Jennifer Roberson - CotC 1 - Shape-Changers

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Jennifer Roberson writes:

"The Chronicles of the Cheysuli is a dynastic fantasy,

the story of a proud, honorable race brought down by

the avarice, evil and sorcery of others—and its own special

brand of magic. It's the story of an ancient race blessed

by the old gods of their homeland, and cursed by the

sorcerers who desire domination over all men. It's a

dynasty of good and evil; love and hatred; pride and

strength. Most of all it deals with the destiny in every

man and his struggle to shape it, follow it. deny it."

CHRONICLES OF THE CHEYSULI:

SHAPECHANGERS

THE SONG OF HOMANA

LEGACY OF THE SWORD

TRACK OF THE WHITE WOLF

A PRIDE OF PRINCES

DAUGHTER OF THE LION

FLIGHT OF THE RAVEN*

A TAPESTRY OF LIONS*

* forthcoming from DAW Books

SHAPECHANGERS

Chronicles of the Cheysuli: Book One

Jennifer Roberson

DAW BOOKS, INC.

DONALD A. WOLLHEIM, PUBLISHER

1633 Broadway, New York, NY 10019

Cover art by Juiek Heller-

For all those who believe in fantasy,

and the special few who believed in me.

DAW Book Collectors No. 564.

First Printing, February 1984

6 7 8 9 10

PRINTED IN THE U.S. A.

BOOK I

"The Captive"

Chapter One

She sat by the creek, half-hidden in lush grasses. Carefully she

twined purple summer flowers into her single dark brown braid,

and dabbled bare feet in the rushing water. Stems and crushed

blooms littered the coarse yellow gown she wore and damp earth

stained the garment, but she paid it no mind. She was purpose-

fully intent on her work, for if she allowed her thoughts to range

freely she would be overtaken by the knowledge—and the hope—

that he still might come.

A songbird called from the forest behind and she glanced up,

smiling at the delicate melody. Then her attention was caught by

an approaching rider, and she let fall the flowered braid from

limp fingers.

Sunlight glittered off the gold of his mount's trappings and

painted the chestnut warhorse bright red. She heard the jingle of

bit and bridle and the heavy snort of the big stallion. His rider,

who had yet to see her, rode unconcernedly through the

meadowlanos.

She drew her knees up and clasped her arms around them,

resting her chin on their tops. She felt the familiar leap of

excitement, anticipation and wonder within her breast, and quickly

tried to dismiss it. If she allowed him to see it she would be no

different from anyone else to him, and therefore of no account.

And I want to be of account to him, she thought intently.

His tawny-dark head was bent as he rode, blue eyes on the

shedding of his gloves. He wore black hunting leathers, she saw,

and had thrown a thin green woolen mantle back from broad

shoulders. A flash of green and gold glittering at his left shoulder

caught her eye: the emerald cloak-brooch he favored. At his

heavy belt was hung a massive two-handed broadsword.

The wariiorse splashed into the creek, splattering her liberally.

She grinned in devious anticipation and straightened in the deep

grass, wiping water from her sun-browned skin.

"I did not think you would come," she said, pitching her

voice to carry over the noisy horse.

The animal reacted to her unexpected appearance with alacrity.

He plunged sideways, halfway out of die creek, men unceremoni-

ously slid down the muddy bank into the water again. His rider,

equally startled, reined the animal in with a curse and shot a

glare over his shoulder. When he saw her his face cleared.

"Alix! Do you seek to unseat me?"

She grinned at him and shook her head as he tried to settle the

horse- The creek bottom offered treacherous footing to any

beast, and me warhorse had yet to find a comfortable spot,

Finally his rider cursed again in exasperation and spurred him

through the water onto the bank, where he stared down at her

from the chestnut's great height.

"So, you wish to see Homana's prince take an unexpected

bath," he said menacingly, but she saw the amusement in his

eyes.

"No, my lord," she responded promptly, very solemn and

proper. Then she grinned again-

He sighed and dismissed the topic with an idle wave of his

hand. A ruby signet ring flashed on the forefinger of his right

hand, reminding her of his rank and the enormity of his presence

before her.

By the gods, she whispered within her mind, he is prince of

this land and comes to see me!

The prince stared down at her quizzically, one tawny eyebrow

raised. "What have you been doing—harvesting all the flowers?

