Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 (37 page)

           
Reflex, she told him. A cat, to
protect himself, strikes first. You struck to protect me.

           
"Teague," Kellin mouthed.

           
Even the comfort of the lir-link was
not enough.

           
He had killed a man who was not an
Ihlini, not a thief, not an enemy.

           
I have killed a friend.

           
Kellin sank down- to the ground and
pressed his face against it, unmindful of bloodied leaves.

           
I have killed a friend.

           
He recalled Teague's presence in the
Midden tavern where Luce held sovereignty, and how the Homanan had aided him.
How Teague had, of them all, not looked upon him as a beast the night he had
nearly killed Luce because Teague had a better understanding of what lived in
his lord's mind,

           
I swore to have no friends because I
lost them all—because they all died .. . and now when I let one come close
again after so much time, I kill him MYSELF—

           
He wound rigid hands into his hair
and knotted them there, then permitted himself to shout as a man might shout to
declare his grief and torment.

           
But the sound, to Kellin, was naught
but a beast's wail.

           
It was demonstrably obvious, when
Kellin reached Homana-Mujhar, that Ennis and the others had carried word before
him. The horse-boy who took his mount did so with eyes averted and led the
horse away quickly, not even waiting for his customary coin- Off-duty men
gathered before the guardhouse in the bailey fell silent as Kellin walked by
them, breaking off conversation to stare from the corners of their eyes- They
measured him, he knew; they looked for the proof in his face, in his clothing,
in the expression in his eyes-What do they see?

           
He had washed the blood from face
and hands, and scrubbed at his jerkin? He believed no blood-stains remained, but
possibly none were required; he wore guilt in his posture despite his desire
not to.

           
Sima padded beside him. They watched
her, too, marking her apparent health. She did not limp or show any indication
an arrow had but hours before driven her toward death. It was a natural
healing, but to the Homanans, who had little knowledge of such things, it
seemed to suggest that Kellin's reaction was one of whim not of need; as if he
had killed Teague because the idea had occurred, and because he could.

           
Kellin paused inside the palace to
inquire as to the Mujhar's whereabouts, and was told to go at once to the Great
Hall. Inwardly, Kellin's spirit quailed. Not in privacy? Or is it that he will
discuss it with me as Mujhar, not grandsire, nor even Cheysuli warrior?

           
Sima bumped his leg. I am with you.

           
No. Kellin paused. This is for me to
face alone.

           
Go up to my chambers and wait.

           
She hesitated, then turned and
padded away.

           
Kellin brushed haphazardly at the
perspiration stippling his upper lip, then went on toward the Great Hall,
Foreboding weighted his spirit until he twitched with it, desiring to scratch
at stinging flesh.

           
Brennan was on the throne. The
Lion's head reared above the Mujhar in a display of wooden glory. Aged eyes
stared blindly; Kellin was grateful the Lion could not see what had become of a
prince who would one day inherit it.

           
It was nearing sundown. Light
slanting through stained glass formed lattices on the stone floor, so that
Kellin walked through sharp-etched pools of pure color. In spring, the firepit
was unlighted.

           
Kellin walked its length steadily,
though more slowly than was his wont; he would not shirk the confrontation but
did not desire to hasten it. What would come, would come; no need to accelerate
it.

           
He reached the dais all too soon.
And then he saw Aileen standing at Brennan's right side with one hand on the
Lion. It is serious— Kellin clamped closed his teeth, feeling again the
emptiness in his jaw where Luce had broken a tooth.

           
Healing had sealed it closed, but the
tooth was banished forever.

           
His grandsire looked old. The years
had been kind to him for a long time, but now the kindness was banished. The
healing four weeks before had left its mark, and the knowledge Ennis had
brought. Dark skin no longer was as supple and taut, permitting brackets to
form at nose and mouth, and webwork patches beside his eyes. The Mujhar’s hands
rested lightly over the curving, clawed armrests, but the knuckles were
distended.

           
Kellin halted before the dais.
Briefly he inclined his head to Aileen, then offered homage to the Mujhar. He
waited in tense silence, wishing Sima stood beside him; knowing it as weakness.
It was time he acknowledged it.

           
Brennan's eyes did not waver. His
voice was steady. "When a king has but a single heir, and no hope of any
others, he often overlooks such things as the hot blood of youth, and the
trouble a boy can rouse. Gold soothes injured pride and mends broken taverns.
It will even, occasionally, placate an angry jehan whose daughter has been taken
with child. But it does not buy back a life. Even a king dares not overlook
that."

           
Kellin wet dry lips. "I do not
ask you to overlook it. Merely understand it."

           
"I have been told by Ennis and
the others that they heard Teague cry out; that he knew he had made a
mistake."

           
"My lord, he did."

           
"And yet you used the power of
lir-shape to kill him anyway."

           
It would have been better, Kellin
decided, if the Mujhar had shouted at him, because then he could rely upon
anger. But Brennan did not; he merely made quiet statements in a grave and
habitual dignity that Kellin knew very well he could never emulate.

           
He inhaled a trembling breath.
"My lord, I am moved to remind you of what you already know: that a
warrior in lir-shape encounters all of the pain his lir does.
It—affects—him."

           
"I do know it," Brennan
agreed. "But a warrior in lir-shape is yet a man, and understands that a
Homanan who acknowledges his mistake is not to be murdered."

           
Behind his back, Kellin balled his
hands into fists. It would undermine his appeal if he shouted; and besides, he
was guilty. "Sima was wounded. She was dying. All I could think about was
that he had shot her, that she was badly hurt, and that if she died, I died
also." The words were hard to force past a tight throat. "He was my
friend, my lord. I never meant to kill him."

