The Shapechangers (11 page)

Alix turned her head against the rough weave of her gown and saw Storr waiting quietly in the moonlight. For a moment resentment replaced her grief, then it faded. She knew, somehow, Storr had come on his own, not because he was sent to take her back to camp.

I was not sent
, he said.
I came because you are in pain, and in need.

“You speak as a wise old man,” she whispered.

I am a wise old wolf
, he said, sounding amused.
But there is not so much difference, for all that.

Alix smiled at him and put out a hand. Storr moved to her and allowed her to place a hand on his head. For a moment she was stunned at what she did;
touching a wolf
, she thought silently. But Storr was patient and very gentle, and she did not fear him.

“You are Finn’s
lir
,” she murmured. “How can you be so wise and trustworthy and belong to
him
?”

Storr’s eyes closed as she ran fingers through his thick pelt.
My
lir
is not always so hasty and unwise. You have confused him.

“I!”

He saw you and wanted you. Then he found you were Cheysuli, and his rujholla. He has had no one but Duncan for too long.

“Well, he will not have me.”

You must take someone…someday.

“I will not have a beast like him!”

Storr sighed.
Remember, what name you give him fits you also. You are Cheysuli. It may seem strange now, but you will be happier among us than elsewhere.

“I would sooner go home.
Home
home; not this Keep.”

Even knowing you are not like others?

“Aye. And I am no different.”

But you are. Knowing yourself different makes you different. Think of the qu’mahlin. The Mujhar’s decree applies also to you.

“I am his granddaughter.”

And Cheysuli. You do not know Shaine. But know this—if your kinship to him were more important than your race, you would be in Homana-Mujhar.

She knew he was right. But she could not say it, even when he nudged her hand and went away.

“I am sorry for my
rujholli.
” Duncan moved softly out of the
shadows. “You must not give credence to his words. All too often Finn speaks without thought.”

Alix looked at him and wished herself as far from Duncan and his brother as could be. But since the wish did not work, she answered him.

“You are nothing alike.”

“We are. You have not seen it yet.”

“You cannot make me believe you are as angry, or as cruel.” She sighed in surrender and picked at the moss. “Or else you do not show it.”

Duncan squatted before her, hands hanging loosely over his knees. “Finn was but three when the
qu’mahlin
began. He has little memory of the peace in our clan—or in the land—before it, He knows only the darkness and blood and pain of Shaine’s war.”

“What of you?”

He stared at the moss she was destroying with rigid, nervous fingers. “I was five,” he said finally. “Like him, I awoke in the middle of the night when our pavilion fell under the hooves of Homanan horses. It was set on fire even though the Mujhar’s men saw we were only children, and too small to do much harm. They did not care.” He caught her hand suddenly, stilling it as if its movements disturbed him. His eyes were pale in the moonlight. “You must understand. We were small, but such things remain clear.”

“What do you say?” she whispered, sensing his need to have her comprehension.

“That you should understand why he plagues you. He is bitter toward Shaine, and Homanans in general. Carillon is the Mujhar’s heir.” He paused. “And you want
him…
not Finn.”

“But if your story is true, Finn is my brother!”

Duncan sighed. “You were raised apart. Why should he not desire a woman, even
after
he has learned she is bloodkin to him?”

Alix stared at him, hand still caught in his. The stubborn conflict she felt rise at Finn’s name faded beneath a new—and more frightening—comprehension. She saw before her a solemn-faced warrior who seemed to be waiting for something from her.

For a moment she nearly rose and fled, unable to face the conflict. But she restrained the instinct. There was the faintest whisper of knowledge within her soul, the realization of a power she had never thought she might have, and it astonished her.

“Duncan…” she said softly, “what is this
tahlmorra
you say I should feel?”

“You will know it.”

“How?”

“You will know it.”

“And do you say…do you say every Cheysuli has this
tahlmorra
?”

