in poor
Homanan. What was it, they asked, I wanted?

To see my mother, I said civilly, showing stained and
rotting teeth. The scent of the gum was foul and sent
them, cursing, two steps back. My mother, I repeated in a
thick and phleginy voice. The one who served within the
castle.

I named a name, knowing there was indeed a woman
who served the hall. I could not say if still she lived—she
had been old when I had gone to war—but a single
question would tell the men I did not lie. She had had a
son, I knew, a son twisted from childhood disease. He had
gone away to another village—her everlasting shame—but
now, I thought, he would come back. However briefly.

The guards consulted, watching me with disgusted, ar-
rogant eyes. They spoke in Solindish, which I knew not at
all, but their voices gave them away. My stink and my
grease and my twisted body had shielded me from closer
inspection.

Weaponed? they asked gruffly.

No. I put out my hands as if inviting them to search.
They did not. Instead they waved me through.

And thus Carillon came home again, to see his lady
mother.

1 hitched and shuffled and stooped, wiping my arm
beneath my nose, spreading more grease and fouling my
beard. I crossed the cobbled bailey slowly, almost hesi-
tantly, as if I feared to be sent away again. The Solindishmen
who passed me looked askance, offended by my stink. I
showed them my yellowed, resined teeth in the sort of
grin a dog gives, to show his submission; to show he
knows his place.

By my appearance, I would be limited to the kitchens
(or the midden.) It was where the woman had served. But
my lady mother would be elsewhere, so I passed by the
kitchens and went up to the halls,-scraping my wet bus-
kins across the wood of the floor.

There were few servants. I thought Bellam had sent
most of them away in an attempt to humble my mother.
For him, a usurper king, it would be important to wage
war even against a woman. Gwynneth of Homana had
been wed to the Mujhar's brother; a widow now, and
helpless, but royal nonetheless. It would show his power if
he humbled this woman so. But I thought it was unlikely
he had succeeded, no matter how many guards he placed
on the walls, no matter how many Solindish banners flut-
tered from the towers.

I found the proper staircase, winding in a spiral to an
upper floor. I climbed, sensing the flutter in my belly. I
had come this far, so far, and yet a single mistake could
have me taken. Bellam's retribution, no doubt, would see
me kept alive for years. Imprisoned and humiliated and
tortured.

I passed out of the staircase into a hall, paneled in
honey-gold wood. My father's gallery, boasting mullioned

78 Jennifer Roberson

windows that set the place to glittering in the sun. But the
beeswax polish had grown stale and dark, crusted at the
edges. The gallery bore the smell of disuse and disinterest.

My hand slipped up between the folds of my soiled
tunic, sliding through a rent in the cloth. I closed my
fingers around the bone-handled hilt of my Caledonese
knife. For a moment I stood at the polished wooden door
of my mother's solarium, listening for voices within. 1
heard nothing. It was possible she spent her time else-
where, but I had learned that men or women, in trying
circumstances, will cling to what they know. The solar had
ever been a favorite place. And so, when I was quite
certain she was alone, I swung open the oiled panel.

I moved silently. 1 closed the door without a sound. I
stood within the solar and looked at my mother, and
realized she had grown old.

Her head was bent over an embroidery frame. What
she stitched there I could not say, save it took all her
attention to do it. The sunlight burned through the
mullioned panes of the narrow casement nearest her and
splashed across her work, turning the colored threads
brilliant in the dimness of the room. I noticed at once
there was a musty smell, as if the dampness of winter had
never been fully banished by the warmth of the brazier
fires. This had ever been a warm, friendly room, but now
it was cold and barren.

I saw how she stitched at the fabric. Carefully, brows
furrowed. In profile to me. And her hands—

Twisted, brittle, fragile things, knobbed with buttons of
flesh at her knuckles and more like claws than fingers. So
painstakingly she stitched, and yet with those hands I
doubted she could do little more than thrust needle through
fabric with little regard for the pattern. Disease had taken
the skill from her.

I recalled then, quite clearly, how her hands had pained
her in the dampness. How she had never complained, but
grew more helpless with each month. And now, looking at
her, I saw how the illness had destroyed the grace my
father had so admired.

She wore a white wimple and coif to hide her hair, but a
single loop escaped to curve down the line of her cheek.

THE SONG OF HOMANA   79

Gray, all gray, when before it had been tawny as my own.
Her face was creased with the soft, fine tines of age, like
crumpled silk.

She had put on indigo blue, ever a favorite color with
her. 1 thought I recognized the robe as an old one she had
given up more than seven years before. And yet she wore
it now, threadbare and thin and hardly worthy of her
station.

Perhaps 1 made a sound. She lifted her head, searching,
and her eyes came around to me.

I went to her and knelt down. All the words I had
thought to say were flown. I had nothing but silence in my
mouth and a painful cramping in my throat.

I stared hard at the embroidery in her lap. She had let
it fall, forgotten, and I saw that the pattern—though ill-
made—was familiar. A tall, bearded soldier on a great
chestnut stallion, leading the Mujhar's army. I had loved
it as a child, for she had called the man my father. It
seemed odd that I would look now and see myself.

Her hand was on my head. At first I wanted to flinch
away. knowing how foul the grease and dye had made me,
but I did not move. With her other hand she set her
fingers beneath my chin and turned up my face, so she
could look upon me fully. Her smile was brilliant to see,
and the tears ran down her face.

I reached out and caught her hands gently, afraid 1
might break them. They were so fragile in my own. 1 felt
huge, overlarge, much too rough for her delicacy.

"Lady." My voice came out clogged and uneven. "I
have been remiss in not coming to you sooner. Or sending
word—"

Fingers closed my mouth. "No." She touched my beard
lingeringly, then ran both hands through my filthy hair.
"Was this through choice, or have you forgotten all the
care I ever taught you?"

I laughed at her, though it had a hollow, brittle sound.
"Exile has fashioned your son into another sort of man, I
fear."

The lines around her eyes—blue as my own—deepened.
And then she took her hands away as if she had finished
with me entirely. I realized, in that instant, she was

80 Jennifer Robaraon

sacrificing the possessiveness she longed to show me. In
her eyes I saw joy and pride and thankfulness, and a deep
recognition of her son as a man. She was giving me my
freedom.

I rose unsteadily, as if I had been too long without food.
Her smile grew wider. "Fergus lives on in you."

I walked to the casement, overcome for the moment,
and stared out blindly to watch the guards upon the ram-
parts. When I could, I turned back. "You know why I
have come."

Her chin lifted. I saw the delicate, draped folds of the
silkin wimple clustered at her throat. "I was wed to your
father for thirty-five years. I bore him six children. It was
the gods who decreed only two of those children would
live to adulthood, but I am quite certain they have learned,
•both of them, what it is to be part of the House of
Homana." The pride made her nearly young again. "Of
course I know why you have come."

"And your answer?"

It surprised her. "What answer is there to duty? You
are the House of Homana, Carillon—what is left for you to
do but take back your throne from Bellam?"

I had expected no different, and yet it seemed passing
strange to hear such matter-of-factness from my mother.
Such things from a father are never mentioned, being
known so well, but now I lacked a father. And it was my
mother who gave me leave to go to war.

I moved away from the window. "Will you come with
me? Now?"

She smiled. "No,"

I made an impatient gesture. "I have planned for it. You
will put on the clothes of a kitchen servant and walk out of
here with me. It can be done. / have done it. It is too
obvious for them to suspect." I touched my fouled, bearded
face. "Grease your hair, sully your skirts, affect the man-
ners of a servant. It is your life at risk—you will do well
enough."

"No," she said again. "Have you forgotten your sister?"

"Tony is in Homana-Mujhar." I thought it answer enough
as I glanced out the casement again. "It is somewhat more
difficult for me to get into Homana-Mujhar, but once we

THE SONG OF HOMANA    81

are safely gone from here, then I will turn my plans to
Torry."

"No," she repeated, and at last she had my complete
attention. "Carillon, I doubt not you have thought this out
well, but I cannot undertake it. Tourmaline is in dan-
ger. She is hostage to Bellam against just this sort of
thing; do you think he would sit and do nothing?" I saw
the anguish in her eyes as she looked into my frowning
face. "He would leam, soon enough, I had gotten free of
his guards. And he would turn to punish your sister."

I crossed to her at once, bending to catch her shoulders
in my hands. "I cannot leave you here! Do you think I
could live with myself, knowing you are here? You have
only to look at this room, stripped bare of its finery and
left cold, no doubt to freeze your bones. Mother—"

"No one harms me," she said clearly. "No one beats
me. I am fed. I am merely kept as you see me, like a
pauper-woman." The twisted hands reached up to touch
my leather-clad wrists. "I know what you have risked,
coming here. And were Tourmaline safe, I would come
with you. But I will not give her over to Bellam's wrath."

"He did it on purpose, to guard against my coming."
That truth was something I should have realized long ago,
and had not. "Divide the treasure and the thieves are
defeated." I cursed once, then tried to catch back the
words, for she was my lady mother.

She smiled, amused, while the tears stood in her eyes.
"I cannot. Do you understand? I thought you were dead,
and my daughter lost. But now you are here, safe and
whole, and I have some hope again. Go from here and do
what you must, but go without me to hinder you." She
put out her hands as I sought to speak. "See you how I
am? I would be a burden. And that I refuse, when you
have a kingdom to win back."

I laughed, but there was nothing of humor in it. "All my
fine plans are disarranged. I thought to win you free of
here and take you to my army, where you would be safe.
And then I would set about planning to take Torry—or
take Homana-Mujhar." I sighed and shook my head, sens-
ing the pain of futility in my soul. "You have put me in my
place."

Jennifer Roberson

82

"Your place is Homana-Mujhar," She rose, still clasping
my hands with her brittle, twisted fingers. "Go there. Win
your throne and your sister's freedom. And then I will go

where you bid me."

I caught her in my arms and then, aghast, set her aside

with a muttered oath. Filthy as I was—

She laughed. She touched the smudge of grease on her
crumpled-silk face and laughed, and then she cried, and
this time when I hugged her I did not set her at once
aside.

EIGHT

I went out of Joyenne as I had gone in: with great care.
Stooping and hitching I limped along, head down, making
certain I did not hasten. I went out the same gate I had
come in, muttering something to the Solindish guards,
who responded with curses and an attempt to trip me into
a puddle of horse urine pooling on the cobbles. Perhaps
falling would have been best, but -my natural reflexes took
over and kept me from sprawling as the leg shot out to
catch my ankle. I recalled my guise at once and made
haste to stumble and cry out, and when I drew myself up
it was to laughter and murmured insults in the Solindish
tongue. And so I went away from my home and into the
village to think.

My mother had the right of it. Did I take her out of
Joyenne, Bellam would know instantly I had come back,
and where. Who else would undertake to win my mother
free? She had spent five years in captivity within her own
home and no one had gotten her out. Only I would be so
interested as to brave the Solindish guards.
It is a humbling feeling to know all your plans have
been made for naught, when you should have known it at
the outset. Finn, I thought, would have approached it
differently. Or approached it not at all.

I retrieved my horse from the hostler at a dingy tavern
and went at once, roundabout, to the rowan tree to un-
earth my sword and bow. It felt good to have both in my

Jennifer Roberson

84

hands again, and to slough off the tension my journey into
Joyenne had caused me, I hung my sword at my hips
again, strapped on the Cheysuli bow, and mounted the

gelding once more.

1 rode out across the snowfields and headed home again.
To a different home, an army, where men planned and
drilled and waited. To where Homana's future waited.
And I wondered how it had come to pass men would claim
a single realm their own, when the gods had made it for

all.

I thought of Lachlan then, secure within his priesthood.
He had totd me how it was for him; how Lodni's service
did not require celibacy or cloistering or the foolishness of
similar things. His task, he had said, was merely to speak
of Lodhi to those who would listen, in hopes they would
learn the proper way. 1 had acknowledged his freedom to
do so, knowing my own lay in other gods, but he had
never pressed me on it, and for that I was grateful indeed.

The sun burned yellow in an azure sky, reflecting from
the snow. The horse sweated and so did 1; the grease
stank so badly I wanted to retch and rid myself of its
stench- But until I had time to bathe myself I would have

to remain as I was.

I saw them then, silhouetted against the skyline. Four
men atop a hill, shapes only, with sunlight glittering off
their ringmail. All save one, who wore dark clothes in-
stead. No mail. No sword at all.

My heart moved within my chest in the squirm of
sudden foreboding. Intentionally I kept my hand from my
sword, riding onward along the narrow track beaten into
the slushy snow. Men had the freedom to come and go as
they pleased; Solindish or not. they had the right to ride
where they would. And I had better not gain their atten-
tion with a show of arms or strength.
The hill lay to my right, and ahead. I rode on doggedly,
round-shouldered and slumped, affecting no pride or curi-
osity. The four waited atop the hill, well-mounted and
silent, still little more than shapes at this distance, yet
watching. Watching always.

I did not quicken the gelding's pace. I made no move-
ment to call attention, and yet I could feel their eyes as

THE SONG OF HOMANA   85

they watched me, waiting, as I passed the crest of their
hill. Still it lay to my right, bulging up out of a rift through
which ran the smallest of snow-melt streams. That stream
lay to my left; I rode between water and men. The gelding
snorted, unimpressed, but I thought he sensed my tension.

The ringmail blazed in the brilliant sun. Solindishmen,
I knew. Homanan mail was darker, duller, radiating less
light in the sun. Showing less light in the starlit darkness
when armies moved to set an ambush. It was something
my father had taught me; perhaps Bellam was too sure of
his men and saw no need for such secrecy.

I rode on. And so did they.

Three of them. The men in mail. They came directly
down the hill toward me, moving to cut me off, and I saw
them draw their swords. This was no parley, no innocent
meeting of strangers. It was blood they wanted, and I had
none to spare.

I doubted I could outrun them. The snow was thick and
slushy, treacherous footing to any horse, but to mine in
particular: short-legged and slighter of frame. Still, he was
willing, and when I set him to a run he plunged through
the heavy going.

Snow whipped into the air in a fine, damp spray, churned
up beneath driving hooves. I bent low and forward, shift-
ing weight over the moving shoulders. I heard the raspy
breathing of my horse and the shouts of men behind me.

The gelding stumbled, recovered, then went down to
his knees. Riding forward as I was, the fall pitched me
neatly off over his head. It was not entirely unexpected; I
came up at once, spinning to face the oncoming men, and
stripped the bow from my back.

The arrow was nocked. Loosed. It took the first soldier
full in the throat, knocking him off his horse. The next
shaft blurred home in the second man's chest, but the
third one was on me and there was no more time for a
bow.

The sword stashed down to rip the bow from my hands,
I stumbled, slipping to my knees in the slushy snow, and
wrenched free the sword in my scabbard. Both hands
clamped down on the leather-wrapped hilt. I pushed my-
self up to my feet.

86 Jennifer Rotwrson

The Solindishman swung back, commanding His horse
with his knees. I saw the sunlight flashing off his blade as
the man rode toward me. I saw also the badge he wore:

Bellam's white sun on an indigo field.

The soldier rode me down. But he paused to deliver
what he thought was the death-blow; I ducked it at once
and came up with my blade, plunging it into the horse's
belly. The animal screamed and staggered at once, floun-
dering to his knees. The soldier jumped off instantly and
met me on common ground.

His broadsword was lifted high to come down into my
left shoulder. I caught his blade on my own and swung it
up diagonally from underneath, wrist-cords tightening be-
neath the leather bracers. He pulled away at once, drop-
ping to come under my guard; I met his blow with a
downward stroke across my body. He changed then, shift-
ing his stance to come at me another way, but 1 broke his
momentum and slid under his guard with ease, plunging
my sword to the hilt through his ribs. Steel blade on steel
mail shrieked in disharmony a moment, and then I freed
my sword as the body slumped to the snow.

I turned at once, searching for the man who wore no
ringmail or sword, but saw no one. The crest of the hill
was empty. I listened, standing perfectly still, but all I
heard was the trickling of the tiny streamlet as it ran down
through its channel.

The Solindish warhorse was dead. The horses belonging
to the two soldiers dead of arrows had gone off, too far for
me to chase. I was left with my shaggy Steppes horse,
head hanging as he sought to recover from his flight.

I sheathed my sword, reclaimed my bow and mushed
over to him through the snow, cursing the wet of my
buskins and the chill of ice against my flesh. The ragged
clothing I wore was soaked through from the flight and the
fight. And I still stank.

I put out my hand to catch dangling reins and felt
something crawl against the flesh of my waist. I slapped at
it at once, cursing lice and fleas; slapped again when the
tickling repeated itself. I set my hand against the hilt of
my Caledonese knife and felt it move.

I unsheathed it at once, jerking it into the sunlight. For

THE SONG OF HOMANA     87
a moment I stared at it, seeing blade and bone, and then I
saw it move.

Every muscle tensed. The horse snorted uneasily be-
hind me. I stood there and stared, fascinated as the bone
reshaped itself.

It was growing. In my hand. The smooth, curving hilt
lengthened, pulling itself free of the blade's tang. The
runes and scripture melted away into the substance of the
bone, as if the pieces carved away to make the shapes
were replacing themselves.

And then 1 knew I was watched.

I looked up at once, staring at the low ridge of the hill
from which the Solindishmen had come. There, dark against
the blue of the sky, was the fourth man. The one without
ringmail or sword. Too far for me to discern his features,
save I knew he watched and waited.

Ihlini, I knew instantly.

I threw the knife away in a convulsive, sickened move-
ment. I reached at once for my bow, intending to loose an
arrow. But 1 stopped almost at once, because an arrow
against sorcery claims no strength.

The bone. The thighbone of a monstrous beast, the king
of Caledon had said. And the Ihlini had conjured the
source of the bone, placing it before me in the snowfields
of Homana.

The bones knit themselves together. From one came
another, then another, until they ran together and built
the skeleton. The spine, ridged and long. Massive shoul-
der joints. And the skull, pearly white, with gaping orbits
for eyes.

Then, more quickly, the viscera. The brain. The vessels
running with blood. The muscles, wrapping themselves
into place, until the flesh overlay it all- And the hide on
top of that.

I gaped at the beast. I knew what it was, of course; my
House had used it forever as a crest, to recall the strength
and courage of the mythical beast, long gone from the
world.

The lion of Homana.

It leaped. It gathered itself and leaped directly at the
horse, and took him down with the swipe of one huge

98 Jennifer Rob«rson
paw. I heard the dull snap of a broken neck, then saw the
beast turn toward me.

1 dropped my bow. I ran. So did the lion run. It was a
huge flash of tawny golden-yellow; black-maned past his
shoulders, tail wiry as if it lived. I ran, but I could not
outrun it. And so I turned, unsheathing my sword, and
tried to spit the lion on it.

It leaped. Up into the air it leaped, hind legs coiling to
push it off the ground, front paws reaching out. My ears
shut out the fearful roar so that I heard only the pounding
of my blood as it ran into my head.

One paw reached out and caught me across the head.
But I ducked most of the weight, in ducking, I saved my
life. The blow, had it landed cleanly, would have broken
my neck at once. As it was part of the paw still caught me,
knocking me down, so that I feared my jaw was shattered.
Blood ran freely from my nose.

Even as I went down I kept my sword thrust up. I saw
the blade bite into the massive chest, tearing through the
hide. It caught on bone, then grated as the lion's leap
carried it past.

I was flat on my back in the snow. I was up almost at
once, too frightened to take refuge in the pain and shock.
My head rang and blood was in my mouth. My sword was
no use against the lion unless I hit a vital spot. To try for
that would put me too close, well within its range. 1 did
not relish feeding it on my flesh.

The lion's snarl was a coughing, hacking sound. Its
mane stood out from the hide, black and tangled. But the
muscles rippled cleanly against the tawny-gold, the wound
had done nothing to gainsay it. Blood flowed, but still it
came on.

I knew, instinctively, it would not die. I could not slay
it by conventional means. The beast had been summoned
by a sorcerer.

My foot came down on something hard as I backed away
from the lion. I realized I had run in a circle, so that I was
back where I had begun. The horse lay where the lion had
put it. And the bow lay under my feet.

I dropped the sword at once and caught up the bow I

THE SONG OF HOMANA   89

snatched an arrow from my quiver. As the beast leaped
yet again I nocked the arrow and spun—

—let fly. But not at the lion. At the man.
The shaft went home in the sorcerer's chest. I saw him
stagger, clutching the arrow, then he slumped down to his
knees. He was abruptly haloed in a sphere of purple fire
that sprung up around his body. And then the arrow burst
into brilliant crimson flames and he was dead.

1 swung back. The beast was nothing but bone. A
single, hilt-shaped bone, lying in the snow.

I sank down to my knees, slumping forward, until only
my arms braced stiffly against the snow held me up. My
breath came from deep in my chest in wheezing gasps,
setting my lungs afire. Blood still ran from my nose,
staining the snow, and my head ached from the blow. I
spat out a tooth and hung there, spent, to let my body
recover.

When at last I could stand again I weaved like a man too
far gone in wine, I shook in every bone. I stumbled to the
snow-melt stream and knelt there, scooping cold water
and ice to cleanse my face and mouth of blood and filth
and my mind of the blanking numbness.

I pushed to my feet again. Slowly, moving like an old,
old man, I gathered up bow and sword. The knife hilt I
left lying in the snow. That I would never carry again.

The Ihlini was quite dead. His body was sunken within
his clothing, as if the arrow had somehow loosed more
than life, but a force as well; released, its shell had shrunk.
It was a body still, but not much of a man.

The Ihlini's horse stood part way down the backside of
the ridge. It was a dark brown gelding, not fine but good.
An Ihlini's horse, and ensorcelled?

I caught the reins from the ground and brought the
horse closer. Taller than the dun. Shedding his winter
hair. He had kind eyes, clipped mane and short tail. One
spot of white was on his face. I patted his jaw and mounted.

I nearly fell off again. My head spun and throbbed with
renewed ferocity; the lion had rattled my senses. I hud-
dled in the saddle a long moment, eyes shut. waiting for
the pain and dizziness to diminish.

Carefully I touched my face and felt the swollen flesh.

90 Jwinlfr Robwon

No doubt 1 would purple by nifihtfall. But my nose, for all
it ached, was whole. And then, done marking my numer-
ous aches, I turned the horse and rode eastward.

Ton-in's dog ran out to meet me. In the weeks since we
had come he had grown, now more dog than pup, but his
ebullience was undiniinished. He loped along next to my
horse and warned Ton-in of my presence. It was not
necessary; Ton-in was at the well fishing up the bucket.

In five years, Ton-in had not changed much. His gray
hair was still thinning, still cropped against his head. He
still bore seams in his flesh and calluses on his hands.
Crofting had changed his body from the bulk of an arms-
master's to the characteristic slump of a man who knew
sheep and land, but I could still see his quiet competence.
He had been born to blades, not the land, and yet for
Alix's sake he had given all of that up. Because Shaine had
wanted to be rid of her, and Ton-in could not bear to see
the infant left to die.

I rode up slowly. The horse made his way to the well
and put his head into the bucket Ton-in held. Torrin,
looking up at me from brown eyes couched in fleshy folds,
shook his head. "Was that Solindish-done?"

He meant my face. I touched it and said no. "Ihlini. He
summoned a beast. A lion."

The color changed in his leathered cheeks. "Bellam
knows—"

I shook my head before he could finish. "He may not.
The men who sought to slay me are dead. I have no doubt
he knows I am back—most people do—but there is no one
left to tell him where I am. I think we will be safe a little
longer."

He looked troubled, but I   had no more time to wonder
at it. I bent forward and   swung off the horse slowly,
wincing from the bruises.   I left the horse with Torrin and
slowly made my way to the   croft. Wood smoke veiled the
air.

"My lord, I think—"

I turned back before the door. interrupting in my weari-
ness. "You have a half-cask, do you not? Clothes I left with

THE SONG OF HOMANA    91

you. Soap and water? Hot. I wish to boil myself free of
this stench."

He nodded, brow furrowed. "Do you wish me to—"

"No." I lifted a hand in a weary wave. "I will see to it
myself." It was something I had learned in exile. I needed
no servants to fetch and carry.

"My lord—" he tried again, but I went into the croft.

And stopped. It was Alix.
She stood by the table before the fire, with her arms
plunged into a bubble of bread dough set out on a board.
Flour reached to her elbows. I saw at once her dark brown
hair had grown long enough to braid, pinned against her
head with silver clasps tha^: glittered in the sunlight slant-
ing in the open door.

I saw again the girl I had befriended, when a prince had
so few real friends. I saw again the girl who had been the
reason for my capture by Finn and his raiding party. I saw
again the girl whose Cheysuli tahlmorra was so firmly
linked with my own Homanan fate.

But mostly I saw the girl who had become a woman,
and I hated the time I had lost.

There was a question in her eyes, and bafflement. She
knew me not, in my foul and filfhy state, bearded and
greased and bruised. I thought of what kind of man I had
been five years before, and what I was now. and I laughed.

And then, as her mouth shaped my name, I crossed the
tiny room and caught her in my arms.

She hugged me as tightly as I hugged her, saying my
name again and again. She smelled of bread dough and
wood smoke, and laughed as if she could not stop.

"So filthy—" she said. "and so humble—"

I had never been that. But I laughed with her, for what
she saw was true if, perhaps, to a lesser extent than she
thought. Or for different reasons. I was humbled, it was
true, by the very thing that elevated so many men: I
wanted her. And so. unable to help myself, I cupped her
head in my hands and kissed her.

Only once had I kissed her before, and under such
circumstances as she could claim it a token of my thanks. I
had meant that, then, too, but more as well. But by then,
when she rescued me from the Atvians, she had already

92 Jannlfer Roberson

pledged herself to Duncan. She had carried his child in

her belly.

Now, she did not rescue me. There was nothing of
gratefulness about what I was feeling, she could not con-
strue it as such. In five years I had had time to think of
AJix, and regret what had not happened between us, and I
could not hide my feelings.

And yet there was Duncan, still, between us.

I let her go. 1 still longed to touch her, but I let her go.
She stood quietly before me, color high in her face, but
there was a calmness in her eyes. She knew me better
than I did.

"That much you may have, having taken it already," she
said quietly, "but no more."

"Are you afraid what might grow up from this beginning?"

She shook her head once. "Nothing can grow up from
this beginning. There is nothing—here." She touched her
left breast, indicating her heart. Her gaze was perfectly
steady.

Almost I laughed. It was so distinct a change. She had
gained understanding and comprehension, aware of what
she was. Gone was the virgin, confused by body and
emotions. Now she was woman, wife and mother, and she
knew. I was not enough.

"I have thought of you for years," I said. "All those
nights in exile."

"I know." Her tone did not waver for an instant. "Had
you been Duncan, I would have felt the same. But you
were—and are—not. You are yourself. You are special to
me, it is true, but it is far too late for more. Once, perhaps
. . . but all of that time has passed."

I took a deep breath and tried to regain my composure.
"I did not—did not mean to do this. I meant only to greet
you again. But it seems I cannot keep my hands from you
now any more than I ever could." I smiled wryly. "An
admission few men would make to a woman who will not
have them."

Alix smiled. "Finn said much the same. His greeting
was—similar."
"And Duncan?"
"Duncan was—elsewhere. He is not an insensitive man."

THE SONG OF HOMANA    93

"Nor ever was." I sighed and scratched my jaw beneath
the beard. "Enough of this. I came in to wash, as you
see."

"Good." Some of the tension vanished and the light
came into her eyes. The warm, amber eyes I recalled so
well—so perfect a melding of Cheysuli and Homanan,
more beautiful to me than either. "I doubt I could stand
your stink one more moment." She turned away at once to
the fire in the low stone fireplace, kneeling to add wood,
then glanced over her shoulder at me. "Perhaps you would
fill the cauldron with water?" And then color blazed up
high in her face, as if she recalled I was royal and above
such lowly things.
I grinned. "I will fetch it and set out the cask. Do you
forget?—I have been with Finn all these years. I am not
quite the same as you knew me." I left her then, having
caught up the heavy cauldron, and went out to fill it with
water.

Ton-in sat on the edge of the stone-ringed well, smoking
his clay pipe. His grizzled eyebrows rose. "I thought to
warn you she was here," he said around the stem.

I grunted as I began to crank up-the bucket. "I had not
thought it was so obvious to everyone."

"To me." Ton-in got up to steady the bucket as it came
up from the water. He caught it and poured its contents
into the cauldron. "She was so young when first you met
her. Then so new to her heritage, knowing little of royal
things. And finally, of course, there was Duncan."

The name dropped into my soul like a stone. "Aye . . .
he had more sense than I. He saw what he wanted and
took it."

"He won it," Ton-in said quietly. "My lord—do you
think to win her back from him, think again. I was her
father for seventeen years. Even now, I feel she is mine. I
will not have her hurt, or her happiness harmed. She
loves him deeply." He dropped the bucket down when it
was emptied and met my eyes without the flicker of an
eyelid. As he had, no doubt, met my uncle's unwavering
stare. "You are the Mujhar, and have the right to do what
you will, even with the Cheysuli. But I think you have
more sense than that."

94 Jennifer Roberson

For most of my life I had been given what I wanted,
including women. Alix I had lost before 1 knew how much
I wanted her. And now, knowing it keenly, I knew how
much it hurt to lose.

Especially to Duncan.

Alix came to the door of the white-washed, thatch-
roofed croft with its gray stone chimney. "The fire is
ready." Around her neck shone the golden torque made in
the shape of a flying hawk, wings outspread and beak
agape, with a chunk of amber caught in the clutching
talons. A fir-torque and Cheysuli bride-gift. Made for her
by Duncan.

I hoisted the cauldron and lugged it inside, hanging it
from the iron hook set into the stone of the blackened
fireplace. I sat on a stool and waited, aware of her every
movement, and stared at the fire as she kneaded the
dough again.
"When did you come?" I asked at last.

"Eight days ago. Finn brought us here." A warm, bright
smile shone on her face.

"He is back?" I felt better almost at once.

"He brought us down from the North." The silver pins
in her coiled braids glittered in the sunlight as she worked.
The folds of her moss-green gown moved as she moved,
shifting with the motion of her body. The overtunic, with
sheepskin fleece turned inward, was dyed a pale, soft
yellow, stitched in bright green yarn. It hung to her
knees, belted at her waist with brown leather and a golden
buckle. Cheysuli finery, not Homanan; she was all Cheysuli

now.

I scratched at my itching face. "He is well?"

"Finn? Oh, aye—when is he not? He is Finn." She
smiled again, beating the dough with her hands. "Though
I think he has another thing to occupy himself with, now."

"A woman," I predicted. "Has he found someone among
the clan?"

She laughed. "No, not a woman. My son." Her smile
widened into a grin. "There are times Donal is more like
his su'fali than his jehan. And now they have become
close friends as well, I have only Finn to blame for my

THE SONG OF HOMANA   95

son's little indescretions. One was bad enough; now there
are two."

"Two Finns?" I thought about it, laughing, and saw Alix
shake her head.

"Shall I bid them come?" she asked, still kneading. "1
have only to speak to Cai and Storr."

I thought again of the power she held, the boundless
magic that ran in her veins. Old Blood, it was, a gift reborn
of the gods. Alix. and only Alix, could converse with any
lir. Or take any shape at will.

"No," I said. "I will go up myself, when I have shed my
weight of dirt." I checked the water and found it nearly
hot. Then I asked for the'half-cask; Alix told me where it
was and I dragged it out of the tiny antechamber, if a croft
could be said to have a proper one. The half-cask was
bound with hammered copper. It still smelled faintly of
cider, betraying its original purpose. In Homana-Mujhar I
had bathed in oak-and-silver cask-tubs polished smooth, so
no splinters threatened my flesh. I doubted this one was
as good, but it would serve. In exile I had learned to be
grateful for anything.

I rolled the cask into Ton-in's tiny bedchamber, contain-
ing a pallet, chest and chair. There I tipped the cask on its
end, then began filling it from the cauldron. When at last
it stood ready I went seeking cloth and soap.

Alix gave me both. 'Ton-in has changed nothing since I
left," she said with a nostalgic smile, and I wondered if
she recalled the day Finn had stolen us both.

How could she not? I did. Too well. And the changes
that had occurred since then.

I looked at her a long moment, my hands full of thread-
bare cloth and hard brown soap. I wished there was more
I could say. And then I said it anyway. "I will insult
neither you nor your husband by pursuing you where I am
not wanted."

Color flared in her face again. I marked how the years
had melted away the flesh of youth, leaving her with the
characteristic angular, high-planed Cheysuli face. Her face
was more like Finn's than ever before; the children show-
ing the father's blood.

"There was no need to say it," she told me softly.

96 Jennifer Roberson

"There was. Otherwise I could not account for my ac-
tions." Briefly I touched her face with the backs of two
fingers. "Alix—once we might have shared so much. Let
us keep of it what we can." I took my hand away and went
into the gloomy bedchamber where the water steamed in
the air. I pulled the curtain closed and stripped out of rny
filthy garb.

I could not put her from my mind. I thought of her in
the other room, kneading away, knowing she had Duncan
close at hand. I thought of her with him, at night. I
thought other as I had known her: a young, sweet-natured
girl with coltish grace and an integrity few men possess.

And I thought how odd a thing it is that two people can
inhabit a single room, each knowing how the other one
feels, and knowing there is no good in it.

No good at all. Only pain.

NINE

The half-cask, unfortunately, did not accommodate a man
of my size. It was an awkward bath. I sat with my knees
doubled up nearly beneath my chin and my spine crushed
against the wood. But it was wet and hot and 1 scrubbed
with every bit of strength I had, ridding myself of all the
dirt and grease. Even that in my hair and beard.

When at last I could breathe again, stripped of the
stench of my disguise, I relaxed. I nung my legs outside of
the cask and sat back, tipping my head against the wooden
rim. The flesh of my face still ached from the lion's blow;

the rest of my body hurt as much. 1 felt older than my
years. The lion had drained my strength; that, and the
knowledge of Ihlini sorcery.

The water cooled, but not so fast 1 could not take my
time getting out. And so I did. I let go of all my breath, let
my muscles turn to rags, and promptly went to sleep.

"Carillon"'

I jerked awake. My spine scraped against the rough
wood and I cursed, staring in some confusion at Finn, who
stood just inside the doorway with the curtain pulled
closed behind him. Thoughtful of my modesty, for once;

perhaps it was Alix who elicited such care.

I sat upright and pulled my legs back in, scowling at
him. Finn merely smiled, amused to find me in such a
state, and leaned back against the wall with bare arms
folded across his chest. He had put off his winter leathers

1   97    I

98 Jennifer Roberson

in deference to the thaw; I saw again the heavy gold that
banded his arms above the elbows. Wide, beautiful things,
embossed with runes and wolf-shape. He wore snug leath-
ers again; leggings and a sleeveless jerkin. At his belt hung
the Steppes knife, and I thought again of the sorcery I had

Sfpn-

seen.

"When did you get back?" he asked quite calmly.

I stood up, dripping, and reached for the blanket he
tossed me from Ton-in's pallet. "Not so long ago that I
have had time to fill my belly."

"But time for a bath." His tone was perfectly flat. but I
had little trouble discerning his intent. I had not had that
trouble for some years now.

"Had you seen me—or swelled me—you would have
pushed me in yourself." I climbed out of the cask and
pulled on the dark   brown breeches, then bent to jerk on
the knee boots. My   shirt was green. I put a brown jerkin
over it and belted   it with leather and bronze. "I thought I
would go up to the   army. Will you come?"

"Ah, the army." Finn smiled his ironic smile. "Do you
wish to call it that."

I scowled at him, combing my fingers through my wet
hair. It tangled on my shoulders and dampened the fabric
of shirt and jerkin. "Rowan has done what he can to
assemble men willing to fight. I will use what I can. Do
you expect me to gather the thousands Bellam has?"

"It makes no difference." Finn followed me through to
the other room, where Alix knelt to hang the pot of bread
dough over the fire. "You will have the Cheysuli, and that
is enough, I think." He put out a hand to Storr, seated by
the table.

I scoffed. "I have you. And no doubt Duncan, and
perhaps those he has managed to persuade to join me in
the name of the prophecy." I scooped up a clay jug of
Ton-in's sour wine and poured myself a cup, pouring a
second for Finn- as he nodded willingness to drink.

"You have more than a few." He accepted the cup
without thanks and swallowed half the wine at once. "How
many would you ask for, could you have a larger number?"

I returned the jug to its place on the sideboard near the
fireplace and perched upon the table as I drank. "The

THE SONG OF HOMANA     99

Cheysuli are the finest fighting men in all of Homana." He
did not smile at my compliment, it was well known. "And
with each warrior I would gain a lir, so double the number
at once." I shrugged. "A single warrior is worth at least
five of another, so with a lir it is ten to one," I shook my
head. "It is folly to wish for what I cannot have. Nonethe-
less, I would be more than pleased with one hundred."

"What of three hundred?" Finn smiled. "Perhaps even

more.

I stared at him, forgoing my wine altogether. "Have you
turned sorcerer, to conjure up false men?"

"No." Finn tossed his empty cup to Alix, who caught it
and put it with the jug. "I have conjured up men I
thought long dead. Shaine, you see, did not slay as many
as we feared."

I set my cup down very precisely in the center of the
table. "Are you saying—?"
"Aye." He grinned. "While searching for my clan, I
found others. The Northern Wastes boast many places
where a clan may hide, and I found several of them. It
took time, but we have gathered together every warrior
we could find." He shrugged. "All the clans are here; we
are building a Keep beyond the hill."

He said it so simply: "All the clans are here; we are
building, a Keep beyond the hill."

I stared at him. A Keep. With three hundred warriors
and their lir.

i whooped. And then I was on my feet, clasping him in
my arms as if I could not let him go. No doubt too
demonstrative for Finn's sensibilities, but he knew the
reason. And he smiled, stepping away when I was done.

"My gift to you," he said lightly. "Now, come with me
and I will show you."

We went out at once, leaving Alix to tend her bread,
and Finn gave me back my Ihlini horse. His eyes were on
it, for he had known me to ride the dun, but he waited
until we were free of the croft and riding toward the hill
before he asked me about it, and then obliquely.

"Ton-in said you had gone to Joyenne."

"Aye. To get my lady mother out."

"You did not succeed?"

100 Jennifer Roberson

"No, but only because she refused to come." The sun-
light was bright in our eyes. I put up a hand to block the
stunning brilliance. "Bellam holds Tourmaline, my sister.
He has for some time. I do not doubt he keeps her safe,
being who she is, but I want her free of him." 1 swore
suddenly as the anger boiled over. "By the gods, the man
threatens to wed heri"

We rode abreast with Storr leading the way. Finn,
frowning, nodded, saying little. "It is the way of kings.
Especially usurper kings.'

"He will not usurp my sister\"

"Then do you mean to dance into Homana-Mujhar as
easily as you did into Joyenne?"

And so I knew what he thought of my actions. 1 scowled
at him blackly. "I got in and got out with little trouble. I
was careful. No one knew me."
"And did you yourself put those bruises on your face?"

I had nearly forgotten. My hand went to my jaw and
touched the sore flesh. "The Ihlini did this. Or rather: his
conjured beast."

"Ah." Finn nodded in apparent satisfaction. "No trouble
at Joyenne, you say, but an Ihlini set a beast on you." He
sighed, shaking his head. "Why should I concern myself
with your welfare? All you manage to do is tangle with one
ofTynstar's minions."

His irony, as ever, galled me. "Enough. It was not my
fault the men found me. They could have found me here."

"Men? First it was an Ihlini and his beast. Now there
are more." He gestured to direct me up the hill.

I glared at him. "Why not Just compel me to tell you
the truth, as you did Lachlan?^"

"Because I had believed you knew enough to tell me
willingly."

I sighed and leaned forward as my horse climbed the
hill toward the treeline. "You should not worry. I slew
them all, even the Ihlini."

"I have no reason to worry," he agreed. "What have I
done, save swear a blood-oath to serve you always?" For
the first time a hint of anger crept into his voice. "Do you
think I waste my time? Do you wish to do this alone?
Think how many times over you would have been slain

THE SONG OF HOMANA   101

without me. And now, when I leave you to seek my
clan—at your behest—you place yourself in such jeopardy
even a child knows better.'

"Finn—enough."

"Not enough." He glared at me openly now. "There is
some little of my life invested in you. AU of it, now. What
we do is not entirely for you. Carillon, and for Homana,
but for the Cheysuli as well." His mouth tightened as he
reined his horse back even with mine. "Were you to die
now, in some foolish endeavor of your own devising, the
rebellion would fail. Bellam would rule forevermore. He
would likely wed your sister, get new sons on her. and put
them on the throne behind himself. Is that what you

wish?"

I reached out and caught his reins, jerking his horse to a

halt. All the anger and frustration came pouring out as
pride. "1 am your prince!"

"And I your liege man!" He ignored the jerk of the reins

against his hands. "Do you think it is so easy for me to
watch you as a father with a son? 1 am not your jehan,
Carillon, merely your liege man. And a cousin, of a sort,
because my jehan saw fit to lie with a haughty Homanan
princess when he had a cheysula-eA home!"

He had never said so much before. Had coming home
done it? I knew the differences in myself. Perhaps there

were some in Finn as well.

I let go his reins and minded my own, though I did not
start up the hill quite yet. "Does the service grow so
tedious, seek another," I suggested bitterly.

His laugh was a short bark of sound. "How? The gods
have tied me to you. Better yet: they have set iron around
your neck as well as mine, and locked them together, like

oxen in a yoke."

I sat in the blinding gold of the late afternoon sun and
said nothing for a long moment. And then when I did, I
asked a question I had not thought to ask before: "What

do you want from this life?"

He was surprised. I could see it in his eyes. He under-
stood perfectly well what I asked, and probably why, but
he went on to step around the question. "I want you on
the throne of Homana."

102 Jennifer Roberson

"Given that," I agreed, "what more?"

"The Cheysuli free to live as they would again."

"Given that." Had I to do it, I would ask him until the
moon came up.

Finn squinted into the sun, as if the light would shield
his feelings from me, or lessen the pain of the question.
He appeared to have no intention of answering me, but
this once I would make him.

"Finn." I said patiently, with all the solemnity I could
muster, "were the gods to give you anything, anything at
all, what would you ask for?"

At last he looked directly at me. The sunlight, striking
through the trees like illuminated spears, was my unwit-
ting servant. All of Finn's soul was bared to me in the
light. This once, just once, but enough for me to see it.
"You have not met Donal, have you?"

I thought it a question designed to lead me away from
the quarry, like a dog led away by a clever fox. "Alix's son?
No. I have only just got here, Finn—"

But he was serious. "Could I have it, I would ask for a
son." He said it abruptly, as if the admission endangered
the hope, and then he rode away from me as if he had
shared too much.

There were no tracks to mark an army, no pall of smoke
hanging above the treeline to mark the army's presence.
There was nothing Bellam could use to seek me out. Finn
took me into the forest away from the valley and I knew
the army was safe. Rowan had done my bidding by taking
them deeper into cover; even I could not say there was an
army near, and it was mine.

The forest was overgrown with vines and creepers and
brambles and bushes. Ivy fell down from the trees to trip
the horses and foul the toes of my boots. Mistletoe clus-
tered in the wooden crotches and a profusion of flowers
hailed our passing. Homana. At last. Home again, for
good, after too long a time spent in exile.

Sunlight spilled through the leaves and speckled the
forest floor into goldens, greens and browns. Finn, riding
before me, broke a pheasant from cover and I heard the
whirring of its wings as it flew, whipping leaves and stir-


THE SONG OF HOMANA   103

ring sunmotes in its passage to the sky. I thought, sud-
denly, of the last time I had supped on pheasant: in
Homana-Mujhar, feasting a guest, when my uncle had
been pleased with a new alliance made. Too long ago. Too
long being mercenary instead of prince.

I heard the harp and nearly stopped. There was nothing
else save the threshing of the horses tearing through the
brush and vines and creepers. But the harpsong overrode
it all, and 1 recognized the hand upon the strings. "Lachlan,"
1 said aloud.

Finn, reining in to ride abreast of me, nodded. "He has
come each day, sharing his music with us. Once I might
have dismissed it as idle whimsy, but no more. He has
magic in that harp. Carillon—more even than we have
seen. Already he has begun to give the Cheysuli what we
have lacked these past years: peace of spirit," He smiled,
albeit wryly. "Too long have we forgotten the music of our
ancestors, thinking instead of war. The Ellasian has re-
minded us, he has given us some of it back again. I think
there will be music made in the Keep again."

We passed through the final veil of leaves and vines and
into the Keep. And yet it was no proper Keep, lacking the
tall stone wall that circled the-pavilions ordinarily. This
was not a true Keep at all, not as I had known it, but a
wide scattering of tents throughout the forest. There was
no uniformity, no organization.

Finn ducked a low branch, caught it and held it back as
I rode by. He saw the expression on my face. "Not yet. It
will come later, when Homana is made safe again for such
things as permanent Keeps." He released the branch and
fell in next to me. "This is easily defensible. Easily torn
down, do we need to move on again."

The tents huddled against the ground, like mushrooms
beneath a tree. They were the colors of the earth: dark
green, pale moss, slate-gray, rust-red, brown and black
and palest cream. Small and plain, without the fir-symbols
I remembered: tents instead of pavilions. But a Cheysuli
Keep, for all its odd appearance.

I smiled, though it pained my injured face. I could not
count them all. I could not see them all, so perfectly were
they hidden, even though I knew how to look. And Bellam?

104 Jannifr Rotrrson

No doubt his men, if they came so far, would miss the
Keep entirely.

Defensible? Aye—when an enemy does not see until
too late. Tom down fast? Oh, aye—requiring but a mo-
ment to collapse the earth-toned fabric. A perfectly porta-
ble Keep,

And full ofCheysuli.

I laughed aloud and halted my horse. Around me spread
the Keep, huddled and subtle and still. Around me spread
my strength, equally subtle and silent and still. With the
Cheysuli and an army besides, Bellam could never stop
me.

"Tahbrwrra lujhalla met wiccan, cheysu," I said softly.
The fate of a man rests always within the hands of the

gods.

Finn, so silent beside me, merely smiled. "You are
welcome to Homana, my lord. And to the homeplace of
my people."

I shook my head, suddenly overcome. "I am not worthy
of it all . . ."In that moment, I was certain of it. I was not
up to the task,
"Are you not," my liege man said simply, "no man is."

When I could, I rode farther into the Keep And thanked
the gods for the Cheysuli.

TEN

The harpsong filled the forest. The melody was so deli-
cate, so fragile, and yet so strong. It drew me as if it were
a woman calling me to her bed; Lachlan's Lady, and I a
man who knew her charm. I forgot the warriors Finn had
promised and followed a song instead, feeling its magic
reach out to touch my soul.

I found him at last perched upon the ruin of a felled
beech, huge and satin-trunked. The tree had made its
grave long since, but it provided a perfect bench—or
throne—for the harper. The sunlight pierced the sur-
rounding veil of branches and limbs like enemy spears
transfixed upon a single foe: the harp. His Lady, so dark
and old and wise, with her single green eye and golden
strings. Such an eloquent voice, calling out; such a geas he
laid upon me. I reined in my horse before the beech and
waited until he was done.

Lachlan smiled. The slender, supple fingers grew quiet
upon the glowing strings, so that music and magic died,
and he was merely a man, a harper, blessed with Lodhi's
pleasure.

"I knew you would come," he said in his liquid, silken

voice.

"Sorcerer," I returned.

He laughed. "Some men call me so. Let them. You
should know me better now." For a moment there was a

105

106

glint of some unknown emotion in his eyes. "Friend," he
said. "No more."

I realized we were alone. Finn I had left behind. And
that, by itself, was enough to make me fear the Ellasian
harper.

He saw it at once. Still he sat unmoving upon the beech
trunk, his hands upon his Lady. "You came because I
wished you to, and because you wished it," he said qui-
etly. "Finn I did not require; not yet. But he will come,
and Duncan." The sunlight was full upon his face. I saw
no guile there, no subterfuge. Only honesty, and some
little dedication. "I am a harper," he said clearly. "Har-
pers require men of legend in order to do what they do.
You, my lord, are legend enough for most. Certainly for
me." He smiled. "Have I not proven my loyalty?"

"Men will slay whom they are told to, do they have
reason enough for it." I remained upon my horse, for I did
not fully trust him with that harp held in his hands. "You
slew the man I bid you to, but a spy would do so easily
enough, merely to maintain his innocence."

He took his hands from the harp and spread them. "I
am no spy. Save, perhaps, your own."

"Mine." I said nothing more; for the moment he had
made me speechless. And then I looked deeper into his
eyes. "Would you, an Ellasian, serve me. a Homanan, in
anything I bid you?"

"Providing it did not go against my conscience," he said
at once. "I am a priest of the All-Father; I will not trans-
gress any of His teachings."

I made a dismissing gesture. "I would ask no man to go
against his lights. Not in something such as his gods. No. I
mean, Lachlan, to see just how loyal you are."

'Then bid me," he returned. "I am here because I wish
to be, not because some Ihlini sorcerer or Solindish king
has sent me. And if they had, would I not take them the
news they wish to hear? Would I still be here, when I
could tell them the location of the Cheysuli and your
army?"

"A wise spy, spies," I told him natly. "The hare that
breaks too soon is caught quickly by the fox."

He laughed. Lachlan's laugh is warm, generous, a true

THE SONG OF HOMANA 1 107

casement of his soul. "But it is not a fox I fear, my lord
... it is a wolf. A Cheysuli wolf." His eyes went past me.
1 did not turn. knowing who stood there.

"What would you do, then?" I asked.

The laughter had died. He looked at me directly. "Spy
for you. Carillon. Go into Mujhara, to the palace itself,
and see what Bellam does."

"Dangerous," Finn said from behind me. "The hare
asks to break."

"Aye," Lachlan agreed. "But who else could do it? No
Cheysuli, that is certain. No Homanan, for whom would
Bellam admit without good reason? But I, J am a harper,
and harpers go where they will."

It is true harpers are admitted to places other men
cannot go. I knew from my own boyhood, when my uncle
had hosted harpers from far and wide within Homana-
Mujhar. A harper would be a perfect spy, that I did not
doubt.

And yet—"Lachlan of Ellas," I said, "what service would
you do me?"

His fingers flew against the strings. It was a lively tune,
evocative of dance and laughter and youth. It conjured up
a vision before my eyes: a young woman, lithe and lovely,
with tawny-dark hair and bright blue eyes. Laughter was
in her mouth and gaiety in her soul. My sister, Tourma-
line, as I recalled her. At nineteen, when I had seen her
last, though she would be twenty-four now.

Tourmaline, hostage to Bellam himself. And Lachlan
knew it well.

I was off my horse at once, crossing to the beech in two
long steps. My hands went out to stop his fingers in the
strings, but I did not touch them after all. I felt a sudden
upsurge of power so great it near threw me back from the
man. 1 took a single step backward against my will, all
unexpected, and then I stood very still.

His fingers slowed. The tune fell away until only an
echo hung in the air. And then that, too. was gone, and
silence built a wall between us.

"No," he said quietly. "No man gainsays the truth."

"You do not ensorcell me!"

"/ do not," he agreed. "What power there is comes of

108 Jennifer Roberson

Lodhi, not His servant. And do you seek to injure my
Lady, she will injure you." He did not smile. "I mean you
no harm, my lord, nor my harp; yet harm may come to the
man who means me harm."

I felt the upsurge of anger in my chest until it filled my
throat. "I meant you no harm," I said thickly. "I merely
wanted it to stop—"

"My Lady takes where she will," he said gently. "It is
your sister who lives within you now, because of Bellam's
power. I merely wished to show it to you, so you would
know what I can do."

Finn was at my side. "What would you do?" he asked.
"Free his sister from Bellam?"
Lachlan shook his head. "I could not do so much, not
even with all of Lodhi's aid. But I can take her any word
you might wish to give her, as well as learn what I can of
Bellam's and Tynstar's plans."

"Gods!" The word hissed between my teeth. "Could I
but trust you ..."

"Do, my lord," he said gently. "Trust your liege man, if
not me. Has he not questioned my intent?"

I let out my breath all at once, until my chest felt
hollow and thin. I looked at Finn and saw the solemnity in
his face. So much like Duncan, I thought, and at such odd
times.

He looked directly at Lachlan. The sunlight set his
ftr-gold to shining like the strings in the harper's Lady.
Neither man said a word, as if they judged one another; I
found my own judgment sorely lacking, as if I had not the
mind to discern what should be done. I was weary and
hungry and overcome, suddenly, with the knowledge of
what I must do.

"Trust him," Finn said finally, as if disliking the taste.
"What is the worst he could do—tell Bellam where we
are?" His smile held little humor. "Does he do that, and
Bellam sends soldiers, we will simply slay them all."

No doubt he could do it, with three hundred Cheysuli
warriors. And no doubt Lachlan knew it.

He stood up from the beech with his Lady clasped in
his arms. Slowly he went down on one knee, still hugging
the harp, and bowed his head a little. A proud man,

THE SONG OF HOMANA   109

Lachlan, the homage was unexpected. It did not suit him,
as if he were meant to receive it instead of offer. "I will
serve you in this as I would have you serve me, were the
roles reversed." His face was grimly set, and yet I saw the
accustomed serenity in his eyes. That certainty of his fate.

Like Finn and his tahlmorra.

I nodded- "Well enough. Go you to Homana-Mujhar,
and tend my service well."

"My lord." He knelt a moment longer, supplicant to a
king instead of a god, and then he rose. He was gone

- almost at once, hidden by the shrubbery, with no word of
parting in his mouth. But the harpsong, oddly, lingered
on, as if he had called it from the air.
"Come," Finn said finally, "Duncan waits."
After a moment I looked at him. "Duncan? How does
'• he know I have come?"

Finn grinned. "You are forgetting, my lord—we are in a
.' Keep, of sorts. There are lir. And gossiping women, I do

-   not doubt." The grin came again. "Blame me, or Storr, or
"   even Cai, whom Storr tells me is the one who told Dun-
^   can you had come. He waits, does my rujho, somewhat
^   impatiently,"

'^   "Duncan has never been   impatient in his life." In irrita-
p- tion 1 turned back to my   horse and swung up into the
|. saddle. "Do you come? Or   do I go without you?"
I   "Now who is impatient?"   He did not wait for an answer,

-4 which I did not intend to give; he mounted and led the
^ way.

^    I saw Duncan before he saw me, for he was intent upon
', his son. I thought it was his son; the boy was small enough
: for a five-year-old, and his solemnity matched that I had
, seen so often on his father's face. He was a small Cheysuli
;- warrior, in leathers and boots but lacking the gold, for he
".' was not a man as yet and had no lir. That would come in
;" time.

The boy listened well. Black hair, curly as was common
; in Cheysuli childhood, framed his dark face with its in-
'l quisitive yellow eyes. There was little of Alix in the boy, I
thought, and then he smiled, and I saw her, and realized
^how much it hurt that Donal was Duncan's son instead of
t mine.

110 Jennifer Roberson

Abruptly Duncan bent down and caught the boy in his
arms, sweeping him up to perch upon one shoulder. He
turned, smiling a wry, familiar smile—Finn's smile—and I
realized there was much of Duncan I did not know. What
I had seen was a rival, a man who sought the woman I
sought; the man who had won her, when I could not. The
man who had led an exiled race back from the edge of
death to the promise of life again. I had given him little
thought past what he had been to me. Now I thought
about what he was to the Cheysuli . . . and to the boy he
carried on his shoulder.

The boy laughed. It was a pure soprano tone, girlish in
its youth, unabashed and without the fear of discovery. No
doubt Donal knew what it was to hide, having hidden for
all of his short life, but he had not lost his spirit with it.
Duncan and Alix had seen to it he had his small freedoms.

The Keep suddenly receded. The humming of voices
and the laughter of other children became an underscore
to the moment. I knew, as I looked at Duncan and his
son, I looked upon the future of Homana. From the man
had come the son, who would no doubt rule in his father's
place when Duncan's time was done. And would my son
rule alongside him? Homanan Mujhar and Cheysuli clan-
leader. Under them would a nation be reborn from war
and purge into life again. Better, stronger than ever.

