"Aye." He scooched up in bed. "What is it?" His heart seized. Not the Lion—"
There was tension in Rogan's tone as he came into the chamber, swinging shut the door behind him. He did not chide his charge for speaking of the Lion. "Kellin ..." He came forward to the bed, bringing the light with him. It scribed deep lines in a haggard face. "There is something we must discuss."
"In the middle of the night?"
"I can think of no better time." A slight dryness altered the tension. Rogan put the candle cup on the bench beside the knife, then sat down on the edge of the huge tester bed. "My lord, I know you are troubled. I have known for some time. Urchin came to me earlier, but do not blame him; he cares for you, and wants you content."
"Urchin?" Kellin was confused.
"He told me what you both overheard today, when you eavesdropped on the Mujhar."
"Oh." Only the faintest flicker of remorse pinched, then was consumed by remembered bitterness.
"Did he tell you—"
Rogan overrode. "Aye. And after much thought, I have decided to do what no one else will do."
The tutor's eyes were blackened by shadows, caved in unreadable darkness. "I offer you the opportunity to go to your father."
"To—" Kellin sat bolt upright. "You?"
Rogan nodded. His mouth was tight. "I make no attempt to explain or excuse him, my lord .. . I merely offer to escort you to the Crystal Isle, where you may ask him yourself why he has done as he has."
"My father," Kellin whispered. "Jehan—" He stared hard into darkness. "When?"
"In the morning."
"How?"
"We will say we are going to Clankeep. You wish to take Urchin there, do you not?"
"Aye, but—"
"I shall tell the Mujhar you wish to introduce Urchin to Clankeep and the Cheysuli. He will not refuse you that. Only we shall go to Hondarth instead."
"But—the Mujharan Guard. They'll know."
"I have prevailed upon the Mujhar to allow us to go without guards. You are Cheysuli, after all—and I know how much close confinement chafes the Mujhar. He understands the need to allow you more freedom . .. and there has been no trouble for quite some time. If Clankeep were not so close, it would be different."
"But won't he know? Won't he find out? It is two weeks' ride to Hondarth."
"It is not unusual for a Cheysuli boy, regardless of rank, to desire to spend some time among his people."
Kellin understood at once. "But we will go to the Crystal Isle while he believes we are at Clankeep!"
The tutor's silence was eloquent.
Kellin drew in a breath. "You will have to send word."
"From Hondarth. By then it will be too late for the Mujhar to stop us."
Kellin looked into the beloved face. "Why?"
Rogan's smile was ghastly. "Because it is time."
Five
They left early, very early, with only a loaf of bread and a flagon of cider serving as breakfast.
Kellin, Urchin, and Rogan made a very small party as they exited Homana-Mujhar before the Mujhar and the queen were even awake.
"Where is Clankeep?" Urchin asked.
Kellin flicked a glance at Rogan, then grinned at his Homanan friend. "We aren't going to Clankeep. We are going to the Crystal Isle. To my jehan."
Urchin absorbed the new information. "How far is the Crystal Isle?"
"Two weeks of riding," Kellin answered promptly. Then, evoking his Erinnish granddame, "And but a bit of a sail across the bay to the island." Inwardly, he said, And to my Jehan.
"Two weeks?" Urchin scratched at his nose. "I didn't know Homana was so big."
"Aye." Kellin grinned. "One day all of it will be mine, and you will help me rule it."
Urchin was dubious. "I'm only a spit-boy."
"For now." Kellin looked at his tutor. "Once, Rogan was only a man who gambled too much."
Rogan's face grayed. Even his lips went pale.
"Who told you that?"
Kellin stiffened, alarmed. "Was I not to know?"
The tutor was plainly discomfited. "You know what you know, my lord, but it is not a past of which to be proud. I thought it well behind me.When I married—" He broke it off, abruptly, nostrils pinched and white.
Alerted, Kellin answered the scent. "You are married?"
"I was." Rogan's face was stiff, and his spine, "She is dead. Long dead." He guided his mount with abrupt motions, which caused the gelding to A protest the bit. "Before I married Tassia, I gambled away all my coin. She broke me of the habit, and made me use my wits for something other t than wagering."
