The Shapechangers Page 3

  “You may try, princeling, but I do not think you will accomplish it. We are meant for something other than death at one another’s hands, we two.”

  “What do you say?” Alix demanded.

  He glanced at her. “You do not know the prophecy of the Firstborn, meijha. When you have learned it, you will have your answers.” He rose in a fluid motion that put her in mind of a supple mountain cat. “And it will give you more questions.”

  “What prophecy?” she asked.

  “The one which gives the Cheysuli purpose.” He stretched out his right hand in a palm-up, spread-fingered gesture. “You will understand what this is another time. For now, I must see my rujholli. You may sleep here or within my tent; it is all one to me. Storr will keep himself by you while I am gone.”

  He turned and walked away silently, fading into the shadows, lost to sight instantly. Alix shivered as the wolf rose and came to the blue blanket. He lay down near them, watching them with an odd equanimity in his amber eyes.

  Alix recalled Finn’s odd words earlier; his strange reaction to the gentle tone she had heard in her mind. Carefully, apprehensively, she formed her own.

  Wolf? she asked. Do you speak?

  Nothing echoed in her head. The wolf, called lir, did not seem so fierce now as he rested his jaws on his paws, pink tongue lolling idly. But the intelligence in his feral eyes, so unlike a man’s, could not be ignored.

  Lir? she questioned.

  I am called Storr, he said briefly.

  Alix jerked and recoiled on the blanket, fighting down nausea. She stared at the animal, horrified, but he had not moved. Something like a smile gleamed in his eyes.

  Do not be afraid of me. There is no need. Not for you.

  “By the gods…” she whispered.

  Carillon looked at her. “Alix?”

  She could not take her eyes from the wolf to look at Carillon. A shiver of fear ran through her as she considered the madness of her discovery. It was not possible.

  “Alix,” he said again.

  Finally she looked at him. His face was pale, puzzled; fatigue dulled his blue eyes. But even were he alert and well, she could not tell him she heard the wolf speak. He would never believe her, and she was not certain she did.

  “I am only confused,” she said softly, mostly to herself. “Confused.”

  He shifted the arm into a more comfortable position, running a tentative finger over the puffy teeth marks left by the wolf. But even she could see it had the look of healing to it.

  “You must leave,” he said.

  She stared at him. “You still wish me to go, even after what the shapechanger said?”

  Carillon smiled. “He sought only to frighten you.”

  “The wolf…”

  “The shapechanger will not leave him with us forever. When you have the chance, you must go.”

  She watched Carillon ease himself down on the blue blanket, stretching out long legs booted to the thighs and wrapping the green cloak over his arm.

  “Carillon…”

  “Aye, Alix?” he asked on a weary sigh.

  She bit at her lip, ashamed of her hesitation. “I will go. When I have the chance.”

  He smiled faintly and fell into an exhausted slumber. Alix looked at him sadly.

  What is it about an ill or injured man that turns a woman into an acquiescent fool? she wondered. Why is it I am suddenly willing to do anything for him? She sighed and picked at the wrinkles in her gown. But he would go himself, were he well enough, so I will do as he asks.

  She looked curiously at the wolf, wondering if he could hear her thoughts. But the animal only watched her idly, as if he had nothing better to do.

  Perhaps he does not, she decided and drew up her knees to stare sightlessly into the flames.

  Chapter Three

  The fire had died to glowing coals when she felt an odd touch in her mind, almost like a probing. It was feather-light and very gentle, but terrifying. Alix jerked her head off her knees and stared around wide-eyed, afraid it was some form of Cheysuli torture.

  Nothing was there. The camp was oddly empty, for, like Finn, each warrior had gone to a single slate-colored tent at the far end of the small encampment.

  Alix looked at the wolf and found his amber eyes fastened on her. “No,” she whispered.

  The faint touch faded from her mind. Alix put a trembling hand to her ear. “You cannot speak to me. I cannot hear you.”

  You hear, said the warm tone.

  “What do you do to me?” she demanded violently, struggling to keep her voice down so as not to waken Carillon.

