The Shapechangers (16 page)

Duncan was missing when she found the place. Alix moved into the pool of faint torchlight and stared vaguely at the cobbles, seeing two bodies. One man lay on his back with a deep knife wound in his abdomen. The other, clawing hands clasped to his face in death, had had his forehead rent by talons. He bled freely from a wound in his throat.

The third man was nowhere. Alix wobbled unsteadily and put both hands over her mouth to force back the sour bile rushing into her throat.

A lantern flared in a door across from her as it opened. Alix squinted against it, trapped in the spilling illumination. An old man peered out, one hand grasping the collar of a growling dog. He lifted the lantern to shed more light into the street and Alix instinctively shrank from it, pressing herself against the wall.

But he saw her. His dark eyes widened, then narrowed as he stared at the slain men. His voice came harsh as he looked back at her.

“Witch!
Shapechanger
witch!”

Alix put a trembling hand to her face, realizing how deeply she bore her father’s stamp. In the darkness, illuminated by the lantern light, she was branded by the Mujhar’s hatred.

“No,” she said clearly.

His hand loosened on the dog’s collar. Alix, fearing he would set the animal on her, gathered up her skirts and fled.

She ran until her lungs screamed their protest and her legs faltered. Breathlessly she fell against a stone well set in the intersection of cobbled streets. She clutched at the cross-beams of the well and held herself upright, gasping from knifing pain in her chest and sides.

When some of the breath-demand had gone she cranked up the bucket. The cool water was sweet on her raw throat, trickling down to soothe her heaving stomach. It splashed over the rim and stained the velvet of her fine garments, but she did not care.

“Could you spare some water for a thirsty horse, my lady?” asked a quiet voice.

Alix jerked upright, dropping the bucket down the well. Her hands clenched spasmodically in her skirts as she stared at the man.

He moved softly, silently, forsaking the shadows like a wraith.
She saw a dark cloak falling to his booted feet. An oddly twisted silver brooch pinned it to his left shoulder, but he had pulled the folds back from a silver sword hilt at his hips. Somehow, though he moved in darkness, he brought the light with him.

His face was smooth, serene. Strength of a sort she had never seen shone from the fine features, and his smile was gently beguiling. His hair and beard were inky dark, carefully trimmed, and flecked with silver. His eyes, black as the horse who followed him, were soothing and sweet.

“Do not fear me, my lady. I seek only water for my horse.” He smiled gently. “Not some light woman for the evening.”

Alix, even bruised and weary, felt the insult keenly. She drew herself up and glared at him, disdaining to answer. But as her eyes met his the defiance slid away, leaving her powerless before him.

She gestured weakly. “The well is yours, my lord.”

He cranked up the bucket and held it steady in gloved hands, letting the horse take its fill. He watched her in a manner almost paternal.

“You have seen trouble this night, lady,” he said quietly. “Are you harmed?”

“No. I am well enough.”

“Do not seek to hide the truth from me. I have only to look at your eyes.”

She swallowed, aware of her loose hair and stained clothing. “We were set upon by thieves, my lord.”

“You are alone now.”

“The man I rode with stayed to fight the thieves. My horse was frightened, and ran. In order to stop him I was forced to put him down on the stones.” She shrugged slightly, dismissing the remembered fright. “So now I walk.”

“What of your escort?”

Alix looked away from him. “I cannot say, my lord. Perhaps he is slain.” The vision rose before her eyes, showing her Duncan twisted on the cobbles, slain. She shuddered and felt the horrible anguish in her soul.

“With such words you place yourself in my hands,” he said gently.

A chill of apprehension slid through her, but she was aching and weary, too dazed to care. “If it be so, my lord, what will you do with me?”

He sent the bucket back to the depths of the well and caressed the horse’s silky jaw. “Help you, lady. I will give you my aid.” His beguiling smile soothed her. “Come into the light and look upon me. If I truly seem treacherous, you have only to leave me.
I will not gainsay you. But if you find me honest in my intentions, you are welcome to come with me.”

Slowly Alix answered his summons, moving into the torchlight. His appearance was calm, gentle-seeming, and his affection for the horse indicated goodwill. She met his eyes for a long moment, searching for an answer there.

