The Song of Homana

by Jennifer Roberson

  “But you stopped him.” The Ellasian captain nodded. “You have cut him off, and he goes no farther.”

  It seemed odd to hear the husky accent again, though we spoke Homanan between us and all my captains. There were other Ellasians as well, clustered within my tent; I meant Lachlan’s gift to know precisely what they were doing.

  “Thorne let it be known he was splitting his army,” I explained. “He would come overland through Solinde, gaining support from the rebels there. But he also sent a fleet—or so all the reports said. A fleet bound for Hondarth—down here.” I set my finger on the mark that represented Hondarth, near the bottom of the map and directly south of Mujhara. “But there was no fleet—no real fleet. It was a ruse.”

  Meredyth nodded. “He meant you to halve your army and send part of it to Hondarth, so that when he came in here—full strength—he would face a reduced Homanan warhost.” He smiled. “Clever. But you are more so, my lord Mujhar.”

  I shook my head. “Fortunate. My spies are good. I heard of the ruse and took steps to call back those I had dispatched to Hondarth; thank the gods, they had not gotten far. We have Thorne now, but he will not give up. He will send his men against me until there is no one left.”

  “And the Solindish aid he wanted?”

  “Less than he desired.” Meredyth was older than I by at least twenty years, but he listened well. At first I had hesitated to speak so plainly, knowing him more experienced than I, but Lachlan had chosen well. Here was a man who would listen and weigh my words, then make his judgment upon them. “He came into Solinde expecting to find thousands for the taking, but there have been only hundreds. Since I sent the Cheysuli there, the Solindish are—hesitant to upset the alliance I made.”

  Meredyth’s expression showed calm politeness. “The Queen fares well?”

  I knew what he asked. It was more than just an inquiry after Electra’s health. The future of Solinde rested upon the outcome—or issue—of the marriage; Electra would bear me a second child in three months and, if it were a boy, Solinde would be one child closer to freedom and autonomy. It was why Thorne had found his aid so thin. That, and the Cheysuli.

  “The Queen fares well,” I said.

  Meredyth’s smile was slight. “Then what of the Ihlini, my lord? Have they not joined with Thorne?”

  “There has been no word of Ihlini presence within the Atvian army.” Thank the gods, but I did not say it. “What we face are Atvians with a few hundred Solindish rebels.” I made a quick gesture. “Thorne is clever, aye, and he knows how to come against me. I am not crushing him as I might wish, not when he uses my own methods against me. No pitched battles, merely raids and skirmishes, as I employed against Bellam. As you see, we have been here six months; the thing is not easily won. At least—it was not, until Lachlan sent his gift.”

  Meredyth nodded his appreciation. “I think, my lord, you will be home in time to see the birth of your heir.”

  “Be the gods willing.” I tapped the map again. “Thorne has sent some of his army in here, where I have posted the Cheysuli. But the greater part of it remains here, where we are. The last skirmish was two days ago. I doubt he will come against me before another day has passed. Until then, I suggest we make our plans.”

  Thorne of Atvia came against us two days later with all the strength he had. No more slash and run as he had learned from me; he fought, this time, with the determination of a man who knows he will lose and, in the losing, lose himself. With the Ellasian men we hammered him back, shutting off the road to Homana. Atvian bowmen notwithstanding, we were destroying his thinning offense.

  I sought only Thorne in the crush of fighting. I wanted him at the end of my blade, fully aware of his own death and who dealt it. It was he who had taken my sword from me on the battlefield near Mujhara, nearly seven years before. It was he who had put the iron on me and ordered Rowan flogged. It was Thorne who might have slain Alix, given the chance, had not the Cheysuli come. And it was Thorne who offered me insult by thinking he could pull down my House and replace it with his own.

  When the arrow lodged itself in the leather-and-mail of my armor, I thought myself unhurt. It set me back in the saddle a moment and I felt the punch of a sharpened fist against my left shoulder, but I did not think it had gone through to touch my flesh. It was only when I reined my horse into an oncoming Atvian that I realized the arm was numb.

  I swore. The Atvian approached at full gallop, sword lifted above his head. He rode with his knees, blind to his horse, intent on striking me down. I meant to do the same, but now I could not. I had only the use of one arm.

