The Song of Homana

by Jennifer Roberson

  Finn made a chopping motion with his right hand, a silencing gesture I had seen only rarely, for it was considered rude. It did not have much effect on Duncan.

  He did not shout. He spoke quietly enough, but with such violence in his tone that it was all the more effective. I shifted uneasily against the throne and thought to interrupt, but it was not my affair. It had become a thing between brothers.

  Finn stood up abruptly. Still he held the sword, and the ruby gleamed dull and black. Even the runes seemed tarnished. “Enough!” he shouted, so that it echoed in the hall. “Do you seek to strip me entirely of my dignity? I admit I was wrong—I admit it!—but there is no more need to remind me. I did it because I had to.”

  “Had to!” Duncan glared at him, very white around the mouth, yet blotched from pain and anger. “Had the gods denied you—what then? What would we have done for a king?”

  “King?” I echoed, seeing I had some stake in this fight after all. “What are you saying, Duncan?”

  Finn made the chopping motion again. And again Duncan ignored it. “He asked the gods for the star magic. I am assuming they granted it, since you are still alive.”

  “Still alive?” I sat up straighter. “Do you say I could have died?”

  Duncan was hugging his chest. “It is a thing only rarely done, and then only because there is no other choice. The risk is—great. In more than six hundred years, only two men have survived the ceremony.”

  I swallowed against the sudden dryness in my mouth. “Three, now.”

  “Two.” Duncan did not smile. “I was counting you before.”

  I stared at Finn. “Why?”

  “We needed it for Homana.” He looked at neither of us. His attention was fixed on the sword he held in his hands. “We needed it for the Cheysuli.”

  “You needed it for you,” Duncan retorted. “You know as well as I only a warrior related by blood to the maker of the sword can ask the gods for the magic. It was your chance to earn your jehan’s place. Hale is gone, but Finn is not. So the son wished to inherit the jehan’s power.” Duncan looked at me. “The risk was not entirely your own. Had the petition been denied, the magic would have struck you both down.”

  I looked at Finn’s face. He was still pale, still angered by Duncan’s reaction, and no doubt expecting the worst from me. I was not certain he did not deserve it.

  “Why?” I asked again.

  Still he stared at the stone. “I wanted to,” he said, very low. “All my life I have wanted to ask it. To see if I was my jehan’s true son.” I saw bitterness twist his face. “I had less of him than Duncan…his bu’sala. I wanted what I could get; to get it, I would take it. So I did. And I would do it all again, because I know it would succeed.”

  “How?” Duncan demanded. “There is no guarantee.”

  “This time there is. You have only to look at the prophecy.”

  Silence filled the hall. And then Duncan broke it by laughing. It was not entirely the sound of humor, but the tension was shattered at last. “Prophecy,” he said. “By the gods, my rujholli speaks of the prophecy. And speaks to the gods.” He sighed and shook his head. “The first I do often enough, but the second—oh, the second…not for a bu’sala to do. No. Only a blood-son, not a foster-son.” For a moment Duncan looked older than his years, and very tired. “I would trade it all to claim myself Hale’s blood-son. And you offer it up to the gods. A sacrifice. Oh Finn, will you never learn?”

  Finn looked at his older brother. Half-brother. They shared only a mother, and yet looking at them I saw the father in them both, though he had sired only one.

  I said nothing for a long moment. I could think of nothing to fill the silence. And then I rose at last and took my sword back from Finn, touching the blackened ruby. I returned the weapon to my sheath. “The thing is done,” I said finally. “The risk was worth the asking. And I would do it all again.”

  Finn looked at me sharply. “Even knowing?”

  “Even knowing.” I shrugged and sat down in the throne. “What else was there to do?”

  Duncan sighed. He put out his hand and made the familiar gesture: a spread-fingered hand palm up.

  I smiled and made it myself.

  EIGHTEEN

  I received the Solindish delegation dressed befitting my rank. Gone was the cracked and stained ringmail-and-leather armor of the soldier: in its place I wore velvets and brocaded satins of russet and amber. My hair and beard were freshly trimmed, smoothed with scented oil; I felt nearly a king for the first time in my life.