I laughed. It rang out, bass rather than DonaFs soprano,
and for just a moment the voices mingled. I saw the
momentary surprise on Duncan's face and then the recog-
nition, and finally the acknowledgment. He swung his son
down from his shoulder and waited, while I got off my
horse.

It was Donal I went to, not his father. The boy, so small
beside the man, and so wary of me suddenly. He knew
enough of strangers to know they sometimes brought dan-
ger with them.

I dwarfed him, taller even than Duncan- At once I went
down on one knee so as not to loom over him like a
hungry demon. It put us on a level: tall prince, small boy,
warriors both, past. present and future.

"I am Carillon," I told him, "and I thank the gods you
are here to give me aid."

THE SONG OF HOMANA I 111

The wariness faded, replaced by recognition. I saw won-
der and confusion and uncertainty, but 1 also saw pride.
Donal detached his hand from his father's and stood be-
fore me, frowningly intent, with color in his sun-bronzed
cheeks. He was a pretty boy; he would make a handsome
man. But then the Cheysuli are not an ugly race.

"My jehan serves you," he said softly.

"Aye."

"And my su'fali."

I thought of Finn, knowing he was behind me. "Aye.
Very well."

Donal's gaze did not waver. There was little of indeci-
sion in him, or hesitation. I saw the comprehension in his
face and knew he understood what he said, even as he said
it. 'Then I will serve you also."

Such a small oath, from so small a boy. And yet I
doubted none of its integrity, or his honor. Such things
are in all of the Cheysuli, burning in their blood. Donal
was years from being a warrior, and yet I did not doubt his
resolve.
I put both hands on his slender shoulders. I felt sud-
denly overlarge, as I had with my mother, for there was
little of gentleness about me. And nothing at all of
fatherhood.

But honor and pride I know, and I treasured it from
him. "Could I have but one Cheysuli by my side, it would
be you," I told him, meaning it.

He grinned, "You already have my su'faW

I laughed. "Aye, I do, and I am grateful for him. I
doubt not I will have him for a long time. But should I
need another, I know to whom I will come."

Shyness overcame him. He was still a boy, and still
quite young. The intimacy had faded; I was a prince again,
and he merely Duncan's son, and the time for such oaths
was done.

"Donal," Finn said from behind me, "do you wish to
serve your lord as I do, you might see to his mount. Come
and tend it for him."

The boy was gone at once. I turned, rising, and saw the
light in his face as he ran to do Finn's bidding- My horse's
reins were taken up and the gelding led away with great

112 Jennifer Roberson

care toward the picket-string in the forest. Finn, like
Donal, walked, and I saw the calm happiness in his face as
he accompanied the boy. Indeed, he needed a son.

"You honor me with that," Duncan said.

I looked at him. His voice held an odd tone; a mixture,
I thought, of surprise, humility and pride. What had he
expected of me? A dismissal of the boy? But I could do
nothing so cruel, not to Alix's son.

And then I realized what he meant. He had forgotten
none of what lay between us, perhaps he had even dreaded
our Brst meeting. No, not dreaded; not Duncan, who
knew me too well for that. Perhaps he had merely antici-
pated antipathy.

Well, there was that. Or would be. There was still Alix
between us.

"I honor you with that," I agreed, "but also the boy
himself. I have not spent five years with Finn without
learning a little of your customs, and how you raise your
children. I will not dishonor Donal by dismissing him as a
child, when he is merely a warrior who is not fully grown."

Duncan sighed. I saw a rueful expression leach his face of
its customary solemnity. He shook his head. "Forgive me,
Carillon, for undervaluing you."

I laughed, suddenly light-hearted. "You have your brother
to thank for that. Finn has made me what I am."

"Not in his image, I hope."

"Could you not stand two?"

"Gods," he said in horror, "two of Finn? One is too
muchi" But I heard the ring of affection in his tone and
saw the pleasure in his face; I realized, belatedly, he had
undoubtedly missed Finn as much as Finn had missed
him. No matter how much they disagreed when they were
together.

I put out my hand to clasp his arm in the familiar
Cheysuli greeting. "I thank you for him, Duncan. Through
him, you have saved my life many times."

His hand closed around my upper arm. "What Finn
knows, he learned elsewhere," he retorted. "Little enough
of me is in him. Though the gods know I tried—" He
grinned, forgoing the complaint. "He did not lie. He said
you had come home a man."

THE SONG OF HOMANA   113

That got me laughing. "He would not say that within my
hearing."

"Perhaps not," Duncan conceded, "but he said it within
mine, and now I have told it to you."

Men judge men by handclasps. We held ours a mo-
ment, remembering the past, and there was no failing in
his grasp, nor none in mine. There was much between us,
and neither of us would forget.

We broke the clasp at last, two different men, 1 thought,
than we had been before. Some unknown communication
had passed between us: his recognition of me as someone
other than 1 had been, when he had first known me, and
my recognition of what he was. Not a rival, but a friend,
and a man I could trust with my life. That is not so easy a
thing to claim when a king has set gold on your head.

"My tent is too small for Mujhars," he said quietly, and
when I looked harder I saw the glint of humor in his eyes.
"My tent is particularly too small for you, now. Come with
me, and 1 will give you a throne better suited, perhaps,
than another. At least until you have slain the man who
makes it his."

I said nothing. I had heard the grim tone in his voice
and realized, for the first time, Duncan probably hated as
well as I did. I had not thought of it before, so caught up
in my own personal—and sometimes selfish—quest. I
wanted the throne for myself as well as Homana. Duncan
wanted me to have it for his own reasons.

He took me away from the tents to a pile of huge
granite boulders, gray and green and velveted with moss.
The sunlight turned the moss into an emerald cloak, thick
and rich and glowing, like the stone in Lachlan's Lady.
The throne was one rump-sized stone resting against an-
other that formed a backrest. The moss offered me a
cushion. Gods-made, Finn would say; I sat down upon it
and smiled.

"Little enough to offer the rightful Mujhar." Duncan
perched himself upon a companion rock. The veil of tree
Umbs hanging over us shifted in a breeze so that the
sunlight and shadow played across his face, limning the
planes and hollows and habitual solemnity. Duncan had
always been less prone to gaiety than Finn, steadier, more

114 Jennifer Rob«rson

serious, almost dour. Seeming old though he was still
young by most men's reckoning. Young for a clan-leader, I
knew, ruling because his elders were already dead in
Shaine's qu'mahlin.

"It will do, until I have another," I said lightly.

Duncan bent and pulled a single stalk of wild wheat
from the soggy ground. He studied the lime-green plant
as if it consumed his every interest. It was unlike Duncan
to prevaricate, I thought; unless I had merely gotten old
enough to prefer the point made at once.

"You wilt have trouble reconciling the Homanans with
Cheysuli,"

"Not with all." I understood him at once. "Some, per-
haps; it is to be expected. But I will have no man who
does not serve willingly, whether it be next to a Cheysuli
or myself." I sat forward on my dais of moss and granite.
So different from the Lion Throne. "Duncan, I would
have this qu'mahlin ended as soon as may be. I will begin
with my army."

He did not smile. "There is talk of our sorcery."

"There will ever be talk of your sorcery. It is what made
them afraid in the first place." 1 recalled my uncle's rant-
ings when I was young; how he had said all of Homana
feared the Cheysuli, because he had made them feared.
How the shapechangers sought to throw down the House
of Homana to replace it with their own.

Their own. In Cheysuli legend, their own House had
built Homana herself, and gave her over to mine.

"There is Rowan," he said quietly.

I did not immediately take his meaning. "Rowan serves
me well. I could not ask for a better lieutenant."

"Rowan is a man caught between two worlds." Duncan
looked at me directly. "You have seen him, Carillon. Can
you not see his pain?"

I frowned. "I do not understand. ..."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "He is Cheysuli. And now
the Homanans know it."

"He has ever denied—" I halted the unfinished com-
ment at once. It was true he had always denied he was
Cheysuli. And I had ever wondered if he were regardless,
with his Cheysuli coloring.

THE SONG OF HOMANA   115

"Cai has confirmed it," Duncan said. "I called Rowan
here and told him, but he denies it still. He claims himself
Homanan. How a man could do that—" He broke it off at
once, as if knowing it had nothing to do with the subject.
"I bring Rowan up because he illustrates the troubles
within your army, Carillon. You have Homanans and
Cheysuli, and you expect them to fight together. After
thirty years of Shaine's qu'mahlin"

"What else can I do?' I demanded. "I need men—any
men—and I must have you both! How else can I win this
war? Bellam cares little who is Cheysuli and who is
Homanan—he will slay everyone, do we give him the
chance! I cannot afford to divide my army because of my
uncle's madness."

"It has infected most of Homana." Duncan shook his
head, his mouth a flat, hard line. "I do not say all of them
hate us. Does Torrin? But it remains that you must fight
your own men before Bellam, do you let this hostility
flourish. Look to your army first, Carillon, before you
count your host."

"I do what I can." I felt old suddenly, and very tired.
My face ached from its bruising. "Gods—I do what I can
. . . what else is there to do?"

"I know." He studied his stalk of wheat. "I know. But I
have put my faith in you."

I sighed and clumped down against my mossy throne,
feeling the weight of my intentions. "We could lose."

"We could. But the gods are on our side."
I laughed shortly, with little humor in the sound. "Ever
so solemn, Duncan. Is there no laughter in you? And do
you not fear the Ihlini gods are stronger than your own?"

He did not smile. His eyes appraised me in their quiet,
competent way, and I knew again the chafing of youth
before an older, wiser man. "I will laugh again when I do
not fear to lose my son because his eyes are yellow."

I flinched beneath the bolt as it went cleanly home in
my soul. In his place, I might be like him- But in my
place, what would he do?

"Were you Mujhar—" I began, and stopped when I saw
the flicker in his eyes. "Duncan?"

116 Jennifer Roberson

"I am not." No more than that, and the flicker was
gone.

I frowned at him, sitting upright again on my rock. "I
will have an answer from you: were you Mujhar, what
would you do?"

He smiled with perfect calm. "Win back my throne. We
are in accord, my lord—you have no need to fear your
throne is coveted. You are welcome to the Lion."

I thought of the throne. The Lion Throne, ensconced
within Homana-Mujhar. In the Great Hall itself, crouched
down upon the marble dais, dark and heavy and brooding.
With its crimson cushion and gilt scrollwork, set so deeply
in the old, dark wood. How old? I could not say. Ancient.
And older still.

"Cheysuli," I said, without meaning to.

Duncan smiled more warmly. The smile set creases
around his eyes and chased away the gravity, stripping his
face of its age. "So is Homana, my lord. But we welcomed
the unblessed, so long ago. Will you not welcome us?"

I set my face against my hands. My eyes were gritty; I
scrubbed at them and at my skin, so taut with worry and
tension. So much to do—and so little time in which to do
it. Unite two warring races and take a realm; a realm held
by sorcery so strong I could not imagine the power of it.

"You are not alone," Duncan said quietly. "Never that.
There is myself, and Finn . . . and Alix."

I sat hunched, eyes shut tightly against the heels of my
hands as if the pressure might carry me past all the pain,
past all the battles, past all the necessities of war to the
throne itself. Could it be done, I would not have to face
the risks and the losses and the fears.

But it could not be done so easily, and a man learns by
what he survives, not by passing o'er it.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned   my face away
from my hands and looked into Duncan's   eyes, so wise
and sad and compassionate. Compassion,   from him; for a
man who wished to be his king. It made   me small again.

"Tahlmorra lujhalla mei wiccan, cheysu," he said qui-
etly, making the gesture with his right hand. "Now, my
lord, come and sup with me. Wars are lost on empty
bellies."

THE SONG OF HOMANA I 117

I pushed myself off the rock with a single thrust of my
hand. The fate of a man rests always within the hands of
the gods.

My gods? I wondered. Or Bellam's?

ELEVEN

Cai sat upon a polished wooden perch sunk into the ground
next to Duncan's slate-gray tent. His massive wings were
folded with perfect precision, not a single feather was out
of place. The great hooked beak shone in the dim firelight
and the red glow of the setting sun: dark and sharp and
deadly. And his eyes, so bright and watchful, missed not a
single movement within the Keep.

I stood outside the tent. Duncan, Finn and the boy
remained within, finishing what supper there was: hot
stew, fresh bread, cheese and Cheysuli honey brew. And
Alix, who had come up from Tori-in's croft with the bread,
had gone off to another tent.

I had put on a Cheysuli cloak, wrapping myself in the
harsh woollen folds to ward off the chill of dusk. TTie fabric
was so deep a green I melted into the surrounding dark-
ness, even with the light from the firecairns on me. No
longer did I wonder how the Cheysuli achieved their
secrecy; a man, standing still, can hide himself easily
enough. He need only affect the proper coloration and
wait, and the enemy wilt come to him.

Cai turned his head. The great hawk looked directly at
me, dark eyes glittering in the dying light. He had the
attentiveness of a man in his gaze, and yet more, for he
was a Ur and a lir is better than a man, or so the Cheysuli
claim. I had no reason to dispute it. I had known Storr

I 118 I

THE SONG OF HOMANA   119
long enough to acknowledge his virtues, and be thankful
for his service.

I shivered, though it was not from the evening chill- It
was from the pervasive sense of destiny within the Cheysuli
Keep, for a Keep is where a man is, with his lir, and here
sat a lir beside me. Cai, the great dark hawk with the
wisdom of the ages, and the knowledge of what was to
come. Divulging it never, to no man, not even Duncan,
who served his gods better than any I had known. Such a
harsh service, I thought, requiring death and sacrifice.
What the Cheysuli bore in their bones was a weight I
could not carry. The shapechange was magic indeed, but I
would not pay its price. ,

I turned away and pulled aside the doorQap. The dim
light from the small iron brazier filled the tent with shad-
ows, and I saw three pairs of yellow eyes fixed upon my
face.

Beast eyes. . . .

Even friendship does not dampen the residual fear en-
gendered by such eyes.

"I will go up to the army encampment. I have spent
enough time away from my men."

Finn rose at once, handing his cup to Duncan. The light
glittered off the Steppes knife in his belt, and suddenly I
recalled I had none to wear at my own. The bone-hilted
Caledonese weapon lay in the snowfields near Joyenne.

Finn caught up a night-black cloak and hung it over his
shoulders. It hid the gold on his arms entirely, turning
him black from brown in the dim glow of light. His hair
swung forward to hide his earring, and all I saw was the
yellow of his eyes. Suddenly, in the presence of three
Cheysuli, I found myself lacking, and I the Prince of
Homana.

Finn smiled. "Do we go?"

I needed no weapon, with him. He was knife and bow
and sword.

"We go." I looked past him to Duncan with his son by
his side. "I will think well on what you have said. I will
speak to Rowan and see what pain is in his heart, so I may
have a man beside me free of such cares."

He smiled. In the dim light he seemed older, but the

120

Jennifer Robwon
THE SONG OF HOMANA

121

boy by his side made him young again. The future of his
race. "Perhaps it will be enough for Homana to know her
Mujhar again."

I stepped aside and Finn came out. Together we walked
through the darkness to our horses, still saddled at the
picket line. The Cheysuli trust no one this close to Mujhara;

nor do I.

"The army will not be far." Finn ducked a low branch.
"I think even Homanans know the value in three hundred
Cheysuli."                                             »

"They will when we are done with them."                 I,

He laughed softly, nearly invisible in the deepening      ||
night.                                                         •S

I untied and mounted my dark Ihlini horse. Finn was
up on his mount a moment later, heading through the     ^
trees, and I followed. Storr slipped along behind me,     ||
guarding my back as Finn preceded his lord. It is an    iJ^
exacting service, and one they perform with ease.              %

The moon rose full above us, above the stark black,    ^
skeletal trees: a silver plate in the dark night sky. I looked            .^
through the screen of trees that arched over my head.    ^
Beyond the screen were the white eyes of the stars, star"    ||
ing down. I heard the snap of twigs and branches broken    j|
by the hooves and the soft thunk of iron shoe against turf   ^
track. The forest sang with scent and the nightsounds I    ^
had so long taken for granted. Crickets called out our    ^
passage: a moth fluttered by my face on its journey toward    ^
the light. But there was no light. Not here, so deep among    ^~
the trees.                                                H-

And then such joy at being in Homana again rose up in    H,
my chest that I could hardly breathe. It did not last, and          JP-
for a moment I was taken aback, but then I gave myself   ^
over to it. Finn was welcome to his ftr-bond and the magic          ^,
of his race, I longed only for Homana. Even an exiled    ^
Mujhar can find joy in such exile, does it bring him home       _':

again,                                                              j

We rode along the crest of a hill, rising upward through    A^
the trees, and then down it, like water down a cobbled    ^
spillway Finn took me down into a tiny bowl of a valley,
skirting the edges so the trees gave cover. Clustered amid
the night and darker shadows were pinpoints of flickering
light. Tiny lights, little more than the luminance shed by
the flame moths. Like the Cheysuli, my army kept itself to
subtle warmth and illumination. One would have to look
hard to see it; expecting it, it was not so hard for me to
discover. A pinpoint here and there, lost within the shad-
ows, screened by trees and brush.

A circlet of light rimmed the bowl-like valley It crowned
the crests like a king's fillet crusted with glowing gem-
stones, glittering against the darkness. We rode closer,
still clinging to the trees, and then I learned how well-
guarded was the army.

"Hold!" shouted a voice. I heard the rustling in the
leaves and placed each man, a semi-circle of five, 1 thought.
"Say who is your lord." The order was clipped off, lacking
the smoothness of aristocratic speech, but Homanan all
the same.

"Carillon the Mujhar." I said quietly, knowing Finn's
accent would give away his race. In the darkness, the men
might slay him out of hand.

"How many?" came the voice.

"Three." I smiled. "One Homana, one Cheysuli . . .
and one lir."

I felt the indrawn breath in five'throats, though I heard
nothing. Good men. I was grateful for that much, even
though I grew cold upon my horse.

"You are Homanan?"

"I am. Would you have me speak more for you, to
discern my accent?" I thought it a worthwhile test; the
Solindish speech does not mimic ours and would give
away an enemy.

"You have said enough. What weapons do you bring?"

"A sword and a bow, and a Cheysuli warrior. Weapons
enough, I think."

A grunt. "Come ahead, with escort."

We went on, Finn first, surrounded by the men. Not
enough to gainsay Finn did he seek to slay them all; I
could account for at least two myself, possibly three And
Storr a few more. It would take ten to stop us, perhaps
more. I found I liked such odds.

More rustles in the bushes and the crunching of night-
crisped snow. At last we halted near the outer rim of a

122 Jiuittar Robwon
firecairn's light, and I saw the glint of weapons. Silent,
shadowed men, grave-faced and wary-eyed, watching. Storr
they watched the most, as any man will, knowing only a
wolf. And Finn, cloaked in black with raven hair, dark-
faced and yellow-eyed. Me they hardly marked at all, save
perhaps to note my size.

The leader stepped forward into the firelight. He wore a
long-knife in his belt and a sword upon a baldric. He was
squat,, well-proportioned, with close-cropped, graying red
hair and bright green eyes. His body cried out for a
soldier's leather and mail, though he wore only wool. He
had the calm authority of a born leader, I knew at once he
was a veteran of my uncle's wars against Solinde.

Other men had gathered around the tiny firecaim. There
was not enough light to see them all clearly, merely arms
and legs and faces, shadowed in the darkness. Silence and
waiting and wariness, the mark of hunted men. Bellam
had made them so.

"What do you call yourselP" I asked the leader.

"Zared," he said calmly. "And you?"

I grinned. "Mercenary. And Finn, with Storr the wolf."
I shifted in the saddle and saw hands move to hilts. "Put
up your weapons, for I am Homanan-bom and wish only
to go to war. 1 am impressed by your competence, but
enough of it for now." I paused. "I am Carillon."

Zared's green eyes narrowed. "Come down from that
horse."

I did so and stood before the man while he looked
closely at my face.

"I fought with Prince Fergus, Carillon's father," he said
abruptly. "I saw the son taken by Throne himself. Do you
tell me you are that boy?"

His tone was dubious, but there was no humor in that
moment. I put out both hands and pushed back the sleeves
from my wrists. In the dim firelight the scars were nearly
black, ridged bracelets in my flesh. Zared's eyes were on
them, then rose to my face again. They narrowed once
more. "Stories have it you were slain in exile."

"No. I am as you see me " I put my arrns down again.
"Is there more proof you would see?"

THE SONG OF HOMANA   123

"Many men have been chained." An odd argument, but
I understood him.

"Take the sword from my saddle."
He flicked a finger. One man stepped to the far side of
my horse and unhooked the scabbard, then brought it to
Zared. He pulled the blade partway free of the sheath so
the runes writhed upon the metal, but the hilt, wrapped
again in taut leather, looked an unmade thing.

"Cut it free," I said, yet again.

He did so with his knife, freeing the gold at last. The
rampant lion clawed upon the metal as the shadows shifted
upon it. The lion of Homana. And in the pommel glowed
the ruby.

'That I know," he said in satisfaction. And he gave the
sword to me.

"If you thought I was dead, why did you join the army?"
I asked curiously

"I am a soldier," he said simply. "I serve Homana.
Even without a Mujhar to follow—a Homanan Mujhar—I
will fight to defend my land. But I could not do it alone,
and before now few were willing to risk themselves." He
smiled a little, and it put lines in his rough-worked face.
"Now we have more than a thousand men, my lord, and at
last a prince to lead them."

I saw the others staring at me. They had just heard their
leader admit I was their lord. It is sometimes an awesome
thing for men to see who rules, when often he is only a
name.

I turned back to my horse and hooked my scabbarded
blade to it again. "Direct me to Rowan."

"Rowan?" Zared sounded surprised. "You wish to speak.
to him?"

"Why should I not? It was he who began this army." I
swung up into the saddle again. "Would you have it said
another has done it, when it was Rowan?"

Dull color flushed his face. "My lord—it is said he is
Cheysuli . . Cheysuli do not lead Homanans." The tone
was harsh, the words clipped off, he did not look at Finn.

The nakedness of it stunned me. Zared I judged a fair
man, a good soldier, worthy of any rank I chose for him.

124 Jennifer Roberson

And he, even knowing the skill of the Cheysuli, could
continue to resent their presence.

I drew in a steadying breath and spoke exceedingly
calmly. "We will dismiss any man who chooses to hate the
Cheysuli. Any man. We will not argue with what my
uncle's purge has put into your mind—he worked hard
enough to do it—but we do not have to tolerate it in our
anny. Those of you who wish to continue Shame's policy
of Cheysuli extermination may leave now. We will have
none of you with us."

Zared stared, openly stunned. "My lord—"

"We want none of you," I repeated. "Fight Bellam and
Tynstar, but no other. Not Cheysuh. They serve us too
well." I gathered in my reins. "Direct us to Rowan at
once."

Zared pointed toward a distant flicker. "There, my lord.
There."

"Think on what I have said," 1 told him. "When we
have won this war the Cheysuli will know freedom again
We will begin that policy now."

"My lord—"

I heard nothing more of his comment, for I left his fire
as fast as the horse would take me.

Rowan sat alone by his tiny firecairn He was sur-
rounded by clustered trees, as if he had gathered about
himself a royal guard, stolid and silent. And yet within his
guard he was a man alone, untouched by all save his grief.
He had been found out, and no more was the secret kept.

The firecairn was not enough to warm him, I knew;

probably not enough to warm the leathern cup of wine he
held in rigid fingers. But the tiny light threw illumination
over his face in the thick darkness, and I saw the gaunt
expression of loss.

I swung off my horse and moved toward the caim so
that he had to acknowledge me. His head came up For a
moment he stared, still lost in his reverie, and then slowly
he moved forward onto his knees. It was an old man's
ungainly movement.

I saw past the shock. I saw past the outer shell of loss to
the resignation beneath.

THE SONG OF HOMANA   125

He had known
"How long?" I asked. "And why did you hide it from

?"

mer
"All my life," he said dully, still kneeling on the ground,
"As for hiding it from you—what choice did I have? Few
Homanans are like you, my lord ... 1 thought they would
revile me. And they have."

I dropped the reins and moved closer yet, motioning
him up from his knees. Slowly he sat again upon the
campstool. The cup in his hands shook. 'Tell me," I said
calmly.

He shut his eyes a moment. In the stark light he was the
image of a childhood demon. Cheysuli.

"I was five," he said quietly. "I saw the Mujhar's men
murder my kin. All save me." A quiver passed over his
young face. "They came on us in the trees, shouting they
bad found a nest of demons. I ran. Myjehan SLndjehana—
and my rujhoHa—could not run in time. They were slain."

The Cheysuli words from Rowan's mouth were a shock
to me. He had always spoken with the accent of Homana,
lacking the Old Tongue entirely—and now I knew he had
more claim to it than most.

1 heard Finn come up beside my horse. I did not look at
him, but Rowan did. They were as much alike as two
leaves from the same vine; like enough to be father and
son. Perhaps they were even kin.

"I had no choice," Rowan said. "I was found by a couple
who had no children. They were EIIasian. but they had
come to live in Homana. The valley was distant, insular,
and there were none there who had seen Cheysuli. I was
safe. And I kept myself so, until 1 came here."

"You must have known you would be discovered."

He shrugged. "I knew there was the chance. In Mujhara,
I was careful. But the men interested in fighting Bellam
were young, like myself, and they had never seen a Cheysuli
shapechanger. So I named myself Homanan, and they
believed it. It has been so long since the Cheysuli were
free to go where they choose—much of Homana does not
know her ancient race." Briefly he looked at me. "Aye. I
have known what I am. And what I am not." He turned
his face to the fire. "I have no lir."

126 Jennifer Roberson

I did not fully understand. And then I thought of Finn's
link with Storr and the price it carried, and I knew what
Rowan meant "You cannot mean you will seek out your
death'"

"There is no need for that," Finn said. He swung down
from his horse and came into the firelight with Storr
pacing at his side "He never had a Hr, which is somewhat
different from losing one. Where there is no loss, a man is
not constrained to the death-ritual."

Rowan's face was leached of color, painted bleak by the
firelight. "The ritual is already done, though it be a
Homanan one. I am named shapechanger, and stripped of
what honor once I had."

I thought of the men in the tavern where Lachlan and I
had found Rowan. Those men had followed him willingly.
It was Rowan who had gathered most of those who were
here. Word of mouth had gathered the others and still
did, but Rowan had begun it alt.

"Not all of them," I told him, ignoring Zared's attitude.
"Those who are men, know men. They do not judge by
eyes and gold." I realized, too, he wore no fir-gold. He
had not earned the right.

"The gods are blind to you," Finn said quietly

I stared at him in shock. "Do you seek to destroy what
is left of him?"

"No. I tell him what he knows. You have only to ask
him." Finn's voice and eyes were implacable. "He is lirless,
Unwhole. Haifa man, and lacking a soul. Unblessed, like
you, though he be Cheysuli instead of Homanan." He
went on, ignoring the beginnings of my protest "He is not
a warrior of the clan, lacking a lir. He will have no passage
to the old gods "

My hand was on his arm. I felt the hard sinews beneath
his flesh as my fingers clamped down. I had never before
put my hand on him in anger.

He stopped speaking. He waited. And when I took my
hand away he explained the words to me. "He gave it up
willingly, Carillon. Now he must suffer for it."

"Suffer!"

"Aye." His eyes flicked down to Rowan's hunched fig-

THE SONG OF HOMANA   127

ure- "Had it been me with the choice, I would have taken
the risk."

"And died," I returned angrily.

"Oh, aye," he said matter-of-factly. "but I could not
have lived with it, else."

"Do not listen," I told Rowan wearily. "Finn sometimes
speaks when he would do better to hide his sentiments."
"Let him speak," Rowan said wearily. "He says what I
have expected all my life. My lord—there is much of the
Cheysuli you do not know. Much / do not know, having
given up my soul." A bitter, faint smile twisted his mouth
into a travesty of the expression. "Oh aye, I know what I
am. Soulless and lirless, unwhole. But it was the choice I
made, too frightened to seek my death. And I thought I
would die, when the time for the fir-bond came."

"You knew?" I stared at him. "You knew when the time
had come?"

"How could I not? I was sick for days, until my foster
parents feared I would die. The longing, the need, the
emptiness within me." A terrible grimace twisted his face.
"The pain in the denial—"

"You had only to answer that need," Finn said harshly.
"The gods fashioned a lir for you, an'd you gave it over into
death. Ku'reshtin! You should have died for what you
did."

"Enough!" I shouted at him. "Finn—by the gods!—I
want support from you! Not condemnation for a man I
need."

Finn's hand stabbed out to point at Rowan's lowered
head. "He lived, while the lir died. Can you not see what
it makes him? A murderer. Carillon—and what he slew
was a gift of the gods themselves—"

"Enough," I repeated. "No more."

"Look at Storr," Finn snapped. "Think how your life
would have been had / ignored my chance to link with
him. He would have died, for a lir who does not link when
the need is upon him gives himself over to death. It is the
price they pay, as a warrior does when his lir is slain." His
teeth showed briefly in a feral baring, like a wolf prepared
to leap.

A wolf—Finn.

1Z8 Jennifer Robarson

"Leave Rowan be," I said at last. "You have said more
than was required."

"I would say it all again, and more, did I think it would
make him see what he has done."

"I know what I have done!" Rowan was on his feet at
last, his arms coming up as if to ward off the words Finn
said. "By the gods, do you think I have not suffered? Do
you think I have not cursed myself? I live with it each day,
shapechanger! The knowledge will never go away."
I saw then that each suffered. Rowan, for what he never
had; Finn, for what he could not comprehend: that a
Cheysuli could give up his birthright and continue to
survive. It was not Rowan who was left out, but myself.
Carillon. The Homanan, who could not possibly know
what it was to have a lir, or what it was to give one up.

"I need you both," I told them finally as they faced one
another across the firelight. "I will have no disharmony
among my men. Neither Cheysuli-Homanan conflict, nor
that between men of a single race, blessed or not." I
sighed, suddenly disgusted. "By the gods, do I know
anything at all of the Cheysuli? I begin to think I cannot."

"This much I know," Rowan said, still looking at Finn.
"No man, unblessed, can ever know the grace of the gods
or understand the prophecy."

Finn laughed, though it had a harsh sound. "Not so
soulless after all, are you? You have enough blood in you
for that much."

' The tension lessened at once. They still faced one an-
other like predatory beasts: one a wise wolf, the other a
man who lacked the gifts of the fir-bond, and yet claimed
all the eerie charisma of the race.

"Unblessed," I growled. "By the gods, now there are
two of you prating this nonsense. ..." I turned away to
my horse, my Ihlini horse, who was as much a stranger as
I to the world of the Cheysuli.

I mustered my forces in the valley the following day,
Cheysuli and Homanan alike. I watched them come, silent
upon my horse, and waited until they filled the bowl-
shaped valley. It was a small place and made my army

THE SONG OF HOMANA   129

look smaller still, I had so few men beneath my standard.
And yet more came each day, trickling in with the thaw.

I thought of haranguing them with all the arguments
and commands until all went away with the taste of Caril-
lon in their mouths. I was angry enough that my Homanans
could disregard the Cheysuli when we needed every man;

did they wish to lose this war? And yet I understood, for I
too had been raised to hate and fear the race. 1 had
learned my lesson, and well, but only in adversity. Many
of the Homanans I faced had lacked the teacher I had.

Instead of haranguing, I talked. Shouted, rather, since I
could not reach them all by merely speaking, but I left my
anger behind I told them what we faced; told them how
badly we were outnumbered. I would have none of them
saying later I had led them unknowing into war. Did a
man go to his death, I wanted him to know the risks.

I broke them into individual units, explaining my strat-
egy to them, We could not afford the pitched battles we
had ever known before, there being too few of us, and
none I could spare in such futile attacks. Instead we would
go in bit by bit, piece by piece, harrying Bellam's patrols.
They would be fewer now, with .harvest, and we would
stand a better chance of catching them unawares.

The units I kept separate, knowing better than to mix
Cheysuli with Homanan. Many of our Homanans were
veteran enough to recall the days before the qu'mahlin,
and they readily accepted the Cheysuli as expert fighting
men, these men I put in charge of raiding parties. I
counted on them to quash the rumbles of discontent. All
men knew the ferocity and incredible abilities of the
Cheysuli; I thought, in the end, they would prefer to have
them with us than against us.

Few questions were asked. I wondered how many men
came out of a true conviction of my goal, or merely desir-
ing a change from daily life. Some, I did not doubt, were
like Zared in their desire to free Homana from Bellam's
rule. But others likely sought a release from what they had
known, wanting merely a different life. I could promise
them that much. They would go home vastly different, did
they go home at all.

I named my captains. Rowan was one of them. Him I

130 Jennifer Roberson

placed with the men he had gathered in the tavern, know-
ing he could not lead other Homanans until he had proved
himself. The Cheysuli would not accept him either, I
thought, judging by Finn's reaction.

I dismissed the men into their units, tasking the cap-
tains with the goal I wanted: superior raiding parties. Men
willing to sweep down quickly on Solindish patrols, slaying
as they could, and sweeping away again as quickly as they
had come. No time wasted; fewer lives lost. Cheysuli
warfare, and more effective than most. I knew it could
work, if they were willing to act as I desired.

"You have mastered them." This from Finn, sitting
behind me on his horse.

I smiled, watching the army depart. "Have I? Then you
are deaf to all the mumbled complaints."

"Men will ever complain. It is the nature of the beast."
He kneed his mount forward and came up next to me. "I
think you have won their hearts."

"I need that and their willingness to fight."
"And I think you will have it." He pulled something
from his belt and held it out. A knife. A Cheysuli long-
knife hilted in silver, with a gleaming wolfs-head pommel.
It was my own, given to me by Finn so many years before.
"I took it from your things," he said quietly. "A Mujhar
ever carries one."

I thought of the one I had left behind. The piece of
bone. I thought of the one I had replaced it with: a
Homanan knife of army issue, when there was my own.
But I had hidden it so long— Abruptly I put out my hand
and accepted the Cheysuli knife. And then I told Finn
how it was I had lost the other. I told him of the sorcerer,
and of the lion-beast.

His brows drew down as he listened. Gone was the calm
expression of the loyal liege man, although even then
there was the hint of mockery. Now he listened, thinking
even as I spoke, and when I was done with words he
nodded a little, as if I had told him nothing new.

"Ihlini," he said on a sigh, as if there were need for
nothing more,

"That was obvious."

For a moment his eyes were on me, but he saw some-

THE SONG OF HOMANA    131

X

thing more than myself. Then his gaze cleared and he
looked at me, smiling in a grim parody of the Finn I knew.
"So obvious? —no. That he was Ihlini, no doubt—but not
that he had used so much of his sorcery."

"So much?" It puzzled me. "There are degrees in it?"

He nodded, shifting in the saddle. "There is much of
the Ihlini I do not know. They hide themselves in mys-
tery. But it is known they have gifts similar to our own."

I stared at him, struck by the revelation. "Do you mean
to say they shift their shapes?"

"No. That is a Cheysuli thing." His thoughtful frown
was becoming a scowl. "But they can alter the shapes of
other things, such as weapons." He looked at the Cheysuli
knife I held in my hand. "Had you borne that, he could
have conjured no beast. Do you see? He touched that
which was not alive—nor made of Cheysuli skill—and
fashioned it into an enemy for you." He shook his head. "I
had heard . . . but I have never seen it."

I felt my gorge rise. I had faced the lion, knowing it was
a sorcerous thing, and yet I had fought it as if it had been
real, a thing Homanan-bom, to be slain before it slew me.
I had known it had grown out o£ the Caledonese bone
hilt—how else would it have appeared?—but somehow I
had ignored the implications of it. If the Ihlini had such
power over objects, I faced a more dangerous foe than I
had thought.

"What else can they do?" I demanded. "What magic
should I expect?"

A stray breeze lifted a lock of black hair from Finn's left
shoulder. The earring glittered. Seated on his dark horse
in his dark leathers, he reminded me of the stories I had
heard of man-horses, half of each, and inseparable. Well,
so was Finn inseparable. From his lir, if not from his
horse.

"With the Ihlini," he said, "expect anything."

The last of the Homanans disappeared into the trees to
gather with their captains. To plan. To do as I wished,
which was to strip Beltam of men and power until I could
steal it all back from him.

I felt a roll of trepidation in my belly "I am afraid," I
said flatly, expecting ridicule—or worse—from him.

132 Jennifer Roberson

"No man, facing what you face, denies his fear," Finn
said calmly "Unless he lies. And you are not a liar."

I laughed, albeit oddly. "No, not a liar A fool, perhaps,
but not a liar." I shook my head, tasting the sharp tang of
apprehension in my mouth. "What we face—

"—we face," he finished. "As the gods desire." He
made the familiar gesture. "Tahlmorra, my lord. It will go
He closed his hand abruptly, the gesture banished.

on.

His hand was a fist, a hard brown fist of flesh and bone,
and the promise of death to come.

TWELVE

Our first strikes against Bellam were successful. My raid-
ing parties caught the Solindish patrols by complete sur-
prise, as I had intended, slaying everyone rapidly and
then departing more quickly than they had come. But
Bellam was no fool; soon enough he put up a defense. In
two months the Solindish patrols had cut down many of
my men. But still more flocked to join me, won over by
the knowledge I had come home at last to take back my
throne. In those first days I had had thirteen hundred
men, Cheysuli and Homanan alike. Now the number was
four times that many, and still more came.

Carefully I split my raiding parties and sent them out to
harry Bellam from all directions. I took several of my best
captains, experienced veterans all, and dispatched them
with their men to distant parts of Homana. Slowly, from
all four directions, they would work their way toward
Mujhara and Bellam's principal forces. Little by little they
would gnaw their way inward, chewing holes in Bellam's
martial fabric, until the cloth was weakened. Even a large
army can be defeated by small insects.

Much of my time was taken up with army matters,
allowing me small chance to do any fighting myself, but I
was not unready to take the field and I did whenever I
could. Finn fought with me, and Storr, along with Rowan
and his men. And when I could not fight, too busy with

f 133 I

134 JannffT Roberson

other matters, I practiced when I could against sword and
bow and knife.

Zared was often my partner, for the red-haired soldier
had proved an invaluable fighter. He had come to me not
long after the first few strikes, offering apology for his
words concerning Rowan. I had listened in silence, allow-
ing him what he would say, and then ordered Rowan
fetched so Zared could say it again to the one who de-
served the words. Rowan had come, listened in a silence
similar to mine, and accepted the apology. I thought he
felt better for it.

Since then Zared and I had been on friendly terms, and
I had come to know him better. He knew much of war,
having fought for years under my father, and for that alone
I was grateful. There were not many left who could recall
the man who sired me, for with him had perished thou-
sands. The memory still hurt, for I had been spared where
my father had not. And all because I was heir to Shaine
the Mujhar. Unexpendable, while my father was not.

Zared and I, between strikes against Bellam's patrols,
sparred within a clearing in the forest. We did not main-
tain the camp in the same place for longer than a few days
at the most, knowing more permanency would make us
easier to track down. We moved constantly but with little
grumbling. The army understood that our safety remained
in secrecy.

I had stripped to breeches and boots, bare-chested in
the late spring warmth and extra activity. Zared wore little
enough as well, concentrating on footwork; I outweighed
him considerably and towered over him, so though to
most we seemed unevenly matched, it merely afforded us
a chance to fight against different styles. He was a superb
swordsman, and I still had need of such tutors. Finn had
taught me nothing of the sword, for the Cheysuli do not
believe in using a sword where a knife will do. What I had
learned I had learned from arms-masters within Homana-
Mujhar, and from exile in foreign lands.

The bout had gone on for a considerable length of time.
My thighs burned and my arms ached. And yet I dared
not call halt, or Zared would claim himself the victor.
More often than not I won, being younger and stronger,

THE SONG OF HOMANA   135

but when he took a bout it was with great finesse and
much shouting to let the others know he had beaten his
Mujhar. My pride stood it well enough, after the first
time, but my battered body did not like it so much. I
fought to win.

Zared, on the point of thrusting at me with his sword,
suddenly fell back. I followed with a counterthrust, nearly
drove the blade through when he did not move to deflect,
and stopped short. Zared remained in one spot. staring
past me. His sword drooped in his hand. I saw the
expression—shock and awe and utter desire—and turned
to see what had caused it.

A woman. Women are not unheard of in an army camp—
even I had taken my ease in camp followers—but this one
was different. This one was no light woman or crofter's
daughter seeking a soldier in her bed.

I forgot I held a sword. I forgot I was half-naked and
sweaty, wet-haired and smelling of exertion. I forgot who I
was entirely, knowing only I was a man, and a man who
wanted that woman.

I felt the fist knot up deep in my belly, making me
aware of what I needed. Wanted, aye. but needed as well.
With the sudden recognition of such things, I knew I
wanted to bed the woman before the day was done.

She had not come of her own volition. That much was
clear. Finn held her arm roughly, and he brought her to
me with infinite satisfaction in his demeanor. I had never
seen him so pleased before, and yet his pleasure was not
something others—certainly not the woman—could see. It
showed only in the deep feral light in his eyes and the set
of his mouth, too calm for Finn. He did not smile, but I
saw the laughter in his soul.

He brought her to me. I remembered all at once what it
was she saw, and for once I was displeased with my liege
man. No doubt the woman was a prisoner, but surely he
could have done me the courtesy of allowing me time to
put on fresh clothing and wipe the sweat from my face. It
dripped from my hair and beard to trickle down my bare
chest.

She was stiff and clumsy with rage- White-blond hair
spilled free of its sheer silken covering, tumbling past

136 Jennifer Rotrrson

slender shoulders clad in slate-gray velvet. Her gown was
torn and stained; flesh showed through the rents, but her
pride was undiminished. Even as she stood before me in
obvious disarray, in the open for all to see, the sight other
pride struck the smile from my face.

Her eyes fixed themselves upon me. Wide-spaced eyes,
gray and cool as water, long-lidded and filled with virulent
scorn. An apt emotion for the man who stood before her,
rank from exertion, a bared blade in his callused hand.

I saw again the wild light in Finn's eyes. "We took a
procession out of Mujhara, bound for Solinde."

I looked at the woman again. Her skin was pale as
death, but that changed as color crept into her face. An-
ger, I knew, and defiance.

And then she spoke. "Do you mean to tell me, shape-
changer, this man is the pretender-prince?"

"Carillon of Homana," I informed her, and a suspicion
formed in my mind. I looked at Finn for confirmation and
saw his satisfied smile. At that I had to add my own.
"Pretender-prince, am I? When I was born to that throne?
I think not, lady. I think it is your father who pretends. A
usurper king, and you his daughter." I laughed then, into
her angry face. "Electra!" I said. "Oh, aye, you are well
come to this camp. And I thank the gods for their gift."

Her teeth showed briefly in a faint, feral baring, much
as I had seen in Finn from time to time. But there was
nothing of the Cheysuli in her. She was pale, so pale, like
winter snow. White on white, with those ice-gray eyes.
Gods, what a woman was this!

"Electra," I said again, still smiling. Then I gestured
toward Finn. "Take her to my tent. Guard her well—we
dare not lose this woman."

"No, my lord." I saw the appraisal in his eyes. No
doubt it was obvious what I wanted. To her as well as him.

I watched her move away with him, one slim arm still
caught in his sun-bronzed hand. The torn gown hid little
of her body. It was with great effort that I dispatched
Zared for cloth and fresh wine. When he came back I
dried myself as best I could, drank down two cups of harsh
red wine and put on my shirt and leather jerkin. Little in

THE SONG OF HOMANA      137

my apparel made me a prince, but I thought it would not
matter. There was more on my mind than rank.

I went into my tent at last. Electra stood precisely in
the center, resolutely turned away from Finn, and now
myself. The tent boasted little of fine things, being a field
pavilion. There was a rude bed, a table and stool, tripod
and brazier. There was little room for more.

Except, perhaps, Electra.

Finn turned. He was unsmiling now, but I saw some-
thing in the set of his mouth and the tautness of his face. I
wondered what she had said or done to set him so on
edge. I had seen him like this rarely, especially with a
woman.

We measured each other in that moment. But it was
Electra who broke the silence by turning to face us both.
"This is ill-done, Homanan. You take me from my women
and leave him to the shapechangers."

"See to your men," 1 told Finn briefly "You may leave
her with me."

He knew dismissal when he heard it. More often than
not we played at lord and liege man, being better friends
than most men of such rank, but this time he heard the
command. I had not meant it to come out so baldly, but
there was nothing for it. There was no room for Finn in
this.

He smiled grimly. "Beware your weapon, my lord
Mujhar."

The euphemism brought crimson flags to her face as he
left and I wondered how much she knew of men. No
doubt Bellam claimed his daughter a virgin, but I thought
it unlikely. She did not look at me with any of the virgin's
fear or curiosity. She was angry still, and defiant, but
there was also the look of a woman who knows she is
wanted by a man.

The tent was of thin, pale fabric. Though the doorflap
hung closed, enough light crept through the gap to lend a
dusky daylight to the interior. The roof draped down from
the ridgepole, nearly brushing my head, and the breeze
billowed the side panels. She stood very still in the cen-
ter, head raised and arms at her sides, keen-edged as any

138 Jennifer Roberson

blade. It reminded me that I bore a sword, unsheathed,
and no doubt she took it as a threat.

1 moved past her to the table and set the blade upon it.
I turned back, watching as she turned, and saw the seduc-
tiveness in her movements. She knew well enough what
she did: she watched me as well as I watched her.

"Electra." Her eyes narrowed as I spoke. "Do you know
what men call you?"

Her head, on her pale, slender neck. lifted. Gold glim-
mered in her ears and at her throat. She smiled back at
me slowly, untouched by the insinuation in my tone. "I
know."

I poured a cup of wine and deliberately kept it for
myself, offering her none- She made no indication she
cared, and suddenly I felt ludicrous. I set down the cup so
hard the wine slopped over the rim and spilled, crawling
across the parchment map upon the table like a crimson
serpent seeking its lair.

'Tynstar's light woman," I said, "An Ihlinfs whore."

Her pale eyes were still and cool in her flawless face.
She appraised me from head to toe, even as I assessed
her, and I felt the heat creep up from my belly to engulf
my face. It was all I could do to keep my hands from her.

"You are a princess of Solinde," I reminded her, per-
haps unnecessarily. "1 know it, even if you have forgotten.
Or is it that Bellam does not care what men say about his
daughter?"

Electra smiled. Slowly she reached out and took up the
forgotten wine cup, lifting it to her mouth. She held my
eyes with her own and drank three sips, then threw down
the cup with a gesture of condescension. The red wine
colored her lips and made me all the more aware of her,
when I needed no reminding.

"What else have they said, my lord?" Her tone was
husky and slow. "Have they said I am more witch than
woman?"

"You are a woman. Do you require more witchcraft than
that?" I had not meant to say it. It had given her a
weapon, though perhaps she had held it all along.

She laughed deep in her throat. Her accent was exqui-
site- "Aye, pretender-prince, perhaps it is. But I will tell

THE SONG OF HOMANA   139

you anyway." One slender, fine-boned hand smoothed a
pale strang of hair away from her face. "How old am 1,
Carillon?"
The Solindish accent made the syllables of my name
sing. Suddenly I wanted her to say it again, in my arms, in
my bed, as she assuaged the knot in my belly. "How old?"
I asked, distracted.

"Surely you can give me an age."

The vanity of women. "Perhaps twenty."

Electra laughed. "When Lindir ofHomana—your cousin,
I believe?—was promised to my brother, I was ten years
old." She paused. "In case you cannot count, my lord—
that was thirty years ago."

The grue slid down my spine. "No."

"Aye, Carillon." Two fingers traced the gold around her
throat. It was a twisted piece of wire. simple and yet
elegantly suitable. "Are not Tynstar's arts impressive?"

My desire began to spill away like so much unwanted
seed. Tynstar's arts—Tynstar's light woman. Gods. "Elec-
tra." I paused. "I think you have a facile tongue. But you
undervalue my intelligence."

"Do I? Do you disbelieve me?" The velvet on her
shoulders wrinkled in a shrug. "Ah well, believe as you
will. Men do, for all they claim themselves an intelligent
race." She smiled. "So—this is what you face: this poor
little tent, in your desire to seek my father's throne."
^'    "My throne, lady."

"Bellam took it from Shame," she said calmly. "It be-
longs to the House of Solinde."
i'      I smiled with a confidence I did not entirely feel, facing
her. "And I will take it back."

"Will you? How? By selling me?" Her cool eyes nar-
rowed. The expression did not suit their long-lidded, som-
nolent slant. "What will you do with me, my lord?"

"I have not decided."

"Ransom me? Stay me?"

'      I frowned. "Shy you—I? Why should 1 desire your
death?"

"Why not? I am your enemy's daughter."
;    I laughed. "And a woman such as I have never seen.

140 Jennifer Roberson

Slay you? Never. Not when there is so much I would
rather do."
I saw the subtle change in her mouth; in the shape of
her jaw. She had me, not 1 her, and she knew it. She
smiled. It was a faint, slow, seductive smile, and went
straight to the knot in my belly. The long-lidded eyes took
their measure of me, and I wondered if she found me
lacking somehow.

Electra moved swiftly, diving for the Cheysuli sword on
the table next to me, I spun and caught her waist as she
slipped by; she clawed for the sword even as my hands
closed on her. She had it in her hands, both hands,
jerking it from the table. The blade flashed in the pale,
muted light and I caught her wrist, knocking her arm
against my upraised leg. She hissed in pain and lost the
sword, dropping it to the hard-packed earth.

The white-blond hair was a curtain across her face,
hiding it from me as the fine strands snagged on the
leather of my jerkin. I released one of her arms and
smoothed away the hair from her angry face, drawing her
inexorably closer. And then, even as she caught my neck
in her arms, I ground my mouth onto hers.

She was like the finest wine, subtle and heady and
powerful. She went straight to my head, blurring my
senses and addling my wits. I could do nothing but drown,
drinking more even as I drowned, wanting only to take
her with me. I could not think of letting her go. And she did
not insist upon it, reaching up to catch my damp hair in
two doubled fists. But her teeth sank into my bottom lip,
tearing, and I cursed and jerked my face free.

"Rape?" she demanded.

"Who rapes?" I asked. "You or I? I think you have as
much interest in this as I."

I had not let her go. I did not, even as I set the back of
one hand against my bleeding lip. The other hand was
caught in the fabric of her gown, one arm locked around
her spine. I could feel every line of her body set so hard
against mine. Gods, but it would be easy to simply bear
her down and take her here—

"Electra," I said hoarsely, "are you Tynstar's light
woman?"

THE SONG OF HOMANA      141

"Does it matter?" Her breasts rose against my chest.
"Does it matter so much, pretender-prince?"

My Up still bled. And yet I cared little enough for the
pain. I wanted to share it with her. "Oh aye, it matters.
For he will pay dearly for you."

She stiffened at once. "Then you will seek ransom—"
"I seek what I can get," I told her bluntly. "By the
gods, woman, what do you seek to do? Ensorcell me?"

She smiled. "I do what I can." She touched my lip with
a gentle finger. "Shall I take the pain away?"

"Witch," I accused.

"Woman," This time she was the aggressor as much as
I, and she did as she had offered. She took the pain from
my mouth and centered it much deeper, where I could
not control myself,

"How much will you ask for me?" she whispered against
my mouth.

"My sister."

Her head rose. "Tourmaline?"

"Aye. I care little enough for gold. It is my sister I
want."

"My father will never pay it."

"He will. I would." And I knew as I said it, she had had
the truth from me.

Electra laughed. "Carillon, oh Carillon—such words from
you already? Do you give in to my witchcraft so soon?"

I set her away with effort. I felt unsteady, as if sickening
from some fever. I was hot and cold and ringing with the
tension as well as the demand.

I realized, with a sense of astonishment, that the sword
still lay on the ground between us. I had not recovered it.
It had lain there, blade bare, as if in promise of what
might lie between us in the future.

Electra stood by the table. Her mouth was still red from
the wine and stained by my blood. The long-lidded eyes
regarded me calmly, assessively, as if she judged me within
her mind. I dared not ask what she saw; I had not the
courage.

I bent and picked up the sword. Slowly I slid it home in
the scabbard and set it on the table. Within reach. She
had only to pick it up again.

142 Jennifer Roberson

Electra laughed. "You are too quick for me, my lord,
and far too strong. You are a man, you see, and I merely a
woman."
"Merely," I said in disgust, and saw her contented
smile. "No rape," I told her, "though I doubt—judging by
what 1 have tasted—you would be so unwilling. But no
rape." I smiled. "I do not rape what I will have in marriage."

"Marriage!" she shouted, and I knew I had broken
through her guard at last.

"Aye," I agreed calmly. "When I have slain your father—
and Tynstar—and once again hold my throne ... I will
make you Queen of Homana."

"No!" she shouted. "I will not allow it!"

"Do you think I care what you will allow?" I asked her
gently. "I will take you to wife, Electra. None can gainsay
me, now."

"I will gainsay you!" She was so vividly angry I could
scare draw breath. "You puling fool, 7 will gainsay you!"

I merely smiled at her, and offered more wine.

Finn, seated on a stool within my tent, nearly dropped
his cup of wine. "You will do wW?"

"Wed her." I sat on the edge of my army cot, boots
kicked oS and wine in my wooden cup. "Would you have
a better idea?"

"Bed her," he said curtly. "Use her, but do not wed
her. The Mujhar of Homana wed to Bellam's daughter?"

"Aye," I agreed. "That is how alliances are made."

"Alliance!" he lashed. "You are here to take back the
throne from the man who usurped it, not win his approval
as a husband for his daughter. By the gods, what has put
this foolishness in your head?"

I scowled at him. "You name me a fool? Are you blind?
This is not just a thing between a man and a woman, but
between realms and people as well." I shifted on the cot.
"We cannot force war on Homana forever. When I have
slain Bellam and won back the Lion, there will still be
Solinde. The realm is large and strong, and I would prefer
not to fight it forever. Do I wed Electra to cap my victory,
I may well settle a lasting peace."

THE SONG OF HOMANA   143

It was Finn's turn to scowl. His wine was untouched.
"Do you recall, my lord, how it was the qu'mahlin was
begun?"

"I recall it well enough," I snapped impatiently. "And I
do not doubt Electra will also refuse to wed with me, as
Undir refused to wed with Ellic, but she will have no
choice when the throne is mine."

Finn said something in a tone of deep disgust, but it
was in the Old Tongue and I could not understand it. He
reached down and tugged at one of Storr's ears as if
seeking guidence. I wondered what the wolf told him.

"I know what I am doing," I said quietly.

"Do you? How do you know she is not Tynstar's min-
ion? How do you know she will not slay you in your
wedding bed?"

It was my rum to swear, though I did it in Homanan.
"When I am done with this war, Tynstar will be dead."

"What will you do with her now?"

"Keep her here. Bellam will send word concerning Terry's
release, and then we shall see to returning his daughter to
him." I smiled. "If he is not dead by then himself."

Finn shook his head. "Keeping her I can see, for it is a
tool to use against your rujholla's captivity. But wedding
her? No. Seek your cheysula elsewhere."

"Would you have me wed a Cheysuli, then?" I scoffed.
"The Homanans would never allow it."

"Cheysuli women wed Cheysuli men," he said flatly.
"No woman would look outside her clan."

"What of the men?" I asked. "I have not seen the
warriors keeping to their clan. Not even you." I smiled at
his wary expression. "There was Alix, only half Cheysuli,
and not knowing it at all." I paused. "And now, perhaps,
Electra?"

He sat upright so quickly wine slopped over the rim of
his cup and splashed across Storr's head. The wolf sat up
as quickly as Finn, shaking his head to send droplets flying
in all directions. The look he flashed Finn was one of such
grave indignation I could not help but laugh, though Finn
found little humor in it.

He rose and set the cup down on the table, still scowl-
ing. "I want none of Electra."

144 Jennifer Roberson

"Yon forget, I know you. I have seen you with women
before. She touched you, Finn, as much as she touched
me."

"I want none of her," he repeated.
I laughed at him. And then the laughter died, and I
frowned. "Why is it we are attracted by the same women?
There was Alix first, and the red-haired girl in Caledon,
and now—"

"A liege man knows his place." The comment overrode
me- "Do you truly think he seeks what woman his lord
will make his queen?"

