Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 (29 page)

           
None who survived.

           
Kellin gathered in reins.
"General Rowan," he said briefly. "Rowan was meticulous in
teaching my history. Rowan was one of Carillon's most trusted men. He was a
lirless Cheysuli."

           
He did not lose a lir. He never had
one. He was kept from the bonding by the Ellasians who did not know what he
was.

           
"I know what I am. I know what
you are." He swung the horse southwesterly. "Go back to the gods who
sent you. I will have none of them, or you."

           
Lir—

           
"No." Kellin spared a
final glance at the body beside the fire. In time the beasts would eat it. He
would not be one of them; he had done his part already. "Tu'halla
dei," he said. "Or whatever the terminology from warrior to renounced
lir."

           
The sleek back cat rose. I am Sima.
I am for you.

           
Kellin kicked the horse into a walk.
"Find another lir."

           
There IS none! she cried.

           
For the first time he heard the fear
in her tone.

           
Kellin jerked the horse to a halt.
He turned in the saddle to stare angrily at the mountain cat. "I saw what
became of Tanni. I know what became of Blais. I am meant to hold the Lion and
sire a Firstborn son—do you think I dare risk it all for you? To know that if
you die, the prophecy dies also?"

           
Without me, you die. Without you, I
do. With both of us dead, there is no need for the prophecy.

           
Kellin laughed. "Surely the
gods must see the folly in this! A lir is a warrior's weakness, not his strength.
I begin to think the lir-bond is nothing more than divine jest."

           
I am for you, she said. Without you,
I am empty.

           
It infuriated him. "Tell it to
someone who cares!"

           
But as he rode from the campsite,
the mountain cat followed.

           
Kellin was exhausted by the time he
reached Clankeep. He had briefly considered riding directly to Homana-Mujhar—no
doubt Brennan and Aileen wondered what had become of him—but decided against
it. Clankeep was the answer. His problem had nothing at all to do with the
Homanan portion of his blood, but was wholly a Cheysuli concern.

           
I will tell them what has happened.
I will explain what I was forced to become, and the result—surely they cannot
countenance a warrior who in lir-shape compromises every bit of his humanity.
He steadfastly ignored the shadow slinking behind him with gold eyes fixed on
his back. They will understand that this kind of bonding -cannot be allowed to
stand.

           
Kellin sighed relief. He felt better
already. Once his plight was explained, all would be understood.

           
He had spent portions of his
childhood in Clankeep and knew the pureblood Cheysuli could be a stiff-necked,
arrogant lot—he had been accused of his share of arrogance by the castle boys
in childhood—but they had to acknowledge the difficulty of his position. Kellin
knew very well his request would be neither popular nor readily accepted, but
once they fully understood what had occurred the Cheysuli would not refuse. He
was one of their own, after all.

           
I will speak to Gavan. Gavan was
clan-leader, a man Kellin respected. He will see this is serious, not merely an
inconvenience. He will know what must be done.

           
Kellin felt gingerly at the bridge
of his nose. It was whole, but badly scratched. His left eyelid was swollen so
that a portion of his vision was obstructed. His clothing was crusted with
dried blood. I can smell myself. It shamed him to show himself to Gavan and the
others this way, but how better to explain his circumstances save with the gory
proof before them?

           
He was not hungry though his belly
was empty.

           
The idea of food repulsed him. He
had eaten the throat of a man; though he was free now of the taste, his memory
recalled it. Kellin wanted nothing at all to do with food.

           
He listened for and heard the faint
rustling behind. Sima did not hide her presence, nor make attempt to quiet her
movements. She padded on softly, following her lir.

           
Kellin's jaws tautened. Gavan will
see what has happened. He will know what must be done.

           
Clankeep, to Kellin, was perfectly
ordinary in its appearance. He had been taught differently, of course; the keep
had been razed twenty years before on the night of his birth, when Lochiel
himself had ridden down from Valgaard with sorcerers at his beck. The Ihlini
had meant to destroy Clankeep and kill every living Cheysuli; that they had
failed was in no way attributable to their inefficiency, but to the forced
premature birth of Aidan's son.

