A Tapestry of Lions

by Jennifer Roberson

  Then again, there was lovely black Sleeta, his grandsire’s mountain cat, and Hart’s magnificent Rael. There were so many wonderful lir in the world; surely the gods would see to it he gained the perfect one.

  Blais’ arm moved in slow repetition as he stroked Tanni. He lay on his belly, torso propped up on one elbow. Thick black hair fell forward over his shoulders. He wore no jerkin, only leggings; gold shone dully in candlelight against the bronzing of his flesh.

  Someday I will have such gold. Kellin wet his lips. “Blais?”

  Blais glanced up. Tanni flopped over on her side and bent her head around to inspect Kellin. “Aye?” Blais beckoned, smiling. “Come in, come in—we have no secrets, Tanni and I—and if I wanted privacy I would have shut the door.”

  Kellin slipped through the slot between door and jamb. Linked behind his back, both hands clutched an object. “I have a question.”

  His cousin’s black brows arched. “Aye?”

  He sucked in a deep breath. “Are you going back to Solinde with them?”

  “Solinde!” Blais sat upright, shaking hair away from his face. “Why would I go to Solinde?”

  “Because of—them.” Abashed, Kellin stared at the floor.

  “Who?” Blais began, and then he cut off the question. “Why do you ask, Kellin?”

  Miserably, Kellin looked up to meet Blais’ steady gaze. “I saw you,” he whispered. “Earlier today, on the sentry-walk.”

  “Ah.” Blais nodded.

  “You were kissing Jennet.”

  “Cluna.”

  It stopped Kellin’s attempt at explanation. “Cluna? But, I thought—”

  Blais laughed. “You were thinking ’twas Jennet I wanted? Well, aye, and so it was—yesterday. Today ’twas Cluna.” He shifted into a cross-legged position, one hand tugging gently at Tanni’s ear. “You see, Cluna wanted to sample what her rujholla had tasted the day before. They compete in everything.” He shrugged, grinning. “I accommodated them both.”

  Kellin was bewildered. “Then which one will you marry?”

  “Marry!” Then Blais laughed. “Gods, Kellin— neither. Were you thinking I would? No. I’ll not go to Solinde, and I’m doubting either of them could bear to live at Clankeep. There is too much of Solinde in them.” He smiled more warmly at his cousin. “Were you thinking I meant to desert you?”

  Without warning tears welled up. Kellin was astonished and ashamed, but there was a thing he had to say. “I have no one left,” he explained unsteadily. “Only you. Urchin and Rogan—” He bit into his lip. “There is grandsire and granddame, but it isn’t the same. ’Tisn’t like true friends; they have to like me. But you…well—” he swallowed heavily, spilling it all at once. “I will be Mujhar one day. I would have need of a liege man.”

  Blais’ face was still. Only his eyes were alive in the dark mask: fierce and bright and yellow.

  Kellin felt all of his muscles knot up. He’ll refuse me—he will say no. He wanted it so badly, and yet he knew it was unlikely. They were years and worlds apart, and very different in nature.

  Blais’ tone was muted. “I had not expected this.”

  Panic nearly overwhelmed. “Have I offended you?”

  “Offended! That the Prince of Homana desires me to be his liege man?” Blais shook his head. “No, there is no offense in this—only honor. And I never believed myself worthy of such honor.”

  “But you are!” Kellin cried. “You saved me from the bear-trap, and the Lion. Your worth is proved. And—and there is no one else I would have.”

  Blais stared hard at Tanni, as if he feared to give away too much if he looked at Kellin. “There has been no liege man in Homana-Mujhar since Ian died.”

  “He would approve,” Kellin said. “He would say you are worthy.”

  Blais smiled faintly. “Then how could I refuse?” Levity faded again. He was suddenly very solemn. “I will serve you gladly, my lord.”

  Kellin sighed. From behind his back he took the knife and showed it to Blais. It was gold and steel, with a rampant lion twisted about the hilt. Its eye was a single ruby. Softly, he said, “There is a ceremony.”

  Blais rose from the bed, knelt upon the floor, and drew his own Cheysuli long-knife. Without hesitation he placed the blade against the inside of his left wrist and cut into the flesh. “I swear,” he said quietly, “by this blood; by my name and honor and lir, that I will serve as liege man to Kellin of Homana as long as he will have me.” Blood ran from the knife cut and dripped crimson on the stone floor. “Will you have me, my lord?”

