Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 05 (53 page)

           
"Which leaves the two magical
races." Brennan said grimly. “I think even the gods underestimated the
strength of hatred between Cheysuli and Ihlini."

           
"I think the gods knew very
well how strong that hatred would be," the harper countered. "A
parent is not blind to resentments among his children." He looked from one
to the other, starting with Brennan and ending with Corin. "There comes a
time, however, when the children must outgrow them. And so it will be with
Cheysuli and Ihlini." The harper moved toward the door.

           
"It is for you to call on the
earth magic to complete the healing of Corin's legs. You cannot wait for them
to heal normally. And so I will go from here for awhile, so my presence does not
hinder the magic."

           
The door was shut. "Gods,"
Hart said, "I am so weary, I doubt I can summon anything."

           
"For Corin, we will have
to," Brennan knelt briefly and locked his hands into the pelt behind
Sleeta's ears, drawing strength from the contact. Lir, oh, lir, we are all so
weary, so cursed weak, and yet we must all be strong.

           
She shifted forward and pressed her
head against his jaw. You will be as strong as is required.

           
Hart moved to the pallet and touched
Carollan's shoulder briefly. "Leijhana tu'sai," he said, knowing Caro
could not hear; knowing also it did not matter, nor tarnish the gratitude.
"Leijhana tu'sai, kinsman, but this is for us to do."

           
Carollan moved aside with alacrity,
though there was nothing of subservience in it. He merely gave them the room
they required, retiring to Taliesin's stool, and watched out of their father's
eyes.

           
Brennan joined Hart at Corin's side.
Kiri lay curled at his hip, pointed nose tucked beneath his slack hand. Her
bright eyes watched the movements they made in preparing to summon the magic.
Sleeta sat beside Brennan, pressing one haunch against his doubled leg. Rael
did not depart the chairback, but his link with Hart was not weakened by such a
brief distance.

           
"I have never done this,"
Hart said nervously.

           
"Nor have I." Brennan
pushed a lock of fallen hair out of his face. "Come with me, rujho.
Now—"

           
He slipped into the void quickly,
too quickly; he knew fear and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. What if ha
ignorance cost Corin his life?

           
Lir. Lir. Sleeta was in the link
with him, lending him a measure of strength and courage, though her own was
stretched dangerously thin.

           
Hart! he cried in the void. I need
you,, rujho—

           
And Hart, abruptly, was there,
tumbling through the emptiness like a cork caught in a miltrace. Brennan sensed
his fear was equal to his own. And inwardly he laughed; two frightened warriors
meant to heal their unconcious brother, summoning a power neither had fully
tapped..

           
We need a shar tahl, he told Sleeta.

           
You need to heal your rujholli.
Delicate dictatorship.

           
Brennan sighed. Linked, he and Hart
dissolved the contact with their bodies and sank beneath the level they knew as
the world.

           
Down.

           
Down, until they touched layers of
sentience they had not known existed. Such boundless power as they had never
imagined.

           
Come with us, Brennan said.

           
We need you. Hart explained.

           
Sluggishly, Power stirred.

           
There is a man who requires your
aid. Brennan told It.

           
A warrior, Cheysuli, born of the Old
Blood, descendant of the Firstborn, ancestor of those to come again.

           
In need, Hart echoed. Touched by
Asar-Suti, who would destroy the gods as we know them so he may hold dominion.

           
Power raised Its head.

           
Come with us, Brennan invited. Show
the Seker that his power is nothing compared to yours.

           
He needs you, Hart explained.

           
Power rose up and set them ablaze
with a single touch.

           
And then, too quickly. It hurled
them upward, through all the layers and strata and broke them free of the world,
where they saw a man on his bed of pain, and took it from him easily. Bones
knit themselves into wholeness. Stiffened sinews grew flexible. Vessels pulsed
with blood set free of the Seker's fire.

           
And then, as quickly, the Power was
gone, and they were men again; exhausted, dirty, sick of the stink of
themselves. And knowing they must go on.

           
Conscious, Corin gazed up at them
both. "Leijhana tu'sai," he said drowsily. Even as Brennan protested,
he worked the ruby signet from his finger and pressed it into his oldest
brother's palm. "Yours," he said as firmly as he could, and fell asleep
with a hand locked in Kiri’s ruff.

           
Hart lay back on the wooden floor,
not caring that his sprawl was more than a trifle undecorous, nor that the
floor was hard. He shut his eyes, sighed deeply, gave himself over to the
luxury of complete relief for the first time in months.

           
"In the morning, we go,"
Brennan said hoarsely. "We cannot waste a moment."