"Finn." I rose as he turned away. "Finn, I know you
better than that."

"Do you?" His face was uncommonly grave. "I think
not. I think not at all."

I put down my cup of wine. "I take her to wife because
she is worthy of that much. I will not get her another
way."

"Put out your hand and take her." Finn said. "She will
come to you like a cat to milk."

The wall went up between us, brick by brick. Where
once its name had been Alix, now it was Electra. And,
though I thought what he felt for Electra was closer to
dislike than anything akin to love, I could not see the way
of tearing it down again. Kingdoms take precedence even
over friendships.

"There are things a king must do," I said quietly.

"Aye. my lord MuJhar." This time he did leave, and the
wolf went with him.

THIRTEEN

I jerked aside the doorflap and went out, buckling on my
swordbelt with its weight of Cheysuli gold. No longer did
I wrap the hilt in leather to hide the crest and ruby. All
men knew I had come at last—including Bellam—and no
longer did I wish to hide my presence or my identity.

Finn stood waiting with the horses. He, like myself,
wore his warbow slung across one shoulder, But he wore
no ringmail or boiled leather, trusting instead to his skill
to keep him free of harm. No Cheysuli wore armor. But
perhaps I too would leave it off, did I have the chance to
wear an animal's form.

I took the reins from him and turned to mount. But I
stopped the motion and turned back as Rowan called to
me.

"My lord—wait you!" He hastened toward me in a rattle
of mail and sword. Like us, he prepared to lead an attack
against one of Bellam's patrols. "My lord, the lady is
asking for you." He arrived at last, urgency in face and
voice.

"Electra asks for nothing," I told him mildly. "Surely
you mean she has sent."

Color rose in his face. "Aye," he said, "she has sent."
He sighed. "For you."

I nodded. Electra sent for me often, usually two or
more times in a single day. Always to complain about her
captivity and to demand her immediate release. It had

I 145 I

146 Jennifer Roberson

become a game between us—Electra knew well enough
what she did to me when I saw her. And she played upon
that effect.

In the six weeks since Finn had captured her, nothing
had been settled between us except out mutual attraction.
She knew it as well as 1. Ostensibly enemies, we were also
eventual bedmates. It was simply a matter of time and
circumstance. Did I wish to, I could have her before her
internment was done. But I gambled for higher stakes—-
permanency. in reign and domesticity—and she knew it.
She used it. And so the courtship rite went on, bizarre
though it was.

"She waits,' Rowan reminded me.

I smiled. "Let her." I swung up on my horse and
gathered the reins, marking how my men waited. And
then I was gone before Rowan could speak again.

Finn caught up to me not far from the camp. Behind us
rode our contingent of soldiers: thirty Homanans armed to
the teeth and ready for battle once more. Scouts had
already brought reports of three Solindish patrols; I would
take one, Rowan another, Duncan the third. Such warfare
had worked well in the past months; Bellam already shouted
impotent threats from his stolen throne,

"How much longer do we keep her?" Finn asked.

No reference was necessary. "Until I have Tony back."
I squinted against the sun. "Bellam's last message said he
would send Torry out of Mujhara with an escort—and
Lachlan also. Electra will be back with her father soon
enough."

"Will you let her go?"

"Aye," I said calmly. "It will be no hardship to let her
go when I will have her back so soon."
He smiled. "No more hedging, from you. No more
modesty."

"No," I agreed, grinning. "I have come home to take
my uncle's throne, and I have every intention of doing it.
As for Betlam, we have harried him long enough. In a
month, or two or three, he will come out of Mujhara to
fight. This thing will be settled then."

"And his daughter?"

I looked directly at him, tasting the dust of warfare in

THE SONG OF HOMANA    147

my mouth as we moved toward our battle- "She is Tynstar's
light woman, by all accounts—including her own. For that
alone, I will make her mine."

"Revenge." He did not smile. "I understand that well
enough, Carillon, having tasted it myself—but I think it is
more than that."

"Political expediency," I assured him blandly. "She is a
valuable tool."

A scowl pulled his face into grim lines. "In the clans, it
is not the same,"

"No," I agreed quietly. "In the clans you take women as
you will and care little enough for the politics of the
move." I glanced back at my soldiers. They followed in a
tight unit, bristling with swords and knives and ringmail.
"Men have need of such things as wives and children," I
told him quietly. "Kings have need of more."

"More," he said in disgust, and his eyes were on Storr.
The wolf loped by Finn's horse, silver head turned up so
their eyes locked: one pair of eerie, yellow eyes; one pair
of amber, bestial eyes. And yet I could not say who was
truly the beast.

Or if either of them were.

Our attack swept down on Bellam's patrol and engulfed
the guardsmen. I halted my horse some distance from the
melee and set about loosing arrow after arrow into se-
lected targets. The Atvian longbow, for all its range was
good, lacked the power of my Cheysuli bow; until my
arrows were gone, I would be well-nigh invincible.

Or so 1 thought, until one Atvian arrow, half-spent,
struck the tender flesh of my horse's nose and drove him
into a frenzy of pain. I could not control him. Rather than
lose myself to a pain-crazed horse in place of an Atvian
arrow, I jumped from the horse and set about doing what
I could on foot.
My Homanans fought well, proving their worth. There
was no hesitation on their part. even facing the archers
who had so badly defeated them six years before. But we
were greatly outnumbered. Bellam's men turned fiercely
upon my own, slashing with swords, stabbing with knives,
screaming like utter madmen as they threw themselves

148 Jennifer Roberson

into the fight. So many times we had swarmed upon them
like gnats; at last they swatted back.

I discarded my bow when my arrows were gone, turn-
ing instead to my sword. I waded into the nearest knot of
men, slashing at the enemy. Almost instantly I was en-
gaged by an Atvian wielding a huge broadsword. I met
blade with blade and gasped as the jar ran up through my
arms to my shoulders, lodging in knotted muscles. I disen-
gaged, counterthrust, then sank my own blade deep in his
chest.

The man went down at once. I wrenched my sword free
and staggered across the body, ducking another scything
sweep near my head, swung around and cut loose the arm
that swung the blade. The Solindishman went down scream-
ing, spraying blood across matted grass already boggy with
gore. One glance showed me the battle had turned decid-
edly in Solindish favor.

The trick was now to get out. My horse had been left
behind. But most of the enemy was on foot as well, since
we struck first at their mounts, and a foot race is more
commonly won by men with greater reason to run. 1 had
reason enough.

I looked for Finn and found him not far from me, as
ever, shouting something as he closed with a Solindish
soldier. He wore his human form, eschewing the savagery
that accompanies the shapechange in the midst of battle.
It was a matter of balance, he had told me once; a Cheysuli
warrior remains himself even in fir-shape, but should he
ever lose himself in the glory of a fight, he could lose
himself forever. It was possible a warrior, crossing over
the boundaries of balance, might remain a beast forever.

I did not care to think of Finn locked into his wolf-
shape. Not forever. I needed him too much as himself.

And then I saw Storr running between two men. His
tail was straight out as he streaked across the bloodied
field. His ears were pinned back against his head and his
teeth were bared. I knew then he ran to aid Finn, and I
knew he was too late.

The sword came down and bit into the wolfs left shoul-
der. His yelp of pain pierced through the din of battle like
a scythe. Finn heard it at once, or else he heard some-

THE SONG OF HOMANA      149

thing more within the link. Helplessly 1 watched him turn
away from his enemy to look for Storr.

"No!" I roared, trying to run through the slippery grass.
"Finn—look to yourself."

But he did not. And the Atvian spear drove into his
right leg and buried itself in the hillside.

1 threw myself over dead and wounded, enemy and
Homanan alike. Finn was sprawled on his back against the
ground, trying to wrench the spear from his thigh. But it
had gone straight through, pinning him down, even as he
sought to break the shaft with his hands.

The Atvian spearman, seeing his advantage, pulled his
knife from its sheath and lunged.

1 brought down my sword from the highest apex of its
arc, driving it through leather and mail and flesh. The
body toppled forward. I caught it before it fell across Finn
and dragged it away, tossing it to one side. And then I
cursed as I saw the damage that had already been done;

how he had laid open the flesh of Finn's face with his
knife. The bloody wound bisected the left side from eye to
jaw.

I broke the spear in my hands and rolled Finn onto one
side, grateful he was unconscious. I pulled the shaft free
as the leg twitched and jumped beneath my hands. Blood
ran freely from the wound, pooling in the matted, tram-
pled grass. And then I pulled my liege man from the
ground and carried him from the field.

Finn screamed Storr's name, lunging upward against
my restraining hands. I pressed him down against the
pallet, trying to soothe him with words and wishes alone,
but he was too far gone in fever and pain. I doubted he
heard me, or even knew I was there,

The tiny pavilion was rank with heat and the stench of
blood. The chirurgeons had done what they could, stitch-
ing his face together again with silk thread and painting it
with an herbal paste, but it was angry and swollen and
ugly. The wound in his thigh they had drained and poul-
ticed. but one man had gone so far as to say he thought it
must come off. I had said no instantly, too shocked to

150 Jennifer Rober«on

consider the amputation, but now that some time had
passed I understood the necessity of the suggestion.
Did the leg fill with poison, Finn would die. And I did
not wish to give him over to such pain.

1 knelt rigidly at his side, too stiff and frightened to
move away. The doorflap hung closed to shut out the
gnats and flies, the air was heavy and stifling. Rowan stood
beside me in the dimness of the tent, saying nothing, but
I knew he felt his own measure of shock and apprehen-
sion. Finn had ever seemed invincible, even to those he
hardly knew. To those of us who knew him best of all—

"He is Cheysuli." Rowan meant to reassure me.

I looked down on the pale, sweating face with its hid-
eous wound. Even stitched closed, the thing was terrible.
It snaked across his face from eye to jaw, puckering the
flesh into a jagged, seeping serpent. Aye, he was Cheysuli.

"They die,' I said in a ragged tone. "Even Cheysuli
die."

"Less often then most." He moved forward a little. Like
me, he was splattered with blood. Rowan and his men had
gotten free without losing a single life. I had lost most of
my unit, and now perhaps Finn as well. "My lord—the
wolf is missing."                                         H

"I have dispatched men to search. . . ."I said nothing      \
more. Storr's body had not been found upon the field.       *:

And I myself had seen the sword cut into his shoulder.

"Perhaps—once he is found—"                           \s,

"For a Cheysuli, you know little enough of your cus-   ij,
toms." Abruptly I cursed myself for my curtness. It was    v
not my place to chastise Rowan for what he could not
help. I glanced up at his stricken face, realized he risked
as much as I in this endeavor, and tried to apologize.

He shook his head. "No. I know what you say. You have
the right of it- If the wolf is already slain—or dies—you
will lose your liege man."

"I may lose him anyway." It seemed too much to hope   ,,
he would live. And if I gave the order to take his leg—

"Carillon." It was Alix. pulling aside the doorflap, and I
stared in blank astonishment. "They sent for me." She
came into the tent, dropping the flap behind her, and I
saw the pallor of her face. "Duncan is not here?"

THE SONG OF HOMANA       151

"I have sent for him."
She moved closer and knelt down at my side, amber
eyes fixed on Finn. Seeing him again through her vision, I
nearly turned away. He wore a death's-head in place of his
own.

Alix put out her hand and touched his bare arm. The
fir-gold with its wolf-shape was smeared with blood, dulled
by grime; it seemed a reflection of his death. But she
touched his arm and then clasped his slack hand, as if she
could not let him go.

I watched her face. She knelt at his side and held his
hand so gently. There was a sudden horrified grief in her
eyes, as if she realized she would lose the man who had
given her over to her heritage, and that realization broke
down the wall between them. Ever had they been at one
another's throats, cutting with knives made of words and
swords made of feelings. They were kin and yet more than
that, so much more, and I think she finally knew it.

She tipped back her head. I saw the familiar detached
expression enter her eyes, making them blank and black
and odd. Suddenly Alix was more Cheysuli than I had
ever seen her, and I sensed the power move into her soul.
So easily she summoned it, and then she released a sigh.

"Storr is alive."

I gaped at her.

"He is sorely hurt. Dying." Grief etched lines into her
smooth face. "You must go. Fetch him back at once, and
perhaps we can save them both."

"Where?"

"Not far." Her eyes were on Finn again and still she
clasped his hand. "Perhaps a league. Northwest. There is
a hill with a single tree upon it. And a cairn marker." She
shut her eyes a moment, as if she drew upon the memory
of the power. "Carillon—go now ... I can reach Duncan
through Cat."

I stood up at once, hardly aware of the protests of my
body. I did not need to tell her to tend him well. I merely
went out in my bloody, crusted leather-and-mail and or-
dered a horse at once.

152 Jennifer Roberson

Rowan came out of the pavilion as I rode up with Storr
clasped in my arms. I dismounted carefully, loath to give
the wolf over to anyone else, and went in as Rowan pulled
aside the doorHap. It was then I was conscious of the
harpsong and Lachlan's nimble fingers.

He sat on a campstool at Finn's side. His Lady was set
against his chest, resting on one knee, and he played.
How he played. The golden notes, so sweet and pure,
poured forth from the golden strings. His head was bowed
and his eyes were shut. His face was rigid with concentra-
tion. He did not sing, letting the harp do it for him, but I
knew what magic he sought.

A healer, he had called himself. And now he tried to
heal.

I knelt down and set Storr at Finn's side as gently as I
could. Carefully I placed one limp brown hand into the
stiffened silver fur. then moved back. The harpsong played
on, dying away, and at last there was silence again.

Lachlan shifted a little, as if he awoke "He is—beyond
my aid. Even Lodhi's, I fear. He is Cheysuli—" He stopped,
for there was little left to say.

Alix was in the shadows. She had left Finn's side as I
entered, making room for Storr, and now she stood in the
center of the tent. Her braids were coiled and pinned
against her head but glittered not, for it seemed there was
no light within the tent. No light at all.

"Duncan comes," she said softly.

"In time?"

"I cannot say."

I crossed my arms and hugged my chest as if I could
keep the pain from showing on my face. "Gods—he is my
right hand! I need him still—"

"We all need him." Her quiet words reproved me for
my selfishness, though I doubt she meant them to.

A single note rang out from the harp as Lachlan shifted
again on his stool. He silenced it at once, very grave of
(ace. "How do you fare. Carillon?"

"Well enough," I said impatiently, and then I realized
he referred to the blood on my mail. "I am unharmed. It
was Finn they struck instead." The wolf lay quietly at his
side, still breathing; so, thank the gods, was Finn.

THE SONG OF HOMANA   153

"My lord." It was Rowan's tentative voice. "Shall I tell
the princess the harper is come?"

For a moment I could not understand him. And then I
knew. Lachlan had come from Bellam to direct the ex-
change. Electra for Tourmaline. And now I could hardly
think.
Lachlan's eyes were on me. "Your sister is well. Caril-
lon. Somewhat weary of being held in Bellam's command,
but she has taken no harm. None at all." I was aware of an
odd note in his voice. "She is well indeed . . . and lovely."

I looked more sharply at him. But I had no time to
untangle the subtleties I heard, or the emotions of the
moment. There were other things more pressing. "Where
is she?"

"Not far from here. Bellam sent her out with a Solindish
guard, and myself. They wait with her. I am to bring the
Princess Electra, and then escort Tony back," He caught
himself at once. "The Princess Tourmaline,"

I did not wish to think of Electra, nor even Tourmaline.
And yet I must. Impatiently I nodded at Rowan. 'Tell her
Lachlan is come, and to ready herself. When there is
time, the exchange will be made." '

Rowan bowed and left at once, perhaps grateful for a
task. There is nothing so helpless as a man who must
watch another die.

The flap was ripped aside. Duncan stood in the open-
ing, backlighted by the sunlight, and suddenly the pavil-
ion was filled with illumination. He was a silhouette against
die brilliance until he came in, and then I saw how harshly
set was his face.

"Alix." She went to him at once. Duncan hardly looked
at me, for his attention was fixed on Finn. "Harper," he
said, "I thank you. But this is Cheysuli-done."

Lachlan took the dismissal with good grace, rising in-
stantly from the stool and moving out of the way. Duncan
pushed the campstool away and knelt down with Alix at
one side. He said nothing at all to me.

"I have never done this." There was fear in Alix's voice.

The heavy gold on Duncan's arms glowed in the shad-
ows, reflecting the light that crept in through the gaps in
the door-flap. "You have the Old Blood, cheysula. You

154 Jennifer Roberson

need fear nothing of this. It is the earth magic we seek.
You need only ask it to come, and it will use you to heal
Finn. And Storr." Briefly he cupped her head in one hand
and pressed it against one shoulder. "I promise you—it
will be well done."

She said nothing more. Duncan released her and set
one hand against the wound in the wolfs side. Of the two,
Storr seemed to have a more fragile hold on life. And if he
died before they healed Finn, the thing was futile indeed.
"Lose yourself," Duncan said. "Go down into the earth
until there is nothing but the currents of life. You will
know it—be not afraid. Tap it, Alix, and let it flow through
you into the wolf. He is lir. He will know what we do for
him."

I watched the changes in Alix's face. At first she was
hesitant, following Duncan's lead, and then I saw the first
indication of her own power. She knelt beside the wolf
with her hands clasped lightly in her lap, eyes gone in-
ward to face her soul. For a moment her body wavered
and then it straightened. I saw the concentration and the
wonder as she slipped from this world into another.

I nearly touched her then. I took two steps, intending to
catch her in my arms, but the knowledge prevented me.
What she did was beyond my ken—what she was, as
well—but I knew Duncan. I knew he would never risk
her. Not even to save his brother.

A tiny sound escaped her mouth, and then she was
gone. Her body remained, so still and rigid, but Alix was
gone. Somewhere far beneath the earth she roamed, seek-
ing the healing arts her race claimed as their own, and
Duncan was with her. I had only to look at his face and
see the familiar detachment. It was profoundly moving,
somehow, that a man and woman could link so deeply on a
level other than sexual, and all to save a wolf.

Cheysuli magic goes into the earth, taps the strength of
the ancient gods and lends it to the one who requires the
healing. The sword wound in Storr's shoulder remained,
but it lacked the unhealthy stink and appearance. His
breathing steadied. His eyes cleared. He moved, twitch-
ing once all over, and came into the world again.

Alix sagged. Duncan caught her and clasped her against

THE SONG OF HOMANA    155

his chest, much as Lachlan clasped his Lady. I saw the
fear and weariness etched in his face and wondered if he
had lied to her, saying it was safe when such magic took a
part of the soul away. Perhaps, for Finn, he would risk
Alix.

It made me profoundly angry. And then the anger died,
for I needed them both. I needed them all.

"No more," Duncan told her. "Storr is well enough. But
now it is my task to heal Finn."

"Not alone!" She sat up, pulling out of his arms. "Do
you think I will give you over to that when I have felt it
myself? No, Duncan—call the others. Link with them all.
There is no need for you to do this alone."
"There is," he told her gently. "He is my rujho. And I
am not alone . . . there is Cai." He smiled. "My thanks for
your concern, but it is unwisely spent. Save it for Finn
when he wakens."

And then he slipped away before she could protest,
sliding out of our hands like oil. The shell we knew as
Duncan remained, but he was gone. Whatever made him
Duncan had gone to another place, and this time he was
gone deeper and longer, so deep and so long I thought we
had lost them both.

"Alix!" I knew she meant to follow. I bent to pull her
from the ground.

She turned an angry face to me. "Do not keep me from
him, Carillon! Do you think I could bear to lose him like
this? Even for Finn—"

"You risked yourself for me, once, when I did not wish
you to," I told her harshly. "When I lay chained in Atvian
iron, and you came as a falcon to free me. Do you think I
would have given you permission for such a thing?" I
shook my head. "What Duncan does is for him to do. Did
he want you with him, he would have asked it."

She wrenched her head around to stare again at her
husband. He knelt by Finn's side, there and yet not. And
Finn, so weak upon the pallet, did not move.

"I could not make a choice," she said in a wavering
voice. "I ever thought I would say Duncan before anyone
else, but I could not. I want them both. ..."

"I know. So do I. But it is for the gods to decide."

156 Jennifer Robarson

"Has Lachlan turned you priest?" She smiled a little,
bitterly. "I never knew you to prate of such things."

"I do not prate of them now. Call it tahlmorra, if you
will." I smiled and made the gesture. "What is there for
us to do but wait and see what will happen?"

Duncan said something then. It was garbled,   tangled up
in the Old Tongue and his weariness, but it   was a sound.
He moved as if to rise, could not, and fell   back to knock
his head against the campstool. Lachlan set   down his Lady
and knelt at once to give him support, even   as Alix
wrenched herself free of me.

"You fool," Finn said weakly. "It is not for a man to do
alone."

I stared at him, unsure I had heard him correctly. But it
was Finn, white as death, and I saw tears in his eyes.

Duncan pushed himself upward with Lachlan's help,
He sat half-dazed, legs sprawled, as if he could not come
back to himself. Even as Alix knelt down before him he
seemed not to know her.

I saw Finn push an elbow against the pallet to lever
himself up. And again it was myself who pushed him
down. "Lie you still."

"Duncan—" he said thickly, protesting ineffectively.

"Come back!" Alix shouted. "By the gods, you fool—"
And she struck Duncan hard across the face with the flat
of her hand.

It set up brilliant color in his face, turning his cheek
dark red. But sense was in his eyes again. He looked at
Alix, at me, at Finn, and then he was Duncan again.
"Gods," he said weakly. "I did not know—"

"No," Finn agreed, with my hand upon his shoulder in
case he moved again. "You did not, you fool. Did you
think I would wish to trade your life for mine?" He gri-
maced then, and instantly hissed as the expression pulled
the stitches against his swollen flesh. "By the gods—that
Atvian—"

"—is slain," I finished. "Did you think 1 would let him
finish what he had begun?"

Finn's hand was in Storr's matted pelt. His eyes were
shut in a gray-white face. I thought he had lost conscious-
ness again.

THE SONG OF HOMANA

157

"Rujfw," Duncan said, "there is something you must
do."

"Later," Finn said through the taut line of his mouth.

"Now." Duncan smiled. "You owe thanks to Carillon."

I looked at him in surprise. Finn's eyes opened a slit,
dilated black and glittering with the remnants of his fever.
"It was you who—"

"Aye," Duncan interrupted, "but it was Carillon who
carried you from the field. Else you would still be there,
and dead."

I knew what he did. Finn has never been one for
showing gratitude, though often enough I knew he felt it.
I myself had trouble saying what I meant; for Finn it was
harder still. I thought of protesting, then let Duncan have
his way. He it was who had had the raising of Finn, not
me.

Finn sighed. His eyes closed again. "He should have
left me. He should not have risked himself."

"No," Duncan agreed, "but he did. And now there are
the words to be said."

I thought Finn was asleep. He did not move, did not
indicate he heard. But he had. And at last he looked at me
from beneath his heavy lids. "Leijhana tu'sai," he muttered.

I blinked. And then I laughed. "In the Old Tongue, I
would not know if you thanked me or cursed me."

"He thanked you," Duncan said gravely. And then,
"Leijhana tu'sai. Carillon."

I realized I was the only one standing. Even Lachlan
knelt, so close to Duncan, with his Lady gleaming on the
table. It was an odd sensation to have such people in such
postures, and to know one day it would be expected.

I looked at Lachlan. "We have an exchange to conduct."

He rose and gathered his harp. But before we left the
tent I glanced back at Finn.

He slept. "Leijhana tu'sai," I said, "for living instead of
dying."

FOURTEEN

I left the tent, my legs trembling with the aftermath of
fatigue and tension. I stopped just outside, letting the
doorfiap fall shut behind me. For a moment I could only
stare blankly at the few pavilions scattered across the turf
in apparent confusion, lacking all order. I had taken the
idea from the Cheysuli, although here we lacked the trees
to hide ourselves adequately, We had camped on a grassy
plain, leaving the forests behind as we moved closer to
Mujhara; closer to Bellam and my throne. The encamp-
ment was little more than a scattering of men with cookfires
here and there. But it had served us well.

I sucked in a deep breath, as deep as I could make it,
filling my lungs with air. The stink of the army camp faded
to nonexistence as I thought how close I had come to
losing Finn. I knew perfectly well that had my chirurgeons
pressed to take his leg. he would have found another way
to die. A maimed warrior, he had told me once, was of
little use to his clan. In Finn's case, it was worse; he
would view himself as useless to his Mujhar as well, and
that would pervert his tahlmorra and his very reason for
living.

Lachlan slipped through the entrance. I heard the hiss
of fabric as he moved, scraping one hand across the woven
material. Few of us had tents to claim as shelter, I, being
Mujhar, had the largest, but it was not so much. This one
served as a temporary infirmary; the chirurgeons had kept

I 158 I

THE SONG OF HOMANA   159

all others free of it when I had brought Finn. He would be
nursed in private.

Lachlan's arms were empty of harp for once. "Finn will
live. You need fear no more."

"Have you consulted Lodhi?"

He made no indication my comment bothered him.
"There is no need for that. I asked His help before, but
there was nothing in Finn I could touch. He was too far
from this world, too lost in his pain and Storr's absence.
But when Duncan and Alix worked their magic—" He
broke off, smiling a little. "There is much I cannot under-
stand. And until I know more of the Cheysuli, I cannot
hope to make songs of them."

"Most men cannot understand the Cheysuli," I told
him. "As for songs—I doubt they would wish it. There are
legends enough about them." I stared at the tiny field
pavilion farthest from where we stood. It was guarded by
six soldiers, "How many men are with my sister?"

"Bellam sent a guard of fifty with her." His face was
grave. "My lord—you do not intend to go yourself—"

"She is my sister." I set off toward the saffron-colored
tent as Lachlan fell in beside me. "I owe Tourmaline what
honor there is, and of late there is little. I will send no
man in my place."

"Surely you will take some of your army with you."

I smiled, wondering if he sought the information for
simple curiosity's sake. "No."

"Carillon—"

"If it is a trap, the teeth will close on air." I signaled to
the soldiers guarding Electra's tent. They stepped away at
once, affording me privacy, though they remained within
earshot. "You would know, perhaps, what Bellam intends
for me."

Lachlan smiled as I paused before the tent. "He did not
divulge his plans to me, unfortunately. He welcomed me
as a harper, not a confidant I cannot say he sends men to
take you, but I think it very likely." His eyes went past
me to study the scattered encampment "You would do
well to take a substantial escort."

"No doubt," I said blandly.

I turned and pulled aside the door-flap, but did not go in

160 Jennifer Roberson

at once. I could not. The sunlight was brilliant as it slashed
into the interior, illuminating the woman who sat within.
She wore a dark brown gown laced with copper silk at
throat and cuffs. A supple leather belt, clay-bleached to a
soft yellow, bound her slender waist, fastened with a
copper buckle. The gown was from Alix, fashioned by her
own hands, given freely to replace the soiled gray velvet
Electra had worn the day Finn caught her. The new one
fit well enough, for they were of a like size, though noth-
ing like in coloring.

Electra waited quietly, seated on a three-legged camp-
stool with the folds of her dark skirts foaming around her
feet like waves upon a shore. She sat erect, shoulders put
back, so that the slender, elegant line of her neck met the
jaw to emphasize the purity of her bones. She had braided
her hair into a single loose-woven rope that hung over one
shoulder to spill into her lap, coiled like a serpent. The
smooth, pale brow cried out for a circlet of beaten gold,
or—perhaps better—silver, to highlight the long-lidded,
magnificent eyes.

I knew Rowan had been here to tell her. She waited,
hands clasped beneath the rope of shining hair. Silently
she sat upon the stool as the sunlight passed through the
weave of the saffron-colored tent to paint her with a pas-
tel, ocherous glow. She wore the twisted gold at her
throat, and it shone.

By the gods, so did she. And I wanted so much to lose
myself in it. In her. Gods, but what a woman can do to a
man—

Even the enemy.

Forty years, this woman claimed. And I denied it, as
ever.

I put out my hand to raise her from the stool. Her
fingers were still, making no promises, though I had had
that of her, as well.

"You have been in battle." Her voice was cool as ever,
with its soft, Solindish cadence.
1 had not put off the blood-crusted leather-and-mail. My
hair, dried now from the sweat of my exertions, hung
stiffly against my shoulders. No doubt I smelled of it as
well, but I wasted no time on the niceties of such things

THE SONG OF HOMANA   161

while I had a war to fight. "Come, lady—your father
waits."

"Did you win your battle?" She allowed me to lead her
from the tent, making no move to remove her hand from

my grasp.

I shook my head. Rowan stood outside with four horses.
I saw no good in gaming with her, denying my loss to
gain a satisfaction that would not last. I had lost, but
Bellam still lacked his pretender-prince.

Electra paused as she saw the empty saddles. Four
horses only, and no accompaniment. "Where are my
women?"

"I sent them back long ago." I smiled at her. "Only you
were brought here. But then you were compromised the
moment Finn took you captive. What should it matter,
Electra—you are an Ihlini's light woman.*'

Color came into her face. I had not expected to see it,
from her. She was a young woman suddenly, lacking the
: wisdom of experience, and yet I saw the glint of knowl-
edge in her eyes. I wondered, uneasily, ifTynstar's arts
had given her youth in place of age. "Does it grate within
your soul?" she asked. "Does it make you wish to put your
stamp upon me, to erase Tynstar's?" She smiled, a mere
curving of the perfect mouth. "You fool. You could not
begin to take his place."

"You will have the opportunity to know." I boosted her
into the saddle without further comment, and felt the
rigid unyielding in her body. I had cut her, somehow: but
then she had cut me often enough. I nodded at Rowan.
"Send for Zared, at once."

When Zared came he bowed respectfully. His gray-red
hair was still cropped closely against his head, as was
common in soldiery. I had not taken up the custom be-
cause it had been easy enough, in Caledon, to braid it and
bind it with the scarlet yarn of a mercenary. It had been
what I was.

"See to it the camp is dispersed," I told him. "I want no
men here to receive Bellam's welcome, for you may be
quite certain his daughter will tell him where we have
been." I did not look at her, having no need; I could sense
162 Jennifer Roberson

her rigid attention. "When I am done with this exchange,
I will find the army."

"Aye, my lord Mujhar." He bowed, all solemn servi-
tude, and stepped away to follow orders.

Lachlan mounted next to me, and Rowan next to Electra.
She was hemmed in on both sides, closely kept. It would
not do to lose her now, before I claimed my sister.

Electra looked at us all. "No army to escort you?"

"Need I one?" I smiled. I glanced to Lachlan and saw
his gesture. Westward, toward Mujhara, and Tourmaline,
my sister.

The sun beat down upon our heads as we waited on the
hilltop. We silhouetted ourselves against the horizon, a
thing I had not done in the long months of bitter war, but
now I did it willingly. I wanted Tourmaline to see us
before the exchange was made, so she would know it was
us in truth, and not some trick of Bellam's.

The plains stretched below us. No more spring; it was
nearly midsummer. The sun had baked the green from the
land, turning it yellow and ocher and amber, and the dust
rose from the hooves of more than fifty horses to hang in
the air like smoke. Through the haze I could see the men,
in Sotindish colors, glittering with ringmail and swords. A
troop of men knotted about a single woman like a fist
around a hilt.

I could not see Tourmaline well. But from time to time
I saw the dappled gray horse and the slender, upright
figure, wearing no armor but a gown instead, an indigo-
colored gown and no traveling mantle to keep the dust off
her clothing; Even her head was bared, and her tawny-
dark hair hung down freely to tangle across the horse's
gray rump.

I heard Lachlan's quiet, indrawn breath. I heard my
own as well, but it lacked the note I heard in his. I
glanced at him a moment, seeing how avidly he watched
the troop approach; how intent were his eyes upon the
woman. Not my sister, in that instant, but a woman.

I knew then. beyond any doubt at all, that Lachlan plot-
ted no treachery, no betrayal. I was certain of it, in that
instant. To do so would endanger Tourmaline, and that he

163

THE SONG OF HOMANA

would never countenance. I had only to look at his face as
he looked for hers, and at last I had my answer.

If for nothing else, he would be loyal to me out of
loyalty to my sister. And what a weapon he gave me, did I
find the need to use it.

The SoUndish troop stopped at the foot of the hill. The
sun glittered off their trappings; off their ringmail; off their
intention. Fifty men bent on taking Bellam's enemy. And
that enemy with only a token escort at his side.

;    It was warm on the hilltop. The air was quite still; the
'^ silence was broken only by the jingle and clash of horse
^ trappings and the buzzing hum of an occasional insect.
|| The dust was dry in my mouth and nose; I tasted the flat,
y" bitter salt of summer-swept plains. Come fall, turf would
H spring up beneath a gentler sun. Come winter, snow
I- would blanket the world. Come spring, I should be King.

^    If not before.

^   I looked through the clustered troop to the treasure
^ they guarded so closely. Tourmaline, a princess of Homana.
^ The woman Bellam had threatened to wed; the woman he
^; could not because I had taken his daughter. A princess for

f. a princess.

?a    She sat quite still upon her horse, her hands holding the
^ reins. But she was not entirely free. A soldier flanked her
:s directly on either side; a lead-rope tied her horse to a man
^ who rode before her. They meant not to lose her so easily,

t- did I give them cause to fight.
^     Lachlan's breath was audible in his throat. It rasped,

sliding through the constriction slowly, so that Rowan
''"• glanced at him. There was curiosity in Rowan's eyes;

. knowledge in Electra's. She would know. She would know
what he felt; a man in love with a woman, looking at her

with desire.

"Well?" I said at last. "Are we to confront one another

in silence all day, or is there a thing I must do?"

Lachlan wrenched his attention back to me. "I am to
escort Electra down, and bring Torry back with me."

;,     "Do it"
•    He rubbed at the flesh beneath the silver circlet on his

^ brow. Nothing more?"
|f   "Am I to think you seek to warn me of some treachery?"
164 Jennifer Roberson

I smiled. "Do what you have said must be done. I want
my sister back."

His jaw tightened. Briefly he glanced at Electra. She sat
very still on her horse, like Torry, hardly moving her
hands upon the reins. But I saw her fingers tense and the
subtle shift other weight. She meant to run, with Tourma-
line still held.

I reached out and caugh't one of her wrists, clamping
down tightly. "No," I said calmly. "Do you forget 1 have a
bow?"

Her eyes went to the Cheysuli bow at once. And my
quiver, freshly filled. "You might slay some," she con-
ceded coolly, "but I doubt you could slay them all before
they took you."

"No," I agreed, "but have I spoken of slaying men?"

She understood at once. I saw the color move into her
face swiftly, setting flags of anger into her cheeks. The
somnolent, ice-gray eyes were blackened with frustration,
but only for a moment. She smiled. "Slay me, then, and
you purchase your fate from Tynstar."

"I do not doubt I have done so already," I told her
calmly. "I think my sister is worth dying for. But are
you?"

"So long as you do the dying." She did not look at me.
She looked instead at the troop of men her father had sent
to fetch her.

1 laughed and released her wrist. "Go, then, Electra.
Tell your father—and your sorcerer—whatever you wish
to say. But remember that I will have you as my wife."

Loathing showed on her face. "You will have nothing,
pretender-prince. Tynstar will see to that."

"My lord." Rowan sounded uneasy. "They are fifty to
our three."

"So they are." I nodded to Lachlan. "Take her down,
and bring my sister back."

Lachlan put out his hand to grasp Electra's rein. But
she did not let him. She pulled the horse away and set
him to walking down the hill. Lachlan fell in close beside
her almost at once, and I watched as they rode toward the
troop. I unstrapped the bow so the captain could see it,

THE SONG OF HOMANA      165
though I did not intend to use it. I did not think I would
need it.

Electra was swallowed almost at once by the Solindish
soldiers and I was left without a target. Unless one counted
the captain and his men. But Electra had the right of it; I
could not slay them all. Even with Rowan at my side.

He shifted in his saddle. "My lord—"

"Be patient," I chided gently.

Lachlan waited at the edge of the hard-eyed throng.
The sun on his dyed hair treated it poorly, turning it dull
and lifeless. Only the glint of silver on his brow lent him
authenticity, and that only won through his harp. I won-
dered again what made him the man he was, and how it
was to be a priest.

The troop parted. Tourmaline came forward on her
dappled gray horse. Like Electra, she did not hasten, but
I saw the tension in her body. Doubtless she feared the
trade would not be finished.

Well, it was not finished yet.

Lachlan put out his hand to her. Briefly she held it
tightly with her own, as if thanking him for his care; I
watched in bemusement. It was all well and good for a
harper to love a princess—that happened with great regu-
larity, to judge by the content of their lays—but I was not
certain Tourmaline's apparent regard for him pleased me
one whit. He was a harper, and she was meant for a
prince.

"They come," Rowan said softly, more to himself than
to me.

They came. Side by side, no longer clasping hands,
their shoulders rigid against the Solindish guard. Dust
rose up from the ground and enyeloped them in a veil;

Tourmaline's eyes were squinted against it as she came yet
closer to me. And then she was laughing, calling out my
name, and kicked her horse into a run.

I did not dismount, for all it would have been an easier
greeting on the ground. She set her horse into mine, but
gently, and our knees knocked as she reached out to hug
my neck. It was awkward on horseback, but we got it
done. And then, as she opened her mouth to speak again,
I waved her into silence.

166 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, im-
potent 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-scan-ed 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 un-
derstood 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 dark-
ness, as if a plague of shadows had come to settle across us

THE SONG OF HOMANA   167

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, "for-
give 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
ways of overcoming the enemy than merely by slaying
him. With the Cheysuli, half the defeat comes from know-
ing 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 threat-
ening 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 war-
riors, 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

168 Jennifer Roberson

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 cap-
tured 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 Tour-
maline. "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," Tony 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.

I jumped from my horse by the door-flap and turned to
Terry'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,

I 169 I

170 Jennifer Rotwson

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 be-
tween us, and I saw she recalled it well.   Ever the 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. Ifis 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 SONG OF HOMANA   171

the dust. "See you she has food and wine. It will be your
task to make certain she is well."

"My lord," he 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 forget-
ting 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 other 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
\'! 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

Stelking 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.
H, 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.
;b"'"No doubt she would welcome company."
^'J His face colored, then blanched. He had not realized
H'how easily I saw his feelings. His hands touched his silver
||,Circlet as if to gather strength. "No doubt. But yours, I
11|'think, not mine."

^ I let it go, knowing I might use it later to bind him to
|a;Bae. Through Tourmaline, at least, I could know the har-
L'per's intentions. "Come, then. We must tell Finn what

17Z Jennifer Roberson

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 some-
thing 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 to-
gether, 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.

THE SONG OF HOMANA    173

''
:v

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. 1 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 con-
jured 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,

174 Jennifer Roberson

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 heal-
ing. It is dependent on the injury." For a moment tenta-
tive 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 with-
out your suggestion?"

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 wefl, 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

THE SONG OF HOMANA    175

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
tangs?' 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 ofTorry's rank.

I leaned forward a moment and scrubbed at my gritty,
burning eyes. And then I heard the scream.

Finn tensed to rise and then fell back; no doubt he
feared it was Alix. But at once I "knew it was not. The
. sound belonged to my sister.

I do not recall how I got from Finn's tent to my own,
nor do I recall Lachlan at my side holding his gleaming
harp. He was simply there, clasping his Lady, and the
curses poured from his mouth. I hardly heard them. In-
stead I heard the echo ofTorry's scream and the pounding
of my blood.

Men stood around my pavilion. Someone had pulled the
Awrflap aside and tied it. I saw shadows within, and
silhouettes; I tore the throng apart and thrust myself in-
side, not caring whom I hurt.

Tourmaline stood in one comer, clutching a loose green
|,robe of my own around her body. A single candle filled
Idle tent with muted, smoky light; it painted her face rigid
r and pale and glowed off the gold in her hair.

I   She saw me and put up a hand at once, as if to stay me.
| As if to tell me she had suffered no harm. It passed
|through my mind then that my sister was a stronger

176 Jennifer Roberson

woman than I had supposed, but I had no more time for
that. It was Rowan I looked at, and the body he bent over.

"Dead?" I demanded.

Rowan shook his head as he reached down to pull a
knife from the man's slack hand. "No, my lord. I struck
him down with the hilt of my sword, knowing you would
have questions for him."

I moved forward then, reaching to grasp the leather-and-
mail of the man's hauberk. The links bit into my hands as I
jerked him over and up, so I could see him clearly. I
nearly released him then, for the light fell on Zared's face.

He was half-conscious. His eyes blinked and rolled in
his head, which lolled as I held him up. "Well?" I asked of
Rowan. "You were set to guard her."

"Against Zared?" His tone was incredulous. "Better to
guard against me."

I felt the bum of anger in my belly. "Does even that
need doing, I will do iti Answer the question 1 asked!"

The color fell out of his face. I heard Tourmaline's
sound of protest, but my attention was taken up with
Rowan. For a moment there was a Hare of answering
anger in his yellow Cheysuli eyes, and then he nodded.
He did not seem ashamed, merely understanding, and
accepting. It was well; I did not want a man who put his
tail between his legs.

"I heard her cry out," he said. "I came in at once and
saw a man standing over the cot, in the darkness. He held
a knife." Rowan lifted a hand and I saw it. "And so I struck
him down. But it was not until he fell that I saw it was
Zared."

"Tourmaline?" I asked, more gently than I had of Rowan.

"I had put the candle out, so I could sleep," she told me
quietly. "I heard nothing; he was very quiet. And then
suddenly there was a presence, and a shape, and I
screamed. But I think, before that last moment, he knew it
was not you."

Zared roused in my hands and I   tightened my grip. The
ring-mail was harsh against my   fingers but I did not care. I
dragged him up, thrust him out   of the pavilion and saw
him tumble through the throng.   He was left alone to fall;
THE SONG OF HOMANA      177

they closed him within a circle of glittering, ringmailed
leather but did not touch. They waited for me to act.

Zared was fully conscious. He shifted as if to rise, then
„ fell back to kneel upon the ground as the throng took a
? single step forward. He knew the mettle of the men. He

-! knew me.

He touched fingers to the back of his neck where Rowan
had struck him. Briefly he looked at Torry, standing in the
open doorflap, and then he looked at me. "I did not mean
. to harm the lady," he told me calmly. "I admit freely: it
^ was you I wanted."

^   "For that, my thanks," I said grimly. "If I thought it was
\ my sister you meant to slay, your entrails would be
r burning."

1\ "Get it done," he returned instantly. "Give me over to
^,the gods."

^    I looked at him, kneeling there. At the compact, power-
^ fill veteran of my uncle's Solindish wars. My fathers man,
' once, and now he sought to slay his son. "After an expla-
nation," I agreed.

He turned his head and spat. "That for your explana-

•I tion." He sucked in a breath as the gathered men mut-
W- tered among themselves. "I owe you nothing. I give you
t "nothing. There will be no explanation."

I took a step forward, angry enough to strike him as he
% knelt, but Lachlan's hand was on my arm. "No," he said,
I "let me—"

'r   He said nothing more. He did not need to. His fingers
had gone into the strings of his Lady, plucking them, and
the sound silenced us all.

The pavilion cracked behind me- I heard the breath of
(he wind as it whipped at nearby fires. Torry said a word,
a single sound, and then not another one was made.
^ The harp music took us all. I felt it more than heard it

as it dug within my soul, and there it stayed. So did I. The
^ wind blew dust into my eyes, but I not blink. I felt the
I* beating of grit against my face, but did not move to wipe it
" away. I stood quite still as the others did, and listened to

Lachlan's soft promise.
A "You misjudge, Zared." he said. "But how you misjudge

178 Jennifer Roberaon
my Lady. She can conjure visions from a blind man . . .
words from a dumb man. And put madness in its place. ..."

Zared cried out, cringing, and clapped his hands to his
ears. The song went on, weaving us all in its spell. His
fingers dug rigidly into his flesh, as if he could block the
sound. But it sang on, burrowing into his mind even as it
blanked ours out.

"Lachlan," I said, but no sound came out of my mouth.
Zared's hands fell away from his head. He knelt and
stared, transfixed as any child upon an endless wonder:

jaw sagging, drool falling, eyes bulging open in a terrible

joy-

The harp sang on, a descant to the wind. So subtle,
seductive and sly. Lachlan himself, with his dyed hair
blowing and his blue eyes fixed, smiled with incredible
power. I saw his face transfigured by the presence of his
god, he was no more the harper but an instrument of
Lodhi, perhaps the harp herself, and a locus for the magic.
Pluck him and she sounded, sharp and sweet. Pluck her
and he quivered, resonating in the wind.

I shivered. It ran over me like a grue, from scalp to
toes, and I shivered again. I felt the hair stand up from my
flesh and the coldness in my soul. "Lachlan," I begged,
"no—"

The harpsong reached out and wrapped Zared in a
shroud And there he sat, soundless, as it dug into his
mind and stripped it bare, to make his memories visible.

A pavilion. The interior. Ocher and amber and gray.
One candle glowed in the dimness. It glinted off the
ringmail hauberk and tarnished sword hilt. The man stood
in silence with his ruddy head bowed. He dared not look
upon the lady.

She moved into the light. She wore a brown gown and a
yellow belt. She glowed at throat and wrists from the
copper-dyed silk But it was the hair that set her apart,
that and her unearthly beauty.

She put up a hand. She did not touch him. He did not
look at her. But as she moved her fingers they took on a
dim glow. Lilac, I thought. No—purple. The deep purple

r ill. .      .                                 ~              c- r   r

or Ihlmi magic.

She drew a rune in the air. It hissed and glowed,
THE SONG OF HOMANA      179

clinging to the shadows, spitting sparks and tails of flame,
Fearfully Zared raised his head.

His eyes fastened upon it. For a moment he tried to
look away, to look at her, but I could see he had not the
power. He could stare only at the rune. The delicate
tracery of purest purple glowed aginst the air, and as
Electra bid him he put up his hand.

"Touch it," she said. "Take it. Hold it. It will give you
the courage you need."

Zared touched a trembling fingertip to the rune. In-
stantly it spilled down across his flesh, consuming his hand
in livid flame, until he cried out and shook his arm as if to
free it. But by then it was done. I saw the rune, so lively
and avid, run up his arm to his face, his nose, and then it
slid into his nostrils-
He cried out, but it was a noiseless sound. His body was
beset by tremors. His eyes bulged out and blood ran from
his nose, two thin trails of blackened blood. And then, as
he reached for his knife, the trembling was gone and
Electra touched his hand.

b "It is done," she said calmly. "You have watched me so
Mcmg, desiring me so, that I could not help but give you
your wish. I will be yours, but only after this thing is
done. Will you serve me in this?"

Zared merely nodded, eyes transfixed on her face. And
Electra gave him his service.
"Slay him," she said. "Slay the pretender-prince."
The harp music died. Lachlan's Lady fell silent. I heard
Ae wind strike up the song and the echo in my soul. So
easily she had done it.

Zared sat slumped against the earth. His head sagged
upon his chest as if he could not bear to meet my eyes.
Perhaps he could not. He had meant to slay his lord.

I felt old. Nothing worked properly- I thought to cross
to the man and speak to him quietly, but the muscles did
not answer my intentions. And then I heard the harp
again, and the change in the song, and saw the change in
Lachlan's eyes.

"Lachlani" I cried, but the thing was already done.
He conjured Electra before us. The perfect, fine-boned
face with its fragile planes and flawless flesh. The winged

180 Jennifer Roberson

brows and ice-gray eyes, and the mouth that made men
weak. Lachlan gave us all the beauty, and then he took it
from her.
He stripped away the flesh. He peeled it from the bone
until it fell away in crumpled piles of ash. I saw the gaping
orbits of vanished eyes, the ivory ramparts of grinning
teeth. The hinge of the jaws and the arch of her cheeks,
bared for us all to see. And the skull, so smooth and
pearly, stared upon us all.

No man moved. No man could. Lachlan had bound us
all.

The music stopped, and with it Zared's heart.

I wavered, caught myself, and blinked against the dust.
I put a hand to my face to wipe it free of grit, and then I
stopped, for I saw the tears on Lachlan's face.

His hands were quite still upon the strings. The green
stone in the smooth dark wood was dim and opaque. And
his eyes looked past me to Torry.

"Could I undo it, I would," he said in toneless despair.
"Lodhi has made me a healer, and now I have taken a life.
But for you, lady, for what he nearly did to you . . . there
seemed no other way."

Torry's hand crept up to crush a fold of the green
woolen robe against her throat. Her face was white. But 1
saw the comprehension in her eyes.

"Lachlan." My voice was oddly cramped. I swallowed.
clearing my throat, then tried again to speak. "Lachlan, no
man will reprove you for what you have done. Perhaps the
method was—unexpected, but the reasons are clear
enough."

"I have no dispute with that," he said. "It is only that I
thought myself above such petty vengeance." He sighed
and stroked two fingers along his Lady, touching the green
stone gently. "Such power as Lodhi bestows can be used
for harm as well as good. And now you have seen them
both."

I cast an assessive glance around at the staring throng.
There was still a thing to be said. "Is there yet a man who
would slay me? Another man willing to serve the woman's
power?" I gestured toward Zared's body on the ground. "1

THE SONG OF HOMANA    181

'charge you to consider it carefully when you think to
strike me down."

I thought there was need for nothing more, though
something within me longed to cry out at them all, to
claim myself inviolate. It was not true. Kings and princes
„ are subject to assassination more often than death from old
^ age. And yet I thought it unlikely more would strike now,
rafter what had just occurred.

|f 1 looked at the body. It resembled that of a child within
^ the womb, for I had seen a stillbirth once; the arms were

! wrapped around the double-up knees, fingers clawed. The
feet were rigid in their boots. Zared's head was twisted on
his neck and his eyes were open. Staring. I thought I
might get myself the reputation of a man surrounding
, himself with shapechangers and Ellasian sorcerers, and I

fought it just as well. Let any man who thought to slay

|llis king think twice upon the subject.

^ "Go," I said, more quietly. "There are yet battles to be

I'fought, and winejugs to be emptied."

| I saw the smiles. I heard the low-voiced comments.

'What they had seen would not be forgotten, used instead
| to strengthen existing stories. They would drink them-

: selves to sleep discussing the subject of death, but at least

.they would sleep. I thought it unlikely I would.

g, I touched Lachlan on the shoulder. "It was best."

P But he did not look at me. He looked only at my sister

iwhile she stared at Zared's corpse.

, "Does it please you," asked Finn, "to know how much

;the woman desires your death?"

I spun around. He was pale and sweating, white around
I the mouth, and his lips were pressed tightly closed. I saw
| immense tension in the line of his shoulders. The stitches
I-stood out like a brand upon his face. He stood with such
frigidity I dared not touch him, even to help, for fear he
I-might fall down.

| "It does not please me," I answered simply. "But it
|does not surprise me, either. Did you really think it
||would?" I shook my head. "Still ... I had not known she

^neld such power."

f- "She is Tynstar's meijha," Finn said clearly. "A whore,

l.to keep from dirtying the Old Tongue with her name. Do

182 Jennifer Roberson
you think she will let you live? Be not so blind. Carillon—
you have now seen what she can do. She will fill your cup
with bitter poison when you think to drink it sweet."

"Why?" Torry asked sharply. "What is it you say to my
brother?"

I lifted a hand to wave him into silence, then let it drop
back to my side. Finn would never let silence rule his
tongue when there was something he wished to say.

"Has he not told you? He means to wed the woman."

The robe enveloped her in a cloud of bright green wool
as she came from the tent to me. Her hair spilled down
past her waist to ripple at her knees, and she raised a
doubled fist. "You will do no such thing! Electra? Carillon—
have sense! You have seen what she means to do—Electra
desires your death!"

"So does Bellam and Tynstar and every other Solindish-
man in Homana. Do you think I am blind?" I reached out
and caught her wrist. "I mean to wed her when this war is
done, because to do so will settle peace between two lands
that have warred too long. Such things are often done, as
you well know. But now, Tourmaline, now—perhaps we
can make it last."

"Alliance?" she asked. "Do you think Solinde will agree
to any such thing? With Bellam dead—"

"—Solinde will be without a king," I finished. "She
will have me instead, and no more Ihlini minions. Think
you what Shaine meant to do when he betrothed Lindir
to Ellic! He wanted a lasting peace that would end these
foolish wars. Now it is within my grasp to bring this peace
about, and I have every intention of accomplishing it. I
will wed Electra, just as you, one day, will wed a foreign
prince."

Her arm went slack in my hand. Color drained from her
face. "Carillon—wait you—"

"We will serve our House, Tourmaline, as all our ances-
tors have done," I said clearly. "Shall I name them for
you? Shaine himself wed Ellinda of Erinn, before he took
Homanan Lorsilla. And before that—"

"I know\" she cried. "By the gods. Carillon. I am older
than you! But what gives you the right to say whom I will
have in marriage!"

THE SONG OF HOMANA   183

"The right of a brother," I said grimly, disliking to hurt
her so. "The right of the last surviving male of our House.
But most of all ... the right of the Mujhar."

Her arm was still slack in my hand. And then it tight-
ened and she twisted it free of my grasp. "Surely you will
let me have some choice—"

"Could I do it, I would," I said gently. "But it is the
Mujhar of Homana the envoys will approach, not his spin-
ster sister." I paused, knowing how much I hurt her, and
knowing whom she wanted, even as he heard me. "Did
you think yourself free of such responsibility?"

"No," she said finally. "No - . . not entirely. But it
seems somewhat precipitate to discuss whom I will wed
" when you still lack the Lion Throne."
:,   "That is a matter of time." I rubbed at my aching brow
•:. and shifted my attention to Finn. "If I give you an order,
. wi\\ you obey it?"

^   One black brow rose slightly. "That is the manner of my
k service . . . usually."

,€   "Then go to the Keep as soon as you are able." He
IK opened his mouth to protest, but this time 1 won. "I am
y sending Torry, so she will be safe and free of such things
^' as she has encountered tonight." I-did not say she would
4 also be separated from Lachlan, whom I thought might
'•'r offer too much succor for his sake as well as hers. "You I
^'want healed," I went on. "Alix will no doubt wish to
I'' return to Donal, so she can give Torry proper escort.
^itemain until you are fully recovered. And there, my liege
^man, is the order."

„,' He was not pleased with it, but he did not protest. I
^•had taken that freedom from him. And then, before I
^ could put out a hand to aid him as I intended, he turned
~ ."and limped away.

S3

;/ The wind rippled Torry's hair as we watched him go. I
^ .heard surprise and awe in her voice, and recalled she
i^fenew little of the Cheysuli. Only the legends and lays.
^'That," she said, "is strength. And such pride as I have
l^iever seen."

I smiled. That." I said merely, "is Finn."

SIXTEEN

It was bright as glass as I sat outside my pavilion, and the
sunlight beat off my head. I sat on a three-legged camp-
stool with my legs spread, Cheysuli sword resting across
my thighs. I squinted against the brilliant flashes of the
mirrored blade and carefully checked its edges. From
elsewhere, close by, drifted the curl of Lachlan's music.
Come, lady, and sit down beside me,

settle your skirts in the hollowed green hills

and hear of my song

for 1 am a harper

and one who would give of himself

to you.

Rowan stood at my right, waiting for my comment. He
had spent hours honing and cleaning the blade. At first I
had not thought to set him to the task, for in Caledon I
had learned to tend my weapons as I tended my life, but
this was not Caledon. This was Homana, and I must take
on the behaviors of a king. Such things included in that
were having men to tend my weapons, mail and horse.
Still, it had been only this morning that I had trusted my
sword to another.

The ruby, the Mujhar's Eye, glowed brilliantly in the
pommel. The gold prongs holding it in place curved snuggly
around it, like lion's claws; apropos, I thought, since it

I 184 I

THE SONG OF HOMANA    185

was the royal crest. The rampant beast depicted in the hilt
gleamed with a thorough cleaning, and I thought overall it
would do. I touched fingertips to the runes, feeling the
subtle ridges beneath my flesh, and nodded. "Well done,
Rowan. You should have been an arms-master."

"I prefer being a captain," he said, "so long as it is you I
serve,"

I smiled and used a soft cloth to rub the oil of my
fingers from the glory of the steel. "I am not a god,
Rowan. I am as human as you."