You are fair covered with them."

Hurriedly she brushed her skirts free of clinging stems and

blossoms and began to pick them from her braid. Before she

could strip them away entirely he swung down from the horse

and caught her hands, kneeling.

"I did not say you presented an unattractive sight, Alix." He

grinned- "More like a wood nymph, I would say."

She tried to draw her hands from his large weapon-callused

ones. "My lord . . ."

"Carillon," he said firmly. "There are no titles between us.

Before you I am as any other man."

But you are not . . . she thought dimly, forcing a smile even

as she let her hands stay trapped. After a moment he released

one and lifted her to her feet. He led her along the creek,

purposely matching his steps to hers. She was tall for a woman,

but he was taller still than most men and twice as broad, for all

his eighteen years. Carillon of Homana, even did he ever put on

the garments of a common crofter, was a prince to the bone.

"Why did you think I would not come?" he asked. "I have

ever done it before, when I said I would."

Alix watched her bare toes as she walked, not wishing to meet

his steady blue eyes. But she was honest before all else, and

gave him a blunt answer.

"I am only a crofter's daughter, and you heir to Shaine the

Mujhar. Why should you come?"

"I said I would, i do not lie."

She shrugged a shoulder. "Men say many tilings they do not

mean. It does not have to be a lie. I am, after all, not the sort of

woman a prince converses with ordinarily."

"You put me at ease, Alix. There is a way about you I find

comforting."

She slanted him a bright, amused glance. "Men are not

always seeking comfort, my lord. At least, not in conversation."

Carillon laughed at her, clasping her hand more tightly. "You

do not mouth idle words with me, do you? Well, I would not

have it another way. That is part of the reason I seek you out."

Alix stopped, which forced him to. Her chin lifted and she

met his eyes squarely. "And what is the other part, my lord

prince of Homana?"

She saw the brief conflict in his face, following each emotion

as it passed across his boyish features. Carillon, even at eighteen,

was an open sort, but she was more perceptive than most.

Yet Carillon did not react as she expected, and inwardly

dreaded. Instead of embarrassment or condescension or arrogant

male pride, there was only laughter in his face. His hands rested

on her shoulders-

"Alix, if I wanted to take you as my light woman and give

you chambers within Homana-Mujhar, I would seek a better way

of telling you. For all that, first I would ask you." He smiled

into her widening eyes. "Do not think I am indifferent to you;

you are woman enough for me. But I come to you because I can

speak with you freely, and not worry that I have said the wrong

thing to the wrong ears; hearing it later from the wrong mouth.

You are different, Alix-"

She swallowed heavily, suddenly hurt. "Aye," she agreed

hollowly. "I am an unschooled crofter's daughter with no fine

conversation. I am very unlike the sleek court ladies you are

accustomed to."

"The gods have made a place for every man and woman on

this earth, Alix. Do not chafe at yours."

She scowled at him. "It is easy for a man of your rank to say

such a thing, my lord. But what of the poor who live in Mujhara's

streets, and the tenant crofters who must live on the questionable

bounty of their lords? For all that, what sort of place has Shaine

left to the Cheysuli?"

His hands tightened on her shoulders. "Do not speak to me of

shapechangers. They are demons. My uncle's purge will rid

Homana of their dark sorcery."

"How do you know they are demons?" she demanded, ar-

guing out of fairness rather than conviction. "How can you say

when you have never met one?"

Carillon's face went hard and cold before her; aloof. Suddenly

she longed for the even-tempered young man she had known and

loved but a few weeks.

"Carillon—" she began,

"No," he said flatly, removing his hands to stand stiffly

before her. "I have no need to see demons to know they exist.

The breed is accursed, Alix; outlawed in this land."

"By your uncle's doing!"

"Aye!" he snapped. "Punishment for a transgression which

required harsh measures. By the gods, girl, it was a Cheysuli

who stole a king's daughter—my own cousin—and brought civil

war to this land!"

"Hale did not steal Lindir!" Atix cried. "She went willingly!"

He recoiled from her, though he did not move. Suddenly

before her was an angry young man who was more prince than

anything else, and therefore entitled to a short temper.

"You freely admit you are an unschooled crofter's daughter,"

he began coldly, "yet you seek to lesson me in my House*s

history. What right do you have? Who has said such things to

you?"

