Kellin tried to say it: "The man who nearly killed Sima!" But none of the words came out. Only a keening growl.
"He was your friend!" the Homanan shouted, tears filling his eyes. "Or now that you are a beast, do you only count them as friends?" In his anger, the young man drew his knife and threw it to the ground. "There! You may have it. I want none of it! I forswear my service; I renounce my rank. I want nothing to do with a prince who kills his friends, for assuredly he is not the man I want as my king!" He scrubbed hastily at his face. "The Mujhar is a man I honor, but I owe you nothing. I give you nothing; I am quit of royal service as of this moment!"
Kellin could not form the words. With effort he beat back the pain within the link, the knowledge of Sima's condition, and concentrated long enough to banish the shape that prevented communication. Human-form came quickly, too quickly; he stumbled to his knees, bracing himself upright with one hand thrust into deadfall. "Wait—" he blurted.
"Wait? Wait?" It was Ennis; Kellin's human eyes recognized him now. "For what? So you may change again, and tear out my throat?" Ennis's grief was profound. "He was my friend, my lord. We grew up together, and now you have killed him. Do you expect me to wait while you fashion an explanation?"
"Sima—" Kellin panted. He hung there on hands and knees, then scrubbed haphazardly at his bloodied face. "My lir—in her pain, I could not stop." Sima's pain still ruled him, though now he was a man. Breathlessly he insisted, "He attacked her! What else was I to do? Permit him to kill her? Then he kills me!"
"He wanted the stag, my lord! None of us saw the cat." Ennis reined in his restive horse. His anguished face was twisted. "Will you permit me, my lord, to recover the body? I would prefer to give it a proper burial before you decide to eat it!"
Disorientation faded. The link remained strong, as did the pain contained within it, but Kellin was no longer a cat and he felt Sima's pain another way. He understood the difference between her senses and his own.
A man dead? By his doing? Still weak from the abruptness of his shapechange, Kellin turned awkwardly and saw the body sprawled in deadfall; the torn and bloodied throat. He recognized the man, acknowledged the handiwork. In that moment he fully comprehended what he had done. "NO!"
"Aye," Ennis retorted. "You have blood on your mouth, my lord; royalty or not, you cannot hide the truth from a man who has seen the Prince of Homana murder an innocent man."
Nearby, Sima panted. Blood matted her flank.
Brief concentration broke up in response to renewed pain. The link was filled with it, stuffing Kellin's head. He could think of nothing else but his lir. "Sima—"
"May I take the body?" Ennis persisted. "You may find another dinner."
Teague. It was Teague. He had killed Teague.
Lir? Sima's tone was weak. Lir, you must heal me. Waste no time.
"Will you permit me the leave to take my friend back?" Ennis asked.
Now, Sima said. Her tongue lolled from her mouth. Lir—
Teague was dead. Sima was dying. No doubt at that moment Ennis would prefer his prince died also, but Kellin could not give in merely to please him. He would not permit the travesty to go forth.
"Take him," he rasped, moving toward the cat, thinking only of the cat so he could avoid the truth. "Take him to my grandsire."
Ennis blurted a laugh that was profound in its anguish. "Be certain I shall! The Mujhar shall be told of this. He needs to know what manner of beast is his heir."
The tone flayed. "Go!" Kellin shouted. "It is a matter of balance—I have no control! It you would live, take Teague and go!" He knelt down at Sima's side. What am I to do? How do I heal you?
You are Cheysuli, she said. Rely on that which makes you a warrior, and use it to heal me.
The instructions he found obscure, but her condition alarmed him. It was all he could do not to fling back his head and howl his fear and pain.
"Magic," he panted. "Gods—give me the magic."
He was Cheysuli. The power came at his call.
When it was done, Kellin came awake with a snap and realized in his trance he tread close to sleep, or to collapse. His bloodied hands were yet pressed against Sima's side, but the arrow was gone. He saw a few bits of feathers lying on the ground with the arrowhead itself, but the shaft was gone, as if burned to ash.
