He smoothed back a strand of dark hair from her cheekbone, fingertips lingering. “You have lost nothing, save a measure of your innocence. In time, you will understand it all. It is not my place to tell you. You will know.” He removed his hand. “Now, mount your horse. We have a long way to ride.”
She was muffled by the weight of the unaccustomed gown and the folds of the cloak. Duncan’s firm hands held her close as he lifted her into the saddle. Alix settled her wrappings as he turned to his own mount, then dutifully set out to follow him through the city streets. She was well aware of what she did, though days before she would never have admitted she could act so strangely. But something within her told her she would be safe with him, and that it was the will of the gods she go with him.
“Duncan,” she said quietly, “you spoke of losing someone to the soulless men. What did you truly say?”
Torchlight caught and flashed on his armbands, but he remained shadowed and indistinct as he led her through Mujhara. She thought again how easily the Cheysuli melted into the darkness.
“I have said what it is to be lirless,” he said at last, pitching his low voice to carry over the tap of hoof on stone. “A lir was lost, and Borrs seeks the death ritual in the forests.”
“And you let him go?”
“It is our way, Alix. Our custom. We do not turn our backs on what has been within the clan for centuries.”
Wearily she pushed the hood off her face and let it fall to her shoulders. “Duncan, where do you take me?”
“To the Keep.”
“What will happen to me there?”
“You will see the shar tahl, and learn what it is to be Cheysuli.”
“You are so certain your clan will accept me?”
He cast her a sharp glance over a shoulder. “They must. I have little doubt of your place in the prophecy.”
“Mine!”
“The shar tahl will explain it to you. It is not my place.”
Frustration rose within her, sharpening her voice into a demand. “Duncan! Do not shroud your words in obscurity and expect me to meekly accept them. You have taken me from all I have ever known, and even now you lead me into more I cannot comprehend. Tell me what is before me!”
He reined in his horse and allowed her to catch up. Faint illumination showed his face clearly to her, limning rigid determination. His mouth was a taut line.
“Must you know all before its time?” he asked harshly. “Can you not wait?”
She glared at him. “No.”
His eyes, bestial in the torchlight, narrowed into pale slits. “Then I will speak plainly, so plainly even you may understand.”
She nodded.
“What I have seen in my own tahlmorra is that the old gods intended you and I for one another. From us will come the next link in the prophecy of the Firstborn. You are Cheysuli. You have no choice.”
He was a stranger suddenly. The gentleness he had used before fled beneath the hardness of his voice and words and Alix nearly quailed from it. Then the full meaning and implications of what he had said flared within her mind.
“You and I…”
“If you would feel your own tahlmorra, you would see it as clearly as I.”
Alix’s breath came harsh in her throat. Her hands tightened compulsively on the reins. “Ten days ago I was a valley girl tending her father’s animals. Now you tell me I must accept the will of this crooked prophecy and serve it accordingly.” Her voice wavered, then grew firm again. “Well, I will not. I choose my own way.”
“You cannot.”
She glared at him through angry tears. “I have been cast from my grandsire’s palace; threatened with imprisonment and death. Even Torrin says I must follow this tahlmorra, as you do. But I will do as I choose! I am not an empty vessel to be filled with other men’s desires and plottings! I am more!”
Duncan sighed. “Have you not yet learned all men are no more than empty vessels for the gods? Cheysula, do not rail so at your fate. It is not so bad.”
“What do you call me?”
He stiffened, rigidly upright in the saddle. “I have some honor, girl. I will accede to the dictates of my own tahlmorra, but I will also honor yours. I know how it is with Homanans and their propriety, so I will renounce my vow of solitude. You I will take according to Cheysuli custom, and make you a wife.”
“You will not!”
“Alix—”
“No! When I become a wife it will be because I wish it, and to a man I can be at ease with. You frighten me with your shadowed soul and mutterings of prophecy I cannot even understand. Leave me to myself!”
