Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 04 - Track Of The White Wolf.txt 
THE HOUSE OF HOMANA 


SHAINEm ELLINDA FERGUS m GWYNNETH 
2} Lorsilla 


HALEm LINOIR . TOURMALINE m FINN 


AUX m DUNCAN CARILLON m ELECTRA x (7YNSTAR) 


ALARIC m BRONWYN (SORCHA) x DONAL m AISLINN MEGHAN m EVAN 


STRAHAN 


(LILUTH) X IAN CE1NN m ISOLDE 


TIERNAN 


GISELLAm NIALL x (DEIRDRE) 


MAEVE 


BRENNAN HART CORIN KEELY 


Prologue 


I knelt in silence, in patience, right knee cushioned by 
layers of rain-soaked leaves. Boot heel pressed against 
buttock; the foot within the boot, perversely, threatened 
suddenly to cramp. ' 


Not now, I told it, as if the thing might listen. 


My left leg jutted up, offering a thigh on which I could 
rest the arm supporting the compact bow. Support I 
needed badly; I had knelt a very long time in the misted 
forest, keeping my silence and my patience only because 
the discipline my father and brother had taught me,, for 
once, held true. Perhaps I was finally learning. 


How many tones did Carillon kneel as I kneel, lying in 
wait for the enemy? 


My grandsire's name slipped easily into mouth or mind. 
Perhaps for another man, perhaps for another grandson, 
it would not. But for me, it was a legacy I did not always 
desire. 


Carillon would keep still for hoursCarillon would 
never speakCarillon would know best how to do the 
job 


Distracted by my thoughts, I did not hear the sound 
behind me. I sensed only the shadow, the weight of the 
stalking beast 


Even as I tried to turn on cramping foot, the bow was 
knocked flying from my hands. Half-sheathed daws shred-
ded leather hunting doublet and, beneath that, linen, 
shirt. Weight descended and crushed me to the ground, 
grinding my face into damp leaves and soggy tun. 


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In the cold, breath rushed out of my nose and mouth 
like smoke from a dragon's gullet. Mountain cat. 


I knew it at once, even as the cat's weight shifted and 


allowed me room to move. 'nrere is a smell, not unpleas-
ant, about the cats. A sense of presence. An ambience, 
created the moment one of their kind appears. 


I rolled, coming up onto my knees, jerking the knife 
free of the sheath at my belt 


and froze. 


A female. Full-fleshed and in prime condition. Her 
lush red coat was a dappled chestnut at shoulders and 
haunches. The tail lashed in short, vicious arcs as she 
crouched. Dark-tipped ears flattened against wedge-shaped 
bead as she snaried, displaying an awesome assemblage 
of curving teeth. 


She hissed, as a housecat will do when taken by surprise. 


And then she purred. 


I swore. Slammed the knife home into its sheath. Spat 
out mud and stripped decaying leaf from face and hair. 
And swore again as I saw the laughter in her amber, 
slanted eyes. 


And suddenly I knew 


I glanced back instantly. In the clearing, very near the 
place I had waited so patiently, the red stag lay dead, the 
fang stag, with the finest rack of antlers I had ever seen. 
And a red-fletched arrow stood up tike a standard from 
his ribs. 


"lan!" I shouted. "lancome out! It was not fair!" 


The cat sat down in the clearing, commenced licking 
one big paw, and continued to purr noisily. 


"lan?" I looked suspiciously at the cat a moment. 
"NoTasha." Still there was no answer. It was all I 
could do not to fill the trees with my shout. "lan, the 
stag was minedo you hear?" I waited. Wiggled my foot 
inside my boot; the cramp, thank the gods, was fading. 
"Ion," I said menacingly; giving up, I bellowed it. "The 
stag was mine not yoursi" 


"But you were much too slow." The answering voice 
was human, not feline. "Much too slow; did you think 
the king would wait on a prince forever?" 


I spun around. As usual, with him, I had misjudged his 
position. There were times I would have sworn he could 
make his voice issue from rock or tree, and me left 
searching fruitlessly for a man. 


My brother sifted out of trees, brush, slanted foggy 
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shadows into the clearing beside the dead stag. Now that 
2 


I saw him clearly, I wondered that I had not seen him 
before. He had been directly across from me. Watching, 
Waiting. And laughing, no doubt, at his foolish younger 
brother. 


But in silence, so he would not give himself away. 


I swore. Aloud, unfortunately, which only gave him 
more cause to laugh. But he did not, aloud; he merely 
grinned his white-toothed grin and waited in amused 
tolerance for me to finish my royal tirade. 


And so I did not, having no wish to band him further 
reason to laugh at me, orworseto dispense yet another 
of his ready homilies concerning a prince's proper 
behavior. 


I glared at him a moment, unable to keep myself from 
that much. I saw the bow in his hands and the redfletched 
arrows poking up from the quiver behind his 
shoulder. And looked again at the matching arrow in the 
ribs of the red king stag. 


Conversationally, I pointed out, "Using your lir to 
knock me half-silly was not within the rules of the 
competition." 


"There were no rules," he countered immediately. 
"And what Tasha did was her own doing, no suggestion 
of minethough, admittedly, she was looking after my 
interests." I saw the maddening grin again; winged black 
brows rose up to disappear into equally raven hair. 
"And her own, naturally, as she shares in the kill." 


"Of course," I agreed wryly. "You would never set 
her on me purposely" 


"Not for a liege man to do," he agreed blandly, with 
an equally bland smile. Infuriating, is my older brother. 


"You ought to teach her some manners." I looked at 
the mountain cat, not at my brother. "But then, she has 
arrogance enough to match yours just as she is, so I am 
sure you prefer her this way." 


lan, laughingaloud this timedid not answer. Instead 
he knelt down by the stag to inspect his kill. In fawncolored 
leathers he blended easily into the foliage and 
fallen leaves. Another man, lacking the skills I have 
learned, would not have seen lan at all, until he moved. 
Even then, I thought only the glint of gold on his bare 
arms would give him away. 


I should have known. I should have expected it. All a 
3 


man has to do is look at him to know he is the better 
hunter. Because a man, looking at my brother, wul see 


a Cheysuli warrior. 
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But a man, looking at me. will see only a fellow 
Homanan. Or Carillon, until he looks again. 


For all we share a Cheysuli father, lan and I share not 
a whit of anything more. Certainly not in appearance. 
lan is all Cheysuli: black-haired, dark-skinned, yellow-
eyed. And I am all Homanan: tawny-haired, fair-skinned, 


blue-eyed. 


It may be that in a certain gesture, a specific move-
ment, lan and I resemble one another. Perhaps in a turn 
of phrase. But even that seems unlikely. lan was Keep-
raised, brought up by the clan, I was bom in the royal 
palace of Homana-Mujhar, reared by the aristocracy. 
Even our accents differ a little: he speaks Homanan with 
the underlying tilt of the Cbeysuli Old Tongue, frequently 
slipping into the language altogether when forgetful of 
his surroundings; my speech is always Homanan, laced 
with the nuances of Mujhara, and almost never do I fall 
into the Old Tongue of my ancestors. 


Not that I have no wish to. I am Cheysuli as much as 
lanwell, nearly; he is half, I claim a Quarterand yet 
no man would name me so. No man would ever look into 
my face and name me, in anger or awe, a shapechanger, 
because I lack the yellow eyes. I lack the color entirely; 


the gold, and even the language. 


No. No shapechanger, the Cheysuli Prince of Homana. 


Because in addition to lacking Cheysuli looks, I also 
lack a lir. 


One 


I think no one can fully understand what pain and futility 
and emptiness are. Not as / understand them: a man 
without a lir. And what of them I do understand comes 
not of the body but of the spirit. Of the soul. Because to 
know oneself a lirless Cheysuli is an exquisite sort of 
torture I would wish on no man, not even to save myself. 


My father was young, too young, when he received his 
Ur, and then he bonded with two: Taj and Lom, falcon 
and wolf. lan was fifteen when he formed his bond with 
Tasha. At ten. / hoped I would be as my father and 
receive my Ur early. At thirteen and fourteen I hoped I 
would at least be younger than lan, if I could not mimic 
my father. At fifteen and sixteen I prayed to all the gods 
I could to send me my lir as soon as possible, period, so I 
could know myself a man and a warrior of the dan. At 
seventeen, I began to dread it would never happen, 
never at all; that T would live out my life a lirless Cheysuli, 
only half a man, denied all the magic of my race. 


And now, at eighteen, I knew those fears for truth. 


lan still knelt by the king stag. Tashalean, lovely, 
lissome Tashaflowed across the clearing to her Ur and 
rubbed her head against one bare arm. Automatically 


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lan supped that arm around her, caressing sleek feline 
head and tugging affectionately at tufted ears. Tasha 
purred more loudly than ever, and I saw the distracted 
smile on lan's face as he responded to the mountain cat's 
affection. A warrior in communion with his Ur is much 
like a man in perfect union with a woman; another man, 
shut out of either relationship, is doubly cursed . . . and 
doubly lonely. 


I turned away abruptly, knowing again the familiar 
7 


uprush of pain, and bent to recover my bow. The arrow 
was broken; Tasha's mock attack had caused me to fall 
on it. A sore hip told me I had also rolled across the 
bow. But at least the soreness allowed me to think of 
things other than my brother and his lir. 


I have never been a sullen man, or even one much 
given to melancholy. Growing up a prince and heir to the 
throne of Homana was more than enough for most; 


would have been more than enough for me, were I not 
Cheysuli-born. But Uriessnessand the knowledge I would 
remain sohad altered my life. Nothing would change it, 
not now; no warrior in all the clans had ever reached his 
eighteenth birthday without receiving his lir. Nor, for 
that matter, his seventeenth. And so I tried to content 
myself with my rank and titleno small things, to the 
Homanan way of thinkingand the knowledge that for 
all I lacked a fir, I was still Cheysuli. No one could deny 
the Old Blood ran in my veins. No one. Not even the 
shar tahl^ who spoke of rituals and traditions very care-
fully indeed when he spoke of them to me, becausefor 
all 1 lacked a lir1 still claimed the proper line of de-
scent. And that line would put me on roe Lion Throne of 
Homana the day my rather died. 


That, at least, was something my brother could not lay 
claim tonot that he would wish to. Being bastard-bom of 
my father's Cheysuli meijhalight woman, in Homanan 
attached no stigma to him in the clans. Cheysuli do not 


Slace such importance on legitimacy; in the clans, the 
irth of another Cheysuli is all that counts, but as far as 
the Homanans were concerned, Donal's eldest son was 
tolerated among the Homanan aristocracy only because 
he was the son of the Mujhar. 


And so lan, as much as myself, knew what it was to 
lack absolute acceptance. It was, I suppose, his own part 
of the discordant harmony in an otherwise pleasing mel-
ody. It only manifested itself for a different reason-

"Niall?" lan rose with the habitual grace I tried to 
emulate and could not; I am too tall, too heavy, I lack 
the total ease of movement born in so many Cheysuli. 
"What is it?" 


I thought I had learned to mask my face, even to lan. 
It served no purpose to tell him what torture it was to see 
my brother with his fir, or my father with his. Most of the 
8 


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time it remained a dull ache, and bearable, as a sore 
tooth is bearable so long as it does not turn rotten in the 
jaw. But occasionally the tooth throbs, sending pain of 
unbearable intensity through my mind; my mask had 
slipped, and lan bad seen the face I wore behind it. 


"Rujho" so quickly he slipped into the Old Tongue 
"are you ill?" 


"No." Abrupt answer, too abrupt; I inspected the bow 
again, for want of another action to cover my brief slip. 
"No, only " I sought a lie to cover up the pain '*only 
disappointed. But I should know better than to match 
myself against you in something so" I paused"so 
Cheysuli as hunting a stag. You have only to take lir-
shape, and the contest is finished." 


lan indicated the arrow. "No fir-shape, rujho. Only 
human form." He smiled, as if he knew we joked, but 
something told me he knew well enough what had 
prompted my discomfiture. "If it pleases you, Niall, I 
will concede. Without Tasha's interference, you might 
well have taken the stag." 


I laughed at him outright. "Oh, aye, might have. Such 
a concession, rujho\ You will almost have me believing I 
know what I am doing." 


"You know what I taught you, my lord." lan grinned. 
"And now, if you like, I will- go fetch the horses as a 
proper liege man so we may escort the dead king home 
in honor." 


"To Homana-Mujhar?" The palace was at least two 
hours away; rain threatened again. 


"No, I thought Clankeep. We can prepare the stag 
there for a proper presentation. Old Newlyn knows all 
the tricks." lan bent down and with a quick twist re-
moved the unbroken arrow from between the ribs of the 
stag. "Clankeep is closer, for all that." 


I shut my mouth on an answer and did not say what I 
longed to: that I much preferred the palace. Clankeep is 
Cheysuli; liriess, I am extremely uncomfortable there. I 
avoid it when I can. 


lan glanced up. "Niall, it is your home as much as 
Mujhara." So easily he read me, even by my silence. 


I shook my head. "Homana-Mujhar is my place. 
Clankeep is yours." Before he could speak I turned 


away. "I will get the horses. My legs are younger than 
yours." 


It is an old Joke between us, the five years that sepa-
rate us, but for once he would not let it go. He stepped 
across the dead king stag and caught my arm. 


"NialL" The levity was banished from his face. "Rujho, 
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I cannot pretend to know what it is to lack a Ur. But 
neither can I pretend your lack does not affect me." 


"Does it?" Resentment flared up instantly, surprising 
even me with its intensity. But this was intrusion into an 
area of my life he could not possibly understand. "Does 
it affect you, lan? Does it disturb you that the warriors of 
the clan refer to me as a Homanan instead of a Cheysuli? 
Does it affect you that if they could, they would petition 
the shar tahl to have my birth-rune scratched off the 
permanent birth-lines?" His dark face went gray as death, 
and I realized he had not known I was aware of what a 
few of the more outspoken warriors said. "Oh, rujfw, I 
know I am not alone in this. I know it must disturb 
youa full-fledged Cheysuli warrior and a member of 
Clan Councilin particular: that the man intended to 
rule after Donal lacks the gifts of the Cheysuli. How 
could it not? You serve the prophecy as well as any 
warrior, and yet you look at me and see a man who does 
not fit. The link that was not forged." It hurt me to see 
the pain in his yellow eyes; eyes some men still called 
bestial. "It affects you, it affects our sister, it affects our 
father. It even affects my mother.'* 


lan's hand fell away from my arm. "Aislinn? How?" 


His tone was unguarded; I heard the note of astonish-
ment in his voice. No, he would not expect my lack of a 
Ur to affect my mother. How could it, when the Queen of 
Homana was fully Homanan herself, without a drop of 
Cheysuli blood? 


How could he, when there was so little of affection 
between them? Not hatred; never that. Not even a true 
disliking of one another. Merelytoleration. A mutual 
apathy. 


Because my mother, the Queen, recalled too clearly 
that what love my father had to offer had been given 
freely to his Cheysuli meijha, lan's mother, and not to 
the Homanan princess he had wed. 


At least, not then. 


I smiled, albeit wryly, and more than a little resigned. 
"How does it affect my mother? Because to her, my 
lacking a lir emphasizes a certain other bloodline in me. 
It reminds her mat in addition to looking almost exactly 
like her father, I reflect all his Homanan traits. No CheysuU 
in me, oh no; I am Homanan to the bone. I am Carulon 
come again." 


The last was said a trifle bitterly; for all I am used to 
the fact I look so much like my grandsire, it is not an 
easy knowledge. I would sooner do without it. 


lan sighed. "Aye. I should have seen it. The gods 
know she goes on and on about Carillon enough, Unking 
her son with her father. There are times I think she 
confuses the two of you." 


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I shied away from that idea almost at once. It whis-
pered of sickness; it promised obsession. No son wishes 
to know his mother obsessed, even if she is. 


And she was not. She was not. 


"dankeep," I said abruptly. "Well enough, then let us 
go. We owe this monarch more than a bed of leaves and 
bloodied turf." 


A muscle ticked in lan's jaw. "Aye," he said tersely; 


no more. 


I went off to fetch the horses. 


Once, individual keeps had been scattered through-
out Homana, springing up like toadstools across the land. 
Once, they had even reached a finger here and there into 
neighboring Ellas, when Shame's qu'mahlin had been in 
effect. The purge had resulted in the destruction of 
Cheysuli holdings as well as much of the race itself; later 
the Solindish king, Bellam, had usurped the Lion Throne 
and laid waste to Homana in the name of Tynstar, Ihlini 
sorcerer, and devotee of the god of the netherworld. 
With Carillon in exile and the Cheysuli hunted by 
Solindish, Ihlini and Homanan alike, what remained of 
the Cheysuli was nearly destroyed completely. The keeps 
had been sundered into heaps of shattered stone and 
shreds of painted cloth. 


My legendary grandsire had, thank the gods, come 
home again to take back his stolen throne; his return 
ended Solindish and Ihlini domination and Shaine's purge. 
Freed of the threat of extirpation, the Cheysuli had also 
11 


come home from secret keeps and built Homanan ones 
again. Clankeep itself, spreading across the border be-
tween woodlands and meadowlands, had gone up after 
Donal succeeded to the Lion on Carillon's death. And 
though the Cheysuli were granted freedom to live where 
they chose after decades of outlawry, they still preferred 
the closeness of the forests. Clankeep, ringed by un-
mortared walls of undressed, gray-green stone, was the 
closest thing to a city the Cheysuli claimed. 


As always, I felt the familiar admixture of emotions as 
we entered the sprawling keep: sorrowa trace of 
trepidationa fleeting sense of angeran undertone of 
pride. A skein of raw emotions knotted itself inside my 
soul . . . but mostly, more than anything, I knew a tre-
mendous yeanling to belong as Ion belonged. 


Clankeep is the heart of the Cheysuli, regardless that 
my father rules from Homana-Mujhar. It is Clankeep 
that feeds the spirit of each Cheysuli; Clankeep where 
the shar tahls keep the histories, traditions and rituals 
dear of taint. It is here they guard the remains of the 
prophecy of the Firstborn, warding the fragmented hide 
with all the power they can summon. 


And it was here at Clankeep that Niall of Homana 
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longed to spend his days, for all be was prince of the land. 


Because then he would be Cheysuli. 


The rain began again, though falling with less force 
than before. This was more of a mist, kiting on the wind. 
Sheets of it drifted before my horse, shredded by the gusts. 
It muffled the sounds of the Keep and drove the Cheysuli 
inside their painted pavilions. 


Except for Isolde. I should have known; 'Solde adores 
the rain, preferring thunder and lightning in abundance. 
But this misting shower, I knew, would do; it was better 
than boring sunlight. 


"lan! Niall! Both my rufholU at once?" She wore 
crimson, which was like her; it stood out against the 
damp grayness of the day as much as her bright ebul-
lience did. I saw her come dashing through the drifting 
wet curtains as if she hardly felt them, damp wool skirts 
gathered up to show off furred boots of sleek dark otter 
pelt. Silver bells rimmed the cuffs of the boots, chiming 
as she ran. Matching bells were braided into thick black 
12 


hair; like lan, she was all Cheysuli. Even to the Old 
Blood in her veins. 


"What is this?" She stopped as we did, putting out a 
hand to push a questing wet muzzle from her face; lan's 
gray stallion was a cunous sort, and oddly affectionate 
toward our sister. But then, perhaps it was the magic in 
her showing. "The king stag!" Yellow eyes widened as 
she looked up at lan and me. "How did you come by 
this?" 


'Solde seemed untroubled by the rain, falling harder 
now, that pasted hair against scalp and dulled the shine 
of all her bells. One hand still on the stallion's muzzle, 
she waited expectantly for an explanation. 


I blew a drop of water off the end of my nose. " 'Solde, 
you have eyes. The king stag, aye, and brought down by 
lan's hand" I paused "in a manner of speaking.*' 


lan glared. "What nonsense is this? 7n a manner of 
speaking.^ I took him down with a single arrow! You 
were there." 


"How kind of you to recall it." I smiled down at 
'Solde. "He set Tasha on me the moment I prepared to 
loose my own arrow, and the cat spoiled my shot." 


'Solde laughed, smothered it with a hand, then at-
tempted, unsuccessfully, to give lan a stem glance of 
remonstration. At three years younger than lan and two 
years older than I, she did what she could to mother us 
both- Though I had my own mother in Homana-Mujhar, 
'Solde and lan did not; Sorcha was long dead. 


Rain fell harder yet. My chestnut gelding snorted and 
shook himself. Jostling all my bones. I was already a 
trifle stiff from Tasha's mock attack; I needed no further 


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reminding of human fragility. " 'Solde, do you mind if 
we go into lan's pavilion? You may like the rain, but we 
have been out in it longer than I prefer." 


Her slim brown fingers caressed the crown bedecking 
the king stag's head. "So fine, so fine ... a gift for our 
jehanT' She asked it of lan, whose stallion bore the stag 
before the Cheysuli saddle. 


"He will be pleased, I think," lan agreed " 'Solde, 
Niall has the right of it. I will shrink like an old wool 
tunic if I stay out in this downpour a moment longer." 


'Solde stepped aside, shaking her head in disappoint-
ment, and all the bright bells rang. "Babies, both of 
13 


you, to be so particular about the weather. Warriors 
must be prepared for anything. Warriors never complain 
about the weather. Warriors" 


" 'Solde, be still," lan suggested, calmly reining his 
stallion toward the nearest pavilion. "What you know of 
warriors could be fit into an acorn." 


"No," she said, "at least a walnut. Or so Ceinn tells 
me." 


The stallion was stopped short, so short my own mount 
nearly walked into the dappled rump, which is not some-
thing I particularly care to see happen around lan's prickly 
stallion. But for once the gray did nothing. 


lan, however, did. "Ceinn?" He twisted in the saddle 
and looked back at our smug-faced sister- "What has 
Ceinn to say about how much you know of warriors?" 


"Quite a lot," she answered off-handedly. "He has 
asked me to be bis cheysula." 


"Cemn?" lan, knowing the warriors better than I, could 
afford to sound astonished; all I could do was stare. "Are 
you sure he said cheysula and not meijha?" 


"The words do have entirely different sounds," 'Solde 
told him pointedly, which would not please lan any at 
all. But then, of course, she did not mean to. "And I do 
know the difference." 


lan scowled. "Isolde, he has said nothing to me about 
it." 


"You have been in Mujhara," she reminded him. "For 
weeks. Months. And besides, he is not required to say 
anything to you. It is me for whom he wishes to offer." 


lan, still scowling, cast a glance at me- "Well? Are you 
going to say nothing to her?" 


"Perhaps I might wish her luck," I answered gravely, 
"Whenever has anything we have said to her made the 
slightest amount of difference?" 


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"Oh, it has," Isolde said. "You just never noticed." 


lan shut his eyes. "Her mind, small as it is, astonishes 
me with its capacity for stubbornness, once a decision is 
made." Eyes open again, he twisted his mouth in a wry 
grimace of resignation. "Niall has the right of it: nothing 
we say will make any difference. Butwhy Ceinn?" 


"Ceinn pleases me," she answered simply. "Should 
there be another reason?" 


lan glanced at me, and I knew our thoughts ran along 
14 


similar paths: for a woman like our sister, a free Cbeysuli 
woman with only bastard ties to royalty, there need be 
no other reason. 


For the Prince of Homana, however, there were multitudinous 
other reasons. Which was why I had been cradlebetrothed 
to a cousin I had never seen. 


Gisella was her name. Gisella of Atvia. Daughter of 
Alaric himself, and my father's sister, Bronwyn. 


I smiled down at my Cheysuli half-sister. "No, 'Solde. 
No other reason. If he pleases you, that is enough for lan 
and me." 


"Aye," lan agreed glumly. "And now that you have 
taken us by surprise, ^olde, as you intended all along, 
may we get out of the rain?" 


'Solde grinned the grin that lan usually wore. "There 
is a fire in your pavilion, rujho, and hot honey brew, 
fresh bread, cheese and a bit of venison." 


lan sighed. "You knew we were coming." 


'Solde laughed. "Of course I did. Tasha told me." 


And with those well-intentioned words, my sister once 
more reminded me even she claimed gifts that I could 
not. 


15 


Two 


The rain began to fall a trifle harder. Isolde flapped a 
hand at us both. "Go in, go in, before the food and drink 
grow cold. I have my own fire to tend, and then I will 
come back." 


She was gone, crimson skirts dyed dark by the weight 
of the rain. I heard the chime of bells as 'Solde ran 
toward her pavilion (did she share it now with Ceinn?) 
and reflected the sound suited my sister. There was nothing 
of dark silence about Isolde. 


"Go on," lan told me. "Old Newlyn will wish to see 
the stag now in order how best to judge the preparation. 
There is no need for you to get any wetter. Tasha will 


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keep you company." 


lan did not bother to wait for my answer; much as I 
dislike to admit it, he is accustomed to having me do as 
he tells me to. Prince of Homana--uege man; one would 
think lan did my bidding, but he does it only rarely. Only 
when it suits that which he believes appropriate to a liege 
man's conduct. 


I watched him go much as 'Solde had gone, fading 
into the wind and rain like a creature born of both. And 
she had the right of it, my rujholla; warriors did not 
complain about the weather. Warriors were prepared for 
anything. 


Or perhaps it was just that they knew how to make 
themselves look prepared, thereby fooling us all. 


I grinned and swung off my gelding, looping the reins 
over a wooden picket-stake before the pavilion doorflap. 
As I pulled the flap back, Tasha moved by me into the 
interior, damp fur slicking back against muscle and bone 
as she pressed briefly against my leg. I wondered if she 
16 


haled the rain as most housecats did; but then, she would 
hardly thank me for comparing her to a common crea-
ture such as knew the tame freedom of Mujhara's alleys 
and the corridors of Homana-MuJhar. 


lan's pavilion was dyed a pale saffron color. The exte-
rior bore a stylized painting of a mountain cat in vermil-
ion, honoring his lir. The interior was illuminated by the 
small fire 'Solde had lighted, but because of the gray of 
the day the shadows lay deep and thick. Trunks merged 
with walls and tapestries, the divider curtain with the 
faint haze of silver woodsmoke. Nothing seemed of sub-
stance except the fire in the caim. 


Tasha wasted no time. She stretched her damp, sub-
stantial length upon the silver-blue pelt of a snow bear 
and began to lick herself dry. Unfortunately, I could not 
do the same with myown soaked skin, not having the 
proper tongue. 


Wet leathers smell. So do wet mountain cats. Between 
myself and lan's lir, there was little left that did not 
offend my nose. And because lan and I were not at all of 
a size, me being both a hand-span taller and at least 
thirty pounds heavier, I could not borrow dry leathers 
from one of his clothing chests. So I wrapped myself up 
in yet another bear pelt, this one chestnut-brown, and 
hunched down beside the fire with my back to the doorflap. 
I poured a cup of hot honey brew and inhaled the pun-
gent steam. 


"lan." The voice outside startled me into nearly spill-
ing my drink. "lan, we must talk. About your rujhollfs 
future and the future of the Lion" Without waiting for 
the word admitting entrance, the man who spoke jerked 
aside the doorfiap and ducked inside. "Your decision can 
wait no long" 


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Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 04 - Track Of The White Wolf.txt 
He broke off at once as I turned on my knees to look 
at him. He was a stranger to me; clearly, I was not to 
him. And neither was his subject. 


I rose, shedding bear pelt, and faced him directly. He 
was young, but several years older than I. Quite obvi-
ously all CheysuU and just as obviously all warrior. He 
wore leathers, damp at the shoulders, dyed the color of 
beech leaves. His gold bore the incised shapes of a rock 
bear, a breed smaller than that most commonly found in 


Honuma, but doubly deadly. I had not heard of a warrior 
bonding with a rock bear for years. 


By tne fir I Judged the man. And by the took of him, 
he was not one to allow another man tune to speak when 
he had words of his own in bis mouth. Even in all its 
youth, his face was hard* made of sharp angles, sharper 
than is common. His nose was a blade that sliced his face 
in half. There was the feint tracery of an old scar cutting 
the flesh at the comer of one eye. Though not so much 
older than I in years, I knew he was decades older in 
self-confidence. 


But I have learned how tall men can occasionally in-
timidate shorter men. I reached out and took up the 
weapon. "Aye?" I asked. "You spoke of me?" 


1 waited. Dull color stained his dark face darker, but 
only for a moment. The yellow eyes veiled themselves at 
once; he was not a man I could intimidate with height or 
rank. But then I should have known better than to try; 


Cheysuli are intimidated by no one. 


" 'Solde said her rufholli was here." He gave up nothing 
in manner or speech. 


"He is," I agreed. "Did she not sayfroth?" 


He judged me. 1 could see it. He judged me, as if he 
sought something in my face, my voice, my eyes. And 
then 1 saw the brief glance at my left ear, naked of gold, 
and knew the judgment reached. 


Or perhaps merely recalled, as if it were no new thing. 
"No," he said smoothly. "She mentioned only lan." 


My fingers clenched briefly on the cup; carefully, I 
unlocked the stiffened joints. With effort, I kept my 
voice from reflecting the pain his casual words had caused. 
That much I had learned from my father; kingcraft often 
requires delicacy of speech as well as subterfuge. This 
meeting would afford me the chance to practice both. 
"My rujholU is with Newlyn. But if you would prefer it, 
you may wait here for his return." I paused. "Or leave 
your message with me.'* 


I knew he would not. I could smell it on him: a great 
need for confidence, secrecy; his manner bespoke an 
arrested anticipation. Whatever news he had for lan was 
important to them both. And would therefore be impor-

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Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 04 - Track Of The White Wolf.txt 
tant to me as well, I thought, a trifle mystified; I won-
dered anew at the stranger's attitude. 
18 


"With you?" He nearly smiled. And then he did, dearly, 
and I saw he was not so much older than I after all. "My 
thanks, but no. 1 think not, my lord; it is better done in 
private." 


He spoke politely, but I knew well enough what he 
did. Cheysuli warriors only rarely give rank to another, 
and then only to a Homanan such as my grandsire had 
been. To another warrior, never, because Cheysuli are 
born and remain equal until they die. And so he re-
minded me, as perhaps he meant to, that he viewed me 
as nothing more than a Homanan. 


An unblessed man, as lirless Homanans are called. 
Well, perhaps he is not so wrong. 


Politely, he bowed his head in subtle acknowledgment 
of my rank. It grated in my soul, that acknowledgment; I 
would trade every Homanan rank in the world for accep-
tance in all the clans. 


"Tell your brother Ceinn has words for him," he said 
quietly, using the Homanan tongue as if I were deaf to 
the Cheysuli. "And forgive me for interrupting." 


He was gone before I could stop him; l?efore I could 
say a word about my sister's marriage. It was not my place 
to say nay or yea to the union; Cheysuli women are free 
to take what warrior they will, but there was little good 
in making no effort to like the man she would wed. 


Well, the effort would havelo wait. 


The cup was cool in my hand. It would be easy enough 
to pour out the cold liquor and refill my cup with hot, 
but suddenly I wanted no liquor, no food, no pavilion 
filled with my brother's fir. Thanks to Ceinn and his 
careful words, I wanted nothing to do with anyone. 


Tasha still lay on the pelt. She had interrupted the 
grooming ritual to look at me with the fixed, feral gaze of 
the mountain cat, as if she sought to read my mind. That 
she could read lan's I knew, but mine was closed to her. 
As much as hers was to me, and always would be. 


Abruptly, I set down the cup and went back out into 
the rain. At once I shivered, but did not allow it to turn 
me from my intention. I jerked the reins from the picket-
stake and swung up into the wet Homanan saddle. 


Homanan this, Homanan thatit is w wonder the Chey-
suli look at me with doubt! 


19 


"Niall!" lan, coming through the rain, lacked both ^ 
stallion and stag. "Rujho" 


I cut him off "I am for Mujhara after all. I have no 
Page 14 



Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 04 - Track Of The White Wolf.txt 


taste for Clankeep today." I reined my fractious chestnut 
around. "Ceinn came looking for you." 
Black brows rose a trifle; what I looked for in his face 
was missing. There was no guilt in my brother, no em-
barrassment, that he discussed me with others behind my 
back. 
But I wonder . . . what does he say? 
lan shrugged, dismissing Isolde's warrior. "Niall, stay 
the night, at least. Why go back in this rain?" 
| 
"The rain has stopped." It had, even as we spoke, but 
the air was heavy with the promise of more. "lan, just 
just let me be." It came out rather lamely, which irri-
tated me even more. "Rujho ... let me be." ! 
i -
He did. I saw the consternation in his face and the 
brief tightening of his mouth, but he said nothing more. 
One brown hand slapped my chestnut's rain-darkened 
rump, and I was away at last. t 
^ 
Away. Again. Away. Gods, how I hate running 
and yet, as always, it seemed the only answer. 
I stopped running at sunset because my horse went 
lame. Not far from MujharaI could see torchlights just 
aheadI pushed myself out of the damp saddle with 
effort (wet leather against wet leather hinders movement 
considerably) and dropped down into sucking mud. I 
swore. Jerked boots free, slipped and slid around to the 
right foreleg to inspect the injured hoof. The gelding 
nosed at me and snorted as I insisted he lift the leg. I 
tried to ignore damp questing nostrils at the back of my 
neck as I dug balled mud from his hoof. 
A stone had wedged itself in the tender frog of the 
hoof. Cold, stiff fingers did not accomplish much; I un-
sheathed my knife and dug carefully at the stone until I 
pried it loose. The frog was bruised. It was nothing that 
would not heal in two or three days, but for now riding 
him would only worsen the lameness and delay recovery. 
And so I took up the reins and proceeded to lead my 
horse into the outskirts of Mujhara. 
The city is centuries older than I. My father once told 
me the CheysuU originally built Mujhara, before they 
20 
turned from castles and houses to the freedom of the 
forests. But the Homanans claimed their ancestors had 
built it, though artifacts of Cheysuti origin had been 
found in old foundations. I could not say who had the 
right of it, as both races had lived in Homana for hun-
dreds and hundreds of years, but I thought it likely the 
Cbeysuli had built at least Homana-Mujhar, for the pal-
ace was full of fir-shapes carved in rose-colored stone and 
rich dark wood. 
Mujhara itself, however, resembles little of the city that 
once held court upon the land. Originally curtain walls 
Page 15 



Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 04 - Track Of The White Wolf.txt 
had ringed the city, offering protection against the en-
emy. But Mujhara was like a small boy growing to man-
hood all at once, without warning. It had burst free of 
childhood's bones and sinews with new adult growth and 
strength, as I myself Had so dramatically two years be-
fore; now the city walls and barbican gates lay nearly-half 
a league yet inside the outskirts, leaving hundreds out-
side we Mujhar's official protection. 


But we had not been at war for nearly twenty years, 
and all the treaties held. Homana was at peace. 


The gelding limped behind me as I led him through the 
narrow, mud-dogged streets. Inside me walls the streets 
were cobbled. Outside they were not, since no one could 
say what dwellings might go up. overnight, thereby creat-
ing new streets. Ordinarily the ground was dry and 
hardpacked, or frozen solid in winter. But now it was 
only fall, too early for true winter. And so I slogged 
through the mud with my limping horse behind me. 


I beaded straight toward the nearest gate leading into 
the inner city, but nothing in Mujhara is straight. Streets 
and alleys and doses wind around and around like Erinnish 
knotwork, lacking beginning and end. So the Prince of 
Homana and his royal mount also wound around and 
around. 


In fall, the light dies quickly. With the sun gone the 
streets lay shadow-clad in deepening darkness. I frowned 
against those few torches that threw inadequate illumina-
tion from dwellings into the street, for they played tricks 
on the eyes by hiding real obstacles even as they created 
others. 


Your own fault, I reminded myself. Ion offered a warm 
pavilion, dry pallet, good food, company, drink. 
21 


Well, so would Homana-Mujhar, providing the horse 
allowed me to reach it before the night was through. 


The rising yowl of an an^ry cat broke into my thoughts. 
The sound came closer stall, rising in volume as well as 
tone; I turned, searching, and saw the dark streak come 
running at me from out of the shadowed wynd. Behind 
the cat came a dog singularly dedicated to catching his 
prey. Neither animal paid mind to me or my horse, both 
intent upon the moment. The cat flew by me, closely 
followed by the dog, and as I turned to watch them go I 
came face to face with a cloaked and hooded man. 


1 stopped short. So did my horse; he nearly walked 
over me. As it was, I felt hoof against heel before I could 
step away. 


The cloaked figure did not attempt to move out of my 
way, nor did he offer apology. He stood his ground. I 
thought perhaps he mistook me for another; when he put 
out a restraining hand as I made to go on around him I 
knew he did not, and I closed my free hand around the 
hilt of my knife. 


Page 16 



Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 04 - Track Of The White Wolf.txt 
"A moment of your time," said the cloaked figure 
quietly. 


The gelding, so close behind me, snorted loudly into 
my left ear and showered me with mucus as I jumped 
and swore. The stranger pushed the hood from his head 
and let it settle on his shoulders. I could see his face 
dimly in the diffused light of the torches. He was smiling; 


my horse's response had amused him. 


I let the merest hint of knife blade show and hoped my 
voice sounded steadier than I felt. Thieves and cutpurses 
abound in any city, even Mujhara, and I was not in an 
area I knew well. For that matter, only rarely do I go 
into the city alone at all. lan is almost always with me, or 
others from the palace. 


"I carry no wealth," I challenged, attempting to sound 
older and more confident than I was. "I have only this 
horse, which is far from a valuable beast at the moment. 
Else I would be riding." 


The smile widened a little. "If I wanted your horse 
and your wealth, my young lord, I would take both. As it 
is, I desire only a moment of your time. But first, let us 
have better light. I would let you see to whom you 
speak." 


H^ I opened my mouth to repudiate his arrogance and his 
'" demands upon my time; I said nothing. I said nothing 


because I could not, being struck dumb by the illumina-

^ tion he conjured out of the air-
\ A hand. The merest flick of eloquent fingers, sketch-
\ ing, and a rune glowed in the air. Deepest, richest pur" 
^ pie, swallowing the darkness and creating light as bright 


as day. 


I thrust up an arm to block the sudden flame and fell 
back two steps. Briefly I felt the bulwark of my horse's 
chest behind me. But then he, too, took fright from the 
fire and shied badly, lunging away so quickly be jerked 
the reins free of my hand. I whirled, trying to catch him, 
^ but for the moment his lameness was forgotten. He 
^ wheeled and went back the way we had come, spraying 
t thick clots of mud into the air and liberally daubing my 
|-clothing as well as my unshielded face. 


% But the horse was the least of my worries. Much as he 


^ had spun I also spun, but not away. Not yet. I faced the 
!man instead, though admittedly only through utter astonishment 
and no particular measure of courage. But I 
could hardly see him through the brilliance of his rune. 


The hand dropped back to bis side, hidden in woolen 
folds of darkest blue. The rune remained: hissing, sheds' 
ding tendrils of brilliant flame,. . . and yet there was no 
j, heat. Only the bitter cold of harshest winter. 


Page 17 



Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 04 - Track Of The White Wolf.txt 


(I "There." He was content with what he had wrought. 
f "Light, my lord- Illumination. Not in the manner to 
which you are accustomed, perhaps, but light nonethe-

^ less. Which would lead me to believe there is no Dark-
1 ness in my sorcery if I can conjure Light." 
H Illumination filled out the details of his face. He was 
i| an immensely attractive man, as some men are; not pre-
^ dsely pretty, but more than merely handsome. As a child 
H he would have been beautiful. But he was no longer a 
p child, and had not been for years. 
I Suspicion flared much as the rune flared, blinding and 
s' all-consuming. At once I looked for the telltale eyes and 


found the stories true. One blue. One brown. The eyes 
t.-of a demon, men said of people with mismatched eyes; 


appropriate, in this case, for his name was linked with 
such. With Asar-Suti himself, the god of the netherworld, 
who made and dwells in darkness. 
23 


Black hair, worn loose and very long, was held back 
from his face by a narrow silver circlet. He was cleanshaven, 
as if he wished all to see his face and marvel at 
its clarity of features. No modest Ihlini, Strahan; he wore 
pride and power like a second cloak, and finer than any 
silk. I saw the glint of silver at one ear. His left, as if he 
mocked the Ar-gold of the Cheysuli. 


But then perhaps he mocked no one; he could not 
wear an earring in his right because he lacked the ear. 


I took a single backward step. Stopped. Again, not 
because I found a sudden spurt of courage, but because I 
found I could not move. Facing him, seeing for myself 
what manner of man he was, I could not go immediately 
out of the sorcerer's presence. 


Ensorcellment? Perhaps. But I choose to call it consuming 
fascination. 


I licked my lips. Breath was harsh in my throat. It was 
difficult to swallow. A weight was pressing on my ribs. 
The contents of my belly threatened to become discontent 
with their surroundings. 


The odd eyes watched me. Strahan judged, as Ceinn 
bad judged. And, like Ceinn, the Ihlini saw I had no gold 
of my own. But then, undoubtedly, Strahan already knew 
quite well of my lack. 


He smiled. I wondered how much of Tynstar was in 
him, his father, whom men claimed a handsome man. 
And his Solindish mother, Electra, who had been Carillon's 
wife and queen before Carillon had slain her. Oh 
aye, I wondered how much of Electra was in him, because 
she was in me as well. 


"Kinsman." Coolly, he acknowledged the blood between 
us. "You must tender my regards to your father 
when I am done with you." 


Page 18 



Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 04 - Track Of The White Wolf.txt 


I did not care for the implications in the statement. 
And yet I knew I stood little chance against him, whatever 
he chose to do. Lirless, I lacked the magic of my 
race. Nothing would turn the Ihlini's power if he chose to 
use it against me. 


Strahan smiled again. Women, I knew, would be at 
once swallowed whole by the magnitude of his allure. 
And men. For a different reason, perhaps, but the results 
would be the same. Where Strahan had need of loya! 
24 


servants, he would find them. He would take them. And 
use them up before he ever let them go. 


"I have heard stories of you, Niall." That did not serve 
to settle me at all. "Tales of how the Prince of Homana, 
young as he is, bears a striking resemblance to Carillon. 
Of course it is in the blood, you being his grandson, but I 
wonder. . . .'* The smile showed itself again. There was 
speculation in his ill-matched eyes. "When I knew him, 
he was an old man made older by my father's arts, and 
he was ill. Ill and dying, slowly, as the disease devoured 
him. But still a strong man, as strong as he could be." 
Black brows drew down a tittle beneath the silver circlet; 


he was judging me again, and using my grandsire as the 
point of comparison. Like my mother. Like so many 
Homanans. "He was the enemy, of course, a man I 
desired to slayespecially once he had slain my father," 
the cool voice hardened, "but in the end, Osric of Atvia 
did the slaying for me." Briefly, one corner of his beautiful 
mouth twisted in an expression of irritation. "And 
now, in some strange manner, I see I must face Carillon 
again." 


"No." Inwardly, I drew in as deep a breath as I could. 
It did not dull the fear, but it filled the emptiness of my 
belly with something other than utter panic. 


Strahan's arched brows rose.."No?" 


I wanted to clear my throat before I tried my voice 
again. I did not. because I knew he would take it as a 
sign of my fear. And then, looking into the sorcerer's 
face, I no longer cared what he thought or what he knew. 


This man is kin to me ... Ihlini, perhaps, and powerful, 
but still a man like me. 


"You face me, Strahan," I told him as evenly as I 
could. "Not my grandsire. Not my father. / am the one 
you face." 


The Ihlini smiled a little. "You, then." Casually said, 
as if I hardly mattered. So easily was I discounted by 
Tynstar's son. "Again; you will tender my regards to 
your father, the Mujhar." 


I smiled. I felt it stretch my lips a little, and heard the 
steadiness of my voice. As even as I could want it. "Be 
certain I will, Strahan. And know he will be pleased you 


Page 19 



Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 04 - Track Of The White Wolf.txt 
have shown yourself in Mujhara. He has sought you 
many years." 


"And will seek me many more." He was patently 
unruffled by my bravado. "What is between Donafand me 
will be settled one day, but not tonight. Tonight I came 
seeking you." 


"And if I said I had neither the time nor the inclina-
tion to trade empty threats with you?" 


Strahan laughed. The rune hissed and spat and pulsed 
against the darkness, as if it laughed as well. "The wolfs 
cub hackles, snapping; the falcon's hatchling spreads his 
wings and tries to fly." The laughter stopped as quickly 
as it had begun. Softly, he said, "A suggestion, my lord 
prince: waste no effort in displays of dominance when 
you have no lir to mimic." 


From a Homanan. from a Cheysuli, the taunts were bad 
enough. But from an Ihlini sorcerer 


Rage roared up from inside my head. I heard a voice 
shouting at Strahan, calling him foul names in Homanan 
and Old Tongue alike. That much I knew of the lan-
guage. I felt my body take two steps forward, saw my 
hands rise up as if to clutch at the Ihlmi's throat. And 
then my hands struck through the flaming nine and the 
bones filled up with pain. 


Cold. Not hot. Cold. 


I cried out. I felt myself crushed to my knees in the 
mud of the street. "Hie rune ate through leather and flesh 
to my bones and turned my blood to ice. 


Through the haze of pain and the glare of living flame, 
I saw the Ihlini's inhumanly beautiful face. Dimly, I saw 
how he watched me, glinting eyes narrowed, black brows 
drawn down as if he studied a specimen. Waiting. Watch-
ing. Examining the results of the specimen's foolishness 


I watched him watching me and remembered who he 
was. 


As well as what he was. 


At last, he spoke. "Not now. Not yet. Later." 


No more than that. A fluid gesture of one hand and 
the rune ran away from my body, spilling out of my flesh 
like blood from an opened vein. It ran down my thighs to 
splash against the mud, pooling like rancid water. Pud-
dled. Ran in upon itself. And then buried itself upward 
to renew its form in the shadows of the night. 


SD 


di. 


Strahan looked down upon me as I knelt in the mud of 
Page 20 



Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 04 - Track Of The White Wolf.txt 
the street. Once again he smiled. I saw genuine amuse-
26 


meat and a trace of pleasure in his eyes; a look of 
contented reminiscence. 


"Your father once knelt to me," he said in a perfect 
contentment. He did not gloat. I think he did not need 
to. "Did he sever tell you?" A nod of his head as I held 
my silence; it was the least I owed my father. "No, he 
would never say it; not to you, but it is true. And HOW his 
son as well." Strahan paused. "His Homanan son; the 
Cheysuli would never do it." 


So easily he reached into my soul and touched that 
aspect of my character which I hated. Not my brother. 
Never lan. ^Somyself, for resenting the gifts lanand 
othersclaimed. Gifts I should claim myself. 


I wrenched myself from my unintended posture of 
obeisance. A small thing, to face the sorcerer standing, 
but the beginnings of rebellion. It was the least I would 
offer him. 


"State your business," I said flatly. I have learned 
something of royal impatience from my father, who hates 
the demands of diplomacy. Too often he is trapped by 
endless petitioners. 


Strahan's eyes narrowed a trifle. "You are betrothed 
to your cousin, Gisella of Atvia: do not wed the girl." 


Stunned, I waited for something more. And when he 
offered nothing, I laughed. It was unintended. The situa-
tion hardly warranted levity, but he caught me so off-
guard there was nothing else I could do. 


I laughed at him. And Strahan did not like it. 


"You fool," he snapped. "I could grind you into the 
mud before you could utter a word, and never bestir 
myself." 


Suddenly, he was no longer so awe-inspiring. I had 
touched a nerve. "Do it," I challenged, emboldened by 
his unexpected vulnerability. "What better way of keep-
ing me from wedding my Atvian cousin?" 


Something hurled me flat against the ground, pinning 
me on my back. Half-swallowed in mud, I lay there, 
staring up at the angry sorcerer. "Drown," he said be-
tween clenched teeth. "Drown in all this mud!" 


I could not move. I felt the ground shift beneath my 
flattened body. It heaved itself up from under me, lapped 
over my limbs and began to inch up my torso. I felt it in 
my ears; at the comers of my eyes. 
27 


But even as I drowned, I was aware of a nagging 
question. Why did it matter to Strahan if I wed GiseUa or 
not? 


Page 21 



Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 04 - Track Of The White Wolf.txt 
The mud was at my mouth. My body was nearly swal-
lowed whole. I felt the first finger reaching into my 
nostrils. I shouted, but my mouth filled with the mud. 


Drowning 


Insanely, I did not think of dying for itself. I thought 
instead of disappointing others by the helplessness of my 
dying. Ah gods, not like thisCarillon would never die 
like thisin such futility. 


Abruptly, the rune winked out. Darkness filled my 
head. 


I thought it was the mud. I thought it might be death. 
And then I realized that though I lay flat on my back in 
the street, I was free of the drowning mud. 


I lay there. All was silence, except for my ragged 
breathing. The abrupt disappearance of the brilliant rune 
left my eyes mostly blinded; I saw nothing, not even the 
tight from nearby dwellings. Only darkness. 


I twisted. Thrust one shaking hand into the ooze and 
slowly pushed myself up. Mud clung to me from head to 
toe, but it no longer threatened to drown me. I was 
weary unto death, as if all the strength had been sucked 
from me. I was cold, wet, filthy, stinking of my fear . . . 
and angry that I was so inconsequential a foe for the 
Ihlini. 


"Why should / do it?" Strahan asked. "Why should I 
trouble myself with you?" 


I twitched. Spun again to face him. I had believed 
myself atone; that Strahan had gone into the darkness. 
And then I saw the ghostly luminescence of his face in 
the light of the quarter moon, and I realized the clouds 
had broken at last. 


I spat out mud. My reprieve made me momentarily 
brave. "I think I understand, Ihlini. If I wed Gisella and 
get sons on her, I have added yet another link to the 
chair. Another yam to the tapestry of the Firstborn." A 
muscle jumped once in his cheek. "Aye, that is it! Atvian 
blood mixed with that of Homana, Solinde and the 
Cheysuli brings us decidedly closer to fulfilling the proph-
ecy." Suddenly, I laughed; I understood it at last. "By 
28 


keeping me from wedding Gisella you break the link 
before it is truly forged." 


"Wed her," he said sharply, abruptly changing course. 
"Wed the Atvian girl; I do not care. One day you will 
come to me; / invite you now to do it." His odd eyes 
narrowed a little. "If you have sons, I will make them 
mine. I will take them . . . but I think you will never get 
sons upon Gisella because the others will see you dead." 


"Others?" I could not help the blurted question. "Who 
but you would wish me dead?" 


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It was Strahan's turn to laugh. "Has your father taught 
you nothing? Do they keep you in ignorance, thinking to 
ward your pride? Not any easy thing to know, is it, that 
you are the center of the storm." Silver glinted at his 
single ear. "Better to ask: who would not wish you dead." 


"Not?" I whispered hollowly, as if I were a puppet 
and he the puppetmaster. 


Strahan pursed his lips in consideration. Black brows 
rose below the circlet. "Or, if not dead ... at least 
replaced by another." 


Replaced. Me? But it was not possible. I was the 
Prince of Homana, legitimate son of Donal the Mujhar 
and Aislinn the Queen, Carillon's daughter. The proper 
blood was in my veins. There were no other legitimate 
children; the Queen was barren, the physicians said. 
There was and always would be only me. How could they 
think to replace me, andby the gods!with whom? 


One hand parted the darkness and filled it with light 
again. "Shall I prophesy for you, my lord prince?" asked 
the compelling tone. "Shall I show you what will come to 
be, no matter how hard you try to rewrite what the gods 
themselves have written?" 


He did not wait for my answer. He lifted the hand 
again and lent it the fluid, eloquent language of brush 
against living canvas. I saw the fingers move, forming 
shapes amidst the darkness. 


Colors poured out from Strahan's fingertips; argent 
purple, deepest lavender, palest silver lilac. And the 
lurid red of fresh-spilled blood. 


He painted a picture of living flame: a rampant 
Homanan lion and a compact Cheysuli warbow. All rich 
in detail, even to the curling tongue of the gape-mouthed 
lion and the ornamentation of the warbow. They hung 
29 


against the air as if they waited. As if I had only to pluck 
the bow from the darkness and loose an arrow at the 
lion. 


I stared. Swallowed hard. There were no words in my 
mouth. All I knew was a sense of awed, awful discovery: 


the picture he painted was a true one, regardless that the 
artist was enemy. 


"The Homanans want no Cheysuli shapechanger on 
the throne," Strahan said above the hissing of the flame. 
"The Cheysuli want no unblessed Homanan on the throne. 
But Donal's son is both and neither; what do you think 
will happen?" The parti-colored eyes were eerie in the 
light of the glowing shapes. "Look to your people, Niall," 
he said. So softly, he spoke; so gentle was his tone. 
"Look to your friends . . . your enemies . . . your kin 
lest they form an alliance against you.'* 


Smoothly, he bled together the shapes of bow and 
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Hon. And out of the name I saw born the face of my 
brotherand the face I knew as my own. 


"I think I need not trouble myself with you," Strahan 
said in quiet satisfaction. "I will let the others do it for 
me." 


30 


Three 


"You should have come to me first." She had both 
temper and tongue to complement the red-gold brilliance 
of her hair. "Do you know how I have worried since that 
horse returned without you?" 


That horse had indeed returned (without me, of course) 
and my absence had set the palace into an uproar. Rather, 
my lady mother had. Most of the Mujharan Guard had 
been stripped from better duty and sent out looking for 
me, as if I were a foolish, spoiled child gone wandering 
in the streets. And they had found me, some of them, 
just as I approached the gates of Homana-Mujhar. It had 
been a humiliating experience trying to explain how my 
horse and I had come to be separated. Especially since I 
could say nothing of Strahan's presence in the city. Not 
to them. Not at once. Not until I faced my father. 


But now, looking at my mother's pale face, I knew it 
had been worse than humiliating for her. Always she 
worried. Always she fretted, saying lan alone was not 
enough to guard me against misfortune. This would give 
her fuel for the fire. 


Deep down, I was touched she cared so much, know-
ing if arose out of insecurity because she had borne only 
a single son, but mostly I was resentful. Oh, aye, she 
meant well by it, but there were times the weight she 
placed upon me was nearly too much to bear. 


You may not be his son, she often said, but you bear 
his blood, his bone, even his flesh. Have you not looked 
in the silver plate? 


Oh aye, I had, many times. And each time I saw the 
same thing: a crude vessel lacking luster, lacking polish. 
31 


But no one saw the tarnish because it was overlaid with 
the shining patina of Carillon. 


Even now she gave me no time to explain; to say a 
word to my father as he came into my chamber and shut 
the heavy door. 


And so I let the resentment speak for me. "Would you 
have me remain in my befouled state, then? Look at 
me!** I had gotten as far as shedding muddy boots, soaked 
doublet; I meed her in filthy leather leggings and damp 
linen shirt. Thin rivulets of muddied water ran down to 
stain toe carpeted floor. 


"Niall." That from my father; that only. But it was 
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more than enough. 


I looked back at my mother's taut face. "I am sorry," I 
told her contritely, meaning it. "But I wanted to bathe 
and change first, before I came to you.'* 


**It could have waited. I have seen men ia worse condi-
tions, and they were not my son." The strain snowed at 
the corners of eyes and mouth. She was still beautiful in 
a way harpers and poets had tried to describe for years, 
but ft was a fragile, brittle beauty, as if she might break 
with the weight of who and what she was. Aislinn of 
Homaoa, daughter of Carillon; once a princess, now a 
queen, and the mother of her beloved father's grandson. 


I think she judged herself solely by the fact she had 
borne Carillon an heir. A true heir, that is; a man with 
much of his blood, not a Cheysuli warrior handpicked 
because Carillon had no choice. No, my mother did not 
view herself as woman, wife, mother or queen. Merely as 
a means to perpetuate her father's growing legend. 


The resentment died as I looked at her. I could not 
name what rose to take its place, for there was no single 
emotion. Just a jumble of them, tangled up together like 
threads of a tapestry; the back side, not we front, with 
none of the pattern showing. 


I released a breath all at once. "I am well. Only wet 
and dirty. And more than a little hungry." I looked at 
my father, longing to tell him at once of my confronta-
tion with Strahan. But I would not so long as my mother 
was in the room. I saw no good in giving her yet another 
thing to fret about. 


"fan?" he asked. 


I shrugged, turning away to strip out of my clammy 
32 


shin. "At Oankeep. I think he will stay the night." I 
heard the servants in the antechamber, ruling up the 
cask-tub with hot, scented water. Oil of cloves, from the 
smell of it. 


"Niall*' It was my mother again, moving toward me, 
but she did not finish. My father put his hands on her 
shoulders and turned her away from me. He did it gently 
enough, but 1 saw the subtle insistence in his grasp. 


"Leave him to me, Aislinn. We have guests to entertain." 


Womanlike, she instantly put a hand to the knot of 
red-gold hair coiled at her neck to tend her appearance. 
There was no need. She was immaculate, as always. The 
bright hair, as yet undulled by her thirty-six years, was 
contained in a pearl-studded net of golden wire. Her 
velvet gown was plain white, unadorned save for the 
beaded golden girdle and the gold torque at her throat. 
My father's bride-gift to her some twenty years before. 


"So we do." Her voice was flat, almost colorless. "But 
I wonder that you choose to host them at all." 


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"Kings do what kings must do." I heard an edge in my 
father's voice as well. "We are at peace with Atvia, 
Aislinn; let us not break the alliance with discourtesy." 


Her eyes flicked back to me. Great gray eyes, long-
lidded and somnolent. Electra's eyes, they said, recalling 
the mother's beauty. But in conjuring Electra's name 
they also conjured Tynstar's. 


"This concerns you as wetl, Niall," she said abruptly. 
"More so than us, when it comes to that. And if your 
father does not tell you the whole of it, come to me. I 
will." 


The tension between them was palpable. I looked from 
mother to father, but his face was masked to me. Well, I 
could wait all night. One thing he had bequeathed to me 
was more than my share of stubbornness. 


My mother went to the door and tugged it open before 
either my father or I could aid her. She lifted heavy skirts 
and swept out of the door at once, leaving me to shut it 
and face my father alone at last. 


My father. The Mujhar of Homana he was, but more 
and less than that to me. He was a Cheysuli warrior. 


A son looking upon his father rarely sees the man, he 
sees the parent. The man who sired him, not the individ-
ual- I was no different. Day in, day out I saw him, and 
33 


yet I did not. I saw what I was accustomed to seeing; 


what the son saw in the father, the king, the warrior. Too 
often I did not see the man. 


Nor did I really know him. 


Now, I looked. I saw the face that had helped mold my 
own, and yet showed nothing of that molding. The bones 
were characteristically angular, hard, almost sharp; even 
in light-skinned Cheysuli, the heritage is obvious in the 
shape of the bones beneath the flesh. The responsibilities 
of a Mujhar and a warrior dedicated to his tahlmorra had 
incised unes between black brows, fanned creases from 
yellow eyes, deepened brackets beside the blade-straight 
nose. These was silver in bis hair, pale as winter frost, 
but only a little; we age eariy only in that respect, and 
with infinite grace. 


For the first time in a very long time I looked at the 
scars in his throat and recalled how Strahan had once 
tried to slay my father by setting a demon-hawk on him. 
Sakti, her name was. and she had set her talons true, 
even as she died. But my father had not, thanks to Finn, 
my kinsman, and the gods who gave us the earth magic. 


Earth magic. Another thing I lacked. 


He was tall, my father, but not so tall as I, with all of 
Carillon's bulk. He lacked my weight, though no one 


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would name him a small man; Cheysuli males rarely 
measure less than six feet, and he was three fingers taller 
yet. He was certainly more graceful than I, being more 
subtle in his movements. I wondered if that total ease of 
movement came with the race or age. The gods knew I 
had yet to discover it. 


Beneath lowered lids, as I began to undress, I watched 
my father, and wondered how he had felt as Carillon 
bequeathed him the Lion Throne. I wondered what he 
had thought, knowing so much of Cheysuli tradition would 
have to be altered to fit the prophecy. To fit him: the 
first Cheysuli Mujhar in four hundred years. 


I would be the second. 


He said nothing of my mother to me. A private man* 
my father, though open enough about some things. Just 
not about what I wanted to hear. 


"Well?" That said, he waited. 


I stripped out of my leggings and walked naked into 
the antechamber. Steam rose from the cask. The scent of 
34 


cloves drifted into the air. And then I waved away the 
servants so my father and I could discuss things privately. 


I considered telling him the whole of it, from the 
beginning of the hunt to my arrival, on foot, at Homana-
Mujhar. But that would be unnecessarily perverse of me, 
and I thought the circumstances warranted more serious-
ness. So I took a shortcut straight to the matter of most 
importance to us both. 


"I met a man tonight," I began. "A stranger, at least 
to me. But he had a message meant for the Prince of 
Homana." I took up the soap and began to lather my 
muddy skin. "He said I was not to wed my Atvian 
cousin." 


My father's motion to hook a stool over with one foot 
was arrested in mid-reach. He did not sit down at all but 
faced me squarely, an expression of astonishment min-
gled with genuine bafflement on his face. 


After a moment of startled speculation, he frowned. 
"How odd, that such a thing is said today." 


I dipped under the water to soak my hair; came up 
with water streaming down my face. "Why only odd 
today?" I spat out soapy water and grimaced at the taste. 


"Because the Atvians we host tonight are here upon 
business concerning the betrothal." This time he finished 
hooking the stool over and sat down. "It seems Alaric 
has decided it is time the betrothal became a marriage." 


I stared at him. The scent of cloves filled my nostrils. 
Water still ran down my face. But I did not try to wipe it 
away. "Now?" 


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"As soon as can be." He sighed, stretching out long 
legs. "Alaric and I made an agreement nearly twenty 
years ago. He has every right to expect that agreement to 
be honored." 


His tone was a trifle dry. My father has no particular 
liking for Atvians, having fought them in the war; he has 
less affection for Alaric, the Lord of Atvia himself. For 
one, Alaric's brother had slain Carillon, making my fa-
ther Mujhar. And Alaric himself, upon swearing fealty to 
Donal of Homana, had demanded my father's sister in 
marriage as a means to seal the alliance. Though my 
father had hated the idea, he had agreed at last because, 
in service to the prophecy of the Firstborn, he saw no 
other way of linking the proper bloodlines. 
35 


And to link them further, he had declared his firstborn 
son would wed the firstborn daughter of Bronwyn and 
Alaric. 


Oh, aye, Alaric got the match he wanted. He even got 
the daughter, called Gisella. But no other. For Bronwyn 
died while birthing my half-Cheysuli cousin. 


I looked at my father's face. He is a solemn man, the 
Mujhar, not much given to impulsiveness or high spirits. 
Once he might have been different, but responsibilities, I 
am told, can often change even the most ebullient of 
men. The gods knew he had known more of them than 
most, my father. He had had mother, father, uncle and 
Mujhar all stripped from him, in the name of the proph-
ecy. In the name of Ihlini treachery. 


Lt'r-gold shone on his bare arms. He was Mujhar of 
Homana, but he did not forsake his Cheysuli customs, 
even in apparel. Certain occasions warranted he put on 
Homanan dress, but mostly he wore the leathers of his 
race. 


Our race. 


I slid down against the curved wood of the cask and 
flipped the soap into the water. "Well, I expected the 
marriage to be made one day. You never hid it from me, 
my tahlmorra." I grinned; it was an old joke between us. 
"Justnot^." 


My father smiled. No man would call him old; he is 
not so far past forty, but neither would a woman call him 
young. Still, his smile banished the gravity of his title and 
set him free again. "No, not yet. But soon." A glint of 
amusement showed in his yellow eyes. "You have a little 
time. Atvian custom demands a proxy wedding before 
the true marriage is made." 


I frowned in distraction at a purplish bruise on my 
right knee. "How soon will this proxy wedding be 
performed?" 


"Oh, I think in the morning. ... I did say you had a 
little time." The glint in his eyes was more pronounced. 


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"In the morning!" 1 stared at him in dismay. "Without 
warning?" 


He sighed. "Aye, I would have preferred it myself. 
And that is what upsets your jehana. She swears it is a 
purposeful insult and that we should send them home at 
once until proper homage is made, along with a respect


fill request, since Alaric owes me fealty, and not the 
other way around." His smile was wry; my mother, born 
to such things as royal rights and expectations, was much 
more cognizant of details my father thought less important. 
"But Alaric's envoy says a message was sent some 
months ago, though it never arrived. Perhaps it was." He 
shrugged, patently dubious. "Regardless of that and the 
lack of proper homage, the betrothal was made in good 
faith. Alanc has the right to ask the wedding be performed. 
At seventeen, Gisella is old enough. Once the 
proxy ceremony is completed, you will go to Atvia to 
bring your cheysula home to a Homanan wedding.'* 


Cheysula. He used the Old Tongue word for wrfe. But 
his mouth shaped it differently than mine; like lan, he 
had been keep-raised. They were very alike, my father 
and my brother. I was'like neither of them. 


As Strahan had taken infinite pains to point out. 


Almost at once I forgot about cheysulas and proxy 
weddings. "fe/wn," the Cheysuli word slipped out more 
easily than usual. "The man who told me not to wed 
Giseua" I broke off a moment, not knowing how to 
say tt. "It was the Ihtini. Jehanthe man was Strahan." 


He stood up at once. my father; so quickly, so abruptly 
he overset the stool. I heard the thump of wood against 
stone. The hiss of his indrawn breath. 


But "ftwAan" was all he said. 


In the heat of the scented, steaming water, I was cold. 
To see that look in my father's eyes 


"Aye." Mostly it was a whisper. "Jehan" 


"You are certain." The tone was a whiplash of sound. 
No longer did I face my father. Nor did I face the 
Mujhar. What man I saw was a warrior filled up with a 
virulent hatred, dedicated to revenge. 


"Certain," I echoed. "I saw his eyes: one blue, one 
brown. And he lacked an ear." 


"Aye, he lacks an ear! Finn made certain of thai much 
before he died!" 


He broke off. I saw the spasm of grief contort his face. 
Almost as quickly, the mask was back in place. But he 
did not veil his eyes. Perhaps he could not. And what I 


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saw sent an icy finger down my spine. ^Jehan" 


"By the gods, 1 have prayed that fw'reshtin would 
come within my grasp." Both hands were extended. Fisted. 
37 


I saw how the sinews stood up beneath the flesh; bow the 
nails dug into the palms. "By the gods, I have prayed for 
thisi" 


I had not known such hatred could live in my father. 
He can show anger, aye, and irritation, and more than a 
little intolerance of things he considers foolish, but to see 
such bitter hatred in his eyes, to hear it in his voice, 
made me a child again. It stripped me of size and confidence 
and made me small again. 


I sat in the cask with water lapping around my chest 
and stared at the warrior who had sired me. And wondered 
what manner of man / might be had the Ihlini 
served me such pain and grief upon my platter. 


"He did not harm you?" 


Slowly, I shook my head. "Hegave me a taste of his 
power. But he did me no lasting harm." I thought again 
on his parting words to me and the vividness of his 
painting. True? Or false? A trick to undermine my trust 
in Homanans and Cheysuli? More than likely. It was the 
Ihlini way. 


And I knew it might succeed. 


I looked away from my father. Replace me, Strahan 
had said. With another. Friends, enemies, kin. An alliance 
uniting them. 


"Niall." He reached- down and caught my left arm, 
gripping me by the wrist. "He did not harm you?" 


"No." I said it as calmly as I could. "He said I was to 
tender you his regards." 


After a moment, my father released my arm. He swore 
beneath his breath. "Aye, he would. Ever polite, is 
Strahan. Even when he kills." 


"But why did he let me live? Surely it would suit his 
plans better if I were not in his way to the throne?" 


"You are not in his way, not really." My father, looking 
infinitely older, shook his head and sighed. "The 
gods know why, but it is an Ihlini trait to play with an 
enemy before the kill. They twist the mind before they 
twist the body, as if it makes the final snap that much 
more satisfying. Tynstar did it with Carillon for years, 
though in the end, as you know. Carillon slew Tynstar." 
Of course I knew. It was all a part of the legend. "It may 
be a perverse manifestation of the power." He shrugged 
again. "Who can say? Strahan did not let you live out of 
38 


kindness. No. More likeanticipation." His expression 
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Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 04 - Track Of The White Wolf.txt 
was very grim. "It means he has other plans for you. It 
means you are part of his game. And when he is done 
playing with you, he will end it. As he ended it for 
Finn." 


When he is done playing with you, he will end it. I 
shivered. My father's tone was so matter-of-fact, so cer-
tain of Strahans intentions. He did not shout or bluster 
or claim we would put an end to Strahan's plans. And it 
emphasized the Ihlinis power. 


F recalled how Strahan had invited me to come to him, 
one day. I recalled how he had said he intended to take 
my sons. And I wondered how he could be so certain 
there would be sons to take, as well as that he would 
take them. 


But mostly, I looked at my father. What does Strahan 
mean to him? 


His face was stark. The man was a stranger to me. 
"Jehan." I straightened in the cask. "Ifif I had known 
how much you bated him ... I would have tried to slay 
him." 


He did nothing at all at once. He only stared down at 
me, as if he had not heard what I had said. In perfect 
stillness, perfect silence; a statue carved out of human 
flesh. 


And then he said something in the Old Tongue, some-
thing that came out of his mouth on a rushing of breath, 
and I saw the tears forming in his eyes as he knelt down 
on one knee to grasp my hand in both of bis. 


"Never," he said hoarsely, "Never, never, Niall. He 
would slay you. He would slay you. He would take you 
from me as he has taken all the others, and I would be 
alone." 


I stared at him. His hands were cold, so cold, and I 
realized he was afraid. I had meant to comfort him, to 
offer what I could of loyalty. Instead, I had broken the 
fox from its den and set the hounds upon its trail. 


By the gods, my father is afraid. . . . 


"How?" I asked, when I could. "How could you be 
alone when you have so many others?" 


"Name them," he said unevenly. "Say their names to 
me." 


"My mother!" I was amazed he could not do it for 


himself. "Taj and Lorn. General Rowan. lan and Isolde." 
I stared at him. "Jehan, how could you be alone?" 


His breath was harsh. "I have them, aye, I have all of 
them: cheysula, lir, children, trusted general. Butit is 
not the same." He rose abruptly, turning his back on me. 
His spine was rigid beneath leather jerkin and human 


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flesh. Then, just as abruptly, he swung around to face 
me. "Look what I have done to your jehana. I would 
offer her the sort of love she craves, if I could, but so 
much was burned out of me when Sorchadied." Even 
now, he could not speak the truth: that his Cheysuli 
meijha, lan's and Isolde's mother, had slain herself be-
cause she could not bear to share him with a Homanan. 
"There is much affection between AisUnn and me, of 
course, and honor, regard, respectbut that is not what 
she wants. Nor is it what she needs." His anguish was 
manifest. "But I cannot offer falsehood to her when she 
is deserving of so much better." 


I listened in shocked silence, grateful I knew the truth 
at last, but unsettled at the hearing. He was an adult 
speaking to an adult, man to man, and yet I still felt so 
very young. 


My father sighed and scraped a lock of black hair out 
of his eyes. "As for Taj and Lorn, ayeI share every-
thing with my Ur a warrior should. But they are lir, not 
men. Not kin. As for Rowan" He grimaced. "Rowan 
and I work well together in the ordering of the realm, 
but we will never be easy together in personal things. I 
am not Carillon, whom he worshipped." He bent and 
righted the stool. "lan and Isolde are everything a jehan 
could desire in his children. But I am the Mujhar of 
Homana, and the Homanans perceive them as bastards. 
It makes them different. It soils them in Homanan eyes, 
and that perception affects me. And so it leaves me only 
you, NiaU." He smiled a little, but it had a bittersweet 
twist. "None of them are you. None of them are born of 
the prophecy." I saw the trace of anguish in his eyes. 
"None of them will know the things I have known. Not 
as you will know them." 


For a long moment I said nothing at all, being unable 
to speak. But when I could speak again, I asked a thing 
all men might desire to ask of warriors and Mujhars. 
"Would you have it differently?" 


My father laughed, but there was no humor in the 
soundonly pain. "What warrior, looking fully into the 
face of his tahimorra, would not?" His smile was twisted; 


wry and regretful. "I would change everything; I would 
change nothing. A paradox, NiaU, that only a few men 
have known. Only a few men will know." He sighed. 
"Carillon could tell you. So could Duncan and Finn. But 
all of them are gone, and I lack the proper words." 


"Jehan" 


But even as 1 began, he turned and walked out of the 


room. 


Four 


In my dreams I was a raptor, circling in the sky. I felt the 
buoyant uprush of warm air beneath my wings lifting me 
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heavenward, carrying me higher yet. But higher was not 
where I wished to go. And so I angled outspread wings, 
tilting toward the ground, and swept downward, down-
ward, in an ever-tightening spiral, until I drifted in idle-
ness over the walls of the castle garden, and saw the two 
girls plainly. 


Young. Very young, yet much the same age. They knelt 
upon the lush grass of a new spring, surrounded by a 
profusion of brilliant blossoms, and shared a game of 
their own devising. I heard sweet soprano voices rising on 
the sibilant breeze. And yet the sweetness was tempered by 
an odd possessiveness. 


Closer. My shadow was a winged blotch upon the ground, 
darkness itself sweeping across the grass until it swallowed 
both girls whole. Enough, I thought, to make even a man 
shiver from the omen. But the two small girls took no 
notice of my shadow, or of me. Instead, they fixed one 
another with feral, angry glares and tugged in opposition 
at something held between them. 


My shadow swept onward, turned, then hastened back 
again. More closely yet I drifted, raptor's eyes caught by 
the glint of something on the thing they shared. Closer 
still; the thing, I saw, was a cloth doll, nothing more, with 
a cheap gilt brooch fastened to its forehead in a child's 
mimicry of a crown. But only one doll and two girls; no 
good would come of it. Sharing does not always serve. 


A glint from the brooch. A sparkle, bright as glass. 
Ravenlike, I yearned to make that brightness mine. But I 
was raptor, not raven; if I stooped to claim a prize it 
42 


would never be a bit oftin or glass. No. Something worth 
far more. 


Angry, accusative voices, fitted with hate and scorn. I 
had heard the like in my childhood, had shared the tone 
with Ion and Isolde once or twice. But those days had 
long passed and the girls below me were strangers. 


I saw no faces, only the color of their hair as they knelt 
stiffly upon the grass with the doll clenched in their hands. 
Each was the antithesis of the other: blue-black hair/thick 
gold hair. Young skin the color of copper-bronze/young 
skin the color of cream. 


Antithesis, aye. As Ion and I to one another. 


"Mine, mine!" cried the black-haired girl. 


"Mine, mine!" cried the gold-haired girl.  


Closer. Closer. I saw how the doll's arms and legs were 
spread and pulled taut, tugged at until the seams threat-
ened to split. Beneath the gilt brooch-crown someone had 
stitched on a face with colored thread. The red mouth 
smiled. The blue eyes gazed vacantly into the heavens, 
blissfully blind to the fate I so dearly foresaw. And even 
as I opened beak to cry out a warning, the tortured toy 
split apart and spilled out its dried-bean blood onto the 


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grass. I heard the hiss and rattle as the beans poured out 
and a shriek from each of the girls. 


My shadow slanted across them both. Now they saw 
me. Now they took notice of my nearness. Now they threw 
down the two empty halves of the ruined doU and turned 
their faces toward the sky. 


And I saw clearly, as I had not from the beginning, that 
neither girl had a face. Only blankness, endless blankness 
amidst the black/gold hair, devoid of a single feature. 


Weight descended upon me. In a panic, I tried to sit 
up and could not; I was pinned to the bed too securely. 
Even as I opened my mouth to cry out, the warm, 
pungent breath of a mountain cat rushed in to replace 
the sound I sought to make. 


Tasha loomed over me. I beard the deep staccato 
rattle of her rumbling purr. Her cool nose touched mine 
briefly, then she set tongue to flesh and began to lick. 


"lan!" Most of my strangled shout was muffled beneath 
Tasha's tongue. I did not dare move. Forepaws on shoulders 
pinned my upper body; hind ones were thrust be43 


tween my naked thighs. No; it was not worth tile risk. 
"Tasha<rnou,gA/" 


I felt the rap of tail against kneecap. The licking halted 
momentarily, but the tongue, resolute, remained attached 
to cheek and chin. My flesh, abraded, stung; shaving 
would be painful. 


The licking renewed itself, but only for one more swipe. 
Undaunted by gauzy summer bed-hangings, Tasha sprang 
through them to the floor and left me free once more. 


I sat up at once, yanking the bedclothes over my 
nakedness. "lan! What" 


"You needed waking," he interposed smoothly. Through 
the creamy gauze I could see him standing alone at tee 
foot of my bed, blurred by the texture of the hangings. 
"Torvald meant to come, of course; I told him I would 
see to the preparations for your wedding." lan grinned. 
"I am no proper body-servant, of course, but I know 
where the arms and legs go. I should do well enough." 


The sudden waking on the heels of an ugly dream left 
me with a headache. I glared at lan and rubbed my 
forehead, trying to draw out the pain. "Better I go naked 
to my wedding than leave the dressing to you." 


"Your choice." lan, still smiling, shrugged. "No doubt 
the bride, proxy or no, might prefer it that way." 


I grunted. "Only if Alanc sends me a well-used giri in 
Gisella's place. . . ,'* I frowned at him through the draperies. 
"What are you doing here? I thought you would 
stay at dankeep." 


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lan shook his head. In the thin pink light of dawn the 
cat-shaped earring glowed against the blackness of his 
hair. "Jehon sent word through Taj late last night; I left 
before dawn." Briefly, he frowned. "Did you think I 
would miss your wedding?" 


^Proxy wedding." I fought my way through layers of 
gossamer gauze and stood up beside the bed. Spring or 
no, it was cold; Torvald's absence meant an absence of 
heat as well, since lan had not tended braziers or fireplace. 
I squinted toward the nearest narrow casement. 
"Dawn, just. Time enough for food and clothing before 
this ceremony." 


"You will eat at the wedding breakfast, not before." 
lan laughed as I swore beneath my breath. "Fasting 
might improve your temper." 
44 


"As much as Tasha unproved my face." I glared sourly 
at the mountain cat sitting silently near the door. Amber 
eyes were slitted; the tip of her tail twitched once. "Your 
idea, rujhoT^ 


"Tasha is fond of you." lan, considering that explanation 
enough, sat down on the nearest of my storage 
chests, leaning against the tapestried wall, and brushed at 
a smudge upon an otherwise spotless boot toe. Wedding 
finery: he wore supple doeskin jerkin and leggings dyed a 
soft honey yellow. The boots he tended matched, worked 
with copper-colored thread. Tassles trembled as he worked 
at the smudge. Bare-armed, the fir-gold shone


Looking at him, I saw what I was not; what I could 
never be. Ah gods, I wish you would give me the right to 
claim a lir and wear the gold on my arms and in my ear. 
But I did not say it aloud. Instead, I answered lan's 
comment. 


"Fond of me," I echoed dryly. "If she loved me, 
would she use her teeth instead?" 


"And plenty of claw, as well." 'Iloughtfully, lan looked 
at an old scar on the underside of one wrist. 


Even as I started to move toward my clothing chests, I 
stopped. Swung back- "Ask her," I said tersely. "Ask 
Tasha why I have no lir." 


I had never asked it of him before. The bond he and 
Tasha shared was intensely private, and even another 
warrior knows better than to ask of private things better 
left between human Hr and animal. And yet I could not 
put off the request a moment longer. Something drove 
me to it. 


If lan was surprised, he bid it well. At first, I saw only 
a new rigidity in the line of his shoulders. He sat upright 
on the trunk, no longer leaning against the tapestry. And 
as he spread fingers against the wood of the trunk in a 
silent and subtle plea for strength from someone other 
than me (the gods, perhaps?) I saw the tension in his 
hands. 


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"I have," he said tonelessly. "Repeatedly. Did you 
think I would not try?" 


"And her answer?" Consumed, for the moment, with 
discovering Tasha*s response, I ignored the faint under-
tone of pain in lan's voice. I had wounded him somehow, 
but I thought his cut lacked the infection of my own. 


lan looked away. Plainly troubled, he stared at the 
floor. The uncarpeted stone beneath his boots was red, 
rose-red, as were the walls of Homana-Mujhar. A shaft 
of light working its way through a blue panel of stained 
glass in the casement painted the rose a deeper red, until 
the shade was nearly purple. 


I stood barefooted on the Caledonese carpet by my bed 
and waited, naked, for my answer. 


"I have asked," lan said again. I saw how the muscles 
jumped once beneath the firm flesh of his beardless jaw. 
Sharp as a blade, the bone beneath the flesh. And aye, 
beardless. Because the Cheysuli cannot grow them. 


But I had to shave each morning, or look more like 
Carillon than ever. "And the answer?" 


When he could, he met my eyes and shook his head. 
"I have no answer for you." 


"Not from you," I said roughly, "from her." I jerked 
my head in Tasha's direction. "She is Ur. The Hr have all 
the answers. They know much more than any warrior can 
ever know. Ask her again for an answer!" 


lan drew in a deep breath. "No." Flatly said, with no 
room for urging or argument-

1 opened my mouth to urge, to argue, to plead. And 
closed it again, because I saw there was no point. AH the 
anger spilled away as I looked at my older brother. Aye, 
he had asked. More than once. But saying nothing to 
me, until now, because to tell me was to hurt me. 


Liege man. RujhoUi. And more. Ah gods, I thank you 
for my brother. 


"Niall." He stood up and faced me. I was taller, heav-
ier, fairertwo puppies sired on different mothers, but 
sharing kinship ties stronger than full-blooded brothers. 
"Rujho, I swear I would take the pain from you if I had 
the arts to do it." 


"I know." I could not look at him. His pain reflected 
my own, and that I could not bear. "I do not mean to 
berate you." 


"Nor should you berate yourself." He did not smile. 
"Do you think I do not see it? 3 know the nights you 
cannot sleep, cannot eat. I know when you drink too 
much. I know when you look to a woman to ease the 
pain. I am your rujholli, aye, and liege man as well, but I 


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am not always with you. And yetI can tell. I can see 
46 


the marks on your bade though the whip be invisible." 
He reached out and caught my arms above the elbows, 
where the ^r-bands ought to be. "It does not make you 
less a man to me." 