The breath came back into his lungs all unexpectedly, expanding what had collapsed, refilling what was empty. He coughed painfully. The world slid sideways; braced arms failed and spilled him to the ground, so that he landed flat upon his spine. The back of his skull thumped dully against leaf-strewn ground.
Sima stirred next to him. The healing is complete. You have done well.
He could not so much as open his eyes. Had I not, we would both be bound for the afterlife. I was not in so much of a hurry.
Nor I. She shifted closer yet, pressing the warmth of her body against his right side. The magic drains a man. There is balance in that, also ... we have time, lir. No need to move at once.
He did not much feel like moving ever, let alone at once. Kellin sighed, welcoming the coolness of the deadfall beneath him. His itching face felt crusted. He longed to scratch it, but to do that required him to move a hand. It was too much to attempt.
Lir. Sima again, resting her chin upon his shoulder. I am sorry for the man.
"What m—" He broke off. Kellin thrust himself to hands and knees and hurled himself over, to look, to seek, to reassure himself that none of it was true.
Teague's body was gone, but bloodied leaves and hoofprints confirmed the truth Kellin desired to avoid. Teague indeed had died, and Ennis had carried him home.
Kellin touched his crusted face with fingers that shook. Teague's blood.
"Gods," he choked aloud, "why do you permit this?"
Lir. Sima rose, butted at an arm. Lir, it is done. It cannot be undone.
"I killed—" He could not voice it, could not find the words. "I killed Teague—"
Reflex, she told him. A cat, to protect himself, strikes first. You struck to protect me.
"Teague," Kellin mouthed.
Even the comfort of the lir-link was not enough.
He had killed a man who was not an Ihlini, not a thief, not an enemy.
I have killed a friend.
Kellin sank down- to the ground and pressed his face against it, unmindful of bloodied leaves.
I have killed a friend.
He recalled Teague's presence in the Midden tavern where Luce held sovereignty, and how the Homanan had aided him. How Teague had, of them all, not looked upon him as a beast the night he had nearly killed Luce because Teague had a better understanding of what lived in his lord's mind,
I swore to have no friends because I lost them all—because they all died .. . and now when I let one come close again after so much time, I kill him MYSELF—
He wound rigid hands into his hair and knotted them there, then permitted himself to shout as a man might shout to declare his grief and torment.
But the sound, to Kellin, was naught but a beast's wail.
Nineteen
It was demonstrably obvious, when Kellin reached Homana-Mujhar, that Ennis and the others had carried word before him. The horse-boy who took his mount did so with eyes averted and led the horse away quickly, not even waiting for his customary coin- Off-duty men gathered before the guardhouse in the bailey fell silent as Kellin walked by them, breaking off conversation to stare from the corners of their eyes- They measured him, he knew; they looked for the proof in his face, in his clothing, in the expression in his eyes-What do they see?
He had washed the blood from face and hands, and scrubbed at his jerkin? He believed no blood-stains remained, but possibly none were required; he wore guilt in his posture despite his desire not to.
Sima padded beside him. They watched her, too, marking her apparent health. She did not limp or show any indication an arrow had but hours before driven her toward death. It was a natural healing, but to the Homanans, who had litt
le knowledge of such things, it seemed to suggest that Kellin's reaction was one of whim not of need; as if he had killed Teague because the idea had occurred, and because he could.
Kellin paused inside the palace to inquire as to the Mujhar's whereabouts, and was told to go at once to the Great Hall. Inwardly, Kellin's spirit quailed. Not in privacy? Or is it that he will discuss it with me as Mujhar, not grandsire, nor even Cheysuli warrior?
Sima bumped his leg. I am with you.
No. Kellin paused. This is for me to face alone.
Go up to my chambers and wait.
She hesitated, then turned and padded away.
Kellin brushed haphazardly at the perspiration stippling his upper lip, then went on toward the Great Hall, Foreboding weighted his spirit until he twitched with it, desiring to scratch at stinging flesh.
Brennan was on the throne. The Lion's head reared above the Mujhar in a display of wooden glory. Aged eyes stared blindly; Kellin was grateful the Lion could not see what had become of a prince who would one day inherit it.
