The Shapechangers

by Jennifer Roberson

  “Let me live…” she echoed.

  “For now,” Tynstar agreed lightly.

  A winged shadow passed over them, blotting the violet glow a moment. Tynstar glanced up and watched the shadow, then looked at Alix.

  “You summon the lir, lady, even though you do not know it. Perhaps you are not the naïve child you would have me believe.”

  Cai! she cried silently, staring up at the hawk.

  Tynstar’s hand was on his horse. The other still held hissing purple flame. He smiled at her across its glow and sketched a twisted rune in the air. Its path glowed against the darkness a moment, then flared into a column of cold fire. When it had gone, so had he.

  “Alix.”

  She spun and stared at Duncan. He stood silently with his horse at his back, left arm streaked with blood. A bruise darkened his cheekbone and he bore a shallow slice across his forehead, but he seemed whole.

  Alix looked at him. The defiance she had struck him with earlier had faded. Her words then, angry and frightened, had no more meaning. Something whispered in her soul, tapping at her mind, and she began to understand it.

  “The horse ran away,” she said unsteadily.

  His eyes were fixed on her. “I found him. He is lamed, but will recover.”

  “I am glad he was not badly hurt.” She knew the words they said held no meaning. Their communication lay on another level.

  “Will you suffer to ride with me?” he asked. “I cannot waste more time seeking another horse. The clan has need of me.”

  Alix walked slowly toward him, eyes dwelling on every visible wound and bruise. A strange trembling weakness crept into her limbs as his yellow gaze remained on her in a calm, deliberate perusal. The hawk-earring glittered in the strands of his black hair.

  She halted before him. “It was Tynstar.”

  “I saw him.”

  She put out a hesitant hand and gently touched the drying blood on his arm. “Duncan, I did not mean to hurt you.”

  He flinched at her soft touch but she realized it was not from pain. Something told her this man was hers to hold, to keep, and the enormity of it stunned her.

  “Duncan…” She swallowed heavily and met his blazing eyes, “Duncan, please hold me so I know I am real.”

  He whispered something in the Old Tongue and took her into his arms.

  Alix, hair spilling down her back, melted against his firm warrior’s body until she was boneless. The strange weakness was new to her, but she welcomed it.

  Duncan sank a hand deep in her hair and jerked her head back. “Do you deny it? Do you deny the tahlmorra in our blood?”

  She did not answer. She caught her hands in the thick hair curling at his neck and dragged his mouth down on hers.

  Chapter Four

  Duncan found them a cave in the hills beyond Mujhara and spread furred pelts over the stone floor. Alix sat on one, pulling his red blanket around her shoulders, and watched him build a small fire. When it was done he took the small grouse he had caught, spitted it, and set it over the fire.

  “Does your arm hurt?” she asked.

  He flexed the scabbing forearm. “No. The men were not skilled with their weapons.”

  “Finn has said you can heal. Will you not do it?”

  “Not for myself, or for so trivial a wound. The healing arts are used only in great need, and usually only on others.”

  “Finn healed Carillon’s wrist.”

  “Because Carillon required convincing we were not the demons he believed.”

  She shifted, easing a sore hip. Her entire body ached with the fall from the horse. “What did you mean when you spoke to Carillon as we left? It sounded as if you spoke from certain knowledge.”

  He tended the sizzling grouse and sipped at a cup of honey brew. “I spoke from the knowledge of the prophecy. Carillon is not named in it—no man is—but I think he is the one.”

  “Speak plainly with me.”

  Duncan smiled crookedly at her. “I cannot. You have no knowledge of the prophecy. That will be given to you by the shar tahl, and then you will know.”

  “Why must you shroud your words in so much darkness? You would have me think it is some sorcery you seek to do.”

  “It is no sorcery to serve the gods.”

  “As does Tynstar?”

  He stiffened. “Tynstar serves the dark gods of the netherworld. He is evil. He seeks only to end the prophecy before its time is come.”

  “So he said.” Alix sighed and rubbed at her brow. “Where did you go when my horse ran?”

  “First I slew two of the thieves. The third ran. I went to find you.”