           
Cut from his mother's belly before
the proper time, Kellin was at risk. Lochiel had immediately returned to
Valgaard. In that retreat, a portion of Clankeep and her Cheysuli were left
alive.

           
Kellin, gazing with gritty, tired
eyes on the painted pavilions clustered throughout the forest like chicks
around a hen, saw nothing of the past, only of the present. That the unmortared
walls surrounding the pavilions were, beneath cloaks of lichen and ivy, still
charred or split by heat did not remind him of that night, because he recalled
nothing of it. He had no basis for comparison when he looked on the present
Clankeep. To Kellin it was simply another aspect of his heritage, without the
depressing weight of personal recollection.

           
Despite the hour he was welcomed
immediately by the warriors manning the gate and was escorted directly to the
clan-leader's pavilion. In the dark it stood out because of its color: a pale
saffron bedecked with ruddy-hued foxes. Moonlight set it softly aglow.

           
Kellin dismounted as his escort
ducked into Gavan's pavilion; a second warrior took Corwyth's horse and led it
away. Kellin was alone save for the cat-shaped shadow nearby. He ignored her
utterly.

           
In only a moment the first warrior
returned and beckoned him inside, pulling aside the doorHap.

           
Kellin drew in a deep breath and
went in, acutely aware of his deshabille. He paused inside as his eyes adjusted
to the muted glow of a firecairn, then inclined his head to the older man who
waited. Gavan offered the ritual welcome in the Old Tongue, then indicated a
place to sit upon a thick black bear pelt. Honey brew and dried fruit also were
offered. Kellin sat down with a murmured word of thanks and accepted cup and
platter- Irresolute, he stared at both, then set aside the fruit and drank
sparingly of the liquor. Like the Ihlini wine, it burned his cut mouth.

           
Gavan wore traditional leathers,
though tousled graying hair indicated he had risen hastily from bed. In
coal-cast shadows his dark Cheysuli face was hollowed and eerily feral,
dominated by yellow eyes above oblique, prominent cheekbones.

           
Some of Gavan's face was reflected
in Kellin's, though his own was less angular and lacked the sharpness of
additional years.

           
The clan-leader sat quietly on a
bear pelt before Kellin, a ruddy dog-fox curled next to one knee.

           
His eyes narrowed minutely as he
observed Kellin's state. "Harsh usage."

           
Kellin nodded as he swallowed, then
set aside the cup. "Ihlini,” he said briefly. He was flattered by the
instant response in Gavan's eyes: sharp, fixed attention, and a contained but
palpable tension. Kellin wondered fleetingly if Gavan had been present during
the Ihlini attack. Then he dismissed it, thinking of the man instead. I will
have more care from him than from my own Jehan.

           
"Lochiel?" the clan-leader
asked.

           
Kellin shook his head. "A
minion. Corwyth. Powerful in his own right . .. but not the master
himself."

           
Gavan's mouth compressed slightly.
"So the war begins anew."

           
Kellin swallowed heavily.
"Lochiel wants me captured and taken to Valgaard. No more does he want me
killed outright, but brought to him alive." Though his mouth was clean, he
tasted Corwyth's blood again. It was difficult to speak. "In my dying—or
whatever he decrees is to be my fate—I am to be Lochiel's entertainment."

           
Gavan set aside his cup. "You
have not gone to the Mujhar."

           
"Not yet. I came here
first." Kellin suppressed a shudder as the image of throatless Corwyth
rose in his mind; this man would not understand such weakness. "There is a
thing I must discuss. A frightening thing—" he did not like admitting such
to Gavan, but it was the simple truth, "—and a thing which must be
attended." It was more difficult than expected. Kellin flicked a glance at
the mountain cat who lay so quietly beside him. He longed to dismiss her, but
until all was explained he did not dare transgress custom. A lir was to be
honored; arrant dismissal would immediately predispose Gavan to hostility.
"I killed Corwyth, as I said—but not through a man's means."

           
Gavan smiled faintly as he looked at
Sima. "It is my great personal joy that the bonding has at last occurred.
It is well past time. Now you may be welcomed into the clan as a fully bonded
warrior ... it was of some concern that the tardiness of the lir-bonding might
cause difficulty."

           
Kellin's mouth dried.
"Difficulty?"