Her hands curled into fists. "My father was arms-master to

Shaine the Mujhar for thirty years, my lord, before he became a

crofter. He lived within the walls oLHomana-Mujhar and spoke

often with me Mujhar. He was there when Lindir went away

with the Cheysuli she loved, and he was there when Shaine

called curses on the race and outlawed them. He was there when

the Mujhar started this war!"

Muscles moved beneath the flesh of his jaw. "He speaks

treason."

"He speaks the truth!" Alix whirled from him and stalked

through the grass, stopping only to remove a thom from her bare

foot. Her slippers, she recalled glumly, were back where they

had begun this discussion.

"Alix—" he said.

"By the gods. Carillon, it was the Cheysuli who settled this

land!" she said crossly. "Do you think they seek this—purge? It

is Shaine's doing, not theirs."

"With just cause."

Alix sighed and set down her foot. They stared at one another

silently a long moment, both recognizing they jeopardized the

tenuous friendship they had built. She waited for his curt dismissal.

Carillon's hand idly smoothed the hilt of the sword at his belt,

caressing the glowing cabochon ruby set in gold. He was silent,

thoughtful, not the blustering or coldly arrogant prince she

anticipated.

Finally he sighed- "Girl, for all your father had my uncle's

ear, he was not privy to all things. He could not know everything

about the beginnings of the war. Nor, for that matter, can I. I am

but newly made heir, and Shaine treats me as little more than a

child. If you will listen, I will tell you what I know of the

matter."

She opened her mouth to reply, but a third voice broke into

their conversation.

"No, princeling. Let someone who has experienced Shaine's

purge tell her what he knows of the matter."

Alix jerked around and saw the man at me edges of the forest;

leather-clad in jerkin and leggings, black-haired and dark-skinned.

For a moment she stared speechlessly at him, astonished, then

her eyes widened as she saw the heavy gold bands on his bare

arms and the gray wolf at his side.

"Carillon!" she cried, backing away from the man. She heard

the hissing of Carillon's sword as he drew it from its sheath, but

saw only the streaking gray form of me wolf as it hurtled silently

across the space between them. The animal's jaws closed on

Carillon's wrist.

Alix turned to run but the stranger caught her easily. Hands

grasped her shoulders and spun her, she stared wide-eyed into a

laughing face with yellow eyes.

Beast-eyes! she cried silently.

"Come now, mei jha, do not struggle so," her captor said,

grinning. A gold ornament gleamed in his left ear, flashing

against black hair and bronzed skin. Alix was conscious of his

soft sleeveless leather jerkin and bare arms as he held her against

him. "You championed my race but a moment ago, mei jha.

Surety you do not lose your principles so quickly."

She froze in his hands, staring into his angular, high-planed

face. "You are Cheysuli!"

"Aye," he agreed. "Finn. When I heard you defending my

race to the heir of the man who nearly destroyed us, I could not

bear to let the princeling force your beliefs against us. Too many

will not hear the truth." He grinned at her. "I will tell you what

truly happened, mei jha, and why Shaine has called us accursed

and outlawed."

"Shapechanger! Demon!" Carillon called furiously.

Alix twisted so she could see him, afraid he had been badly

injured, but she saw only an angry young man on me ground,

hitched up on one elbow as he cradled his wrist against his chest.

The wolf, a big silver male, sat at his side. There was no

question in Alix's mind the animal stood guard.

The Cheysuli*s hands tightened on Alix and she winced. "I

am no demon, princeling. Only a man, like yourself, though

admittedly the gods like us better. If you would have us called

demon-spawn and consign us to the netherworld, you had best

look to the Mujhar first. He cried qu'mahlin on us, not the other

way." The contempt in his voice sent a shiver through Alix.

"And you make me think you wish to be his heir, princeling, in

all things.'*

Color raced through Carillon's face and he moved as if to rise.

The wolf tautened silently, amber eyes slitting, and after a

moment the prince remained where he was. Alix saw pain and

frustration in his face.

"Let me go to him," she said.

"To the princeling?" The Cheysuli laughed. "Are you his

mei jha, men? Well, and I had thought to make you mine."

She stiffened. "I am no man's light woman, if that is what

your barbaric word means."

"It is the Old Tongue, mei jha; a gift of the old gods. Once it

was the only tongue in this land." His breath warmed her ear. "I

will teach it to you.''

