The Shapechangers (26 page)

Alix smiled faintly, relieved to hear the brotherly banter. Finn,
standing over his elder like an avenging demon with a newly won soul, grinned and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You will simply have to find out,
rujho.
It may be
I
am better suited, even, than you.”

Duncan scowled blackly at him a moment, then closed his eyes and sank against the ground. Alix watched him fade into sleep as she knelt beside him. She gripped his war bow in her hands.

“He will be well?” she asked softly.

“He is full of Cai’s pain,” Finn told her. “When a
lir
is injured, the Cheysuli feels all of it in the first moments. It will pass.” He sighed. “He only needs rest.”

“And Cai,” she said softly.

Finn’s face tightened. “Aye. And Cai.”

Duncan recovered rapidly, though his attention seemed elsewhere most of the time, seeking Cai. Alix remonstrated with him to rest longer than a single night, but Duncan declared himself fit enough and ready to go on to Mujhara. Finn, after grumbling about his brother’s foolishness, gave in and agreed. So Alix climbed aboard the horse once again and hung onto Duncan more firmly than usual, making certain he was well.

They were two days out of the city when Cai appeared in the sky, winging slowly toward them. She felt Duncan’s instant tension and smoothed a hand across his back, as if to quiet a fretful child. Duncan halted the horse and waited.

Lir, the bird sent, sounding pleased,
I was not certain how far you rode from me.

Alix smiled in relief at the hawk’s healthy tone. But Duncan sat stiffly on his horse. He reached out his left arm and let the hawk alight. Talons closed, gripping tightly, and Alix saw a trickle of blood thread its way across the vulnerable flesh. Duncan seemed not to notice.

The bird settled himself.
I am sorry
, lir,
that I troubled you. I am better now.

Finn guided his horse to Duncan’s and waited mutely, watching Duncan’s face. Alix realized once more how special her gift was. The others must wait for Duncan to pass on Cai’s speech, but she could hear the hawk’s warm tone easily.

Duncan draped the reins over the pommel and put his free hand to Cai’s head, stroking the shining feathers gently.

“I would not lose you,” he murmured.

Nor I, you.
The bird’s eyes sharpened.
I bring news
, lir.
The war goes badly for Homana. The Mujhar’s armies are near destroyed, scattered by the Solindish troops. What men did not
flee were taken by Keough of Atvia, who rules the field. It was Atvian archers who loosed arrows at me for sport, and nearly brought me down. But the wing was hardly touched, and I am strong again.
Cai lifted from Duncan’s arm and circled the forest clearing. Then he perched himself on a low branch.
You see?

Relief loosened the constraints of Duncan’s muscles. Alix felt him relax for the first time since Cai had been injured. But she also felt his concern for the army’s welfare as Cai continued.

It is bad
, lir.
Of the thousands Shaine sent, only hundreds remain alive. Most are captives of the Atvian lord. Like Carillon.

Alix stiffened so quickly her fingers dug into Duncan’s back. “What of Carillon?”

Cai hesitated.
He is well enough, for a man kept chained night and day and plagued by Atvian and Solindish soldiers who wish to ridicule him.

“He is not hurt?” she asked breathlessly.

Liren,
I did not see him well. But he was in a tumbril, heavily chained so he could not move. No man, even uninjured, can bear such close bonds for long without suffering.

She set her forehead against Duncan’s back in anguish, vividly picturing the prince a prisoner to the enemy. She hardly heard Duncan telling the others what Cai said.

Finn smiled grimly. “So, the princeling learns what it is to be a man.”

Alix jerked her head up and glared at him. “How can you say that? Carrilon is a warrior, a
prince!
He was a man before ever you took me captive!”

Finn lifted a placating hand, grinning at her vehemence. “
Meijha
, I speak no ill of him. I mean only he has not fought for his realm before, and it is a hard thing to learn when one is taken prisoner.”

“Fergus is slain,” she said in a deadly tone. “Mujhara is in the hands of the Ihlini. And now Carillon is prisoner to this Atvian lord. It seems more than enough for any
man.
”

“Aye,” Finn said gently.