  I seek, he answered.

  She closed her eyes but was still intensely aware of his gaze. “I am gone mad,” she whispered.

  No, said the tone. You are only weary, and frightened, and very much alone. But there is no need.

  “You said you sought something, wolf.” Alix took a trembling breath, giving in to her madness for the moment. “What do you seek in me?”

  Storr lifted his head from his paws. I cannot say.

  His clear gaze made her uneasy. Carillon slept soundly, lines of pain washed from his face, and she wished he could give her the words she needed to banish this strangeness from her mind. She wished also she could lose herself in such soothing sleep, but every fiber in her body was stretched taut with apprehension and a longing to run away.

  Wolf? she asked silently.

  He said nothing. After a moment he rose and shook himself, rippling his silver coat. He sent her an oddly intent glance, then padded away into the darkness, as deliberate as any dog among his people.

  Alix stared after him. A quick glance told her no one was near; she saw no other animals. She looked longingly at Carillon’s unmoving form a moment, wanting to smooth the hair from his hot brow, but she kept herself from it. Such intimacy, if it ever occurred, would have to begin with him. She was too far from his rank to initiate anything.

  She released a rushing breath, trying to control the raggedness of it, and got to her feet. She shook her skirts free of folds, curling her bare toes away from the cool ground. Her feet were cold, bruised, but she could waste no time regretting her lost slippers.

  Silently Alix slipped into the darkness of the encampment. She was no shadow-wraith like the Cheysuli, but she was forest-raised and could move with little noise. Carefully she eased past the last tent and entered the clustered trees.

  Needles and twigs snapped beneath her feet, digging painfully into her flesh. Alix bit her lip against the sharp, nagging pain and went on, ignoring the fear in her soul. A shiver coursed down her body as she moved through the silent forest. She longed for the warmth and safety of her father’s croft and the hot spiced cider he brewed.

  It is for Carillon, she whispered silently. For him. Because a prince has asked me. Irrationally she nearly laughed aloud. But he does not have to be a prince to bid me serve him. I would do it willingly.

  She grasped a tree and felt the rough bark bite into her palms as she dug fingernails into it. Her forehead rested against the tree as she smiled, inwardly laughing at her conflicting emotions. Fear was still the primary element in her soul, but so was her wish to do as Carillon asked. She was fair caught in the trap that bound so many women.

  A twig snapped. Alix jerked her head up and stared into the trees, suddenly so badly frightened she lost all track of other emotions. Her fingers clutched spasmodically at the bark and she sucked in a ragged breath.

  The wolf stood in the shadows, little more than a faint outline against the darkness beyond. For a moment she felt fear slip away, for somehow Storr did not threaten her; then she realized it was not Storr. This one was larger, ruddy instead of silver. Its yellow eyes held a gleam of invitation.

  The fear came back. Alix pressed her body against the tree, seeking its protection. A broken bough jabbed into her thigh but she ignored it, wishing only she could somehow scale the tree into branches far above the ground.

  The wolf moved slowly f
orward into a small clearing. Moonlight set its rich red pelt to glowing, pinpointing yellow eyes into an eerie intelligence. Teeth gleamed, and Alix saw its taunting smile.

  The wolf began to change.

  Cold, primitive fear crawled through her mind. The form before her eyes altered, subtly blurring outline and color into a shapeless void. And then Finn stood before her.

  “I said you would not win free of us,” he told her calmly. “Meijha, you must stay.”

  Alix shivered. Finn was whole again, a man, with yellow eyes glinting in high good humor and heavy gold bands gleaming faintly against folded bare arms.

  She gripped the tree. “You…”

  He spread his hands slowly, unaggressively. “Do you question what you have seen, meijha?” His smile was mocking. “Do not. Your eyes have not deceived you.”

  Alix felt nausea roil her stomach and send bile into her throat. She choked it back down. “You were a wolf.”

  “Aye,” he agreed, unoffended by her horror. “The old gods gifted us with the ability to take lir-shape, once properly bonded with an animal. We can assume a like shape at will.” He sounded very-serious, incongruous in him. “It is something we honor the gods for.”