  Wonder welled in Kellin’s breast. “I will.” And then, quoting the words he had learned long ago: “Y’ja’hai. Tu’jhalla dei. Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu.”

  “Ja’hai-na,” Blais responded. Then he offered his bloodied knife to his lord and took the other in return.

  Kellin looked down upon the Cheysuli weapon with its wolf-head hilt. He felt the tears well up, but he did not care. I am not alone any more.

  * * *

  He awoke sweating near dawn, disoriented and fearful. He felt oppressed, squashed flat by dread. —Lion—

  Kellin wanted to whimper. How could it come to pass? Blais was in the palace. Blais was his liege man. The Lion could not withstand a sworn Cheysuli liege man.

  The flesh rose on his bones. “Lion,” he murmured. And then, searching for strength, “Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu.”

  But the sense of dread increased.

  Kellin wanted Blais. Together they might vanquish the beast forever. But to summon Blais meant he had to get out of bed.

  Kellin shuddered, biting into his bottom lip. He smelled the tang of fear on his flesh and hated himself for it. His scarred ankle ached, though he knew it completely healed.

  “Cheysuli,” he choked, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “A warrior, someday.” Warriors were brave. Warriors did what required doing.

  From beneath his pillow he took the Cheysuli long-knife bestowed by his liege man. Stiffly, slowly, Kellin slid down from his bed. He wore only a sleeping tunic that reached to mid-thigh; bare toes dug into the stone floor as if he might take root. You have a liege man. He will fend off the Lion. He clutched the knife in both hands, then crept out of his room into the corridor beyond.

  False dawn, he thought; even the servants still slept. An ideal time for a lion to stalk the halls.

  Kellin chewed his lips painfully, then unclenched his teeth. With the knife as his ward, he moved slowly and deliberately toward the door that was Blais’, so far down the corridor as to be a league away.

  Kellin pushed open the door. Candlelight from the corridor cressets spilled inside, illuminating the chamber. Kellin saw tousled black hair, the gleam of a lir-band, and the glint of Tanni’s eyes from the foot of the bed where she lay.

  “Blais,” he said. “Blais—the Lion is come.”

  Blais sat up at once, one hand reaching for the royal knife at his bedside. His eyes, pupils expanded in darkness, showed a ring of purest yellow around the edges. “Kellin?”

  “The Lion,” Kellin repeated. “Will you come? We have to kill it.”

  Blais ran a hand through his hair. He yawned. “The lion?” And then he came fully awake. “Kellin—” But he cut it off. His expression was masked. “Where is it?”

  Kellin gestured with his knife. “Out there. Walking the corridors.”

  Blais grunted and slid out of bed. He was nude save for lir-gold, but paused long enough to slip on leggings. Barefoot, he patted Tanni and murmured a word in the Old Tongue. Then he smiled at Kellin. “A wolf is no match for a lion.”

  Kellin felt markedly better as Blais followed him out into the corridor. “A sword might be better,” he said, “but I am not old enough yet. Grandsire said.”

  “Have you not begun swordplay?”

  “Aye, a little—but the arms-master says it will be a long time before I have any skill. I am too small.”

  Blais nodded. “A Homanan skill. I am no good at it, mysel
f, though the gods know Sean tried to teach me often enough.” He shrugged. “I have no aptitude.”

  They went on. Torchlight glinted off the earring in Blais’ hair. He looked fully awake and alert, Kellin thought in satisfaction. This time the Lion will lose.

  When they neared the Great Hall, Kellin pressed himself against the wall. A shudder claimed his body from head to toe, stilling only as Blais closed a hand over one shoulder.

  “I am your liege man,” Blais told him. “I am with you, my lord.”

  Kellin grinned his relief. “’Tis inside,” he said. “I can feel it.” To Blais, it was not difficult to explain; a liege man would know, would understand. “He has come to swallow Homana.”

  The tone was excessively neutral. “How do you know this?”

  “The fortune-teller said so.”

  Blais seemed briefly dubious, but let it go. He smiled. “Then we shall have to see to it the lion swallows nothing but my knife blade.”