  I knew, as the six Solindish noblemen paced the length of the Great Hall, they were not seeing the man they expected. Nearly seven years before, when Bellam had taken Homana, I had been a boy. Tall as a man and as strong, but lacking the toughness of adulthood. It seemed so long ago as I sat upon my Lion. I recalled when Keough’s son had divested me of my sword and thrown me into irons. I recalled the endless nights when sleep eluded my mind. I recalled my complete astonishment when Alix had come to my aid. And I smiled.

  The Solindishmen did not understand the smile, but it did not matter. Let them think what they would; let them judge me as I seemed. It would all come quite clear in time.

  I was not alone within the hall. Purposely I had chosen a Cheysuli honor guard. Finn, Duncan and six other warriors ranged themselves on either side of the throne, spreading across the dais. They were solemn-faced. Silent. Watching from impassive yellow eyes.

  Rowan, who had escorted the Solindish delegation into the Homanan-bedecked hall, introduced each man. Duke this, Baron that; Solindish titles I did not know. He did it well, did my young Cheysuli-Homanan captain, with the proper note of neutrality in a tone also touched with condescension. We were the victors, they the defeated, and they stood within my palace.

  Essien. The man of highest rank and corresponding arrogance. He wore indigo blue, of course, but someone had picked the crest from the left breast of his silken tunic. I could see the darker outline of Bellam’s rising sun; a subtle way of giving me insult, so subtle I could do nothing. Outwardly he did not deny me homage. Did I protest, he could no doubt blame the coffer-draining war for the loss of better garments. So I let him have his rebellion. I could afford it, now.

  His dark brown hair was brushed smoothly back from a high forehead, and his hands did not fidget. But his brown eyes glittered with something less than respect when he made his bow of homage. “My lord,” he said in a quiet tone, “we come on behalf of Solinde to acknowledge the sovereignty of Carillon the Mujhar.”

  “You are aware of our terms?”

  “Of course, my lord.” He glanced briefly at the other five. “It has all been thoroughly discussed. Solinde, as you know, is defeated. The crown is—uncontested.” I saw the muscles writhe briefly in his jaw. “We have no king…no Solindish king.” His eyes came up to mine and I saw the bitterness in them. “There is a vacancy, my lord, which we humbly request you fill.”

  “Does Bellam have no heirs?” I smiled a small, polite smile that said what I wanted to say. A matter of form, discussing what all knew. “Ellic has been dead for years, of course, but surely Bellam had bastards.”

  “Aplenty,” Essien agreed grimly. “Nonetheless, none is capable of rallying support for our cause. There would be—contention.” He smiled thinly. “We wish to avoid such difficulties, now our lord is dead. You have proven—sufficient—for the task.”

  Sufficient. Essien had an odd way of speaking, spicing his conversation with pauses and nuances easily understood by one who had the ears to understand it. Having grown up in a king’s court surrounded by his advisors and courtiers, I did.

  “Well enough,” I agreed, when I had made him wait long enough. “I will continue to be—sufficient—to the task. But there was another request we made.”

  Essien’s face congested. “Aye, my lord Mujhar. The question of proper primogeniture.” He took a deep breath that moved the indigo tunic. “As a token of Solinde’s complete compliance with your newly won ov
erlordship of our land, we offer the hand of the Princess Electra, Bellam’s only daughter. Bellam’s only surviving legitimate child.” His nostrils pinched in tightly. “A son born of Solinde and Homana would be fit to hold the throne.”

  “Proper primogeniture,” I said reflectively. “Well enough, we will take the lady to wife. You may tell her, for Carillon the Mujhar, that she has one month in which to gather the proper clothing and household attendants. If she does not come in that allotted time, we will send the Cheysuli for her.”

  Essien and the others understood quite clearly. I knew what they saw: eight warriors clad in leather and barbaric, shining gold, with their weapons hung about them. Knife and bow, and lir. They had only to look at the lir in order to understand.