  His horse slammed into mine. The impact sent a wave of pain rolling from shoulder to skull. I bent forward at once, seeking to keep my seat as the Atvian’s sword came down. Blade on blade and the screech of steel—the deflected blow went behind me, barely, and into my saddle. I spun my horse away and the Atvian lost his sword. It remained wedged in my saddle, offering precarious seating, since an ill-timed movement might result in an opened buttock, but at least I had disarmed him. I stood up in my stirrups, avoiding the sword, and saw him coming at me.

  He was unarmed. He screamed. And he threw himself from his horse to lock both hands through the rings of my mail.

  My own sword was lost. I felt it fall, twisting out of my hand, as the weight came down upon me. He was large, too large, and unwounded. With both hands grasping the ringmail of my armor, he dragged me from my horse.

  I twisted in midair, trying to free myself. But the ground came up to meet us and nearly knocked me out of my senses. My left arm was still numb, still useless.

  His weight was unbearable. He ground me into the earth. One knee went into my belly as he rose up to reach for his knife and I felt the air rush out. And yet somehow I gritted my teeth and unsheathed my own knife, jabbing upward into his groin.

  He screamed. His own weapon dropped as he doubled over, grabbing his groin with both hands. Blood poured out of the wound and splashed against my face. And yet I could not move; could not twist away. His weight was upon my belly and the fire was in my shoulder.

  I stabbed again, striking with gauntleted hands. His screams ran on, one into another, until it was a single sound of shock and pain and outrage. I saw the blindness in his eyes and knew he would bleed to death.

  He bent forward. Began to topple. The knee shut off my air. And then he fell and the air came back, a little, but all his dead weight was upon me. His right arm was flung across my face, driving ringmail into my mouth, and I felt the coppery taste of blood spring up into my teeth. Blood. Gods, so much blood, and some of it my own.…

  I twisted. I thrust with my one good arm and tried to topple him off. But his size and the slackness of death undid me, the heaviest weight of all, and I had no strength left to fight it. I went down, down into the oubliette, with no one there to catch me.…

  Shadows. Darkness. A little light. I thrust myself upward into the light, shouting out a name.

  “Be still, my lord,” Rowan said. “Be still.”

  Waite took a swab of bloody linen from me and I realized he tended my shoulder. More blood. Gods, would he turn to cautery? It was no wonder Rowan seemed so calm. He had felt the kiss of hot steel and now expected me to do the same.

  I shut my eyes. Sweat broke out and coursed down my face. I had forgotten what pain was, real pain, having escaped such wounds for so long. In Caledon, once or twice, I had been wounded badly, but I had always forgotten the pain and weakness that broke down the soul.

  “The arrow as loosed from close by,” Waite said conversationally. “Your armor stopped most of the force of it, but not all. Still, it is not a serious wound; I have got the arrowhead out. If you lie still long enough, I think the whole will heal.”

  I opened one eye a slit. “No cautery?”

  “Do you prefer it?”

  “No—” I hissed as the shoulder twinged. “By the gods—can you not give me what you gave Rowan?”

  “I thought you gave me s
omething,” Rowan muttered. “I slept too well that night.”

  Waite pressed another clout of linen against the wound. It came away less bloody, but the pain was still alive. “I will give you whatever you require, my lord. It is a part of a chirurgeon’s service.” He smiled as I scowled. “Wait you until I am done with the linens, and you shall have your powder.” He gestured to Rowan. “Lift him carefully, captain. Think of him as an egg.”

  I would have laughed, had I the strength. As it was I could only smile. But when Rowan started to lift me up so Waite could bind the linens around my chest, I nearly groaned aloud. “Gods—are all my bones broken?”

  “No.” Waite pressed a linen pad against my shoulder and began to bind strips around my chest. “You were found beneath three hundred pounds of mailed Atvian bulk. I would guess you were under it for several hours, while the battle raged on. It is no wonder you feel half-crushed—there, captain, I am done. Let him down again, gently. Do not crack the eggshell.”

  I shut my eyes again until the sweat dried upon my body. A moment later Waite held a cup to my mouth. “Drink, my lord. Sleep is best for now.”

