“More,” he said in disgust, and his eyes were on Storr. The wolf loped by Finn’s horse, silver head turned up so their eyes locked: one pair of eerie, yellow eyes; one pair of amber, bestial eyes. And yet I could not say who was truly the beast.
Or if either of them were.
Our attack swept down on Bellam’s patrol and engulfed the guardsmen. I halted my horse some distance from the melee and set about loosing arrow after arrow into selected targets. The Atvian longbow, for all its range was good, lacked the power of my Cheysuli bow; until my arrows were gone, I would be well-nigh invincible.
Or so I thought, until one Atvian arrow, half-spent, struck the tender flesh of my horse’s nose and drove him into a frenzy of pain. I could not control him. Rather than lose myself to a pain-crazed horse in place of an Atvian arrow, I jumped from the horse and set about doing what I could on foot.
My Homanans fought well, proving their worth. There was no hesitation on their part, even facing the archers who had so badly defeated them six years before. But we were greatly outnumbered. Bellam’s men turned fiercely upon my own, slashing with swords, stabbing with knives, screaming like utter madmen as they threw themselves into the fight. So many times we had swarmed upon them like gnats; at last they swatted back.
I discarded my bow when my arrows were gone, turning instead to my sword. I waded into the nearest knot of men, slashing at the enemy. Almost instantly I was engaged by an Atvian wielding a huge broadsword. I met blade with blade and gasped as the jolt ran up through my arms to my shoulders, lodging in knotted muscles. I disengaged, counterthrust, then sank my own blade deep in his chest.
The man went down at once. I wrenched my sword free and staggered across the body, ducking another scything sweep near my head, swung around and cut loose the arm that swung the blade. The Solindishman went down screaming, spraying blood across matted grass already boggy with gore. One glance showed me the battle had turned decidedly in Solindish favor.
The trick was now to get out. My horse had been left behind. But most of the enemy was on foot as well, since we struck first at their mounts, and a foot race is more commonly won by men with greater reason to run. I had reason enough.
I looked for Finn and found him not far from me, as ever, shouting something as he closed with a Solindish soldier. He wore his human form, eschewing the savagery that accompanies the shapechange in the midst of battle. It was a matter of balance, he had told me once; a Cheysuli warrior remains himself even in lir-shape, but should he ever lose himself in the glory of a fight, he could lose himself forever. It was possible a warrior, crossing over the boundaries of balance, might remain a beast forever.
I did not care to think of Finn locked into his wolf-shape. Not forever. I needed him too much as himself.
And then I saw Storr running between two men. His tail was straight out as he streaked across the bloodied field. His ears were pinned back against his head and his teeth were bared. I knew then he ran to aid Finn, and I knew he was too late.
The sword came down and bit into the wolf’s left shoulder. His yelp of pain pierced through the din of battle like a scythe. Finn heard it at once, or else he heard something more within the link. Helplessly I watched him turn away from his enemy to look for Storr.
“No!” I roared, trying to run through the slippery grass. “Finn—look to yourself!”
But he did not. And the Atvian spear drove into his right leg and buried itself in the hillside.
I threw myself over dead and wounded, enemy and Homanan alike. Finn was sprawled on his back against the ground, trying to wrench the spear from his thigh. But it had gone straight through, pinning him down, even as he sought to break the shaft with his hands.
The Atvian spearman, seeing his advantage, pulled his knife from its sheath and lunged.
I brought down my sword from the highest apex of its arc, driving it through leather and mail and flesh. The body toppled forward. I caught it before it fell across Finn and dragged it away, tossing it to one side. And then I cursed as I saw the damage that had already been done; how he had laid open the flesh of Finn’s face with his knife. The bloody wound bisected the left side from eye to jaw.
I broke the spear in my hands and rolled Finn onto one side, grateful he was unconscious. I pulled the shaft free as the leg twitched and jumped beneath my hands. Blood ran freely from the wound, pooling in the matted, trampled grass. And then I pulled my liege man from the ground and carried him from the field.