At last she sighed. “I am so wearied from this day and night I care little what your intentions may be. Where do you go, my lord?”

“Where you wish, lady. I serve you.”

Alix looked into his smooth face, seeking an indication of his true intent, but she saw only serenity. He was richly clad, though not ostentatious, and his manner was that of some high lord.

“Do you serve the Mujhar?” she asked, suddenly apprehensive.

He smiled, white teeth gleaming. “No, lady, I do not. I serve the gods.”

It relieved her past measure. Silently Alix took the gems from her ears and held them out.

But he would not take them. “I have no need of your jewels, lady. What I do for you requires no payment.” He gestured smoothly. “Where do you go, lady? I will take you there.”

“A croft,” she said quietly. “In the valley. It is perhaps ten leagues from here.”

His eyes glinted in gentle humor. “You do not have the appearance of a croft-girl, lady. I see more in you than that.”

Her hand gripped the garnet earrings. “Do you seek to humble me, my lord? There is no need. I know my place.”

He moved closer. The light seemed to follow him. His eyes were soft, sweet, like his voice, and deep as the well from which they drank.

“Do you?” he asked softly. “Do you truly know your place?”

Alix frowned at him, baffled by his manner, and lost herself in the dominance of his black eyes.

He lifted his right hand. For a moment she thought he would make the Cheysuli gesture of
tahlmorra
, but he did not. Instead a hissing line of purple light streaked out of the darkness and pooled in his hand, throwing a violet glare over her face and his.

“So you have learned your legacy,” he said quietly. “After all this time. I had thought Lindir’s child lost, and of no more account.”

Alix gasped.

The flame leaped in his hand. “You hold more of the prophecy within you than any I have yet seen. And I have watched for years…waiting.”

Her voice hurt. “What do you say?”

Black eyes narrowed and held dominion over her. “Can it be you do not fully understand? Have the Cheysuli not yet bound you to their
tahlmorra?
”

“Who are you?”

He smiled. “I have many names. Most are used by petty men who fear me. Others are revered, as they should be.”

Alix shivered. “What manner of man are you?”

“One who serves the gods.”

She wanted to leave him but the power in his fathomless black eyes held her. Purple light glowed in his palm.

“What do you want of me?”

“Nothing,” he said calmly, “if you remain unknowing. It is only if you recognize the
tahlmorra
within yourself that I will be forced to gainsay you. In any way I can.”

Her palm burned where the earrings bit into her flesh. “You are not Cheysuli.”

“No.”

“Yet you speak of their
tahlmorra
, and the prophecy. What is it to you?”

“My bane,” he said softly. “The end of me, should it be fulfilled. And the Cheysuli know it.”

Cold knowledge crept within her mind. Consciously she forced her body to relax, then lifted her head. “I know you. I
know
you.” She took another breath.
“Ihlini.”

“Aye,” he said softly.

“Tynstar…”

His eyes smiled. “Aye.”

“What do you do here?” she whispered.

“That is for me to know. But I will tell you this—already Bellam breaks Shaine’s borders and invades. Homana will fall, lady…soon. It will be mine.” He smiled. “As it was ever meant.”

“Shaine will never allow it.”

“Shaine is a fool. He was a fool when he sent the Cheysuli from their homeland and sentenced them to death. Without them, he cannot win. When he does not, the prophecy will fail. And I will be lord of this land.”

“By your unnatural arts!” Alix cried.

The sorcerer laughed softly. “You are party to your own unnatural arts, lady…you have only to learn them. But until you do, you remain insignificant, and of no account to me.” He shrugged. “So I will let you live.”

“Let me live…” she echoed.

“For now,” Tynstar agreed lightly.

A winged shadow passed over them, blotting the violet glow a
moment. Tynstar glanced up and watched the shadow, then looked at Alix.

“You summon the
lir
, lady, even though you do not know it. Perhaps you are not the naïve child you would have me believe.”

Cai!
she cried silently, staring up at the hawk.

Tynstar’s hand was on his horse. The other still held hissing purple flame. He smiled at her across its glow and sketched a twisted rune in the air. Its path glowed against the darkness a moment, then flared into a column of cold fire. When it had gone, so had he.

