Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (60 page)

 
          
"No."
Blais grinned cheerfully. "And I
do
know someone—a
shar tahl
, in fact.
His name is Burr."

 
          
It
took Aidan a moment to remember. When he did, he stared hard at Blais.
"Burr is from the north, across the Bluetooth. I have spoken with him… how
do
you
know him?"

 
          
"I
wrote to Clankeep." Blais's patience was exaggerated for Aidan's benefit.
"Burr wrote back, telling me what he could of my father, since no one else
would." His face hardened. "Is it they're afraid I'll do the same?
Without even knowing me?"

 
          
The
question made Aidan uncomfortable. "I cannot answer for Clankeep… I only
know that Teirnan's rune was erased from the birthlines. He was
kin-wrecked
, Blais—that means he no
longer exists in the eyes of the clans."

 
          
The
feral set of Blais' facial bones was more pronounced as he stared back at
Aidan. "
Kin-wrecking
one warrior
should not be passed on to his son, if he's done nothing. They're not knowing
anything about me, least of all whether I'll be following my father. Why not
judge me for me?"

 
          
Aidan
shifted in the saddle. "He repudiated everything. The clans, the prophecy,
the Lion—
everything
. He took with him
warriors,
lir
, women, and children.
Do you expect Clan Council to look kindly on a man who turns his back on
everything our race stands for?"

 
          
Blais
slipped into Old Tongue. "No. I expect them to look kindly on a son who is
not guilty of the
jehan's
crime."

 
          
Aidan
looked at his cousin. He could not really blame Blais for his bitterness. He
was not certain
he
would feel so
sanguine if he were judged by the actions of a kinsman he had never seen. It
was unfair, he thought; but then he had come to believe there were several
things about Cheysuli tradition that were unfair.

 
          
"Go,"
he said quietly. "Burr is a good man—a
shar
tahl
with insight—and he will aid you. He will make a good
shu'maii
. But if you need me, send your
lir
. Or come yourself. You will be
welcomed in Homana-Mujhar."

 
          
Blais
laughed. "That is something, I'm thinking." He glanced at Shona.
"Be careful with the boyo, lass. Homanans are more fragile than
Erinnish."

 
          
"Blais—"
She steadied her horse. "Blais, give thought to whatever you do. 'Tis n't
always your greatest strength—" she smiled "—and sometimes your
greatest failure. Take the
time
, my
lad, to be certain of what you do."

 
          
"Did
you?" Blais inquired. " 'Twas
you
who brought all those wolfhounds." And then, as Shona glared, he lifted
his arm in a farewell wave and took the eastern road. His wolf loped beside
him.

 
          
Outlying
crofts, cradled in troughs between hills, soon gave way to villages and then at
last to the proper outskirts of Mujhara herself, until Aidan and Shona
clattered through narrow cobbled streets toward the rose-hued stones of
Homana-Mujhar, deep in the heart of the city. Shona spent much of her time whistling
and calling back her wolfhounds, who wanted to investigate—or challenge—everyone,
and Aidan was much relieved when the massive bronze-and-timber gates finally
jutted before them.

 
          
"Homana-Mujhar?"
Shona asked, leaving off remonstrating with the big dark male.

 
          
"The
front gates." Aidan drew rein and leaned slightly downward, offering his
signet ring as identification, but the men on the gates knew him and called out
vulgar greetings, until they spied Shona and found a better use for their
tongues.

 
          
Aidan,
laughing, waved her through, counting wolfhounds, and was relieved as the last
of the great dogs slunk through. The two bitches with litters had been left
with the baggage train, so that he and Shona had not been slowed by puppies.

 
          
First
the outer bailey, then under the portcullis that gave entry into the inner
bailey and to the palace itself. Shona muttered something beneath her breath,
staring in awe at the curtain wall, parapets, and ramparts. Homana-Mujhar
lacked the crude, overt strength of Kilore, Aidan thought, but its sprawling
magnificence could be denied no more than its defenses.

 
          
"
'Tis no wonder it never fell," Shona breathed.

 
          
"But
it did," he told her. "Once, to Bellam of Solinde—with the help of
Tynstar the Ihlini." He jumped off his horse and threw the reins to a
horseboy, then turned to lift Shona down.

 
          
She
was having none of it. Trews precluded the encumbrance of skirts and she jumped
down herself, slanting him a scornful, amused glance, then gathered her hounds
close. "What of the lads and lasses?"

 
          
"We
have kennels, of course."

 
          
She
nodded pensively. "But—now? Can they not come in with us first?"

 
          
He
blanched, envisioning giant wolfhounds racing through the corridors of
Homana-Mujhar. "All of them?"

 
          
"We
can put them in our chamber."

 
          
"It
will not be 'our' chamber, not at first. The Homanans are somewhat bound up in
proprieties… we will have to have separate chambers until after the
ceremony."

 
          
Shona's
eyes widened. "We've been sharing a bed for months! We've never kept it a
secret."