  “Why did you not simply send Cai? Or seek lir-shape?”

  “I could not take lir-shape. I sensed the presence of an Ihlini, though I did not know who. As for Cai…him I sent to Homana-Mujhar.”

  “Homana-Mujhar!”

  “I thought you had returned to Carillon.”

  She stared at him, astonished, then felt a strange bubble of laughter welling within. “You will have me think you are jealous of him.”

  He scowled. “I am not jealous.”

  Alix smiled in wonder, then laughed outright. “So, I am to think the Cheysuli are not capable of such a Homanan emotion? Yet your brother—who is also mine—seems well able to display it.”

  “Finn is young.”

  “And you not much older.”

  Color came into his face. “I left my youth behind the day my first Keep was invaded by the Mujhar’s men. It was only the will of the gods I was not slain, as so many others were.”

  “Duncan—”

  “You will see when we have reached the Keep.”

  “Are so few left?”

  “Perhaps fifty women, half of which cannot bear children. The rest are old men, girls, and boys. Of warriors…there are perhaps sixty.”

  The horror of the qu’mahlin swept into her for the first time. “Duncan…”

  He looked old suddenly. “Once this land was ours. More than fifty clans ranged Homana, from Hondarth on the Idrian Ocean into the mountains of the north, across the Bluetooth River. Now they are all slain, leaving only my own clan. And we are not so strong as we were.”

  “Shaine’s doing…”

  He reached out and caught one of her arms, eyes beseeching her. “Do you see it now? Do you understand why we steal women and force them to bear our children? Alix, it is the survival of a race. It is not you the Council will see, but your race and your youth. You must serve your race, cheysula.”

  She sat straight upon the pelt. “And will they hear you have called me that?”

  He released her arm. “I will ask for you. It is my tahlmorra.” Duncan gestured slowly, spreading his fingers. “You are Hale’s daughter. I think they will not deny me.”

  She felt chilled. “But—they could? They could refuse you?”

  His hand dropped. “Aye. First you must be acknowledged within the clan, given the knowledge in the old fashion, made aware of your birthlines. The shar tahl will say if you are truly Cheysuli.”

  “But—you have said!”

  Duncan smiled sadly. “There is no doubt, small one; it is only custom. But you have been raised Homanan. In the eyes of the Council, you are tainted. Until the shar tahl has declared you free of it.”

  Desolate, she closed her eyes. Her growing security in him was destroyed with but a few words. Then her eyes snapped open.

  “They would not give me to Finn!”

  Duncan’s face was a mixture of surprise and amusement, then consideration. He frowned.

  Alix was suddenly frightened. “Duncan, they would not!”

  He turned the spitted bird slowly. “I am clan-leader, but not the sole power in the clan. It is Council that says what will be.”

  She leaped to her feet and stumbled to the rock wall facing her. She stared at it blindly, hugging the blanket around her aching body. The new knowledge of what Duncan meant to her twisted in her entrails like a serpent, setting jagged teet
h into her spirit.

  To lose him when I have only just found him…

  Duncan’s hands settled on her shoulders. “I will not let you go so easily.”

  Trembling, she turned to him. “Could you gainsay it, if they wished to give me to another man?”

  Muscles rolled beneath the smooth flesh of his jaw. “No.”

  “Then what of this tahlmorra you prate about?”

  “It is mine, Alix,” he said somberly. “It does not mean it is the clan’s.”

  She whispered his name. Then she lifted her face and touched his arm. “If I went before this Council already carrying your child…?”

  His eyes flickered in surprise. Then he smiled faintly. “If you made such a sacrifice, small one, there would be little they could say about the match.”

  Alix let the blanket drop. The gown beneath, ungirdled, hung loosely. Slowly she undid the fastenings at the neck. Duncan watched her mutely, held by the strength in her eyes. His breath came harsh.

  When the gown was undone she let it fall to her feet. Her hair, unbound, streamed over her shoulders like a mantle.

  “I am new to this…” she whispered, trembling with something other than fear. “Duncan…it cannot be so very difficult to conceive…”

  “No,” he breathed, reaching for her. “It is not so very difficult.”

