The Song of Homana (38 page)

“I must assume we won the day,” I said. “Otherwise I would doubtless be in an Atvian tent with no chirurgeon and no captain.” I paused. “Unless you were taken, too.”

“No.” Rowan shook his head. “We won, my lord, resoundingly. The war as well as the day. The Atvians are broken—most of them who could ran back into Solinde. I doubt they will trouble us again.”

“Thorne?”

“Dead, my lord.”

I sighed. “I wanted him.”

“So did I.” Rowan’s face was grim. “I did not heed you, my lord; I went into battle myself. But I could not find him in the fighting.”

The powder was beginning to work. Coupled with the weakness from the wound, it was sucking me into the darkness. It grew more difficult to speak. “See he is buried as befits his rank,” I said carefully, “but do not return his body to his people. When my father lay dying of his wounds on the plains near Mujhara, and Thorne had taken me, I asked for a Homanan burial. Thorne denied it to him. And so I deny an Atvian rite to Thorne.”

“Aye, my lord.” Rowan’s voice was low.

I struggled to keep my senses. “He has an heir. Two
sons, I have heard. Send—send word the Mujhar of Homana asks fealty. I will receive Thorne’s sons in Homana-Mujhar—for their oaths.” I frowned as my lids sealed up my eyes. “Rowan—see it is done—”

“Aye, my lord.”

I roused myself once more. “We leave here in the morning. I want to go back to Mujhara.”

“You will not be fit to go back in the morning,” Waite said flatly. “You will see for yourself, my lord.”

“I am not averse to a litter,” I murmured. “My pride can withstand it, I think.”

Rowan smiled. “Aye, my lord. A litter instead of a horse.”

I thought about it. No doubt Electra would hear. I did not wish her to worry. “I will go in a litter until we are but half a league from Mujhara,” I told him clearly. “
Then
I will ride the horse.”

“Of course, my lord. I will see to it myself.”

I gave myself over to darkness.

Waite, unfortunately, had the right of it. Litter or no, I was not fit to go back in the morning. But by the third day I felt much better. I dressed in my warmest clothing, trying to ignore the pain in my shoulder, and went out to speak to Meredyth and his fellow captains.

Their time with me was done. Their aid had helped me accomplish Thorne’s defeat, and it was my place now to send them home. I saw to it each captain would have gold to take back to Ellas, as well as coin for the common soldiers. The war with Thorne had not impoverished me, but I had little to spare. All I could promise was a sound alliance for the High King, which seemed to please Meredyth well enough. He then asked a boon of me, which I gave him gladly enough: Gryffth had asked to stay in Homana to serve Ellas in Homana-Mujhara, more an envoy than simple courier. And so the Royal Ellasian Guard went home, lacking a red-haired courier.

I also went home, in a litter after all—to worn to spend time on horseback—and spent most of the journey home sleeping, or contemplating my future. Atvia was mine, did I wish to keep it, although there was a chance Thorne’s
sons might wish to contest it. I thought they were too young, but could not set an age to them. Yet to try to govern Atvia myself was nearly impossible. The island was too distant. A regent in Solinde was bad enough, and yet I had no choice. I did not want even Solinde; Bellam had, more or less, bequeathed it to me with his death, and the marriage had sealed it. Although I was not averse to claiming two realms my own in place of the single one I wanted, I was not greedy. In the past, far-flung realms had drained the coffers of other kings; I would not fall into the trap. Atvia was Atvian. And did Electra give me an heir this time, I would be happy enough to see Solinde go to my second son.

It was days to Mujhara by litter, and it was well before half a league out that I took to a horse at last. The wound in my shoulder ached, but it was beginning to heal. I thought, so long as I did not push myself too hard, I could ride the rest of the way.

And yet when at last I rode through the main gates of my rose-walled palace, I felt the weariness in my body. My mind was fogged with it. I could hardly think. I wanted only to go to bed, my bed, not to some army cot. And with Electra in my arms.

I acknowledged the welcome of my servants and went at once to the third floor, seeking Electra’s chambers. But a Solindish chamberwoman met me at the door and said the Queen was bathing, could I not wait?

No, I said, the
bath
could wait, but she giggled and said the Queen had prepared a special greeting, having received the news of my return. Too weary to think of waving such protestations aside—and wondering what Electra could be planning—I turned back and went away.