 
          
"The
Homanans—"

 
          
"—are
skilfins
, " she muttered.
"Well, then, if we're to have separate chambers, I'll be putting the
hounds in mine." She turned on her heel and marched toward the steps,
thick braid swinging.

 
          
Aidan,
following, tried to compromise. "It does not mean we have to sleep alone,
Shona—only
live
in separate chambers.
No one has to know who sleeps where…" Except they would. Everyone knew
such things. Common gossip had a nefarious power when it came to making the
rounds. "Never mind," he said. "Put them wherever you will… but
if any of them bites me when I come in at night, 'tis out to the kennels for
them all."

 
          
Shona
slanted him a glance. "Perhaps."

 
          
"Or
you could come to
my
chamber."

 
          
She
arched a brow as they reached the top step. "If the Homanans are so
persnickerty—I'd be thinking
you'd
have more right to be sneaking about the castle at night than me."

 
          
"But
I do not keep fourteen dogs on my bed."

 
          
"Eleven,"
Shona corrected pointedly. "And for now there are only
nine
, until the two bitches and the
puppies arrive."

 
          
Aidan
sighed. "Does it matter?" And then signaled the door to be opened.
"This is the formal entrance. There are other, less conspicuous ways in—"

 
          
"My
lord." A servant bowed briefly. "My lord, you are to go at once to
the Mujhar's chambers. By order of the Prince of Homana."

 
          
"Go
to—why?"

 
          
The
servant was not forthcoming, except to repeat the need for haste. "At
once, my lord."

 
          
Blankly,
Aidan turned to Shona. But before he could say anything, she spoke to the
wolfhounds, dropping each with a gesture. A command to hold kept them in place;
Shona turned back to Aidan. "They'll not move to trouble anyone."

 
          
Another
time he might have argued with her—his experience with dogs did not lead him to
believe they would stay where they were put—but just now he was not even
slightly concerned with whether the wolfhounds stayed or wandered.

 
          
He
merely nodded absently and led Shona through torchlighted corridors and up two
winding staircases to the Mujhar's sprawling apartments on the third floor.

 
          
Two
men in the crimson tabard of the Mujharan Guard flanked the largest entrance.
The door itself stood open. As Aidan arrived with Shona, both guardsmen bowed.
He nodded absently at them, then went in with Shona at his side.

 
          
He
knew the truth when he saw Deirdre. She sat in a chair at Niall's bedside, very
still and pale. Her eyes were fixed on the bed's occupant.

 
          
Ian
stood at one of the casements, his back to the doorway. All Aidan could see was
his silhouette, but nothing more was required. The rigidity of Ian's posture
bespoke the measure of his grief.

 
          
It
was Brennan who came across the room to Aidan. His gaze rested briefly on
Shona's stricken face, then he turned to his son. "He will wish to see
you. Come."

 
          
Aidan
was cold. Cold and sick. He did not want to be present. He wanted to turn and
walk out immediately, to go somewhere no one could find him, because if he was
gone the dying could not be accomplished.

 
          
But
he did not turn and walk out. Slowly, numbly, Aidan moved toward the canopied
bed. Aileen was there as well, seated on a stool near Deirdre. Curled at
Niall's side was the ruddy-brown wolf, Serri.

 
          
Niall
lay beneath silken bedclothes. But his face was uncovered still, displaying the
ravages of the thing that would claim his life. The patch over his eye did not
hide the loose downward slant of the right side of his face, or the drooping of
his mouth. His flaccid flesh was waxen.

 
          
"
Jehan
," Brennan said quietly.
"Aidan has come home."

 
          
For
one horrible moment Aidan feared his grandfather was already dead, but then he
heard the ragged, shallow breathing and saw the single eye crack open. It was
clear, unclouded by pain; Aidan's
kivarna
abruptly flared to life, bringing him the unwelcome and painful awareness that
Niall knew precisely what had happened and precisely how long he had.

 
          
Niall's
right arm lay slackly across the wolf, not hugging Serri because he could not,
but touching him, maintaining the physical contact as well as the mental.
Serri's head rested very gently on Niall's chest. Incongruously, Aidan thought
of Shona's wolfhounds. And then was ashamed.

 
          
A lir is nothing like a dog…

 
          
He
was, oddly, perfectly calm. He stood beside the bed, beside his father, and
looked down on the wreckage of his grandfather.

 
          
"Take
his hand," Brennan said softly. "He cannot reach for it himself—and
he would want it."

 
          
Dully,
Aidan knelt down and reached for Niall's hand. The flesh was cold and lifeless.
"Grandsire. I am come home."

 
          
The
single eye remained open. The lips twitched, then twisted. Niall's speech was
slow and halting, but he made himself understood. "The girl?"

 
          
Aidan
nodded, turning slightly to stretch out a hand to Shona. "I have brought
her home, grandsire. All the way from Erinn. Keely's girl, grandsire… and
Sean's."

 
          
Shona
moved across the bedchamber slowly, lacking her natural grace. Aidan sensed her
grief and shock and abiding regret: she looked on her grandsire the Mujhar for
the first and last time, for it was quite clear Niall would not live to see the
sun rise.