He pressed his horse closer and caught her arm. Alix struggled against him as he pulled her effortlessly out of her saddle and sat her upright against his chest. In one terrifying instant she saw the echo of his brother in him, and all of Finn’s fierce determination.
“Duncan—no!”
“You have asked for it!” he snapped, settling her across his lap.
Cai, drifting down from the rooftops, circled over them. You should not, lir.
Alix, trapped within the hard circle of Duncan’s arm and fearful of his intentions, saw the conflict in his face. His hand was on her jaw, imprisoning it, but he made no further move against her. She waited stiffly, not breathing; afraid even to move.
Abruptly he kneed his horse to hers again and deposited her roughly into her own saddle. Alix grabbed at the reins and pommel, fighting to stay upright. When she cast an anxious glance over her cloaked shoulder she saw him visibly constrain the force of his emotion. Then his face was a mask to her.
“It seems,” he began stiffly, “you have all the lir at your bidding. First Storr gainsays my rujholli from forcing you; now Cai does so with me. There is more within you than I thought.”
“Perhaps you should heed it!”
Duncan’s face twisted. “I think the gods laughed when they determined we should serve the prophecy together. It will be no simple task.”
She glared at him. “It will be no task at all, shapechanger. I have determined that.”
He swore something in the Old Tongue, forsaking the control he had so recently won back. Alix, startled by the savagery in his voice, reined her horse back two steps.
Lir! Cai cried in warning.
Duncan turned swiftly in the saddle, hand to his knife, but the men were on him. Three of them, clothed in dark garments, dragged him from his mount.
Alix gasped as she saw him stand braced against his horse, knife drawn to face the men. Suddenly her anger and frustration evaporated, replaced by stark fear for his life.
A swift feathered weight plummeted from the night sky, wingtips brushing her hair. Cai shrieked into the darkness and fell, talons outstretched. Alix’s horse, terrified by the bird, reared.
She cried out and scrabbled for a solid handhold, tangling reins and mane in her rigid fingers. She had little knowledge of horses; always before she had ridden with someone. Now she struggled to keep the horse from striking Duncan with its pawing hooves.
A hoarse outcry followed Cai’s attack. Alix tried to see if Duncan was safe, but her horse denied it to her. It reared again and danced backward, then spun and bolted.
Shod hooves slid on cobbles, striking sparks. The horse cared little for obstacles in its path, leaping anything in its way. Alix clung to the animal with all her strength, unable to control its flight, and sought the mercies of the gods.
The horse leaped a bushel and slipped badly on landing, sliding spread-legged, nearly throwing Alix from the saddle. The cloak, whipping back, dragged at her. She felt the woven strands of garnets and pearls break free of her hair, spilling loosened braids over her shoulders in disarray. She took two trembling wraps in the reins, snugging them around her hands, and pulled the horse’s head sideways in an instinctive bid to slow it.
Dimly she heard the animal’s wheezing breath and felt the lash of bloodied saliva against her face. The horse slid and thrashed all four legs in an effort to maint
ain momentum, but Alix kept her painful grip on the reins. She felt the cloak torn from her, whipped back into the darkness.
The horse folded beneath her suddenly, without warning, and tumbled her painfully into the street.
Stunned, knocked dizzy with the force of her sprawled landing, Alix felt the tug at her left arm. The twisted reins still wrapped themselves about her wrist, threatening to drag her as the animal fought to regain its feet. Dazedly she picked at the taut leather with her other hand, freeing her wrist at last.
She heard a rattle of pebbles and dimly realized the jeweled lacings in her hair had broken, scattering garnets and pearls across the cobbles. A searching hand at her hips told her the girdle was also gone, and her skirts were torn and stained. But she dismissed that and got painfully to her hands and knees.
The horse, defeated in its attempt to rise, lay wheezing on its side near her. Alix stared at it blankly, wanting to go to it; afraid of what she might find if she did.