  Joy and wonder bubbled up in Kellin. This is what it is to have a liege man!

  Blais pushed open one of the heavy silver doors, sliding effortlessly inside. Kellin slipped through behind him. “Here?” Blais whispered.

  “Somewhere…” Kellin moved forward slowly, wishing he might have the courage to use the knife he clutched.

  Blais stepped out into the center of the long hall and strode the length of the firepit. Coals glowed from its depths beneath an ashen cloak.

  The alcove curtain near the massive throne billowed in the darkness. A single coal fell out of the pit and crumbled into ash. “There!” Kellin gasped.

  Blais reacted instantly, running silently toward the alcove. He caught the curtain and tore it aside, knife glinting.

  “Is it there?” Kellin cried. “Blais?”

  Blais went rigid, then reeled back from the alcove. Kellin heard the slap of bare torso against the wall. The knife fell from a slack hand. “Tanni!” Blais cried. “Tanni—”

  Kellin ran. By the time he reached Blais, his kinsman was slumped against wall and floor, body trembling convulsively. Yellow eyes were wide and crazed, turned inside out. Sweat filmed his face.

  “Blais!”

  Blais shuddered. Then he reached out and caught Kellin’s thin arms, closing his taloned fingers into flesh. “Tanni—Tanni—lir—”

  “Blais!”

  “—gods—oh, gods…no—” Blais’ face was the color of the ash in the firepit. “Tanni—” He let go of Kellin all at once and lurched to his feet.

  “Blais—”

  But Blais did not respond. He stumbled toward the end of the hall, seeking doors; his grace was utterly banished, leaving him reeling like a drunken man, or a sick one. He smashed into one of the doors and shoved it open.

  Kellin gathered up the fallen knife and ran after his liege man. Fear of the Lion was quite vanquished; what he feared now was that something terrible had befallen Blais. Don’t let him go, too!

  Blais ran even as Kellin caught up, but his body betrayed him. Only his outstretched hands, rebounding off walls, kept him upright. Ropes of muscles stood up in relief against naked flesh.

  “Blais!”

  And then they were in Blais’ chamber, and there was blood everywhere, on the floor and across the bed; a lurid arc against the curtains. Blais tore them aside, then fell down onto the bed. “Tanni—”

  People crowded in the door. Kellin heard the questions, the startled exclamations, but he answered none of them. He could only stare at the warrior who had been his cousin, his liege man, his friend; who now was a lirless Cheysuli.

  “Blais—” This time it was a wail because he knew.

  Brennan was behind him. “Kellin…Kellin, come away.”

  “No.”

  Hart was with him, face shiny it was stretched so tautly across the bones of his cheeks. “Come away, Kellin. There is nothing you can do.”

  “No!” Kellin threw down the knives, then ripped himself out of Brennan’s reaching hands. “Blais—Blais—you cannot. No! I need you. I need you! You are my liege man!” He fastened both hands around one of Blais’ rigid arms and tugged, trying to pull his kinsman away from the gutted wolf. “Blais!”

  Blais turned a ravaged face on them all. “Take him away…take him from here.”

  “No!” Kellin gulped back the fear. “Tu’jalla dei—”

  Brennan caught Kellin’s arms. “Come away.”

  “He can’t go!” Kellin screamed. “I refuse him leave. I am the Prince of Homana and I refuse him leave to go!”

  They were all of them in the chamber: Aileen, Ilsa, his Solindish cousins. Dulcie’s yellow eyes were wide.

  “Tu’jalla dei!” Kellin shrieked. “He has to stay if I say so. He swore. Tell him, grandsire! Tu’jalla dei.”

  Brennan’s face was stark. “Such things are for gods to do, not men, not even princes and kings. This is the price, Kellin. Blais accepted it when he accepted his lir. So did I. So did we all. And so will you.”

  “I will not! I will not!”

  Aileen’s voice shook. “Kellin—”

  “No! No! No!” He writhed in Brennan’s grip. “He swore by blood and honor and his lir—” Kellin broke it off on a strangled gasp. Indeed, by his lir, and now that lir was dead. “Blais,” Kellin choked. “Don’t leave me.”

  Blais stared blindly. Blood smeared his chest. “I never knew,” he said dazedly. “I never knew what pain there was in it.”