The emphasis was eloquent, though he did not mean it 
to be. To him, I was a man. But to the warriors in the 
dan, I was merely a Homanan, 


I looked at him directly. "What did Ceinn wish to say 
to you?" 


He had not expected it. His fingers tightened in reflex 
before he could release my arms. "Ceinn?" I saw the 
brief loathing in his eyes. "Ceinn is afool.*' He wanted 
to say more; he did not. 


"It had to do with me." 


"More to do with me." He shook his head. "No good 
would come of it. Rujho, let it go." 


"And if I do not?" 


He tried to smile, but it came out less than amused. 
"When have you ever been able to make me speak when 
I have decided against it?" 


True enough. Glumly, I gestured toward one of the 
brass-bound clothing chests that lined fully two of my 
chamber walls. "What do I wear for this, rufho? What 
finery do I put on?" 


lan's look was level. "It depends," he said calmly, "on 
what man you choose to be. 


I stared. "What man?" 


"Cheysuli," he said, "or Homanan." 


lan and I were directed to one of the smaller audience 
chambers. Somehow I bad expected the ceremony to 
take place in the Great Hall, so full of ambience and 
history. But the Mujhar, we were told, had selected the 
smaller hall, to promote intimacy rather than intimidation. 


"Possibly a mistake," lan said in a low voice as we 
entered the audience chamber. "I know little enough of 
statecraft, but I think the Atvians may require what 
intimidation we can offer." 


"They shall face Cheysuli," I said lightly. "That should 
be enough." 


lan laughed. "A good omen: my rujho jests on his 
wedding day." 


"Proxy," I reminded him as the servant shut the door 
47 


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behind us. Though considerably smaller than the Great 
Hall with its Lion Throne, the chamber was impressive 
enough ia its own intimate way. Here the rose-red walls 
had been whitewashed. Stained glass tableaus of Homanan 
history filled the deep, narrow casements and lent the 
white walls a subtle wash of countless colors. The stone 
floors were bare of rugs, but here the natural rose-colored 
surface was allowed to go unpainted. Sunlight and stained 
glass filled the chamber with a pastel nacreous glow. 


"Proxy," my father agreed. "And as binding as a proper 
Homanan wedding." The Mujhar rose from the cush-
ioned chair on the low dais at the far end of the chamber. 
Lorn sat slumped against one wooden leg as if his sole 
responsibility in life was to hold up the chair. On the 
back perched the golden falcon, TaJ, and beside the chair 
stood another for the Queen of Homana; at present, 
however, it was empty. 


I glanced around quickly, searching for Atvians, but 
saw none. Only my mother, by one of the narrow case-
ments, staring out into the inner bailey. 


She turned abruptly. Yellow skirts swirled around her 
feet. I saw the sheen of silk; heard the sibilance of fold 
caressing fold. "Binding!" she said bitterly. "What binds 
us now is idiocy. Niall would do better with another." 


"Aislinn, we have been through this," my father said 
in weary exasperation. "As for doing better, how better? 
Gisella is his cousin, and harana to you by your marriage 
to me. Throw a stone at Gisella. Aislinn, and you splat-
ter its mud upon yourself." 


Gold glittered at my lady mother's neck. Her hands 
were clenched in the folds of her silken skirts. There was 
gold on her hands as well, threading from the heavy 
girdle through rigid fingers to clash against the fabric. 
Her rich red hair was bound up against her head, and 
resting against her brow was a circlet of twisted gold 
wire. 


"It is not Gisella," she said tightly. "It is her father. 
Him. The Lord of Atvia himself. Do you forget it was 
Alaric's brother who slew my father?" 


"I do not forget," he told her plainly. "You do not let 
me forget." 


She wanted to go to him. I could see it in her face; in 
the great gray eyes that harpers sang of, making her 


beauty into legend. But she did not go to him. She stood 
instead by the casement and faced him, proud as the 
Mujhar himself, and equally inflexible. 


I glanced briefly at lan, still standing next to me. His 
face bore the polite mask it always wore before the 
Queen of Homana and Solinde. But I wondered what he 
thought. I wondered what my mother's terrible pride in 
heritage did to the man who was not her son. 


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I sighed. My headache threatened to return. "Does it 
go on, then, this ceremony? Or do I go back to my 
chambers and take off my finery?" 


My mother still looked at my father, even as he looked 
at her. I wondered if they had heard me at all. I wondered 
if they even recalled lan and I were in the chamber. 
They waged some private battle, and I could not 
begin to name the stakes. 


"No." My mother, at last, still looking at my father, 
though the answer was for me. "No, you do not." 


There was neither triumph nor relief in my father's face. 
Acknowledgment, I thought, of my mother's surrender. 
And perhaps a trace of compassion, because he knew 
why she fought so fiercely. 


"You look well." My father turned to me. "I approve 
the selection of Cheysuli leathers." 


I shrugged a little. "Itthere was no choice. ButI 
could wish my arms were not so naked." 


"And do wish it," my father said. "I know, Niall. 
Better than you think." 


The pain renewed itself. I had chosen, but the choice 
did not feel right. It made my belly chum and stab at me 
with a familiar burning pain. But I had not earned the 
leathers. 


"You are Homanan also," my mother began, as always
; it was her litany. "Put not so much weight in 
ornamentation and think of the blood in your veins." 


"Carillon's blood?" Through the pain I could not smile. 
"Aye, lady, always. As you would have me recall it." 


Color stood high in her flawless face. The gray eyes 
flicked to lan. "Was it your suggestion?" 


"No, lady," he said gently. "I merely offered him the 
choice." 


Briefly, she shut her eyes as if to shut out his words. 
But almost immediately they opened again and she looked 
49 


at him unflinctungly. Her tone lacked the bitterness of 
moments before. **No, no, you would not thrust one or 
the other upon him. I know you better than you think, 
lan. It is myself' 


But she did not finish, because the liveried servant 
who had shown us into the chamber was opening the 
door yet again. And this time there came Atvians into 
the room. 


A man and a woman. The man was tall. elegant, 
garbed in understated blue velvets and an attitude too 
well-trained to betray anything other than respect and 
graciousness, and yet I sensed a power in him, leashed, 


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as if he were a hawk waiting for the jesses to be cut. His 
hair was very dark, nearly black* and his eyes were an 
odd pale brown. The only ornamentation was a silver 
ring on his left hand and matching earrings in his lobes. 


His outstretched left hand offered escort to the woman. 
Though her right hand met his palm, they hardly touched 
one another. An odd dance by two magnificent animals. 
A bizarre sort of courtship rite, I thought, when the 
woman was meant for me. 


Looking at her, I reminded myself at once the cere-
mony was proxy only. What I knew of the custom was no 
less than anyone else: I would wed the woman in Gisella's 
place to make certain the alliance between Homana and 
Atvia was sealed by the blood of our respective Houses, 
but I would not bed the woman. That was left for Gisella. 


And yet I found I regretted it. 


She put me in mind of a harp string, capable of a 
poignant, subtle power. Plucked this way, plucked that, 
she would still emit a tone that would bind each man to 
its strength, resonating in his soul. I thought almost at 
once of my mother's mother, Electra of Solinde, whom 
legend said could ensorcell men with a single glance from 
lambent eyes. And yet what I knew of that woman did 
not apply to this one. The white-blond hair was black. 
The ice-gray eyes were also. The velvet gown was bril-
liant crimson. 


Smiling faintly, she allowed the man to lead her for-
ward. The hem of her skirts brushed the stone of the 
floor; I heard its subtle song. A woman's song, that 
sound, and incredibly powerful. But it was not at her 
skirts I looked. 


Her head was bowed in a perfect humility, but there 
was pride in her posture as well, and a comprehension of 
her strength. Beautiful, aye, and claiming that power as a 
matter of course, but there was more to her than simple 
beauty. There was confidence as well. An acknowledg-
ment of her place in the world of kings and princes. 


My mother moved smoothly to my father's side. They 
stood together on the dais before the padded chairs, 
united in titles and goals, and waited to receive the 
Atvian envoy and Gisella's proxy bride. 


Silver glittered The woman wore it at hip and brow. A 
chain of interlocking silver feathers formed a girdle. A 
plain silver circlet touched her brow, then fiared out at 
each temple to form delicate downswept wings, curving 
back to encircle her head. Black hair, unbound except 
for the winged silver -circlet, fell in a silken curtain to 
girdled, crimson hips. 


"By the gods," I whispered to lan, "is there a way I 
can wed the proxy bride instead of the genuine thing?" 


His answering smile was wry. "It might discompose 
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Gisella." 


"As well as the alliance." I sighed dramatically. "Ah, 
well . . . tahlmorras must be obeyed." 


"Such sacrifice," lan mocked. "/, however, am not 
already bound to such a course." 


I opened my mouth to return a suitable retort, but the 
envoy was speaking and I shut my mouth on my answer. 


"I am Varien, ambassador from the Atvian court to 
yours," the Atvian said quietly. "My lord Mujhar; Aislinn, 
queen of Homana and Solinde; Niall, prince of Homana 
may I present the Lady Lillith, sent from Alaric himself, 
Lord of the Idrian Isles." 


Shea of Erinn would dispute that particular title. And 
did, I knew, even now. A petty thing, to fight over petty 
titles, but it was not Homana's problem. 


Varien's voice was a smooth, cultured baritone. He 
spoke with a fluent, meticulous courtesy in accentless, 
flawless Homanan. Envoys are required to speak many 
languages, but for a moment, oddly, I wondered how he 
would do in the Cheysuli Old Tongue, which defies those 
not born to its cadence and lyricism. 


Lillith. An odd name not unpleasing to the ear. I 
51 


rolled it over on my tongue silently and found it more 
difficult to say than to hear. 


Crimson skirts flared and settled as she dropped into a 
curtsy before the dais. I saw her nails were tipped in 
silver, and her mouth was painted red. 


Beside me, lan drew in his breath in a sudden hiss of 
shock. I looked at him sharply and found him staring 
rigidly at the woman as she rose from her eloquent 
obeisance. Yet it was not the stare of a man struck by a 
woman's beauty, but by realization instead. 
And then I heard Tasha's growl. 
Almost at once, the chamber was filled with tension. 
Tasha still growled, tail whipping at lan's right leg. Lorn 
rose to stand before the chairs, hackled from neck to tail. 
And Taj, still perched upon the chair, bated in agitation. 


My brother's hand was on his knife. My father was off 
the dais and standing before the woman. "You dare to 
come into my hall?" His anger and astonishment were 
manifest. "You dare to come into my city?" 


"My lord Alaric sent me." Her voice was low and 
husky. The Homanan words had a foreign lilt. 
"Does he know what you are?" 
After a moment, Lillith smiled. But only a little smile. 
"My lord Alaric knows everything about me." 


I could not be as calm as the woman so obviously was, 
but neither could I experience the same measure of shock 
as everyone save my mother. "lanwhat is she?" 


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"Ihlini," he hissed in an undertone. Then, more loudly, 
"By the gods, she is /hlinir 


"What is the meaning of this?" my mother cried. "Alaric 
sends an enemy to show what he thinks of the betrothal?" 


"Not at all," Varien said smoothly. "He sends a lady he 
holds very highly in his esteem." 


"I am Ihlini," Lillith said quietly. "I do not deny it. 
But what is between your race and mine has nothing to 
do with the betrothal. Be assured, Alaric desires the 
marriage." 


"Ihlini and Cheysuli do not treat with one another." 
My father's tone was deadly. "Is this some trick of 
Strahan's?" 


Arched black brows rose below the silver circlet. "My 
lord Mujhar, I say again: Alaric desires the marriage. 
Strahan has no hand in this. Was it not you yourself who 
52 


^ 
<<7,' 
'..< 


agreed to this alliance sealed by a marriage between your 
son and your sister's daughter?" 


"It was agreed by Homana and Atvia," the Mujhar 
said. 'There was no mention of Ihluri." 


"He did not know me then." 


She was deadly serious. But I wondered if she was as 
calm as she appeared. An Ihlini in the halls of Homana-
Mujhar? No more calm, I thought, than I would be 
within the halls of Duini Valgaard. 


"Did he know, when he sent you, he gave us every 
opportunity to break off this betrothal7" my father 
demanded. 


Lillith's eyes were unwavering. Her expression did not 
alter. **The enmity between Ihlini and Cheysuli is known 
to all men. my lord. But Alaric intended no insult. He 
sent me because he wished to, regardless of my blood." 
Briefly, black eyes narrowed. "Are the Cheysuli so hos-
tile they cannot set aside their hatred for the sake of 
realms and children?" 


"Ask us where our hostility comes from," my father 
commanded. "Ask us how we came so dose to being 
annihilated by our own Homanan aloes. Because of the 
Ihlini, Lady Lillith of Atvia. Because fear and hostility 
were fostered by the Ihlini, who reaped the benefits of a 
mad king's attempted extirpation of my race." 


Lillith did not answer at once. I had seen my father 
this angry only once or twice, and I liked it no better this 


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time. A man of iron control; it is painful to see him let it 


go-

Varien made a movement as if to speak, but Liilith put 
a hand upon his wrist and he said nothing after all. 
Instead, she took a single step forward toward my father. 
They were close. Very close. She had only to put out her 
hand to touch him. Uneasily, I thought of Strahan and 
his cold Ihlini fire. 


I heard the metallic scrape of a knife pulled from its 
sheath. lan's lips were moving in silent prayer or silent 
curse as he clenched his hand upon the hilt; I could not 
say which. But I saw how the swollen pupils turned his 
yellow eyes black. I saw how he watched the Ihlini woman, 
and knew she would live no longer than was humanly 
possible if she sought to slay our father. 


"My lord Mujhar,'* she said quietly in her honeyed, 
53 


husky voice. "I see no Ihlini within the halls of Homana-
Mujhar. I would say we lost the battle for the Lion." 


Donal of Homana merely laughed. "Oh, aye, you lost 
the battle for the Lion. But never, never do us the 
discourtesy of thinking we are foolish enough to discount 
the Mini so long as they serve the god of the netherworld." 


Lillith met his steady gaze. She did not so much as 
blink. "And do you think, my lord Mujhar, that / serve 
Asar-Suti?" 


After a moment, my father smiled. "Lady, I would 
wager you lie down with the dark god himself." 


It was UUith's turn to laugh. The husky sound filled up 
the chamber. "Oh. no, my lord Mujhar ... I only lie 
down with Alaric." 


54 


Five 


My mother recoiled a single step, then caught herself, as 
if she preferred not to show the Ihlini woman she could 
be taken by surprise. "You are Alaric's whore?" 


Lillith looked at her calmly. "Whore? In the Cheysuli 
Old Tongue women such as I are called meijhas and 
offered honor. In the Homanan language, the proper 
word is light woman. Yet the Queen herself resorts to the 
low speech of the streets?" 


"If it is the truth," my mother answered. "You insult 
the Mujhar, Lady Ullith. Do you forget his sister was 
Alaric's wife?" 


"Bronwyn has been dead nearly eighteen years," Lillith 
told her calmly. "Before she died, she gave my lord little 
welcome in her bed. And once'she had conceived, she 
denied him utterly. Do you expect Alaric to keep himself 


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faithful when he is wed to a woman like that?" 


My father's hand was a blur as be reached out and 
caught one of Lillith's velveted wrists. "That is enough 
from you, Ihlini! You will keep your mouth from my 
rufholla's name!" 


I was a little surprised by my father's vehemence. He 
and my aunt had parted on unhappy terms when Alaric 
came awooing from Atvia. My mother had told me 
Bronwyn wanted nothing to do with the marriage, but 
because of politics and the prophecy, my father had 
seen fit to wed her to Alaric even against her wishes. 
They had neither seen one another nor corresponded 
again, though I knew my father would have given the 
world to make peace with his sister. 


Lillitb's chin rose a little. Sunlight set the winged cir-
clet aglow against raven hair. "Plain speech, I freely 
55 


admit; I meant it so, just as the Queen meant her 
question. But I ask you this, my lord: if the Cheysuli are 
so dedicated to the tolerance of all racesas claimed in 
the prophecy of the Firstbornthen why am I renounced 
for mine?" 


"Alaric's whore," my mother repeated distinctly. "Oh, 
aye, I use the low speech of the streets. Because you are 
not worthy of better." She stepped down from the dais 
and moved to stand next to her husband, confronting 
Lillith directly. The first shock had passed; she faced the 
woman possessed of a quiet dignity and an equally elo-
quent air of command. "You may return home to Atvia, 
Lady Lillith, and tell Alaric he will have to look else-
where for a husband for his daughter." 


"Take your hand from me." Lillith did not acknowl-
edge my mother's words, looking steadily at my father. 
"Take your hand from me." 


After a moment, my father did so, as if he could not 
bear to touch her. 


"My lord." Varien, smiling, still couched his words in 
unruffled courtesy. "My lord Mujhar, I well understand 
the Queen's feelings in this matter. But I think she may 
wish to reconsider what she has just said." He inclined 
his head to my mother. "It is true the Lady Lillith is 
Ihlini. But it is as I said; my lord Alaric esteems her 
highly." 


"In his bed." It was lan, shocking us all with his 
virulence; I stared at him in surprise. 


Lillith turned her head far enough to slant him an 
inquiring glance out of eloquent eyes. A delicate silver 
wing glittered against her hair. "In his bed and out of it. 
Why? Do you wish to share it as well?" 


lan's laugh was a gust of air expelled with all the force 
of disbelief. "I would sooner lie down with a leper!" 


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Lillith's eyelids lowered as if she consulted an inner 
voice. It gave her a shuttered, secretive look of incredi-
ble insularity. It made me wish to ask aloud what she 
thought; what she intended to say. But I did not. What 
Ihlini would tell a Cheysuli the truth? 


Shut up within her thoughts, she presented an incon-
gruous picture of maidenly decorum. I knew better. She 
was Ihlini; I had faced Strahan, And as for maidenly 
decorum, she had already proclaimed herself Alaric's 


light woman. It gave her a passkey to vulgarity, if she 
wished to use it. 


But apparently she did not. When the kohl-smudged 
lids lifted again, baring her eyes to all, I saw nothing but 
resolute innocence. 


Her head lifted minutely. Her chin and jaw were dis-
tinctly molded, so that a tilt of a head this way or that 
divulged a multitude of things otherwise left unsaid. 
Someone had schooled her well in the use of her body. 


Or perhaps witches such as Lillith and Electra are born 
to manipulate men with a smile, a look, a sigh. 


Pale hands gathered heavy velvet. Smoothly she put 
her back to the Mujhar and the Queen of Homana and 
turned instead to face lan and me, hair swinging, skirts 
swirling, silver nails flashing against the rich texture of 
the velvet. 


She looked at me, but briefly; her attention was bla-
tantly fixed on lan. "Are you kin to the Prince of 
Homana?" 


Somehow, it was not what either of us expected. I 
frowned; lan answered because of innate courtesy, though 
the tone did not reflect it. "We share the same jehan." 


It was clear she knew the word. The painted lips, still 
smiling, parted in silent comprehension. "Then you are 
the bastard son." 


It took us all by surprise, her pointedly casual com-
ment, but lan more so than anyone else, I think. I saw 
the color drain out of his face until it was chalky-gray. 
He was not one generally much perturbed by insults 
being so obviously Cheysuli, he was used to occasional 
Homanan cursesand bastardy bears no stigma in the 
clans. But this was from a woman, emphatically unpro-
voked, and an Ihlini woman at that. Somehow her pre-
cise explicitness honed the words more sharply. Without 
a doubt the knife cut more deeply than ever before. 


Angrily, I swung back a rigid hand, fully intending to 
bring it across her lovely face. But lan stopped me by 
reaching out to catch my wrist. "No." 


"Rujho" 


"No," he said evenly. "Do not soil your hands." 
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"Lillith." My mother's voice, calm, cool, supremely in 
command of the situation. She was all queen now, stand-
ing tall in yellow silk and royal gold. What I witnessed 
was Carillon's legacy. 


I saw the instinctive response in the Inlini woman as 
she turned almost at once; saw also how that reaction 


surprised her by its alacrity. And how much it sat ill with 
her. 


"UUith." My mother smiled her lovely, deadly smile. 
"I will allow you to insult my husband's son no more 
than I will allow you to insult my own." Her face was 
smooth, untroubled; I saw a glint of satisfaction in her 
eyes. "Or, regardless of whose bed you sleep in, I will 
have you cast bodily out of this palace." 


I nearly gaped in surprise. To hear her protecting lan 
so definitively was shocking as well as welcome; they said 
little enough to one another, being uneasy companions at 
best, and certainly nothing in the past had warranted 
such loyalty on the part of my mother. And yet she 
sounded as fierce as if she defended me. 


Smiling inwardly, I flicked a pleased glance at lan. His 
color was back, though a little more flushed than normal; 


shock had been replaced by anger at the Ihlini. No doubt 
my mother's defense startled him as much as it had me, 
but he did not show it. He showed nothing but a mask. 


UUith inclined her head. "As you wish, lady. No more 
insults. I offer choices instead." 


The mask slipped. "Choices?" lan demanded roughly. 
"What choices could an Ihlini offer us?" 


Lillith looked at the Mujhar. "Your choice, my lord: 


send Varien and me back to Atvia, and have the be-
trothal broken." She tilted her head a little to one side. 
**I have given you reason enough." 


"Purposely," he said lightly. "Aye, I have seen that 
clearly. There is a purpose to all of this." He smiled. It 
was not the smile of a man he showed her, but of a 
predator whose attention is fixed upon the spoor of lively 
game. "Now, Lady Lillith, give me the other half so I 
may know the choice." 


But it was not Lillith who answered. Varien spread his 
hands. "Simple, my lord: ignore the lady's heritage and 
allow the ceremony to go on." 


My mother laughed aloud. "Do you expect us to over-
look what she has said, let alone what she is?" 


No. My instinctive response was immediate. If for no 
other reason than the pain she brought to my brother, I 


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would send her back to Alaric. 


58 


"Choices," Varien said. "My lord?" 
My father did not answer at once. I saw the fine-drawn 
tension in my mother as she waited, and felt it in myself. 
Not because I particularly wanted to marry Gisellacousin 
or no, I did not know the girlbut because some deepseated 
instinct told me the choice facing my father carried 
more weight than usual. 


He knew it as well as I, perhaps better, being who he 
is. I saw him smile again, mostly to himself, and then he 
turned it fully on the Atvian envoy. "Alaric and Shea 
have made a truce." 


I frowned. It made no sense; none of it. What had a 
truce between Alaric of Atvia and Shea of Erinn to do 
with my marriage? 


Varien's lips tightened. Briefly, oh so briefly, I saw 
anger in his eyes, and tfien he covered it- He was himself 
again, urbane, diplomatic, yet I knew my father's response 
was not what he expected. 


I looked immediately at the woman, knowing instinctively 
she was a truer diviner of emotions. But if Lillith 
was angry, she hid it well. Instead, she smiled, and 
nodded once to herself. As if she had won a wager. 


Or understood us better than anyone wished to believe. 
"A truce," my father repeated. Still smiling, he sat 
down at last in the padded chair and gestured for my 
mother to do the same. After a moment's hesitation, she 
did so. But I knew she understood my father's manner 
no better than I, even as he laughed. "Let me speculate 
aloud, envoy, for a moment. Please correct me if I am 
wrong." He straightened a little and tapped one finger 
against the wooden arm. "Alaric and Shea, regardless of 
their respective reasons, have agreed to a truce. I think it 
unlikely Shea would ally himself with Alaric for any 
reason, judging by the turbulent history of the islands; 


nonethefess, a cessation of hostilities leaves Alaric in 
possession of a united warhost for the first time in decades." 
He paused, and I saw he no longer smiled. "Have 
I the right of it thus far?" 


Varien's schooled face exhibited neither resentment 
nor regret; he merely ackowledged my father's summation 
with a brief inclination of his head. 


"What is he doing?" I whispered to lan. "What has a 
truce between Alaric and Shea have to do with anything?" 
59 


I saw the ironic curling of his mouth; Lillith's insult 
had not banished his sense of humor. "If you would close 
your mouth and open your ears, perhaps you would find 
out." 


But my father went on before I could respond. "If I 
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broke off the betrothal for reasons well known to all of 
us in this chamber, Alaric would have the right to con-
sider the alliance shattered; the right to levy war." The 
Mujhar's face displayed no tension, only calmness. He 
had the right of it. Wars had been started over more 
trivial matters than this. "The past has proven Atvia 
incapable of defeating Homana in battle because her 
armies have been divided. Shea's meddling made it nec-
essary for a portion of the warbost to be left at home to 
protect Atvia, and so it was that much easier for Homana 
to defeat her enemy. Now, of course, with Erinn and 
Atvia at peace, no matter how brief the duration, Alaric 
can levy half again as many men against Homana." 


"My lord." Varien said nothing more; nothing more 
was needed. Even I began to see. 


"And so if the betrothal is broken and Alaric comes 
against me, as would be his right, it is potentially possible 
that Homana could be defeated . . . and Alaric made 
Mujhar." My father shut his mouth on that; patently, he 
was finished discussing the thing. 


Varien said nothing. He did not dare to in the face of 
his supposedly neutral commission. 


But Liltith did. "Enough Erinnisb knotwork, my lord 
Mujhar. Let us speak plainly." She did not so much as 
look at Varien as she stepped in front of him to face my 
father. "You may interpret the reason for my presence 
here in any way you choose. You may even be correct. 
But bear in mind that if war came of a broken betrothal, 
Atvia might well lose all. There is always that chance in 
war. I think you realize, my lord Mujhar, that Alaric has 
more to gain by seeing your son and his daughter wed 
than by breaking the betrothal." 


**Then why this elaborate farce?" my mother asked. "By 
the gods, woman, Ihlini or nohave you an explanation?" 
Lillith smiled. "Of course. But I leave that for you to 
divine." 


"Insult," my brother murmured to me. "No more than 
60 


^ 


^ that; a petty attempt by a petty man to irritate his 
^ overlord." 


I frowned. "All of this just for that?" 


"United army or not, Alaric would be a fool to believe 
Atvia could defeat Homana. But he cannot accept con-
tinuing vassalage graciously; he is sly, he is resentful. His 
pride aches, so he offers this idiocy merely to slip the 
nettle into our bed." lan shrugged. "I doubt Alaric is 
stupid enough to believe we would fall for this foolishness." 


My father looked at me. "I will let the Prince of 
Homana make the choice. It is he who must wed Alaric's 
daughter, not I." 


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Varien had not expected that. Neither, I thought, had 
Lillith. They had discounted me early in the game as too 
young, too unimportant to consider. It was the Mujhar 
for whom they had set the trap. 


Well, / had not expected it, either. 


Nothing would please me more than to pack Alaric's 
light woman back to Atvia in disgrace. But I think it is not 
worth a war. 


I inclined my head briefly to acknowledge my father's 
trust. And then I crossed the chamber to the woman 
dressed in crimson and reached out to take her hand. 


Silver-tipped nails glowed. The painted lips smiled a 
little, waiting for my answer. Close up, she was lovelier 
than ever. But it was a hard-edged beauty with nothing 
of softness about it. 


No, she would never be the prey. She would wear the 
hunter's colors; she would run the prey to ground. . . and 
follow him into his burrow. 


"Lady Lillith," I said evenly, "nothing would please 
me more than to have this wedding go forth." 


Kohl-smudged lids flickered minutely. I saw the brief, 
considering glance slanted at me out of eloquent eyes, 
black as the unbound hair. The smile widened. And then 
she laughed her husky laugh. "You know the game after 
all." 


"No," I returned, smiling. "But I am a passable 
student." 


My father looked to my brother. "Will you have the 
priest sent for?" 


Silently, lan did so, even as Lillith continued to laugh. 


Laughed as if she had won. 
61 


Six 


" 'Will you, the Prince of Homana, promise to provide 
atl things necessary to the station and well-being of the 
Princess of Atvia,' " my brother quoted. " 'Will you, 
Niall, clan-born of the Cheysuli, promise to provide suc-
cor and honor, respect and regard, to Gisella of Atvia?' 
And so on, and so on." He laughed. "You notice he left 
out the word love. For a Homanan priest, he has surpass-
ing sense." 


"Proxy or no, it was hard to say the words." I swal-
lowed sour red wine to wash away the taste of the vows I 
had made. "I kept telling myself it was for Gisella the 
promises were meant, but I had to look at Lillith." 


"And now you are bound to her forever," lan mused-
"Homanan law is an unforgiving thing, allowing no 
manor womanthe chance to end a marriage that 


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does neither any good," He shook his head. "Foolish-
ness. Look at Carillon. Surely he more than any man 
should have had the right to end his marriage. Had he 
been able to set Electra aside permanently and wed 
another woman, he might have sired a son. And you 
would not be Prince of Homana, in line for the Lion 
Throne." 


No, I would not . . . and undoubtedly I would not be 
bound forever to Gisella. 


I turned from the stained glass casement and faced my 
brother. We were alone in the audience chamber. The 
ceremony had been completed an hour or more before. I 
had not left because a servant had brought wine to us all, 
intended for celebration. But none of my kin wished to 
share wine with Varien or Lillith past the customary 
nuptial cup; everyone, including Tasha, had departed, 
62 


and now lan and I kept company in the presence of 
emptiness. 


He sat in my father's padded chair. I had not drunk so 
much wine as to weave fancies of my thoughts, but I 
could not help but mark the appropriateness of his posi-
tion. He resembled our father more and more with each 
year, as if his flesh grew more comfortable with his 
bones. His mother, Sorcha, had taken her life before I 
had been born; I had no one to compare him with except 
the Mujhar. And now, looking at him, I saw lan pos-
sessed the same mouth in repose. It was only rarely that I 
saw my father this relaxed. 


I swallowed more wine. It went down so easily, too 
easily; I would have to stop soon, or I would suffer for it 
in the morning. "Have you ever wondered what life 
would be like for you jf you were heir to the Lion?" 


Like me, he held a cup of wine. Unlike me, he did not 
drink. He stared at me fixedly over the rim. "Why do 
you ask?" 


I shrugged. "No reason, save curiosity. We are so 
different; I merely wondered how you would feel if 
you were in my place." 


"Deceased," he said succinctly. 


"Why?" 1 was horrified. "Why would you feel dead?" 


"Because I would probably be dead." lan straightened 
a littfe. "Do you think the Homanans would allow me to 
succeed to the throne?" 


"Why not?" 


"I am a bastard, for one. Cheysuli for another." He 
paused. "More blatantly Cheysuli." 


I waved a hand. "Let us dispense with the first and say 
you are not a bastard. How would you feel then?" 


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He smiled a little. "You dispense with it so easily . . . 
well enough1 am legitimate. I am the Prince of Homana. 
I would still be dead, because the Homanans would see 
to it I was slain." 


"Assassinated?" 


He shrugged. "If it was not an accident." 


I felt a cold finger brush my spine. "Because you are 
Cheysuli." 


"Aye." 


"Our father is Cheysuh." 
63 


"Carillon chose our jehan. From him they would accept 
any man." He did not look away from me. "Niall, 
you are in no danger. You are Aislinn's son- You bear 
the blood of the man." 


"As well as the man's flesh." I swore and stared into 
the blood-red wine. "So I survive on sufferance." 


"Do not mistake me, I do not accuse all Homanans of 
wishing to see Cheysuli dead," he said pointedly. "More 
and more are reconciled to the reinstatement of our 
people, even to the succession. But there are some who 
would prefer it otherwise." 


"Oh. Those;' I grimaced. "The zealots." 


"A'saii," my brother murmured into his cup. "Like 
Ceinn." 


"What?" 
He bunked and looked up at me. "The Old Tongue 


word, a'saii. It means zealot in Homanan, or something 
close to that." 


"What has the word to do with Cemn?" 


"Nothing." The mouth was taut as wire. lan began to 
drink his wine. 


I set my own cup down in the casement sill and went to 
my brother. Before he could speak, I caught his wrist 
and kept the cup from his mouth. "I am not deaf, rujho. 
Neither am I stupid. At Qankeep, Ceinn came to your 
pavilion seeking word with you. He made a mistake; he 
began to speak before he saw I was there. You yourself 
said he was a fool. Now you call him a'saii. I want to 
know what it means." 


"It means what I said: Ceinn is a fool." lan twisted 
away from me and rose, leaving me with his cup of wine. 
"He is more devoted to the old waysthe old days 
than others in the clan." 
"The days of the Firstborn?" 


"Directly after, when the prophecy was first discov-
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ered." lan turned to face me. "In those days, the Cheysuli 
bred only with Cheysuli, to keep the blood clear of taint. 
In the end, that is what nearly destroyed us; we need the 
new blood promised in the prophecy." 
I nodded. "I know this. lan" 
"I am answering!" he said sharply. "Gods, Niall, must 
you have it carved for you in stone? Ceinn adheres to 


S'v-

. '. 
^-
the beliefs of toe earty days, when our women only lay 
down with our men. To keep the blood pure.'* 


"And mine, of course, w not.'* I smiled tightly, though 
the revelation of Ceinn's beliefs did not particularly shock 
me. "He thinks I should not be in Hne to inherit." 


"Aye." It was clipped; lan was angry with himself for 
letting me learn the truth. 


"Let me guess: Ceinn believes he should inherit the 
throne." 


"No," lan said. "He says the Lion should be mine." 


I shut my mouth so as not to resemble a simpleton. 
"You," I said. "You? But1 thought surely he would 
want it. Is that not why he pursues Isolde? To make his 
claim stronger?" 


"No." lan drew in a breath and released it through 
taut lips. "The a'sauv he stopped short. "Ceinn feels I 
have more right than you. That my blood is purer." 


"He forgets Sorcha was half Homanan," I said bitterly. 
"You are no more pure than I!" 


"We have a jehan who claims the Old Blood from 
Alix, our granddame. That ensures my right. But on 
yowjehana's side there is Solindish blood in you; Electra 
was your granddame, never mine." lan's face was a 
mask. "There. I have carved it out for you. Can you set 
the stone into place?" 


"Electra, my mother's mother, was also Tynstar's 
meijha," I said flatly. "Aye, I can set the stone into 
place. So, the blood that endears me to the Homanans 
the Queen is Carillon's daughter, and for that they will 
overlook even Solindish Electradevalues me to the 
Cheysuli." The pain rose up to swallow my belly whole. 
Grimacing, I spun and threw lan's cup at the closest wall. 
Instead, it shattered the nearest casement. 


Colored glass rained down against the floor. I stared 
aghast as the shards splattered down like blood, spilling 
across the stone. Sunlight gaped through the lead frame: 


naked light filled my eyes until the tears spilled over. 


My clan will not accept me. My race reviles me. 
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"Niall-" lan's bands were on my arms. "Sit downsit 
down!" He guided me to one of the chairs and pushed 
me into it. "Shansu, rujho, shansu. Such anger can harm 
the soul." 


As well as gripe the belly. Hunched over, I leaned 
65 


against one of the padded arms. "How many, lan? Bow 
many of the a'sauf" 


"Too few, I promise you. And the canker is very smaB." 
"Cankers grow. Cankers can overtake the healthiest of 
men." 


"And cankers can be cut out." He knelt down in front 
of me. "Do you think I would ever allow Ceinn or any 
other warrior to harm my rujhoUfl What manner of liege 
man am I? What sort of brother am I to you?" 


Brother. The Homanan word was accented. lan was 
more accustomed to the Cheysuli. While I only rarely 
resort to the Old Tongue. 
"Would you want it?" I asked. "The Lion?" 
Surprising me, lan smiled. "If I ever laid claim to the 
Lion, the Homanans would have my bead. Do I look like 
a martyr to you?" 


My laugh resembled a gasp, "No, nor a particularly 
ambitious man." I leaned back in the chair as the pain in 
my belly began to subside. "I need you, lan. Liege man, 
rujhoHi, companion ... I need you with me, lan. Here 
or in Atvia." 


"Atvia," he said. "I thought it might come to that." 
"Even now the Homanan Council hammers out trade 
agreements with Varien as part of the marriage settlement. 
In a week the ship sails. And I must go with 
Varien and Ullith to claim my Atvian bride." I forced a 
smile. "I have no intention'of going there alone with that 
Ihlini witch." 


He sighed. "I suppose I have no choice." 
The smile came more easily. "You never have. Your 
tahlmorra lies with me." 


lan sat down in the other chair. "A long trip," he 
predicted. 'Tasha hates the water." 


The week before sailing was both the longest and the 
shortest of my life. The thought of the trip itself was 
exciting, regardless that my future wife lay at the end of 
it. I had never been out of Homana before, and the idea 
of a sea voyage was almost intoxicating. At first there 
had been some disagreement over whether I should go. 
It would be easy enough for Alaric to send his daughter 
to Homana, but it was agreed at last that I would go to 
fetch her myself, as a mark of honor. 
66 


But now I had other things to think about; other things 
to gnaw at the back of my mind, even when I tried to 
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keep my attention on matters of more importance. 


A'saii, lan had called them. Cheysuli warriors too ded-
icated to the refinement of the Old Blood. 


And there was Lillith. Varien's overtures of friendship 
were easy enough to brush off: he was envoy, not prince; 


his rank did not match mine, and I found myself using an 
impatient condescension I had not known I possessed. 
But with Lillith, it was different. Being a beautiful woman, 
she knew how to manipulate men. Being Ihlini witch, she 
had recourse to more arts than most. And so I found 
myself agreeing to accompany her into Mujhara to show 
her the sights of the city. 


"Alone?" I asked as we walked the length of the 
corridor. "You and I?" 


She retied the wine-red ribbon threaded through her 
single braid. "We are wed. There is no law against it." 


She was solemn-faced as we neared the main entrance, 
but I saw a glint of amusement in her eyes. It irritated 
me as much as she meant it to. 


"We are not wed," I pointed out. "The union was 
never consummated." 


Lillith smiled. "We could take pains to see that it 
was." 


"No." I said it coldly, banishing any attempt at polite-
ness or diplomacy. 


Lillith's husky laugh rang out. "If you axe frightened of 
me, my lord, why not have your warrior brother accom-
pany us? His magic will prevent me from using mine." 


Another man might have instantly refused the chance 
to gain an ally, being too proud and too full of himself; / 
was not a fool. Strahan had already impressed upon me 
how easy it was for an Ihlini to level sorcery against me, 
and I was not about to give Lillith the opportunity. I 
rousted lan from conversation with one of my mother's 
ladies, ignored his muttered threat, and explained mat-
ters to him. He stopped complaining, summoned Tasha 
from his chambers, and went with Ullith and me into the 
city streets-
In the thirty-five years since Carillon had returned 
from exile and made the Cheysuli welcome in their home-
land again, most of the Homanans had learned to coexist 


with warriors and Ur. Tasha's presence no longer alarmed 
Mujhara's citizens to the point of taking action against 
her as they once would have against a mountain cat who 
happened into the city. While no one precisely welcomed 
hershe is large, lethal, and incredibly powerfulneither 
did they hunt weapons with which to slay her. 


lan and I flanked Lillith out of good manners, nothing 
more- Tasha preceded us, clearing a path through the 


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crowded streets as passers-by made way immediately. 
Though the streets were cobbled, a thin layer of dust 
rose to film Ullith's wine-red skirts and turn them a 
faded ocher-red. But she hardly appeared to notice. She 
observed everything around her with calm, discerning 
eyes, as if she fit the city into a private ordering. She did 
not appear aware of the stares she received from men, or 
the mutters from the women. They could not know she 
was Ihlini, but her vivid apartness made her a beacon in 
the streets. 


lan and I took her to Market Square, the hub of every 
city or country village. In Mujhara the Square is huge, 
hedged by buildings at every turning. It was here everyone 
brought wares to trade and sell, commodities meant 
for competitive distribution. Canvas stalls filled up the 
Square, narrowing the alleys and streets to winding walkways 
hardly wide enough for three to walk abreast. Even 
Tasha found the going more difficult. 


"Is it always like this?"Lillith asked. 


lan was ahead, I behind. Jostled, I stumbled a step 
closer to her. "It is Market Day today. Another time it is 
not so bad, although the Square is always crowded." My 
foot squashed a sodden sweetmeat someone had dropped; 


grimacing, I shook the remains from the sole of my boot. 
"It is worse at Summerfair." 


Lillith held up her skirts with both hands as lan broke 
a path through the throngs of people. "Rondule is not so 
big as this. But then, neither is Atvia as big as Homana." 


"Do you not come from Solinde?" I nearly had to 
shout over the babble of the crowds. 


"Originally." She slanted a glance at me over a shoulder. 
"Atvia is now my home." 


"Because of Alaric." 


"Because I choose it as my home." 


lan was brought up short by a man on horseback, 
68 


always questionable transportation in the Square. Lillith, 
still looking at me, bumped into him. lan turned, intending 
to steady her; he stopped himself. For a moment they 
merely looked at one another, as if offering mutual 
challenges. 


Then Lillith laughed. lan loked away. 
"Rujho" I said sharply, "look." 
lan turned. We had been stopped by the stall of a 
furrier, and the smell of freshly-dressed hides was pungent. 
There were pelts of every sort: coney, fox, beaver, 
; bear, wolf and mountain cat, countless other kinds. The 


largest pelts were tacked upon wood and hung from the 


^ back of the stall. Tails depended from nails. The plusher, 
^ finer pelts were piled upon benches and over the counter 
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.H itself. 


t" My hand had automatically gone down to brace myself 
^ against stumbling. It was buned in sleek softness; one 
^ look told me the hide had once clothed a living cat. 
'^. I recoiled. The color was Tasha's, lush red tipped with 
chestnut brown. Though there is no tenet in the clans 
against trapping or slaying animals who are not Ur, the 
likeness to Tasha sent a shiver of distaste and superstition 
down my spine. 


^ 


, 


lan's face was stark. Here we saw hundreds of pelts, 
and all the animals dead. 


"Lovely," Lillith said, and her hands caressed the remains 
of the mountain cat. 


A man stepped forward from behind his racks of pelts. 
He was small, quick, authoritative. "A discerning eye," 
he said, smiling warmly at Lillith, but not too familiarly. 
A shrewd glance at lan and myself told him we could 
afford the price of any one of a hundred pelts; his smile 
became obsequious. "A fur-lined mantle, perhaps? A bit 
of coney for the collar?" He snatched up a night-black 
mountain cat pelt and swept it around Lillith's shoulders. 
"Black on black," he said. "Lady, you are lovely." 


But Lillith looked past the man and lifted a slender 
hand. "No," she said, "the white." 


The furrier glanced over his shoulder. His brown hair 
was tied back with a length of blue-dyed leather. His 
clothing also was of leather, with strips of fur at collar, 
^, cuffs and doublet hem. Red fox, I knew. I thought it fit 
'-; his manner. 


"Lady, that is not yet ready for sale." Still smiling, he 
took the black pelt from Ullith and offered a silver one 
instead. "This one suits you well." 


"That one/' Ullith said, and there was no mistaking 
her tone. 


The furrier pressed palms against his leathers. "It has 
only just come in. There are treatments. I must first 
render it suitable." He bobbed his head toward lan and 
then myself. "Perhaps something else for the lady?" 


"There is nothing here for her," lan said flatly. "I hunt 
and skin animals when I must, for food and warmth and 
shelter, but I do not slayor sellso many as to make 
my living at it." 


The furrier slanted a nervous glance in Tasha's direction. 
The cat's amber eyes were fixed on his face, as if 
she intended to leap on him momentarily. 


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"I wish to see it,*' Ullith said, and threw down the 
silver pelt. 


The furrier complied. He settled the white pelt down 
in front of Ullith and folded his arms across his chest. 


"Wolf," she said, and I thought I heard satisfaction in 
her tone. 


"Aye,'* the furrier agreed. "Brought in this morning. 
The trapper gave it only a bit of a cleaning." Deft fingers 
peeled back an edge of the pelt to show the hide be-
neath. "It wants softening, brushing, dyeing; all the things 
I do to the pelts to make them lovely enough for a lady 
as lovely as you." No more merchant's chatter; he meant 
what he said, profoundly. 


Ullith fingered the fur. "Will it be white again? True 
white?" 


"Wants cleaning." He bobbed his head. 


She smiled. "The wolf must have been a lovely animal, 
alive." 


"Wanted killing,'* the furrier said. "Plague-ridden 
beast." Uneasily he glanced at me. "No more, of course. 
I'd never be selling a plague-ridden pelt." 


"What plague?" I frowned. "There is no plague in 
Homana." 


"North, across the Bluetooth River," he said. "Herd-
ers took sick after a white wolf got into their sheep." 


"This wolf?" lan asked. 


The furrier shrugged. "Trappers are taking every white 
70 


one they can find, for the coin. Herders are paying good 
silver." 


"What are you paying?" I demanded. 


He did not look away from me. "Copper," he said, and 
smiled. "There is no plague in Mujhara." 


"And what will you sell it for?" lan asked. 


"Gold," the furrier answered. "White wolves are rare; 


there are people who crave the unusual." 


"Lovely," Liilith murmured, burying fingers in the 
pelt. 


"Enough," I said abruptly, "there is more for you to 
see." I put a hand on her arm and turned her away from 
the stall. 


"Nothing for the lady?" asked the man. "Nothing for 
either of you?" 


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"We do not cravethe unusual," lan answered, "when 
purchased at the price of an animal's life." 


"It carried plagueF the man insisted, theo shut his 
mouth as if he realized he might lower his asking price. 


"Plague," lan said in disgust as we threaded our way 
through the throng. "More likely the sheepdogs carried 
the sickness." 


"Or the herders themselves." Liilith smiled. "I have 
seen enough. I would like to go back to the palace." 


"You have seen nothing," I said, surprised, "You have 
hardly tapped Mujhara" 


"I have seen enough," she repeated distinctly. A slim 
hand insinuated itself in the crook of my arm. "Will you 
escort me home, my lord?" 


The emphasis as she singled me out was slight, but still 
apparent, and certainly so to lan. I saw the slight twist at 
one comer of his mouth; amusement or irritation, per-
haps both. He glanced at me, smiled, gave in graciously. 
But I thought he and Tasha fell back a few steps with an 
undue amount of alacrity. 


Ullith said little enough as I escorted her back to 
Homana-Mujhar, keeping herself in companionable si-
lence- lan and Tasha followed, but she ignored them 
both. The hand still rested in my elbow; I could hardly 
strip it away, though I longed to do it. Common courtesy 
denied me the pleasure. 


Ihlini or no, she is Alaric's representativein bed or 
out of it, as she says. What little I have learned of 
71 


statecraft from my father forbids outright rudeness unless 
I have no choice. And/or now, there is a choice. 


Still, I wondered if Lillith had truly seen enough. Or if, 
more likely, she had seen precisely what she had come to 


see. 


72 


Seven 


We took ship from Hondarth, bound for At via. It was 
possible to go overland through Solinde to the western 
port of Andemir, then set sail for the island, but the 
fastest way was to go by-sea entirely. Besides, we had no 
wish to enter Ihlini environs with Lillith in our company. 


Aside from Varien, Lillith, lan, Tasha and myself, 
there was an escort of sixteen Homanan men handpicked 
from my father's personal Mujharan Guard. lan, less 
inclined to approve of such things as royal escorts and 
decorum, was amused by it all. I felt a mixture of pride 
and resignation. I was content enough to accept my role 


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as Homana's heir with all attendant traditions, but I 
realized, somewhat belatedly, that never again would I 
have the freedom to flee my princely concerns. The 
marriage, proxy or no, had locked the circlet around my 
head. 


The weather, as we sailed out of Hondarth, was good. 
The rains had lifted entirely, leaving clear skies and a 
more temperate climate behind. Only a faint cool breeze 
snapped the blue sails of our ship and set the scarlet 
pennons flying-
Behind us lay the whitewashed city and lilac-heathered 
hills- Ahead of us floated the Crystal Isle, wreathed in 
silver mists. lan, standing beside me at the taffrail, nod-
ded toward the island. "All the history, rujho. Do you 
ever think of it?" 


"I thought of it enough when the shar tahls made me 
memorize all the stories." Cautiously, I eyed the white-
caps slapping against the prow. I had not yet decided if I 
was born to sail or to keep myself to land. 
lan laughed. "I, as well . . . but now those stories 
73 


seem more alive. I think we should have come here then. 
Immediacy makes the lessons more comprehensible." 


"I have no intention of reciting those lessons now," I 
declared. "Still . . . you have the right of it. Perhaps we 
should have come." 


"Why not recite those lessons to me?" inquired the 
husky voice from behind us. "Surely you know I learned 
a different history." 


I turned to face Lillith. lan did not. Beside him, wide 
paws spread, Tasha snarled and pressed against lan's leg. 


She wore an indigo mantle. The edges, stitched with 
gold thread, snapped in the rising wind. Her unbound 
hair blew freely about her shoulders. I was put in mind of 
a shroud. Black. Silken. And all-encompassing. 


"Then shall I tell you what / know of the island?" She 
slipped between lan and me, touching neither of us, yet I 
was as aware of her as if she were a wine too heady for my 
wits. As for lan, I could not say how he responded, save 
to see how rigid was his posture. "It is the birthplace of 
the Cheysuli," Lillith told us. "The heart, if you will, of 


Homana." 
Whatever I had expected of her, it was not that. Never 
the truth. Sidelong, I looked at her, and saw the distant 
smile. "The Ihlini rose out of Solinde," I said; it was 
common knowledge. 
A thick strand of hair was whipped into her face. ^ 
Slender fingers caught at it and pulled it away from the 
questing grasp of the wind; silver-tipped nails flashed. 
"The Ihlini rose out of Homana." The smile was gone, 
but there was no hostility in her tone, merely matter-of-
factness. "I am certain Tynstar told Carillon, probably 
^ 
/. 
-J 
| 
^ 


even your father. It is the truth, Niall; once the Ihlini and 
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Cheysuli were as closecloserthan you and lan." 


She had never said my name before. Accented, the 
syllables had a different sound. The sound of intimacy, 
which did not please me at ail. 


"Lady," deliberately I denied familiarity, "I think you 
mouth lies we would rather not hear." 


"Then tell me your truths," she invited. "Both of you: 


tell me what all Cheysuli children are told, when the shar 
tahls share the knowledge contained in the histories." 


lan turned abruptly. "What do you know of Tynstar?" 


He took her by surprise. Arched brows rose slightly. 
74 


Then she smiled, and the comers of her eyes creased. 
The wind put color into her cheeks. But before she could 
answer lan, I asked her a question of my own. 


"How old are you, Lillith?" In my intentness, I hardly 
noticed my use of her given name. "I have heard the 
stories of aborted aging.' 


UUith laughed. "Along with other arts." She looked at 
each of us, one by one, and her smile grew wider still. "I 
shall answer both of you: I am more than a hundred 
years, and Tynstar was my father." 


lan physically recoiled. Behind him, Tasha growled. 


"Tynstar!" I blurted. "How is it possible?" 


"How is it not possible?" she countered. "Oh, I know, 
you are thinking of Electra, Tynstar's mistress. Your 
granddame, was she not?" Lillith nodded before I could 
answer. "Well, I can only say that when a man such as 
Tynstar lives for more than three hundred years, he will 
take more women than only one. Electra was the last one, 
perhaps, but hardly the first." She raised her head against 
the wind and let it caress her face. "My mother was 
Ihlini. We do not weigh the value of people by rank, only 
by power ... but in your terms, she would have been a 
queen. As my father was the king." Lips parted in sen-
sual pleasure. Eyes closed, she bared her flawless face to 
the rising wind. 


"Strahan is your half-brother." I thought again of the 
man I had met in Mujhara, who had nearly drowned me 
in the mud. 


"My younger brother," Lillith agreed. "So young . . . 
and so newly-come to his arts." She opened black eyes 
and looked at me. "There is much left for him to learn." 


"But not so much for you," lan said harshly. "Is that 
what you seek to say? To warn us of your power? Do not 
bother, lady. I have no intention of ignoring who or what 
you are." 


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"No," she said, "that is obvious. But why must you 
assume I bear you or your brother ill will?" 


"You are Ihlini." It was explanation in itself. 


"And kin to you, somewhere ages and ages ago." 
Lillith gathered in flying hair and contained it in a slender 
hand. "I am, albeit unspoken. Queen of Atvia. I am 
content with Alaric. What would I do with Homana? 
Why do you assume I want it?" 


"You are Ihlini." ITlis time from me, and equally 
inflexible. 


"Ihlini," she said. "Second-bom of the First, and therefore 
a threat to you." Lillith shook her head, "Not all of 
us seek to hinder the prophecy." 


lan's mouth opened, closed. I saw him visibly gather 
his thinning tolerance. "Lady," he said finally, with the 
infinite patience of a man who despises his opponent, 
"you have the right of it when you say Tynstar must have 
spoken to Carillon and my jehan. Aye, I know the truth 
that drove the demon: fulfillment of the prophecy means 
the end of the Ihlini. How can you not work against us?" 


LUlith stood very still. Mostly she faced lan now, but 
in her profile I saw a look of exalted triumph. "Aye," 
she said on a breath of accomplishment, "I think you 
begin to understand." 


lan shook his head. "Understand an Ihlini? I think 
not." 


She backed away from us both; wind-whipped wraith, 
suddenly, indigo blue and black. And magnificent in her 
pride. "Why should we be any different?" she asked. 
"Why should we be hounded by your dogs of righteousness 
until no one in all the worid can see the sense in 
what we dowhy we fight for our survival! Do you see? 
Do you see it at all?" Her eyes searched my face and 
lan's. "Evil, you claim us; demons you call us; seed of 
the dark god himself. And why? Because we do what we 
must to survive. Survive! Would you do any differently if 
promised demise by the fulfillment of a prophecy?" The 
mantle cracked in the wind. "Words," she said bitterly. 
"Words. And with them, you destroy an entire race. 
Even as you were nearly destroyed. Will you do the same 
to us? Unleash a Cheysuli qu'mahlinT' 


"Enough," lan said, white-faced. "You have said 
enough." 


"Have I?" Lillith demanded. She glanced at me, then 
met lan's baleful, yellow-eyed glare. "Looking at you, I 
say I have not. But then you are fanatic enough to be 
a'saii" 


The last was bitterly said. But before I could ask her 
how she came to know so much of the Old Tongue, 
Lillith turned her back on us both and took herself out of 
our sight. 


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76 


A'saii. lan? I knew better. Until I looked at his face. 


"Rujho" I began. 


lan's face was the mask I knew so well. But his ashen 
color was not. "She has the tongue of a serpent." 


"Can a serpent tell the truth?" 


His head snapped around as he looked at me in shock-
*You believe her?" 


"No," I told him, troubled, "I think no Ihlini would 
ever bear us anything but ill will. But what if she tells 
the truth about their reasons for hating us so?" 


"Truth, lies, what does it matter? Their knives are just 
as sharp." lan shook his head. "Would it make you less 
dead if the man who slew you believed he was serving his 
race?" 


The taste of salt was in my mouth. The tang was 
bittersweet. "No, rujhoi No." 


"See that you remember it," lan told me flatly. "See 
that you never forget." 


I watched him as he took Tasha with him to the other 
side of the deck. Alone, incredibly alone, I stood against 
the taffrail and wondered if there was, beyond the obvi-
ous, any real difference between Ihlini and Cheysuli. 


We love and hate and fight with equal certitude. But 
then, so can brother and brother; so can sister and sister. 


I shivered. The wind was decidedly cold. 


The Idrian Ocean is a fractious beast, tame one day, 
wild the next. As we passed the crumbled headlands of 
southwestern Solinde, nearing the two islands known as 
Erinn and Atvia, the beast turned definitively disagree-
able; I discovered I was a good sailor in good weather, a 
poor one in bad. 


I stayed below much of the time, studiously ignoring 
what I could of the pitching ship, but when the swells 
deepened and the timbers began to groan alarmingly, I 
dragged myself up the slippery ladder to the sea-splashed 
deck above. 


The sun was swallowed by clouds. I could not tell if it 
were evening or afternoon. Wind-wracked, sea-swept, I 
could not even tell if it rained, or if the water came from 
the ocean. All I knew was I was soaked through in an 
instant, and the deck was incredibly slick. 


"lan?" He was somewhere on deck, I knew; he spent 
77 


as much time above as I did below. "lan!" Slipping, 
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sliding, swearing, I made it to the taffrail and clung with 
all my might. Spray nearly drowned me; the wind tried to 
batter me back. 


I spat out the taste of salt. All around me the light was 
odd, an unearthly, ocherous green. My belly began to 
dance within the confines of my flesh. 


"Gods," I muttered aloud, "if this is but a gentle blow, 
I would not care to see a gale." 


The wind snapped the words back at me, along with 
the salty spittle of the sea. Eyes stung, mouth protested; 


I spat back, making certain I did it with the wind, and 
not against. 


lan came up behind me, looming out of the lowering 
sky. "The captain suggests we go below." 


"No," I blurted instantly. "At least up here I can 
breathe." 


lan smiled as I turned to spit again. "Can you?" The 
humor faded as he squinted past me into the wind. "Niall 


perhaps we should do as he says. The waves will surely 
swamp us." 


I looked at the roiling ocean. The swells were watery 
mountains; the troughs a common grave. 


I glanced back at lan. Wet black hair was flattened 
against his head. Bare-armed, the water polished his 
gold- His leathers were soaked, but no more so than my 
woolen breeches and padded doublet. 


"Where is Tasha?" I asked. 


"I sent her below. She hates the water so, I could not 
bear to keep her with me." lan squinted into the slanting 
rain. "Gods. Nialllook at that!" 


I looked. Out of the pewter-green skies came a tracery 
of lilac. Delicate fingers touched here, touched there, 
insinuating themselves between the lobes of heavy clouds. 
It spread; spreading, it began to swallow the waves as 
well as the sky. 


"I have seen nothing like that before," I declared-

"Nor have I," he agreed grimly, "but neither of us is a 
sailor." 


No, we were neither of us a sailor. But it does not take 
a sailor to know when a storm is a bad one, or when the 
waves are more than water. 


Godshow they risehow they prepare to swallow us 
aU 


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And then I forgot the waves and stared only at the 
heavens. "By the gods, the sky is afive/" 


The ship dropped, prow-first, into a deep trough. It 
seemed almost to stand on end. I clutched the rail and 
braced myself against the slippery deck. 


"Niallthe waveAo/d on" 


Crushing weight descended upon me. It drove me to 
the deck, battering at flesh and bones, until I slid freely 
across flooded decking and came to rest, however briefly, 
against a pile of massive rope. I clutched at the nearest 
coil, locking rigid fingers .as the huge wave rolled over 
the deck. Timbers groaned and shuddered. Like a surly 
stallion, the ship bucked beneath my body. 


The water lived. It tried to swallow me down a sea-
dragon's gullet, sucking, sucking, threatening to chew, 
until I lodged against a sore tooth and kicked, kicked, 
still clutching my coil of rope. Heaving, the sea-dragon 
spat me out; exhaled bleeding, screaming debris as well 
as silent bags of broken bone and shredded flesh. 


My mouth was filled with blood and salt. My ears, 
deafened by pressure as well as by sound, throbbed pain-
fully. Water and blood was streaming from my nose. 


"lan," I mumbled thickly, "lanwhere are you, rujho?" 


The mast snapped. Spars broke and were flung through 
the air, skewering flesh and canvas. Sheets and shred-
ded sail collapsed across the deck, tangling men within 
heavy folds and the deadly embroidery of knots and 
coils. 


"Niall!" Distantly, I heard him. "Niallwhere are 
you?" 


"Here!" But in the heart of the storm I could hardly 
hear myself. 


Something pierced my leg. With the pitching of the 
ship I tried to pull myself onto hands and knees, but the 
slippery deck denied me proper purchase. Face down, I 
slid from my coil of rope toward the skeletal silhouette of 
the taffrail, fragile promise against the violence of the 
storm. 


And heard the scream of a mountain cat. 


Ion? No. More likely Tasha, searching for her lir. 


Pitch, roll, heave ... I slid nearer the side of the ship, 


knowing a negligent dap of the dragon's tail could sunder 
the wood ana sweep me into the seas beyond. 


Tasha. Screaming. lan? 


I lurched upward, lunging for solid wood. Found it; 


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what it was I could not say, knowing so little of ships. It 
creaked. Groaned. But it held. 


Lurid lightning spilled like blood through the black-
ened clouds and lit up the drowning ship. In its glare I 
saw Tasha, huddled against a heavy sea chest. Wedged, 
the chest showed no signs of giving itself over to the 
storm. Timing the swells, I let go of my handhold and 
ran. 


The ship rolled, wallowing like a drunken man in a 
pool of urine and vomit. I fell to both knees, skidded, 
slid into the terrified cat, apologized silently, and peeled 
myself up from the deck. The chest had brass handles; I 
grabbed one and held on. 


Tasha's amber eyes were dyed yellow-green in the livid 
light. Tufted ears flattened against her head. Tightly, so 
tightly, she clamped her tail around quivering haunches. 
Diminished by the storm, she was little more than a 
terrified housecat. 


It made me tremendously angry, that godsor demons 
would play with the mountain cat so. 


"Tasha, Tashashansu. Be easy, my lovely girl . . . 
the storm will come to an end." A hand against soaked 
shoulder found rigid flesh and hardened sinew. She shook, 
even as I did; from the rain, from the cold, from the fear. 


"Tasha, where is your A'r?" I knew she could not tell 
me, but I could not hold back the question. 


The cat snarled, baring lethal teeth in rage and pain. 
In the lightning I saw the gaping hole in her flank. 


"Oh Tashano/" 


It was deep. Jagged. It bled freely, but the rain washed 
it open again. And again; I watched her life spill onto the 
deck. 


"No!" The shout tore out of my throat. "Gods, Tasha, 
not youif you die, lan dies" 


A heavy line slapped across my face, knocking me to 
the deck- Stunned, I felt the stinging spring up in my 
cheek and the pain growing in one eye. Groping fingers 
sought the welt and found it, as well as the cut over my 
eye. Already the lid swelled closed. 
80 


**Tasha" I saw the cat's third eyelid rise. Sluggish, 
weakened, she panted, exposing slack pink tongue. From 
deep in her chest I heard the ongoing wail of pain and 
fatigue. Rising, dropping; a song of death and regret and 
futility. 


If lan was not already dead, Tasha's death would de-
stroy him completely. Drive him into madness. Drive 
him into seeking the death-ritual. 


Briefly, I thought of my grandsire, Duncan. Tynstar 
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had slain his Hr, Cai, the hawk. And so he had also slain 
Duncan. 


Oh gods, if my brother must die, I beg youlet him die 
in another way. . . . Not a petition I was proud of, but I 
could not bear to lose him twice. 


I crawled to Tasha. Peeled off my padded doublet, 
sodden and dripping with rain, and folded it, pressing it 
against the wound in Tasha's flank. My linen shirt plas-
tered itself against my battered body. I shivered. My 
cheek and eye hurt; vision was restricted to my left eye 
only. 


The ship rolled. Caught. Shuddered like a man ex-
pending himself in a woman. Stopped dead. 


I was thrown to the deck, flung completely away from 
Tasha, and saw the taf&ail tilt eerily. Beyond it lay the 
horizon, backlighted by saffron, and silver. The moon, I 
realized, balanced itself on the blade of the horizon. 


Free of trunk, of handle, of Tasha, I slid toward the 
maw of the dragon. Stiffened fingers and boot toes scrab-
bled against wet wood. 


Shuddering again, the ship tilted farther yet and slid 
more deeply into the sea. Another wave drove it deeper, 
scraping the deck free of debris. At the broken rail I was 
caught by rigging; dragged up again as the ship wallowed, 
foundered, tried to pull free of the sea. As I grabbed for 
rope and spar, I saw Tasha swept by me into the dragon's 
mouth. 


In shock, I could not grieve, I could only mouth the 
names of my brother and his lir. 


The ship shuddered again, groaning as the hull splin-
tered against jagged rocks. I felt the vibration through 
my body and realized what it meant. 


"Land?" I croaked aloud. "Buthow can there be 
land?" 


I flailed in the rigging, trying to right myself. Hie ship, 
solidly aground, no longer pitched or wallowed. But it 
had tilted to an alarming degree; no more was there a 
deck on which I could stand. Knees grated against the 
rigging, lapped about with water, and slipped loose in the 
force of the waves. 


"Niall." 


I wrenched my head around and saw the woman cling-
ing to a spar. It slashed a diagonal wound across the 
fabric of the sky. The storm had broken; behind her, the 
moon bled silver light. 


"Ulnth." The name was hardly a sound. 


Sodden hair tangled at her hips. She bad shed the 
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indigo cloak. The gown she wore was deepest black, so 
that except for face and hands she was a part of the 
darkness itself. 


I saw her reach out a hand. I saw the silver flash of her 
painted nails. But mostly I saw her beguiling smile, prom-
ising life, survival, continuance. 


"Your choice," she said. "I will not make it for you." 


I drew in a trembling breath. "And the price of Duini 
aid?" 


"Whatever your life is worth." 


I tried to swallow and found the task too painful. "My 
brother," I croaked, "and his fir." 


Ullith smiled. And then she laughed. "I am sorry," 
she said at last. "His choice is already made." 


I spat. And then I cursed her. 


The pale band rose. I saw a line of purple flame come 
hissing from out of the darkness to dance in the palm of 
her hand. In its lurid light her face was thrown into 
relief, hollowed: a fragile mask of death. 


She carried the flame to her mouth, pursed her lips 
and blew. In the explosion of smoke and fire, Lillith 
disappeared. 


Alone, alone, I cursed the woman. And then I threw 
back my head. "If you want me, if you want methen, 
by the gods, you must take met" 


For a moment a hushed silence descended upon the 
ship. A quiver of fear and awe ran through my body. 


The spar Lillith had clung to broke. Falling, it tangled 
me in its rigging. The weight of it crushed my chest. 


I tumbled helplessly into the sea. 
82 


Eight 


I roused to the taste of salt in my mouth, my teeth, in the 
crusted cuts on my tips. It burned. I sought to spit it out, 
but my mouth would not form the proper shape. 


My flesh also burned and itched. The cloying touch of 
salt was in every crease of my skin, in every crease of the 
rags that remained of my clothing. One hand twitched. I 
pushed it weakly to and fro, relieving an itch by scraping 
the back of my hand against damp, rounded rock- Once 
done, my hand fell limply into water. 


Water. 


Realization awoke knowledge within my sluggish mind. 
Water. AH around. It dampened my clothing and pud-
dled beneath my cheek. 


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Asking nothing else of my battered body, I tried to 
open my eyes and found only one answered my bidding. 


Sand and pebbles grated beneath my face. I tongued 
my lips and tasted salt, the ever-present salt, and felt the 
swollen dryness of split flesh and crusted sores. 


Move, arm. The arm moved. It lifted and carried wet 
fingers to my face. The fingers awkwardly brushed away 
sand from my good eye and peeled back crusted salt. 


Dimly, I saw tumbled rocks and rounded boulders. 
And the sea. Waves lapped gently at the stone nearest 
me, and I realized the tide was coming in. 


/ must move. 


The pain was exquisite. Never had I felt such before, 
not even when the barber had jerked out a rotten tooth; 


the intensity astonished me. My hand, searching gently, 
felt damp cloth on my chest and shredded flesh beneath. 
My linen shirt was badly torn. The bones within bruised 
flesh ached with a fitful ferocity. 
83 


I twitched all over, once. The involuntary movement 
awoke dull fire within every limb and brought full consciousness 
rushing in. I remembered it all. 


fan 


I sat up carefully, hugging my sore chest with one arm. 
The other I braced against the sand, holding myself upright. 
Dazedly I stared out to sea and saw the ship was 
gone. 


Rujho7 


The crying of a seabird pierced the dullness in my ears 
and drew my burning eyes. Clusters of fellow gulls swooped 
and circled in the air, crying shrilly. I saw I was not on 
land at all, but a craggy fingerbone of stone. Sand clogged 
some pockets, water pooled in others. My salvation was 
but thirty paces from the shore; still, I felt too weak to 
make the attempt. 


fan. 


Waves lapped at my feet. One boot was missing, sucked 
off by the sea-dragon's spite. I shuddered. The sea was 
my enemy, as it had been my brother's. 


Oh gods, you have taken my brother from me 


But I was too dry for tears. 


I felt at my waist and discovered my belt was whole, as 
was the silver-laced sheath; the knife itself was gone. But 
the ruby signet ring on my right hand glowed brilliantly 
in the sunlight, and I realized I had managed to keep my 
deliverance. For the worth of this ring, surely someone 


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would give me aid. 


I pressed myself to knees, then feet, and wavered 
alarmingly. My bones were brittle, hollow things; I feared 
they might shatter at any moment. My right eye ached 
and burned. The pain in my chest made me hunch, to 
relieve the strain on my ribs. 


The tide is coming in. If you do not move, the sea will 
finish what the Ihlini witch began, 


Slowly, with infinite care, I waded across the shallow 
inlet to the shore. By the time I reached it, the sea had 
swallowed my rocky perch. And so I stared inland, know-
ing my safety lay there, and wondered if I had come, 
however tragically, to Atvia at last. 


Maps. 


I thought back on the maps I had seen in my father's 
council chambers. I recalled the rugged coast of western 
84 


Solinde, and even the channel separating Erinn and Atvia. 
But no matter how hard I thought back, I could not 
recall if Rondule lay north or south, east or west. For 
that matter, I could not begin to say where I was in 
relation to the city. 


Ion would say I deserve it, for shirking my geography. 
Oh, Ion, I would give anything to have you present. Your 
reprimand would be welcome. 


I heard hoofbeats before I saw the riders. I turned 
immediately south toward the sound. Mounted men 
pounded toward me, garbed in plain, badgeless clothing 
that clearly was not household livery. The men wore caps 
on their heads. Baldrics dyed bright green slashed diago-
nally across their chests. 


Perhaps some manner of household badge after all. 


\ waited, holding myself stiffly upright, and tried to 
think of what to say. 


Twelve men. They surrounded me almost immediately 
at lancepoint. Somewhat startled by the receptionI was 
a single bedraggled manI stared first at the gleaming 
points, then looked at the men who bore them. 


Strong men all; I saw it at once. With all of Carillon's 
youthful height and bulk, I am hardly what one might 
regard as small. But, even horseback, I judged very few 
of the men would have to look up at me when they 
dismounted. They were bearded, toughened soldiers, fully 
experienced in what I believed had to be the Erinnish/ 
Atvian war; I knew, looking at them, even clean, fed and 
whole, I would offer them little threat. 


I summoned what dignity I could. "Is this Atvia?" The 
croak I emitted was hardly human; a second try pro-
duced a hoarse but recognizable question. 


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Eleven men remained perfectly still atop wary horses; 


the twelfth rode slowly forward until the tip of his lance 
rested against my vulnerable, sunburned throat. He wore 
an age-polished leather cap fastened with a strap beneath 
his jaw, which was forested by heavy blond beard. His 
green eyes were shrewd. His expression was unrelenting. 


"Atvia," he said softly. " Tis Atvia you're wanting? 


Swallowing was painful. What I needed was water, but 
would not ask for it from him. "My ship was bound for 
Atvia. It went down in the storm. I do not know where I 


am. 


A humorless smile carved deep creases at the corners 
of his eyes. "Not Atvia, lad. Tis Erinn, held by Shea 
himself, and Lord of the Idrian Isles. Erinn, lad, not 
Atvia. Atvia's enemy." 


"You have a truce," I blurted, startled. 


The green eyes narrowed consideringly. "What would 
you be knowing of a truce between your betters?" 


"Betters," I muttered. I ached. I did not need this 
interrogation. "Take me to your lord, if you will. What I 
have to say will be for him." 


The lance dug a hole in my neck, but did not cut me, 
quite. "What would you be saying to Lord Shea, ye 
bedraggled pup?" 


I wanted to laugh, but could find neither strength nor 
voice. So I tried to strip the signet from my finger, to 
prove my right to a royal audience, but discovered my 
Joints too swollen for the effort. Finally I extended my 
arm toward the man. "If you will look at the stone, you 
will see a rampant lion. I am Niall of Homana." 


"Niall of Homana," the Erinnish man mocked. "What 
would Homana be wanting with Erinn?" 


I wavered. "Nothing in particular, except aid for a 
bedraggled pup of a prince." I tried to smile disarmingly. 
"I did not intend to come here. It was the storm." 


"Aye, the storm," the other interrupted. " Twas a 
fierce one, was it not?" He grinned, showing strong white 
teeth. "We are accustomed to a bit of weather, now and 
then, here in Erinn. How is it with you in Homana?" 


I glared up at him, too weary to care about impres-
sions. "In Homana I am treated better, being heir to the 
Mujhar." 


The man exchanged grins with his fellow riders. "Heir, 
are ye, to the Mujhar? Is it Donal ye mean? And ye say 
you are his son?" 


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"Aye." The word was all I could manage. 


"Legitimate, too, or is that too much to expect?" 


"Ku'reshtin," I swore feebly, "I said I was his heir" 
There was more I wanted to say and could not, being 
overtaken by a painful racking cough. I bent over at 
once; some of the sea I had swallowed came up to scour 
my teeth and throat. 


I saw the sun glint off the lance tip as the man at last 
lowered the weapon. "Have ye had a hard time of it, 
86 


puppy?" he inquired in mock solicitude. "Well, I'U be 
seeing to it you are treated befitting your rank" as he 
paused I glanced up and saw his green eyes narrow 
11once the rank is proven." 
"Ku'reshtm," I muttered again. "Look at the ring, you 


fool." 


The soldier frowned down at me. "What is that? That 
word? What name did you call me by?" 


I summoned an ironic smile. "JCy'resArin? It is Cheysuli, 
of course. The House of Homana is Cheysulior did you 


^ not realize that?" 
'", I had expected further questions, or at least a mocking 
^ comment. Instead the soldier turned and gave a quiet 
^ order to one of his companions. In weary surprise, I 
4 watched as the man dismounted and brought his horse to 
$ me. The reins were hey out in invitation. 
I.' "Take the horse," the leader said. "I'll be escorting 


you to Kilore." 
"Kilore." I frowned. "Shea's castle?" 
" Tis my father's home." 


Reaching for the reins, I froze. I looked sharply up at 
the blond-bearded man. 


"Aye," he said, when I did not bother to ask it. "Had 
ye not heard Shea has himself a son, even in Homana? 
Tis not that far away!" He grinned. "I am Liam. Prince 
of Erinn. Shea himselfs own heir." 
"No." I said it distinctly. 


He laughed. "Oh, I admit I'm not looking much like a 
prince at the moment. Still, I am; underneath this soldier's 
garb is princely flesh, I swear. But 'tis enough to 
fool the Atvians, when they try to land their boats." He 
jerked his head toward the horse. "There is your mount, 
puppy; let us be going home." 


Sluggish resentment rose. "Puppy," I muttered wearily. 
"When I am no longer so sore, I will knock that 
word from your mouth." 


Liam of Erinn laughed and shoved the leather cap 
from his head. Blond curls fell around his face and I saw 
the years fall with it. Capped, bearded, with his weathered, 
wind-chafed cheeks, I would have said the man 


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claimed at least forty years. But now he shed them eas-
ily; he was no more than ten years my senior. 
I wavered, and Liam's laughter died. "The sea has 


treated you poorly, lad, and I no better, have I? Mount 
your horse, Homana's heir, and I will see to it you're 
given the honor a prince deserves." 


I turned to the horse in silence and clutched at pommel 
and cantle, hoisting myself from the ground. But if the 
Erinnish prince had not reached out and caught my arm, 
I would have fallen again. 


Drooping in the saddle, I hunched forward over the 
pommel. "lan," I mumbled, "where are you?" 


"Here, lad," Uam told me, thinking I said his name. 


"No" I meant to explain, of course, but the light 
spilled out of the day. 


Ropes fell away from wrists. Belatedly, I realized my 
face was buried in a horse's braided mane. I spat out the 
acrid taste of horsehair and pushed myself upright care-
fully, wishing I could neglect to breathe until my ribs had 
healed. 


Liam stood by the horse, ropes dangling from his hands. 
"I tied you on because I thought you might fall off." 


Undoubtedly I would have. I blinked, squinting, and 
peered around the cobbled bailey of a castle. The eleven 
soldiersa prince's guard, I realizedarrayed themselves 
around me. "Kilore?" I croaked. 


"Kilore. The Aerie of Erinn, my lord." Liam grinned 
and swung his cap by its leather strap. "Before you ask; I 
looked at that gaudy ring. I know the rampant lion, 
puppy, as well as I know my dogs." He rumpled brassy, 
tumbled curls. "Are you really Cheysuli, then? You lack 
the yellow eyes." 


A chill washed over me. Even here they know the 
difference. "I am Cheysuli," I muttered, "but I look like 
Carillon." 


Liam's heavy brows rushed upward to hide under hair 
that needed cutting. "Carillon, is it? I have heard of him. 
Was he not one of your heroes?" 


"A man," I said crossly, having no desire to debate my 
grandsire's merits in Erinn any more than in Homana. 
"No more than that; a man." 


Liam eyed me without expression. "A man who hacks 
away at legends builds little of his own. 


"I have no wish to build a legend," I said in weary 
disgust. "All I want is a fir." I shut my mouth almost 


immediately; was Liam a sorcerer to bewitch such admis-
sions from me? 


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"A /y?" he asked; no sorcerer, then, or surely he 
would know. "A charm, is it? A spell?" 


"Animal," I answered. "A gift from the gods them-
selves. Without them we cannot shapechange." 


Liam's escort muttered among themselves. Liam him-
self stared intently up at me. "And you are missing a 
fir." 


"I am." 


"So you lack all Cheysuli magic." 


"I do." I said it between my teeth. 


Grimly, he shook his head. "Not a wise admission, 
lad. Some men might be wishing to use you for their 
gain. Twould be better you made them think you have 
the magic." 


" Twould be better you let him get off that horse," 
said a resonant, growling voice, "before he falls on his 
head." 


I looked toward the castle and saw a tall, big-shouldered 
man in fine woolen dress descending the steps of the 
cavernous entrance. He was considerably older than Uam, 
but his manner and movements were those of a younger 
man. His blond hair and beard had silvered heavily, but 
still showed signs of the richness of youth. Green eyes 
were bright beneath an overgrown hedge of brows. 


"Shea," I mumbled, "at last." 


"Have him down," the old man said. "Unless he be 
Atvian, he is due some words to me." 


"Homanan," Liam told him, moving forward to help 
me down. The dismounting was painful. I shut my mouth 
on a curse. "He says his ship went down in the storm." 


"Accursed Ihlini storm," Shea growled. "Alaric's witch, 
again." He looked more intently at me. "Homanan, are 
ye? What word have you for me?" 


"Nothing prepared, my lord. I was not originally com-
ing here." I managed a weary smile. "Still, I have no 
doubts my father would wish you well." 


Shea glared. "Why would your father wish me well, 
and who is he to wish it?" 


"Donal," Liam told him. "Donal the Mujhar." 


Shea's heavy brows jerked upward. Strip from him, 
forty years, and he could be his son. "Truth?" 


"Truth." Liam pointed at my ring. "The lion, my lord. 
The one in my grandmother's tapestry." 


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"Bring him in!" Shea bellowed. "See he is given food 
and drink!" 


Fatuously, I smiled. Uam merely grinned. "The royal 
welcome, puppy. Shea himself has spoken!" 


Food: rare beef, hot bread, sweet cheese. Drink: a 
powerful smoky liquor, as much as I could swallow. I ate 
as much as I could keep down on my brutalized belly, 
and drank too much of the liquor. 


Shea sat in an iron-bound chair in the center of the 
hall. Liam paced silently, head bent as he turned the cap 
over and over in his callused hands. I watched him closely, 
wonderinguneasilywhy the Prince of Erinn was not 
at home in his father's hall. 


"Are you done?" Shea growled. "Have you slain the 
hunger and slaked your thirst?" 


His speech, at times, was almost archaic. In my mud-
dled mind, I had trouble deciphering the dialect. "For 
the moment," I answered at last- "My lord" 


"A shipwreck, you say. That I believe; what could 
survive that accursed witch's meddling?" He swore in a 
language I did not know. "If you were not coming here, 
where were you going, lad?" 


"I was on my way to Atvia." I glanced sidelong at 
Liam. 


Shea frowned, fingering the hilt of the massive knife at 
his belt. "What business have you with my enemy?" 


Again, I said, "I thought there was a truce." 


Briefly, Liam paused in his pacing. He looked intently 
at his father. 


Shea buried bearded chin in the heel of his hand as he 
leaned upon one arm. He watched me silently, green 
eyes mostly hidden in lowered brows. I waited uneasily 
for his answer. 


"Why were you Atvia-bound?" the Lord of Erinn in-
quired, and I realized that was my answer. 


"I am to wed Alaric's daughter." 


Shea's eyebrows shot up again. "The Cheysuli lass?" 


Guardedly, I watched him. "She is my cousin, my 
lord. Her mother was my aunt." 


Shea shifted in his chair. "I saw Bronwyn, once, be-

fore she died. The lass, I am told, resembles her mother, 
not her father. Yet you resemble neither." 


Uam was pacing again. "No," I agreed. 'The heritage 
is mixed. If Gisella resembles her mother, she shows her 


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Cheysuli Mood. Ido not." 


"Why do you wed the lass?" 


The liquor was making me sleepy on top of all the 
food. "Alliance," I said succinctly, because it was all I 
could manage. 


Uam strode between his father and me and faced me 
directly. "Alaric of Atvia calls my father usurper and 
outlaw. He claims the title Lord of the Isles for himself, 
when he has no right to it at all. Why is Homana desiring 
an alliance with the jackal of Atvia?" 


After a moment, I nodded. "There is no truce, I see." 


"Alaric believes there is." Shea displayed yellowed 
teeth. "Betimes a lie or two will help to win a war." 


I stared at Shea a long moment. Then I looked at 
Uam. Neither man was a fool. Neither man was a friend. 


My fingers and toes were numb. I nibbed distractedly 
at salt residue in my hair. Weariness made me dangerously 
frank. "Truce or no, it does not matter. It makes 
no difference to Homana who claims this island title. We 
have our own concerns." 


