The Song of Homana (21 page)

Electra waited quietly, seated on a three-legged campstool with the folds of her dark skirts foaming around her feet like waves upon a shore. She sat erect, shoulders put back, so that the slender, elegant line of her neck met the jaw to emphasize the purity of her bones. She had braided her hair into a single loose-woven rope that hung over one shoulder to spill into her lap, coiled like a serpent. The smooth, pale brow cried out for a circlet of beaten gold, or—perhaps better—silver, to highlight the long-lidded, magnificent eyes.

I knew Rowan had been here to tell her. She waited, hands clasped beneath the rope of shining hair. Silently she sat upon the stool as the sunlight passed through the weave of the saffron-colored tent to paint her with a pastel, ocherous glow. She wore the twisted gold at her throat, and it shone.

By the gods, so did she. And I wanted so much to lose myself in it. In her. Gods, but what a woman can do to a man—

Even the enemy.

Forty years, this woman claimed. And I denied it, as ever.

I put out my hand to raise her from the stool. Her fingers were still, making no promises, though I had had that of her, as well.

“You have been in battle.” Her voice was cool as ever, with its soft, Solindish cadence.

I had not put off the blood-crusted leather-and-mail. My hair, dried now from the sweat of my exertions, hung stiffly against my shoulders. No doubt I smelled of it as well, but I wasted no time on the niceties of such things
while I had a war to fight. “Come, lady—your father waits.”

“Did you win your battle?” She allowed me to lead her from the tent, making no move to remove her hand from my grasp.

I shook my head. Rowan stood outside with four horses. I saw no good in gaming with her, denying my loss to gain a satisfaction that would not last. I
had
lost, but Bellam still lacked his pretender-prince.

Electra paused as she saw the empty saddles. Four horses only, and no accompaniment. “Where are my women?”

“I sent them back long ago.” I smiled at her. “Only you were brought here. But then you were compromised the moment Finn took you captive. What should it matter, Electra—you are an Ihlini’s light woman.”

Color came into her face. I had not expected to see it, from her. She was a young woman suddenly, lacking the wisdom of experience, and yet I saw the glint of knowledge in her eyes. I wondered, uneasily, if Tynstar’s arts
had
given her youth in place of age. “Does it grate within your soul?” she asked. “Does it make you wish to put your stamp upon me, to erase Tynstar’s?” She smiled, a mere curving of the perfect mouth. “You fool. You could not begin to take his place.”

“You will have the opportunity to know.” I boosted her into the saddle without further comment, and felt the rigid unyielding in her body. I had cut her, somehow: but then she had cut me often enough. I nodded at Rowan. “Send for Zared, at once.”

When Zared came he bowed respectfully. His gray-red hair was still cropped closely against his head, as was common in soldiery. I had not taken up the custom because it had been easy enough, in Caledon, to braid it and bind it with the scarlet yarn of a mercenary. It had been what I was.

“See to it the camp is dispersed,” I told him. “I want no men here to receive Bellam’s welcome, for you may be quite certain his daughter will tell him where we have been.” I did not look at her, having no need; I could sense
her rigid attention. “When I am done with this exchange, I will find the army.”

“Aye, my lord Mujhar.” He bowed, all solemn servitude, and stepped away to follow orders.

Lachlan mounted next to me, and Rowan next to Electra. She was hemmed in on both sides, closely kept. It would not do to lose her now, before I claimed my sister.

Electra looked at us all. “No army to escort you?”

“Need I one?” I smiled. I glanced to Lachlan and saw his gesture. Westward, toward Mujhara, and Tourmaline, my sister.

The sun beat down upon our heads as we waited on the hilltop. We silhouetted ourselves against the horizon, a thing I had not done in the long months of bitter war, but now I did it willingly. I wanted Tourmaline to see us before the exchange was made, so she would know it was us in truth, and not some trick of Bellam’s.

The plains stretched below us. No more spring; it was nearly midsummer. The sun had baked the green from the land, turning it yellow and ocher and amber, and the dust rose from the hooves of more than fifty horses to hang in the air like smoke. Through the haze I could see the men, in Solindish colors, glittering with ringmail and swords. A troop of men knotted about a single woman like a fist around a hilt.

