Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (67 page)

 
          
Aidan
smiled. "It is precisely
because
you are not like the others that we came to you."

 
          
Shona
nodded. "And because of Blais. You were the only one who wrote him of his
father."

 
          
Burr
sighed, smoothing a wrinkle from his leggings. The edge of winter was upon
them; he, as they did, wore heavier leathers, thicker woolens, furred cloaks.
"Aye. I thought the others unjust, in that. But they viewed Blais' request
as unanswerable; Teirnan was
kin-wrecked
,
his rune-sign expunged from the birthlines. In their minds, how could they tell
him of a warrior who no longer existed?"

 
          
"But
you
answered," Aidan said.

 
          
Burr
shrugged. "I had to. He was a man in need—a Cheysuli warrior requiring
information of his heritage." Yellow eyes were very steady. "Had I
refused him the information, I would have renounced one of the foremost
responsibilities of my position, which is to serve all Cheysuli in matters of
heritage, custom, tradition…" He smiled. "I am not saying the others
did
. I merely interpreted the custom
differently. I no longer believe in the need for
kin-wrecking
at all; Blais' request, therefore, was one I had to
answer."

 
          
Aidan
gazed at him. He wondered anew at the man's commitment. Not its quality or depth,
but at its ability to be flexible. Part of it, he believed, had to do with
Burr's comparative youth. He was, Aidan had learned, thirty-seven, which made
him nearly fifteen years junior to the youngest of the other
shar tahls
. But the rest of it had to do
with a different kind of belief system. Burr saw things differently, and
interpreted things accordingly. There was room in his world for change, just as
Deirdre had suggested.

 
          
"So,"
Shona said, "we've asked it. Will you be giving us our answer?"

 
          
Burr
grinned. "Of course you may set up a pavilion within Clankeep. Would I say
no to you, after permitting Blais to do the same?"

 
          
"But
he is not here," Aidan said.

 
          
"No.
But he will return. There are things he must reconcile with himself… his
jehan's
withdrawal from the clans is one
of them, as well as Teirnan's death." Burr shifted, slipping a hand from
his knee to the red dogfox curled by his side. "And have you permission of
the clan-leader?"

 
          
Shona
laughed. "He gave it instantly. Would he dare do otherwise to the son of
the Mujhar?"

 
          
"Oh,
he might." Burr's tone was mild. "Aidan is not well-known here, other
than occasional visits. And there is talk of dreams, and nights he walks the
corridors of Homana-Mujhar, conversing with the Lion." The
shar tahl's
white teeth flashed as Aidan
and Shona exchanged uneasy glances. "But it is thought mostly due to
having his spirit chafed by too many walls and Homanan responsibilities. Surely
here, in the heart of the land, he will learn what it is to be a warrior of the
clans."

 
          
"Surely
he will," Aidan agreed dryly.

 
          
"Just
as he will surely learn more about his heritage if he studies with a
shar tahl
."

 
          
Aidan
nodded. "And may I choose which one?"

 
          
"Done,"
Burr said. "Put up your pavilion, then come to me each day."

 
          
"
Leijhana tu'sai
." Aidan rose,
reaching down to help an ungainly Shona to her feet. But before he turned away
to open the doorflap, he paused. "There was a time you said I had your
sympathy. Do I still?"

 
          
Burr's
lids flickered minutely. "You have many things of me, my lord. Among them
my sympathy."

 
          
To
press him would be futile, Aidan knew. There was a core of quiet stubbornness
in Burr he knew better than to test. It was, he believed, much like his own.

 
          
Sighing,
he pulled aside the doorflap and gestured Shona to precede him into the chilly
day.

 
          
For
three days Aidan and Shona cut, dyed, and stitched the pavilion fabric until it
resembled the proper shape. Then they designed and painted the black raven on
the slate-gray sides, and with the help of three other warriors set up the
frame and ridgepole and dragged the oiled fabric over it, pegging and tying it
down as necessary. Finally it stood on its own, rippling in the breeze so that
the raven's wings moved, and Shona stepped into Aidan's arms as the warriors
faded away, tucking chilled hands into his furs.

 
          
"
'Tis
ours
."

 
          
Nodding,
he gazed at the pavilion as he slung an arm around her waist.

 
          
"Ours,"
she repeated. " 'Twasn't something I moved into when we married, but
something we built together."

 
          
With
the
kivarna
, he knew very well what
she meant. He shared it. "Aye. Kilore and Homana-Mujhar have housed many
kings, many children… but
this
place
is ours."

