“You fool,” Finn said weakly. “It is not for a man to do alone.”
I stared at him, unsure I had heard him correctly. But it was Finn, white as death, and I saw tears in his eyes.
Duncan pushed himself upward with Lachlan’s help. He sat half-dazed, legs sprawled, as if he could not come back to himself. Even as Alix knelt down before him he seemed not to know her.
I saw Finn push an elbow against the pallet to lever himself up. And again it was myself who pushed him down. “Lie you still.”
“Duncan—” he said thickly, protesting ineffectively.
“Come back!” Alix shouted. “By the gods, you fool—” And she struck Duncan hard across the face with the flat of her hand.
It set up brilliant color in his face, turning his cheek dark red. But sense was in his eyes again. He looked at Alix, at me, at Finn, and then he was Duncan again. “Gods,” he said weakly. “I did not know—”
“No,” Finn agreed, with my hand upon his shoulder in case he moved again. “You did not, you fool. Did you think I would wish to trade your life for mine?” He grimaced then, and instantly hissed as the expression pulled the stitches against his swollen flesh. “By the gods—that Atvian—”
“—is slain,” I finished. “Did you think I would let him finish what he had begun?”
Finn’s hand was in Storr’s matted pelt. His eyes were shut in a gray-white face. I thought he had lost consciousness again.
“Rujho,” Duncan said, “there is something you must do.”
“Later,” Finn said through the taut line of his mouth.
“Now.” Duncan smiled. “You owe thanks to Carillon.”
I looked at him in surprise. Finn’s eyes opened a slit, dilated black and glittering with the remnants of his fever. “It was you who—”
“Aye,” Duncan interrupted, “but it was Carillon who carried you from the field. Else you would still be there, and dead.”
I knew what he did. Finn has never been one for showing gratitude, though often enough I knew he felt it. I myself had trouble saying what I meant; for Finn it was harder still. I thought of protesting, then let Duncan have his way. He it was who had had the raising of Finn, not me.
Finn sighed. His eyes closed again. “He should have left me. He should not have risked himself.”
“No,” Duncan agreed, “but he did. And now there are the words to be said.”
I thought Finn was asleep. He did not move; did not indicate he heard. But he had. And at last he looked at me from beneath his heavy lids. “Leijhana tu’sai,” he muttered.
I blinked. And then I laughed. “In the Old Tongue, I would not know if you thanked me or cursed me.”
“He thanked you,” Duncan said gravely. And then, “Leijhana tu’sai, Carillon.”
I realized I was the only one standing. Even Lachlan knelt, so close to Duncan, with his Lady gleaming on the table. It was an odd sensation to have such people in such postures, and to know one day it would be expected.
I looked at Lachlan. “We have an exchange to conduct.”
He rose and gathered his harp. But before we left the tent I glanced back at Finn.
He slept. “Leijhana tu’sai,” I said, “for living instead of dying.”
FOURTEEN
I left the tent, my legs trembling with the aftermath of fatigue and tension. I stopped just outside, letting the doorflap fall shut behind me. For a moment I could only stare blankly at the few pavilions scattered across the turf in apparent confusion, lacking all order. I had taken the idea from the Cheysuli, although here we lacked the trees to hide ourselves adequately. We had camped on a grassy plain, leaving the forests behind as we moved closer to Mujhara; closer to Bellam and my throne. The encampment was little more than a scattering of men with cookfires here and there. But it had served us well.
I sucked in a deep breath, as deep as I could make it, filling my lungs with air. The stink of the army camp faded to nonexistence as I thought how close I had come to losing Finn. I knew perfectly well that had my chirurgeons pressed to take his leg, he would have found another way to die. A maimed warrior, he had told me once, was of little use to his clan. In Finn’s case, it was worse; he would view himself as useless to his Mujhar as well, and that would pervert his tahlmorra and his very reason for living.
Lachlan slipped through the entrance. I heard the hiss of fabric as he moved, scraping one hand across the woven material. Few of us had tents to claim as shelter; I, being Mujhar, had the largest, but it was not so much. This one served as a temporary infirmary; the chirurgeons had kept all others free of it when I had brought Finn. He would be nursed in private.