She glared at him, expecting more. But he said nothing. Duncan glanced at the waiting warriors. “We must go to the city.”

“No!” Alix cried.

Cai agreed with Duncan.
Even now the Atvian lord moves his men toward Mujhara. If you go there, you will be able to defend the ancient city.

“No,” Alix said firmly. “We must go to Carillon.”

Duncan sighed. “Nothing has changed,
cheysula.
Mujhara is taken. Shaine waits within the palace. It is there we must go.”

“But he is a
prisoner
!”

“You knew that days ago,” he said shortly. “And you agreed I had the right of it.”

“I did not know he was chained! He deserves our help.”

Finn snorted. “He wanted nothing to do with us before,
meijha.
Why should I believe differently now?”

“By the gods!” Alix swore. “You would have me believe you
desire
his death!”

“No,” Finn said, unsmiling. “It would not serve the prophecy.”

That silenced her. Finn never spoke of the
tahlmorra
contained within the prophecy of the Firstborn, and to hear his serious tone made her realize he was not always the disruptive warrior. Alix scowled at him, disliking the unfamiliarity of his new attitude.

Duncan kneed his horse forward. “We go on to Mujhara.”

“Duncan!”

“Be silent, Alix. You are here because I have allowed it.”

She gritted her teeth and spoke through them. “If it were
you
, Duncan, and Carillon could come to
your
aid, would you be content to let him go elsewhere?”

Duncan laughed. “The prince does not even know we move to aid the Homanans. He can hardly miss us.”

“It is not fair,” she muttered.

“War rarely is,” Duncan agreed, and led the warriors on.

Alix did not sleep. She lay stiffly under Duncan’s sleep-loosened arm, thinking deeply. The Cheysuli camp was silent save for the settling of the coals and the shifting of a
lir.
She had longed to question Cai more closely about Carillon, but could not for fear Duncan would hear. So she pretended sleep when he would speak softly to her, and smiled grimly when he fell asleep himself. Then she began to plan.

If I go to Carillon, they also will have to go. Duncan would not allow me to remain alone in an enemy camp for long.
She smiled wryly, half-pleased with the thought.
Not while I bear this child who may give the Old Blood and its gifts back to the clan.

She snuggled more deeply under the blanket.
I will go, and then Carillon will have the help he needs.
She scratched at a bug bite on her neck.
And if the others desire it another way, perhaps
I
will be enough to win Carillon free of Keough and his Atvian demons.

Storr, lying at Finn’s side, stirred and lifted his head.
You should not
, liren.
There is danger.

She peered through the darkness but could not see the wolf’s silver form.
Storr, I must do this. Carillon would do it for me.

Your cheysul will not approve.

Then he may beat me, if he wishes, when he comes to find me.

He would never beat you.
Storr was silent a moment. Liren,
you are stubborn.

Alix smiled into the darkness.
I am Cheysuli.

Cai settled his wings more comfortably.
Perhaps it will be enough.

It will be
, she said firmly, and waited for the dawn.

Just before sunrise, when the stillness of the night lay heaviest on her soul, Alix slipped carefully from beneath the blanket. Duncan made no movement as she folded the blanket so the chill would not give away her absence. Cai, perched in the nearest tree, startled her with his resigned tone.

Still you go
, liren?

She straightened the twisted jerkin and tightened her belt.
I go. Carillon is deserving of it.

You carry a child.

Her mouth twisted.
I do. And I will keep it safe.

The hawk’s tone saddened.
I cannot gainsay you
, liren.

She looked at him sharply, peering at his huddled form.
Do you tell your
lir
of this?

He will have to know.

But not yet
, she pleaded.
First, let me go. Then you may tell him.

It is not my place to keep things from my
lir.

Cai, I will go. Even if Duncan wakens and seeks to gainsay me, I will go. Do you see?

The great bird seemed to sigh,
I see
, liren.
Then go, if you must.

Alix smiled fondly in his direction, then blurred herself and went unto the skies as a falcon.