 
          
She
sighed as a chilly breeze tugged at braided hair. "There is such peace
about Clankeep—I'm thinking I could stay here forever."

 
          
Aidan
smiled. "Forever is a long time, my lass… and you not properly knowing
what it is to be Cheysuli."

 
          
"Yet,"
she clarified. "And I'm knowing
something
of it. D'ye think I'm lying when I tell you how I feel, surrounded by such
history? Such security in tradition?" She hooked a thumb into his belt.
"I know what you say about change, my lad, but can it wait? I've only just
got here. I'd like to see what being Cheysuli is all about before you begin
changing everything."

 
          
"Only
some things," he said distantly. "Things such as the abomination
called
kin-wrecking
—" He cut it
off. "Enough. I am only a prince, not Mujhar—and even
that
bears no certainty of power. The Cheysuli have always been
subject to the power of gods, not of kings… it would require more than Aidan
the Mujhar to convince the clans to change."

 
          
"Then
be
more," she said simply.
"Make yourself more, my lad… you have it in you, I'm thinking."

 
          
"Aye.
Perhaps." Aidan turned to her, sliding hands down to splay across the
mound of her belly. She had given up trews in favor of loose skirts weeks
before, for the child had become intrusive. Aidan felt the tautness of her
flesh stretched so tightly under the soft wool skirt and loose tunic. He
laughed. "We have put up the pavilion just in time."

 
          
Shona
cupped his elbows even as he cupped her belly. "He will be Cheysuli,"
she said fiercely. "Before anything else:
Cheysuli
."

 
          
Aidan
smiled. "Even before his Homanan rank? Or Erinnish?"

 
          
"Even
before that." Her eyes were fixed on his in a strange, wild pride.
"Gods, d'ye know what it is to come here? To
feel
so much in my heart? All those years in Erinn, cut off from
the place I most belong…" She drew in a breath and released it slowly,
audibly. "I have no
lir
-gifts,
but I do have the blood… and it burns, Aidan. It burns so
much
."

 
          
"I
know," he said, "I know. Gods, Shona, how can I not? I feel it the
same way."

 
          
"But
you've
been
here," she
protested. "You've had this all your life, since the time you were born;
and
Teel
—" She broke off,
looking at the ridgepole. "D'ye see? There he is."

 
          
He
smiled. "I see."

 
          
"I'm
not knowing how to say it, but you should be able to feel it. All my life I
knew the freedom of Kilore, the freedom of the headlands, the freedom of the
seas, for my father took me sailing… but 'Tisn't the same!
Here
I feel free.
Here
I
feel whole.
Here
is where I
belong."

 
          
"But
there is also Homana-Mujhar—"

 
          
"Oh,
aye, I'm knowing we can't
always
live
here. There will come a time… but for now? They've no need of you in the
palace, nor the city… can we not stay here as long as possible?"

 
          
He
smoothed back a lock of hair pulled loose from the braid. "We will stay as
long as we can. Gods willing, we will give our child the foundation you
lacked." He smiled. "And I, for that matter; I grew up in
Homana-Mujhar."

 
          
Shona
looked at the neat stacks of chests, rolled pelts, cairn stones and kindling,
set beside the pavilion. Keely's sword, scabbarded, leaned against the pile of
stones. " 'Tis time we made it a home. All the gifts the clan and our kin
gave us are worthy of being cherished."

 
          
Aidan
smiled. Between them flared the powerful pleasure that was more than mere
passion, mere physical satisfaction. It was a deep, abiding contentment akin to
exultation; a burgeoning comprehension that what they shared could not be
extinguished. He wanted to be inside the pavilion, sitting before the cairn. He
wanted to share it with his woman. He wanted to be no one but himself: a
warrior of the Cheysuli.

 
          
This pavilion has nothing to do with that
,
Teel chided.
You have been a warrior
since we bonded
.

 
          
Aidan
grinned.
Of course
.

 
          
The
raven cocked his head.
You are uncommonly
pleased with yourself
.

 
          
I am too happy to argue.

 
          
Because of the pavilion?

 
          
Partly. There is more.

 
          
Because of the woman?

 
          
That, too. But more.

 
          
Teel's
eye was bright.
The child, then. Because
there will be a child
.

 
          
All of those things, lir.

 
          
The
raven fluffed wings.
Such simple things,
lir: a home, a woman, a child
.

 
          
Aidan
smiled.
Simple and magnificent. And
sufficient unto my needs
.

 
          
Teel's
tone was amused.
Not so much, I'm
thinking
.

 
          
Laughing
aloud, Aidan hugged Shona. "Let us begin with the cairn, and a fire. 'Tis
cold out here,
I'm
thinking!"