Shea sat upright in his chair.-"A petty feud between 
petty kingdoms. Is that what you are saying?" 


"No." It was all I could do to mouth it. 


"Then what are ye saying, pup?" 


Liam gets it from his father. I licked my lips and tasted 
the smoky liquor. "My father defeated Alaric in battle 
nearly twenty years ago. Since then, Alaric has paid 
Homana tribute twice a year. Atvia is our vassat." I 
struggled to speak sensibly. "My lord, outside of accepting 
tribute, we hardly know what Atvia does. Your battles 
are your own." 


"I have seen the tribute ships," Shea mused. "Twice 
yearly, as you say." His eyes glittered shrewdly. "As 
vassal to Homana, Alaric has the right to request Homanan 
aid." 


"He would never get it." I tried to sit upright in my 
chair. "My lordmy father loathes the man. It was Alaric's 
brother, Osric, who slew Carillonmy grandsireand 
made my father Mujhar." 


"He was not wanting the title?" 


"Not at the cost of Carillon's life." 


Shea nodded benignly. "Then why does he wed his son 
to Alaric's daughter?" 


My good eye insisted on closing. My wits were failing 
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too quickly. "My lord?" 


'"Why does Donal wed Niall to Gisella ofAtvia?" 


The deceptively gentle tone woke me as nothing else 
had done. I looked at Shea more clearly. "For the alli-
ance," I said. "We need no trouble with Atvia. We have 
enough with Solinde and Strahan." 


"Bilini," Uam said. "Kin to Alaric's witch." 


Shea rubbed his beard. "Alaric desires this marriage?" 


"I think he does, my lord. I am proxy-wed to" I 
stopped. I could not bear to say her name: my brother's 
murderer. 


"Alaric desires the marriage." Shea nodded. "Good." 


I drew in an unsteady breath and tried to clear my 
head. "What will you do with me, my lord? Will you 
send me to Atvia?" 


Erinn's gruff lord rose and walked to me. He stopped. 
Smiled down oo me warmly, kindly; in infinite empathy. 
"You are weary, lad, and injured. You are requiring 
rest. I will ask my son to help you to your room." 


Shea wavered before my eyes. "You have not an-
swered my question." I waited. "My lord," I appended 
faintly. 


Shea and Uam shared contented smiles. But it was the 
older man who spoke. "If Alaric's wanting this wedding 
so badly, then, he will pay for it, will he not?" 


"Pay for it?" I asked dully. 


"Aye," Shea said in satisfaction. "One way or the 
other, I'll be getting the concessions I want from him. In 
exchange for his daughter's betrothed." 


The weariness washed out of me on a wave of com-
prehension. "And if he is unwilling to grant those 
concessions9" 


Shea gestured eloquently. "You are heir to the throne 
of Homana, lad. We'll be treating you accordingly. You 
need not fear for your life." He smiled. "You will be 
honored as our guest ... for as long as Alaric insists." 


Nine 


The Aerie of Erinn, Kilore is called. Apropos, I thought. 
Surely Shea raises eagles in place of sons and daughters. 


Kilore perched atop a chalk-white, rocky headland at 
one nubby comer of Erinn, It afforded any long-sighted 
man a glimpse of Atvia, to the north across the channel 
the Erinnish call the Dragon's Tail, It was only a shad-
owed view, distorted by sea spray and distance; distorted 


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also by tears of grief and the bitterness of frustration. 


I stood on the windy battlements and glared out at 
the choppy channel, cursing the dragon whose capriciousness 
had stolen away my brother. An Erinnish wind 
blew in my ears, singing a lament I knew too well. Each 
night it kept me awake. Each night it made me dream; 


dream of my brother. 


Grief dulls the pain of physical wounds and ailments. 
My ribs knitted, my eye opened, the scrapes and bruises 
healed. I was whole again because of Erinnish care, but I 
found I regretted it. It gave me time to think of lan 
again. 


"Longing for your Atvian bride?" 


I turned. The wind dried the remains of my tears. I 
saw Liam had exchanged plain soldier's garb for finer 
garments of blue-dyed wool, fastened with hammered 
gold platelets. His shining curls were brushed smooth, 
but the wind already whipped them into brassy disarray. 


"No," I said flatly. "It is difficult to long for a woman 
when you have never seen her." 


Like me, Uam pressed his belly against the wall and 
hooked elbows over the top of the crenel, boundaried on 
either side by taller merlons. "A striking girl, she is. I 
saw her once, when she sailed the Dragon's Tail to get a 
93 


better look at Shea's unruly children." He grinned. "Atvia 
is so close, she might as well have shouted." 


I did not wish to talk with him, no more than I ever 
did. But Liam was blind to my sullen silences ... or else 
he did what he did to ease them. "You want her for 
yourself." It was something to say; I said it. 


Liam laughed long and loud. "Easy explanation, is it? 
Another thing to resent me for? Hah' I am already 
married, lad; I am wanting nothing of that girl. You may 
have her." He looked at me closely out of speculative 
green eyes. "But you should not be placing such trust in 
alliances made in the wedding bed, my lad. They do not 
always hold." 


"What would you know of that?" 


Liam nodded a little, staring out at the distant island. 
"More than you might be thinking. My mother was 
Atvian." 


That snapped my head around. "Your mother?7' 


Liam picked at mortar with a blunt finger. The nail 
was already blackened; this would peel it back. "Aye, 
Atvian she was. Shea married her to settle this accursed 
feud between the realms. For a while, it did. Then I was 
bom, and Shea desired a title for his son. So he took 
back his daim as Lord of the Idrian Isles." He glanced at 


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me levelly- "Alaric is my uncle." 


In disgust, I looked away. "My marriage will make us 
kinsmen, you and I." 


"//you wed the girl." 


"And what would keep me from it?" 1 turned to face 
him squarely. "Do you intend to do it?" 


Liam smiled. Then he laughed. "The puppy growls. 
Then be growling as loudly as you wish; I know better 
than to judge a dog by the sound of his voice." 


Inwardly, I swore. Outwardly, I showed him an ex-
pressionless face. "I am proxy-wed to Gisella. The mar-
riage will be made." 


"Proxy-wed to that witch." Liam swore, spat over the 
wall and made the ward-sign against Ihlini evil. "But at 
least you did not bed with her, or surely your loins would 
be cursed." 


I grunted. "If I had bedded her, that marriage would 
be real." 


Liam went back to picking at the mortar. "Lad, you 
94 


must see it. Alaric is unlikely to succumb to Shea's latest 
raft of demands. He never has before; they are two old 
hounds baring rotten teeth over a bitch who does not 
care." Sunlight gilded beard and curls. "No insult to ye, 
lad, but he can get a man for his daughter anywhere. 
Homana is hardly the only kingdom in the world, nor 
you the only prince." 


I reached impotently for the knife that did not rest in 
my sheath. Not to harm Liam, whom I judged the better 
fighter, but out of an almost insane wish to cut at someone, 
just to ease the bitter frustration. "Alaric sends no word?" 


"None yet, save for that first one of calculated out-
rage." Uam's grin was crooked. "Methinks the value of 
his daughter's prince declines." 


My teeth clicked closed. I forced the sentence through 
them. "Then let me send word to my father, and you will 
see what value I have." 


Liam, laughing, lolled against the wall. "I am having 
no doubts Donal values his heir. But 'twould bring the 
entire Homanan army down upon our heads, when 'tis 
only a dogfight between Erinn and Atvia." 


With great effort, I kept myself from kicking the wall 
with my boot toe. "How do you know Alaric has not sent 
word to my father? He would like nothing better than to 
have Donal of Homana needing something from him." 


"Because I know Alaric's pride,'* Liam answered. "I 
have a measure of my own, lad; are you forgetting?" He 
rubbed distractedly at a sea-filmed clasp. "Alaric will 


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wait. Alaric will play out the game. For now, Homana is 
not involved. There is no need for it." 


"How is there no need?" I cried. "My father does not 
even know his other son is dead!" 


Liam released the clasp at once and looked at me in 
shock. "You had a brother on that ship?" 


"Had," I echoed numbly. Gods, why did it have to 
be fan? "Aye. He went down, like all the others, swallowed 
by the dragon." 


The levity was scrubbed clean from Liam's face. "You 
are certain he died?" 


I shrugged listlessly and turned away; turned to stare 
out at the white-capped Dragon's Tail. "How could he 
survive?" 


"You survived, lad. Tis possible he washed ashore as 
you did." 


"Dead," I said. "Without Tasha. . . ." 


Uam pushed hair from his eyes. " Tis hard on a man 
to lose a woman, but it does not always kill him, Niall. 
There is still a chance" He broke off as I stared at him 
incredulously. "Why are ye gaping at me, lad? Tis not 
foolishness I spout, but truth'" 


Slowly I shook my head. "Tasha was not his wife, 
Uam, nor even his light woman. Tasha was his Ur. Without 
her, he is a dead man." 


"How can you be so certain of that? Was he a sickung, 
then? A weakling?" The wind tugged at beard and hair. 
"Looking at you, Niall, I think he must be a tougher man 
than you think." 


"It has nothing to do with toughness." And everything 
to do with it. I reached out and caught his wrist, baring 
the sinewy underside to the sky. "If I took a knife and 
cut deeply enough to spill all your blood onto the stone, 
would you die?" 


"Are ye daft, lad? Of course the bleeding would kill 
me!" 


"Because you require the blood to live." I let go of his 
wrist. "Think of a Ur as that blood. Without Tasha, lan 
dies." 


Uam stared down at his wrist. Heavy blond brows 
knotted; he resembled his father more than usual. But 
when he looked at me, I saw compassion in his eyes. 
" Tis that, then? The price? The cost of being Cheysuli?" 


I met his gaze squarely. "For every warriorexcept, 
of course, myself." 


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Green eyes narrowed as he studied me. "Would ye be 
wanting it, then? This cost? If ye knew the animal, taken 
from ye, would result in your death though you be 
healthywould ye still be wanting it?" 


"Aye," I said. "If a god came to me and offered a lir 
in exchange for an eye, I would give him both of them." 


"I am sorry," he said abruptly. "Prince or no, you are 
an honorable manand due better treatment than this." 


Hope rose. "Then you will let me send word to my 
father?'* 


"No." 


I reached for his throat; closed my fists on air and 
96 


shook them in his face. "Gods, Erinnish, do you do this 
to torture me? You are worse than the Ihlini!" 


" Twould not serve my father," Liam declared, but I 
saw the glint of anger in his eyes. 


"Your father!" I spat. "That old fool? You yourself 
call him an old hound with rotten teeth." 


Uam caught my left arm in an iron grasp and shut off 
all the bloodflow. "In my place, would you be allowing 
me to send to mine? Would you risk bringing an army of 
shapeehangers into your land? I think not, puppyI 
think not at all!" Liam shook me. It was a measure of his 
strength. It was a measure of his anger. "Shea cannot be 
sending to Donal, or he leaves us open to the arts you 
shapeehangers claim!" 


"Gods, I wish I had them!" I shouted back. "I would 
break you like a rotten piece of bone!" 


A quiet voice intruded. But it was not Shea's familiar 
growl. "Sometimes I'm wishing someone would break 
my brother. His arrogance knows no bounds." 


Liam thrust me against the wall as he released my arm. 
I winced as spine met stone, but stood upright almost 
immediately. I tried to ignore the numbness in my arm. 


Liam laughed aloud as he turned back to me and 
slumped against the wall, all his anger banished. "She is 
back, lad. We'll be knowing no,peace at all." The laugh-
ter died away. "She is Deirdre of Erinn, Niall. My sister/' 


She was a feminine version of Liam, but lacking all the 
rough edges. Like him she was tall, but in her his bulk 
was slendemess. The hair was the same brilliant, brassy 
gold; unbound, the wind blew it away from her face. She 
wore green to match her eyes and no jewelry at all. She 
did not require it. 


"Deirdre comes and goes as she pleases," Liam said 
casually. "Shea gives her inordinate freedom." 


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"For a woman?" she demanded. "He gives as much to 
you; more, being a man." Her features were more mas-
culine than feminine, bearing the father's prominent stamp, 
but it did not lessen her striking looks. It merely gave 
them a different quality. "Why should I remain in this 
drafty pile of bricks and mortar when there is a world to 
see?" 


"The world being Erinn," Liam retorted. "Give it up, 
lass; while the war lasts, you'll not be leaving the island." 


*This war will last forever." She pulled hair away from 
her eyes and clasped it, forming a single thick plume. 
Her nose bore two golden freckles. Her cheekbones were 
sharply angledas much as Liam's, I thought, but his 
were mostly hidden in his beardand the wind whipped 
color into her cream-fair Erinnish skin. She smiled a 
warm, conspiratorial smile, as if we were boon compan-
ions embarked on a reckless childhood scheme. "Can 
you really break Liam for me?" she asked. "Uke a piece 
of rotten bone?" 


"Given the opportunity." And yet I knew I could not. 


Defined brows rose consideringly- "Then I shall be 
seeing you get it." She glanced at Liam. "This is the 
hostage prince?" 


Liam winced. "Guest, Deudre . . . Niall is our guest." 


She shrugged. "Hostage, guest, captive. . . ." Deirdre 
looked at me. "You are Niall of Homana. My father told 
me you were here." 


"Against my wishes, aye." 


She folded her amis beneath her breasts, tucking hair 
out of the wind's insistent fingers. "He did not tell me 
why. Will you?" 


Liam reached out a booted foot and gently tapped the 
toe of her slipper. "If he was not telling you, lass, there 
is a reason for it." 


"I am a woman. Shea forgets I am his daughter with as 
many wits as you." Her teasing smile was fleet and 
fading; she reserved most of it for me. "Why are you 
here, Niall of Homana?" 


I wanted to answer sharply, bitterly; to strike out at 
another of Shea's proud eagles. But I did not. This one 
was not deserving of it. 


"I was shipwrecked. Shea keeps me because of my 
value to his enemy.'* 


Her brows quirked. "To Alaric? What value would 
you be having? 


In her the lilting cadence was softer, more attractive, 
though I did not doubt women longed to hear Liam's as 
well. "I am to wed his daughter." 


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"Ah," she said softly, as if in discovery. And then she 
laughed aloud, turning into the wall to stare out at Atvia. 
"So, my kinswoman will precede me into the marriage 
bed after all." 


"Were you expecting otherwise?" Liam asked in af-
fected irritation. "You send all the suitors away." 


"Are you formally betrothed?" Deirdre asked me, 
plainly ignoring her brother. 


"I am proxy-wed." 


She nodded thoughtfully. "I was betrothed, once. When 
I was very young." 


Liam growled deep in his throat. "You should have let 
me kill him, lass, for breaking the betrothal." 


"I wanted him to break it. His heart was lost to an-
other." She shrugged. "He went home to Ellas perfectly 
happy to leave me far behind." 


"EllasF I looked at her sharply. "He was EIlasian?" 


"Evan," she said. "Brother to High King Lachlan. He 
came here because his brother sent him, hoping to make 
an alliance. But there was another woman for Evan. He 
wanted none of me." 


"Evan wed a kinswoman of mine!" I told her. "Meghan. 
Daughter to Finn, my father's uncle." 


Deirdre watched me over an angled shoulder. She 
frowned a little, then shrugged. "I'm not knowing the 
names. Someday you will have to tell me a little of 
Homanan history." 


I laughed. "Lady, there will be no 'someday' if I have 
any say. I intend to go to Atvia." 


Deirdre smiled sympathetically. "A futile intention, 
I'm thinking. Shea will never allow it." 


"There is an alternative." Liam turned to face me 
squarely with the wall at his back. "Make a new alliance, 
lad. One with Erinn instead." 


I sighed. "I am proxy-wed, Liam. In Homanan law, it 
is the same as being truly married . . . and we do not end 
proper marriages. If I did not wed Gisella now, having 
already been proxy-wed to her representative, it would 
be justification for Alaric to cry war and sail to Homana 
with every soldier he can muster." I shook my head. "I 
am not a fool, Erinnish." 


Besides, there is the prophecy . . . if I were not to wed 
Gisella, what would become of my tahlmorra? Would I 
forego the afterworld? 


Liam squinted in consideration and scratched at his 
brassy beard. "Neither is Alaric. He would be thinking 


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more than once about sailing to Homana while Erinn sits 
99 


on his flank." Nodding a little, he smiled. "If he goes to 
Homana, lad, it will be with no more than half his army. 
The rest he would leave behind. Because if he were 
foolish enough to take everyone, Atvia would be mine." 


I shook my head. "Half a warhost or not, there is no 
reason to plunge Homana back into war- Even with 
victory guaranteed." 


Liam shrugged. "An idea, lad, and worth the trouble 
to think it. I only meant there are other princesses in the 
world besides Gisella of Atvia." 


As he meant me to, I looked immediately at Deirdre. 
Her back was to me. But she spun around to face us 
both. "1 am not a piece in one of your foolish games!" 
she cried. "D'ye think I never wed because I waited for 
him?" 


"Deirdre, I'm wanting less noise from you." He smiled 
winningly. " Twas only an idea." 


"Put it back in the acorn you call your head," she told 
him crossly. "Leave my marriage to me." 


"Then you'll never be wed at all." 


"Perhaps 'tis what I prefer." She smiled, curtsied, 
gathered up her skirts. "I'll be leaving you now, my lord, 
if you'll be having no objection." 


He sighed. "Go, Deirdre. Take your babble to our 
father." She went, green skirts swinging, and Liam shook 
his head. "Wild, too wild, my father's lass- But our 
mother died ten years ago, when Deirdre was only eight. 
Shea took a second wifeand a good woman, she is, but 
too timid in the ways of raising children. Even I can 
make no headway, no matter how hard I try." 


I thought of Isolde, wild in her own way. lan knew 
had knownher better than I, being full-bom brother 
instead of half, yet even he had muttered about her 
recklessness. But 'Solde, I knew, was harmless. I thought 
Deirdre was as well. 


"She is not beautiful," Liam said bluntly, "but she has 
a way about her. Your visit will be more comfortable 
now that Deirdre is home." 


"Why?" My tone was equally blunt. "Will she be 
sharing my bed?" 


Fast, so fast, he caught me by both arms and lifted me 
off my feet, pressing me up and over the crenel. Parting 
100 


the veil of beard and mustache were taut Ups and gritted 
teeth. -

"Say it again," he invited softly, "and I promise you 
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the rocks below will be your bed." 


I did not have to look. I did not have to speak I 
merely nodded to him. 


Uam let me go. I slumped back against the crenel, 
clutching one of the merlons next to it. "You chafe " he 
said. "I know. It would drive me mad as well. But do not 
make my sister the target of your anger." 


Slowly, I rearranged my clothing. I could think of 
nothing to say. 


Liam shook his head. "Do as you wish. "If you choose 
to make an enemy of my sister, you make one of my 
father. As for myself, I care little for what becomes of 
Donal's yapping puppy." 


He left me alone on Kilore's windy battlements. As he 
went. I was aware of genuine regret. 


On his part as well as my own. 


Ten 


Liam's anger did not last. He was too fair a man, too 
content with life to allow darkness to possess his soul for 
long. His empathy for my plight surprised me with its 
depth; be seemed to understand what I felt better than I 
did myself. And so we made our peace without passing a 
word between us, and life became infinitely easier. 


As the days passed, the shackles were loosened a bit. I 
was given a horse out of the royal Eriimish stables, a pale 
gray gelding, and told I might ride whenever I chose. I 
chose to often, galloping across the endless heights and 
headlands. Liam assigned a six-man contingent to ride 
with me when he himself could not, and so I learned 
what it was to be a hostage to hospitality; on my honor as 
a princewith no complaints to voice concerning my 
treatmentI could not attempt escape. 


Often I sought refuge in solitude on the windy head-
lands overlooking the Dragon's Tail. This morning I 
watched what I always watched: fisherfolk, Atvian and 
Erinnisb alike, sailing out with the tide into the Idrian to 
work the waters until the tide brought them back again. 


The morning mist had lifted, but the brassy sun could 
not quite dispel the chill of approaching fall. I pulled my 
fur-lined cloak more tightly about my shoulders and halted 
my horse, staring bleakly at the beaches below. 


Nearly fall. It has been months since 1 sailed from 
Hondarth. Three, they say, from Homana to Atvia. I 
swear it has been twice that, and my father in ignorance. 


The distant jangle of trappings gave away an approach-
ing rider. In irritation I looked up, prepared to order my 
human watchdogs farther away; they knew better than to 
bother me with close surveillance. But the words died in 


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102 


my mouth when I saw Deirdre, crimson cloak whipping 
as she came riding across the headland. A single braid 
slapped her back as she rode, all bent over in the saddle 
to let the dark gray gelding gallop on unhindered. 


She rode straight at me, straight at the end of the 
headland, at the edge of Erinn itself. She was laughing. I 
saw crimson-dyed doeskin boots shoved into iron stirrups 
and the cloak went flapping, flapping as she galloped, 
laughing in joyous exultation. I had known the feeling 
myself, but not since my imprisonment. 


Not since lan's death. 


She bobbed upright in the saddle and set the reins, 
calling something to the gelding. I watched him tuck dark 
haunches and slide, plowing through damp turf so that it 
flew up behind him like muddy rain. But he stopped. At 
the edge of the world; he stopped. 


Deirdre was laughing breathlessly. The wind and the 
ride had pulled tendrils free of the single braid; they 
curled around her flushed face in gilded disarray. Her 
green eyes were alight as she turned the gelding to fall in 
next to my own. The horses nosed one another, grays 
dark and light, blowing, then picked with greedy teeth at 
succulent turf in perfect companionship. Bits and bridles 
clattered a counterpoint to the shrieking of the gulls. 


"So," she said, "you have- discovered the peace in 
turbulence." 


I looked from her to the wind-whipped Dragon's Tail. 
"Are they not enemies to one another?" 


Doeskin gloves matched the crimson boots. She made a 
sweeping gesture. "You see below us the turbulence of 
the^wild sea, and feel the cold breath of the dragon 
whistling through his teeth. Wind and water have a peace 
of their own, and balm for a troubled soul." Her gaze 
was very green, very dear as she looked at me. "And are 
you not seeking that peace?" 


"Why should you seek it?" I countered. "You are not 
a prisoner." 


Beneath the crimson cloak she wore a fine white 
tunicked gown, belted with gold-plated leather. The col-
ors became her as well as the wild wind that stripped hair 
from her braid and whipped it into her face. "Is a woman 
not prisoner first to her father, and later to her husband?" 


I smiled. "If you are a prisoner to your father, it is the 
103 


most unbalanced captivity I have ever witnessed. As for 
a husbandyou have only to tame your tongue, and 
doubtless you would be wed within a six-month." 


Deirdre laughed aloud, unoffended. "But what would 
my father do without me?" Abruptly, her laughter died. 


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"He has wed two daughters into foreign lands and lost a 
third to childbed fever. I am his youngest, his favorite . . . 
of all his girls. He would rather keep me by him if I 
choose to stay." 


"And do you choose to stay?" 


She lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "I 
would like to see the world. But not at the price of taking 
a husband I do not want." 


"Shea would never force you into a political marriage." 


"No," she agreed. "He is a loving man, my father, for 
all his gruff words and ways. He is not a harsh lord, no 
matter what you believe." 


"He keeps me against my will." 


She did not smile. "You could escape. Down there," 
She did not so much as glance down. "You could." 


I could. Here the chalky cliff face was broken, crumbling 
downward toward the sea like a spill of riverbank. 
It was not impossible. 


And yet it was. "I have given your father my parole. 
To break it is to break the honor of my House. That I 
would never do." A gull screamed overhead. "I do have 
some pride, Deirdre." 


"Near as much as Liam," she said softly. "And as 
deadly, too, I think." She stared down at scarlet leather 
as she replaited her gelding's mane. "He said your brother 
went down with the ship." 


"He did." 


She looked straight at me, hiding none of her empathy. 
" Tis sorry I am, Niall. I lost a brother when I was 
very little. To fever, but death is one and the same, 
whatever face he shows." She looked at me a moment 
longer, then twisted her neck to peer fixedly out to sea. 
Gazing westward. "Were you in Homana now, what 
would you be doing?" 


I almost told her it was possible I might be bedding my 
Atvian wife, but I did not say it. Somehow, before Shea's 
gilded, green-eyed daughter, I could not speak of Gisella. 


"I would be in Homana-Mujharmy father's palace 


%" 
, learning statecraft from my father's councillors. The gods 


know I have need of such training." Like Deirdre, I 
stared westward toward Homana. "Or I would be in 
Clankeep . . . wishing myself whole." 


She looked back at me quickly. "Whole? Are you 
missing a part of you, then?" 


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I smiled, but it faded soon enough. "No. Not in flesh 
and bone. I speak of spirit, of soul ... of the thing that 
makes a man worthy of the world. It is a Cheysuli thing." 
I waited for the familiar gnawing pain to rise in my belly; 


when it came, it lacked its normal intensity. Regret, as 
always, was presentthe longing of a man in need of 
security, but the lack was not as painful. "A warrior 
without a lir is not accounted whole," I told her. "Such 
men do not stay with the clan, but seek death among the 
forests as soulless men, .until the death is given to them." 


I fully expected her to recoil in horror, remarking on 
the barbaric beliefs of the savage Cheysuli, but she did 
not. She studied me silently, as if she considered the 
implications of my words. 


"You are here before me, alive," she said at last. 
 "Why are you still alive?" 


I looked away from her. "Because, never having had a 
lir, I did not lose one. I am not expected to perform the 
6 ritual. Butalso because I am two men." Bitterly I de, 
fined them. "Prince and warrior. Homanan and Cheysuli. 
I am not wholly one or the other." 


"And neither accepts you fully." 


"No." The breath of the dragon whistled. I felt the 
touch of his icy teeth


"What are you, Niall?" she asked. "Tell me who you 
are." 


"What I am. ..." I looked up into the skies. "I am a 
vessel the gods would make use of to shape a prophecy." 


" Tis the fate of all men, that. To be part of their own 
prophecy, regardless of origin." 


After a moment I reached out and touched her gloved 
hand. "I see why your father has no desire to lose you. 
Were I Shea, I would never let you go." 


The wind whipped hair into her eyes and made them 
tear. Smiling sadly, she withdrew her hand from mine 
and turned her horse from me. 
105 


I watched her go at a gallop. Then I turned back to 
seek the peace in turbulence. 
And to curse my tahlmorra in silence. 


/ dreamed. In my dream I was a raptor, circling in the 
sky. Below me, in a castle garden, two girls played with a 
doll wearing a gilt brooch-crown. Each was the antithesis 
of the other: blue-black hair/thick gold hair. Young skin 
the color of copper-bronze/young skin the color of cream. 


And as the seams split and spilled dried-bean blood 
onto the ground, I saw Deirdre's tear-streaked face framed 
by bright gold hair. 


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But the other girl's face I did not know. 


A sound awakened me. I could not put a name to it, 
knowing only it had intruded upon my dreams rudely, 
leaving me sitting upright in bed in a somewhat befud-
died state. A glance at the candle with the hours marked 
in it told me I had only barely slept at all; perhaps half an 
hour, a little more. Enough only to lose myself so com-
pletely that it was difficult to recover all my senses. 


There. Again. A voice. Muffled by the wood of my 
heavy door, but clear enough for me to identify. 


Deirdre's. 


The tone was urgent, both pleading and exasperated 
all at once. I heard her call out her brother's name, and 
then I could make no more sense of the words at all. 


I considered trying to go back to sleep. It was none of 
it my business. But my curiosity was roused; I slid out of 
bed, pulled on trews, shirt, boots, and went to open my 
door. 


The hinges creaked. I put my head into the corridor 
and saw the guard standing at one end, as he always did, 
by the spiral stairway, set there to keep an eye on me. At 
the other end, as I turned, stood Deirdre, half in a 
nightrail, half in woolen trews. She had stuffed the ends 
of the nightrail into the waist of the trews, but some of 
the linen still trailed over her rump to the backs of her 
knees. And over the linen trailed her brass-bright hair, 
unbound, unkempt, infinitely provocative. 


"Ye skilfin," she told the closed door directly in front 
of her face. "Why, when I'm needing you, d'ye drink 
yourself insensible?" 


The door was opened. I saw only a portion of the face 
in the crack between door and jamb, but it was definitely 
not Uam's bearded features. 


leme's. Liam's wife. 


"Aye, he's drunk." lerne told Deirdre. "Have mercy 
on his poor head, Deirdre, and hush your shouting." 


"But I need him!" 


"Are we under attack?" lerne asked calmly. "Has 
Alaric come raiding again across the Dragon's Tail?" 


"No, but" 


"Then be letting the poor man sleep, Deirdre. He 
doesn't do it often, now, does he?" 


"No, but" 


Firmly, lerne said: " Tis a wife's prerogative to keep 
her husband in bed, Deirdre. One day, you'll be exercis-

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ing your own." And, as" firmly, leme closed the door in 
Deirdre's face. 


"Skilfin," Deirdre muttered, threatening the door with 
a fist. Then, sighing, she turned away and saw me. Her 
head came up. Her face brightened. "Well, come on, 
then. You'll do." 


'Til do? ril do what?" 


She tossed heavy hair back, strode down the corridor 
in muddy boots and shut her hand upon my wrist. "You'll 
do because I have no better, Liam so lost in drink. 'Tis 
Brenna, you see. Come along." 


She did not wait to let me close my door. "Brenna?" I 
asked as I went with her, wrist still trapped in her hand. 


"Brenna," she said firmly. "She's needing a man's 
help." 


"Aman's?" 


"Aye. I always get Liam to help, but he's lost for the 
night. Brenna doesn't know you, but once I introduce 
you she'll be fine. She doesn't like the others." 


Deirdre led me past the guard and released my wrist as 
she started down the twisting stair. Behind her, I saw 
hair turned to molten gold in the torchlight; a slender 
hand sliding against rough stone as she went down and 
down and down, never hesitating. Gone was the prince's 
sister I had seen on the battlements of Kilore, green-clad 
against the gray of the skies and the gray of the Aerie 
walls. Gone was the elegant princess of Erinn in white 
wool, crimson and hammered gold, atop the chalk cliffs 
107 


on a storm-gray horse. It was a different woman I saw 
now: rumpled, half-dressed, all intent upon a thing. And 
as she turned her head to look over a shoulder at me as 
she reached the bottom of the stair, I found I wanted 
suddenly, irrationallyto kiss her. 
"Do ye know horses?" Deirdre asked. 
With great care I removed myself from her immediate 
presence, taking two steps back up the stairs. "Horses?" 
Horses were the last thing on my mind. 


"Aye. Whywere ye thinking Brenna was a woman?" 
Her mind, clearly, was only half on me; she frowned, 
then laughed. "No, no, a mare. And one about to foal, 
Come on, then, or she'll be done before we get there." 


"Would that be so bad?" I thought surely a mare knew 
best how to bring her young into the world. 


"D'ye know nothing of horses, then?" she asked impatiently. 
"Agh, go back to bed. I'll do it myself." 


Obviously, Brenna was a favorite. Well, I'd had them 
myself. And at the moment, I had no desire to leave. 
"FU come." 


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Deirdre took me out of the castle proper to the stable 
inside the curtain wall. There was almost no moon, so 
that I stumbled over the uneven cobbles like a child just 
learning to walk. Deirdre, knowing the bailey, cast me 
an impatient glance and hastened onward with only a 
single torch in her hand. It smoked and flared in her 
wake. 


A man met us at the stable. He looked at me in mild 
surprise, then turned his full attention to Deirdre. He 
seemed unconcerned by his lord's daughter arriving at 
the stable in the dead of night in nightrail, boots, and 
man's trews. He simply took the torch from Deirdre's 
hand and told us to go on. 


"She'll be having naught of me," he said quietly. "At 
least until the foal is born. Tis always Brenna's way." 


"Aye." Distracted, Deirdre went by him into the sta-
ble and I followed. 


"Oh, breagha, breagha," Deirdre said softly as she 
slipped into a stall. "Oh, my Brenna breagha, *tis a fine 
foal you'll be showing us." 


The stables were thickly shadowed, illuminated only 
by a few lanterns. Looking into the stall Deirdre entered 
I could only see blackness, and then the blackness moved. 
108 


I saw the glint of eyes. Heard the flaring snort from 
velvet nostrils. Smelled the faint acrid tang of a horse in 
extremity. 


The mare lay on her side. She heaved her head up, 
touched Deirdre's hands softly with muzzle, stiffened 
with exertion. I saw the contractions roll through the 
mound of glossy belly. 


Deirdre moved away at once, stepping closer to me as 
she gave the mare room. Black Brenna grunted, strained, 
lay back again. 


"There," Deirdre breathed. "See the hooves just un-
der Brenna's tail? There's the sac. The foal will follow 
soon enough." 


She spoke softly, so softly to the mare, soothing her 
with infinite care and affection. Brenna seemed calmer 
with Deirdre talking her through the labor; she gave a 
great heave and the foal slid out into the clean straw of 
the stable floor. 


"Now," Deirdre breathed, and knelt down to tear the 
wet sac from the newborn foal. Brenna aided her, catch-
ing what she could with her teeth, then began to lick. 


And stopped, almost as abruptly. 


"Brenna breagha," Deirdre soothed. "A bit of a stud-
colt for us, is it?" 


She was soaked in birthing fluids, the ends of her 
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bright hair stiffening into sticky' curls. I saw the damp 
shine on her forearms as she shoved the sleeves of her 
nightrail above elbows, reaching down to free the colt's 
nose of residue. 


"Ah, no," she said abruptly. "Ah, no." Hair whipped 
as she jerked her head around. "Seamus? Seamusare 
you there? Quickly, man. The colt's not breathing!" 


He was with us in an instant, hanging the lantern onto 
a nail. Now I could see clearly how still the colt was, how 
limp he was in Deirdre's arms and in the soiled straw. 


He bent even as the mare lurched to her feet. Brenna 
turned her back on the colt. Her exhaustion was plain to 
see; so was her rejection of the stillborn colt. 


"Hold her," Seamus told me plainly. I did as was told, 
taking hold of Brenna's halter and keeping her in a 
comer of the stall as they ministered to the colt. 


The mare was too weary to resent my presence. She 
shut her eyes as I stroked her face, marveling at the 
109 


purity of her coloring. Black, all black, with not a single 
spot of white anywhere. Priceless. 
"Breagha," Seamiis said, and I knew he did not speak 


to the mare, "breagha, 'tis nothing left to do. He's gone 
from us." 


"Ye skilfin, you've not tried hard enough." 
"I have," he said solemnly. " Tis nothing left but to 
give him to the cileann.'" 


"Nothing." Deirdre echoed- "Eleven months spent 
a-waiting for this birth, and now there is nothing"  


"You've got the mare, breagha." 


"Aye," she said finally, and rose. She came to me, to 
Brenna, and clasped the mare's neck in her arms. "Oh 
Brenna, Brenna, such a fine little colt he was, so fine . . . 
fitting, I think, for the cileann. They'll give him honor 
and all the freedom of his days." 


"I'll be bringing him, then," Seamus said. 


"No." Deirdre swung around, but not before I saw the 


sudden kindling in her eyes. "No, 'tis for Niall to do, if 
he'll do it." 


There was no need to ask me. And I think she knew it 
as well as I, though we dared not look at one another. 


Seamus's face closed up. "Homanan," he said only. 
And then he added: "shapechanger." 


"Surely the cileann won't begrudge him his fair share 
of magic," Deirdre chided. "They are honorable folk, 
and generous. They'll be giving him welcome, Seamus, 


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as much as Shea liimself." 


Subtle reprimand, I thought, reminding the loyal servant 
that the woman he served was the daughter of a 
king. Reminding him also that what respect I was given 
by that king was owed by Seamus as well. 


"Then I'll be tending the mare. She'll have me by her, 
now." 


Deirdre looked at me. "Can you lift him?" 
Silently, I did so, gathering the wet, still body into my 


arms. He weighed substantially less than one of Liam's 


wolfhounds. 


She nodded. "Bring him, then. We've a thing to do." 
Deirdre took me out of Kilore and into the hills of 
Erinn. With no moon to speak of it was difficult to see, 
and yet Deirdre seemed to know the way. I followed the 
pale luminescence of her linen nightrail and the faint 
110 


gleam of burnished hair. She did not stop, did not speak, 
did not even turn as if to see how I fared with the weight 
of the colt. She simply walked on, intent upon Her 
thoughts, and I left her to her silence. 


At last, upon a crumbled hilltop, she stopped. Over 
the colt I saw the stone cairn and low altar beside it, also 
of stone, all carved with alien runes. I knew, without 
Deirdre's instruction, what I was to do, and so I lay the 
colt down upon the altar. Then Deirdre motioned me 
back, and I saw there was a thin circle carved into the 
turf. Chalk white, it glowed faintly in the darkness. 


"The tor," she said, "belongs to the cileann, the oldfolk. 
They were in Erinn long before we were. Many 
have forgotten them, but not all. And none of the House 
of Eagles." Her eyes were black in the darkness, though 
I knew by day they were green. "We will wait the night 
through until dawn, so we know he is safely taken." 


"Taken?" I looked at the caim and altar. "I mean 
no disrespect, but what would the oldfolk do with Brenna's 
stillborn colt?" 


"What they do with anything bom without breath in its 
bodygive it welcome, give it life, give it the freedom 
of the cUeann." She sighed a little. "I have seen women 
leave stillborn babies here, and children murdered kittens, 
all with equal grief. But also equal certainty that 
the death is only of the earth, and not real in the land of 
the oldfolk." 


She sounded so certain, so absolute in her conviction. 
"And have you waited before?" I asked. 


"Twice," she answered calmly- "There was Callum, 
my brother. And Oma, the sister who died in childbed." 


"And did the oldfolk take them away?" 
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"That is a question best answered at dawn," she told 
me quietly; "And by the cileann themselves." 


It was cold upon the tor, and windy, and heavy with 
ancient magic. Lirless I was, but neither blind nor deaf to 
power when it is so strong. I tried to sleep and could not; 


Deirdre did not even bother to close her eyes. We lay on 
our backs on the cool turf with the cairn and altar behind 
us and stared up at the stars, talking of dreams and 
aspirations, sharing portions of ourselves we had never 
111 


thought to share, holding them too precious, and waned 
for dawn to come. 


And when it came, just as I put out a hand to touch 
her, Deirdre scrambled up and spun to look at the altar. 


I was forgotten. She was lost in the rite of welcome 
given to a new day. 


Sunlight gilded the cairn. The world was born again. 
And the altar was perfectly empty. 


I moved, slowly, toward the cairn. Now I could see her 
face, where the sun touched it even as I longed to touch 
it; as the light set her hair afire. I saw a smile of blissful 
satisfaction. She murmured something in a tongue I did 
not know, and then she looked at me. 


She wore a soiled, dirty nightrail and a pair of men's 
nubby wool trews. She had spent the night upon the 
sacred tor with a man she hardly knew, and yet knew 
better now than he himself. We had thrown open the 
corners of our hearts that men and women kept secret 
from one another, too afraid to set light into those cor-
ners for fear the other would laugh or, worse, find the 
secrets not worth the hiding. 


And I had waited for her to grieve, speaking of the 
colt. But she had not. Like a Cheysuli, she locked it 
away. But I thought she waited for something, 


I looked at her. At her smudged, proud face with the 
look of an eaglet in it, waiting to leave the aerie. Know-
ing the day will come when she will ride the air and lay 
claim to all the world. 


Deirdre looked at the empty altar. She sighed a little, 
and turned her face back to me. "Now," she said. "Now 
lean cry." 


And as the tears ran down her face, I shut my arms 
around her. 


My captivity continued. I was well-treated, honored 
for my rank, assigned warm, comfortable chambers. I 
was allowed to hunt and hawk with Liam and his hounds. 
Shea taught me of ships and war. 


But it was Deirdre who taught me what it was to love a 
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woman. 


Evenings were spent with the family: Shea, his wife; 


his son and daughter; Liana's wife and their two-year-old 
son. Sean was Liam's only child as yet, but lerne had 


m 


conceived again and was due in seven months' time. The 
boy was brown-eyed like his mother, but his hair, like 
Liam's, was brassy gold. Shea's stamp was on all of them; 


Kilore, the Aerie of Erinn, was home to magnificent 
eaglets. 


And Deirdre. Present always, serving me even as her 
stepmother served Shea; as lerne served Liam. Making 
no promises she could not keep, saying nothing of the 
future. But wanting as much as I did. 


I sat before the cavernous fireplace after dinner and 
stared silently into the flames. Servants moved softly, 
removing platters and empty wine jugs. Shea and his 
clutch gathered some distance away; I was treated as part 
of the family until politics intervened. Then I was a 
hostage who must be kept in ignorance of his future. 


Sean, defying his elders, came running across the floor 
to fall against my legs. He hugged one knee and grinned 
at me, saying something in what I believed was the 
ancient Erinnish language, until I realized it was only his 
childish mumblings. Obligingly I lifted him into my lap 
and settled him there. He squirmed around until he sat 
against my chest, head slumped on my collarbone and 
one fist thrust into my woolen jerkin. Like me, he stared 
into the flames in deep, thoughtful silence. 


I realized I had never held a child before. I felt dis-
tinctly discomfited; did I have the arms and legs settled 
comfortably? Sean did not seem to notice my concern, so 
I assumed he fared well enough. But I was not certain I 
liked the responsibility. Children, I had always believed, 
were crying, petulant things when they were not shouting 
and shrieking in play, and yet Sean was quiet enough. 
Slowly my unease abated and left me feeling tentatively 
contented. 


I felt her presence before she spoke, as always. "You 
are good with him." Deirdre stood behind me, "He does 
not always please himself so easily." 


Having no wish to disturb the boy, I did not try to 
turn. "I am a stranger. He will lose interest soon enough." 


"Sean is not one for losing interest in a thing. 'Tis 
independent he is, like his father." 


"Like you." 


Laughing softly, she moved around the chair and sat 
down on a stool at my feet. Pale yellow skirts of softest 


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113 


wool settled around her like a cloud. ** Tis a good father 
you'll be making one day." Intently, she watched me, 
waiting; absently, one slender hand touched the fabric of 
my breeches. 


Deliberately, I said: "If I am ever given leave to wed 
my betrothed." 


Her eyes flickered in response to the wry challenge in 
my tone. She took her hand away. "Then 'tis still GiseUa 
you desire." 


"I do not desire her, Deirdre . . . only my freedom so 
I may wed her. There is a difference." 


The firelight behind her set her bright hair aglow. Her 
face was in shadow, but I saw her clearly. I knew her too 
well by now. "What of me?" she asked evenly. 


I looked away. I had to. "What <?/you?" 


Her tone hardened. " Tis so easy for you, then, this 
thing between us? Tnis thing that has the binding on us 
both?" 


I drew in a careful breath. Ah gods, forgive me for 
hurting her "There is a prophecy, Deirdre, to which I 
am bound more firmly than any woman." 


"Even GiseUa?" The barb was sharp. "Is she not a 
part of that prophecy?" 


"She is a part of my tahlmorra, my fate, as you would 
call it. She is half Atvian. It is her blood we need, for the 
prophecy of the Firstborn." 


"Are you forgetting, then? / am half Atvian, too." 


She and GiseUa are cousins even as GiseUa and I are. 
Gods, what a tangled tapestry 


Scan squirmed, sensing the tension between Deirdre 
and me. I set him down and watched him make his way to 
his father, still talking with Shea near the door. 


"But you have no CheysuU blood," I said finally. "Deir-
dre, I have told you what I lack. No Hr, no gifts, no 
strength as the warriors know it. I lack even the color" 
I stopped. It would do no good to expose my insecurities 
and resentments. "One day a man of all blood shall 
unite, in peace, four warring realms and two magic races," 
I quoted. "All blood, Deirdre. If I cannot hand on the 
proper gifts to my children, the prophecy will not be 
properly served." I drew in a breath through a painfully 
constricted throat. "Gisella is half Cheysuli. What / do 
not have, she does. I need her, Deirdre, for that." 
114 


She sat before me, rigidly upright; rigidly proud. "And 
I need you." 


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I reached out and touched her glowing hair. Beneath 
my hand she trembled with the strength of her convic-
tion; with the strength of her desire. Even as I myself 
did. 


Dry-mouthed, I said: "There is nothing I can do." 


And hated the man who said it. 


The old lord called me into his personal chamber weeks 
later. I went with foreboding in my soul, for hope had 
been banished months before. I found Liam present as 


well. 


Shea waved me to a chair. "Sit, sit, lad ... what I 
have to say is better heard in private." 


I watched Liam's face for some hint of what was to 
come. He gave nothing away, nothing at all, save the 
gravity of the matter. 


Shea sat down also. " 'Tis word from Donal, your fa-
ther." His mouth, behind the beard, twisted in a gri-
mace. "Alaric at last sent word of your presence with 
me, saying other messengers must have gone astray." He 
grunted. "I think Donal is no fool, lad. He'll not be 
believing that." 


I felt light-headed with relief. "What does my father 


say?" 


"He inquires after your health. I told the Homanan 
messenger it was excellent. He'll be taking that back to 
the Mujhar already." 


All the relief fell away. "You have sent him away?" 


"The messenger? Aye. I saw no reason to have you 
trade words with him, lad. I was not wanting you 
disturbed." 


"Disturbed!" I overturned the chair as I jumped up 
unsteadily- "By the gods, you pen me up for five months 
and then send away a man who bears word from my 
father?" 


Shea's thicket of eyebrows jerked up into his hair. 
"Has it been that long? I'd be saying three months, I 
think, not five." Frowning, he turned to Liam. "Five 
months, he says. Truth?" 


"Truth," Liam answered. 


Shea glanced back at me. "Sit downF he roared. I 


righted the chair and sat down. Appeased, he rubbed 
thoughtfully at his beard. "I let him see ye, lad, to know 
how you fared." His faded green eyes were oddly watch-
ful. "You were with my daughter, lad. . . . Liam says 
you looked well content." 


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I felt heat and color spill into my face. I shut my 
mouth on a curse, but sent Liam an angry glance. He 
smiled crookedly and shrugged. 


"He's wishing to send a personal envoy to Kilore," 
Shea said. "To negotiate for your release." 


My hands closed over the arms of the chair. "Well?" 


"I have agreed." 


"To my release?" 


"To his coming. No more than that, lad'tis all I can 
give you, for now." 


I pushed myself out of the chair and faced the old 
man. "My lord" 


"You'll be staying here till I see fit to let you go." 
I drew in a careful breath. "And if the Mujhar sends 
forces with that envoy?" 


"I'm thinking he will not," Shea remarked- "He is well 
occupied with Solinde at the moment." 


"Solinde," I echoed blankly. 


"The Ihlini have risen, lad." 


Oh godsit is Strahan "My lord," I begged, "let me 
go home to my father." 


"Until Alaric gives in, you go nowhere." Shea glared 
at me and shifted in his chair. "There's a thing I must ask 
you, lad. Will you give me honest answer?" 


"Ask me." I was too overcome to dissemble. 


"Would you be in mind of breaking your pledge to 
Gisella?' 


I stared at him in shock. "I could not." 


"And if I offered you your freedom?" 


I looked at Liam. I saw compassion in his eyes; he . 
knew what the answer cost me. "No," I said again. 
"Icannot." But I would not cite the reasons. I thought 
Shea would not understand. And I thought / might not, 
if I ever spoke them aloud. 


The old man nodded slowly, as if the answer was 
precisely what he expected. "Well," he said, "Deirdre 
told me what you would say. But 'tis sorry I am you 
cannot be my son." 


I could not speak. Obscurely touched, I could only 
stare at the man. 


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Liam shrugged broad shoulders. "You'U be doing what 
you must. Tis what makes you the man you are." 


I turned my back on them both, intending to walk 
from the room. And then I turned back again to face 
them. "Wait. Waitperhaps there is something." I drew 
in a breath. "I cannot be a son or brother, but I can be a 
kinsman." 


Shea glared. He tapped the arm of his chair. "Set it 
out here, lad, where grown men can see it plain." 


"I will wed Gisella," I declared, "and when we have a 
daughter, I will offer that daughter to Sean. He will be 
lord of this island one dayand Lord of the Isles, no 
doubtbut my daughter will be a princess of Homana. 
Would that be enough for you?" 


Shea grunted. "For myself, aye, 'twould. But I'll not 
be here to see it. Tis for Liam to say whom his son will 
be taking for a wife." 


Expectantly I looked at the Prince of Erinn. His smile 
was crooked, half-hidden in his gilded beard. "I'm thinking 
Scan is a bit young, yet, to have his marriage settled for 
him, but I'H be considering it." He nodded, "//you get a 
daughter on the lass." 


"Gisella and I were cradle-betrothed," I pointed out. 
"At least Sean is walking." 


Liam laughed. "But Gisella is not even bedded." 


"She will be. Once I am free of here." 


Shea grunted. I saw affection and amusement in his 
eyes. "Take yourself away, lad, and leave me to my 
son." 


I took myself away feeling oddly liberated. 


Eleven 


Liam sent word for me to meet him in one of Kilore's 
audience chambers, but when I went I found myself 
alone. No doubt important business kept him: one of his 
wolfhounds was due to whelp, or a mare to foal, or 
perhaps even Sean demanded his attention. Wryly, I 
reflected that the Prince of Erinn's priorities were differ-
ent from those of most men. 


The chamber was cold. The fire had been allowed to 
die, or else a servant had neglected to light it. Tie 
sunlight coming in one of the deep, crudely-cut case-
ments hardly reached the center of the room. Kiiore was 
not a luxurious aerie for the Erinnish eagles, being more 
fortress than palace, but it served well enough. It did not 
matter to me that the rush-strewn floors were uneven, 
the tapestries faded and threadbare, the furniture but 
crudely made of knotty greenish wood. It was here Deir-
dre had been reared; that was all that counted. 


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I slumped against the edge of the casement sill and 
stared out. From here I could see neither the Dragon's 
Tail nor Atvia. All I could see was the green Erinnish 
turf stretching forever and ever to the edge of the world, 
where the wheel of life continued turning for everyone 
save myself. 


The door creaked open (none of Kilore's heavy leatherhinged 
doors were silent) and I heard Uam's bootstep. 
"Niall." 


Not Lwn I turned, then thrust myself off the wall. 
A stranger faced me, except he was no stranger at all. He 
had been a part of my fife since birth. "Rowan!" 


My father's closest companionand Cheysuli general 
of all the Homanan armiesstared at me as if he dis118 


trusted his eyes. I did not doubt he did, after nearly a 
year. And then he smiled a smile I feared would break 
his face, so broad and transparent he was in his relief, 
and I met him halfway across the chamber in a bearhug 
that required neither apology nor explanation. 


Tlie rampant black lion on Rowan's crimson tunic clawed 
silk impotently as I stepped back from the embrace. In 
the months of my absence the general had aged. Cheysuli 
do not show the years as easily as Homanans, but Rowan 
was no longer young. I could not number his years precisely, 
but he claimed several more than fifty, I knew. 
And it had begun to show. 


"The gods have been kinder than we expected," Rowan 
said on a sigh of relief. "I thought to find you weak and 
wan as an albino calf." 


"No." Emotion welled into my chest with such intensity 
I feared I might shame myself. It is rare for a Cheysuli 
to show precisely what he feels. Oddly, I saw the same 
struggle in Rowan's careworn face. 


Why not? He and I share the same capricious gods. 


Lirless, both of us. Cheysuli born and bred, and yet we 
neither of us claimed a lir. Rowan's explanation was 
straightforward enough: orphaned in Shaine's purge of 
shapechangers some forty-five years before, he had been 
taken in as a foster son by immigrant Ellasian crofters 
who did not know he was Cheysuli. In those dangerous 
days no shapechanger was safe; he did not dare divulge 
his heritage, or he would give himself over into certain 
death. And so he had been reared Homanan, growing 
into Homanan habits and traditions; when the time come 
for him to go out and make a bond with the lir intended 
for him, he did not. Lirless he was and would remain so, 
until the day he died. 


And I? Perhaps it is time I learned to live with it, even 
as Rowan has. 


I motioned with my head. "What you see has been my 
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prison. Kiiore is not an unpleasant one." 


Though the black hair was graying to a decided silver, 
his yellow eyes were sharp and steady as lan's or my 
father's. The netting of sunlines and silvering scars in his 
face only underscored the years he had spent at the side 
of Homana's Mujhars, insuring domestic and personal 
security. 


He frowned, just a little; enough to crinkle eyelids and 
pull at the weatherburned flesh over angular cheekbones. 
1 thought he listened to my tone more than he did to my 
words. 


"Have they suborned you with this?" In his tone I 
heard tremendous restraint, and yet I also heard a multi-
tude of emotions. Traces only, but enough to emphasize 
what my disappearance had meant to my father and 
mother. And, perhaps, to Rowan. 


I wanted to laugh at him and clasp a shoulder and lead 
him to a chair, to pour the smoky Erinnish liquor and 
laugh with him, that he could ask such a thing of me. But 
I did none of those things. I looked at him steadily as I 
had looked at no man before and told him the truth. 


"No. But I will not lie and tell you Shea has been a 
harsh lord or inhumane when he has offered me honor 
and affection." 


"Eight months of it?assuming, of course, the voyage 
took you the three months it took me." Rowan's posture 
was the rigid stance of a longtime soldier and officer at 
rest, which is to say he was not precisely resting. And his 
elaborately casual tone was as inflexible as his spine. "I 
think perhaps we misjudged your reaction to my coming; 


Aislinn said Carillon's grandson would devise an immedi-
ate means of departure. Dona] said it was more likely you 
would leave the devising to me." The general did not 
smile. "Yet you say nothing at all of departure." 


Carillon's grandson. Even now she does not refer to me 
as her son, only heir of her legendary father, one genera-
tion removed. 


"There is no need to say anything," I told him curtly. 
"Shea will not let me go. Not until Alaric grants the 
concessions he demands." 


"And what are those concessions?" 


I shrugged. "He does not tell me such things." 


Rowan looked away from me briefly, toward the case-
ment. Then he turned and went to it, staring out even as 
I had before his entrance. "It is unlikely Alaric will grant 
Shea anything. He is too concerned with mustering men 
to aid Strahan against Homana." 


I started. "Butthe alliance?" 
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"Contingent upon you making his daughter Princess of 
Homana." Rowan's tone was distant. "Oh, aye, the proxy 
120 


ceremony makes you husband and wife in Homanan law, 
but until she is properly wed and acclaimed Princess of 
Homana, the alliance does not exist. And now it seems 
impossible that it ever will exist, does it not? At least, 
while Shea keeps you here." He turned to face me and 
the lion rippled, clawing at his right shoulder. "Eleven 
months ago you left Homana to fetch Giselta home to a 
Homanan wedding. Circumstances aside, Alaric has every 
right in the world to declaie the proxy wedding 
invalid and the cradle-betrothal broken." His face was a 
mask; his tone was not so well-schooled. "A broken 
betrothal and an invalid proxy wedding taints a woman 
as well as a man, Niall. A father would be justified in 
levying war in his despoiled daughter's name. And as for 
you, who would you find to wed? Who would have 
you?" 


Deirdre would 


"Who would bring the proper blood to the prophecy?" 


Deirdre would not Angrily, I glared at him. "I did 
not put myself here!" 


"No." Frowning, Rowan stared down at his boot toes. 
"No, you did not. Alaric is aware of that; no doubt more 
aware than we are, being so close to Erinn, but . . . 
regardless" He looked at me again, and I saw a weariness 
of spirit so totally alien that it brought me striding 
across the room to him. 


"Rowan" 


His raised hand stopped me short. More intensely aware 
of the man and his feelings than I ever had been before, I 
marked the callused palms and battered knuckles, ruined 
nails and crooked fingers, all badges of his profession. His 
life. And I saw the bleakness in his eyes. 


"Niall, there is trouble at home. Serious trouble." 


Fear flared. "My father? Mother? Rowan" 


"Both well," he said at once. "No, it has nothing to do 
with their welfare. It is" 


"Strahan," I finished, "is it not?" 


"Notentirely." He straightened and thrust himself 
away from the wall, pacing away from me toward the 
cold fireplace. I noticed for the first time he limped, 
though only a little, as if his aging bones and muscles 
reminded him he had fought in too many battles. Most of 
them with Carillon, whom he had served for nearly twenty121 


five years. The last twenty had been with my father, but I 
knew the bond was not the same. 
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And now he must fight another. 


He turned. I saw him muster the dry factuality neces-
sary to a competent, effective general. Necessary to a 
ruler, for that matter. One day, I would have to find the 
same within myself. "It concerns you," he said flatly. 
"AndCarillon." 


"Carillon!" I stared at him blankly. "How can this 
concern a man who has been dead for twenty years?" 


"Because while he lived he sired children," Rowan 
answered in the same even tone. 


Baffled, I nodded agreement with the obvious. "How 
else would I be his grandson?" 


"I did not say child, Niall." 


No. He had not. He had said children. 


Suddenly, I was very cold. The chamber darkened 
around me. "A son," I said distantly. "A son." 


"A bastard." Rowan's voice was very quiet. "We know 
very little. His age: thirty-five. His mother: a Homanan 
woman who followed Carillon's rebel army as he made 
his way from Ellas to Mujhara." He shrugged. "I remem-
ber her myself. Carillon was not the sort of man who 
wanted or needed a woman with every meal, and when 
he took one, he kept her. Same wasworth keeping." 


"But he did not keep her, did he?" I was detached 
from the man who asked the questions. "No. Once she 
carried a bastard" 


"No." The word cut through my rising bitterness. "Once 
Electra came." 


Of course. Electra. The witch who had bound even 
Carillon the Great into a web of deceit and encorcellment 
until he nearly fallen victim to Tynstar himself. Electra 
the witch. 


Electra: my mother's mother. 


I looked for a chair. Found one; collapsed into it. 
Rubbed absently at my scalp; it itched from the sudden 
prickling of trepidation. "Well," I said at last, "he must 
have sent her away." 


"She asked to leave. She came to me and said she had 
conceived. She no longer wished to remain with the 
army; she would go home." 


"With Carillon's bastard in her belly." 


"I gave her money. A horse. A soldier went with her." 
Rowan's smile was very faint. "A crofter-tumed-soldier, 
who discovered he was much better at wielding scythe 
than sword. He married her." 


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I looked at him sharply, frowning, "Then how do you 
know it is Carillon's son? If she married the crofter" 


"He is the image of an older you, Niall. Or a younger 
Carillon, before the disease aged him. As testified by a 
Homanan priest and a Cheysuli shar tahl." 


Like Shea, he stamps his get "They have seen him? Is 
he so bold as to press his claim based on bastardy when I 
am legitimate?" 


Rowan did not avoid my eyes. "There are Homanans 
in the world who would prefer a descendant of Carillon 
on the throne who is not Cheysuli." 


My laugh was a bark'of sound. "How can they call me 
Cheysuli? I have no lir, no magic, no shapechange. ... I 
am more Homanan than anything else." 


"It is said you hide your magic, so as to trick the 
Homanans into believing you are wholly Homanan, and 
less of a threat than a man who assumes the shape of 
beast or bird." A muscle jumped in his jaw. "I repeat 
what is said by the zealots." 


Under my breath, I swore. "I wish I had magic to 
hide." 


"I know it, Niall." The tone altered; I heard a trace of 
empathy for the first time. "They claim you will unveil 
your true self only after you hold the throne." 


"So, they want to replace me with Carillon's bastard, 
who is wholly Homanan." 


"Aye." 


*'I am tainted by the Solindish witch's blood." 


"Aye." 


I sat forward and rubbed my eyes with rigid fingers. 
"What would they say if they knew there are some 
Cheysuli who feel the same?" I asked wearily. "Gods, I 
think I was never meant to inherit the Lion." 


"You were. You will." 


"Have you seen him?" I raised my head. "Have you 
seen this misbegotten image of myself?' 


"No. He is too well-guarded by Homanans dedicated 
to his cause. They say if his location were divulged, Donal 
would have him slain. They wait to gather men to his 


cause." He spread his hands in a futile gesture. "They 
allowed the priest and the shw tahl to see him, to prove 
he exists. That is all. Neither spoke with him." 


I slumped back in the chair again. "A pretty coil, 
Rowan. How do we get free of it?" 


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"By having you leave Erinn for Atvia, where you will 
settle things with Alaric and bring Gisella home to 
Horoana," Rowan said flatly. "Your absence has strengthened 
the bastard's cause. When we feared you dead" 
He shrugged. "We need you home. As soon as possible. 
With Gisella and lan . . . I think only lan can settle this 
thing with the a'saii, since he is the one they wish to put 
upon the throne." 


"You knew," I mused, thinking of the a'saii. Then I 
was on my feet. "You do not know! Gods, Rowan, there 
is no lan! He died in the storm." 


All the color ran out of his face, leaving it a stark, 
empty mask of shock that only slowly was refilled by a 
comprehension and grief so intense it made me want to 
run from the man, the room, the castle. 


To find my brother in the belly of the dragon. 


"Rujho," I said; no more. The pain was new again. 


After a moment, Rowan cleared his throat. "I must 
send word to Donal." 


"Take it to him," I said at last. "I thinkit would be 
better if you told him." 


"And what do I tell him of you?" 


"That I live." I drew in a breath that cleared my head. 
"That I will be home with Gisella as soon as possible." 


"And if Shea does not let you go?" 


"Then I will have to break my parole." 


Looking at me steadily, Rowan shook his head. Just a 
little. "Whatever else this captivity has done, it has also 
tempered the sword." 


"What is left to hone the edge?" I asked. "War?" 


"Assuredly," he answered softly, and then came forward 
to hug me again. "The gods be with you, Niall." 


"With them, without themwhat does it matter?" I 
asked. "They are the ones who fashioned this tahlmorra." 


I could not sleep. In the darkness of my room, my 
bed, my spirit, I stared sightlessly up at the woven curtains 
forming my Erinnish womb and tried to think of 


things other than war, a'saii, bastards. I tried to think of 
everything, and nothing at all made sense. 


Until Deirdre came to me, 


In the darkness, all unknowing, I thought of enemies. I 
rolled and reached through the slit in the curtain for my 
knife and remembered I did not have one. 


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"You'd be needing no weapon against me, Niall." 


"Deirdre" 


"I heard you speak to your father's man. Is that what a 
true Cheysuli looks like? So fierce, so solemn ... so 
dangerous. I'm thinking I like you better as a Homanan." 


"Deirdreyou heard?" 


"There are secrets in Kilore even Shea does not know, 
or has forgotten already. Do not worry. No one else was 
there when you spoke of breaking your parole." 


"Deirdre" 


"Have we driven you from us, Niall? Have we ken-
neled you too closely, like one of Liam's hounds?" 


The blackness of the room was not so all-encompassing 
as my eyes adjusted to it. I could just see Deirdre in my 
bed, and put out a hand to draw her to me. As she came, 
she shed linen shift and I realized she was naked. 


"Gods, you drive me only to madness ..." I groaned 
against her throat. "Deirdre" 


Her hand covered my mouth as I moved to cover hers-
"Do not speak. I have not come here for speech. There 
is something more than that, Fm thinking, between us, 
you and me." 


I locked my fingers in her hair. Its color was muted in 
the darkness, but I gloried in its texture. "I am not one 
for gainsaying you in this, the gods know" fervently 
"but do you know what you are about?" 


She pressed herself against me, winding heavy locks of 
hair around my neck as if she sought to set iron there. 
"Only rarely am I not knowing what I am about, my 
lord.** Her breath was warm against my ear. Low-voiced, 
she said, "Don't be worrying about what I heard today. I 
have no intention of telling my father or brother. We'll 
be keeping it between us." 


I bore her down with me, shivering with pleasure at 
the sensual touch of her hair and skin. "Meijha" Then 
purposely, I used the Erinnish inflection t<you will 
125 


have me thinking you are not jealous of Gisella . . . and 
I am knowing better." 


Laughing softly, she stroked my naked shoulder, trac-
ing shapes of her own devising in a languid, sensuous 
fashion, then set lips and tongue against it. " Tis a 
jealous woman I am, but I know when I have lost. What 
was that word you called me?" 


"Meij'ha^ I breathed, "Cheysuli. . . -" 


"That much I was thinking myself." A trembling fore-
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finger traced the line of my mouth. "What does it mean?" 


I kissed the fingertip, then reached for the hand, the 
arm, the breast. "Do not judge too hastily a people you 
cannot know," I whispered. "In the clans, warriors may 
have both wife and light womancheysula and meijha. 
There is no dishonor, none at all, for the woman who is 
not a wife. I swear by all the gods of Erinn and 
Homana" 


"Don't be swearing by gods you're knowing nothing 
about." Her breath came faster still. " Tis disastrous 
when they take note of it." 


"Gisella is Cheysuli. I think she would understand the 
custom, once I have explained it." 


She drew back a little. "Are you telling me 'tis what / 
would be? Yourmeijha?" 


Her accent twisted the word. I did not correct her. "If 
you wish it, Deirdre." / wish it, I wish it. 


In the shadows I could not see her expression. "I 
might prefer to be a wife." 


I set my forehead against her shoulder in defeat. 
"Deirdre" 


"But if I cannot be taking you that way, I'll be taking 
you the other. Now enough of this babble, Niall, and let 
us be making our own alliance between Erinn and 
Homana.'* 


Laughing exultantly into her untamed hair, I covered 
her body with my own. 


Twelve 


It was three days before I could pursue my intention to 
escape, and even then it was coincidence that gave me 
the opportunity. Liam, riding out to hawk with me along 
the cliffs, was called back by a servant from the castle. 
And because Liam himself had come with me, the six 
human hounds had been dismissed. 


I did not hesitate. I spurred the gray gelding toward 
the broken clifftop and rode off the edge of the world. 


The gray plunged down the chalky slope, jarring my 
spine until I felt at least a handspan shorter. I cursed 
raggedly, not daring to shout my discomfort aloud, and 
hooked stirrups forward to brace against the jolting down-
ward momentum. 


Below me, fishing boats were scattered like pebbles 
along the shoreline, most of them untended as the fisher-
men dragged bulging nets onto the sandy beach. I must 
steal one quickly and, using the knowledge Shea had 
divulged, somehow sail it across the Dragon's Tail to the 
rocky coast of Atvia. 


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Almost down 


The horse stumbled beneath me, lurching forward onto 
his knees. I could not wait to see if he had injured 
himself or had the heart to go on. I threw the reins free 
and scrambled out of the saddle 


sliding, sliding, scrabbling at the chalky escarpment 
of the tumbled base of the cliffs 


Gods, get me down from here with both legs and arms 
left whole 


sliding, churning up clouds of white chalk dust to 
coat my face, my clothing; to settle on my tongue and 
127 


make me mouth my distaste. I wanted to spit; it would 
have to wait until I was down. 


On my buttocks I went down, down, down, one hand 
thrust back to brace myself against the broken cliff. The 
chalk crumbled away, spilling me over like a round rock 
in a storm-fed stream. I fell; falling, I rolled 


came up into a crouch at the bottom of the cliff; 


spitting, I thrust myself upward and ran. 


I heard an outcry from the top of the cliff and knew 
the voice was Liam's. What he shouted I could not deci-
pher, hearing only anger and epithets. I did not look 
around, intent only on reaching the boats before Liam 
could form a proper pursuit. I did not blame him for his 
rage, no more than I blamed myself for causing it, 


And yet I did blame myself; a broken oath is no simple 
thing. I thought of how I had proclaimed myself incapa-
ble of ending the betrothal to Gisella because I could not 
break an oath. Now I broke an oath equally important. 


For the sake of Homana And I knew it was. As 
much as wedding Gisella was for the sake of the prophecy. 


Chalk dust filled my lungs. I coughed, spat, wheezed, 
still running for the boats. Almost- Almost. 


Netting tripped me up, throwing me sprawling to the 
wet sand. I scrambled up, trying to run again, but the net 
was tangled around my spurs. Cursing aloud I ripped 
frenziedly at the strands, then stopped yanking, still curs-
ing, and carefully picked them free. I ran again. 


The first boat was too far, bobbing in the waves at the 
end of its tether. I went on to the next one, reaching for 
the line that anchored it to the shore. Waves slapped at 
my boots as I bent to jerk it free-

1 heard the pounding of hooves echoing against the 
cliffs. Qoser, coming closer. 


Oh gods, it is Liam! 
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I saw his furious face as he urged his horse on faster, 
riding directly at me. At me, as if he would ride me 
down. 


Forgoing the boat, I dropped the line and ran. 


The horse's chest caught me high on the left hip. A 
hoof ripped the heel off my boot entirely, clipped my 
heel, drove me headlong to the ground. I curled, sucking 
air as another hoof came down on the side of my thigh. 
The horse squealed, flailing thick legs desperately, trying 
128 


to avoid me even as I tried to roll away. I tasted sand and 
salt and seawater. And blood from a bitten lip. 


The hooves were gone. I tried to me, to run again, but 
Liam leaned down from the saddle and buffeted me on 
the temple with a gloved, powerful fist. "False prince!" 
he cried. "False friend!" 


I fell. I spat blood. Saw two of everything. Tried to 
clear my vision. By the time I did, Liam was off his horse 
and hauling me to my feet. 


"I should slay you here, even unarmed as you are!" 


I am tall, I am heavy, but Liam himself is not small. 
And in his rage he was larger than any man ever born. 
By my tunic, he lifted me almost completely clear of the 
sand. "Liam" 


"I should slay you! D*ye hear, ye faithless cur of a 
faithless bitch? By the goos, I swear I will!" 


But he did not. He released me with a shove, as if he 
could no longer bear to touch me, and stood stanng at 
me with chalk and spittle fouling his gilded beard. His 
chest heaved; like me, he panted. 


"Uam" Breathless, I could hardly manage a word. 
"Liam1 had toI had to ... for the war, for the 
realm." I tried to catch my breath. "AlancAlaric in-
tends to join Strahanthere is domestic dissension at 
home!" 


"I care nothing at alt for your incestuous domestic 
wars!" Uam roared. "Not when you're in Erinn seducing 
my sister!" 


Prepared to defend our incestuous domestic wars, I 
discovered we were at odds over something else. Some-
thing I could not defend at all. And so I shut my mouth. 


"False prince," Liam said hoarsely, "you have betrayed 
my father's trust, and mine. When we have honored you 
with our favor!" 


"Liam" 


"Were you armed" 


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"lien give me a knife!" I shouted. "I am not shirking 
the fight!" 


Liam spat blood and chalk. His green eyes were hard 
as glass. "I'll not be giving you the honor of a fight! I'll 
be letting you taste the hospitality you should have known 
before.'9 


No protest. I could not. Because before I could sum


moo a word, Uam loosed a blow that felled me to the 
ground as easily as if I were a stalk of wheat. 


The dungeons of Kilore are damp and smelly. Sore 
and more than a little sullen, I sat against a clammy wall 
because I had no other choice. SomeoneLiam, no 
doubthad ordered me chained in place, though there 
was no place I could go. 


The stone beneath my buttocks was cold and damp. 
What straw existed was musty, stale, undoubtedly filled 
with vermin. Seawater dripped from the ceiling. I was 
cold and lonely and afraid, and also filled with guilt. 


Deirdre came to me willingly, but how can I say that to 
her father and brother? What sense is there in besmirching 
her reputation? 


None. What honor remained to me (little enough, 
after breaking my parole) kept me from being able to 
make the admission, regardless of the truth. 


My ears rang. My head ached. Uam's blow had caught 
me solidly along the jaw, loosening teeth. I tongued 
them gently, afraid to push too hard for shoving them 
out entirely. Even my cheekbone hurt. 


Footsteps. I turned my face toward the door and listened, 
trying to determine if the footsteps brought a man 
to me or to another prisoner, if there was one. I had no 
candle by which to see. There was no light in the cell 
save for what came in under the wooden door. And the 
gods knew that was little enough. 


The footsteps stopped. Iron rattled: keys. Finally one 
was fitted into the lock. I waited, and at last the door was 
shoved open- It scraped along the slimy floor. 


Shea himself. Not Liam, come to gloat. The old lord 
instead, holding a fat candle in one hand. It guttered, 
danced, flared up again as it took life from the corridor 
air. 


Skin was stretched too taut across age-defined cheekbones. 
His jaw worked impotently beneath the thinning 
beard. I saw the glitter of anger restrained in the catgreen, 
grieving eyes. 


Gods, forgive me for what I have done to this man. 


" 'Tis how Donal rears a son to be Mujhar, is it? To be 
breaking parole and pledge when he has been honorably 


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130 


treated?" Tears shone briefly in his eyes. "To be taking a 
lass's virtue beneath her father's roof?" 


I looked away and stared blindly down at my manacled 
hands. "No." 


"No? No? Tis all ye have to say?" 


I swallowed thickly. "Do not judge the father by the 
son." 


The candleflame guttered violently. I did not look at 
Shea. 


"Well," he said hoarsely, "come up. I'll say what I say 
above." He glanced into the corridor and jerked his head 
in my direction- "Loose the iron and bring him up. I'll be 
seeing him in the hall." 


The old lord stood in the doorway as the guardsman 
slipped by and knelt to unlock my shackles. Limping 
from a badly bruised thighthe horse had struck me 
squarelyI followed Shea up winding stairs to the audi-
ence hall, I had half expected Liam to be present. He 
was not. Neither was Deirdre. It was for Shea alone to 
pass judgment. 


He gestured to the guardsman to leave us alone. I 
heard the door thud closed. Then I turned and faced the 
old man. 


His nostrils flared. "Ye stink," he said, plainly of-
fended by my dungeon stench., 


I felt inordinately ashamed. 


"Have ye an explanation?" 


"No." 


"Were ye for it merely because 'twas offered, or did ye 
truly want itmuch as a dying man cries for water?" 


I had thought him diminished by what I had done to 
his daughter. Now I realized he was not, it was just that I 
saw a man instead of a king. A father instead of a man. 


I drew in a breath and released it very slowly. '*! 
needed it," I told him clearly. "I was that dying man." 


Shea hooked thumbs in his wide belt and considered 
me. And then he spoke, and his tone held all the gruff 
affection I had come to expect from him. "She was not 
meaning to betray ye, lad. *Twas her unhappy manner 
that gave ye away. 'Twas the lack of her wildness and 
gaiety." 


"My lord?" 


"Oh, she was happy enough for having despoiled her-
131 


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self with you. She told me that. No. 'Twas knowing you 
must leave. But by the time I was realizing what she 
meant, you had ridden out with Liam." He paused. "She 
said she was willing, lad." 


I was silent. Even now, I would say nothing that might 
reflect poorly on his daughter, who was a princess. That 
much of rank I knew too well. 


"By Erinnish law I am in my rights to have you slain." 


"By any man's law, my lord." 


"Yet you are the Mujhar of Homana's son. His heir. 
As much as Liam is mine." 


"Aye, my lord." 


Shea sighed. "Lad, lad, 'tis all bound up I am. I'd be 
seeing the two of you wed, but for that pledge to Alaric's 
daughter. That you cannot be breaking, for all you broke 
the one to me," There was no bitterness in his tone. 
"Deirdre told me what the Cheysuli general said to you. 
About war, and bastards, and a throne in jeopardy. 
Those things I understand. And so I will not be blaming 
ye for breaking your parole. There are pledges taking 
precedence over other pledges given." Through the beard, 
I saw the hint of a weary smile. "I will not keep ye here 
when your father needs ye so. I'll be seeing you sent to 
Atvia before the day is out." 


"My lord?" I stared. 


"Homana is not my enemy. I'm not wishing to see 
your father broken by that Ihlini demon or even Alaric's 
spite. Go wed your Atvian cousin, and take yourself 
home to your father." 


Hope sprang up. "AndDeirdre?" 


"She stays," he told me flatly. "My daughter will be 
no man's mistress, no matter how much honor it claims 
before the Cheysuli." He sighed. "But I will be asking 
something of ye, lad. A pledge. And this one ye'll not be 
breaking; Liam will see to that." 


I touched my aching face. "Aye, my lord. I give it 
willingly." 


"lerne is due to bear the child soon. Be that child a 
girl, let her wed your firstborn son. Or the next one for 
your next one, if this one is not a girl and that one not a 
boy. But I want it, lad. I want a granddaughter of Shea 
of Erinn to be queen in Homana one day." 
132 


I 


I smiled. "A fair enough exchange, my lord. A daugh-
ter of mine for Sean, a granddaughter of yours for my 
heir-1 think it will please the gods." 


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" Twill be pleasing me," Shea growled. "And 'twill be 
enough, I'm thinking." 


I put out my filthy hand to the man. He did not seem 
to notice as he folded it in his. "Deirdre" I began. 


"No," he said. "I'll be giving her your farewell." 


After a moment, I nodded. But I knew it would not be 
the same. 


I had been bathed, shaved, garbed in fresh clothing. 
No longer did I stink. But it did not wash away the 
sorrow I felt at leaving Deirdre behind. 


It was Liam himself who came to escort me to the ship. 
He was sternness itself with his hard, stark face; he said 
nothing at all as he preceded me down the twisting stairway 
to the entryway. We were met by the eleven men 
who had accompanied him the day I was rescued. Rescued 
and taken captive. 


There was little enough sunlight. Liam's brassy curls 
were dulled by the gray of the day, as much as by his 
unusual solemnity. His mouth, in the beard, worked a 
little; the words at last issued forth. 


"Where would you go, lad, before we send you to your 
bride?" 


Where would I go? To Deirdre, of course . . . and yet 
I knew if I asked it, he would deny me the thing I most 
wanted. 


I looked out into the muted sunlight. "To the tor," I 
said. "To the altar of the cileann." 


Liam's green eyes flickered. Still, he did not smile. He 
nodded, once, and gave the order for us to mount. Eleven 
prince's men; one heir to Shea's wild aerie; one hostage 
foreigner. Together, we rode out to the tor. 


In daylight, with the sun well up, the place was different. 
Much different. I tasted no magic; smelled no hint of 
ancient power. And all I saw was an altar full of memories. 


Deirdre. Deirdre and her colt. And the lirless man 
who loved her. 


Liam's eleven men remained on horseback some distance 
away. Liam came closer, but even he gave me what 
distance he could. Privacy enough, for the moment. And 


so I used it. I used it to stand on the tor outside the old 
chalk circle and give Deirdre my good-bye. 


"Time to go," Liam said, when he saw me lift an arm 
to scrub briefly at my face. 


Aye. . . time to go. I turned. The Prince of Erinn held 
the reins of my horse. I walked down from the tor, took 
them out of his gloved hand and mounted the pale gray 


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gelding. And thought of Deirdre's wild laughter as she 
rode headlong at the edge of the chalky headlands over-
looking the Dragon's Tail. 


"Lad," Liam said; all I could do was nod. 


The escort stopped short of the dock. I boarded slowly, 
so slowly, then swung back to grip the rail. Uam stood 
on the dock. The wind whipped his brassy curls and 
reddened his high, sharp cheekbones, tugging at his beard. 
His cat-green eyes were cool. "So, puppy, you leave 
Erinn a wealthy man." 


"Wealthy?" 


"You've gained my father's trust, won my sister's love, 
and have pledged children neither of us yet have, saving 
Scan. Ye leave with a little pinch more than ye came 
with." 


The wind stripped freshly-washed hair out of my face. 
"Perhaps you should have thrown me back into the sea 
the day you found me. ..." I squinted against the wind. 
"Perhaps you should have let the dragon have me." 


"No," he said. "You were too sickly, too battered. 
Not worth the trouble to feed an Erinnish dragon, I'm 
thinking there would have been little pleasure in it." 


"The pledge we made together, and the one I made 
with your father" I shrugged. "You will be king after 
Shea. It is for you to break them, if it is truly what you 
desire." 


Liam bent and spat off the dock into the Dragon's 
Tail. He folded his arms across a broad chest- "I'm 
thinking not. I'm thinking I'm not much of a man for 
breaking pledges. Unlike you." 


I clutched the rail. "I can sail to Atvia later. We can 
settle this matter now. With knives or swords or fists." I 
grinned. "I leave it to you, my lord." 


Reluctantly, Liam grinned. The green cloak fastened 
to his wide shoulders curled and cracked in the wind. 
134 


"We are of a like size, I'm thinking, lad. I have spent 
nearly fifteen of my twenty-nine years fighting Atvians, 
and you are Cheysulieven without the lir. I'm thinking 
'twould not be so wise to strip Donal and Shea of their 
sons in a silly, boyish battle that could get eitheror 
bothof us slain." He shrugged. "Besides, my sister 
loves you. Where's the sense in beating a man for that?" 


I laughed. "But it would have been something to see." 


Liam, sighing, nodded. "Aye, 'twould. Wellperhaps 
another day, puppy. Now get you to Atvia." 


I leaned over the rail as he gave the signal for the boat 
to be cast off. "Liama message for Deirdre?" 


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He squinted into the wind. "What would you be saying 
to her now?" 


"That if she wants meif she needs medo not hesitate 
to send word. Even to HomanaE I promise I will 
come." 


"I'll be caring for her here." 


"Liam7 


"No, lad. She needs no more of you." He stared hard 
at me. Then his bearded face softened. "But I'll be 
telling her what you said." 


I clung to the rail as the ship moved out into the 
channel. Wind-whipped swells crashed against the prow. 
But I hardly noticed. I watched the dark bulwark of the 
Aerie silhouetted against the sky and then I watched the 
Erinnish shore. Until all I could see was the green speck 
of Liam's cloak. And then I turned my face to Atvia. 


And to my Cheysuli bride. 


PART II 


One 


Rondule, like Shea's city of Kilore, was a fishing port. 
Except for minor differences in architecture, I saw no real 
distinction between Rondule and Kilore, or between 
Rondule and Homana's'own Hondarth, for that matter. I 
had sailed hundreds of leagues westward, and yet I saw 
little that made this part of the world any different from 
my own. 


Until I heard the language. In eight months with Shea 
and his folk, I had grown accustomed to the lyrical lilt of 
the Erinnish tongue, which was little different from 
Homanan except for nuances and a few words held over 
from the old days of Erinn. I did not doubt that I had 
acquired a trace of the accent myself, after so many 
months. But I knew I would never acquire the sound of 
Atvia, no matter how long I stayed on the island. 


