Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 (26 page)

           
Kellin's belly clenched. "My
grandsire was seduced."

           
"But you are above such
things?" Corwyth shook his head. "A single birth, Kellin ... a single
seed of yours sowed in fertile Ihlini soil, and the thing is done." His
eyes were black and pitiless in the frosted darkness. "We are not all of
us sworn to Asar-Suti. There are those Ihlini who would, to throw us down, try
very hard to insure the child was conceived. The prophecy is not dependent upon
whose blood mingles with yours, merely that it be Ihlini."

           
Kellin summoned the last of waning
strength.

           
In addition to battered chest, a hip
and shoulder ached. Welts and scratches stung- Bravado was difficult. "So,
will you kill me here?"

           
Corwyth smiled. "You are meant
for Lochiel's disposition."

           
Kellin dredged up scorn. "If
you mean to take me to Valgaard, you will do it against my will. That much you
cannot take from me, lirless or no."

           
"That may be true,"
Corwyth conceded, "but there are other methods. And all of them equally
efficient."

           
He gestured. From the shadows walked
two cloaked men and a saddled horse. Kellin looked at them, looked at the
mount, and knew what they meant to do.

           
"A long ride," Corwyth
said, "and as painful as I can make it." He glanced to the horse,
then looked back at Kellin. "How long do you think you can last?"

           
Kellin awoke with his mouth full of
blood. He gagged, spat it out, felt more flow in sluggishly from the cut on the
inside of his cheek. Pressure pounded in his head. It roused him fully, so that
he could at last acknowledge the seriousness of his situation.

           
Corwyth's companions had flung him
belly-down across the saddle, little more than a battered carcass shaped in the
form of a man. Ankles were tied to the right stirrup, wrists to the left.

           
The position was exceedingly
uncomfortable; the binding around his ribs had loosened with abuse and provided
no support.

           
He recalled his defiant challenge:
Cheysuli to Ihlini. He recalled losing that challenge, though little of
anything afterward; the pain had robbed him of consciousness. Now consciousness
was back. He wished it were otherwise.

           
Kellin gagged and coughed again,
suppressing the grunt of pain that exited his throat and was trapped with
deliberate effort behind locked teeth.

           
Regardless of the discomfort,
despite the incipient rebellion of his discontented belly, he would not
disgrace himself by losing that belly's contents in front of an Ihlini.

           
A thought intruded: Had I listened
to my grandsire— But Kellin cut it off. Self-recrimination merely added to
misery.

           
The horse moved on steadily with its
Cheysuli burden. Every stride of the animal renewed Kellin's discomfort. He
wanted very much to sit upright, to climb down from the horse, to lie down
quietly and let his headache subside. But he could do none of those things.

           
A crackling of underbrush forwarned
him of company as a horse fell in beside him. Kellin's limited head-down view
provided nothing more of the world than stirrup leather and horsehair.

           
Then Corwyth spoke, divulging
identity. "Awake at last, my lord? You have slept most of the night."

           
Slept? I have been in more
comfortable beds. Kellin lifted his head. His skull felt heavy, too heavy; it
took effort to hold it up. The light now was better; he could see the Ihlini
plainly. Dawn waited impatiently just outside the doorflap.

           
Corwyth smiled. There was no
derision in his tone, no contempt in his expression. "One would hardly
recognize you. A bath would undoubtedly benefit. Would you care to visit a
river?"

           
The thought of being dumped into an
ice-cold river bunched the flesh of Kellin's bones. He suppressed a shiver with
effort and made no answer.

           
The Ihlini's smile widened.
"No, that would hardly do. You might sicken from it, and die . . . and
then my lord would be very wroth with me."

           
Blue eyes glinted. "I pity you,
Kellin. I have seen Lochiel's anger before, and the consequences of it."

           
Kellin's mouth hurt. "Lochiel
has tried to throw down my House before." It was mostly a croak; he firmed
his voice so as not to sound so diminished. "Why do you believe he will
succeed this time?"

           
"He has you," Corwyth said
simply.

           
"You have me," Kellin
corrected. "And I would not count a Cheysuli helpless while his heart
still beats."

           
Russet brows arched. "Shall I
stop it, then? To be certain of my safety? To convince you, perhaps, that you
are indeed helpless despite your Cheysuli bravado?"

           
Kellin opened his mouth to retort
but found no words would come. Corwyth's gloved hand was extended, fingers
slack. They curled slowly inward.

           
There was no pain. Just a vague
breathlessness that increased as the fingers closed, and a constriction in his
chest that banished the ache of his ribs because this was much worse. Bruised
ribs, even cracked ones, offered little danger when a man's heart was
threatened.

           
Kellin stirred in protest, but his
bonds held firm. The horse walked on, led by Corwyth's minions. The Ihlini's
fingers closed.

           
He felt each of them: four fingers
and a thumb, distinct and individual. Each was inside his chest.

           
They touched him intimately,
caressing the very muscle that kept him alive.

           
It was, he thought, rape, if of a
very different nature.

           
Kellin desired very much to protest,
to cry out, to shout, to swear, to scream imprecations. But his mouth would not
function. Hands and feet were numb. He thought the pressure in his head might
cause his eyes and ears to burst.

           
He could not breathe.

           
Corwyth's hand squeezed.

           
Kellin thrashed once, expelling
breath and blood in a final futile effort to escape the hand in his chest.

           
"Your lips are blue,"
Corwyth said. "It is not a flattering color."

           
Nothing more was left. Piece of
meat—

           
It was, Kellin felt, a supremely
inelegant way to die.

           
Then the hand stilled his heart, and
he was dead.

           
Kellin roused as Corwyth grabbed a
handful of hair and jerked his head up. "Do you see?" the Ihlini
asked. "Do you understand now?"

