The Shapechangers (2 page)

Carillon’s hand idly smoothed the hilt of the sword at his belt,
caressing the glowing cabochon ruby set in gold. He was silent, thoughtful, not the blustering or coldly arrogant prince she anticipated.

Finally he sighed. “Girl, for all your father had my uncle’s ear, he was not privy to all things. He could not know everything about the beginnings of the war. Nor, for that matter, can I. I am but newly made heir, and Shaine treats me as little more than a child. If you will listen, I will tell you what I know of the matter.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but a third voice broke into their conversation.

“No, princeling. Let someone who has experienced Shaine’s purge tell her what
he
knows of the matter.”

Alix jerked around and saw the man at the edges of the forest; leather-clad in jerkin and leggings, black-haired and dark-skinned. For a moment she stared speechlessly at him, astonished, then her eyes widened as she saw the heavy gold bands on his bare arms and the gray wolf at his side.

“Carillon!” she cried, backing away from the man. She heard the hissing of Carillon’s sword as he drew it from its sheath, but saw only the streaking gray form of the wolf as it hurtled silently across the space between them. The animal’s jaws closed on Carillon’s wrist.

Alix turned to run but the stranger caught her easily. Hands grasped her shoulders and spun her; she stared wide-eyed into a laughing face with yellow eyes.

Beast-eyes!
she cried silently.

“Come now,
meijha
, do not struggle so,” her captor said, grinning. A gold ornament gleamed in his left ear, flashing against black hair and bronzed skin. Alix was conscious of his soft sleeveless leather jerkin and bare arms as he held her against him. “You championed my race but a moment ago,
meijha.
Surely you do not lose your principles so quickly.”

She froze in his hands, staring into his angular, high-planed face. “You are
Cheysuli!
”

“Aye,” he agreed. “Finn. When I heard you defending my race to the heir of the man who nearly destroyed us, I could not bear to let the princeling force your beliefs against us. Too many will not hear the truth.” He grinned at her. “I will tell you what truly happened,
meijha
, and why Shaine has called us accursed and outlawed.”

“Shapechanger!
Demon!
” Carillon called furiously.

Alix twisted so she could see him, afraid he had been badly injured, but she saw only an angry young man on the ground, hitched up on one elbow as he cradled his wrist against his chest.
The wolf, a big silver male, sat at his side. There was no question in Alix’s mind the animal stood guard.

The Cheysuli’s hands tightened on Alix and she winced. “I am no demon, princeling. Only a man, like yourself, though admittedly the gods like us better. If you would have us called demon-spawn and consign us to the netherworld, you had best look to the Mujhar first. He cried
qu’mahlin
on us, not the other way.” The contempt in his voice sent a shiver through Alix. “And you make me think you wish to be his heir, princeling, in all things.”

Color raced through Carillon’s face and he moved as if to rise. The wolf tautened silently, amber eyes slitting, and after a moment the prince remained where he was. Alix saw pain and frustration in his face.

“Let me go to him,” she said.

“To the princeling?” The Cheysuli laughed. “Are you his
meijha
, then? Well, and I had thought to make you mine.”

She stiffened. “I am no man’s light woman, if that is what your barbaric word means.”

“It is the Old Tongue,
meijha
; a gift of the old gods. Once it was the only tongue in this land.” His breath warmed her ear. “I will teach it to you.”

“Let me go!”

“I have only just got you, I do not intend to let you go so quickly.”

“Release her,” Carillon ordered flatly.

Finn laughed joyously. “The princeling orders
me!
But now the Cheysuli no longer recognize the Mujhar’s laws, my young lord, or his wishes. Shaine effectively severed our hereditary obedience to the Mujhar and his blood when he declared
qu’mahlin
on our race.” The laughter died. “Perhaps we can return the favor, now we have his heir at hand.”

“You have me, then,” Carillon growled. “Release Alix.”

The Cheysuli laughed again. “But it was the woman I came for, princeling. I have only got you in the bargain. And I do not intend to lose either of you.” His hand slid across Alix’s breast idly. “You both will be guests in a Cheysuli raiding camp this night.”

“My father…” Alix whispered.