Lachlan’s arms were empty of harp for once. “Finn will live. You need fear no more.”
“Have you consulted Lodhi?”
He made no indication my comment bothered him. “There is no need for that. I asked His help before, but there was nothing in Finn I could touch. He was too far from this world, too lost in his pain and Storr’s absence. But when Duncan and Alix worked their magic—” He broke off, smiling a little. “There is much I cannot understand. And until I know more of the Cheysuli, I cannot hope to make songs of them.”
“Most men cannot understand the Cheysuli,” I told him. “As for songs—I doubt they would wish it. There are legends enough about them.” I stared at the tiny field pavilion farthest from where we stood. It was guarded by six soldiers. “How many men are with my sister?”
“Bellam sent a guard of fifty with her.” His face was grave. “My lord—you do not intend to go yourself—”
“She is my sister.” I set off toward the saffron-colored tent as Lachlan fell in beside me. “I owe Tourmaline what honor there is, and of late there is little. I will send no man in my place.”
“Surely you will take some of your army with you.”
I smiled, wondering if he sought the information for simple curiosity’s sake. “No.”
“Carillon—”
“If it is a trap, the teeth will close on air.” I signaled to the soldiers guarding Electra’s tent. They stepped away at once, affording me privacy, though they remained within earshot. “You would know, perhaps, what Bellam intends for me.”
Lachlan smiled as I paused before the tent. “He did not divulge his plans to me, unfortunately. He welcomed me as a harper, not a confidant. I cannot say he sends men to take you, but I think it very likely.” His eyes went past me to study the scattered encampment. “You would do well to take a substantial escort.”
“No doubt,” I said blandly.
I turned and pulled aside the doorflap, but did not go in at once. I could not. The sunlight was brilliant as it slashed into the interior, illuminating the, woman who sat within. She wore a dark brown gown laced with copper silk at throat and cuffs. A supple leather belt, clay-bleached to a soft yellow, bound her slender waist, fastened with a copper buckle. The gown was from Alix, fashioned by her own hands, given freely to replace the soiled gray velvet Electra had worn the day Finn caught her. The new one fit well enough, for they were of a like size, though nothing like in coloring.
Electra waited quietly, seated on a three-legged campstool with the folds of her dark skirts foaming around her feet like waves upon a shore. She sat erect, shoulders put back, so that the slender, elegant line of her neck met the jaw to emphasize the purity of her bones. She had braided her hair into a single loose-woven rope that hung over one shoulder to spill into her lap, coiled like a serpent. The smooth, pale brow cried out for a circlet of beaten gold, or—perhaps better—silver, to highlight the long-lidded, magnificent eyes.
I knew Rowan had been here to tell her. She waited, hands clasped beneath the rope of shining hair. Silently she sat upon the stool as the sunlight passed through the weave of the saffron-colored tent to paint her with a pastel, ocherous glow. She wore the twisted gold at her throat, and it shone.
By the gods, so did she. And I wanted so much to lose myself in it. In her. Gods, but what a woman can do to a man—
Even the enemy.
Forty years, this woman claimed. And I denied it, as ever.
I put out my hand to raise her from the stool. Her fingers were still, making no promises, though I had had that of her, as well.
“You have been in battle.” Her voice was cool as ever, with its soft, Solindish cadence.
I had not put off the blood-crusted leather-and-mail. My hair, dried now from the sweat of my exertions, hung stiffly against my shoulders. No doubt I smelled of it as well, but I wasted no time on the niceties of such things while I had a war to fight. “Come, lady—your father waits.”
“Did you win your battle?” She allowed me to lead her from the tent, making no move to remove her hand from my grasp.
I shook my head. Rowan stood outside with four horses. I saw no good in gaming with her, denying my loss to gain a satisfaction that would not last. I had lost, but Bellam still lacked his pretender-prince.
Electra paused as she saw the empty saddles. Four horses only, and no accompaniment. “Where are my women?”