 
          
«
^
»

 
          
He
dreamed. The hammered silver doors of the Great Hall of Homana-Mujhar swung
open, crashing against the walls, so that his view was unobstructed. The flames
in the firepit died back, sucked away, until only coals glowed. Beyond the pit,
crouched upon the dais, was the malevolent Lion Throne, carved of still-living
wood. He knew the wood still lived, because he saw it breathe.

 
          
No.
He saw the
Lion
breathe; in his
sleep, Aidan twitched.

 
          
Wood
creaked. Slowly the toes tightened, claws scraping against veined marble.
Wooden flanks tautened, then gave, rippling with indrawn breath. The tail,
carved snug against a wooden haunch, loosed itself and whipped, beating a
staccato pattern against the marble dais.

 
          
The
Lion rose from its crouch. It shook its head, and the great mane tumbled over
massive shoulders. The Lion of Homana, no longer a wooden throne, stood upon
the dais and surveyed its royal domain. Within it stood Aidan.

 
          
The
Lion coughed. It blinked. And then it opened its mouth—

 
          
"
Aidan
! What is it? What is that
noise?"

 
          
He
awoke, sweating, aware of the dream and the not-dream; the echoes of Shona's
voice and the outcry within the
lir
-link.

 
          
"Teel?"
he asked numbly.

 
          
"Lir—lir—Ihlini—

 
          
Shona
was sitting upright. "Gods—all over, such
noise
—"

 
          
Lir—lir—Ihlini—

 
          
He
scrambled up "Teel?"

 
          
Ihlini—Ihlini—

 
          
"Aidan?"

 
          
"Ihlini,"
he breathed. "Here? In
Clankeep
?"

 
          
Outside,
there was screaming.

 
          
"Oh,
gods," he blurted. "Ihlini—
in
Clankeep—"

 
          
Even
as Shona hastily pulled on soft boots, Aidan was at the doorflap. He wanted to
tear it open, but did not, instinctively knowing not to give their presence
away. A part of him told him it probably did not matter; if Ihlini were in
Clankeep, they would not search pavilions. They would simply destroy
everything.

 
          
Aidan
drew aside the flap far enough so he could peer out one-eyed. And saw the
conflagration.

 
          
He
spun at once. "We have to get out. Now.
Now
, Shona—they are burning everything."

 
          
Lir
—
lir
—
Ihlini
—

 
          
Throughout
Clankeep the
lir
cried their
warnings, within the links and without. Aidan heard screaming.

 
          
Women
and children, screaming.

 
          
"Shona—"

 
          
She
was beside him, cradling belly. "Where do we go?"

 
          
"Out
of Clankeep. Entirely away—" He had a knife, and somewhere a bow… hastily
he caught up the warbow and the pitiful handful of arrows. "They are
killing the children,
meijhana
."

 
          
He
saw it go home. Shona snatched up a cloak and dragged it around her shoulders.
She wasted no time looking for anything else, or begging for this or that. She
merely waited, grim-faced, as he nocked one of five arrows. Beyond her face,
through the slit of the doorflap, he saw the flames lapping at the pavilion
across the clearing, and shadows running in darkness.

 
          
"We
must get beyond the wall," he told her. "We must go out toward the
gates, then slip through."

 
          
"Or
over the wall," she said calmly.

 
          
"You
cannot climb—"

 
          
"I
will."

 
          
Aidan
tore aside the doorflap. A line of flame licked from the burning pavilion and
crept across to theirs.

 
          
"This
way—the back—" He caught her hand and dragged her.

 
          
They
ducked out, shredding the laces with Aidan's knife. The night was ablaze with
flame. The cold, lurid flame that came from the netherworld.

 
          
Their
pavilion, but newly raised, stood six paces from the wall. Aidan had believed
it a safe, cozy spot: shielded by wall at the back, by trees on either side.
Only the front was unprotected; there had been no need in Clankeep.

 
          
"The
children—" Shona whispered, as screams renewed themselves.

 
          
"To
the wall." Aidan steadied her as best he could, while watching for Ihlini.
Teel
?

 
          
Above you… lir, they are everywhere—Ihlini
everywhere
—

 
          
Around
them, trees caught fire; laces of purple flame danced along close-grown limbs,
passing destruction from brother to brother. Burning sap dripped onto the new
pavilion even as the lone streamer from the clearing touched their doorpole,
and climbed.

 
          
Shona
clawed at the wall. It was of natural, undressed stone, lacking mortar save for
the moss and dirt of years sealing the joints together. In childhood, Aidan had
scaled it; it was not difficult to climb because it was not sheer, but Shona
was unbalanced by the child, lacking grace and control.