  Brennan looked old beyond his years. “No warrior can. Not before it happens.”

  Blais held up his bloodied hands. “I am—empty—” He shoved a forearm across his brow and left a bloodslick behind, shining in his hair.

  “Tu’jalla dei,” Kellin said brokenly.

  But Blais seemed not to hear. He stripped off his lir-bands and the earring and put them on the blood-soaked bed. Then he gathered up Tanni’s body into the cradle of naked arms and turned toward the door.

  As one, they all moved aside. Blais went out of the chamber as wolf blood splashed on stone.

  “Blais!” Kellin screamed.

  Brennan lifted him from the ground, containing him easily. “Let him go. He is a walking dead man; let him go with dignity.”

  “But I need him.”

  “He needs his ending more.” Brennan held him close. “I wish I could spare you this. But you, too, are Cheysuli, and the price shall be yours as well.”

  Kellin stopped struggling. He hung slackly in his grandfather’s arms until Brennan set him down. “No,” he said then, looking up into the face that looked so old in its grief. “No, there will be no price. I will have no lir.”

  Hart’s voice was kind. “You cannot gainsay what the gods bestow.”

  “I will.” Kellin’s voice took on a hard bitterness. “I refuse to have one.”

  “Kellin.” Now Aileen, moving forward.

  He cut her off at once with an outflung hand. “I refuse it. Do you hear?” He looked at his kinfolk one by one. “They all leave. All of them. First my jehan. Then Rogan. Then Urchin…and now Blais.” His voice sounded alien even to Kellin. “They all go from me.”

  Brennan touched his shoulder. “This grief will pass, one day.”

  Kellin knocked the hand away. “No! From now on I walk alone. With no friends, no liege man, no lir.” He looked at Brennan fiercely. “And I will not care.”

  Aileen was horrified. “Kellin!”

  He felt a roaring in his head; felt it rush up from his belly and engulf his chest, threatening his throat. If he opened his mouth, he would vomit.

  He knew its name: rage. And a hatred so virulent he thought he might choke on it.

  “No more,” he said quietly, making it an oath. “The gods cannot take from me what I do not have.”

  Interval

  Naked, the woman lay next to him in the darkness. She had not slept when he was done, for he had, as always, disturbed her with his intensity, and she could not tumble out of passion into sleep the way he could.

  She lay ver
y quiet next to him, not allowing her flesh to touch his. If she disturbed him, he would waken in ill humor, and she had learned to avoid his black moods by submitting everything to him: will, body, spirit. She had learned the trick long ago, when she had first become a whore.

  She let his warmth warm her, driving away the chill of the winter night. Her dwelling was tiny, not so much more than a hovel, and she could not afford the endless supply of peat and wood that others bought or bargained for to get them through the Homanan winter. She hoarded what she had, although when he came she piled it all on the hearth. Even if it meant going without for days after.

  He shifted, and she held her breath. One broad hand moved across her belly, then cradled her left breast. The fingers were slack and passionless. He had spent that passion earlier; though he was easily roused, she did not do it now.

  She sighed shallowly, not daring to move his hand. He had bought her body, let him fondle it as he chose. It made no difference to her. At least he was a prince.

  She had other lovers, of course, but none so fine as he. They were hard men, tough men, with little refinement and less imagination. He, at least, was clean, with a good man smell, lacking the stench of others who had no time for baths, nor the money to buy wood to heat water. It was no trouble to him to bathe whenever he wished; she was grateful for it. She was grateful for him.

  That he had chosen her was a miracle in itself. She was young still, only seventeen, and her body had not yet coarsened with use, so she presented a better appearance than some of the other women. And she had high, firm breasts above a slim waist, with good hips below. She would lose it all, of course, with the first full-term pregnancy, but so far she had been able to rid herself of the seeds before any took root.

  But what of his seed?

  She laughed noiselessly, startled by the thought. Would she bear a prince’s bastard? And if she did, would he provide for her? Perhaps she could leave this life behind and find a good, solid man who would forget about her past. Or would he take the child, claiming it his?

  It was possible. It had happened in the past, she had heard; the bastards had been sent to Clankeep, to the shapechangers, to grow up with barren women. He would not risk leaving a halfling with a Homanan woman, lest someone attempt to use it for personal gain.