"And so you came to Homana-Mujhar." Kellin nodded approvingly. "I recall the day."
"So do I, my lord." Rogan's smile was twisted. "She was one month dead. You were all of eight, and grieving for your great-uncle."
"The Lion bit him," Kellin muttered. "He bit him, and Ian -died,"
"How far do we go today?" Urchin asked, oblivious to dead kinsmen and dead wives’
"There is a roadhouse some way out of Mujhara, on the Hondarth road," Rogan answered. "We will stay the night there."
The common room was dim, lighted only by a handful of greasy tallow candles set in clay cups.
The room stank of spilled wine, skunky ale, burned meat, and unwashed humanity. It crossed Kellin's mind briefly, who was accustomed to better, that the roadhouse was unworthy of them, but he closed his mouth on a question. They were bound for the Crystal Isle in absolute secrecy, and for a boy to complain of his surroundings would draw the wrong sort of attention. Instead, he breathed through his mouth until the stench was bearable and kept a sharp eye on the purse hanging at Rogan's belt. He had learned that much from Urchin who had grown up in the streets-
"Look." Kellin leaned close to Urchin and nudged him with an elbow as they slipped into the room behind Rogan- "See the one-eyed man?"
Urchin nodded. "I see him."
"You've been places I have not—what is he doing?"
Urchin grinned. "Dicing. See the cubes? He'll toss them out of the leather cup onto the table.
The highest number wins."
Rogan halted at a table near the center of the room and glanced at his two young charges. His face was arranged in a curiously blank expression.
"We will sit here."
Kellin nodded, paying little attention; he watched the one-eyed man as he shook the leather cup and rolled the dice out onto the table. The man shouted, laughed, then scooped up the few coins glinting dully in wan light.
"Look at the loser,” Urchin whispered as he slipped onto a stool. "D'ye see the look? He's angry."
Kellin slid a glance at the other man. The loser made no physical motion that gave away his anger, but Kellin marked the tautness of his mouth, the bunched muscles along his jaw. Deliberately the loser tossed two more coins onto the table, matched by the one-eyed man. Each man tossed dice again.
A knife appeared, glinting dully in bad light.
The one-eyed man, wary of the weapon displayed specifically for his benefit, did not immediately reach to gather up his winnings.
Urchin leaned close. "He thinks the one-eyed man is cheating."
It fascinated Kellin, who had never been so close to violence other than the Lion. "Will he kill him?"
Urchin shrugged. "I've seen men killed for less reason than a dice game."
Rogan's lips compressed. "I should not have brought you in here. We should go upstairs to our room and have a meal sent up."
"No!" Kellin said quickly. Then, as Rogan's brows arched, "I mean—should not the future Mujhar see all kinds of those he will rule?"
The taut mouth loosened a little. "Perhaps. And an astute one will recognize that to some Homanans, the man on the Lion Throne means less than nothing."
It was incomprehensible to Kellin who had been reared in a household steeped in honor and respect. "But how can they—"
A shadow fell across their table, distracting Kellin at once. A slender, well-formed ha
nd—unlike the broad-palmed, spatulate hands of the one-eyed man and his angry companion—placed a wooden casket on the table. A subtle, muted rattle from the contents was loud in the sudden silence.
Kellin glanced up at once. The man smiled slightly, glancing at the two boys before turning his attention to Rogan. He was young, neatly dressed in good gray tunic and trews, and his blue eyes lacked the dull hostility Kellin had marked in the dicers. Shining russet hair fell in waves to his shoulders. "Will you play, sir?"
Rogan wet his lips. He moved his hands from the table top to his lap. "I—do not play."
"Ah, but it will take no time at all ... and you may leave this table with good gold in your purse." An easy, mellifluous tone; a calm and beguiling smile.
Kellin glanced sharply at Rogan. He would not—would he? After all his dead wife had done?
But he could see the expression in the tutor's eyes: Rogan desired very badly to play. The older man's mouth parted slightly, then compressed again. Rogan's gaze met the stranger's. "Very well."
"But—" Kellin began.