“Your father will come looking for you,
meijha
, and when he does not find you he will assume the beasts of the forest got you.”

“And he will have the right of it!” she snapped.

His hand cupped her jaw and lifted it. “Already you join your princeling in cursing us.”

“Aye!” she agreed. “When you behave like a beast there is little else I can do!”

The hand tightened until it nearly crushed her jaw. “Who is to blame for that,
meijha
?” He turned her head until she was forced to look at Carillon. “You see before you the heir to the man who drove us from our homeland, making outlaws of warriors, denying us our rights. Is not Shaine the Mujhar a maker of beasts, then, if you would call us that?”

“He is your liege lord!” Carillon hissed through gritted teeth.

“No,” Finn said coldly. “He is not. Shaine of Homana is my persecutor, not my liege lord.”

“He persecutes with reason!”

“
What
reason?”

Carillon’s eyes narrowed. “A Cheysuli warrior—liege man to my uncle the Mujhar—stole away a king’s daughter.” He smiled coldly, as angry as the Cheysuli. “That practice, it seems, is still alive among your race. Even now you steal another.”

Finn matched Carillon’s smile. “Perhaps, princeling, but she is not a king’s daughter. Only her father will miss her, and her mother, and that will pass in time.”

“My mother is dead,” Alix said, then regretted speaking at all. She took a careful breath. “If I go with you, willingly, will you free Carillon?”

Finn laughed softly. “No,
meijha
, I will not. He is the weapon the Cheysuli have needed these twenty-five years of the
qu’mahlin
, for all he was born after it began. We will use him.”

Alix’s eyes met Carillon’s, and they realized the futility of their arguments. Neither spoke.

“Come,” said Finn. “I have men and horses waiting in the forest. It is time we left this place.”

Carillon got carefully to his feet, cradling the injured wrist. He stood stiffly, taller than the black-haired warrior, but somehow diminished before the fierce pride of the man.

“Your sword, princeling,” Finn said quietly. “Take up your sword and return it to its sheath.”

“I would sooner sheathe it in your flesh.”

“Aye,” Finn agreed. “If you did not, you would not be much of a man.” Alix felt an odd tension in his body. “Take up the sword, Carillon of Homana. It is yours, for all that.”

Carillon, warily eyeing the wolf, bent and retrieved the blade. The ruby glinted as he slid the sword home awkwardly with his left hand.

Finn stared at the weapon and smiled oddly. “Hale’s blade.”

Carillon scowled at him. “My uncle gifted me with this sword last year. It was his before that. What do you say?”

When the Cheysuli did not answer immediately Alix looked sharply at him. She was startled to find bleakness in his yellow beast-eyes.

“Long before it was a Mujhar’s blade it was a Cheysuli’s. Hale made that sword, princeling, and gifted it to his liege lord, the man he had sworn a blood-oath of service to.” He sighed. “And the prophecy of the Firstborn says it will one day be back in the hands of a
Cheysuli
Mujhar.”

“You lie!”

Finn grinned mockingly. “
I
may lie, on occasion, but the prophecy does not. Come, my lord, allow my
lir
to escort you to your horse. Come.”

Carillon, aware of the wolf’s silent menace, went. Alix had no choice but to follow.

Three other Cheysuli, Alix saw apprehensively, waited silently in the forest. Carillon’s warhorse was with them. She cast a quick glance at the prince, judging his reaction, and saw his face was pale, jaw set so tightly she feared it might break. He seemed singularly dedicated to keeping himself apart from the Cheysuli even though he was in their midst.

Finn said something in a lyrical tongue she did not recognize and one of the warriors came forward with a strange horse for Carillon. He was being refused his own, and quick color rising in his face confirmed the insult.

“We know the reputation of Homanan warhorses,” Finn said briefly. “You will not be given a chance to flee us so easily. Take this one, for now.”

Silently Carillon accepted the reins and with careful effort was able to mount. Finn stared up at him from the ground, then moved to the prince and without a word tore a long strip of wool from Carillon’s green cloak. He tossed it at him.

“Bind your wound, princeling. I will not lose you to death so easily.”

Carillon took up the strip and did as told. He smiled grimly down at the yellow-eyed warrior. “When I am given the time, shapechanger, I will see the color of
your
blood.”