The journey took time, and Alix tired as she soared over the forests. But she ignored the tension in her wings and kept on, determined to reach Carillon. When at last she broke free of the trees into bare plains, she was near exhaustion. Already it was twilight, and she feared she would not reach the armies until after dark.

Suddenly the Atvian host was below her. Alix circled and drifted over the army, seeking knowledge of the true state of affairs. She saw strange bearded men in red-painted leather-and-mail, wearing keyholed helms that hid their faces. There were archers, she saw, and soldiers bearing heavy broadswords. Among the red-mailed men were Solindish troops in chain mail and breastplates.

She kept one keen eye on the archers, fearing they would shoot at her as they had Cai. But most of the troops seemed more concerned with food, for they squatted around fires with bowls and mugs in their hands. No one paid a lone falcon any mind.

Alix dared closer, drifting in an idle pattern toward a blue field pavilion. Carefully she settled on the ridgepole, seeking the proper place for a prince held captive.

Her body trembled. She mantled once, settled her feathers and tried to recoup her lost strength. Alix was afraid the exhaustion in her hollow bird-bones might sap her ability to hold
lir
-shape, and she could not risk discovery.

If I am caught, I will be named witch
, she thought uneasily.
Shapechanger witch.

She waited until some of her strength returned. Then she lifted from the ridgepole and drifted over the sprawling encampment.

Alix saw no sign of Carillon. She found the Homanan prisoners, harshly tied and guarded by Atvian men, but Carillon was not among them. She closed her mind to the cries and moans of the wounded, for if she listened their pain would become hers, and she would fail.

She dipped closer when she saw the post set before a scarlet pavilion. For a moment she feared the figure lashed to it was Carillon, but she saw it was a boy. His body was slumped against the post, arms and legs tied securely on the other side. His forehead was pressed against the rough wood and his eyes were closed. The soiled tunic he wore was in shreds, hanging from his back. She saw, with a quickening of revulsion, he had been flogged.

His eyes were shut tight in a pale, grimy face, and his black hair hung limply to his shoulders. She could not tell if he was alive or dead.

Alix flew on, passing over a two-wheeled tumbril near the picket-line of horses. A glance down showed her the figure slumped in it, and the familiar tawny-dark hair.

She sucked in her breath and turned back, driving toward the tumbril. Carillon sat against the front of the cart, legs stretched to hang from the opening. The setting sun glinted off the iron banding his legs and hands.

Like the boy, his eyes were closed. And, like him, he showed no signs of life. Alix flew closer.

He moved. She heard the clash of iron as he shifted his arms, settling the chain links against his chest. His eyes opened, half-lidded, staring blankly. His face was badly bruised and smeared with blood. But he lived. Alix felt the fear abate and anger rise in its place. She nearly shrieked her rage aloud but refrained as she realized it would be better not to draw attention to herself. Instead she dropped to the tumbril and settled on its rim.

Carillon stared at her. Now she could see the gauntness in his face; the blackened eyes and poor color. But there was also life in his eyes, and burning resentment.

She could not speak to him in
lir
-shape, and she dared not change back yet. She could only sit by him, and wait.

The prince shifted in the tumbril. The chains clashed and rattled against the wooden flooring, driving empathetic pain into her own heart. The heavy shackles bound his wrists mercilessly, and she saw the ridged, seeping sores beneath.

Keough is a demon!
she raged within her falcon-soul.
A demon!

Carillon raised his shackled hands and rubbed wearily at his eyes. Blood ran down the right side of his face like a flag, but she could not tell if it was his or another man’s. His lips were pale and compressed.

“Well, bird,” he rasped, “do you come to witness my death? Do you seek my flesh like the carrion crows?”

No!
she cried silently.

Carillon sighed and rested his head against the tumbril. “You may not have long, then. Keough has slain hundreds of Homanan soldiers. It is only time before he puts me up to take my head as well.” He grimaced. “Unless he means me for Bellam, in Mujhara.”

Alix stared at him in anguish, unable to speak to him, knowing he saw only a bright-eyed falcon.

Carillon’s smile was that of a man who sees his own death. “Keep your vigil, then. I can use the company, no matter what sort it may be. The nights are long.”