“It is something that binds us all, as tightly as the prophecy. But it has weakened in many of us because so many of us have been lost and forced to take Homanan women to get children.” His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I am not proud of that. But it must be done, if we are to survive. But there are some of us who feel
tahlmorra
more clearly than others.” He brought her hand up, smoothing his thumb over the back of her palm. “Mine has told me what will come. When we reach the Keep I will seek out the
shar tahl
and have him show me the prophecy runes to be certain. But I know it already.”

Alix withdrew her hand, uneasy. “It has nothing to do with me.”

“It is never wrong. The prophecy was given to us by the Firstborn, who were sired by the old gods. It unveils itself in the fullness of time, and to those who listen and understand. I am one of those who follow its path, Alix. I would give my life to see the prophecy fulfilled.” He smiled suddenly. “I
will
give my life to see the prophecy fulfilled. That much is clear.”

“You know your own death?” she whispered.

“Only that I will die as I am meant, serving the
tahlmorra
of the prophecy. The Firstborn have said.”

Alix looked away from the steadiness of his gaze. “You confuse me.”

“When you have spoken with the
shar tahl
, the confusion will leave you. Be sure of that.”

“And does Finn serve this same
tahlmorra
?”

Duncan laughed. “Finn follows a
sort
of
tahlmorra.
I think he makes his own.”

“I am no part of it,” she told him severely.

His eyes were gentle, “Of Finn’s…no. The threads of your
tahlmorra
are entwined with those of another man.”

“Carillon?” she asked in a blaze of sudden hope.

He did not answer. She understood him then. Her head came up until she met his gaze squarely. Then she got to her feet and shook out her tattered skirts.

“If I am Cheysuli, I make my own
tahlmorra.
Like Finn.” She looked down on him. “You cannot force me, Duncan.”

“I would not.” He shook his head and rose, looming over her in the darkness. “There is no need.”

“You will not force me!”

His hand touched her face gently. “I would not, small one. Your own
tahlmorra
will.”

Alix stepped away from him, holding his eyes with her own and denying him what she saw in his face. Then her resolution wavered.

She turned and fled into the shadows of the camp.

The warning came as the warrior band rode through the thick forest, making their own track. Cai broke through the thin veil of tree limbs and foliage to seek out Duncan. Alix, glancing up in surprise, saw the hawk wing down and light upon a branch.

They come
, lir, the bird said.
Mounted men in the Mujhar’s colors. Half-a-league; no more.

Duncan pulled his horse to a halt. Alix, seeking to remain upright on the animal, caught at Duncan’s waist. She felt the tension in his body as if it were her own.

He half-turned in the saddle, muttering something under his breath. Then, “I must find a place for you.”

“You will fight them?”

“They will give us no choice, Alix. Why do you think they come, save to slay us all?”

Alix opened her mouth to retort but suddenly could find no words. Her mind was ablaze with sound so intense she knew it was not something she heard with her ears. She thought her head would burst with words, and it was only grabbing at Duncan’s waist that kept her on the horse. She mumbled something, closing her eyes against the weight of voices, and vaguely heard the approach of a horse. Duncan took no note of her sudden weakness.

“Well,
rujho
,” Finn’s voice said, “the princeling did not lie. He has given us little time.”

Alix forced her eyes open and glared at him, though a part of her attention was still claimed by the multitude of voices.

Do they not hear them?
she wondered.

Duncan reached around and caught her arm, easing her down from the horse until she had to scramble to stay upright. “Take her,” he told Finn.

Alix forcibly detached her mind from the other voices. “No! Not with him!”

“See to her,
rujho
,” Duncan said calmly. “I will not have her harmed. These men will see only a shapechanger woman, and would do her injury. I leave her to you.”

Finn grinned down at her. “Do you see,
meijha
? The clan-leader passes you back to me.”

“I will have none of you,” she said with effort, trying to speak beneath the weight of words in her mind. “Do you hear?”

Duncan said something to her but Alix heard nothing; she saw only that his mouth moved. She clapped hands over her ears and bowed her head, trying to withstand the patterns and tones in her mind.

Finn’s hands came down on her shoulders. Dimly she saw Duncan lead his horse away, leaving Finn on foot with her. She peered at him uncertainly.