I thought it an ugly language, choked with consonants 
rather than vowels, and those spoken harshly. It was a 
sibilant tongue that put me in mind of a serpent hissing in 
the darkness. I did not much like the imagery. More than 
ever wished I could avoid Atvia altogether. 


The boat docked. In Erinnish finery borrowed from 
Liam (though we were both big men, the clothing did not 
fit well; the gods had put us together differently) I disembarked 
into a maelstrom of activity. The tide was turning
; time for the fisherfolk to return home with the day's 
catch. And I in the middle of it. 


I heard the hissing chatter of the men as they hauled in 
the nets; the women as they hastened down to help their 
men. I smelled fish everywhere. It clogged my nose and 


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insinuated itself in my mouth, my clothing, my hair. A 
139 


fleeting thought told me it had been no different in 
Kilore, but I chose to see Rondule in a harsher light. 


"My lord." A boy's voice, speaking accented Homanan. 
The familiar words were almost throttled in his throat, 
but I could decipher them. Just. 


He was half my height, clothed in a bright blue tunic. 
An intricate border in white yam drew my eyes; it was 
very nearly Erinnish knotwork. But there was a differ-
ence. Just as there was in the boy's attitude toward me. 
He was not rude, not precisely, but neither was he as 
warm as the Erinnish. 


"Aye," I said shortly. "Has Alaric sent you to fetch 
me?" 


He did not smile. I Judged him ten, twelve; his brown 
eyes were older. "If you are Niall of Homana." 


"Oh. I think so. And you, boy?" 


"Belen," he answered. He pointed at two horses tied 
nearby, waiting patiently. "Come." 


I came. Belen led me through the twisting cobbled 
streets toward the center of the city. And when we had 
reached it, I found myself having to close my mouth 
because I did not wish the boy to see my awe. 


Like Kilore, Alaric's fortress perched atop a rocky 
cliff. But his did not have the headlands and heaths 
stretching in all directions. Instead, the castle capped a 
palisade that jutted up from the center of the city. The 
promontory was cone-shaped but lacked a smooth, uni-
form roundness, displaying craggy flanks full of crevices 
and treacherous faults in the stone itself. I saw no road 
or path at all winding its way up to the castle on top of 
the world. And I began to understand why Shea had told 
me, again and again, that a frontal assault on Alaric's 
castle was the strategy of a madmanor a fool. 


Being neither, he never tried. They fight their wars on 
the seas and beaches. 


"Come." Belen set heels to his spotted horse. 


There was a path after all. It followed the natural grain 
of the stone, rising, twisting, zigzagging through faults 
and square-cut protrusions. Here and there pockets of 
turf carpeted the terraced face, but most of it was rock. 
Hard, cold rock. 


The wind beat at my face, threading tiny fingers through 
the weave of my borrowed garb. I shivered. Belen, ahead, 
140 


did not seem to notice the chilly breath of the dragon. 
He rode steadily onward, always ascending, never look-
ing back. I heard the familiar wailing song of the dragon 


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as its exhalations curled around the rocks and buffeted 
me front and back. I thought of Deirdre. I thought of the 
chalky, wind-whipped heights of Erinn, so close I could 
nearly touch them. I had only to put out my hand and 
reach across the Dragon's Tail, and Deirdre would be 
mine. 


"Dragon's Teeth." The boy had turned in his saddle. 
He jerked his head a little, indicating the rocky ramparts 
of the cliffs. "The castle is beyond." 


Higher still, and then atop the promontory. The wind 
spat into my face. 


"Castle," Belen said. 


A boy of few words. But I paid no mind to him. I 
looked instead at Alaric's fortress. 


Unassailable, aye; no man foolish enough to risk himself 
against certain death would ever try to take the 
castle. Perhaps Rondule, or other cities. But never the 
actual fortress. Like Homana-Mujhar, it was invulnerable. 


But once, Homana-Mujhar had fallen. 


Belen led me through a barbican gate warded by six 
massive portcullises and into the outer bailey beyond. 
Guards hedged the sentry-walks and battlements. Colored 
pennons snapped in the wind. I heard the echoes of 
iron on cobbles as we entered the inner bailey. 


Boys came running for the horses. I dismounted, hissed 
a bit as the landing jarred my bruised thigh, nodded 
irritably as Belen motioned me to follow. One might 
think I was the prisoner here, instead of Gisella's 
betrothed. 


The boy took me through candlelit corridors and into a 
private chamber. Here the stone floor was carpeted with 
rugs I recognized as Caledonese; we had similar in 
Homana-Mujhar, including my bedchamber. Lighted braziers 
warmed the room. There were no casements; I 
could not stare out and search for Erinn from the top of 
the dragon's head. 


"Someone will come," the boy announced, and then 
he shut the door. 


Alone, I looked around the room. Chairs, a table, a 
141 


chest, a jug of wine and silver goblets. Having nothing 
better to do, I poured myself a cup. 


Not wine. It was a clear, pungent liquor. I lifted the 
goblet, recognized the powerful contents and set it down 
again. "Usca," I said in surprise. 


"Trade routes," a voice commented equably. "All the 
way from the Steppes to Atvia." As I turned the man 
smiled and shut the door. "/ am not Ihlini, Niall; did you 
think I conjured it?" 


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Alaric. I knew him at once, though I had never seen 
him. Once, my mother had described him to me, telling 
me how he had come to Homana seeking the Mujhar's 
sister as a wife. Then, she said, he had been tall, slender, 
brown-haired, brown-eyed. Handsome, she had added, if 
you liked men with silken manners and silver tongues. 
Bronwyn had not, but she had wed him anyway. My 
father had given her no choice. 


Nineteen years had passed since then-1 thought he was 
a year or two older than my father. He looked younger 
than his years, though time and wars had roughened the 
too-smooth edges. He had not thickened, maintaining a 
tensile slendemess, and he moved with an awareness of a 
subtle but acknowledged strength. In body as well as 
spirit. 


In understated black, he put me in mind of Strahan. He 
reminded me of Lillith. 


He smiled. His Homanan was quite good. His accent 
was very slight. "You are well come to Atvia. Although 
for a momentI thought it was a dead man standing 
before me." 


"Carillon." I forced a smile, as always. "No." 


Alaric moved to the table and poured usca for us both. 
Out of courtesy I accepted the goblet; I have no taste for 
usca. "I met Carillon once," he said reminiscently. "I 
was but a boy, no older than Belen, but I knew enough 
to be impressed. It was not long after Tynstar had stolen 
twenty years of his life. Already the disease ate away at 
his bones." Still smiling, he drank. I did not. 


"My lord" I began. 


"I never saw him again." Clearly, Alaric was not fin-
ished. Until he was, he had no intention of allowing me 
to speak. "When my brother slew him, I was here. Beat-
142 


ing back Erinnish wolfbounds form my shores." Alaric 
continued to smile. 


I set down my gobtet with a thud. Usca slopped over 
the rim. "It was for you to end my captivity." 


If my curtness surprised him, Alanc did not show it. 
Politely he set down his own cuphe would not drink if I 
did notand motioned calmly for me to be seated. I 
considered refusing. But my stiffening thigh ached and 
my head still rang from Uam's blow. I sat down. 


"It was for me to end your captivity." Alaric sat down 
and crossed his legs. His boots, I saw, bore massive spurs 
of rune-worked gold. "And did you curse me for not 
doing it while you bedded Deirdre of Erinn?" 


The breath ran out of my chest. There were no words 
in my mouth; no aborted explanation. Not before this 
man; he was Gisella's father. 


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Alaric rubbed idly at his clean-shaven chin. His manner 
was calm, too calm; he put me in mind of a cat waiting 
for the mouse to jump. "Well?" 


"You ally yourself with Strahan and the Ihlini. Against 
my father." 


A comer of his mouth twitched in amusement. He 
knew very well why I altered the subject. "What I do is 
my own concern." He shifted minutely in the chair. The 
golden spurs glinted. Oddly, they reminded me of Hrbands. 
"I have no intention of filling your head with 
Atvian history, Niall. Suffice it to say it was never my 
wish to give my fealty to Donal." He shrugged a little, 
dismissing it. "We are uneasy bedmates at best. He 
takesI give. And I am weary of it." 


I stood up "My lord, if you have no intention of 
honoring the alliance, I have no intention of listening to 
you." 


"Sit down," he told me coolly. "If I have ruffled your 
feathers, accept my apology. But I am being frank with 
you, Niall. You are not a boy any longer." 


No, I was not. The quick anger and affrontedness 
spilled away almost at once; I sat down. It would harm 
nothing to listen to the man. 


"Think of what I would gain if the alliance were ended," 
he suggested. 


"War," I answered promptly. "And my father has 
beaten you once." 


Brown eyes narrowed a little. He studied me a moment. 
And then he smiled. "War. But even Homana 
^rows weaker when the wars drag on for decades." Politeness 
forgone, he reached out and took up his goblet, 
swallowing usca again. "You are here," he said. "A trifle 
tardy, perhaps, but that is no fault of yours. I see no 
reason for invalidating the proxy wedding. Gisella would 
bedisturbed." 


He spoke so calmly of his daughter and the wedding 
when he knew about Deirdre and me. I wondered uneasily 
how he had gotten his information. If he had a loyal 
Atvian servant somewhere in Kiloreor, for that matter, 
a disloyal Erinnish oneShea and everyone else could be 
in danger. 


"My lord, if you truly wish to let this marriage go 
forth, why did you not give in to Shea's demands?" 


"Because I give in to no one." 


It was my turn to smile. "But you gave in to my father. 
I know all about it. You knelt on the floor and kissed his 
sword and swore fealty to him." 


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"And in return I got his sister for my wife. Gisella for 
a daughter." He raised dark brows. "Who gained, who 
lost? Surely / benefited more than Donal did." 


Surely he had. And he knew I knew it. "Is a title so 
important? Worth so many wars?" 


"This one is." A signet ring glinted on Alaric's hand: 


silver set with jet. "It has belonged to the Atvian lord 
since before I was bom. My grandsire, Keough, won it 
from Ryan of Erinn. Shea did not contest it until his heir 
was born." 


"Your sister was wed to Shea. Does it mean nothing to 
you?" 


He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, elbows on 
his knees. "Boy, you must leam the practicalities of 
alliances and wars. When one is broken, the other invari-
ably follows." A warning, perhaps? He rose. "For more 
than two hundred years Erinn and Atvia have been at 
war. Intermittently, of coursewe cannot always fight. 
But it is as much a part of the Atvian and Erinnish way 
of life as shapechanging is of yours." He movement was 
arrested. "Ah, but of courseyou cannot. I had heard 
you lack a A'r." 


I thrust myself out of the chair. Impotent rage welled 
up as Alaric continued smiling. 


Gods, if only I could close that mouth forever 


"Niall," he said gently. "Did you expect us to be 
friends?" 


With effort, I said, "I expected us to be civfl." 


He put his emptied goblet on the table. "This is civil, 
boy. I am not Shea of Erinn." 


"Shea of Erinn possesses more integrity, honor, and 
manners than you could ever hope for!" 


"No doubt," he said easily. "Nonetheless, he is a 
fool." He looked past my shoulder and smiled, gesturing 
a welcome. "Niall, there is someone who wishes to see 
you." 


Gisella. I turned, trying to arrange my face into a mask 
of civilityGisella was due it even if her father was 
notand saw Liliith instead of Gisella. 


Again, she wore crimson- She was cloaked in the weight 
of her hair. "I offered you a choice," she said calmly. 
"You refused to accept my help. But I see you had other 
alternatives," 


No more would I look away from the woman. I stared 
intently back at her. "The gods look after their own." 


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After an arrested moment, Liliith began to smile. "The 
months have done you good,'*' she said obscurely. And 
then she laughed. 


I watched as she went to Alaric and kissed him inti-
mately, ignoring my presence entirely. He locked one 
hand in the curtain of her hair. The other pressed her 
against his loins. Because they wanted to make me un-
comfortable, I did not look away. 


Liliith broke from Alaric and turned to me. Her blacic 
eyes seemed blacker yet. "I have come to escort you to 
proper chambers. Tonight we honor you with a feast; 


you will need to rest until then." 


Her hand was on my arm. She waited. But before I 
went, I looked over my shoulder at Alaric. 


The Lord of Atvia was smiling. 


My assigned chambers, as I shut the door in Lillith's 
lovely face, were deeply shadowed. Again, there were no 
casements to let in the sunlight. Only candles, and most 
145 


were not lighted. Though it was only afternoon, die 
room was gloomy. I wanted nothing to do with it. 


LiJIith had remarked on my lack of clothing, saying 
those lost in the shipwreck would be replaced with oth-
ers. Now, made aware I had nothing of my own save the 
ruby signet ring and my silver-plated belt, I found myself 
longing for Cheysuli leathers. 


"Niall." A shape moved out of the shadows of the 
room. I spun, reaching for the knife I still did not have, 
and then 1 stopped moving altogether. 


The face was thin, too thin, so gaunt, fined down to 
flesh stretched nearly to splitting over the prominent 
bones of the skull. I saw hollowed pockets beneath high, 
angular cheekbones; circles like bruises beneath eyes, the 
yellow eyes, filled with a dozen haunted memories of 
what it was like to lose a brother. What it was like to lose 
a soul. He was a stranger to me, my brother, and yet I 
knew him so very well. 


"Ian!" And almost instantly: Oh, gods, what have they 
done to my brother?. 


He was thin. Ms domes were of Atvian cut; no Cheysuli 
leathers here. When lan had worn nothing else. His thick 
hair was dull, though clean, and had been cut much 
shorter than normal. It did not quite cover his ears; I saw 
the nakedness of his left lobe and realized what he had 
done. Or what they had made him do. 


What have they made of my brother? 


"Ru/ho?" he asked tentatively, and I saw the appre-
hension in his eyes. 


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I took a single step toward him. "Gods! lan, I thought 
you were dead! I thought you had drowned in the storm!" 
I stopped. I wanted to go to him, to embrace him even as 
Rowan and I had embraced; to give him welcome as I 
could give no other man. But I did not. Something in his 
manner held me back. 


"NiaU," he said. "OhgodsI thought she liedI 
thought she told me lies7 He shut his eyes so I would 
not see the tears. "But you are here" 


"Here," I echoed numbly. Oh, rujho, what have they 
done to you? "lan. . . ." At last I stretched out a hand to 
touch his shoulder. But as I touched him he moved 
rigidly away. Like a hound afraid of his master. 


"She said you were coming," he told me. "She said so, 
146 


but I did not believe her. She tells me so many things." 
His heavy swallow was visible, even in the shadows. 
"When there is one truth in twenty lies, I cannot always 
choose which one to believe in." 


"lan, what is wrong? What is wrong with you?" 


He flinched. Visibly. As if the master had struck the 
hound. "I know, now. I know what it is, now. The pain. 
The emptiness. The void within a heart." He drew in an 
unsteady breath. "I have seen how it'is, how it has been 
with you all these years " 


'lan." 


'and now I know myself" 


'lan." 


'what a lirless man goes through" 


'ian!" 


'when his Ur is taken from him." The sinews knot-
ted even as his jaw muscles did. "I know what I must do. 
But she will not let me do itF 


I did not hold back. I crossed to him in a single stride 
and took him into my arms. And I thought how odd it 
was that I, the younger, the lirless Prince of Homana, 
now comforted a lirless warrior of the clan who had 
always comforted me-

With words and without. 


Beneath the woolen Atvian doublet and linen shirt, I 
felt the nakedness of his arms. In shock I drew back. 
"Where is your Ar-gold?" 


"Gone. I put it off." He pulled away, turning away; 


turning his back on me. 


As if he cannot face me. "Ian" 
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"A lirless warrior has no right to wear the gold." and 
then he turned. "You should know that, Niall." 


Niall. No more rujho. Had Tasha's loss also made him 
forget other bonds? 


Or is it what they have done to him? 


I wanted to shout at him. I did not. I drew in a 
steadying breath and told him, very quietly, "You have 
more right to wear the lir-gold than any warrior I know." 


Ian laughed. There was no humor in it. Only the vast 
emptiness of a man who has lost himself. "It is what a 
warrior does," he told me bitterly, "this putting off of 
the gold. A true warrior. One who conducts himself according 
the Cheysuli tradition" 
147 


"and seeks the death-ritual?" I finished. "In Homana 
I would never question it. But we are in Atvia, and" 


Interrupting rudely, another sign he was not himself, 
lan spat out an oath in the Old Tongue. "Do you think , 
that matters?what kingdom I am in? Oh, Niall, our f 
customs are not determined by where we are but by who. ^ 
I am Cheysuli. My lir is lost. There is only one thing left 
to do." 


"Then why are you here?" I wanted to shout it, knowing 
the question was the only way to trick an explanation 
from a man who so patently did not want to give me one. | 
"If you are willing to stand before me and prate about y 
Cheysuli tradition and lirlessness, then why not complete ',, 
the ritual? Live up to your heritage, shapechanger. Go ^ 
out and seek your death." ^ 


He twitched. Suddenly he was not lan before me, not 
my brother; not the boy to whom I had looked for i 
guidance nor the man to whom I had looked for compan-y 
ionship and protection in the court of the Lion Throne, .f 
Somehow, he wasdiminished.  


"Oh rujho," I said in despair, "what have they done to ^ 
you?" r 


"Not they," said a female voice distinctly. "What she ^ 
has done to him." 


This time it was Gisella. I had only to look at her as 
she shouldered shut the door. "You do not deny it, then?" F 


She did not answer. She came forward into the wash of | 
candlelight and I saw her-eyes: yellow as my brother's, 
No, Alaric had not stamped Gisella as Shea had stamped 
Liam and Deirdre. Nor as Carillon, through his daughter, 
had come back to live in me. In flesh and bone and g 
spirit, Gisella was more Cheysuli than I. t 


lan said nothing. Nor did I; I could think of nothing ^ 
succinct that would express what I was feeling. <; 


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She wore a gown the color of blood. Not the bright 
crimson red of Lillith's velvet skirts, but the color of 
day-old blood. Dull, a man might say; ugly, a woman 
would, but on Gisella the color was right. 
|' 
J 
,| 
^ 
She smiled. Ignoring lan, Gisella smiled at me, "I was 


not to let you see me before tonight's feast. But I could 
not wait." Her black hair was worn Cheysuli-fashion: 


braided, looped, twisted, fastened in place with golden , 
combs that glittered with ice-white diamonds. She had a '' 
148 


widow's peak. It gave her a look of elegance, of matu-
rity, and yet I knew she lacked both. She was oddly 
childish. Or was it childlike? "My father wanted you to 
be pleased with me. Are you pleased with me?" 


It is as if fan is not even in the room. "I think I might 
be more pleased if I knew what Lillith has done to my 
brother." 


Gisella shrugged. The gown was cut wide of her shoul-
ders, displaying smooth dark skin, elegant neck, a rope 
of gold and diamonds. "Only what she has done before. 
Though they were not Cheysuli." She looked at lan and 
smiled- Her eyes lit up and she laughed. "Because she 
wanted to do it. Because he hated her. Because he lacked 
a lir." 


"/ lack a fir." 


Her Ups parted in surprise. "UUith would never ensorcell 
your 


I turned to lan. "We will discover what she has done, 
rujho, I promise. And then we will" 


"do what?" Gisella came closer, skirts swinging. "He 
is Hrless, Niall. Without a fir he will go mad. But UUith 
will keep him from it. She said so ... she said she wants 
him." 


I stared. Her tone was utterly unconcerned, as if it 
mattered not one whit to her that the witch had ensorcelled 
my brother. "Gisella" 


She spun and spun in place, holding out blood-colored 
skirts. "Did Lillith not make me pretty?" 


"Gisella!" I cried. "By the gods, girl, are you blind? 
The woman is Ihlini!" 


She stopped spinning. The skirts settled. The diamonds 
stopped blinding me with their brilliant glitter. "The 
woman is my mother." 


"Your mother'" Aghast, I gaped openly. "Has she 
driven the sense from your head? Lillith is not your 
mother. Your mother was Bronwyn, sister to Donal of 
Homana. My aantsu'fala in the Old Tongue. You are 
my kinswoman, Gisella ... my cousin. No matter what 
she has told you, Lillith is not your mother." 


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Gisella frowned. Lifted a hand. Her nails, like Lillith's, 
were silver-tipped. And they ripped a hole in the air to 
replace it with living flame. 


Cold, cold flame . . . and a lurid Ihlini purple. 
149 


Two 


Gods! 


She ripped the air apart but a handspan from my face. 
I lurched back awkwardly, trying to escape the flame. 
Off-balance, I fetched up against a chair, overset it, went 
over myself, rolling, trying to get up before she could 
send loose another blast of icy, encompassing flame. 


"Gisellano/" I heard my brother shout. 


"But I want to," she said simply, and I wrenched 
sideways, thrusting up an arm to shield my blinded eyes. 


Flame licked out, caressed shrinking flesh, charred 
wool and linen . . . singed the reddish hairs upon my 
forearm. Backward I scrabbled, gulping air; came up 
against the stone wall and was stopped. "Gisella," I 
gasped, "no/" 


Sparks hissed form silvered fingertips, winking out even 
as they fell. A crackling aureole of livid lavender gloved 
her slender fingers. Godfire," she said, "do you see?" 


lan took a step toward her. Stopped. I did not blame 
him. No man, facing a girl as irrational as Gisella, would 
want to go closer to her, 


What has Lillith done to her? What has that witch done 
to both of them? 


"lan," I began, "wait" 


He thrust out a silencing hand. 


Gisella's eyes were fixed on me in an opaque, unwavering 
stare. Diamonds glittered. "Lillith said you would 
be mine." 


Gods . . . do they expect me to wed this girl? Do they 
really expect me to bed her? 


lan's hand motioned for me to stay precisely where I 
was. Decisively; he was lan again. And for the first time 
150 


since Gisella's attack, I looked at my brother instead of 
my cousin. 


He stood rigidly before her, in three-quarter profile to 
me. He was intent only on Gisella, marking her posture, 
her position in relation to me, to the rest of the room, to 
him. Like me, he was unarmed, but I knew, looking at 
him, even lacking knife or bow he was as lethal as he was 


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with them. 


An odd juxtaposition. They were very like one another, 
lan and Gisella, reflecting kinship as well as racial 
heritage. Again, it was / who was so different. Lirless \ 
was even as lan was, but still so very different. 


Slowly, lan stretched out a hand to Gisella. Their 
fingertips nearly touched. Gisella gazed at him fixedly, as 
if she sought to judge his intentions. Still the godfire 
clung to her hand. 


And then his, as he touched his fingers to hers. 


lan? 


"No," he told her gently. "Loose no magic at him, or 
you will surely anger the gods." 


"Gods?" she whispered. "Gods?" Like a striking viper, 
her other hand shot out and clawed at his face. In its 
wake I saw the afterglow of flame slicing the an- apart as 
easily as steel


lan caught her striking hand,. The other he claimed as 
well. By the wrists he held her, nearly suspending her. 
She cried out angry curses I did not know, fearing them 
Atvian or, worse, Ihlini invective. Such curses could summon 
demons. 


From rigid fingertips ran blood, raisin black. Or fire; I 
could not say. It ran down fingers to wrists and spilled 
onto lan's hands. Gisella laughed even as he cursed. 


I scrambled up, thrusting myself from the floor. Against 
both of us, surely, she could not persevere; I moved 
toward them both, intending to aid lan however I could. 


Gisella saw me. Her eyes, swollen black in the muted 
candlelight, shrank suddenly down to pinpricks. Yellow, 
so yellow, filled with the ferocity of a beast. 


And so she was. Even as lan cried out against it, I saw 
the precursor to the shapechange. A ripple. A blurring. 
The sense of a shattered equilibrium. And then the void, 
so all-encompassing, as it swallowed the woman whole 
and spat out the mountain cat. 
151 


She struck oJt, clawing, ripping the air where lan had 
been only a moment before. She was black, black as 
pitch, with tufted ears pinned against wedge-shaped head. 
Yellow eyes glared at us with a feral intensity. 


I have seen housecats, enraged, huddle back as if in 
fear. And I have seen the subtle sideways twisting of 
their heads; heard the eerie wailing of their song; sensed 
the awesome magnificence of their rage. In Gisella, that 
rage was manifested as clearly as was her madness. 


She struck out twice more, slashing with curving claws. 
Had lan not been quicker, she would have shredded 
wool and flesh. She did not try for me. lan was her 


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target. 


He moved as only a Cheysuli can move, with a grace 
and fluency of motion echoing that of the cat herself. I 
wondered if it was born in the blood or came with the 
/ir-bond. I thought the latter. I had none of my brother's 
grace. But then, he had none of my size-
She screamed. It lifted the hairs on the back of my 
neck. It was the cry of a hunting mountain cat who has 
decided on her prey. 


/ can slay her, I thought dazedly, leaping behind the 
overturned chair even as lan lunged back against the 
wall. / can slay her and end this madness. 


But to do that would end the prophecy before its final 
fulfillment. 


One man of all blood shall unite, in peace, four warring 
realms and two magic races. 


But how does a man get children on a woman such as 
Gisella? 


"Gisella!" shouted Alaric from the doorway. 


Almost instantly, she was back in human form. She 
twisted hands in heavy skirts, backing away even as her 
father advanced. "No," she said, "no. Please? No." 
The yellow eyes, once so rilled with a virulent anger, now 
reflected the fear of a disobedient child discovered. "It is 
so hard not to" 


Alaric caught slender shoulders in slender hands. 
Gisella's hands splayed across her cheeks as she tried to 
look away from his angry face. "Again," he said curtly, 
"again. Will you never learn, Gisella? There are reasons 
for what I forbid." 


"I will leam," she promised, "I will. Butsometimes I 
have to do it!" 


"Even against your father's wishes?" 


She threw back her head and laughed. Laughed. And 
then she wrenched out of his bands and faced him as 
defiantly as she had faced us. "You are only angry be-
cause you cannot shapechange! Oh, no. Not you! Not 
even Lillith can." Throwing out her arms, Gisella let her 
head fall back against her spine. She spun in place. How 
she spun, my poor, mad cousin. "I can," she sang, "I can 
. , . and nobody else can do it!" Spinning, spinning, she 
crossed the floor. Gold and diamonds spun with her, all 
aglow in the candlelight. And then she stopped short, so 
short; so close to lan her skirts tangled on his boot tops. 
"Not even you can," she told him cruelly. "Not since 
Lillith took your lir."  


I looked at the Lord of Atvia. "She is mad," I told 
him. "Quite mad," 


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He smiled calmly. "But you will wed her anyway." 


"Wed me!" his daughter cried. "Niall is to wed me!" 
She left lan behind and came at once to me, locking 
hands into the fabric of my doublet. "They have told me 
I must wed you and be Queen of Homana. Wilt you 
make me Queen of Homaaa?" 


Gods. One day I would. 


"Gisella," Gently, I tried to unlock her fingers. "Gisella, 
I think there is something I must discuss with your father." 


"Why?" she cried. "He will only say you should not 
shapechange, either. He is always telling me that." She 
jerked her hands from my grasp, locked arms around my 
neck. "Niall," she said, "when will we be wed?" 


"As soon as he takes you to Homana," Alaric told her 
smoothly. "Once all the celebrations here are finished." 


I peeled Gisella away and set her aside, confronting 
Alaric squarely. "There will be none," I said briefly. "By 
the gods, you fool, why were we never told? Why was this 
travesty allowed to continue? Do you think I wish to wed 
that?" 


"Does it matter?" he asked. "You will. Because your 
prophecy demands it." Even as I started to speak he 
silenced me with a gesture. "Turn your back on my 
daughter, child of the prophecy, and you twist that proph-
ecy. Perhaps even end it predpitately." He smiled. "In 
153 


addition, your father will discover me on his doorstep. 
Armed. With at least five thousand men-at-arms. Is that 
what you wish to see?" 


"Twenty-five hundred," I countered bitterly. "Liam 
has promised me that much." 


Alaric's brows rose. "The truce already broken? Ah 
well, I have other plans. I doubt Liam would be so 
willing to levy war against Atvia when all of his kin are 
slain . . . including his wanton sister." He smiled- "I 
thought that might get your attention." 


"You do have an informant in Kilore" 


"Informants," he corrected. "Assassins, more like. A 
word from meor a beacon fire on the cliffand the 
royal Erinnish eagles are dashed to the rocks below." 
Alaric smiled. "I might even have it done tonight." 


Gods I bared my teeth. "Why not?" I asked. "What 
good do they do you alive?" 


"I have been advised it might be best to play this game 
carefully." Alaric shrugged. "I am not so proud that I 
cannot accept assistance from someone morepatient 
than myself." 


"Ullith?" I demanded, "Aye, patient! And what else is 
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she, my lord?" 


"My mother," Gisella said promptly. Almost instantly 
a hand flew to cover her mouth; she looked at her father 
fearfully. "Butthat is not really true ... is it? You told 
me " 


"I told you the truth," Alaric answered evenly. "Bronwyn 
bore you, Lillith raised you." He smiled. "How else 
could you combine Ihlini illusion with the Cheysuli 
shapechange?" 


"Illusion," I said, startled. "None of it was real?" 


Gisella thrust out a hand. Fingers snapped open. Even 
Alaric squinted in the glare of the blinding flame, "Real," 
she said flatly. "Real!" 


"Real," he agreed patiently. "Of course it is, Gisella." 
He looked at my brother and smiled. "Lillith wants you, 
lan. Had you not better go?" 


Before my eyes I saw my brother diminished. He said 
nothing; indicated nothing by posture or movement, but 
he could not hide the revulsion in his eyes-

For himself. Not for Lillith. 


"Rujho" I began. 


lan did not even look at me. He walked past me and 
out of the room. 


Alaric laughed. "Interesting, is it not? To see a Cheysuli 
humbled?" 


"Not lan." But even in my ears the declaration sounded 
hollow. "Do you intend to humble me?" 


Alaric glanced at his daughter. "Gisella. The game." 


She smiled delightedly. Eyes alight, she put out fisted 
hands. To me. "Choose." 


"Not too quickly," Alaric cautioned. "Wait a moment." 
He moved behind her, resting hands on the bared flesh 
of her shoulders. Then he smiled at me, and I saw the 
game was on. "Should we humble you, Niall, as Lillith 
has humbled lan? Could we? You are very different. 
Half-brothers, perhaps, but very different. Like two pearls 
from the same oyster: Ime black" Gisella opened her 
right hand and displayed a pearl, a perfect peari, blue-
black in copper-toned flesh **the other white. Do you 
see?" I saw. hi the other palm was displayed the other 
pearl. White. Aglow against her hand. 


"Very pretty." I granted it because I knew they would 
demand it. 


Alaric moved around his daughter and took the pearls 
from her hands. Inspected them. "Aye," he agreed, "very 


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pretty. But at their best only when given into a woman s 
keeping." His brown eyes were very steady as he looked 
at me. "Do you understand?" 


"What does she want with him?" I ignored the impli-
cations in Alaric's game of pearls and men. "What does 
she do to him?" 


Alaric, shrugging, smiled. "Some men keep hounds, 
some women cats. Lillith keeps men." 


"You?" I thought it an odd arrangement: light woman 
to a king, yet collector of other men. 


Alaric's eyes glinted. "She came to Atvia twenty years 
ago from Solinde. She had grown bored, she said, with 
her young half-brother's machinations; she wished to try 
her own. I saw her. I wanted her. And when I learned 
precisely what she was, I gave in gracefully." His smile 
grew. "She said she always wanted a tame Cheysuli." 


"He will die," I said hoarsely, "or give himself over to 
death." 


"Because he lacks his Ar?" Alaric laughed. "I do not 
155 


think so." He dropped the pearls to the floor. As they 
struck, they splashed. And I saw they were only tears. 


"I must go," Alaric said brusquely. "There is a feast to 
overseein your honor, my lord Prince of Homana. Will 
we see you there?" 


"Have I a choice?" 


"Of course," he said politely. "You may come or not, 
as you wish." He looked at his daughter as he put his 
hand upon the door. "Gisella . . . you know what to 
do." 


"I know what to do," she said brightly. "7 know what 
to do!" 


Alaric shut the door. 


I stood very still in the center of the room. And then 
slowly, so slowly, hardly realizing what I did, I righted 
the overturned chair and sat down awkwardly, like a man 
with too little sleep. My eyes burned as I stared at 
Gisella. 


Arms outstretched, she began to spin in place. "Did 
Lillith not make me pretty?" 


I shut my eyes. Oh gods 


"Niall!" 


Oh gods 


"M-allll!" 


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"Pretty," I mumbled. "Aye." 


"But you are not looking at me!" Hands were suddenly 
on my face, peeling my eyelids back. "How can 
you see me when your eyes are closed?" 


I caught her wrists and threw her hands away from me. 
I rose even as she protested. "Bronwyn's daughter, are 
you? By all the gods of Homana, girl, how could you 
turn out like this? Because of Lillith? Because of Alaric? 
Because you know no better?" 


She tried to twist free of my grasp, but I held her too 
tightly. Still, I could not help thinking of how she had 
reacted to lan's touch; how she had assumed the shape of 
a mountain cat as if to mock his loss of Tasha. 


"Bronwyn's daughter," I said again. "You claim the 
Old Blood, do you? And take on any form at will?" 


"When he lets me," she said, pouting. "He does not 
let me very often." 


"Why not? Does Lillith then lose control?" 


"Because of what happened to my mother. My real 
156 


mother." She tried to twist free again. This time I let her 


go"
What happened to your mother?" I was assailed by 


sudden suspicion as well as apprehension. "What happened 
to Bronwyn, Gisella?" 


"She died." Bronwyn's daughter rubbed sore wrists and 
glared at me from beneath lowered brows>. "She shapechanged, 
and she died." 


"Shapechanged! Why? And how did she die?" Suspicion 
flared more brightly. "Was it Lillith?" 


"No. My father." Gisella shrugged. "He did not mean 
it. He told me he did not mean it. Because he had no 
wish to slay me." 


"Gisella!" I caught her upper arms. "Tell me how she 
died!" 


"He shot her!" she cried. "With an arrow! He thought 
she was a raven!" 


"A raven?" 


"In Atvia they mean death," she told me. "Ravens are 
death-omens." She shrugged. "Everybody shoots them." 


So Bronwyn tried to flee her Atvian husband. "Gisella!" 
I tightened my hands. "What did he tell you happened?" 


She twisted to and fro, protesting ineffectively even as 
she answered. "He saidhe said he only meant to slay a 


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raven. But it was her ... it was her. ..." She stopped 
moving. Her eyes were very clear. "He slew my mother, 
Niall. While she was carrying me." 


"And she fell. . . ." 


"I was born that day," Gisella told me, "before my 
mother died." 
I looked into her eyes and saw no pain, no grief. Only 


a calm matter-of-factness; only the innocence of a child 
repeating what she has been told. What Alaric meant his 
daughter never to tell. 


"Gisella," I said gently, "I am sorry." 


Her smooth brow creased. "Do you think it hurt?" she 
asked. "The fall? I cannot remember any pain." 
"No pain," I said, "not now." I let go of her arms. But 


Gisella moved in against me, like a child seeking com-
fort, so I enfolded her in my arms and gave the child the 
comfort she craved- "No pain ever again." 


Her face was against my neck. "Sometimes I am afraid." 


"I will take away the fear." 
157 
She murmured something against my throat. And then 


she pulled away, laughing, and reached up to clasp my 
jaw in both her hands. 
"Gisella" 
"She said you would be mine" 
and I was falling, falling, even as I stood there; 


even as I tried to speak and could not; tried to reach out; 
tried to wrench away; tried to break free of the woman 
who held me trapped within her hands. 


Something is in me, something in mesomething 


something indefinablesomething reaching into my 
mind, my soul, my self 
until there was nothing left 
nothing left 
of Niall at all. 
"Niali," she whispered, "we have to go to bed." 
158 
Three 
A torch was put into my hand. "Light the beacon-fire, 


Niall. We must warn ships of the dragon's presence." 
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The dragon. Aye, the dragon, with his cold breath and 
endless appetite, swallowing helpless ships. 


"Light the fire, Niall." 


The wind gusted. The torch flared, roared; streamers 
of flame were snatched from the pitch-soaked rag and 
shredded in the air, the cold air; the breath of Alaric's 
dragon-
Or was it UUith's dragon? 


"Light the fire, Niall." 


I stretched out my arm toward the cone-shaped stand 
of faggots. Flame snapped, whipped; yellow flame, pure, 
clean yellow, with not the faintest trace of purple. 


The flames drew my eyes. Transfixed, I stared. I could 
not look away. 


"or a beacon-fire on the cliff" Alaric had said. But 
I could not remember why. 


We stood on the dome of the dragon's skull, wrapped 
in the dragon's breath. Visible yet intangible, it rose to 
cloak us like a mantle, all five of us: lan, Gisella, Lillith, 
Alaric, and myself. At sundown, as daylight spilled out 
of the sky to be replaced by moonlight. Even now the 
platinum plate was visible scudding above the ragged 
chalky headlands of the island across the Tail. 


Erinn. So close. So/or. 


Aerie of the Eagles. 


"Light the fire, Niall," Alaric told me gently. 


I twitched. Blinked. My eyes were filled with fire. I 
could see nothing but the fire. 


Hands were on my right arm, tugging me toward the 
159 


pyre. Slender, feminine hands, but almost masculine in 
their demand. "Do it." she said plaintively. "I want to 
see the fire." 


And for her I would do anything. 


I plunged the torch deep into the heart of the stack. 
Kindling snapped, caught, blazed up. I fell back, shield-
ing my race against the flame. 


"Fire." she whispered. "So pretty" 


Alaric removed the torch from my hand. He was smil-
ing, but it was an odd, thoughtful smile, full of secret 
knowledge. He stepped to the edge of the promontory 
and was silhouetted against the rising moon; laughing, he 
threw the torch as for as be could into the darkness 
beyond. 


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I watched it fall, spinning, spinning, shedding light and 
smoke and flame. 


^That for Shea of Erino.'* His words were thick with a 
joyous satisfaction. 


"And Deirdre ^ Gisella said sharply. "Deirdre, too." 


Alaric turned. For a frozen moment he looked only at 
his daughter, seeing the fixed, feral stare of her yefiow 
eyes, and then he stepped away from the edge to wrap 
her in his arms. He embraced her tightly, cradling her 
bead against his shoulder. In the light of the blazing 
beacon-fire I saw the glint of tears in his eyes. "No 
more," he told her softly, rocking her in his arms. "No 
more Deirdre, my lovely girl; my beautiful, fragile spar-
row. No more threat to your happiness. That I promise 
you." 


"When will the baby come?" she asked. "When will 
my baby come?" 


"Six months," he told her gently. "In six months you 
will hold your baby." 


Her hands slipped down to touch her belly, splaying 
across heavy skirts. And then she broke away from her 
rather and threw out her arms. Spinning, spinning, she 
tipped back her bead and let the black hair spill out into 
the wind, whipping, whipping, as she whirled atop the 
dome of the dragon's skull. 


"A baby!" she cried. "A baby of my own. . . ." 


"Niall," Above the howl of the wind, I heard the other 
woman. "It is time for you to go home." 


In the bright light of the roaring flames, I saw Lillith 
160 


with my brother. She did not touch him; she did not have 
to. She had only to be near him, and he was lost. 


Lost. 


But in his grieving eyes I saw a reflection of myself-

The man came to me as I stood on the dock, prepared 
to board the ship. He looked familiar, but I did not know 
him at once. "My lord," he said, in a smooth, cultured 
baritone, "I am to sail with you. As envoy to your father's 
court, and as companion to the princess." When I said 
nothing, he smiled. "My name is Varien. Do you not 
remember me?" 


And then, of course, I did. "I thought you drowned," I 
told him. "I thought you swallowed by the dragon." 


"No, my lord." So polite, so sincere, so much in con-
trol of his emotions; t envied him. "The Lady Lillith saw 
to it I survived." 


"She is generous," I said simply. "She kept my brother 
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from drowning, as well." 


"And you?" 


"No." I shook my head. "No. I washed ashore . . . I 
think it was near Rondule. That is where they found me." 


"Of course, my lord. I recall." He gestured gracefully 
toward the ramp. "Shall you board? Everything is prepared. 
Even your brother waits." 


"lan?" I looked at Varien sharply. "I thought Lillith 
was keeping him." 


"No, my lord. She has what she wants from your brother. 
lan goes home with you." 


Alaric stood on the dock and hugged his grieving daughter. 
"Do not cry," he told her. "Do not fret, Gisella. You 
go to become a queen." 


"But I want to stay here with you!" 


"I know. But now your place is with your husband, not 
your father." 


"But I will miss you so!" 


"No more than I will miss you." 


She clung to him a moment longer as if she would never 
let him go, then abruptly pulled back to look up at him 
expectantly. "Will he give me other babies?" 


Alaric smiled and stroked her windblown raven hair. 
"He will give you all you want." 
161 


She reached up to kiss him. And then she boarded the 
ship. 


"A gift," Lillith told me, "to see you safely home." 
And she put something in my hands. 


I looked. A tooth. A smooth white tooth, thick at one 
end, narrow and curved at the other. A dog's tooth, or a 
wolfs. It was set into a cap and hook of gold, which 
depended from a thong. 


"Wear it," she said, smiling. "Wear it and think of 


1." 


me. 


I put the thong around my neck. 


The sea is an endless place, a place in the world where 
time nearly stops and all a man knows is patience. I had 
found what little I had of it, rationed it well, and managed 
to keep myself whole. But for lan, I could not say 
the sameHe 
stood at the rail near the prow of the ship, staring 


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eastward, ever eastward, toward Homana. In two months 
I had watched him dwindle to a shadow, hardly a man at 
all. Physically he was present, but elsewhere he was not, 
Homana, for me, is home. For Ion it is his death. 
Waves slapped the sides of the ship. Timbers creaked. 
Canvas billowed, cracked taut. I heard the song of a ship 
under sail. 


Midsummer, nearly. But it would be another month 
before we were home. I thought we would miss the 
Summerfair in Mujhara. It would be the first time since I 
could remember. The first time for either of us. 
Us. 


Slowly I crossed the deck. Though I knew he heard 
me, he did not turn. He stood at the rail and clutched it, 
dark hands locked around the wood. Two months since 
we had set sail. His hair had grown to cover his ears; to 
cover the mark of his shame. To hide the naked ear. 
Even now, free of Ullith, he left off Cheysuli leathers 
and wore Atvian garb instead, much as I did: low boots, 
snug trews and a full-sleeved linen shirt, billowing in the  
salt-breeze. ^ 
I settled a hand on his shoulder. "lan" ^ 
"No." ,& 
"Rujho" 'J 
162 ^ 


"No." 


"At least do me the courtesy of allowing me to share 
your company while you yet live," I snapped. "Gods, 
rujho, you will be gone from me soon enough. Why do 
you already leave?" 


He turned so sharply I fell back a step. "I did not 
leaveit was you!" He clamped a hand around my arm. 
His eyes were filled with despair- "Gods, NiaHdo you 
even know what you have done? What they have done to 
you? Or should I say: what she has done to you, since it 
takes a Cheysuli to do what the girl has done." 


"It was to you." I was precise in my amazement. "It 
was Ullith" 


"Aye," he said harshly. "Lillith. And who was it for 
you?" 


"I," she said. "It was I." 


I turned. "Gisella!" 


"It was," she said. "Lillith told me I could do it. She 
said I should. Otherwise you would never lie down with 
me." Hands cupped belly protectively. "And then there 
would be no baby." 


Already the child showed. Gisella was slender, too 
slender; she did not carry the baby well. Though only 
five months along, she was huge. Ungainly. Wearied of 
the weight. The summer warmth was crueler to her than 
to others; though she wore a tKin linen gown with sleeves 
cut off, I saw the dampness of perspiration soiling the 


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fabric. A fine sheen filmed face and arms, already bumed 
darker by the sun. She had tied her heavy hair back, but 
strands of it crept loose to straggle down the sides of her 
face. 


She looked at lan- "I am Cheysuli. I know a few 
Cheysuli customsthose they have let me learn." Much 
of her intensity had vanished, replaced with a weary 
vacancy. She seemed to have tired of what they had told 
her she must say and do. "Without a lir, you die." 


"There is a ritual involved," he said; roundabout 
agreement. 


"But you die." Yellow eyes met yellow eyes. "I think 
Niall would not like that. I think I will give you your lir." 


lan laughed- I could not. 


Quick tears filled Gisella's eyes. "Do you think I lie? 
Do you think I would lie to you?" 
163 


He opened his mouth to answer at once. I knew what 
he would tell her. Aye, Gisella, you He. I think you would 
He to me. But he shut his mouth and said nothing, because 
we both knew she could not help it. She was 
incapable of knowing the difference. 


The tears spilled over. A low moan issued from a 
trembling mouth, and then she spun and ran away. Thinking 
of the baby, I started to follow; lan Jerked me back. 


"Let her go. Like a child, she means to cry. And then 
she will fall asleep, and the world will be right when she 
wakes." 


I wrenched free of his hand. "How can you be so cold? 
There was a time you might have been the one to offer 
comfort." 


"To Gisella?" he asked. "No. She has a taint about 
her. The smell of an Ihlini." 


"Tricks," I said. "Lillith only taught her tricks. She 
has no Ihlini powers." 


"Tricks," lan mocked. "Aye. The sort of tricks Tynstar 
taught Electra." He looked at me intently and shook his 
head. "But what does it matter if she knows a few Ihlini 
tricks? She has done enough damage to you with the gifts 
the gods gave us." 


And then Gisella was back, still crying. In her hands 
was the glint of gold. "Do I lie?" she asked. "Do I lie?" 


She threw down the gold. It rang and thudded against 
the decking: a cat-shaped earring and two massive spurs. 
Alaric's rune-worked spurs. 


lan did not move. / did; I knelt. Picked up the earring 
and then the heavy spurs with their leather straps dyed 
black. Looked up at Gisella in amazement. 


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She rubbed the back of her hand across a sweat-sheened 
brow. "He melted them," she explained. "The bracelets. 
He wanted them for himself." i 


"Not bracelets," I said numbly. "Ly-bands. The mark 'f 
of a boy become man." Gods, what I would give for gold |[ 


of my own 1 rose, turning to lan. In shaking hands I 
held them out. "Rujho?" ^ 
^ 
He did not move. "That is gold. That is not my A'r." j, 
"I could not carry her," Gisella said tearfully. "Not 
while I carry the child." 
^ 
^ 
lan's head snapped up. "Her?" 
164 I 
^ 
She scrubbed tears from sunburned cheeks. "Below," 
she said. "Below." 
I hooked the straps over my wrist and grabbed her arm 
before lan could. "Where?" I asked. "Show us where." 
Gisella showed us. She took us below to the hold 
where the cargo was carried, where we had no cause to 
go. To the back, near the bilges. 
"Wait," she said sharply, pushing through the chests 


and other gear. At last she bent over a canvas-shrouded 
crate. She plucked something from the crate and turned, 
hiding it behind her back. "You may come now." 


Spurs clinking, I caught Gisella and dragged her hand 
into the open. "Gisella, let me see.'* 


She resisted. Gave in. Opened her hand as I told her 
to. In the palm was the withered foot of a predator bird, 
curved talons spread as if to strike. 


Gisella shrugged, twisting shoulders defensively, "She 
told me it was from a fir. A hawk, she said. She said she 
needed it for the spell." She glanced sidelong at lan. "So 
you would not know the cat was in Rondule." 


"Rondule!" I cried. "All this time Tasha has been in 
Rondule?" 


"Lillith wanted to keep her. So she could keep him." 
Again, she looked at lan. "But thenshe said she did 
not care to keep him any more; that he had given her 
what she wanted. She said now it would be sweeter to 
know he gave himself over to death while his lir was so 
so close at hand." 


I looked at the thing in her hand. But even as she 
spoke, the withered foot and curving talons fell away into 
grayish dust. 


Gisella sucked in her breath. "No more spell!" she 
cried in despair. And then, singing softly, "All gone 
away. ..." She turned her hand palm down and poured 
out the grayish dust. "Allgoneaway. . . ." 


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lan tore open the crate as I stared at the girl who was 
my wife. My poor, fragile-wilted wife. 


Whispering, "AHgoneaway. ..." 


"Gisella" 


"Gods, it is Tasha. It isF lan was almost incoherent. 
"Rujho, help me" 


He had not asked it for so long. I turned from Gisella 
to lan and helped him lift the slack body from the bot-
165 


torn of the crate. We dragged Tasha free of the crate 
entirely and settled her on the flooring. She was alive, 
but only just. Still, her eyes knew us both. One paw 
reached out weakly and patted Ian*s foot. 


He sat down awkwardly, as if he could no longer 
stand, and pulled what he could of the cat into his lap. I 
could tell by the look in his eyes that he spoke with her 
in the link. Once more, I was shut out. But this time I 
did not care. 


"Whole," he whispered. "No more a lirless man" 


This timethis time onlyit did not seem to matter to 
me that I still was. 


When he had assured himself, or been assured by 
Tasha, that the mountain cat would survive, lan looked 
up at Gisella. In his eyes I saw the tears. "Leijhana 
tu'sai" he said unevenly. "Leijhana tu'sai, Gisella." 


I rose. I caught her shoulders in my hands. "Those 
words are Cheysuli thanks," I told her, when I could. 
"You have made him whole again." 


"But not you" she said obscurely. 


And then she sat down and drew pictures in the dust of 
a murdered lir. 


166 


Four 


She sang a song I did not know and hardly heard. It was 
not meant for me, but intended only for herself. And 
perhaps for the child. 


"Gisella," I said gently, "there is nothing to harm you 
here. This is Homana-Mujhar." 


She stood in a corner of the antechamber, hugging 
herself. Hugging herself, rocking herself, singing to her-
self. Softly, so very softly; she meant to disturb no one. 
She meant only to lock herself away from the fear of 
what must come. 


I stroked the hair from her eyes. She had gone away 
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from me to that very private place she had sought more 
and more the closer we came to Mujhara. I had lost her 
somewhere on the road from Hondarth. Physically she 
was with me, but otherwise she was not. 


She sang. She hugged. She rocked. 


I shut her up in my airs and tried to still the rocking. 
Her swollen belly pressed against me, intrusive and un-
yielding. She was bigger still than before, having two 
months less to wait for the birth of the child. Only two, 
now, before I would be a father. 


"Niall? Are you here? I was told you would be here!" 
It was my mother hastening into the adjoining room; I 
felt Gisella stiffen in my arms. 


"Wait," I called, perhaps a trifle curtly. No doubt it 
was the last word she had expected to hear form me. 
"Gisella," I said gently, "Gisella, I promise you. No one 
here will harm you." 


She sang on, rocking herself within the circle of my 
arms. And so I left her to herself and went into the 
chamber to greet my mother. 
167 


I said nothing. What she felt was manifest in her face. 
I crossed to her and let her put her arms around me, 
acutely conscious of how large I was in comparison to 
her. "Mother" 


"Say nothing." Her words were muffled; most of her 
face was pressed against my chest. "Justlet me hold 
you." 


And so I let her hold me, even as I held her. It was 
odd to think of her as the woman who had borne me 
nineteen years ago, even as Gisella would bear my child. 
Somehow it was impossible to think of the Queen of 
Homana as ever being little more than a woman in tra-
vail, trying to give Homana an heir for the Lion Throne. 


"Fourteen months," she whispered. "Oh Niall, I feared 
I would never see you again! Even after Alaric sent word 
that Shea of Erinn held you. Even after Rowan came 
home and said you fared quite well in Erinnish captiv-
ity." She pulled away and stared up into my face. "How 
much was the truth?" 


"All of it," I told her. "Never once was I treated with 
anything less than my rank was due." 


She sighed in relief. "Thank the gods!" She hugged me 
again, then stepped away. "There. Enough. I have no 
wish to embarrass you with tears or clinging ways." Laugh-
ing a little, she pressed one hand against her mouth. 
"You see? Already I cry again." 


I smiled. "Embarrass me? No more than I might em-
barrass you. Gods, it is good to be home again!" And I 
pulled her back into my arms and hugged her one more 
time. 


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"Then the messenger had the right of it concerning 
your arrival," said my father as he came into the chamber. 
"His words were worth the gold I spent." 


I released my mother and went at once to him, to clasp 
his arms Cheysuli-fashion and then pull him into an embrace. 
In all the years of my life I had wanted to do it, 
and yet somehow I never had. He had seemed closed to 
me, somehow; closed to demonstrations of affection. 


"Leijhana tu'sai," he murmured fervently. "All those 
months I had to be strong for your jehana ... yet there 
was no one to be strong for the jehan." 


I could not imagine my father needing anyone but 
himself. And yet, once I might have said the same about 
168 


my brother. "You know about lan?" I stepped back out 
of the embrace. "The messenger did tell you he is alive?" 


"Aye," my mother said dryly. "Your father made him 
repeat it four times, just to be certain." 


I searched for resentment and found none; she was 
genuinely relieved. But I was not certain how much was 
for my father's sake rather than my brother's. 


"Where is he?" my father asked. "I expected him to 
be with you." 


"lan isat Clankeep." I saw the minute twitch of 
surprise in his face. "He said he requiredcleansing . . . 
and that you would understand." 


"I'toshaa-ni." My father turned away from me as if to 
hide his thoughts and feelings. But when he turned again 
I saw a residue of a fear I could not comprehend. "Is he 
all right?" 


"Well enough," I answered. "Tasha is mostly recovered 
and so lan is more himself, but" I could not avoid 
the truth any longer, and so I would not "he is not the 
warrior I knew before we left for Atvia." 


"No. Not if he is in need of i'toshaa-ni." Troubled, my 
father looked more grim than I could expect of a man 
who knew both of his sons were alive when he had 
believed them lost. 


"What is it?" my mother asked. *'I know so little of 
Cheysuli customs ... but what could keep lan away 
from his father when he has only just returned?" 


"A ritual of cleansing," my father said, patently reluctant 
to speak of it at all. "Itis a private thing . . . when 
a warrior feels his spirit soiled by something he has 
doneor by what others have done to himhe seeks to 
cleanse himself through i'toshaa-ni." He made a gesture 
of subtle finality and I knew the subject was closed. 


It was obvious my mother knew it as well. She wanted 
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to speak but did not, having learned his moods so well. I 
wondered if Gisella would ever know mine. 


Or if any man can know hers. 


"Niall," my mother said. "Niall, is this Gisella?" 


I turned abruptly. It was. She stood in the doorway to 
the antechamber. The curtain was caught over one shoul-
der so that half of her was hidden. But not enough. It 
was obvious she was weary, too weary; overburdened by 
169 


the child. I had thought to give her time to rest, bathe, 
change . . . but now that time was taken from us both. 


I went to her at once. She was quiet, very quiet; no 
more singing, hugging, rocking. Under my hands she 
trembled. "Gisella, I promise you, there is no need to be 
afraid." I pushed the curtain off her shoulder and brought 
her into the room. 


"By the gods!" My mother's tone was couched, all 
unintended, in the brutal honesty of shock. "The girl has 
already conceived!" 


My father was less forceful than my mother, but his 
surprise was no less obvious. "Niall" 


"She is very weary," I told them quietly. "The sea 
voyage was hard on her, the journey from Hondarth 
harder. Once she has rested, you will see another Gisella." 


"Niall," my mother said helplessly, "what am I to 
sayr 


"Say she is well come," I told her. "Oris she not?" 


"Niall." There was no hesitation on my father's part, 
no careful search for diplomacy. "She is as well come as 
your cheysula ever could be ... but what your jehana 
means to say is that the Homanans will claim the child is 
not your own." 


"Does it matter what they claim?" Beneath my hands, 
Gisella trembled. "When have you ever cared?" 


He did not cmile, my father, being less than pleased 
with me. "On the day when I at last understood what my 
tahlmorra truly entailed, I was made to care. But you 
may not have that chance." He did not so much as look 
at Gisella, being too intent on me. "Even now there are 
growing numbers of Homanans who rally around a face-
less, nameless bastard, known only as Carillon's son. Not 
his grandson, Niallhis son. And as those numbers grow, 
so does the threat to you. So does the threat to the Lion. 
And, by the gods!so does the threat to the prophecy of 
the FirstbornF 


"Donal." My mother, as ever, seeking to turn his 
anger from her beloved son. 


"No, Aislinn. He will have to know the truth." He 
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moved closer to me, confronting me squarely, still ignor-
ing Gisella. "On the day our kinsman has you slain in the 
name of Homanan rule, will you ask then if it matters 
what the Homanans claim?" His face, like his voice, was 


taut with suppressed emotion. And now he did look at 
Gisella. "Will you ask it when they have slain her as well. 
because she bears a child who might become a threat to 
them? Think of that, Niall, if not of yourself." He smiled, 
but there was no humor in it. "And nowask me again." 


"No." Chastened I was, but I did not look away. "No, 
there is no need. I spoke too hastily." I took a deep 
breath and started over again. "This is Gisella. And aye, 
she bears my child." I glanced briefly at my mother, still 
silent in her shock, then looked back at my father. "I do 
not doubt but that the wedding should be very soon. Not 
just because of the child, but because of Carillon's bas-
tard." I shrugged. "How better to secure the Uon for 
our line instead of his?" 


My mother turned away. The line of her spine was 
rigid; no doubt it troubled her deeply to know her father 
had sired a bastard. No doubt it troubled her more to 
know that bastard offered a very real threat to me. 


"Niall." She turned, skirts swinging. "Niallwill you 


forgive him?" 


Gods, how she needed me to say it; to say aye, of 
course I forgive him. As if it might absolve her of her 
guilt for believing in him so. So she could believe in him 


again. 


"Carillon was not a god," I said clearly. "He was a 
man. A man. And so is bis bastard son. So is his daugh-
ter's son." 


"Niall?" Gisella, breaking her silence. "Niall, is he the 


Mujhar?" 


I laughed aloud, relieved to hear her voice after she had 
been so long silent. "More than that," I said. "He is your 
mother's brother- Your su'fali, in the Old Tongue." 


Color came into her waxen face. Some of the weari-
ness dropped away. "Donal of Homana! My father speaks 


of you." 


My father's smile was wry- "Aye, no doubt he does. 
And does he speak of me with kindness?" 


He did not expect her to answer honestly. He expected 
embarrassed prevarication. But then, he did not know 


Gisella. 


"No," she said, with all the guilelessness of a child. 
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"He says you are a leech upon the treasury of Atvia, and 
that one day he will squash you." 


Before my mother could express her shock, my father 
laughed out loud. "Aye, well, I imagine he might well 
say so. In his position, I might say much the same. But 
then, it is a position Alaric himself brought about." No 
tact from him, not when she gave him none. "When you 
see him again, Gisella, you may tell him that for me." 


"But I will never see him again," she told him seri-
ously. "I must stay with Niall. Niall will be MuJhar. Niall 
will need me here." 


"Surely he will allow you to visit your father." My 
mother hid much of her growing dislike, but I heard it 
plainly in her tone. "He will not keep you chained to 
Homana." 


"But he will need me," Gisella insisted. "They said he 
would always need me." 


I saw my mother begin to frown. 


"Gisella," I said hastily, "this is my lady mother, Aislinn, 
the Queen of Homana." 


But Gisella was uninterested in my mother. Her atten-
tion was on my father. "I forgot," she told him. "There 
is a thing I am to do." Giggling, she tried to curtsy 
deeply, offering him what awkward homage she could 
manage. 


Immediately he stepped forward. "Gisella, there is no 
need for thai' 


and she was up, clawing godfire from the air with her 
left hand while her right hand clawed for his face. 


No. Not clawed. Her hand was filled with a knife. 


"Gisellano/" I caught her from behind even as she 
lunged for my father. I clamped her arms against her 
body, hugging her with all my force, while she struggled 
impotently to twist free of me to strike at him again. 


"Deaddeaddead" she chanted. "Deaddead-
dead-" 


"Gisellano" 


The air was choked with lilac smoke. The godfire was 
gone, but its aftereffects were not. My mother coughed, 
pressing an arm against nose and mouth. My father, 
having fallen back from Gisella's attack, now reached for 
the knife still clutched in her hand. 


"Dead-deaddead" 


"No," I told him, "let her be." 


"Nialt-" 
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"Let her be!" I shouted. "She is weary, so weary of the 
child. She is not herselfnot Gisellanot Gisella at all." 
Still I held her, clamping her arms against her sides. 
"You do not understand her." 


"I understand she has just tried to murder me," my 
father said angrily. "Am I not to question it?" 


"/ question it!" my mother cried. "By the gods, / 
will!" 


"No," I told her flatly. "Let Gisella be. She will be 
better when she has rested." 


"Better!' My mother stood by my father now, buttress-
ing his side as if she were a soldier. "You speak as if this 
were only a momentary aberration, Niall." 


"She is weary.'" 


"She is mad!" my mother interrupted coldly. "Do you 
think you will marry that?" 


"I have every intention of it." 


"Mad?" my father asked. "Or is it something Liilith 
has done?" 


Gisella stopped struggling. "Liilith," she said. "Liilith 
is my mother." 


"No, no. . . ." Already I could see the shock forming 
in their faces. "No, Liilith is not your mother, Gisella. 
Bronwyn was your mother." 


"She died," Gisella told them,earnestly. "He shot her 
out of the sky." 


My father recoiled as if she had struck out at him 
again, but this time the blade went home. 


"Out of the sky," Gisella repeated. "And she fell ... 
and she fell. . . and she crashed against the ground. . . ." 
She sighed. "After I was born, she died. She died of her 
broken body" 


"No more," I told her softly. "Gisella, say no more." 
Because I could not bear to see the look in my father's 
eyes. 


"My father slew my mother," she said brightly, and 
sucked on a piece of hair. 


"Gods," my father choked. "That ku'reshtin murdered 
Bronwyn, but it was / who sent her there." 


"Donal, no, do not blame yourself!" My mother's 
hands were on his arm. "I beg you; do not do this to 
yourself" 


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"/ gave her in marriage to that man . . . / made her 
wed him when she wanted nothing of it!" 


"Donal, you had no choice," she told him firmly. 
"You told me yourselfthere was the prophecy to think 
of." 


"Prophecy." He said it like a curse. "Gods, Aislinn 
when I think of the things I have done in the name of 
that thing ... ail the lives I have altered" 


"Donal." 


"Even yours," he said- "Even yours." 


There was the tone of bittersweet acknowledgment in 
her voice. "Aye," she said, "even mine. But do you hear 
me curse you for it?" 


"No," he said at last, "though the gods know I deserve 
it." 


"She died," Gisella said. "He shot her out of the sky." 


"Hush." I pulled the hair out of her mouth. "Hush, 
Gisella . . . please." 


My mother looked at Gisella. "You cannot marry that." 


"He has to," my father said wearily. "The prophecy 
requires it." 


"She just tried to slay you!" 


"And once, you tried to do the same." 


It was clear she had made herself forget that once she 
had been no less a tool for murder than Gisella. That 
once Tynstar, through Electra, had set a compulsion 
within her mind: to slay the man she was meant to wed. I 
knew the story. My father had told me once. 


"Oh gods/' she said brokenly, and tried to turn away. 


But my father did not let her. "Shansu," he said, "it is 
over- A long time over." 


She turned back. She did not bother to wipe the tears 
away. Theyand her anguishremained. "And if Gisella 
tries again?" 


"You did not," he told her. 


"Because you had Finn go in and find the trap-link." 
she said impatiently. "Donal, have sense! Gisella has 
spent her life with an Ihlini witch as well as with a father 
who despises you. Do you think she will not try again?" 


"Not if I defuse the trap-link . . . if there is a trap-
link." He looked at me. "Niall, you know what I must 
do." 


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I shook my head. "You see how weary she is." 
174 


"All the better. There will be less resistance." He 
looked at Gisella, who still held the glittering knife. "I 
will risk neither my son nor myself to the chance she may 
be ruled by an Ihlini." 


"My lord" 


"Prepare her, Niall. I have already summoned my lir," 


I did my best to prepare Gisella, telling her what to 
expect though I hardly knew myself. All my life I had 
known Cheysuli magic existed, gifts from the gods them-
selves, but never had I seen my father use it past taking 
on the shape of wolf or falcon. Even lan, who had as 
much power as any warrior, had shown me nothing other 
than the shapechange. Though father and brother also 
claimed the ability to heal, my childhood hurts had been 
allowed to heal naturally, without recourse to magic. 
Nothing had been serious enough to require it. 


Now, I knew, there was. But I wanted no part of it. 


I put Gisella to bed, covering the mound of her belly 
with a silken coverlet as she leaned back against the 
bolsters. She needed food, rest, sleep. She needed to be 
rid of the weight of the chUd. 


"Two more months," I said aloud, splaying my hand 
across her belly. "Two more, Gisella, and you will be 
free of this burden." 


Her own hand covered mine. "A baby, Niall. Some-
thing that will not drown as my puppies drowned, or 
break as my kitten broke." 


Someone touched a cold fingertip against the base of 
my spine- But there was no one in the room. "Gisellaa 
baby is nothing like an animal. Nothing like a pet." I 
stroked black hair away from her weary face. "A baby is 
more important than anything in the world." 


"More important than the Lion?" 


Her tone was earnest. So was her expression. But 
there was opacity in her eyes, as if she hid from me the 
other side of her question. 


I drew in a careful breath. "Gisella, if this baby is a 
boy, he will become the Lion." 


She giggled. "How can a man become a lion? There 
are no lions, Niall. They have all gone out of the world. 
Not even / can become a lion!" 


"He will be the Lion of Homana," I told her. "Mujhar." 
175 


L-T 


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I put out my hand and tet her see the ruby ring. "See the 
stone, GiseUa? See the rampant lion?" 


One finger touched the stone. I saw her pensive face as 
she traced the tiny etching in the flat ruby signet- "The 
Lion/' she murmured. "The Lion of Homana. ..." 
Abruptly she looked up at my face. "Are you the lion, 
Niall?" 


I shook my head. "Not yet. Not for a long time to 
come." 


She sighed. "But I want to be a queen." 


A step sounded in the room. "Aislinn has no intention 
of relinquishing her title for a long time to come," my 
father told her bluntly. "Your pride will have to be 
satisfied by a lesser title." 


"Father," I reproved, "she hardly knows what she 
says." 


"Do you?" 


"Do I? Of course!" 


"Do you?" he asked again. "Is that why you almost 
never refer to me as jehan?" He was unsmiling. "Is the 
Cheysuli word so hard for you to say?" 


It hurt. I felt the twist in the pit of my belly, "You 
have Ion to use the Old Tongue." 


"And you for something else?" He shook his head as 
he moved to Gisella's bedside. Taj perched himself upon 
the casement sill as Lorn lay down on the floor at the 
foot of the bed. "No, now is not the time; my lir remind 
me of it plainly. You are just home after more than a 
year away, and reprimands can wait. I apologize." 


An apology from my father. I stared as he sat down 
across from me on the edge of Gisella's bed. I could not 
recall if he had ever offered me an apology before. 


Or if I had ever deserved one. 


Or if I deserved one now. 


"I will not harm you," he told her gently. "I promise 
you that, Gisella. You are Cheysuli yourself; you know 
of all the gifts." 


"/ know." She was a petulant, impatient child, suddenly, 
claiming superior knowledge. "I know many things." 


My father did not smile. "Aye-1 imagine you do. How 
much, I will find out." 


He did not touch her. He merely looked at her, even 
as I did. And then I looked at him. 


His eyes matched hers in expression as well as color: 
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pinpointed pupils, opacity, a look of total detachment. 
Though my father sat on the bed at Gisella's side, I knew 
he had gone elsewhere, seeking her. And I sensed Gisella's 
retreat. 


Still I held her hand. I could feel the tension in it; the 
rigidity of flesh and tendons. She did not try to hold 
mine. I think she was unable. I think she was enmeshed 
in a battle of wills with my father, and had no time for 
me. 


Suddenly, I was alone in the chamber. Gisella was in 
the bed, my father on its edge, his Ur present as well. 
And yet, I was alone. So alone . . . because I was a 
shadow-man, a shell of nothingness. Lirless, I lacked 
even the slightest hint of the power that was manifest in 
my father. Manifest in'Gisella. 


Is this irony? I asked the gods. That certain Homanans 
desire to replace me because they believe I hide my magic, 
while certain Cheysuli desire the same because I have no 
magic at all? 


Irony, aye. Or my downfall. 


Gisella's hand clenched itself within the palm of mine. 
I felt the fragile, rounded knucklebones rise up to test 
the flesh, as if they might break through. And I heard 
her moan of pain. 


There was an expression of grim determination on my 
father's face, though the eyes retained the blank, de-
tached stare. It was as if he were the hungry hunter 
running down terrified prey: unflagging flight and an 
unremitting pursuit. 


Gisella writhed in the bed, though no one touched her 
but me. She cried out. 


"Wait" I blurted. "Father." No. Jehan. But I could 
not say the word. "Wait you" 


But his fingers locked around the wrist of her other 
handshe screamed 


Gods, how she screamed 


"Jehanno!" Now the word came easily as I tried to 
break the grip. I tried to break itbut the sudden burst 
of fire within my skull hurled me back, back, away from 
the bed, until I crashed into the tapestried wall. 


The world was upside down. Or was it me? I could not 
tell. I crawled on hands and knees to the bed, leaving a 


trail of blood behind. My nose was numb; I could not 
feel the blood, only taste it. My ears buzzed, rang, 
hummed. My vision was obscured by broken images. 


my fatherGisellaTaf and Lorn 


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Bleeding, I sprawled face down across the bed and 
tried to touch my father, to tell him no, noto somehow 
gainsay the power he leveled against her. Images blurred, 
twisted, revolved. The movement made me retch. 


"Niall? Nialir 


My father's voice? My name? I could be certain of 
neither; my ears made too much noise. 


"Nialloh gods, let the boy be all right!" Hands caught 
me, pulled me up from the bed and then settled me on 
the floor with the side of the bed serving as backrest. 
"Niall?" 


His face was split into sixths; I could make no order of 
the pieces. 


"Niall, can you hear me?" 


Blood ran down my chin. "Why? Whyharmher?" 


One of his hands slipped behind my neck and cradled 
my wobbly head. "Never, never, touch a Cheysuli in 
mind-link, Niall. Have you not been warned against it?" 


His face was in thirds, now. An improvement. And I 
could hear him better. "What did you do to Gisella?" 


"Nothing," he said firmly. "Better to ask: what did she 
do to me?" 


"You?" My eyes shut of their own accord. I put the 
back of my hand to my face and tried to stanch the 
blood. 


"What you felt did not come from me, Niall. It was all 
Gisella's doing." His tone was grim. "Later, we will 
discuss it. Not now. Not in front of her. 


"She will be my wife," I protested weakly. "It should 
all be in front of her." 


"Look at me." I did as told. "Aye, you are better. Can 
you rise?" 


Only with his help, and even then I nearly fell down 
again. I grasped the closest tester with one shaking hand; 


the other I locked under my nose. But the river was 
slowing to a stream. "What happened?" 


"You broke the link," he said; now, looking at him 
with normal vision again, I saw the traces of blood in his 
own nostrils. "But it is just as well. Gisella was preparing 


to throw me out, which would have been more painful 
yet." He smiled a little and rubbed at bloodshot eyes. 
"For all she was raised far from any clanand by an 
Ihlini, at thatshe knows many of our tricks. And has 
many of our strengths." The smile fell away. "But: none 
of our sense, I fear. When Alaric slew Bronwyn, he slew 


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the girl's wits as well." He shook his head. "What hap-
pened to her cannot be healed, even by a Cheysulieven 
by several Cheysuli. The damage was too severe." 


I raised a silencing hand and turned to see if Gisella 
had heard. But she slept. She slept deeply; she slept 
smiling, as if pleased by what she had wrought. 


I shivered. And then I looked at my father. "There 
was no trap-link, then?" 


"No. There was no hint of Ihlini meddlingat least, 
not within her mind." His tone was level, unyielding; he 
would play no games with me. "Perhaps only to it, from 
things the others told her." 
Others. Lillith, no doubt. And Alaric. 
I nodded. "How soon can we have the wedding?" 
I thought he meant to protest; to make some comment 
regarding my witlessness. But he did not. Bleakly, he 
said, "As soon as arrangements are made." 
Again, I nodded. "Things will be better, then." 
My father looked at Gisella. But he said nothing at all. 


179 


Five 


Arrangements were made in an almost obscene haste. I 
knew it was Homanan custom, particularly royal custom, 
to invite neighboring aristocracy as well as royalty, as a 
means of sealing the ceremony. In this way no one could 
claim the throne was unsecured, and make plans to invade 
Homana. I had no doubts the Homanan Council, as 
well as my motherand possibly even my fatherwould 
have preferred the custom adhered to, for the sake of 
displaying the Lion's successor and his Cheysuli bride to 
as many people as possible. But because of Gisella's 
advanced stat& and the domestic threat promised by Carillon's 
bastard, as well as Strahan himself, we could not 
afford to wait. 


I put on the finest clothes I had for the wedding, since 
we could not even delay in order to have new ones madeAnd 
so Torvald made certain I was fit to appear before 
the guests, laying out the silks and velvets Homanans 
preferred, while also selecting Cheysuli ornamentation 
from my jewel chest. I wore garments of amber, sienna 
and russet, set off with gold and garnets; a braided torque, 
hammered flat, with matching plated wristlets, and a belt 
studded with unfaceted garnets, glowing in the sunset. 


As Torvald finished, my mother came into the chamber, 
At her nod he bowed and took his leave. And then 
she came to me. "You look well. Very well." But she did 
not smile. "Niall, there is still a tittle time." 


I nodded absently, bending to adjust the droop of my 
amber-dyed boots. 


"Niall, do you understand what I am saying? You do 
not have to go through with this." 
Sighing, I straightened. In yellow, she was lovely. It 
180 


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made her gold-netted hair more vivid than ever. "I have 
said it before: I have every intention of marrying Gisella." 


"Why?" she demanded. "That erratic, addled girl is a 
poor choice for DonaTs heir!" 


"And for Carillon's grandson?" I turned from her and 
paced to my jewel chest, studying the remaining contents 
idly. I approved Torvald's choices, but it gave me something 
to do- "We were cradle-betrothed, mother. Such a 
thing is not broken lightly, even if I wished to have it 
broken. And I do not." I picked through the brooches, 
wristlets, rings, then turned to face her. "She is mad. 
Aye. I will not deny it. But it does not mean she cannot 
be my wife." 


"She will be queen." 


"One day," I agreed. "By then, perhaps she will be 
better." 


She stared at me in obvious perplexity. Slowly she 
shook her head. "I do not understand. You are notthe 
same. Not since you went away." 


"In fourteen months, I was bound to become a different 
man." I shrugged. "Perhaps I have grown up." 


Again she shook her head. "There is something" But 
she broke it off- "Niall, do you truly love her?" 


"I think, as much as I am able." I shrugged. "I say 
that because you ask. My father would know better, 
being Cheysuli. So perhaps it is that the Homanan portion 
of me loves her, while what little Cheysuli is in me 
will not admit the feeling." 


"Then you do have reservations." She came close, 
resting a hand upon my arm. "Niall, if you are not 
completely reconciled to this match, I will have it broken." 


"And give Alaric cause to march against Homana?" I 
shook my head. "You are Queen, and undoubtedly you 
have the power to sway most if not all of the Homanan 
Council . . . but I doubt you would sway my father. I 
doubt you would sway the Cheysuli." 


Her hand tightened. "I know there is the prophecy! 
How could I not, being wife and mother to men fully 
caught in its demands? But it does not name Gisella! It 
does not say she is the one you must wed, merely that 
you must wed to gain another bloodline. What of Erinn, 
Niall? Shaine himself wed an Erinnish princess before he 


wed Lorsilla. Save the Atvian line until later ... the 
Erinnish might serve as well. We could speak with Shea." 


'Wo." Quite suddenly, I felt ill. A hasty swallow steadied 
my belly again, but I could feel it threatening, waiting. 


A beacon-fire on the cliff. 
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And I had lighted the fire. 


"Niall?" A hand, tugging gently at my arm. "Niall?" 


All I could see was the fire in my eyes, and the black-
ness of the night as I stood upon the top of the dragon's 
skull. 


"AM/" 


The vision faded, but it left me with the bitter taste of 
guilt. An immense, abiding guilt, made worse because I 
could not say why I should feel guilty. 


"No," I said. "I wish to wed GiseUa." 


"And so you shall." lan's voice; he stood in the door-
way, ablaze with Cheysuli gold: his fir-bands were whole 
again, unblemished by Alaric's hand. His leathers were 
pure, unsullied white edged with scarlet silk. "Everyone 
waits below." 


"Then we shall go." I put out my arm to my mother. 
Reluctantly, she took it. 


To match the preparations, the ceremony itself was 
brief in the extreme. The Homanan priest said the same 
words he had said more than a year before when he had 
performed the proxy wedding. The shar tahl, summoned 
from Clankeep, echoed the other's sentiments, but in the 
Old Tongue. I understood all of it well enough, having 
learned the language in childhood, but Gisella, listening 
closely, merely looked left out. It made the bond be-
tween us stronger, I thought; I was left out of all the 
magic, while she lacked the language. 


When it was done and Gisella and I were truly wed, 
my father announced the celebration would begin in an 
adjoining audience hall. But those who had cause to give 
the Prince and Princess formal greeting were to stay 
behind and do so. And so I was able to watch and name 
to myself those Homanans who had no wish to greet me 
formally, and I realized that was precisely why my father 
had arranged it that way. 


Gisella was seated in a chair upon the dais, near the 
Lion itself. I stood beside her, noting with concern the 
182 


weariness in her face. There was no hiding her pregnancy 
and no one had bothered to try; she wore loose, full 
robes that swathed most of her body, billowing over the 
mound that was my child. 


My father and mother themselves went into the adjoin-
ing chamber, to give us this time alone. I knew why. 
There are men in the world who do things only when 
their lord's eye is on them, to curry favor, no matter 
what they think. And so by leaving, the Mujhar made 
certain those who stayed to greet me were doing so for 
reasons other than those. No doubt he would expect me 
to mark who said what, and report it to him later. 


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Enough Homanans came by with a word or two of 
congratulations that soon enough I could not name them 
all. I did not bother to keep track of each one, no more 
than I did with the Cheysuli. But when Isolde and Ceinn 
came through at the end of the line, I forgot my detachment 
entirely. 


"So handsome!" But 'Solde's bright eyes mocked me 
as they had even in childhood. "I would have welcomed 
you to my wedding, rujho, had you not been gone so 
long." 


"You have already wed?" I looked sharply at Ceinn, 
whose expression was once again blandly cordial and 
utterly .closed to me. 


"Aye," she answered. "About a sixth-month after you 
and lan sailed for Atvia." One hand went out to briefly 
touch Ceinn's hand; for a Cheysuli, a broad display of 
emotion. But I saw nothing in his eyes that indicated he 
wished she had not done it. 


Does he truly care for her? Or is she so valuable to his 
cause he will let her do as she wishes? 


'Solde slanted a sidelong glance at Gisella, who was 
staring blankly into the emptied hall. "Is sheall right?" 


I turned. "Gisella," I said. Then, more forcefully, 
"Gisella!" 


Her black hair had been braided Cheysuli fashion and 
looped against her head, pinned with silver combs hung 
about with tiny silver bells. As I called her name, she 
started, and all the bells rang out. 


'Solde, never one for hanging back, reached out and 
caught Gisella's hand. "I am Niall's rujholla," she said, 
"so now I am yours as well." 
183 


"RujhollaT' Gisella echoed. 


'Solde frowned only briefly. And then she laughed. "I 
forget. You have been reared in Atvia, so why should 
you know our language? It is only that you look more 
Cheysuli than anything else, and so I expect you to know 
the customs as well as the language." She glanced at me 
and laughed. "Niall will teach you everything, I am sure." 


"Isolde is my sister," I told Gisella. "Rujholla, in the 
Old Tongue." 


"Niall's sister?" Gisella stared at her. "Oh, of course, 
my father told me. You are the Mujhar's bastard daughter." 


All the gaiety died out of 'Solde. White-faced, she 
stared blindly at Gisella. Then, abruptly, she let go of 
Gisella's hand at once and turned to leave the nearly 
empty hall. 


" 'Soldo'Soldo . . . waitf" I caught up to her, leaving 
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the dais and my blunt-speaking wife behind. " 'Solde, 
she does not understand our ways. And she is weary, so 
weary of the child. I beg you, try to understand." 


'Solde's arm was rigid beneath my delaying fingers. *'I 
understand," she said clearly. "I understand very well, 
Niall. I should have expected it.*' I had anticipated anger 
from her, and harsh words'Solde is not a silent sort 
but not the magnitude of her pain. She shrugged. "She 
was reared by the enemy." 


"Gods, 'Solde, do not judge her so harshly. You do 
not understand." 


Suddenly, Ceinn was at my side. "She understands as 
well as I do, my lord." His pupils had shrunk so that I 
saw mostly yellow, an intense, intent yellow. "Forgive my 
plain speech, my lord, but you have worsened your posi-
tion with the clans by taking Gisella as your cheysula." 


"She is half Cheysuli," I pointed out evenly, trying not 
to lose my temper. "She is the Mujhar's niece." 


"She may be his harana" the Cheysuli word was 
emphasized, as if to point out my use of Homanan in its 
place "but she is also Atvian. Daughter to Alaric, who 
is no friend of ours." 


"Atvian, aye." I was through with diplomacy. "And 
necessary to the prophecy." I caught his arm as he reached 
out to turn Isolde away, as if he intended to leave my 
presence and take my sister with him. "No," I told him 
plainly, "I am not finished with you." 
184 


His bare arm slid out of my grasping fingers as he 
jerked it sharply away. My nails scraped across the bear-
shape worked into the gold of his fir-band. "Finished 
with me?" he echoed, though he knew precisely what I 
had said. "Oh, no, my lord. I think we are finished with 
you." 


"Ceinn!" 'Solde was cleariy shocked by the virulence 
in his tone. 