           
"In the morning," Hart
agreed wearily, and fell asleep himself.

           
Brennan laughed raggedly, stroking
Sleeta's pelt. If our jehan could see us now—

           
He would cry, Sleeta answered. But
they would be tears of joy.

           
Taliesin did not have the means to
offer Brennan and Hart the sort of baths they needed, having no half-cask or
carefully crafted oak tub, so they did the best they could. Water was heated in
a cauldron over the fire and they scrubbed themselves down with harsh soap and
harsher cloth, scraping away layers of filth. Taliesin gave them an herbal soap
for their hair, to rid themselves of lice, but they forbore cutting it. It
could wait; there were things more important than the length of their hair.

           
Teirnan. Brennan told his brothers
what he could of their cousin's treachery, and his treasonous intent. Then,
turn by turn, each confessed how he had been taken by Strahan, betrayed by
love, lust, greed, ambition. They raised old resentments, hidden emotions, true
feelings, and dealt with them as best they could. By the time morning dawned
and it was time to leave, each had come to terms with himself in relation to
his brothers; each believed he was a better man for it.

           
And each knew more than ever how
binding was a tahlmorra.

           
Taliesin examined the stump of Hart's
wrist, pronounced it healed, did not avoid the acknowledgment of persistent
pain.

           
"And it will persist," he
said gently. "The loss of a limb is something the mind does not fully
understand. It will take some time before you stop reaching for things with
your nonexistent hand, expecting to close your fingers upon it. It will take
time for the sensations of a hand to abate. One moment you will swear it is
still attached ... the next you will know better." His own twisted left
hand was gentle on the wrist. "I am sorry. Hart, but there is nothing to
be done. Even the gods cannot give back that which was so decidedly
destroyed."

           
"Asar-Suti would have,"
Hart said grimly. "Or so Strahan promised. It was his price."

           
"But not yours.” Taliesin's
blue eyes were kind in his ageless, unseamed face. "Do not curse yourself
for being an honorable man. You did what was required.”

           
"Required." Hart sighed
and replaced the snug leather cuff that wanted the stump against injury.
"Aye, required—and my own decision."

           
"And I tell you again to recall
that—should Brennan fail to sway the Cheysuli in altering tradition—customs are
different in Solinde. We do not throw men away."

           
Taliesin turned away to look at
Brennan and Corin.

           
"You cannot afford to waste
more daylight. Caro has food and water for you outside. Best go now."

           
Brennan's face was cleaner than it
had been in weeks, but tension had etched permanent lines into the flesh. He
frowned. "You are certain Strahan will not punish you for this?"

           
The harper nodded. "He has no
idea where I am, and I use simple magic to keep it so. Strahan is too arrogant
to recall the ward-spells I have used; he thinks in terms of conquest, not
simple protection." He smiled. "He will not search far. He will be
more concerned with placating the Seker, who grows impatient with men who fail
him. He will spend his time in Valgaard, not seeking you."

           
The eyes sharpened. "But I warn
you, be wary of him still—he will seek another way. One day, he will try again
to thwart you."

           
"Best go," Corin said.

           
Thanks were not enough, but it was
all they had. And they offered it in abundance as Taliesin stood in the door
and watched them go out into the frosted world. Three battered but gods-touched
men, and their lir; cat, fox, hawk: the children of the gods.

           
In Deirdre's solar, Niall bent over
her shoulder and placed a finger on the lion patterned in the tapestry.

           
"Who is this?"

           
"Shaine," she told him,
batting his finger away. "This one is Shaine, that one Carillon, that
one—"

           
"Where am I?"

           
"Here." She pointed out
the proper lion. "But 'twill be some time before I get to you. All those
other lions, and the histories of each—" Deirdre grinned. " 'Twill be
years."

           
Niall sighed and straightened.
"Aye," he agreed grimly.

           
"And years before I know what
has befallen my sons."

           
She looked up quickly, saw his face,
set aside her massive tapestry. "Niall—"

           
"Months!" he exclaimed.
"And how many of those were wasted? How many of those months did I believe
Hart and Corin merely in their respective realms, learning how to rule, while I
believed Teirnan and the a'saii responsible for Brennan's disappearance?"
He cursed and strode angrily to the nearest casement, glaring out on the inner
bailey. There was a commotion within the walls, but he was too distracted to
wonder at its cause. "By the gods, I should have known. Strahan yet again,
and eternal Ihlini meddling."