Finn screamed Storr’s name, lunging upward against my restraining hands. I pressed him down against the pallet, trying to soothe him with words and wishes alone, but he was too far gone in fever and pain. I doubted he heard me, or even knew I was there.
The tiny pavilion was rank with heat and the stench of blood. The chirurgeons had done what they could, stitching his face together again with silk thread and painting it with an herbal paste, but it was angry and swollen and ugly. The wound in his thigh they had drained and poulticed, but one man had gone so far as to say he thought it must come off. I had said no instantly, too shocked to consider the amputation, but now that some time had passed I understood the necessity of the suggestion.
Did the leg fill with poison, Finn would die. And I did not wish to give him over to such pain.
I knelt rigidly at his side, too stiff and frightened to move away. The doorflap hung closed to shut out the gnats and flies; the air was heavy and stifling. Rowan stood beside me in the dimness of the tent, saying nothing, but I knew he felt his own measure of shock and apprehension. Finn had ever seemed invincible, even to those he hardly knew. To those of us who knew him best of all—
“He is Cheysuli.” Rowan meant to reassure me.
I looked down on the pale, sweating face with its hideous wound. Even stitched closed, the thing was terrible. It snaked across his face from eye to jaw, puckering the flesh into a jagged, seeping serpent. Aye, he was Cheysuli.
“They die,” I said in a ragged tone. “Even Cheysuli die.”
“Less often than most.” He moved forward a little. Like me, he was splattered with blood. Rowan and his men had gotten free without losing a single life. I had lost most of my unit, and now perhaps Finn as well. “My lord—the wolf is missing.”
“I have dispatched men to search.…”I said nothing more. Storr’s body had not been found upon the field. And I myself had seen the sword cut into his shoulder.
“Perhaps—once he is found—”
“For a Cheysuli, you know little enough of your customs.” Abruptly I cursed myself for my curtness. It was not my place to chastise Rowan for what he could not help. I glanced up at his stricken face, realized he risked as much as I in this endeavor, and tried to apologize.
He shook his head. “No. I know what you say. You have the right of it. If the wolf is already slain—or dies—you will lose your liege man.”
“I may lose him anyway.” It seemed too much to hope he would live. And if I gave the order to take his leg—
“Carillon.” It was Alix, pulling aside the doorflap, and I stared in blank astonishment. “They sent for me.” She came into the tent, dropping the flap behind her, and I saw the pallor of her face. “Duncan is not here?”
“I have sent for him.”
She moved closer and knelt down at my side, amber eyes fixed on Finn. Seeing him again through her vision, I nearly turned away. He wore a death’s-head in place of his own.
Alix put out her hand and touched his bare arm. The lir-gold with its wolf-shape was smeared with blood, dulled by grime; it seemed a reflection of his death. But she touched his arm and then clasped his slack hand, as if she could not let him go.
I watched her face. She knelt at his side and held his hand so gently. There was a sudden horrified grief in her eyes, as if she realized she would lose the man who had given her over to her heritage, and that realization broke down the wall between them. Ever had they been at one another’s throats, cutting with knives made of words and swords made
of feelings. They were kin and yet more than that, so much more, and I think she finally knew it.
She tipped back her head. I saw the familiar detached expression enter her eyes, making them blank and black and odd. Suddenly Alix was more Cheysuli than I had ever seen her, and I sensed the power move into her soul. So easily she summoned it, and then she released a sigh.
“Storr is alive.”
I gaped at her.
“He is sorely hurt. Dying.” Grief etched lines into her smooth face. “You must go. Fetch him back at once, and perhaps we can save them both.”
“Where?”
“Not far.” Her eyes were on Finn again and still she clasped his hand. “Perhaps a league. Northwest. There is a hill with a single tree upon it. And a cairn marker.” She shut her eyes a moment, as if she drew upon the memory of the power. “Carillon—go now…I can reach Duncan through Cai.”
I stood up at once, hardly aware of the protests of my body. I did not need to tell her to tend him well. I merely went out in my bloody, crusted leather-and-mail and ordered a horse at once.