  He took her from Homana into Ellas, the realm bordering Homana’s eastern side. Alix, clasping his lean waist with a new and wonderful possessiveness, felt regret and anger stir within her that her grandsire could so malignantly drive her race from their homeland into a strange realm.

  When at last Duncan halted Alix saw before her a large half-circle wall of piled stone. The wall ran a distance before circling back, and at the wide opening she saw three warriors with their lir. They waited silently, and she realized they were guards.

  “The Keep,” Duncan said, and rode past the warriors.

  Huge oiled pavilions billowed in a faint breeze. All were dyed warm colors, dwarfing the small tents she had seen at the raiding camp. Each had its own firepit before flapped entrances, but smoke drifted from the poled peaks and she realized smaller fires were tended within. Each pavilion, regardless of its color, bore a painted animal on its sides. By the shapes she could know what lir lived there.

  The curving wall of undressed, unmortared stone hugged the shoulder of a craggy mountain. The half-circle blended into thick, sheltering trees. Alix realized such anonymity was the safety of the Cheysuli.

  Duncan halted the horse before a green pavilion. She looked for the hawk painting on its side but saw only a wolf.

  She stiffened. “Why do we stop here?”

  “I would see my rujho,” he said quietly, slipping from the horse. He turned to lift her down.

  “Why? I want nothing to do with Finn.”

  Duncan eyed her thoughtfully. “When last I saw him, he was feverish from the wounds gotten in the forest battle.” His mouth was firm. “Wounds won protecting you.”

  Chastened, Alix slipped silently into his arms and allowed him to lead her into the pavilion.

  Finn was stretched out on a pallet of thick furs, wrapped in a soft woven blanket. As he saw them he hoisted himself up on one elbow and grinned at her.

  “So, my rujho managed to win you away from the wealth of Homana-Mujhar…and Carillon.”

  She had been prepared to wish him well, feeling guilty over his injuries gotten in her behalf. But now, facing his mocking eyes and words, her good intentions evaporated.

  “I came willingly enough, when my grandsire called me shapechanger witch and threatened to have me slain.”

  “I said your place was with us, meijha; not among the walls of Shaine’s palace…or within the princeling’s arms.”

  She glared at him. “You do not look feverish to me.”

  He laughed. “I am fully recovered, meijha. Or nearly. I will be plaguing you soon enough, when I am on my feet.”

  “You do not require feet to do that!” She scowled at him. “You need only be in my presence.”

  Finn grinned and ran a hand through his hair. She saw his eyes were alert and unclouded by illness, though his color was not as deep as usual. Inwardly she was grateful he had not been badly injured, but she would not say it to him.

  “Will you two never admit peace between you?” Duncan growled. “Must I ever seek to placate you, one at a time?”

  “She is a woman, rujho,” Finn said airily. “And they are ever the cause of much agitation.”

  Before Alix could answer Duncan put a firm hand on her shoulder, pressing gently. She said nothing, but saw Finn’s eyes narrow suspiciously. Alix could not keep her face from turning bright red.

  He smiled slowly, watching her, eyes very bright. He was not stupid, she knew. He looked at Duncan with a blank mask on his face.

  “Malina has conceived.”

  Duncan’s hand bit into Alix’s shoulder. She stared at him in surprise, seeing him go pale beneath his Cheysuli coloring. She was new to a woman’s intuition for her mate, but understood instantly that something had deeply shaken him.

  “Is it certain?” Duncan asked in a peculiar voice.

  Finn nodded. “She is four months gone.” His face twisted mockingly. “Was it not four months ago when she turned from you to Borrs, and took him as her cheysul?”

  “I count, Finn!” Duncan said angrily.

  The younger man looked at Alix’s uncomprehending face. He smiled more broadly. “And now Borrs is among the soulless men, seeking his death-ritual. Malina is free again.”

  Instinctively Alix reached for Duncan’s clenched fist. But he withdrew his hand from her seeking fingers and stepped away, putting distance between them.

  “Has she declared the unborn child before Council yet?” he asked harshly.