 
          
He
did not see a way for her to climb it normally, even as she thrust fingers into
seams and dug a booted toe at joints.

 
          
"I
will—" she murmured. "I
can
—"

 
          
Behind
them, screams and fire, and the shrieking of a hawk.

 
          
"Climb,
Shona—" He thrust a hand against her spine, trying to steady her.

 
          
Lir
—
lir
—
lhlini
—

 
          
The
warning shrilled through the link. Aidan wrenched his head around and saw the
horseman come riding.

 
          
"Shona—hold
on
—" He spun, raising the
warbow, and sighted hastily. Loosed, but the arrow was wide.

 
          
He
was dazzled by the flames. Throughout Clankeep pavilions burned, falling into
charred heaps. Crown fires spread from tree to tree, leaping across the wall
into the wood beyond. He saw people running: Cheysuli and lhlini. He heard
people shouting, women screaming, children crying in shock and fear.

 
          
The
horseman still came on, bared blade gleaming.

 
          
Bared blade
—
a sword
—

 
          
Aidan
did not take the time to think. He ducked beneath the sweeping blade and nocked
a second arrow. Behind him the raven-painted pavilion flared into flames,
hissing and crackling as fabric was consumed. From all over Clan-keep the smell
of burning oil and paint hung in the air, as well as the stench of charred
flesh. Smoke rolled through the clearings.

 
          
Renewed
screaming and outcries became an underscore to the macabre dance he entered
into with the horseman. The night was moonless and dark, which made the shadows
thicker, and the lhlini rode a black horse. The only thing Aidan saw was the
pallor of a face and the glint of the naked blade.

 
          
No sorcery here, save godfire—he must use a
conventional weapon
—

 
          
It
was something, Aidan thought. At least he had a chance.

 
          
Shona
still clung to the wall. He saw her pale face turned toward the burning
pavilion. The
lir-
torque at her
throat glinted in the flames, throwing light into her eyes as she opened her
mouth to shout.

 
          
The
sword scythed by. Aidan, ducking once more, came up and loosed again.

 
          
It
took the horse full in the throat and brought the animal to its knees,
screaming as it died. The rider flung himself free and rolled, tossing off a
dark cloak as he came up. Dark leathers polished shiny glistened in the
godfire
. The sword still sang in his
hands.

 
          
"Shona—
climb
—"

 
          
"No
purchase," she answered evenly, stepping back to level ground.

 
          
Aidan
cursed. He could not afford to have his attention diverted by Shona, and yet he
could hardly keep it from her. His
kivarna
was shrieking at him: she was frightened, as he was, but also very angry. What
he sensed most was rage. A cold, deadly rage engendered by the Ihlini.

 
          
They
were killing
children
.

 
          
He
had lost the other arrows. One remained to him. Aidan nocked even as the Ihlini
ran toward him with the sword.

 
          
The
face swam out of the flames. A cool, smooth face, underscored by upswept
cheekbones and dark arched eyebrows; the chiseling of nose and mouth. Aidan had
seen that face.

 
          
"
Tevis
," he blurted.

 
          
The
other smiled coolly. "Lochiel," he corrected.

 
          
Who
had murdered Hart's son.

 
          
Aidan
loosed. Lochiel sliced the arrow in half.

 
          
He cannot be so fast.
But Aidan believed
it was possible he could be many things.

 
          
He
threw down the useless bow and yanked his knife from the sheath, feeling a
sickening tightness in his belly. A knife was no match for a sword.

 
          
The
pavilion burned behind him. Aidan felt the heat, heard the crisping fabric,
smelled the acrid stench of burning pelts. Another step, and he would be in the
flames.

 
          
Shona
ran by him, ducking into the burning pavilion. Even as he opened his mouth to
shout, she was out from under the collapsing ridgepole. Keely's sword was in
her hands.

 
          
He
caught it as she offered him the hilt, and put his knife into her hands.
"Go to the gate," he said swiftly. "Make your way into the wood—"

 
          
But
it was all he could manage. Even as Shona nodded, turning to follow order,
Lochiel came at him.

 
          
She
ran. Awkward and ungainly, cursing the Ihlini, Shona did as he told her. And
Aidan could breathe again.

 
          
The
sword was a willow branch. It was ground to suit a woman, and then only in
practice: the blade was stripped of weight and edge. Its hilt was finer and
less heavy than that of his own weapon, and the pommel knot, for him, was
unbalanced, hindering his grip. But still it was a sword.