Legacy of the Sword (45 page)

“And you have lost one of your ward-stones.” Finn held it up so all could see it: a small round rock, dull gray, with a single streak of black. “Boy,” Finn said, “do you know enough to be frightened?”

Clearly, Strahan did. He backed away, clutching at the crimson robe he wore over dark gray winter leathers. His thin face turned white, then splotchy red; the rune snuffed out in his hand.

Finn smiled. “I do not suppose you have the other four somewhere upon your person—?”

Strahan turned and ran.

“Apparently he does not.” Finn returned the stone to his belt-pouch. “I think it is time to go, before he fetches the rest of the stones.”

Donal stared at his uncle. “Why? What would happen if he did?”

“Together, the ward-stones augment his power. Apart, they can be used against the sorcerer who made them.” Finn gestured toward the door. “Do you tarry, I will think you wish to
stay.”

“I need Lorn.”

“We will find him.” Finn preceded him through the door.

They ran down a corridor. “What of the other Ihlini?” Evan asked.

“They die like other men.” Finn led them down a staircase and through an airy chamber. “You have a knife, Ellasian—surely you can use it.”

They went down. Down and down, into the bowels of the palace.

“Su’fali!”
Donal cried. “I can touch him…
there
—Lorn is there!” He gestured at a narrow wooden door half hidden by an arras.

Finn tore it aside and jerked open the unlocked door. “Storr,” he said in satisfaction. The wolf held a guard at bay.

“Lorn—?” Donal asked.

“Through there, I would hazard.” Finn indicated a second door. “And now, Ihlini—safe journey to your god—”

Donal’s chains clashed as he shouldered open the door. He stumbled inside, ducking his head, and nearly fell over his
lir.

“Lorn!” He dropped to his knees beside the wolf.

Lorn lay on his side in soiled straw. The visible eye was rolled back in his head. The tongue, protruding from between his jaws, was dry and crusted. But he breathed. Barely, but he breathed.

Donal touched the lusterless, matted fur. Lir—
I will not allow you to die—I
order
you to live—

He felt the faintest flicker of amusement from the tattered edges of the link.
But it is the
lir
who have the ordering of the Cheysuli.

Fingers spasmed, then dug more deeply into the pelt. He felt the ladder of Lorn’s protruding ribs.
Will you live?

You still have need of me.

Donal wavered in relief, then bent and set his face against
Lorn’s shoulder.
I could not bear it if you died.
Then he smiled up at his uncle. “I think he will be all right.”

Finn knelt and gathered the wolf into his arms. “I will take him. You are not much stronger than he.” He rose and jerked his head at Evan. “See he comes, Ellasian. We have gone to too much trouble to lose him so easily now.”

Evan grinned and grasped Donal’s arm. “Come, my lord—we must steal ourselves a boat.”

T
hey won free of the palace proper without coming to harm—Evan slew three Atvian guards—but the high white walls of the bailey proved a greater foe than man. Locked and attended gates denied them an exit as easy as their entrance.

They ducked down into the darkness of full night, hiding themselves in shadows and vegetation. Finn tended Lorn while Evan watched for guards. Donal knelt against the wall and pushed a trembling forearm through sweat-dampened hair, aware the six months of captivity had leached him of grace and quickness. He rested his head against one doubled knee, trying to catch his breath, and felt the hard cold iron of Strahan’s shackles on his arms.

Gods—is this what it was for Carillon when he wore Atvian iron?
Inwardly, he shuddered.
It is a perfect humiliation.

“Donal—?” It was Evan, hunching down beside him. One hand touched Donal’s leather-clad shoulder.

Donal lifted his head. “I am well enough, Evan…see to yourself.”

Evan, laughing softly, withdrew the hand. “Without me, my proud Mujhar, you might still be Strahan’s prisoner. Do I get no thanks from you?”

Donal smiled into the darkness. “Would a prince accept
payment
for the aid he rendered a fellow prince?”

