The Song of Homana (46 page)

“I have,” I said. “I have. I do not mean to take her. I merely wanted you to think. You have admitted Torry died because the privation was too hard. Do you give the same life to your daughter?”

“I give her the Keep,” he said softly. “I give her what her blood demands: the heritage of a Cheysuli.”

I smiled. “Who speaks now of rank? You have ever believed yourself better than a Homanan.”

He shrugged. “We are as the gods have made us.”

I laughed. I pushed to my feet and popped my knees, trying to ease my joints. The ride had tried my strength. Finn rose as well, saying nothing. He merely waited. “Privation has rendered you less than what you should be,” I said gruffly. “Have Alix put flesh on your bones. You look older the way you are.”

His black brows rose. “Who speaks of age should look in the silver plate.”

“I have,” I said, “and turned it to the wall.” I grinned and put out my arm, clasping his again. “Tend Meghan well, and bring her to me often. She has other blood besides the shapechanger taint, and I would have her know it.”

Finn’s grip was firm. “I doubt not
your
daughter will need a companion. As for the Mujhar of Homana, he requires no single liege man. He has all the Cheysuli clans to render him aid when he needs it.”

“Nonetheless,” I said, “I would have you take the knife back.” I slipped it from the sheath. The gold hilt gleamed softly in the light from the firecairn: rampant Homanan lion and a blade of purest steel.

I thought he would not take it. Another was in his sheath, one of Cheysuli craftsmanship. But he put out his hand and accepted it, though there was no blood-oath to accompany the acceptance.

“Ja’hai-na,”
he said quietly.

I went silently out of the tent.

My horse still waited. I took up the reins but did not mount at once. I thought of Alix, tending to Meghan, and the child within her belly. She would need Finn. She would need Meghan. She would need all the strength of the Cheysuli when Tynstar’s child was born. And I knew she would have it in abundance.

I waited a moment, aware of something familiar. I could not put name to what it was, and then suddenly I knew. It was a flute, a sweet-toned Cheysuli pipe. The melody was quite simple, and yet I knew it well. The last time I had heard it, it had been upon a harp, with a master’s hands upon the strings. Lachlan’s hands, and the song
The Song of Homana
. And now it had come to the Keep.

I grinned. Then I laughed. I mounted my horse and turned him, ready to go at last, but Donal was in my way. He put up his hand and touched the stallion’s nose as I reined him to a halt. Lorn sat at his left side.

“Cousin,” Donal said, “may I come?”

“I go back to Homana-Mujhar.”

“
Jehana
has said I may go.” He grinned a grin I had seen before.

I leaned down and stretched out my hand, swinging him up as he jumped. He settled behind the saddle.

“Hold on,” I said, “the royal mount may throw us.”

Donal leaned forward against my back. “Make him
try
.”

I laughed. “Would you like to see me tumble?”

“You would not. You are the Mujhar of Homana.”

“The horse does not know titles. He knows only your substantial weight.” I kneed the stallion out and felt the arching of his back. But after a moment he settled.

“Do you see?” Donal asked, as the wolf trotted beside the horse. I looked for Taj and found him, a dot against the sky.

“I see,” I admitted. “Shall we gallop?”

“Aye!”
he agreed, and we did.