Hair tumbled over her shoulders into her bruised face, dragging on the cobbles. Wearily she pushed it behind her ears and discovered the garnets in her ears remained. Alix got to her feet and waited for the pain to begin. When she found she could stand it, she picked up her heavy skirts and moved slowly back the way she had come.
Duncan was missing when she found the place. Alix moved into the pool of faint torchlight and stared vaguely at the cobbles, seeing two bodies. One man lay on his back with a deep knife wound in his abdomen. The other, clawing hands clasped to his face in death, had had his forehead rent by talons. He bled freely from a wound in his throat.
The third man was nowhere. Alix wobbled unsteadily and put both hands over her mouth to force back the sour bile rushing into her throat.
A lantern flared in a door across from her as it opened. Alix squinted against it, trapped in the spilling illumination. An old man peered out, one hand grasping the collar of a growling dog. He lifted the lantern to shed more light into the street and Alix instinctively shrank from it, pressing herself against the wall.
But he saw her. His dark eyes widened, then narrowed as he stared at the slain men. His voice came harsh as he looked back at her.
“Witch! Shapechanger witch!”
Alix put a trembling hand to her face, realizing how deeply she bore her father’s stamp. In the darkness, illuminated by the lantern light, she was branded by the Mujhar’s hatred.
“No,” she said clearly.
His hand loosened on the dog’s collar. Alix, fearing he would set the animal on her, gathered up her skirts and fled.
She ran until her lungs screamed their protest and her legs faltered. Breathlessly she fell against a stone well set in the intersection of cobbled streets. She clutched at the cross-beams of the well and held herself upright, gasping from knifing pain in her chest and sides.
When some of the breath-demand had gone she cranked up the bucket. The cool water was sweet on her raw throat, trickling down to soothe her heaving stomach. It splashed over the rim and stained the velvet of her fine garments, but she did not care.
“Could you spare some water for a thirsty horse, my lady?” asked a quiet voice.
Alix jerked upright, dropping the bucket down the well. Her hands clenched spasmodically in her skirts as she stared at the man.
He moved softly, silently, forsaking the shadows like a wraith. She saw a dark cloak falling to his booted feet. An oddly twisted silver brooch pinned it to his left shoulder, but he had pulled the folds back from a silver sword hilt at his hips. Somehow, though he moved in darkness, he brought the light with him.
His face was smooth, serene. Strength of a sort she had never seen shone from the fine features, and his smile was gently beguiling. His hair and beard were inky dark, carefully trimmed, and flecked with silver. His eyes, black as the horse who followed him, were soothing and sweet.
“Do not fear me, my lady. I seek only water for my horse.” He smiled gently. “Not some light woman for the evening.”
Alix, even bruised and weary, felt the insult keenly. She drew herself up and glared at him, disdaining to answer. But as her eyes met his the defiance slid away, leaving her powerless before him.
She gestured weakly. “The well is yours, my lord.”
He cranked up the bucket and held it steady in gloved hands, letting the horse take its fill. He watched her in a manner almost paternal.
“You have seen trouble this night, lady,” he said quietly. “Are you harmed?”
“No. I am well enough.”
“Do not seek to hide the truth from me. I have only to look at your eyes.”
She swallowed, aware of her loose hair and stained clothing. “We were set upon by thieves, my lord.”
“You are alone now.”
“The man I rode with stayed to fight the thieves. My horse was frightened, and ran. In order to stop him I was forced to put him down on the stones.” She shrugged slightly, dismissing the remembered fright. “So now I walk.”
“What of your escort?”
Alix looked away from him. “I cannot say, my lord. Perhaps he is slain.” The vision rose before her eyes, showing her Duncan twisted on the cobbles, slain. She shuddered and felt the horrible anguish in her soul.
“With such words you place yourself in my hands,” he said gently.
A chill of apprehension slid through her, but she was aching and weary, too dazed to care. “If it be so, my lord, what will you do with me?”