  “Shapechanger!”

  Finn’s mouth twisted wryly. “Aye, that is the Homanan name for us, when they do not call us demons. But we are not sorcerers, meijha; we are not servants of the dark gods. We leave that to the Ihlini.” He shrugged. “We are merely men…with a god-gift in the blood.”

  Alix could not deal with it; with him. She stared fixedly at him a moment, still stunned by the enormity of what she had seen. Then she scraped herself around the tree and ran.

  Underbrush tore at her gown and welted skin already prickling with fright as she raced through the trees. A limb slashed across her face. Alix ignored it all in her panicked flight, seeking only to escape the man, the demon, who was everything Carillon had said.

  She could hear no pursuit over the noise of her own flight, but it served only to increase her fear. A shapechanger would hardly make noise as he stalked his prey.

  Alix stumbled over a log and fell across it, stomach driven against her spine. Breath left her in a whooping rush but she tried to lift herself frantically pinpricks of light flashed before her eyes as she struggled to her feet, lungs sucking at air she could not find.

  She was driven down again by a hard body from behind.

  Alix lay half-stunned, still out of breath. Her face burned from a bleeding welt on her cheek. She lay pressed against the cool ground, helpless in his arms, sobbing as she tried to regain her breath.

  Her body was lifted from the forest floor and turned over. She lay very still as he set her on her back, unable to close her eyes as he knelt over her. Faint light filtered through the trees. His earring winked coldly.

  “Have I not already said escape is impossible?” he asked. “I am Cheysuli.”

  Her chest hurt, but air was beginning to creep into it again. Alix swallowed painfully. “Please…let me go.”

  “I have said before how much trouble I have gone to get you, and to keep you. At least let me have some repayment for it.” His fingers touched the cut on her face and she winced. “You did not need to run from me, meijha.”

  She shivered. This man becomes a wolf at will. She looked at his hands for signs of the wolf-mark. Finn grinned at her with a man’s teeth in a wolfish leer.

  “When I wear a man’s shape, meijha, I am all man. Shall I prove it to you?”

  Alix stiffened as he leaned closer, hands spread across the ground on either side of her shoulders. If she pushed upward it would be to place herself directly in his arms, and he knew it.

  “No!” she cried as he leaned closer.

  His eyes, oddly feral, looked directly into hers. “I have watched you for some time, meijha. It was a simple raiding mission we came on days ago, to replenish our Keep. But I found prey of a different sort.”

  She closed her eyes. “Please…”

  His knees were on either side of her thighs, holding her prisoner. He bent over her until his lips were nearly touching her face.

  “Shaine’s soldiers have slain nearly all of us, meijha, and they have not spared our women. What is a proud race to do when it sees its own demise? We must get more of us on the women we have, and take others where we can, even if they be unwilling.”

  Her mind flinched from his words, denying them even as she heard the ring of truth in his voice. The Mujhar’s purge had begun twenty-five years before. She had grown up knowing the Cheysuli must die, for all she believed the Mujhar’s actions unfair in the wake of what her father had said. But now she was faced with a shapechanger who spoke of force, and she was more than willing to forsake her principles to win free of him.

  Her fingers on his arm were no more than a feather touch, instinctively seductive. She saw sudden wariness in his eyes and the intensity in his body poised over her.

  “Must you make the tales of your savagery and bestial appetites true?” she whispered. “Must you so readily prove to me you are no better than the demon-spawn others name you?”

  Finn scowled at her. “Soft words will not gainsay me, meijha.”

  Her fingers tightened. “Please…let me go free.”

  He smelled of leather and gold and demand. “Meijha,” he said roughly, “I cannot…”

  She opened her mouth to cry out as he pressed a knee between her thighs. But before she could make a sound the familiar tone she associated with Storr came quietly into their minds.

  Lir, you should not.

  It drove Finn from Alix. He shoved her harshly against the ground as she hitched up on one arm, cursing violently beneath his breath, and she winced against the force of his hand against her shoulder. He knelt by her, stiff with tension, and she saw he looked at the wolf.