It was nearing sundown. Light slanting through stained glass formed lattices on the stone floor, so that Kellin walked through sharp-etched pools of pure color. In spring, the firepit was unlighted.
Kellin walked its length steadily, though more slowly than was his wont; he would not shirk the confrontation but did not desire to hasten it. What would come, would come; no need to accelerate it.
He reached the dais all too soon. And then he saw Aileen standing at Brennan's right side with one hand on the Lion. It is serious— Kellin clamped closed his teeth, feeling again the emptiness in his jaw where Luce had broken a tooth.
Healing had sealed it closed, but the tooth was banished forever.
His grandsire looked old. The years had been kind to him for a long time, but now the kindness was banished. The healing four weeks before had left its mark, and the knowledge Ennis had brought. Dark skin no longer was as supple and taut, permitting brackets to form at nose and mouth, and webwork patches beside his eyes. The Mujhar’s hands rested lightly over the curving, clawed armrests, but the knuckles were distended.
Kellin halted before the dais. Briefly he inclined his head to Aileen, then offered homage to the Mujhar. He waited in tense silence, wishing Sima stood beside him; knowing it as weakness. It was time he acknowledged it.
Brennan's eyes did not waver. His voice was steady. "When a king has but a single heir, and no hope of any others, he often overlooks such things as the hot blood of youth, and the trouble a boy can rouse. Gold soothes injured pride and mends broken taverns. It will even, occasionally, placate an angry jehan whose daughter has been taken with child. But it does not buy back a life. Even a king dares not overlook that."
Kellin wet dry lips. "I do not ask you to overlook it. Merely understand it."
"I have been told by Ennis and the others that they heard Teague cry out; that he knew he had made a mistake."
"My lord, he did."
"And yet you used the power of lir-shape to kill him anyway."
It would have been better, Kellin decided, if the Mujhar had shouted at him, because then he could rely upon anger. But Brennan did not; he merely made quiet statements in a grave and habitual dignity that Kellin knew very well he could never emulate.
He inhaled a trembling breath. "My lord, I am moved to remind you of what you already know: that a warrior in lir-shape encounters all of the pain his lir does. It—affects—him."
"I do know it," Brennan agreed. "But a warrior in lir-shape is yet a man, and understands that a Homanan who acknowledges his mistake is not to be murdered."
Behind his back, Kellin balled his hands into fists. It would undermine his appeal if he shouted; and besides, he was guilty. "Sima was wounded. She was dying. All I could think about was that he had shot her, that she was badly hurt, and that if she died, I died also." The words were hard to force past a tight throat. "He was my friend, my lord. I never meant to kill him."
"You did. In that moment, you did indeed intend to kill him." Brennan's hands closed more tightly over the armrest. "Do you think I cannot see it? I am Cheysuli also."
Grief and anguish commingled to overwhelm.
"Then why confront me like this?" Kellin cried. "By the gods, grandsire—"
But Brennan's sharp gesture cut Kellin's protest off. "Enough. There are other things to concern ourselves with than whether I understand what led to the attack."
"What other things?" Kellin demanded. "You yourself have said we cannot buy back Teague's life, but I will do whatever I must to atone for my mistake."
Brennan leaned forward. "Do you hear what you are saying? You speak of Teague's death as a mistake, an unfortunate circumstance you could not avoid."
"It was!"
"Yet when Teague makes a mistake, you respond by killing him." Brennan's face was taut. "Tell me where the difference lies. Why is one mistake excused—because you are a prince?—while one results in murder?"
"I—" Kellin swallowed heavily. "I could not help myself."
"In lir-shape."
"Aye." He understood now what Brennan meant him to see. "I felt her pain, her fear—"
"And your own,"
"And my own." Kellin's face warped briefly. "I feared for her, grandsire—I had not had her very long, yet I could not imagine what it would be like to lose her. The grief, the anguish—" He looked at Brennan. "I thought I might go mad."