∗ ∗ ∗
Rowan came out of the pavilion as I rode up with Storr clasped in my arms. I dismounted carefully, loath to give the wolf over to anyone else, and went in as Rowan pulled aside the doorflap. It was then I was conscious of the harpsong and Lachlan’s nimble fingers.
He sat on a campstool at Finn’s side. His Lady was set against his chest, resting on one knee, and he played. How he played. The golden notes, so sweet and pure, poured forth from the golden strings. His head was bowed and his eyes were shut. His face was rigid with concentration. He did not sing, letting the harp do it for him, but I knew what magic he sought.
A healer, he had called himself. And now he tried to heal.
I knelt down and set Storr at Finn’s side as gently as I could. Carefully I placed one limp brown hand into the stiffened silver fur, then moved back. The harpsong played on, dying away, and at last there was silence again.
Lachlan shifted a little, as if he awoke. “He is—beyond my aid. Even Lodhi’s, I fear. He is Cheysuli—” He stopped, for there was little left to say.
Alix was in the shadows. She had left Finn’s side as I entered, making room for Storr, and now she stood in the center of the tent. Her braids were coiled and pinned against her head but glittered not, for it seemed there was no light within the tent. No light at all.
“Duncan comes,” she said softly.
“In time?”
“I cannot say.”
I crossed my arms and hugged my chest as if I could keep the pain from showing on my face. “Gods—he is my right hand! I need him still—”
“We all need him.” Her quiet words reproved me for my selfishness, though I doubt she meant them to.
A single note rang out from the harp as Lachlan shifted again on his stool. He silenced it at once, very grave of face. “How do you fare, Carillon?”
“Well enough,” I said impatiently, and then I realized he referred to the blood on my mail. “I am unharmed. It was Finn they struck instead.” The wolf lay quietly at his side, still breathing; so, thank the gods, was Finn.
“My lord.” It was Rowan’s tentative voice. “Shall I tell the princess the harper is come?”
For a moment I could not understand him. And then I knew. Lachlan had come from Bellam to direct the exchange. Electra for Tourmaline. And now I could hardly think.
Lachlan’s eyes were on me. “Your sister is well, Carillon. Somewhat weary of being held in Bellam’s command, but she has taken no harm. None at all.” I was aware of an odd note in his voice. “She is well indeed…and lovely.”
I looked more sharply at him. But I had no time to untangle the subtleties I heard, or the emotions of the moment. There were other things more pressing. “Where is she?”
“Not far from here. Bellam sent her out with a Solindish guard, and myself. They wait with her. I am to bring the Princess Electra, and then escort Torry back.” He caught himself at once. “The Princess Tourmaline.”
I did not wish to think of Electra, nor even Tourmaline. And yet I must. Impatiently I nodded at Rowan. “Tell her Lachlan is come, and to ready herself. When there is time, the exchange will be made.”
Rowan bowed and left at once, perhaps grateful for a task. There is nothing so helpless as a man who must watch another die.
The flap was ripped aside. Duncan stood in the opening, backlighted by the sunlight, and suddenly the pavilion was filled with illumination. He was a silhouette against the brilliance until he came in, and then I saw how harshly set was his face.
“Alix.” She went to him at once. Duncan hardly looked at me, for his attention was fixed on Finn. “Harper,” he said, “I thank you. But this is Cheysuli-done.”
Lachlan took the dismissal with good grace, rising instantly from the stool and moving out of the way. Duncan pushed the campstool away and knelt down with Alix at one side. He said nothing at all to me.
“I have never done this.” There was fear in Alix’s voice.
The heavy gold on Duncan’s arms glowed in the shadows, reflecting the light that crept in through the gaps in the door-flap. “You have the Old Blood, cheysula. You need fear nothing of this. It is the earth magic we seek. You need only ask it to come, and it will use you to heal Finn. And Storr.” Briefly he cupped her head in one hand and pressed it against one shoulder. “I promise you—it will be well done.”
