Taliesin's blue eyes were oddly complacent. "A harsh custom, indeed."
"Born of necessity," Again, Hart shrugged, as if trying to dismiss the ramifications of the custom that made him clanless. "The law of survival."
Thoughtfully, the Ihlini harper nodded. "I understand: the weak can pull down the strong."
Brennan's tone was subdued. "In the days of our ancestors, when the world was very young, the weak were left to die so the strong could continue." He did not look at his twin, whom he judged strong enough despite the loss of a hand; knowing the old custom, in its day, made sense even in its cruel practicality. "A man dying of disease in a time of famine eats food better given to another, and perhaps causes two deaths in place of one."
Taliesin did not smile, but his tone was strangely sanguine. "I will not argue that, perhaps once, the times warranted such harsh customs. Certainly we Ihlini have made difficult adjustments in order to survive. But the time you speak of has passed. Hart is more than merely a warrior, but also a Prince of Solinde." He shrugged, forestalling incipient protests. "Besides, I think you should recall—loyal fatalists that you are—there may be a reason for this."
Hart's face was stark.
"Tahlmorra," Brennan said hollowly. "A word more eloquent than 'reason.’ "
"Then, my lord, you might argue that the need for such rigid adherence to an outdated custom has declined," the harper suggested. "You might go before Clan Council, as the Cheysuli Prince of Homana, and tell them the need is no longer valid. Now is the time for a new custom, where a man maimed can be valued for things other than physical abilities."
Hart looked at Brennan sharply, abruptly cognizant of what such change could mean to him as well as to others.
Brennan was clearly stunned by the magnitude of the idea, but Hart knew it would not gainsay him. Yet he also knew better than to hope too hard for something that might not occur. Clan Council and the shar tahls, whose job it was to insure the continuance of tradition, were incredibly protective of Cheysuli customs; it was what made the race so difficult to destroy, from inside as well as without.
"The need is no longer valid," Brennan said thoughtfully. "Hart is as good a warrior as any Cheysuli I know, and there is no reason to believe the lack of a hand will gainsay him from his responsibilities." He nodded. "If I were to go before Clan Council—"
Hart shrugged. "Peacetime, rujho. If war were to return—"
"There will be no war again, ever. With Corin in Atvia and Keely wed to Sean of Erinn, who is left to fight us? Solinde?" Brennan spread his hands. "Would you levy war against your rujholli?”
Hart sighed and sat back in his chair, gazing up at Rael perched on the back. "No more than against my lir."
"And so the prophecy nears completion." Taliesin smiled and rose. "You are so close, you cannot see it. But you have, just now, completed a major requirement for fulfillment: four warring realms united in peace."
"Which leaves the two magical races." Brennan said grimly. “I think even the gods underestimated the strength of hatred between Cheysuli and Ihlini."
"I think the gods knew very well how strong that hatred would be," the harper countered. "A parent is not blind to resentments among his children." He looked from one to the other, starting with Brennan and ending with Corin. "There comes a time, however, when the children must outgrow them. And so it will be with Cheysuli and Ihlini." The harper moved toward the door.
"It is for you to call on the earth magic to complete the healing of Corin's legs. You cannot wait for them to heal normally. And so I will go from here for awhile, so my presence does not hinder the magic."
The door was shut. "Gods," Hart said, "I am so weary, I doubt I can summon anything."
"For Corin, we will have to," Brennan knelt briefly and locked his hands into the pelt behind Sleeta's ears, drawing strength from the contact. Lir, oh, lir, we are all so weary, so cursed weak, and yet we must all be strong.
She shifted forward and pressed her head against his jaw. You will be as strong as is required.
Hart moved to the pallet and touched Carollan's shoulder briefly. "Leijhana tu'sai," he said, knowing Caro could not hear; knowing also it did not matter, nor tarnish the gratitude. "Leijhana tu'sai, kinsman, but this is for us to do."
Carollan moved aside with alacrity, though there was nothing of subservience in it. He merely gave them the room they required, retiring to Taliesin's stool, and watched out of their father's eyes.