“Mujhar,” Evan corrected. “Aye, he might…could he win it in a fortune-game.” Slanting shadow across the Ellasian’s face hid his eyes and nose, but not his mobile mouth. He grinned. “But there may be a better reward than that. There
was a young woman I admired at your wedding celebration. Could you give her good word of me, it might be payment enough.”

“Which one?” Donal asked dryly. “I cannot recall them all.”

“You said her name was Meghan.”

Chains clashed as Donal glanced at Evan sharply. “And do you forget?—I also told you who sired her.” He indicated Finn crouching not far from them with Lorn still cradled in his arms. “Say to
him
you wish to know his daughter better.”

“Were you to give
him
good word of me—”

“I think he knows you better than most.” But the levity quickly faded. Donal moved over to kneel beside his wolf.
Lorn?

I have not died yet
, lir.

Donal smiled. Then he glanced up at Finn’s face. “He requires proper healing.”

“And will have it…but not just here.”

Donal peered through the bushes at the wall. Absently, he chewed at a broken thumbnail. “We can hardly scale the walls with an injured wolf—”

“Scale them? Why not fly over them?”

Donal looked back at him sharply. “Taj is—lost. I have no recourse to falcon-shape.”

“Do you not?” Finn’s mouth hooked down as he shook his head. “Can you not even trust your own senses, Donal? Or your own
sense.
Were Taj truly lost, how could Evan and I have found you?”

“But—I thought you somehow knew Strahan had come here—”

“How?” Finn’s voice was underscored with contempt. “Am I omniscient? Did Evan throw the rune-sticks? And how were we to know the boy was Tynstar’s get?” Grimly he shook his head. “Imprisonment has not improved your sense any more than your temper.”

Donal hunched forward, trying to keep the chains from clinking. “I
saw
it,
su’fali
! Strahan summoned a demon-bird from Asar-Suti, and she slew Taj. I saw him fall!”

“The hawk injured him, aye, and he fell. But he was not slain.” Finn indicated the wall with his head. “Do you think that is Strahan’s hawk? Or is it more likely a falcon?”

Donal’s head snapped around. Now that Finn pointed him
out, the bird was visible. But only as a shape in the shadows. There was no light to give the bird name or color.

Hope and longing leaped up to fill Donal’s chest. “Taj?”

I am here
, the falcon said.
Why do you tarry
, lir?
Do you come, or do you stay?

“Leijhana tu’sai,”
he muttered aloud in a prayer of thanksgiving to the gods. Then, within the link again:
Finn says I must fly over the walls.

You have done such things before.

Donal laughed to himself wryly.
I am somewhat weary, lir—this has not been an easy imprisonment.

Then why not leave it behind?

Donal shook his head in resignation.
How many guardsmen, Taj? Ihlini or Atvians?
If they were Ihlini, he had no recourse to
lir
-shape. And Taj could not help him attack them.

Six Atvians.

“Six,” Donal said glumly. “And I am only one—”

“Are you?” Finn asked. “I thought you were Cheysuli.”

Donal scowled at him, then turned to Evan. “There is something you must do for me. When a warrior assumes
lir
-shape, that which he touches also changes. I would prefer
not
to take the shackles with me; I need you to hold them, and as I change from man to falcon you must pull them free of my wings. Can you do that?”

Evan shrugged. “It does not sound particularly difficult.”

Donal smiled a little. “And if the change encompassed
you
?”

The Ellasian’s blue eyes widened a trifle.
“Could
it?”

“Who can say?” Donal, grinning inwardly, held out his shackled arms. “Catch hold, Evan, and we shall find out.”

The Ellasian, after only a momentary hesitation, reached out and closed his hands around the heavy chains at wrists and ankles. Donal, doubled up in a sitting position, drew in a deep breath and shut his eyes. The shapechange required extreme concentration, and of late the concept had become an alien one.

