The Shapechangers (15 page)

“Alix, I cannot.”

“Do you sentence yourself to serve the Mujhar’s insanity?”

He reached out and clasped her shoulders. “Alix, I want you where you will be safe.”

She smiled at him, certain of her words. “Duncan will see I am kept safe.”

His fingers tightened painfully. “Do you go willingly with him, then? Or has he ensorcelled you with shapechanger arts?”

“No,” she said softly. “I think it is something within myself. I have no words for it, but it exists.”

Duncan, eloquently silent, stretched out his hand. She saw the familiar gesture of spread fingers and bared palm.

And she understood.

Alix stepped away from Carillon. His empty hands fell limply to his sides. He looked at Duncan, then at her, eyes shadowed with pain and confusion. But she also saw acknowledgment.

“I will get you mounts,” he said quietly.

“I have horses,” Duncan answered.

“How do you propose to get over the walls with her? Alix cannot fly in the guise of a hawk.”

Duncan’s face tightened. “No. But the eight guardsmen are simple enough to put out of my way, if I must.”

Carillon sighed wearily. “Shapechanger, I begin to understand the arrogance of your race. And its strength, as Torrin said. Do you know Shaine sent fifty men against you in the forests and only eleven survive?”

“I know.”

“How many did you lose?”

“Of twelve men, we lost two. One to death; one to the soulless men.”

Alix shivered at the relentless tone in his voice. She sensed the purpose and determination in the man and realized had she refused to go with him he could easily have forced her.

Carillon nodded. “I will escort you through the gates. The guard will not stop me, even do I walk with a shapechanger.”

Duncan laughed harshly. “Once we walked
freely
within this place, prince. But you will have my gratitude, regardless.”

Carillon turned to lead them to the bronze-and-timber gates. Before he could move away Duncan reached out and caught his arm. The prince stiffened.

“Carillon. There is much you do not understand. Perhaps you cannot, yet. But Shaine will not always be Mujhar.”

“What do you say, shapechanger?”

“That we are not your enemy. We cannot alter the
qu’mahlin
while Shaine lives. He has struck well and quickly, reducing us to less than a quarter of what we were. Even now we grow fewer with each year as the
qu’mahlin
continues. Carillon, it is in you to stop this.”

The prince smiled. “I have been raised on tales of your perfidy. Stories of your demon ways and cruel arts. Tell me why I should halt my uncle’s purge.”

Duncan’s hand rested on Alix’s shoulder. “For her, my lord. For the woman we both want.”

Alix stood immobile, unable to answer the resolve in Duncan’s voice. Something in him had reached out to her, seeking something from her, and she wanted very much to give it to him.

Carillon swallowed. “It is true the Mujhar alarms me with his vehemence in dealing with your race. He does not even curse Bellam or the Ihlini as he does the Cheysuli. There is an unnatural anger in him.”

Duncan nodded. “Hale served him for thirty-five years, my lord, with a loyalty only the Cheysuli can give. They were more than brothers. It is a binding service which our race had honored for centuries. Hale shattered that bond and hereditary service by his actions. Any man would take it ill and swear revenge, but Shaine also lost a daughter and consequently found his realm plunged into war once again. I understand why he has done this thing, Carillon, even as it destroys my race.”

“Then you are more forgiving than the Mujhar.”

“What of you?” Duncan asked calmly. “Do you serve the
qu’mahlin
when you are king?”

Carillon smiled crookedly. “When I am king,” he said gently, “you will know.”

He turned and walked to the gates. The guards, answering his bidding, opened them instantly. Duncan took Alix’s arm and led her silently from Homana-Mujhar.

Duncan took her through the shadows of tall buildings to the horses. From his saddlepack he pulled a dark hooded cloak and gently draped the folds around her.

“You wear fine clothing and rich jewels, my lady princess,”
he said quietly. “I am only one man, and thieves may think it a simple matter to slay me and steal your wealth. Or even you.”

He pinned the cloak at her left shoulder with a large topaz brooch carved into a hawk shape and set in gold. Silently he pulled the hood over her garneted hair and settled it.

“Duncan,” she said softly, trembling even at his lightest touch.

“Aye, small one?”