“I sent them back long ago.” I smiled at her. “Only you were brought here. But then you were compromised the moment Finn took you captive. What should it matter, Electra—you are an Ihlini’s light woman.”
Color came into her face. I had not expected to see it, from her. She was a young woman suddenly, lacking the wisdom of experience, and yet I saw the glint of knowledge in her eyes. I wondered, uneasily, if Tynstar’s arts had given her youth in place of age. “Does it grate within your soul?” she asked. “Does it make you wish to put your stamp upon me, to erase Tynstar’s?” She smiled, a mere curving of the perfect mouth. “You fool. You could not begin to take his place.”
“You will have the opportunity to know.” I boosted her into the saddle without further comment, and felt the rigid unyielding in her body. I had cut her, somehow: but then she had cut me often enough. I nodded at Rowan. “Send for Zared, at once.”
When Zared came he bowed respectfully. His gray-red hair was still cropped closely against his head, as was common in soldiery. I had not taken up the custom because it had been easy enough, in Caledon, to braid it and bind it with the scarlet yarn of a mercenary. It had been what I was.
“See to it the camp is dispersed,” I told him. “I want no men here to receive Bellam’s welcome, for you may be quite certain his daughter will tell him where we have been.” I did not look at her, having no need; I could sense her rigid attention. “When I am done with this exchange, I will find the army.”
“Aye, my lord Mujhar.” He bowed, all solemn servitude, and stepped away to follow orders.
Lachlan mounted next to me, and Rowan next to Electra. She was hemmed in on both sides, closely kept. It would not do to lose her now, before I claimed my sister.
Electra looked at us all. “No army to escort you?”
“Need I one?” I smiled. I glanced to Lachlan and saw his gesture. Westward, toward Mujhara, and Tourmaline, my sister.
The sun beat down upon our heads as we waited on the hilltop. We silhouetted ourselves against the horizon, a thing I had not done in the long months of bitter war, but now I did it willingly. I wanted Tourmaline to see us before the exchange was made, so she would know it was us in truth, and not some trick of Bellam’s.
The plains stretched below us. No more spring; it was nearly midsummer. The sun had baked the green from the land, turning it yellow and ocher and amber, and the dust rose from the hooves of more than fifty horses to hang in the air like smoke. Through the haze I could see the men, in Solindish colors, glittering with ringmail and swords. A troop of men knotted about a single woman like a fist around a hilt.
I could not see Tourmaline well. But from time to time I saw the dappled gray horse and the slender, upright figure, wearing no armor but a gown instead, an indigo-colored gown and no traveling mantle to keep the dust off her clothing. Even her head was bared, and her tawny-dark hair hung down freely to tangle across the horse’s gray rump.
I heard Lachlan’s quiet, indrawn breath. I heard my own as well, but it lacked the note I heard in his. I glanced at him a moment, seeing how avidly he watched the troop approach; how intent were his eyes upon the woman. Not my sister, in that instant, but a woman.
I knew then, beyond any doubt at all, that Lachlan plotted no treachery, no betrayal. I was certain of it, in that instant. To do so would endanger Tourmaline, and that he would never countenance. I had only to look at his face as he looked for hers, and at last I had my answer.
If for nothing else, he would be loyal to me out of loyalty to my sister And what a weapon he gave me, did I find the need to use it.
The Solindish troop stopped at the foot of the hill. The sun glittered off their trappings; off their ringmail; off their intention. Fifty men bent on taking Bellam’s enemy. And that enemy with only a token escort at his side.
It was warm on the hilltop. The air was quite still; the silence was broken only by the jingle and clash of horse trappings and the buzzing hum of an occasional insect. The dust was dry in my mouth and nose; I tasted the flat, bitter salt of summer-swept plains. Come fall, turf would spring up beneath a gentler sun. Come winter, snow would blanket the world. Come spring, I should a King.
If not before.
I looked through the clustered troop to the treasure they guarded so closely. Tourmaline, a princess of Homana. The woman Bellam had threatened to wed; the woman he could not because I had taken his daughter. A princess for a princess.