           
"You did. In that moment, you
did indeed intend to kill him." Brennan's hands closed more tightly over
the armrest. "Do you think I cannot see it? I am Cheysuli also."

           
Grief and anguish commingled to
overwhelm.

           
"Then why confront me like
this?" Kellin cried. "By the gods, grandsire—"

           
But Brennan's sharp gesture cut
Kellin's protest off. "Enough. There are other things to concern ourselves
with than whether I understand what led to the attack."

           
"What other things?"
Kellin demanded. "You yourself have said we cannot buy back Teague's life,
but I will do whatever I must to atone for my mistake."

           
Brennan leaned forward. "Do you
hear what you are saying? You speak of Teague's death as a mistake, an
unfortunate circumstance you could not avoid."

           
"It was!"

           
"Yet when Teague makes a
mistake, you respond by killing him." Brennan's face was taut. "Tell
me where the difference lies. Why is one mistake excused—because you are a
prince?—while one results in murder?"

           
"I—" Kellin swallowed
heavily. "I could not help myself."

           
"In lir-shape."

           
"Aye." He understood now
what Brennan meant him to see. "I felt her pain, her fear—"

           
"And your own,"

           
"And my own." Kellin's
face warped briefly. "I feared for her, grandsire—I had not had her very
long, yet I could not imagine what it would be like to lose her. The grief, the
anguish—" He looked at Brennan. "I thought I might go mad."

           
"Had she died, you would
have." The Mujhar sank back into the Lion. "It is the price we pay.
All your arguments against the death-ritual now mean nothing."

           
Kellin stared hard at the stone
beneath his boots. "Aye."

           
"Through the link, her pain was
yours .. . and you feared she would die. Knowing what it would cost."

           
"My life," Kellin
murmured.

           
"So you took his, even though
you might have turned to Sima at once and begun the healing that would have
saved two lives: hers, and Teague's."

           
His mouth was stiff, awkward.
"I could not help myself."

           
"No," Brennan agreed in
abject weariness, "you never have been able to. And that is why you are
here before us now: to decide what must be done."

           
He looked up sharply. "What
must be done?" he echoed. "But—what is there to do? There are rituals
for Teague, and his family to tend, and i'toshoa-ni for me—"

           
"Kellin." Brennan's voice
was steady. He glanced briefly at Aileen, whose expression was so taut as to
break, then firmed his mouth and looked back at his grandson. "Tell me why
the qu'mahlin came about."

           
It was preposterous. Kellin nearly
gaped. "Now?"

           
"Now."

           
"You desire a history
lesson?"

           
"I desire you to do whatever I
require of you."

           
"Aye." It was blurted
before Kellin thought about it. Frowning his perplexity, he began the lesson.
"A Homanan princess ran away with a Cheysuli. Lindir, Shaine's
daughter—she went away with Hale, Shaine's liege man." In the face of
Brennan's expectant patience, Kellin groped for more. "She was meant to
wed Ellic of Solinde, to seal an alliance between Homana and Solinde, but she ran
away instead with Hale." He paused. "That is what I was taught,
grandsire. Is there more you want?"

           
"Those are the political
concerns, Kellin. What the elopement did as regards Homana and Solinde was to
destroy any opportunity for peace to flourish; the two realms remained at war.
But that would not cause the birth of the qu'mahlin, which was a strictly
Homanan-Cheysuli conflict."

           
"Shaine's pride was such that
he declared them attainted, subject to punishment."

           
"That is pan of it, Kellin. But
think a moment- consider something more." Brennan's fingers tightened
against aged wood. "It is one thing for a king to declare his daughter and
his liege man attainted; he has the right to ask for their lives if he chooses
to. It is quite another for that king to declare an entire race attainted, and
set all of Homana against it."

           
Kellin waited for more. Nothing more
was said.

           
"Aye," he agreed at last.
"But Shaine was a madman.”

           
"Even a madman cannot lead his
people into civil war if they do not believe what he has said. What did he say,
Kellin?"

           
He knew it very well; Rogan had been
at some pains to instruct him, and the Cheysuli at Clankeep as well. "He
said we were demons and sorcerers and had to be destroyed."

           
"Why were we demons and
sorcerers? What was his foremost proof?"

           
"That we could assume the shape
of animals at will—" Kellin broke it off. He stared blindly at his
grandsire. "That we could assume beast-shape and kill all the
Homanans." He felt ill. "As—I killed Teague."

           
"As you killed Teague."
Brennan sighed deeply. "In the days of Shaine, the Homanans believed
themselves in danger. It was far easier to kill all the Cheysuli than risk
their sovereignty. And so they tried. Shaine began it, and others carried it
out. It took many years, including Ihlini and Solindish domination, before the
Cheysuli were admitted again to Homana without fear of extermination."

           
"Carillon," Kellin
murmured. "He ended the qu'mahlin."

           
"And made a Cheysuli Prince of
Homana when he sired no sons of his own." A silver forelock had frosted to
white. "Before the Lion came into the hands of Homanans, it was a Cheysuli
legacy. The
kingdom
of
Homana
was a Cheysuli realm. But we gave it up
rather than have the Homanans fear us, knowing that someday it would fall again
to us, and to the Firstborn who would bind four realms and two magical races in
a true peace." Brennan drew in a breath. "How can the Homanans permit
a man to rule them who cannot control himself when he assumes lir-shape? He is,
to them, nightmare; a beast without self-control. And I am not so certain, just
at this moment, the Homanans are wrong."

           
It shocked. "Grandsire—"

           
"I know what it is to share
pain through the link. I know what it is to be driven half-mad by fear—you have
heard stories, I know, of how I am in small places—but I do not kill."