           
She stood behind him, wanting to
touch him and not giving in to it; he was too angry and full of
self-recrimination to accept any kindnesses. "And how were you to
know?" she asked tartly. "You told me yourself the Ihlini have been
quiet for years . . . why would you be having a reason to think of Strahan
now?"

           
"Precisely because it has been
years." Niall leaned his brow against the stone, "Gods, Deirdre ...
my sons—"

           
"I know." Now she touched
him. "I know, Niall. But you said yourself 'tis unlikely he'd want to kill
them. Strahan's way is to use men instead."

           
"He wanted them twenty-two
years ago ... he nearly got them then. And now that he has—" Niall turned.

           
"Oh, gods, I am so frightened.
What sort of men will he make them?"

           
She sighed, knowing she could give
him no answer.

           
"When do you send the army to
Valgaard?"

           
"In the morning." His
hands rested on her shoulders.

           
"Ian and I go with them."

           
Tight-faced, she nodded. "The
gods grant—"

           
But whatever she desired the gods to
grant was never stated, A servant, circumventing courtesy entirely, threw open
the solar door. "My lord! My lord!"

           
"What is it?" Niall asked
irritably.

           
Brennan stepped around the wide-eyed
servant. "What he means to say, jehan, is that all of your sons are
back."

           
Kindly, Brennan moved the servant
aside and held the door open himself as Hart and Corin and assorted lir made
their way into the tower solar. The chamber was suddenly filled.

           
"All—" Niall said
hoarsely.

           
"One, two, three." Hart
grinned, "Unless Deirdre has contrived to add another in our
absence."

           
"No," she said blankly.
And then laughed aloud in Joy. Mute, Niall stared at his sons. One, two, three,
as Hart had said. But they were not the sons he had sired and known for years.
Something had changed each one, and profoundly. There was a tangible
difference.

           
Brennan: much too gaunt and oddly
haunted in yellow eyes, though his smile was genuine. His jerkin was soiled and
crusted with countless unnamed things, and Niall had no desire to ask how it
had become so; he had a good idea. His only desire was to see that Brennan was whole,
and that was blatantly obvious. His hair was mostly clean, if too long, and he
held himself with customary pride, but there was something about the way he
moved that spoke of things unsaid even among his brothers.

           
Corin: bearded as an Erinnish
brigand, looking less Cheysuli than ever, though there was, Niall noted, a
subtle self-confidence Corin had always lacked, or was banished by bad temper.
And though there was a tension in the way he moved, as if he waited for something,
Niall saw no anger, no hostility, no reluctance to accept his place in the
House of Homana. Clearly he had suffered; equally clearly, he had come to terms
with himself.

           
And Hart, showing teeth in a
familiar grin; showing something else in posture. All of them were clad in worn
and dirty clothing, though clearly they had bathed a day or two before arrival,
if only arms and faces; but there was more than a weary relief and elation in
Hart's posture and attitude. He stood rigidly next to the door, left hand
thrust behind his back as if he meant to hide something in it. Even as he
stepped free of the door, letting it swing closed, he kept the forearm behind
him.

           
But Niall would worry about them
later. Now was the time for celebration and explanation. He expelled an
eloquent breath of relief. "Oh, gods—all of my sons-leijhana tu'sai—"

           
"We have expressed similar
sentiments repeatedly the last two weeks." Corin went to the nearest chair
and collapsed into it, putting his feet up on a footstool. "I am footsore,
hungry and weary, but I feel happy for it."

           
Brennan went straight to Niall and
put out an arm to clasp his father's. But Niall ignored the arm altogether,
instead jerking Brennan into a rough embrace. "You do not know how many
times I petitioned the gods for the safe return of my sons."

           
Corin laughed. "Well, they must
have grown weary of hearing it. All of us begged them, too."

           
Niall's good eye was wet as he
released his oldest son.

           
The patch hid the other from sight.
There was more silver in his tawny hair and deeper lines in the contours of his
face, but the smile banished the age worry had added. "You are well? All
of you?" He wanted to hug Corin and Hart as he had hugged Brennan, but
Corin was settled and obviously oblivious to the gesture; Hart's posture warded
him against familiarity, even from his father.

           
"Well enough," Brennan
said. "But first, let us swear to you that we are not Strahan's minions
sent to do you harm. Because of Corin, we are nothing but ourselves, if a
trifle worn." He glanced briefly at Hart, turned back and sought a chair.

           
Belatedly, Niall pushed one over.
Deirdre beckoned Hart to take her own, but he shook his head and remained at
his post beside the door. Or intended to. The door was abruptly shoved open;
Hart, thrusting out arms to keep himself from being crushed between wall and
wood, saw his father's face go white.