"I think the time has come for plain speech." Some-
how I managed to summon an even tone, though I wanted 
to shout at him. "Well enough, hear what I have to say." 
I moved a step closer to him and was pleased to see that 
this time, he fell back a single step. "I am fully aware of 
the existence of the a'saii, and the preferences for my 
replacement in the line of succession. But I challenge you 
to tell me how that would serve the prophecy you claim 
to know better than other warriors." I made a beckoning 
gesture. "Well? I wait." 


"Niall." Isolde, again, trying to turn my rising anger 
before it could burst its banks. "How can you say that to 
Ceinn? Of course he serves the prophecy." 


"By seeing to it I am slain?" Though I watched Ceinn, 
I saw her twitch of shock. "What did you think he 
wanted from me, 'Soldea peaceful retirement into the 


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country?" 


"Niall" 


" 'Soldoenough." That from Ceinn, as if he had no 
more time for verbal maneuverings even from his wife. 
"Plain speech, aye; and aye, I serve the prophecy! So do 
the rest of us." He turned a bit closer to me, edging 
Isolde out entirely. We confronted one another squarely -
"You have some of the blood, it is true, but you also 
bear other blood" 


"So does Ion," I said clearly. "If it is true the a'saii 
desire a return to the days of purebred clans, how does it 
serve the prophecy? The prophecy demands a mixture 
it points us to other realms." 


"Other realms, aye," he agreed. "I do not contest the 
need for the blood of other realms; it can only strengthen 
us. But I do contest your absolute lirlessness, your lack of 
Cheysuli gifts, your lack of Cheysuli customs." He drew 
in a breath made uneven by the intensity of his anger; by 
the depth of fanaticism. "There are so few of us left now, 
185 


those with untainted blood, and if it were possible I 
would prefer one of the a'saii to take the Lion on Donal's 
death. But we are not so blind as to turn our backs on a 
warrior who has more right than most" 


1<that warrior being lan," I finished. I thrust out a 
band and pointed at Gisella, still huddled in her chair. 
"In her body lies the seed of that prophecy, Ceinna 
chad born of Homana, Solinde, Atvia and the Cheysuli. 
How can you tell me that child should be replaced?" 


"Because it should be. And will be." He reached out 
and caught Isolde's elbow. "Come, 'Solde. My business 
with him is finished. Let us go to the other hall." 


"Ceinnwait.'9 She pulled free of him even as he had 
pulled free of me. "Is it the truth? You want lan to take 
Niall's place?" She thrust up a silencing hand even as he 
began to answer her question. "You know lan would 
never do it. He is Niall's liege man as well as his rujholli. 
Do you think he would break that service merely to 
accept yours?" 


Ceinn's mouth was grimly set, lips pressed tight against 
one another. "If he will not, we will simply find another 
with similar heritage." 


"Similar heritage' Isolde fell back a step. Then she 
stood very still. "Would identical be better?" she in-
quired bitterly. "Augmented by yours, no doubt ... do 
you think a child from us would do?" Isolde smiled, but 
it was the smile of a predator. "My jehan is likely to live 
for at least another twenty years, perhaps more. By then, 
no doubt a son of ours would be old enough to accept the 
Lion- Is that it? Is that it, Ceinn?" 


" 'Solde-" 


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"Just answer!" she cried. "Just answer. I do not want 
an explanation. Tell me aye or nay!" 


Whatever else he was, Ceinn was not a liar. "Aye," he 
told her evenly. "I want our son to rule." 


Isolde shook visibly, she was so angry; so shocked, so 
bound up in what she had learned. I saw tears welling 
into her eyes but they were not solely the tears of sor-
row, though that was present also. They were the tears of 
rage and discovery; of a discovery so devastating it breaks 
the world into pieces-

'Solde's world, at least. I have shown her the man she 
has married. 


"Well," she said, and I was amazed at her self-
possession, "I think there will be no son." 


" 'Solde!'1 


"No." She did not shout it, scream it, cry it. She 
merely said it; I saw my father in my sister. "No." She 
pulled the bear-torque from her throat and dropped it to 
the stone at Ceinn's feet. "No." 


Crimson skirts swirled as she turned. Ceinn reached 
out to catch an arm, but I caught his and jerked him 
back. "You heard what my sister said." 


"Ku'reshtini" he swore. "Do you think I only wanted 
her for the child? I wanted herstill want herfor 
herself!" 


I laughed aloud. "Then tell me you love her, Cheysuli. 
Say the Homanan words to me, since there are none of 
the Old Tongue." 


As I released his arm, Ceinn bent and scooped up the 
gleaming Ar-torque, the mark of Cheysuli marriage. When 
he faced me again, I saw how tightly he clutched the 
torque; how tightly he clenched his jaw. But in clear, 
fluent Homanan, lacking Cheysuli accent or hesitation, 
he told me he loved my sister. 


I had no answer for mm. And he had none for me. 


I watched the proud, angry warrior stride away from 
me, going after Isolde. And I-began to think he was 
more of an enemy than at first I had believed. Because a 
man, so dedicated to a certain thing that there is no room 
for anything other than zealotry in his life, does not 
consider how or why he slays. But a man who loves, a 
man able to express that love, will think of what he does 
even as he does it, because he has somethingsomeone 
he believes is worth the thing he does. Even if it is 
assassination. 


"Niall?" It was Gisella, at my side. "Niall ... can we 
go see the dancing?" 


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I did not want to go. "You look weary," I told her 
truthfully. "It might be better if you went to bed instead." 


"I want to see the dancing." 


And so I took her to see the dancing. 


187 


Six 


I saw to it Gisella was settled comfortably in a cush-
ioned chair on the dais with three other chairs. Two were 
for the Mujhar and his queen, the other for me. But all 
three remained empty. 


As I stood solicitously by Gisella, she reached out and 
caught my hand. The motion reminded me of 'Solde and 
how she had reached for Ceinn. It reminded me of the 
conflict in her face as she had removed the ^'/-torque 
from her throat and told Ceinn there would be no child. 


Holding Gisella's hand, I looked down upon my wife 
and the child who swelled her body. Fruit of a man's 
labors, and a sign of fertility so necessary to the House of 
Homana. And yetit seemed I could hardly recall the 
first time we had lain together. Only the faintest flicker 
of a fleeting memory that told me once I had known 
someone other than Gisella. 


Inwardly, I grimaced. I had hardly kept myself celibate 
before sailing to Atvia. No doubt what I recalled so 
dimly were the women who did not matter, being more 
interested in who I was rather than in what I could do to 
pleasure them. 


I thought suddenly of the children born of such unions, 
the fruit of a man's labors in fields that had already been 
well-tilled. I thought it likely I had no bastards because 
surely a woman who conceived of a prince would tell him 
in hopes of winning coin or jewel or favor. But I knew 
also it was entirely possible I had sired a child or two 
before the one in Gisella's belly. And it made me think 
of Carillon, who had gotten a woman with child, and 
how that child now threatened my very existence, let 
alone my right to inherit the Lion. 
188 


The Lion of Homana. Gisella had asked if I were the 
Lion myself. And now I looked at the man who was. 


He wore Cheysuli leathers dyed a rich, deep crimson, 
hem and collar set with narrow gold plates stitched into 
the leather. On his brow he wore a simple circlet of 
hammered gold and uncut rubies. And at his left side, 
scabbarded in rune-worked leather, hung the sword oth-
ers claimed was ensorcelled. 


My father did not move about the room; he let the 
room come to him. Quietly he stood near one of the 
groined archways and received those who wished to have 
word with him. He might have done it from the chair 
upon the dais, next to me. But it was a mark of his 


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nature that he did not, preferring to stay away from such 
trappings as thrones and trumpeted announcements of 
his arrival. That he wore the sword surprised me; only 
rarely did he clasp the belt around his hips. Only rarely 
did he ever put hand to hilt, as if reluctant to display his 
absolute mastery of it. 


Of course, he would never admit to being the master; 


rather, the servant. He had told me how once the bril-
liant ruby, the Mujhar's Eye, had been perverted by 
Ihlini magic into a thing of ugliness. A dead black stone, 
dull and lusterless, had sat within the golden pommel 
prongs. For nearly all of the years of Carillon's rule the 
stone had remained dull black. 


Until the day Donal put his hand upon it, and it came 
blazing back to life. 


There is a legend within the clans that a sword made of 
Cheysuli craftsmanship bears Cheysuli magic, and knows 
the hand of its master even when the master is unknowing, 
he had told me. The gods know I was aware my grandsire 
had made that sword, but it was for Shame, I thought; for 
the Mujhar who began the qu'mahlin that nearly destroyed 
our race. Shame gave it to Carillon, who bore the blade 
for all the years of his exile and all the years of his rule. 
Only when he was dead did it come into my keeping. 


And only at the cost of a warrior's life: Finn, my 
father's uncle. Strahan had sheathed the sword in Finn's 
body, and in so doing had unintentionally bequeathed 
the magic unto my father. 


The magic that slew Osric of Atvia, Gisella's uncle, and 
put Alaric on the throne. I glanced down at her pensively. 
189 


So many people dead . . . and all in the name of the 
prophecy. 


I saw my mother moving among the guests, speaking 
quietly with countless members of the aristocracy, Homanan 
and otherwise. The gold netting enveloping rich red hair 
shone in the light of the setting sun as it slanted through 
stained glass casements. The rose-red floor was awash 
with brilliant color. 


And then I saw Isolde. 


I turned to Gisella- "Forgive me if I leave you, but I 
must speak with my sister." 


Her fingers tightened on my own. "Niall?" 


"You will be well, I promise." Carefully I detached 
myself from her and stepped off the dais, moving through 
the throngs of people surrounding the dancers in the 
center of the hall. I answered greetings absently, too 
intent upon reaching 'Solde; when at last I did, I saw the 
desolation in her posture. She stood by one of the case-
ments, back to the hall, as if by ignoring the people she 
could also ignore her loss. 


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She turned as I placed a hand on her shoulder, and 
then she tried to turn again; to turn her back on me. 


" 'Solde" 


"Leave me be." 


" 'Solde, please." 


"Niall" She broke off the beginnings of her plea and 
swung back to face me squarely. I saw bitter grief in her 
ravaged face. "I would be the last person in the world to 
wish you in peril, Niall. . . but surely you will not blame 
me if, for the moment, I wish also to have nothing to do 
with you." 


A flicker of grief; a larger one of defensiveness. "I did 
not ask you to renounce him." 


"What else could 1 do?" Impatiently she brushed tears 
away, as if their presence was anathema. And in a way, 
they were; Cheysuli do not grieve in public. "Am I to 
renounce you?" 


Sighing deeply, I took her into my arms and crushed 
her against my chest. She was rigid, denying herself 
comfort, until I rested my cheek on her hair and told her 
I would forgive her if she went back to Ceinn-

"Go backF She pulled away to stare up at me. "How 
can you say that after what he has said?" 
190 


"Because I know what else he has said." And I told 
her-

1 thought it would help. I thought it would make her 
happy to know her cheysul genuinely cared, not intend-
ing to use her merely because of who she was. But I 
misjudged her. I misjudged her badly. 


"Do you value your life so little?" she asked angrily, 
"Do you value me so little? How can you expect me to 
go back to a man who wishes to see you stripped of your 
rank, your titleyour life?" 


"I think it will not come to that," I told her. "The 
a'saii are no longer secret, and I have no intention of 
allowing them to succeed. They are only a tiny portion of 
the Cheysuli, 'Solde, I doubt they have that much 
power." 


She shook her head.'"I will not take the chance." 


" 'Solde" 


"No." She nearly choked on the word. "How can I, 
rujho7 I already bear his child!" 


Pain rose up in my belly, the old familiar pain I associ-
ated with lirlessness. Yet now it came as I thought of 
what 'Solde must face, bearing alone the child of the man 


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she loved. 


"Gods," I said, "does he know?" 


"No. I planned to tell him after your wedding. But 
now," she shook her head. "Now I will say nothing." 


" 'Solde, he is the child's father:' \ thought of Gisella. 
I thought of myself in Ceinn's place, not knowing my 
wife carried my child in her body. For all I hated the man 
for his zealotry, I could not hate him for desiring a child. 


Even one he would use against me. 


'Solde drew in a deep breath. "Aye. And right now, 
not knowing, he plots to put lan on the throne. You are 
safe so long as he and the others work toward that goal, 
rujho, because lan will never agree. But once he knows I 
have conceived, they will have a new candidate. A candi-
date they can control." Through her tears, she smiled. "I 
am a child of the prophecy as much as you; do you think 
I will allow my cheysul to destroy it?" 


I was touched by her resolve, deeply touched, but 
could not ignore the brutal truth of the undeniable tran-
sience of that resolve. " 'Solde, in a monthtwo, three 
191 


the child will begin to show. What will you say to him 
then?" 


She stood very straight before me. "In a month or two 
or three, perhaps you will have cut out this canker in our 
midst." 


I wanted to speak, to say something that might dilute 
her pain, if only a little- But 'Solde's pride and resolve 
took all the words from my mouth; took even the pride 
from me, because she was far stronger than I could ever 
be. 


She gives her husband over to death. 


And knew exactly what she did even as she did it. 


I tried to swallow down the painful lump in my throat. 
"Cheysuli i'haUa shansu," I said thickly. I could think of 
nothing more fitting than wishing upon my Cheysuli sis-
ter the peace of the race she served so faithfully. 


'Solde smiled a little. And then she put out her hand 
palm-up, fingers spreadand made the eloquent gesture 
that had the ordering of an entire race. "Tahlmorra," she 
said quietly, and then she walked out of the hall. 


I watched her go, then swung around abruptly to re-
turn to Gisella. And I stopped just as abruptly, because 
Varien stood in my path. 


The Atvian envoy smiled and inclined his head. "My 
lord, please accept my congratulations on your marriage 
to the Princess of Atvia." The smile, so smooth, widened 
only a fraction, not enough to offer offense. "And now 


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the Princess of Homana." 


"My thanks." I was brusque, but it was difficult to be 
polite after witnessing 'Solde's grief. 


"My lord," He detained me easily with merely an 
intonation. "Here, my lord. I have brought you wine." 


Each hand held a silver cup. 1 took the cup he offered 
because indeed I did desire wine . . . anything to ease the 
ache in my spirit. I felt bruised from 'Solde's decision. I 
could not argue that it was the right one, but neither was 
I the sort of man who would be pleased to see his sister 
in such pain. 


Varien, unctuous as always, lifted his cup in a brief 
salute. "Your fortune, my lord." 


I drank deeply. So deeply I drained the cup too quickly; 


Varien instantly motioned a servant to refill if. And then, 
192 


as I drank iigain, the Atvian stepped closer. So close, a 
veivet-clad shoulder brushed my own. 


"May I speak freely, my lord?" 


My mind was not on Varien at ail. "Of course." I 
looked past him toward the dais, and saw Gisella picking 
half-heartediy at her silken robes. 


"My lord, I will be frank with you: your wife is not 
entirely like other women." 


Looking at her, I recalled how changeable were her 
moods; how violent the swings. "No," I agreed. 


"This is a delicate subject, my lord, but I am certain 
you would prefer it discussed. It has bearing on your 
future." 


I frowned a little, looking at him more attentively. "If 
it concerns my wife, of course it has bearing on my 
future." 


-Teeth showed briefly, so briefly, 95 he laughed silently. 
And then the laughter was gone, leaving in its wake a 
cool, quiet amusement. "My lord, let us agree the lady 
isof divergent humors. Because of these humors, it is 
entirely possible she will not always be a willing part-
ner." He paused delicately and lifted the cup to his lips. 
But he did not drink. "jfWpartner, my lord." 
I looked at my wife. "That is something between Gisella 
and me, envoy." 


"My lord, of course." He bowed just enough to em-
phasize his subservience. "But with you I feel I must be 
completely frank." Smiling, he said, "'If GiselEa ceases to 
please you, I can show you another way." 


In distaste, I frowned at him. "Do I hear you aright? 
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On the day of my wedding you offer other women to 
me?" 


"Notentirely." The smile did not fade. "My lord, let 
us say I have admired you greatly since first we met. 
Admired, respecteddesired, my lord." 


My fingers slipped on the cup; I nearly dropped it. But 
I recovered my grasp and clenched it tightly, so tightly 
my hand shook, and wine slopped over the rim to splat-
ter against the floor. "What did you say?" 


"I said I desired you, my lord." He made no indication 
of shame, regret, embarrassment. His tone was perfectly 
controlled, as if every day he said such to a man. 
193 


As perhaps he does. Incredulously, I stared at him. I 
was too shocked to be angry. 


Varien sipped wine and smiled, infinitely patient. 


I became aware that a hand had reached out and 
caught Varien's wrist in a crushing grasp. The hand dragged 
the silver wine cup away from Varien's smiling mouth. 
Sharply. So sharply it caused the cup to fall; falling, it 
rang, silver on stone; spilled blood-red wine across rose-
red floor. 


And I realized the hand was mine. 


Around us, there was silence. A falling wine cup, even 
spilling its contents, is not so uncommon as to silence so 
many people. But the sight of the Prince of Homana 
confronting an Atvian envoy u; eyes watched avidly, 


Sweat beaded on Varien's upper lip. His face was pale 
from the pain. But still, he managed to smile. 


I wanted to shout at him that what he offered was 
worthy of execution, but I did not. Not before so many 
people; before Gisella, my father, my mother. I wanted 
to tell him that what he offered was worth his ostracism; 


at the very least I could send him home. But something 
held me back. Something shut up my mouth and chased 
the words back down my throat to my belly, where they 
twisted and tangled and bound up my guts with bile. 


And still Varien smiled. 


I let go of his wrist. "You are here at Alaric's behest." 


"Alaric'sand Lillith's." 


I frowned a little. My toe touched the cup; it rolled. 
"Lillith's?" 


"Of course, my lord." Varien fingered the collar of his 
indigo doublet. I saw a hint of silver: a chain. He drew it 
forth, and from the links dangled a single curving tooth, 
capped with shining silver, "Lillith." 


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LHUth's gift. My hand went at once to my own collar. 
Beneath the wedding finery was a matching tooth, hang-
ing from its thong. I had nearly forgotten. 


Varien bowed, "Forgive me, my lord; I intended no 
offense." 


I stared after him, bewildered by the sudden upsurge 
of emotions. Sorrow, anguish, emptiness ... a horrible 
emptiness, as if someone had stolen from me a thing I 
bad always desired, demanded, neededbefore I could 
say what it was. 


I was lost. Amid the throng of guests who had witnessed 
my marriage to Gisella, I was lost: an eye of 
emptiness in the middle of the maelstrom. 


A shadow of a man. 


And when the servant filled my cup, I drank. 


I drank. 


/ drank 


and when I could stand the confinement no more, I 
went out of the hall and out of the palace proper, climbing 
narrow stairs to the sentry-walks along the curtain 
wall. Night had fallen with the sunset, but HomanaMujhar 
is never in total darkness. There are torches 
along the walls and tripod braziers in the baileys. There 
is always a pall of yellow light, flickering in fickle winds. 
Preying on the shadows* 


Now I sought the shadows, seeking escape from the 
light, the noise, the emptiness. Except even here, atop 
the narrow sentry-walk along the parapet, I found solace 
in nothing; no answer to emptiness. Only redoubled sorrow, 
and an anguish born of nothing I could name. 


In my hand was a cup of wine. A deep cup, and filled 
to brimming; tipping it slightly, albeit unintentionally, I 
heard the wine spill out to splatter against the stone. 
Even as I righted the cup I did not care; I had drunk so 
much already that stopping now would serve nothing at 
all. 


I caught hold of the wall and leaned between the 
merlons of the parapet to hang over a crenel, pressing 
my belly against it. Lights from the city flared and danced 
and melted together, until I blinked away the dazzle 
from my eyes. My fingers dug into the stone. Digging, 
digging; I felt the protest of abraded flesh. But still I dug, 
as if the pain might give me surcease from the demon in 
my soul. 


"An easy target, for an enemy." 


1 pushed myself up raggedly, still hanging onto the 
merlon. The torchlight from below set his gold to gleaming- 
All his gold; suddenly, I found I hated him for it. "I 


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came out here to be alone." 


"I know." lan's tone was even, unperturbed even by 
^ the belligerence in my own. "That is why I followed." 


J"Why? Did you think I would throw myself from the 


wall?" 


^ 195 


"You look as though the thought has crossed your 
mind." Like me, he bore a cup of wine. But he did not 
drink from his. "Niall, what did Varien say to you?" 


I tasted something in my mouth that made me want to 
spit. Instead, I gulped more wine. "He said he desired 
me," I said flatly, when all the wine was gone. "Perhaps 
he thinks I will share his bed when I cannot share 
Gisella's." 


The torchlight polished lan's angular face. He was so 
much like Isolde. So much like our father. "There was a 
time I could have told you the truth of Varien. I grew to 
know him well in Atvia because I had no choice." He 
paused. "Not in the way he wishes to share with you, but 
because we spent time together. But as for telling you, I 
was not certain you would listen. I was not certain you 
could." He looked straight at me. "Can you, rujho7 Can 
you hear the truth?" 


"What truth?" I demanded. "I think I have heard it 
all." 


He took the empty cup from my hand. "No. You have 
heard nothing." Smoothly, he threw the cup over the 
crenel. I saw a flash of silver in the torchlight; it was 
gone. "Do you hear it?" he asked, and I heard the dull 
clang of the cup striking stones below. 


"lan" 


"Gisella has addled your mind as much as her own is 
addled," he said plainly. "I know you cannot see it, but / 
can; I can see precisely what she has done to you, and I 
do not like it. It is time something was done to destroy 
the taint." 


"I'toshaa-nH" I asked rudely. "Or does that lie solely 
within your province?" 


"It lies within the province of every Cheysuli warrior," 
he answered quietly. "Even within that of a lirless 
Cheysuli." 


He might as well have taken a knife and thrust it into 
my belly. I felt the invisible blade go home, twisting, 
twisting, until I nearly cried out with the pain. As it was, 
I clutched at the merlon. Sweat broke out on my face. 


"Ku'reshtin" I cursed him raggedly. "Look to yourself 
when you speak of taint. It was you Lillith kept." 


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"Aye. You she gave away." The silver cup glittered 
196 


against the darkness of his hands. "You she gave to 
C-isella." 


I swore again, very softly; I was nearly doubled over 
from the pa'n. "Gisella is my wife." 


"Giselia is your bane . . , and will be, until we do 
something to prevent it." 


"We?" I asked bitterly, leaning against the merlon. 
"Do you speak of the a'saip." I laughed in the face of his 
sudden shock. "Perhaps you do desire the Lion; perhaps 
Ceinn ano the others have found a willing substitute for 
me." 


"The gods forgive you for that," he whispered. "How 
can you think it of me? I am your liege man" 


"You leave out brother," I said harshly. "Is it because 
we only share a father that you discount the kinship? Is it 
because I am Homanan and Solindish that you brush 
aside the other blood between us?" I laughed. "Why 
not? Ceinn is willing to let that be reason enough to drag 
me out of a throne I cannot yet claim as my own. Do you 
abet him? Do you abet the a'saiiT' 


"No," he said softly, when he could speak again. "I 
abet only the gods." 


"In what? Your march to the throne?" I thrust out a 
rigid arm and pointed toward the massive palace proper. 
"It waits. lan. In the Great Hall. Ail crouched down 
upon its wooden haunches with its wooden eyes gleaming 
even as the mouth spills out its wooden tongue. The Lion 
waits, lanwhy not claim it for yourself?" 


His posture was so rigid I thought he might break. 
"Because I donotwantit." He thrust the words out 
between clenched teeth. "And one day, you will under-
stand why. One day, I think you will beg me to take the 
Lion from you." He put his cup into my hand. "But even 
when you beg, I will not take it. Because I am the Lion's 
shadow . . . not the Lion himself. I leave that title to 
you." 


"lan" But he had turned, going back into the shad-
ows until I could not see him, only the glinting of his 
gold. All his Cheysuli gold. 


Gods, why can I not have my own "lan! lan, woW 
Unsteadily I ran along the narrow sentry-walk, still clutch-
ing the cup in my hand. Wine slopped over the rim and 
splashed against thigh, boot, stone. "lancome back! I 
197 


need you, rujho. I need you ... I need you to take away 
the pain" 


But he was gone. He did not hear, or else he did not 
care to answer. 


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I stopped running. I fell against the parapet and gasped 
for breath, trying to still the roiling in my belly. I wanted 
to spew all the wine over the crenel onto the stones 
below. I wanted to start over again, to tear up the spoiled 
parchment and begin again with a fresh one. I wanted to 
shout and scream and cry, Because I was so empty, so 
gods-cursed empty. 


And a man cannot live when he is made up of emptiness. 


The cup in my hand was also empty. And so I threw it 
over the crenel to join its fellow far below, wishing I 
could be rid of myself as easily. 


How can a man be rid of himself when he has no wish 
to die? 


He leaves. H6 leaves. 


Seven 


'*-

^. 


s"*-

sr.s 


a?' 


^ 


'if 


^ 


I fled Homana-Mujhar on fleet horse and fleeter need to 
escape the blackness in my soul. That I had a demon in 
me I did not doubt; \ could feel it within me, clawing, 
gnawing, shredding the interior of my belly. I shouted 
orders to the guard and clattered out of the cobbled 
outer bailey and through the wide front gates even as 
they were shoved open. Free of the outer curtain wall, I 
spurred through winding alleys and streets, ignoring the 
shouts of passers-by. Never an indifferent horseman, I 
took negligent care to avoid trampling anyone, and there-
fore no one went down beneath my stallion's iron-shod 
hooves. 


Sparks flew; I bent low in the saddle and urged the 
horse on faster, past the watch and through the massive 
barbican gate, portcullis raised: the East Gate of Mujhara. 
Onward through the clustered spillage of outer dwellings; 


I recalled the night I had met Strahan. So long agohad 
he really warned me not to wed Gisella? 


Aye, he had. As well as promising to take my sons. 
Now the promise was more dangerous than ever; Gisella 


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could bear me my first son soon, and set Strahan's plans 
into motion. 


Through the winding footpaths of the outskirts; out of 
dirt onto heath, digging divots of tight-packed turf and 
clods of soil. I shut my eyes and trusted my horsemanship 
to keep me in the saddle as I battled the emptiness, 


It is difficult to describe how overwhelming emptiness 
can be, how utterly encompassing, until even the thought 
of death becomes less important than the driving need to 
be filled. It is worse than melancholy; worse than the 
depths of despair. It is a complete cessation of function-
199 


ing. A man simply ceases to be, and yet he knows that 
physically he still exists. It is only his spirit that has been 
torn asunder. 


The need burned away the liquor in my blood. I was 
not drunk, though a part of me longed to be. Nor was I 
made ill by the poison I had poured so liberally into my 
body. I was simply empty. 


Under the quarter moon the horse and I went on, 
galloping across the open plains until we could gallop no 
more, and then we slowed. I heard the whistle in the 
stallion's wind and knew I had come close to slaying him 
outright; I might even have ruined him permanently. He 
carried bis head very low, dangling on the end of his 
shaven neck. His ears lolled back loosely, flopping as he 
walked. He staggered, stumbling repeatedly; at last I 
dismounted and led him. But I did not turn back. I led 
him ever eastward, into the deepwood that swallowed 
the eastern plains. 


Spittle from the stallion had soiled my velvet doublet. 
It was past midsummer, moving into fall, but the night 
was not cold, only cool. 


Ahead of me, hidden by leagues of deepwood, lay 
Clankeep. But I did not intend to go there; could not, in 
my need. I knew Ceinn and the other a'saii would mock 
me, denigrating me before the clan, using my emptiness 
and lirlessness to turn other warriors against me. And 
then there would be more than just a few; more, even, 
than twenty or thirty. There would be enough to pull me 
out of the Lion's presence and put lan in my place. 


At last, weary as the stallion, I stopped stumbling 
eastward and searched for shelter. In a copse of close-
grown beeches I unsaddled the stallion, unpacked the 
few things I had brought with mebow, full quiver, 
waterskin, a pouch of dried meat, one of grain, cloak 
and made a bed of leaves. I threw myself upon it and 
rolled up in my cloak once I had tethered and grained 
the horse. I knew he would not try to break the rein and 
wander. Like me, he wanted nothing more than the 
forgetfulness of sleep. 


I burrowed into the leaves, reflecting the Homanans 
would not believe it of their prince, and let the darkness 
overwhelm me- I heard the night sounds; smelled the 


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sap, the soil, the fragrance of the forest. I stared up at 
200 


the arching fretwork of limbs against stars and thought of 
the gods who had decreed there be a people put onto the 
land, and so they had put the Firstborn upon the Crystal 
Isle. I thought of the Firstborn who had watched their 
children become so blood-bred their very existence was 
threatened; until even the Firstborn knew they them-
selves could not recover. And I thought of the prophecy 
that bound the Cheysuli so tightly; that bound me so 
tightly, like the pillory that imprisons thief and liar. 


The stallion grunted. I turned to look and saw him go 
down, shifting sideways, until he lay on his side; until, on 
his back, he twisted and hunched, flailing long legs as he 
rolled against deadfall and dirt. He shed dried sweat and 
discomfort in the age-old equine rite; I wished I could do 
the same. 


He lay still a moment, blinking; the quarter moon set 
his eye afire with light. And then he was up, awkward in 
the attempt as horses always are; he stood, shook 
violentlyshedding hair and debristhen locked his knees 
and shut his eyes. He would sleep standing, perfectly 
comfortable, while I tried to sleep lying down in leaves 
against a ground that would be damp by morning. 


The night was colder than I had expected. When dawn 
chased away the morning mists I awoke shivering with a 
bone-deep chill. I tried to wrap the cloak more tightly, 
but it was only a summer cloak of fine-combed wool, not 
a heavier winter cloak lined with fur. And so I gave up 
on sleep altogether and rose, aware of a sourness in my 
throat that bespoke a belly gone bad on too much wine. I 
had thought the effects purged by the flight from Mujhara; 


they were not. The condition of my head told me that. 


I drank water sparingly, ate dried meat, sat hunched 
on a cold log wishing myself a man who did not imbibe; 


knowing one day, and probably too soon, I would do the 
same again. 


Finally I rose and went to the horse. With both hands I 
brushed his back free of the debris remaining from the 
night before, placed blankets across his spine and pre-
pared to hoist the saddle up and settle it on top of the 
blankets. I had every intention of going back to Homana-
Mujhar. Every intention: no doubt my brother and father 
worriedI knew my mother worriedand I had left 
201 


Gisella as well. Poor, sad Gisella, deprived of the order-
ing in her wits that would have made her worthy of any 
man. 


And yet, I thought she was worthy of me. 
Grimly I reached for the Homanan saddle. But even as 
I caught hold and hoisted it, I realized the emptiness was 
not gone. Only a bit laggard in renewing itself in my 
soul. 


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Gods, what am I to do? Tell me what I am to do! 
But the only answer was the snort of my chestnut 
stallion and the chatter of a jay in the treeDo 
/ go back? Has anything changed from last night, 
except the condition of head and belly? No. I am still 
empty, still naked, still bound up in the need for the thing 
I need so badly. 


And so I did not go back. I tended the stallion more 
carefully than the night before, pulling the blankets from 
his back, once again, and found him mostly recovered 
from my irresponsibility. I grained him, watered him as 
best I could by tucking the skin beneath an arm and 
pressing water into cupped palms. He drank, but I did 
not doubt he would prefer a stream or river. 


"Later. First, weIneed fresh meat. This pouch will 
not last long." I patted him, left him rein enough to 
graze around the tree, took bow and quiver and set out 
to hunt on foot. 


After half a day spent tracking, I slew a roebuck and 
carried it back to the campsite slung over my shoulders. 
There I hung it up and butchered it, enjoying the messy 
task not because I enjoyed butchering, but because I 
took satisfaction in doing the thing myself. So often there 
were others to do it for me. Even lan- And I thought of 
the red king stag. 


I built a fire and roasted the meat, knowing most of it 
would spoil before I could eat it all. The stallion cropped 
contentedly at forest grasses and the grain I gave him, 
untroubled by his sojourn away from luxury into the 
depths of the shadowed forest. And even though I was 
empty still, I began to know a little peace 


We moved on, the horse and I, after another day. He 
had stripped the copse bare of grazing and I wanted to 
202 


find a proper stream- So I saddled him, packed him, 
mounted him, intending to head back. 


But instead, we went deeper into the woods. And, as 
the days passed, more deeply still, until I left behind all 
thoughts of Homana-Mujhar and contented myself with 
doing for myself, as I had never done before. 


I let my beard grow, since I had only a knife with 
which to shave it, and no polished plate at all. I slew a 
deer and fashioned a set of boots, since my others 
intended only for ceremonial wearwere nearly destroyed. 
The fur was lush against my legs. The remaining pelt I 
made into a rough jerkinhair-in, hide-out, no sleeves 
and belted it with a strip of leather. Beneath it all I still 
wore the soiled silks and velvets of my wedding finery, as 
well as the garnets and gold. 


The horse began to grow his winter coat, losing the 
sheen of summertime and gaining the blurry outline of 
colder months. His mane, no longer shaved, grew straight 
up to a height the width of my hand before it began to 


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fall. At Homana-Mujhar, he was stabled, closely tended, 
knowing shelter against the seasons. Here he knew only 
the honesty of the forest, 


We moved on twice more, because the emptiness in-
creased. Each day I awoke prepared to go back, to go 
home, and yet each day I felt myself emptier than ever. 
The only surcease I knew was to busy myself with living 
as I had never lived, learning the forest as I had never 
really known it. I thought of Gisella, growing larger with 
my child. I thought of lan, whom I had sent from me 
with cruel temper and cruder tongue. I thought also of 
my father, deprived yet again of his legitimate son and 
heir so soon after he had finally gotten him back; need-
ing him more than ever. And, of course, my mother, 
who no doubt worried every hour of every day and night. 
But this was my time, my freedom ... my final chance 
to learn precisely who I was before I must become the 
man they desired me to be, and not the man I might have 
become on my own. 


I did not go back. Because I could not, yet. 


* * * 


And then early one morning, just before dawn, a bear 
came into camp. I knew it at once by the smell, even as 
the stallion awakened me with the noise of his fear; his 
attempts to break free of the rein tying him to the sap-
ling. He broke it, but as he spun to run the bear was on 
him, and in the bright light of a full moon I saw the 
hunter clearly: a cinnamon-colored rock bear. 


There was nothing to do for the horse. By the time I 
caught up my bow, the bear had slain him. And so I took 
what I could reach of my belongings, silently, and left at 
once, not wishing to contest anything so deadly as a rock 
bear for campsite or gear. 


I went away as far as 1 could and slept the rest of the 
night beneath the spreading limbs of a huge old oak, 
rolled in my summer cloak. And when at dawn I awak-
ened, I found the rock bear sitting beside me. 


I was up before I could speak, running before I could 
walk, caught before I could pray. I felt the spread paw 
slap at my ankle, catch, jerk, and then I was down, 
rolling, trying to yank my knife free of its sheath even as 
the bear slapped my hand. The knife went flying- With 
unexpected precision, the bear used only one claw against 
the back of my hand. The stripe turned white, pink, red; 


opening, it spilled blood down through my fingers. 


I sprawled on my buttocks, braced against one rigid 
elbow even as my booted feet scraped rotting leaves, 
searching for purchase in drifting debris. The bear sat 
back on his haunches. I saw the yellow eyes; the eyes of 
a Cheysuli. 


And then, of course, I knew. 
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"Ku'reshtW I shouted hoarsely. "Is this how you 
mean to do it?" 


The bear blurred before me. I squinted as the void 
swallowed the bear and spat out a man, a Cheysuli: 


Ceinn. Still he squatted before me, close enough to touch; 


I did not move. I knew better than to move. 


"My lord," he said calmly, "there is a thing we must 
discuss." 


"The two of us have nothing to discuss!" 


"Oh, ayewe all of us do, my lord." 


As he spoke the others came out of the thinning dark-
ness, gliding from trees and shadowed pockets, all in 
human form, except for the lir. That hurt most of all, 
204 


more than anything I had expected; that there were lir in 
the world who would join the a'saii in attempting to 
replace me. 


I could not count them all, warriors or lir. I knew only 
there were more than I bad expected. More than I had 
dreamed possible. 


Ceinn smiled. It made the scar by his eye crease. It 
made him look like a man who would be a good friend-
A man whose companionship would be valued. 


As no doubt the a'saii valued him. 


"My good fortune amazes me," he said. "We have 
been so patient, expecting to wait a very long time. 
Prepared to wait a very long time. Yet now you are here, 
and we are here, and this thing can be settled at last." 


I still sprawled on my back, one knee thrust up. The 
claw mark continued to bleed. "How many?" I asked. 


"Of the a'saii?" Ceinn shrugged. "Enough. I have not 
counted lately. At least two or three from every clan." 


"Every clan?" 


"Even those from the Northern Wastes, across the 
Bluetooth River." 


I tried not to show my dismay openly. But I was 
stunned at the magnitude of the Cheysuli rebellion. There 
were, at last count, at least thirty clans in Homana, some 
large, some small, some smaller, but all invaluable to the 
completion of the prophecy. And now, in their mis-
guided zealotry, they desired to destroy it-

1 did not bother to look at the others, though I ad-
dressed them as well. I looked only at Ceinn. "How 
much of this is personal?" 


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"None of it," he answered instantly, so sincerely that I 
believed him even as I desired not to. "There were a'saii 
in Homana before Isolde and I ever lay down together." 


It was a shock as well as an unpleasant realization, 
"And now?" 


"Now?" He nodded thoughtfully. "I admit I enjoy the 
idea more." 


Apprehension knotted my belly. I could not help it; I 
winced against the familiar pain. "Would it do any good 
if I told you there are Homanans who feel much as you 
do? That they also desire to replace me with another?" 


"The bastard." Ceinn nodded. "We know." 


I had hoped to buy my way free. I should have known 
205 


better. "lan will never agree," I told him. "And 'Solde 
has renounced you - . . who will you choose to hold the 
Lion now? You?" I thought perhaps to breed dissension 
among the others; Ceinn's personal ambitions might dis-
turb them enough to delay their immediate plans-

"lan may not agree while you are alive," Ceinn told 
me, "but what happens when you are dead? The Queen 
is barren. Donal has no other sons. Who else will suc-
ceed him?" 


"Carillon's bastard." 


Something flickered in his eyes. 


I smiled, albeit was unamused. "If I am dead, it gives 
the Homanan a'saii more chance than ever to put the 
bastard on the throne. They are every bit as loyal and 
fanatical as you are; do you think they will suffer Ion to 
hold the Lion? You are a fool, Ceinnyou and the 
others. You will bring domestic rebellion to Homana 
again, and destroy all hope of fulfilling the prophecy." 


"Eloquent," he said, "but our decision has been made." 


Slowly I sat up all the way, forgoing my unintentional 
posture of submissiveness. In the muted light of early 
dawn, I looked at as many faces as I could. "How will it 
be? Will it be the Ur7 Or all of you in /w-shape, leaving 
only scraps of clothing and broken bonewith perhaps 
the ring remaining on my hand to make certain my 
identity is known?" 


"That may well be your fate," he agreed, "but it will 
not be our doing. It will be your own." 


"Mine" I laughed. "I hardly think" 


'7 do." He interrupted smoothly. "You are a lirless 
man, Niall. Cheysuli, for all you sublimate it beneath 
Homanan looks and customs." He glanced in distaste at 
my thickening beard. "And a lirless Cheysuli gives him-

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self over to the death-ritual." 
"I never had a lir." It took all my determination not to 
show my fear. "I am not constrained to the ritual." 


"No," he agreed, "but when we are done with you, 
you will believe you had a Urand you will believe you 
lost one." 


Gods, they can do it. I tried to scramble up, to lunge 
away from Ceinn, but it did not matter. The others 
closed in even as he rose and brushed off his leathers. 


"Rujho," how he mocked me, in his inexpressibly 


206 
Jentle tone "for Isolde's sake, I promise we will not 
urt you." 


Gods 


I tried to scream it. But by the time I opened my 
mouth, I had lost the means to speak. 
Or even the desire. 
207 
f 
i?t 
f 


? 
^. 
Eight 
Oh godsmy lir 
my lir is dead 
my lir 
I knelt on the ground, hunched upon my knees so that 


my heels cut into my buttocks. My forehead was pressed 
against the layer of brittle fallen ieeves; I shut my eyes so 
tightly all I could see were the pallid colors of my death: 


smutty blue, muddy black, an edge of maggot white in 
the ashen darkness of my grief. 


-my lir~my lir is dead 
Fists dug holes in the crumbLng leaves; digging, 
digging, until they touched the cool dp.mpness of soil 
beneath: the humid, sweaty soil; of the consistency of 
clay; the clay that is used to seal the eyes cf a dead man 
closed. 


my lir 
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I have known grief in my life, much grief; I recalled 
how it was when I had believed my brother dead, but I 
have never known, have never imagined what it would be 
li''e to lose a lir. It was as if a man had thrust a hand 
through flesh and gristle and bone to grasp my heart; 


grasping it, he wrenches it from my chest and throws it 
aside, leaving me both alive and dead. Alive because I 
do not die; dead because everything within the fragile 
shell of human flesh is dead, so infinitely dead. How does 
a man live like this? 


How can a man survive? 


He does not. 


And then I knew what I must do. 


I wrenched myself up from the ground and ran, ran; 


running, I felt the grief rise up from my belly to clog my 
208 


cbest, my throat, my mouth, until i could hf.w it rising 
from my lips to kite upon the wind made of my own 
passing; a keening deathsong, a wailing gnefsong; a song 
composed of all the pain in my neart and soul and mind: 


my lir is dead, my lir is dead; why can I not be deaa as 
well? 


I ran. / ran. 


So hard. So hard. 


godshow is it you can gift a man wiih such a miracle 
as a lir, and then take him away from that man? 


I ran. 


Vines slashed down across my face. A tree limb scraped 
across my cheek, lifting skin and beard. A thorny creeper 
looped my throat; tugged, tore. 


I ran. 


Bracken fouled my legs, slapping at my thighs. Dead-
fall limbs cracked and rolled beneath my feet; I stum-
bled, caught myself; ran on. 


Godshow I ran 


There is pain in my belly, in my chesi in my throat. I 
can hear my breathing wheezing, his'sinp, whistling, like 
that of a wind-broken horse. There is dryness in my 
throat, such gods-awful dryness; it bums, it busns ... I 
think it will bum me alive 


Godswhy did you take my lir? 


I trip. I fall. I rise. 


run 
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Something is running behind me. I can hear it. I can 
hear it coming; hear it slipping through the path I break 
as I run; running more quickly than / can run as I try to 
leave it behind. 


I can hear it. I can hear it tearing through the vines 
and creepers and bracken, unhindered by the thorns, the 
roots, the traps that plants will lay for a man, seeking to 
bring him down. 


I can hear it. I can hear it breathing, breathing; I can 
hear its heavy panting. 


I can hear it 


and then I realize it is myself I hear; there is nothing 
behind me, nothing at all, except grief and pain and the 
awful weight of knowledge: my lir is dead, my Vamy lir 
is gone from me 


Oh gods. Will you not lift this weight from my soul? 
Aye, they tell me. Aye. You have only to trust in us; 


trust yourself to us; give yourself over to us. 
Aye. It is best. For the best. It cannot be so hard. 


I give myself over to you 


No.1 A new voice I do not recognize. Not myself. The 
gods? 


I give myself 
No! 


I give 


And more urgently yet: No! 


No? Whoor whatis that which tells me no? 


I slow. I stop. I turn. But all I can see is the grayness 
of finality; the grayness turning black, so black, it prom-
ises relief. It promises an end to all the pain and grief 
and wretched emptiness 


No, the new voice tells me. Firmly, as if I am a child-

And I think: perhaps I am one. 


Not a child. No. But a man. A man. A warrior. A 
Cheysuli. 


And I laugh. Aloud, I shout: "How can I be a Cheysuli 
when I have no lir?'1 


And then I realize what they have done to me, Ceinn 
and the others; what they have tried to do. 


And failed. 


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I fell. I fell down, painfully, and felt thorns clawing at 
my face, catching the comer of my eye; tearing. A stone 
was beneath my temple, pressing inexorably. I moved a 
little, seeking relief; found it^ 


GodsI would have given myself over to death. 


I lay face down in dirt and leaves and fern, nearly 
blind from overexertion. I had tried so hard to run both 
from my end and to it; to give myself over to the beast 
that would take my life, to relieve the pain of my loss. 


Except there had been no loss. None at all: I had no 
Ur. 


You do now. 


My breath stirred the crackling skeletons of leaves that 
were no longer leaves. Motes rose, danced, insinuated 
themselves beneath my lids. I felt sweat run down my 
nose, my brow, my jaw; the tears run down my cheeks. 


Lir, you would do better to get up. 
210 


I felt stones beneath my hip. But I had no strength to 
move. 


Lir. 


Something cool, something damp, something impossi-
ble to ignore; it reached beneath my neck and nudged, 
nudged again; pushed 


I cannot lift you, lir . . . I am a wolf, not a man; not a 
warrior. 


Ami? 


It pushed. It shoved. 


I rolled. Opened my eyes. Saw black nose, silver muz-
zle, green-gold eyes. 


And teeth. 


I lunged upward, away, away; then, kneeling, hunch-
ing, bent to spew the. contents of my belly onto the 
ground. 


You ran too hard. Lir, you should not have run so 
hard. 


My belly was empty, but still it cramped. How it 
cramped, knotting itself like yarn from a woman's fallen 
spindle. 


/ will wait. 


I clawed for my knife and found the sheath empty. I 
faced the wolf bare-handed. 


Slay me and you slay yourself. The tone, unaccount-
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ably, gentled. Lirbe not so witless. Have they made you 
deaf as well as blind? 


A wolf. Male. Silver-gray, with green-gold eyes, and a 
mask of deepest charcoal. 


He sat down. He sat. And his tongue lolled out of his 
mouth. 


"You are aUr?" I croaked aloud. 


/ am Serri. I am yours. I have been empty so long, so 
long Suddenly he rose, approached, butted his head 
into my shoulder before I could scramble away. / am 
filledI am filledmy spirit and soul are complete 


I nearly fell over. My arms were full of wolf; my lap 
was full of wolf. Somuchwolf 


I am Serri, he said. / am yours. And I am no longer 
emptyAnd 
I realized, neither was I. 


"Serri?" I whispered. "Serri?" 
211 


There is no need to speak aloud, unless you wish it. We 
share the lir-bond, lir. 


I laughed. Once only; I was too shocked, too utterly 
overcome, to blurt out anything more. 


Serri? 


You see? You may speak, or you may notit no longer 
matters, lir. 


"Serri?" This time, aloud; it was a croak, not a word, 
but the sound brought tears to my eyes. 


Tears of joy, of disbelief; of relief and exultation. But 
also tears of an absolute completion I had known before 
only in a woman. 


Sul'harai, Serri said. That is what the Cheysuli call it. 
But do not judge it too soon. 


Apprehension lifted the hairs on the back of my neck. 
"Too soon?" 


Too soon. You will see. It is often better than this. 


"Better than this?" 


Better. When you trade your shape for mine. 


I laughed. And then I cried. And then I pulled the 
wolf into ny arms and hugged him, hugged him, as I had 
hugged no one before. 


Serri! I cried. Oh godswhy did it take so long? 


Because it was your tahlmorra. 
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I hugged him harder. I hugged him until he sneezed; I 
laughed until he grunted. 


"I am nineteen, Serriam I not a bit too old?" 


Your jehan was too young, they say. You are too old, 
you say. But age has nothing to do with it, lir; it has to do 
with being really. 


"And I am ready?" 


For me, and for your tahlmorra. 


I fell back against the ground, still hugging the wolf 
against my chest. I felt paws and nails digging into flesh 
as Serri tried to right himself; tried to regain some semblance 
of dignity. But I did not let him. I wrapped him 
more tightly yet in my arms and buried my face against 
the thick ruff warding throat and neck against attackers. 


"Serri" 


Ihlini! The word rang a tocsin in my head. Liron 
youIhlini 


Onme? "Serri" 


IhliniIhlini! And then he was grasping at my throat, 


lips peeling back from his teeth. 
I thrust myself away at once, trying to ward my throat 
with a shaking hand. "Did Ceinn send you?" I asked. "Is 
this another trick?" 


IhlinilirIhlini Even as I tried to scramble away, 


the wolf was leaping for my throat. 
My fingers caught the leather thong, and suddenly I 
knew. 


Lillith's giftLillith's tooth 


I pulled the dangling tooth from beneath my clothing. 
"This?" 
Be rid of itbe rid of itlir, be rid of it at once! 
I scraped the thong over my head. In my palm lay the 


curving tooth: thick at one end, capped by gold; pointed 
at the other. A dog*s tooth, or a wolfs. 
A wolfs. 
"Such an insignificant thing. ..." I said aloud. 


Be rid of it, lirat once 
1 stared at the tooth. "Lillith," I said aloud. "Lillith, 
AlaricGisella" And I knew what they had done. 


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What they had made me do. 


My hand spasmed. Fingers shut over the tooth. Tightly, 
so tightly; the tooth bit into my flesh. "Oh godsDeirdre 
. . . they have made me slay them all!" 


Lir, be rid of the charm! 


I thrust an arm against the ground and pushed, rising 
unsteadily. And then I hurled Lillith's gift as far as I 
could into the forest depths. 


They have made me slay them all. Deirdre, Liam, Shea 
even lerne and the unborn child 


Oh gods. 


I began to run again. 


Lir! Serri came running behind me; running, running, 
even as I went running. Lirwait 


Dead. All of them dead. 


All the proud eagles of Erinn, proud, fierce Erinn, 
with its aerie upon the white chalk cliffs overlooking the 
Dragon's Tail


Deirdre. 


OhgodsDeirdre 


I stopped running. I stood in the sun-gilded clearing 
and felt the warmth upon my face as I turned it toward 
213 


the sun. Gods, I said, how is it that in the moment you 
give me the greatest gift of all, you take away another? 
You give me the knowledge of what I can do . . . and the 
knowledge of what I have done. 


Serri, beside me, lifted his head and licked my hand. 
Lir, be not so bitter. What is done is done; look not to lay 
blame upon your platter when it was another who had the 
fashioning of that platter. 


The fashioning of that platter. . . . "Gisella?" I asked 
aloud. "No. It was Alaric who put the torch into my 
hand; Lillith who stood by him even as he did it." 


I recalled it so well, that night upon the dome of the 
dragon's skull. And all the light in my eyes as I set torch 
to beacon-fire. 


Gods. All dead. 


Gisella: who had spun a web within my mind and 
bound me to her will. 


At her own instigation? Perhaps not. Perhaps she as 
much as I was a puppet caught in the tangle of strings 
pulled by Lillith and Alaric. I thought she lacked the wits 
and concentration to make or carry out such plans. 


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And yet it had been Gisella who had ensorcelled a 
lirless man. 


A man who was lirless no longer. 


"Serri," I said aloud, "there are things that I must 
learn, and I must learn them well. Things such as taking 
fir-shape. Things such as healing." I paused. "And the 
gift of compelling a person to do as I wish him to do." 


Lir 


"And then we will go to Clankeep. And then to 
Homana-Muj har.'' 


Lir 


I looked down at the wolf, my lir, and knew myself 
complete even while I felt the emptiness of grief; the 
hollowness of despair. "Serri," I begged, "teach me what 
I must know." 


Serri seemed to sigh. It begins, he said, with the 
shapechange. . . . 


Nine 


Godsbut I cannot begin to say what it is to trade 
human form for animal. There are no words to describe 
the melding of heart and mind and spirit, the perfect 
bonding of man and animal. I knew only that I could not 
comprehend how I had lived before, so empty, so insub-
stantial, so unwhole; so vague a shadow of what a man 
can be when he is a Cheysuli warrior. 


It is a trade, the ability to put off one form and wear 
another. A transience unlimited by beginning and end, 
simply a time of being, when I was a wolf I was a wolf, 
not a man, not Niall; not even the Prince of Homana. 
Not even a Cheysuli. Justa wolf, and bound by such 
freedom as an unblessed man cannot possibly compre-
hend. Not even a Cheysuli. Because even a warrior, in 
human form, lacks the perfection of the animal he be-
comes when he trades one shape for the other. Even a 
Cheysuli is less than he can be. 


I began to understand. And I began to see why my 
race is so arrogant, so insular, so certain of their place 
within the tapestry of the gods. Our colors are brighter. 
We are the warp and weft of Homana, and all the pat-
terns besides. Pick us from that pattern and the shape of 
the dream collapses. The shape of life collapses-

As Homana herself would collapse. 


Gods, but what responsibility. And I began to under-
stand what my father faced, trying to merge Homana and 
the Cheysuli. Trying to blend recalcitrant yarns into a 
harmonious tapestry. 


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I learned to think as a wolf, feel as a wolf, act as a 
wolf. I learned how vulnerable is a man's naked flesh; 


215 


how much stronger are hide and fur. I learned sounds I 
had never heard, scents I had never smelled, flavors I 
had never tasted. 1 learned what it meant to be alive, 
alive, as no man can ever be until he claims a fir. 


I learned that to be lirless and trapped forever in the 
shape of a man is a torture of the kind no Cheysuli 
should ever experience. 


I thought of myself as I had been: lirless, unblessed, a 
shadow of a man, lacking a soul altogether. 


And I thought of Rowan. And began to respect him as 
I had never fully respected him, knowing only I had 
resented him as I had resented myself, because we neither 
of us claimed a lir. 


0 gods, I thank you for this lir. 


Serri taught me the shapechange and the responsibilities 
inherent in the ability. There was, he said, a matter of 
balance, a matter of retaining the comprehension of self. 
Without it, a man in Ar-shape who grows too angry can 
also grow too careless, and he can tip the delicate balance. 
Tipping it, he loses himself, and slides over the 
edge into the madness of permanent ffr-shape. 


Because a man, he said, a a man; locked in A'r-shape 
forever, he loses the thing that makes him human and 
becomes a beast instead. 


I wondered aloud: would it be so bad to be an animal 
forever? 


And Serri had answered that a man, born a man, was 
intended to be a man; the gods, seeing how unbalanced the 
scale had become, and why, would take their retribution. 


And I bad said: Our gods are not retributive; that is a 
thing of Asar-Suti, the Seker, the god of the netherworld. 


And he had answered: It is a thing of all gods, high and 
low, when their children go astray. 


Aye, a trade. The putting off of human form and the 
replacement with animal flesh and blood and bone. But 
where does the man-shape go when the man desires the 
guise of an animal? Into the earth. We vouchsafe our 
Human forms to the power of the earth, whose magic 
gives us the ability to borrow the animal shape for as 
long as need be. We are so rooted in the earth, we 
Cheysuli; so intricately rooted. 


And I wondered what it was like to be a Firstborn; to 
216 


know myself foremost of all the children to come. To 
have power in abundance, more so than Ihlini or Cheysuli, 


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and yet also to carry the seeds of self-destruction. 


I thought of Ceinn and his fellow a'saii, barking back 
to the days of the Firstborn and desiring the power again. 
Their desire was not wrong, preciselythe prophecy, 
fulfilled, would give us that power again, with added 
stability gained from the bloodlines mergedbut their 
method of attaining the power was. Could they not see 
they valued the Old Blood too much? 


But zealots are too often blinded by the magnificence 
of their vision; while dedication can be an admirable, 
awesome thing, it can also be incredibly deadly. As it 
might have been for me. 


Enough. The time for contemplation is done. "You 
have taught me," I told Serri, "and I have learned. Now 
it is time to go." 


/ have taught you a little, lir, and you have learned a 
little less. Be not so drunk upon the wine of accomplishment. 


I laughed. "Drunk, am I? No, I think not. I think I am 
afraid . . . and I think I am angry, too. But not so angry 
as to forget what little I have learned; I have no intention 
of challenging all the a'saii. Only to ask for what is 
owed." 


Nothing is owed a man, lir. Unless it is the service the 
man himself owes to the gods and the prophecy. 


"Serri, you are sounding pompous. As for things owed 
aye, a man owes service to the gods. But a man also 
owes respect to another man when that man has earned 
it." 


As you have earned it? 


"I have. I have gained my lir." 


Serri sighed. Not so much, I think, most of the time. 
But, then again, sometimes 1 think perhaps it is. 


"And sometimes we are in accord." I bent, tugged a 
charcoal-tipped ear, suggested silently we go on. It was 
time to go to Clankeep. 


A long walk. 


"Who speaks of walking when I can run?" I asked, 
and blurred into my fir-shape. 


What joy it is to slip the bonds of human flesh and wear 
the shape of a wolf instead. 


Gods, how we ran! 


The guardsmen burst through the underbrush in a blaze 
of black and crimson. Horses beat the deadfall and brush 
aside, trampling it down even as the riders urged them 
forward. I saw the glitter of bared steel as the Mujharan 


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Guard hacked their way through the forest. 


Serri? 


Taken by surpriseresponding with the instincts of a 
wolfI leaped over a fallen tree to hide behind a screen 
of limbs even as Serri leaped beside me. 


Serri 


I am here. I am always here. 


^ThereF one of the guardsmen cried. "Did you see 
him? nwwthe white wolf-" 


"And a second wolf as well/* claimed another. 


"But not white," said a third. "Gray or silverI could 
not tell." 


And then lan, with Tasha leaping beside him, rode out 
of the trees to join the others. "We are not tracking 
wolves, captain. We are tracking the Prince of Homana. 


Screened behind a veil of leaves and heavy fern, I saw 
my brother rein in by the man who had spoken first; an 
older man, brown-haired, with a coif of mail shrouding 
most of his head. 


"Aye." the soldier agreed grimly, "but are we to ig-
nore a white wotf when we see one? The plague" 


"We are not certain the plague is caused by wolves," 
my brother said mildly. "After all, how many white 
wolves can there be?" 


White wolves? I myselfWas white when in fir-shape; it 
had concerned me greatly at first, for albino coloring is 
undesirable, signifying weakness. Albino stock is always 
slain; I had seen it done to an entire litter of puppies 
born to one of die captains' bunting bitches when I was 
just a child. But Serri had assured me I was white, not 
albino. My eyes were blue, not red; my hearing was 
unaffected. There was nothing in me of weakness. 


Butplague? 


I heard one of the men mutter: "There is a bounty on 
white wolves." 


"And would you risk the plague to bring one in for a 
copper penny?" the nearest rider asked. 


"Silver," the first retorted. "For silver, I might do it." 


"Ride on," my brother said. "We are hunting a man 
not a wolf; I think the Mujhar would pay more than a 
silver penny to the man who finds his heir." 


I heard someone mutter something about a body, and 
realized they thought me dead. I am not a man much 
taken with jokes of death, real or not; at once I took 


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back my human form and stepped out in front of them 
all. "But what coin for the heir if he finds himself?" 


Hands went to swords and knives, then fell away. I 
heard startled exclamations, curses, murmurings of relief. 


"RujW. Gods, rujho, you are alive!" lan swung a leg 
across his horse's neck and leaped out of the saddle, 
beating his way through the fems and dangling creepers. 


I met him half way and clasped his bare arms, grinning 
as I felt the gold beneath my fingers. "Alive," I agreed. 
"lantruly I did not mean to worry everyone. But" 


"It is enough that you are alive," he interrupted. "I 
am not oar jehanlet him give you the reprimands." 


I grimaced- Aye- No doubt he had more than one for 
me. "lan" 


"Gods, we thought you were dead! We found the 
remains of your horsethe gear" He shook his head. 
"Ru/Ao." 


"There was reason," I told him. "In a moment, I 
promise you will understand. ..." I went from him to 
the captain, still mounted, and caught his horse's rein. 
"Captain, take word at once to the Mujhar and the 
Queen that I am wellquite welland tell them I -mil 
be home in a few more days. There is something e]|e I 
must do first." 


"My lord." He stared. As if I were a spirit risen from 
the dead; perhaps, in a way, I was. But I had no time for 
such speculation when my father and mother believed I 
was dead-

1 frowned. "Go at once, captain. Do not tarry any 
longer." 


He tightened his reins to turn, signaling to the others. 
But even as they turned, he hung back and drew in a 
deep breath. "My lordforgive me, but ... for a mo-
ment, I thought you were Carillon." 


He was deadly serious. And he was old enough to be. 


"You served him, did you not?" I pushed the horse's 
nose away from my face. "You knew him, then." 
219 


"I did not know himnot as General Rowan or others 
of higher rank; I was not a captain then. But aye, I 
served him." He smiled. He was older than I had thought, 
but career soldiers are often an ageless lot, become otd 
before their youth is spent. "My lord, it has always been 
said of you; that you resemble the late Mujhar. But now 
it is doubly striking. Now that you wear a beard." 


I had forgotten the beard entirely. I would have to 
shave it off. Butnot yet. For the moment, I found I did 
not mind the comparison. 


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Carillon never had a lir. I smiled. "Go back, captain, 
and carry word the heir is alive. And I will be home 
soon." 


"My lord." He spun his horse and was gone, leaving 
broken vines and bracken in his wake. 


I turned to lan. "I swear, I intended no one to worry." 


"They did. We all did. Gods, rujho, what do you 
expect? I saw what your temper was before you disap-
peared; for all I knew, you had sought the death-ritual." 


I shrugged. "I did." 


lan's face was taut. "Once we found the horse, I 
thought a beast had taken you." 


"One did," I said grimly. "A Cheysuli beast called 
Ceinn." 


"Ceinn!" lan stared. "What has Ceinn to do with 
this?" 


"What has Ceinn to do with anything?" I asked bit-
terly. "He very nearly had his heart's desire, rujhoNiall 
dead, and only lan left to accept the Lion Throne." 


"Rujho" 


"It is the truth,*' I told him gently. "And when we see 
him, you may ask him." 


The first shock of my appearance had worn off. Now 
lan looked more closely than he had before. I saw him 
begin to frown. 


"The beard," I told him. 


"Nowell, aye, but not only the beard. There is more. 
You areharder." 


"Grown up," I told him. "Aye, & little." I bent down 
on one knee to greet Tasha as she glided through the 
trampled fern. She purred, butting her head beneath my 
jaw in her customary greeting. "Still the lovely girl," I 
220 


told her warmly. "If lan ever grows weary of you, you 
may come to me." 


lan grunted eloquent dissent. 


"Oh, aye, I know. You would not weary of her any-
more than I would weary of Serri." I grinned. "Would 
you care to meet my fir?" 


Before he could answer, I summoned Serri through the 
link. And when the wolf came, eyes slitted against the 
sunlight, I turned to watch my brother's reaction. 


He stood incredibly still for a long moment. And then, 
slowly, he knelt down amidst the tangle of deadfall, 


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brush and bracken. "Oh wolf," he whispered, "leijhana 
tu'saileijhana tu'sai for making my rujholli whole. . , ." 
And put a shaking hand against Serri's lovely head, 


A moment later, almost awkwardly, he rose and turned 
to face me squarely. "How could I not have seen it? How 
could 1 not have known?" 


"How could you have known, lan? I did not know 
myself." 


He shook his head. "I myself have been fir-sick. I 
know what the craving is, the emptiness that drives a boy 
out into the forest to find his fir. I have seen it before; I 
have/e/fit before . . . rujho, I should have known." 


"Well enough, I curse you for it." I spoke the weakest 
one I could think of. "Now, shall we go on to Qankeep? 
I have business there with Ceinn and the other a9 sail." 


He looked troubled. "Perhaps the a'saU might wait." 


"Perhaps not," I suggested. "I would prefer to settle 
the question of my worthiness once and for all. I think 
now the clans might accept me willingly." 


"They might," lan agreed grimly, "but what of the 
Homanan zealots? Your blood at last asserts itself; your 
magic is no longer 'hidden.' It will give them further 
cause for alarm and outcry." 


"But it will not give them the Lion." 


He caught my arm as I turned to go. "It might," he 
said flatly. "Niall, have you forgotten how to count? You 
were in Erinn and Atvia for more than a year. And then, 
barely home again, you disappear for another month. 
You have given the Homanan rebels every opportunity 
to gain a foothold in this battle for the Lion." 


"Carillon's bastard," I said grimly. 
221 


"Aye, Carillon's bastard." He glared. "Niall, he has 
begun to gather an army." 


"The bastard?" It was my turn to stare in disbelief. 
"How can he do that?" 


lan shmgged. "How not? He wants to take the throne." 


"Butour father is Mujhar." 


My brother sighed a little. "The cost of growing up in 
a realm at peace is complacency, I seeor, perhaps, 
ignorance. Have you no comprehension of politics?" 


"Do you?" 


"Some," he said shortly. "Cheysuli or no, I under-
stand what this means. As you should. ..." He shook 
his head. "Even now he gathers an army as well as public 
opinion in his favor" 


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"and when he has enough of both, he can petition 
the Homanan Council for a change in the succession." I 
nodded, pleased to see the surprise in Ian*s eyes; he had 
expected me to understand nothing at all. "And, of course, 
the Council, led by our father, will decline the petition" 


"which will open the road to civil war," lan finished. 
"It is no idle threat, Niali; no unlikely happenstance. 
And you forget something else: the Council is made up 
of Homanans. All of them served under Carillon; our 
jehan has appointed no one, except for Rowan, and even 
he might prefer Carillon's son as opposed to Carillon's 
grandson." 


"Rowan?" 


lan shrugged. "Perhaps. Who can say for certain? When 
you look at the petition closely, you will see there are 
possibilities for its approval. He is Carillon's son, and 
therefore a part of the prophecy." 


"But he is not Cheysuli." 


lan did not smile. "Let us say the Homanans are less 
impressed with the need to fulfill the prophecy than the 
Cheysuh are, Niall. But let us say also there are those on 
the Council who do desire to see the prophecy fulfilled 
. . . how better to lay proper claim to the Lion than to wed 
the claimant to a woman with the necessary bloodlines?" 


"Cheysuli," I blurted. "But who would agree to such a 
thing? / am the rightful heir!" 


"Gisella might," he said evenly. "With you dead, why 
should she decline the chance to be Queen of Homana? 
222 


The title was promised her at birth the moment her 
gender was known." 


It shook me, as he intended it to. Aye, Gisella might. 
And the gods knew she had the proper blood; it was why 
/ had had to wed her. 


"Gisella!" I said bitterly. "Gods, but I wish she had 
died in her mother's fall!" 


"Niall!" Again, lan caught my arm. "Niallby the 
gods, you know" 


"That she ensorcelled me? Aye, I knowI knew the 
moment I gained my lir. Whatever spell she wove must 
have had Ihlini origins, not Cheysuli. I remembered it all 
once I had linked with Serri." And then all the pain and 
grief welled up again. "Oh godslan . . . what they 
made me do' 


"I know." He caught me in a compassionate embrace. 
"Oh rujho, I know . . . they made me watch as you lit 
the fire." 


"All of them," I cried. "All the eagles in the aerie" I 
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hugged him as I never had before, never having required 
it so badly before. "Gods, they made me give the order 
to slay LiamSheaDeirdre" 


He heard the change in my tone as I said her name; 


the pain, the anguish, the grief ./'Deirdre," he echoed, 
mostly to himself, and it intensified the pain to hear him 
say her name. 


OhgodsDeirdre 


I sank down to kneel in the trampled grass and ferns. 
"They made me murder Deirdre." 


Silently he knelt down on one knee and caught the 
back of my neck with a single hand, forcing me to look 
into his face. "Rujho," he said, "if you loved her that 
much, I am truly sorry." 


It shocked me, even in my grief. "You speak of love?" 


"Why not? It exists, no matter what the customs say. 
Do you think there is no love between our jehan and his 
cheysulaf" 


"Is there?" 


"Of course. I see them differently, rujho, because they 
allow me to. Or" smiling a little, he shrugged "perhaps 
they do not allow it, and yet I see it. But be certain it 
exists." 


"There was Sorcha first. Your mother." 
223 


"Aye. But she died many years ago, and there is no 
law that says a warrior may not love another woman." 


I saw Deirdre in the distance. "Not I," I said remotely. 
"By the gods, not I... I will never love Gisella." 


After a moment, he sighed. "No," he agreed. "No, I 
think not. I think no man will ever love Gisella . . . 
except, perhaps, her/eAan." 


"Alaric?" 


"Aye. You were too bedazzled by what the girl had 
done to youbut aye, Alaric loves her. And I think he 
does not forgive himself for being the man who made her 
the way she is." 


"Compassion for the enemy?" 


"Compassion for the jehan." He clasped my neck briefly 
and pulled my head against one shoulder in a brotherly 
gesture of affection, then tousled my hair as he rose. 
"Perhaps you have the right of it rujho. I think we should 
go to Clankeep." 


I stood up. "After telling me we should not?" 


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"There is something left for you to do." He grinned, 
and then he laughed aloud. "After all these years, have 
you forgotten -the fir-gold? It is your right to wear it, 
now." 


My right. I looked down at Serri, waiting beside my 
left leg. Lir-gold, Serri! 


It is your right to wear it. 


I laughed. "Aye! It is!" I caught lan's neck and hugged 
him awkwardly, nearly jerking him off his feet. "Aye, 
rujho, let us go and get my gold!" 


Frowning a little, he felt at the lobe that bore the 
cat-shaped earring. "We have only one mount, and you 
are too heavy for my horse to carry both of us. There are 
times he wants nothing to do with me." 


"Who speaks of riding, ru/Ao?" And as he watched 
bemusedly, I blurred into my fir-shape. 


As I ran, I heard him curse, because he had a horse. 
Because, like me, he wanted to go in fir-shape. 


And I laughed, because there is not a Cheysuli alive 
who prefers a horse when he has another form to serve 
him. 


Godswhat freedom there is in lir-shape 


Ten 


I took back my human form at the gates of Clankeep and 
turned to watch lan come up on his stallion. Beside him 
ran Tasha, sleek and sinuous in the sunlight, chestnut 
coat burnished bronze- Serri warded my left leg, pressing 
a shoulder against my knee; through the fir-link, I sensed 
his insecurity -

A fir? I asked in surprise. 


In my place, how would you feel? he returned. Clankeep 
is a place of many people, many lir . . . and I have known 
none of them. 


It was amazing insight into how a fir felt about things. 
All too often it was easier simply to believe them above 
us all, closer to the gods, and yet Serri's defensive tone 
reminded me of myself when faced with a thing I could 
not fully understand. 


Was it the same for Tasha? 


Serri peered around my knee as the mountain cat came 
to join us. The same for us all, when the link is first made. 
We are not so different from men. 


1 would have disagreed, verbally or otherwise, but lan 
jumped off his horse and called out in the Old Tongue 
for the warriors guarding the entrance to open the gates 


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for us. 


I waved away drifting dust, then stepped back as the 
wooden gates swung open. Once, I had been told, there 
was no need for gates to shut the Cheysuli in- But the 
time had come to shut the enemy out, and the gates had 
become traditional. More and more, Clankeep reminded 
me of Mujhara. 


lan, leading his fractious stallion, fell into step beside 


me. "We will go to the shar tahl. It is for him to make 
the arrangements for the Ceremony of Honors." 


I felt a shiver of pride and excitement lift the flesh on 
my bones. Ceremony of Honors . . . and at last I would 
wear the gold. 


But even as we walked away from the gates, one of the 
warriors called us back. "The shar tahl is not at his 
pavilion, lan. He is with Rylan, and the Mujhar is with 
them both." 


"Je/ian?" Frowning, lan glanced at me sharply. "Some-
thing serious, I think . . . what else would bring him out 
of Mujhara now?" 


I thought the emphasis strange, and said so. But lan, 
walking fast enough to pull the stallion into a trot, merely 
shook his head. "I will let him explain ... no doubt he 
has much to say to you. Rujhohurry." 


And so I stretched out my longer legs and moved 
ahead of him entirely, which afforded me the chance to 
tell him to hurry. But lan was too preoccupied to be 
amused. 


Serri? 


I cannot say, Ur. I am new to the politics of Homana. 


Then what does Tasha tell you? 


Only that her fir is very worried. It has to do with Ihlini, 
the plague, the bastard . . . there is much he concerns 
himself with. Much. 


Grimly, I agreed. lan is better suited to politics than I, 
He understands them better. 


We would our way through clustered pavilions, dodg-
ing the black-haired children who played some game in 
the trees and knee-high bracken, spilling out into the 
beaten earth of the walkways. Woodsmoke smudged the 
skyline; I smelled oak, ash, a hint of fresh-cut cedar. But 
mostly I smelled the meat. Bear, I thought; someone 
roasted a bear. And it made me think of Ceinn. 


"lan." I intended to address the problem of the a'saii, 
but he was calling out to one of the running children; a 
boy, who swerved away from the game and trotted over. 


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"Blaine, will you do me the favor of taking my horse 
to my pavilion? I have business with the clan-leader," 


"Aye." Blaine reached out for the reins. "Did you 
know the Mujhar is here?" 


226 


"Aye. Leijharw tu'sai." Relieved of ha horse, lan nearly 
ran. 


Worried, Serri told me. 


That 1 can see for myself. 


"Here," lan stopped before a green pavilion bearing a 
silver-painted fox half hidden in its folds, hardly noticing 
as Tasha threw herself down on a rug beside the doorflap. 
Lorn was there as well, blinking sleepily in the sunlight. 
Golden Taj perched upon the ridgepole. And the brown 
fox curling next to Lom moved over to offer Tasha 
room. I did not know his name, only that he was Rylan's 
Ur. 


So little time have I spent here that I know too little of 
my clan, I reflected guiltily. It is no wonder there are 
warriors who prefer to,see Ion in my place. I think Ion 
knows everyone. 


My brother scratched at the doorflap and identified 
himself. A moment later the clan-leader himself pulled 
the folds aside; when he saw me he opened his mouth to 
speak, then shut it sharply. I saw the flicker of surprise in 
his eyes; I was the last man he had expected to see, and 
in such a guise as this. 


And then he smiled. "You had best go straight to the 
Mujhar, Niall. He is with Isolde, walking the wall path." 


"Go," lan told me- "It is important he knows you are 
alive- I will stay here with Rylan and the shar tahl to 
speak of the arrangements." 


"Wait!" I swung down the pouch from my shoulder 
and pulled wide the thong-snugged mouth. Reaching in-
side, I caught the heavy belt I had worn at the wedding 
and pulled most of it free of the pouch. "Gold," I told 
the clan-leader. "Cheysuli gold, made by a master's hands. 
I would wear it again, but in the proper shapes." 


Rylan looked at the wolf who stood so close to my 
side. I saw him begin to smile. 


lan took the pouch and stuffed the belt inside it 
once again. "Rujho, go. I will see to the gold." But even 
as I turned, he caught my upper arm. "There is also 
i'toshaa-ni," he said seriously. "All will be explained, 
but you must prepare yourself." 


"Will you be the one to explain it?" 


He grinned, suddenly young again in the time before 
227 
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he had learned so much of responsibility, and the con-
cern in his face was banished. "K that is what you wish." 


"I wish." And then I was gone, running after my 
father, with Serri running at my side. 


The wall path. . . Rylan meant the footpath that edged 
the green-gray wall surrounding Clankeep. It reminded 
me a little of the sentry-walks atop the battlements of a 
castle, ringing the parapets, but there was nothing of 
castles about a Cheysuli Keep. Only a wall, curving through 
the trees like a granite serpent, lacking merlons and 
crenels, showing only an undulating line of piled stone, 
unmortared, but sealed with moss and ivy. The vines 
threaded their way up lichened flanks and clung tena-
ciously, setting roots and questing fingers into cracks and 
crevices. Trees from the other side sent reconnaissance 
patrols across over the wall and down, breaching Cheysuli 
security. Mistletoe clustered in crotches. Columbine twined 
the boughs and mantled the top of the wall. 


I saw them ahead of me. Isolde sat on a shattered tree 
stump with head bowed and all her thick hair hanging 
around her face. I could not see her expression. Then she 
cried, I knew; one hand was pressed to her face and I 
could see how her shoulders trembled. 


My father stood over her, one hand placed upon the 
crown of her head. And then the other; he squatted 
down so he could look into her face, and I saw how 
gently he smoothed the hair back behind her ears. 


I could not hear what he said. But I saw 'Solde lean 
forward, hug him awkwardly, then rise and hasten away. 
My father remained squatting by the stump a moment, 
head bowed, as if he felt a measure of his daughter's 
pain. And then, as I slowed from a run to a walk, he rose 
and turned toward me. 


And recoiled. "Carillon" he blurted. 


I stopped walking. I stood in the middle of the foot-
path quite alone; Serri had paused along the way to 
make the acquaintance of a coney too far from his bur-
row. My first instinct was to resent the mistaken identity; 


once, I would have, but now I could not. I was too 
shocked. Though others often did, never had my father 
even remarked upon the resemblance. Never had he so 
much as likened me to my grandsire. Certainly he had 


never looked at me and called me by Carillon's name. 
Not even by mistake. 


And it was not a mistake now. Because, for that in-
stant, he believed I was. 


It passed. It passed quickly. I saw the shock turn to 
startled recognition, and then the color was back in his 
face. But he did not move at once. We faced each other, 
my father and I, across an acre of ground that was only 


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the length of a man. 


"No," I said finally. "Niall." 


"I know." His tone was odd. "Iknow. Forgive me." 


I shrugged. "It is nothing." 


"It is something. Do you think I do not know?" 


I started to answer, to dismiss the common mistake, 
but his raised hand silenced me. "There are many things 
to be said, not the least of which is to note you are alive 
when everyone eke believes you are dead, but even that 
will wait. There is something else. Something I should 
have told you long ago." 


He sighed. And then he sat down on the stump Isolde 
had vacated and sighed again, as if searching for the 
proper words. "He was an incredibly couragous man. An 
incredibly strong man, and I do not speak of the physical, 
though there was that as well. No. I speak of spirit, of 
dedication, of the willingness -to shoulder burdens far 
beyond the ken of most men-" He reached down, plucked 
a jointed blade of grass from the ground, began to tear it 
apart. "After Tynstar stole his youth and gave him the 
disease, he lost much of his remarkable strength. But 
none of the dedication. None of the willingness to take 
on so many burdens. Because it was his duty. Because it 
was his tantmorra.^ 


He looked up at me; I nodded and he went on. "Every 
day I looked at him, seeing how he drove himself to 
make Homana wholeseeing how he drove himself to 
serve a prophecy not even of his people, and I wondered. 
I wondered: how will I ever be able to take the Lion from 
this man? How will I ever be able to carry on the things he 
has begun?" 


I stared at his hands. I watched him shred the stalk of 
grass, and then I saw him spill the pieces through his 
fingers as easily as now he spilled the self-doubts of his 
youth. 


"He told me; be Donal. He told me: you should not 
judge yourself by others. But, of course, I did. Even as 
you do now." 


"I hate him," I said hollowly. "I hate a dead man, 
jehan." 


"But mostly you hate yourself." 


I sat down awkwardly in the middle of the footpath 
because I could no longer stand in the face of the realiza-
tion. "Aye," I said on rushing breath. "Oh, jehan ... I 
have." 


"Be Niall," he said gently. "Do not judge yourself by 
others." 


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I laughed. I heard the sound cut through arching boughs 
like a scythe through summer grass, "And when Carillon 
told you that, jehan, did it mean anything to you?" 


My father did not smile. "It meant something that he 
said it." 


Abashed, I looked at the dirt between my deerhide 
boots. "Aye. Aye, jehan, it does." 


"He left me a legacy. He left me the knowledge I had 
nothing to be ashamed of; that I would do the best I 
could do, no matter what the odds. And I have." He 
smiled a little. "Oh, aye. There are people who will 
disagree; people who claim I serve only my own self-
interests, but I try to serve Homana. Homana and the 
Cheysuli." I saw the smile begin to widen. "I think only 
as I watch my own children wrestle with the power of 
adulthood do I come to understand that I am not a 
failure. That I am not a bad Mujnar. And the day will 
dawn when you come to know the same about the Mujhar 
who follows Donal." 


"The Lion of Homana." I shook my head. "I think 
what disturbs me most, now that I begin to see it more 
clearly, is that they have been so unfair to you. Always it 
is Carillon. Even from my jehana. It is so easy for every-
one to see him when they look at me. And yetthey 
overlook that it was you who sired me. It is thoughts and 
memories of you I should invoke." 


He laughed a little, showing the face I knew better as 
lan's, albeit older than my brother's. "Aye. It brightens 
a man's pride to hear the son compared to himwhen 
the comparison is favorable." He nodded. "But I think 
230 


the dye has been set, Niall. It is lan who reminds them of 
me, and you who reminds them of Carillon." 


I grimaced wryty. "Well, I think it no longer matters. I 
think" 


"/ think it is time we spoke of business and set aside 
self-examinations." He rose, stepped to me and caught 
my arm as I raised it. <<! will not belabor it, Niall. You 
should never nave left as you did." 


I was up, brushing at my breeches. "No, but" 


"I want no excuses; what is done is done. But I expect 
you to accept more responsibility in the future." 


"Jehan" 


"We are at war, Niall," he said plainly, as if I could 
not understand. "Strahan raises an army in Sotinde. And 
so does the bastard, here." He sighed and scraped the 
hair back from his face, leaving it bare and bleak. "Ev-
eryone thought you dead. And so I had to contend with a 
Homanan Council who bestirred themselves to consider 
the possibility of naming the bastard to your placethey 
would sooner have Cannon's bastard in place of mine 


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and a Cheysuli Clan Council who spoke of lan as your 
successor, citing the prophecy." He shut his eyes a mo-
ment. "Gods, I feel like I have been juggling unbalanced 
knives . . . Aislinn sick to death with worrythis plague 
that begins to spreadtrying to placate hostile councils 
and, of course, there is Strahan. Gods, there is always 
Strahan." 


Abruptly he turned away, showing only his back to 
me- His hands were on his hips, head bowed; he looked 
more disgusted than anything else, but I thought perhaps 
he was only weary. Weary of all the burdens Carillon had 
bequeathed to him. 


And that he will bequeath to me. 


"Niall." He turned back. "There is yet another thing. 
Perhaps the most importantthe gods know it turned the 
councils upside down." He smiled. "Suddenly they could 
no longer speak of which bastard would inherit, but who 
to name as regent for the Prince of Homana's heir." 


"The Prince of Homana'sheir?" I stared. "Gisella 
bore the child? A son?" 


"Two," he said succinctly. 