           
Gavan gestured negligent dismissal.
"But it is of no moment, now. No one can deny your right to the
Lion."

           
This was a new topic. "Did
someone deny it?"

           
A muscle jumped briefly in Gavan's
cheek. "There was some talk that perhaps the mixture of so many Houses in
your blood had caused improper dilution."

           
"But the mixture is
needed." Kellin fought to control his tone; he realized in a desperation
fraying into panic that things would not be sorted out so easily after all.
"The prophecy is very explicit about a man of all blood—"

           
"Of course." Neatly, Gavan
cut him off. "A man of all blood, aye .. . but a man clearly
Cheysuli."

           
He smiled at Sima. "With so
lovely a lir, you need fear no warrior's doubts."

           
Kellin found it difficult to
breathe. To gain time he looked around the interior of the pavilion: at the
dog-fox next to Gavan; at the glowing firecairn; at the bronze-bound trunk with
a handful of Cheysuli ornaments scattered across its closed lid; at the compact
warbow—once called a hunting bow—leaning against the trunk; at the shadows of
painted lir on the exterior of the pavilion fabric.

           
Lastly, at Sima. Gold eyes were
unblinking.

           
Kellin picked up the cup of liquor
and drained it. It burned briefly, then mellowed into a warmth that, in an
empty belly, set his vision to blurring.

           
His lips felt stiff. "Carillon
had no lir."

           
Gavan's black brows, as yet
untouched by the silver threading his hair, moved more closely together.
Clearly, he was baffled by the non sequitur-

           
"Carillon was Homanan."

           
"But the clans accepted
him."

           
"He was the next link. After
Shaine: Carillon. After Carillon: Donal."

           
"Because Carillon sired only a
daughter. A Solindish halfling."

           
"Aislinn. Who wed Donal and
bore Niall." Gavan smiled then, his faint consternation clearing. "Is
this because Niall, too, was late receiving his lir? Did you fear, as they say
he did, that you would never receive one?" He smiled, nodding his head in
Sima's direction. "You need fear nothing. Your future is secure."

           
Kellin drew in a deep breath,
ignoring the twinge in his chest. Ga van's words seemed to come from a great
distance. "What if—" He broke off, then began again. "What if I
had never received a lir?"

           
Gavan shrugged. "There is no
profit in discussing what did not occur."

           
Kellin forced a smiled.
"Curiosity. What if I had never received, nor bonded with a lir?" He
was no good at disingenuity; the smile broke up into pieces and fell away,
"I am well beyond the age a warrior receives a lir. Surely before now
there must have been some discussion in case I never did."

           
The clan-leader made a dismissive
gesture. "Aye, it was briefly discussed; there is no sense in hiding it
from you. It is a serious matter. Because you are the only direct descendant
with all of the proper bloodlines—"

           
"Save one."

           
Gavan inclined his head slightly.
"—save one, aye .. . still, it remains that you are the only one with all
of the necessary lineage required to produce the man we await."

           
"The Firstborn."

           
"Cynric." Gavan's eyes
were bright. "So your jehan has prophesied."

           
Kellin did not desire to discuss his
jehan. "Had I not received my lir, what would have happened? Would you
have questioned my right to inherit?"

           
"Certainly clan-council would
have met to discuss it formally at some point."

           
"Would you have questioned
it?" Suddenly, it mattered. It mattered very much. "Would the Cheysuli
have rejected my claim to the Lion?"

           
"The Mujhar is in no danger of
giving up his claim any time soon." Gavan smiled. "He is a strong
man, and in sound health."

           
"Aye." Kellin's nerves
frayed further. It seemed no matter how careful he was, how meticulous his
phrasing, he could not get the answer he wanted; yet at the same time he knew
what the answer was, and dreaded it. "Gavan—" He felt sweat sting a
scrape on one temple as the droplet ran down beneath a lock of hair.
"Would the Cheysuli accept a lirless Mujhar?"

           
Gavan did not hesitate. "Now?
No. There is no question of it. We are too close to fulfillment .. . a lirless
Cheysuli would prove a true danger to the prophecy. We cannot afford to support
a Mujhar who lacks the most fundamental of all Cheysuli gifts. It would provide
the Ihlini an opportunity to destroy us forever."