           
But Ian was in the room. "By
the gods, it is true! All of you are back!"

           
Silence met his outburst. He stopped
short, staring at his brother, then slowly turned to look at the Mujhar's
middle son, his own personal favorite.

           
Hart's face was stark. "I meant
to tell you later."

           
Niall summoned his voice. "Strahan
did that to you?"

           
"No, jehan. My stupidity did
this to me." Bitterness crept in. "A heavy price, but I pay it."

           
From the corridor came an urgent
voice. "Corin? Corin!”

           
Corin sighed. And then Keely prodded
her uncle aside to force her way into the solar past the bodies near the door.

           
"Corin—" But she broke it
off, turning to look at Hart.

           
"Why not announce it?" he
said unsteadily. "Why not say it and be done with it: The Mujhar's son is
kin-wrecked."

           
Abruptly, Brennan wrenched his eyes
away to stare at the floor; he could not bear to see the pain in Hart's eyes.

           
"Come here," Niall said.

           
After a moment. Hart answered his
father's bidding.

           
He was conscious of all the eyes,
but looked only at the single blue one of his father. "Jehan—"

           
"If you think I will love you
the less because you lack a hand, you have no wits at all," Niall said
clearly. "If you think I cannot comprehend the pain—physical as well as
emotional—that such a loss engenders, look again at my face."

           
Hart felt dizzy. He drew in a deep
breath, wet his lips, did not avoid the topic. "No, jehan. But you are
Mujhar; they dared not send you out of the clan."

           
"That had nothing to do with
it," Niall said gently.

           
"An eye lost, as Taliesin
pointed out to me, is not a mark of physical weakness nor deformity of the
spirit. I am no less a man because I have only one. And while it is true that
the toss of an eye does not affect a warrior as much as the loss of a hand, I
do understand what you feel."

           
Hart looked at the floor, thinking
mutinous thoughts.

           
"I do" his father
repeated.

           
After a moment. Hart nodded.

           
"Sit down," Niall told
him. "Keely, will you send for wine? I think all of us could use it."

           
"Usca" Corin said, and
grinned at her exaggerated curtsy just before she went out the door,

           
"So." Niall sat down in
the last of Deirdre's chairs even as she settled herself on the stool nearest
his feet.

           
"I am ashamed," he said
flatly. "Ashamed I did not realize sooner the scope of Strahan's
intentions. But when Brennan and Rhiannon disappeared so soon on the heels of
Teirnan's defection, I feared a'saii interference, not Ihlini. Not after so
much time," Bleakly, he shook his head. "I spent weeks trying to trap
Teirnan, and all I did was waste time and effort. Yet until a crofter's
half-wit son at last had courage enough to come forward and tell me he had seen
Rhiannon spirit Brennan away, I did not comprehend what was afoot."

           
"Nor did I," Ian said
grimly. "Blind fools, all of us—and it gave Strahan the time he
needed."

           
Niall glanced briefly at Ian, who
had sired Rhiannon, than looked away from the bleak guilt in his brother's eyes.
He sighed, rubbing at old scars. "I knew then he would want you all, each
of my sons, and that further delay might result in your deaths, or worse. And
so I readied an army to march on Valgaard itself." Niall’s smile was
twisted. "We were to leave in the morning . . . but I think I may cancel
the duty."

           
"Unless you wish to engage
Strahan once and for all."

           
Brennan shook his head. "A
formidable foe, jehan. He needs killing, but I think it will take more than an
army. Even of Cheysuli."

           
"Or less," Ian remarked.
"Perhaps a single man, in place of that army."

           
"No," Niall said promptly.
"For now I want none of my family anywhere near Valgaard or the Ihlini. We
are together again for the first time in nearly a year, and I would prefer to
enjoy it."

           
"Nearly a year?" Corin
grinned. "Our banishment is incomplete, then ... do you intend to send
Hart and me away again?" He slanted a glance at his middle brother, who
merely shrugged one shoulder and smiled vaguely.

           
Keely returned. "The wine is
coming," she said, moving to stand behind Corin's chair. "And, my
lord Mujhar, if you intend to send Corin—or Hart—anywhere, you will have to
contend with me."

           
Niall’s smile was crooked.
"Aye, aye, so I see. And no, I do not intend to send them anywhere, unless
they want to go." He lifted a tawny brow in Keely's direction.

           
"Did you tell Aileen Brennan is
home at last?"

           
In his chair, Corin froze. He felt
Keely's hands on his shoulders, pressing gently, as if to offer support.
"She knows," Keely said briefly. "Everyone in the palace
knows."