Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 (16 page)

           
"Because when I allowed myself
to stop resenting my marriage; when I stopped resenting the Cheysuli tahlmorra
that dictated I sleep with Brennan instead of with Corin, I fell in love with
your grandsire." Her smile was poignant. "And so now I have a new
regret: that I wasted so much time in not loving him."

           
Kellin could only stare at his
grandmother.

           
There were no words for what he
felt; he knew only that he was young, too young after all, to begin to
understand the complexities of adulthood.

           
Something new came into his head.
"Did my jehana love my fehan?"

           
Aileen's mouth softened. "Very
much, Kellin.

           
“Twas a match few people
experience."

           
He nodded dutifully,
uncomprehending. "But she died when I was born." He looked
searchingly at Aileen. "Is that why he hates me? Is that why he gave me up
and went away—because I killed his cheysula?"

           
Aileen's face drained. "Oh,
Kellin, no! Oh, gods, is that what you've been thinking all these years?"

           
She murmured something more in
Erinnish, then caught him into her arms and pulled him close.

           
"I'll swear on anything you
like that your birth did not kill her, nor did it drive your father away. He
gave you up because it was his tahlmorra to do so."

           
"But you believe he was
wrong."

           
She withdrew a little to look into
his face.

           
"Have you a touch of the
kivama, lad? Have you been hiding the truth from us?"

           
"No," he blurted,
intrigued. "What is it?"

           
"D'ye know what people
feel?" She touched her breast. "D'ye know what is in their
hearts?"

           
Perplexed, he frowned. "No. I
just saw it in your face."

           
Aileen relaxed, laughing a little.
"Aye, well—'tis a gift and a curse, my lad. Aidan had it in full measure,
and Shona—'twould come as no surprise if it manifested in you."

           
Kellin was bewildered. " 'Twas
in your face, granddame—and your voice." And what I heard you say to
grandsire once before. But that he would not admit.

           
Aileen hugged him again briefly,
then surrendered him to the bed as she rose and shook out her skirts. "I
think he was wrong," she said firmly. "I always have. But I'm a
woman, Kellin—and though I'll not swear a man loves his child less, he's not
borne that babe in his body. Aidan did as he believed he had to, to please the
gods and his tahlmorra. And one day, I promise, you will ask him to his face
how he could do such a thing."

           
He heard the underlying hostility in
her tone.

           
"But not yet."

           
Aileen's lips compressed. "Not
yet."

           
After a moment Kellin nodded. It was
a familiar refrain. "Well," he said easily, "once I have killed
the Lion, he will have to let me see him."

           
"Oh, Kellin—"

           
"I will," he declared.
"I will kill it. And then I shall go to the Crystal Isle and show jehan
the head."

           
Aileen's mouth, he saw, was filled
with all manner of protest. But she made none of them. With tears in her eyes,
the Erinnish Queen of Homana left her grandson quite alone.

           
Blais' door was ajar. Candlelight
crept from the room into the corridor, slotted between door and jamb; Kellin
peeked in carefully, not wanting to discover that Blais was not alone at all,
but accompanied by Cluna, or Jennet, or Cluna and Jennet. They had taken up
entirely too much of Blais' time, Kellin felt. It was his turn for his cousin's
attention.

           
He paused there in the slot. He saw
no female cousins. Only Blais himself, sprawled across the great tester bed
with his lir, lovely Tanni, who lay upon her back with legs spread and
underparts exposed in elaborate pleasure as Blais stroked belly fur. In that
moment she was dog, not wolf; Kellin felt a pang of hope that perhaps he, too,
would gain a wolf.

           
Then again, there was lovely black
Sleeta, his grandsire's mountain cat, and Hart's magnificent Rael. There were
so many wonderful lir in the world; surely the gods would see to it he gained
the perfect one-Blais’ arm moved in slow repetition as he stroked Tanni. He lay
on his belly, torso propped up on one elbow. Thick black hair fell forward over
his shoulders. He wore no jerkin, only leggings; gold shone dully in
candlelight against the bronzing of his flesh.

           
Someday I will have such gold.
Kellin wet his lips. "Blais?"

           
Blais glanced up. Tanni flopped over
on her side and bent her head around to inspect Kellin.

           
"Aye?" Blais beckoned,
smiling. "Come in, come in—we have no secrets, Tanni and I—and if I wanted
privacy I would have shut the door."

           
Kellin slipped through the slot
between door and jamb. Linked behind his back, both hands clutched an object.
"I have a question."

           
His cousin's black brows arched.
"Aye?"