  Essien bowed his head in acknowledgment of my order. The conversation was finished, it seemed, but I had one final question to ask. “Where is Tynstar?”

  Essien’s head snapped up. He put one hand to his hair and smoothed it, a habitual, nervous gesture. His throat moved in a swallow, then again. He glanced quickly to the others, but they offered nothing. Essien had the rank.

  “I do not know,” he said finally, excessively distinct. “No man can say where the Ihlini goes; no man, my lord. He merely goes.” He offered a thin smile that contained subtle triumph as well as humor…at my expense. “No doubt he plans to thwart you how he can, and he will, but I can offer you nothing of what he intends. Tynstar is—Tynstar.”

  “And no doubt he will be abetted,” I said without inflection. “In Solinde, the Ihlini hold power—for now. But their realm—his realm—shall be a shadow of what it was, for we have the Cheysuli now.”

  Essien looked directly at Finn. “But even in Solinde we have heard of the thing that dilutes the magic. How it is a Cheysuli loses his power when faced with an Ihlini.” His eyes came back to me. “Is that not true?”

  I smiled. “Why not ask Tynstar? Surely he could explain what there is between the races.”

  I watched his expression closely. I expected—hoped—I would see the subtleties of his knowledge, betraying what he knew. He should, if he knew where Tynstar was, give it away with something in his manner, even remaining silent. But I saw little of triumph in his eyes. Only a faint frown, as if he considered something he wished to know, and realized he could not know it until he discovered the source. He had not lied.

  I moved my hand in a gesture of finality. “We will set a Homanan regency in the city of Lestra. Royce is a trusted, incorruptible man. He will have sovereignty over Solinde in our name, representing our House, until such a time as we have a son to put on the throne. Serve my regent well, and you will find we are a just lord.”

  Essien shut his teeth. “Aye, my lord Mujhar.”

  “And we send some Cheysuli with him.” I smiled at the Solindman’s expression of realization. “Now you may go.”

  They went, and I turned to look at the Cheysuli.

  Duncan’s smile was slow. “Finn has taught you well.”

  “And with great difficulty.” The grin, crooked as usual, creased the scar on Finn’s dark face. “But I think the time spent was well worth it, judging by what I have seen.”

  I got up from the throne and stretched, cracking the joints in my back. “Electra will not be pleased to hear what I have said.”

  “Electra will not be pleased by anything you have to say or do,” Finn retorted. “But then, did you want a quiet marriage I doubt not you could have asked for someone else.”

  I laughed at him, stripping my brow of the golden circlet. It had been Shaine’s once, crusted with diamonds and emeralds. And now it was mine. “A tedious marriage is no marriage at all, I have heard.” I glanced at Duncan. “But you would know better than I.”

  For a moment he resembled Finn with the same ironic grin. Then he shrugged. “Alix has never been tedious.”

  I tapped the circlet against my hand, thinking about the woman. “She will come,” I muttered, frowning. “She will come, and I will have to be ready for her. It is not as if I took some quiet little virgin to tremble in my bed…this is Electra.”

  “Aye,” Finn said dryly. “The Queen of Homana, you make her.”

  I looked at Rowan. He was very silent, but he also avoided my eyes. The warriors avoided nothing, but I had never been able to read them when they did not wish it. As for Duncan and Finn, I knew well enough what they thought.

  I will take a viper to my bed…I sighed. But then I recalled what power that viper had over men in general, myself in particular, and I could not suppress the tightening of my loins. By the gods, it might be worth risking my life for one night in her bed…well, I would.

  I looked again at Finn. “It brings peace to Homana.”

  He did not smile. “Whom do you seek to convince?”

  I scowled and went down the dais steps. “Rowan, come with me. I will give you the task of fetching my lady mother from Joyenne as soon as she can travel. And there is Torry to fetch, as well…though no doubt Lachlan would be willing to do it.” I sighed and turned back. “Finn. Will you see to it Torry has escort here?”

  He nodded, saying nothing; I thought him still disapproving of my decision to wed Electra. But it did not matter. I was not marrying Finn.

  A sound.