  Storr waited in a thick copse of trees, staring unwaveringly at Finn. Alix could only bless the wolf’s timely appearance and intervention, for all she could not comprehend it. Slowly she eased herself onto one elbow.

  “Storr!” Finn hissed.

  She is not for you.

  Finn turned on her, furious. “Who are you?”

  She kept her voice steady with effort. “I have said.”

  He settled one hand around her vulnerable throat. It rested without pressure, promising only, but she felt the violence in his body.

  “You have said nothing! Who are you?”

  “I am a croft-girl! My father is Torrin and my mother was Leyda. He was arms-master to Shaine the Mujhar before he turned to the land.” She glared at him. “I am his daughter. Nothing more.”

  Finn’s eyes narrowed. “Arms-master to the Mujhar. When?”

  Alix took a weary breath. “I am seventeen. He left the Mujhar’s service a year before I was born, and took a valley girl to wife, But I cannot say how long he served Shaine. He does not speak of those days.”

  “Does he not?” Finn said musingly, taking his hand from her throat. He sat back on his haunches and frowned thoughtfully, pushing heavy black hair from his face.

  Alix, feeling safe for the moment, sat upright and straightened her twisted gown. The welt on her face stung, as did the scratches and bruises on her legs, but she touched none of them. She would not give him the satisfaction.

  Finn stared at her impassively. “Do you know the story of the qu’mahlin?”

  “There are two of them.” She covered her legs decorously.

  He grinned. “Aye. And I heard you speak of one to the princeling, even when he would dissuade you of it. Which do you believe?”

  His change in attitude made her wary, but also relieved. No longer did she fear he would pounce on her like a mountain cat taking a rabbit. With renewed confidence she told him.

  “Shaine’s daughter broke the betrothal made between Homana and Solinde. It would have allied the lands after centuries of warfare, but she would have none of Bellam’s son, Ellic. She went instead with a Cheysuli.”

  “Hale,” Fin
n agreed. “Shaine’s sworn liege man.”

  Alix shrugged. “I cannot say. I only overheard my father speaking of it once, to my mother, when he thought I could not hear.”

  “It is true, meijha,” he said seriously. “Hale took Lindir with him into the forests of Homana, but only because she asked him to, and only because she wanted no marriage with Ellic of Solinde.”

  She scowled at him, strangely confident in the face of his new self. “What has this to do with me?”

  “Nothing,” he told her bluntly. “It has to do with me, and why you are here. What I said before is true. The qu’mahlin has slain most of the warriors and many of the women. As a race we are nearly destroyed, because of Shaine. And now the daughter of the Mujhar’s former arms-master—who witnessed the very beginnings of the qu’mahlin—is in my hands.” He smiled slowly, gesturing. She saw again the spread fingers and lifting palm. “It is tahlmorra, perhaps.”

  “What do you say?”

  “Fate. Destiny. It is a Cheysuli word meaning what is meant will happen, and cannot be gainsaid, for it is in the hands of the gods.” Finn smiled ironically at her. “It has to do with the prophecy.”

  “Prophecy,” she muttered in disgust, weary of his attitude and hinted-at knowledge. She looked at the patient wolf. “What has Storr to do with me?”

  Finn scowled. “I cannot say, but it is something I would learn. Now.” He fixed her with a baleful glare. “Why does he keep me from you?”

  She glared back. “That I cannot say, shapechanger, save to compliment his actions.”

  He startled her by laughing then he got to his feet and reached for her, pulling her up. She stood stiffly, wary of him, ignoring the provocative appraising look in his eyes.

  Storr yawned. I think she is not as frightened of you as she would have you believe, lir.

  Finn smiled at the wolf, then looked back at her. His dark brows rose. “Are you so brave, meijha? Do you dissemble before me?”

  Alix slanted a reproving glance at the wolf. “He knows me not at all, shapechanger. Do not listen to him.”

  “To my own lir?” He laughed. “If I forsake Storr, I forsake my soul. You will learn that, soon enough.”