"Two?" 


"Both boys." He grinned. "And so I am made a 
grandsire." 


"Both boys," I echoed in a whisper. "By the gods, I 
have an heir." And then I looked at him more sharply. 
"Gisella?" 


His grin faded. "She is well... but no different from 
before." 


"No," I agreed grimly, "it is a permanent affliction." 
And then, unable to dwell on Gisella in the face of such 
news, I began to smile again. "Two boys! How will I ever 
tell them apart?" 


"It is possible even now. But I will let you see for 
yourself." He reached out and clasped my arm. "No 
more delays, Niall. We must go back to Homana-Mujhar." 


^ojehan. ..." I thought of the two boys at Homana-
Mujhar, and the choice suddenly became much harder. 
Gods, what do I do? 


"No?" my father asked in amazement. "No?" 


Tom, I tried to pull away. "Icannot. Not yet." 


"Cannot." He swung me around to face him. "Niall, 
my patience is wearing thin." 


"So was mine!" I cried. "Why do you think I left 
Mujhara? Because I could not wait any longer!" 
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"Niall, I cannot express to you how precarious is our 
position at the moment. - - nor my surprise that you can 
so easily dismiss two newbom sons." 


"I do not dismiss," I said curtly. "Gods, jehan, I could 
not. ButI need to stay. I must. There is a thing I have 
to do" 


"What thing is more important than the security of 
your claim to the Lion Throne?" He was angry, very 
angry; I wanted to look away and could not. "Do you 
understand what I have told you, Niall? As Strahan 
assembles another army in Solinde, the bastard assem-
bles one here. There is plague all through the north, 
creeping down even now from the Wastes into the rest of 
Homana. And you have the audacity to tell me you 
cannot come to Homana-Mujhar?" 


My answer was to summon Serri to me. I heard his 
response within the link, and even as I turned the wolf 
came running, running to meet me. His ears lay back 
along his skull and his mouth gaped open, allowing the 
tongue to loll. The black-smudged tail stood out behind 
232 


him like a pennon in the wind. How he ran, my magnifi-
cent &'r; how he ran to answer my call. 


I dropped to one knee and caught him in my arms. He 
snugged his muzzle against my neck and muttered into 
my flesh and beard, forgoing the link to express his 
feelings aloud. And then I twisted my head to look up at 
my astonished father. "I left because I had to. I had to 
find my lir. And now I stay because I have to, so I can be 
fully acknowledged a warriora Cheysulibefore my 
clan." 


He said nothing. He did not have to. All the world was 
in his eyes. 


Vc/wn" 
"Three days," he said quietly. "I'toshaa-ni, for the 
cleansing, and then the Ceremony of Honors." He swal-
lowed heavily. "For this, I can give you three days. I 
wish I could give you three years." 


And then he walked away. 


But not before I saw the tears of pride and thankful-
ness in his eyes. 


233 


Eleven 


Ftoshaa-m. 


It is a mystery to most men because the Cheysuli keep 
it that way, desiring no profanation. It has always been a 
mystery to me, not because I am not Cheysuli, but be-
cause it is a highly personal thing, an expression of the 


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intense need for the cleansing of flesh, spirit, mind, heart 
and soul. 


For lan, the need had come upon him twice: once, 
during the rituals associated with the Ceremony of Honors
; again, when he had been so soiled by Lillith's Ihlini 
sorcery. He did not speak of his experiences to me, 
saying only that I would be born out of smoke and sweat 
and pain to be a man again, new-made, as no other man 
can be. Certainly not a Homanan. 


At dawn, I went out of Clankeep into the forest. 
There I painstakingly built a shelter out of saplings, 
binding them with vines and sealing the cracks with leaves 
until the shelter was a hummock against the ground, 
closed to the worid save for the tiny entrance. 


I took stones from the ground and built a firecaim in 
the center of the shelter. And when it was made I lighted 
a fire and fed it with herbs the shar tahl had given me. 
The smoke made me cough- The stench made my eyes 
water. 


I shaved. Bare-faced, I stripped. My clothing I left in a 
pile outside the door; naked, liriess, alone, I sat down 
beside the fire and let the smoke form a shroud around 
my body. 


I waited. 


When at last the sweat ran down my flesh and the tears 
ran out of my eyes, I began to see a reason for the ritual 
234 


of cleansing. For three days I would fast, until there was 
nothing left in my body; until the sweat cleansed the 
impurities from my flesh; until I was a new-made man, 
lacking the soil of the former life. 


/ dreamed of Carillon. Though I remained in the shelter 
I had built, a part of me broke free. It left behind the 
shelter and the fasting and the smoke and went elsewhere, 
to Homana-Mufhar; to the Great Hall, where I sat in the 
Lion Throne. I stared down the length of the empty hall 
and saw it was not empty at all; that a man approached, 
and I knew him. 


Carillon. 


I knew it was him, though I had never seen him. Because 
he looked like me. 


He wasold. Though he stood rigidly straight, I saw 
how his shoulders hunched a little; how his spine seemed 
to pain him. And I saw the hands, so twisted, so wracked, 
so ruined. But mostly I saw the spirit of the man, because 
its intensity was such that it set the hall ablaze. 


"Grandsire," I said. "You are dead. How can you 
come to me?" 


"I come to you because I am a part of you, as I am a 
part of your mother, your sons, the children yet to come. I 
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am in them as much as I am in you, and so it will ever be. 
You can rid yourself of me no more than you can shed 
your flesh and become another man." 


"Not another man," I agreed, "but an animal. I am 
Cheysuli, grandsire." 


"And in animal form, do you become someone who is 
not Niall?" 


I frowned at him. "No, grandsireof course not. I am 
still myself." 


He smiled. And then the shadows swallowed him, and I 
was back in my smoky shelter. 


On the second day, naked, Uriess, alone, with only a 
snare and a knife to my name, I caught and slew a young 
ruddy-colored wolf. He fought his death. He fought me. 
He left weals upon my flesh and anguish in my heart, 
thinking of Serri, but I slew him. And then I bathed in 
the blood and ate the still-warm heart, to vanquish that 
235 


portion of myself that might be suborned by the freedom 
of the fir-shape. 


/ dreamed of Ceinn. He stood before me as I sat upon 
the Lion Throne of Homana and told me to get out of it; 


that I was unworthy because I lacked the lir-gifts; because 
I was not a proper Cheysuli. He told me I was forgotten 
by the gods and therefore no part of the prophecy; my 
abdication would be a blessing to all the folk of Homana, 
Cheysuli and Homanan alike. 


I listened. I waited. And when he was done reciting the 
things the shar tahls had told him since birth, even as they 
had told me, / rose and stepped away from the Lion, 
relinquishing the throne. I gave it over to Ceinn willingly. 
And as he stepped forward, intent on claiming it himself, I 
saw the wooden lion's head move. 


The jaws widened, waiting. I tried to cry out, to tell him 
no; to say the Lion would swallow him-^ut he did not 
hear; he did not choose to hear. And so as Ceinn sat down 
upon the Lion Throne of Homana, the gaping jaws closed 
over his skull and crushed it. 


On the third day I bathed in an isolated pool and 
washed the blood from my flesh. With handfuls of sand I 
scoured the grime and smoke-stench from my body, rais-
ing blood into the wolf-wounds, and then I washed it off 
with clean, cool water. And at last, clean within and 
without, I put on the fresh leathers someone had left 
outside the shelter and went back to Clankeep a new-
made man, born again of i'toshaa-ni. 


In the center of the clan pavilion, I knelt on the hide of 
a spotted mountain cat. Around me sat ranks of warriors 
and their womennot all of them, because the pavilion 
was no longer large enoughbut those members of Clan 
Council, the ruling body of the Cheysuli. 


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Once, it was believed there was only a single clan 
remaining in all of Homana, because of Shame's qu'mahlin. 
My royal Homanan ancestor had done his best to rid 
the realm of every Cheysuli by ordering all of them slain. 
The qu'mahlin had failed, thank the gods, but only after 
thirty years of methodical elimination. And mostly be236 


cause Carillon had stopped it once he had reclaimed the 
Lion Throne from Bellam of Solinde. In those days an 
entire clan would have filled only hatf of the pavilion; 


now most of the people had to remain outside. 


It was evening. Only the fire in the caim before me 
lighted the pavilion, throwing odd illumination over the 
faces of the warriors and the women. Looking at them, I 
thought of the days of the Firstborn, when all men and 
women of the clans claimed the ability to assume Urshape. 
But because we had become so blood-bred, so 
isolated in our insularity and arrogance, the gifts had 
begun to weaken. Only through the fulfillment of the 
prophecy would we reclaim the power that we once took 
for granted. 


So many faces. Nearly all of them characteristically 
dark, angular, polished bronze by the sun of Homana. 
Black hair, yellow eyes, so much gold in ears, at throats, 
on arms and hips and wrists. So much strength; why was 
it the people of other realms desired to break that strength? 


Why did the Homanans desire it? 


Not all, Serri said. Many, still, because it is natural for 
the earth magic to frighten those who do not claim it, do 
not know if... but not all. Carillon began the change in 
common opinion. Donal furthers it. And you will further 
it even more. 


He lay beside me on the edges of the pelt. I moved 
hand from lap and buried it in Serri's lush pelt. In so 
short a time he had become my world, my other self; I 
wondered how I had managed to live before we had 
found one another. How I had functioned without my 
Ur. 


Much of the ceremony had already been concluded. 
But there remained the most important part: the bestowing 
of the /y-gold to signify I was a warrior of the clan, a 
man grown, a Cheysuli in place of a lirless, soulless boy. 


Rylan himself sat before me on the other side of the 
caim. The firelight made his face a mask of black and 
bronze, stark in the harsh shadows, but smiling. And as 
he smiled, he spoke. 


"Before all the old gods of the Cheysuli, I as clan-leader 
bear witness that you have sought and found a lir according 
to the customs of our people. That you and the lir 
237 


have linked as a lir and warrior must link, to make the 
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magic whole. And I bear witness that through this link the 
lir has accepted you in heart and soul and mind as well as 
spirit, as you have accepted him." 


He waited. I inclined my head in affirmation. 


"The lir-bond is for life. While you live, the lir Uves. 
But should your life be taken from you within the natural 
lifespan of the lir, regardless of the manner, the lir shall be 
released from the bond to return to the freedom of the 
forests, no longer bound to the body that once was a 
Cheysuli warrior." 


Again, I nodded. 


"Should the Ur die in battle or in sickness or by other 
unknown causes, you will be made soulless, empty, 
unwhole, and you will give up your name as a Cheysuli 
warrior to seek an ending however you may find it, in the 
death-ritual of the clan, unarmed and alone among the 
beasts of the forests." 


I had tasted lirlessness once already. I did not hesitate 
to accept the consequences. 


Rylan's eyes held mine steadily. "For you, I must be 
very clear: the ffr-bond requires payment, even from 
those who rule. You will be two men, warrior and Mujhar, 
but the bond will constrain you still. Should Serri die, my 
lord, you will be required to renounce the Lion and go 
alone among the beasts.*' 


I thought suddenly of Duncan, my other grandsire, 
who had not ruled because he had helped to win Carillon 
the Lion. He had been clan-leader even as Rylan was, 
required to perform the rituals of the Ceremony of Hon-
ors as Rylan did now for me. Aye, I thought of Duncan, 
my long-dead grandsire, who had lost a lir and lost his 
life, giving it over willingly even though he also gave up 
the leadership of the Cheysuli. 


And I thought of my father, who, too young, had 
accepted the responsibilities of the fir-bond before he 
had known he would be Mujhar. 


And I thought: It is not a thing done lightly. 


No, Serri agreed, and no man will force you to it. 


I drew in a deep breath and nodded to Rylan. "y'Ja'hfd, 
clan-leader. Sa'hai-na." I nodded again. "I accept. The 
price is willingly accepted," 


"Ru'shalla-tu," he said quietly. May it be so. Quietly 
he moved aside and made way for the shar tahl, who 
carried a roll of bleached-white deerskin in his arms. He 
was Arlen; not young, not old, but the most high of all 
the clan members, being a man totally dedicated to serv-
ing the prophecy and the histories of the Cheysuli. 


Arlen knelt before the cairn and carefully unrolled the 
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deerskin, making certain it did not wrinkle or tangle 
itself. Hands smoothed it efficiently; he must have done 
this so many times, too many times, and yet he made no 
indication he was weary of the task. He merely did it. 
And by doing it, he made me a place in my clan. 


"One day a man of all blood shall unite, in peace, four 
warring realms and two magic races." A finger touched 
the rune-signs painted on the supple hide. "Already we 
begin to approach completion, the fulfillment of the proph-

-ecy of the Firstborn, so:" He touched a faded green 
rune. "Here is Hale, liege man to Shame the Mujhar, 
and jehan to a daughter got on Shaine's Homanan 
daughter." 


Arlen glanced briefly at me, as if to be certain I fol-
lowed him; I did. I could not take my eyes from the 
finger that so carefully showed me my heritage. 


He touched another rune, this one red, of a different 
shape. "Here is Duncan, born of the line of the Old 
Mu)hars, in the days before we gave the Lion to the 
Homanans. Here is Carillon, born of Shaine's brother, 
harani to the Mujhar, and who took back the Lion from 
me enemy." The finger moved yet again. "And here is Alix, 
daughter of Hale and Lindir, who bore a son to Duncan: 


Donal, who accepted the Lion from Carillon, and who 
sired a son on Carillon's half-Solindish daughter." 


The finger stopped on a bright blue rune. There were 
none under it, only a blank space waiting for the name of 


my newborn sons. 


But Arlen looked at me. "And here is Niall, son of 
Aislinn and Donal, who shall inherit the Lion from his 
jehan and name a son to inherit it from him." 


I smiled. "Brennan," I told the shar tahl. "There is a 
son already bom; I shall call him Brennan. And behind 
him. Hart. Liege man if he chooses; rufholli, companion, 
kinspiritihey were born in a single labor of Gisella of 
Atvia, daughter to Alaric and DonaTs rujholla, Bronwyn." 
239 


Arien inclined he head briefly to acknowledge the 
furthering of the succession, then re-rolled the deerskin 
and moved back to his place in the front ranking of 
warriors and women. 


It was Rylan's turn once more. "There is now the 
bestowing of the fir-gold upon the newbom warrior. It is 
customary for the warrior to choose a shu'maii, a spon-
sor, from among his fellow warriors. It is the task of the 
shu'maii to pierce the lobe and place the earring in it, as 
well as placing the bands upon the arms. It is a mark of 
respect from warrior to shu'maii to ask; it is acknowledg-
ment from shu'maii to warrior before Clan Council and 
others of the c!an that he accepts the responsibilities of a 
bond almost as binding as that of the lir or a liege man. 
That he honors the newborn warrior with all the honor of 


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his heritage as a Cheysuli born of the clan and all its 
traditions." 


He said nothing more, having explained the final task 
that faced me. Like the others, he waited for my decision. 


I looked at the empty place in the ranks ringing me. 
Empty because my father had returned to HomanaMujhar, 
unable to remain even for my Ceremony of 
Honors. I would have named him as my shu'maii, naming 
his name with great pride, but be had gone, and I 
could not say the name of a man who did not exist in the 
moment of my birth. 


I looked at my brother, sitting beside the empty place, 
and saw how he waited with eyes downcast. He was the 
natural choice, I knew, and certainly the most appropriate. 
But lan was already pledged to me. 


And so I looked at Rylan. "I name the name of Ceinn." 


I heard a woman gasp: Isolde. And I heard the lowvoiced 
murmurings of the men. 


It was to my brother I looked first, to see if I had hurt 
him. Perhaps I had, but he did not show it to me. He 
merely smiled a tiny smile, as if I had done a thing that 
surprised him with its shrewdness but also met with belated 
understanding. He smiled, did my brother, and I 
knew I had chosen well. 


"Ceinn," Rylan said. "Do you accept the honor 
offered?" 


His face was a mask to me, but his eyes were not. 
From out of the mask they stared, hard and cold and 
240 


yellow, and in their depths blazed the flame of fanaticism. 
Oh, aye, he would accept. In the face of his dedication 
to clan and custom, he could not do otherwise


"Jfl'/uu-w," he said only, and rose to make his way 
through the others to the cairn. He sat down on my right 
side; Serri was at my left. 


Rylan accepted the leather pouch offered him by 
another warrior. From it he took a silver awl and handed 
it to Ceinn. Firelight glinted off the silver. The point was 
ground quite fine, but I knew it would hurt regardless. 


I pushed the hair behind my ear and faced Ceinn, 
kneeling- Saying nothing, he pinched and pulled down 
my left earlobe, stretching it thin, then pressed the awl 
against the flesh. I set my teeth; the point slid in, beyond 
... I felt Ceinn twist it into my flesh, until I heard the 
pop of completion. He withdrew the awl and put out his 
hand; into his palm Rylan set the golden earring


Wolf-shaped, of course; a small wolf born of incredible 
skill, showing face and paws and tail. From its back rose 
the curving prong. Ceinn shut his fingers on the wolf and 
pushed the prong through the hole he had made; hooked 


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the tip into the loop with a deft twist. I heard the tiny 
snap and knew the thing was done. 


My earlobe stung. The weight of the gold set up an 
ache I found bearable regardless of its irritation: I was 
very nearly a warrior. 


Rylan set the heavy armbands into Ceinn's waiting 
hands. The mask was shown me again; such a hard, cold 
mask, expressing bleak acknowledgment that what he did 
made a pledge that could not be broken; his time with 
the a'saii was done, even if he preferred otherwise. He 
would not, could not break the bond, or forswear the 
traditions that bound him of all men so very tightly. 


The armbands clinked together as Ceinn brought them 
closer to me. Such massive, magnificent things, full of 
runes braided one into the other, tangling cheek-by-jowl 
all the way around at top ^ind bottom edge. And in the 
center of each, flowing around the curves, was the shape 
of a running wolf, fluid in the metal, as if he would leap 
out of the gold and into the midst of us all. 


Godshow beautiful is my lir 


Ceinn slipped one over my left wrist and slid it up until 
241 


it went over my elbow and was snugged against muscles. 
Then the other on my right, holding my wrist as he 
settled the band into place. Again, he snugged it, and I 
saw the rich flash of his own gold in the firelight as be 
made me a man before the others. 
"Leijhana tu'sai," I said quietly. And I meant it. 
His lips thinned. "Cheysuli i'haUa shansu." But I knew 
the last thing he intended me was Cheysuli peace. 
And yet he could do nothing about it. l 
I swallowed heavily. I had no wish to show what I felt 
to the others. And yet I could not help but show it to 
Ceinn; he was too close, too intent. He could not help 
but see how moved I was. And I saw him begin to frown. 


Rylan's voice broke the moment, and then made it 
more poignant yet. "Ja'hai-na," he said simply. "By the 
dan, by the gods, by the lir, the warrior is accepted." 


It was for Ceinn, the shu'rmai, to begin the welcom-
ings. I waited, and when he rose he also pulled me up, 
clasping my arms above the fir-bands to give me Cheysuli 
welcome. 


At my right he stood, keeping himself in silence as the 
others filed by. Rylan. Arlen. Others I could not name. 
And Isolde, reaching up to kiss my cheek even as I bent 
down to hug her in a blatant display of affection. A 
sidelong look at Ceinn showed a rigid, unyielding face as 
my sister went by him without a word, and then I saw the 
blaze of grief in bis eyes. 


Lastly, lan, who forgot proprieties as quickly as our 
sister; who embraced me twice and said very little be-
cause he could not manage it. "7?u/Ao," he said only, 
"you make a man proud to be Cheysuli." 


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And then he and the others were gone, save for Serri, 
Ceinn and a handful of the a'saii. 


They did not come to me. I knew I had taken their 
weapon from them because my lirlessness was banished, 
and yet they did not come to me. As one they looked at 
Ceinn, and as one they turned then* backs on him and 
exited through the back nap. In their silence was eloquence-
He took a single step forward, as if he meant to go 
after them, to say a word or two; to ask them what they 
meant. But be knew very well what they meant. He of all 
people. 


He stopped. He did not go after them. He did not ask. 
He stared blindly into the emptiness of the pavilion. 


"Shu'mau^ I said quietly, "when a man cannot make 
a friend of an enemy, be takes the enemy from his 
friends." 


After a moment, he shrugged. "Why not?" he asked 
dully, "You have already taken his cheysula." 


" 'Solde does as 'Solde chooses; surely you understand 
that better than most. But I would not have it said she 
cannot change her mind." 


He looked at me sharply. "Would she?" 


I shrugged. "I cannot speak for hernot now; not 
anymore than I did when she publicly renounced you. 
But she renounced you because you were a'saii. . . and 
now you are shu'maii." 


He expelled a ragged breath of realization. "Godsdo 
you think?" But he did not finish. He stared at me in 
rigid silence, unable to voice his hope for the intensity of 
his emotion; the magnitude of his fear that, once spoken, 
the hope would be taken away. 


"I think I took an enemy from his friends, and gave a 
friend back to his cheysula." 


As well as saving him from the Lion. 


A muscle leaped in his cheek. "Do you think it is so 
easy to fashion friends out of enemies? I believed in what I 
did. And if you were still a Uriess man, I would do it all 
again!" 


"I know that," I said gently, "A man can also be 
measured by the dedication of his spirit. Aye, you be-
lieved. Too much, perhaps, in the old traditions, but it 
was a true belief. I cannot condone it. You tried to slay 
me, but I can comprehend it. Can you not see it, Ceinn? It 
takes men like you to restore a blighted race. Men like 
you . . . Carillon ... my jehan. And I will need every 
one I can find." 


"For what?" he asked sharply. "What do you intend to 
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do?" 


"Rule Homana," I told him. "Hold the Lion, once my 
jehan is dead." 


He looked at Serri. He looked at the gold he himself 
had given me in my Ceremony of Honors. And then he 
turned sharply as if to go; to leave me alone in the tent 
with my lir and my memories. 
243 


But he swung back. "Ru'shaOa'tu," he said flatly, and 
then he was gone from the pavilion. 


I smiled. And then I laughed aloud. 


May it be so? Serri's tone told me he did not under-
stand my amusement. 


"Aye," I agreed, still laughing. "Butfrom Ceinn." 


244 


Twelve 


a--

My sons, I said to Serri in amazement. Slowly I shook 
my head. Of this imperfect vessel are magnificent children 
made. 


Given time, Serri agreed as he leaned against my knee; 


the posture was becoming habitual whenever I stood still. 
At this age, there is not much magnificent about them 
except a magnificent odor. His lips peeled back from his 
teeth; Serri sneezed. And then he went away from me to 
flop down upon a rug near the fireplace. 


Laughing softly, I hooked hands over the side of the 
big oak-and-ivory cradle and leaned down to look more 
closely at the contents. Two babies, swaddled in costly 
linens and mostly hidden beneath a white silken coverlet 
stitched with crimson rampant lions. That I had fathered 
one was a miracle in itself; two was utterly incomprehen-
sible to me. 


Carefully I smoothed the coverlet and felt the lumpy 
bodies beneath. "You will be warriors of the clan," I told 
them quietly, "as well as princes of Homana. And one of 
you will be Mujhar." 


That one, Serri told me, even from the rug. Icon feel it 
in him as you touch him . . . he is firstbornhe will be 
Mujhar. 


"And the other?" 


Prince of Solinde? 


I grunted. "Solinde prepares for war yet again ... I 
begin to think no Mujhar of Homana will ever hold that 
realm in peace. At leastnot a long-lasting peace." 


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Prince ofAtvia? 


I nodded thoughtfully. "Possibly. With no male heirs, 
245 


Maric has only Gisella's son to look to for a man to 
succeed him as Lord of Atvia." 


Then again, there is Erinn. 


I felt the old pain flare up in my belly. The grief 
renewed itself. "No, lir ... not Erinn. I think the Erinn 
I knew is gone forever." 


Again I smoothed the silken coverlet, trying not to 
recall how / had lighted the beacon-fire that signaled 
Alaric's assassins to begin. Two small heads I touched, 
very close together. Both soft with fine black fuzz; blackhaired 
were my sons, my half-Cheysuli sons. 


One of them stirred beneath my hand. And almost 
instantly, the other one did as well. Some form of communication
? They were children of the same birth . . . 
who could say what the strength of their link would be? 


"Mujhar," I whispered to the one Serri had named the 
firstborn. "Such a heavy title for such a little boy." 


Face down, he turned his head even as his brother did. 
They opened their eyes and peered at one another uncertainly, 
as if to make sure the other one was present. And 
I saw, looking at their eyes, why my father had said one 
could tell them apart already. The older, Brennan, had 
the brass-brown eyes that would turn Cheysuli yellow. 
Hart, the younger, had eyes the color of the sky on a 
summer day. Very like my own. 


I smiled and cupped a palm over each of the blackfuzzed 
heads. "Cheysuli i'halla shansu, little warriors. 
And may your lives be long and full." 


Lir Serri said sharply, and I swung around with a 
hand to my borrowed knife. 


But it was only Gisellano, not only. Never would I 
attach that word to her name again. 


She stood in the open doorway and stared at me sorrowfully- 
"You went away from me," she accused. "On 
our wedding night." 


I felt a vague sense of guilt; aye, I had left her on our 
wedding night, when a man and woman should spend the 
time together. Even heavy with the babies, she was due 
common courtesy from her husband. 


And then the guilt evaporated; what I felt was anger, 
Anger and helplessness, because she was no more responsible 
for her actions than were our two small sons, 
soiling nightwrappings in Their sleep. 
246 


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"I went away," I told her, "because I had to go." 


She trailed a wine-red bedrobe across the floor as she 
wandered into the chamber. Beneath the robe, which 
hung mostly off her shoulders, was a linen nightshirt. Her 
feet were bare upon the cold stone floor. 


"You went away from me." She was a heartbroken 
child, repeating the thing that had hurt her. "You left me 
all fltow?." 


"Gisella" 


But her face brightened abruptly. "Have you seen my 
babies? Have you seen my sons?" 


"Our sons, Gisella," I said gently, even as she has-
tened across the floor to bend over the cradle. 'They are 
mine as well as yours." 


"Babies/* die whispered, and reached down to tuck 
the coverlet more closely around their bodies. 


"Gisella." I caught a shoulder and pulled her around 
to face me. "Giseflado you recall the night upon the 
cliffs, when your father told me to light the beacon-fire?" 


She stared at me blankly. Her hair was bound back 
from her face in a single loosely woven braid. It hung 
over a shoulder and dangled against her hips. Gone was 
the bulk and weight of pregnancy. Her face was reminis-
cent of Isolde's, I thought, but that was not unusual as 
many Cheysuli resemble one another. She had regained 
her grace and allure. In sheer cream linen and wine-
colored velvet she was a woman who would make an-
other man think of bed, but / could not think of bedding 
her without also thinking of Deirdre. 


"Gisella, do you remember?" 


"You meanin Atvia." 


"Aye. In Atvia." 


Abruptly she twisted away from me, pulling out from 
under my hand. Her back was to me, but I saw her drag 
the bedrobe up to cover her shoulders. She pulled the 
velvet very tight around her body, nails scraping rigidly 
at the nap, and I saw the silver tips. They reminded me 
of Lillith. 


"Gisella" 


"You think of her instead of me." I saw how the nails 
dug into the velvet, as if she meant to hurt herself. "You 
think of her instead of me." 


I shut my eyes a moment; when I opened them, Gisella 


was facing me. I saw the tears in her eyes. I saw how the 
slender fingers worked their way into the weave of her 
braid, tugging, tugging, as if she intended to jerk the hair 


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out of her scalp -

"Did you know?" I asked her. "Did you know what 
lighting the fire would begin?" 


"I wanted you for me!" 


"By the gods, Gisella, did you know what it would 
begin?" 


She pressed the braid against her mouth and I saw the 
white teeth bite in. Gods, how she trembled. "It was so 
pretty," she whispered over the shining hair. "The fire 
was so bright ... it lit up the dragon's smile and I could 
see all his teeth." 


"Do you know what you have done?" 


"But it was pretty, Niall!" Suddenly she was angry. She 
jerked the braid from her mouth. "I like to see pretty 
things. I want to see pretty things," 


I caught her arms before she could finish. "Do you 
know what you have done?" 


"Aye!" she shouted back. "I have borne you boys-
the Lion is secure!" 


I heard the rising wail issuing from the cradle. In a 
moment another joined it; we had disturbed their sleep. 


/ have borne you boysthe Lion is secure. 


That much of things she understood well enough. She 
had secured her own place as well as the future of Homana. 
What manner of man would I be if I set aside the woman 
who had borne me two healthy sons at a single lying-in? 


In that moment, looking at her, I knew a futile anger 
of the sort that might drive me to murder. What would it 
take to place my hands around her throat and squeeze, 
shutting off her breath forever? She was responsible for 
altering my consciousness, for making me a man with no 
wits or will ... a man capable of giving the woman he 
loves over to the hands of an assassin. And yet I knew 
Gisella could not be held accountable. Notentirely. 


All the anger spilled out of my body. Deep despair was 
left in its place. "OhgodsGisella . . . will you never 
understand?" I turned from her and locked my hands 
onto the side of the cradle, staring blindly at my sons. 
"You will never understand." 


"The babies are crying, Niall, We have made the ba-

Mes cry" And she was instantly at my side, bending 
over the side of the cradle to make certain of then-
welfare. 


She sang. Some little atonal melody I had never heard, 
and which I found utterly unbearable. How carefully she 
tended the babies. How solicitous she was. How con-

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cerned she was for their welfare, even as she ignoredor 
forgothow she had made it possible for Deirdre to be 
slain. 


She sang. And as she sang I backed away. And when I 
reached the door I turned and lurched out of the cham-
ber even as Serri lunged up from the rug. 


I did not get far. Even as I shut the door with a solid 
bang, I fell against the wall, pressing my brow against it. 
Gods, if I could only shut away the memories and guilt as 
easily as I shut away the sound of crying babies; the sight 
of their half-witted mother. If only. . . . 


If only I could go back to Erinn and repeat my captiv-
ity there, because then all the eagles would be alive. 


"Niall." 


I spun, feeling Serri's warmth pressed against my leg. 
And saw my mother approaching from a turn in the 
corridor. 


"Oh, Niall," she said in sudden concern, "what has 
put you in such pain?" 


"Need you ask? The woman I have married." I shook 
my head. "I wish I might have listened to you when you 
gave me the chance to gainsay the wedding." 


"Well, you did not, but it was not within your power." 
Her eyes were on the wolf. "Donal told me of your lir 
. . . and how it was Gisella's sorcery that blinded you to 
the truth." 


"fehana," I saw the minute twitch of surprise as I 
addressed her in the Old Tongue. "Jehana, I think there 
is a thing we must discuss, you and I ... will you give 
me the time?" 


"Gladly," she said. "We have had so little of it to 
share this past year." She placed a cool hand upon my 
wrist. "You know I would give you anything that you 


i 
. -, t-" -
' *-' / 
desire. 


Inwardly I grimaced; but will you give me my freedom 
when I ask you for it now? 


I escorted her to her favorite private solar, a round 
249 


room in one of the comer towers of the palace, with 
wide, glassy casements and whitewashed walls. She had 
six women to attend her whenever she desired it; three 
were in the solar now, but before I could request privacy 
my mother asked them to leave. And so we were left 
alone, save for Serri, and I found myself suddenly reti-
cent to speak of the thing at all. 


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My mother smiled. She turned from me and went to 
one of the casements, staring out as if to give me time to 
assemble the words I wished to say. I looked at her back 
and saw the firm arch of her spine beneath the tight-
fitting glove of the green-dyed linen gown. The sleeves 
also were very fitted, snugged against her arms from 
shoulders to midway down her hands. All the glorious 
red-gold hair was bound up in a green-wrapped loop of 
braid at the back of her slender neck. 


Still so slim, my mother; still so youthful looking. 


I drew in a deep breath, held it a moment, let it out 
carefully. "I am not Carillon." 


The spine went rigid. She spun, bracing herself with 
hands thrust against the casement sill. "What?" 


"I am not Carillon." 


I saw a mixture of emotions in her face: astonishment, 
perplexity, a trace of apprehension. As if she began to 
understand precisely what I meant to say. "Niall" 


"And if you mean to tell me so emphatically that of 
course I am not, I wish you would gainsay it. Mother" 
I stopped. "Jehana, too many times in the past you have 
made me to feel inferior. You did not mean it, I know. If 
anything, you meant to bolster what manhood I claim by 
comparing me to him, but it has always made me feel the 
reverse. Incapable. Incompetent. A shadow of the man 
your father was." I spread my hands. "I have his height, 
his weight, his colorcertainly a legacy I might respect 
. . . were I allowed to respect myself." 


Still she braced herself against the sill, head held rig-
idly upon a slender neck. Garnets glittered in her ears; I 
saw a flash of the gold chain around her throat. The links 
dipped down beneath the bodice of her gown, caught 
between flesh and fabric. I thought she might speak; she 
did not. She did not even move. 


"He was not perfect," I told her. "He was flawed, as 
any man is flawed. It does not make him less than the 
250 


legend he has become. It merely makes him a man ... as 
his grandson is a man." I felt the weight of the gold upon 
my arms. The ache in my left eariobe. At last, I am 
Cheysuli. "I need to be myself. I need to know my own 
name. I need to walk unmndered by the weight of my 
grandsire's legend." I paused. "I need to be allowed to 
respect the memory of the man, instead of resenting it." 


I saw the pain in her eyes. "Have I done that to you?" 


"You did not intend it." 


"Have I done that to you?" 


I swallowed tightly, loath to hurt her any more. "I 
thinkperhaps. ..." I stopped short; why avoid the 
truth in the name of tact when I had already made the 


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wound? "Aye." 


She flinched. Only a" little, but there was no doubting 
the blade had gone cleanly home. 


"Obgods" she said, and covered her face with her 
bands. 


I went to her at once, wrapping her up in my arms. 
She did not sob aloud, merely cried silently into my 
leathers. Such dignity, has my mother . . . such rigid 
awareness of self. 


When she was done with tears she lifted her head and 
looked up into my face. "I loved him so much. He was 
everything to me. I had no mother for most of my life 
... he had already banished her. And when at last I did 
come to know my mother, it was to know also that she 
intended to use me against him." The anguish laid bare 
her soul; she had carried her own weight of guilt. "He 
was my world for so many years of my life ... and then 
he was taken from it." 


"Men die, jehana.'9 


"Not Carillon of Homana." Her tone was very grim. 
"Men such as he are kept alive in lays and sagas; we have 
the harpers to thank for that." 


^en let him live," I agreed. "Let the truth of his 
deeds live on in the magic of the music." 


"But not in the life of his grandson?" She nodded a 
little, though mostly to herself. "I know ... he became 
what he was because he had to, to make Homana whole. 
I cannotand should notexpect you to mimic him. 
Tie times are different now ... the requirements different 
also. It is not fair to ask you to be someone other 
251 


than yourself." She sighed. Fingers traced the shapes m 
the gold on my arm. "For so long you have been Homana's 
Homwan prince, when you are also Cheysuli. But it was 
so much easier to follow the mold already made, than to 
trouble myself with fashioning another." 


I shrugged. "I am whatever I am: Cheysuli, Homanan, 
Solindish. The rest is up to me." 


"The rest is up to the gods." She smiled even as I bent 
to kiss her brow, before I took my arms away. "It is 
difficult for a woman with only one child not to try to 
shape the clay precisely as she wishes. And more difficult 
yet to realize the clay may prefer to shape itself." 


"Well, I think the day is unfired." I smiled, shrugging. 
"Who can say what I will become?" 


"All of them," she said seriously. "All of them will 
say. The councils, the racesthe loyalists and the rebels. 
And certainly the enemy." Pensively, she smoothed the 
silk of her shining hair. "Be wary, Niall ... be wary of 
everyone. Friend and foe alike." 


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And into the room on the tail of her words came the 
echo of Strahan's voice: "Look to your friends . . . your 
enemies . . . your kinlest they form an alliance against 
you." 


252 


Thirteen 


I lost my freedom almost as soon as I had won it. It was 
nothing my mother, my father, the Cheysuli or even the 
Homanans had done.'It was a combination of factors: 


imminent war, the plague, civil turmoil. Although the 
a'saii were, for the moment, disarmed, I knew it was 
possible the Cheysuli fanatics might seek other avenues 
to replace me. No one could say I lacked the gifts of my 
race, not with Serri and our link so blatantly obvious, but 
they could say they preferred someone with a different 
strain of the required blood. And perhaps they would. 


The plague began to prey upon Homana in earnest. 
What had initially begun as a vague illness defined mostly 
as fever in Homanan herders and crofters spread down 
from the north to invade central Homana, and Mujhara 
lay in its path. Reports of deaths were brought to the 
Mujhar, and, too soon, the vague illness was diagnosed 
as something far graver. From Homanan crofters and 
herders, isolated in the Northern Wastes and the greater 
distances between towns and villages, the sickness reached 
out to touch even the Keeps, and word came of Cheysuli 
deaths. 


The bounty on white wolves rose. A trip to the furrier 
in the Market Square showed me a man whose purse was 
fattened almost daily by trappers coming in with pelts. 
Some were ruddy, others silver, some a charcoal gray, as 
if the trappers took no chances and slew all the wolves 
they could catch. But there were white pelts as well . . . 
pelts as white as my own, when I wore my ftr-shape. 


And so, when I went into the city, I made the greatest 
sacrifice of all: I left Serri in Homana-MuJhar. I would 
not risk losing my lir to an overzealous citizen intent on 
253 


ridding Homana of the plague, ormore likelyintent 
on putting a silver piece in the palm of his bloodied 
hand. 


I did not like leaving Serri behind. Not at all. But 
certainly no more or less than my father liked leaving 
Lorn behind when he went into the city. 


Or even to Clankeep. 


My sons thrived, though I learned all too quickly de-
mands upon my time by governmental matters stole away 
the hours I had meant to spend with them. I saw them 
infrequently at best; mostly I toiled with my father in 
sessions of strategy and hypothetical situations, learning 
how men plotted the course of war. Lessons in my youth 


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had taught me Homana's history of wars and civil tur-
moil; I began to see why they had been required of me. 
All too often one of the councillors tossed the name of 
this battle or that into the discussions to cite an example 
of proper procedure, thoughtful initiative, even dismal 
failure. Alt too often I heard the name of Carillon in-
voked . . . and then one day, in listening to yet another 
discourse on what the late Mujhar had done as well as 
why, I began to see the reasons for the invocations. My 
grandsire, flawed man that he was, as I had taken care to 
point out to my mother, had known instinctively what 
might win the battle, and so the war as well. 


Or was it instinct? Perhaps it was simply experience. 
won from out of the midst of carnage and put to use in 
later confrontations. 


If it was instinct, perhaps I had inherited a portion of 
it. And if it was experience, I had little doubt I would 
soon know that as well. 


Relations with Gisella continued much as before. She 
was quixotic, unreliable, unpredictable. Servants disliked 
serving her and argued among themselves as to who 
would take her trays, for she only rarely came down to 
meals in the dining hall, preferring, she said, to eat with 
the babies. Quietly I made certain there were always two 
or more women with her and the children; I did not wish 
to risk my sons to the whims and odd fancies of a woman 
such as Gisella. 


We spent little time together because of the demands 
of the planning sessions. More and more my father asked 
me for my opinions in an attempt, I thought, to familiar-
254 


ize me with the idea of conducting a war as much as 
familiarizing the others with the idea of my contribution. 
lan, also present, said less than I and was asked less, 
even by my father; his place was at my side, not in the 
line of succession for the Lion or even in orchestrating 
wars. But I did not doubt that when the time came, his 
responsibilities would be as great as mine- Simply drawn 
from a different background. 


Gisella did not appear to miss my company, although 
she was always glad to see me. I thought surely she 
would stifle, ever keeping herself within the confines of 
Homana-Mujhar, but she said no. She did not wish to go 
to Clankeep or into Mujhara or even outside the walls of 
Homana-Mujhar. She wished only to stay with the babies. 


I could not forbid it, any more than I could force her 
to leave the palace. And I was not certain I wanted her to 
leave Homana-Mujhar; there was no telling what she 
might do or say in the city or at Clankeep. The gods 
knew / could never predict it. 


Any more than I could have predicted her desire. 


I had not sought her bed since the birth of Brennan 
and Hart, even though enough time had passed to 
make it physically possible for her. It was repugnant to 


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me. She was notit was just that I could recall so little of 
the time before Serri had freed me from Gisella's 
ensorcellment. The idea that I had been little more than 
a toy to her, performing at her whim, disturbed me 
deeply. I had no desire to leam how malleable I had 
been in her bed. 


And yet it seemed I would. 


She came into my bedchamber as I prepared to blow 
out the candle. Naked, I glanced up as the latch lifted (I 
did not sleep with it locked) and stared in surprise as 
Gisella slipped through and shut it with scarcely a sound. 
She wore only a nightshirt and the black cloak of her 
shining hair. As she turned toward the bed, seeking me, 
I heard the whisper of the linen; saw the cloak swing 
against breasts and thighs. 


She saw me through the filmy screen of the gauzy 
hangings. She stopped- Stood very still. Then, slowly, a 
spread hand caressed her breasts, sliding diagonally from 
the left shoulder to stop eventually at the dimple of her 
255 


navel. The hand trapped a portion of the Uncn and 
pulled the fabric tight against her loins. 


Even against my will, I felt myself respond. 


She said nothing. She crossed the room, came to me, 
placed her hands upon my shoulders. Her palms were 
warm as she kneaded my wanning flesh. 


She smiled. There was no doubt I wanted her, even 
when I thought I could say I did not. Her nails scraped 
down and caught in the gold on my arms; I heard a 
metallic scratching as she dragged tips across the flowing 
shapes. 


"Wolf," she whispered, "I, too, can be a wolf. ..." 


She pressed herself against me. I caught handfuls of 
her hair. I thought suddenly of Serri, curled at the foot of 
the bed. Serri, who shared my life through the link. 


And then I did not care. 


"Wolves," she whispered. "Let it be as wolves." 


"Niall? Rujho, the council has called an emergency 
meeting." lan unlatched and pushed open the door, speak-
ing even as he .did it. And then he stopped short, silenced 
abruptly; he had not expected to find Gisella in my bed. 


Well, no more than / hadat least, initially. 


Light spilled through the casements. Early morning, 
too early; I rubbed a hand across my face and tried to 
wipe the dullness from my mind. "Emergency?" 


lan hovered between divulging an answer and leaving 
at once. Beside me, Gisella pulled the coverlet over her 
nakedness. 


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"lan" I began, frowning. 


"Justget dressed. I will wait outside." As he backed 
out he pulled the door shut with a thump. 


I got up and dragged on leggings, jerkin, hooked a belt 
around my waist. Boots were last; I tugged them on, 
then turned and bent down to kiss Gisella briefly, but the 
brevity was replaced by elaboration. She smiled, stretched 
languorously, promised me the world with her half-udded, 
sleepy eyes. 


Godswho can say what is ensorcellment or lust? I 
wondered vaguely, and went out the door with Serri at 
my heels. 


lan's face was conspicuously blank as I joined him in 
the corridor. Tasha sat beside him, cleaning a spotless 
256 


paw. Wryly, I smiled; my brother would say it was not 
his place to comment, but it would not be necessary to 
say anything at all. By his very blankness I knew what he 
was thinking-
He gestured down the corridor and we matched our 
strides as we walked even as our lir trailed us. "I know 
little more than you," he told me. "Some word of the 
bastard." 


I swore. "With this war becoming more and more 
imminent, the last thing we need is trouble with the 
bastard." 


"Until he is dead, he will make it," lan shook his head 
as I looked at him sharply. "No, I do not speak of 
assassination, but no doubt others do." 


Assassination. It was a political reality, a tool kings 
and others used to remove potential rivals as well as very 
real ones. Alaric himself had used it against the House of 
Erinn. 


And for that very reason, I could not imagine myself 
condoning its use against the bastard. Even to lessen the 
threat to me. Surely somewhere there would be someone 
who grieved. His mother. His foster-father- Perhaps even 
a wife. 


We descended spiraling staircases one behind the other; 


the steps were too narrow to support more than one man 
at a time. Down and down, around and around, with 
only a rope for a guide on the inner column. The twisting 
staircase with its narrow confines was designed for ease 
of defense: it was easier to defend the palace against the 
enemy one man at a time, instead of one against many. 


On the bottom floor we passed by guards in the corri-
dor and nodded greeting to those just outside the wooden 
door. One reached in, unlatched, pushed the door open 
for us; we entered, had the door pulled closed almost at 
once 


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and walked into the eye of a storm. 


No one took note of us. Where ordinarily men stopped 
speaking to acknowledge me with bows and murmured 
greetings, now none even knew I was present. The ranks 
of benches along the walls and just before us were filled; 


more men, standing, lined the walls and filled the aisles. 
Sitting, standing, they were shoulder to shoulder, block-
ing our view of the dais and its table where our father 
257 


customarily sat. Over the low-voiced mumble of constant 
comments, I could hear someone haranguing the Mujhar. 


lan and I exchanged startled glances. Then he shrugged 
and began pushing a way through the standing men, 
mumuring apologies even as the others swore, shifted, 
glared. Many of them, as I followed, were unknown to 
me; no doubt they were annoyed by the audacity of two 
much younger men. 


I stepped upon a boot toe, apologized, nearly tripped 
over another. The irritation was mutual as the owner of 
the toes and I exchanged scowls. Behind me, Serri grum-
bled aloud; within the link I felt his disgust with manner-
less Homanans. But I also heard the murmuring arise in 
our wake; lan and I were named by those who knew us, 
and by the time we reached the center of the hall, where 
room was left for speakers and petitioners, the men 
moved aside willingly. But by then we no longer needed 
the courtesy; our father, rising, was summoning us to the 
dais. 


We went at once, crossing the open space in the center 
of the hall- A man stood before the dais in a posture that 
bordered on defiance. He turned as lan and I approached; 


I saw his expression of outrage, as if he intensely re-
sented the interruption. But as he saw me, following in 
lan's wake, the expression changed. He stared. And I 
saw him murmur something silently to himself. A prayer. 
Or a curse. 


The men on the benches rose. The sudden silence was 
loud and very brief; I heard the murmuring begin again 
almost at once. There was a note of anticipation in most 
of the low-voiced comments. Apprehension in others. 


And even hostility. 


lan hesitated only a moment before he stepped up 
behind the table. Tasha was a shadow behind him, tail 
whipping as she paced silently onto the dais. Like Serri, 
she sensed the tension in the hall. 


There were three chairs on the dais. The middle was 
obviously my father's: Taj perched upon the back. Lom 
lay beside it, eyes slitted, lan went by him to the left and 
waited behind it even as I took my place at the right. 
Into the hush my father spoke quietly, presenting both of 
us to those assembled. I saw faces I knew and faces I did 


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not. The council members ringed the floor in the curving 
258 


front row. I knew none of them well, save Rowan; I 
looked to his face for some indication of the gravity of 
the session, but it was a mask to me. 


We sat down as my father did. Still there was silence. 
The man in the middle of the floor continued to stare at 
me. 


"Be seated," my father announced, and the silence 
was replaced by the sound of benches scraping, the ring 
of spurs, the clatter of sheaths and scabbards striking 
wood. 


The stranger in the center waited in tense silence. 
"This is Eiek," my father said. "From the north, across 
the Bluetooth. He represents that faction of Homanans 
who support the right of Carillon's son to inherit the 
throne when I am dead." 


Every man in the hall looked at me, to judge my 
reaction. No doubt they expected shock, anger . . . per-
haps even hostility. And a few, probably, fear. But I 
gave them none of those things. Instead, I looked at 
Elek. 


He did not look like a rebel, a fanatic, a madman. He 
looked like a man, and not so much older than myself. 
He was brown-haired, brown-eyed, clean-shaven with an 
open, earnest face. His clothes were plain homespun: 


tunic and breeches, without embellishment. His kneeboots 
were muddied, but otherwise the leather was good. Not a 
nobleman, Elek, but neither was he a poor man. No 
doubt his wealth lay in his convictions. 


I rose, scraping my chair against the dais. Silently I 
bade Serri stay by the chair; slowly 1 stepped off the dais 
and crossed the open center of the floor. In silence I 
stopped before Elek, marking how he wet his lips; how 
he had to look up to meet my eyes. And marking also 
the faintest tang of perspiration. Elek was nervous, now 
that I stood before him. And so I knew he had been 
exceedingly eloquent, championing the bastard's right to 
usurp my place in the line of succession. 


"Why?" I asked. That only. 


He swallowed. His gaze nicked between me and the 
Mujhar. Clearly, he did not know how to answer. 


I waited. So did all the others. 


After a moment, Elek cleared his throat- "He is Caril-
lon's son." 


259 


"He is Carillon's bastard." 


His chin rose minutely. "It is customary for the son to 
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inherit from the father." 


"Rather than the grandson?" I nodded. "Aye, I grant 
you that. But the circumstances were different." 


"We maintain that had he known. Carillon would have 
named his son as his successor, rather than Dona) of the 
Cheysuli." 


"I am his daughters son," I said quietly. "M, in Homana, 
women could rule in their own right, Aislinn, my mother, 
would have inherited the Lion Throne- As it was, her 
husband did. Do you really think Carillon would have 
disinherited his daughter to make way for a bastard son?" 


"Had he known" 


"How do you know he did not?" I looked past Eiek to 
Rowan. "My lord general, you are the best man to 
answer my question. Did Carillon know the woman had 
conceived?" 


Eiek wrenched his head around to stare in disbelief at 
Rowan; had he thought to make his case uncontested? 


Rowan's smile was very faint. As always, he wore the 
crimson silk tunic with the black rampant lion sprawled 
across its folds. With his Cheysuli looks, the colors were 
good on him. "Aye, my lord. He knew she had conceived." 


Eiek turned sharply to refute Rowan's statement, but 
my raised hand stopped him. "Before you ask it, Eiek, 
let me answer your question: that is General Rowan 
himself, who served Carillon for nearly twenty-five years. 
Do you intend to question his veracity?" 


"I question his prejudice,'* Eiek answered curtly. "He 
is Cheysuli. Do you think he would prefer to have a 
Homanan replace a fellow Cheysuli in me succession?" 


"There speaks ignorance," I retorted. "Were you never 
taught the histories? In your zeal to champion .Carillon's 
son, did you never learn the names of those who served 
the father so faithfully?" I shook my head. "No, you did 
not. Else you would know that General Rowan is a lirless 
Cheysuli. He was raised Homanan, Eiek ... he has no 
fir-gifts, owes no loyalty to his race, does not claim a 
clan. What benefit would he gain from lying to you?" 


Eiek did not respond. 


I looked again at Rowan. "He knew she had con-
ceived, and yet he let her go." 


"She requested it my lord." Rowan was so calm, and 
yet I sensed a trace of amusement beneath the surface of 
bis tone. Did he have so much faith in me? 


"She requested his leave to go." 


"Aye, my lord. She wished to have the baby else-
where, away from the brutalities of war. The Mujhar 


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made no attempt to dissuade her." 


He did not notice his slip. The Mujhar. To him, no 
doubt. Carillon would always be the Mujhar. But I thought 
in this instance the mistake was a good one; Eiek, turn-
ing again to look at Rowan, frowned a little, as if dis-
turbed by the reference. A man who was so dedicated to 
Carillon that he still referred to him as Mujhar uncon-
sciously emphasized where the depth of his loyalty lay. 


"Were you present when be gave her that leave to 
go?" 


"Aye, my lord. He gave her coin and his best wishes 
for the birth of a healthy child." 


"And did he say nothing about bringing the child to 
him? That if it was a son, he would want the child given 
into his keeping?" 


"He said nothing of it, my lord." 


"Why do you think he would not? A son is a son." 


"A bastard is a bastard." Rowan did not smile, "He 
intended to wed Electra of Solmde." 


 "And expected a son of her." 
"Itwas hoped. Certainly." Rowan's faint smile was 
gone. No doubt the questioning aroused old memories. 
Painful memories of earlier days, when Carillon's youth 
precluded the thought of illness and accelerated age. 


"Aye!" Eiek shouted triumphantly. "But he got no son 
of heronly a daughter." He swung to face me again. 
"Only a daughter, my lord . . . who could not inherit the 
throne." 


Still I looked at Rowan. "You knew him better than 
most, general. Do you recall at any time that Carillon 
considered-or wished to considersending for his 
bastard?" 


"No, my lord. He said nothing of it." 


"To him!" Eiek cried. "But does a mana Mujhar 
confide everything to another, even his general? I say no, 
he does not. I say he divulges what he wishes, and keeps 
some things private, as every man does. Even a Mujhar." 
261 


I laughed. "And do you seek now to tell me my 
grandsire's private thoughts?" 


"No. There is no need for me to do it. J will let the 
woman do it instead." It was Elek's turn to laugh even as 
I stared at him. "Aye, my lordthe woman. The bastard's 
mother. Why not ask her these questions? She is just 
outside the door." 


I did not dare show him my concern. It had become 
quite obvious many of the strangers in the hall were 
companions of Elek's, fellow supporters of the bastard. 


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And I could not be certain how many of the men suppos-
edly loyal to my father intended to remain so. It was 
possible Eiek and those present with him hoped to gather 
more supporters even within the walls of Homana-Mujhar. 


"By aft means," I said quietly. "Have the woman 
brought in." 


There was no sense in confronting her as I confronted 
Elek. And so as a man was sent to fetch the woman, I 
returned to my seat upon the dais. 


My father's face was grim. "He did not say the woman 
was here." 


I glanced at him sharply. "Do you think that will 
change anything?" 


"He is making a formal petition of the Homanan Coun-
cil," my father answered. "It is possible a majority of the 
members might agree with his claim in the name of 
Carillon's bastard." 


"But you could overrule it." 


"And I would immediately do so. But it would have 
serious repercussions. It could split the council entirely, 
which would more or less split Homana- And the gods 
know I do not need a hostile, divided council, going into 
war." 


"What of the Cheysuli? Have they no stake in this?" 


He did not appreciate my tone. "And will you speak of 
the a'saiif Or will Elek?" 


I did not answer because the woman had arrived. I 
watched pensively as the men made way for her as they 
had not for lan and me. 


At first I was surprised. She was short, too heavy, at 
least ten years older than my father. Her graying brown 
hair was pulled back from a sallow, puffy face into a knot 
262 


m. 
at the back of her bead. She wore, like Elek, simple 
homespun, but the quality was not as good. 


A gray woman, I thought. Gray of dress, gray of hair, 
gray of spirit. Nothing in manner or appearance spoke of 
the young woman who had captured a Mujhar's interest. 


She stopped beside Elek. She curtsied awkwardly, as if 
she had forgotten how. Her eyes were downcast, yet as 
she raised her lids and looked at my father, I saw they 
were also gray. But a large, lovely gray, clear as glass 
and brilliant. No matter what else she was, she was not a 
stupid woman. 


Carillon bedded this woman and got a son upon her. 


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Rowan rose. "My lord?" 


My father nodded. 


The woman turned toward him as he approached. I 
saw the look they exchanged; an agreement to disagree. 
He knew her, she him, and yet their loyalties were spent 
on different men. 


He nodded. Silently he returned to his bench. "My 
lord." Again, Rowan looked to my father. "It is the 
woman, my lord. Her name is Same." 


"Same." My father leaned forward in his chair. "You 
bore Carillon a son." 


"Nearly thirty-six years ago, my lord. When I was 
twenty." Her voice was as cool as her eyes; whore she 
might be, but she was also bound to the man they called 
the bastard. 


"And now you come to us claiming he should be 
Prince of Homana in place of my son." 


"My lordhe is Carillon's son." 


"Illegitimate son." I knew how much the emphasis cost 
my father, with lan seated beside him. It is not a Cheysuli 
custom to curse a bastard for bis birth, and yet for my 
sake he had to. 


"Bastard-bom, aye," she answered forthrightly. "But 
acknowledged by his father." 


The Mujhar nodded. "By his father. Which one? 
Carillonor the crofter you married?'* 


Her sallow face was suffused with angry color. Her 
eyes glittered. I was put in mind, oddly, of my own 
mother, when I had seen her angry. The eyes were 
similar-

And I wondered, suddenly, if that had been the attrac-
263 


tion. My mother's eyes were her mother's, and Etectra 
was notorious for the power of her gaze. If Carillon were 
susceptible to the color, it became more understandable 
how Same had appealed to him. 


"He was acknowledged by bis father, my lord, when I 
brought him to Homana-Mujhar." 


I heard the gasp go up from the assemblage. No one 
had expected that; no, perhaps some of them had. Not 
everyone looked surprised. 


A sidelong glance at my father's face showed the faint-
est trace of consternation in his expression. Beyond him, 
fan frowned blackly at the tabletop. Almost idly, he 
picked at a blemish with his thumbnail. But I knew my 
brother too well; he was also deeply concerned. 


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"And when did you come to Homana-Mujhar?" my 
father inquired calmly. 


Same nodded a little, as if she had anticipated the 
question. "You weren't here, my lord. You'd gone to the 
Crystal Isle to fetch home the Princess of Homana." She 
nodded again. "It was before you wed her. When the 
only son you claimed was also a bastard, like mine." 


I was on my feet at once. "You go too far," I told her 
plainly, over the murmurs of the throng. "Give my brother 
no insult here." 


Her dignity manifested itself subtly, and yet I was 
aware of its presence. "Then give my son no insult here, 
my lord." She took two steps forward; a short, heavy 
woman, yet powerful in her pride. "Do you think I don't 
know Cheysuli custom? Do you think we put forward my 
son out of some perverse desire to steal the throne from 
you? No, my lordwe only want what's right for him 
what's his right, because he is Carillon's son! Bastard, is 
he? Aye, he is! And so is that man there!" She thrust a 
hand toward lan. "So is that man who sits at the Mujhar's 
side bastard-born, and suffering none because of it, 
Cheysuli he is, and therefore not pushed aside because 
his father never married his mother. And I say to you 
what right have you to push aside my son? What right 
have you to refuse him his proper place? Carillon never 
did!" 


"What place did Carillon give him?" my father de-
manded. "By the gods, woman, nothing was ever said! 
Not to me, not to Rowan ... if CariUon promised you a 
264 


w', 
place for your sona title or otherwiseno one ever 
knew it!" 


"Why would he say so to you?" she countered. "He 
had already promised you the throne. Everyone in Homana 
knows how the shapechangers serve their prophecy. Per-
haps he thought you or the other Cheysuli would try to 
harm my son." 


My father nearly gaped. "You are mad," he told her, 
shaking his head slowly from side to side. "You are 
mad;' 


"Am I?" she retorted. "As mad as the Princess Gisella?" 


"Enoughr 1 shouted. "Woman, you go too far!" 


"Everyone knows it!" she cried. "You are wed to a 
madwoman, my lord. Who can say what manner of chil-
dren you will get?" 


Even my father was on his feet. "No more," he said. 
"By the gods, woman, no more/" 


"Why? Because I speak the truth? Because I dare 
speak the truth before all the others?" She whirled, 
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facing the gathered men. "It's true! All of it! My son was 
acknowledged by Carillon, who intended to give him a 
place. And now when we ask for that place, the Mujhar 
denies it to us." Her body vibrated with the intensity of 
her emotions, "He fears my son. He fears what it means 
for the prophecy. But I say we are Homananwe need 
no prophecy. Why not make Homana Homanan again?" 


Men were on their feet, trying to shout her down. 
Others shouted over them declaring their support of the 
woman's son. And all the while I watched in astonishment. 


lan pushed back his chair. "I will fetch the guard." 


"No." My father caught his arm as he moved to rise. 
"Remain here. I do not want you going near that crowd.** 


"Jehan" 


"I said no." 


"She is mad," I said dazedly. "Madder than Gisella." 


"What sort of man do you want on the Lion Throne?" 
the woman was shouting. "A Cheysuli? A Homanan? 
The child of Carillon's son? Or the child of mad Gisella?" 


I looked at Elek. He was smiling. He watched the 
woman and smiled, as if he waited for something. 


Beyond him. Rowan had turned to the men. I saw his 
mouth move, but his shout was lost in the tumult. Like 
265 


km, I wanted to fetch tee guard. But I did not move to 
try ft. 


"It was a CheysuU who dew Carillon!" I heard the 
woman shout. "A shapechanger slew the Mujhar. He 
gave him shapechanger poison!" 


"Oh gods," I heard my father exclaim. "How can she 
know about the tetsu root that he wanted for his pain?" 


"Carillon's son should be MujharCarillon's Homanan 
sonlet the Lion remain Homanan." 


I saw men draw steel in the midst of the shouting 
throng. I heard shouts, curses, threats; I heard the woman's 
voice rising over it all like the shrill cry of a hunting 
hawk. 


"Let the Lion remain Homanan^ 


And then, abruptly, a man broke free of the throng. 
He darted forward even as I leaped over the table and 
onto the floor, trying to turn him aside. But I was late, 
hobbled by a poor landing; he thrust, left his knife in the 
woman's body, and looked directly at my father- "My 
lordthat was for youto prove my loyalty." 


And almost at once he was dead. Eiek, rising up from 
Same's crumpled body, thrust with his own knife and 
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drove the man down to the floor. 


I heard the ring and hiss of steel from more than a 
hundred swords and knives. I caught a glimpse of Rowan 
battering back an attacker. Godsthey will not slay 
Rowan 


And yet I knew they might. 


They advanced: a wall of human flesh. Eiek was a 
target; so, I thought, was I. 


"Niall, get backF My father's voice, shouting over the 
others. 


Eiek twisted, mouthing obscenities at me. Others held 
him, knocking the bloodied knife from his hand. I did 
not think he wished to slay me, only to curse me for 
Same's murder. And yet clearly the others thought he 
did. En masse, at least twelve bore him to the ground. 


"Do not slay him!'* I shouted. "By the gods, do not 
slay him!" 


"Rujhoget back!" 


And then I felt Serri go by me into the mass of men, 
snapping at a throat. "'Serri! Serri no" Godsthey will 
266 


say he has gone madthey will say he must be slainand 
then I will be slain as well "Serrino/" 


I dove after the wolf, trying to catch him in my arms. 
All I caught was the tip of his bristled tail, and then I was 
down, sprawled on the floor, with stomping boots too 
close to my face. 


Serri 


"My lord, get you up/' Someone caught the back of 
my jerkin and yanked me to my feet, steadying me even 
as I staggered. I felt a knife pressed into my hand. "My 
lord, arm yourself!" 


Serri 


There was no answer in the link. 


Hands were on me. I felt something sharp slice through 
my jerkin. My belly stung. 


Someone is trying to gut me like a fish 


"My lord!" I was turned, shoved, the knife in my hand 
sank deeply into flesh. 


"No!" I cried in horror. 


Elek*s face, mouth gaping in shock and horror. Blood 
flowed over my hand. And then he sank down slowly to 
his knees until he was lost in the crowdGod.
?say / aid not do it 


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And yet I knew I had. 


"Serri!" I shouted. "Serri!" 


"The prince has slain him!" someone shouted. "The 
prince has murdered Eiek!" 


Hands were on me, dragging me back from the throng. 
I twisted frenziedly, trying to free myself, until I heard 
my brother's voice. "Stop fighting me, rujho, and let me 
save your life." 


"Serri," I said dazedly. "Oh godswhere is Serri?" 


Here, came the familiar tone. Lir, I am well. You need 
have no fear for me. 


lan jerked me down behind the table, thumping my 
head into the chair- "Stay down," he said. "Let the 
guard do their job." 


"The guard?" 1 sat up even as lan tried to shove 
me back down. And then Serri was in my face. "Oh 
godsfir" 


/ am well. I am well. Lir, do not fear for me. 


His nose was pressed into my throat. I latched an arm 
267 


around his neck and hugged as hard as 2 could. Lir, 
where did you go? 


There was a man who was trying to slay you. I had to 
stop him, lir. 


I heard the ring and clash of steel on steel, the shouts 
of the Mujharan Guard. Benches overturned, men cried 
out, cursed, petitioned the gods for deliverance even as I 
had myself. 


I tried to thrust myself up to peer over the table, but 
lan jerked me down again. "You fool," he said, glaring. 
"You did precisely what they wanted, so they could 
claim you murdered Elek. Do not give them more satisfaction. 
Stay downf" 


"Where is our jehanT' 


"Here," he said from behind me. "I was fetching Rowan 
out of that mess." He knelt even as I twisted my head to 
look. "Are you harmed?" 


I looked down at myself. Blood stained my leathers, 
but none of it was mine. "No. This is all Elek's, I fear." 


Behind the Mujbar stood the general. His fine silk 
tunic had been torn. But the ringmail beneath was whole. 
"Almost clear," he reported. "I think the madness is 
over." 


"But for how long?" I asked in disgust. "Gods, what 
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an ugly thing." 


"As it was meant to be," Rowan agreed. "It was 
elaborately planned." 


"Planned?" I stared up at him as I reached out to 
touch Serri for reassurance. "Some of it, aye, I can see it 
easily enough. ButSame's murder? Elek's?" 


"How better to divide loyalties as yet unsecured than 
by inflaming them with murder?" Rowan shook his head 
grimly. "My lord, she was murdered by a man claiming 
his loyalty to the Mujhar ... it was made to look as 
though Donal desired it. But Elek was not quite careful 
enough. I saw him speaking to the man in the corridor 
just before the audience began." 


I recalled how he had looked, as if he waited for 
something. "So she was sacrificed." 


"Aye," my father said grimly. "And so was Elek, 
though he did not expect it. It makes these people dou-
bly dangerous. They will slay their own to lay the blame 
on us." 


"Gods! Will it work?" 


"It might," Rowan answered. "Word of it will get 
out: that Nwll slew Elek, and it will draw more people to 
the bastard. The rebels will use it against us all." 


"How do we stop it?" 


"We do not," my father said. "Not physically. We do 
not dare, on the heels of what has happened today. All 
we can do is deny it." 


I shook my head. "Not a powerful weapon." 


"But the only one we have. We cannot afford another. 
All we can do is let this rivalry sort itself outwith what 
subtle aid we can give the sortinguntil the Homanans 
will listen to reason." He offered his arm and pulled me 


up-

1 blew out my breath in shock even as Serri pressed 
against my knee. Men littered the floor. Some were 
dead. Some were near it. Others were merely wounded. 
Much of the Mujharan Guard still filled the hall, though 
others remained in the corridor enforcing the Mujhar's 
peace. 


"Gods," I said in despair, "what madness infects this 
realm?" 


"Not madness," Rowan said. "Rather, call it ambi-
tion. The desire for a throne."' 


"And Carillon's bastard is behind it." 


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Rowan's expression was horribly bleak. "How the fa-
ther would hate the son. - - ." 


"Would he? Could he really?" 


"For this?" Rowan nodded. "If he could rise up from 
out of his tomb, he would put an end to this. He would 
put an end to his son. But he cannot. . - and so we must 
do it for him," 


"You would do it?" I asked, "Could you slay Carillon's 
son?" 


Rowan smiled a little. "I am pledged to the Mujhar of 
Homana, and after that to his son. Carillon's time is 
done; Donal is Mujhar. And the son I will serve is you." 


I grinned. "You will be an old, old man." 


My father grimaced. "And I will be a dead one. Let us 
speak of something else." He turned as if to step out 
from behind the table and off the dais, but one of his 
guard approached. 


269 


"My lord, a message has arrived." He held out the 
sealed parchment. "It was to be given to you at once." 


"My thanks." He broke the wax and unfolded the 
creased parchment. And then he looked at Rowan. 
"Ships," he said. "Solindish ships, sighted off the Crystal 
Isle. Hondarth is in danger." 


"And so it begins again." Rowan wiped and sheathed 
his bloodied sword. "My lord, how shall you deploy us?" 


"I will do it as Carillon once did, when he was endangered 
on two fronts. You and I will go to Hondarth. My 
sons I will send to Solinde." 


Rowan smiled a little. "And I will say of them what 
once I said of you: they are unschooled in warfare and 
the leading of men." 


"Aye, but they will leam. I send the Cheysuli with 
them." 


Gods, I thought, Solinde. 


My father looked at his sons. "I cannot put it more 
plainly: in the morning you go to war." 


Gods, I thought, Solinde. 


270 


One 


"Rujhoget down\" 


Even as I lunged out of the saddle I felt the nip of 
arrow at shoulder, plucking at the leather of my jerkin. 


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My foot was half-caught in the stirrup; the horse, shying 
a single step from the wail and whistle of arrows, dragged 
me off-balance. I fell, twisting awkwardly as I-tried to 
free my foot before my knee was wrenched out of its 
proper alignment. Heard hum and hiss of additional feath-
ered shafts; jerked my head aside as fletching dragged at 
a lock of tawny hair. 


"Get down," lan repeated. 


"I am down." Irritably, I jerked my boot from the 
stirrup and rolled, flattening on my belly, scowling at my 
brother. Like me, he lay belly-down in the thin dry grass 
of the Solindish plain, barren in the first gray days of 
winter. "Where are they? How many?" 


lan, peering westward through the screen of grass, 
shook his head. He pulled his warbow out from under a 
hip, rolled sideways to take an arrow from his quiver, 
nocked it. Slowly he rose, hunching behind the thigh-
high grass. He blended perfectly with the stalks and 
scrubby vegetation: amber, ivory, sienna; no greens, no 
browns, no richness, only the dull saffron of banished 
fell. The land was made bland in brassy sunlight as it 
burned through the flat light of a winter's day. 


Just beyond lan, at his left, crouched Tasha, chestnut 
indistinctaess dissected by slanting stalks. Nothing moved 
to indicate she lived, not even the tip of her tail. She was 
stillness itself; I was reminded, oddly, of the wooden lion 
in Homana-Mujhar, crouching on the dais. 


Serri? 


He came, even as I thought of him, dropped low in the 
slouching walk of a wolf who skulks, avoiding contact 
with the enemy. His tail was clamped at hocks, curving 
inward to brush tip against loins, protecting genitals. 
Tipped ears lay back against his skull. He was hackled 
from ruff to rump. 


Beside me, he crouched, much as Tasha crouched. He 
stared at the distances. Ihlini, lir. Ahead. 


I looked at once at lan, intending to tell him; saw the 
grim set of his mouth and realized there was no need for 
me to speak. Tasha had already relayed the information. 


Ihlini. At last. After two months in Solinde, entangled 
in skirmishes that did little but waste our timeas well as 
wasting liveswe were to meet the true enemy in this 
war. Not the Solindish, though they fought with fierce 
determination. No. Ihlini. Strahan's minions, who served 
Asar-Suti. 


Ihlini- And it meant lan and I were summarily stripped 
of our Cheysuli gifts. 


Even now I could feel the interference in the link with 
Serri- A numbing, tingling sensation, faint but decidedly 
present, lifting the hair on my arms, my neck, my legs. 


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Irritability: something insinuated itself within the link I 
shared with Serri, shunting the power aside. It was as if 
someone had split a candleflame in two, snuffing one half 
entirely . . . spilling the other half into a darkness so 
deep even the light was swallowed up. I could feel the 
power draining away into the earth, leaving me, going 
back into its mother. And I was not certain it would 
return. 


I shivered. How eerie that the gods give us the gifts of 
the earth magic, then take them away when we are faced 
by the Ihlini. . . . 


How disconcerting that we are stripped of our greatest 
weapon when confronting our greatest enemy. 


"More than Ihlini," lan muttered. "They do not use 
the bow. They leave that to others." 


"Atvians?" 


"Atvian bowmen are perhaps the most dangerous in 
existence." 


"Except for the Cheysuli." 


lan cast me a glance. "Do you forget? There are only 
two of us. I am the last to decry our warrior skills, rujho, 
274 


but I am also the first to face realities. Judging by the 
number of arrows loosed, we are badly outnumbered." 


"Only for the moment. The camp is not far from 
hereI will send Serri for reinforcements." 


lan nodded grimly. The link no longer functioned nor-
mally, but I trusted Serri's instincts better than my own. 
As I put my hand on his shoulder, the wolf rose, turned, 
loped away, heading eastward. Toward the Homanan 
encampment. 


For two incredibly long months we had been in Solinde, 
breaching the borders and advancing steadily until we 
were easily three weeks from the Homanan border. From 
Mujhara, farther yet. And from Hondarth, where our 
father remained, we were at least a two-months' ride. 


We had come in with mostly Cheysuli, but Homanan 
troops had followed on our heels. It was not war such as 
I had expected, being comprised primarily of border 
skirmishes and raids by quick-striking SoUndish rebels, 
but I soon learned that death was death, regardless of its 
manifestation. 


Carillon's methods, one of the captains had told me. It 
was what defeated Bellam when Carillon came home from 
exile. If nothing else, the SoUndish have learned in the 
intervening years. 


Oh, aye, they had learned. They knew that if you 
cannot raise a warhost of thousands, you raise what you 
can of hundreds. And use them carefully. 


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How many times? I wondered. How many more times 
wiU SoUnde levy war against Homana? 


"They come," lan whispered. 


Aye, they came. As I crouched in the thin Solindish 
grass, I watched the Solindish come. So carefully. So 
very carefully; like locusts methodically consuming the 
life of every stalk, they trampled down the grass even as 
they used it for a shield. I could see no men, no shapes; 


hear no words or weapons. Only the soft and subtle 
sibilance of an approach through winter grass. 


There was no question the enemy knew where we 
were. Though we were screened by the grass even as 
they were, our horses marked our presence. Grimly I 
looked at them: lan's gray stallion and my own red roan, 
browsing idly in the grass. Bits clinked, trappings clattered
; lan's stallion snorted. 
275 


And then, abruptly, the horses no longer grazed. They 
stared. Westward. Toward the enemy. 


Serri, I said, hurry. Though I knew he could not hear 
me. 


lan darted upward, loosed an arrow, crouched down 
almost at once. I heard a shout from the enemyit was 
of discovery, not of painand realized what lan had 
meant to do. They marked our position very well now 
. . . and it was time we left it. 


lan caught my eye, pointed toward the horses. It was 
unlikely we could mount and escape without detection, 
but we could use the stallions for a distraction. Also a 
living screen. Much as I disliked the thought of sacrificing 
my horse, I disliked more the thought of sacrificing 
myself. 


I nodded. Flattened. Tried to belly-crawl toward the 
horses without disturbing so much of the grass as to give 
our purpose away. 


But we reached neither of the horses. Without warning, 
the grass in front of us burst into smoke and flame. 


It was an acrid, oily smoke that filmed our faces, our 
eyes; tried to breach our mouths and make its way down 
our throats. I coughed, gagged, spat. My eyes burned. 
Teared. I could see nothing but smoke and flame. 


The horses snorted, squealed, ran. Westward, away 
from the enemy. 


Gods, but how I wished lan and I could do the same. 
But we could not see to do it. We could not even breathe. 


Out of the smoke there came a man, and then another. 
Solindish, with swords in their hands and determination 
in their eyes


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Another, Another. But I could not see to count the 
others. 


Beside me, lan lurched to his feet. I wanted to jerk 
him down again, to catch an arm and jerk, but I did not. 
I could only cough, wheeze, spitand watch as he loosed 
arrows from a bow that trembled from the trembling of 
his hand upon it. He could not see, and yet he fought. 


Two of the Solindish went down at once; lan's skill 
was such that even half-blinded, even choked by acrid 
smoke, he could find the target. In this case, two. And in 
silence he nocked yet another arrow. 
276 


More men stepped out of the billowing smoke. And 
behind them came the Duini. 


I knew him at once. Somehow, I knew him, though I 
had never seen him. 


Blood calling to blood? No. That was Strahan's weapon, 
to make me think we were linked through blood and 
heritage. 


And yet, it made me wonder. 


Much as my brother had, I lurched upward to my feet. 
I jerked my sword from the sheath at my hip. The first 
man came in with his rusted bladerusted bladeand 
swung at my head. It surprised me; not that he would 
strike, but that he left himself so open. No swordsman, 
this. Just a man. A man with an old, old sword. And a 
man about to die. 


A single step forward, even as I ducked beneath the 
blow. A single thrust with my own blade. I felt the tip cut 
through the leather of his belt, scrape momentarily against 
a soft brass buckle, continue onward into belly, parting 
flesh, muscle, the vessels thick with blood. And how it 
spilled, the blood. How it ran out of the man to stain the 
fabric of his tunic, the silver of my steel; to splash, drop 
by rubescent drop, against the thirsty stalks of saffron 
Solindish grass and dye it lurid crimson. 


I unsheathed the blade yet again, pulling it from the 
human scabbard, and turned to face the enemy once 
more. 


This time it was the Ihlini-

Smoke peeled back from his shoulders as he crossed 
the ground to me. He wore gray, a pale lilac gray, twin 
to the smoke billowing at his bidding. His hair was black, 
ha eyes blue; I thought at once of Hart, my second son. 


"My lord," he said, "a message from Strahan." The 
Ihlini was calm, quiet-spoken. And he smiled. I judged 
him only a year or two older than myself. Young, strong, 
powerful. Filled with the confidence of his mission. Con-
sumed by his dedication. "He says: 'Tell Donal's cub he 
should never have wed Gisella. Tell Donal's cub one day 


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he will come to me.' " 


The sword hung from my hand. I had only to lift it 


But I did not. He had taken the intention from me, 
"No doubt," I answered. "No doubt I should not have, 
because it will be Strahan's undoing. I have children of 


the woman, Ihlinisons. Sons. And so the new links are 
forged." 


The smoke was a nimbus around him, clinging to his 
shoulders, hands, boots, like seasait to a spar. It rose, 
billowed, built a wall, swallowing those around us until 
we were two men alone, confronting one another across 
generations of hatred, distrust. . . fear? 


Could it be the Ihlini feared us? 


Honesty undermines the falsehoods of arrogance: I 
knew I feared the Ihlini. And I was not afraid to admit it. 


Silence lay around us. Within the walls of smoke there 
was no sound. The world had surely stopped. And without
? Perhaps the wheel had warped; I thought he had 
made the time to stand quite still. 


I faced him. "Strahan has said Ihlini and Cheysuli are 
kin. Children of the Firstborn." 


He smiled a little. "It is said we are." 


"Do you believe it?" 


"I know better than to disbelieve a thing that may be 
true." He shrugged; ash spilled down his shoulders. 


"Is it repugnant to you?" 


His black brows rose a little. "That the races may be 
linked? No. Not repugnant. Perhapsunappreciated." 
Again, he smiled. "Why do you ask, my lord?" 


He gave me my rank, even as Strahan had. And without 
irony; a simple statement of address. Moment by 
moment, he peeled away the preconceptions I had built 
out of ugly stories. 


Prejudice? No doubt. But I was not certain the Ihlini 
did not deserve it. 


"I ask because if it is true the races are linked, you and 
I are kin." 


He laughed. "The beginnings of a plea for leniency? 
You require mercy of me, my lord? Well, do not waste 
your breath. I intend to do to you what you desire to do 
to me." He tilted his head a little, as if he listened to a 
thing I could not hear. "Even were we brothers, it would 
not alter the melody." He began to smile even as I began 
to frown. "Can you not hear it? It is played, my lord, for 
us; because we will dance the dance of death." 


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He lifted a hand in a gracefully eloquent motion. In his 
fingers I saw the glint of silver, polished bright. Brilliant, 
bunding silver. But it was not, I saw, a knife. 


He inclined his head in a gesture of subtle deference. 
Or was it in farewell? "My lord." 


The hand was thrust skyward. I saw how the smoke 
parted, making way for the thing in his hand. It glim-
mered, flashed, streaked upward mto the sky. 


I watched it. I tipped my bead back, watching the 
silver fly; I saw it arc upward, slicing through lilac smoke, 
and then I knew what he intended. 


I snapped my head down. "Oh, no," I told him, "you 
do not divert me with childish tricks of misdirection." 


He did not even attempt to avoid my blade. I spitted 
him cleanly, front to back, and heard the scrape of bone 
against blade. And as he lay in a spreading pool of 
brackish, blackened blood, he laughed. 


He laughed. 


"My lord," he said, still smiling, "say to me which 
diversion was misdirec" 


and he was dead. I stared down at the face gone 
suddenly slack in death, the abrupt cessation of life, 
leaving him empty, spent... so devoid of that which had 
made him a man. Ihlini, Solindish, even Homanan or 
Cheysuli. He was a man. And he was dead. 


And then the silver lanced out of the sky and buried 
itself in the top of my left shoulder, and I understood his 
words at last. 


Misdirection, aye. And now it might prove lethal. 


The pain drove me to one knee. Of its own accord my 
right hand loosed the hilt of the sword and flew to clasp 
my shoulder. I felt steel, sharp, deadly steel, wafer-thin, 
deeply imbedded; a flat, curving spike was all that pro-
truded above the surface of my flesh, my jerkin; the rest 
was firmly sheathed in muscle and bone. My left arm 
dangled helplessly at my side. 


I caught the elbow, dragged the forearm around so I 
could cradle the limb against my abdomen. 


ohgodsthe pain 


"Serri" I gasped. "lan?" 


The smoke was gone. I saw the last wisps of it sucked 
back into the Ihlini's body as if it were a part of his soul; 


now that he was dead, so was the power dead. Crushed 
grass was his shroud; bloodied soil became his bier. 


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My fingers twitched. Again. All the muscles in my arm 
tautened, from shoulder to fingertips- My fingers curled 
279 


up, tucked beneath my folded thumb. The rigidity was 
absolute. 


"fan-" 


I vomited. Shuddered. Retched. Sweat ran down my 
flesh beneath the clothing. I twitched. I smelled the tang 
of fear. The stink of helplessness. 


Oh^odsIon 


1 put out my hand and touched the face of death. 


280 


Two 


I heard someone cry out. The sound hurt my ears. It set 
my head to throbbing. Inwardly, I cursed the man who 
made the noise . , - and then I realized he was myself. 


"Gods?" I blurted aloud. "What are you doing to 
me?" 


Lir, be still. That from Serri, seated next to the cot. 


"Pulling a tooth." lan's voice, and very near. 


"Tooth?" Dazed from pain I might be, but I knew well 
enough that what resided in my shoulder was not any-
thing like a tooth. 