Brennan joined Hart at Corin's side. Kiri lay curled at his hip, pointed nose tucked beneath his slack hand. Her bright eyes watched the movements they made in preparing to summon the magic. Sleeta sat beside Brennan, pressing one haunch against his doubled leg. Rael did not depart the chairback, but his link with Hart was not weakened by such a brief distance.
"I have never done this," Hart said nervously.
"Nor have I." Brennan pushed a lock of fallen hair out of his face. "Come with me, rujho. Now—"
He slipped into the void quickly, too quickly; he knew fear and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. What if ha ignorance cost Corin his life?
Lir. Lir. Sleeta was in the link with him, lending him a measure of strength and courage, though her own was stretched dangerously thin.
Hart! he cried in the void. I need you,, rujho—
And Hart, abruptly, was there, tumbling through the emptiness like a cork caught in a miltrace. Brennan sensed his fear was equal to his own. And inwardly he laughed; two frightened warriors meant to heal their unconcious brother, summoning a power neither had fully tapped..
We need a shar tahl, he told Sleeta.
You need to heal your rujholli. Delicate dictatorship.
Brennan sighed. Linked, he and Hart dissolved the contact with their bodies and sank beneath the level they knew as the world.
Down.
Down, until they touched layers of sentience they had not known existed. Such boundless power as they had never imagined.
Come with us, Brennan said.
We need you. Hart explained.
Sluggishly, Power stirred.
There is a man who requires your aid. Brennan told It.
A warrior, Cheysuli, born of the Old Blood, descendant of the Firstborn, ancestor of those to come again.
In need, Hart echoed. Touched by Asar-Suti, who would destroy the gods as we know them so he may hold dominion.
Power raised Its head.
Come with us, Brennan invited. Show the Seker that his power is nothing compared to yours.
He needs you, Hart explained.
Power rose up and set them ablaze with a single touch.
And then, too quickly. It hurled them upward, through all the layers and strata and broke them free of the world, where they saw a man on his bed of pain, and took it from him easily. Bones knit themselves into wholeness. Stiffened sinews grew flexible. Vessels pulsed with blood set free of the Seker's fire.
And then, as quickly, the Power was gone, and they were men again; exhausted, dirty, sick of the stink of themselves. And knowing they must go on.
Conscious, Corin gazed up at them both. "Leijhana tu'sai," he said drowsily. Even as Brennan protested, he worked the ruby signet from his finger and pressed it into his oldest brother's palm. "Yours," he said as firmly as he could, and fell asleep with a hand locked in Kiri’s ruff.
Hart lay back on the wooden floor, not caring that his sprawl was more than a trifle undecorous, nor that the floor was hard. He shut his eyes, sighed deeply, gave himself over to the luxury of complete relief for the first time in months.
"In the morning, we go," Brennan said hoarsely. "We cannot waste a moment."
"In the morning," Hart agreed wearily, and fell asleep himself.
Brennan laughed raggedly, stroking Sleeta's pelt. If our jehan could see us now—
He would cry, Sleeta answered. But they would be tears of joy.
Taliesin did not have the means to offer Brennan and Hart the sort of baths they needed, having no h
alf-cask or carefully crafted oak tub, so they did the best they could. Water was heated in a cauldron over the fire and they scrubbed themselves down with harsh soap and harsher cloth, scraping away layers of filth. Taliesin gave them an herbal soap for their hair, to rid themselves of lice, but they forbore cutting it. It could wait; there were things more important than the length of their hair.
Teirnan. Brennan told his brothers what he could of their cousin's treachery, and his treasonous intent. Then, turn by turn, each confessed how he had been taken by Strahan, betrayed by love, lust, greed, ambition. They raised old resentments, hidden emotions, true feelings, and dealt with them as best they could. By the time morning dawned and it was time to leave, each had come to terms with himself in relation to his brothers; each believed he was a better man for it.
And each knew more than ever how binding was a tahlmorra.
Taliesin examined the stump of Hart's wrist, pronounced it healed, did not avoid the acknowledgment of persistent pain.