“What is this thing? What is this within me?” She swallowed and tried to hide the hesitation in her voice. “I have lost myself, somehow.”

He smoothed back a strand of dark hair from her cheekbone, fingertips lingering. “You have lost nothing, save a measure of your innocence. In time, you will understand it all. It is not my place to tell you. You will know.” He removed his hand. “Now, mount your horse. We have a long way to ride.”

She was muffled by the weight of the unaccustomed gown and the folds of the cloak. Duncan’s firm hands held her close as he lifted her into the saddle. Alix settled her wrappings as he turned to his own mount, then dutifully set out to follow him through the city streets. She was well aware of what she did, though days before she would never have admitted she could act so strangely. But something within her told her she would be safe with him, and that it was the will of the gods she go with him.

“Duncan,” she said quietly, “you spoke of losing someone to the soulless men. What did you truly say?”

Torchlight caught and flashed on his armbands, but he remained shadowed and indistinct as he led her through Mujhara. She thought again how easily the Cheysuli melted into the darkness.

“I have said what it is to be
lir
less,” he said at last, pitching his low voice to carry over the tap of hoof on stone. “A
lir
was lost, and Borrs seeks the death ritual in the forests.”

“And you let him go?”

“It is our way, Alix. Our custom. We do not turn our backs on what has been within the clan for centuries.”

Wearily she pushed the hood off her face and let it fall to her shoulders. “Duncan, where do you take me?”

“To the Keep.”

“What will happen to me there?”

“You will see the
shar tahl
, and learn what it is to be Cheysuli.”

“You are so certain your clan will accept me?”

He cast her a sharp glance over a shoulder. “They must. I have little doubt of your place in the prophecy.”

“Mine!”

“The
shar tahl
will explain it to you. It is not my place.”

Frustration rose within her, sharpening her voice into a demand. “Duncan! Do not shroud your words in obscurity and expect me to meekly accept them. You have taken me from all I have ever known, and even now you lead me into
more
I cannot comprehend. Tell me what is before me!”

He reined in his horse and allowed her to catch up. Faint illumination showed his face clearly to her, limning rigid determination. His mouth was a taut line.

“Must you know all before its time?” he asked harshly. “Can you not wait?”

She glared at him. “No.”

His eyes, bestial in the torchlight, narrowed into pale slits. “Then I will speak plainly, so plainly even you may understand.”

She nodded.

“What I have seen in my own
tahlmorra
is that the old gods intended you and I for one another. From us will come the next link in the prophecy of the Firstborn. You are Cheysuli. You have no choice.”

He was a stranger suddenly. The gentleness he had used before fled beneath the hardness of his voice and words and Alix nearly quailed from it. Then the full meaning and implications of what he had said flared within her mind.

“You and I…”

“If you would feel your own
tahlmorra
, you would see it as clearly as I.”

Alix’s breath came harsh in her throat. Her hands tightened compulsively on the reins. “Ten days ago I was a valley girl tending her father’s animals. Now you tell me I must accept the will of this crooked prophecy and serve it accordingly.” Her voice wavered, then grew firm again. “Well, I will not. I choose my own way.”

“You cannot.”

She glared at him through angry tears. “I have been cast from my grandsire’s palace; threatened with imprisonment and death. Even
Torrin
says I must follow this
tahlmorra
, as you do. But I will do as I choose! I am not an empty vessel to be filled with other men’s desires and plottings! I am more!”

Duncan sighed. “Have you not yet learned all men are no more than empty vessels for the gods?
Cheysula
, do not rail so at your fate. It is not so bad.”

“What do you call me?”

He stiffened, rigidly upright in the saddle. “I have some honor, girl. I will accede to the dictates of my own
tahlmorra
, but I will also honor yours. I know how it is with Homanans and
their propriety, so I will renounce my vow of solitude. You I will take according to Cheysuli custom, and make you a wife.”

“You will
not!
”

“Alix—”

“No! When I become a wife it will be because I wish it, and to a man I can be at ease with. You frighten me with your shadowed soul and mutterings of prophecy I cannot even understand. Leave me to
myself!
”

He pressed his horse closer and caught her arm. Alix struggled against him as he pulled her effortlessly out of her saddle and sat her upright against his chest. In one terrifying instant she saw the echo of his brother in him, and all of Finn’s fierce determination.