           
He sucked in a deep breath.
"Are you going back to Solinde with them?"

           
"Solinde!" Blais sat
upright, shaking hair away from his face. "Why would I go to
Solinde?"

           
"Because of—them."
Abashed, Kellin stared at the floor.

           
"Who?" Blais began, and
then he cut off the question. "Why do you ask, Kellin?"

           
Miserably, Kellin looked up to meet
Blais' steady gaze. "I saw you," he whispered. "Earlier today,
on the sentry-walk."

           
"Ah." Blais nodded.

           
"You were kissing Jennet."

           
"Cluna."

           
It stopped Kellin's attempt at
explanation.

           
"Cluna? But. I thought—"

           
Blais laughed. "You were
thinking 'twas Jennet I wanted? Well, aye, and so it was—yesterday. Today 'twas
Cluna." He shifted into a cross-legged position, one hand tugging gently
at Tanni's ear. "You see, Cluna wanted to sample what her rujholla had
tasted the day before. They compete in everything." He shrugged, grinning.
"I accommodated them both."

           
Kellin was bewildered. "Then
which one will you marry?"

           
"Marry!" Then Blais
laughed. "Gods, Kellin—neither. Were you thinking I would? No. I'll not go
to Solinde, and I'm doubting either of them could bear to live at Clankeep.
There is too much of Solinde in them." He smiled more warmly at his cousin.
"Were you thinking I meant to desert you?"

           
Without warning tears welled up.
Kellin was astonished and ashamed, but there was a thing he had to say. "I
have no one left," he explained unsteadily. "Only you. Urchin and
Rogan—" He bit into his lip. "There is grandsire and granddame, but
it isn't the same. 'Tisn't like true friends; they have to like me. But you , .
. well—" he swallowed heavily, spilling it all at once. "I will be
Mujhar one day, I would have need of a liege man."

           
Blais' face was still. Only his eyes
were alive in the dark mask: fierce and bright and yellow.

           
Kellin felt all of his muscles knot
up. He'll refuse me—he will say no. He wanted it so badly, and yet he knew it
was unlikely. They were years and worlds apart, and very different in nature.

           
Blais' tone was muted. "I had
not expected this."

           
Panic nearly overwhelmed. "Have
I offended you?"

           
"Offended! That the Prince of
Homana desires me to be his liege man?" Blais shook his head. "No,
there is no offense in this—only honor. And I never believed myself worthy of
such honor."

           
"But you are!" Kellin
cried. "You saved me from the bear-trap, and the Lion. Your worth is
proved. And—and there is no one else I would have."

           
Blais stared hard at Tanni, as if he
feared to give away too much if he looked at Kellin. "There has been no liege
man in Homana-Mujhar since Ian died."

           
"He would approve," Kellin
said. "He would say you are worthy."

           
Blais smiled faintly. "Then how
could I refuse?" Levity faded again. He was suddenly very solemn. "I
will serve you gladly, my lord."

           
Kellin sighed. From behind his back
he took the knife and showed it to Blais. It was gold and steel, with a rampant
lion twisted about the hilt. Its eye was a single ruby. Softly, he said,
"There is a ceremony."

           
Blais rose from the bed, knelt upon
the floor, and drew his own Cheysuli long-knife. Without hesitation he placed
the blade against the inside of his left wrist and cut into the flesh. "I
swear," he said quietly, "by this blood; by my name and honor and
lir, that I will serve as liege man to Kellin of Homana as long as he will have
me." Blood ran from the knife cut and dripped crimson on the stone floor.
"Will you have me, my lord?"

           
Wonder welled in Kellin's breast.
"I will." And then, quoting the words he had learned long ago:

           
"Y'ja'hai. Tu'jhalla dei.
Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu."

           
"Ja'hai-na," Blais
responded. Then he offered his bloodied knife to his lord and took the other in
return.

           
Kellin looked down upon the Cheysuli
weapon with its wolf-head hilt. He felt the tears well up, but he did not care.
I am not alone any more.

           
He awoke sweating near dawn,
disoriented and fearful. He felt oppressed, squashed flat by dread. —

           
Lion—

           
Kellin wanted to whimper. How could
it come to pass? Blais was in the palace. Blais was his liege man. The Lion
could not withstand a sworn Cheysuli liege man.

           
The flesh rose on his bones.
"Lion," he murmured. And then, searching for strength,
"Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu."

           
But the sense of dread increased.

           
Kellin wanted Blais. Together they
might vanquish the beast forever. But to summon Blais meant he had to get out
of bed.