“Alix.”

She spun and stared at Duncan. He stood silently with his horse at his back, left arm streaked with blood. A bruise darkened his cheekbone and he bore a shallow slice across his forehead, but he seemed whole.

Alix looked at him. The defiance she had struck him with earlier had faded. Her words then, angry and frightened, had no more meaning. Something whispered in her soul, tapping at her mind, and she began to understand it.

“The horse ran away,” she said unsteadily.

His eyes were fixed on her. “I found him. He is lamed, but will recover.”

“I am glad he was not badly hurt.” She knew the words they said held no meaning. Their communication lay on another level.

“Will you suffer to ride with me?” he asked. “I cannot waste more time seeking another horse. The clan has need of me.”

Alix walked slowly toward him, eyes dwelling on every visible wound and bruise. A strange trembling weakness crept into her limbs as his yellow gaze remained on her in a calm, deliberate perusal. The hawk-earring glittered in the strands of his black hair.

She halted before him. “It was Tynstar.”

“I saw him.”

She put out a hesitant hand and gently touched the drying blood on his arm. “Duncan, I did not mean to hurt you.”

He flinched at her soft touch but she realized it was not from pain. Something told her this man was hers to hold, to keep, and the enormity of it stunned her.

“Duncan…” She swallowed heavily and met his blazing eyes, “Duncan, please hold me so I know I am real.”

He whispered something in the Old Tongue and took her into his arms.

Alix, hair spilling down her back, melted against his firm warrior’s body until she was boneless. The strange weakness was new to her, but she welcomed it.

Duncan sank a hand deep in her hair and jerked her head back. “Do you deny it? Do you deny the
tahlmorra
in our blood?”

She did not answer. She caught her hands in the thick hair curling at his neck and dragged his mouth down on hers.

Duncan found them a cave in the hills beyond Mujhara and spread furred pelts over the stone floor. Alix sat on one, pulling his red blanket around her shoulders, and watched him build a small fire. When it was done he took the small grouse he had caught, spitted it, and set it over the fire.

“Does your arm hurt?” she asked.

He flexed the scabbing forearm. “No. The men were not skilled with their weapons.”

“Finn has said you can heal. Will you not do it?”

“Not for myself, or for so trivial a wound. The healing arts are used only in great need, and usually only on others.”

“Finn healed Carillon’s wrist.”

“Because Carillon required convincing we were not the demons he believed.”

She shifted, easing a sore hip. Her entire body ached with the fall from the horse. “What did you mean when you spoke to Carillon as we left? It sounded as if you spoke from certain knowledge.”

He tended the sizzling grouse and sipped at a cup of honey brew. “I spoke from the knowledge of the prophecy. Carillon is not named in it—no man is—but I think he is the one.”

“Speak plainly with me.”

Duncan smiled crookedly at her. “I cannot. You have no knowledge of the prophecy. That will be given to you by the
shar tahl
, and then you will know.”

“Why must you shroud your words in so much darkness? You would have me think it is some sorcery you seek to do.”

“It is no sorcery to serve the gods.”

“As does Tynstar?”

He stiffened. “Tynstar serves the dark gods of the netherworld. He is evil. He seeks only to end the prophecy before its time is come.”

“So he said.” Alix sighed and rubbed at her brow. “Where did you go when my horse ran?”

“First I slew two of the thieves. The third ran. I went to find you.”

“Why did you not simply send Cai? Or seek
lir
-shape?”

“I could not take
lir
-shape. I sensed the presence of an Ihlini, though I did not know who. As for Cai…him I sent to Homana-Mujhar.”

“Homana-Mujhar!”

“I thought you had returned to Carillon.”

She stared at him, astonished, then felt a strange bubble of laughter welling within. “You will have me think you are jealous of him.”

He scowled. “I am not jealous.”

Alix smiled in wonder, then laughed outright. “So, I am to think the Cheysuli are not capable of such a Homanan emotion? Yet your brother—who is also mine—seems well able to display it.”

“Finn is young.”

“And you not much older.”

Color came into his face. “I left my youth behind the day my first Keep was invaded by the Mujhar’s men. It was only the will of the gods I was not slain, as so many others were.”