"Sorcerer's Tooth," lan answered. "An Ihlini weapon 


-. , the name suits, I think." . 
I lurched nearly upright as the pain renewed itself. 
Hands pressed me back down upon the cot. lan's. An-
other's- And yet a third dug at the tooth in my shoulder. 
"Gods, lancan you not do this yourself? Save me some 
painuse the earth magic on this wound!" 


Lir, be still. Do not bestir yourself. 


"I cannot. The Tooth is an Ihlini thing. It will have to 
heal of its own." 


"Give him wine," someone suggested. "Let him drink 
himself into a stupor." 


"No." A third voice, also unknown to me. "I know 
little enough of the Ihlini, but I do know they resort to 
poison much of the time. I think the Tooth was not 
tampered withbut I will not take the chance. Give him 
no wine, or we may kindle the poison." 


I gritted my teeth so hard I thought they might fall into 
dust in my mouth. "Justpull it out. Cut it out, . . will 
you rid me of this thing?" 


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"My lord, we are trying," 
281 


**Tty harder." Sweat ran down my face and dampened 
the pillow beneath my head. Poisoned or not, the Tooth 
was setting my body afire. 


"RufhoM lan again "one more moment" 


Hands tightened on me. I felt the sharp pain slice into 
my flesh, and then abruptly the thing was wrenched free. 


"There," someone said; fatuous satisfaction. 


"Let it bleed," the other suggested. "If there is a 
poison, the blood will carry it out.** 


"And if there is not. the blood will carry out his life." 
lan had never been impressed with the sometimes ques-
tionable skill of Homanan physicians; being Cheysuh, he 
had alternatives. But at the moment, I did not. "Pack it, 
bind up the wound," he said calmly, but I heard the note 
of command in his tone. 'Then let him sleep." 


They did as he told them, and so did 1.1 slept. 


Something landed on my chest. A smaU weight only, 
but it awakened me. I opened my eyes, saw lan standing 
by me, shut them again. 


'The Tooth," he said. "You are lucky; it carried no 
poison. You will survive, rujho." 


I did not feel like it. I felt wretched. My mouth was 
filmed with sourness; I licked my lips, wanted to spit. 
Wanted to swallow wine or water, hoping to wash away 
the bitter tang. 


I opened my eyes and looked up at lan. The light in 
the field pavilion was thin, hardly enough to illuminate 
the interior, but the fabric was unbleached ivory and lent 
meager strength to the dim winter light. Still, lan was 
mostly clothed in shadow; his eyes, lids lowered, were 
black instead of yellow. 


"Tooth," I muttered. I scraped my good hand across 
the rough army blanket and found the thing my brother 
had dropped. Picked it up; felt the cool kiss of the 
shining steel. Ice in my band, I thought. And yet the 
woundm my shoulder burned. 


It was a thin, circular wafer of steel, perfectly flat, 
edged with curving spikes boned to invisible points. Star-
shaped, in a way, except the shape was too refined, too 
fluid; the spikes flowed out of the steel to form a subtle 
vanguard at the wafer's edge. There were runes etched in 
the metal. 


282 


I grimaced. This thing, thrown from the sorcerer's 
hand, had lanced out of the sky to imbed itself in flesh 
and bone. As if it had a life of its own. As if it knew its 


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target, 


Abruptly, I held it out to my brother- "Take it. The 
Tooth is out of the jaw; now you may dispose of it." 


lan, accepting Ihlini steel, smiled a little. He tucked it 
into his belt-pouch. 


Serri? 


Here, lir. I felt a nose, cool and damp, pressed against 
my hand. I opened my fingers and stroked the place 
between his eyes, in the center of his charcoal mask. His 
eyes watched me avidly. You will recover, Ur. 


I did not really doubt it. I looked at lan again. "How 
many slain?" 


"Ten Solindish; there were only twelve of them. The 
reinforcements arrived directly after you went down." 


I nodded. "How many of us were slain?" 


"Two Homanans. Two wounded." 


I frowned. "What is it they mean to do? Here we are 
in Solinde, where we have been for two months, and yet 
we hardly fight. Occasionally, ayeI do not discount the 
men we have already lost . - . but I am perplexed by the 
enemy's intentions. We have Cheysuli with us as well as 
Homanans, and yet we hardly see more than twenty 
Solindish at a time." 


"Gnats nipping at horses." lan nodded. "As Sayre 
says, it was Carillon's way. But I think there may be an 
explanation." He shrugged a little. "A thought, only 
but what if the enemy's numbers have been vastly overestimated
? What if the rebellion itself is far smaller than 
we have been told?" 


"But the intelligence comes out of Lestra, from the 
regent." I frowned. "You cannot mean Wycliff is a 
traitor. . . ." 


"No. He is a loyal Homanan, serving our jehan as best 
he can. No. I think the intelligence is manipulated before 
it reaches Wycliff. I think he is given reports of numbers 
that do not exist; where there are ten men, forty are 
reported. By the time the news reaches Lestraand later 
Mujharathe number is ten times greater than the truth." 


"Then the Ihlini are using us ... drawing us away from 
their true objective." I frowned. "Hondarth? Jehan is 


there, and Rowan. There were Solindish ships. . . . 


lan shook his head. "News travels slowly in warslower 
yet in winter . . . who can say how things stand now in 
Hondarth? And each day the weather worsens. Sayre 
says there will be snowfalf before the day is out." 


A winter war. I shivered from the suggestion. "Is it 
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possible the Ihlini manipulate the Solindish? That there 
really is little more than mutters of rebellion, no rebellion 
of itself?" 


"I am quite certain the Ihlini manipulate the Solindish. 
What I cannot say for certain is if mis realm truly does 
wish to attack Homana." His expression was grim. "I 
have no doubt there are many here who desire indepen-
dence from Homanabefore Carillon defeated Bellam, 
Solinde never had a foreign overlordbut are they as 
dangerous as we fear? Oh, aye, there are rebels, raiders 
. . . zealots" he did not smile "but there are always 
those who seek to throw down the power and take it for 
themselves. Regardless of the competence of the king." 


"Jehan should be told." 


"I am sure he knows. He has fought Solinde before." 


"But that was with Carillon." 


He did not answer at once. And when he did, his tone 
was full of infinite understanding. *'A man learns, Niall. 
How to fight, how to lead, how to rule." His face was 
oddly serene; I saw compassion in his eyes. "You are 
learning now." 


I shut my eyes under the cover of weakness from my 
wound. I knew what he implied: that soon I would lead 
the army in fact as well as name. For I did not lead it 
now. Wisely, my father had not expected me to know 
what a man must know in order to conduct a war. He 
expected me to learn itand so he had dispatched vet-
eran Homanan captains to lead us through this war. 


"Niall." 


I opened my eyes. 


"The gods choose only worthy men." 


I grimaced. "The gods can make mistakes." 


He smiled a little; I had been very decisive. "Blasphemy?" 


"The gods made the Ihlini." 


Tne smile was banished. "Aye. They did. And oftenI 
wonder why." 


No more than I. No more than any Cheysuli, begin-

ning to wonder if indeed the gods had sowed a second 
crop. 


A winter crop, I thought; a deep-winter harvest. There 
was no warmth in the air. No spring. No summer. No 
light. 


Only Darkness. 


Sayre tipped back his cup of wanned wine and drained 
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it. He took it away, wiped the excess from his mouth 
with a forearm, nodded consideringly. "You may have 
the right of it, my lord." 


It was a concession. Sayre and I got on as well or 
better than any of the captains, and I had taken to 
discussing strategies with the veteran. He had fought 
with my father and with Carillon. He was not old, but his 
youth had been spent on the battlefield. He lacked half 
his right ear; it put me in mind of Strahan, lacking the 
ear entirely. 


He scratched idly at a reddish eyebrow. A thin pale 
scar bisected it. His ruddy hair was liberally sprinkled 
with white. "Complacency would be deadly, but I think 
the men are prepared. Fit. When the Solindish come, we 
will take them." 


I shifted on the stool. "This encampment has stood 
safely for five weeks, captain. We have fought no one for 
that long. How can you be certain the Solindish will ever 
come?" I put a hand on Serri's head and buried fingers in 
the lustiness of his pelt. "If they do not, we waste our 
time. But if the Ihlini come instead. ..." I rubbed my 
left shoulder. The wound left by the Tooth had healed 
well enough, but the scar was tender still. It ached almost 
constantly in the bitter cold. 


Sayre rose, thrusting his stool away from the table- He 
reached for the leather-bound tankard, poured, filled his 
cup and mine again, though I had drunk only half. He 
scowled blackly out of his wind-chafed, reddened face, 
gulping wine again. It set watery blue eyes ablaze. 


"Let them come," he said flatly. "Let them come. My 
Homanans will be ready." 


I said nothing. I knew the captain too well. And in a 
moment he did as I expected: he cursed and sat down 
again. 


"Aye, ayeyou may have the right of it. How better 
285 


to suck the will to fight from men than by frightening it 
out of them?" He swore again, set the cup down so hard 
wine slopped over the run. It splashed against the wooden 
table and filled nicks, scratches, divots hacked out by 
steel. Saying nothing, I retreated from the spillage by 
lifting my arms and leaning away from the table. "My 
Homanans are veterans, but they have fought only men," 
he said. "Who can say what they will do when faced with 
Dmni sorcerers?" 


"Captain" But I stopped. His eyes had taken on the 
glazed expression of reminiscence; he was tost in battles 
long past. 


"I recall the night Tynstar came upon us," he said in 
an almost eerie detachment. 


I looked at him more attentively. 


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"Tynstar came upon us and took away the moon. He 
filled it up with blood." His mouth tightened in a faint 
grimace of distaste. "He sent a mist across the land, a 
miasma, intended to swallow us all. And all the army 
panicked, as he intended, save for Rowan, Carillon, Donal 
. . . and even the EUasian prince, Evan, your father's 
boon companion." He frowned a little, lost in his recol-
lections. "He meant to slay us then, to defeat us before 
the battle, and yet he was unable. Donal threw the magic 
sword at Tynstar, and the sorcery was broken." 


I thought of the sorcery / had faced, in the circle of 
lilac smoke. 


"The sorcery was broken," Sayre repeated. "But it 
was by a Cheysulithe Homanans were too afraid." 


"Then perhaps we should seek out the rebels," I sug-
gested. "Perhaps we can finish this war for good." 


"Perhaps we should let them come to us." Sayre was 
unsmiling. "They know this land; we do not." 


I rose abruptly, went to the doorflap of the field pavil-
ion and pulled it aside. Beyond me lay the horizon. The 
day was cold, windy, depressing. Clouds huddled on 
blue-frosted plains. 


"There is little to recommend a winter war," I said 
quietly, rubbing again at my shoulder. "I think the 
Solindish will not come. And I think we should go to 
Lestra." 


"By your leave, my lordI think I must disagree." 


I smiled. "You are welcome to disagreement. But I say 
286 


equally freely: I do not think the Solindish will wage war 
against us and the weather." 


"So you want us to winter in the city instead of here 
on the plains." Sayrc's tone was eloquent in its careful 
intonation. "If we do so, my lord, we leave open the 
leagues between Lestra and the Homanan border. Open 
to the enemy" He paused. "Open to the enemy and 
those men who serve the bastard." 


My teeth gritted. Aye, the bastard. His fame grew 
each day, and each day we lost one or two Homanans 
who decided to change allegiances in hopes of better 
food, warmer bedding, higher pay. I could not openly 
curse the bastard for leading his growing army in skirmishes 
against the Solindish borderersintended ostensibly to Help 
mebut privately I cursed him at least once every hour. 
Those skirmishes mostly helped his reputation; word of 
Elek's murder had tainted my own name and brightened 
that of Carillon's misbegotten son. 


"What profit in taking the borders in deep winter?" I 
demanded curtly, swinging to face the man. "I think they 
keep us here for purposes of their own." 


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From outside there came a call. lan's voice; I turned 
again. With him was a young man all wrapped in winter 
furs and leather. 


"Rujhomessages from Mujhara." lan ducked through 
the flap and into Sayre's pavilion, nodding a greeting to 
the man. He wore heavy furs against the cold and gloves 
upon his hands. No gold showed, not even in his ear. 
Against the wind he wore his hair longer than normal, 
even as I did myself -

The young man entered also. He was hooded, wrapped 
in woolen scarves. In his hand there was a sealed parch-
ment. "My lord." He pulled wool away from his mouth. 
"My lordfor you." 


I took the damp parchment, broke the brittle seal, 
opened it with difficultythe parchment stuck, tore, nearly 
came apart in my handsthen looked at the messenger 
in dismay. "I can read none of this. The paper is mostly 
ruined, and the ink has run." 


"My lord, I am sorry." Weariness made him almost 
curt. "Itwas difficult reaching you. The Ihlini have 
fired the land." 


"Fired?" I frowned. "Be plainer of speech." 
287 


"Fired," he repeated. "Everything between here sad 
the Homanan border has been put to the torch. People 
are dead, game dispersed, all winter supplies destroyed. 
My lorddo you see what they have done? They have 
cut you off from Homana- You must go farther inward in 
order to survive." 


"/nward." I looked at lan. "So now we know their 
plan." 


Sayre swore violently. "An old trick," he said flatly. 
"Drive the enemy homeward and into starvationor 
drive them inward to death in battle. I should have seen 
it. I should have known it!" He shook his ruddy head. 
"By the gods, I should have listened to you." 


I looked at the messenger- His expression was limned in 
starkness against the bleakness of the day- "You made it 
through." 


"Aye, my lord. But I was one man. I carried some 
winter rations with me, and grain. Butan army. . . ." 
Uncomfortable with the truth, he shook his head and 
shrugged. "What little game is left will die of starvation 
soon. There is no grass for the horses, no feed or grain 
stored away. All has been destroyed." 


I turned abruptly and gestured for wine. Sayre acceded 
at once, handing over a freshly-poured cup of steaming 
wine. I put it into the messenger's hands. "You wiU be 
fed. You will be given time to rest. But firstwere you 
given the message verbally as well as written out?" 


He sipped. Nodded. Sighed. "Aye, my lord. General 
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Rowan said parchments may go astray; he gave me the 
words as well." 


"You have come from Hondarth?" I asked in surprise. 
"But this seal is the Queen's." 


"The general is at Homana-Mujhar, with the Queen." 
He sipped again; color began to steal back into his pallid 
flesh. "Two messages, my lord: from the general, from 
the Queen." 


"Rowan's first," I said at once. And then, thinking of 
my sons, I wished I had said the other. 


The young man nodded. His brown eyes blanked a 
little as he sought to recall the words precisely as they 
had been said. "There is plague in Mujhara," he told 
me. "It spreads throughout Homana." 


"Plague!" 


"It slays one out of every family, sometimes more," he 
continued, "The Homanans fall ill of a fever, but most 
recover, unless they are very young or very old- Butit 
is the Cheysuli" 


He stopped. He looked at lan, at the Ur. Lastly he 
looked at me. 


"Aye?" I asked with mounting dread. 


He wet his Ups- "F01^ every five Cheysuli stricken, four 
will die. Andso with the lir, my lord." 


"The Ur" lan moved stiffly closer. "This touches the 
Ur as well?" 


"My lord," He stared into his wine. "Often the warrior 
recovers. But if the Ur does not. . . ." White-faced, 
he looked at me. "If the Ur does not, the warrior dies 
anyway." 


"Two-fold," lan whispered. "Slaying one, the plague 
slays both." 


1 put a hand on lan's arm, more for me than for my 
brother. "This plague is in Mujhara?" 


"Aye, my lordand Clankeep. It spreads throughout 
Homana." 


"My sons," I said blankly. "My sons are in Mujhara." 


"And our rujholla is in Clankeep, along with other 
kin." lan's face was bleak. "Gods, rujho, how can we 
stay here?" 


"My lord." The messenger's tone was raised, as if he 
knew we meant to leave him before he had completed his 
task. "My lord, there is the other message. From the 
Queen of Homana." 


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I nodded, still too numb to do much more. My sons 
are in Mujhara. 


"My lord, she sends to say the Princess has conceived." 


I gaped. "GiseUa?" 


"In five months, my lordless than that, nowyou 
will have another child." He paused. "Ru'shalla-tu." 


1 looked at him more sharply. "You are Cheysuli?" 


"No, my lord. Homanan. But it seems a wise thing to 
learn the tongue of those who rule." 


"Thank the gods for a little wisdom." I looked at lan. 
"You know we have to go." 


"/ know. But you heard what he has said. No game, 
no people, no supplies. . . ." He shrugged. "It will not 
be easy, rujho." 


289 


"And if we do not try, we will never sleep again." 
"No," he agreed bleakly. "Yet I think I will not regardless, 
until I know our kin are safe-" 
I nodded. A child. Oh gods, another child. Now three 


will be at risk 


I turned to look at Sayre. "In the morning we will 
leave. Only lan and I; it would profit no one to take 
more. Captain" I paused, "do what you can to win 
this war. However you have to win it." 


"Aye, my lord. Of course." 


Oh gods, I thought, my children. 


The heirs to the prophecy. 


290 


Three 


The land lay in ruin. Although the Soiindish plains lacked 
the heavy forests of Homana, it had boasted its share of 
scrubby trees, tangled, hedges, thick turf, lush grasses. 
Now there was nothing, nothing at allonly charred turf, 
skeletal remains of blackened trees, ash and grit in place 
of grass. Tie land rolled on forever in its funerary finery, 
stretching eastward toward Homana. 


, Our horses shifted through grit and ash, stirring a pall 
of pale gray dust that filmed our Ur, our mounts, our 
clothing. Ice and frost rimed stones, frozen piles of 
hoof-churaed earth, even the naked, twisted trees. Uke 
jewels, ice crystals glittered. Beneath its wealth, the charring 
lent false glory to ruined wood. Like diamonds, like 
jet, it blazed and glittered in the thin blue light of an early 


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ri winter mom, cloaking itself in transient ornamentation. 


Though much of my face was hidden in woolen wrap-
pings, my breath still escaped; plumed frost in the frigid 
air. I was weighed down in hood, furs, leathers, woolens, 


^ but still I was cold. Yet I could not say if the chill I 
experienced was born of temperature or sickened disbelief. 
I squinted against the bite of bitter cold. We walked; 


we did not gallop, did not trot, shadowed by our Ur, but 
still the movement stirred our eyes to protest. Tears 


| gathered, spilled over; I scrubbed briefly at my cheeks 
with a gloved hand, not desiring to let the tears freeze in 
the winter-chafed creases of tender flesh. For warmth, I 
had grown back the beard that made me Carillon, but 
mostly I was cold. 


"How could they do it?" I asked, though most of it 
was muffled behind the wool. "How could they destroy 


^ so much of their homeland?" 


^ 291 


"Desperation?" lan, also hooded, shook his head a 
little. "Dedication, determination . . . perhaps those and 
more. I do not doubt it was a difficult decision." 


"But to slay people? Their own people?" 


His shrug was swallowed by the bulk of heavy leathers. 
"If you are engaged in a war to which you are fully 
committed, and a portion of your own people refuse to 
join or render aid, perhaps it becomes easier to sentence 
them to death." 


"Indiscriminate murder?" I stared at him in amaze-
ment. "How?" ^ 


lan pulled the wrap from his mouth. "I did not say I 
understood it, NiallI only offer a possible explanation." 


"Gods." I was sickened by the thought. "I could never 
make such a decision. Determine the fates of innocent 
people? Never. It is not a man's place." 
c, 
i ^ 
: 
"It will be yours, one day." 
"No." 4 
"Rujhoof course it will. What do you think kingship 
entails? You have attended council meetings, have heard 
our jehan render judgments. He makes choices, ru/fw. 
So will you." 
ft 
"Our jehan would never order a thing as ghastly as 
this," I declared. "Murder, destruction . . . rujho, look 
around you! Crops ruined, dwellings burned down . . . 
even the livestock and wild game stripped of food and 
homes. How will the land recover?" 
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"It will. It will take time, but vegetation will grow 
back, crops will recover, crofts and hovels will be rebuilt, 
even the game will begin to return." He looked around 
grimly. "This is a waste, a terrible, senseless waste, but it 
is not complete destruction. The land will live again." 


I shivered. "Idiocy," I muttered. "When we have won 
this war, the Solindish will see that this benefits none of 
their people." 


"No, no benefit," lan agreed. "But if you are going to 
lose a war, you take desperate measures. And if that war 
is lost regardless of those measures, at least you have left 
nothing to benefit the victor." 


I looked at my brother. There was little of him I could 
see, Just a shapeless mass atop a winter-furred tall gray 
stallion. But with the wrappings pulled down, I could see 
292 


nearly all of his face. Beardless, I thought he looked 
younger than I. And yet he was so much wiser. 


"You should be the heir," I said finally. "You should 
be, lan. You are better suited. I think the a'saii have had 
the right of it all along." 


He shook his head at once. "I am not better suited, 
Niall. You do not live in my skin; you cannot know how 
I think, how I feel about things. I am not right for the 
Lion. That task is meant for you." 


"And if I died? If the plague took me, or a Solindish 
swordor even a Sorcerer's Tooth. . . ."I looked at him 
with a calm expectation that was as surprising to me as to 
him. "If I died, rujho, could you accept the Lion?" 


The shock made a mask of his face; he stared. And 
there was apprehension in his eyes. "Niall" 


"Could you?" 


After a moment, he blew out a rushing breath that 
wreathed his face in fog, "You have two sons, rujho, and 
perhaps a third yet to come. The choice, thank the gods, 
will never be mine to make." 


No. It never would be. Unless all of us were slain. And 
I thought that supremely unlikely. 


I looked down at Serri, trotting by my roan. Unless the 
plague took every one of us. 


"Why did you ask, Niall? Why is it important for you 
to know?" 


I shrugged. "But for an accident of birth, it might be 
you who was meant for the Lion. In the clans, there 
would be no question of it. You were firstborn. And yet, 
because of Homanan law, only Aislinn's son can inherit. 
It seems unfair." 


"It is not." lan reined his stallion around a frozen 
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hummock of charred turf, searching automatically for 
Tasha. Against the blackened, frost-rimed earth, her 
ruddy coat glowed like heated bronze. "It is what the gods 
intended, or they would have put us in one another's 
places." He smiled. "I am the fortunate one, rujho. 
My choices will be easier than yours." 


"No." I disagreed in pointed affability. "Because I will 
make you help me with mine." 


My brother laughed. 


* * * 


We watered our mounts, our lir, and ourselves at 
whatever streams and bums we could find, although many 
were frozen solid. Otherwise we drank sparingly of the 
contents of our waterskins and refilled them at the first 
opportunity. Food we rationed carefully, along with grain; 


we could not afford to waste a single pinch because it was 
unlikely our stores could be replenished. There as no 
game, no crops, no winter supplies. What we carried was 
our portion. 


-1 wanted to avoid the charred wreckage of crofts and 
the remains of other dwellings, sickened by the first two 
we had visited in search of life and food. But lan insisted 
we stop at each one because, he said, a man could not 
afford to ignore any opportunity. He had the right of it, 
my brother, but I did not enjoy the discoveries of bodies 
buried in the wreckage, burned, battered, broken, as if 
they were only toys. But the enemy had been thorough. 
There was no food, no water, no stored supplies that had 
not been methodically spoiled or destroyed. 


And so we crossed the chamelhouse of Solinde praying 
we would reach Homana before our rationsor courage 
gave out. 


I thought often of the plague. So clearly I recalled 
how, more than a year earliernearly twothe furrier in 
Mujhara's Market Square had spoken of a plague in the 
north, believed to be carried by white wolves. And I 
recalled also, but a six-month ago, how the guardsmen 
seeking me had spoken of white wolves as well, desiring 
to slay me for the bounty. The thing had begun so long 
ago, and yet we had ignored it, believing it a fleeting 
thing, a piece of nonsense embroidered with falsehood, a 
story told at the sheepherders* fires to keep them awake 
while dogs warded the flocks against wolves of any 
color. 


But now the tale was true. Now the beast was loose. 


We crossed the border at last and saw how the Somidish 
had taken care not to raze any of Homana. With the 
naked eye a man could see the ragged line of demarca-
tion, the sword's edge that divided Homana from Solinde. 
Here there was grass, though frosted; here there was 
life, though sluggish in the cold; here there was the 


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294 


promise of continuance. In Solinde, there was only the 
promise of ending. 


And here there were also men, confronting us on 
horseback as we rode across the border. 


Like us, they were bundled in furs, leathers, woolens. 
Caps and hoods hid their heads and much of their faces; 


I recognized none of them. They were Homanans, but 
that was all I could discern. 


lan and I, with our Ur, crossed into Homana and the 
Homanans told us to halt almost at once. Muted light 
ran the length of their bared swords, but dully; the sun 
shone only fitfully through the mesh of scalloped snow-
clouds hanging low across the plains. 


One man rode a little forward of the others (I counted 
fourteen in all) and halted. He looked at the Ur, then at 
lan, marking his yellow eyes. Lastly he looked at me, 
and he frowned. "Cneysuli," he said. "Both of you?" 


"Aye," I told him, waiting. 


He looked at me a trifle harder. But, as was his, most 
of my face was hidden; it is difficult to recognize a man 
well warded against the winter. "There is plague," he 
said abruptly. "Have you heard? All throughout Homana." 


"And are you a patrol sent to turn us from our 
homeland?" 


The other men murmured among themselves. This one 
did not answer at once. He squinted a little, peering past 
me toward the ravished plains of Solinde. "Are you from 
the Homanan army?" 


"No," lan answered wryly. "We are from the SoUndish 
army." 


The man's brown eyes flicked back to lan. There was a 
glint of disapproval in his eyes. Not much of a sense of 
humor. "Shapechanger," he said levelly, "this is no time 
for levity. Least of all for you." A jerk of his head 
indicated the men waiting behind him. "We are men who 
serve the son of Carillon." 


Inwardly, I swore. Outwardly, I did nothing. 


lan nodded slowly. "We have been long out of Homana. 
How does the petition proceed?" 


The other shrugged. "The Mujhar is in Hondarth, the 
Homanan Council divided because of the war. The peti-
tion, for now, is set aside, but only for a while. When the 
295 


war is done and spring is come, we will set our lord in 
NiaU's place." 


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"Murderer," one of the other men said. "He slew 
Elek." 


No, he did notat least, not intentionally. But I did not 
dare to say it aloud. 


Idly, lan smoothed the pale mane of his dark gray 
horse. "This plaguehow serious is it?" 


"Serious for the Cheysuli. You would do better to 
stay in Solinde." 


"No," we answered together. 


He eyed us more attentively. "We will not turn you 
back. Cheysuli, Homanan, it does not matter. Our duty 
lies with our lord." 


"Are you recruiting?" lan asked. 


The brown eyes narrowed. "And are you of the a'saii?" 


So, even the Homanans knew of the zealots. "Why?" I 
asked aloud. "Have the a'saii joined with you?" 


"We asked- They declined: our objectives are too 
different. And so the pact was never made." He shrugged, 
rewraping his dark blue muffler. "But I think the a scdi 
are finished; too many of them are dead." 


They were my enemy, the a'saii. But they were of my 
race, my clan, my kin; I grieved for their deaths. I 
grieved for the deaths of their Ur. 


"What of you?" lan asked. "The plague is not that 
selective. Homanans are dying also." 


I heard murmuring again. A glance at the others showed 
me furtive looks exchanged; expressions of bleakness and 
affirmation. No matter what was said, the bastard's ad-
herents also suffered losses. Many losses; like the a'saii, 
their cause might be overcome by misfortune rather than 
anything I might do. 


"We will win. We have the gods on our side." 


"Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu," lan quoted. 
"The fate of a man rests always within the palm of the 
gods." 


The Homanan turned his horse aside. And we were 
home at last. 


We found little more welcome in Homana than we had 
in Solinde. Here the land was whole, the dwellings un-

burned, the crofters alive, Ac game and livestock healthy. 
but fear and suspicion also thrived. We were Cheysufi, 
and Cheysuli carried the plague. 


lan and I learned quickly that it was best if / went to 
the doors and asked for food and water, offering coin in 


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return; for once, my Homanan looks stood me in good 
stead. But even so, as we drew closer to Mujhara the 
wary welcomes turned to rude refusals. 


And then, with a week's ride left to Mujhara, we 
stopped at a snowbound croft and were given warm 
welcome, both of us, and invited in for a meal. The old 
woman was alone, but did not appear to fear us or the 
plague. With our Ur she took us in and served hot food 
and tart cider, spiced with a twist of cinnamon. And 
when at last we took our furs off in the heat of the 
tiny dwelling, our fir-gold was bared to a smilin^-if 
toothlessreception. 


"Aye," she said, "I knew you were Cheysuli. Even 
buried under fur and leather- You have the eyes" she 
looked at lan "and the animals are more than pets. 
Ur, are they? Aye. Lovely beasts." 


Her white hair was quite fine, thinning; it straggled out 
of a tight-wrapped knot of braid at the crown of her 
head. All the days of the world were in the tapestry of 
her face. Her faded blue eyes were rheumy, eaten away 
with the promise of milk-blindness, but even when she 
could no longer see with them, I knew she would see 
with her heart. 


"Lady," I said, "Leijhana tu'sai." 


She sat in her chair and rocked a little, grinning at my 
words. "Old Tongue." She nodded, knotting her hands 
in the ends of her faded brown shawl. "Been so long 
since I beard it. But even then, it was strange to me. My 
mouth did not want to shape the words." 


I looked at her in startled supposition. "You are not 
Cheysuli?" 


"No, no, not I. Not Cheysuli, no." She grinned. She 
rocked. She laughed. 


"Lady," lan said. "You know there is plague in the 
land, and yet you invite us in. You invite Cheysuli in." 


"I am old. I have no one but myself, and my cat." The 
gray tabby, in the face of much larger kin in Tasha, had 
retreated to the mantel over the fireplace. "When my 
297 


time comes, I will give it good welcome. But 1 think this 
Ihlini mischief will not send me to the gods." She nod-
ded. She rocked. She smiled. 


"Ihlini." I exchanged a glance with lan. "You say the 
plague is Ihlini?" 


"Bora of Strahan, aye." Again she nodded. Her eyes 
were closed. She rocked. "It has been coining a long, 
long time. I remember the days of Tynstar, in Solinde, 
when he first told Bellam that Homana was his for the 
taking. And so together they took it, once Shaine was 
slain in the Great Hall of Homana-Mujhar. Tynstar chased 
Carillon out of his homeland and into exile in foreign 


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realms. ..." Her recital trailed off. lan and I stared at 
her in silence, shocked to hear her repeat so much of our 
House's history. "But he came home again, he did, and 
took Homana back, and then Tynstar stole his youth. 
Tynstar was strong, but so was Carillon. And in the end, 
Carillon prevailed." She smiled briefly; it faded quickly 
enough. "But Tynstar sired a son on Carillon's queen, 
and now that son is loosed upon the land. Like the 
plague of Asar-Suti." 


She said nothing more. In the silence of the tiny room 
lan and I waited for her to finish. But she said nothing 
more. 


"Lady,'* I said at last, "how is it you know so much of 
Tynstar? So much of Shaine?" 


"Because I was alive when Shaine was Mujhar," Her 
rheumy eyes creased in good-natured humor. "And 
Tynstar was my lord." 


"Your tord?" I was on my feet at once, hand closing 
on my knife hilt. "Lady" 


"Aye," she said, "he was. And aye, I am Ihlini. But I 
bid you not to slay me: I am not the enemy. Save your 
anger for Tynstar's son." 


She stopped rocking. She sat very still in her chair, a 
small, old, fragile woman, who had suckled at a Solindish 
breast. 


"Why are you in Homana?" lan asked, genuinely curi-
ous as well as wary. So was I. 


"Because I like it," she answered. "Because now it is 
my home." Suddenly she laughed. From some hidden 
place beneath her shawl, she withdrew a thing that glit-
298 


tered. She held it out in the candlelight, and we saw the 
stone. A multi-faced crystal; pale, perfect pink. "Take 
it," she said. 'Take my lifestone. If you believe I mean 
you harm, you have only to crush it, or throw it in the 
fire. And the world will lack one more Ihlini witch." 


After a moment, I put out my hand and took the stone 
from her withered palm. I was ungloved; the crystal took 
on the color of my flesh, altering texture and hue until it was 
hidden in my hand. Perfect camouflage. It seemed weight-
less, though it was not. It seemed to have no tempera-
ture, though when I first had touched it the stone was 
undeniably cool. 


"Lifestone," I echoed. "What does it do?" 


"We have no fir," she told me. "We have a stone instead. 
It is a locus for our power." Her eyes were on the stone. 
"I have so little, now; I am too old. And I renounced 
Asar-Suti." 


"Renounced him!" lan stared at her, "And you 
were left alive?" 
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The old woman tilted her head a little. "Betimes I 
think I was not. But that is only because I am so old. I 
lost my youth when I broke faith with the Seker. It was 
the cost. And now, I wait for the day I will die." 


I frowned a little. "How old, lady? How many years 
have you?" 


Briefly, she counted on fragile fingers. And then she 
grinned her toothless grin. "Only two," she said. "Two 
hundred. Not so old, when you think of how old Tynstar 
was. Or how old Strahan will be, if no one seeks him out 
and slays him." She looked at us both, "You might," she 
said. "Go to him, seek him out, end the Seker's plague. 
It is the only way you will save your people. The only 
way the world will survive." 


She put out her hand. I returned the stone. Before my 
eyes, it flamed, sent a single tendril of lilac smoke into 
the air, and then its momentary brilliance was snuffed 
out. "If you could take his lifestone, ha power would be 
ended," she told me. "If you cannot, at feast destroy the 
white wolf." 


"Gods," I blurted, "you wish me to slay myself?" 


Her hand spasmed, shutting away the pale pink stone. 
"You?" she said. "You are the Prince of Homana?" 


"Aye, lady^-I am." 


"Then you must go. It is a task you must perform." 
Distractedly, she pushed at the wisps of pearlescent hair 
encroaching into her face. "Go home, my lord of Homana. 
And then go to Valgaard, Strahan's fortress, in the moun-
tains of Solinde. It will be Homana's deliverance." 


"And that is what you desire?" lan asked gently. "For-
give me, but you are Duini. What reason can you give us 
to believe what you have told us?" 


"Reason?" Clearly, she was shocked. "I have told you 
the truth. It should be enough." 


Ihimi, my conscience whispered, as lan and I exchanged 
dubious glances. 


"Reason." She whispered it to herself. "I am too old; I 
have forgotten what hatred lies between the Firstborn's 
childrenwhat prejudice there is" 


"Lady." lan's tone was distinctly displeased; I recalled 
how he had reacted when Ullith had discussed our sup-
posed kinship on the voyage to Atvia. "We are not 
blood-bound, lady. Not Ihlini and Cheysuli." 


"No?" She smiled, shrugged, rewrapped her faded 
shawl. "No, then. As you wish." 


I looked at Serri. Lir7 
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He remained conspicuously silent. Old the woman might 
be, and lacking most of her magic, but the link was 
affected by her nearness to us. 


I caught lan's eye and hooked my head toward the 
door in a silent suggestion. Equally silent, he nodded 
once and rose. We put on pounds of leather and fur 
again, wrapped our faces in wool and pulled up our 
hoods from our shoulders. 


"Lady," I said, "our gratitude. Leijhana tu'sai" 


Unsmiling, she looked at us. "I will give you proof." 


"Proof?" 


"Reason to believe." She pressed herself out of the 
chair. She was tiny, fragile, bowed down with the weight 
of her age. "Proof," she murmured. "My gift to youmy 
gift to Homana" And with amazing accuracy she 
threw the crystal into the fire. 


*Wo/" I leaped for her, trying to catch her in my arms 
as the lifestone fell into the flames, but by the time I 
touched the woman she was only made of dust. Only dust 
in the shape of a woman, and then even that was banished. 


Slowly I opened my hands. Tiny crystals glittered against 
300 


the flesh of my callused palms. Slowly I tipped them; 


dust sifted, drifted, settled against the earthen floor. 


I looked at my brother in silence. 


"Gods" But he stopped. There were no words for 
this. 


He turned and walked out of the croft. 


301 


Four 


There were marks on the doors in Mujhara. At first lan 
and I stared at them blankly in ignorance, and then the 
answer became quite dear. A red slash meant plague was 
in the dwelling. A black one signified death. 


All around us was silence, except for the sounds of our 
horses. Grayish snowdrifts stretched from doorway to door-
way, filmed with grime and ash. Down the center of each 
street was beaten a narrow path of dirty slush over 
frosted, muddy cobbles. Our horses slipped and slid, 
pressing slush into horseshoe-shaped crusts of ice. Behind 
us came Tasha and Serri. 


Though it was midmorning, passers-by were infre-
quent. As they saw us, they huddled more deeply into 
their wrappings and hastened out of our way. I saw 
ward-signs made against our Ur, our horses, ourselves, 


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and realized yet another reason for distrusting Cheysuli had 
acquired significance. Now they feared us for the plague. 


The pewter-colored sky spat snow at us, but fitfully. 
Flakes no larger than the end of my smallest finger 
drifted diagonally across my path of vision, sticking to 
leathers, wool, horsehair, waiting for others to follow. I 
squinted, burrowing bearded chin more deeply into wool; 


the path before my roan was quickly transformed from 
gray to white. 


After so many weeks of riding, not knowing what I 
might find, I discovered I wanted to do it again so the 
answer would be delayed. I did not want to halt at the 
bronze-and-timber gates of Homana-Mujhar and see the 
crimson slash of a plague-house, or the black of a house 
of death. I did not want to look at all; even as lan halted 
before me, I stared steadfastly at the ground. 


"My lord!'* someone cried. 
302 


"My lord prince!" cried another, and the wide gates 
were opened to us. 


I looked up. I saw the leaves of the gate swinging 
;^ slowly open before me. And I saw the red mark upon 
? them. 


"Rujho7" lan waited. And I realized I had not moved 
to enter the outer bailey. 


J "My lord." Someone took my roan's damp rein. "My 
,| lord?" 


I? I bestirred myself to look down at the man. I did not 
^ know his name, but I had seen him frequently around the 


exterior of the palace. One of the Mujharan Guard whose 
^ duty it was to tend the gates. 
^ "No soot," I said. "No soot upon the gate." 
|| "No, my lordnot yfet." 
H "Niall." lan again. "Here is where we part." 


I looked at him in surprise. "You are not going to 
come in with me?" 


"I will go to dankeep. Isolde is there, and others." 
He reined back the gray who wanted to go home to a stable 
he knew. "I will be back as soon as possible, depending" 
He broke off, looked eastward, yanked wool away from 
his face. "Gods, rujho, I am afraid of what I will find." 


Snow gathered on his shoulders and on the rim of his 
hood. There was no sun, only the dim flat light of a winter 
day, so that most of his face was hidden in bluish shadow. 
There was tension in the set of his mouth and jaw; in the 
flesh around his eyes. Freed of the woolen wrappings, his 
breath smoked in the frigid air. 


"No more than / am afraid." I looked past him toward 
the inner bailey. Patiently, the guardsmen waited to close 
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the gate. "Go on," I said abruptly. "Go on. Come back 
when you can." And I rode past him with Serri trotting 
at the roan's right side. 


I did not look back again. And as I passed through the 
outer bailey into the inner, I heard the gates thud closed. 


Boys came running to take my horse, slipping and 
stumbling in the snow-1 flung them the reins and jumped 
down from the roan, thanking him with a slap upon one 
furry shoulder. And then I ran up the steps of the palace 
with Serri loping next to me. 
Gods, litwhat if my sons have taken the plague? 
Do not beg misfortune, lir. See if it is true, first. 
303 


But even Serri's customary wryness did not make me 
feel better. 


My sonsand who else? My mother? 


I thought of everyone as I climbed more stairs inside 
the palace, but I went to see my sons. 


There were women in the nursery, talking quietly as 
they sat and tended their stitchery. But all talk broke off 
as I entered; five women stood as one and then dropped 
into startled curtsies. 


"My sons?" I asked. That only. 


"Well," one of the women answered at once, as the 
others only stared. "My lord, see them for yourself." 


I was already at the oak-and-ivory cradle, hanging on 
to the inlaid run. They slept, did Hart and Brennan, 
swathed in soft-combed wool. There was no sign of ill-
ness about them. 


"They thrive, my lord," the womanCallatold me. 
"You need have no fears for them." 


"And Gisella? My mother?" I could not look away 
from my sleeping sons. 


"Both well, my lord." 


"I saw the mark on the gate. The red mark." Now I 
looked at her. "There is plague in Homana-Mujhar." 


"Aye." She stared down at her hands. In them she 
clasped forgotten stitchery. "My lord, it is the general. 
The Queen is with him now." 


"Rowan?" Ohgodsno "You do not mean Gen-
eral Rowan?*' 


"Aye, my lord, I do." 


A knife blade teased at the interior of my belly. 
"Where?" 


"In his chambers. Tie Queen said to leave him where 
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he would be most comfortable, though others wished to 
lock him away." Calla's face was pale. "My lord." She 
followed on my heels as I turned abruptly to leave the 
nursery. "My lordit would be best if you did not go." 


"So I do not risk myself?" Grimly, I shook my head. 
"For Rowan, it would be worth it." 


But as I turned, determined to go to him, I came face 
to face with Gisella. 


Once again, swollen with the weight of an unborn 
child. Or, perhaps, two? This time I could not be certain. 


Hands clutched a soft wool shawl over her distended 
304 


abdomen. "You did not go m," she said. "Not into the 
nursery!" 


"Gisella." 


"You did not expose my sons to plague?" She was aston-
ished, angry, genuinely frightened. "Niall?" 


"I saw them," I told her gently. "Did you think I 
would stay away?" 


"You exposed them!" She wrenched past me and ran 
to the cradle, even as I turned back from the door. "Oh, 
my boys, my little boys, has he visited you with the 
plague?" Her hands were on the soft wool wrappings, 
peeling them back to expose sleeping faces. And then, 
abruptly, she turned on the other women. "I said he was 
not to come in. I said he was not to be allowed. I said I 
wanted him kept away from my little boys." 


"Gisella." I cut into her diatribe before she could flay 
the white-faced women with her tongue. "Gisella, no one 
in this palace has the right to refuse me the opportunity 
to see my children." 


"/ do!" she cried. "/ dotheir mother! I do not want 
you to touch them. I told these women you were not to 
touch the babies." 


She stood between me and the cradle, warding it with 
her body. How rigidly she stood; how fierce was her 
defiance. And I could not really blame her. 


"I have no plague," I told her. "I promise you, Gisella 
there is no plague in me. Do you think I would wish to 
risk them any more than you?" 


"White wolf," she said. "White wolf. How can you tell 
me you do not carry the plague. You are a white wolf 
-when you take on the shape of your lirf 


"Gisella" 


'Wo/" She stared defiantly at Serri, then transferred it 
to me. "Isayno/" 


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Lir, Serri told me, you cannot battle fear so fierce as 
this. Give her time. Let her see you do not sicken. She will 
accept you then. 


They are my sons, Serri. 


And she is their fehana. Do you think her fear is 
misplaced? Do you think she is wrong to guard them with 
her life? 


Inwardly, I sighed. No. Noperhaps I do not. But I 
might wish the target were other than myself. 
305 


No doubt. But you have just come through a plague-
ridden realm, and everyone knows what your lir-shape is. 


"All right." I said it aloud. "All right, Gisella, I under-
stand. But when you see that I am well, there will be no 
more of these demonstrations against me in the presence 
of my sons," 


Her teeth showed a little. "There is plague,19 she said. 
"Plague all through Homana. Do you think I will risk my 
sons? Do you think I will risk the inheritor of the Lion?"' 


No, I thought she would not. I thought she would risk 
only herself in order to protect the inheritor and his 
brother. Even against their father. 


Mad she might be, but I could not question her desire 
to save her sons. Nor would I disregard her loyalty to the 
Lion. 


I sighed. "Well enough, Gisella. I surrender the battle 
to you." Through the link, I asked Serri to stay with my 
sons; I did not entirely trust Gisella's temper. 


And as she sang a song to my sons, I left the nursery to 
find the sickroom. 


Rowan's chamber was full of shadows. The weight of 
them lay thick upon the furniture and wavered in the 
comers. I smelled the scent of beeswax and the promise 
of coming death. 


My mother's back was to me as I entered noiselessly. I 
saw only the chair and the top of her head above it, 
red-gold hair muted in the dim glow of candlelight. As I 
approached, I saw how she sat very quietly in the chair, 
hands folded in her lap. And when I reached her, I saw 
how rigidly her fingers were locked together. 


I heard how she spoke to him. 


"so faithfully," she was saying. "He had no one as 
faithful as you. Oh, I know, you would argue there was 
Finn, as loyal a liege man as could be, but the loyalty did 
not last. Not as it should have lasted. Not as your loyalty 
lasted." Fingernails picked absently at the soft nap of the 
jade-green wool of her skirts. "I know the story. Rowan: 


how as a boy you swore to serve Carillon as no other 
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man could serve him, even as he was driven from Homana 
by Bellam of Solinde. How you never failed your duty to 
the rightful Prince of Homana. And when he came home 


W 


I-

again, the rightful Mujhar of Homana, you gave him what 
aid you could. You helped him become a king." 


I looked at the man in the bed. Much of him was 
hidden beneath layers of heavy blankets, and I could not 
see his face. I could not see him breathe. 


"And when my father was slain by Osric, and Donal 
became Mujhar, you were there to help him also. To 
help him hold the Lion." I heard the minute wavering of 
her voice. "One day, my son will need you, as the others 
have needed you- How can you leave us now? How can 
you fail Niall?" 


"Mother," I said, and she leaped up from the chair. 


"Niall! Ohgods" She pressed a hand against her 
breast. And then she shook her head. "Oh no, do not 
come here. Not youF^ 


"You are here," I told her. 


"But I will not be Mujhar. Niall, please go back." 


"I owe this man my attendance. As much as you owe 
yours." I stopped beside the chair and looked at the man 
in the bed. "He has served the House of Homana longer 
than anyone I know. It is the least I can do for him." 
She said nothing. I moved past her to the edge of the 
bed. "Doesjehan know?" 


"I had a message sent. But J doubt Donal can come. 
Not in time. The plague waits for no one." 


Indeed, it did not. Rowan's face was gray and very 
gaunt. Even his Ups were gray, but they were also swollen 
and cracked. His breathing was distinctly labored. 


I looked at my mother sharply. "Is there no one we 
can call?" 


"Nothing is left," she told me gently. "What can be 
done has already been done twice over." 


"Is there no kin to share his passing?" 


"He is quite alone," my mother said. "His family was 
all of us." 


Bleakly, I shook my head. "Gods," I said, "what 
sterility. No wife, no children, no clan , . . not even a lir 
to grieve." 


Rowan began to cough. It was a harsh, backing cough, 
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coming from deep in the lungs. Spittle soiled his chin; his 
cracked lips split again and bled. 


I bent over him instantly, smoothing his coverlet in a 
futile bid to soothe his pain, though I knew there was 


nothing for it. The silvering hair was dull and lacking life. 
Pushed back from his face, it bared the fragility of his 
skull, showing the bones beneath the drying flesh. There 
was so little of Rowan left. 


And then he opened his eyes; there was more left than 
I had expected. "My lord," he said, and smiled. "My 
lordyou have been away so long." 


The voice had been ruined by his coughing. He sounded 
nothing like himself. "Aye," I said, "but home now. 
And will stay here, for a while." 


The lids drifted closed, then opened once again. "My 
lord" He drew a rattling breath. "Carillon 


I froze. 


"CariDon, I beg youtake Finn back into your service'* 


I shut my eyes. "Rowan." 


"I know what constitutes an oath ... I know you 
made one, broke one, according to CheysuU tradition 
. . . but make a new tradition. You both need one 
another." 


Looking at him, I saw how it hurt to speak the words. 
And yet he continued to try to speak them. "Rowan, do 
not trouble yourself" But in the end I did not finish. It 
was not for me to tell this man what to do. 


His hand was on my wrist. The fingers were so dry, so 
hot, so oddly insubstantial. Even the calluses were losing 
their customary toughness. "Oh, my lord," he whispered. 
"Oh, my lord, it has been an easy service. I could not 
have asked for a better lord" 


I shut his limp hand up in both of mine. "Nor could I 
have asked for a better friend." 


Rowan's smile was blinding. Tears were in his eyes. 
"Do you recall, my lord? Do you recall the day we 
met?" 


I opened my mouth to urge him into silence; said 
nothing. I let him tell me how he and my grandsire bad 
met. 


"You were in chains," he said- "Thorne of Atvia had 
slain your father and taken you prisonerand me, the 
same day, but I did not count. I was nothingyou were 
the Prince of Homana." He smiled a little; blood welled 
into the cracks in his lips. "And you spoke to meto a 
boy made wretched by captivityand you called us 
kinspirits." A tear rolled down one temple to stain the 


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308 


pillow beneath his head. "But Thome toek you away to 
his father. Keough, and I thought they would slay you. 
And then later, when / was taken, I thought they meant 
to slay me' 


He coughed. His hand tightened in mine. I felt my 
mother next to me. "Rowan," she began, but he went on 
when the spasm had passed, and she did not try to 
dissuade him. 


"It was Keoughit was Keough who would have had 
me slainwhen I spilled the wine . . . Thome would 
have slain me, but you begged for my life. You begged 
for it, my lordyou offered to take my place. . . ." 
Again, he coughed. His hand clutched mine. "Butthey 
did not listen. And I was flogged ... for spilling wine. 
And when Alix rescued me, Iswore then I would serve 
you all my lifeeven when you went into exile." The 
smile brought fresh blood to his'swollen lips. "How I 
wished I could have been Finn . . . when I heard a 
Cheysuli had gone with you, I wished it could have been 
me" 


Breath rattled in his chest. I thought he could not go 
on. 


But he did. "All those yearsall those years I envied 
him his position as liege man to Carillon . . . and yet by 
denying my race as a boyby denying my lirI also 
denied any chance / might have been the warrior you 
trusted so readily. And when he was gonewhen you 
sent him from your serviceI thought I would rejoice 
. . . but I did not. I was not Finn . . . and you needed 
him. You needed us both. . . ." He sighed. "Oh my 
lord, take him back into your service. Homana has need 
of all her children.'* 


His voice stopped. I swallowed heavily. "Rowan 
Cheysuli i'halla shansu." 


He laughed only a little; his voice was nearly gone. 
"Cheysuli peace, for me? But I am a lirless man- . . ." 


"Cheysuli i'halla shansu," 


He lifted his head from the pillow. "Carillon" And 
then it fell back, and I knew he would not speak again. 


I sat there for countless moments, trying to master 
myself. And when I could, I detached his hand from mine 
and set it carefully on the coverlet. It was hard to believe 
309 


he was dead. Hard to believe the hand would never again 
lift a sword in the name of Homana's Mujhars. 


Impossible to believe. 


"I am sorry." My mother touched my shoulder. "But 
surely you understand." 


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"Why he mistook me? Oh, aye . . . and I do not care. 
If it gave him peace to believe I was Carillon, it is a gift I 
would gladly bestow." I rose. I saw the tears on her face. 
"I will see to it arrangements are made." 


"Niall." Her hand closed on my wrist and held me 
back. "It is for others to do." 


I snapped my wrist free of her hand. "If you think I 
will delegate the responsibility for this man's disposal to 
someone else merely because of rank" 


"No," she said clearly. "It has nothing to do with 
rank. If I thought it would bring me peace, I would dig 
the grave myself. But they would never allow me the 
honor." 


"They?" I frowned. "Who would not?" 


She looked past me to the dead man in the bed. "There 
is no choice. It is a time of plague ... a time of new 
and uglytraditions. A time requiring measures ordi-
narily we could refuse. But not even those of the House 
of Homana may ask to be excused." 


"Jehana" 


"They will take him away," she said plainly, "to a 
common grave outside the walls. And there he and the 
others will be put to the torch so the plague will be 
consumed." 


"Not Rowan. He deserves so much more than that" 


"And if it were you," my mother told me, "they would 
do precisely the same. There are no titles in death." 


No. No titles. Nothing but an obscene absence from 
the world. 


I looked at Rowan a final time. And then I drew my 
mother into my arms even as she locked hers around me. 
Together we grieved in silence. Together we offered 
comfort even as it was asked. 


Ja'hai, I said to the gods. Accept this Cheysuli warrior. 


Five 


I labored over the letter as I never had done before, 
trying to find precisely the proper words. It would be 
easy to simply say: Jehan, Rowan is dead, but the man 
was worth more than that. So, I thought, was my father. 


I had thought of having a scribe do the work, saying 
aloud what had happened and letting the other write it 
down, but that lacked privacy. It gave me no chance to 
say what I really felt. So I sat at my father's table and 
wrote it out myself. 


And as I signed my name, my brother came into the 
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room. 


"lan." Quickly, I sanded the parchment, shook it, set 
it carefully aside. "How does 'Solde fare? How bad is the 
plague in dankeep?" 


"I had forgotten," he said. "I had forgotten she was to 
bear a child." 


I sat back in my chair. "By the godsso had IF 


"Well, it was a boy. Four months ago. 'Solde named 
him Tieman." 


I would have smiled, but there was a question I had to 
ask before I expressed my pleasure. "A healthy child? 
And Solde?" 


"Healthy child? Aye." He nodded. He shrugged. <tCe^m 
said the birth was easy. But the plague has taken 'Solde." 


I did not move. I could not. I sat in my chair and 
stared at the stranger who stood before me. 


"Last night," he said listlessly. "Last night, as Tiernan 
cried for the breast she could not give himthe plague 
had dried her milk." 


Shock was a buffer between comprehension and grief. 
"Not 'Soldo" I said; I begged. "lannot Isolde" 
311 


I waited. I watched. I knew he would deny it. lan had 
to deny it. This was all part of the same obscene jest 
fostered by Strahan upon us. I waited. I waited for lan to 
admit it; to say Isolde lived. 


But he did not. He wandered aimlessly into my fa-
ther's private chamber. Tasha, following, flopped down 
beside a storage trunk even as lan sat down on the lid. "I 
watched it, rujho. I just watched. There was nothing I 
could do." 


Nonot Isolde 


"I thought perhaps the earth magic might help to turn 
the plague away. But nothing answered. Nothing came at 
my call." He sounded weary, confused, remote, as if the 
death had taken away more than just Isolde, "I watched 
and knew there was nothing I could do." 


"No." I saw Rowan's face before me, his gaunt gray 
face clad in the somber flesh of death. "No, there is 
nothing." 


"The baby cried. Ceinn cried. But Isolde slipped away." 
And then suddenly his listlessness was banished and I 
saw the ragged blossoming of his grief. 'Woshe did not 
slip away! She was taken from us! Like a lamb caught in 
a bear-trap." 


I shoved my chair back and, crossed the chamber to 
him. But even as I reachedout, intending to grasp his 


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shoulder, lan rose and pushed my hand away. He brushed 
by me almost roughly; I watched him stalk to the fire-
place and stare into the flames. The line of his shoulders 
was incredibly rigid. 


It is not a Cheysuli custom to openly acknowledge grief. 


But I had seen him acknowledge other things without a 
qualm, flouting Cheysuli custom. 


He and Isolde had always been close. Closer than 
'Solde and I; they had shared jehan and jehana. And I 
wondered: Perhaps it is an indication of how deeply he 
feels this grief, that he cannot share it with me. 


"Ceinn is inconsolable." 


I saw 'Solde before me, in the rain, clad in crimson 
wool and the brightness of her spirit. How she had loved 
the rain. How she had loved the children. How she had 
loved Ceinn, 


Still his back was to me. But I knew better than to go 
to him. "And you?" 


Slowly he turned, but not before I saw the telltale 
gesture of hand pressing tears away from flesh. "Forgive 
me. I have no right to be selfish, rujho ... she was your 
rujholla, too.*' 


"Aye." I drew in a steadying breath. "Rowan is dead 
as well." 


"Oh" he said, when he could, "oh, gods, but how 
keenly Strahan strikes!" Uke me, he sucked in an un-
even breath. "Niallit is worse. Much worse than we 
imagined. The plague has slain half our numbers." 


"Half?" All the flesh stood up on my bones. "Half of 
us are dead?" 


"At least. They have not counted properly, but they 
tally what they can. Each day, there are no less than 
three new deaths. And that is not counting the lir." 


It was my turn to sit down on the trunk lid. Half. Half 
of our clan only? Or of the Cheysuli as a whole? 


I asked him. His eyes were bleak. "Our clan has lost 
half. But the others send word of additional deaths. I 
think we can say half of all elans are dead. Strahan 
begins his own qu'mahlin." 


Half of all the Cheysuli. 


I thought of Shaine, our ancestor, who had nearly 
destroyed a race. I thought of. Carillon, who had come 
home from exile to end a tyrant's reign and end the 
qu'mahlin as well. I thought of how the clans had in-
creased until they had divided, living in freedom again, 
building Keeps where they wished to build them, raising 


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children in tranquility. 


Half of all the Cheysuli. 


Taken by Strahan's plague. 


Gods, deliver us from the Ihlini. "The old woman," I 
said suddenly. "The old Ihlini woman. She had the right 
of it. This thing is bom of evil. Bom of Asar-Suti." 


"There was another thing she said." His tone was hard 
as iron. "There was a thing she said we must do." 


1 looked at him. "We will go to Strahan's fortress." 


In silence, lan nodded. 


"His lifestone," I said intently. "That, or slay the 
white wolf." I looked over at the table. The parchment 
lacked my seal. But I knew now I would not send it. I 
would have to send another. "lanit is late, I know . . . 
but will you ask for the council to be summoned?those 
313 


members who are here. If we are to go in the morning, I 
must name my heir.** 


"Without jehanr' 


I shook my head. "We cannot wait for him. And even 
if he diri come, he would say we could not go." I shrugged. 
"An informal council, perhaps, and a more informal 
acclamation, but one that must be made. The Lion must 
remain secure." 


"Aye.*' He turned to go. And then he paused. "What 
win you say to the Queen?*' 


What would I say to my mother? I sighed. "I wffl 
think of something. 


In the end, I simply said I was going. I told her when. I 
told her why. I told her what must be done. And I waited. 
For refusals, anger, tears. But she gave me none of those 
things. 


"Go," she said. "Do what you must do.'* 


I waited. But she said nothing more. In the end, it was 
up to me. "JeAaBtf?" I shrugged a little beneath her calm 
gray gaze. "Ithought you would forbid it.'* 


She sat in a cushioned chair, swathed in a bronze-
colored robe. She had prepared herself for bed; the 
glorious hair, unbound, spilled about her shoulders and 
gathered in her tap. 


"No," she said. 'The realm is near to ruin. There will 
be nothing left for Donalnothing left for you. Some-
thing must be done. Strahan must be stopped." 


Still, I waited. Anticipating all manner of remonstra-
tions, I had come prepared. My verbal quiver was full of 


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arrows. But she had stolen my bow. 


"lan, too?*' she asked. 


"Of course." 


"And the fir." She nodded. "I can think of no two 
warriors better equipped for this confrontation.** 


I smiled a little. "Such faith." 


"You are both of you Donal's sons. I think it is not 
misplaced.** 


After a moment, I drew in a quiet breath. "lan has 
called the council. Before I go, I must name Brennan as 
my heir. And Hart as Brennan's heir." 


My mother nodded. Her face was oddly serene. "You 
are a wealthy man. Two sons to guard the Lion." 
314 


I knew she had always regretted her barrenness. One 
son. Not enough, not nearly enough, when war lives on 
your doorstep. But the House ofHomana had nearly 
always been poor in sons; she should hardly blame 
herself. 


Two sons. Aye, I was a wealthy man. Perhaps now the 
tradition changed. I claimed two heirs already, and Gisella 
was nearly due to deliver another child. 


I went to my mother. I bent, cupped her head in my 
hands, kissed her smooth, fair brow. "Tahlmorra," I told 
her gently. 


She smiled. Squeezed my hands, then let them go. 
"Cheysuli i'halla shansu." 


I smiled. I wanted to laugh out loud; to tell her how 
accented was her Old Tongue, but I did not. I think she 
knew. And so, in silence, I went to open the door. And at 
the door, briefly, I turned back, to wish her a final 
goodbye; to thank her for her strength. 


But I said nothing at all, watching the tears run down 
her face. And then I went out of the room. 


Gisella stared at me. "Strahan?" she said. "You are 
going to find the Ihlini?" 


"Find him. Slay him, if I can. He must be destroyed." 


Her yellow eyes were very wide and startled; she was a 
child, I thought, afraid of losing something. "You are 
leaving me." 


I sighed. "No," I told her. "No. Not permanently. I 
will be back, if the gods are willing." 


She sat in the center of her big tester bed, crumpling 
the coverlet into ruin with rigid, clawlike fingers. "You 
are leaving me. Because I am not like Deirdre of Erinn." 


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Gods, how she knew to provoke the pain. "I am going 
to stop this plague," I told her harshly. "It has nothing to 
do with you. Nothing to do with Deirdre. How can it, 
Gisella? Deirdre of Erinn is dead!" 


"And if you go, you will be dead." Awkwardly, she 
scrambled forward to grab my hand. She pressed it against 
the mound of her swollen belly. "Stay here. Stay here. 
Stay here." 


"GisellaI cannot. It is a thing I have sworn to do." 


"Stay here. Stay here. Stay here." 
315 


I tried to detach my hand, but she hung on with all her 
strength. 


"stay herestay herestay here" 


"No," I told her. "No." 


But I knew she could not bear me. The chanting had 
grown too loud. 


Beneath my hand, the child moved. 


"stay herestay herestay here" 


Gods, my child moves 


"stay herestay here" 


Child or no, I broke her grip. Because I had to. 


I stood up. Moved away from the bed. 


The chanting abruptly broke off. 


Gisella began to rock. Gisella began to sing. 


1 closed the door on her song. 


I faced what remained of the council in one of my 
father's audience chambers. It was not the same chamber 
that had borne witness to the murders of Same and Eiek, 
but it was enough like it to instantly set the memories 
before our eyes. I saw glances exchanged among the 
Homanans as I took my place in a chair upon the dais, 
and knew precisely what they recalled. Precisely what 
they thought. 


lan stood beside my chair. He did not sit, though he 
had the right; though a second chair stood empty. He 
stood. As if to illustrate the reality of my rank, and my 
right to call the assembly in the absence of the Mujhar. 


Old men, most of them, or hampered by illness and 
ancient injuries. Those who were young enough, strong 
enough, competent enough had assumed their places with 
the armies. But these men were enough, I knew, to bear 
witness to my announcement. 


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I leaned forward a little. I felt Serri's warmth and 
weight against my foot; he lay beside the chair. "This 
plague is not happenstance," I told them. "Not a cruel 
test devised by the gods and visited upon us. It is Ihlini 
treachery, meant to strip Homana of the Cheysuli." 


Once again, sidelong glances were exchanged. And I 
knew what some of them meant: strip Homana of the 
Cheysuli, and the land is Homanan again. 


"In the morning," I told them, "I will leave Mujhara. 
lan and I are bound for Solinde across the Bluetooth 
316 


River, across the Northern Wastes. We seek Valgaard, 
Strahan's fortress- We seek the root of this demon-plague." 


"My lord." One of the councillors rose. "What does 
the Mujhar say to this?" 


"There is no time to inform him before we go. He will 
be told, of coursebut lan and I will be gone." 


I heard murmuring. I heard low-voiced comments made. 
I knew what many of them were thinking. And I knew I 
would have to gainsay it. 


"You have served the Mujhar well," I told them. 
"And, gods willing, you will serve me equally well when 
the time is come. But for this moment we must look 
farther down the road and see another man who is meant 
for the Lion Throne." 


They were silent now, staring at me attentively. 


"Carillon," I said. "Carillon betrothed his Homanan-
Solindish daughter to a Cheysuli warrior. He did it be-
cause he had to. He did it because he was meant to, to 
make certain the throne was secured. And, in time, a son 
was bom to the Prince and Princess of Homana, and the 
Lion was secured." I drew in a steadying breath. "A son 
has been born to the son; a boy intended for the Uon. 
And I will not leave this place until your loyalty is sworn." 


Another of the councillors, rose. "My lord, this is 
unnecessary!" 


"Is it?" I shook my head. "K I am slain, there must be 
an heir for my father. In my place, I put my son. He will 
assume the title if Strahan takes it from me." 


"My lord" 


"I require it," I said quietly. "I am not blind to the 
knowledge I may be slain, or the threat offered by Caril-
lon's bastard. My first responsibility is owed to my fa-
ther, my second one to the throne. My third to the 
prophecy." I knew they were one and the same, and 
equally important, but I thought it would please the 
Homanans if I made each one separate. "It is not so 
much," I told them. "Surely it is a loyalty you would 
offer one day anyway. Why not do it now?" 


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When no one offered argument, I took it for acquiescence. 
And so I signaled to the guard at the door, who 
stepped outside a moment, and then the door was opened. 
Two women came in with my sons. 


They brought them to the dais, where I bade the women 
317 


to face the assembly. Two swaddled bundles, hardly 
enough to cany the titles I would give them. But I knew 
it could be done. I had done it myself. 


I rose, rounded the end of the table, took my place 
between the women. One hand I placed on Brennan's 
head. The other I placed on Hart's. "Before the gods of 
Homana and the Oleysuli, I pledge the lives of my sons 
into the service of the Lion; into the service of Homana. 
My firstborn, Brennan, I acknowledge as my heir; he will 
be Prince of Homana. My second son, Hart, I acknowledge 
as Brennan's heir until such a time as Brennan weds 
and sires his own. He will be Prince of Solinde." 


I saw the startled expressions; heard the startled exclamations. 
But what better way of stating my confidence in 
the army than by making Hart prince of a realm we 
fought? 


Beneath my hands the smooth soft brows were cool. "I 
request these acknowledgements be formally accepted by 
the Homanan Council. I request that fealty be sworn." 


They could refuse me, each and every man. I had no 
power over them; I was not Mujhar. Such a request is 
more ordinarily made by the king, but my father was not 
present. B nothing else, my request was a test of their 
loyally to me. And I think each one of them knew-it. 


It was lan who took the oath first. He left his place 
beside my empty chair and came around the table with 
Tasha at his side. He stopped in front of the dais where I 
stood between the women who held my sons. He drew 
his Cheysuli knife from its rune-worked sheath, kissed 
the hilt and blade, then bent to kiss each of my sons. He 
was my liege man, but he offered them his service also. 
He offered them bis life. 


He stepped aside. And one by one, slowly, what was 
left of the Council came forward. My sons were acknowledged 
my heirs; the Lion was secured. 


If the gods see fit to take me, my death will not be in 
vain. 


318 


Six 


Twelve days out of Mujhara, Ian*s stallion broke a foreleg- 
Crashing through crusted snow to treacherous deadfall 
beneath, the gray. snapped ha leg and threw my 
brother as he fell. lan dug himself out of the snow 
quickly enough, but the stallion was not so lucky. 


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I said nothing. I watched, hunched in my saddle, as 
lan knelt down and cut the stallion's jugular. And then, 
as the bright life spilled into the snow, lan stroked the 
speckled jaw and spoke quietly to the gray until the life 
was spent. 


He rose. His boots were sodden with blood. He unlaced 
the saddlepacks and tugged them free of the fallen horse, 
then pushed through the snow to me. 


I reached down to catch the packs as he handed them 
up. "I am sorry." 


"Better the horse than me." But beneath the brutal 
candor I heard the trace of genuine grief. 


I draped the packs across the pommel in front of my 
thighs and kicked free of my left stirrup. lan stepped up, 
swung a leg across the roan's wide rump, settled himself 
behind me. "We will buy another," I told him. 


"We will have to," he agreed. "Or risk slaying this one 
with too great a burden in heavy going." 


I watched as Tasha and Serri ran ahead to break a 
trail. "There will be another," I told him confidently. 


There was not. It crossed my mind we should turn 
back, to go home for another horse. But we were two 
weeks out of Mujhara; the choice had been taken from 
me. It was unlikely my own horse would survive even the 
journey home again. 


Eighteen days out of Mujhara, the roan died even as 
we dismounted. Although during the shapechange we 
could store in the earth such things as clothing, weapons, 
packsperishables would spoil. And so we did not bother 
to carry the packs. In fir-shape, we went on. 


Five days later, lan began to cough. And as we neared 
the Bluetooth he fell markedly behind. I stopped, turned 
back, looked for two cats and saw only one; saw my 
brother on hands and knees. 


In wolf-shape I ran back to him, but as a human I 
knelt beside him. "lan!" 


He clawed wool from his face and coughed, spitting 
into the snow. His breathing was loud, labored, rattling 
in his chest. I heard a sound I had heard before. I saw a 
face I had seen before. 


Rowan's before he died. "Oh gods" I said, "oh, 
no' 


He knelt in the snow, coughing; obscene obeisance to 
the plague. His face was deathly gray, filmed with sweat; 


his Ups had begun to swell. His eyes were mostly black. 


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"Nono" I cried, "not lan' 


He coughed. His eyes glittered with fever. Sweat damp-
ened his hair and dripped into the snow. 


I thought of Rowan. I thought of Isolde. Pain enough, 
in those deaths. More than enough grief. But I could not 
begin to consider what life would be like without lan. 


Not againgods, not againI have already done it 
once. I could not bear it again "Serri!" The wolf was at 
my side. "Serrifind shelter! Any sort; it does not mat-
ter. But let it be warm and out of the wind." 


Even as the wolf sped through the snow lan tried to 
call him back. "No," he croaked. "Nialldo not bother." 


"No bother," I told him. "You would do the same for 
me." 


He coughed. It rose from the deepest portion of his 
chest and brought up foulness with it. Fingers clawed at 
his throat; freed at last of the woolen wrappings, the swollen 
buboes were plain to see. 


Frenziedly I dragged him up from the ground. Even as 
he protested, I half carried him to the nearest tree. There 
320 


.\Vi 
M 
^'. 


I. 
r 
I settled him, putting his back against the trunk, and 
wrapped his throat again. 


He coughed. Gods, how he coughed, and it ripped his 
chest apart. Lips split, bled, crusted, split and bled again. 
His face was a mask of pain. 


Do not take him, I begged the gods. Do not take my 
brother. Once already I feared he was deaddo not make 
me go through it again 


His eyes were closed, but he did not sleep. He simply 
breathed, as Rowan had breathed. And each time the 
rattle stopped, I prayed it would start again. 


Oh godsnot fanbetter me instead 


1 thought he might be cold, even with Tasha pressing 
herself against one side- And so I took on the shape of 
wolf and warded his other side. I waited for Serri to 
come. 


It was later, much later. A place, lir. A dwelling near 
the river. 


It took us hours. I stumbled, weaved, staggered be-
neath the weight of my brother. lan did what he could to 


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help, but he was so ill and so weak he only made things 
worse. Tasha and Serri ran ahead yet again, breaking a 
track as best they could, and at-last I saw the glimmer of 
lantern light through the close-grown trees. 


"There," I told lan. "You see? I have brought you to 
safety." 


"Who would succor a man with plague?" he asked in 
his ruined voice. 


"Someone will. I promise." 0 gods, I beg you-^deliver 
my brother from this 


We staggered onward. And at last we were free of the 
trees- The dwelling was very small, a stone hut with 
thatched roof huddling against the snow-cloaked shoulder 
of a mountain. Beyond it lay the Bluetooth. 


"The ferry-master's," I gasped. 


lan sagged. I fell as he fell, pulled off balance, and felt 
myself swallowed by the snow. I was so weary, too weary, 
I struggled up with effort. 


My brother was unconscious. Serri and Tasba instantly 
wrapped themselves around his body as they had throughout 
the journey to the dweling, whenever we had stopped. 
I got up unsteadily and staggered to the door. 
321 


"Ferry-master!" I called. "Master1 need your help!" 
I fell against the door, banged my gloved fist on the 
wood. "Ferry-master" 


The door was pulled open even as I thrust myself 
aside. I saw a blur of graying mouse-brown hair, brown 
eyes, a face creased by winter chafing. "Nae, nae, ye'll 
nae be needin' me," the man told me in a thick northern 
dialect. "Yon beast be frozen- A man may walk across, 
wi' nae need o' my ferry." ; 


"No." I said. "No, I need no ferry. I need your help'* 


"My help?" He frowned. 


"My brother" Leaning against the cold stone wall of 
the hut, I gestured toward the fy-shrouded shape of my 
brother. "He is ill." 


"Cheysuli," the ferryman said sharply. "It be plague, 
then, aye?" 


"I need your help," I begged. "Warmth, shelter, food, 
drinkis it so much to ask? I can even pay you" 


"He'll likely die oft," the ferry-master told me flatly, 


I could barely stand up myself. "Then let him die in a 
bed beneath a roof!" I cried. "Let him die as a man!" 


Brown eyes studied me fiercely a moment. Then he 
stared past me to lan. At last he hawked, spat out the 


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door, wiped his mouth and nodded. "Aye. Aye. Ye nae 
the right oftisna my place to turn away a sick man. 
Coom then, lad, we'll bring him under yon roof." 


We brought him under 'yon roof and settled him in 
the ferry-master's cot. I shook with a fatigue so deep it 
nearly made me helpless. As it was, the ferry-master 
tended lan more than I myself did. He stripped my 
brother of his furs and settled hot cloth-wrapped stones 
against his flesh and covered him up again. 


As I bent to look at lan, the ferryman jerked his head 
toward me. "Sit ye doon, boy, afore ye fall doon and 
crack yon head. 1*11 get ye food and usca." 


Lir, do as he says, Serri told me, pressing against my 
leg. He guided me to a chair near the cot. 


Nodding weakly, I fell into the chair. It was roughly 
made, uncomfortable, but it supported my weary body. 
"Usca," I said. "You have usca here?" 


The ferry-master moved to a shelf pegged into the 
wall. He caught down earthenware jug and two dented 
pewter mugs. "Aye. Yon ferry be the on'y one on the 
322 


river road out of the Mujhar's city. There be a road from 
Ellas as well, and a trade route into Solinde. Most days I 
see men, I see their goods as well." He poured, held one 
mug out to me. "I hae other drink, but this one warms a 
man's sou! faster. I keep usca for the cold." 


Indeed, it wanned my soul, and everything else be-
sides. I slumped in the chair and sipped, taking strength 
from the bite of the liquor. It burned all the way down to 
my belly, but it gave me life again. 


I pulled myself up in the chair and leaned to look more 
closely at lan. Tasha lay just beside the cot, eyes locked 
on Ian*s face. He did not move except to breathe; I 
heard the rattle in his chest. 


Oh godsI beg you 


"Be bad," the ferryman said. "I've seen men die oft 
afore." 


"So have I." I thrust one hand into Serri's pelt and 
tried to take hope from him. "Master" 


"My name be Padgett," the ferryman told me. "Nae 
master, me. Jus' Padgett." 


"Padgett.'* I smiled a little and slumped back again in 
the chair. "I must trust you with his life. I cannot stay 
here to nurse him." 


The dark brown eyes narrowed shrewdly. "I've been 
on yon beast near thirty years- I've seen a thing or two, 
but ne'er a man journeying in such weather. What do ye 
do it for?" 


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The usca threatened to put me to sleep. "The plague," 
I said thickly. "Strahan. I must stop him before he slays 
more of my racebefore he destroys Homana." 


Padgett's surprise was manifest. "This plague be 'liai-
made, then? Not a thing o' the gods?" 


"Strahan's," I said succinctly. "A thing of Asar-Suti." 


Padgett's brows rose, then knitted as he frowned. He 
sat down on a stool and picked at a blackened thumbnail 
in consternation. "They've ne'er done a thing to me," he 
said quietly. "Oh, ayea man could say they hae need 
o' yon ferry, but they be sorcerers. They canna fly, but 
there are other ways." He sighed and looked at lan. 
"Folk say the 'lini are evil, and most'y I gie a nod o' 
the head and go onbecause they ne'er done me any 
harm. Butplague" He shook his head. "Plague be 
unco' bad. If Strahan turns his hand to hannin' the folk 
323 


o' HomanaCheysuli, Homanan, whate'erI want nae 
truck with them." He sighed pensively. "Go where ye 
will, lad. I'll do what I can for yon boy." 


Boy. lan was nearly twenty-five. It made me smile, but 
then the smile died. I did not want my brother to be this 
age forever, become only a memory. 


"Our coin is gone," 1 said, stripping the signet from 
my finger, "but there is this in place of gold." I tossed 
him the ring. "If you save him, ferry-master, be certain I 
will give you more than simple trinkets." 


Padgett turned the ring in the firelight, squinting to 
study the incised rampant lion. And then he swore aloud. 
"Simple trinket? This? I know what this is, boyhow did 
ye coom by it?" 


I smiled. "My father gave it to me." 


"And does he steal from the Mujhar himself?" 


"No." I shook my head. 


Padgett stared at the ring. "I saw one like this on 
another man's hand. But then I dinna know itI thought 
it on'y a ring. 'Twas another man, a soldier in royal 
liv'ry, who told me what it was." He turned it; the ruby 
glowed in the light. "A long time ago" He broke off. 
He looked at lan and frowned. He rose, went closer, 
frowned again, and then, in amazement, he swore. "Hae 
ye turned back years, then, lad? Hae ye kept the Mujhar 
young as the 'lini keep themselves?" He looked at me- "I 
saw the Mujhar once, near twenty year ago. This ring 
was on his handthis face was on his face." 


"Well," I said, "lan is his son. The resemblance is not 
surprising." 


Padgett frowned. "Ye called this boy your brother," J|| 


"Aye."  H 
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"And this ring is from your father." jt 
"Aye." ^ 
Padgett opened his mouth, shut it. Then he shook his 
head. "I canna tak' it, lad. No' from the Prince o' 
Homana." ^ 
f, 
Hjp 


The ring lay in his hand. But I did not take it from ^ 
him. "K you keep my brother alive, even that is not ,& 
payment enough!" ^ 


"My lord" t-

I thrust myself up from the chair and went to kneel by ^ 
324 ,^ 


lan. I did not look at Padgett. "If you will not keep it, 
give it to someone else. But that is my payment to you." 


After a moment of silence, I glanced back. Padgett's 
hand shook a little. The ring rolled once in his palm. 
Then he shut his fingers on it and turned away from me. 


I caressed Tasha's sleek head and tried to comfort her. 
I knew she was in fear. I could see it in her eyes. 


// the ferryman can keep my brother alive, I swear, if I 
could, I would offer him half of Homana. 


Serri tucked his head under my elbow and pressed 
against my side. You will need it, lir. As a legacy for your 
sons. 


And sfStrahan destroys Homana? What legacy is that? 


It is for you to determine, lir. The question will be 
answered. 


I sighed. I rose. I turned away from lan. "In the 
morning, I go on." 


I heard Padgett's indrawn breath of shock. "So soon 
ye leave your brother?" 


"I have no choice!" I said defensively; the guilt was a 
weight in my belly. "lan himself would be the first to tell 
me that Homana is more important. That she is worth 
the sacrifice." Inwardly I disagreed; I thought nothing 
was worth the life of my brother. But he would say there 
was, and so I would respect his wishes. 


"What do I tell them, then?" Padgett demanded. "What 
do / say to them if this man dies, and the Prince o* 
Homana doesna coom back?" 


I looked at Tasha- She lay so still by the cot, maintain-
ing a silent vigil. I thought of lan, dead, and his lir 
sentenced also to death. I thought of my father, lacking 
both of Sorcha's children. And I thought of myself, 
brotheriess 


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I shut off the thought at once. "Tell them the truth," I 
said. "They know where we have gone. They know the 
risks involved." 


"Do you?" 


Oh, aye, I thought I did. And I was willing to take 
them. 


I knew I had to take them. For lan as well as Homana. 


325 


Seven 


"Would you know?'* Serri and I stood on the southern 
bank of the Bluetooth. "Would you know if my brother 
died?" 


My lir stared across the expanse of ice-choked river. 
His green-gold eyes were slitted; I thought he avoided an 
answer. 


"Serri" 


Not if he died. But if he did, Tasha would also die 
that I would know at once. 


I turned back and stared at the trees that hid Padgett's 
tiny hut. All I could see was a smudge of bluish smoke 
drifting above the bare-branched limbs. 


Oh godsif I leave himif I leave him and he dies 


Resolutely I turned away and stared blindly across the 
river. "Come," I said, "we must go." And I blurred into 
my wolf-shape. 


We went north, fighting the winds and snows. Behind 
us lay the Bluetooth; we traversed the Northern Wastes. 
Around us rose bleak walls of slate and indigo, the 
backbone of the world. Here there were no trees but 
wind-wracked scrub and brush. No grass, no dirt, no 
turf, only layers of blue-white ice locked beneath windcarved 
layers of crusted snow. 


We climbed. Where men could not go we could, picking 
our way through narrow traceries cutting through 
turreted mountains and wind-honed rock. Our coats thickened, 
our pads toughened, our eyes remained' perpetually 
slitted. But we knew we would not turn back. 


Forests thinned, fell away far below us. The mountains 
became little more than upward thrustings of barren rock, 
blank and blue in the howling winds. 
326 


^ 


I 


Higher. Higher still. And then we were through the 
Molon Pass and into another realm, climbing down out 


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of the Wastes of Homana into the canyons ofSolinde. 


Serri, I said, my brother? 


We are too far for me to ask. 


But you would know sf Tasha died. 


I would know if Tasha died. 


Small enough comfort. But it was something; I did not 
overtook it. 


The mountains began to shift their shapes. The slate-
blue shadows of Homanan rock took on a darker, more 
menacing aspect. There were trees again, but twisted, 
deformed by cruel winds. Roots burst free of the soil. 
Bare, blackened roots, twisting across stone like a tangle 
of tapestry yam. And-I began to see shapes in the rocfcs. 
Avid faces, gaping mouths, the bulging of eyes in terror. 


It made the hair on my neck rise. Lir 


Ihlini, Serri said. They mock us with their stone 
menagerie. 


Beasts. Hideous, horrible beasts, all locked in black-
ened stone. I felt my hackles rise; my lips curled back to 
bare my teeth in a visceral, wolfish snarl. 


Serri 


Ahead, lir. Valgaard lies ahead. 