“You have been given into my keeping,” he announced. “I do not intend to let you out of it.”

“Is it sorcery?” she gasped. “Do you seek to take my mind from me?”

Finn scowled at her. “You do not make sense,
meijha.
But I have no time to listen to you now…can you not hear them?”

“I hear their voices!” she cried, trembling. Finn’s look on her was strange. “I speak of their horses,
meijha.
I hear no voices.”

For a moment she pushed away the soundless words and listened to reality. Through the forest came the sounds of men battering their way through delaying brush. Her eyes flew to Finn’s.

“They will slay you,” he said gently.

The weight began to fall from her mind. Faintly she heard echoes of the tones and patterns, but she did not feel so bound by them. Her strength was spent. She nodded wearily at Finn and did not protest as he led her deeper into the forest.

“Storr?” she asked softly.

“He is behind, watching. He—like the others—will fight the Mujhar’s men.”

Finn pulled her down under cover of a broken tree trunk leaning drunkenly against another. Quickly he set deadfall over them, weaving a rapid shelter. When it was done he pushed her down on her stomach and knelt beside her. Alix, still shaken from the silent voices, watched from a distance as he loosened his belt-knife and effortlessly nocked a yellow-fletched black arrow to his compact, powerful bow.

Alix put her head down on one arm and longed for the security of her father’s croft.

“Watch my back,
meijha
,” Finn said roughly. “I have no time for women’s fears.”

She wrenched her head up and glared at him. His back was to her, presenting an excellent target for a furious fist, but the precariousness of their position was uppermost in her mind. She put away the urge to do him harm and turned instead to watch behind him, as he had bidden.

Alix’s head ached. She scrubbed at her forehead as if to drive the pain away, but it did no good. The voices were gone, only a figment of memory, but it was enough to leave a residue. Her entire body ached with the indignities she had been forced to endure: sores remained on her legs from continued riding; bruises dotted her flesh and her bones and muscles felt like rags. Her mind, she knew dimly, was as exhausted. For all they insisted they would do her no harm, the Cheysuli had accounted for more pain and fatigue than she had ever thought possible.

At first she thought it was a Cheysuli horse crashing through the brush toward their thin shelter. Alix stared silently up at the man a moment before she realized he was a mailed man-at-arms in the scarlet-and-black tunic livery of the Mujhar, sword drawn.

Relief flooded through her. She would escape Finn and the others now, putting herself into the care of a Mujharan guardsman, who would surely rescue her from her plight. Alix sighed in relief and crawled forward as the man’s eyes fell on hers. The beginnings of her smile of greeting faded.

The sword lifted in a gloved hand, swinging back over his shoulder. Transfixed, Alix stared at the bright blade. It hung over her, poised to fall, and in a blinding flash of realization she knew Duncan’s words were true. They would slay her where she stood, and call her shapechanger.

Alix lunged backward into Finn. He turned sharply and hissed something, then saw why she moved. He said nothing more. The arrow’s flight was unmarked in passing, but Alix saw the feathered shaft quiver out of the guardsman’s throat. He fell back in the saddle, crying out something in a gurgling voice. Then he tumbled from his bolting horse.

She stuffed a fist into her mouth to keep from screaming, aware only that Finn had left her and was fighting hand-to-hand with yet another guardsman. Alix recoiled, staring open-mouthed at the straining men. A bough jabbed her in the small of her back, tearing through the woolen fabric and into her flesh, but she was oblivious to the pain.

Finn bent the man’s knife arm away from his throat, a fearful
rictus of concentration baring his teeth. Muscles bulged beneath his armbands as he fought to keep the blade from his throat.

Alix mumbled something to herself, unaware she spoke. Finn drove his knife upward into the guardsman’s stomach, but not before the man managed to bring his own weapon down in a slashing motion that penetrated Finn’s rib cage.

Alix cried out again, then heard a strange moaning sound and saw the Cheysuli blur himself into his wolf-shape. Before her horrified eyes the wolf leaped on the man and bore him to the ground, ripping his throat away.