"I know that." Some of his awe had faded, that was
obvious. "But given the choice, I would continue to serve
(he Mujhar. Human or not," I glanced up and saw his
smile.

A thin veil of dust hung in the air to layer the men who
caused it. I heard the sound of arms-practice, wrestling,
argument and laughter. But I also heard the harp, and
Lachlan's eloquent voice.

Come, lady, and hear of my harp;

I wiU sing for you, play for you,
wait for you, pray for you
to say you love me, too,. . .
as much as I love you.

I lifted my swordbelt from the ground and set the tip of

the blade against the lip of the sheath. Slowly I slid it
ithome, liking the violent song. Steel against leather, boiled

and wrapped; the hissing of blade against sheath. Better, I

thought, than the chopping of blade hacking flesh or the
. grate of steel against bone.

"Hallooo the camp!" called a distant voice. "A message

from Bellam!"

The dust cloud rolled across the encampment. Four
..men rode in: three were guards, the fourth a Homanan I
^had seen only once before, when I had set him to his task.
' The guards brought him up, taking away his horse as he
; jumped from the mount and dropped to one knee in a

quick, impatient gesture of homage. His eyes sparkled
-.with excitement as I motioned him up. "My lord, I have
t:word from Mujhara."

186 Jennifer Roberson

"Say on."

"It is Bellam, my lord. He desires a proper battle, two
armies in the field, with no more time and blood spent in
pointless skirmishes." He grinned; he knew what I would
say.

I smiled. "Pointless, are they? So pointless now he begs
me hold back my men, because we have undermined his
grip upon Homana. So pointless he wishes to settle the
thing at last." I felt the leap of anticipation within my
chest. At last. At last. "Is there more?"

He was winded, trying to catch his breath. I had taken
up the practice of posting men in relays along the major
roads, ostensibly itemerants or crofters or traders; any-
thing but soldiers. Some had even been sent to Mujhara
to leam what they could firsthand, and to expand on the
insight Lachlan had given us as to Bellam's mind.

"My lord," the man said, "it seems Bellam is angry and
impatient. He is determined to bring you down. He chal-
lenges you, my lord, to a battle near Mujhara. A final
battle, he claims, to end the thing at last."

"Does he?" I grinned at Rowan, "No doubt there were
assorted insults to spice these words of his."
The messenger laughed. "But of course, my lord! What
else does a beaten man do? He blusters and shouts and
threatens, because he knows his strength is failing." Color
stood high in his face. "My lord Carillon, he claims you
fight such skirmishes because you are incapable of com-
manding an entire army within a proper battle. That you
rely on the Cheysuli to ensorcel his patrols, having no skill
yourself. My lord—do we fight?"

His eagerness was manifest. I saw others gathering near;

not so close as to intrude, but close enough to hear my
answer. I did not mind. No doubt all my men felt some of
the impatience that nipped at Bellam's heels.

"We will fight," I agreed, rising from my stool. The
cheer went up at once. "Seek you food and rest, and
whatever wine you prefer. Tonight we will feast to Bellam's
defeat, and tomorrow we shall plan."

He bowed himself away and went off to do my bidding.
Others hastened away as well to spread the word, I knew

THE SONG OF HOMANA      187

the army grapevine would do what I could not, which was
speak to every man- There were too many now.

Rowan sighed. "My lord—it is well. Even I would relish
a battle."

"Though you may die in it?"

"There is that chance each time I lead a raid," he
answered. "What difference to me whether I die with
twenty men or two hundred? Or even twenty thousand?"

The hilt of my sword was warm against my palm and the
royal ruby glowed. "What difference, indeed?" I stared
across the encampment with its knots of clustered men.
"Is a Mujhar's strength measured by the number of men
whose blood is spilled—or merely that it spills?" Then I
frowned and shook the musing away. "Find me Duncan.
Last I saw, he was with Finn, now that his brother is back.
There are things we must discuss."

Rowan nodded and went off at once. I buckled on my
swordbelt and turned to go inside my pavilion, intending
to study my maps, but I paused instead and lingered.

Come, lady, and taste of my wine,

eat of my fruit

and hear of my heart,

for I long for you, cry" for you,
ache for you, hate for you

to say you will not come.

I grimaced and scrubbed fingers through my beard to
scratch my tight-set jaw. It was not Tony who was saying
she would not come, but her brother commanding it. And
in the eight weeks since 1 had sent her to the Keep,
Lachlan had kept himself to his thoughts and his Lady,
forgoing the confidences we once had shared.

"A fool," I muttered. "A fool to look so high". . . and
surely a harper knows it."

Perhaps he had, once. He had spent his time with
kings. But a man cannot always choose where he will love,
no more than a princess may choose what man she will
wed.

The harpsong died down into silence. I stood outside

188 Jmntfur Robwon

my pavilion and heard the hissing of the wind across
the sandy, beaten ground. And then I cursed and went
inside.

"Carillon."

It was Finn at the doorflap, but when I called to him to
enter, he merely pulled the flap aside. He stood mostly in
shadow with the darkness of fall night behind him.

I sat up, awake at once—for I had hardly slept in the
knowledge I would face Bellam at last—and lighted my
single candle. I looked at Finn and frowned. Of a sudden
he was alien to me, eerie in his intensity.

"Bring your sword and come."

I glanced at the sword where it lay cradled in its sheath.
It waited for me now as much as it waited for the morning;

the morning. And, knowing Finn did nothing without
sound reason, I put on my boots and stood up, fully
clothed as was common in army camps. "Where?" I pulled
the sword from its sheath.

"This way." He said nothing more, merely waited for
me to follow. And so I went with him, following Storr, to
the hollow of a hill. We left the encampment behind, a
dim, smoky glow across the crest of the hill, and I waited
for Finn to explain.

He said nothing at first. I saw him look down at the
ground, searching for some mark or other indication, and
then I saw it even as he did.

Five smooth stones, set in a careful circle. He smiled
and knelt, touching each stone with a fingertip as if he
counted, or made himself known to all five. He said some-
thing under his breath, some unknown sentence; the Old
Tongue, and more obscure than usual. This was not the
Finn I knew.

Kneeling, he glanced up. Up and up, until he tipped
back his head. It was the sky he stared at, the black night
sky with its carpet of shining stars, and the wind blew his
hair from his face. I saw again the livid scar as it snaked
across cheek and jaw, but I also saw something more. I
saw a man gone out of himself to some place far beyond.

"Ja'hai,"he said. "Ja'hai, cheysu, Mujhar."

The wolf walked once around the circle. I saw the

THE SONG OF HOMANA   189

•mber glint of his eyes. Finn glanced at him briefly with
the unfocused detachment of fir-speech, and I wondered
what was said.

The night was cool. The wind blew grit against my face,
catching in my beard. I put one hand to my mouth,
intending to wipe my lips clean, but Finn made a gesture
( had never seen and I stopped moving altogether, I
looked up, as he did, and saw the garland of stars-
Five of them. In a circle. Like a torque around a wom-
an's neck. A moment before they had been five among
many, lost in the brilliance of thousands, and now they
stood apart.

Finn touched each stone again with a gentle fingertip.
Then he placed one palm -flat against the earth as if he
gave—or sought—a blessing, and touched the other hand
to his heart.

'Trust me." I realized this time he spoke to me.

It took me a moment to answer. The very stillness made
me hesitate. "When have I not trusted you?"

"Trust me." I saw the blackness of his eyes, swollen in
die darkness.

I swallowed down my foreboding. "Freely. My life is
yours."

He did not smile. "Your life has ever been mine. For
now, the gods have set me a farther task ..." For a
moment he closed his eyes. In the moonlight his face was
all hollows and planes, leached free of its humanity. He
was a shadow-wraith before me, hunched against the
ground. "You know what we face tomorrow." His eyes
were on my face. "You know the odds are great. You know
f also, of course, that should we fail—and Bellam keeps
' Homana—it is the end of the Cheysuli race."

'The Homanans—"

"I do not speak of Homanans." Finn's tone was very
; distant. "We speak now of the Cheysuli, and the gods who
" made this place. There is no time for Homanans."

"/ am Homanan—"

"You are a part of our prophecy." For a moment he
smiled the old, ironic smile. "Doubtless you would prefer

•- it otherwise, given a choice—no more than 1, Carillon—
; but there is none. If you die tomorrow; if you die within a

190

week in Bellam's battles, Homana and the Cheysuli die
with you."

I felt the slow churning in my belly. Finn—you set a
great weight upon my shoulders. Do you wish to bow me
down?"

"You are Mujhar," he said softly. "That is the nature of
the task."

I shifted uneasily. "What is it you would have me do?
Strike a bargain with the gods? Only tell me the way."

There was no answering smile. "No bargain," he said.
"They do not bargain with men. They offer; men take, or
men refuse. Men all too often refuse." He set one hand
against the ground and thrust himself to his feet. The
earring winked in the moonlight. "What I tell you this
night is not what men prefer to hear, particularly kings.
But 1 tell you because of what we have shared together
. , . and because it will make a difference."

I took a deep, slow breath. Finn was—not Finn. And
yet I knew no other name. "Say on, then."

"That sword." He indicated it briefly. "The sword you
hold is Cheysuli-made, by Hale, myjehan. For the Mujhar
it was said he made it, and yet in the Keep we knew
differently." His face was very solemn. "Not for Shaine,
though Shaine was the one who bore it. Not for you, to
whom Shaine gave it on your acclamation. For a Mujhar,
it is true . . . but a Cheysuli Mujhar, not Homanan."

"I have heard something of the sort before," I said
grimly. "It seems these words—or similar ones—have been
often in Duncan's mouth."
"You fight to save Homana," Finn said. "We fight to
save Homana as well, and the Cheysuli way of life. There
is the prophecy. Carillon. I know—" he lifted a hand as I
sought to speak— "I know, it is not something to which
you pay mind. But I do; so do we all who have linked with
the lir." His eyes were on Storr, standing so still and
silent in the night. "It is the truth. Carillon. One day a
man of all blood shall unite, in peace, four warring realms
and two magic races." He smiled. "Your bane, it appears,
judging by your expression."

"What are you leading to?" I was grown impatient with

THE SONG OF HOMANA   191

his manner. "What has the prophecy to do with this

sword?"

"That sword was made for another. Hale knew it when

he fashioned the blade from the star-stone. And the prom-
ise was put in there." His fingers indicated the runes
running down the blade. "A Cheysuli sword, once made,
waits for the hand it was made for, That hand is not yours,
and yet you will carry the sword into battle."

I could not suppress the hostility in my tone. "Cheysuli
sufferance?" I demanded. "Does it come to this again?"

"Not sufferance," he said. "You serve it well, and it has
kept you alive, but the time draws near when it will live in
another man's hands."

"My son's," I said firmly. "What I have will be my
son's. That is the nature of inheritance."

"Perhaps so," he agreed, "do the gods intend it."

"Finn—"

"Lay down the sword, Carillon."

I faced him squarely in the darkness. "Do you ask me to
give it up?" I weighted my words with care. "Do you
mean to take it from me?"

"That is not for me to do. When the sword is given over
to the man for whom it was made, it will be given freely."
For a moment he said nothing, as if listening to his words,
and then he smiled. Briefly he touched my arm with a
gesture of comradeship I had seen only rarely before.
"Lay down the sword. Carillon. This night it belongs to
the gods."

I bent. I set the sword upon the ground, and then I rose
again. It lay gleaming in the moonlight: gold and silver
and crimson.

"Your knife," Finn said.

And so he disarmed me. I stood naked and alone, for all
I had a warrior and wolf before me, and waited for the
answers. I thought there might be none; Finn only rarely
divulged what was in his mind, and this night I thought it
unlikely I would get anything from him. I waited.

He held the knife in his hand, the hand which had
fashioned the weapon. A Cheysuli long-knife with its wolfs-
head hilt; no Homanan weapon, this. And then I under-
stood.

192 Jennifer Roberson

This night he was all Cheysuli, more so than ever be-
fore. He put off his borrowed Homanan manners like a
soldier slipping his cloak. No more the Finn I knew but
another, quieter soul. He was full of his gods and magic,
and did I not acknowledge what he was I would doubtless
regret it at once. As it was, I had not seen him so often in
such a way as to lose my awe of him.

Suddenly I stood alone on the plains of Homana with a
shapechanger waiting before me, and I knew myself afraid.

He caught my left wrist in one hand. Before I could
speak he bared the underside to the gods and cut deeply
into the flesh.

I hissed between my teeth and tried to pull back the
arm. He held me tightly, clamping down on the arm so
that my hand twitched and shook with the shock of the
cutting.

I had forgotten his strength, his bestial determination
that puts all my size to shame. He held me as easily as a
father holds a child, ignoring my muttered protest. He
forced my arm down and held it still, and then he loos-
ened his fingers to let the blood well free and fast.

It ran down my wrist to pool in my palm, then dropped
off the rigid fingers. Finn held the arm over the patch of
smooth earth with its circle of five smooth stones.

"Kneel." A pressure on the captive wrist led me down-
ward, and I knelt as he had ordered.

Finn released my wrist. It ached dully and I felt the
blood still coursing freely. I lifted my right hand to clamp
the cut closed, but the look on Finn's face kept me from
it. There was more he wanted of me.

He took up my sword from the ground and stood before
me. "We must make this yours, for a time," he said
gently. "We will borrow it from the gods. For tomorrow,
for Homana . . . you must have a little magic." He pointed
at the bloodied soil. 'The blood of the man, the flesh of
the earth. United in one purpose—" He thrust the sword
downward until the blade bit into the earth, sliding in as if
he sheathed it, until the hilt stood level with my face as I
knelt. The clean, shining hilt with its ruby eye set so
firmly in the pommel. "Put your hand upon it."

THE SONG OF HOMANA    193

Instinctively I knew which hand. My left, with its bloody
glove.

I touched the hilt. I touched the rampant lion. I touched
the red eye with the red of my blood, and closed my hand
v upon it.

The blood flowed down the hilt to the crosspiece and
then down upon the blade. The runes filled up, red-black
in the silver moonlight, until they spilled over. I saw the
scarlet ribbon run down and down to touch the earth
where it merged with the blood-dampened soil, and the
ruby began to glow.

It filled my eyes with crimson fire, blinding me to the
world. No more Finn, no more me . . . only incarnadine
fire.

"ja'hai," Finn whispered unevenly, "ja'hai, cheysu,
Mujhar ..."

Five stars. Five stones. One sword. And one battle to
be won.
",   The stars moved. They broke free of their settings and

•.moved against the sky, growing brighter, trailing tails of
fire behind them. They shot across the sky, arcing, like
arrows loosed from bows, heading toward the earth. Shoot-
ing stars I had seen, but this was different. This was—"

"Gods," I whispered raggedly. "Must a man ever see to
believe?"

f   I wavered on my knees. It was Finn who pulled me up

- and made me stand, though I feared I would fall down and

shame myself. One hand closed over the cut and shut off
, the bleeding. He smiled a moment, and then the eyes
were gone blank and detached, so that I knew he sought
the earth magic.

When he took his hand away my wrist was healed,
bearing no scar save the shackle wound from Atvian iron, I
• flexed my hand, wiggling my fingers, and saw the familiar
\ twist to Finn's smile. "I told you to trust me."

"Trusting you may give me nightmares." Uneasily I

*;' glanced at the sky. "Did you see the stars?"

'^;   "Stars?" He did not smile. "Rocks," he said. "Only

^- rocks."

^ He scooped them up and showed me. Rocks they were,

194 Jennifer Roberson

in his hand, I put out my own and held them, wondering
what magic had been forged.

I looked at Finn. He seemed weary, used up, and
something was in his eyes. I could not decipher the ex-
pression. "You will sleep." He frowned in abstraction.
"The gods will see to that."

"And you?" I asked sharply.

"What the gods give me is my own affair." His eyes
were back on the sky.

I thought there was more he wished to say But he shut
his mouth on it, offering nothing, and it was not my place
to ask. So I put my free hand on the upstanding hilt and
closed my fingers around the bloodied gold But I knew,
as I pulled it from the earth, I would not ask Rowan to
clean it.

"Rocks," Finn murmured, and turned away with Storr,

I opened my hand and looked at the rocks. Five smooth
stones. Nothing more.

But I did not drop them to the ground. I kept them,
instead.

It was Rowan who held the tall ash staff upright in the
dawn. The mist clung to it; droplets ran down the staff to
wet the fog-dampened ground, as my blood had run down
the sword. The banner hung limply from the top of the
staff; a drapery of crimson cloth that did not move in the
stillness. Within its silken folds slept the rampant black
lion of Homana, mouth agape and claws extended, waiting
for 'ts prey.

The tip of the staff bit into the ground as Rowan pushed
it. He twisted, worked the standard into the damp, spongy
ground until the ash was planted solidly. And then he took
his hands away, waiting, and saw it would remain.
A cheer went up. A Homanan cheer, the Cheysuli said
nothing They waited on foot at my back, separated from
the Homanans, and their standard was the lir who stood at
their sides or rested on their shoulders.

I tasted the flat, dull tang of apprehension tinged with
fear in my mouth. I had never rid myself of the taste, no
matter how many times I had fought. I sat on my horse
with my sword in its sheath, ringmail shrouding my body,

THE SONG OF HOMANA    195

and knew I was afraid. But it was the fear that would drive
me on in an attempt to overcome it, in doing so I would
also, I prayed, overcome the enemy.

I turned my back on that enemy. Bellam's troops lay in
wait for us on the plains, the dawning sunlight glittering
off weapons and mail. They were too far to be distinct,
were merely a huge gathering of men prepared to fight.
Thousands upon thousands.

I turned my back so 1 could look at my army. It spread
across the hill like a flood of legs and arms and faces.
Unlike Bellam's hordes, we did not all boast ringmail and
boiled leather Many wore what they could of armor, that
being leather bracers, stiff leather greaves and a leather
tunic A breastplate, here" and there; perhaps a toughened
hauberk But many wore only wool, having no better, yet
willing to fight. My army lacked the grandeur of Bellam's
silken-tunicked legions, but we did not lack for heart and
determination.

I pulled my sword from its sheath. Slowly I raised it,
then closed my callused hand around the blade, near the
tip. I thrust the weapon upright in the air so that the hilt
was uppermost, and the ruby caught fire from the rising
sun.

"Bare your teeth!" I shouted. "Unsheathe your claws!
And let the Lion roar!"

SEVENTEEN

The sun, I knew, was setting. The field was a mass of
crimson, orange and yellow. But I could not be certain
how much of the crimson was blood or setting sun.

The ground was boggy beneath my knees, the dry grass
matted, but I did not get up at once. I remained kneeling,
leaning against my planted sword, as I stared into the
Mujhar's Eye. The great ruby, perhaps, was responsible
for the color Perhaps it painted the plains so red.

But I knew better. The field was red and brown and
black with blood, and the dull colors of the dead. Already
carrion birds wheeled and settled in their eternal dance,
crying their victory even as men cried their defeat It was
all merely sound, another sound, to fill my ringing head.

The strength was gone from my body. I trembled with a
weakness born of fatigue that filled my bones, turning my
limbs to water. There was nothing left in me save the
vague realization the thing was done, and I was still alive.

A step whispered behind me I spun at once, lifting the
sword, and set the point at the man.

He stood just out of range, and yet close enough had I
the strength to try for a lunge. I did not. And there was no
need, since Finn was not the enemy.

I let the tip of the sword drop away to rest against the
ground. I wet my bloodied lips and wished for a drink of
wine, Better yet: water, to cool my painful throat. My

I 196 I

THE SONG OF HOMANA   197

voice was a husky shadow of my usual tone; shouting had
leached it of sound.

"It is done," Finn said gently.

"I know it." I swallowed and steadied my voice. "I know
it."

"Then why do you remain on your knees like a supplicant
to Lachlan's All-Father creature?"

"Perhaps I am one . . ." 1 sucked in a belly-deep breath
and got unsteadily to my feet. The exertion nearly put me
down again, and I wavered. Every bone in my body ached
and my muscles were shredded like rags. I shoved a
mailed forearm across my face, scrubbing away the sweat
and blood. And then I acknowledged what I had not dared
say aloud before, or even-within my mind. "Bellam is—
defeated. Homana is mine."

"Aye, my lord Mujhar." The tone, as ever, was ironic
and irreverent.

I sighed and cast him as much of a scowl as I could
muster. "My thanks for your protection, Finn.' I recalled
how he had shadowed me in the midst of the day-long
battle; how he had let no enemy separate me from the
others. In all the tangle of fighting, I had never once been
left alone.

He shrugged. "The blood-oath does bind me . . ." Then
he grinned openly and made a fluid gesture that said he
understood. Too often we said nothing to one another
because there was no need.
And then he put out a hand and gripped my arm, and I
accepted the accolade in silence only because I had not
die words to break it.

"Did you think we would see it?" I asked at last.

"Oh, aye. The prophecy—"

I cut him off with a wave of one aching arm, "Enough.
Enough of the thing. I grow weary of your prating of this
and that." I sighed and caught my breath. "Still, there is
Mujhara to be freed. Our liberation is not yet finished."

"Near enough," Finn said quietly. "I have come to take
you to Bellam."

I looked at him sharply. "You have him?"

"Duncan—has him. Come and see."

We walked through the battlefield slowly. All around

198 Jennifer Robercon

me lay the pall of death; the stench of fear and futility.
Men had been hacked and torn to pieces, struck down by
swords and spears alike. Arrows stood up from their flesh.
Birds screamed and shrieked as we passed, taking wing to
circle and return as we passed by their bounty. And the
men, enemy and companion alike, lay sprawled in the
obscene intercourse of death upon the matted, bloody
grass.

I stopped. I looked at the sword still clutched in my
hand- The Cheysuli sword. Hale-made, with its weight of
burning ruby. The Mujhar's Eye. Or was it merely my
eye, grown bloody from too much war?

Finn put his hand on my shoulder. When I could, I
sheathed the sword and went on.

Duncan and Rowan, along with a few of my captains,
stood atop a small hill upon which stood the broken
shaft of Bellam's standard, trampled in the dust. White
sun rising on an indigo field. But Bellam's sun had
set.

He was quite dead. But of such a means I could not
name, so horrible was his state. He was no longer pre-
cisely a man.

Tynstar. I knew it at once. What I did not know was the
reason for the death. And probably never would.

It—Bellam was no longer recognizably male—was curled
tightly as if it were a child as yet unborn. The clothes and
mail had been burned and melted off. Ash served as a
cradle for the thing. Ringmail, still smoking from its
ensorcelled heat, lay clumped in heaps of cooling metal.
The flesh was drawn up tightly like brittle, untanned hide.
Chin on knees; arms hugging legs; nose and ears melted
off. Bellam grinned at us all from his lipless mouth, but his
eyes were empty sockets.

And on the blackened skull rested a circlet of purest
gold.

When I could speak again without phlegm and bile
scraping at my throat, I said two words: "Bury it."

"My lord," Rowan ventured, "what do you do now?"

"Now?" I looked at him and tried to smile. "Now I will
go into Mujhara to claim my throne at last."

THE SONG OF HOMANA I 199

"Alone?" He was shocked. "Now?"
"Now," I said, "but not alone. With me go the Cheysuli."

We met token resistance in the city. Solindish soldiers
with their Atvian allies still fought to protect their stolen
palace, but word spread quickly of Bellam's death and the
grisly manner of it. It wondered at Tynstar's decision;

surely the Solindish would hate and fear him for what he
had done. Had he not broken the traditional bond be-
tween Bellam and the Ihlini? Or would the sorcery prove
stronger even than fear, and drive the Solindish to follow
him still?

The resistance at Homana-Mujhar broke quickly enough.
I left behind the bronze-and-timber gates, dispatching
Cheysuli and lir into the interior of the myriad baileys and
wards to capture the turrets and towers along the walls,
the rose-colored walls of Homana-Mujhar. I dismounted
by the marble steps at the archivolted entrance and went
up one step at a time, sword bare in my hand. By the
gods, this place was mine . . .

By the gods, indeed. I thought of the stars again.

Finn and Duncan were a few steps behind me and with
them came their lir. And then, suddenly, I was alone.
Before me stood the hammered silver doors of the Great
Hall itself. I heard fighting behind me but hardly noticed;

before me lay my tahlvwrra.

I smiled. Tahlmorra. Aye. I thought it was. And so I
threw open the doors and went in.

The memories crashed around me like falling walls.
Brick by brick by brick. I recalled it all—

—Shaine, standing on the marble dais, thundering his
displeasure . , . Alix there as well, beckoning Cai within
the hall, and the great hawk's passage extinguishing all the
candles. . . . Shaine again, my uncle, defying the Cheysuli
within the walls they built so long ago, destroying the
magic that kept the ihlini out and alhwing Homana's
defeat. . . My hand tightened on my sword. By the gods,
I did recall that defeat!

I went onward toward the dais. I ignored the Solindish
coats-of-arms bannering the walls and the indigo draperies
with Bellam's crest. I walked beside the unlighted firepit

200 JfinlfT Roberwon

as it stretched the length of the hall with its lofty hammer-
beamed ceiling of honey-dark wood and its carven animal
shapes. No, not animal shapes. Lir-shapes. The Cheysuli
had gone from carving the lir into castles to painting them
onto pavilions. The truth had been here for years, even
when we called them liars.

I stopped before the dais. The marble, so different from
the cold gray stone of the hall floor, was light-toned, a
warm rose-pink with veins of gold within it. A proper
pedestal, I thought, for the throne that rested on it.

The Lion. It hunched upon its curling paws and claws,
its snarling face the headpiece upon the back of the throne.
Dark, ancient wood, gleaming with beeswax and gilt within
the scrollwork. Gold wire banded the legs. The seat was
cushioned in crimson silk with its rampant black lion walk-
ing in its folds. That much Bellam had not changed. He
had left the lion alone.

My lion; my Lion.

Or was it?

I turned, and he stood where I expected.

"Yours?" I asked. "Or mine?"

Duncan did not attempt to dissemble or pretend to
misunderstand. He merely sheathed his bloodied knife,
folded his arms, and smiled. "It is yours, my lord. For

now.

I heard the shouts of fighting behind him. Duncan stood
j'ust inside the open doorway, framed by the silver leaves.
His black hair hung around his shoulders, bloody and
sweaty like mine, and he bore bruises on his face. But
even for all the soiling of his leathers and the smell of
death upon him, he outshone the hall he stood in.
The breath rasped in my throat. To come so far and
know myself so insignificant— "The throne," I said hoarsely,
"is meant for a Cheysuli Mujhar. You have said."

"One day," he agreed. "But that day will come when
you and I are dead."

"Then it is like this sword—" I touched the glowing
ruby. "Made for another man."

"The Firstborn come again." Duncan smiled, "There is
a while to wait for him."

THE SONG OF HOMANA   201

A soft, sibilant whisper intruded itself upon us- "And
shall you wait a while for me?"

I spun around, jerking my sword from its sheath. Tynstar,
^ Tynstar, came gliding out of the alcove so near the throne.

He put up his hand as Duncan moved. "Do not,
shapechanger! Stay where you are, or I will surely slay
him." He smiled. "Would it not grieve you to know you
* have lost your Mujhar the very day you have brought him
1 to the throne?"

He had not changed. The ageless Ihlini was smiling. His
bearded face was serene, untroubled, his hair was still
thick—black touched with silver. He wore black leathers,
and bore a silver sword.

I felt all the fear and rage"and frustration well up within
my soul. It was ever Tynstar, enforcing his will; playing
with us like toys.

"Why did you slay Bellam?" When I had control of my
voice, I asked.

"Did I?" He smiled. He smiled.

I thought, suddenly, of Zared, and how he had died.
How Lachlan had harped him to death upon his Lady. I
recalled quite clearly how Zared's corpse had looked, all
doubled up and shrunken, as Bellara's had been.

For only a moment, I wondered. And then I knew
better than to let Tynstar bait me. "Why?"

An eloquent shrug of his shoulders. "He was—used up.
I had no more need of him. He was—superfluous." A
negligent wave of the hand relegated Bellam to nonexist-
ence. But I recalled his body and the manner of his going.

"What more?" 1 asked in suspicion. "Surely there was
more."
Tynstar smiled and his black eyes held dominion. On
one finger gleamed a flash of blue-white fire. A ring. A
crystal set in silver. "More," he agreed. "A small matter of
a promise conveniently forgotten- Bellam was foolish enough
to desire an Ellasian prince for his lovely daughter, when
she was already given to me." Amusement flickered across
' the cultered, guileless face. "But then, I did tell him he
would die if he faced you this day. There are times your
gods take precedence over my own."

The sword was in my hand. I wanted so to strike with it,

202 JannlfT Robot-son

and yet for the moment I could not. I had another weapon.
"Electra," I said. "Your light woman, I have heard. Well,
I shall forget her past while I think of her future—as my
wife and Queen of Homana."

Anger glittered in his eyes. "You will not take Electra to
wife.'

"I will." I raised the sword so he could see the glowing
ruby. "How will you stop me, when even the gods send
me aid?"

Tynstar smiled. And then, even as I thrust, he reached
out and caught the blade. "Die," he said gently. "I am
done with our childish games."

The shock ran through my arm to my shoulder. The
blade had struck flesh, and yet he did not bleed. Instead
he turned the sword into a locus for his power and sent it
slashing through my body.

I was hurled back against the throne, nearly snapping
my spine. The sword was gone from my hand. Tynstar
held it by the blade, the hilt lifted before my eyes, and I
saw the ruby go dark.

"Shall I turn this weapon against you?" His black eyes
glittered as brightly as his crystal ring- "I have only to
touch you—gently—with this stone, and poor Carillon's
reign is done."

The sword came closer. My sword, that now served
him. I slid forward to my knees, intending to dive and
roll, but Tynstar was too fast.

And yet he was not. Even as the ruby, now black and
perverted, touched my head, a knife flew home in Tynstar's
shoulder. Duncan's, thrown from the end of the hall. And
now Duncan was following the blade.

I found myself face-down against the marble. Somehow
I had fallen, and the sword lay close at hand. But the
ruby, once so brilliant, now resembled Tunstar's eyes.

Duncan's leap took Tynstar down against the dais, not
far from where I lay. But Tynstar struggled up again, and
Duncan did not. He lay, stunned by the force of his
landing, sprawled across the steps. One bare brown arm
with its gleaming far-band stretched across the marble,
gold on gold, and blood was staining the floor.

"Tynstar!"

THE SONG OF HOMANA   203

It was Finn, pounding the length of the hall, and I saw
the knife in his hand. How apropos, I thought, that Tynstar
would die by a royal Homanan blade.

But he did not die. Even as Finn raced toward him, the
Ihlini pulled Duncan's knife from his shoulder and hurled
it down. Then he sketched a hurried rune in the air,
wrapped himself in lavender mist, and simply disappeared.

I swore and tried to thrust myself upright, I failed
miserably, flopping hard against the dais. And so I gave up
and lay there, trying to catch my breath, as Finn knelt
beside his brother.

Duncan muttered something. I saw him press himself
up off the floor, then freeze, and it was Finn who kept him
from falling. "A rib, I think," Duncan said between tight-
locked teeth. "I will live, rujho."

"All this blood—"

"Tynstar's " Duncan winced as he settled himself upon
the top step, one hand pressed to his chest. "The knife
was mostly spent by the time it reached him, or he surely
would have died." He glanced at me briefly, then ges-
tured to his brother. "Finn—see to Carillon."

Finn heaved me up into a sitting position and leaned
me against the throne. One curving, clawed paw sup-
ported my head. "1 thought perhaps I could slay him," I
explained, "and save us all the worry of knowing he is
free."

Finn picked up the sword. I saw the color spill out of
his face as he looked at the ruby. The black ruby. "He did
this?"

"Something did." I swallowed against the weariness in
my bones. "He put his hand on the blade and the stone
turned black, as you see it."

"He used it to fix his power," Duncan said. "All of
Carillon's will and strength was sucked out through the
sword, then fed back with redoubled effect. It carried the
sorcery with it." He frowned. "Rujho, the sword has ever
been merely a sword. But for it to become accessible to
Ihlini magic, it had to have its own. What do you know of
this?"

Finn would not meet Duncan's eyes. I stared at him in

204 Jennifer Robwon

astonishment, trying to fathom his emotions, but he had
put up his shield against us all.

"Rujho," Duncan said more sharply. "Did you seek the
star magic?"

"He found it. He found something." I shrugged, "Five
stones, and blood, and the stars fell out of the sides. He
said—" I paused, recalling the words exactly, "—ja'hai,
cheysu, Mujhar."

Duncan's bruised face went white. At first I thought it
was fear, and then I saw it was anger. He spat something
out in the Old Tongue, something unintelligible to me—
which I thought best, judging by the fury in his tone.
Having never seen Duncan so angry, I was somewhat
fascinated by it. And pleased, very pleased, I was not the
focus of it.

Finn made a chopping motion with his right hand, a
silencing gesture I had seen only rarely, for it was consid-
ered rude. It did not have much effect on Duncan.

He did not shout. He spoke quietly enough, but with
such violence in his tone that it was all the more effective.
I shifted uneasily against the throne and thought to inter-
rupt, but it was not my afiair. It had become a thing
between brothers.

Finn stood up abruptly. Still he held the sword, and the
ruby gleamed dull and black. Even the runes seemed
tarnished. "Enough!" he shouted, so that it echoed in the
hall. "Do you seek to strip me entirely of my dignity? I
admit I was wrong—I admit it!—but there is no more
need to remind me. I did it because I had to."

"Had to!" Duncan glared at him, very white around the
mouth, yet blotched from pain and anger. "Had the gods
denied you—what then? What would we have done for a
king?"

"King?" I echoed, seeing I had some stake in this fight
after all. "What are you saying, Duncan?"

Finn made the chopping motion again. And again Duncan
ignored it. "He asked the gods for the star magic. I am
assuming they granted it, since you are still alive."
"Still alive^" I sat up straighter. "Do you say I could
have died?"

Duncan was hugging his chest. "It is a thing only rarely

THE SONG OF HOMANA      205

done, and then only because there is no other choice. The
risk is—great. In more than six hundred years, only two men
have survived the ceremony."

I swallowed against the sudden dryness in my mouth.
"Three, now."

Two." Duncan did not smile. "I was counting you
before."

I stared at Finn. "Why?"

"We needed it for Homana." He looked at neither of us.
His attention was fixed on the sword he held in his hands.
"We needed it for the Cheysuli."

"You needed it for you," Duncan retorted. "You know
as well as I only a warrior related by blood to the maker of
the sword can ask the gods for the magic. It was your
chance to to earn your jehans place. Hale is gone, but
Finn is not. So the son wished to inherit the jehans
power." Duncan looked at me. "The risk was not entirely
your own. Had the petition been denied, the magic would
have struck you both down."

I looked at Finn's face. He was still pale, still angered
by Duncan's reaction, and no doubt expecting the worst
from me. I was not certain he did not deserve it.

"Why?" I asked again.

Still he stared at the stone. "I wanted to," he said, very
low. "All my life I have wanted to ask it. To see if I was
my jehans true son." I saw bitterness twist his face. "I had
less of him than Duncan ... his hu'sala. I wanted what I
could get; to get it, I would take it. So I did. And I would
do it all again, because I know it would succeed."
. "How?" Duncan demanded. 'There is no guarantee."

"This time there is. You have only to look at the
prophecy."

Silence filled the hall. And then Duncan broke it by
laughing. It was not entirely the sound of humor, but the
tension was shattered at last. "Prophecy," he said. "By the
gods, my rujholli speaks of the prophecy. And speaks to
me gods." He sighed and shook his head. "The first I do
often enough, but the second—oh, the second . . . not for
a bu'sala to do. No. Only a blood-son, not a foster-son."
For a moment Duncan looked older than his years, and
very tired. "I would trade it all to claim myself Hale's

206 Jennifer Roberson

blood-son. And you offer it up to the gods. A sacrifice. Oh
Finn, will you never learn?"

Finn looked at his older brother. Half-brother They
shared only a mother, and yet looking at them I saw the
father in them both, though he had sired only one

I said nothing for a long moment. I could think of
nothing to fill the silence. And then I rose at last and took
my sword back from Finn, touching the blackened ruby- I
returned the weapon to my sheath. "The thing is done," I
said finally. "The risk was worth the asking And I would
do it all again "

Finn looked at me sharply- "Even knowing?"

"Even knowing." I shrugged and sat down in the throne.
"What else was there to do?"

Duncan sighed. He put out his hand and made the
familiar gesture, a spread-fingered hand palm-up.

I smiled and made it myself.

EIGHTEEN

•'- I received the Solindish delegation dressed befitting my

•/ rank. Gone was the cracked and stained ringmail-and-
T leather armor of the soldier; in its place I wore velvets and
^ brocaded satins of russet and amber. My hair and beard I
.^had had freshly trimmed, smoothed with scented oil; I felt
^.,Bearly a king for the first time in my life.

;aK,' I knew, as the six Solindish noblemen paced the length
fc'bf the Great Hall, they were not" seeing the man they
^expected. Nearly seven years before, when Bellam had
^taken Homana, I had been a boy. Tall as a man and as
^"strong, but lacking the toughness of adulthood. It seemed
^.so long ago as I sat upon my Lion. I recalled when
^ Keough's son had divested me of my sword and thrown me
^f into irons. I recalled the endless nights when sleep eluded
"^fliy mind. I recalled my complete astonishment when Alix
&faad come to my aid. And I smiled.

^t- The Solindishmen did not understand the smile, but it
X'did not matter. Let them think what they would; let them
y judge me as I seemed. It would all come quite clear in
'time.

s' I was not alone within the hall. Purposely I had chosen
^B Cheysuli honor guard. Finn, Duncan and six other war-
?riors ranged themselves on either side of the throne,
treading across the dais. They were solemn-faced. Silent.
/atoning from impassive yellow eyes.
Rowan, who had escorted the Solindish delegation into




I 207 I

208 Jennifer Roberson

the Homanan-bedecked hall, introduced each man Duke
this. Baron that; Solindish titles 1 did not know. He did it
well, did my young Cheysuli-Homanan captain, with the
proper note of neutrality in a tone also touched with
condescension. We were the victors, they the defeated,
and they stood within my palace.

Essien. The man of highest rank and corresponding
arrogance. He wore indigo blue, of course, but someone
had picked the crest from the left breast of his silken
tunic. I could see the darker outline ofBellam's rising sun,
a subtle way of giving me insult, so subtle I could do
nothing. Outwardly he did not deny me homage. Did I
protest, he could no doubt blame the coffer-draining war
for the loss of better garments. So I let him have his
rebellion. I could afford it, now.

His dark brown hair was brushed smoothly back from a
high forehead, and his hands did not fidget. But his brown
eyes glittered with something less than respect when he
made his bow of homage. "My lord," he said in a quiet
tone, "we come on behalf of Solinde to acknowledge the
sovereignty of Carillon the Mujhar."

"You are aware of our terms?"

"Of course, my lord." He glanced briefly at the other
five. "It has all been thoroughly discussed. Solinde, as
you know, is defeated. The crown is—uncontested." I saw
the muscles writhe briefly in his jaw. "We have no king
... no Solindish king." His eyes came up to mine and I
saw the bitterness in them. "There is a vacancy, my lord,
which we humbly request you fill."

"Does Bellam have no heirs?" I smiled a small, polite
smile that said what I wanted to say. A matter of form,
discussing what all knew. "Ellic has been dead for years,
of course, but surely Bellam had bastards."

"Aplenty," Essien agreed grimly. "Nonetheless, none is
capable of rallying support for our cause. There would
be—contention." He smiled thinly "We wish to avoid
such difficulties, now our lord is dead. You have proven—
sufficient—for the task."

Sufficient. Essien had an odd way of speaking, spicing
his conversation with pauses and nuances easily under-
stood by one who had the ears to understand it. Having

THE SONG OF HOMANA      Z09

grown up in a king's court surrounded by his advisors and
courtiers, I did.

"Well enough," I agreed, when I had made him wait
long enough. "I will continue to be—sufficient—to the
task. But mere was another request we made."

Essien's face congested. "Aye, my lord Mujhar. The
question of proper primogeniture." He took a deep breath
mat moved the indigo tunic. "As a token of Solinde's
complete compliance with your newly won overlordship of
our land, we offer the hand of the Princess Electra, Bellam's
only daughter. Bellam's only surviving legitimate child."
His nostrils pinched in tightly. "A son born of Solinde and
Homana would be fit to hold the throne."

"Proper primogeniture," I said reflectively. "Well enough,
we will take the lady to wife. You may tell her, for Caril-
lon the Mujhar, that she has one month in which to gather
the proper clothing and household attendants. If she does
not come in that allotted time, we will send the Cheysuli
for her."

Essien and the others understood quite clearly. I knew
what they saw: eight warriors clad in leather and barbaric,
shining gold, with their weapons hung about them. Knife
and bow, and lir. They had only to-look at the lir in order
to understand.

Essien bowed his head in acknowledgment of my order.
?fi The conversation was finished, it seemed, but I had one
^" final question to ask. "Where is Tynstar?"
S^   Essien's head snapped up. He put one hand to his hair
^ and smoothed it; a habitual, nervous gesture. His throat
i^inoved in a swallow, then again. He glanced quickly to the
^ others, but they offered nothing. Essien had the rank.
^ "I do not know," he said finally, excessively distinct.

X- "^° man can ^ wnere tne Ihlmi goes, no man, my lord.
^He merely goes." He offered a thin smile that contained
^•'subtle triumph as well as humor ... at my expense. "No
^ doubt he plans to thwart you how he can, and he will, but
^1 can offer you nothing of what he intends. Tynstar
^is—Tynstar."

^ "And no doubt he will be abetted," I said without
.'inflection. "In Solinde, the Ihlini hold power—for now,

210 JenrrifT Roberson

But their realm—his realm—shall be a shadow of what it
was, for we have the Cheysuli now."
Essien looked directly at Finn. "But even in Solinde we
have heard of the thing that dilutes the magic. How it is a
Cheysuli loses his power when faced with an Ihlini." His
eyes came back to me. "Is that not true?"

I smiled. "Why not ask Tynstar? Surely he could explain
what there is between the races."

I watched his expression closely. I expected—hoped—I
would see the subtleties of his knowledge, betraying what
he knew. He should, if he knew where Tynstar was, give
it away with something in his manner, even remaining
silent. But I saw little of triumph in his eyes. Only a faint
frown, as if he considered something he wished to know,
and realized he could not know it until he discovered the
source. He had not lied.

I moved my hand in a gesture of finality- "We will set a
Homanan regency in the city of Lestra. Royce is a trusted,
incorruptible man. He will have sovereignty over Solinde
in our name, representing our House, until such a time as
we have a son to put on the throne. Serve my regent well,
and you will find we are a just lord."

Essien shut his teeth. "Aye, my lord Mujhar."

"And we send some Cheysuli with him." I smiled at
the Solindman's expression of realization. "Now you may

go."

They went, and I turned to look at the Cheysuli.
Duncan's smile was slow. "Finn has taught you well."
"And with great difficulty." The grin, crooked as usual,

creased the scar on Finn's dark face. "But I think the time

spent was well worth it, judging by what I have seen."
I got up from the throne and stretched, cracking the

joints in my back. "Electra will not be pleased to hear

what I have said."

"Electra will not be pleased by anything you have to say

or do," Finn retorted. "But then, did you want a quiet

marriage I doubt not you could have asked for someone

else."

I laughed at him, stripping my brow of the golden

circlet. It had been Shame's once, crusted with diamonds
and emeralds. And now it was mine. "A tedious marriage

THE SONG OF HOMANA    211

is no marriage at all, I have heard." I glanced at Duncan.
"But you would know better than I."

For a moment he resembled Finn with the same ironic
grin. Then he shrugged. "Alix has never been tedious."

I tapped the circlet against my hand, thinking about the
woman. "She will come," I muttered, frowning. "She will
come, and I will have to be ready for her. It is not as if I
took some quiet little virgin to tremble in my bed . . . this
is Electra-"

"Aye," Finn said dryly. "The Queen of Homana, you
make her."

I looked at Rowan. He was very silent, but he also
avoided my eyes. The warriors avoided nothing, but I had
never been able to read them when they did not wish it.
As for Duncan and Finn, I knew well enough what they
thought.

I wiU take a viper to my bed ... I sighed. But then I
recalled what power that viper had over men in general,
myself in particular, and I could not suppress the tighten-
ing of my loins By the gods, it might be worth risking my
life for one night in her bed . . . well, I would.

I looked again at Finn. "It brings peace to Homana."

He did not smile. "Whom do you seek to convince?"

I scowled and went down the dais steps. "Rowan, come
with me, I will give you the task of fetching my lady
mother from Joyenne as soon as she can travel And there
is Tony to fetch, as well . . . though no doubt Lachlan
would be willing to do it." I sighed and turned back.
"Finn. Will you see to it Torry has escort here?"

He nodded, saying nothing, I thought him still disap-
proving of my decision to wed Electra. But it did not
matter. I was not marrying Finn.

A sound.

Not precisely a noise, merely not silence. A breath of
' sound, subtle and sibilant, and I sat up at once in my bed.

My hand went to the knife at my pillow, for even in
Homana-Mujhar I would not set aside the habit. My sword
and knife had been bedfellows for too long; even within
the tester bed I felt unsafe without my weapons. But as I
-jerked the draperies aside and slid out of the bed, I knew
212 J*nntfT Robwon

myself well taken. No man is proof against Cheysuli
violence.

I saw the hawk first. He perched upon a chair back,
unblinking in the light from the glowing torch. The torch
was in Duncan's hand. "Come," was all he said.

1 put the knife down. Once again, a Cheysuli sum-
moned me out of the depths of a night. But this one I
hardly knew; what I did know merely made me suspi-
cious. "Where? And why?"

He smiled a little. In the torchlight his face was a mask,
lacking definition. His eyes yellowed against the light,
with pinpricks for pupils. The hawk-shaped earring glinted
in his hair. "Would you have me put off my knife?

I felt the heat and color running quickly into my face,
"Why?" I retorted, stung. "You could slay me as easily
without."

Duncan laughed. "I never thought you would/ear me—"

"Not fear, precisely," I answered. "You would never
slay me, not when you yourself have said how important a
link I am in your prophecy. But I do suspect the motives
for what you do,"

"Carillon," he chided, "tonight I will make you a king."

I felt the prickle in my scalp. "Make me one?" I asked
with elaborate distinctness, "or another?"

"Come with me and find out."

I put on breeches and shirt, the first things I could find.
And boots, snugged up to my knees. Then I followed him,
even as he bid Cat remain, and went with him as he led
me through my palace.

He walked with utter confidence, as a man does who
knows a place well. And yet I knew Duncan had never
spent excess time in Homana-Mujhar. Hale had, I knew,
brought him to the palace at least once, but he had been a
child, too young to know the mazes of hallways and cham-
bers. And yet he went on through such places as if he had
been bom here,

He took me, of course, to the Great Hall, And there he
took down a second torch from its bracket on the wall,
lighted it with his own and handed them both to me.
"Where we are going," he said, "it is dark. But there will
be air to breathe."

THE SONG OF HOMANA   213
I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck. But I
refrained from asking him where. And so I watched in
silence and astonishment as he knelt by the firepit rim.

He began to pull aside the unlighted logs. Ash floated
up to settle on his hair. Suddenly he was an old man
without the wrinkles, gray instead of black, while the gold
glowed on his arms. I coughed as the ash rose high enough
to clog my nose, and then I sneezed. But Duncan was
done rearranging my firepit quickly enough; he reached
down and caught a ring of iron I had never seen.

I scowled, wondering what other secrets Duncan knew
of Homana-Mujhar. And then I watched, setting myself to
be patient, and saw him frown with concentration. It took
both hands and all of his strength, but he jerked the ring
upward.

It was fastened to a hinged iron plate that covered a
hole. Slowly he dragged up the plate until the hole lay
open. He leaned the cover, spilling its coating of ash,
against the firepit rim, then grimaced as he surveyed the
ruin of his leathers.

I leaned forward to peer into the hole. Stairs. I frowned.
"Where—F

"Come and see." Duncan took back his torch and stepped
down into the hole. He disappeared, step by step. Uneas-
ily, I followed.

There was air, as he had promised. Stale and musty, but
air. Both torches continued to burn without guttering, so I
knew we would be safe. And so I went down with Dun-
can, wondering how it was he knew of such a place.

The staircase was quite narrow, the steps shallow. I had
to duck to keep from scraping my head- Duncan, nearly as
tall, did as well, but I thought Finn would fit. And then I
wished, with the familiar frisson of unease, that he was
with me as well. But no. I had sent him to my sister, and
left myself to his brother's intentions.

"Here." Duncan descended two more steps to the end
of the staircase into a shallow stone closet. He put his
fingers to the stone, and I saw the runes, old and green
with dampness and decay. Duncan's brown fingers, now
gray with ash, left smudges on the wall. He traced out the

214 J«nnKT Robfson

runes, saying something beneath his breath, and then he
nodded. "Here."

"What do—" I did not bother to finish. He pressed one
of the stones and then leaned against the wall. A portion of
it grated and turned on edge, falling inward.

Another stairway—? No. A room. A vault. I grimaced.
Something like a crypt.

Duncan thrust his torch within and looked. Then he
withdrew it and gestured me to go first.

I regarded him with distinct apprehension that increased
with every moment.

"Choose," Duncan said. "Go in a prince and come out a
Mujhar ... or leave now, and forever know yourself
lacking."

"I lack nothing!" I said in rising alarm. "Am I not the
link you speak about?"

"A link must be properly forged." He looked past me to
the rising staircase. "There lies your escape. Carillon. But
I think you will not seek it. My rujholli would never serve
a coward or a fool."

I bared my teeth in a grin that held little of humor.
"Such words will not work with me, shapechanger. I am
willing enough to name myself both, does it give me a
chance to survive. And unless you slay me, as you have
said you would not do, I will come out of here a Mujhar
even if I do not to into that room." I squinted as my torch
sputtered and danced. "You are not Finn, you see. and for
all I know I should trust you—we have never been easy
with each other."

"No," he agreed. "But what kept us from that was a
woman, and even Alix has no place here. This is for you to

do."

"You left Cai behind." Somehow it incriminated him.

"Only because here, in this place, he would be a super-
fluous lir."

I stared at him, almost gaping. Superfluous lir? Had
Duncan said this? By the gods, if he indicated such a
willingness to dispense with the other half'of his soul,
surely I could trust him.

I sighed. I swallowed against the tightness in my throat,
thrust the torch ahead of me, and went in.

THE SONG OF HOMANA    215

Superfluous. Aye, he would have been. For here were
all the lir of the world, and no need for even one more.

It was not a crypt. It was a memorial of sorts, or perhaps
a chapel. Something to do with Cheysuli and lir, and their
gods. For the walls were made of lir, lir upon lir, carved
into the pale cream marble.

Torchlight ran over the walls like water, tracking the
veining of gold. From out of the smooth, supple stone
burst an eagle, beak agape and talons striking. A bear,
hump-backed and upright, one paw reaching out to buffet.
A fox, quick and brush-tailed, head turned over its shoulder.
And the boar, tusks agleam, with a malevolent, tiny eye.

More. So many more. I felt my breath catch in my
throat as 1 turned in a single slow circle, staring at all the
walls. Such wealth, such skill, such incomparable beauty,
and buried so deeply within the ground.            /

A hawk, touching wingtips with a falcon. A mountain cat,
so lovely, leaping in the stone. And the wolf; of course,
the wolf, Storr-like with gold in its eyes. Every inch, from
ceiling to floor, was covered with the lir.

Superfluous. Aye. But so was I.

I felt tears burn in my eyes. Pain, unexpected, was in
my chest. How futile it was, suddenly, to be Homanan
instead of Cheysuli; to lack the blessings of the gods and
the magic of the lir. How utterly insignificant was Carillon
of Homana.

"Ja'hai," Duncan said. "Ja'hai, cheysu, Mujhar."

I snapped my head around to stare at him. He stood
inside the vault, torch raised, looking at the lir with an
expression of wonder in his face. "What are those words?"
I demanded. "Finn said those words when he talked to
the gods, and even you said he should not have done it."

"That was Finn." The sibilants whispered in the shad-
ows of the lir. "This is a clan-leader who says them, and a
man who might have been Mujhar." He smiled as my
mouth flew open to make an instant protest. "I do not
want it. Carillon. If I did, I would not have brought you
down here. It is here, within thejehana's Womb, that you
will be bom again. Made a true Mujhar."

"The words," I repeated steadfastly. "What do they
mean?"

216 Jcnnffar Roberson

"You have learned enough of the Old Tongue from Finn
to know it is not directly translatable. There are nuances,
unspoken words, meanings requiring no speech. Like
gestures—" He made the sign oftahlmorra. "}a hai, cheysu,
Mujhar is, in essence, a prayer to the gods. A petition. A
Homanan might say; Accept this man; this Mujhar."
I frowned. "It does not sound like a prayer."

"A petition—or prayer—such as the one Finn made—
and now / make—requires a specific response. The gods
will always answer. With life ... or with death."

Alarm rose again. "Then I might die down here—?"

"You might. And this time you will face that risk alone."

"You knew about it," I said suddenly. "Was it Hale who
told you?"

Duncan's face was calm, "Hale told me what it was. But
most Cheysuli know of its existence." A faint smile ap-
peared. "Not so horrifying. Carillon. It is only the Womb
of the Earth."

The grue ran down my spine. "What womb? What
earth? Duncan—"

He pointed. Before, I had looked at the walls, ignoring
the floor entirely. But this time I looked, and I saw the pit
in the precise center of the vault.

Oubliette. A man could die in one of those-

1 took an instinctive step back, nearly brushing against
Duncan just inside the door, but he merely reached out
and took the torch from my hand.-! turned swiftly, reach-
ing for a knife I did not have, but he set each torch in a
bracket near the door so the vault was filled with light.
Light? It spilled into the oubliette and was swallowed
utterly.

"You will go into the Womb," he said calmly, "and
when you come out, you will have been born a Mujhar."

I cursed beneath my breath. Short of breaking his neck—
and I was not at all certain even I could accomplish
that—I had no choice but to stay in the vault. But the
Womb was something else. "Just—go in? How? Is there a
rope? Hand holes?" I paused, knowing the thing was
futile. Oubliettes are built to keep people in. This one
would oner no aid in getting out.

"You must jump."

THE SONG OF HOMANA   Z17

"Jump." My hands shut up into fists that drove my nails
into my palms. "Duncan—"

"Sooner in, sooner out." He did not smile, but I saw the
glint of amusement in his eyes. "The earth is like most
jehanas. Carillon: she is harsh and quick to anger and
sometimes impatient, but she ever gives other heart. She
gives her child life. In this case, it is a Mujhar we seek to
bring into the world."

"I am in the world," I reminded him. "I have already
been born once, birthed by Gwynneth of Homana. Once
is more than enough—at least that one I cannot remem-
ber. Let us quit this mummery and go elsewhere; I have
no taste for wombs."

His hand was on my shoulder. "You will stay. We
will finish this. If I have to, I will make you."

I turned my back on him and paced to the farthest
corner, avoiding the edge of the pit. There I waited,
leaning against the stone, and fett the fluted wings of a
falcon caress my neck. It made me stand up again.

"You are not Cheysuli," Duncan said. "You cannot be
Cheysuli. But you can be made to better understand what
it is to think and feet tike a Cheysuli."

"And this will make me a man?" I could not entirely
hide my resentment.

"It will make you, however briefly, one of us." His face
was solemn in the torchlight. "It will not last. But you will
know, for a moment, what it is to be Cheysuli. A child of
the gods." He made the gesture oftahlnwrra. "And it will
make you a better Mujhar."

My throat was dry. "Mujhar is a Cheysuli word, is it
not? And Homana?"

"Mujhar means king," he said quietly. "Homana is a
phrase: of all blood."

"King of all blood," I felt the tension in my belly "So,
since you cannot put a Cheysuli on the throne—yet—you
will do what else you can to make me into one "

"Ja'hai, cheysu," he answered, "ja'hai, cheysu, Mujhar."