  It was sweetened wine. I drank down the cup and lay my head down again, trying to shut out the pain. Rowan, kneeling beside my cot, watched with worried eyes.

  I shivered. Waite pulled rugs and pelts up over my body until only my head was free. There were braziers all around my cot. In winter, even a minor wound can kill.

  My mouth was sore, no doubt from where the ringmail had broken my lip. I tongued it, feeling the swollen cut, then grimaced. What a foolish way to be taken out of a battle.

  “I must assume we won the day,” I said. “Otherwise I would doubtless be in an Atvian tent with no chirurgeon and no captain.” I paused. “Unless you were taken, too.”

  “No.” Rowan shook his head. “We won, my lord, resoundingly. The war as well as the day. The Atvians are broken—most of them who could ran back into Solinde. I doubt they will trouble us again.”

  “Thorne?”

  “Dead, my lord.”

  I sighed. “I wanted him.”

  “So did I.” Rowan’s face was grim. “I did not heed you, my lord; I went into battle myself. But I could not find him in the fighting.”

  The powder was beginning to work. Coupled with the weakness from the wound, it was sucking me into the darkness. It grew more difficult to speak. “See he is buried as befits his rank,” I said carefully, “but do not return his body to his people. When my father lay dying of his wounds on the plains near Mujhara, and Thorne had taken me, I asked for a Homanan burial. Thorne denied it to him. And so I deny an Atvian rite to Thorne.”

  “Aye, my lord.” Rowan’s voice was low.

  I struggled to keep my senses. “He has an heir. Two sons, I have heard. Send—send word the Mujhar of Homana asks fealty. I will receive Thorne’s sons in Homana-Mujhar—for their oaths.” I frowned as my lids sealed up my eyes. “Rowan—see it is done—”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  I roused myself once more. “We leave here in the morning. I want to go back to Mujhara.”

  “You will not be fit to go back in the morning,” Waite said flatly. “You will see for yourself, my lord.”

  “I am not averse to a litter,” I murmured. “My pride can withstand it, I think.”

  Rowan smiled. “Aye, my lord. A litter instead of a horse.”

  I thought about it. No doubt Electra would hear. I did not wish her to worry. “I will go in a litter until we are but half a league from Mujhara,” I told him clearly. “Then I will ride the horse.”

  “Of course, my lord. I will see to it myself.”

  I gave myself over to darkness.

  Waite, unfortunately, had the right of it. Litter or no, I was not fit to go back in the morning. But by the third day I felt much better. I dressed in my warmest clothing, trying to ignore the pain in my shoulder, and went out to speak to Meredyth and his fellow captains.

  Their time with me was done. Their aid had helped me accomplish Thorne’s defeat, and it was my place now to send them home. I saw to it each captain would have gold to take back to Ellas, as well as coin for the common soldiers. The war with Thorne had not impoverished me, but I had little to spare. All I could promise was a sound alliance for the High King, which seemed to please Meredyth well enough. He then asked a boon of me, which I gave him gladly enough: Gryffth had asked to stay in Homana to serve Ellas in Homana-Mujhara, more an envoy than simple courier. And so the Royal Ellasian Guard went home, lacking a red-haired courier.

  I also went home, in a litter after all—to worn to spend time on horseback—and spent most of the journey home sleeping, or contemplating my future. Atvia was mine, did I wish to keep it, although there was a chance Thorne’s sons might wish to contest it. I thought they were too young, but could not set an age to them. Yet to try to govern Atvia myself was nearly impossible. The island was too distant. A regent in Solinde was bad enough, and yet I had no choice. I did not want even Solinde; Bellam had, more or less, bequeathed it to me with his death, and the marriage had sealed it. Although I was not averse to claiming two realms my own in place of the single one I wanted, I was not greedy. In the past, far-flung realms had drained the coffers of other kings; I would not fall into the trap. Atvia was Atvian. And did Electra give me an heir this time, I would be happy enough to see Solinde go to my second son.

  It was days to Mujhara by litter, and it was well before half a league out that I took to a horse at last. The wound in my shoulder ached, but it was beginning to heal. I thought, so long as I did not push myself too hard, I could ride the rest of the way.