"Had she died, you would have." The Mujhar sank back into the Lion. "It is the price we pay. All your arguments against the death-ritual now mean nothing."
Kellin stared hard at the stone beneath his boots. "Aye."
"Through the link, her pain was yours .. . and you feared she would die. Knowing what it would cost."
"My life," Kellin murmured.
"So you took his, even though you might have turned to Sima at once and begun the healing that would have saved two lives: hers, and Teague's."
His mouth was stiff, awkward. "I could not help myself."
"No," Brennan agreed in abject weariness, "you never have been able to. And that is why you are here before us now: to decide what must be done."
He looked up sharply. "What must be done?" he echoed. "But—what is there to do? There are rituals for Teague, and his family to tend, and i'toshoa-ni for me—"
"Kellin." Brennan's voice was steady. He glanced briefly at Aileen, whose expression was so taut as to break, then firmed his mouth and looked back at his grandson. "Tell me why the qu'mahlin came about."
It was preposterous. Kellin nearly gaped. "Now?"
"Now."
"You desire a history lesson?"
"I desire you to do whatever I require of you."
"Aye." It was blurted before Kellin thought about it. Frowning his perplexity, he began the lesson. "A Homanan princess ran away with a Cheysuli. Lindir, Shaine's daughter—she went away with Hale, Shaine's liege man." In the face of Brennan's expectant patience, Kellin groped for more. "She was meant to wed Ellic of Solinde, to seal an alliance between Homana and Solinde, but she ran away instead with Hale." He paused. "That is what I was taught, grandsire. Is there more you want?"
"Those are the political concerns, Kellin. What the elopement did as regards Homana and Solinde was to destroy any opportunity for peace to flourish; the two realms remained at war. But that would not cause the birth of the qu'mahlin, which was a strictly Homanan-Cheysuli conflict."
"Shaine's pride was such that he declared them attainted, subject to punishment."
"That is pan of it, Kellin. But think a moment- consider something more." Brennan's fingers tightened against aged wood. "It is one thing for a king to declare his daughter and his liege man attainted; he has the right to ask for their lives if he chooses to. It is quite another for that king to declare an entire race attainted, and set all of Homana against it."
Kellin waited for more. Nothing more was said.
"Aye," he agreed at last. "But Shaine was a madman.”
"Even a madman cannot lead his people into civil war if they do not believe what he has said. What did he say, Kellin?"
He knew it very well; Rogan had been at some pains to instruct him, and the Cheysuli at Clankeep as well. "He said we were demons and sorcerers and had to be destroyed."
"Why were we demons and sorcerers? What was his foremost proof?"
"That we could assume the shape of animals at will—" Kellin broke it off. He stared blindly at his grandsire. "That we could assume beast-shape and kill all the Homanans." He felt ill. "As—I killed Teague."
"As you killed Teague." Brennan sighed deeply. "In the days of Shaine, the Homanans believed themselves in danger. It was far easier to kill all the Cheysuli than risk their sovereignty. And so they tried. Shaine began it, and others carried it out. It took many years, including Ihlini and Solindish domination, before the Cheysuli were admitted again to Homana without fear of extermination."
"Carillon," Kellin murmured. "He ended the qu'mahlin."
"And made a Cheysuli Prince of Homana when he sired no sons of his own." A silver forelock had frosted to white. "Before the Lion came into the hands of Homanans, it was a Cheysuli legacy. The kingdom of Homana was a Cheysuli realm. But we gave it up rather than have the Homanans fear us, knowing that someday it would fall again to us, and to the Firstborn who would bind four realms and two magical races in a true peace." Brennan drew in a breath. "How can the Homanans permit a man to rule them who cannot control himself when he assumes lir-shape? He is, to them, nightmare; a beast without self-control. And I am not so certain, just at this moment, the Homanans are wrong."
It shocked. "Grandsire—"
"I know what it is to share pain through the link. I know what it is to be driven half-mad by fear—you have heard stories, I know, of how I am in small places—but I do not kill."
"Grandsire—"
"What if it happens again?"
Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 Page 27