Finn laughed and turned away. He grinned at Alix. “Well,
meijha
, we lack a horse for you. But mine will serve. I will enjoy the feel of you against me.”

Alix, both furious and frightened, only glared at him. His dark face twisted in an ironic smile and he took the reins of his own horse from another warrior. He gestured toward the odd gear on the animal’s back. It did not quite resemble a Homanan saddle, with its large saddletree and cantle designed to hold in a fighting man, but served an identical purpose. Alix hesitated, then placed her bare foot in the leather stirrup and hoisted herself into the saddle. Before she could say anything to prevent him, Finn vaulted onto the horse’s rump behind her. She felt his arms come around her waist to take up the reins.

“You see,
meijha
? You can hardly avoid me.”

She did her best. The ride was long and she was wearied from riding stiffly upright before him when at last Finn halted the horse. She stared in surprise at the encampment before her, for it was well hidden in the thick, shadowed forests.

Woven tents of greens, browns, grays and slates huddled in the twilight, nearly indistinguishable from the trees and underbrush of the forest and the tumbled piles of mountain boulders. Small fires glowed flickeringly across the narrow clearing.

Alix straightened as Finn reined in the horse. She turned quickly to search for Carillon, lost among the black-haired, yellow-eyed Cheysuli warriors, but Finn prevented her. His left arm came around her waist snugly, possessive as he leaned forward, pressing against her rigid back.

“Your princeling will recover,
meijha.
He is in some pain now, but it will pass.” His voice dropped to a provocative whisper. “Or I will
make
it.”

She ignored him, sensing a slow, defiant—and somehow frightening—rage building within her. “Why did you set your wolf on him?”

“He drew Hale’s sword,
meijha.
Doubtless he knows how to use it, even against a Cheysuli.” He laughed softly. “Perhaps
especially
against a Cheysuli. But we are too few as it is. My death would not serve.”

“You set a
beast
on him!”

“Storr is no beast. He is my
lir.
And he only did it to keep Carillon from getting himself slain, for I would have taken his life to keep my own.”

She glanced at the wolf waiting so silently and patiently by the horse. “Your—
lir
? What do you say?”

“That wolf is my
lir.
It is a Cheysuli thing, which you could not possibly understand. There is no Homanan word for our
bond.” He shrugged against her. “Storr is a part of me, and I him.”

“Shapechanger…” she whispered involuntarily.

“Cheysuli,” he whispered back.

“Is any wolf this—
lir
?”

“No. I am bonded with Storr only, and he was chosen by the old gods to be my
lir.
They are born knowing it. Each warrior has only one, but it can be any creature.” He picked a leaf from Alix’s hair, even as she stiffened. “It is too new for you to understand,
meijha.
Do not try.”

She felt him slide from behind and a moment later he pulled her from the horse. Alix stifled a blurt of surprise and felt each sinew tighten as his hand crept around her neck.

“You may release me,” she said quickly. “I can hardly run from a wolf.”

His hand slid from her. She felt her braid lifted from her neck and his lips upon her nape. “Then you are learning already,
meijha.
”

Before she could protest he turned her face to his and bent her head back as his mouth came down on hers. Alix struggled against him with no effect except to feel herself held more securely. He was far too strong for her, stronger than she had ever imagined a man could be.

You should not, lir
, said a quiet voice in Alix’s mind.

She stiffened in fear, wondering how Finn spoke without saying anything. Then she was pushed from him unexpectedly as he moved back a single step. She saw he had not spoken, silently or aloud, but whatever had formed the words had greatly upset him. His eyes, watching her warily, were slitted. Slowly he looked at the wolf.

“Storr…” he said softly, in amazement.

You should not
, said the tone again.

Finn swung back to her, suddenly angry. “Who are you?”

“What?”

His hand clasped her braid and tugged sharply, jerking at her scalp. “What manner of woman are you, to draw
Storr’s
concern?”

The wolf?
she wondered blankly.

Finn peered closely at her, fingers painfully closing on her jaw until she had no choice but to look directly into his shadowed face. The wolf-shaped gold earring gleamed.