' No!" I shouted. "Will you condemn me to the gods?
Duncan—I am afraid—"

The word echoed in the vault. Duncan merely waited.

It nearly mastered me. I felt the sweat break out and

218 Jennifer Roberson

run from my armpits; the stench of fear coated my body. A
shudder wracked my bones and set my flesh to rising. I
wanted to relieve myself, and my bowels had turned to
water.

"A man goes naked before the gods."
So, he would have me strip as well. Grimly, knowing he
would see the shrinking of my genitals, I pulled off my
boots, my shirt, and lastly the snug dark breeches. And
there was no pity in Duncan's eyes, or anything of amuse-
ment. Merely compassion, and perfect comprehension.

He moved to the torches. He took each from the brack-
ets and carried them out into the stairway closet. The door
to the vault stood open, but I knew it was not an exit.

"When I shut up the wall, you must jump."

He shut up the wall.

And I jumped—

NINETEEN

Jahai, cheysu, Mujhar—

The words echoed in my head.
ja'hai, cheysu, Mujhar—

I fell. And I fell. So far. . . Into blackness; into a
^ perfect emptiness. So far. . . .
I screamed.

The sound bounced off the walls of the oubliette; the
round, sheer walls I could not see. "Redoubled, the scream
came back and vibrated in my bones.
I fell.

I wondered if Duncan heard me. I wondered—I won-
dered—I did not. I simply fell.
Ja'hai, cheysu, Mujhar—

It swallowed me whole, the oubliette; I fell back into
the Womb. And could not say whether it would give me
;' up again—

~ Duncan, oh Duncan, you did not give me proper warning
, . . But is there a proper way? Or is it only to fall and, in
falling, learn the proper way?

Down.

'   I was stopped. I was caught. I was halted in mid-fall.
Something looped out around my ankles and wrists. Hands?
No. Something else; something else that licked out from
! the blackness and caught me tightly at wrists and ankles,
^chest and hips. And I hung, belly-down, suspended in
Ltotal darkness.

I 219 I

220 Jennifer Roberson
I vomited. The bile spewed out of my mouth from the
depths of my belly and fell downward into the pit. My
bladder and bowels emptied, so that I was nothing but a
shell of quivering flesh. I hung in perfect stillness, not
daring to move, to breathe; praying to stay caught by
whatever had caught me.

Cods—do not let me faU again—not again—

Netting? Taut, thin netting, perhaps, hung from some
unseen protrusions in the roundness of the oubliette. 1
had seen nothing at the lip of the pit, merely the pit itself,
yet it was possible the oubliette was not entirely smooth.
Perhaps there was even a way out.

The ropes did not tear my flesh. They simply held me
immobile, so that my body touched nothing but air. I did
not sag from arms and legs because of the ropes at chest
and hips. I was supported, in a manner of speaking, and
yet remained without it.

A cradle. And the child held face-down to float within
the Womb.

"Duncan?" I whispered it, fearing my voice would upset
the balance. "Is it supposed to be this way?"

But Duncan was gone, leaving me completely alone,
and I knew why he had done it. Finn had said little of
Cheysuli manhood rites, since most warriors were judged
fully grown by the bonding of the lir, but I thought there
might be more. And I would remain ignorant of it, being
Homanan and therefore unblessed, unless this was the
way to discover what made the Cheysuli, Cheysuli.

Tonight I will make you a king.

A king? I wondered. Or a madman? Fear can crush a
soul.

I did not move. I hung. I listened. I wondered if Dun-
can would return to see how I fared, I would hear him. I
would hear the grate of stone upon stone, even the subde
silence of his movements. I would hear him because I
listened so well, with the desperation of a man wishing to
keep his mind. And if he came back, I would shout for him
to let me out.

Probably I would beg.

Co in a prince and come out a Mujhar.

Gods, would it be worth it?

THE SONG OF HOMANA      221
•^

f

fr
^~

Air. I breathed. There was no flavor to it, no stench to
make it foul. Just air. From somewhere trickled the air
that kept me alive; perhaps there were holes I could use
to escape.

I hung in total silence. When I turned my head, slowly,
I heard the grating pop of spinal knots untying. I heard
my hair rasp against my shoulders. Hardly sounds. Mostly
whispers. And yet I heard them.

I heard also the beating begin: pa-thump, pa-thump,
pa-thump.

Footsteps? No. Duncan? No.

Pa-thump, pa-thump, pa-thump.

I heard the wind inside my head, the raucous hissing
roar. Noise, so much noise, hissing inside my head. I shut
my eyes and tried to shut off my ears.

Pa-thump, pa-thump, pa-thump.

I hung- Naked and quite alone, lost within the darkness.

The Womb of the Earth. A child again, I was; an un-
born soul caught within the Womb. It was the beating of
my own heart I heard; the noise of silence inside my head.
A child again, was I, waiting to be born.

"Duncannnn—!"

1 shut my eyes. I hung. The chut of fear began to fade. I
lost my sense of touch, the knowledge I was held.

I floated.
. Silence.

Floating—

No warmth. No cold. Nothingness. I floated in the
absence of light, of sound, of touch, taste and smell. I did
not exist.

I waited with endless patience.

Ringing. Like sword upon sword. Ringing. Noise—
It filled my head until I could taste it. I could smell it-
It sat on my tongue with the acrid tang of blood. Had I
bitten myself? No. I had no blood. Only flesh, depending

from the ropes.

My eyes, I knew, were open. They stared. But I was

blind. I saw only darkness, the absolute absence of light,

222 Jennifer Roberson

And then it came up and struck me in the face, and the
light of the world fell upon me.

I cried out. Too much, too much—will you blind me
with the light?

It will make you, however briefly, one of us.

"Duncan?"

The whisper I mouthed was a shout. I recoiled in my
ropes and recalled I had a body. A body. With two arms,
two legs, a head. Human. Male. Carillon of Homana.

You will know, for a moment, what it is to be Cheysuli.

But I did not.

I knew nothing.

I thought only of being born.

I heard the rustling of wings. The scrape of talons. Cai?
No. Duncan had left him behind.

Soughing of wings spread, stretching, folding, preening.
The pipping chirp of a falcon; the fierce shriek of a hunting
hawk. The scream of an angry eagle.

Birds. All around me birds. I felt the breath of their
wings against my face, the caress of many feathers. How I
wanted to join them, to feel the wind against my wings
and know the freedom of the skies. To dance. Oh, to
dance upon the wind—

I felt the subtle seduction. I opened my mouth and
shouted: "I am man, not bird! Man, not beast! Man, not
shapechanger!"

Silence soothed me. Pa-thump, pa-thump, pa-thump.

Whispering.

DemonDemonDemon—

I floated.
DemonDemonDemon—

I stirred. No.

SHAPEchangerSHAPEchangerSHAPEchanger—

NoNoNo. I smiled. ManManMan.

YouShiftYouShtftYouShtft—

Gods' blessing, I pointed out. Cannot be denied.

BeastBeast Beast—

No'No!No!

I floated. And I became a beast.

THE SONG OF HOMANA   223

I ran. Four-legged, I ran. With a tail slashing behind
me, I ran. And knew the glory of such freedom.

The warm earth beneath my paws, catching in the curv-
ing nails. The smells of trees and sky and grass and brush.
The joyousness of playful flight, to leap across the creeks.
Ilie hot red meat of prey taken down, the taste of flesh in
my mouth. But most of all the freedom, the utter, perfect
freedom, to cast off cares and think only of the day. The
moment. Not yesterday, not tomorrow; the day. The mo-
ment. Now.

And to know myself a lir.

Lir? I stopped. I stood in the shadow of a wide-boled
beech. The glittering of sunlight through the leaves spat-
tered gems across my path.

Lir?

Wolf. Like Storr: silver-coated, amber-eyed. With such
grace as a man could never know.

How? I asked. How is it done?

Finn had never been able to tell me in words I could
-understand. Lir and warrior and lir, he had said, knowing
no other way. To part them was to give them over to
death, be it quick or slow. The great yawning emptiness
would lead directly into madness, and sooner death than
such an end.

For the first time I knew the shapechange. I felt it in
my bones, be they wolfs or man's. I felt the essence of
myself run out into the soil until the magic could be
tapped.
The void. The odd, distorted image of a man as he
exchanged his shape for another. He changed his shape at
will, by giving over the human form to the earth. It spilled
out of him, sloughing off his bones, even as the bones
themselves altered. What was not needed in fir-shape,
such as clothing, weapons and too much human weight,
went into storage in the earth, protected by the magic. An
exchange. Give over excess and receive the smaller form.

Magic. Powerful magic, rooted in the earth. I felt the
heavy hair rise upon my hackles, so that I saw the trans-
formation. Of soul as well as flesh.

I knew the void for what it was. I understood why it

224 I JennlfT Robttrxon

existed. The gods had made it as a ward against the
dazzled eyes of humans who saw the change. For to see
flesh and bone before you melt into the ground, to be
remade into another shape, might be too much for even
the strongest to bear. And so mystery surrounded the
change, and magic, and the hint of sorcery. No man,
seeing the change for what it was, would ever name the
Cheysuli men.

And now, neither could I.

The fear came down to swallow me whole and I recoiled
against my ropes.

Ropes. I hung in the pit. A man, not a wolf, not a beast.
But until I acknowledged what the Cheysuli were, 1 would
never be Muj'har.

Homana was Cheysuli.

I felt the madness come out of my mouth. "Accept!" I
shouted. "Accept this man, this Mujhar!"

Silence

"Ja'hai!" I shouted. "Ja'hai, cheysu. Ja'hai—Ja'hai, cheysu,
Mujhar!"

"Carillon."

"Ja'hai," I panted. "Ja'hai!" 0 gods, accept 0 gods,
acceptAcceptAccept—

"Carillon."

If they did not—if they did not—

"Carillon."

Flesh on flesh. Flesh on flesh. A hand supporting my
head.

"Jehana?" I rasped. "Jehana? Ja'hai. . .jehana.ja'hai—"

Two hands were on my head. They held it up. They
cradled it, like a child too weak to lift himself up. I lay
against the cold stone floor on my back, and a shadow was
kneeling over me.

My blinded eyes could only see shape. Male. Not my
Jehana.

"Jehan?" I gasped.

'No," he said. "Rujholli. In this, for this moment, we
are." The hands tightened a moment. "Rujho, it is over."

"Ja'hai—?"

'Ja'hai-na." he said soothingly. "Ja'hai-na Homana
Mujhar. You are born."

THE SONG OF HOMANA   225

BomBomBom. "Ja'hai-na?"

"Accepted," he said gently. "The king of all blood is
Jbom."

.. The Homanan was back on my tongue, but the voice
Was hardly human. "But I am not." Suddenly, I knew it.
"I am only a Homanan."

"For four days you have been Cheysuli. It will be

trough."

I swallowed. "There is no light. I can barely see you."
i^Ul I could see was the darker shape of his body against
,Ae cream-colored walls, and the looming of the Ur.
, "I left the torch in the staircase and me door is mostly
ihut. Until you are ready, it'is best this way."

My eyes ached. It was from the light, scarce though it
was, as it crept around the opening in the wall. It gleamed
on his gold and nearly blinded me with its brilliance, it
made the scar a black line across his face.
Scar. Not Duncan. Finn.

"Finn—" I tried to sit up and could not. I lacked the
'litrength.

' He pressed me down again. "Make no haste. You are
not—whole, just yet."
f. Not whole? What was I then—?

"Finn—" I broke off. "Am I out? Out of the oubliette?"
]|( seemed impossible to consider.

' He smiled- It chased away the strain and weariness I
TWP stretching the flesh of his shadowed face "You are out

-flf the Womb of the Earth. Did I not say you had been

torn?"

^.

^ Tlie marble was hard beneath my naked body. I drew
up my legs so I could see my knees, to see if I was whole.
I was. In body, if not in mind. "Am I gone mad? Is that

-»faat you meant?"

'." "Only a little, perhaps. But it will pass. It is not—" He
broke off a moment. "It is not a thing we have done very

ten, this forcing of a birth. It is never easy on the

&nt."

I sat up then, thrusting against the cold stone floor.

uddenly I was another man entirely. Not Carillon, Some-
ig else. Something drove me up onto my knees. I

226 Jennifer Roberson

knelt, facing Finn, staring into his eyes. So yellow, even
in the darkness. So perfectly bestial—

I put up a hand to my own. I could not touch the color
They had been blue ... I wondered now what they were
I wondered what I was . . .

"A man," Finn said.

1 shut my eyes. I sat very still in the darkness, knowing
light only by the faint redness across my lids. I heard my
breathing as I had heard it in the pit.

And pa-thump, pa-thump, pa-thump.

"Ja'hai-na." Finn said gently, "ja'hai-na Homana Mujhar."

I reached out and caught his wrist before he could
respond. I realized it had been the first time I had out-
thought him, anticipating his movement. My fingers were
clamped around his wrist as he had once clasped mine,
preparing to cut it open. I had no knife, but he did. I had
only to put out my other hand and take it.

I smiled. It was flesh beneath my fingers, blood beneath
the flesh. He would bleed as I had bled. A man, and
capable of dying. Not a sorcerer, who might live forever

Not like Tynstar. Cheysuli. not Ihlini.

I looked at his hand. He did not attempt to move. He
merely waited. "Is it difficult to accomplish?" I asked.
"When you put your self into the earth, and take out
another form? I have seen you do it. I have seen the
expression on your face, while the face is still a face, and
not hidden by the void." I paused. "There is a need in me
to know."

The dilation turned his eyes black. "There are no
Homanan words—"

"Then give me Cheysuli words. Say it in the Old Tongue."

He smiled "Sul'harai, Carillon. That is what it is."

That I had heard before. Once. We had sat up one night
in Caledon, lost in our jugs ofusca, and spoke as men will
about women, saying what we liked. Much had not been
said aloud, but we had known. In our minds had been
Alix- But out of that night had come a single complex word.
sul'harai. It encompassed that which was perfect in the
union of man and woman, almost a holy thing. And though
the Homanan language lacked the proper words for him. I
had heard it in his tone.

THE SONG OF HOMANA   227

Sul'harai. When a man was a woman and a woman a
man, two halves of a whole, for that single fleeting instant.
And so at last I knew the shapechange.

Finn moved to the nearest wall and sat against it, rest-
ing his forearms on his drawn-up knees. Black hair fell
into his face, it needed cutting, as usual. But what I
noticed most was how he resembled the ^ir-shapes upon
(he wall, even in human form. There is something preda-
tory about the Cheysuli. Something that makes them wild.

"When did you come back?"

He smiled. "That is a Carillon question; I think you are
yecovered." He shifted. Behind him was a hawk with open
. wings- The stone seemed to encase his shoulders so that
' %e appeared to be sprouting wings. But no, that was his
brother's gift. "Two days ago I came. The palace was in an
uproar: the Mujhar, it was said, had gone missing. Assassi-
nation? No. But it took Duncan to tell me, quite calmly,

-he had brought you here to be born."

• I scrubbed an arm across my head. "Did you know
about this place?"
"I knew it was here. Not where, precisely. And I did
not know he had intended such a thiag." His brow creased.
\ "He reprimanded me because I had risked you in the star
J.aaoagic, and yet he brought you down here and risked you
fIftB over again. I do not understand him."
^ "He might have been Mujhar," I said reflectively, feel-
'^ing the rasp in my throat. "Duncan, instead of me. Had
^ .the Homanans never ruled ..."
^ Finn shrugged. "But they—you—did. It does not mat-
'^ter what might have been. Duncan is clan-leader, and for
^a Cheysuli it is enough."

I put up a hand and looked at it. It was flesh stretched
^'-Over bone. Callused flesh. And yet I thought it had been a
ifcpaw. "Dreams," I murmured.

||T "Divulge nothing," Finn advised. "You are the Mujhar,
js not I, you should keep to yourself what has happened. It
awakes the magic stronger."

^ The hand flopped down to rest across my thigh. I felt
'QO weak to move. "What magic? I am Homanan."
, "But you have been born again from the Womb of the
Sarth. You lack the proper blood, it is true, and the




228 Jennifer Rob«rson

fir-gifts as well . . . but you share in a bit of the magic."
He smiled, "Knowing what you survived should be magic
enough."

Emptiness filled my belly. "Food. Gods, I need food!"

"Wait you, then. I have something for you." Finn rose
and went away, stepping out of the vault. I stared blankly
at all the walls until he came back again. A wineskin was in
his hand.

I drank, then nearly spat it out. "Usca\"

"Jehana's milk," he agreed. "You need it, now. Drink.
Not much, but a little. Stop dribbling like a baby."

Weakly I tried to smile and nearly failed in the attempt.
"Gods, do I not petfood—"

'Then put on your clothes and we will go out of here."

Clothes. Unhappily, I looked at the pile. Shirt, breeches,
boots. I doubted I could manage even the shirt.

And then I recalled how I had lost control of my body in
the oubliette, and the heat rushed up to swallow my
flesh.
"Gods," I said finally, "I cannot go like this—"

Finn fetched the clothing, brought it back and began
putting it on me, as if I were a child. "You are too big to
carry,' he said when I stood, albeit wobbly, in my boots.
"And it might somewhat tarnish your reputation. Carillon
the Mujhar, drunk in some corner of his palace. What
would the servants say?"

I told him, quite clearly, what I thought of servants
speaking out of turn. I did it in the argot of the army we
had shared, and it made him smile. And then he grasped
my arm a moment.

"Ja'hai-na. There is no humiliation."

I turned unsteadily toward the door and saw the light
beyond. I wavered on my feet.

"Walk, my lord Mujhar. Your jelwna and rujolla are
here."

"Stairs."

"Climb," he advised. "Unless you prefer to fly."

For a moment, just a moment, I wondered if I could.
And then I sighed, knowing I could not. and started to
climb the stairs.

TWENTY

I stared back at myself from the glitter of the polished
/-Silver plate set against the wall. My hair was cut so that no
^nger did it tangle on my shoulders, and the beard was
primmed. I was less unkempt than ] had been in years. I
'hardly knew myself.

"No more the mercenary-prince,"^ Finn said.
I could see him in the plate. Like me, he dressed for
^the occasion, though he wore leathers instead of velvet.
^yhite leathers, so that his skin looked darker still. And
^Igold. On arms, his ear, his belt. And the royal blade with
,^fts rampant lion. Though at a wedding no man went armed
iSsave the Mujhar with his Cheysuli sword, the Cheysuli
*Were set apart. Finn more so than most, I thought; he was
lore barbarian than man with all his gold; more warrior
ian wedding guest.
"And you?" I asked. "What are you?"
He smiled. "Your liege man, my lord Mujhar."
I turned away from the plate, frowning. "How much
me?"
"Enough," he returned. "Carillon—do not fret so. Do
ou think she will not come?"

"There are hundreds of people assembled in the Great
(all," I said irritably. "Should Electra choose to humiliate
Ie by delaying the ceremony, she will accomplish it.
ready I feel ill." I put one hand against my belly. "By
gods—I should never have agreed to this—"

I 229 I

230 Jennifer Roberson

Finn laughed. "Think of her as an enemy, then, and not
merely a bride. For all that, she is one. Now, how would
you face her?"

I scowled and touched the circlet on my head, settling it
more comfortably. "I would sooner face her in bed than
before the priest."

"You told me it was to make peace between the realms.
Have you decided differently?"

I sighed and put my hand on the hilt of my sword. A
glance at it reminded me of what Tynstar had done, the
ruby still shone black. "No," I answered. "It must be
done. But I would sooner have my freedom."

"Ah," His brows slid up. "Now you see the sense in a
solitary life. Were you me—" But he broke off, shrugging.
"You are not. And had I a choice—" Again he shrugged.
"You will do well enough."

"Carillon." It was Tony in the doorway of my cham-
bers, dressed in bronze-colored silk and a chaplet of pearls.
"Etectra is nearly ready."

Something very akin to fear surged through my body.
Then I realized it was fear. "Oh gods—what do I do? How
do I go through with this?" I looked at Finn. "I have been
a fool—"

"You are often that," Torry agreed, coming directly to
me to pry my hand off the sword. "But for now, you will
have to show the others you are not, particularly Electra.
Do you think she will say nothing if you go to her like
this?" She straightened the fit of my green velvet doublet,
though my body-servant had tended it carefully.

Impatiently, I brushed her hands aside. "Oh gods, there
is the gift. I nearly forgot—" I moved past her to the
marble table and pushed back the lid on the ivory casket.
In the depths of blue velvet winked the silver. I reached
in and pulled out the girdle dripping with pearls and sap-
phires. The silver links would clasp Electra's waist very
low, then hang down the front other skirts.
"Carillon!" Torry stared. "Where did you find such a
thing?"

I lifted the torque from the casket as well, a slender
silver torque set with a single sapphire with a pearl on

THE SONG OF HOMANA   231

either side. There were earrings also, but I had no hands
for those.

Finn's hand shot out and grabbed the torque. I released
it, surprised, and saw the anger in his eyes. "Do you know
what these are?" he demanded.

Tourmaline and I both stared at him. Finally I nodded.
"They were Lindir's. Ail the royal jewels were brought to
me three weeks ago, so I could choose some for Electra. I
thought these—"

"Hale made these." Finn's face had lost its color, yet the
scar was a deep, livid red. "Myjehan fashioned these with
^uch care as you have never known. And now you mean
them for her?"

Slowly I settled the girdle back into the ivory casket.
"Aye," I said quietly. "I am sorry—I did not know Hale
made them But as for their disposition, aye. I mean them
for Electra."

"You cannot. They were Lindir's." His mouth was a
thin, pale line. "I care little enough for the memory of the
Homanan princess my jehan left us for, but I do care for
, what he made. Give them to Torry instead."

I glanced at my sister briefly and saw the answering
pallor in her face. Well, I did not blame her. Without
shouting, he made his feelings quite clear

I saw how tightly his fingers clenched the torque. The
silver was so fine I thought he might bend it into ruin.
Slowly I put out my hand and gestured with my fingers.

"Carillon—" Torry began, but I cut her off.

"Give it over," I told Finn. "I am sorry, as I have said.
But these jewels are meant for Electra. For the Queen."

Finn did not release the torque. Instead, before I could
move, he turned and set it around Torry's throat. "There,"
he said bitterly. "Do you want it, take it from your rujholla."

"No!" It was Torry, quite sharply. "You will not make
me the bone of contention. Not over this." Swiftly she
pulled the torque from her throat and put it into my
hands. Their eyes locked for a single moment, and then
Finn turned away.

- I set the torque back into the casket and closed the lid.
il-For a moment I stared at it, then picked it up in both

232 Jennifer Roberson

hands. 'Torry, will you take it^ It is my bride-gift to
her."

Finn's hands came down on the casket. "No." He shook
his head. "Does anyone give over the things my jehan
made, it will be me. Do you see? It has to be done this
way."

"Aye," I agreed, "it does. And is it somehow avoided—"

"It will not be." Finn bit off the words. "Am I not your
liege man?" He turned instantly and left my chambers,
the casket clutched in his hands. I put my hand to my
brow and rubbed it, wishing I could take off the heavy
circlet.

"I have never seen him so angry," Torry said finally.
"Not even at the Keep when Alix made him spend his
time in a pavilion, resting, when he wished to hunt with
Donal."

1 laughed, glad of something to take my mind from
Finn's poor temper. "Alix often makes Finn angry, and
he, her. It is an old thing between them."

"Because he stole her?" Torry smiled as I looked at her
sharply. "Aye, Finn told me the story . . . when I asked.
He also told me something else." She reached out to
smooth my doublet one more time. "He said that did he
ever again want a woman the way he had wanted Alix, he
would let no man come between them. Not you; not his
brother." Her hand was stiff against my chest, her gaze
intense. "And I believe him "

I bent down and kissed her forehead. "That is bitterness
speaking, Torry. He has never gotten over Alix. I doubt
he ever will." I tucked her hand into my arm. "Now
come. It is time this wedding was accomplished."

The Great Halt was filled with the aristocracy of Solinde
and Homana, and the pride of the Cheysuli. I waited at
the hammered silver doors for Electra and regarded the
assembled multitude with awe. Somehow I had not thought
so many would wish to see the joining of two realms that
had warred for so long, perhaps they thought we would
slay each other before the priest.

I tired to loosen the knots in jaw and belly. My teeth
hurt, but only because I clenched them so hard. I had not
THE SONG OF HOMANA      233

thought a wedding would be so frightening. And I, a
soldier ... I smiled wryly. Not this day. Today I was
merely a bridegroom, and a nervous one at that.

The Homanan priest waited quietly on the dais by the
throne. The guests stood grouped within the halt tike a
cluster of bees swarming upon the queen. Or Mujhar.

1 searched the faces for those I knew: Finn, standing
near the forefront. Duncan and Alix; the former solemn,
as usual, the latter uncommonly grave. My lady mother
sat upon a stool, and beside her stood my sister. My
mother still wore a wimple and coif to hide the silver hair,
but no longer did she go in penury. Now she was the
mother of a king, not the fl-iother of a rebel, and it showed
quite clearly in her clothing. As for Tourmaline, she set the
hall ablaze with her tawny beauty. And Lachlan, near her,
knew it.

I sighed. Poor Lachlan, so lost within his worship of my
sister. I had had little time of late to spare him, and with
Torry present his torture was harder yet. And yet there
was nothing I could do. Nothing he could do, save with-
stand the pain he felt.

"My lord."

I froze at once. The moment had come upon us. 17s; it
was Electra who spoke. I turned toward her after a mo-
ment's hesitation.

She was Bellam's daughter to the bone. She wore white,
the color of mourning, as if to say quite clearly—without
speaking a word—just what she thought of the match.
Well, I had expected little else.

' She regarded me from her great gray eyes, so heavy-
lashed and long-lidded. The mass of white-blonde hair fell
past her shoulders to tangle at her knees, unbound as was
proper for a maiden. I longed to put my hands into it and
pulf her against my hips.

"You see?" she said. "I wear your bride-gift."

She did the silver and sapphires justice. Gods, what a
woman was this—

Yet in   that moment she reminded me not so much of a
'woman   as a predator. Her assurance gave me no room for
doubt,   and yet I wanted her more than ever. More, even,
than I   could coherently acknowledge.

234 Jennifer Roberson

I put out an arm. "Lady—you honor me."
She slipped a pale, smooth hand over the green velvet
of my sleeve. "My lord . . . that is the least I will do to
you."

The ceremony was brief, but I heard little of it. Some-
thing deep inside me clamored for attention, though I
longed to ignore it. Finn's open disapproval kept swim-
ming to the surface of my consciousness, though his face
was bland enough when I looked. By each time I looked at
Electra I saw a woman, and her beauty, and knew Only
how much I wanted her.

I spoke the vows that bound us, reciting the Homanan
words with their tinge of Cheysuli nuance. It seemed
apropos. Homana and the Cheysuli were inseparable, and
now I knew why.

Electra repeated them after me, watching me as she
said the words. Her Solindish mouth framed the syllables
strangely, making a parody of the vows. I wondered if she
did it deliberately. No. She was Solindish . . . and un-
doubtedly knew what she said even as she said it.

The priest put a hand on her head and the other rested
on mine. There was a moment of heavy silence as we knelt
before the man. And then he smiled and said the words of
benediction for the new-made Mujhar and his lady wife.

I had taken the woman; I would keep her. Electra was
mine at last.

When the wedding feast was done, we adjourned to a
second audience hall, this one somewhat smaller but no
less magnificent than the Great Hall with its Lion Throne.
A gallery ran along the side walls. Lutes, pipes, tambors,
harps and a boys' chorus provided an underscore to the
celebration. It was not long before men warmed by wine
neglected to speak of politics and waited to lead their
ladies onto the red stone floor.

But the dancing could not begin until the Mujhar and
his queen began it. And so I took Electra into the center
of the shining floor and signaled the dance begun.

She fell easily into the intricate patter of moving feet
and swirling skirts. Our hands touched, fell away. The
dance was more of a courtship than anything else, filled

THE SONG OF HOMANA   235

with the subtle overtures of man to woman and woman to
man. I was aware of the eyes on us and the smiling
mouths, though few of them belonged to the Solindish
guests There was little happiness there.

"Tell me," I said, as we essayed a pass that brought us
close in the center of the floor, "where is Tynstar?"

She stiffened and nearly missed a step. I caught her arm
and steadied her, offering a bland smile as she stared at
me in shock.

"Did you think I would not ask?" I moved away in the
pattern of the dance, but in a moment we were together
again.

She drew in a breath that set the sapphires to glowing
against the pale flesh of her throat. The girdle chimed in
the folds of her skirts. "My lord—you have taken me
unaware."

"I do not think you are ever taken unaware, Electra." I
smiled. "Where is he?"

The pattern swept us apart yet again. I waited, watch-
ing the expressions on her face. She moved effortlessly
because she claimed a natural grace, but her mind was not
on the dance.

"Carillon—"

"Where is Tynstar?"

Long lids shuttered her eyes a moment, but when she
raised them again I saw the hostility plainly Her mouth
was a taut, thin line. "Gone. I cannot say where."

I caught her hand within the pattern of the dance Her
fingers were cool, as ever, I recalled them from before.
"You had best content yourself with me, Electra. You are
my wife."

"And Queen?" she countered swiftly.

I smiled. "You want a crown, do you?"

The high pride of royalty burst forth at once. "I am
worthy of it! Even you cannot deny me that."

We closed again within the figure. I held her hand and
led her the length of the hall. We turned, came back
again, acknowledging the clapping from the guests The
courtship had been settled, the lady had won.

"Perhaps I cannot deny it to you," I agreed "You will
be the mother of my heir."

236 Janntfer Roberson

Her teeth showed briefly. 'That is your price? A child?"

"A son. Give me a son, Electra."
For only a moment there was careful consideration in
her eyes. And then she smiled. "I am, perhaps, too old to
bear your children. Did you never think of that?"

I crushed the flesh and bones of her hand with my own.
"Speak not of such nonsense, lady! And I doubt notTynstar,
when he gave you permanent youth, left your childbear-
ing years intact."

Dull color stained her cheeks. The dance was done; no
longer did she have to follow my lead. And yet we were
watched, and dared not divulge our conversation.

Electra smiled tightly. "As you wish, my lord husband.
I will give you the child you want."

I thought, then, the celebration went on too long. And
yet I could not take her to bed quite yet. Propriety de-
manded we wait a little while.

But even a little can be too long.

Electra looked at me sidelong. I saw the tilt of her head
and the speculation in her eyes. She judged me even as I
judged her. And then I caught her fingers in mine and
raised them to my mouth. "Lady—I salute you," I mur-
mured against her hand.

Electra merely smiled.

1 thought, later, the world had changed, even if only
a little. Perhaps more than just a little. What had begun
in lust and gratification had ended in something more,
Not love; hardly love, but a better understanding. The
recriminations were gone, replaced with comprehension,
yet even as we moved toward that comprehension I
knew it would not be easy. We had been enemies too
long.

Electra's legs were tangled with mine, and much other
hair was caught beneath my shoulder. Her head was upon
my arm, using it for a pillow, and we both watched the
first pink light of dawn creep through the hangings on the
bed.

We had spent the remainder of the night in consumma-
tion of our marriage, having escaped the dancing at last,

THE SONG OF HOMANA   237

and neither of us had been surprised to find we were so
well-matched. That had been between us from the begin-
ning. But now, awake and aware again of what had hap-
pened, we lay in silent contemplation of the life that lay
before us.

"Do you forget?" she asked. "1 was Tynstar's woman."
I smiled grimly at the hangings that kept the chill from
our flesh. "You share a bed with me now, not Tynstar. It
does not matter."

"Does it not?" Like me. she smiled, but, I thought, for
a different reason.

I sighed. "Aye, it matters. You know it does, Electra.
But it is me you have wed, not him, let us leave him out of
our marriage."

"I did not think you would admit it." She shifted closer
to me. "I thought you would blame me for everything."

I twisted my arm so I could put my fingers in her hair.
"Should I?"

"No," she said, "lay no blame on me. I had no choice in
the matter." She twisted, pulling free of my arm and
sitting up to kneel before me in the dawn. "You cannot
know what it is to be a woman, -to know yourself a prize
meant for the winning side. First Tynstar demanded me—
his price for aiding my father. And then you, even you,
saying you would wed me when we had lost the war. Do
you see? Ever the prize given to the man."

'Tynstar's price?" I frowned as she nodded again. 'The
cost of Inhlini aid ..." I shook my head. "I had not
thought of that—"

"You thought I wanted him?"

I laughed shortly. "You were quite convincing about it.
You ever threw it in my face—"

"You are the enemy!" She sounded perplexed I could
not understand. "Am I to go so willingly into surrender?
Am I to let you think I am yours for the easy taking? Ah
Carillon, you are a man, like other men. You think all a
woman wants is to be wanted by a man." She laughed.
"There are other things than that—things such as power—"

I pulled her down again. "Then the war between us is
done?"

238 JennlfT Robwson

The light on her face was gentle. "I want no war in our
bed. But do you seek to harm my realm, I will do what 1
can to gainsay you."

I traced the line of her jaw and settled my fingers at her
throat. "Such as seeking to slay me again?"

She stiffened and jerked her head away. "Will you
throw that in my face?"
I caught a handful of hair so she could not turn away.
"Zared might have succeeded. Worse yet, he might have
slain my sister. Do you expect me to forgive—or forget—
that?"

"Aye. I wanted you slain!" she cried. "You were the
enemy! What else could I do? Were I a man, my lord
Mujhar, you would not question my intention. Are you
not a soldier? Do you not slay? Why should I be differ-
ent?" Color stood high in her face. "Tell me I was wrong
to try to slay the man who threatened my father. Tell me
you would not have done the same thing had you been in
my place. Tell me I should not have used what weapon I
had at hand, be it magic or knife or words." She did not
smile, staring intently into my face. "I am not a man and
cannot go to war. But I am my father's daughter. And
given the chance, I would do it again . . . but he is no
longer alive. What good would it do? Solinde is yours and
you have made me Queen of Homana. Were you to die,
Solinde would be no better off. A woman cannot rule
there." A muscle ticked in her jaw. "So I have wed you.
my lord, and share your bed, my lord, which is all a
woman can do."

After a moment I took a deep breath. 'There is one
more," I said gently. "You can also bear a son."

"A son!" she said bitterly. "A son for Homana, to rule
when you are dead. What good does that do Solinde?"

"Two sons," I said. "Bear me two, Electra . . . and the
second shall have Solinde."

Her long-lidded eyes sought out the lie, except I offered
none. "Do you mean it?"

"Your son shall have Solinde."

Her chin thrust upward. "My son," she whispered, and
smiled a smile of triumph.

THE SONG OF HOMANA   239

I was falling. Another oubliette. But this time a woman
caught me and took the fear away.
"Ja'hai," I murmured. "Ja'hai, cheysu, Mujhar."
Accept this man; this Mujhar. . .
But it was not to the gods I said it.

PART II

ONE

fJt stared at Finn in anguish. "Why will it not be born?"

He did not smile, but I saw faint amusement in his
yes. "Children come in their own time. You cannot rush
iem, or they hang back—as this one does."
"Two days." It seemed a lifetime. "How does Electra
ear it? / could not—I could not bear a moment of it."
"Perhaps that is why the gods gave women instead of
an the task of bearing children." Finn's tone lacked the
y humor 1 expected, being more understanding than I
d ever heard him. "In the clans, it is no easier. But
lere we leave it to the gods."

"Gods," I muttered, staring at the heavy wooden door
Uttudded with iron nails. "It is not the gods who got this
Jl^hild on her . . . that took me."

1; "And your manhood proven." Finn did smile now.
^PCarilton—Electra will be well enough. She is a strong
%^oman—"

^f "Two days," I repeated "She might be dying of it."
y "No," Finn said, "not Electra. She is far stronger than
|you think—"




I cut him off with a motion of my hand. I could not bear
listen. I had found myself remarkably inattentive of
[e, being somewhat taken up with the birth of my first
iild. All I could think of was Electra on the other side of
door, Electra in the bed with her women around her

I Z43 I

244 Jennifer Roberson

and the midwife in attendance, while I waited in the
corridor like a lackey.

"Carillon," Finn said patiently, "she will bear the child
when the child is ready to come."

"Alix lost one." I recalled the anger I had felt when I
had learned it from Duncan. The Ihlini attack on the Keep
had caused her to lose the child, and Duncan had said it
was unlikely she would ever bear another. And I thought
again of Electra, realizing how fragile even a strong woman
could be. "She is—not as young as she appears. She could
die of this."

Finn shut his mouth and I saw the lowering of his
brows. Like most, Finn forgot Electra was twenty years
older than she appeared. My reminding him of it served
as vivid notice that she was more than merely woman and
wife; she was ensorcelled as well, with a definite link to
Tynstar. No more his meijha, perhaps, but she bore the
taint—or blessing—of his magic.
I leaned against the door and let my head thump back
upon the wood. "Gods—I would almost rather be in a war
than live through this—"

Finn grimaced. "It is not the same at all—"

"You cannot say," I accused. "Z sired this child, not you.
You cannot even lay claim to a bastard."

"No," he agreed, "I cannot." For a moment he looked
down at Storr sitting so quietly by his side. The wolfs eyes
were slitted and sleepy, as if bored by his surroundings. I
wished I could be as calm.

I shut my eyes. "Why will they not come and tell me it
is born?"

"Because it is not." Finn put a hand on my arm and
pulled me away from the door. "Do you wish it so much, I
will speak to her. I will use the third gift on her, and tell
her to have the child."

I stared at him. "You can do that?"

"It is no difierent from any other time I used it." Finn
shrugged. "Compulsion need not always be used for
harm—it can exact an obedience that is not so harsh, such
as urging a woman to give birth." He smiled faintly. "I am
no midwife, but I think it likely she is afraid. As you say,

THE SONG OF HOMANA   245

she is not so young as she looks—she may fear also she will
^a0t bear a son."

,, I swore beneath my breath. "Gods grant it is, but I
efer simply to have her safe. Can you do that? Make her
ar the child in safety?"

"I can tell her to do whatever it is women do while
/ing birth," he said, with excess gravity, "and I think it
kely the child will be born."
I frowned. "It sounds barbaric."

"Perhaps it is. But babies are born, and women go on
Baring them. I think it will not harm her."
"Then come. Do not waste time out here." I hammered
the door. When the woman opened it I ignored her
rtests and pushed the door open wider. "Come," I
ected Finn, and he came in behind me after a mo-
aent's frowning hesitation.

A circle of shocked women formed a barricade around
he bed in the birthing chamber. Doubtless my presence
^^l^fts bad enough, but Finn was a shapechanger. To their

-Blinds we were both anathema.
^ I thrust myself through them and knelt down beside her

Ipcd. Dark circles underlay her eyes and her hair was

i|)anip and tangled. Gone was the magnificent beauty I so

admired, but in its place was an ever greater sort. The

^Bpoman was bearing my child.

^ "Electra?"

-i^ Her eyes flew open and another contraction stabbed
Hferough the huge belly covered by a silken bedcloth.
^'I^Carillon! Oh gods, will you not leave me be? I cannot—"
^ I put my hand on her mouth. "Hush, Electra. I am here
itSO ease your travail. Finn will make the baby come."

' Her eyes, half-crazed by pain, looked past me and saw
^IPinn waiting just inside the doorway. For a moment she
.Only stared, as if not understanding, and then suddenly
^dte opened her mouth and cried out in her Solindish

-.tongue.

^ . I gestured him close, knowing it was the only way to
^Mse her. And yet she cried out again and tried to push
' a"self away- She was nearly incoherent, but I could see
t fear alive in her face.
'Send him away!" she gasped. A brief grunt escaped her

246 Jennifer Roberson

bitten lips. "Carillon—send him away—" Her face twitched
"Oh gods—do as I say—"

The women were muttering among themselves, closing
ranks. I had allowed Electra Solindish women to help her
through her lying-in because 1 knew she had been lonely,
surrounded by Homanans, but now I wished they were
gone. They oppressed me.

"Finn," I appealed, "is there nothing you can do?"

He came forward slowly, not noticing how the women
pulled their skirts away from his passage. I saw hand
gestures and muttered invocations; did they think him a
demon? Aye, likely. And they Solindish, with their Ihlini
sorcerers.

I saw a strangeness in Finn's face as he looked on
Electra. It was a stricken expression, as if he had suddenly
realized the import of the child, or of the woman who bore
it, and what it was to sire a child. There was a sudden
crackling awareness in him, an awareness of Electra as he
had never seen her. I could feel it in him. In nine months 1
had seen him watching her as she watched him, both with
grave, explicit wariness and all defenses raised. But now,
as he squatted down beside the bed, I saw an awakening
of wonder in his eyes.

on

Electra's pride was gone. He saw the woman instead,
not the Ihlini's meijha, not the haughty Solindish princess,
not the Queen of Homana who had wed his liege lord.
And I knew, looking at him, I had made a deadly mistake.

I thought of sending him away. But he had taken her
hand into both of his even as she sought to withdraw, and
it vas too late to speak a word.

He was endlessly patient with her, and so gentle I
hardly knew him. The Finn of old was gone. And yet, as
he looked at her, I had the feeling it was not Etectra he
saw. Someone else, I thought; the change had been too
abrupt.

"Ja'hai," he said clearly, and then—as if knowing she
could not understand the Old Tongue—he translated each
word he spoke. "Ja'hai—accept. Cheysuli i'halla shansu "
He paused. "Shansu, meijhana—peace. May there be
Cheysuli peace upon you—"

THE SONG OF HOMANA   247

"I spit on your peace!" Electra caught her breath as
another contraction wracked her.

Finn had her then. I saw the opaque, detached expres-
' ston come into his eyes and make them empty, and I knew
„ he sought the magic. I thought again of the vault in the
; earth and the oubliette that waited, recalling the sensa-
v^Bons I had experienced. I nearly shivered with the chill

ifaat ran down my spine, raising the hairs on my flesh, for
'. 1 was more in awe of the magic than ever before. For all
4 the Cheysuli claimed themselves human, I knew now they
^were not. More; so much, much more.

Finn twitched. His eyes shut, then opened. I saw his
?ad dip forward as if he slept, then he jerked awake. The
ankness deepened in his eyes, and then suddenly I
iew something had gone wrong. He was—different. His
•sh turned hard as stone and the scar stood up from his
sh. All the color ran out of his face.
Electra cried out, and so did Finn.
I heard growling. Storr leaped into the room, threading
s way through the women. I heard screaming; I heard
relying, I heard Electra's hissing Solindish invectives. I
'fJieard the low growl rising; oh gods, Storr was in the
^room—
«y ,
^€
^

,^; Finn was white as death with an ashen tinge to his
s^BOUth. I put a hand on his arm and felt the rigid, upstand-
^Bg muscles. He twitched again and began to tremble as if
^witfa a seizure; his mouth was slack and open. His tongue
''';was turning dark as it curled back into his throat.
^ And then I saw it was Electra who held his hand and
'that he could not break free of her grasp.

I caught their wrists and jerked, trying to wrench their
hands apart. At first the grip held; Electra's nails bit into
'his skin and drew blood, but it welled dark and thick.
then I broke the grip and Finn was freed, but he was
hardly the Finn I knew. He fell back, still shaking, his
yellow eyes turned up to show the whites. One shoulder
scraped against the wall. I thought he was senseless, but
he was awake. Too awake, I found.

His eyes closed, then opened, and once more 1 saw the
yeBow. Too much yellow; his pupils were merest specks.
^JHe stared with the feral gaze of a predator.

X
^

248 Jennifer Roberson

He growled. Not Storr. Finn. It came out of a human
throat, but there was nothing human about him.

I caught his shoulders as he thrust himself up and
slammed him against the wall. There was no doubt of his
prey. One of his arms was outstretched in her direction
and the fingers were flexing like claws.

"Finn—"

All the muscles stood up from his flesh and I felt the
tremendous power, but it was nothing compared to my
fear. Somehow I held him, pressing him into the wall. I
knew, if I let him go, he would slay her where she lay.

His spine arched, then flattened. One hand fastened on
my right arm and tried to pull it free, but I thrust my
elbow against his throat. The growl was choked off, but I
saw the feral grimace. White teeth, man's teeth, in a
bloodless mouth, but the tongue had regained its color.

I gritted my teeth and leaned, pressing my elbow into
the fragility of his windpipe, praying I could hold him.
"Finn—"
And then, as suddenly as it had come on him, the
seizure was past.

Finn sagged. He did not fall, for I held him, but his
head lolled forward against my arm and I saw his teeth cut
into his bottom lip. I thought he would faint. And yet his
control was such that he did not, and as Storr pushed past
me to his /*r I saw sense coming back in Finn's eyes.

He pressed himself up. His head smacked into the wall.
He sucked in a belly-deep, rasping breath and held it
while the blood ran from his mouth. He frowned as if
confused, then caught himself as once more his body
sagged. With effort he straightened, scraping his /ir-bands
against the wall. I saw the white teeth bared yet again,
this time in a grimace of shock and pain.

"Finn—?"

He said a single word on a rush of breath, but I could
not hear it for the exhaustion in his tone. It was just a
sound, an expulsion of air, but the color was back in his
face. I knew he could stand again, but I did not let him

go;

'Tynstar—' It was barely a whisper, hoarse and aston-
ished. 'Tynstar—here—"

THE SONG OF HOMANA   249

The women were clustered around the bed and I knew
I had to get Finn from the room. Electra was crying in
exhaustion and fear while the contractions wracked her
body. I dragged Finn to the door and pushed him out into
the corridor while Storr came growling at my heels, all his
hackles raised.

Finn hardly noticed when I set him against the wall. He
moved like a drunken man, all slackness, lacking grace.
Not Finn, not Finn at all. "Tyn5tar—" he rasped again.
"Tynstar—here—"

My hands were in the leather of his jerkin, pushing him
into the stone. "By the gods, do you know what you did?
Finn—"

If I took my hands away, he could fall. I could see it in
his eyes. "Tynstar," he said again. "Carillon—it was
Tynstar—"

"Not herel" I shouted. "How could he be? That was
Electra you meant to slay!"

He put a hand to his face and I saw how the fingers
trembled. He pushed them through his hair, stripping it
from his eyes, and the scar stood out like a brand against
cheek and jaw. "He—was—here-1—" Each word was dis-
tinct. He spoke with the precise clarity of the drunken
man, or the very shaken. A ragged and angry tone, laced
with a fear I had never heard. "Tynstar set a trap—"

"Enough of Tynstar!" I shouted, and then I fell silent.
From inside the room came the imperative cry of a new-
bom soul, and the murmur of the women. Suddenly it was
there I wanted to be, not here, and yet I knew he needed
me. This once, he needed me. "Rest," I said shortly.
"Take some food—drink something! Will you go? Go ...
before I have to carry you from this place."

I took my hands away He leaned against the wall with
legs braced, muscles bunching the leather of his leggings,
He looked bewildered and angry and completely devoid of
comprehension.

"Finn," I said helplessly, "will you go?"

He pushed off the wall, wavered, then knelt upon the
floor. For one insane moment I thought he knelt to offer
apology; he did not. I thought he prayed, but he did not.

Z50 Jennifer Roberson

He merely gathered Storr into his arms and hugged him
as hard as he could.

His eyes were shut. I knew the moment was too private
to be shared, even with me Perhaps especially with me. I
left them there, wolf and man, and went in to see my
child.

One of the women, as I entered, wrapped the child
hastily in linen cloth, wiping its face, then set it into my
arms. They were all Solindish, these women, but I was
their king—and would be, until I sired a second son.

And then I looked at their faces and knew I lacked a
first.

"A girl, my lord Mujhar," came the whisper m accented
Homanan.

I looked down on the tiny face. It lacked the spirit of a
person, little more than a collection of wrinkled features,
but I knew her for mine

What man cannot know immortality when he holds his
child in his arms? Suddenly it did not matter that I had no
son; I would in time. For now, I had a daughter, and I
thought she would be enough.

I walked slowly to the bed, cradling the child with
infinite care and more than a little apprehension. So help-
less and so tiny, I so large and equally helpless. It seemed
a miracle I had sired the girl. I knelt down at the bedside
and showed Electra her baby.

"Your heir," she whispered, and I realized she did not
know. They had not told her yet.

"Our daughter," 1 said gently.

Sense was suddenly in her eyes; a glassy look of horror.
"Do you say it is a girl—?"

"A princess," I told her. "Electra, she is a lovely girl."
Or will be, I thought; I hoped. "There will be time for sons.
For now, we have a daughter."

"Gods!" she cried out. "All this pain for a girl? No son
for Homana—no son for Solinde—" The tears spilled down
her face, limning her exhaustion "How will I keep my
bargain? This birth nearly took me—"

I gestured one of the women to take the baby from me.
When I could, I slipped one arm beneath Electra's shoul-
ders and cradled her as if she were the child instead.

THE SONG OF HOMANA    251

"Electra, be at peace There is no haste in this. We have a
daughter and we will have those sons—but not tomorrow.
Be at ease. I have no wish to see you grieve because you
have borne a girl."

"A girl," she said again. "What use is a girl but to wed?
I wanted a son—!"

I eased her down against the pillows, pulling the bed-
clothes close. "Sleep. I will come back later. There is the
news to be told, and I must find Finn—" I stopped. There
was no need to speak of Finn, not to her. Not now.

But Electra slept. I brushed the damp hair from her
brow, looked again on the, sleeping baby, then went from
Ae room to give out the news.

Soon enough the criers were sent out and the bells
began to peel. Servants congratulated me and offered
good wishes. Someone pressed a cup of wine into my hand
as I strode through a corridor on my way to Finn's cham-

• bers Faces were a blur to me; I hardly knew their names.
I had a daughter, but I also had a problem.

Finn was not in his chambers. Nor was he in the kitch-

„ ens, where the spit-boys and cooks fell into bows and
curtseys to see their Mujhar in their presence. I asked
after Finn, was told he had not come, and went away
-again.

It was Lachlan who found me at last, very grave and
concerned. His arms were empty of his Lady and with
him came my sister. I thought first they would give me
good wishes when I told them; instead they had news of
Finn.

"He took the wolf and left," Lachlan said quietly. "And
no horse for nding."

"Lir-shape," I said grimly.

"He was—odd." Torry was white-faced. "He was not
himself But he would answer none of our questions." She
gestured helplessly. "Lachlan was playing his Lady for
me. I saw Finn come in. He looked—ill. He said he had
to go away."

"Away!" I felt the lurch in my belly "Where?"
; "To the Keep," Lachlan answered. "He said he re-
quired cleansing for something he had done. He said also
you were not to send for him, or come after him yourself."

252 Jennifer Roberson

He glanced a moment at Tony. "He said it was a Cheysuli
thing, and that clan-ties take precedence, at times, over
other links."

I felt vaguely ill. "Aye But only rarely does he invoke
them—" I stopped, recalling the wildness in his eyes and
the growling in his throat. "Did he say how long he would
stay there?"

lorry's eyes were frightened. "He said the nature of the
cleansing depended on the nature of the offense. And that
this one was great indeed." One hand crept up to her
throat "Carillon—what did he do?"

"Tried to slay the Queen." It came out of my mouth
without emotion, as if someone else were speaking. I saw
the shock in their eyes. "Gods!" I said on a rushing breath,
"I must go after him. You did not see what he was—" I
started out the door and nearly ran into Rowan. "

"My lord!" He caught my arm. "My lord—wait you—"

"I cannot." I shook loose and tried to move on, but he
caught my arm again. "Rowan—"

"My lord, I have news from Solinde," he persisted.
"From Royce, your regent in Lestra."

"Aye," I said impatiently, "can it not wait? I will be
back when I can "
"Finn said you should not follow," Lachlan repeated.
"Doubtless he has good reason—"

"Carillon." Rowan forsook my title and all honorifics,
which told me how serious he was. "!t is Thorne of Atvia.
He readies plans to invade."

"Solinde?" I stared at him in amazement.

"Homana, my lord " He let go my arm when he saw I
was not moving. I could not, now "The news has come
into Lestra, and Royce sent on a courier. There is still
time, Royce says, but Thorne is coming. My lord—" He
paused. "It is Homana he wants, and you. A grudge for
the death of his father, and Atvians slain in Bellam's war.
The courier has the news." His young face was haggard
with the implications. "Thome intends to take Hondarth—"

"Hondarth!" I exploded. "He will not set foot in a
Homanan city while I am alive!"

"He means to raise Solindish aid," Rowan said in a quiet

THE SONG OF HOMANA   253

"%.

^i

voice. "To come overland through Solinde. and by ships
across the Idrian Ocean, bound for Hondarth."

I thought of the southern city on the shores of the
Idrian Ocean. Hondarth was a rich city whose commerce
depended on fishing fleets and trading vessels from other
lands. But it was a two-week ride to Hondarth, going fast;

an even longer march. And the marshes would slow an
army.

I shut my eyes a moment, trying to get my senses
sorted. First Finn's—seizure, my daughter's birth; now
this. It was too much.

I set a hand on Rowan's shoulder. "Where is this cou-
rier? And find you what advisors you can. We must send
for those who have gone home to their estates. It will take
time—ah, gods, are we to go to war again, we must
reassemble the army." I rubbed at my gritty eyes. "Finn
will have to wait."

When I could, I broke free of planning councils and
went at last to the Keep. And, as I rode out across the
plains, I came face to face with Finn.

He had left Mujhara without a-horse, but now he had
one. Borrowed from the Keep, or perhaps it was one of his
own. He did not say. He did not say much at all, being so
shut up within himself, and when I looked at him I saw
how the shadow lay on him, thick and dark. His yellow
eyes were strange.

We met under a sky slate-gray with massing clouds.
Rain was due in an instant. It was nearly fall, and in four
months the snow would be thick upon the ground. For
now there was none, but I wore a green woolen cloak
pulled close against plain brown hunting leathers. Finn,
bare-armed still, and cloakless, pulled in his horse and
waited. The wind whipped the hair from his face, exposing
the livid scar, and I swore I saw silver in his hair where
before it had been raven's-wing black. He looked older,
somehow, and more than a trifle harder. Or was it merely
that I had not noticed before?

"I wanted to come," I said. "Lachlan said no, but I
wanted it. You seemed so distraught." I shrugged, made
uncomfortable by his silence. "But the courier had come

254 JennWr Roberson

in from Lestra . . ." I let it trail off, seeing nothing in his
face but the severity of stone.

"I have heard." The horse stomped, a dark bay horse
with a white slash across his nose and a cast in one eye.
Finn hardly noticed the movement save to adjust his
weight.

"Is that why you have come back?"

He made a gesture with his head, a thrusting of his chin
toward the distances lying behind me. "Mujara is there. I
have not come back yet."

The voice was flat, lacking intonation. I tried to search
beneath what I saw. But I was poor at reading Cheysuli;

they know ways of blanking themselves. "Do you mean
to?"

The scar ticked once. "I have no place else to go."

It astonished me, in light of where he had been. "But—
the Keep—"

"I am liege man to the Mujhar. My place is not with the
clan, but with hnn. Duncan has said—" He stopped short;

something made him turn his head away. "Duncan has
not—absolved me of what I tried to do. As the shar tahl
says: if one is afraid, one can only become unafraid by
facing what causes the fear." The wind, shifting, blew the
hair back into his face. I could see nothing of his expres-
sion. "And so I go to face it again. I could not admit my
fear—i'toshaa-ni was not completed. I am—unclean."

"What do you face again?' I asked, uneasy. "I would
rather you did not see Electra."

He looked at me squarely now, and the strangeness was
in his eyes. "J would rather not see her, also. But you
have wed her, and my place is with the Mujhar. There is
little choice, my lord."

My lord. No irony: no humor. I felt the fear push into
my chest. "Did you truly intend to slay her?"

"Not her," he said softly, "Tynstar."

The anger boiled over. I had not realized how fright-
ened I was that he might have succeeded; how close I had
come to losing them both. Both. Had Finn slain Electra,
there was no choice but execution. "Electra is not Tynstar!
Are you blind? She is my wife—"

"She was Tynstar's meijha," he said quietly, "and I

THE SONG OF HOMANA   255

doubt not he uses her still. Through her soul, if not her
body."