“Duncan—
no!
”

“You have asked for it!” he snapped, settling her across his lap.

Cai, drifting down from the rooftops, circled over them.
You should not
, lir.

Alix, trapped within the hard circle of Duncan’s arm and fearful of his intentions, saw the conflict in his face. His hand was on her jaw, imprisoning it, but he made no further move against her. She waited stiffly, not breathing; afraid even to move.

Abruptly he kneed his horse to hers again and deposited her roughly into her own saddle. Alix grabbed at the reins and pommel, fighting to stay upright. When she cast an anxious glance over her cloaked shoulder she saw him visibly constrain the force of his emotion. Then his face was a mask to her.

“It seems,” he began stiffly, “you have all the
lir
at your bidding. First Storr gainsays my
rujholli
from forcing you; now Cai does so with
me.
There is more within you than I thought.”

“Perhaps you should heed it!”

Duncan’s face twisted. “I think the gods laughed when they determined we should serve the prophecy together. It will be no simple task.”

She glared at him. “It will be no task at all, shapechanger.
I
have determined that.”

He swore something in the Old Tongue, forsaking the control he had so recently won back. Alix, startled by the savagery in his voice, reined her horse back two steps.

Lir!
Cai cried in warning.

Duncan turned swiftly in the saddle, hand to his knife, but the men were on him. Three of them, clothed in dark garments, dragged him from his mount.

Alix gasped as she saw him stand braced against his horse,
knife drawn to face the men. Suddenly her anger and frustration evaporated, replaced by stark fear for his life.

A swift feathered weight plummeted from the night sky, wingtips brushing her hair. Cai shrieked into the darkness and fell, talons outstretched. Alix’s horse, terrified by the bird, reared.

She cried out and scrabbled for a solid handhold, tangling reins and mane in her rigid fingers. She had little knowledge of horses; always before she had ridden with someone. Now she struggled to keep the horse from striking Duncan with its pawing hooves.

A hoarse outcry followed Cai’s attack. Alix tried to see if Duncan was safe, but her horse denied it to her. It reared again and danced backward, then spun and bolted.

Shod hooves slid on cobbles, striking sparks. The horse cared little for obstacles in its path, leaping anything in its way. Alix clung to the animal with all her strength, unable to control its flight, and sought the mercies of the gods.

The horse leaped a bushel and slipped badly on landing, sliding spread-legged, nearly throwing Alix from the saddle. The cloak, whipping back, dragged at her. She felt the woven strands of garnets and pearls break free of her hair, spilling loosened braids over her shoulders in disarray. She took two trembling wraps in the reins, snugging them around her hands, and pulled the horse’s head sideways in an instinctive bid to slow it.

Dimly she heard the animal’s wheezing breath and felt the lash of bloodied saliva against her face. The horse slid and thrashed all four legs in an effort to maintain momentum, but Alix kept her painful grip on the reins. She felt the cloak torn from her, whipped back into the darkness.

The horse folded beneath her suddenly, without warning, and tumbled her painfully into the street.

Stunned, knocked dizzy with the force of her sprawled landing, Alix felt the tug at her left arm. The twisted reins still wrapped themselves about her wrist, threatening to drag her as the animal fought to regain its feet. Dazedly she picked at the taut leather with her other hand, freeing her wrist at last.

She heard a rattle of pebbles and dimly realized the jeweled lacings in her hair had broken, scattering garnets and pearls across the cobbles. A searching hand at her hips told her the girdle was also gone, and her skirts were torn and stained. But she dismissed that and got painfully to her hands and knees.

The horse, defeated in its attempt to rise, lay wheezing on its side near her. Alix stared at it blankly, wanting to go to it; afraid of what she might find if she did.

Hair tumbled over her shoulders into her bruised face, dragging
on the cobbles. Wearily she pushed it behind her ears and discovered the garnets in her ears remained. Alix got to her feet and waited for the pain to begin. When she found she could stand it, she picked up her heavy skirts and moved slowly back the way she had come.