She said nothing more. Duncan released her and set one hand against the wound in the wolf’s side. Of the two, Storr seemed to have a more fragile hold on life. And if he died before they healed Finn, the thing was futile indeed.
“Lose yourself,” Duncan said. “Go down into the earth until there is nothing but the currents of life. You will know it—be not afraid. Tap it, Alix, and let it flow through you into the wolf. He is lir. He will know what we do for him.”
I watched the changes in Alix’s face. At first she was hesitant, following Duncan’s lead, and then I saw the first indication of her own power. She knelt beside the wolf with her hands clasped lightly in her lap, eyes gone inward to face her soul. For a moment her body wavered and then it straightened. I saw the concentration and the wonder as she slipped from this world into another.
I nearly touched her then. I took two steps, intending to catch her in my arms, but the knowledge prevented me. What she did was beyond my ken—what she was, as well—but I knew Duncan. I knew he would never risk her. Not even to save his brother.
A tiny sound escaped her mouth, and then she was gone. Her body remained, so still and rigid, but Alix was gone. Somewhere far beneath the earth she roamed, seeking the healing arts her race claimed as their own, and Duncan was with her. I had only to look at his face and see the familiar detachment. It was profoundly moving, somehow, that a man and woman could link so deeply on a level other than sexual, and all to save a wolf.
Cheysuli magic goes into the earth, taps the strength of the ancient gods and lends it to the one who requires the healing. The sword wound in Storr’s shoulder remained, but it lacked the unhealthy stink and appearance. His breathing steadied. His eyes cleared. He moved, twitching once all over, and came into the world again.
Alix sagged. Duncan caught her and clasped her against his chest, much as Lachlan clasped his Lady. I saw the fear and weariness etched in his face and wondered if he had lied to her, saying it was safe when such magic took a part of the soul away. Perhaps, for Finn, he would risk Alix.
It made me profoundly angry. And then the anger died, for I needed them both. I needed them all.
“No more,” Duncan told her. “Storr is well enough. But now it is my task to heal Finn.”
“Not alone!” She sat up, pulling out of his arms. “Do you think I will give you over to that when I have felt it myself? No, Duncan—call the others. Link with them all. There is no need for you to do this alone.”
“There is,” he told her gently. “He is my rujho. And I am not alone…there is Cai.” He
smiled. “My thanks for your concern, but it is unwisely spent. Save it for Finn when he wakens.”
And then he slipped away before she could protest, sliding out of our hands like oil. The shell we knew as Duncan remained, but he was gone. Whatever made him Duncan had gone to another place, and this time he was gone deeper and longer, so deep and so long I thought we had lost them both.
“Alix!” I knew she meant to follow. I bent to pull her from the ground.
She turned an angry face to me. “Do not keep me from him, Carillon! Do you think I could bear to lose him like this? Even for Finn—”
“You risked yourself for me, once, when I did not wish you to,” I told her harshly. “When I lay chained in Atvian iron, and you came as a falcon to free me. Do you think I would have given you permission for such a thing?” I shook my head. “What Duncan does is for him to do. Did he want you with him, he would have asked it.”
She wrenched her head around to stare again at her husband. He knelt by Finn’s side, there and yet not. And Finn, so weak upon the pallet, did not move.
“I could not make a choice,” she said in a wavering voice. “I ever thought I would say Duncan before anyone else, but I could not. I want them both.…”
“I know. So do I. But it is for the gods to decide.”
“Has Lachlan turned your priest?” She smiled a little, bitterly. “I never knew you to prate of such things.”
“I do not prate of them now. Call it tahlmorra, if you will.” I smiled and made the gesture. “What is there for us to do but wait and see what will happen?”
Duncan said something then. It was garbled, tangled up in the Old Tongue and his weariness, but it was a sound. He moved as if to rise, could not, and fell back to knock his head against the campstool. Lachlan set down his Lady and knelt at once to give him support, even as Alix wrenched herself free of me.
The Song of Homana Page 15