I could not see Tourmaline well. But from time to time I saw the dappled gray horse and the slender, upright figure, wearing no armor but a gown instead, an indigo-colored gown and no traveling mantle to keep the dust off her clothing. Even her head was bared, and her tawny-dark hair hung down freely to tangle across the horse’s gray rump.

I heard Lachlan’s quiet, indrawn breath. I heard my own as well, but it lacked the note I heard in his. I glanced at him a moment, seeing how avidly he watched the troop approach; how intent were his eyes upon the woman. Not my sister, in that instant, but a woman.

I knew then, beyond any doubt at all, that Lachlan plotted no treachery, no betrayal. I was certain of it, in that instant. To do so would endanger Tourmaline, and that he
would never countenance. I had only to look at his face as he looked for hers, and at last I had my answer.

If for nothing else, he would be loyal to me out of loyalty to my sister And what a weapon he gave me, did I find the need to use it.

The Solindish troop stopped at the foot of the hill. The sun glittered off their trappings; off their ringmail; off their intention. Fifty men bent on taking Bellam’s enemy. And that enemy with only a token escort at his side.

It was warm on the hilltop. The air was quite still; the silence was broken only by the jingle and clash of horse trappings and the buzzing hum of an occasional insect. The dust was dry in my mouth and nose; I tasted the flat, bitter salt of summer-swept plains. Come fall, turf would spring up beneath a gentler sun. Come winter, snow would blanket the world. Come spring, I should a King.

If not before.

I looked through the clustered troop to the treasure they guarded so closely. Tourmaline, a princess of Homana. The woman Bellam had threatened to wed; the woman he could not because I had taken his daughter. A princess for a princess.

She sat quite still upon her horse, her hands holding the reins. But she was not entirely free. A soldier flanked her directly on either side; a lead-rope tied her horse to a man who rode before her. They meant not to lose her so easily, did I give them cause to fight.

Lachlan’s breath was audible in his throat. It rasped, sliding through the constriction slowly, so that Rowan glanced at him. There was curiosity in Rowan’s eyes; knowledge in Electra’s. She would know. She would know what he felt: a man in love with a woman, looking at her with desire.

“Well?” I said at last. “Are we to confront one another in silence all day, or is there a thing I must do?”

Lachlan wrenched his attention back to me. “I am to escort Electra down, and Bring Torry back with me.”

“Do it.”

He rubbed at the flesh beneath the silver circlet on his brow. “Nothing more?”

“Am I to think you seek to warn me of some treachery?”
I smiled. “Do what you have said must be done. I want my sister back.”

His jaw tightened. Briefly he glanced at Electra. She sat very still on her horse, like Torry, hardly moving her hands upon the reins. But I saw her fingers tense and the subtle shift of her weight. She meant to run, with Tourmaline still held.

I reached out and caught one of her wrists, clamping down tightly. “No,” I said calmly. “Do you forget I have a bow?”

Her eyes went to the Cheysuli bow at once. And my quiver, freshly filled. “You might slay some,” she conceded coolly, “but I doubt you could slay them all before they took you.”

“No,” I agreed, “but have I spoken of slaying
men?
”

She understood at once. I saw the color move into her face swiftly, setting flags of anger into her cheeks. The somnolent, ice-gray eyes were blackened with frustration, but only for a moment. She smiled. “Slay me, then, and you purchase your fate from Tynstar.”

“I do not doubt I have done so already,” I told her calmly. “I think my sister is worth dying for. But are you?”

“So long as
you
do the dying.” She did not look at me. She looked instead at the troop of men her father had sent to fetch her.

I laughed and released her wrist. “Go, then, Electra. Tell your father—and your sorcerer—whatever you wish to say. But remember that I will have you as my wife.”

Loathing showed on her face. “You will have nothing, pretender-prince. Tynstar will see to that.”

“My lord.” Rowan sounded uneasy. “They are fifty to our three.”

“So they are.” I nodded to Lachlan. “Take her down, and bring my sister back.”

Lachlan put out his hand to grasp Electra’s rein. But she did not let him. She pulled the horse away and set him to walking down the hill. Lachlan fell in close beside her almost at once, and I watched as they rode toward the troop. I unstrapped the bow so the captain could see it,
though I did not intend to use it. I did not think I would need it.