"Finn—"

"It was I who nearly died!" He was alive again, and
angry. Also clearly frightened. "Not Electra—she is too
strong. It was I, Cheysuli blood and all." He drew in a
hissing breath and I saw the instinctive baring of white
teeth. "It nearly took me down, it nearly swallowed me
whole. It was Tynstar, I tell you—it was."

"Go, then," I said angrily. "Go on to Homana-Mujhar
and wait for me there. We will face whatever it is you
have to face, and get this finished at once. But there are

-things I have to discuss with Duncan."

There was gray in his hair; I saw it clearly now. And
bleakness in his eyes. "Carillon—"

"Go." 1 said it more quietly. "1 have a war to think of
again. I will need you at my side."

The wind blew through his hair. The sunlight, so dull

-and brassy behind the clouds, set his lir-go\d to shining in
, the grayness of the day. His face was alien to me; I
thought again of the vault and oubliette. Had it changed
me so much? Or was it Finn who had been changed?
"Then I will be there," he said, "for as long as I can."
An odd promise. I frowned and opened my mouth to

-ask him what he meant, but he had set his horse to
trotting, leaning forward in the saddle. And then, as I
turned to watch, he galloped toward Mujhara. Beside him
ran the wolf.

TWO

I rode into the Keep just as the storm broke. The rain fell
heavily, quickly soaking through my cloak to the leather
doublet and woolens beneath. The hood was no help; I
gave up and pushed it back to my shoulders, setting my
horse to splashing through the mud toward Duncan's slate-
colored pavilion. It was early evening and I could hardly
see the other pavilions, only the dim glow of their interior
firecaims.

I dropped off my horse into slippery mud and swore,
then noticed Cai was not on his perch. No doubt he sought
shelter in a thick-leafed tree, or perhaps even inside.
Well, so did I.

Someone came and took my horse as I called out for
entrance. I thanked him, then turned as the doorflap was
pulled open. I looked down; it was Donal. He stared up at
me in surprise, and then he grinned. "Do you see?"

I saw. His slender arms, still bared for warmer weather,
were weighted with lir gold, albeit lighter than the heavy
bands grown warriors wore. And in his black hair glittered
an earring, though I could not see the shape. Young, I
thought; so very young.

Duncan's big hand came down on Donal's head and
gently moved him aside. "Come in from the rain. Caril-
lon. Forgive my son's poor manners."

I stepped inside- "He has a right to be proud," I de-
murred. "But is he not too young?"

I 256 I

THE SONG OF HOMANA   257

I

"There is no too young in the clans," Duncan said on a
sigh. "Who is to say what the gods prefer? A week ago the
craving came upon him, and we let him go Last night he
received his fir-gold in his Ceremony of Honors."

I felt the pang of hurt pride. "Could / not have wit-
nessed it?"

Duncan did not smile. "You are not Cheysuli."
For four days, once I had been. And yet now he denied
me the honor.

1 looked past him to Alix. "You must be proud."

She stood on the far side of the firecairn and the light
played on her face. In the dimness she was dark, more
Chey&uii than ever, and I felt my lack at once "I am," she
said softly. "My son is a warrior now."

He was still small Seven, I thought. I did not know.
But young.

"Sit you down," Duncan invited. "Donal will move his
wolf."

I saw then what he meant, for sprawled across one of
the pelts carpeting the hard-packed earth was a sleeping
wolf-cub. Very young, and sleeping the sleep of the dead,
or the very tired. He was damp and the pavilion smelled
of wet fur, I did not doubt Donal 'had been out with the
wolfling when the rain began.

Donal, understanding his father's suggestion at once,
knelt down and hoisted half of the cub into his arms. The
wolf was like a bag of bones, so limp and heavy, but Donal
dragged him aside The cub was ruddy, not silver like
Storr, and when he opened one eye I saw it was brown.

"He is complaining," Donal said, affronted. "He wanted
to stay by the fire."

"He has more hair than you," Alix retorted. "Lorn will
be well enough farther back. This is the Mujhar we
entertain."

I waved a hand. "Carillon, to him. He is my kin, for all
that." I grinned at the boy. "Cousins, of a sort."

"Taj is weary ofCai's company," Donal said forthrightly.
"Can He not come in, too?"

"Taj is a falcon and will remain outdoors," Duncan said
firmly as he sidestepped the Hopping wolf-cub. "Cai has
stood it all these years; so will Taj."

258 Jennifer Roberson

Donal got Lorn the wolf settled and sat down close
beside him, one small hand buried in damp far. His
yellow eyes peered up at me with the bright intentness of
unsuppressed youth. "Did you know I have two?"

"Two lir?" I looked at Atix and Duncan. "I thought a
warrior had only one."

"Ordinarily." Duncan's tone was dry as he waved me
down on the nearest pelt. Alix poured a cup of hot honey
brew and handed it across. "But Donal, you see, has the
Old Blood."

Alix laughed as I took the cup. "Aye. He got it from me.
It is the Firstborn in him." She sat back upon her heels,
placing herself close to Duncan. "I took fir-shape twice
while 1 carried him, as wolf and falcon both. You see the
result."

I sipped at the hot, sweet brew. It was warm in the
pavilion, though somewhat close; I was accustomed to
larger quarters. But it was a homey pavilion, full of pelts
and chests and things a clan-leader holds. A heavy tapes-
try fell from the ridge-pole to divide the tent into two
areas; one, no doubt, a bedchamber for Alix and Duncan.
As for Donal, he undoubtedly slept by the fire on the
other side. And now with his wolf.

"How fares the girl?" Duncan asked.

I smiled. "At two months of age, already she is lovely.
We have named her Aislinn to honor my mother s mother."

"May she have all of her jehan's wisdom," Duncan
offered gravely.

I laughed. "And none of my looks, I trust."

Alix smiled, but her face soon turned pensive. "No
doubt you have come to see Finn- He is no longer here."

The honey brew went sour in my mouth. I swallowed
with effort. "No. I met him on the road. He is bound for
Homana-Mujhar. And no, I did not come to speak to him.
I came to speak of Homana."

I told them what I could. They listened in silence, all
three of them; Donal's eyes were wide and full of wonder.
It was, no doubt, the first he had heard of war from the
Mujhar himself, and 1 knew he would always remember. 1
recalled the time I had sat with my own father, listening
to plots and plans—and how those things had slain him.

THE SONG OF HOMANA   259

S

But death was not in DonaTs mind, that much 1 could see.
He was Cheysuli. He thought of fighting instead.

"I must have allies," I finished. "I need more than just
the Cheysuli."

"Then you offer alliances." Duncan nodded thought-
ftilly. "What else is there to give?"
"My sister," 1 said flatly, knowing how it sounded. "I
have Tourmaline to offer, and I have done it. To Ellas, to
Falia, to Caledon. All have marriageable princes."

Alix put a hand to her mouth and looked at Duncan.
"Oh Carillon, no. Do not barter your sister away."

"Torry is meant for a prince," I said impatiently. "She
will get one anyway, why should I wait? I need men, and
Torry needs a husband. A proper husband." I could not
help but think of Lachlan. "I know—it is not a Cheysuli
custom to offer women this way. But it is the way of most.
royal Houses. How else to find a man or woman worthy of
die rank? Torry is well past marriageable age, the dowry
will have to be increased. There will be questions about
her virginity." I looked again at Donal, thinking he was
too young. But he was Cheysuli, and they seemed always
older than I. "Bellam held her for years; he even spoke of
wedding her himself. There will'be questions asked of
that. But she is my sister, and that will count for some-
thing. I should get a worthy prince for her."

"And allies for Homana." Duncan's tone lacked inflec-
tion, which told me what he thought. "Are the Cheysuli
not enough?"

"Not this time," I answered flatly. "Thorne enters in
more than one place. Bellam came at us straight away. But
Thome knows better; he has learned. He will creep over
my borders in bits and pieces. If I split the Cheysuli, I
split my strongest weapon. I need more men than that, to
place my armies accordingly."

Duncan studied me, and then he smiled. Only a little.
"Did you think we would not come?"

"I cannot order you to come, any of you," I said quietly.
"I ask, instead."

The smile widened and I saw the merest glint of white
teeth- Not bared, as Finn's had been; a reflection of true
amusement. "Assemble your armies, Carillon. You will

260 JwnnffT Roberson

have your Cheysuli aid. Do whatever you must in the way
that you must, to win the allies you need. And then we
shall send Thorne back to his island realm." He paused.
"Provided he survives the encounter."

Alix glanced at him, and then she looked squarely at
me- "What did Finn say to you when you met him on the
road?"

"Little."

"But you know why he came ..."
I shifted on the pelt. "I was told it was something to do
with cleansing. A ritual of sorts."

"Aye," Duncan agreed. "And now he has had to go
back."

The cup grew cool in my hands. "He said he had no
other place to go. That you had, in essence, sent him out
of the Keep." I meant to keep my tone inflectionless and
did not succeed. It was a mark of the bond between Finn
and me that I accused even his brother ofwrongml behavior.

"Finn is welcome here," Duncan demurred. "No Cheysuli
is denied the sanctuary when he requires it, but that time
was done. Finn's place is with you."

"Even so unhappy?"

Alix's face was worried. "I thought he should not go—"

"He must learn to deal with that himself." Duncan took
my cup and warmed it with more liquor, handing it back.
It was high honor from a clan-leader; I thought it was
simply Duncan. "Finn has ever shut his eyes to many
things, going in the backflap." An expressive flick of his
fingers indicated the back of the pavilion. "Occasionally,
when I can, I remind him there is a front."

"Something has set him on edge." 1 frowned and sipped
at the liquor. "He is—different. I cannot precisely say. . . ."
I shook my head, recalling the expression in his eyes.
"What happened with Electra frightened me. I have never
seen him so."

"It is why he came," Duncan agreed, "and why he
stayed so long. Eight weeks." His face was grim. "It is
rare a liege man will leave his lord for so long unless it has
something to do with his clan- and kin-ties. But he could
not live with what he had done. and so he came here to
renew himself; to touch again the power in the earth

THE SONG OF HOMANA   261

through i'toshaa-ni." He looked tired suddenly. "It comes
upon us all, once or twice; the need to be cleansed"

The word, even in Homanan, had a nuance I could not
sAvine. Duncan spoke of things that no Homanan had
''shared, though once I had shared a fleeting moment of
^Aeir life. Such stringent codes and honor systems, I thought;

could I bind myself so closely?

Duncan sipped at his honey brew. I noticed then that
: his hair was still black, showing no silver at all. Odd, I
"thought; Duncan was the elder.
^ "I am not certain he was cleansed at all," Alix said in a
j^wry low voice. "He is—unhappy." Briefly she looked at
^Duncan. "But that is a private thing."
|| "Can he say nothing to me?" I could not hide the
Desperation in my voice. "Be the gods, we have been
closer than most. We shared an exile together, and then
H.^nly because of me. He might have stayed behind." I

•^IhxMced at them both, almost pleading to understand. "Why
4^an he say nothing to me?"

"It is private," Duncan repeated. "But no, he can say
othing to you. He knows you too well."
,1 swore, then glanced in concern to Donal. But boys
row up, and I did not doubt he had heard it before. Finn
ad taught me the Cheysuli invectives. "He told you what
e did, then. To Electra?"
"To Tynstar," Duncan said.




^ I heard the firecaim crackle in the sudden silence. A
^tussing mote of sparks flew up. "Tynstar?" I said at last.
'H-.. "Aye. It was not Electra he meant to slay; did you think
^"ft was?" He frowned. "Did he tell you nothing?"
'&;. I recalled how he had said it over and over, so hoarse
ilH'and stricken: Tynstar was here. And how I had ignored it.
^ ."He said—something—"

? "Tynstar set a trap," Duncan explained, echoing Finn's
'^own words. "He set it in Electra's mind, so that anyone

• using the earth magic on her would succumb to the

^ possession."
; My body twitched in surprise. "Possession/"

The firelight cast an amber glaze across the face before
, toe. Smoke was drawn upward to the vent-flap, but enough
.•'remained to shroud the air with a wispy, ocherous haze.

262 Jennifer Roberson

Duncan was gold and bronze and black in the light, and
the hawk-earring transfixed my gaze. I smelled smoke and
wet for and honey, sweet honey, with the bittersweet tang
of spice.

"The Ihlini have that power." Duncan said quietly. "It
is a balance of our own gift, which is why we use it
sparingly. We would not have it said we are anything like
the Ihlini." Minutely, he frowned, looking downward into
his cup. "When we use it, we leave a person his soul. We
do little more than suggest, borrowing the will for a mo-
ment only." Again the faint frown that alarmed me- He
was not divulging something. "When it is Ihlini-done, the
soul is swallowed whole. Whole . . . and not given back at
all."

Silence. Duncan put out a hand and touched his son,
tousling Donal's hair in a gesture that betrayed his con-
cern as the boy crept closer, between father and lir. I
thought Duncan knew how avidly the boy listened and
meant to calm any fears. The gods knew I had a few of my
own.

"Finn reacted the way any Cheysuli would react; per-
haps even you." He did not smile. "He tried to slay the
trapper through the trap. It is—understandable." His eyes
lifted to meet mine squarely. "In that moment she was not
Electra to him, not even a woman. To Finn, she was
simply Tynstar. Tynstar was—there."

I frowned. "Then Tynstar knew it was Finn he had—"

"I do not doubt it," Duncan said clearly. "An Ihlini trap
will kill. He did not intend to leave Finn alive. But
something—someone—prevented the death by shattering
the trap-link."

"/ broke it." I recalled how Electra had grasped Finn's
hand, leaving blood in the scratches she had made. How
he had been unable to break free.

And I recalled, suddenly, how he had slain the Homanan
assassin in the Eliasian blizzard, more than a year before.
How he had said he touched Tynstar, who had set the man
a task—

I stood up- Bile surged into my throat. Before they
could say a word I bent down and swept up my damp
cloak, then went out of the pavilion shouting for my horse.

THE SONG OF HOMANA   263

Alix, running out into the rain, caught my arm as I
moved to sling on the cloak. "Carillon—wait you! What
^areyou doing?"

f- The hood lay on my shoulders and the rain ran into my
s mouth. "Do you not see?" I was amazed she could be so

•Sfelind. "Finn thought he slew Tynstar through Electra.
' ..Tynstar thought he slew him—" I swung up on my horse.
^ "If one is afraid, one can only become unafraid by facing
^uwat causes the fear."

•^' "Carillon!" she shouted, but I was already gone.

v&

f I heard the howling when I ran into Homana-Mujhar.
^Sowling. Gods, was Finn a-wolf—?
y The white faces were a blur, but I heard the frightened
Invoices. "My hrd!" "My lord Carillon!" "The Mujhar!" I
1-pushed past them all and answered none of them, con-
^Scious only of the great beating of fear in my chest.

i Howling. Gods, it was Storr. Not Finn. But the scream-

||ng was Elecra's.

t Weight hung off my shoulders as I pounded up the

''twisting red stone stairs. I ripped the cloak-brooch from
ll'ffiy left shoulder and felt the fabric -tear. Weight and gold
%Se\\ behind me; I heard the clink of brooch on stone and
Hlhe soft slap of soaked wool falling to the stairs. "My lord!"

But I ran on.

^ I burst through the women and into the room. I saw
H Electra first, white-faced and screaming though Lachlan
^" suggested she be quiet. No need, he said; no need to
^acream- Safe, he said; unharmed. The wolf was held at
Itfcay.

^ Electra was whole. I saw it at once. She stood in a
^. comer with Lachlan holding her back, his hands upon her

arms. Holding her back—

" —from Finn. From Finn, who was capably cornered by
' Rowan with his sword, and another man-at-arms. They
caged him with steel, bright and deadly, and the wolf in
man's shape was held at bay.

, He bled. Something had opened the scar so that his face
ran with blood. It stained the leather jerkin and splattered
: down to his thighs, where I saw more blood. His right

Z64 JonnHrr Roberson

thigh, where the Atvian spear had pierced. There was a
cut in his leggings and blood on Rowan's blade.

He was Hat against the wall, head pressed back so that
his throat was bared, Blood ran from the opened scar to
trickle down his throat, crimson on bronze; I smelted the
tang of fear. Gods, it swallowed him whole and left noth-
ing to spit out.

I looked again at Electra and heard the women's fright-
ened conversation. I understood little of it, knowing it to
be only Solindish. But I understood the screams.

I went to her and set a hand on Lachlan's shoulder. He
saw me, but he did not let her go. I knew why. There was
blood on her nails and she wanted more; she would rip the
flesh from his bones.

"Electra," I said.

The screaming stopped. "Carilhn—"

"I know." I could hear the howling still. Storr, locked
somewhere within the palace. Locked away by his /ir.

1 turned away again, looking back at Finn. His eyes
were wide and wild- Breath rasped in his throat. Even
from here, I saw how he shook; how the trembling wracked
his bones.

"Out!" I shouted at the women. "This will be better
done without your Solindish tongues!"

They protested at once. So did Electra. But I listened to
none of it. I waited, and when they saw I meant it they
gathered their skirts and scuttled out of the room. I slammed
the heavy door shut behind them, and then I went to
Finn.

The man-at-arms—Perrin, I knew—stepped out of my
way at once. Rowan hesitated, still holding Finn at
swordpoint, and I set him aside with one ungentle thrust
of my arm. I went through the space where Rowan had
stood and caught the jerkin in both hands, pulling Finn
from the wall even as he sagged.

"Ku'reshtin!" I used the Cheysuli obscenity, knowing
he would answer no Homanan. "Tuhalla deil" Lord to
liege man, a command he had to acknowledge.

I felt the shaking in the flesh beneath my hands. Fists
clenched and unclenched helplessly, clawless and hu-

THE SONG OF HOMANA      265

^man, but betrayal nonetheless. I had seen the bruises on

r'Electra's throat.

§•' I heard the labored breathing. The howling filled the
* halls. Human and wolf, both driven to extremes. But at
fctfus moment I thought Storr, at least, knew what was

^ap)ing on.

^ I thrust Finn into the corner, fenced by two walls of

I^^Stone. 1 drew back one fist and smashed it into his face,

g-ITfaiocking skull against brick. Blood welled up in a broken

i^   ,„
No! Rowan caught my arm.

"Get you gone!" 1 thrust him back again. "I am not
fating him to death, I anr beating him to sense—"
A hand closed on my wrist. Finn's hand, but lacking all
rength. "Tynstar—"

At least he could speak again. "Finn—you fool! You
oV. It was a trap—a trap—" I shook my head in despera-
»n. "Why did you go in again? Why did you give him the
iance?"

'Tynstar—" It hissed out of his bloodied mouth. 'Tyn-
ir—here—"

"He nearly slew me!" Electra's-voice was hoarse and
roken. "Your shapechanger tried to slay me!"
'Tynstar was here—"

"No." I felt the futility well into my chest. "Oh Finn,
•—not Tynstar. Electra. It was a trap—"
Tynstar." For a moment he frowned in confusion, trying

to stand on his own. He knew I held him, and I thought

toe knew why. "Let go."

"No." I shook my head. "You will try for her again."
It focused him. I saw sense in his eyes again, and the

^fear came leaping back to swallow him whole once more.
I slammed him against the wall once more as he thrust
mselffrom the stone. Electra shouted again, this time in
>lindish, and I heard the rage in her voice. Not only fear,
ough there was that. Rage. And wild, wild hatred.
"Finn—" I set the elbow against his throat and felt him

"jftiflen at once. We had done it all before.

"My lord." Rowan's voice was horrified. "What will you

>?"

Tynstar's meijha," Finn rasped. Tynstar was here—"

266 Jennifer Robwson

I let him go. I let go of the wrist I held, took my arm
from his throat and stood back. But this time the sword
was in my hand, my sword, and he stopped when I set the
point against his throat. "No," I said. "Hold. I will get the
truth from you one way or another." I saw the shock in his
eyes. "Finn, I understand. Duncan has said what it was,
and I recall how you were in the Ellasian snowstorm." I
paused, looking for comprehension in his eyes. "Do not
make it any worse."
He was still white as death. Blood welled in the opened
scar. Now. seeing him in extremity, I saw clearly the
silver in his hair. Even beneath the blood his face was
harder, more gaunt at eyes and beneath his cheeks. He
had aged ten years in two months.

"Finn," I said in rising alarm, "are you ill?"

"Tynstar," was all he said, and again: "Tynstar. He put
his hand on me."

When I could I looked at Rowan, standing silent and
shocked beside me. "How did you come to be here?"

He swallowed twice. "The Queen screamed, my lord
We all came." He gestured at Lachlan and Perrin. "There
were more at first, but I sent them away. I thought you
would prefer this matter handled in private."

I felt old and tired and used up. I held a sword against
my liege man. I had only to look at his face to know why it
was necessary "What did you find when you came?"

"The Queen was—in some disarray. Finn's hands were
on her throat." Rowan looked angry and confused. "My
lord—there was nothing else I could do. He was trying to
slay the Queen."

I knew he meant the leg wound. I wondered how bad it
was. Finn stood steadily enough now, but I could see the
pain in the tautness of his gaunt, bloody face.

Lachlan spoke at last. "Carillon—I have no wish to
condemn him. But it is true. He would have taken her
life."

"Execute him." Electra's tone was urgent. "He tried to
slay me. Carillon."

"It was Tynstar," Finn said clearly. "It was Tynstar I
wanted."

"But it was Electra you would have slain." The sword,

THE SONG OF HOMANA   267

for the slightest moment, wavered in my hand. "You fool,"
^i I whispered, "why have you done this to me? You know
It? what I must do—"

"No!" It exploded from Rowan's throat. "My lord—you

f cannot—"

[ "No," 1 said weanly, "I cannot—not that. But there is

^something else—"
||| "Execute him!" Electra again. "There is nothing else to
H^be done. He sought to slay the Queen!"

;' "1 will not have him slain."

;   It was Lachlan who understood first. "Carillon! It will

"bare your back to the enemy!"

'   "I have no choice." I looked directly at Finn, still caged

^by the steel of my sword. "Do you see what you have

:done?"

He raised his hands. He closed them both on the blade,

| blocking out the runes. The ones his father had made.

pVo."

|& I was nearly shaking myself. "But you would do it again,

II would you not?"

^ The grimace came swiftly, bared teeth and the sugges-

^tion of a deep growl in a human throat. "Tynstar—"

^ "Electra," I said. "You would do it again, would you

hiot?"

I "Aye ..." A breathy hiss of sound expelled from a

? constricted throat. He was shaking.

} "Finn," I said, "it is done. I have no choice. The service

-is over." I stopped short, then went on when I could

1-speak. "The blood-oath is—denied."

^ His eyes were fixed on mine. After a moment I could

Knot bear to look at them, but I did. I had given him the
L;task; it was mine to do as well.

^ He took his hands from the blade. I saw the lines
Impressed into his palms, but no blood. He bled enough

thready, inside as well as out.

;' His voice was a whisper, "ja'hai-na," he said only.

'Accepted.
; I put the sword away, hearing the hiss of steel on boiled

^leather as it slid home. The lion was quiescent, the bril-
liant ruby black.

Finn took the knife from the sheath at his belt and

268 Jennifer Roberson

offered it to me. My own, once, the royal blade with its

golden Homanan crest.

It nearly broke me. "Finn," I said, "I cannot."
"The blood-oath is denied." His face was stark, old,

aging. "Ja'hai, my lord Mujhar."

I took it from his hand. There was blood upon the gold.

"Ja'hai-na," I said at last, and Finn walked from the room.

THREE

?"When I could, I went out into the corridor and moved
I slowly through the dimness. The torches were unlighted.
I, The hallway was empty of people; my servants, knowing
l^feow to serve, left me to myself.

u No more howling. Silence. Storr, with Finn was gone.
^My spirit felt as extinguished as the torches.
• I went alone to the Great Hall and stood within its
^darkness. The firepit was banked. Coals glowed. Here, as
^well, none of the torches was lighted.
Silence.

I tucked the Homanan blade into my belt beside the
'Cheysuli knife in its sheath and began shifting the un-
bumed logs in the firepit with my booted feet. The coals I
also kicked aside until I bared the iron ring beneath its
^ heavy layer of ash. Then I took a torch, pushed the shaft
I'through the ring, and levered it up until the heavy plate
Hi rose and fell back, clanging against the firepit rim. The ash
';3 puffed up around it.

ji^ I lighted the torch and went down when the staircase
^ lay bare. I counted this time: one hundred and two steps.
•gi I stood before the wall and saw how the rain had soaked in
^- from the storm. The walls were slick and shiny with damp-
^ ness. The runes glowed pale green against the dark stone.
^ I put my fingers to them, tracing their alien shapes, then
^found the proper keystone. The wall, when I leaned,

, grated open.

269
270 Jennifer Roberwon

I stood in the doorway. Lir-shapes, creamy and veined
with gold, loomed at me from the walls. Bear and boar,
owl and hawk and falcon. Wolf and fox, raven, cat and
more. In the hissing light of the iron torch they moved,
silent and supple, against the silken stone.

I went into the vault. I let the silence oppress me.

FoolFoolFool, I thought.

I took the Cheysuli knife from my sheath. The light
glittered off the silver. I saw the snarling wolfs-head hilt
with its eyes of uncut emerald. Finn's knife, once.

I moved to the edge of the oubliette. As before, the
torchlight did not touch the blackness within. So deep, so
soft, so black. I recalled my days in there, and how I had
become someone other than myself. How, for four days, I
had thought myself Cheysuli.

I shut my eyes. The glow of the torchlight burned
yellow against my lids. I could see nothing, but I recalled
it all. The soft soughing of shifting wings, the pip of a
preening falcon. How it was to go trotting through the
forest with a pelt upon my back. And freedom, such
perfect freedom, bound by nothing more than what the
gods had given me.

"Ja'hai.' I reached out my hand to drop the knife into
the pit.

"Carillon."

I spun around and teetered on the brink while the torch
roared softly against the movement,

I might have expected Finn. But never Tourmaline.

She wore a heavy brown traveling cloak, swathed in
wool from head to toe. The hood was dropped to her
shoulders and I saw how the torchlight gleamed on the
gold in her tawny hair. "You have sent him away," she
said, "and so you send me as well."

All the protests leaped into my mouth. I had only to
say them in a combination of tones; impatience, confusion,
irritation, amazement and placation. But none of them
were right. I knew, suddenly and horribly; I knew. Not
Lachlan. Not Lachlan at all, for Torry.

The pieces of the fortune-game, quite suddenly, were
thrown across the table from their casket and spread out
before me in their intricate, interlocking patterns that
THE SONG OF HOMANA      271

double too often as prophets. The bone dice and carven
rune-sticks stood before me in the shape of my older
sister, and I saw the pattern at last.

Torry," was all I said. She was too much like me. She
let no one turn her from one way when it was the way she
wanted to go.

"We did not dare tell you," she said quietly. "We knew
what you would do. He says—" already she had fallen into
the easy attribution so common to women when they
speak of their men "—that in the clans women are never
bartered to the warriors. That a man and woman are left to
their own decisions, without another to turn them against
their will."

"Tourmaline . . ." I felt tired suddenly, and fall of aches
and pains. "Torry, you know why I had to do it. In our
House rank is matched with rank; I wanted a prince for

-, you because you deserve that much, if not more. Torry—I

'did not wish to make you unhappy. But I need the aid

[from another realm—"

^ "Did you think to ask me?" Slowly she shook her head
and the torchlight gleamed in her hair. "No. Did you

'.think I would mind? No. Did you think I would even

^protest?" She smiled a little. "Think you upon my place,

^Carillon, and see how you would feel."

The pit was at my back. I thought now another one
yawned before me. Torry," I said finally, "think you I
had any choice in whom 1 wed? Princes—and kings—have
no more say than their women. There was nothing I could

; do,"

t "You might have asked me. But no, you ever told. The

h Mujhar of Homana orders his sister to wed where he will

• decide." She put up a silencing hand. Her fingers seemed
. sharp as a blade. "Aye, I know—it has ever been this way.
' And ever will be. But this once, this once, I say no. I say I
choose my way."
"Our mother—"

"—is gone home to Joyenne." She saw my frown of
surprise. "I told her, Carillon. Like you, she thinks me
mad- But she knows better than to protest." The smile
came more freely. "She has raised willful children,
Carillon—they do what they will do when it comes to

272 Jennifer Roberson

whom they marry." She laughed softly. "Think you that I
was fooled about Electra? Oh Carillon, I am not blind. I do
not deny she was a pathway to Solinde, but she is more
than that to you- You wanted her because—like all men
who see her—you simply had to have her. That is a
measure of her power."

'Tourmaline—"

"I am going," she said calmly, with the cool assurance of
a woman who has what she wants in the way of a man.
"But I will tell you this much, for both of us: it was not
intended." Tourmaline smiled and I saw her as Finn must
see her: not a princess, not a gamepiece, not even Caril-
lon's sister. A woman; no more, no less. It was no wonder
he wanted her. "You sent him to the Keep to recover from
his wounds. You sent me there for safety. I tended him
when Alix could not, wondering what manner of man he
was to so serve my brother's cause, and he gave me the
safety I needed. Soon enough—it was more." She shook
her head. "We meant to do no harm. But now it comes to
this. he is dismissed from his tahlmorra, and mine is to go
with him."

"Tahlmorra is a Cheysuli thing," I told her bleakly.
"Torry, no. I do not wish to lose you as well."

"Then take him back into your service."

"I cannot!" The shout echoed in the vault, bouncing off
the silent lir. "Do you not see? Electra is the Queen, and
he a Cheysuli shapechanger. No matter what / say in this,
they will always suspect Finn of wishing to slay the Queen.
And if he stayed, he might. Did he not tell you what he
tried to do?"

Her lips were pale. "Aye. But he had no choice—"

"Nor do I have one now." I shook my head. "Do you
think I do not want him back? Gods, Torry, you do not
know what it was for the two of us in exile. He has been
with me for too long to make this parting simple. But it
must be done. What else is there to do? I could never
trust him with Electra—"

"Perhaps you should not trust her."

"I wed her," I said grimly. "I need her. Did I allow
Finn to stay and something happened to Electra, do you
know what would happen to Homana? Solinde would rise.

THE SONG OF HOMANA      273
No mere army could gainsay an outraged realm. Murder,
Torry." Slowly I shook my head. "Think you the qu'mahlin
is ended? No. Be not so foolish. A thing such as that is
stopped, perhaps, but never forgotten. For too long the
Cheysuli have been hated. It is not done yet." The torch
hissed and sputtered, putting shadows on her face. "This
time, a race would be destroyed. And with it, no doubt,
^' would also fall Homana."

Tears were on her face, glittering in the light. "Caril-
, Ion," she whispered, "I carry his cl^ild."
:T   When I could speak, albeit a trembling whisper, I said
^ his name. Then, to myself. "How could I not have seen
it?"

4.

"You did not look. You did not ask. And now it is too
^•late." She gathered her skirts and cloak with both her
yhands. "Carillon—he waits- It is time I left you."

""   um        "

Torry—

"I will go," she said gently. "It is where I want to be.
We faced each other in the flickering light in a vault full
| of marble lir. I heard the faint cry of hawk and falcon; the
howl of a hunting wolf. I remembered what it was to be
; .Cheysuli.

"" I dropped the torch into the oubliette. "I can see no one
^fa this darkness. A person could stay or she could go—and
'I would never know it."

Dim light crept down the stairs behind her. Someone
i' held a torch. Somone who waited for Torry.

I saw the tear on the curve of her cheek as she came up
to kiss me. And then she was gone, and I was left alone
with the silence and the lir.

I let the cover fall free of my hands and slam shut
against the mouth. The gust of air sent ash flying. It

-settled on my clothing but I did not care. I kicked coals
and pushed wood over the plate again, hiding the ring in
ash, and went out of the Great Hall alone.

I meant to go to bed, though I knew I would not sleep.
I meant to drown myself in wine, though 1 knew it would

-leave me sober. I meant to try and forget, and I knew the
%,task was futile.

274 Jennifer Roberson
Come, lady, and hear of my soul,

for a harper's poor magic

does little to hold

a fine lady's heart

when she keeps it her own.

I stopped walking. The music curled out to wrap me in
its magic and I thought at once of Lachlan. Lachlan and
his Lady. Lachlan, whose lays were all for Torry.

Come, lady, and listen.
I will make for you music
from out of the world
if you wait with me,
stay with me,
lay with me, too . .
/ will give you myself
and this harp that I hold.

1 followed the song to its source and found Lachlan in a
small private solar, a nook in the vastness of the palace.
Cushions lay on the floor, but Lachlan sat on a three-
legged, velvet-covered stool, his Lady caressed by a lov-
er's hands. I paused inside the door and saw the gold of
the strings: the gleam of green stone.

His head was bowed over his harp. He was lost within
his music. I ->aw how his supple fingers moved within the
strings: plucking here, touching there, ever placating his
Lady. He was at peace, eyes shut and face gone smooth,
so that I saw the elegance in his features. A harper is
touched by the gods, and ever knows it. It accounts for
their confidence and quiet pride.

The music died away. Silence. And then he looked up
and saw me, rising at once from his stool. "Carillon! I
thought you had gone to bed."

"No."

He frowned. "You are all over ash, and still damp. Do
you not think you would do better—"

"He is gone." I cut him off. "And so is Tourmaline."

He stared, uncomprehending. "Torry! Torry—?"

THE SONG OF HOMANA    275

"With Finn." I wanted it said so the cut would bleed
more quickly, to get rid of the pain at once.
"Lodhi!" Lachlan's face was bone-white. "Ah, Lodhi—
no-—" He came three steps, still clutching his Lady, and
then he stopped. "Carillon—say you are mistaken. ..."

"It would be a lie." I saw how the pain moved into his
eyes; how it stiffened the flesh of his face. He was a child
suddenly, stricken with some new nightmare and groping
for understanding.

"But—you said she was meant to wed. You meant her
for a prince."

"A prince," I agreed. "Never a harper. Lachlan—"
"Have I waited too long?" His arms were rigid as he
clasped the harp to his chest. "Lodhi, have 1 waited too
long?"

"Lachlan, I know you have cared. I saw it from the
beginning. But there is no sense in holding onto the hope
^that it might have been."

^ "Get her back." He was suddenly intent. "Take her
[ from him. Do not let her go—"

!<' "No." I said it firmly. "I have let her go because, in the
g,end, there was no way I could stop her. I know Finn too
^ well. And he has said, quite clearly, he will allow no one
J to keep him from the woman he wants."
g^ Lachlan put one hand to his brow. He scraped at the
^'silver circlet as if it bound him too tightly, Then abruptly,
I as if discovering it himself, he pulled it from his head and
held it out in one fist as the other arm clasped his Lady.

"Harper!" His pain was out in the open. "Lodhi, but I
have been a fool!"
"Lachlan—"

He shook his head. "Carillon, can you not get her back?
I promise you, you will be glad of it. There is something I
would say to her—"

"No." This time I said it gently. "Lachlan—she bears
Finn's child."

He lost the rest of his color. Then, all at once, he sat
^ down on the three-legged stool. For a moment he just
^ stared at the wooden floor. Then, stiffly, he set his Lady
>^and the circlet on the floor, as if he renounced them both.
J|""I meant to take her home," was all he said.

276 Jennifer Roberson

"No." I said it again. "Lachlan—I am sorry."

Silently he drew a thong from beneath his doublet. He
pulled the leather from around his head and handed the
trinket to me.
Trinket? It was a ring. It depended from the thong. I
turned it upward into the candlelight and saw the elabo-
rate crest; a harp and the crown of Ellas.

'There are seven of those rings," he said matter-of-
factly. "Five rest on the hands of my brothers. The other
is on my father's finger." He looked up at me at last. "Oh,
aye, I know how things are in royal Houses. I am from one
myself."

"Lachlan," I said. "Or, is it?"

"Oh, aye. Cuinn Lachian Llewellyn. My father has a
taste for names." He frowned a little, oddly distant and
detached. "But then he has eleven children, so it is for the
best."

"High Prince Cuinn of Ellas." The ring fell out of my
hand and dangled on its thong. "In the names of all the
gods of Homana, why did you keep it secret?"

A shrug twitched at his shoulders. "It was—a thing
between my father and myself. 1 was not, you see, the sort
of heir Rhodri wanted. I preferred harping to governing
and healing to courting women." He smiled a little, a
mere twisting of his mouth. "I was not ready for responsi-
bility. I wanted no wife to chain me to the castle. I wanted
to leave Rheghed behind and see the whole of Ellas, on
my own, without a retinue. The heirship is so—binding."
Tills time the smile held more of the Lachlan I knew.
"You might know something of that, 1 think."

"But—all this silence with Torry. And me\" I thought he
had been a fool. "Had you said anything, none of this
might have happened!"

"I could not. It was a bond between my father and me."
Lachlan rubbed at his brow, staring at his harp. He hunched
on the stool, shoulders slumped, and the candlelight was
dull on his dyed brown hair.

Dyed brown hair. Not gray, as he had said, pleading
vanity, but another color entirely.

I sat down. I set my back against the cold wall and

THE SONG OF HOMANA   277

waited. I thought of Torry and Finn in the darkness and
rain, and Lachlan here before me. "Why?"

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "Originally, it was a
,>fiE»me I wished to play How better to see your realm than

•. to go its length and breadth unknown? So my father
^^agreed, saying if I wanted to play at such foolishness, I
^'.would have to play it absolutely. He forbade me to divulge
.-.Biy name and rank unless I was in danger."
t, "But to keep it from me . . ."I shook my head.
M "It was because of you." He nodded as I frowned.
|¥"When I met you and learned who you were, I wrote at
|h0nce to my father. I told him what you meant to do, and
ow I thought you could not do it. Take Homana back
rom Bellam? No. You had no men, no army. Only Finn
"7. and me." He smiled. "I came with you because I
ranted to, to see what you could do And I came because
ay father, when he saw what you meant to do, wanted
MI to win."

I felt a sluggish stirring of anger deep inside. "He sent
ie no aid—"

'To the pretender-prince of Homana?" Lachlan shook
is head. "You forget—Bellam encroached upon Ellas, He
JFered Electra to Rhodri's heir. It was not in Ellas's
aterests to support Carillon's bid for the throne." He
rftened his tone a bit. "For all I would have liked to give
au what aid I could, I had my father's realm to think of,
>o. We have enemies. This had to remain your battle."
"Still, you came with me. You risked yourself."
"I risked nothing. If you recall, I did not fight, playing
^,the harper's role." He shook his head. "It was not easy. I
Jihave trained as a warrior since I was but a child. But my
Rather forbade me to fight, and it seemed the best thing to

-f do. And he said also I was to go to watch and learn what I
I'could. If you won the war and held your realm for a
^twelve-month and a day, Rhodri would oner alliance."
H "It has been longer than that." I did not need to count
^ ithe days.

"And did you not just   send to other realms, offering the
i"hand of your sister   in marriage?" The color moved through
^ris face. "It is not   my place to offer what I cannot. My
Hfether is High King.   It was for him to accept your offer,

Z78 Jennifer Roberson

and I had to wait for him." He shut his eyes a moment.
"Lodhi, but I thought she would wait ..."

"So did I." The stone was cold against my spine. "Oh
Lachlan, had I known—"

"I know. But it was not for me to say." His face was
almost ugly. "Such is the lot of princes."

"Could you have said nothing to her?"

He stared at the cushion-strewn floor. "I nearly did.
More times than I can count. Once I even spoke of Rhodri's
heir, but she only bid me to be quiet. She did not wish to
think on marriage." He sighed. "She was ever gentle with
my feelings, seeking to keep me—a harper—from looking
too high, as did her brother, the Mujhar." He did not
smile. "And I thought, in all my complacency, she would
say differently when she knew. And you. And so I savored
the waiting, instead."

I shut my eyes and rested my head against the stone. I
recalled the harper in the Ellasian roadhouse, giving me
my memories. I recalled his patient understanding when I
treated him with contempt, calling him spy when he was
merely a friend and nothing more.

And how I had bidden him slay a man to see if he would
do it.

So much between us, and now so little. I knew what he
would do. "You had no choice," I said at last. "The gods
know I understand what it is to serve rank and responsibil-
ity. But Lachlan, you must not blame yourself. What else
could you have done?"

"Spoken, regardless of my father." He stared at the
floor, shoulders hunched. So vulnerable, suddenly, when
he had always been so strong. "I should have said some-
thing to someone."

And yet it would have done no good. We both realized
it, saying nothing because the saying would bring more
pain. A man may love a woman while the woman loves
another, but no man may force her to love where she has
no desire to do so

"By the All-Father himself," Lachlan said wearily, "I
think it is not worth it." He gathered up his Lady and
rose, hooking one arm through the silver circlet. He had

THE SONG OF HOMANA   279

more right to it than most, though it should have had the
•^hine of royal gold.

l^' I stood up stiffly and faced him. I held out the ring on
^•fts leather thong. "Lachlan—" I stopped.
^ He knew. He took the ring, looked at the crest that
,-^inade him a man—a prince—apart, then slipped the thong
Iwer his head once more. "I came a harper," he said
^ quietly. "It is how I will leave in the morning."
'^ "Do you leave me, old friend, I will be quite alone." It
|was all I could say to him; the only plea 1 would ever
Imake.

I saw the pain in his eyes. "I came, knowing I would
ave to leave. Not when,.but knowing the time would
ame. I had hoped, for a while, I would not leave alone."
|Pnie line of his jaw was set; the gentleness of the harper
1 fled, and in its place 1 saw the man Lachlan had ever
3n, but showing it to few. "You are a king. Carillon.
igs are always alone. Someday—I shall know it, too."
te reached out and caught my arm in the ritual clasp of
riendship. "Yhana Lodhi, yffennogfaer."
"Walk humbly, harper," I said softly
He went out of the room into the shadows of the corn-
or, and his Song of Homana was done.

I went into my chambers and found her waiting. She
|was in shadow with a single candle lighted. She was wrapped
|in one of my chamber robes: wine-purple velvet hned
|with dappled silver fur. On her it was voluminous, I could
isee little but hands and feet.

I I stopped. 1 could not face her now. To look at her was
|to recall what Finn had done, and how it had ended in
Banishment. How it had ended with Tony and Lachlan
^ gone as well. To look at her was to look on the face of

g^aloneness, and that I could not bear.

•^ "No," she said, as I made a movement to go. "Stay you.

^Do you wish it, 1 will go."

||   Still in shadow. The wine-colored velvet melted into the

^ shadows. The candlelight played on her hair—unbound,

"^-and hanging to her knees.

fe I sat down because I had no strength to stand. On the
ledge of my draperied bed. I was all over ash, as Lachlan

280 Jennifer Roberson

had said, and still damp from the storm outside. No doubt
I smelled of it as well: wet wool and smoke and flame.

She came and stood before me. "Let me lift this grief
from you."

I looked at her throat with the bruises on it; the marks
of a crazed man's madness.

She knelt and pulled off my heavy boots. I said nothing,
watching her, amazed she would do what I, or a servant,
could much more easily do.

Her hands were deft and gentle, stripping me of my
clothing, and then she knelt before me. "Ah my lord, do
not grieve so. You put yourself in pain."

It came to me to wonder whether she had ever knelt for
Tynstar.

She put one hand on my thigh. Her fingers were cool. I
could feel the pulse-beat in her palm.
I looked again at the bruises on her throat. Slowly I
reached out and set my hands there, as Finn had set his,
and felt the fragility other flesh, "Because of you," I said.

"Aye." Her eyes did not waver from mine. "And for
you, good my lord, I am sorry he had to go."

My hands tightened. She did not flinch or pull away. "I
am not Tynstar, lady "

"No." Neither did she smile.

My hands slid up slowly to cup her skull with its weight
of shining hair. The robe, now loosened, slid off her
shoulders and fell against the floor: a puddle of wine-dark
velvet- She was naked underneath.

I pulled her up from the stone and into my arms,
sagging back onto the bed. To be rid of the loneliness, I
would lie with the dark god himself.

"I need you," 1 whispered against her mouth. "By the
gods, woman, how I need you. ..."

FOUR

bie infirmary tent stank of blood and burning flesh. I
l^vatched as the army chirurgeon lifted the hot iron from
JIfiowan's arm, studied the seared edges of the wound and
|ftodded. "Closed. No more blood, captain. You will keep
lithe arm, I think, with the help of the gods."

^ Rowan sat stiffly on the   campstool, white-faced and
Shaking. The sword had cut   into the flesh of his forearm,
Hbut had missed muscle and   bone. He would keep the arm
Hand its use, though I did   not doubt he felt, at the moment,
Ute if it had already been   cut off.

H He let out his breath slowly. It hissed between his
Uteeth. He put out his right hand and groped for the cup of
I sour wine Waite had set out on the table. Fingers closed
| on the cup, gripping so hard the knuckles shone white,
|and then he lifted it to his mouth. I smiled. Waite had put
|.a powder in it that would ease the pain a bit. Rowan had
^originally refused any such aid, but he had not seen the
^ powder. And now he drank, unknowing, and the pain
It; would be eased somewhat.

§ I glanced back over my shoulder through the gap in the
P entrance flap. Outside it was gray, gray and dark blue,
J|| with the weight of clouds and winter fog. My breath,
Hijeaving the warmth of the infirmary tent, plumed on the
^Sair, white as smoke.

'i "My thanks, my lord." Rowan's voice still bore the
1'strain, but it lessened as the powder worked its magic.
I 281 I

282 Jennifer Roberson

He began to pull on his fur-lined leathers, though I
knew the motion must hurt. I did not move to help
because I knew he would not allow it, me being his
Mujhar, and because it would hurt his pride. Like all the
Cheysuli, he had his pride; a prickly, arrogant pride that
some took for condescension. It was not, usually. It was
merely a certainty of their place within the boardgame of
the gods. And Rowan, though he was less Cheysuli in his
habits than Homanan, reflected much of that traditional
pride without even knowing it.

I shifted in the entrance, then grimaced in response to
the protests of my muscles. My body was battered and
sore, but I bore not a single wound from the last encoun-
ter earlier in the day. My blood was still my own, unlike
Rowan's—unless one counted what I had lost from my
nose when struck in the face by my horse's head. The
blow had knocked' me half-senseless for a moment or two,
making me easy prey, but I had managed to stay in the
saddle. And it was Rowan, moving to thrust aside the
attacker's sword, who had taken the blow meant for me.
We were both fortunate the Atvian had missed his target.

"Hungry?" I asked.

Rowan nodded. Like us all, he was too thin, pared
down to blood and bone. Because of his Cheysuli features
his face was gaunter than mine, because of my beard, no
one noticed if I seemed gaunt or not. It had its advan-
tages; Rowan looked ill, I did not, and I hated to be asked
how I fared. It made me feel fragile when I was not, but
that is the cost of being a king.

Rowan pulled on his gloves, easing into the right one
because the movement hurt his arm. He was still pale,
lacking the deeper bronze of Cheysuli flesh because of the
loss of blood. With his eyes gone black from the drug and
the pallor of his face, he looked more Homanan than
Cheysuli.

Poor Rowan, I thought: forever caught between the
worlds.

He scrubbed his good arm through his heavy hair and
glanced at me. He forced a smile. "It does not hurt, my
lord."

Waite, putting away his chirurgeon's tools, grunted in

THE SONG OF HOMANA      283

itisgust. "In my presence, it hurts. Before the Mujhar, it
loes not. You have miraculous powers of healing, my lord
Is. . . perhaps we should trade places."

|| . Rowan colored. I grinned and pulled aside the doorflap,
jiwaving him outside even as he protested I should go first.
IftThe mist came up to chill our faces at once. Rowan hunched
|[,liis shoulders against the cold and cradled his aching arm.
|p'*It is better, my lord."

H I said nothing about the powder, merely gestured
^Boward the nearest cooldire. "There. Hot wine and roasting
Hlboar. You will undoubtedly feel better once your belly is
||fall again."

H. He walked carefully across the hardpacked, frozen ground,
|trying not to jar the injured arm. "My lord . . I am
|sorry."

^ "For being injured?" I shook my head. "That was my
|wound you took. It requires my gratitude, not an apology
Ifrom you."

"It does." Tension lines marred the youthfulness of his
ce. He watched the ground where he walked and the
lick black hair hid most of his face. Like me, he had not
lit it for too long. "You would do better with Finn at your
Side. I am—not a liege man." He cast me a quick, glinting
"ance out of drug-blackened eyes. "I have not the skill to
"ep you safe, my lord."

I stopped at the cookfire and nodded at the soldier who
iided the roasting boar. He began to cut with a greasy
life. "You are not Finn, nor ever can be," I said clearly
» Rowan. "But I want you by my side."
"My lord—"

I cut him off with a gesture of my hand. "When I sent
IFfinn from my service six months ago, I knew what I was
,,"risking. Still, it had to be done, for the good of us all. I do
ot dismiss the importance his presence held. The bond
etween Cheysuli liege man and his Mujhar is a sacred
Iling, but—once broken—there is no going back." I grasped
this uninjured arm, knowing there was no lir-ba.nd under-
Ifteath the furs and leathers. "I do not seek another Finn. I
alue you. Do not disappoint me by undervaluing your-
elf." The soldier dropped a slice of meat onto a stab of
augh bread and put it into my hands. In turn, I put it into

284 Jennifer Roberson

Rowan's. "Now, eat. You must restore your strength so we
can Bght again."

The mist put beads of water into his hair Damp, it
tangled against his shoulders. His face was bleak, pale,
stretched taut over prominent bones, but I thought the
pain came from something other than his arm.
A pot of wine was wanning near the firecairn. I knelt,
poured a cup and handed it up to Rowan. And then, as I
turned to pour my own, I heard someone shout for me.

"Meat, my lord?" asked the soldier with the knife.

"A moment." I rose and turned toward the shout. In the
mist it was hard to place such sounds, but then I saw the
shapes coming out of the grayness. Three men on horse-
back: two of them my Homanans, the third a stranger.

They were muffled in mired leathers and woolen wrap-
pings. The mist parted as they rode through and showed
them more clearly, then closed behind them again. "My
lord!" One of the men dismounted before me and dropped
to one knee, then up again. "A courier, my lord."

The gesture indicated the still-mounted stranger. He
rode a good horse, as couriers usually do, but I saw no
crest to mark him. He wore dark leathers and darker wool;

a cap hid most of his head so that only his face showed.

The hot wine warmed my hands, even through my
gloves. "Atvian?" I put no inflection in my tone.

The stranger reached up to pull woolen wraps from his
face. "No, my lord—Ellasian." Mouth bared, the words
took on greater clarity. "Sent from High Prince Cuinn."

Lachlan. I could not help the smile. "Step you down,
friend courier. You are well come to my army."

He dismounted, came closer and dropped to one knee
in a quick bow of homage. Neatly done. He had a warm,
friendly face, but was young, and yet he seemed to know
his business. He was red-haired beneath the cap,, judging
by his brows, and his eyes were green. There were freck-
les on his face.

"My lord, it pleases me to serve the High Prince. He
bids me give you this." He dug into a leather pouch at his
belt and withdrew a folded parchment, A daub of blue wax
sealed it closed, and pressed into it was the royal crest: a

THE SONG OF HOMANA   285

^fcarp and the crown of Ellas. It brought back the vision of
^Lachlan and his Lady, when he told me who he was.
X I broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. It crack-
,€,led in the misted air; its crispness faded as the paper
H^wilted. But the words were legible.

S&&'

^ Upon returning home to Rheghed, I was met with
warm welcome from the king my father. So warm,
indeed that he showered me with gifts. One of these
gifts was a command of my own, did I ever need to
use it. I doubt Rhodri ever intended me to be so
generous as to loan the gift to you, but the thing is
already done. My men are yours for as long as you
need them. And does it please you to offer a gift in
return, I ask only that you treat kindly with Ellas
when we seek to make an alliance.

By the hand of the High Prince,
Cuinn Lachlan Llewellyn

I grinned. And then I laughed, and set my cup of hot
rtne into the hands of the courier. "Well come, indeed," I
Ad. "How many. and where?"

He grinned back when he had drunk. "Half a league
1st, my lord. As to the number—five thousand. The
toyal Ellasian Guard."

I laughed again, loudly. "Ah Lodhi, I thank you for this
ourier! But even more I thank you for Lachlan's mend-
hip!" I clapped the courier on his shoulder. "Your name."

"Gryffth, my lord."

"And your captain's?"

"Meredyth. A man close to the High Prince himself."
iryflth grinned. "My lord, forgive me, but we all know
'iat Prince Cuinn intended. And none of us is unwilling.

all I send to bring them in?"

"Five thousand. ..." I shook my head, smiling at the

Might. "Thome will be finished in a day."

Gryffth brightened. "Then you are near to winning?"

"We are winning." I said. "But this will make the
nding sweeter. Ah gods, I do thank you for that harper."

took the cup from Gryffth as he went to remount his

286 Jennifer Roberson

horse, and watched him ride back into the fog with his

Homanan guides.

"Well, my lord," Rowan said, "the thing is done at last."
"A good thing, too." I grinned "You are not fit to fight

with that arm, and now you will not have to."
"My lord—" he protested, but I did not listen as I read

Lachlan's note again.

The map was of leather, well-tanned and soft It was a
pale creamy color, and the paint stood out upon it. In the
candlelighted pavilion, the lines and rune-signs seemed to
glow.

"Here." I put my forefinger on the map. "Mujhara. We
are here—perhaps forty leagues from the city northwest "
I moved my finger more westerly. 'The Cheysuli are
here, closer to Lestra, though still within Homana." I
lifted the finger and moved it more dramatically, pointing
out the Solindish port ofAndemir "Thome came in here,
Atvia is but eight leagues across the Idrian Ocean, directly
west of Solinde. He took the shortest sea route to Solinde,
and the shortest land route to Homana." I traced the
invisible line across the map. "See you here? —he came
this way, cutting Solinde in half. It is here our boundary
puts its fist into Solinde, and it is where Thorne was
bound."

"But you stopped him " The Ellasian captain nodded.
"You have cut him off, and he goes no farther."

It seemed odd to hear the husky accent again, though
we spoke Homanan between us and all my captains There
were other Ellasians as well, clustered within my tent; I
meant Lachlan's gift to know precisely what they were
doing.

"Thorne let it be known he was splitting his army," I
explained. "He would come overland through Solinde,
gaining support from the rebels there. But he also sent a
fleet—or so ail the reports said. A fleet bound for
Hondarth—down here." I set my finger on the mark that
represented Hondarth, near the bottom of the map and
directly south of Mujhara. "But there was no fleet—no
real fleet. It was a ruse."

Meredyth nodded. "He meant you to halve your army

THE SONG OF HOMANA      287

and send part of it to Hondarth, so that when he came in
here—full strength—he would face a reduced Homanan
warhost." He smiled. "Clever. But you are more so, my
.-lord Mujhar."

, - I shook my head. "Fortunate. My spies are good. I
..^teard of the ruse and took steps to call back those I had
^dispatched to Hondarth; thank the gods, they had not
^ gotten far. We have Thome now, but he wilt not give up.
£-He will send his men against me until there is no one

^fcft-'
^; "And the Solindish aid he wanted?"
y "Less than he desired." Meredyth was older than I by
'^gt least twenty years, but he listened well. At first I had
1-pesitated to speak so plainly, knowing him more experi-
^fcBced than I, but Lachlan had chosen well. Here was a
,' man who would listen and weigh my words, then make his
" idgment upon them. "He came into Solinde expecting to
ad thousands for the taking, but there have been only
indreds. Since I sent the Cheysuli there, the Solindish

•e—hesitant to upset the alliance I made."
Meredyth's expression showed calm politeness. "The
ll^ueen fares well?"

/ I knew what he asked. It was more than just an inquiry
ler Electra's health. The future of Solinde rested upon
ie outcome—or issue—of the marriage; Electra would

*ar me a second child in three months and, if it were a
Jy, Solinde would be one child closer to freedom and

I.Alitonomy. It was why Thome had found his aid so thin.

1-That, and the Cheysuli.

||t" "The Queen fares well," I said.

J|"' Meredyth's smile was slight. "Then what of the Ihlini,

^roy lord? Have they not joined with Thome?"

i|»   "There has been no word of Ihlini presence within the

||Atvian army." Thank the gods. but I did not say it. "What

^j^tye face are Atvians with a few hundred Solindish rebels."