If I could not see my wife, I could at least see my daughter. I went to the nursery and found eight-month-old Aislinn sound asleep in an oak and ivory cradle, attended by three nursemaids. She was swathed in linens and blankets, but one fist had escaped the covers. She clutched it against her face.

I smiled, bending down to set a hand against her cheek. So soft, so fair…I could not believe she was mine. My hand was so large and hard and callused, touching the
fragile flesh. Her hair, springing from the pink scalp, was coppery-red, curling around her ears. And her eyes, when they were open, were gray and lashed with gold. She had all of her mother’s beauty and none of her father’s size.

“Princess of Homana,” I whispered to my daughter, “who will be your prince?”

Aislinn did not answer. And I, growing wearier by the moment, thought it better to leave her undisturbed. So I took myself to my chambers and dismissed my body-servant, falling down across my bed to mimic my daughter’s rest.

I came up out of the blackness to find I could not breathe. Something had leached the air from my lungs until I could not cry out; could not cry; could not speak. All I could do was gape like a fish taken from the water, flapping on the bank.

There was no pain. Merely helplessness and confusion; pain enough, to a man who knows himself trapped. And does not know why.

A cool hand came down and touched my brow. It floated out of the darkness, unattached to an arm, until I realized the arm was merely covered by a sleeve.

“Carillon. Ah, my poor Carillon. So triumphant in your battles, and now so helpless in your bed.”

Electra’s voice; Electra’s hand. I could smell the scent upon her. A bath, the woman had said; a special greeting prepared.

The cool fingers traced the line of my nose; gently touched my eyelids. “Carillon…it ends. This travesty of our marriage.
You
will end, my lord.” The hand came down my cheek and caressed my open mouth. “It is time for me to go.”

Out of the darkness leaped a rune, a glowing purple rune, and in its reflection I saw my wife. She wore black to swath her body, and yet I saw her belly. The child. The heir of Homana. Did she dare to take it from me?

Electra smiled. A hood covered all her hair, leaving only her face in the light. One hand came up to cradle her belly. “Not yours,” she said gently. “Did you really think it was? Ah no, Carillon…it is another man’s. Think you
I would keep myself to you when I can have my true lord’s love?” She turned slightly, and I saw the man beyond her.

I mouthed his name, and he smiled. The sweet, beguiling smile that I had seen before.

He moved forward out of the darkness. It was his rune that set the room afire. In the palm of his right hand it danced.

Tynstar set his hand to the wick of the candle by my bed, and the candle burst into flame. Not the pure yellow fire of the normal candle, but an eerie purple flame that hissed and shed sparks into the room.

The rune in his hand winked out. He smiled. “You have been a good opponent. It has been interesting to watch you grow; watch you come to manhood; watch you learn what it is to rule. You have learned how to manipulate men and make them bend to your will without making them aware what you do. There is more kingcraft in you than I had anticipated when I set you free to leave this place eight years ago.”

I could not move. I felt the helplessness in my body and the futility in my soul. I would die without a protest, unable to summon a sound. At least let me make a sound—

“Blame yourself,” Tynstar told me gently. “What I do now was made possible by you, when you sent the Cheysuli from your side. Had you kept him
by
you—” He smiled. “But then you could not, could you, so long as he threatened the Queen. You had Electra to think of instead of yourself. Commendable, my lord Mujhar; it speaks well of your priorities. But it will also be your death.” The flame danced upon its wick and sculpted his bearded face into a death’s head of unparallelled beauty. “Finn knew the truth.
He
understood. It was Finn who saw me in Electra’s bed.” His teeth showed briefly as I spasmed against the sheets. One hand went to Electra’s belly.

I tried to thrust myself from the bed but my limbs would not obey me. And then Tynstar moved close, into the sphere of light, and put his hand upon me.

“I am done playing with you,” he said. “It is time for
me
to rule.” He smiled. “Recall you what Bellam was, when you found him on the field?”

I spasmed again and Tynstar laughed. Electra watched
me as a hawk will watch a coney, delaying its stoop until the perfect moment.

“Cheysuli i’halla shansu,”
Tynstar said. “Give my greetings to the gods.”