He felt the peace come rushing in to fill him up with a marvelous sense of well-being. All the pain and anguish of the past six months melted away into nothingness. He was at peace within himself, and from the center of that calm he reached out to tap the power that gave him the gift of the shapechange.

Donal froze. Even as he tapped the power and felt it run up from the earth to encompass flesh and bones, he thought of the
thing
his father had been. And he could not face himself.

“Donal!” Finn’s voice sounding oddly frightened. “Donal—
go one way or the other—”

So, he
was
a halfway thing. Even Finn saw the difference.

Instinctively he reached out to his falcon.
Taj
?

Trust me. Trust yourself. What Strahan did was Ihlini-wrought, and not of good, clean earth magic. Do you think the gods would allow the magic to fail when it is
you
who asks it?

No.
And he reached out again, let the power enfold him utterly, and took flight as the shackles and chains crashed against the ground.

Two falcons drove out of the darkness at the guardsmen, striking with deadly talons and hooked, sharp beaks. They were not large birds, not as dangerous as eagle or hawk in full attack, but in darkness—and unexpected—even a small creature can prove powerfully effective.

Men screamed and fell to their knees, arms flailing at the birds. When three of them groveled in the dirt, clutching bleeding faces, three others drew swords and slashed viciously at the attacking falcons. One sought safety in a tree. The other flew to the ground and became a man.

A blade dipped as the hand that held it clenched in spasmodic fear; the tip bit into dirt. Donal stepped close and broke the man’s neck with a single blow, then caught up the sword and turned to face the other two.

He smiled.
Leijhana tu’sai, Carillon…the skill will not go unused after all—

He spun, whirling, as one man sought his unprotected back. He swung, felt blade bite through leathers and wool, then more deeply, splintering ribs and sundering flesh. But his hands were ungloved in the nighttime chill, and the gush of warm blood slicked the grip of the blade. It slipped in his hands, and as the man crumpled to the ground he took the sword with him.

The last guard came at him as he turned, lacking knife, sword or bow. Donal’s arms rose slowly as he lifted them away from his body, hands spreading in the air. He saw the faintest flicker of the sword in the torchlight near the wall; he
leaped back, nearly tripped over the dead man’s body, then lunged backward yet again.

Lir—
he began.

I am coming
, Taj replied.
You require my help after all.

The falcon swept down out of the tree and dug his talons into the guardsman’s hands upon the hilt. He let out a startled oath and dropped the sword. Taj veered away, but as he did the guardsman drew his long-knife.

Donal watched the knife blade. But the guardsman was no fool; he swung with his other arm and smashed it into Donal’s face. Ringmail bit in and scored his cheek; Donal swore viciously and jerked his head away. The knife sought his abdomen even as he held the ringmailed wrist.

The Atvian slammed him against the gate. The left arm slid up to crush Donal’s vulnerable throat.

Thank the gods he is not Ihlini—
Donal took
lir
-shape instantly and left the guardsman staggering against the gate. He darted up, then flew down again and took back his human form.

The Atvian plunged forward with his knife. Donal slid easily aside. He caught the man’s slashing arm as it drove past him and snapped it against his upraised thigh.

He caught the knife as it fell from spasming fingers. He allowed the man to fall—

—he spun—

—threw—

—the knife was buried in the back of the Atvian’s unprotected neck.

Three more
. Donal turned, prepared, but the Atvians provided no threat to him. All three still groveled in the dirt, hands thrust up before their bleeding faces. One man had lost both eyes; the other two bled badly from mouth and nose.

All cried piteously for help from their gods and Strahan. And the man who faced them.

Donal turned away. Grimly he unbarred the gate and thrust open one of the leaves, whistling for Finn and Evan. They came, accompanied by Storr, and Lorn clasped in Finn’s strong arms.

“Six,” Finn remarked as he passed by Donal into the darkness. “A warrior after all.”