"And it will persist," he said gently. "The loss of a limb is something the mind does not fully understand. It will take some time before you stop reaching for things with your nonexistent hand, expecting to close your fingers upon it. It will take time for the sensations of a hand to abate. One moment you will swear it is still attached ... the next you will know better." His own twisted left hand was gentle on the wrist. "I am sorry. Hart, but there is nothing to be done. Even the gods cannot give back that which was so decidedly destroyed."
"Asar-Suti would have," Hart said grimly. "Or so Strahan promised. It was his price."
"But not yours.” Taliesin's blue eyes were kind in his ageless, unseamed face. "Do not curse yourself for being an honorable man. You did what was required.”
"Required." Hart sighed and replaced the snug leather cuff that wanted the stump against injury. "Aye, required—and my own decision."
"And I tell you again to recall that—should Brennan fail to sway the Cheysuli in altering tradition—customs are different in Solinde. We do not throw men away."
Taliesin turned away to look at Brennan and Corin.
"You cannot afford to waste more daylight. Caro has food and water for you outside. Best go now."
Brennan's face was cleaner than it had been in weeks, but tension had etched permanent lines into the flesh. He frowned. "You are certain Strahan will not punish you for this?"
The harper nodded. "He has no idea where I am, and I use simple magic to keep it so. Strahan is too arrogant to recall the ward-spells I have used; he thinks in terms of conquest, not simple protection." He smiled. "He will not search far. He will be more concerned with placating the Seker, who grows impatient with men who fail him. He will spend his time in Valgaard, not seeking you."
The eyes sharpened. "But I warn you, be wary of him still—he will seek another way. One day, he will try again to thwart you."
"Best go," Corin said.
Thanks were not enough, but it was all they had. And they offered it in abundance as Taliesin stood in the door and watched them go out into the frosted world. Three battered but gods-touched men, and their lir; cat, fox, hawk: the children of the gods.
Seven
In Deirdre's solar, Niall bent over her shoulder and placed a finger on the lion patterned in the tapestry.
"Who is this?"
"Shaine," she told him, batting his finger away. "This one is Shaine, that one Carillon, that one—"
"Where am I?"
"Here." She pointed out the proper lion. "But 'twill be some time before I get to you. All those other lions, and the histories of each—" Deirdre grinned. " 'Twill be years."
Niall sighed and straightened. "Aye," he agreed grimly.
"And years before I know what has befallen my sons."
She looked up quickly, saw his face, set aside her massive tapestry. "Niall—"
"Months!" he exclaimed. "And how many of those were wasted? How many of those months did I believe Hart and Corin merely in their respective realms, learning how to rule, while I believed Teirnan and the a'saii responsible for Brennan's disappearance?" He cursed and strode angrily to the nearest casement, glaring out on the inner bailey. There was a commotion within the walls, but he was too distracted to wonder at its cause. "By the gods, I should have known. Strahan yet again, and eternal Ihlini meddling."
She stood behind him, wanting to touch him and not giving in to it; he was too angry and full of self-recrimination to accept any kindnesses. "And how were you to know?" she asked tartly. "You told me yourself the Ihlini have been quiet for years . . . why would you be having a reason to think of Strahan now?"
"Precisely because it has been years." Niall leaned his brow against the stone, "Gods, Deirdre ... my sons—"
"I know." Now she touched him. "I know, Niall. But you said yourself 'tis unlikely he'd want to kill them. Strahan's way is to use men instead."
"He wanted them twenty-two years ago ... he nearly got them then. And now that he has—" Niall turned.
"Oh, gods, I am so frightened. What sort of men will he make them?"
She sighed, knowing she could give him no answer.
"When do you send the army to Valgaard?"
"In the morning." His hands rested on her shoulders.
"Ian and I go with them."
Tight-faced, she nodded. "The gods grant—"
But whatever she desired the gods to grant was never stated, A servant, circumventing courtesy entirely, threw open the solar door. "My lord! My lord!"
"What is it?" Niall asked irritably.