The stranger overrode the protest easily, sliding onto a stool before Kellin could finish. "I am Corwyth, from Ellas. It is my good fortune that we are chance-met." He cast a brief glance around the room. "The others do not interest me, but you are obviously a man of good breeding." He spared a smile for Kellin and Urchin as he addressed Rogan. "Your sons?"
"Aye," Rogan said briefly; he did not so much as glance at Corwyth, but stared transfixed at the casket.
It fascinated Kellin also. A passing glance marked nothing more than plain dark wood polished smooth by time and handling, but a second glance—and a more intense examination—revealed the wood not smooth at all, b'ut carved with a shallow frieze of intricate runes. Inside—? Kellin leaned forward to peer into the mouth of the casket and saw only blackness. "Where are the dice?"
Corwyth laughed softly. "Be certain they are there." He sat at Rogan's right hand. with Urchin on his right; Kellin's stool was directly across the table. "Have you played before?"
The Ellasian addressed him, not Rogan; he seemed to know all about Rogan. Kellin shook his head quickly, slanting a glance at his tutor, "My—father—does not allow it."
"Ah, well . , . when you are older, then." Corwyth ignored Urchin utterly as he turned his attention to Rogan. "Will you throw first, or shall I?"
Rogan's taut throat moved in a heavy swallow.
"I must know the stakes first."
Corwyth's smile came easily, lighting his mobile face. "Those you know already."
A sheen of dampness filmed Rogan's brow. "Will I lose, then? Or do you play the game as if there might be a chance for me?"
The odd bitterness in the older man's tone snared Kellin's attention instantly. But Rogan said nothing more to explain himself, and Corwyth answered before Kellin could think of a proper question.
The Ellasian indicated the rune-carved casket with a flick of a fingernail. "A man makes his own fortune, regardless of the game."
Rogan scrubbed his face with a sleeve-sheathed forearm, then swore raggedly and caught up the casket. He upended it with a practiced twitch of his wrist. Six ivory cubes fell out, and six slender black sticks.
All of them were blank.
Urchin blurted surprise. Rogan stiffened on his bench, transfixed by the sticks and cubes. Breath rasped in his throat.
"Did you lose?" Kellin asked, alarmed by Rogan's glazed eyes.
Corwyth's tone was odd. "How would you like them to read?" he asked Rogan. "Tell me. and I shall do it."
Rogan's fingers gripped the edge of the table.
"And if—if I requested the winning gambit?"
"Why, then I should lose." Corwyth grinned and glanced at Kellin and Urchin. "But, after all, it is my game, and I think I should still find a way to win." His gaze returned to Rogan's face. "Do you not agree?"
"Kellin—" Rogan's tone was abruptly harsh.
"Kellin, you and Urchin are to go upstairs at once."
"No," Corwyth said softly. A slender finger touched each of the blank ivory cubes and set them all to glowing with a livid purple flame.
"Magic—" Urchin whispered: dreadful fascination.
Kellin did not look at the cubes or the black sticks. He stared instead at Corwyth's face, into his eyes, and saw no soul.
He put out his small hand instantly and swept the cubes from the table, unheeding of the flame, then scattered all the sticks. "No," Kellin declared. "No."
Corwyth's smile was undiminished; if anything, it increased to one of immense satisfaction. "Perceptive, my lord. My master has indeed done well to send me for you now, while you are yet lirless and therefore without power. But I think for all your perception you fail to recognize the extent of his power, or mine—" his tone altered from conversational, "—and that the game we initiated has already been played through." Smoothly he caught Rogan's arm in one hand. and the wristbones snapped,
Rogan cried out. Sweat ran from his face. His shattered wrist remained trapped in Corwyth's hand, who appeared to exert no pressure whatsoever with anything but his will.
Kellin leapt to his feet, thinking only that somehow he must get Rogan free; he must stop Rogan's pain. But the instinct was abruptly blunted, the attempt aborted, as Corwyth shook his head. He will injure Rogan worse. Kellin knew it at once.
Slowly he resumed his seat, aware of a minute trembling seizing all his bones. "Who?" he asked.
"Who is your master?"
"Lochiel, of course." Corwyth smiled. His cordial attitude was undiminished by the threat he exuded without effort, which made the moment worse. "Do you know of another man who would presume to steal a prince?"