L^? made a quick gesture. "Thome is clever, aye, and he

as. knows how to come against me. I am not crushing him as I

iKfflight wish, not when he uses my own methods against

^sac. No pitched battles, merely raids and skirmishes, as I

i^mployed against Bellam. As you see, we have been here

w1

288 Jennifer Roborson

six months; the thing is not easily won. At least—it was
not, until Lachtan sent his gift."

Meredyth nodded his appreciation. "I think, my lord,
you will be home in time to see the birth of your heir."
"Be the gods willing." I tapped the map again. "Thome
has sent some of his army in here, where I have posted
the Cheysuli. But the greater part of it remains here,
where we are. The last skirmish was two days ago. I doubt
he will come against me before another day has passed.
Until then, I suggest we make our plans "

Thorne of Atvia came against us two days later with all
the strength he had. No more slash and run as he had
learned from me, he fought, this time, with the determi-
nation of a man who knows he will lose and, in the losing,
lose himself. With the Ellasian men we hammered him
back, shutting off the road to Homana. Atvian bowmen
notwithstanding, we were destroying his thinning ofiense.

I sought only Thorne in the crush of fighting. I wanted
him at the end of my blade, fully aware of his own death
and who dealt it. It was he who had taken my sword from
me on the battlefield near Mujhara, nearly seven years
before. It was he who had put the iron on me and ordered
Rowan flogged. It was Thorne who might have slain Alix,
given the chance, had not the Cheysuli come. And it was
Thorne who offered me insult by thinking he could pull
down my House and replace it with his own.

When the arrow lodged itself in the leather-and-mail of
my armor, I thought myself unhurt. It set me back in the
saddle a moment and I felt the punch of a sharpened fist
against my left shoulder, but I did not think it had gone
through to touch my flesh. It was only when I reined my
horse into an oncoming Atvian that I realized the arm was
numb.

I swore. The Atvian approached at full gallop, sword
lifted above his head. He rode with his knees, blind to his
horse, intent on striking me down. I meant to do the
same, but now I could not. I had only the use of one arm.

His horse slammed into mine. The impact sent a wave
of pain rolling from shoulder to skull. I bent forward at
once, seeking to keep my seat as the Atvian's sword came

THE SONG OF HOMANA   289

down. Blade on blade and the screech of stee —the de-
flected blow went behind me, barely, and into ny saddle.
I spun my horse away and the Atvian lost his sword. It
remained wedged in my saddle, offering precarious seat-
ing, since an ill-timed movement might result in an opened
buttock, but at least I had disarmed him. 1 stood up in my
stirrups, avoiding the sword, and saw him coming at me.

He was unarmed. He screamed. And he threw himself
from his horse to lock both hands through the rings of my
mail.
My own sword was lost. I felt it fall, twisting out of my
hand, as the weight came down upon me. He was large,
too large, and unwounded. "With both hands grasping the
ringmail of my armor, he dragged me from my horse.

I twisted in midair, trying to free myself. But the ground
came up to meet us and nearly knocked me out of my
senses. My left arm was still numb, still useless.

His weight was unbearable. He ground me into the
earth. One knee went into my belly as he rose up to reach
for his knife and I felt the air rush out. And yet somehow I
gritted my teeth and unsheathed my own knife, jabbing
upward into his groin.

He screamed. His own weapon dropped as he doubled
over, grabbing his groin with both hands. Blood poured
out of the wound and splashed against my face. And yet 1
could not move; could not twist away. His weight was
upon my belly and the fire was in my shoulder.

I stabbed again, striking with gauntleted hands. His
, screams ran on, one into another, until it was a single
' sound of shock and pain and outrage. I saw the blindness
in his eyes and knew he would bleed to death.

He bent forward. Began to topple. The knee shut off
my air. And then he fell and the air came back, a little,
but all his dead weight was upon me. His right arm
was flung across my face, driving ringmail into my mouth,
and I felt the coppery taste of blood spring up into my
teeth. Blood. Gods, so much blood, and some of it my
own. . . .

I twisted. I thrust with my one good arm and tried to
topple him off. But his size and the slackness of death

290 Jennifer Robarcon

undid me, the heaviest weight of all, and 1 had no strength
left to fight it. I went down, down into the oubliette, with
no one there to catch me. . . .

Shadows. Darkness. A little light. I thrust myself up-
ward into the light, shouting out a name.

"Be still, my lord," Rowan said. "Be still."

Waite took a swab of bloody linen from me and I real-
ized he tended my shoulder. More blood. Gods, would he
turn to cautery? It was no wonder Rowan seemed so calm.
He had felt the kiss of hot steel and now expected me to
do the same.

I shut my eyes. Sweat broke out and coursed down my
face. I had forgotten what pain was, real pain, having
escaped such wounds for so long. In Caledon, once or
twice, I had been wounded badly, but I had always forgot-
ten the pain and weakness that broke down the soul.

"The arrow was loosed from close by," Waite said conver-
sationally. "Your armor stopped most of the force of it, but
not all. Still, it is not a serious wound; I have got the
arrowhead out. If you lie still long enough, I think the
hole will heal.

I opened one eye a slit. "No cautery?*'

"Do you prefer it?"

"No—" I hissed as the shoulder twinged. "By the gods—
can you not give me what you gave Rowan?"

"I thought you gave me something," Rowan muttered.
"I slept too well that night."

Waite pressed another clout of linen against the wound.
It came away less bloody, but the pain was still alive. "I
will give you whatever you require, my lord. It is a part of
a chirurgeon's service." He smiled as I scowled-. "Wait you
until I am done with the linens, and you shall have your
powder." He gestured to Rowan. "Lift him carefully, cap-
tain. Think of him as an egg."

I would have laughed, had I the strength. As it was I
could only smile. But when Rowan started to lift me up so
Waite could bind the linens around my chest, I nearly
groaned aloud. "Gods—are all my bones broken?"

"No." Waite pressed a linen pad against my shoulder
and began to bind strips around my chest. "You were

THE SONG OF HOMANA    291

,fbund beneath three hundred pounds of mailed Atvian
bulk. I would guess you were under it for several hours,
while the battle raged on. It is no wonder you feel half-
crushed— there, captain, I am done. Let him down again,
gently. Do not crack the eggshell."

I shut my eyes again until the sweat dried upon my
body. A moment later Waite held a cup to my mouth,
1 "Drink, my lord. Sleep is best for now."

It was sweetened wine. I drank down the cup and lay
" my head down again, trying to shut out the pain. Rowan,

kneeling beside my cot, watched with worried eyes.
T   I shivered. Waite pulled rugs and pelts up over my

body until only my head was free. There were braziers all
.-'around my cot. In winter, even a minor wound can kill.

My mouth was sore, no doubt from where the ringmail
v. had broken my lip. I tongued it, feeling the swollen cut,
If then grimaced. What a foolish way to be taken out of a
I: battle.

^' "I must assume we won the day," I said. "Otherwise I
^ would doubtless be in an Atvian tent with no chirurgeon
^ and no captain " I paused. "Unless you were taken, too."
^ "No." Rowan shook his head. "We won, my lord, re-
^. soundingly. The war as well as the'day. The Atvians are
^ broken—most of them who could ran back into Solinde. I
"doubt they will trouble us again."
^ "Thorne?"
^ "Dead, my lord."
if-   I sighed. "I wanted him."

^   "So did I." Rowan's face was grim. "I did not heed you,
^ my lord, I went into battle myself. But I could not find
^ him in the fighting."

^> The powder was beginning to work. Coupled with the
^ weakness from the wound, it was sucking me into the
< darkness. It grew more difficult to speak. "See he is bur-
. ied as befits his rank," I said carefully, "but do not return
J his body to his people. When my father lay dying of his

wounds on the plains near Mujhara, and Thorne had taken
\ me, I asked for a Homanan burial. Thorne denied it to

him. And so I deny an Atvian rite to Thorne."
^ "Aye, my lord." Rowan's voice was low
i.   I struggled to keep my senses. "He has an heir. Two

292 Jennifer Roberson

sons, I have heard! Send—send word the Mujhar of Homana
asks fealty. I will receive Thome's sons in Homana-Mujhar—
far their oaths." I frowned as my lids sealed up my eyes.
"Rowan—see it is done—"

"Aye, my lord."

I roused myself once more. "We leave here in the
morning. I want to go back to Mujhara."

"You will not be fit to go back in the morning," Waite
said flatly. "You will see for yourself, my lord."

"I am not averse to a litter," I murmured. "My pride
can withstand it, I think."

Rowan smiled. "Aye, my lord. A litter instead of a
horse."

I thought about it. No doubt Electra would hear. I did
not wish her to worry. "I will go in a litter until we are but
half a league from Mujhara," I told him clearly. "Then I
will ride the horse."
"Of course, my lord. I will see to it myself."

I gave myself over to darkness.

Waite, unfortunately, bad the right of it. Litter or no. I
was not fit to go back in the morning. But by the third day
I felt much better. I dressed in my warmest clothing,
trying to ignore the pain in my shoulder, and went out to
speak to Meredyth and his fellow captains.

Their time with me was done. Their aid had helped me
accomplish Thorne's defeat, and it was my place now to
send them home- I saw to it each captain would have gold
to take back to Ellas, as well as coin for the common
soldiers. The war with Thome had not impoverished me,
but I had little to spare. All I could promise was a sound
alliance for the High King, which seemed to please
Meredyth well enough. He then asked a boon of me,
which I gave him gladly enough: Gryfflh had asked to stay
in Homana to serve Ellas in Homana-Mujhar, more an
envoy than simple courier. And so the Royal Ellasian
Guard went home, lacking a red-haired courier.

I also went home, in a litter after all—too worn to spend
time on horseback—and spent most of the journey home
sleeping, or contemplating my future. Atvia was mine, did
I wish to keep it, although there was a chance Thorne's

THE SONG OF HOMANA   293

sons might wish to contest it. I thought they were too
young, but could not set an age to them. Yet to try to
govern Atvia myself was nearly impossible. The island was
'' too distant. A regent in Solinde was bad enough, and yet I
, had no choice. I did not want even Solinde; Bellam had,
: more or less, bequeathed it to me with his death, and the
" marriage had sealed it. Although I was not averse to
^ claiming two realms my own in place of the single one I
, wanted, I was not greedy. In the past, far-flung realms
^Shad drained the coffers of other kings, I would not fall into
£the trap. Atvia was Atvian. And did Electra give me an
^heir this time, I would be happy enough to see Solinde go
^ to my second son.

'J, It was days to Mujhara by litter, and it was well before
half a league out that I took to a horse at last. The wound
in my shoulder ached, but it was beginning to heal. I
thought, so long as I did not push myself too hard, I could
ride the rest of the way.

And yet when at last I rode through the main gates of
[my rose-walled palace, I felt the weariness in my body.
|f My mind was fogged with it. I could hardly think. I
^Wanted only to go to bed, my bed, not to some army cot.
^And with Electra in my arms.
,t I acknowledged the welcome of my servants and went at
|once to the third floor, seeking Electra's chambers. But a
ITSolindish chamberwoman met me at the door and said the
| Queen was bathing, could I not wait?

No, I said, the bath could wait, but she giggled and said
the Queen had prepared a special greeting, having re-
ceived the news of my return. Too weary to think of
waving such protestations aside—and wondering what
^ Electra could be planning—I turned back and went away.
^   If I could not see my wife, I could at least see my
^ daughter. I went to the nursery and found eight-month-
/ old Aislinn sound asleep in an oak-and-ivory cradle, at-
.' tended by three nursemaids. She was swathed in linens
, and blankets, but one fist had escaped the covers She
' -. clutched it against her face!

^ I smiled, bending down to set a hand against her cheek.
i^So soft, so fair . I could not believe she was mine. My
^hand was so large and hard and callused, touching the

294 Jennifer Roberson

fragile flesh. Her hair, springing from the pink scalp, was
coppery-red, curling around her ears. And her eyes, when
they were open, were gray and lashed with gold. She had
all of her mother's beauty and none of her father's size.

"Princess of Homana," I whispered to my daughter.
"who will be your prince?"

Aislinn did not answer. And I, growing wearier by the
moment, thought it better to leave her undisturbed. So I
took myself to my chambers and dismissed my body-
servant, falling down across my bed to mimic my daugh-
ter's rest.

I came up out of the blackness to find I could not
breathe. Something had leached the air from my lungs
until I could not cry out, could not cry, could not speak.
All I could do was gape like a fish taken from the water,
napping on the bank.

There was no pain. Merely helplessness and confusion;

pain enough, to a man who knows himself trapped. And
does not know why.

A cool hand came down and touched my brow. It floated
out of the darkness, unattached to an arm, until I realized
the arm was merely covered by a sleeve.

"Carillon. Ah, my poor Carillon. So triumphant in your
battles, and now so helpless in your bed."

Electra's voice, Electra's hand- I could smell the scent
upon her. A bath, the woman had said; a special greeting
prepared.

The cool fingers traced the line of my nose; gently
touched my eyelids. "Carillon ... it ends. This travesty of
our marriage. You will end, my lord." The hand came
down my cheek and caressed my open mouth. "It is time
for me to go."

Out of the darkness leaped a rune, a   glowing purple
rune. and in its reflection I saw my   wife. She wore black
to swath her body, and yet I saw her   belly. The child. The
heir of Homana. Did she dare to take   it from me?

Electra smiled. A hood covered all her hair, leaving
only her face in the light. One hand came up to cradle her
belly. "Not yours," she said gently. "Did you really think
it was? Ah no. Carillon ... it is another man's. Think you

THE SONG OF HOMANA   295

I would keep myself to you when I can have my true lord's
love?" She turned slightly, and I saw the man beyond her.

I mouthed his name, and he smiled. The sweet, beguil-
ing smile that I had seen before.

He moved forward out of the darkness. It was his rune
that set the room afire. In the palm of his right hand it
danced.

Tynstar set his hand to the wick of the candle by my
bed, and the candle burst into flame. Not the pure yellow
fire of the normal candle, but an eerie purple flame that
hissed and shed sparks into the room.

The rune in his hand winked out. He smiled. "You have
been a good opponent. It-has been interesting to watch
you grow, watch you come to manhood, watch you learn
what it is to rule. You have learned how to manipulate
men and make them bend to your will without making
them aware what you do. There is more kingcraft in you
than I had anticipated, when I set you free to leave this
place eight years ago."

I could not move. I felt the helplessness in my body and
the futility in my soul. I would die without a protest,
unable to summon a sound. At least-let me make a sound—

"Blame yourself," Tynstar told me gently. "What I do
now was made possible by you, when you sent the Cheysuli
from your side. Had you kept him by you—" He smiled.
"But then you could not, could you, so long as he threat-
ened the Queen. You had Etectra to think of instead of
yourself. Commendable, my lord Mujhar; it speaks well of
your priorities. But it will also be your death." The flame
danced upon its wick and sculpted his bearded face into a
death's head of unparallelled beauty. "Finn knew the truth,
He understood- It was Finn who saw me in Electra's bed."
His teeth showed briefly as I spasmed against the sheets.
One hand went to Electra's belly.

I tried to thrust myself from the bed but my limbs
would not obey me. And then Tynstar moved close, into
the sphere of light, and put his hand upon me.

"I am done playing with you," he said. "It is time for me
to rule." He smiled. "Recall you what Betlam was, when
you found him on the field?"

I spasmed again and Tynstar laughed. Electra watched

296 Jennifer Robercon

me as a hawk will watch a coney, delaying its stoop until
the perfect moment.

"Cheysuli i'halla shansu," Tynstar said. "Give my greet-
ings to the gods."

I felt the change within my body. Even as I fought
them, my muscles tightened and drew up my limbs. But-
tocks, feet and knees, cramping so that I nearly screamed,
while my legs folded up to crush themselves against my
chest. My hands curled into fists and a rictus set my
mouth so that my teeth were bared in a feral snarl. I felt
my flesh tightening on my bones, drying into hardness.

What voice there was left to me lost itself in a garbled
wail, and I knew myself a dead man. Tynstar had slain his
quarry.

Cheysuli i'halla shansu, he had said. May there be
Cheysuli peace upon you. An odd farewell from an Ihlini
to a Homanan. Neither of us claimed the magic the Cheysuli
held, and yet Tynstar reminded me of it. Reminded me of
the four days I had spent in the oubliette, believing myself
Cheysuli.

Well, why could I not again? Had I not felt the power of
the race while I hung in utter darkness?

My eyes   were staring. I shut them. Even as I felt my
muscles   wrack themselves against my bones and flesh, I
reached   inward to my soul where I could touch what I
touched   before: the thing that had made me Cheysuli.

For four days, once, I had known the gods- Could I not
know them again?

I heard the hiss of steel blade against a sheath. And
then I heard nothing more.

FIVE
Silence. The darkness was gone and the daylight pierced
my lids- It painted everything orange and yellow and
crimson.

I lay quite still. I did not breathe; did not dare to,
until at last my lungs were so empty my heart banged
against my chest protesting the lack. I took a shallow
breath-

I saw the shadow then. A dark blot moved across
the sunrise of my vision. It whispered, soughing like a
breeze through summer grass. Like spreading wings on
a hawk.

Afraid I would see nothing and yet needing to see, I
opened my eyes. I saw. The hawk perched on the chair
back, hooked beak gleaming in the sunlight and his bright
eyes ftill of wisdom. And patience, endless patience. Cai
was nothing if not a patient bird.

I turned my head against the pillow. The draperies of
my bed had been pulled back, looped up against the
wooden tester posts and tied with ropes of scarlet and
gold. Sunlight poured in the nearest casement and glit-
tered off the brilliance. Everywhere gold. On my bed and
on Duncan's arms.

I heard the rasp of my breath and the hoarseness of my
voice. 'Tynstar slew me."

"Tynstar tried."

I 297 I

298 Jennifer Roberson

I was aware of the bed beneath my body. It seemed to
press in on me, oppressing me, yet cradling my flesh.
Everything was emphasized. I heard the tiniest sounds,
saw colors as 1 had never seen them and felt the texture of
the bedclothes. But mostly I sensed the tension in Dun-
can's body.

He sat upright on a stool, very still as he waited. I saw
how he watched me, as if he expected something more
than what I had given him. I could not think what it
was—we had already discussed Finn's dismissal. And yet I
knew he was afraid.

Duncan afraid? No. There was nothing for him to fear.

I summoned my voice again. "You know what hap-
pened—?"

"I know what Rowan told me."

"Rowan " I frowned. "Rowan was not there when Tynstar
came to slay me."

"He was." Duncan's smile was brief. "You had best
thank the gods he was, or you would not now be alive. It
was Rowan's timely arrival that kept Tynstar's bid to slay
you from succeeding." He paused. "That . . . and what
power you threw back at him."

I felt a tiny surge within my chest. 'Then I did reach
the magic!"

He nodded. "Briefly, you tapped what we ourselves
tap. It was not enough to keep Tynstar in check for long—he
would have slain you in a moment—but Rowan's arrival
was enough to end the moment. The presence of a
Cheysuli—though he lacks a lir—was enough to dilute
Tynstar's power even more. There was nothing he could
do, save die himself when faced with Rowan's steel, So—he
left. But not before he touched you." He paused. "You
nearly died. Carillon. Do not think you are unscathed."

"He is gone?"

"Tynstar." Duncan nodded. "Electra was left behind."

I shut my eyes. I recalled how she had come out of the
darkness to tell me the truth of the child. Gods—Tynstar's
child—

I looked at Duncan again. My eyes felt gritty. My
tongue was heavy in my mouth. "Where is she?"

"In her chambers, with a Cheysuli guard at the doors."

THE SONG OF HOMANA   299

Duncan did not smile. "She has a measure of her own
power. Carillon; we do not take chances with her."

"No." I pushed an elbow against the bed and tried to sit
up. I discovered no part of my body would move. I was
stiff and very sore, far worse than after a battle, as if all the
dampness had got into my bones. I touched my shoulder
then, recalling the healing wound. There were no ban-
dages. Just a small patch of crinkled flesh. "You healed
me ..."

"We tried." Duncan was very grave. "The arrow wound
was easily done. The —other—was not. Carillon—" For a
moment he paused, and then I saw his frown. "Do not
think Ihlini power is easily overcome. Even the earth
magic cannot restore that which has been taken from a
soul. Tynstar has power in abundance. What was taken
from you will never be regained. You are—as you are "

I stared at him. And then I looked down at myself and
saw myself. There seemed to be no difference. I was very
stiff and sore and slow, but a sojourn in bed will do that.

Duncan merely waited. I moved again to sit up, found it
every bit as difficult as before, but this time I prevailed. I
swung my legs over the side of the bed, screwed up my
face against the creaking of my joints, and sat there as all
my muscles trembled.

It was then I saw my fingers. The knuckles were en-
larged hugely, the flesh stretched thin over brittle bones.
I saw how the calluses had begun to soften, shedding the
toughness I needed against the use of a sword. I saw how
the fingers were vaguely twisted away from my thumb.
And I ached. Even in the sunlight, I ached with a bone-
deep pain.

"How long?" I asked abruptly, knowing I had spent
more than days in my bed.

"Two months. We could not raise you from the stupor "

Naked, I wrenched myself from the bed and stumbled
across the chamber, to the plate upon the wall. Tjie pol-
ished silver gave back my face, and I saw what Tynstar
had done.

Carillon was still Carillon, certainly recognizable. But
older, so much older, by twenty years at least.

"It is my father," I said in shock, recalling the time-

300 Jennifer Roberson

worn face. The tawny-dark hair was frosted with gray with
the beard showing equal amounts. Creases fanned out
from my eyes and bracketed nose and mouth, though most
were hidden by the beard. And set deeply into the still-
blue eyes was the knowledge of constant pain.

It was no wonder   I ached. I had the same disease as my
mother, with her   twisted hands and brittle bones, the
swollen, painful   joints. And with each year, the pain and
disability would   worsen.

Tynstar had put his hand on me and my youth was
spent at once.

I turned slowly and sat down on the nearest chest. I
began to shake with more than physical weakness. It was
the realization.

Duncan waited, saying nothing, and I saw the compas-
sion in his eyes. "Can you not heal me of this?" I gestured
emptily. "The age and gray I can live with, but the illness
. . . you have only to see my lady mother—" I stopped. I
saw the answer in his face.
After a moment he spoke. "It will improve. You will not
be as stiff when some time has passed. You have spent two
months in bed and it takes its toll on anyone—you will
find it not so bad as it seems now. But as for the disease
..." He shook his head. 'Tynstar did not give you any-
thing you would not have known anyway. He inflicted
nothing upon you that time itself would not inflict. He
merely stole that time from you, so that a month became
ten years. You are older, aye, but not old. There are many
years left to you."

I thought of Finn. I recalled the silver in his hair and
the hard gauntness of his face. I recalled what he had said
of Tynstar; "He put his hand on me."

The chest was hard and cold against my naked buttocks.
"When my daughter is older, I will be old. She will have a
grandsire for a father."

"I doubt she will love you the less for that. 'r

I looked at him in surprise. A Cheysuli speaking of
love? —aye, perhaps, when the moment calls for an hon-
esty that can bring me back to myself.

My body protested against the dampness of the cham-
ber. I got up and walked—no, limped—stiffly back to my

THE SONG OF HOMANA

301

^

V

I-

bed, reaching for the robe a servant had left. "I will have
to deal with Electra."

"Aye. And she is still the Queen of Homana."

"As I made her." I shook my head. "I should have
listened to you. To Finn. I should have listened to
someone."

Duncan smiled, still sitting on his stool "You know
more of kingcraft than I do. Carillon. The marriage brought
peace to Homana—at least regarding Solinde—and I can-
not fault you for that. But—"

"—but I wed a woman who intended my death from the
first moment she ever saw me." The pain curled deeply
within my loins. "Gods—I should have known by looking
at her. She claims more than forty years—I should have
known Tynstar could give those years as well as take
them." I rubbed at my age-lined face and felt the twinges
in my fingers. "I should have known Tynstar's arts would
prevail when I had no Cheysuli by me. No liege man."

"They planned well, Tynstar and Electra," Duncan
agreed. "First the trap-link, which might have slain Finn
and rid them of him sooner. Then, when that did not
work, they used it to draw him into a second trap. Finn, I
do not doubt, walked in on Tynstar and Electra when he
meant only to confront her. He could not touch Tynstar,
but Tynstar touched him, then took his leave and Finn
had only Electra. And yet when he told you Tynstar had
been present, you thought of the trap-link instead." Dun-
can shook his head and the earring glittered in the sun-
light, "They played with us all, Carillon . . and nearly
won the game."

'They have won." I sat huddled in my robe. "I have
only a daughter, and Homana has need of an heir."

Duncan rose. He moved to Cai and put out a hand to
the hawk, as if he meant to caress him. But he did not
touch him after all, and I saw how his fingers trembled.
"You are still young, for all you feel old." His back was to
me. 'Take yourself another cheysula and give Homana
that heir."

I looked at his back, so rigid and unmoving. "You know
Homanan custom. You were at the wedding ceremony; do
you not recall the vows? Homanans do not set wives aside.

302 Jenntfer Roberson

It is a point of law, as well as being custom. Surely you,
with all your adherence to Cheysuli custom, can under-
stand the constraints that places on me. Even a Mujhar."

"Is the custom so important when the wife attempts to
slay the husband?"

I heard the irony in his tone. "No. But she did not
succeed, and I know what Council will say. Set her aside,
perhaps, but do not break the vows. It would be breaking
Homanan law. The Council would never permit it."

Duncan swung around and faced me. "Electra is Tynstar's
meijha! She bears his child in her belly! Would the
Homanan Council prefer to have you dead?"

"Do you not see?" I threw back. "It has been taken
from my hands. Had Tourmaline not gone with Finn,
wedding with Lachlan instead, I could have sought my
heir from her. Had she wed any prince, Homana would
have an heir. But she did not. She went with Finn and
took that chance from me."

"Set her aside," he said urgently. "You are Mujhar—
you can do anything you wish."

Slowly I shook my head. "If I begin to make my own
rules, I become a despot. I become Shaine, who desired
to destroy the Cheysuli race. No, Duncan. Electra re-
mains my wife, though I doubt I will keep her here. I
have no wish to see her or the bastard she carries."

He shut his eyes a moment, and then I understood. I
knew what he feared at last.

I was tired. The ache had settled deeply in my bones. I
felt bruised from the knowledge of what I faced. And yet I
could not avoid it- "There is no need to fear me," I said
quietly.

"Is there not?" Duncan's eyes were bleak. "I know what
you will do."

"I have no other choice."

"He is my son—"

"—and Alix's, and Alix is my cousin." I stopped, seeing
the pain in the face Alix loved. "How long have you
known it would come to this?"

Duncan laughed, but it had a hollow, desperate sound.
"All my life. it seems. When I came to know my tahlmorra."
He shook his head and sat down upon the stool. His

THE SONG OF HOMANA   303

shoulders slumped and he stared blankly at the floor. "I
have always been afraid. Of you ... of the past and future
... of what I knew was held within the prophecy for any
son of mine. Did you think I wanted Alix only out of
desire?" Anguish leached his face of the solemnity I knew.
"Alix was a part of my own tahlmorra. I knew, if I took
her and got a son upon her, I would have to give up that
son, I knew. And so I hoped, when she conceived again,
there would at least be another for us ... but the Ihlini
took even that from us." He sighed. "I had no choice. No
choice at all."

"Duncan," I said after a moment, "can a back not be
turned upon tahlmorra?'''

He shook his head immediately. "The warrior who turns
his back on his tahlmorra may twist the prophecy. In
twisting it, he destroys the tahlmorra of his race. Homana
would fall. Not in a year or ten or twenty—perhaps not
even a hundred—but it would fall, and the realm would
| be given over to the Ihlini and their like." He paused.
^ "There is another thing: the warrior who turns his back on
his tahlmorra gives up his afterlife. I think none of us
would be willing to do that.'
I thought of Tynstar, and others like him, ruling in
Homana. No. It was no wonder Duncan would never
consider trying to alter his tahlmorra.

I frowned. "Do you say then that even a single warrior
turning his back on his tahbnorra may change the balance
of fate?"

Duncan frowned also. For once. he seemed to grope for
the proper words, as if he knew the Homanan tongue
could never tell me what I asked. But the Old Tongue
would not serve; I knew too little of it. And what I did
know I had learned from Finn; he had never spoken of
such personal Cheysuli things.

Finally Duncan sighed. "A crofter goes to Mujhara to-
day instead of tomorrow. His son falls down a well. The
son dies." He made the spread-fingered, palm-up gesture.
"Tahlmorra. But had the crofter gone tomorrow instead of
today, would the son yet live? I cannot say. Does the
death serve a greater pattern? Perhaps. Had he lived,
would it have destroyed the pattern completely? Perhaps—I

304 Jennifer Robemon

cannot say." He shrugged. "I cannot know what the gods
intend."

"But you serve them all so blindly—"

"No. My eyes are open." He did not smile. "They have
given us the prophecy, so we know what we work toward.
We know what we can lose, if we do not continue serving
it. My belief is such: that certain events, once changed,
can alter other events. Are enough of them altered, no
matter how minor, the major one is changed. Perhaps
even the prophecy of the Firstborn."

"So you live your life in chains." I could not compre-
hend the depth of his dedication.

Duncan smiled a little. "You wear a crown, my lord
Mujhar. Surely you know its weight."

"That is different—"

"Is it? Even now you face the overwhelming need to
find an heir. To put a prince on the throne of Homana you
will even take my son."

I stared at him. The emptiness spread out to fill my
aching body. "I have no other choice."

"Nor have I, my lord Mujhar." Duncan looked suddenly
weary. "But you give my son into hardship."
"He will be the Prince of Homana." The rank seemed,
to me, to outweigh the hardship.

He did not smile. "It was your title, once. It nearly got
you slain. Do not belittle its danger."

"Donal is Cheysuli." For a moment I was incapable of
saying anything more. I realized, in that moment, that
even I had served the gods. Duncan had said more than
once it was a Cheysuli throne, and that one day there
would be a Cheysuli Mujhar in place of a Homanan. And
now I, with only a few words, made that prediction come
true.

Are men always so blind to the gods, even when they
serve them?

"Cheysuli," Duncan echoed, "and so the links are forged."

I looked at Cai. I thought of the falcon and wolf Donal
claimed, two lir instead of one. Things changed. Time
moved on, sometimes far too quickly. And events altered
events.

I sighed and rubbed at my knees. "The Homanans will

THE SONG OF HOMANA

305

not accept him. Not readily. He is Cheysuli to the bone
despite his Homanan blood."

"Aye," Duncan agreed, "you begin to see the danger."

"I can lessen it. I can take away the choice. I can make
certain the Homanans accept him."

Duncan shook his head. "It has been less than eight
years since Shaine's qumahlin ended because of you. It is
too soon. Such things are not easily done."

"No. But I can make it easier."

"How?"

"By wedding him to Aislinn."

Duncan stood up at once. "They are children!"

"Now, aye, but children.become adults." I did not care
to see the startled, angry expression on his face, but I had
no choice. "A long betrothal, Duncan, such as royal Houses
do. In fifteen years, Donal will be—twenty-three? Aislinn
nearly sixteen: old enough to wed. And then I will name
him my heir."
Duncan shut his eyes. I saw his right hand make the
eloquent sign. "Tahlmorra lujhalla mei wiccan, cheysu"
All the helplessness was in his voice, and I knew it chafed
his soul. Duncan was not a man who suffered helplessness
with any degree of decorum.

I sighed and mimicked the gesture, including the
Cheysuli phrase for wishing him peace: Cheysuli i'halla
sfwnsu.

"Peace!" It was bitterly said; from Duncan, a revelation.
"My son will know none of that."

I felt the dampness in my bones and pulled the heavy
robe more tightly around my shoulders. "1 think 7 have
known little of it. Have you?"

"Oh, aye," he returned at once, with all the force of his
bitterness. "More than you. Carillon. It was to me that
Alix came."

The bolt went home. 1 grimaced, thinking of Electra,
and knew I would have to deal with it before more time
went by. The gods knew Tynstar had stolen enough.

"I will send for Alix," I said at last, hunching against the
chill he did not seem to feel. "And Donal. I will explain
things to them both. I would have you send Cai, but there
is a task I have for you." I expected a refusal, but Duncan

306 Jennifer Roberson

said nothing at all. I saw the weariness in his posture and
the knowledge in his eyes. He was ever a step before me.
"Duncan—I am sorry. I did not mean to usurp your son."

"Be not sorry for what the gods intend." He gestured
the hawk to his arm. How he held him, I cannot say; Cai
is a heavy bird. "As for your task, I will do it. It will get
me free of these walls." For a moment his shoulders
hunched in, mirroring my own, but for a different reason.
"They chafe," he said at last. "How they chafe . . . how
they bind a Cheysuli soul."

"But the Cheysuli built these walls." I was surprised at
the vehemence in his tone.

"We built them and we left them." He shook his head.
"I leave them. It is my son who will have to learn what it
is to know himself well-caged. I am too old, too set in my
ways to change."

"As I am," I said bitterly. "Tynstar has made me so."

"Tynstar altered the body, not the mind," Duncan said.
"Let not the body anect the heart." He smiled a moment,
albeit faintly, and then he left the room.
I went into Electra's chambers and found her seated by
a casement. The sunlight set her hair to glowing and made
her blind to me. It was only when the door thumped
closed that she turned her head and saw me.

She did not rise. She sat upon the bench with the black
cloak wrapped around her like a shroud of Tynstar's mak-
ing. The hood was draped across her shoulders, freeing
her hair, and 1 saw the twin braids bound with silver. It
glittered against the cloak.

Tynstar's child swelled her belly. Mine had done it
before. It made me angry, but not so angry as to show it. I
merely stood in the room and faced her, letting her see
what the sorcery had wrought; to know it had been her
doing that changed me so.

Her chin lifted a little. She had not lost a whit of her
pride and defiance, even knowing she was caught.

"He left you behind," I said. "Was that a measure of his
regard?"

I saw the minute twitch of her mouth. I had put salt in

THE SONG OF HOMANA   307

;.
-
i

the open wound. "Unless you slay me, he will have me
still."

"But you do not think I will slay you."

She smiled. "I am Aislinn's mother and the Queen of
Homana. There is nothing you can do."

"And if I said you were a witch?"

"Say it," she countered. "Have me executed, then, and
see how Solinde responds."

"As I recall, it was Solinde you wanted freed." I moved
a trifle closer. "You wanted no vassal to Homana."

"Tynstar will prevent it." Her eyes did not shift from
mine. "You have seen what he could do. You hswefelt it."

"Aye," I said softly, approaching again. "I have felt it
and so have you, though the results were somewhat re-
versed. It seems I have all the years you shed, Electra,
and like to keep them, I think. A pity, no doubt, but it
does not strip me of my throne. I am still Mujhar of
Homana—and Solinde a vassal to me."
, "How long will you live?" she retorted. "You are forty-
five, now. No more the young Mujhar, In five years, ten,
you will be old. Old. In war, old men die quickly. And
you will know war, Carillon; that I promise you."

"But you will never see it." I bent down and caught one
of her wrists, pulling her to her feet. She was heavy with
Tynstar's child. Her free arm went down to cradle her
belly protectively beneath the heavy cloak. "I exile you,
Electra. For the years that remain to you."

Color splotched her face, but she showed no fear. "Where
do you send me, then?"

"To the Crystal Isle." I smiled. "I see you know it. Aye,
a formidable place when you are the enemy of Homana. It
is the birthplace of the Cheysuli and claims the protection
of the gods. Tynstar could never touch you there. Not
ever, Electra. The island will be your prison." I still held
her wrist in one hand. The other I put out to catch one
braid and threaded my fingers into it. "You will be treated
as befits your rank. You will have servants and fine cloth-
ing, good food and wine. proper accoutrements. Every-
thing except freedom. And there—with his child—you
will grow old and die." My smile grew wider as I felt the

308 Jennifer Roberson

silk of her hair. "For such as you, I think, that will be
punishment enough."

"I will bear that child in less than one month." Her lips
were pale and flat. "A journey now may make me lose it."

"If the   gods will it," I agreed blandly. "I send you in the
morning   with Duncan and an escort of Cheysuli. Try your
arts on   them, if you seek to waste your time. They, unlike
myself,   are invulnerable."

I saw the movement deep in her eyes and felt the touch
of her power. Color returned to her face. She smiled
faintly, knowing what 1 knew, and the long-lidded eyes
drew me in. As ever. She would always be my bane.

I let go of her wrist, her braid, and cupped her head
with both hands. I kissed her as a drowning man clings to
wood. Gods, but she could move me still , . . she could
still reach into my soul—

—and twist it.

I set her away from me with careful deliberation and
saw the shock of realization in her face. "It is done,
Electra. You must pay the price of your folly."

The sunlight glittered off the silver cording in her braids.
But also off something else: tears. They stood in her great
gray eyes, threatening to spill.

But I knew her. Too well. They were tears of anger, not
of fear, and I went out of the room with the taste of defeat
in my mouth.

SIX

I The arms-master stepped back, lowering his sword. "My
lord Mujhar, let this stop. It is a travesty."

My breath hissed between my teeth. "It will remain a
travesty until I learn to overcome it." I gripped the hilt of
my Cheysuli sword and lifted the blade yet again. "Come
against me, Cormac."

' "My lord—" He stepped away again, shaking his crop-
; haired head. "There is no sense in it."

I swore at him. I had spent nearly an hour trying to
• regain a portion of my skill, and now he denied me the
chance. I lowered my sword and stood there, clad in
breeches and practice tunic while the sweat ran down my
arms. I shut my eyes a moment, trying to deal with the
; pain; when I opened them I saw the pity in Cormac's dark
brown eyes.

"Ku'reshtin!" I snapped. "Save your pity for someone
else! I have no need of such—" I went in against him
then, raising the sword yet again, and nearly got through
his belated guard.

He danced back, danced again, then ducked my swing-
ing sword. His own came up to parry my blow; I got
under it and thrust toward his belly. He sucked it in.
leaped aside, then twisted and came toward my side. I
blocked, tied up his slash and pushed his blade aside.

The rhythm began to come back. It was fitful and very
slow, but I had lost little of my strength. The stamina was

I 309 I

310 Jennifer Roberson

blunted, but it might return in time. I had only to leam
what it was to deal with the stifihess of my joints and
forget about the pain.

Cormac caught his lip between his teeth. I saw the light
in his eyes. His soft-booted feet hissed against the floor as
he slid and slid again, ducking the blows I lowered. We
did not fight for blood, sparring only, but he knew I meant
to beat him. He would allow me no quarter, not even if I
were to ask it.
It was my hands that failed me finally, my big-knuckled,
aching hands. In the weeks that had followed since I had
regained my senses, I had learned how weakened they
were. My knees hurt all the time, as if some demon
chewed upon them from the inside moving toward the
outside, but when I was moving I forgot them. Mostly. It
was when I stopped that I was reminded of the ache in my
bones. But my hands, in swordplay, were the most impor-
tant, and I had found them the largest barrier to regaining
my banished skill.

My wrists held firm, locked against his blow, but the
fingers lost their grip. They twisted, shooting pain up
through my forearms. The sword went flying from my
hands, clanging against the stone, and I cursed myself for
being such a fool as to let it go. But when Cormac bent to
retrieve it I set my foot upon it. "Let it go. Enough of
this. We will continue another time."

He bowed quickly and took his leave, taking his sword
with him. My own still lay upon the floor, as if to mock
me, while I tried to regain my breath. I set my teeth
against the pain in my swollen hands. In a moment I bent
down, grimacing against the sudden cramp in my back,
and scooped up the blade with one hand.

The sweat ran into my eyes. I scrubbed one forearm
across my face and cleared my burning vision. And then,
giving it up, 1 sat down on the nearest bench. I stretched
out my legs carefully and gave into the pain for a moment,
feeling the fire in my knees. I set back and head against
the wall and tried to shut it all out.

"You are better, my lord, since the last time."

When I could, I rolled my head to one side and saw
Rowan. "Am I? Or do you merely let me think so?"

THE SONG OP HOMANA    311

"I would not go up against you," he said flatly, coming
closer. "But you should not hope for it all, not so soon. It
^•'will take time, my lord."

"I have no time. Tynstar has stolen it from me." I
scraped my spine against the wall and sat up straight
again, suppressing a grimace, and drew in my feet. Even
my ankles hurt. "Have you come on business, or merely
^ to tell me what you think I want to hear?"
1' "There is a visitor." He held out a silver signet ring set
J; with a plain black stone.

I took it and rolled it in my hand. "Who is it, then? Do
I know him?"

, "He names himself Alaric of Atvia, my lord. Crown
Prince, to be precise."
I looked up from the ring sharply. "Thome is slain. If
this boy is his son, he is now Lord of Atvia in Thorne's
place. Why does he humble himself?"

"Alaric is not the heir. Osric, his older brother, sits on
the Atvian throne." He paused. "In Atvia, my lord."

I scowled. "Osric is not come, then."

"No, my lord."

I gritted my teeth a moment, swearing within my mind.
I was in no mood for diplomacy, especially not with a
child. "Where is this Atvian infant?"

Rowan smiled. "In an antechamber off the Great Hall,
where I have put him. Would you prefer him somewhere
else?"

"No. I will save the Great Hall for his brother." I stood
up, using the wall for a brace. For a moment I waited,
allowing the worst of the pain to die, and then I gave
Rowan my sword. I shut up the ring in my fist and went
out of the practice chamber.

The boy, I discovered, was utterly dwarfed by his sur-
roundings. The Great Hall would have overtaken him
completely, and I was in no mood for such ploys. Alaric
looked no older than six or seven and would hardly com-
prehend the politics of the situation.

He rose stiffly as 1 came into the chamber, having
dressed in fresh clothing. He bowed in a brief, exceed-
ingly slight gesture of homage that just missed condescen-

312 Jannlfar Roberson

sion. The expression in his brown eyes was one of sullen
hostility, and his face was coldly set.

I walked to a cushioned mahogany chair and sat down,
allowing no hint of the pain to show in my face. I was
stiffening after the sparring. "So . . . Atvia comes to
Homana."

"No, my lord." Alaric spoke quietly. "My brother, Lord
Osric of Atvia, sends me to say Atvia does not come to
Homana. Nor ever will, except to conquer this land."

I contemplated Aiaric in some surprise. He was dressed
as befitted his rank, and his dark brown hair was combed
smooth. A closer look revealed him older than I had
thought. He was perhaps a year or two older than Donal,
but the knowledge in his eyes seemed to surpass that of a
grown man.
I permitted myself a smile, though it held nothing of
amusement. "I have slain your father, my lord Alaric,
because he sought to pull down my House and replace it
with his own. I could do the same to your own, beginning
with you." I paused. "Has your brother a response to
that?"

Alaric's slender body was rigid. "He does, my lord. I am
to say we do not acknowledge your sovereignty."

I rested my chin in one hand, elbow propped against
the arm rest. "Osric sends you into danger with such
words in your mouth, my young Atvian eagle. What say
you to remaining here a hostage?"

Angry color flared in Alaric's face, but he did not waver
a bit. "My brother said I must prepare myself for that,"

I frowned. "How old is Osric?"

"Sixteen."

I sighed. "So young—so willing to risk his brother and
his realm."

"My father said you had ever been Atvia's enemy, and
must be gainsaid." Grief washed through the brown eyes
and the mouth wavered a little, but he covered it almost
at once. "My brother and I will serve our father's memory
by fighting you in his place. In the end, we will win. If
nothing else, we will outlive you. You are an old man, my
lord . . . Osric and I are young."

1 felt a fist clench in my belly. Old, was I? Aye. to his

THE SONG OF HOMANA   313

eyes. "Too young to die," I said grimly. "Shall I have you
slain, Alaric?"

Color receded from his face. He was suddenly a small
boy again. "Do what you wish, my lord—I am prepared."
The voice shook a little.

"No," I said abruptly, "you are not. You only think it.
You have yet to look death in the face and know him; had
you done it, you would not accept him so blithely." I
pushed myself up and bit off the oath I wished to spit out
between my teeth- "Serve your lord, boy . . . serve him
as well as you may- But do it at home in Atvia; I do not
slay or imprison young boys."

Alaric caught the heavy, ring as I threw it at him. Shock
was manifest in his face. "I may go home?"

"You may go home. Tell your brother I give him back
his heir, though I doubt not he will have another one soon
enough, when he takes himself a wife."

"He is already wed, my lord."

I studied the boy again. 'Tell him also that twice a year
Homanan ships shall call at Rondule. Upon those ships
Osric shall place tribute to Homana. If you wish continued
freedom from Homana, my young lordling, you will pay
the tribute." I paused. "You may tell him also that should
he ever come against me in the field, I will slay him."

The small face looked pinched. "I will tell him, my lord.
But—as to this tribute—"

"You will pay it," I said. "I will send a message for your
brother back with you in the morning, and it will include
all the details of this tribute. You must pay the cost of the
folly in trying to take Homana." I signalled to one of the
waiting servants. "See he is fed and lodged as befits his
rank. In the morning, he may go home."

"Aye, my lord."

I put a hand on Alaric's shoulder and turned him toward
the man. "Go with Breman, my proud young prince. You
will not know harm in Homana-Mujhar." I gave him a
push from my swollen hand and saw him start toward
Breman. In a moment they both were gone.

Rowan cleared his throat. "Is he not a valuable hostage?"

"Aye. But he is a boy."

314 Jennifer Roberson

"I thought it was often done. Are not princes fostered
on friendly Houses? What would be the difference?"

"I will not take his childhood from him." I shivered in
the cold dampness of the chamber. "Osric is already wed.
He will get himself sons soon enough; Alaric will lose his
value. Since I doubt Osric has any intention of coming-so
soon against Homana, I lose nothing by letting Alaric go."

"And when, in manhood, he comes to fight?"

"I will deal with it then."

Rowan sighed. "And what of Osric? Sixteen is neither
child nor man."

"Had it been Osric, I would have thrown him into
chains." I paused. "To humble that arrogant mouth."

Rowan smiled. "You may yet be able to, my lord."

"Perhaps." I looked at Rowan squarely. "But if he is
anything like his father—or even Keough, his grandsire—
Osric and I shall meet in battle. And one of us will die."

"My lord." It was a servant in the doorway, bowing with
politeness. "My lord Mujhar, there is a boy."

"Breman has taken Alaric," I said. "He is to be treated
with all respect."

"No, my lord—another boy. This one is Cheysuli."

I frowned. "Say on."

"He claims himself kin to you, my lord—he has a wolf
and a falcon."

I laughed then. "Donal! Aye, he is kin to me. But he
should have his mother with him in addition to his lir."

"No, my lord." The man looked worried. "He is alone
but for the animals, and he appears to have been treated
harshly."

I went past him at once and to the entry chamber.
There I saw a falcon perched upon a candlerack with all
the wicks unlighted. The wolf stood close to Donal, shor-
ing up one leg. Donal's black hair was disheveled and his
face was pinched with deprivation. Bruises ringed his
throat.

He saw me and stared, his eyes going wide, and I
realized what he saw. Not the man he had known. "Donal,"
I said, and then he knew me, and came running across the
floor.

"They have taken my jehana—" His voice shook badly.

THE SONG OF HOMANA     315

He shut his eyes a moment, blocking out the tears, and
tried to speak apain. "They have taken her . . . and slain
Torrin in the croft!"

I swore, though I kept it to myself. Donal pressed
himself against me, hanging onto my doublet, and I wanted
nothing more than to lift him into my arms. But I did not.
I know something of Cheysuli pride, even in the young.

I set one hand to the back of his head as he tucked it
under my chin. I thought, suddenly, of Aislinn, wonder-
ing what she would think of him when she was old enough
to know. This boy would be my heir.

"Come," I said, rising, "we will speak of this else-
where." I turned to take' him from the chamber but he
reached up and caught my hand. Instantly I forgot my
resolution and bent to pick him up, moving to the nearest
bench in a warmer chamber. I sat down and settled him
on my lap, wincing against the pain. "You must tell me
what happened as clearly as you can. I can do nothing
until I know."

Lom flopped down at my feet with a grunt, but his
brown eyes did not leave Donal's face. The falcon flew in
and found another perch, piping his agitation.

Donal rubbed at his eyes and I saw how glassy they
were. He was exhausted and ready to fall, but I had to
know what had happened. As Rowan came in I signalled
for him to pour Donal a swallow or two of wine.

"My jehana and I were coming here," Donat began.
"She said you had sent for us. But there was no urgency to
it, and she wanted to stop at the croft." He stopped as
Rowan brought the cup of wine. I held it to his mouth and
let him drink, then gave it back to Rowan. Donal wiped
his mouth and went on. "While we were there, men
came. At first they gave my jehana honor. They shared
their wine and then watched us, and within moments
Torrin and my jehana were senseless. They—cut Tori-in's
throat. They slew him!"

I held him a little more tightly and saw the stark pity in
Rowan's face. Donat had come early to his baptism into
adulthood, but Rowan earlier still. "Say on, Donal . . . say
on until you have said it all."

His voice took on some life. Perhaps the wine had done

316 Jennifer Roberson

it. "I called for Taj and Lorn, but the men said they would
slay my jehana. So I told my lir to go away." Renewed
grief hollowed his face, blackening his eyes. "They put her
on a litter and bound her . . . they put a chain around my
neck. They said we would go to the Northern Wastes. ..."

I glanced at Rowan and saw his consternation. The
Northern Wastes lay across the Bluetooth River. There
would be no reason to take Donal or Alix there.

"They said they would take us to Tynstar—" Donal's
voice was hardly a whisper.

It came clear to me almost instantly. Rowan swore in
Homanan even as I said something in the Old Tongue that
made Donal's eyes go wide in astonishment. But I could
not afford to alarm him. "Was there anything more?"

His face screwed up with concentration and confusion.
"I did not understand. They spoke among themselves and
I could make no sense of it. They said Tynstar wanted the
seed of the prophecy—me!—and my jehana for a woman.
A woman to use in place of the one he lost to you." Donal
stared up at me. "But why does he want my jehana?"

"Gods—" I shut my eyes, seeing Alix in Tynstar's hands.
No doubt he would repay me for sending Electra to the
Crystal Isle. No doubt he would use Alix badly. They had
opposed each other before.

It was Rowan who drew Donal's attention away from my
angry face. "How did you win free?"

For a moment the boy smiled. "They thought I was a
child, not a warrior, and therefore helpless. They counted
my lir as little more than pets. And so Taj and Lorn kept
themselves to the shadows and followed across the river.
One night, when the men thought I slept, I talked to Taj
and Lom, and told them how important it was that I get
away. And so they taught me how to take ftr-shape, though
the thing was too early done." His face was pinched again.
"Jehan had said I must wait, but I could not. I had to do it
then."

"You came alt the way in far-shape?" I knew how drain-
ing it could be, and in a child ... I had seen Alix, once,
when she had shapechanged too often, and Finn as well,
after too long a time spent in wotf-shape. It upset the
human balance.

THE SONG OF HOMANA

317

"I flew." Donal frowned. "And when 1 could not fly, I
went as a wolf. And when it sickened me, I walked as
myself. It was hard—harder than I thought ... I believed
ftr-shape was easy for a warrior."

I held him a little more tightly. "Nothing is done so
easily when it bears the weight of the gods." I rose, lifting
him to stand. "Come. I will see you are fed and bathed
and given rest in a comfortable bed."

Donal slid down to the floor. "But my jehan is here.
Jehana said he was."

"Your jehan has gone to Hondarth and it is too soon for
him to be back. Another week, perhaps. You will have to
wait with me." I tousled-the heavy black hair which had
already lost some of its childhood curl. "Donal—I promise
we will fetch your jehana back. I promise all will be well."

He looked up at me, huge yellow eyes set in a dark
Cheysuli face. No Cheysuli trusts easily, but I knew he
trusted me. Well, he would have to. I would make him
into a king.

Donal braced both elbows against the table top. He
rested his chin in his hands. He, watched, fascinated as
always, as I traced out the battle markings drawn on the
map of Caledon. In the past ten days we had spent hours
with the maps.

"It was here." I touched the border between Caledon
and the Steppes. "Your su'fali and I were riding with the
Caledonese, and we went into the Steppes at this point."

"How long did the battle take?"

"A day and a night. But it was only one of many battles.
The plainsmen fight differently than the Homanans—Finn
and I had to learn new methods." Well, / had; Finn's
methods were highly adaptable and required no reorgani-
zation.

Donal frowned in concentration. He put out a finger
much smaller than mine and touched the leather map.
"My su'faU fought with you—so has my jehan . . . will I
fight with you when I am made a prince?"

"I hope I may keep the peace between Homana and
other realms," I told him truthfully, "but does it come to
war no matter what I do, aye, you wilt fight with me.

318 JennHw Roberson

Perhaps against Atvia, does Osric wish to task me ...
perhaps even Solinde, should the regency fail."

"Will it?" He fixed me with intent yellow eyes, black
brows drawn down.

"It might. I have sent Electra away, and the Solindish
do not like it." 1 saw no sense in hiding the truth from
him. Cheysuli children are more adult than most. Ponal
was also a clan-leader's son, and I did not doubt he already
knew something of politics.

Donal sighed and his attention turned. He pushed away
from the table and got off the stool, sitting down on the
floor with Lorn. The wolf stretched and yawned and put a
paw on Donal's thigh as Donal reached to drag him into
his lap. Taj, perched upon a chair back, piped excitedly
and then Duncan was in the doorway.

"Jehan!" Donal scrambled up, dumping Lorn, and ran
across the room. I saw Duncan's smile as he caught his son
and the lessening of tension in his face. He scooped up the
boy and held him, saying something in the Old Tongue,
and I knew he could not know. They had left the telling to
me.

"Have you been keeping Carillon from his duties?"
Duncan asked as Donal hugged his neck.

"jehan—oh jehan . . . why did you not come sooner? I
was so afraid—"

"What have you to be afraid of?" Duncan was grinning.
"Unless you fear for me, which is unnecessary. You see I
am well enough." He glanced at me across the top of his
son's dark head. "Carillon, there is—"

"Jehan—" Donal would not let him speak. "Jehan—will
you go now? Will you go up across the river? Will you
fetch her back?"

"Go where? Why? Fetch who back?" Duncan grinned
and moved across the rootn to the nearest bench. He sat
down with Donal in his lap, though the boy was too big to
be held. It seemed odd to see Duncan so tolerant of such
things; I knew the Cheysuli did not profess to love, and
therefore the words were lacking in their language. And
yet it was manifest in Doncan's movements and voice as
he sat down upon the bench. "Have you lost someone,
small one?"

THE SONG OF HOMANA   319

f   "Jehana," Donal whispered, and I saw Duncan's tace go

still.
:   He looked to me at once. "Where is Alix?"

"Alix was—taken." I inhaled a careful breath. "It ap-
f. pears it is Tynstar's doing."

"Tynstar—" Duncan's face was ashen.

"You had best let Dona! tell you," I said quietly "It was
he who won free and came to me here, to tell me what
had happened."

Duncan's arms were slack around the boy. And then
suddenly they tightened. "Donal—say what has happened.
All of it. Tell me what you saw; tell me what you heard."

Donal, too, was pale". I doubted he had ever seen his
father so shaken. He sat hunched in Duncan's lap and told
the story as he had told it to me, and I saw the struggle in
Duncan's face. It made my own seem a shadow of true
feeling.

At last Donal finished, his voice trailing off into silence.
He waited for his father to speak even as I did, but
Duncan said nothing at all. He merely sat, staring into the
distance, as if he had not heard.

"Jehan—? Donal's voice, plaintive and frightened, as he
sat on Duncan's tap.

Duncan spoke at last. He said something to Donal in
the Old Tongue, something infinitely soothing, and I saw
the boy relax. "Did they harm her, small one?"

"No. jehan. But she could hardly speak." Donal's face
was pinched with the memory and he was frightened all
over again.

Duncan's hand on his son's head was gentle in its touch.
The tension was everywhere else. "Shansu, Shansu . . I
will get yow jehana back. But you must promise me to
wait here until we come home again."

"Here?" Donal sat upright in Ducan's arms. "You will
not send me back to the Keep?"