Brennan stepped around the wide-eyed servant. "What he means to say, jehan, is that all of your sons are back."
Kindly, Brennan moved the servant aside and held the door open himself as Hart and Corin and assorted lir made their way into the tower solar. The chamber was suddenly filled.
"All—" Niall said hoarsely.
"One, two, three." Hart grinned, "Unless Deirdre has contrived to add another in our absence."
"No," she said blankly. And then laughed aloud in Joy. Mute, Niall stared at his sons. One, two, three, as Hart had said. But they were not the sons he had sired and known for years. Something had changed each one, and profoundly. There was a tangible difference.
Brennan: much too gaunt and oddly haunted in yellow eyes, though his smile was genuine. His jerkin was soiled and crusted with countless unnamed things, and Niall had no desire to ask how it had become so; he had a good idea. His only desire was to see that Brennan was whole, and that was blatantly obvious. His hair was mostly clean, if too long, and he held himself with customary pride, but there was something about the way he moved that spoke of things unsaid even among his brothers.
Corin: bearded as an Erinnish brigand, looking less Cheysuli than ever, though there was, Niall noted, a subtle self-confidence Corin had always lacked, or was banished by bad temper. And though there was a tension in the way he moved, as if he waited for something, Niall saw no anger, no hostility, no reluctance to accept his place in the House of Homana. Clearly he had suffered; equally clearly, he had come to terms with himself.
And Hart, showing teeth in a familiar grin; showing something else in posture. All of them were clad in worn and dirty clothing, though clearly they had bathed a day or two before arrival, if only arms and faces; but there was more than a weary relief and elation in Hart's posture and attitude. He stood rigidly next to the door, left hand thrust behind his back as if he meant to hide something in it. Even as he stepped free of the door, letting it swing closed, he kept the forearm behind him.
But Niall would worry about them later. Now was the time for celebration and explanation. He expelled an eloquent breath of relief. "Oh, gods—all of my sons-leijhana tu'sai—"
"We have expressed similar sentiments repeatedly the last two weeks." Corin went to the nearest chair and collapsed into it, putting his feet up on a footstool. "I am footsore, hungry and weary, but I feel happy for it."
Brennan went straight to Niall and put ou
t an arm to clasp his father's. But Niall ignored the arm altogether, instead jerking Brennan into a rough embrace. "You do not know how many times I petitioned the gods for the safe return of my sons."
Corin laughed. "Well, they must have grown weary of hearing it. All of us begged them, too."
Niall's good eye was wet as he released his oldest son.
The patch hid the other from sight. There was more silver in his tawny hair and deeper lines in the contours of his face, but the smile banished the age worry had added. "You are well? All of you?" He wanted to hug Corin and Hart as he had hugged Brennan, but Corin was settled and obviously oblivious to the gesture; Hart's posture warded him against familiarity, even from his father.
"Well enough," Brennan said. "But first, let us swear to you that we are not Strahan's minions sent to do you harm. Because of Corin, we are nothing but ourselves, if a trifle worn." He glanced briefly at Hart, turned back and sought a chair.
Belatedly, Niall pushed one over. Deirdre beckoned Hart to take her own, but he shook his head and remained at his post beside the door. Or intended to. The door was abruptly shoved open; Hart, thrusting out arms to keep himself from being crushed between wall and wood, saw his father's face go white.
But Ian was in the room. "By the gods, it is true! All of you are back!"
Silence met his outburst. He stopped short, staring at his brother, then slowly turned to look at the Mujhar's middle son, his own personal favorite.
Hart's face was stark. "I meant to tell you later."
Niall summoned his voice. "Strahan did that to you?"
"No, jehan. My stupidity did this to me." Bitterness crept in. "A heavy price, but I pay it."
From the corridor came an urgent voice. "Corin? Corin!”
Corin sighed. And then Keely prodded her uncle aside to force her way into the solar past the bodies near the door.
"Corin—" But she broke it off, turning to look at Hart.
"Why not announce it?" he said unsteadily. "Why not say it and be done with it: The Mujhar's son is kin-wrecked."
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