I felt the change within my body. Even as I fought them, my muscles tightened and drew up my limbs. Buttocks, feet and knees, cramping so that I nearly screamed, while my legs folded up to crush themselves against my chest. My hands curled into fists and a rictus set my mouth so that my teeth were bared in a feral snarl. I felt my flesh tightening on my bones, drying into hardness.

What voice there was left to me lost itself in a garbled wail, and I knew myself a dead man. Tynstar had slain his quarry.

Cheysuli i’halli shansu
, he had said.
May there be Cheysuli peace upon you
. An odd farewell from an Ihlini to a Homanan. Neither of us claimed the magic the Cheysuli held, and yet Tynstar reminded me of it. Reminded me of the four days I had spent in the oubliette, believing myself Cheysuli.

Well, why could I not again? Had I not felt the power of the race while I hung in utter darkness?

My eyes were staring. I shut them. Even as I felt my muscles wrack themselves against my bones and flesh, I reached inward to my soul where I could touch what I touched before: the thing that had made me Cheysuli.

For four days, once, I had known the gods. Could I not know them again?

I heard the hiss of steel blade against a sheath. And then I heard nothing more.

Silence. The darkness was gone and the daylight pierced my lids. It painted everything orange and yellow and crimson.

I lay quite still. I did not breathe; did not dare to, until at last my lungs were so empty my heart banged against my chest protesting the lack. I took a shallow breath.

I saw the shadow then. A dark blot moved across the sunrise of my vision. It whispered, soughing like a breeze through summer grass. Like spreading wings on a hawk.

Afraid I would see nothing and yet needing to see, I opened my eyes. I saw. The hawk perched on the chair back, hooked beak gleaming in the sunlight and his bright eyes full of wisdom. And patience, endless patience. Cai was nothing if not a patient bird.

I turned my head against the pillow. The draperies of my bed had been pulled back, looped up against the wooden tester posts and tied with ropes of scarlet and gold. Sunlight poured in the nearest casement and glittered off the brilliance. Everywhere gold. On my bed and on Duncan’s arms.

I heard the rasp of my breath and the hoarseness of my voice. “Tynstar slew me.”

“Tynstar
tried
.”

I was aware of the bed beneath my body. It seemed to press in on me, oppressing me, yet cradling my flesh. Everything was emphasized. I heard the tiniest sounds, saw colors as I had never seen them and felt the texture of the bedclothes. But mostly I sensed the tension in Duncan’s body.

He sat upright on a stool, very still as he waited. I saw how he watched me, as if he expected something more than what I had given him. I could not think what it was—we had already discussed Finn’s dismissal. And yet I knew he was afraid.

Duncan afraid?
No. There was nothing for him to fear.

I summoned my voice again. “You know what happened—?”

“I know what Rowan told me.”

“Rowan.” I frowned. “Rowan was not there when Tynstar came to slay me.”

“He was.” Duncan’s smile was brief. “You had best thank the gods he was, or you would not now be alive. It was Rowan’s timely arrival that kept Tynstar’s bid to slay you from succeeding.” He paused. “That…and what power you threw back at him.”

I felt a tiny surge within my chest. “Then I
did
reach the magic!”

He nodded. “Briefly, you tapped what we ourselves tap. It was not enough to keep Tynstar in check for long—he would have slain you in a moment—but Rowan’s arrival was enough to end the moment. The presence of a Cheysuli—though he lacks a
lir
—was enough to dilute Tynstar’s power even more. There was nothing he could do, save die himself when faced with Rowan’s steel. So—he left. But not before he touched you.” He paused. “You nearly died, Carillon. Do not think you are unscathed.”

“He is gone?”

“Tynstar.” Duncan nodded. “Electra was left behind.”

I shut my eyes. I recalled how she had come out of the darkness to tell me the truth of the child. Gods—
Tynstar’s child
—

I looked at Duncan again. My eyes felt gritty. My tongue was heavy in my mouth. “Where is she?”

“In her chambers, with a Cheysuli guard at the doors.”
Duncan did not smile. “She has a measure of her own power, Carillon; we do not take chances with her.”

“No.” I pushed an elbow against the bed and tried to sit up. I discovered no part of my body would move. I was stiff and very sore, far worse than after a battle, as if all the dampness had got into my bones. I touched my shoulder then, recalling the healing wound. There were no bandages. Just a small patch of crinkled flesh. “You healed me…”