She sat quite still upon her horse, her hands holding the reins. But she was not entirely free. A soldier flanked her directly on either side; a lead-rope tied her horse to a man who rode before her. They meant not to lose her so easily, did I give them cause to fight.
Lachlan’s breath was audible in his throat. It rasped, sliding through the constriction slowly, so that Rowan glanced at him. There was curiosity in Rowan’s eyes; knowledge in Electra’s. She would know. She would know what he felt: a man in love with a woman, looking at her with desire.
“Well?” I said at last. “Are we to confront one another in silence all day, or is there a thing I must do?”
Lachlan wrenched his attention back to me. “I am to escort Electra down, and Bring Torry back with me.”
“Do it.”
He rubbed at the flesh beneath the silver circlet on his brow. “Nothing more?”
“Am I to think you seek to warn me of some treachery?” I smiled. “Do what you have said must be done. I want my sister back.”
His jaw tightened. Briefly he glanced at Electra. She sat very still on her horse, like Torry, hardly moving her hands upon the reins. But I saw her fingers tense and the subtle shift of her weight. She meant to run, with Tourmaline still held.
I reached out and caught one of her wrists, clamping down tightly. “No,” I said calmly. “Do you forget I have a bow?”
Her eyes went to the Cheysuli bow at once. And my quiver, freshly filled. “You might slay some,” she conceded coolly, “but I doubt you could slay them all before they took you.”
“No,” I agreed, “but have I spoken of slaying men?”
She understood at once. I saw the color move into her face swiftly, setting flags of anger into her cheeks. The somnolent, ice-gray eyes were blackened with frustration, but only for a moment. She smiled. “Slay me, then, and you purchase your fate from Tynstar.”
“I do not doubt I have done so already,” I told her calmly. “I think my sister is worth dying for. But are you?”
“So long as you do the dying.” She did not look at me. She looked instead at the troop of men her father had sent to fetch her.
I laughed and released her wrist. “Go, then, Electra. Tell your father—and your sorcerer—whatever you wish to say. But remember that I will have you as my wife.”
Loathing showed on her face. “You will have nothing, pretender-prince. Tynstar will see to that.”
“My lord.” Rowan sounded uneasy. “They are fifty to our three.”
Lachlan put out his hand to grasp Electra’s rein. But she did not let him. She pulled the horse away and set him to walking down the hill. Lachlan fell in close beside her almost at once, and I watched as they rode toward the troop. I unstrapped the bow so the captain could see it, though I did not intend to use it. I did not think I would need it.
Electra was swallowed almost at once by the Solindish soldiers and I was left without a target. Unless one counted the captain and his men But Electra had the right of it; I could not slay them all. Even with Rowan at my side.
He shifted in his saddle. “My lord—”
“Be patient,” I chided gently.
Lachlan waited at the edge of the hard-eyed throng. The sun on his dyed hair treated it poorly, turning it dull and lifeless. Only the glint of silver on his brow lent him authenticity, and that only won through his harp. I wondered again what made him the man he was, and how it was to be a priest.
The troop parted. Tourmaline came forward on her dappled gray horse. Like Electra, she did not hasten, but I saw the tension in her body. Doubtless she feared the trade would not be finished.
Well, it was not finished yet.
Lachlan put out his hand to her. Briefly she held it tightly with her own, as if thanking him for his care; I watched in bemusement. It was all well and good for a harper to love a princess—that happened with great regularity, to judge by the content of their lays—but I was not certain Tourmaline’s apparent regard for him pleased me one whit. He was a harper, and she was meant for a prince.
“They come,” Rowan said softly, more to himself than to me.
They came. Side by side, no longer clasping hands, their shoulders rigid against the Solindish guard. Dust rose up from the ground and enveloped them in a veil; Tourmaline’s eyes were squinted against it as she came yet closer to me. And then she was laughing, calling out my name, and kicked her horse into a run.
I did not dismount, for all it would have been an easier greeting on the ground. She set her horse into mine, but gently, and our knees knocked as she reached out to hug my neck. It was awkward on horseback, but we got it done. And then, as she opened her mouth to speak again, I waved her into silence.
The Song of Homana Page 16