"Not yet. Your jehana and I will take you there when
we are back." His eyes, staring over Donal's head, were
fixed on the distances again. Duncan seemed to be living
elsewhere, even as he held his son. And then I realized he
spoke to Cai. He was somewhere in the link.

When he came out of it I saw his fear, though he tried

320 Jennifer Roberson

to hide it from Donal. For a moment he shut his eyes,
barricading his soul, and then he held Donal more tightly.
"Shansu, Donal— peace. I will get yowjehana back."

But I knew, looking at him, he said it for himself and
not his son.

"Duncan." I   waited until he looked at me, coming out
of his haze   of shock. "I have spoken to your second-leader
at the Keep   . . . and the Homanans as well. We are
prepared to   go with you."

"Go where?" he asked. "Do you know? Do you even
know where she is?"

"I assumed the lir could find her."

"The lir do not need to find her ... I know where Alix
is. 1 know what he means to do." Duncan set Donal down
and told him to take his lir and go. The boy protested,
clearly frightened as well as offended, but Duncan made
him go.

At last I faced him alone. "Where?"

"Valgaard." He saw the blankness in my face. "Tynstar's
lair. It is a fortress high in the canyons of Solinde—you
have only to cross the Bluetooth and go directly north into
the mountains. Cross the Molon Pass into Solinde and you
have found it. You cannot help but find it." He rose and
paced across the floor, but I saw how his footsteps hesi-
tated. "He would take her there."
"Then we will have to go there and get her."

He swung around. One hand was on the hilt of his
longknife; I saw how he wanted to shout, to bring down
the walls, and yet he kept himself very quiet. It was eerie.
It was the intensity I had seen so often in Finn, knowing
to keep my distance. But this time, I could not.

"Valgaard houses the Gate," he said in a clipped, hissing
tone. "Do you know what you say you will do?" He shook
his head. "No, you do not. You do not know the Gate."

"I admit it. There are many things I do not know."

Duncan prowled the room with a stiff, angry stride. He
reminded me of a mountain cat, suddenly, stalking down
its prey. "The Gate," he repeated- "Asar-Suti's Gate- The
Gate to the Seker's world."

The words were strange. Not the Old Tongue; some-


THE SONG OF HOMANA

321

thing far older, something that spoke of foulness. "De-
:mons," I said, before I could stop.

, "Asar-Suti is more than a demon. He is the god of the
,netherworld. The Seker himself—who made and dwells in
darkness. He is the font of Ihlini power." He stopped
fpacing. He stood quite still. "In Valgaard—Tynstar shares
.that power."

I recalled how easily he had trapped me in my bed,
^seeking to take my life. I recalled how he had changed the
- ruby from red to black. I remembered how it was he had
stolen Homana from my uncle. I remembered Bellam's
body. If he could do all of that while he was out of
.Valgaard, what could he dp within?

; Duncan was at the door. He turned back, his face set in
'stark lines of grief and determination. "I would ask no man
to risk himself in such a thing as this."

"Alix risked herself for me when I lay shackled in Atvian
iron."

"Alix was not the Mujhar of Homana."
"No." I did not smile. "She carried the seed of the
prophecy in her belly, and events can change events."

I saw the shock of realization in his face. The risk he
spoke of was real, but no greater than what Alix had faced.
Had she died in my rescue, or somehow lost the child, the
prophecy might have ended before it was begun.
"I will go," I said quietly. "There is nothing left but to
do it."

He stood in the doorway. For a long moment he said
nothing at all, seemingly incapable of it, and then he
nodded a little. "If you meet up with Tynstar Carillon,
you will have a powerful weapon."
I waited.
"Electra miscarried the child."

SEVEN

As one, my Homanan troop pulled horses to a ragged halt.
I heard low-voiced comments, oaths made and broken,
prayers to the gods. I did not blame them. No one had
expected this.

No one, perhaps, except the Cheysuli. They did not
seem troubled by the place. They merely waited, mounted
and uncloaked, while the sun flashed off their gold.

A chill ran down my spine. I suppressed it and reined in
my fidgeting horse. Duncan, some distance away, rode over
to ask about the delay.

"Look about you," I said solemnly. "Have you seen its
like before?"

He shrugged. "We have come over the Molon Pass.
This is Solinde. We encroach upon Tynstar's realm. Did
you think it would resemble your own?"

I could not say what I thought it might resemble. Surely
not this. I only dreamed of places tike this.

We had crossed the Bluetooth River twelve days out of
Mujhara: nine Homanans, nine Cheysuli, Rowan and
Gryffth, myself and Duncan. Twenty-two men to rescue
Alix, to take her back from Tynstar. Now, as I looked
around, I doubted we could do it.

The Northern Wastes of Homana lay behind us. Now we
faced Solinde, having come down from the Molon Pass,
with Vaigaard still before us. And yet it was obvious we
drew closer. The land reflected the lair.

I 322 I

THE SONG OF HOMANA

323

Icy winds blew down from the pass. Winter was done
^with in Homana, but across the Bluetooth the chill never
quite left the land. It amazed me the Cheysuli could go
_ bare-armed, though I knew they withstood hardship bet-
'ter than Homanans.

Snow still patched the ground beneath the trees, man-
' thng the rocky mountains. Great defiles fell away into
canyons, sheer and dark and wet from melting snow. All
around us the world was a great, dark, slick wound, bleed-
ing slowly in the sunlight. Someone had riven the earth.

Even the trees reflected the pain of the land. They were
wracked and twisted, as if some huge cold hand had swept
; across them in a monstrous fit of temper. Rocks were split
\ open in perfect halves and quarters; some were no more
than powder where once a boulder had stood. But most of
them had shapes. Horrible, hideous shapes, as if night-
mares had been shaped into stone so all could share the
horror.

"We draw close to Vaigaard." Duncan said. "This has
been the tourney-field of the Ihlini."

I looked at him sharply. "What do you say?"
"Ihlini power is inbred," he explained, "but the control
must be taught. An Ihlini child has no more knowledge of
his abilities than a Cheysuli child; they know they have
magic at their beck, but no knowledge of how to use it. It
must be—-practiced."

I glanced around incredulously. "You say these—shapes—
are what the Ihlini have made?"

Duncan's horse stomped, scraping iron-shod hoof against
cold black stone. The sudden sound echoed in the canyon.
"You know the three gifts of the Cheysuli," he said qui-
etly. "I thought you knew what the Ihlini claimed."

"I know they can make life out of death," I said sharply.
"One Ihlini fashioned a lion out of a knife."

"There is that," Duncan agreed. "They have the power
to alter the shapes of things that do not live." His hand
swept out to indicate the rocks. "You have felt another of
their gifts: the power to quicken age. With the touch of a
hand, an Ihlini can make a man old, quickening the infir-
mities that come with years." I knew it too well, but said
nothing. "There is the possession I have spoken of, when

324 Jennifer Roberson

they take the mind and soul and keep it. And they can
take the healing from a wound. There is also the art of
illusion. What is, is not, what is not, seems to be. Those
gifts. Carillon, and all shadings in between- That is a facet
ofAsar-Suti. The Seker, who lends his magic to those who
will ask."

"But—all Ihlini have magic. Do they not?"
"All Ihlini have magic. But not all of them are Tynstar."
He looked around at the twisted trees and shapechanged
rocks. "You see what is Tynstar's power, and how he
passes it on. We near the gate ofAsar-Suti."

I looked at my men. The Homanans were white-faced
and solemn, saying nothing. I did not doubt they were
afraid—1 was afraid—but neither would they give up. As
for the Cheysuli, I had no need to ask. Their lives be-
longed to the gods whose power, I hoped, outweighed
that of Tynstar or Asar-Suti, the Seker of the netherworld.

Duncan nudged his horse forward. "We must make
camp for the night. The sun begins to set."

We rode on in loud silence, necks prickling against the
raw sensation of power. It oozed out of the earth like so
much seepage from a mudspring.

We camped at last behind the shoulder of a canyon wall
that fell down from the darkening sky to shield us against
the night wind. The earth's flesh was quite thin- Here and
there the skeleton broke through, stone bones that glis-
tened in the sunset with a damp, sweaty sheen. Tree roots
coiled against the shallow soil like serpents seeking warmth.
One of my Homanans, seeking wood for a fire, meant to
hack off a few spindly, wind-wracked limbs with his heavy
knife and pulled the whole tree out of the canyon wall. It
was a small tree, but it underlined the transience of life
near Valgaard.

We made a meal out of what we carried in our packs:

dried meat, flat journey-bread loaves, a measure of sweet,
dark sugar. And wine. We all had wine. The horses we fed
on the grain we carried with us, since grazing was so light,
and brought water from melting snow. But once our bel-
lies were full, we had time to think of what we did.

I sat huddled in my heaviest cloak for too long a time. I
could not rid myself of the ache in my bones or the

THE SONG OF HOMANA   325

fledge that we all might die. And so, when I could do
inconspicuously, I got up and went away from the small
ncampment. I left the men to their stilted conversations
ad gambling; I went to find Duncan.
I saw him at last when I was ready to give up. He stood
ear the canyon wall staring into the dark distances. His
cry stillness made him invisible. It was only the shine of
tie moon against his earring that gave his presence away
ad so I went near, waited for acknowledgment, and saw
ow rigid his body was.

He had pulled on a cloak at last. It was dark, like my
wn, blending with the night. The earring glinted in his
air. "What does he do with her?" he asked. "What does
ie do to her?"

I had wondered the same myself. But I forced reassur-
nce from my mouth. "She is strong, Duncan. Stronger
'tan many men. I think Tynstar will meet his match in
er."

"This is Valgaard." His voice was raw.
I swallowed. "She has the Old Blood."
He turned abruptly. His face was shadowed as he leaned
ack against the stone canyon wall, setting his spine against
Eit. "Here, the Old Blood may be as nothing."
| "You do not know that. Did Donal not get free? They
|were Ihlini, yet he took (ir-shape before them. It may be
|that Alix will overcome them yet."

"Ru'shaUa-tu." He said it without much hope. May it be
so. He looked at me then, black-eyed in the moonlight,
and I saw the fear in his eyes. But he said nothing more of
Alix. Instead he squatted down, still leaning against the
canyon wall, and pulled his cloak more tightly around his
shoulders. "Do you wonder what has become of Tourma-
line?" he asked. "What has become of Finn^"

"Every day," I answered readily. "And each day I regret
what has happened."

"Would you change it, if Finn came to you and asked to
take your rujholla as his cheysula?"

|   I found the nearest tree stump and perched upon it.
!   Duncan waited for my answer, and at last I gave it. "I
|   needed the alliance Rhodri would have offered, did I wed
|   my sister to his son."

326 Jennifer Roberson

"He gave it to you anyway."

"Lachlan gave me aid. I got no alliance from Rhodri." I
shrugged. "I do not doubt we will make one when all this
is done, but for now the thing is not formal. What Lachlan
did was between a mercenary and a harper, not a Mujhar
and High Prince of Ellas. There are distinct differences
between the two."

"Differences." His tone was very flat. "Aye. Like the
differences between Cheysuli and Homanan."

I kicked away a piece of stone. "Do you regret that
Donal must wed Aislinn? Cheysuli wed to Homanan?"

"I regret that Donal will know a life other than what I
wish for him." Duncan was little more than a dark blot
against the rock wall. "In the clan, he would be merely a
warrior—unless they made him a clan-leader It is—a
simpler life than that which faces a prince. I would wish
that for him. Not what you will give him."

"I have no choice. The gods—your gods—have given
me none."

He was silent a moment. "Then we must assume there
is a reason for what he will become."

I smiled, though it had only a little humor in it. "But
you have an advantage, Duncan. You may see your son
become a king. But I must die in order to give him the
throne."

Duncan was silent a long moment. He merged into the
blackness of the wall as the moon was lost to passing
clouds. I could no longer see him, but I knew where he
was by the sound of a hand scraping against the earth.

"You have changed," Duncan said at last. "I thought, at
first, you had not—or very little. I see now I was wrong.
Finn wrought well when he tempered the steel . . . but it
is kingship that has honed the edge."

I huddled within my cloak. "As you say, kingship changes
a man. I seem to have no choice."

"Necessity also changes," Duncan said quietly. "It has
changed me. I am nearly forty now, old enough to know
my place and recognize my tahlnwrra without chafing,
but each day, of late. I wonder what might have happened
had it been otherwise." He shook his head. "We wonder.
We ever wonder. The freedom to be without a tahlnwrra."

THE SONG OF HOMANA

327

The moon was free again and I saw another headshake.
•"What would happen did I keep my son? The prophecy
would be twisted. The Firstborn, who gave the words to
us, would never live again. We would be the Cheysuli no
longer." I saw the rueful smile. "Cheysuli: children of the
'gods. But we can be fractious children."

. "Duncan—" I paused. "We will find her. And we will
take her back from him."

; Moonlight slanted full across his face. "Women are lost
'often enough," he said quietly. "In childbirth . . . acci-
dent . . . illness. A warrior may grieve in the privacy of
,his pavilion, but he does not show his feelings to the clan.
;It is not done. Such things are kept—private." His hand
was filled with pebbles. "But were Alix taken from me by
this demon, I would not care who knew of my grief." The
pebbles poured from his hand in steady, dwindling stream.
I would be without her . . . and empty. ..."
Near midday we came to the canyon that housed
Valgaard. We rode out of a narrow defile into the canyon
proper and found ourselves hemmed in by the sheer stone
walls that stretched high over our heads. We rode single-
file, unable to go abreast, but as we went deeper into the
canyon the walls fell away until we were human pebbles in
a deep, rock-hard pocket.

"There," Duncan said, "do you see?"

I saw. Valgaard lay before us: an eagle on its aerie. The
fortress itself formed the third wall of the canyon, a pen-
dant to the torque. But I thought the fit too snug. I
thought the jewel too hard. No, not an eagle. A carrion
bird, hovering over its corpse.

We were neatly boxed. Escape lay behind us, Vatgaard
before. I did not like the feeling,

"Lodhi." Gryflth gasped. "I have never seen such a
thing."

Nor had I. Valgaard rose up out of the glassy black
basalt like a wave of solid ice, black and sharp, faceted like
a gemstone. There were towers and turrets, barbicans and
ramparts. It glittered, bright as glass, and smoke rose up
around it. I could smell the stink from where we stood.

326 Jennifer Roberson

"The Gate," Duncan said. "It lies within the fortress.
Valgaard is its sentinel."

"That is what causes the smoke?"

"The breath of the god," Duncan said. "Like fire, it
bums. I have heard the stories. There is blood within the
stone: hot, white blood. If it should touch you, you will
die,"

The canyon was clean of snow. Nothing marred its sur-
face. It was smooth, shining basalt, lacking trees and grass.
We had come out of winter into summer, and I found I
preferred the cold.

"Asar-Suti," Duncan said. "The Seker himself." Very
deliberately, he spat onto the ground.

"What are all those shapes?" Rowan asked. He meant
the large chunks of stone that lay about like so many dice
tossed down Black dice, uncarved, and scattered across
the ground. They were large enough for a man to hide
behind.

Or die under, if it landed cocked.
"An Ihlini bestiary," Duncan explained. "Their answer
to the Ur."

We rode closer and I saw what he meant. Each deposit
of stone had a form, if a man could call it that. The shapes
were monstrous travesties of animals. Faces and limbs
bore no resemblence to animals I had seen. It was a
mockery of the gods, the Ur defiled; an echo, perhaps, of
their deity. Asar-Suti in stone. A god of many shapes. A
god ofgrotesquerie.

I suppressed a shiver of intense distaste. This place was
foulness incarnate. "We should beware an obvious ap-
proach."

Duncan, falling back to ride abreast, merely nodded. "It
would be unexpected did we simply ride in like so many
martyrs, but also foolish. I do not choose to die a fool. So
we will find cover and wait, until we have a plan for
getting in."

"Getting in there?" Rowan shook his head. "I do not see
how."

"There is a way," Duncan told him. "There is always a
way to get in. It is getting out that is difficult."

Uneasily, I agreed.

THE SONG OF HOMANA

329

It was, at last, Gryfith who found the way in. I was
astonished when he offered himself, for he might well be
boiled alive in the blood of the god, but it seemed the only
way. And so I agreed, but only after I heard his explanation.

We knelt, all of us, behind the black-frozen shapes, too
distant for watchers to see us from the ramparts. The
white, stinking smoke veiled us even more, so that we felt
secure in our place of hiding. The stones were large enough
to offer shade in sunlight as well. In the shadows it was
cool.

Gryffth, kneeling beside me, pulled a ring from his
belt-pouch. "My lord, this should do it. It marks me a
royal courier. It will give me safe entrance."

"Should," I said sharply. "It may not."

Gryffth grinned a little. His red hair was bright in the
sunlight. "I think I will have no trouble. The High Prince
has said, often enough, that I have the gift of a supple
tongue- I will wind Tynstar around this finger." He made
a rude gesture with his hand, and all the Homanans laughed.
In the months since the Ellasian had joined my service, he
had made many friends. He had wit and purpose, and a
charming way as well.

Rowan's face was pensive. "When you face Tynstar, what
will you say? The ring cannot speak for you."

"No, but it gets me inside. Once there, I will tell
Tynstar the High King of Ellas has sent me. That he
wishes to make an alliance."

"Bhodri would never do it." Rowan exclaimed. "Do you
think Tynstar will believe you?"

"He may, he may not. It does not matter." Gryffth's
freckled face was solemn, echoing Duncan's gravity. "I
will tell him High Prince Cuinn, in sending men to the
Mujhiar, has badly angered his father. That Rhodri wishes
no alliance with Homana, but desires Ihlini aid. If nothing
else, it will gain Tynstar's attention- He will likely host me
the night, at least. And it is at night I will open the gate
to let you in." His smile came, quick and warm. "Once in,
you will either live or die. By then, it will not matter what
Tynstar thinks of my tale."

"You may die." Rowan sounded angry.

330 Jennifer Roberson

Gryifth shrugged. "A man lives, a man dies. He does
not choose his life. Lodhi will protect me."

Duncan smiled. "You could almost be CheysuH."

I saw Gryffth thinking it over. Ellasian-bred, he hardly    &
knew the Cheysuli. But he did not think them demons.    ^.
And so I saw him decide the comment was a compliment.    ||.
"My thanks, Duncan . . . though Lodhi might see it
differently."

"You call him the All-Wise," Duncan returned. "He
must be wise enough to know when I mean you well."

Gryfith, grinning, reached out and touched his arm.
"For that, clan-leader, I will gladly do what I can to help
you get her back."

Duncan clasped his arm. "Ellasian—Cheysuli i'halla
shansu." He smiled at Gryfith's frown of incomprehen-
sion. "May there be Cheysuli peace upon you."

Gryfith nodded. "Aye, my friend And may you know
the wisdom of Lodhi." He turned to me. "Does it please
you, my lord, I will go in. And tonight, when I can. I will
find a gate to open,"

"How will we know?" Rowan asked. "We cannot go up
so close . . and you can hardly light a fire."
"I will send Cai to him," Duncan said. "My lir can see
when Gryfith comes out and tell me which gate he unlocks."

Rowan sighed, rubbing wearily at his brow. "It all seems
such a risk ..."

"Risk, aye," I agreed, "but more than worth the trying."

Gryffth stood up. "I will go in, my lord. I will do what I
can do."

I rose as he did and clasped his arm. "Good fortune,
Gryfith. May Lodhi guard you well."

He untethered his horse and mounted, reining it around.
He glanced down at Rowan, who had become a boon
companion, and grinned. "Do not fret, alvi. This is what I
choose."

I watched Gryfith ride away, heading toward the for-
tress. The smoke hung over it like a miasma, cloaking the
stone in haze. The breath of the god was foul.

EIGHT

The moon, hanging over our heads against the blackness
of the sky. lent an eerie ambience to the canyon. The
smoke clogged our noses. It rose up in stinking clouds,
warming our flesh against our will. Shadows crept out
from the huge stone shapes and swallowed us all, clutch-
ing with mouths and claws. My Homanans muttered of
demons and Ihlini sorcerers; I thought they were one and
the same.

Duncan, seated near me, shed his cloak and rose. "Cai
says Gryffth has come out of the hall. He is in the inner
bailey. We should go."

We left the horses tethered and went on by foot. Cloaks
hid our swords and knives from the moonlight. Our boots
scraped against the glossy basalt, scattering ash and pow-
dered stone. As we drew nearer, using the shapechanged
stones to hide us, the ground warmed beneath our feet.
The smoke hissed and whistled as it came out of the earth,
rising toward the moon.

We worked our way up to the walls that glistened in the
moonlight. They were higher even than the walls of
Homana-Mujhar, as ifTynstar meant to mock me. At each
of the comers and midway along the walls stood a tower, a
huge round tower bulging out of the dense basalt, spiked
with crenelations and crockets and manned, no doubt, by
Ihlini minions. The place stank of sorcery.

The nearest gate was small. I thought it likely it opened
I 331 I

332 Jennifer Roberson

into a smaller bailey. We had slipped around the front of
the fortress walls and came in from the side, eschewing
the main barbican gate that would swallow us up like so
many helpless children. But the side gate opened, only a
crack, and I saw Gryffth's face in the slit between wall
and dark wood.

One hand gestured us forward. We moved silently,
saying nothing, holding scabbards to keep them quiet.
Gryfith, as I reached him in the gate, pushed it open
wider. 'Tynstar is not here," he whispered, knowing what
it would mean to me. "Come you in now, and you may
avoid the worst of it."

One by one we crept in through the gate. I saw the
shadows of winged lir pass overhead. We had also wolves
and foxes and mountain cats, slipping through the gate,
but I wondered if they would fight. Finn had said the
gods' own law kept the lir from attacking Ihlini.

Gryflfth shut the gate behind us, and I saw the two
bodies lying against the wall. I looked at him; he said
nothing. But I was thankful nonetheless. Like Lachlan, he
served me as if born to it, willing, even to slay others.

We were in a smaller bailey, away from the main one,
and Valgaard lay before us. The halls and side rooms
bulged out from a centra! mass of stone. But we seemed to
be through the worst of it.

We started across the bailey, across the open spaces,
though we tried to stay to the shadows. Swords were
drawn now, glinting in the moonlight, and I heard the
soughing of feet against stone. Out of the bailey toward an
inner ward while the walls reared up around us; how long
would our safety last?

Not long. Even as Gryffth led us through to the inner
ward I heard the hissing and saw a streamer of flame as it
shot up into the air from one of the towers. It broke over
our heads, showering us with a violet glare, and I knew it
would blast the shadows into the white-hot glare of the
sun. No more hiding in the darkness.

"Scatter!" I shouted, heading for the hall.

My sword was in my hand. I heard the step beside me
and swung around, seeing foe, not friend, with his hand

THE SONG OF HOMANA

333
raised to draw a rune. Quickly I leveled my blade and
took him in the throat. He fell in a geyser of blood.

Rowan was at my back, Gryfith at his We went into the
hall in a triangular formation, swords raised and ready.
The Cheysuli had gone, slipping into the myriad corri-
dors, but I could hear the Homanans fighting. Without
Tynstar's presence we stood our greatest chance, but the
battle would still be difficult. I had no more time left to
lose,

"Hold them!" I shouted as four men advanced with
swords and knives. I expected sorcery and they came at us
with steel.

Even as I brought up my sword I felt the twinge shoot
through both hands. In all my practice with Cormac I had
not been able to shed the pain of my swollen fingers. As
yet they could still hold a hilt, but the strength I had
taken for granted was gone. I had to rely more on quick-
ness of body than my skill in elaborate parries. I was little
more than a man of average skill now, because of Tynstar.

Gryifth caught a knife from a hidden sheath and sent it
flying across the hall. It took one Ihlini flush in the chest and
removed him from the fight. Three to three now, but even
as I marked their places I saw Rowan take another with his
sword. Myself, for the moment, they ignored. And so,
knowing my sword skill was diminished, I decided to go
on without it. Did the Ihlini want me, they could come for
me. Otherwise I would avoid them altogether.

"Hold them," I said briefly, and ran into the nearest
corridor. The stone floor was irregular, all of a slant, this
way and that, as if to make it difficult for anyone to run
through it. There were few torches in brackets along the
walls; I sensed this portion of the fortress was only rarely
used. Or else the Ihlini took the light with them when
they walked.

The sounds of fighting fell away behind me, echoing
dimly in the tunnel-like corridor. I went on, hearing the
scrape of sole against stone, and waited for the attack that
would surely come.

I went deeper into the fortress, surrounded by black
basalt that glistened in the torchlight. The walls seemed to
swallow the light, so that my sword blade turned black to

334 Jennifer Roberson

match the ruby, and I felt my eyes strain to see where I
was going. The few torches guttered and hissed in the
shadows, offering little illumination; all it wanted was Tynstar
to come drifting out of the darkness, and my courage
would be undone.
I heard the grate of stone on stone and swung around,
anticipating my nightmare. But the man who stepped out
of the recess in the wall was a stranger to me. His eyes
were blank, haunted things. He seemed to be missing his
soul.

Silently, he came at me. His sword was a blur of steel,
flashing in the torchlight, and I jumped back to avoid the
slash that hissed beside my head. My own blade went up
to strike his down. They caught briefly, then disengaged
as we jerked away, I could feel the strain in my hands, and
yet I dared not lose my grip.

Again he came at me. I skipped back, then leaped
aside, and the sword tip grated on stone. And yet even as I
moved to intercept, the Ihlini's blade flashed sideways to
stop my lunge and twist my sword from my hands. It was
not a difficult feat. And so my weapon clanged against the
black stone floor and I felt the hot pain in my knuckles
flare up to pierce my soul.

The blade came at me again, thrusting for my belly. I
sucked back, avoiding the tip, and felt the edge slice
through leather and linen to cut along my ribs. Not deeply,
scraping against one bone, but it was enough to make me
think.

I jumped then, straight upward from the floor, grabbing
the nearest torch and dragging it from its brackets. Even as
the Ihlini came at me again I had it, whirling to thrust it
into his face. The flame roared.

The sorcerer screamed and dropped his sword, hands
clawing at his face. He invoked Asar-Suti over and over
again, gibbering in his pain, until he slumped down onto
his knees. I stepped back as I saw one hand come up to
make an intricate motion.

"Seker, Seker. ..." He chanted, rocking on his knees
while his burned face glistened in the torchlight. "Seker,
Seker. . . ."

The torch was still in my right hand. As the Ihlini

THE SONG OF HOMANA   335

invoked his god and drew his rune in the air, the flame
flowed down over the iron to caress my hand with pain.

I dropped the torch at once, tossing it toward the wall
while my knuckles screamed with pain. The flame splashed
against the stone and ran down, flooding the floor of the
corridor. As the Ihlini continued to chant, his hands still
clasped to his face, the fire crept toward my boots.

I stepped back at once, retreating with little aplomb,
My sword, still lying on the stone, was in imminent dan-
ger of being swallowed. The flame poured acres', the floor
like water, heading for my boots.

"Seker, Seker—make him bum\"

But he had made a deadly mistake. No doubt he in-
tended only his enemy to bum, but he had not been
clearly distinct. He himself still knelt on the floor, and as
the stone caught fire from the river of ensorcelled flame so
did he. It ran up his tegs and enveloped his body in fire. I
kicked out swiftly and shoved the sword aside with one
boot, then ran after it even as the river of fire followed
me. I left the living pyre in the corridor, scooped up my
sword and ran.

It was then I heard the shout. Alix's voice. The tone was
one of fear and desperation, but it held a note of rage as
well. And then I heard the scuffle and the cry.

I ran. I rounded the corner and brought up my sword,
prepared to spit someone upon it, but I saw there was no
need. The Ihlini lay on the ground, face down, as the
blood ran from his body, and Alix was kneeling to take his
knife. She already had his sword.

She spun around, rising at once into a crouch. The knife
dropped from her hand at once as she took a two-handed
grip on the sword. And then she saw me clearly and the
sword fell out other hand.

I grinned. "Well met, Alix."

She was so pale 1 thought she might faint where she
stood, but she did not. Her eyes were huge in a bruised
and too-thin face. Her hair hung in a single tangled braid
and she wore a bedrobe stained with blood. It was not her
own, I knew, but from the man she had slain.

1 had forgotten the gray in my hair and the lines in my
face; the altered way I had of standing and moving. I had

336 Jennifer Roberaon

forgotten what Tynstar had done. But when I saw the
horror in Alix's eyes I recalled it all too well. It brought
home the pain again

I put out one hand, ignoring the swollen knuckles. "Do
you come?"

Briefly, she looked down at the dead Ihlini. Then she
bent and scooped up the knife, moving to my side. Her
free hand was cool in my own, and I felt the trembling in it.
For a moment we stood there, soiled with blood and
grime and in the stink of our own fear, and then we forgot
our weapons and set arms around each other for a desper-
ate moment.
"Duncan?" she asked at last, when I let her free of my
arms.

"He is here—do not fret, But how did you trick the
Ihlini?"

She glanced back briefly at the dead man. "He was
foolish enough to unlock my door. To take me some-
where, he said. He did not expect me to protest, but I
did. I took up a torch and burned his knife-hand with it."

1 put out my own knife-hand and touched her hollowed
cheek. "How do you fare, Alix?"

Briefly there was withdrawal in her eyes. "I will tell you
another time. Come this way with me." She caught up
the hem of her bedrobe and went on, still gripping the
knife in one hand.

We hastened through the corridors and into a spiral
stair. Alix went first and I followed, falling behind as we
climbed. We went up and up and I grimaced, feeling the
strain in my knees. My thighs burned with the effort, and
my breath ran short. But at last she pushed open a narrow
door that I had to duck to get under, and we stepped out
onto the ramparts of the fortress.

Alix pointed. 'That tower is a part of Tynstar's private
chambers. There is a stairway down. If we get there, we
can go down unaccosted, then slip into the wards."

I caught her hand and we ran, heading for the tower. I
heard the sounds of fighting elsewhere, but I knew we
were badly outnumbered. And then we rounded the tower,
looking for the door, and I stopped dead. Out on the wall
walkway stood a familiar figure— "Duncan!"

THE SONG OF HOMANA   337

Jfc. He spun around like an animal at bay. His eyes were
? startled and fearful "No!" he shouted.
^' Alix jerked free of my hand and started to run toward
^•hun, calling out his name, but something in Ducan's face
aaade me reach out and catch her arm. "Alix—wait you—"

The moonlight was mil on Duncan's face. I could see
the heaving of his chest as sweat ran down his bare arms.
,His hair was wet with it. "Go from here—now . . . Alix—do
not tarry!"

Alix tried again to free herself from my hand but I held
her tightly "Duncan—what are you saying? Do you think I
will listen to that—?" Briefly she twisted her head to glare
at me. "Let me go—"

Duncan took a step toward us, then stopped. His face
turned up toward the black night sky. Then he glanced
back at me, briefly, and put out a hand toward Alix.
"Take her. Carillon. Get her free of this place—" He
sucked in a deep, wavering breath and seemed almost to fall
on his feet. I saw then, in the moonlight, the blood
running down his left arm. "Do you hear me? Go now,
before—"

What he intended to say was never heard in the thun-
derclap that broke over our heads. I recoiled, flattening
against the tower, and dragged Alix with me. With the
explosion of sound came a burst of light so blinding it
painted everything stark white and stole our vision away.

"Do I have you all, now?" came Tynstar's beguiling
voice.

I saw him then, moving along the wall from another
tower. Duncan was between the Ihlini and us. He put out
a hand in my direction and cast a final glance at Alix. "Get
her/rce. Carillon! Was it not what we came to do?"

I ran then, dragging her with me, and took her into the
tower. I ignored her protests. For once, I would do what
Duncan wanted without asking foolish questions.

I did not dare take a horse for Alix from our mounts for
fear of leaving another man afoot. So I swung up onto my
own, dragged her up behind me and wheeled the horse
about in the shadow of shapechanged stone.

336 Jennlfw Roberson

Alix's arms locked around my waist. "Carillon—wait
you. You cannot leave him behind."

I clapped spurs to my horse and urged him away, send-
ing him from the smokey, stinking haze that clung to
black-clad Valgaard. Away I sent him, toward the defile
and freedom.

"Carillon—"

"I trust to his wits and his will." I shouted over the
clattering hooves. "Do you not?"

She pressed herself against me as the horse slipped and
slid on basalt. "I would rather stay and help—"

"There." I interrupted. "Do you see? That is why we

run-

The nearest stone shape reared up just then, shaking
itself free of the ground. It lurched toward our mount,
reaching out its hands. No, not hands: paws. And claws of
glassy basalt.
Alix cried out and pressed herself against me. I reined
in my horse with a single hand and jerked our mount
aside, shouting for Alix to duck. We threw ourselves flat,
avoiding the slashing claws, and the sword I held outthrust
scraped against the beast. Sparks flew from the blade on
stone: steel against a whetstone, screeching as it spun.

We rode past at a scrambling run as the horse tried to
keep his balance. Chips of stone flew up to cut our faces as
iron-shod hooves dug deeply into basalt- I saw then that
all the stone shapes were moving, grating across the ground.
They had none of the speed or supple grace of fleshborn
animals, but they were ghastly in their promise. Most
were hardly recognizable, being rough-cut and sharply
faceted, but I saw the gaping mouths and knew they could
crush us easily.

Yet another lurched into our path. I reined in the horse
at once and sat him on his haunches, knowing he scraped
his hocks against the cruel stone. Alix cried out and snatched
at my doublet, holding herself on with effort. I spurred
relentlessly, driving the horse to his feet, and saw the
lowering paws.

A bear; not a bear. Its shape was indistinct. It lumbered
after us, hackles rising on its huge spinal hump, ungainly

THE SONG OF HOMANA

339

on glassy legs, and yet I knew it might prevail. The horse
was failing under us.

Smoke shot up beside us: the breath of the god himself.
It splattered me full in the face and I felt the blood of the
god. It burned, how it burned, as it ate into my beard
But I dared not put a hand to my face or I would lose
control of the horse. And I refused to lose my sword.

The smoke shot up with a screeching hiss, venting its
wrath against us. It stank with the foul odor of corruption.
The horse leaped aside, nearly shedding us both, 1 heard
Alix's gasp of surprise. She slid to one side and caught at
my arm, dragging herself back on the slippery rump. I
heard again the scream of the smoke as it vomited out of
the earth,

The canyon grew narrow and clogged with stone. The
defile beckoned us on. We had only to get through it
and we would be free of the beasts. But getting to it
would be next to impossible with the failing horse beneath

us.

Another vent opened before us. The horse ran directly
into it and screamed as the heat bit into his belly. He
twisted and humped, throwing head between knees, and
then shed us easily enough. But I did not complain, even
as I crashed against the stone, for the horse was caught by
the bear.

I pushed myself up to my feet, aware of the pain in my
bones. I still had my sword and two feet and I did not
intend to remain. I went to Alix as she sat up from her fall,
grabbed her arm and dragged her up from the stone.

"Run," I said, and we did.

We dodged the stone beasts and jumped over the smoke,
threading our way as we ran. We gasped and choked,
coughing against the stench. But we reached the defile
and ran through, knowing it too narrow to give exit to the
beasts. We left behind the smoke and heat and went into
the world again.

The ground was laced with snow. Twisted trees hung off
the walls and sent roots across the earth, seeking what
strength they could find in the meager soil. Behind us
reared the canyon with its cache of beasts and smoke.

Jenntfar Roberson

340

Atix limped beside me, still clinging to my hand. She
was barefoot; I did not doubt it hurt. Her bedrobe was
torn and burned away in places. But she went on,
uncomplaining, and I put away my sword-

1 took her to a screen of wind-wracked trees that bud-
died by a rib of canyon wall. There we could hide and
catch our breath, waiting for the others. I found a broken
stump and sat down upon it stiffly, hissing against the
pain. My aching joints had been badly used and I felt at
least a hundred. No more was I able to perform the deeds
of a younger man, for all I was twenty-five. The body was
twenty years older.

Alix stood next to me- Her hand was on my head,
smoothing my graying hair. "I am so sorry. Carillon. But
Tynstar has touched us all."

I looked up at her in the moonlight. "Did he harm
you?"

She shrugged. "What Tynstar did is done. I will not
speak about it."

"Alix—" But she placed one hand across my mouth and
bid -me to be silent. After a moment she squatted down
and linked both hands around my arm.
"My thanks," she said softly. "Leijhana tu'sai. What you
have done for me—and what you have lost for me—is
more than I deserve."

I summoned a weary smile. "Your son will be Prince of
Homana. Surely hisjehana has meaning to us both,"

"You did not do this for Donal."

I sighed. "No. I did it for you, for myself . . . and for
Duncan, Perhaps especially for Duncan." I set my swollen
hand to her head and tousled her tangled hair. "He needs
you, Alix. More than I ever thought possible."

She did not answer. We sat silently, close together, and
waited for the others,

One by one the warriors returned, on foot and mounted
on horseback. Some came in Kr-shape, loping or flying as
they came through the trees; we were not so close that the
magic could be thwarted. But I saw, when they had gath-
ered, that at least four had been left behind. A high toll,
for the Cheysuli. It made it all seem worse.

THE SONG OF HOMANA

341

Rowan came finally at dawn. He and Gryflth were
lounted on a single horse, riding double from the defile.
'[X)d had spilled from a head wound to stain Rowan's
ithers dark, but he seemed well enough, if weary. He
Ided Gryffth with an elbow and I saw how the Ellasian
iped against Rowan's back. I got up, feeling the pop in
i knees, and reached out to steady Gryfflh's dismount.
[e had a wound in one shoulder and a slice along one
H-eann, but both had been bound.
Rowan got down unsteadily, shutting his eyes as he put
ie hand to his head. Alix knelt beside him as he sat and
irted his hair to see the wound. He swallowed and
Iwinced as her fingers found-the swelling.
| ' "This is not front a sword," she said in consternation.

"No. His sword broke. So he grabbed down to torch
; and came at me. I ducked the flame but not the iron." He
t winced again. "Let it be. It will heal of its own."
i   Alix moved away from him. For a moment she looked at
I §the others, all wounded in her rescue, and I saw how it
^weighted her down. Of us all, I was the only Homanan.
The others, save Grymh, were all Cheysuli.

The Ellasian leaned against a boulder, one arm pressed
against his ribs. His freckled face, in the pale sunlight of
dawn, was ashen, streaked with blood and grime, but life
remained in his bright green eyes. He pushed a hand
^through his hair and made it stand up in spikes. "My
thanks to the All-Father," he said wearily. "Most of us got
free, and the lady brought out as we meant."
'   "And for that, my thanks," said Duncan from the ridge.
and Alix spun around.

He stepped down and caught her in his arms, crushing
her against his chest. His cheek pressed into her tangled
hair and I saw the pallor of his face. Blood still ran from
|tthe wound in his left arm. I saw how it stained his leathers
^.and now her robe. But neither seemed to care.

|t I pushed myself up from my tree stump. I moved stiffly,

I cursing myself for my slowness, and then stood still, giv-
ing them their reunion. It was the least I could do.

"I am well," Duncan answered her whispered question.
I am not much hurt. Do not fear for me." One hand wove

342 Jennifer Roberson

itself into her loosened braid. "What of you? What has he
done to you?"

Alix, still pressed against his body, shook her head. I
could not see her face, but I could see his. His exhaustion
was manifest. Like us all, he was bloodstained and filthy
and stinking of the breath of the netherworld. Like us> all,
he was hardly capable of standing.

But there was something more in his eyes. The knowl-
edge of terrible loss.

And 1 knew.

Duncan put Alix out of his arms and sat her down on
the nearest stump, the one I had vacated. And then,
without a word, he stripped the gold from his arms and set
it into her lap. With deft fingers he unhooked the earring
and pulled it from his lobe. He was naked without his gold.
Still clothed in leather, he was naked without the gold.

And a dead man without his lir.

He set the earring into her hand. "Tahlmorra lujhalla
mei wiccan, cheysu.'

She stood up with a cry and the gold tumbled from lap
and hands. "Duncan—no—"

"Aye," he said gently, "Tynstar has slain my lir"

Slowly, tentatively, trembling, she put out her hands to
touch him. Gently at first, and then with possessive de-
mand. I saw how dark her fingers were against the flesh of
his arms that had never known the sun, kept from it by
the ftr-bands for nearly all of his life. I saw how she shut
her hands upon that flesh as if it would make him stay.
"I am empty," he said. "Soulless and unwhole. I cannot
live this way."

The fingers tightened on his arms. "Do you go," she
said intently, "do you leave me, Duncan . . . / will be as
empty. I will be unwhole."

"Shansu," he said, "I have no choice. It is the price of
the fir-bond."

"Do you think I will let you go?" she demanded. "Do
you think I will stand meekly by while you turn your back
on me? Do you think 1 will do nothing?"

"No. And that is why I will do this—" He caught her
before she could move and cradled her head in his hands.

THE SONG OF HOMANA   343

"Cheysula, I have loved you well. And for that I will
lessen your grief—"

"No!" She tried to pull out of his arms, but he held her
too well. "Duncan—" she said, "—do not—"

As she sagged he caught her and lifted her up. For a
moment he held her close, eyes shut in a pale, gaunt face,
and then he looked at me. "You must take her to safety-
Take her to Homana-Mujhar." He tried to steady his voice
and failed. "She will sleep for a long time. Do not worry
if, when she wakes, she seems to have forgotten. It will
come back. She will recall it all, and I do not doubt she
will grieve deeply then. But for now ... for us both . . .
this ending is the best."

I tried to swallow the cramp in my throat. "What of
Tynstar?"

"Alive," Duncan said bleakly. "Once he had struck down
Cai—I had nothing left but pain and helplessness." He
looked at Alix's face again as she slept in his naked arms.
And then he brought her to me and set her into mine.
"Love her well, my lord Mujhar. Spare her what pain you
can."

I saw the tears in his eyes and he moved back. Then
one foot struck an armband on the ground, sending it
clinking against the other, and he stopped short. He
touched one naked arm as if he could not believe its toss,
and then he walked away.

NINE

Donal's young face was pinched and pale. He sat quietly
on a stool, listening to what I said, but I doubt he really
heard me. His mind had gone elsewhere, choosing its own
path; I did not blame him. I had told him his father was
dead-
He stared hard at the Hoor. His hands were in his lap.
They gripped one another as if they could not bear to be
apart. The skin of his knuckles was white.

"Jekana," he said. That only.

' Your mother is well. She—sleeps. Your father gave her
that."

He nodded once. No more. He seemed to understand.
And then his right hand rose to touch his left arm, to
finger the heavy gold. I could see it in his mind: Cheysuli,
and bound by the lir. As much as his father had been.

Donal looked up at me. His face was starkly remote. He
said one word: "Tahlmorra."

He was an eight-year-old boy. At eight, I could not have
withstood the pain. I would have wept, cried out, even
screamed with the grief. Donal did not. He was Cheysuli,
and he knew the price of the ftr-bond-

1 had thought, perhaps, to hold him. To ease what pain
I could. To tell him how Duncan had gotten his mother
free, to illustrate the worth of the risk undertaken. I had
thought also to assuage his guilt and grief by sharing my

I 344 I

THE SONG OF HOMANA   345

own with him. But, looking at him, I saw there was no
need. His maturity mocked my own.
Alien, I thought, so alien. Will Homana accept you?

I lifted Alix down from her horse. She was light in my
arms, too light; her face was ashen-colored. She had come
home at last to Duncan's pavilion—six weeks after his
death—and I knew she could not face it.

I said nothing, I simply held her. She stared at the
slate-colored pavilion with its gold-painted hawk and re-
called the life they had shared. She forgot even Donal,
who slid slowly off his horse and looked to me for
reassurance.

"Go in," I told him. "It is yours as much as his."

Donal put out a hand and touched the doorflap. And
then he went inside.

"Carillon," she said. No more. There was no need. All
the grief was in her voice.

I put out my arms and pulled her against my chest.
With one hand I smoothed the heavy hair. "Now do you
see? This is not the place for you. I would have spoken
earlier, but I knew it would do no. good. You had to see for
yourself."

Her arms were locked around me. Her shoulders shook
with the tears.

"Come back with me," I said. "Come back to Homana-
Mujhar. Your place is there now, with me." I rocked her
gently in my arms. "Alix—I want you to stay with me."

Her face turned up to mine. "I cannot."

"Do not fret because of Electra. She will not live
forever—when she is dead I will wed you. I will make you
Queen of Homana. Until then . . . you will have to con-
tent yourself with being merely a princess." I smiled.
"You are. You are my cousin. There is a rank that comes
with that."

Slowly she shook her head. "I cannot."

I smoothed back the hair from her face. "All those years
ago—seven? eight?—I was a fool, I lived in arrogance. I
saw what I was told to see by an uncle I abhorred. But
now I am somewhat older—older, even than that—' I
smiled a little, thinking of my graying beard and aching

346 Jennifer Roberson

bones—"somewhat wiser, and certainly less inclined to
heed such things as rank and custom. I wanted you then, I
want you now—say you will come with me."

"I owe Duncan more than that."

"You do not owe him personal solitude. Alix—wait you—"
I tightened my arms as she tried to pull away. "I know
how badly you hurt. I know how badly it bleeds. I know
how deeply the pain has cut you. But I think he would not
be surprised did we make a match of it." I recalled his
final words to me and knew he expected it. "Alix—I will
not press you. I will give you what time you need. But do
not deny me this. Not after all these years."

"Time does not matter." She stood stiffly in my arms.
"As for the years—they have passed. It is done. Carillon. I
cannot be your meijha and I cannot be your wife."

"Alix—"

"By the gods!" she cried. "I carry Tynstar's child!"

I let go of her at once and saw the horror in her eyes.
'Tynstar did that to you—"
"He did not beat me." Her voice was steady. "He did
not harm me. He did not force me." Her eyes shut for a
moment. "He simply took my will away and got a child
upon me."

I thought of Electra, banished to the Crystal Isle. Electra,
who had lost the sorcerer's child. An heir. Not to me or to
my title, but to all of Tynstar's might. He had lost it, and
now he had another.

I could not move. I wanted to put out my hands and
touch her, to tell her I did not care, but she knew me
better than that. I could not move. I could only think of
the Ihlini and his bastard in her belly.

Alix turned from me. She walked slowly to the pavilion.
She put out one hand and drew back the doorflap, though
she did not look inside. "Do you come in? Or do you go
back?"

I shut my eyes a moment, still aching with the knowl-
edge. Again, I lost her. But this time not to Duncan. Not
even to Duncan's memory. That 1 might expect,

But not this- Not losing her to Tynstar. To a bastard
Ihlini child!

THE SONG OF HOMANA   347

By all the gods, it hurt. It hurt like a knife in my loins. I
wanted to vomit the pain.

And then I thought of hers.

I let out my breath. Looking at her, I could see it hurt
her worse. And I would not increase the pain by swearing
useless vows of vengeance. There was already that be-
tween Tynstar and me; one day, we would end it.

I went to her. I took the doorflap out of her hands and
motioned her inside. And then we both turned to go in
and I saw Finn beside the fire.

The light was stark on his face. I saw again the livid scar
that marred cheek and jaw, the silver in his hair. Then he
rose and I saw he had'grown thin. The gold seemed
heavier on his arms.

"Meijha," he said, "I am sorry. But a tahlnwrra cannot
be refused. Not by an honorable man. And my rujho was
ever that."

Alix stood very still but her breath was loud in the tent,
"You knew—?"

"I knew he would die. So did he. Not how. Not when.
Not the name of the man who would cause it. Merely that
it would happen." He paused. "Meijhana, I am sorry. I
would give him back to you, could I do it."

She moved to him. I saw the hesitation in her steps. I
saw how he put his arms around her and set his scarred
cheek against her hair. I saw her grief reflected in his face.

"When a tir is lost," he said, "the others know at once.
Storr told me ... but I could come no sooner. There was
a thing I had to do."

1 was wrung out with all the emotions. I needed to sit
down. But I did not, I stood there, waiting, and saw
Donal in the shadows. He sat between two wolves; one a
ruddy young male, the other older, wiser, amber-eyed
Storr.

Aiix pulled   out of Finn's arms but she did not move
away. I saw   how one of his hands lingered in her hair, as
if he could   not let it go. An odd possessiveness, in view of
his actions   with Torry. But then I could not blame him;

Alix needed comfort. From Finn, it would undoubtedly be
best, He was her brother, but also Duncan's. The bloodlink
was closer than that which cousins shared-

348 Jennifer Roberson

I sighed- "Electra has been banished. She lives on the
Crystal Isle. There is no question about her complicity in
Tynstar's attempt to slay me. Did you wish it—you could
take up your place again."

He did not smile. 'That time is done. A blood-oath,
once broken, is never healed. I come home, aye, to live in
the Keep again—but nothing more than that. My place is
here, now. They have named me Cheysuli clan-leader."

Alix looked at him sharply. "You? In Duncan's place?"
She caught her breath, then went on. "I thought such
things were not for you."

"Such things were for my rujho," he agreed, his gravity
an ironic measure of Duncan's, "but things change. People
change. Torry has made me different." He shrugged. "I
have—learned a little peace." He used the Homanan word.
1 liked shansu better.

"I am sorry," I said, "for the time you lost. I should
never have sent you away."

He shook his head. "You had no choice. I saw that,
when Torry made me. I do not blame you for it. You let
her go with me. You might have made her stay."

"So you could take her from me?" I shook my head.
"No. I knew the folly in trying to stop you."
"You should have tried," he said. "You should have kept
her by you. You should have wed her to the Ellasian
prince . . . because then she would still be alive."

I felt the air go out of my chest. The pavilion spun
around me. The firecairn was merely a blot of light inside
my skull. "Torry is—dead?"

"Aye. Two days before Duncan lost his lir. It was why I
could come no sooner."

"Finn," Alix said, "oh, Finn—no—"

"Aye," he said roughly, and I saw the new pain in his
eyes. It mirrored that in my own.

I turned to go out. I could not stay. I could not bear to
see him, knowing how she had loved him. I could not bear
the grief. I had to deal with it alone.

And then I heard the baby cry, and the sound cut
through me like a knife.

Finn let go of Alix- He turned and pulled the tapestry
aside. I saw him kneel down and gather a bundle from the

THE SONG OF HOMANA

349

pallet. He was gentle. More gentle than I had ever seen
him. Incongruous, in him. But it seemed to fit him well
once I got over the shock.

He brought the bundle to us and pulled away the wrap-
pings from a face. "Her name is Meghan," he said. "She is
four months old ... and hungry. Torry—could not feed
her, so I became a thief." Briefly he smiled. "The cows
were not always willing to be milked."

Meghan continued to cry. Finn frowned and shifted her
in his arms, trying to settle her more comfortably, but it
was Alix who intervened. She took the baby from his arms
and sent Donal to find a woman with an infant. She cast a
glance back at Finn before she followed Donal out. "No
more the milk-thief, rujho. I will save your pride by
finding her a wetnurse."

I saw a shadow of his familiar grin as she slipped outside
the pavilion. It took the hardness from his face and less-
ened the pain in his eyes. I saw it now, where I had not
before. He had lost more than a brother.

And I had lost a sister, "Gods," I said, "what happened?
How did Torry die? Why . . . why?"
The smile dropped away. Finn sat down slowly and
motioned me down as well. After ten months, too long a
time, we shared company again. "She was not bred for
privation," he said. "She had pride and strength and de-
termination, but she was not bred for privation. And car-
rying a child—" He shook his head. "I saw she was ill
some three months after we left Homana-Mujhar. She
claimed it was nothing; a fever breeding women some-
times get. I thought perhaps it was; how was I to know
differently? I did not expect her to lie." He threaded one
hand through his hair and stripped it from his face. He
was gaunt, too thin; privation agreed with him no more
than it had with her.

"Say on," I said hollowly.

"When I saw she got no better, I took her to a village. I
I thought she needed the companionship of women as well
'. as a shelter better than the rude pavilion I provided.
t But—they would not have me. They called me shape-
\ changer. They called me demon. They called her whore
and the child demon's-spawn. Sorcerer's get." The anger

350 Jennifer Roberson

was in his eyes and I saw the beast again, if only for a
moment. But I also saw the guilt he had placed upon
himself. "Shaine is dead and the qu'mahlin ended . . but
many prefer to observe it. And so she bore Meghan in
what shelter I could provide, and weakened each day
thereafter." He shut his eyes. "The gods would not hear
my petition, even when I offered myself. So I gave her
Cheysuli passing when she was dead, and brought her
daughter home."

I thought of lorry, weak and ill. I   thought of Torry
bearing the child. I thought of the   Homanans who had
cursed her because of Finn. Because   of Shame's qu'mahlin.
And I thought how helpless a king I   was to stop my uncle's
purge.

"I am sorry, Carillon," Finn said. "I did not mean you
to lose her twice."

"Blame Shaine," I said wearily. "My uncle slew my
sister." I looked at him across the fire. "Do you mean to
keep Meghan here?"

"This is her home," he repeated. "Where else would
Meghan live?"

"At Homana-Mujhar," I said. "She is a princess of
Homana."

He stared at me. "Have you learned nothing? Are you
still chained by such things as rank? By the gods. Caril-
lon, I thought by now you might have learned—"
"I have,' I said. "I have. I do not mean to take her. I
merely wanted you to think. You have admitted Torry
died because the privation was too hard. Do you give the
same life to your daughter?"

"I give her a Keep," he said softly. "I give her what her
blood demands: the heritage of a Cheysuli."

I smiled. "Who speaks now of rank? You have ever
believed yourself better than a Homanan."

He shrugged. "We are as the gods have made us."

I laughed. I pushed to my feet and popped my knees,
trying to ease my joints. The ride had tried my strength.
Finn rose as well, saying nothing. He merely waited.
"Privation has rendered you less than what you should
be," I said gruffly. "Have Alix put flesh on your bones.
You look older the way you are.*

THE SONG OF HOMANA I 351

His black brows rose. "Who speaks of age should look in
the silver plate."

"I have," I said, "and turned it to the wall." I grinned
and put out my arm, clasping his again. "Tend Meghan
well, and bring her to me often. She has other blood
besides the shapechanger taint, and I would have her
know it."

Finn's grip was firm. "I doubt not your daughter will
need a companion. As for the Mujhar of Homana, he
requires no single liege man. He has all the Cheysuh clans
to render him aid when he needs it."

"Nonetheless," I said, "I would have you take the knife
back." I slipped it from the sheath. The gold hilt gleamed
softly in the light from the firecaim: rampant Homanan
lion and a blade of purest steel.

I thought he would not take it. Another was in his
sheath, one of Cheysuli craftsmanship. But he put out his
hand and accepted it, though there was no blood-oath to
accompany the acceptance.

"Ja'hai-na," he said quietly.

I went silently out of the tent.

My horse still waited. I took up the reins but did not
mount at once. I thought of Alix, tending to Meghan, and
the child within her belly. She would need Finn. She
would need Meghan. She would need all the strength of
the Cheysuli when Tynstar's child was born. And I knew
she would have it in abundance.
I waited a moment, aware of something familiar. I could
not put name to what it was, and then suddenly I knew. It
H- was a flute, a sweet-toned Cheysuli pipe. The melody was
quite simple, and yet I knew it well. The last time I had
heard it, it had been upon a harp, with a master's hands
upon the strings. Lachlan's hands, and the song The Song
of Homana. And now it had come to the Keep.

I grinned. Then I laughed. I mounted my horse and
turned him, ready to go at last, but Donal was in my way.
He put up his hand and touched the stallion's nose as I
reined him to a halt. Lorn sat at his left side.

"Cousin," Donal said, "may I come?"

"I go back to Homana-Mujhar."

352 I Jennifer Rob«rson

"Jehana has said I may go." He grinned a grin I had

seen before."

I leaned down and stretched out my hand, swinging

him up as he jumped. He settled behind the saddle.

"Hold on," I said, "the royal mount may throw us."
Donal leaned forward against my back. "Make him try."
I laughed. "Would you like to see me tumble?"
"You would not. You are the Mujhar of Homana."
'The horse does not know titles. He knows only your

substantial weight." I kneed the stallion out and felt the

arching of his back. But after a moment he settled.

"Do you see?" Donal asked, as the wolf trotted beside

the horse. I looked for Taj and found him, a dot against

the sky.

"I see," I admitted. "Shall we gallop?"
"Aye!" he agreed, and we did.