Electra was swallowed almost at once by the Solindish soldiers and I was left without a target. Unless one counted the captain and his men But Electra had the right of it; I could not slay them all. Even with Rowan at my side.

He shifted in his saddle. “My lord—”

“Be patient,” I chided gently.

Lachlan waited at the edge of the hard-eyed throng. The sun on his dyed hair treated it poorly, turning it dull and lifeless. Only the glint of silver on his brow lent him authenticity, and that only won through his harp. I wondered again what made him the man he was, and how it was to be a priest.

The troop parted. Tourmaline came forward on her dappled gray horse. Like Electra, she did not hasten, but I saw the tension in her body. Doubtless she feared the trade would not be finished.

Well, it was not finished yet.

Lachlan put out his hand to her. Briefly she held it tightly with her own, as if thanking him for his care; I watched in bemusement. It was all well and good for a harper to love a princess—that happened with great regularity, to judge by the content of their lays—but I was not certain Tourmaline’s apparent regard for him pleased me one whit. He was a harper, and she was meant for a prince.

“They come,” Rowan said softly, more to himself than to me.

They came. Side by side, no longer clasping hands, their shoulders rigid against the Solindish guard. Dust rose up from the ground and enveloped them in a veil; Tourmaline’s eyes were squinted against it as she came yet closer to me. And then she was laughing, calling out my name, and kicked her horse into a run.

I did not dismount, for all it would have been an easier greeting on the ground. She set her horse into mine, but gently, and our knees knocked as she reached out to hug my neck. It was awkward on horseback, but we got it done. And then, as she opened her mouth to speak again, I waved her into silence.

“My lord!” It was Rowan as Lachlan rode up. “They come!”

And so they did. Almost all fifty of them, charging up the hill, to swallow us within their ringmailed fist.

I smiled grimly, unsurprised. I saw the frustrated, impotent anger on Rowan’s young face as he put his hand to his sword; he did not draw it because he saw no reason to. We were too soundly caught.

Lachlan said something in his Ellasian tongue. A curse, I thought, not recognizing it, or perhaps a plea to his All-Father; whatever it was, it sounded like he meant to chew up their bones, did they bother to come close enough.

Tourmaline, white-faced, shot me a glance that said she understood the brevity of our greeting. What fear I saw in her face was not for herself but for me. Her brother, who had been sought for six long years, was home at last. And caught.

The Solindish captain wore a mail coif that hid all of his head but his face. A wide, hard, battle-scarred face, with brown eyes that had undoubtedly seen everything in war, and yet now expressed a bafflement born of disbelief. His Homanan was twisted by his Solindish accent, but I understood him well enough. “Surely a
boy
would know better.”

My horse stomped beneath me, jarring my spine against the saddle. I did not answer.

“Carillon of Homana?” the captain asked, as if he could not believe he had caught the proper quarry.

“The Mujhar,” I agreed calmly. “Do you mean to take us to the usurper on his stolen throne?”

Tourmaline drew in a sudden breath. Lachlan moved his horse closer to my sister’s, as if to guard her. It was for me to do, not him, but I was occupied at the moment.

“Your sword,” the captain said. “There is no hope of escape for you.”

“No?” I smiled. “My sword is my own to keep.”

The first shadow passed over my face, moving on quickly to blot out the captain’s face. Then another. Yet a third, and the ground was suddenly blotched with moving darkness, as if a plague of shadows had come to settle across us
all. All men, save me, looked up, and saw the circling birds.

There were dozens of them. Hawks and eagles and falcons, owls and ravens and more. With wings outstretched and talons folded, they danced upon the air. Up, then down, then around and around, bent upon some goal.

Rowan began to laugh. “My lord,” he said at last, “forgive me for doubting you.”

They stooped. They screamed. They slashed by the enemy and slapped wings against staring eyes, until the Solindish soldiers cried out in fear and pain. No man was slain; no man was even wounded, but their skill and pride and dignity was completely shredded. There are more way of overcoming the enemy than merely by slaying him. With the Cheysuli, half the defeat comes from knowing what they are.

Half the birds broke away. They dipped to the ground with a rustle of outspread wings; the soughing of feathers folded away. They were birds no more, but men instead, as the shapechange swallowed them all.