           
He understood only that he had been
dead, or very close to it. He sucked in a choking breath, trying to fill
flaccid lungs. The effort was awkward, spasmodic, so that he recognized only
the muted breathy roaring of a frightened man trying desperately to breathe.

           
I am frightened— And equally
desperate; he felt intensely helpless, and angry because of it. Lochiel's
ambassador had humiliated him in the most elemental of ways: by stripping a
Cheysuli of freedom, strength, and. pride.

           
"Say it again," Corwyth suggested.
"Say again Lochiel cannot throw down your House."

           
Kellin said nothing. He could not
manage it.

           
The hand was cruel in his hair. Neck
tendons protested. "You have seen nothing. Nothing, Kellin. I am proud,
but practical; I admit my lesser place without hesitation or compunction. The
power I command is paltry compared to his."

           
Paltry enough to kill him with
little more than a gesture.

           
Corwyth released his hair. Kellin's
neck was too weak to support his skull. It flopped down again, pressing face
against winter horsehair. He breathed in its scent, grateful that he could.

           
"Think on it," Corwyth
said. "Consider your circumstances, and recall that your life depends
entirely upon the sufferance of Lochiel."

           
Kellin rather thought his life depended
entirely on his ability to breathe, regardless of Lochiel's intentions. As he
lay flopped across the saddle, he concentrated merely on in- and exhalations.
Lochiel could wait.

           
When they cut him from the horse and
dragged him down, Kellin wondered seriously if death might be less painful. He
bit into his tongue to keep from disgracing himself further by verbal
protestation, but the sudden sheen of perspiration gave his weakness away.
Corwyth saw it, weighed it, then nodded to himself.

           
"Against the tree," the Ihlini
ordered his companions,

           
The two hauled Kellin bodily to the
indicated tree and left him at its foot to contemplate exposed roots as he
fought to maintain consciousness. Sweat ran freely, dampening his hair. He lay
mostly on one side. His wrists, though now cut free of the stirrup, were still
tied together. He no longer was packed by horseback like so much fresh-killed
meat, but the circumstances seemed no better.

           
Kellin blew grit from his lips. The
taste in his mouth was foul, but he had been offered no water.

           
The sun was full up. They had been
riding for hours without a single stop. In addition to the residual aches of
the Midden battle and the discomfort of the ride, Kellin's bladder protested.
It was a small but signal irritant that compounded his misery.

           
Kellin eased himself into a sitting
position against the tree trunk. He sagged minutely, testing the fit of his
ribs inside their loosened wrappings and bruised Hesh, then let wood provide
false strength; his own was negligible.

           
I am young, strong, and fit ... this
is a minor inconvenience. Meanwhile, he hurt.

           
Corwyth strode from his own mount to
Kellin, who could not suppress a recoil as the Ihlini touched the binding
around his wrists. "There, my lord: freedom." The wrappings fell
away. Corwyth smiled. "Test us as you like."

           
Kellin wanted to spit into the
arrogant face.

           
Corwyth knew he knew there was no
reason to test. No man, Cheysuli or not, would risk his heart a second time to
Ihlini magic.

           
"Are you hungry? Thirsty?"
Corwyth gestured, and one of his companions answered with a wrapped packet and
leather flask delivered to Kellin at once. "Bread, and wine. Eat.
Drink." Corwyth paused. "And if you refuse, be certain I shall make
you."

           
Immediately Kellin conjured a vision
of his own hands made by sorcery to stuff his mouth full of bread until he
choked on it. His heart had been stopped once; better to eat and drink as
bidden than risk further atrocity.

           
With hands made stiff and clumsy by
the weight of too much blood, he unwrapped the parcel. It was a lumpy, tough-crusted
loaf of Homanan journey-bread. He set it aside carefully, ignoring Corwyth's
interest, and unstoppered the flask. Without hesitation—he would give nothing
to the Ihlini, not even distrust—he put the flask to his cut lips and poured
wine down his throat.

           
It stung the inside of his mouth.
Kellin drank steadily, then restoppered the flask. "A poor vintage,"
he commented. "Powerful you may be, but you have no knowledge of
wine."

           
Corwyth grinned. "Bait me, my
lord. and you do so at your peril."

           
Kellin stared steadily back.
"Unless you heal me, Lochiel may well wonder what you have done to render
his valuable kinsman so bruised."

           
Corwyth rose. "Lochiel knows
you better than that. Everyone in Homana—and Valgaard—has heard of the Midden
exploits undertaken by the Prince of Homana."

           
Midden exploits. He detested the
words. He detested even more Lochiel's knowledge of them. To forestall his own
comment, he put bread into his mouth.

           
"Eat quickly," Corwyth said.
"We ride again almost immediately."

           
Kellin glared at him. "Then why
stop at all?"

           
"Why, to keep you and anyone
else from claiming me inhumane!" With a glint in blue eyes, the
young-seeming Ihlini turned away to his mount, then paused and turned back.
"Would you like me to help you rise so you may relieve yourself?"

           
Kellin's face caught fire. Every
foul word he knew crowded into his mouth, which prevented him from managing to
expell even one.

           
"Come now," Corwyth said,
"it is an entirely natural thing. And, as you are injured—"

           
"No," Kellin declared.

           
Blue eyes glinted again. "Hold
onto the tree, my lord. It might help you to stand up."

           
Kellin desired nothing more than to
ignore the suggestion entirely. But to do so was foolish in the face of his
need. Pride stung, but so did his bladder.

           
"I will turn my back,"
Corwyth offered. "Your condition presupposes an inability to escape,"

           
The comment naturally triggered an
urge to prove Corwyth wrong, but Kellin knew better than to try. If the Ihlini
could play with his heart, Kellin had no desire to risk a threat to anything
else.