"Steal—" Kellin stiffened. Me? He wants—me?
Urchin stirred on his stool. His thin face was white. "Are you—Ihlini?"
The dead cubes and sticks scattered on the floor came abruptly to life again, flying from the dirt-pack to land again upon the table and commence a spinning dervish-dance across the scarred surface. Purple godfire streamed from the cubes; the black sticks glistened blood-red.
Urchin sucked in an audible breath. Kellin, infuriated by Corwyth's audacity, smashed a small fist against the table top. "No!"
The cubes and sticks fell at once into disarray, rattling into silence as the dance abruptly collapsed.
"Too late," Corwyth chided. "Much too late, my lord." He looked at Rogan and smiled.
The awful tension in the Homanan's body was plain to see. "No," he whispered hoarsely. "Oh, gods, I cannot—I cannot—"
"Too late," Corwyth repeated.
Rogan looked at Kellin. "Run!" he cried. "Run!"
Six
Kellin lunged to his feet, grasping for and catching a fistful of Urchin's tunic. He saw the blue blaze in Corwyth's eyes, sensed the pain radiating from Rogan's shattered wrist. I must do something.
"Urchin—" He tugged on the boy's tunic, who needed no urging, then together they scrabbled their way across the room, jerked open the door, and fell out into the darkness.
"Did you see—" Urchin choked.
"We have to run. Rogan said run." Kellin yanked at Urchin's tunic.
Urchin was clearly terrified. "H-horses—"
"They will lie in wait for us there—we must run, Urchin!"
They ran away from the roadhouse, away from the road itself, making for the trees. They shared no more physical contact; Urchin had at last mastered himself. The Homanan boy, accustomed to fleeing, darted through the wood without hesitation. City-reared Kellin now was less certain of his course and followed Urchin's lead.
A branch slapped Kellin across the eyes, blurring his vision. He tasted the sourness of resin in his mouth, spat once, then forgot about it in his flight. He could see little of the ground underfoot, trusting instinctively to the balance and reflexes of youth as well as the training begun in Homana-Mujhar.
"Urchin—?"
"Here—" Ahead still, and still running, crashing through deadfall and undergrow
th.
Kellin winced as another branch clawed at his tunic, digging into the flesh of bare arms. And then he saw the glint of silver in the trees and slipped down into the creek before he could halt his flight.
Kellin fell forward, flailing impotently as cold water closed over his head.
He kicked, found purchase, if treacherous, not far under his feet, and thrust himself upward to the surface. Kellin choked and spat, coughing, shivering from fright and cold.
"Kellin—" It was Urchin, bankside, reaching down. Kellin caught the hand, clung, and scrabbled out onto the creek bank. Urchin's face was seamed with branch-born welts. "We can't run all night!"
Kellin tried to catch his breath. "We—have to get as far—far from them as we can—"
"There was only that one. Corwyth."
"More." Kellin sucked air, filling his chest.
"Kick over one rock and find a single Ihlini ... kick over another and find a nest." He scraped a forearm across his face, shoving soaked hair from his eyes. "That's what everyone says."
Dry, Urchin nonetheless shivered. "But if they're sorcerers—"
"We have to try—" Kellin began.
The forest around them exploded into a spectral purple glow. Out of the blinding light came two dark shadows, silhouetted against livid godfire.
Kellin grabbed at Urchin and swung him back the way they had come. "Run!"
But Corwyth himself stood on the other side of the creek. With him was Rogan.
Urchin blurted his shock even as Kellin stopped short. Breathing hard, Kellin nonetheless heard the soft susurration of men moving behind them.
The hairs on the back of his neck stirred. "I taste it," he murmured blankly. "I can taste the magic."
Corwyth smiled. Rogan did not. The godfire painted them all an eerie lavender, but Kellin could see the pallor of his tutor's face. Rogan's eyes glistened with tears.
Pain—? Kellin wondered.
"My lord," Rogan said. "Oh, my lord . . . forgive me—"
Comprehension brought sickness. Sickness formed a stone in Kellin's belly. "Not you!" No, of course not; Rogan would deny it. Rogan would explain.
"My lord .. . there was nothing left for me. I had no choice."
Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 Page 7