  Not precisely a noise, merely not silence. A breath of sound, subtle and sibilant, and I sat up at once in my bed.

  My hand went to the knife at my pillow, for even in Homana-Mujhar I would not set aside the habit. My sword and knife had been bedfellows for too long; even within the tester bed I felt unsafe without my weapons. But as I jerked the draperies aside and slid out of the bed, I knew myself well taken. No man is proof against Cheysuli violence.

  I saw the hawk first. He perched upon a chair back, unblinking in the light from the glowing torch. The torch was in Duncan’s hand. “Come,” was all he said.

  I put the knife down. Once again, a Cheysuli summoned me out of the depths of a night. But this one I hardly knew; what I did know merely made me suspicious. “Where? And why?”

  He smiled a little. In the torchlight his face was a mask, lacking definition. His eyes yellowed against the light, with pinpricks for pupils. The hawk-shaped earring glinted in his hair. “Would you have me put off my knife?”

  I felt the heat and color running quickly into my face. “Why?” I retorted, stung. “You could slay me as easily without.”

  Duncan laughed. “I never thought you would fear me—”

  “Not fear, precisely,” I answered. “You would never slay me, not when you yourself have said how important a link I am in your prophecy. But I do suspect the motives for what you do.”

  “Carillon,” he chided, “tonight I will make you a king.”

  I felt the prickle in my scalp. “Make me one?” I asked with elaborate distinctness, “or another?”

  “Come with me and find out.”

  I put on breeches and shirt, the first things I could find. And boots, snugged up to my knees. Then I followed him, even as he bid Cai remain, and went with him as he led me through my palace.

  He walked with utter confidence, as a man does who knows a place well. And yet I knew Duncan had never spent excess time in Homana-Mujhar. Hale had, I knew, brought him to the palace at least once, but he had been a child, too young to know the mazes of hallways and chambers. And yet he went on through such places as if he had been born here.

  He took me, of course, to the Great Hall. And there he took down a second torch from its bracket on the wall, lighted it with his own and handed them both to me. “Where we are going,” he said, “it is dark. But there will be air to breathe.”

  I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck. But I refrained from asking him where. And so I watched in silence and astonishment as he knelt by the firepit rim.

  He began to pull aside the unlighted logs. Ash floated up to settle on his hair. Suddenly he was an old man without the wrinkles, gray hair instead of black, while the gold glowed on his arms. I coughed as the ash r
ose high enough to clog my nose, and then I sneezed. But Duncan was done rearranging my firepit quickly enough; he reached down and caught a ring of iron I had never seen.

  I scowled, wondering what other secrets Duncan knew of Homana-Mujhar. And then I watched, setting myself to be patient, and saw him frown with concentration. It took both hands and all of his strength, but he jerked the ring upward.

  It was fastened to a hinged iron plate that covered a hole. Slowly he dragged up the plate until the hole lay open. He leaned the cover, spilling its coating of ash, against the firepit rim, then grimaced as he surveyed the ruin of his leathers.

  I leaned forward to peer into the hole. Stairs. I frowned. “Where—?”

  “Come and see.” Duncan took back his torch and stepped down into the hole. He disappeared, step by step. Uneasily, I followed.

  There was air, as he had promised. Stale and musty, but air. Both torches continued to burn without guttering, so I knew we would be safe. And so I went down with Duncan, wondering how it was he knew of such a place.

  The staircase was quite narrow, the steps shallow. I had to duck to keep from scraping my head. Duncan, nearly as tall, did as well, but I thought Finn would fit. And then I wished, with the familiar frisson of unease, that he was with me as well. But no. I had sent him to my sister, and left myself to his brother’s intentions.

  “Here.” Duncan descended two more steps to the end of the staircase into a shallow stone closet. He put his fingers to the stone, and I saw the runes, old and green with dampness and decay. Duncan’s brown fingers, now gray with ash, left smudges on the wall. He traced out the runes, saying something beneath his breath, and then he nodded. “Here.”

  “What do—” I did not bother to finish. He pressed one of the stones and then leaned against the wall. A portion of it grated and turned on edge, falling inward.