  Finn, solemn again, shook his head. “She has been in formal mourning for the last three days, since she learned of the news. But it will have to be a brief mourning, if she is to take another cheysul.”

  “Did Borrs know of the child?”

  Finn hunched a shoulder. “He said nothing of it to me. But then he knew you and I are close, rujho, and he would hardly speak of such a thing to the rujholli of the man who first had his cheysula. Would he?”

  “Then she has not named the jehan.”

  A mocking glint crept back into Finn’s eyes. “Perhaps even Malina does not know the jehan of her unborn child, rujho. Do you?”

  Alix stepped toward him. “What do you say? What has this to do with Duncan?”

  “It would be better, perhaps, he told you himself.”

  “Tell me!”

  Finn slid a glance at his silent brother, then nodded slightly. His smile was wolfish and triumphant. “Duncan would have asked for formal clan-rights of Malina next year, taking her as his cheysula. She had been his since I can remember…in the clans children are close and often wed when they are of age.” He scratched at an eyebrow. “But Borrs also wanted her, and when Duncan wished to wait because of becoming clan-leader, Malina did not. I cannot account for a woman’s whim to punish one man by taking another, but it is what she did.” He looked intently at Duncan. “Yet now Borrs is among the soulless men, clanless, and she is free to choose again.” He paused significantly. “Or be chosen.”

  Alix, aware of Finn’s natural perversity, sought the truth in Duncan’s eyes. He turned from her and went out the flapped entrance, saying no word.

  Finn’s low laugh stung her. Alix turned on him, furious, fist upraised in his direction. But he laughed again, amused by her action, and she dropped the hand back to her side.

  “Why?” she asked. “Why do you punish me this way?”

  He sat up, crossing his legs beneath his blanket. He wore no jerkin and she saw the bronze of his broad chest was ridged with scars. The wound in his shoulder was unbound but healing, and she recalled again his savagery as he slew the guardsman who would have slain her.

  “So,” he said in a low, taunting voice, “you
recognize the tahlmorra in yourself at last. I see you have chosen my rujholli after all, forsaking even Carillon. Only now Duncan returns to his first woman.” He clucked his tongue. “Poor little meijha.”

  “I require no pity from you!”

  “Duncan differs from me in many ways, meijha; particularly in his women. He has long been satisfied with Malina, requiring no others.” He shrugged. “I take a woman where I will; freely. Save for you, they have never denied me.”

  “What do you say!”

  “That Duncan makes a life-bond when he takes a cheysula. If Malina is offering clan-rights with proven fertility, he would be a fool to deny her.” He stretched idly, cracking tough sinews. “My rujho is many things, but he is not a fool.” Finn grinned at her. “Do not worry, meijha…I will still have you. You will not be lonely.”

  She longed to scream at him but did not. Somehow she summoned a regal elegance, even in a torn and stained gown.

  “I am Hale’s daughter…I believe it now. Therefore I am Cheysuli. Therefore I have free choice of any man, rujholli, and I tell you now—you would be the last warrior I would ever consider. The last.”

  Alix left him feeling a strange satisfaction that she had so easily bested him. The look on his face had assured her victory. But the satisfaction faded as she recalled the cause of it. Outside Finn’s green pavilion. Alix hugged herself and longed for Duncan.

  Cai drifted down from the skies. Come with me, liren.

  Where? she asked dully.

  To my lir.

  Your lir seeks the company of another woman.

  Cai’s tone was exceedingly gentle. You are weary and filled with sorrow and confusion. Come with me.

  Silently Alix followed the bird across the Keep to a slate-colored pavilion embellished with a painted gold hawk. As Cai settled on his polished wooden perch she pulled the doorflap aside and went in.

  Duncan had filled his pavilion with thick soft pelts and a richly embroidered tapestry. Alix stared at it blankly, unable to decipher the runes and odd symbols stitched in the blue pattern. Then she knelt before the ash-filled fire cairn.

  She felt very small. An ague seemed to have settled in her bones, rattling them even as she sought to calm herself. Her breath seemed to have gone completely; repeated gasps only worsened her need for air. Finally she bowed her head and clutched at it, pressing against her temples.