  And yet when at last I rode through the main gates of my rose-walled palace, I felt the weariness in my body. My mind was fogged with it. I could hardly think. I wanted only to go to bed, my bed, not to some army cot. And with Electra in my arms.

  I acknowledged the welcome of my servants and went at once to the third floor, seeking Electra’s chambers. But a Solindish chamberwoman met me at the door and said the Queen was bathing, could I not wait?

  No, I said, the bath could wait, but she giggled and said the Queen had prepared a special greeting, having received the news of my return. Too weary to think of waving such protestations aside—and wondering what Electra could be planning—I turned back and went away.

  If I could not see my wife, I could at least see my daughter. I went to the nursery and found eight-month-old Aislinn sound asleep in an oak and ivory cradle, attended by three nursemaids. She was swathed in linens and blankets, but one fist had escaped the covers. She clutched it against her face.

  I smiled, bending down to set a hand against her cheek. So soft, so fair…I could not believe she was mine. My hand was so large and hard and callused, touching the fragile flesh. Her hair, springing from the pink scalp, was coppery-red, curling around her ears. And her eyes, when they were open, were gray and lashed with gold. She had all of her mother’s beauty and none of her father’s size.

  “Princess of Homana,” I whispered to my daughter, “who will be your prince?”

  Aislinn did not answer. And I, growing wearier by the moment, thought it better to leave her undisturbed. So I took myself to my chambers and dismissed my body-servant, falling down across my bed to mimic my daughter’s rest.

  I came up out of the blackness to find I could not breathe. Something had leached the air from my lungs until I could not cry out; could not cry; could not speak. All I could do was gape like a fish taken from the water, flapping on the bank.

  There was no pain. Merely helplessness and confusion; pain enough, to a man who knows himself trapped. And does not know why.

  A cool hand came down and touched my brow. It floated out of the darkness, unattached to an arm, until I realized the arm was merely covered by a sleeve.

  “Carillon. Ah, my poor Carillon. So triumphant in your battles, and now so helpless in your bed.”

  Electra’s voice; Electra’s hand. I could smell the scent upon he
r. A bath, the woman had said; a special greeting prepared.

  The cool fingers traced the line of my nose; gently touched my eyelids. “Carillon…it ends. This travesty of our marriage. You will end, my lord.” The hand came down my cheek and caressed my open mouth. “It is time for me to go.”

  Out of the darkness leaped a rune, a glowing purple rune, and in its reflection I saw my wife. She wore black to swath her body, and yet I saw her belly. The child. The heir of Homana. Did she dare to take it from me?

  Electra smiled. A hood covered all her hair, leaving only her face in the light. One hand came up to cradle her belly. “Not yours,” she said gently. “Did you really think it was? Ah no, Carillon…it is another man’s. Think you I would keep myself to you when I can have my true lord’s love?” She turned slightly, and I saw the man beyond her.

  I mouthed his name, and he smiled. The sweet, beguiling smile that I had seen before.

  He moved forward out of the darkness. It was his rune that set the room afire. In the palm of his right hand it danced.

  Tynstar set his hand to the wick of the candle by my bed, and the candle burst into flame. Not the pure yellow fire of the normal candle, but an eerie purple flame that hissed and shed sparks into the room.

  The rune in his hand winked out. He smiled. “You have been a good opponent. It has been interesting to watch you grow; watch you come to manhood; watch you learn what it is to rule. You have learned how to manipulate men and make them bend to your will without making them aware what you do. There is more kingcraft in you than I had anticipated when I set you free to leave this place eight years ago.”

  I could not move. I felt the helplessness in my body and the futility in my soul. I would die without a protest, unable to summon a sound. At least let me make a sound—

  “Blame yourself,” Tynstar told me gently. “What I do now was made possible by you, when you sent the Cheysuli from your side. Had you kept him by you—” He smiled. “But then you could not, could you, so long as he threatened the Queen. You had Electra to think of instead of yourself. Commendable, my lord Mujhar; it speaks well of your priorities. But it will also be your death.” The flame danced upon its wick and sculpted his bearded face into a death’s head of unparallelled beauty. “Finn knew the truth. He understood. It was Finn who saw me in Electra’s bed.” His teeth showed briefly as I spasmed against the sheets. One hand went to Electra’s belly.