Through a narrow defile into the canyon beyond. And 
there, abruptly, was Valgaard, thrusting out of the earth 
in a gout of glass-black stone. Curtain walls, towers, 
parapets, all forming one wall of the canyon. It put me in 
mind of a massive bird, wings outspread to enfold the 
world. 


How it broods. How it makes the canyon its mews. 


Sheer wails Jutted upward over our heads. We were 
small, so small, so insignificant in the ordering of the 
world. Valgaard crouched before us, cloaked m rising 
smoke. 


My lips drew back. Godshow it stinks. 


The breath of the god, Serri told me. The stench of 
Asar-Suti. 


It was a field of folded stone, spreading out in all 
directions. There were waves, curls, bubbles, but all was 
made of rock. An ocean of steaming stone. 


"Serrisomething is wrong" 


What is right about the Ihlini? 


I shuddered. I was not cold; winter had been banished. 
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Behind us lay the defile and beyond that the wind-wracked 
walls of basalt. But here there was nothing but warmth. 
A cloying, putrid warmth that made me want to vomit. 


Sent 1 said. Serri, the link is fading 


Too close, he told me. Too close to the Ihlini. 


We were. I could feel the weakening of the link, the 
dilution of the power that lent me the ability to shape-
change. Even as I concentrated, trying to keep myself 
whole, I felt the magic fading. I felt myself caught between. 


Serri! 


I felt the power drain away like so much spilling wine. 
It splashed against the ground; was turned into hissing 
steam. And then dispersed upon the air and blown out of 
Valgaard's bailey. 


Abruptly, too abruptly, I was wrenched out of my 
fir-shape and thrown back into human form. But the 
transference was too sudden, too overwhelming for me to 
withstand. 


I cried out. It started as a howl, ended as a scream. 


Stone bit into my face. I tasted sulfur, salt, iron. I 
tasted the spittle of the god. It made me spit out my 
own. 


I pressed myself up from the ground. I was a man 
again, booted, furred, armed with sword and bow and 
knife. But I knewgods, how I knewI needed none of 
the weapons. This was Strahan's domain, the Gate of the 
god himself. Nothing but wits could ward me against 
their power. 


The stone was warm beneath my bootsoles. The field 
stretching before me was pocked with vents that vomited 
steam into the air. Valgaard was wreathed in smoke. 


"Gods," I breathed, "look at that. Look at the hounds 
who guard the lair." 


Hounds? I could not be certain. They were beasts, but 
none that I could name. Merely shapes. Merely things. 
Extremeties only hinted at; formlessness made whole. 


Inert, they waited like black-glass gamepieces upon the 
dark board of Asar-Suti. 


I shut my eyes. Gods1 am so frightened 


But I knew what I had to do. 


"Serri." I looked down at him, then knelt and swept 
him into my arms. "Li'r, I must ask you to stay here." 


Here? Serri's tone was only a thread within my mind, 
the merest shadow of die link. And fading even as we 
conversed. My task is to go wish you. 


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"Not this time. This time, your task is to stay behind. I 
cannot take you with me." 


Ur 


"I dare not risk us both. Thy. is for me to do.'* 


He pushed his nose against my neck. Lir 


"Serri, say you will stay. Say you will wait for me." 


But if all goes wrong 


"If all goes wrong, at least you will retain your free-
dom. You are young yet, even by human standards; you 
will not be given to death.'* 


This is not part of your tahlmorra. 


"I make it a part of it." I bugged him firmly. "There is 
a chance, albeit a small one. But perhaps it will be 
enough. Perhaps he will be content." I unwound my 
arms from his neck. "Say you will stay, Serri. Say you 
will wait for me here." 


Serri's tail drooped. He laid his ears flat back. The 
tone was only a whisper: / will wait. What else is there to 
do? 


Serri But the link was broken-

I left him. I stepped out from the defile into the field 
of steam and stone and did not look back at my lir. The 
link was utterly banished; there was nothing binding us 
now. Only the knowledge of what we were. 


Of what there had been between us. 


Strahan smiled. "Somewhat belatedly, you accept my 
invitation." 


"I thought never to accept it at all." 


He nodded. "People do change. Even princes." He 
sipped wine. "All men eventually grow up." 


"Will you?" 


We confronted one another in one of Valgaard's tower 
rooms- The black walls were curved, cylindrical, polished 
to glassy brilliance. Tapestries cut the chill; one quick 
glance had showed me I did not wish to see what pictures 
were in the yarns. Something that shrieked of demons 
and the god of the netherworld. 


Strahan sat. I stood. It was a measure of the cir-

cumstances. 


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"Will I?" the Ihlini echoed. "Well, perhaps-^ de-
pends on how I feel." He sipped again at his wme. I had 
been offered a cup of my own, but had not accepted. "It 
is not closed to you, Niall: the ability to turn back the 
years. No more than to anyone else; mind you, I do not 
make the mistake of inviting you to join me." He grinned. 
"I know better. I know you would never do it. But there 
is an opportunity, for those who desire the power." 


"And how many have accepted?" 


'This year? Or last? Or all the years of the past?" He 
set the cup down on a table and rose, thrusting himself 
out of his chair. He wore hunting leathers, brown ones, 
and more than a trifle scuffed. His long black hair, spill-
ing over his shoulders, was glossy and fine as a woman's, 
and held back by a circlet of beaten bronze. There were 
shapes in the metal, odd shapes, much as there were 
shapes in the ill-made stones in the field of the breath of 
me god. *'So, Niallyou come to me in hopes I will put 
an end to my plague." 


I watched him. He rummaged in a rune-carved trunk 
with curving lid. He did not look so much a sorcerer as 
he did a distracted student, having lost a favorite book. 


This is Strahan, I reminded myself, most powerful of 
all the Iklini. Be not misled by the face he wears or the 
platitudes in his mouth. 


"And I ask you: why? Why should I wish to end my 
plague?" 


My plague. Was he so pleased by it, then? Did he 
consider it a thing of which to be proud? 


Aye. He probably did. "If ending it gave you some-
thing in return, it might be worth it for you." 


"But only if the thing was a thing of value." Still he 
rummaged through the trunk, only absently paying atten-
tion to what I said. 


It was disconcerting. He acted more man than sorcerer; 


more human than demon-born. "I think it might be," I 
told him. "You wanted it once, thoughout of perversity? 
you did not take it then." 


He stopped rummaging. Straightened. Turned. Looked 
at me thoughtfully. "Willingly you came here." 


"I was not forcednot physically. But it was you who 
brought me here. You did tell me I would come; now, of 
course, I have." 


"Willingly you came here." Now he did not smile. 
"Andwillinglyyou offer yourself to me?" 


I had forgotten how eerie were his eyes, how uncanny 
in their mismatched brown and blue. He stared, did 
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Strahan; he waited. And I knew not what to say. 


He turned back to the trunk. Reached in yet again, 
drew something forth. I could not see it. He shut it up in 
a hand. 


"Strahan" 


"I have listened," he said. "I have heard. But I think 
you are mistaken." He closed the lid of the trunk. I 
heard the catch click shut. 


I wanted Serri. I wanted lan. I wanted free of this 
place. 


I wet my paper-dry lips. "There was the night you 
came to Mujhara. For me, you said you came. And it 
was then you told me not to wed Gisella." 


"Aye." He shrugged. "I said you should not, but you 
maintained you would." He crossed to a heavy book 
lying open on a stand. "You know, of course, I might 
have slain you then," he said casually. "It would have 
been simple enough. But I knew you would be coming. I 
prefer to make men do my bidding before I end their 
lives." 


I looked at the book. Grimoire? I wondered. The 
source of so much Ihlini magic? 


Frowning absently, he paged through the book. And 
as each page turned, I saw the faintest of flames flash out 
of the red-scripted pages. 


"Strahan" 


"You wed her, Niall. You wed Alaric's addled daughter." 


"Aye." My lips were dry again. "I will offer you a 


bargain," 


He did not appear to hear. He stopped turning pages, 
read something with close attention; then nodded and 
closed the book. "I thought so. Not so hard, I think." He 
smiled at me, and the distractedness was gone. He was 
decidedly intent. "So, you came here to offer yourself in 
exchange for the ending of the plague. To offer me 
something of value." 


"I am," I said with what dignity I could muster. "I am 
part of the prophecy." 


He nodded. "Part of the prophecy. A tarnished link, 
perhaps? Or dross instead of gold?" 


He meant to make me angry. And he very nearly 
succeeded. Inwardly I seethed, but I would not show it to 
him. "Dross, golddoes it matter? I am the Prince of 
Homana." 


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"Donal's son," he mused, "and Aislinn's as well, which 
makes you my kinsman as well as my enemy." Briefly he 
glanced down at the thing he held in his hand. "Well, 
once I might have accepted, when the bargain was a 
bargain, but now there is nothing in it. Nothing for you 
or me." 


"I give you the prophecy!" I cried. "Its future is in 
your hands!" 


"Well, nonot precisely." He shrugged a little, brows 
raised, and shook his head at me. "Indeed, it is some 
measure of sacrifice to offer yourself to me, but there is 
little value in it. You have little value; you married 
Alaric's daughter. And she has given you sons." 


I opened my mouth. Shut it. And all at once I 
understood. 


Not me. Not me at all. Once, aye, before my sons were 
bornbut now the seed is planted. My link is no longer 
the last. 


Strahan spread his hands. "You are too late, Niall. 
The wheel has turned without you." 


I wanted to sit down. I wanted to fall down. I wanted 
to turn my back on the man. But I could do none of 
those things. 


"Of course," he said, "were you to offer me your 
sons" 


*Wo" I blurted. "Give over my sons to you?" 


"But then the bargain would be worth the making." 
He shrugged. "You may give them, or I may take them. 
The choice is up to you." 


Sothis is what he has wanted all along; why he did 
not slay me once he determined my eventual worthas a 
sire, sf nothing elselike a horse valued for his blood-
lines. He wanted the sons I would get on GiseUa. 


I smiled. "No," I told him plainly. 


"All right," he said calmly, "all right. Then I shafl 
simply take them . . . when Gisella brings them to me." 


"Gisella!" I stared. "Gisella would never bring them!'* 
332 


"But she will," he said gently, "when Varien tells her 
to." 


Slowly I shook my head. "You are mad." 


"No," he said, "Gisella is mad- . . ." He paused de-
liberately, smiling. "Unless, of course, she is notand 
does this for other reasons." 


He had silenced me at last. In the face of Gisella's 
treachery and deceit I could do nothing but stare at the 


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Ihlini. Not mad? All of it contrivedan act? 


Strahan watched the play of emotions in my face. And 
he laughed. "Something to consider, is it not?" He was 
truly amused. "Oh, aye, UUith is a dutiful sistershe 
serves me very well- And when Alaric wed a Cheysuli 
woman, it was Lillith who suggested the childrenor 
childbe made to serve as well." 


"Not GiseUa. GiseUa is Cheysulir 


He made a dismissive gesture. "Cheysuli, Ihlinido 
you think it really matters? We were bora of identical 
parents, the gods who made Homana." He lifted a si-
lencing hand. "Cheysuli, aye, she is, and therefore 
immune to much of our power, but there are tricks that 
can be taught. Beliefs that can be instilled. Loyalties that 
are secured. I warned you, NiaU. That night in Mujhara 
when your horse had gone lame ... I warned you not to 
wed her." How he watched me, gloating silently. "But 
you didand so I devised another plan." 


"You wiU not harm my sons!" 


"No, Niall. Of course notI have no wish to harm 
them; I only wish to use them." He smiled. "And I shall. 
One son upon the Lion, one son on the throne of Solinde. 
And answerable to me." 


Alaric. Lillith. Varien. Even, I knew now, GiseUa. AU 
serving Strahan's interests? Gods, but how tightly was I 
bound. How helpless had be made me. 


"GiseUa," I said aloud. "Gods, they are her sons!" 


"But she has been mine since birth. My sister made 
her so." 


For nothingeverything for nothing "For nothingF 
Overcome, I shouted aloud. 


Strahan smiled as I shouted. "No. Not for nothing. 
You believed in what you did. Some men never have 
anything to believe in." He gestured toward the door. 
333 


"Now, come with me. There is something I will show 
you." 


He took me out of the tower into the bailey, and then 
ordered the gates swung open. Before us lay the field of 
stinking smoke. The breath of Asar-Suti. 


"There," he said, "lies your freedom, I think I will 
give it to you." 


"I am not a fool," I began. "If you think I will believe 
that-" 


"Then believe this." He held out something that dan-
gled on a chain. A tooth, capped with gold, and hanging 
from a thin golden chain. I had had one of my own, 
before I threw it away at Serri's behest. 


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'Take it," he said, and put it into my hand. 


I did not want it. I wanted nothing to do with it. And 
as he took his hand away, I threw it into the smoke. 


Strahan laughed. "I thought so. And now the beast is 
tree." 


Out of the smoke and stench was born an Ihlini wolf. 
His pelt was white, his eyes were blue; he looked a lot 
like me. 


"Illusion," I said curtly. 


"Was it illusion on the Crystal Isle when I slew Finn?" 
Strahan asked. "Aye, you know the storyhow I slew 
DonaFs uncle. Aye, I see you know it." He smiled. 
"And do you recall what happened to his wolf?" 


"Storr<lied. He was too old to live without his fir." 


"He<&d." How he mocked me. "Aye, as a fir dies 
supposedly there is nothing left when an old Ur dies. But 
there was a little left of Storr. Only a littletow teeth 
and those I claimed for myself once your father and the 
EUasian had gone. And with those four teeth I fashioned 
powerful magic with the aid of Asar-Sutipowerful magic, 
Niall . . . enough to hide Varien's identity, of course 
that is easily done . . . but also enough to raze Homana. 
Enough to purge the land of all Cheysuli." He looked at 
the white wolf wreathed in the breath of the god. "Illusion. 
you say. Is he? I think not. I think he is the 
deliverance of Homana." The Ihlini smiled as I looked at 
him sharply. "The plague is bom of wolves, Niall. White 
wolvesanimals of legend and superstition. AU but one is 
dead now, slain for the bounty offered, but now it does not 
matter. They have done their work." He nodded at the 
334 


wolf who waited, cloaked in hissing steam. "Slay him, 
Niall, and you will end the plague." 


"Why?" I asked. "Why do you give me the answer? 
Why do you give me the chance?" 


He shrugged. "Enough have died already. I prefer to 
rule living subjects, when I have made Homana mine." 


"I do not believe you." I said. 


Strahan looked at the wolf. "Go," he said. "Your task 
is incomplete. There are Cheysuli in the worldrid 
Homana of them." 


The wolf turned, ran, disappeared, even as I cried out. 
"Go," Strahan told me. "You have knife, bow, sword. 
It is up to you to stop him." 


I thought, very briefly, of trying to slay Strahan instead. 
But by then I would lose the wolf. 


Strahan's smile was one of subtle triumph, but I saw 
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speculation in his eyes. "Your choice, Niall. Save your 
sonsor save the Cheysuli." The smile grew. "But 
which will you choose, I wonder? Gisella ... or the wolf?" 


The chasm opened beneath my feet. 


"Your sons ... or your race?" 


I made my voice as steady and cold as I could. "I can 
make other sons." 


Strahan laughed. "But how many on Gisella? How 
many who will claim the proper bloodthe blood the 
prophecy requires?" 


I stared after the running wolf. Without the Cheysuli, 
without Homana . . . there is no need/or my sons. . . . 


I ran. 


First the wolfthen Gisella 


Gods, how I ran. 


The stench filled my nostrils. Rising steam veiled my 
vision. I tasted the tang of sulfur and bile. 


I ran, threading my way through hissing vents and puddles 
of steaming water, trying always to see the wolf. But 
he was gone, made invisible, swallowed by smoke and 
steam. 


Serri! In the link I screamed for help, but the echoes 
remained unanswered. The task was mine alone. 


The ground roared. Vibration stirred my feet. Tongues 
of flame licked Ups of stone; darted out from gaping 
mouths. 


I tripped, fell to one knee, thrust myself up again. 
Hot water splattered my face. 


I ran. 


A shape loomed out of the steam, I ignored ituntil 
the shape reached out of itself and tried to swat me 
down, like a man swatting a fly- I ducked, dodged, 
nearly fell again as I gaped; the shape was made of stone. 
Moving, stalking stone. 


I ran. And as I ran, I coughed. 


the breath of the god is foul 


Scraping followed; the grate of stone on stone. The 
gurgle and belch of sulfur; the hiss and roar of vomited 
steam. And through the smoke-smeared distances I heard 
the howl of a wolf who sings for the love of it. For the 
joy of being alive. But not the song of Serri; I know his 
voice too well. It was the white Ihlini wolf; the demon in 
the pelt: singing his song of death. 


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The deathsong of my race. 
Gods, how I ran 
I was through the defile: out of heat I was thurst into 


cold. I shivered. Shivered again; snow still clogged the 
canyons. Vented steam was now the plume ofbreaths 
expelled. My sweat shapechanged to ice. 


"Serri?" 


Lir, I am here. And he was, suddenly, here, bounding 
toward me out of the snow. 
Briefly, I stopped, gasping; preparing to go on. But I 


thought now I had a chance. I thought: now it can be 


done. 
But I had reckoned without interference; without Ihlini 
irony. 


Serri saw it first. Lirbeware the hawkLike 
a fool, I looked at the sky. And the hawk descended 
upon me. 


Descended 
and took an eye. 


Eight 
hands 
hands touching 
touching me 
Oh godsthe pain 
SerriSerriSerri 
Hands touching me. Moving me. Lifting me. 
NoNoNoNonot with all this pain 
Seni-SemSERRI 
Oh gods, what has happened? 
What have you done to me? 
"What have you done to me?" 
The question jerked me into awareness; I realized / 


had asked it. A trace of my voice still sounded in my ear. 


"Be still. Be calm. Be tranquil. The worst is over 
now." 
I twitched in shock. It sent a shaft of pain through 


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bandaged eyes. I winced, gasped, hissed; the pain was 


all-consuming. 
"Be still. Do not bestir yourself. Pain is a wolf at the 
door in winter: fob him off with a morsel or two and he 
may wait for spring before he comes again." 


The voice painted pictures with intonations; with subtleties 
of emphasis. Such a magnificent voice. "Wolf" 
My voice was more croak than anything else. "Oh gods 
the white wolf' 


"Gone," the clear voice told me. "And for now, you 
must let him go. Aye, he must be caught, be slain, but 
there is nothing now you can do. Not yet. Wait a bit; I 
promise, you will fulfill your own tahlmorra." 


All was darkness. My eyes were sealed shut by ban


337 
dages. I smelled the tang of herbs; felt the warm weight 
of a poultice against my right eye. 


Oh godsmy eye is gone 
"Be still," the calm voice warned me. A hand was 


against my shoulder, pressing me down even as I tried to 
sit up. 
the painthe painthe pain 
"Serri? Serri?" 
"He is here," the voice told me, and I felt the cold nose 


pressed against my neckLir, 
do as Taliesin tells you. His skills will heal you. 
"Taliesin?" 
"Aye," the voice answered. "But you are too young to 


know me. And my name is no longer spoken." 
"Where have you brought me?" 
"To my cottage. You need not fear discovery; Strahan 


does not come here." 
"You know Strahan? You know he did this to me?" 
"I know Strahan, aye. And I know what he did to 


you." The voice hesitated a moment. "Not so very differ


ent from what he did to me.'" 
I shut my teeth in my bottom Up. My eye throbbed 
with increasing pain. I thought I might swoon from it. 


SerriSerri 
I am here. I am here. Do not fear I will go. I will not 
leave you, lir. 
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"Here." A hand was slipped beneath my head, tipping 
it up. Such a strong, wide hand, cradling my skull so 
gently. Another pressed a cup against my lips; I drank 
the bitter brew. "It will help the pain," Taliesin told me. 
"Sleep, my lordlet the herbs do their work." 


My lord. . . . "You know me?" 


"I do not know youhow could I? But aye, I know who 
you are. Be at ease, my lord. Solindish I may be, but I 
have no quarrel with Homana. Certainly none with you." 


"Your voice" I was slipping into sleep. "I am sorry. 
I could not say if you are man or woman." 


Taliesin laughed. "Well, a true bard may be either or 
both when he sings his lays and sagas. But when your eye 
is free again, you will see I am a man." 


When your eye is free again. . . . How odd it was to 
know I had only one. 


How it twisted the blade in my belly. 
338 


The hawk has stolen my eye 


Be sail, Seni told me. Rest. Cheat Strahan of his triumph. 


He meant to slay you^ Ur. 
The hawk? SerriSerrithat hawkDead, 
Did you think I would let him live? 
1 shut my hand in Serri's ruff. I wanted to hug him, to 


pull him into my arms and press him against my chest, to 


bury my face in his fur. 
Mostly I wanted to cry. 
But even as I tugged at his pelt, seeking strength and 


reassurance, I felt myself slipping away. Serri, do not 


godo not leave me 
I will never leave you, lir. 
I slept. 


* 


"You said I would fulfill my tahlmorra." 


"Aye. You will." 
"But you are Solindish. What do you know of tahl-
morras?" 


"Better to ask: what do I know of Cheysuli?" 


I lay on the pallet beneath warm furs. As yet I was a 
blind man; Taliesin told me the hawk bad torn the flesh 
near my left eye as well as destroying the right. Until the 
wounds were healed, I would be kept in darkness. 


Serri was additional warmth stretched the length of my 
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body. He slept, twitching in dreams; I wondered what he 
chased. 


"What do you know of Cheysuli?" I asked obligingly. 
But my curiosity was genuine. 


"I know of tahlmorras and lir and responsibilities. I 
know of the dedication that drives your race; the loyalty 
of the fanatic; the arrogance of a man who believes he is 
a child of the gods." 


"BeUeves!" I did not like his attitude, regardless how 
quietly he expressed it. "We are children of the gods." 


"Oh, aye, I know. The word Cheysuli means that pre-
cisely. But it means other things, as well: zealotry and 
intolerance, single-minded determination, the willingness 
to sacrifice many for the sake of a single man: the First-
born. The child of the prophecy. The Lion of Homana." 


"By the gods, you sound like an Ihlini." 


"I should. I am." A hand pressed me down again. "Be 
339 


still, my lord. I am not one of Strahan's minions. Tliat I 
promise you." 


"Do you set a trap for me?" 


"Do I? Test it. Test me, my lord." The hand released 
me. "Get up from your sickbed and walk out of my hut 
forever. I will not keep.you. I will not call you back. I 
will tell no one you were here." 


Sweat broke out on my flesh. "You know I cannot. 
You know I can hardly raise myself without the pain 
throwing me down again." 


"Then ask your Ur," he told me. "Ask Serri. Think, 
Niailhas the link between you been broken?" 


No. Serri and I conversed as we always conversed. 
There was no weakness in the link, no interference that 
drained the power away. 


"If you are Ihlini, this is not possible." 


"It is. I am not one of Strahan's Ihlini; nor am I one of 
Tynstar's, though once he was my lord. No. I am Ihlini, 
aye, but no more your enemy than your lir. There is a 
difference, my lord, a divergence of opinion. Strahan 
does not rule us all, only those who wish it. Only those 
who serve Asar-Suti." 


"And you do not." My dubiousness was plain, but 
Taliesin was patient. 


"Asar-Suti is the god of the netherworld; the Seker, 
who made and dwells in darkness. But I caution you, my 
lord: be not so quick to lump us all together. Be not so 
ready to give me over into darkness when I prefer the 
light." 


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I thought suddenly of the old woman in Homana, the 
old Ihlini woman, who had sacrificed her life to make 
certain lan and I believed she told the truth. She had not 
done it for us- She had done it for Homana. 


"How can it be?" I asked blankly. "How is it possible?" 


"It is possible because the gods gave us the freedom to 
choose. Even you. Aye, I will admit there seems to be no 
choice when you know you deny the afterworld by deny-
ing the prophecy, but there still exists the choice. You 
could renounce your title, your birth, your blood. You 
could renounce your tahlmorra." 


"I would die!" 


"All men die eventually." 


"I have no wish to hasten it!" 
340 


I heard him move. No longer did he kneel beside me. I 
heard footsteps, the scrape of a chair, the sound of him 
sitting down. But still his voice carried to me as if he 
knelt beside me. 


"I have no wish to shake your faith; to question your 
dedication. Once, I shared it myself, though I gave it to 
my lord and Asar-Suti. I believed, because Tynstar made 
certain I did. And I served as well as I could, until I 
began to question the validity of Tynstar's intentions. 
Why, I wondered, was it so important for him to have 
Homana? Why was it so necessary to destroy our brother! 
race in order to claim the land? And so, one day, I asked 
him." 


My fingers were locked in Serri's pelt. "What did be 
say?" I asked tightly .."What was Tynstar's answer?" 


"He said if the Ihlini did not destroy the Cheysuli, the 
end of the world would come." 


"He Uedr 


"Did he?" For a moment there was silence. "Be not so 
certain, Niall." 


"Tynstar lied! How could the world end? Do you think 
the gods would let it?" 


"I speak of perception, my lord, not of absotutes. You 
know what enmity lies between the races- You yourself 
are a victim of it; do you not distrust and hate Ihlini? Do 
you not slay one when you can?" 


"Taliesin*' 


"Perception, Niall: if the Cheysuli are allowed to live 
and the prophecy is fulfilled, the bloodlines will be merged. 
The Firstborn will emerge. And, in timeas it is with 
horses, dogs, sheepthe original bloodlines will be over-
taken by the new." He paused. "Tynstar spoke the 


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truth: if the Ihlini do not destroy the Cheysuli, the world 
will come to an end. The world as Ihlini perceive it." 


"Butif that were true" 


"It is all we have, Niallour only legacy. And the 
prophecy will destroy it." 


Survival, Lillith had called it. Nothing more than a 
struggle to keep a race complete, undivided, undiminished 
by the thing that would destroy the Ihlini: the prophecy 
of the Firstborn. 


How can I blame them for it? How can I hate them for 
341 


it? They do what I would do; what anyone would do, 
trying to keep a race whole. 


"Oh gods," I said aloud, "you turn me inside out." 


"I do not ask you to question your convictions, Niall. I 
do not say you are wrong, or that the Cheysuli are. I say 
only that when I realized the cost of Tynstar's intentions, 
I knew I could not afford it." 


"But if we did not serve the prophecy" I broke off. 
It was unthinkable. It was impossible to envision, i 


Take the prophecy away and what have we to live for? 


I dug rigid fingers more deeply into Serri's pelt. "How 
better to overcome the enemy than by removing his 
reason for living?" I asked bitterly. "Is this what you try 
to do?" 


"I ask you to make no judgments. I do not intend to 
shake your faith. I only explain bow it was that one Ihlini 
chose to deny his god, his lord . . . and renounce the 
gifts the Firstborn gave us." 


"Gave you?" 


"Aye," he said gently. "Not all of us are evil. Not all 
of us serve Asar-Suti. And when we do not, when we 
have not drunk of the Seker's blood, we remain only 
men and women who have a little magic. A little magic, 
Niall... the sort you would claim if Serri left you." 


Serri? Serri? But my lir did not answer. It frightened 
me. "I would die if Serri left me!" 


"No. If Serri left you of his own volition, you would 
not die because of it. You would lack the shapechange, 
the healingthe things the /y-bond gives you. But you 
would not die." 


"There is the death-ritual." 


"Because suicide is taboo. It does not matter^ Niall. 
The ritual is in force only if the lir is slainnot if the lir 
deserts you." 


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"Serri would never desert me! No lir would desert a 
warrior!" 


I expected Serri's immediate agreement; he remained 
oddly silent. 


Serriyou promised you would not leave me! 


"Not in your lifetime," Taliesin said calmly. "Perhaps 
it will not happen even while your sons rule the realms 
you give them. But some dayone daywhen the child 
342 


of the prophecy is born ... the fir wffl know a new 
master." 


No. 


M *0ne day a man of all blood will unite, in peace, four 
waning realms and two magic races,' " Taliesin quoted. 
"What happens then, Niall? What becomes of the Ihlini? 
What becomes of the Cheysuli?" 


No. 


**The races, merged, form a new one. The one that 
lived before. The one with all the power." 


Serri, say it is not true. 


"It is what die gods intend. It is what the Ihlini must 
stopthose who serve Asar-Suti. Because when the 
Firstborn emerge again, the Seker will be defeated. The 
Gate wffl be sealed shut; the netherworld locked away. 
The Firstborn shall rule the world in the names of other 
gods." 


"And you renounced Tynstar because of that?" I asked. 
"Because you support the merging of the races?" 


"It means life. my lord, for all of us. I want the 
Cheysuli destroyed no more than the Ihlini. And the only 
means for settling our feud forever is to change the face 
of hatred." 


In darkness, I could not see it. But I doubted anyone 
could. 


Serri? Serri? 


Nothing. 


Gods, I thought, / am afraidafraid he tells me lies. 
But more afraidbecause he may be telling the truth. 


343 


Nine 


"There is someone here!" I said sharply. I levered myself 
up on one elbow next to Serri; the pain was mostly bear-
able now. "Taliesin." 


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"Your ears are keener," the Ihlini told me. "Aye, 
there is someone here, but Caro has always been here." 


"Caro?" 


"My guest. My friend. My hands." 


"Hands?" I pressed fingers against the bandages and 
gently scratched the itching fiesh beneath. "Gods, could 
you use your hands to rid me of these bindings? I am 
going mad." 


"Aye, I think it is time. But Caro will unwrap you." 


In a moment I felt hands on the knots of my bandages, 
loosening, untying, unwrapping. Light crept in, then blazed 
as my left eye was freed. The right one saw nothing at 
all. 


I shut my left eye. "It hurtsthe light hurts me" 


"Because it has known darkness for too long. Be patient. 
The eye is unharmed. You will see clearly again." 


Tears ran out from under my shielding lid. I could not 
stop the watering. "And my right eye?" 


"Gone," Taliesin told me gently. "You will need a 
patch; I will have Caro make you one. I could, but he 
will do it better." 


Caro's big hands were gentle and familiar. All along 
it had been he who tended me, not Taliesin. Not 
physically. But with his voice, oh, ayehis beguiling, 
beautiful voice. 


With a cloth Caro sponged the tears away, then rubbed 
tender flesh with an herbal salve. Now that I knew he 
was here, I wondered how I had not known it all along. 
344 


"Leijhww tu'sai/' I told him. "My thanks, Caro." 


"He cannot hear you," Taliesin said quietly. "Caro is 
deaf and dumb." 


My eyelid jerked open. I squinted as tears welled up 
again; my empty socket throbbed. But I ignored it. I 
looked at Caro. Wide-eyed, I stared, trying to see him 
clearly. And when I could, I began to laugh. 


It hurt. But I laughed. I cried. I could not help myself. 


Because Caro was myself. 


Gods, how I laughed. 


"Did you know?" I asked Taliesin, when the laughter 
and tears had faded. "Did you know?" 


He did not answer at once. For the first time I looked 
upon him as he sat in a lopsided chair. His hair was 
white, bound back by a thin silver circlet, but his face 


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was smooth, unaged; the face of a man eternally young. 
His clear eyes were very blue. 


I looked at his hands. Twisted, gnarled things, once 
whole, now not; someone had purposely destroyed them, 
for nothing else could do such tremendous damage-
Gods*v/w would do that to a man like Taliesin? 


I looked again at Caro, who knelt in silence beside my 
pallet. "Did you know?" I repeated to Taliesin. 


Did you know? I asked my lir. 


You were ill, in painwhat "profit in telling you before 
you needed to know? 


"They told me his name," Taliesin said. "Carollan. 
They asked me to keep him safe." 


Carollan/Carillon. Not quite the same, but close enough. 
Like father, like sonexcept the son was deaf and dumb. 


"Safe," I echoed, looking at my kinsman; at Carillon's 
bastard son. *They believed my father would slay him?" 


"They were convinced of it. There was nowhere in 
Homana he would be safe, they said, and so they brought 
him nearly two years ago to Solinde. To Taliesin the 
bard, who once sang in the halls of Solindish kings; in the 
halls of Ihlini strongholds. They knew. They knew I 
could never harm him. And they knew no one would 
look for him here. When they need him, they borrow 
him. But they always bring him back." He paused. "It 
was how I knew you, Niall. This close to the border even 
/ hear news of how the Prince of Homana resembles his 
grandsire; how the bastard resembles his father." 
345 


I looked at Caro in fascination. He was me. But not, 
quite. He was thirty-six, nearly sixteen years older than 


I. His face was older, as was to be expected; wind-
chafed, with traceries of sunlines at the outer corners of 
his eyes. His beard was more mature. But everything else 
was the same: tawny, sunstreaked hair, darker beard, 
blue eyes, almost identical shape of facial bones. Carillon 
had well and truly stamped his progeny. 
I laughed once. But mis time it was little more than an 
expulsion of ironic comprehension. "And so the Homanans 
who wish to replace Niall with Carillon's bastard want 
nothing more than a puppet. An empty vessel upon die 
Lion, so they can rule Homana." 


"Aye, I believe they do." 


I thought of Elek. I thought of Same, who had so 
eloquently campaigned for her disabled son. Gods, but 
how steadfastly she had insisted Carillon had promised 
his son a place in the succession. And I thought of the 
people who had rallied to Caro's standard. Gods, now 
ludicrous it all seemed now. 


I shook my head. "Surely they understand once. die 
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truth is known, the petition will be denied." 


"Surely they do," Taliesin agreed. "But I am sure they 
feel the truth will never be discovered, orif it isit wifl 
be too late; the lion will already be theirs. Look at what 
they have already accomplished, even with him hidden." 
He shook his white-haired head. "Do not forget, Niall, 
many people never see their king. Many people know 
only his name, not what or who he is. They toil to pay his 
taxes, they die in his armies, they celebrate his name-day 
and the birth of sons and heirs ... but only rarely do 
they set eyes upon the man. He is a name. And it is 
possible for a realm to be governed for years by only a 
name." 


Frowning, I shook my head pensively, carefully. "But 
they were all so wiQmg to follow him, to put him on the 
throne. So willing to slay Carillon's grandson to make 
way for the bastard son.*' 


Taliesin nodded. "He is legend, now, as you should 
know so well. How better to recapture the man himself? 
By elevating his son. A son is a son, and closer than the 
grandson. And there are those who desire to keep the 
throne Homanan, to use it for themselves. But mostly I 
346 


think there are those who desire only to serve the man 
they believe to be the rightful heir; it is not so impossible 
to believe Caro is that man. He is Carillon's son. Can 
you blame them? They know only that, nothing more; 


that he is a son, not a grandsonHomanan, not Cheysuli." 
His voice was very quiet. "They believe in what they are 
doing." 


I stroked Serri's coat. As so many of us believe . . . 
Cheysuli, Ihlini, Homanan. 


As so many of you must believe. 


Ayemust. I thought of Strahan and Lillith, serving 
their noxious god while they also served themselves, 
desiring to save their race. I thought of Alaric of Atvia, 
opportunistic Alaric, who no doubt realized he alone 
could not defeat Homana but that he might come out the 
victor if he aided the" Ihlini by giving his daughter to 
Lillith. And I thought of the a'saii, who sought the purest 
blood of all and were willing spill mine in order to get it. 


Oh, aye, all of us, doing what we had to in order to 
make certain we survived; to secure the best possible of 
places in this world and the next. 


Serri's tone was warm and wise. Because, wrong or 
right, you believe in what you do. 


Aye. Every one of us. 


Aloud, I said: "Nothing excuses bloodshed. Nothing 
excuses the annihilation of a race." 


Taliesin's smile was incredibly sweet. This one was also 
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compassionate. "And do you refer to the Ihlini? Or do 
you speak of the Cheysuli?" 


Bitterly, I glared at him from out of my single eye. 
"Both. Both. What else can I believe?" 


He sighed. His ruined hands twitched in his blue-robed 
lap, as if he longed to clasp them in victory; knowing he 
could not. 


Caro leaned down to rub more salve into my flesh. But 
I stopped him. I caught his wrist, sat up slowly, confronted 
him face to face. 


I looked for some indication, some sign he knew who 
he was; what he was, and what he might have become. 
But there was only patient curiosity as he waited for an 
explanation. 


I let go of him. "They told him nothing." 


"No. I think they believe him a lackwit, unable to 
347 


comprehend. He is not, of course. But neither is he fit to 
be Mujhar." 


Slowly I shook my head. "And so the great plan is 
undone. I have only to announce his disabilities, and the 
Homanan rebellion is over." 


"So it is." 


Said too sadly; I looked at the IhUni in sudden consternation. 
"Would they slay him?the Homanans? Would 
they destroy the useless puppet?" i 


"I think it more likely they would simply cut the strings. 
But I will pick them up." He lifted his ruined hands. 
"There is some movement left, I think I can work those 
strings. Better yet, I will cut them off entirely and let him 
go without." 


I looked at Caro. I could not tell what he thought. But 
I knew he was not the enemy, intentionally or no. 


I reached out, clasped his arm, nodded to him a little. 
"My thanks. Caro." I told him clearly. "In the Old 
TongueUijhana tu'sed." 


His eyes watched the movement of my mouth; the 
emotions in my face. I could not be certain he understood. 
But be smiled. He smiled my smile, returned my 
clasp, and went to sit upon a stool. 


I looked at Tahesin. "Who did that to your hands?" 


"Not Tynstar." The blue eyes were clouded with memories. 
"No, for many years I pleased him with my skill. 
Instead of remaining an itinerant Ihlini bard, I gained a 
permanent patron . . . until I asked him why he wanted 
to destroy the Cheysuti; why he wanted to steal Homana." 
The mouth tightened a little. "But he did not ruin my 


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hands. No. His punishment was of a different sort en-
tirely. He gave me the 'gift' of eternal life. He said that if 
I was truly a man who did not believe in what he and 
others sought to achieve, he would make absolutely certain 
I was alive to see it when he achieved it. So I could make 
songs about the fall of Homana and the rise of the 
Ihlini." 


"Then who did destroy your hands?" 


"Strahan did this. He felt I was deserving of graver 
punishment. Once his father was slain by Carillon. Strahan 
showed his grief by punishing those who would not serve 
him. And so he destroyed my hands; that I would live 
forever without the magic of the harp." 
348 


Strahan did this. Aye, Strahan did much to ruin the 
flesh of others. Retribution for the ear he had lost to 
Finn? 


"I must go," I said finally. "I cannot remain here 
longer. I fear for the safety of my sons, and there is a 
wolf I have to slay." 


Taliesin rose. He went to a trunk, lifted the lid, drew 
out a piece of polished silver. He brought it to me and 
put it into my hands. "So you will know," he said. 


When I found the courage, I looked. And saw the 
price of Strahan's humor. 


I tried to remain dispassionate, to study my face with-
out emotion. But I could not. AU I saw was the lidless, 
empty socket and the livid purple weals. 


All I saw was disfigurement; the ruination of a man. I 
let the silver fall out of my hand. 


Taliesin picked it up with his gnarled claws. "Caro will 
make a patch." 


"Patch," I echoed blankly. Oh gods, Ur, what will the 
others think? What will the others see? 


What they have always seen, those who know how to 
look. 


Gently, I touched the puckered talon scars. They di-
vided my right brow in half, stretched diagonally across 
the bridge of my nose to touch the lid of the other eye, 
reached downward out of the empty socket to cut into 
my cheekbone. There was no question the hawk had 
known precisely what he was meant to do. But for Serri, 
he might have done it. 


"They will fade, soften ... in time they will not be so 
bold." Taliesin told me. Gently, with compassion. With 
endless empathy. 


Lir, they will heal. 


The bard and my lir took such care to reassure me. 
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But I knew the scars would heal. Of course. I knew that. 
One day I would grow used to the disfigurement; would 
hardly notice the scars. 


But what they would look like in five or ten years had 
nothing to do with now. 


"Maimed," I said hollowly. 


"Niail, you have another eye. Once you are accustomed, 
you will find the loss of one hardly interferes," 
Taliesin said quietly. "Even as /" 
349 


"Maimed," I repeated. "Do you know what it means 
to a Cheysuli?" 


He frowned a little. "Is itdoes it mean a thing 
apart from other races?" He shrugged a little. "Forgive 
me, but I fear I do not comprehend your fear." 


"A maimed warrior is useless," I told him steadily, 
defying myself to break. "He cannot hunt food, protect 
his dan, his kin." 


Taliesin's raised hand stopped me. "No more," he 
said. 'Wo more. Forgive me for speaking openly, but I 
say that is foolishness. What is to stop you from lifting a 
sword? From loosing an arrow? From slaying deer and 
others for food? What, Niall? Do you mean to tell me you 
will give up because you have lost an eye?" 


I tried to frown and discovered it hurt too much. "You 
do not understand. In the clans" 


"You do not live only in the clan," he told me quietly. 
"You will be Mujhai of Homana one day; do you give up 
the service of your realm and your race because you lack 
an eye?" He lifted his twisted hands. "I can no longer 
play my harp. But I can do other things. Not well, 
perhaps, but enough to keep me alive. With Caro, it is 
easier. But as for you" he shook his head "you are 
young, strong, dedicated . . . there is no reason in the 
world you cannot overcome a minor disability such as the 
loss of an eye." 


"Minor disability?" I stared at him. "I lost an eye/" 


"And have another." Taliesin looked at Caro. "He has 
no voice. He hears nothing. And yet he does not give up. 
Why should you?" 


/ lost an eye. But I did not say it aloud. I edged back 
down on the pallet and lay flat, staring one-eyed at the 
uneven roof of the little hut. But I saw nothing at all. 


"It will be difficult," Taliesin told me. "You need 
time, Niall, more time than you have allowed yourself. 
The loss of an eye requires adjustment. Your perceptions 
will be different." 


That I had already learned by simply moving about the 
hut. But I had no more time to spend on myself, not 


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even for needed healing. I had to reach my sons. I had to 
slay the wolf. 


We stood just outside the crooked door. Sunlight spilled 
356 


through limbs and leaves to make fretwork shadows on 
the slushy snow. Caro and I were bookends to Taliesin in 
the middle. Serri stood a little apart, twisting to lick a 
shoulder into order. 


"I have to go. I haveresponsibilities." I smiled a 
little; too well I recalled his gentle diatribe about Cheysuli 
intransigence and unshakable dedication. 


"The gods go with you, Niall. Cheysuli i'halla shansu." 


"Ru'shalla-tu." I resettled the shoulder pouch the bard 
had given me, filled with rations for when I was not in 
fir-shape. I set a hand on Taliesin's shoulder. "Leijhana 
tu'sai. Not enough, I know . . . but for now the words will 
have to do." I looked at Caro. "You will protect him, 
Taliesin? Let no one use him falsely." 


"That I promise you-." 


Briefly Caro and I clasped arms. He opened his mouth 
as if he meant to speak, closed it reluctantly. Regret 
bared his teeth a moment, an eloquent moment, until I 
pulled him into an embrace. "It does not matter," I told 
him clearly, when he could see my face again. "I know 
what you mean to say." 


He smiled. My smile. 


Serri? 


Here, he answered. Time to go, Ur. The white wolf will 
not wait. 


Then let us go at once. And I blurred myself into fir-
shape. Shoulder to shoulder we sped through Solindish 
forests toward the Molon Pass and the border of Homana. 


351 


Ten 


I lost fir-shape as we approached the northern bank of 
the Bluetooth. Pain lived in my skull, centering in the 
empty socket, and I could not summmon the concentra-
tion required for the shapechange. I felt it supping, tried 
to rekindle the magic, stumbled even in wolf-shape, lost 
the shape entirely. On one knee I knelt in the snow, 
bracing myself against a stiff arm, and waited for the pain 
to die away. 


Lir. Serri pressed against me, but gently, resting his 
jaw on the top of my shoulder. Lir, we must go on. The 
wolf 


"I know," I gasped aloud. "I know, Serri, but" I sat 
down awkwardly, sliding over onto one hip, and pressed 
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fingers against my skull. Oh gods, take the pain away 


Lir, we must go. I feel himhe is near the ferryman's 
cottage. 


Caro's patch warded my empty socket against the bite 
of cold weather and the brilliance of the sun. I fingered it 
gently, resettling it; too new, it was uncomfortable. It cut 
diagonally across my forehead, above my right ear, tied at 
the back of my head. And though Caro had knotted it 
gently, at the moment it felt like an iron manacle pressing 
in against tender flesh. 


LirSerri again. 


"I know ... a moment." I gathered my knee under 
me, waited, carefully thrust myself to my feet. It was all I 
could do not to vomit. 


Lir. the wolf has crossed the Bluetooth. 


"Then so will we ... but I think I shall have to walk." 


Lir, it is your ru}holli he seeks. 
352 


"lan!" I stared at my lir. "Finally you can reach Tasha? 
lan is alive? 


Alive. But endangered. The wolf is seeking him. 


Ohgods "Serrilet us go!" 


The river was still frozen, but the first signs of thaw 
had begun. I heard mutters in the ice and the occasional 
snap of cracking floes. Serri ran back and forth along the 
bank, trying to find the safest way across; at last he 
plunged ahead. He slipped, slid, fell, got up and ran 
again. But he had four legs to my two and was unhampered 
by a missing eye. Carefully I followed his lead, but 
my progress was slowed by uncertainty of footing as well 
as the pain in my head. 


Slickso slick ... no matter how careful and deliberate 
I was, my bootsoles slid on the ice. My arms flailed out 
as I tried to maintain my balance; I bit my lip and cursed. 


Lir . . . come 


Slipping, sliding, jerking uncontrollably. Patches of 
crusted snow hastened my progress, but treacherous ice 
often lay beneath. 


Lir . . . the wolfHalfway. 
Halfway. I set my teeth and refused to look 
at the southern bank for fear I would lose my fragile 
balance. One step at a time. . . . 


And then I heard the howl of a stalking wolf. 


My head jerked up. I saw the bankthe smudge of 
smoke along the treelineSerri on the other side. And 
then my balance was lost. 


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I felt. Landed on shoulder and hip, cracked forehead 
against the ice. Slumped down and moaned as the pain 
erupted inside my skull. 


Liryou must come! 


My cheek was pressed against the snow-crusted ice. 
My breath rasped and blew smoke into the air. It tickled 
my only eye. 


Lir


I moaned. Curled. Rocked a little, back and forth, 
hugging arms against my belly. 


Lir 


I heard the sound again: the song of a wolf on the trail 
of prey. 


Ion. Ice and sky exchanged places as I tried to regain 
my senses. The wolf is after lan. 
353 


Up. I pushed myself up, up again, until I was on hands 
and knees. My empty socket throbbed; I thought my 
head might burst. 


Lir Back and forth along the bank: silver-gray wolf 
with green-gold eyes. 


Ion. Up. Up again. Standing. Wavered. Stared blindly 
at my frenzied lir. 


fan. 


I heard the howl of the wolf. 


I shut my eye, I blocked out all the sounds, the sights, 
the cold and pain and weakness. All of it, gone, swallowed 
by concentration. I was aware of the great void 
waiting to take me away, to clasp me against its breast. 
Calmly I welcomed it, even as I was welcomed. 


Lir-shape, I told it. / need it. 


It examined me. Tasted me. Spat me out again. 


I went on in the guise of a wott. 


Sent hardly waited. As I scrambled up the icy bank he 
went on ahead, streaking through the trees. I followed 
his lead, on the track of Strahan's wolf. 


The hut. It was mostly a blur as I ran: a smudge of 
gray stone and the weave of careful thatching. And lan, 
standing in front of the door. 


He turned. Frowned; he had heard the wolf. From out 
of the trees the wolf exploded: a streak of purest white. 
Heading for my brother. 


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Serriwarn Tasha 


Already done Ahead of me, Serri ran. 


lan saw all of us: two white wolves and one of silver-
gray, each running directly at him. He fell back a step 
toward the hut. Stopped. Half-drew his knife, but did not 
finish. His confusion was obvious. 


"Niall?" I heard him ask. 


Gods, he cannot know which one of us is me! 


One-eyed, even in wolf-shape, it was difficult to 
differentiate shadows, angles, splashes of sunlight across 
the brilliance of blinding snow. I had not yet learned to 
decipher all the signals. It would take time, too much 
timeand I had none of it now. So I ran. 


I altered my route, moving to dissect the white wolfs 
path. Even as he prepared to leap, Serri hit lan, knocked 
him down, turned to protect him. By then I was on the 
wolf. 


Jaws closed on pelt and muscle, locking on his throat. 
We tumbled, rolled, were up 


Like me he went for the jugular, trying to tear out my 
throat. It was an obscene dance of death, a ritualistic 
courtship. We tore, shook, growled, tried to throw one 
another down. One-eyed, I was hampered; two-eyed, he 
was not. 


lan was up, gone, back. His bow was in his hands; an 
arrow was nocked and prepared. 


But I saw his indecision. He could not tell which wolf 
was brother and which was not. 


Hind daws scored my bellyteeth locked in my fleshI 
smelled the stench of rotting meatthe stink of the 
chamelhousethe ordure of the netherworld. 


Jaws closed, chewed, tried to tear. I lunged backward, 
then sideways, trying to throw him down. Paws scrab-
bled, daws ripping into the winter-hard turf... he growled 
and gasped and choked. 


Backward again, again, againthen I lunged forward 
and took even more of his throat into my jaws. 


I shook him, I shredded, I ripped. I felt the tearing in 
his flesh. I heard the rattle in his chest and tasted the 
salt-copper flavor of blood. 


He tore loose. Stumbled backward. Staggered, bleeding 
profusely. His tongue lolled, dragged, dangled. He fell. 
Scrabbled briefly. Died. 


My head hung low. Blood was a mask on my muzzle, 
painting me up to my eye. My tail drooped. I turned, saw 


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lan's arrow aimed at me, realized he could not know 
which wolf had won. And then I lost the /ir-shape. 


"Niall! Ohgodsrujho" He threw down the bow 
and leaped, catching my shoulders as I wavered on my 
feet. "Niall!" 


He broke off so abruptly, staring at me in such horror, 
that at first I could not comprehend what had happened 
to him to cause it. And then I remembered my face. 


I hung onto his arms. "Alive," I gasped. "Thank the 
godsyou are alive" 


"Niallwhat happened? Gods, rujho, what has hap-
pened to you?" 


I could not believe I could touch him and know he was 
alive. "I feared the plague was always deadly. Gods, but 
355 


I thought you were dead! Serri could no longer reach 
Tasha in the link." 


The cat was next to lan, leaning against one knee. "I 
was not nearly as sick as the others. ButMart-" 


I put a trembling hand to my head. It hurt. It hurt so 
badly. "Strahan," I said briefly through gritted teeth. 
"Strahan sent a hawk." 


"Niall, come in and sit down. At once" 


"No. Nofirst there is something" I pulled away 
from him and turned to the wotf. Tliere was no doubting 
he was dead; his throat was completely gone. I could still 
taste the tang of blood in my mouth. "Bum it," I said 
hoarsely. "He is the last of the plague-wolves; Homana 
will be free." 


"I will," he said after a moment. "I will. But come 
inside. You look near to collapse." 


I was. My head pounded unmercifully; I thought if 
perhaps I carried it rigidly on my shoulders, I would not 
stir further pain, lan took me into Padgett's dwelling and 
made me sit down in one of the crooked chairs. The hut 
was empty. 


"Gone for supplies." lan told me as he moved to pour 
refreshment. Usca, again; I took the cup he gave me, 
drank, shut my eye. "He should be back soon. I had 
planned to leave today." 


"Leave?" I opened my eye as Serri sat down between 
my knees. "For Mujhara?" 


"No." lan frowned. "No, Niall, of course not. I meant 
to come after you." 


I wanted no more of the Steppes liquor and gave it 
back to him. "I thought surely you were dead. And you 
might have been yetStrahan sent that wolf to carry 


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plague to those Cheysuli who were left." 


lan squatted before my chair. He looked a little older; 


the plague had scuffed the edges off his youth. "Niall" 


"We have to go home at once. The enemy is harbored 
in the halls of Homana-Mujhar." I rubbed at my right 
temple, trying to massage away the pain. "Gisella serves 
Strahan. And Varien is Ihlini. They mean to steal my 
sons." 


"Your sons?" 


"He means to use them. To twist them, then place 
\ 356 


them on the thrones of Homana and Solinde. And he 
could succeed, if Gisella takes them to him." I grimaced 
then shut my teeth on the moan I longed to make. "We 
have to go now." 


"No. In the morning, perhaps. You can go nowhere, 
now." He rose, put the cups and usca away, asked me if 
I was hungry." 


"If I eat anything right now, it will only come up 
again." I leaned back a little and shut my eye. "lando 
you recall what the old woman said to us? The old Duini 
woman?" 


"Aye." He moved around the hut behind me; I could 
not see what he did. 


"Well, I begin to think what she said was true. About 
Duini and Cheysuli being brother races. . . both children 
of the Firstborn. Taliesin said it also." 


"Taliesin?" 


"Dilini," I answered. "Once a bard for Tynstar him-
self. No more." I told him then how Taliesin had tended 
me. But I said nothing of Caro, not yet; another time, 
perhaps. 


lan listened, then came around to sit down on a stool 
in front of me. "It is heresy, Niall. You know that. It 
goes against all the teachingswhat the shar tahls have 
told every child." 


"Perhaps they had reason for censoring the teachings 
... for withholding all the truth." 


"Why would they do it, Niall? There is no reason for 
it!" 


"There is," I told him wearily. "How would you react 
if you were told you were kin to the Ihlini; that once you 
lay down with Duini women?" 


He did not answer. 


"If you were a shar tahl and your dutyyour honor 
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lay in defending the prophecy, would you shake the 
foundations of that honor by tainting it with the entire 
truth if part of that truth had to do with the kinship 
between Ihlini and Cheysuli?" I sighed. "Consider it, 
rujhodo you think a Cheysuli warrior would keep him-
self from an Ihlini woman merely because of her raceif 
he wanted her badly enough?" 


Silence filled the hut. And then lan broke it. "I am the 


last one to answer that . . . after what Lillith made 
me do." 


My eye opened. I straightened. Slowly I leaned forward. 


His face was ravaged. There was shame, guilt, disgust; 


more than a little self-hatred. 


"Do not blame yourself," I told him. "You believed 
yourself lirlessyou were, since Lillith used a spell to cut 
off the link between you and Tasha. Do you think I 
cannot understand?" 


His face was gray- "I thought i'toshaa-ni would help. I 
thought it would absolve me. But I am still soiled. I 
remain unclean." 


"lan, stop.'* I touched his arm. "Lillith had a purpose. 
It becomes clearer even now. Do you see? Merge the 
blood and you merge the power . . . Cheysuli and Ihlini." 


He looked at me in horror. "She wanted a child of 
me" 


And I thought it likely she had gotten one. Even 
Varien had said it: she has what she wants from your 
brother. 


"Butit would not be a Firstborn, not a true one," I 
mused. "The other blood is needed. Yet if the Ihlini got a 
child of both our races, they would move perilously closer 
to fulfillment of the prophecy." 


"But it means their deathF lan cried, "Why would they 
do such a thing?" 


I released a breath of comprehension. "If they bred 
their ownif they controlled the bloodlines, they could 
control the prophecy. They could make the Firstborn 
theirs. They could twist the prophecy." I stared at him in 
realization. "A Firstborn child in Ihlini hands would be 
the demise of the Cheysuli. Taliesin even said something 
about it." I frowned, trying tp remember. "He saidhe 
said when the child of the prophecy is born, the lir will 
know a new master." 


"Godsno" He stared at me in horror. "The Ur 
would never teave us!" 


"But if they did. ..." I looked at Tasha, so close to 
lan's leg. And then I looked at Serri. Lir, I said, would 
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you? 


Serri did not answer. And neither, I thought, did Tasha, 
as lan asked her the same. 


358 


My brother slid off his stool. He knelt. He locked his 
hands in the plush velvet pelt of Tasha's hide. I saw how 
ngd was his posture; how tightly he hung onto his Ur 
'They will go?" he asked. "The lir will go from us?" 


"He wants my sons," I said blankly. "Strahan wants 
my sons. As Lillith wanted your child. . . ." 


lan looked at me. "Then I will have to kill it." 


359 


Eleven 


"I think the plague is over," lan said. "People are in the 
streets again." 


"And they do not spit, do not run, do not make the 
ward-signs against us," I agreed. "Gods, I thought it 
would slay us all." 


We walked through the streets of Mu)hara in human form 
with Ur on either side. We were warm in our heavy 
winter leathers; the first tentative tendrils had unfurled 
from the blossom known as spring, melting the snow and 
the mud and turning the streets into slushy quagmires. 
Even the cobbles did not help. 


"If you wish to rest, rujho, say it." 


I smiled a little. Already lan knew when the headaches 
came upon me. Such painful, blinding headaches, some-
times so bad I had to stop, lie down, not even move until 
the pain had passed. Sometimes so bad I could not keep 
food or water in my belly. 


I shook my head. "We are too close, now." And we 
were. Even though I was weary and had the beginnings 
of a headache, I was not about to stop. "One more 
comer, and we will be at the gates." And Gisella will be 
unmasked. "Do you know, there is a chance she is not 
mad at all. That she has presented herself so under 
orders from Strahan through Lillith." 


"Not mad?" lan stared at me in surprise. "K that is 
trueif she has fooled us allshe is the best mummer I 
have ever seen." 


"Aye. And it means the choice is taken from me." 


"Choice?" 


"What to do with her," I told him grimly. "Do you 
think I will keep her by me? She means to give my 
360 


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children to Strahan. I cannot allow her to remain near 
them. Who is to say she would not try it again?" 


lan nodded. He frowned thoughtIully.t<What choice, 
rujhol What will you do with her9" 


"Either put her on the Crystal Isle, as Carillon did with 
Etectra . . . send her home to Atvia ... or have her 
executed." 


"The latter isserious." 


"But the crime is worthy of it. Giving my sons to the 
enemy?" 


"The Council may disagree." 


"The Council will have no choice. When I tell them 
about the bastard, they will have no choice at all. They 
will see that I am the one who is the rightful heir." 


"Tell them what about the bastard?'* 


"What I am intending to tell you." So I told him, 
quietly, the truth. And when I was done, we stood be-
fore the bronze-and-timber gates of Homana-Mujhar. 
Both leaves bore the black slash identifying a house of 
death. It made me think of Rowan. 


lan shook his head as I signaled the gates open. "After 
all thatall their plotting and planning ... it is futile. 
For naught" 


"Thank the gods. And when the Council leams of it, 
the petition will be dismissed." 


We hastened through the baileys, outer and inner, 
briefly acknowledged welcoming shouts and good wishes 
of the men and boys, climbed the stairs into the archivolted 
entrance. Even as lan was detained by one of the ser-
vants, I went on. I climbed the stairs to the nursery and 
went in to see my sons before I faced my wife. 


But she was there as welt. 


Squinting a little against the worsening pain in my 
head, I drew my sword. "Stand away from my sons, 
Gisella. Stand away now." 


She swung, fell back a step, pressed herself against the 
oak-and-ivory cradle. She was cloaked, hooded, patently 
prepared to leave. In her amis she held a bundled baby. 


"What happened to your face?" she asked in shock. 


"Put him down," I told her distinctly. "Put him down, 
Gisella, and stand away from the cradle." 


She was transfixed by my face, until her attention was 
switched to the tip of my sword as I advanced. Her 


mouth hung open inelegantly; had she thought I would 
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be slain, and her plans never known? 


"Put him down," I repeated. 


She bunked. Shut her mouth. "Her," she declared 
indignantly. "Do not call your daughter a him.*' 


"Daughteri" My hand twitched on the grip; the sword 
tip wavered. I looked at Gisella more closely and saw 
that beneath the cloak she was slender again. "By the 
gods, you have borne the child!" 


It should not have surprised me. I could not say how 
long I had been gone, but certainly long enough; she had 
only been two months away from the birth when I had 
come home from Solinde. 


She clutched the child more closely against her breast. 
But she looked sideways at a second cradle. From it I 
heard the squall of a baby disturbed from sleep. 


The tip wavered once more; I lowered the sword. I 
was diverted from my intent. "Again?" I asked weakly. 


Gisella nodded slowly, still staring at my face; at the 
scars and the leather patch. "A girl. A boy. Three sons 
and a daughter, now." 


"And all meant for Strahan?" I let the tip drift up 
again; teased the air before her face. "AU of mem, Gisella?" 


Her eyes filled with sudden tears. "ButI have toI 
have toLillith said I had to. Varien says I have toI 
have to do it because all of them told me to." 


"Stop." No more diplomacy. "Put the baby down, 
Gisella. Put her with her brother." 


She turned abruptly and did as I told her to. Relief 
allowed me to breathe again. 


"I had to," she said. "They told me I had to do it." . 


"Gisellalook at me." 


The tears had spilled over. She thrust a hand against 
her cheeks and tried to wipe them away. She trembled-
She clutched at the cloak and waited for me to sheathe 
the sword in her body. 


By the names of all the gods, how do you ask someone 
if they are sane or mad? How can you know if they tell the 
truth? 


Must you ask her at all? Serri inquired. Look at her, 
lir. What manner of woman do you see? 


"Giselia," I said helplessly, "do you understand what 
they meant you to do? What the result would be?" 


"They told me I had to do it." 


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"Why?" 


"Because Strahan wanted it." 


"Do you know why? Did they tell you what it meant?" 


"They said I W to." 


"Gisella!" 


She trembled even harder. "I justI justdid what 
they said to do. There was the spotted puppytwo of 
themthere was the gray kittenthey said I had to do 
it. Strahan wanted me to do it." 


I stared at her in growing alarm. "Wanted you to do 
what, Gisella? The puppiesthe kitten?" 


She tangled a hand in her hair, twined it through her 
fingers. "They saidthey said I had toso I didI 
didr 


"Did what, Gisella?" 


Her mouth opened, closed. Opened again. Her breath-
ing came very fast. "Iput the puppies down a well 
because they told me to!" 


I drew in an uneven breath. "Andthe kitten?" 


She shrugged one shoulder a little. "The cliffthe top 
of the dragon's head." She shrugged again. "I let him 
fall." 


"Why?" I asked in horror. "Because they told you 
to?" 


She was sobbing now. "They said I must get used to 
losing thingslosing live thingsbecause one day I would 
have to give up my children" 


"Ohgods" I sheathed the sword. Went to her. 
Pulled her into my arms. "OhGisellaoh gods . . . 
what have they done to you?" 


"It was what we needed to do." Varien's voice, so 
smooth and silken, as he came into the room. "Do you 
think it is a simple thing to ask a womaneven a mad 
oneto willingly give up her children? Gisella had to be 
trained." 


"You filth," I told him, when I could speak again. 
"You gods-cursed filth! How could you do this to her? 
How in the name of all the gods could you do this to a 
woman?" 


"No," he said urbanely. "Not in the name of all the 
godsin the name of only one. My lord is Asar-Suti." 


"Gisellastand away." I pushed her, gently but firmly. 
And as she went, I drew my sword. 


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Varien frowned a little. He studied my sword intently. 
Then his expression cleared. "A Homanan sword," he 
said. 


"Still a sword," I told him. I lunged. 


"A Homanan sword," he repeated, and put up an 
eloquent hand. Easily, so easily, he caught the blade in his 
hand. 


Well enoughsever the hand, then sever the neck. 


But he stopped the blade dead in his palm. I saw fire 
explode from his fingers, coat the blade, run down from 
tip to cross-piece. The steel turned black at once. 


As he meant me to, I released the hilt. And only the 
hilt struck the ground; the blade no longer existed. 


What is left fo losehe will take the children anyway 


I leaped. Empty-handed, I threw myself across the 
room and caught handfuls of Varien's doublet, bearing 
him to the ground. He went down easily enough, but was 
sinuous as a serpent; writhing, he nearly squirmed away. 


We struggled for dominance on the floor on the nursery. 
I thought of my children, so close to violence. I 
thought of how I risked them. I even thought of Gisella. 


"Serri;' I shouted "the childrenF 


There was no answer discernible in the link. There 
could not be, with Varien so close. But I knew my lir 
would protect the children. He would give his life for 
them. 


And, of course, give mine. 


Varien clawed at my face and caught a corner of my 
patch. He tore it away, snapping the leather strap; tried 
to scrape away tender flesh. The pain was manifest, but 
it only gave me another reason to fight. 


We rolled. My head was slammed against the stone 
floor. I cried outthe pain of the headache was magnified 
at once, filling my skull with coruscating light. I fat my 
belly rise. 


Fingers reached again for my empty socket. Childishly, 
I retaliated by grabbing the stones in his ears and ripping 
them through the lobes. 


Varien screamed. I thought it odd. Torn lobes are 
painful, I imagine, but hardly enough to make a man 
scream. 


Unless, of course, it is not the pain that makes him 
scream but the loss of the stones themselves. 


I clutched both in my fist. I thought of the old Ihlini 
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woman with the pale pink crystal called a lifestone. 


Varien was shouting at me, denying me the stones. I 
was one-handed now as well as one-eyed, not daring to 
risk the loss of the stones clutched in my fist. Varien 
was on the bottom, pinned beneath my substantial weight, 
but now he bucked and twisted and nearly succeeded in 
flinging me off. 


Again, we rolled. I felt an obstruction against my 
spine; the tripod legs of the nearest brazier. It rocked, 
tipped, fell, spilled oil across the floor. A sheet of flame 
followed and set the stone afire. 


I laughed aloud. "Burn, Varienbumf 


I slammed the stf/nes into the fire. 


He screamed. Gods, how he screamed 


And then the stones were consumed and I was covered 
with dust that had once been a man. 


I scrambled up, ignoring the pain in my head. "Gisella, 
your cloak." 


She stood and stared at me. So I ripped it from her 
myself and smothered the oil fire. 


People were in the room. Women ran to tend crying 
children, men drew hungry swords. But there was no 
enemy to be slain. 


"Niall?" Gisella asked. "Niall. Varien is gone." 


"Varien is gone," I looked at one of the guardsmen. 
"Escort the princess to her chambers. Be gentle, but 
firm. See that she remains there." 


"My lord" He broke off, nodded, did not question 
the oddness of the order. Perhaps everyone knew Gisella. 


"My lord." Another man. "The Mujhar is in the Great 
Hall." 


I gaped. "My father?" I looked for Serri. Lirat once. 


We ran. 


I jerked open one of the hammered doors, stepped 
through, swung it shut behind me. "Jehan?" I saw him at 
the end of the hall, on the dais near the Lion. "Jehan!" 


lan was present as well, and Tasha. And also my 
mother, caught in my father's arms. I grinned, strode the 
length of the hall, opened my mouth to give him greeting 


and stopped. 


My mother cried. She cried, but it was not from happi-
ness. It was the sound of a woman consumed by wracking 
grief. "No," she told him, "nosay you will not do 


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itsay you wfll renounce iti" 


lan's face was stark. His yellow eyes were empty. He 
stood rigidly by the throne. 


"Say you win not," my mother pleaded. "Say you will 
not go! ; 


His arms were around her, but they did not comfort 
her. They kept her from harming herself. His eyes, when 
I looked, were angry, bewildered, lost. They were the 
eyes of a lirless man. 


The pain of my head was abruptly swallowed up by 
comprehension. "How?*' I asked. That only; it was the 
only word I could manage. 


"Plague," my father answered. "Taj in Hondartn. Lorn 
here, two days ay?. I should have gone then, but" He 
stopped speaking. I saw the grief in his empty eyes. "Oh, 
Niali, what has he done to you?" 


I had forgotten the missing patch. I put a hand to my 
face, then took it away. "He set a hawk on me." 


"Gods," he said raggedly, "he does not alter his meth-
ods." He touched the old scars in his neck, and I recalled 
the story. Strahan had set a hawk on my father, some 
twenty years ago, and nearly slew him then. 


But now, he had succeeded. 


My mother stared in horror at my face. "Ohgods 
NiaS" 


"I lack an eye, but not my life." I looked only at my 
father. "Jehan" But I knew an appeal was useless. 


'The war is over," he told us evenly. "Solinde has 
given in. The rebellion was never theirs. Now they weary 
of the deaths. The realm is ours again." 


"How can you speak about the war?" lan cried. "Gods, 
jehan, what of you?" 


"You know what I must do." His arms still cradled my 
mother. "What every warrior must do." 


"But you are the Mufhar!" my mother said. "Can you 
not overlook Cheysuli custom even once?" 


"No." I answered for him, "No, jehana, he cannot. It 
is the price of accepting the /y-bond." 


Her head twisted on its neck as she glared at me. 


"And am I to expect you to do the same thing if you lose 
your ftr?" 


"Aye," I told her gently. "I am a Cheysuli warrior." 


"Ohgodstwo of them" She turned her face away. 
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"I havethings," my father said. "Something for each 
of you. It was why I did not go at once, hoping you might 
return." He set my mother aside. "Aislinn, I beg you" 


She shut her eyes. But she did not touch him again. 


He turned to the Lion. I saw bundles in the cushioned 
seat. He lifted one: a blue-suede bag the size of a shoulderpouch. 
"Aislinn." 


With effort, she kept her te?/s in check. I saw the 
tremendous strain in the tendon^ of her neck. She stood 
quietly before my father. 


He lifted her hands, put the pouch into them, closed 
her fingers over it. "Duncan made Alix many things. 
Now I give them to you." 


Her fingers clutched the leather. She stared at the 
hands that held the pouch: his were firm and bronzed, 
hers were smooth and fair. 


"Do you know," she said. "I only realize this now. 
That even when you were in love with Sorcha, desiring 
her in place of me, it did not matter. I thought it did, 
then . . . but I know now I was mistaken." She smiled a 
little; a sad, bittersweet smile. "Sharing you was better 
than not having you at all." 


His hands tightened on hers. "The things in the pouch 
are love-tokens from my father to my mother." He used 
Homanan deliberately. "I have always lacked the skill. I 
can only give you what another has made . . , and swear 
the feelings are the same." 


He caught her in his arms, lifted her, kissed her as I 
had never seen him kiss my mother before. For Cheysuli, 
such emotions are private ones and kept from other eyes, 
but now there was no reason for it. They did not care 
who saw. 


He set her down again. "I am sorry . . . cheysula, I am 
sony" 


My mother nodded. She stepped away, hugging the 
pouch to her breasts, and in silence let the tears run 
down her face. 


"lan." My father bent and took another bundle from 
the Lion. He unwrapped it carefully, and from the folds 
3ffl 


he took the black-and-tiger-eye Cheysuli warbow he had 
used for as long as I had known him. 'This was Duncan's 
warbow. He gave it to Carillon, who brought it home 
again; who gave it to me on your grandsire's death. Now I 
give it to you." 


lan stared at the floor. "Niall should have it." 


"No." But my father silenced me with a look. 


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"Niall shall have something else," lan was told. "This 
is for you. This is for my first-bom son. The fast-born of 
all my children." 


I could not help but think of Isolde. And I knew my 
father grieved, even as he prepared to give himself over 
to death. 


lan accepted the bow and looked beseechingly at our 
father. He said nothing; he did not have to. All the words 
were in his eyes. 


"Niall." My father took the last bundle from the Lion. 
He stripped the velvet away. I looked on the scabbarded 
sword. "This wasmine," he told me. "It served others 
as a sword is meant to serve, including Shaine and Carillon. 
It served me as my grandsire truly intended when it 
was forged out of star-magic and other Cheysuli rites. 
With me, the magic will die, but a sword is still a sword." 


"Hale*s sword," I said. 


He put it into my hands. The scabbard was smooth, 
oiled leather, worked with Cheysuli runes. I knew Rowan 
had put them there. 


I stared at the sword. I heard him strip the gold from 
his ear and from his arms. He gave them to his cheysula. 
"Do not watch me go." 


"Dorwir 


"Do not watch me go." 


She shut her eyes and turned away, clutching my father's 
gold. 


Resolutely, lan stared at the floor. I looked at the 
shape in the hilt of the sword: the rampant Homanan 
lion. The ruby, called the Mujhar's Eye. 


I smiled a little. One-eyed, both of us. 


When I looked up, my father was gone. 


I could not sleep. I lay awake in my bed and stared 
blind-eyed into the darkness, knowing it could not match 
368 


the darkness of my grief. And when at last I could not 
stand it, I got out of bed entirety. 


There was a thing I had to do. 


I drew on leggings, house boots, a winter jerkin. I 
asked Serri to stay in my chambers; this was for me to do 
alone. I took up a candle and the sword my father had 
left me; went alone to the Great Hall with its silent, 
looming Lion. 


I lighted a torch with the candle, but did not take it yet. 
At the end of the firepit I set the sword down, kicked ash 
and cold logs out of the way, bared the iron ring. Two


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handed I grasped it, prepared myself, wrenched it up 
from the stone floor of the firepit. The lid peeled back 
and clanged against the rim. 


I hissed, held my breath; the effort had set my socket to 
aching. In time, the frequent bouts of pain/would pass. 
For now, I had to bear them. 


I waited a moment, then took up the torch and retrieved 
the sword from the floor. I went down into the 
narrow staircase cut beneath the floor. 


The torch roared in the darkness, throwing odd patterns 
against the shadowed walls. I felt confined by the 
narrow space, but I descended anyway. All one hundred 
and two steps. 


At the bottom there was a closet. I lifted the torch, 
sought the runes and the proper stone, pushed, waited as 
the wall fell open. Flame was snatched from the torch 
and sucked into the vault. 


I took a breath and went in. It had been long since I 
had been in the vault, too long. I had nearly forgotten 
about it. My father had brought lan and me here once, 
to show us the Womb of the Earth; even now, the 
memory made me shiver


The walls were of gold-veined, creamy ivory, carved in 
the shapes of lir. I could not name them all. I did not 
wish to, now. 


I thrust the torch in front of me, entered, then set it 
into a bracket by the door. Ahead of me, mostly hidden 
in the shadows, lay the oubliette. The Womb of the 
Earth itself. 


I took four steps into the vault. I stood at the edge of 
the pit. I could not say if there was a bottom to it; no 
onealiveknew. But legend said there was not. 
369 


I unsheathed the sword. In the torchlight the runes ran 
like water against the steel. I read them aloud into the 
silence: "Ja'hai, bu'lasa. Homana tahlmorra ru'maii." 
I heard the echoes fall into the pit. 
"Accept, grandson. In the name ofHomana's tahlmorra." 
I waited. I heard no sound. Only the song of silence. 
I smiled. "Ja'hai, 0 gods. Homana Mujhar ru'maii." 
The ruby blazed up in the light of the torch. Such a 
deep, warm crimson. The Mujhar's Eye was made of 
blood, as much as mine had been. 


"Not my sword," 1 said softly. "Not mine at alland 
he will need it where he goes." I held the sword over the 
oubliette. "Accept, 0 gods. In the name of Homana's 
Mujhar" 


I let it go. It fell. Down, down, into the hollow darkness 
of the Womb 
and was welcomed. 


379 
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Epilogue 


I stood alone on the sentry-walk along the parapet and 
let the wind beat at my face. Below me spread Mujhara 
in the bright garments of true spring: new flowers, new 
babies, new clothing for the people. 


And then I was not alone; I heard the familiar step of 
my brother. 


He came as far as the crenel next to mine, so that only 
a merlon stood between us. Like me, he leaned against the 
wall and stared down into the city. "Do you regret your 
decision?" 


I shook my bead. "No. She will do better in Atvia. 
There is no place for her here. Let Alaric tend his 
daughterhe made her the way she is." 


"Some will argue you are too cruel, to separate a 
jehana from her children." 


"I am cruel. . . but I would be cruder still if I let her 
give them over to Strahan." I looked at him pensively. 
"She would, you know, given the chance. Because they 
told her to." 


lan sighed. "Poor, addled Gisella. . . ." Then he 
straightened. "HereI came to bring you this. I do not 
know the seal." 


I took the parchment from him. I looked at the seal: a 
wolfhound in green wax. "Erinn!" I said in surprise. 
"LMCT used this seal!" I broke it, tore the parchment 
open, read the scrawl avidly. And then I stared at lan. 
"By the godsthey are aliveLiam and Deirdre alive" 


He snatched the parchment from me and read it for 
himself. And then he looked at me. "Only Shea was 
slain, and he took the assassin with him into the after-
world. Liam is Lord of Erinn." 
371 


I sighed. "For Shea, I am sorry. He was a good lord, a 
man I admired and respected." Grief tarnished the mo-
ment, then retreated in the bright light of better news. 
"But Deirdre is alive!" 


"And on her way to Homana." lan grinned. "And so I 
lose my rujho." 


"You will not lose me! You gain a true kinspirit." I 
could not damp down my smile. "Deirdre is not like 
other women." 


"No," he agreed with mock gravity. "Since she is in 
love with you, she could not possibly be." 


Tie jest was well-meant, but my mind was on other 
things. I touched my leather patch in sudden consterna-
tion. "Gods, rujhowhat will she say when she sees this? 
What if she cannot bear to look at me?" 


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"You have just said she is not like other women. I 
doubt she will turn away." lan handed back the letter. 
"Will you accept the betrothals Liana offers?" 


"Since I was the one who originally suggested them, 
aye, I think I will," I told him dryly. "My daughter for 
his son: Keely shall wed Sean. And his girl for my heir: 


Aileen will be Queen of Homana when Brennan inherits 
the Uon." 


lan sighed. "Soit is settled. But what does that leave 
for Hart and Corin?" 


I scratched idly at my right cheek. "Well, Brennan 
shall have Homana, and Keely will go to Erinn. It leaves 
Solinde and, eventually, Atvia." I nodded. "Solinde is 
Homana's now; I will declare Hart its lordformally 
name him prince of the realm, to take the throne when I 
Judge him ready. As for Conn, I think Alaric of Atvia 
will leave his island to a grandson. Corin will not be 
overlooked." 


lan nodded. "A just distribution, rujho. But what about 
the Erinnish girl? What about the daughter Deirdre bore 
you?" 


I stared at him. "Daughter? Deirdre bore me a daugh-
ter?9' I tore the letter open once again. "By the godsI 
did not finishf 


"I thought not," lan agreed. "Well, rujho, I think we 
can safely say the Lion is securedas well as the proph-
ecy. Four realms in all. Shall I count them out for you?" 


I looked up at him blankly. "What?" 
/' 372 


"Homana, Solinde, Erinn and Atvia." He smiled. "Four 
warring realms. If we can just get Erinn and Atvia to 
stop fighting over a petty island title, we will be that 
much closer." 


"Oh, aye, but I imagine with Keely as the Lady of 
Erinn, and Corin in Atvia, the battles will end of 
themselves." 


lan's smile widened. "Or they will create the battles 
out of kinship perversity." 


I reread the letter again. "Deirdre has borne me a 
daughter." 


My brother sighed. "Aye. rujho, she has. And five is 
an uneven number... I think the battles will be frequent." 


Blissfully, I smiled. "Deirdre has borne me a daughter'1 


lan laughed. 


Deirdre is coming home. 


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373 


APPENDIX 


CHEYSULI/OID TONGUE GIOSSARY 
(with pronunciation guide) 


a'saii (uh-SIGH)  Cheysuh zealots dedicated to pure 


line of descent. 


bu'lasa (boo-LAH-suh)  grandson 
bu'sala (boo-SAH-luh)  foster-son 
cheysu (chay-SOO)  man/woman; neuter; used within 


phrases. 


cheysul (chay-SOOL)  husband 
cheysula (chay-SOO-luh)  wife 
CheysuU (chay-SOO-lee)  (literal translation): children 


of the gods. 
Cheysuli i'halla shansu (chay-SOO-lee ih-HALLA shan


SOO)  (lit.): May there be Cheysuli peace upon 


you. 
godftre (god-fire)  common manifestation of Duini power; 


cold, lurid flame; purple tones. 
harana (huh-RAH-na)  niece 
fwrani (huh-RAH-nee)  nephew 
homana (ho-MAH-na)  (Uteral translation): of all blood. 
i'halla (ih-HALL-uh)  upon you: used within phrases. 
ftoshaa-ni (ih-tosha-NEE)  Cheysuli cleansing ceremony; 


atonement ritual. 


ja'hai ([French j] zshuh-HIGH)  accept 
ja'hai-na (zshuh-HIGH-nuh)  accepted 
jehan (zsheh-HAHN)  father 
jehana (zsheh-HAH-na)  mother 
ku'reshtin (koo-RESH-tin)  epithet; name-calling 
leijhana tu'sai (lay-HAHN-uh too-SIGH)  (;;(.): thank 


you very much. 
Itr (leer)  magical animal(s) linked to individual Cheysuli; 


title used indiscriminately between A'r and warriorsmeijha 
(MEE-hah)  Cheysuh light woman; (St.): mistress. 
374 


meijhana (mee-HAH-na)  slang; pretty one 


Mujhar (moo-HAR)  king 


qu'mahim (koo-MAH-lin)  purge; extermination 


Resh'ta-ni (resh-tah-NEE)  (lit.): As you would have it. 


rujho (ROO-ho)  dang: brother (diminutive) 


rujhoUa (roo-HALL-uh)  sister (formal) 
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rufholli (roo-HALL-ee)  brother (formal) 
ru'mau (roo-MY-ee)  (lit.): in the name of 
Ru'shaBa-tu (roo-SHAWL^m TOO)  (lit.): May it be so. 
Seker (Sek-AIR)  formal title: god of the netherworid. 
shansu (shan-SOO)  peace 
shar tahl (shar TAHL)  priest-historian; keeper of the 
prophecy. 


shu'maii (shoo-MY-ee)  sponsor 
su'fala (soo-FALL-uh) aunt 
su'faU (soo-FAUL-ee)  unde 


sul'harai (sool-hah-RYE)  moment of greatest satisfaction 
in union of man and woman; describes 
shapechange. 


tahtmorra (tall-MORE-un)  fate; destiny; kismet. 
TahSmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu ,(tall-MORE-uh 
loo-HALLA may WICK-un, chay-SOO)  (fit.): 'Ilie 
fate of a man rests always within the hands of die gods. 
tetsu (tet-SOO)  poisonous root given to allay great 


pain; addictive, eventually fatal. 
tu'halla dei (too-HALLA-day-EE)  (lit.): Lord to liege 


man. 
usca (OOlS-kuh)  powerful liquor from the Steppes. 
y'ja'hai (EE-zshuh-fflGH)  (lit.): I accept. 


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