           
Kellin shuddered, biting into his
bottom lip. He smelled the tang of fear on his flesh and hated himself for it.
His scarred ankle ached, though he knew it completely healed.

           
"Cheysuli," he choked,
squeezing his eyes tightly shut. "A warrior, someday." Warriors were
brave.

           
Warriors did what required doing.

           
From beneath his pillow he took the
Cheysuli long-knife bestowed by his liege man. Stiffly, slowly, Kellin slid
down from his bed. He wore only a sleeping tunic that reached to mid-thigh;
bare toes dug into the stone floor as if he might take root. You have a liege
man. He will fend off the. Lion. He clutched the knife in both hands, then
crept out of his room into the corridor beyond-False dawn, he thought; even the
servants still slept. An ideal time for a lion to stalk the halls.

           
Kellin chewed his lips painfully,
then unclenched his teeth. With the knife as his ward, he moved slowly and
deliberately toward the door that was Blais', so far down the corridor as to be
a league away.

           
Kellin pushed open the door.
Candlelight from the corridor cressets spilled inside, illuminating the
chamber. Kellin saw tousled black hair, the gleam of a Kr-band, and the glint
of Tanni's eyes from the foot of the bed where she lay.

           
"Blais," he said.
"Blais—the Lion is come."

           
Blais sat up at once, one hand
reaching for the royal knife at his bedside. His eyes, pupils expanded in
darkness, showed a ring of purest yellow around the edges. "Kellin?"

           
"The Lion." Kellin
repeated. "Will you come? We have to kill it."

           
Blais ran a hand through his hair.
He yawned.

           
"The lion?" And then he
came fully awake. "Kellin—" But he cut it off. His expression was
masked. "Where is it?"

           
Kellin gestured with his knife.
"Out there. Walking the corridors."

           
Blais grunted and slid out of bed.
He was nude save for lir-gold, but paused long enough to slip on leggings.
Barefoot, he patted Tanni and murmured a word in the Old Tongue, Then he smiled
at Kellin. "A wolf is no match for a lion."

           
Kellin felt markedly better as Blais
followed him out into the corridor. "A sword might be better," he
said, "but I am not old enough yet. Grandsire said."

           
"Have you not begun
swordplay?"

           
"Aye, a little—but the
arms-master says it will be a long time before I have any skill. I am too
small."

           
Blais nodded. "A Homanan skill.
I am no good at it, myself, though the gods know Sean tried to teach me often
enough." He shrugged. "I have no aptitude."

           
They went on. Torchlight glinted off
the earring in Blais' hair. He looked fully awake and alert, Kellin thought in
satisfaction. This time the Lion will lose.

           
When they neared the Great Hall,
Kellin pressed himself against the wall. A shudder claimed his body from head
to toe, stilling only as Blais closed a hand over one shoulder.

           
"I am your liege man,"
Blais told him. "I am with you, my lord."

           
Kellin grinned his relief. "
'Tis inside," he said. "I can feel it." To Blais, it was not
difficult to explain; a liege man would know, would understand. "He has
come to swallow Homana."

           
The tone was excessively neutral.
"How do you know this?"

           
"The fortune-teller said
so."

           
Blais seemed briefly dubious, but
let it go. He smiled. "Then we shall have to see to it the lion swallows
nothing but my knife blade."

           
Joy and wonder bubbled up in Kellin.
This is what it is to have a liege man!

           
Blais pushed open one of the heavy
silver doors, sliding effortlessly inside. Kellin slipped through behind him.
"Here?" Blais whispered.

           
"Somewhere .. ." Kellin
moved forward slowly, wishing he might have the courage to use the knife he
clutched.

           
Blais stepped out into the center of
the long hall and strode the length of the firepit. Coals glowed from its
depths beneath an ashen cloak.

           
The alcove curtain near the massive
throne billowed in the darkness. A single coal fell out of the pit and crumbled
into ash. "There!" Kellin gasped.

           
Blais reacted instantly, running
silently toward the alcove. He caught the curtain and tore it aside, knife
glinting.

           
"Is it there?" Kellin
cried. "Blais?"

           
Blais went rigid, then reeled back
from the alcove. Kellin heard the slap of bare torso against the wall. The
knife fell from a slack hand. "Tanni!"

           
Blais cried. "Tanni—"

           
Kellin ran. By the time he reached
Blais, his kinsman was slumped against wall and floor, body trembling
convulsively. Yellow eyes were wide and crazed, turned inside out. Sweat filmed
his face.