He sent the bucket back to the depths of the well and caressed the horse’s silky jaw. “Help you, lady. I will give you my aid.” His beguiling smile soothed her. “Come into the light and look upon me. If I truly seem treacherous, you have only to leave me. I will not gainsay you. But if you find me honest in my intentions, you are welcome to come with me.”
Slowly Alix answered his summons, moving into the torchlight. His appearance was calm, gentle-seeming, and his affection for the horse indicated goodwill. She met his eyes for a long moment, searching for an answer there.
At last she sighed. “I am so wearied from this day and night I care little what your intentions may be. Where do you go, my lord?”
“Where you wish, lady. I serve you.”
Alix looked into his smooth face, seeking an indication of his true intent, but she saw only serenity. He was richly clad, though not ostentatious, and his manner was that of some high lord.
“Do you serve the Mujhar?” she asked, suddenly apprehensive.
He smiled, white teeth gleaming. “No, lady, I do not. I serve the gods.”
It relieved her past measure. Silently Alix took the gems from her ears and held them out.
But he would not take them. “I have no need of your jewels, lady. What I do for you requires no payment.” He gestured smoothly. “Where do you go, lady? I will take you there.”
“A croft,” she said quietly. “In the valley. It is perhaps ten leagues from here.”
His eyes glinted in gentle humor. “You do not have the appearance of a croft-girl, lady. I see more in you than that.”
Her hand gripped the garnet earrings. “Do you seek to humble me, my lord? There is no need. I know my place.”
He moved closer. The light seemed to follow him. His eyes were soft, sweet, like his voice, and deep as the well from which they drank.
“Do you?” he asked softly. “Do you truly know your place?”
Alix frowned at him, baffled by his manner, and lost herself in the dominance of his black eyes.
He lifted his right hand. For a moment she thought he would make the Cheysuli gesture of tahlmorra, but he did not. Instead a hissing line of purple light streaked out of the darkness and pooled in his hand, throwing a violet glare over her face and his.
“So you have learned your legacy,” he said quietly. “After all this time. I had thought Lindir’s child lost, and of no more account.”
Alix gasped.
The flame leaped in his hand. “You hold more of the prophecy within you than any I h
ave yet seen. And I have watched for years…waiting.”
Her voice hurt. “What do you say?”
Black eyes narrowed and held dominion over her. “Can it be you do not fully understand? Have the Cheysuli not yet bound you to their tahlmorra?”
“Who are you?”
He smiled. “I have many names. Most are used by petty men who fear me. Others are revered, as they should be.”
Alix shivered. “What manner of man are you?”
“One who serves the gods.”
She wanted to leave him but the power in his fathomless black eyes held her. Purple light glowed in his palm.
“What do you want of me?”
“Nothing,” he said calmly, “if you remain unknowing. It is only if you recognize the tahlmorra within yourself that I will be forced to gainsay you. In any way I can.”
Her palm burned where the earrings bit into her flesh. “You are not Cheysuli.”
“No.”
“Yet you speak of their tahlmorra, and the prophecy. What is it to you?”
“My bane,” he said softly. “The end of me, should it be fulfilled. And the Cheysuli know it.”
Cold knowledge crept within her mind. Consciously she forced her body to relax, then lifted her head. “I know you. I know you.” She took another breath. “Ihlini.”
“Aye,” he said softly.
“Tynstar…”
His eyes smiled. “Aye.”
“What do you do here?” she whispered.
“That is for me to know. But I will tell you this—already Bellam breaks Shaine’s borders and invades. Homana will fall, lady…soon. It will be mine.” He smiled. “As it was ever meant.”
“Shaine will never allow it.”
“Shaine is a fool. He was a fool when he sent the Cheysuli from their homeland and sentenced them to death. Without them, he cannot win. When he does not, the prophecy will fail. And I will be lord of this land.”
“By your unnatural arts!” Alix cried.
The sorcerer laughed softly. “You are party to your own unnatural arts, lady…you have only to learn them. But until you do, you remain insignificant, and of no account to me.” He shrugged. “So I will let you live.”
The Shapechangers Page 12