"Let me go!"

"I have only just got you. I do not intend to let you go so

quickly."

"Release her," Carillon ordered Jtatly.

Finn laughed joyously. "The princeling orders me.' But now

the Cheysuli no longer recognize the Mujhar's laws, my young

lord, or his wishes. Shaine effectively severed our hereditary

obedience to the Mujhar and his blood when he declared qu'mahlin

on our race." The laughter died. "Perhaps we can return the

favor, now we have his heir at hand."

"You have me, then," Carillon growled. "Release Alix."

The Cheysuli laughed again. "But it was the woman I came

for, princeling. I have only got you in the bargain. And I do not

intend to lose either of you." His hand slid across Alix's breast

idly. "You both will be guests in a Cheysuli raiding camp this

night."

"My father . . ." Alix whispered.

"Your father will come looking for you, mei jha, and when he

does not find you he will assume the beasts of the forest got

you."

"And he will have the right of it!" she snapped. His hand

cupped her jaw and lifted it. "Already you join your princeling

€' in cursing us.

"Aye!" she agreed. "When you behave like a beast there is

little else I can do!"

The hand tightened until it nearly crushed her jaw. "Who is to

blame for that, meijhaT1 He turned her head until she was forced

to look at Carillon. "You see before you the heir to the man who

drove us from our homeland, making outlaws of warriors, deny-

ing us our rights. Is not Shaine the Mujhar a maker of beasts,

then. if you would call us that?"

"He is your liege lord!" Carillon hissed through gritted teeth.

"No," Finn said coldly. "He is not. Shaine of Homana is my

persecutor, not my liege lord."

"He persecutes with reason!"

"What reason?"

Carillon's eyes narrowed. "A Cheysuli warrior—liege man to

my uncle the Mujhar—stole away a king's daughter." He smiled

coldly, as angry as the Cheysuli. "That practice, it seems, is still

alive among your race. Even now you steal another."

Finn matched Carillon's smile. "Perhaps, princeling, but she

is not a king's daughter. Only her father will miss her, and her

mother, and that will pass in time."

"My mother is dead," Alix said, then regretted speaking at

all. She took a careful breath. "If I go with you, willingly, will

you free Carillon?"

Finn laughed softly. "No, mei jha, I will not. He is the

weapon the Cheysuli have needed these twenty-five years of the

qu'mahlin, for all he was bom after it began. We will use him."

Alix's eyes met Carillon's, and they realized the futility of

then- arguments. Neither spoke.

"Come," said Finn. "I have men and horses waiting in the

forest. It is time we left this place."

Carillon got carefully to his feet, cradling the injured wrist. He

stood stiffly, taller man me black-haired warrior, but somehow

diminished before the fierce pride of the man.

"Your sword, princeling," Finn said quietly. "Take up your

sword and return it to its sheath."

"I would sooner sheathe it in your flesh."

"Aye," Finn agreed. "If you did not, you would not be much

of a man." Alix felt an odd tension in his body. "Take up the

sword. Carillon of Homana. It is yours, for all that."

Carillon, warily eyeing the wolf, bent and retrieved the

blade. The ruby glinted as he slid the sword home awkwardly

with his left hand.

Finn stared at the weapon and smiled oddly. "Hate's blade."

Carillon scowled at him. "My uncle gifted me with this sword

last year. It was his before that. What do you say?"

When the Cheysuli did not answer immediately Alix looked

sharply at him. She was startled to find bleakness in his yellow

beast-eyes,

"Long before it was a Mujhar's blade it was a Cheysuli's.

Hale made that sword, princeling, and gifted it to his liege lord,

the man he had sworn a blood-oath of service to." He sighed,

"And the prophecy of the Firstborn says it will one day be back

in the hands of a Cheysuli Mujhar.''

"You lie!"

Finn grinned mockingly. "/ may lie, on occasion, but the

prophecy does not. Come, my lord, allow my fir to escort you to

your horse. Come."

Carillon, aware of the wolf's silent menace, went. Alix had no

choice but to follow.

Chapter Two

Three other Cheysuli, Alix saw apprehensively, waited silently

in me forest. Carillon's warhorse was with them. She cast a

quick glance at the prince, judging his reaction, and saw his face

was pale. Jaw set so tightly she feared it might break. He seemed

singularly dedicated to keeping himself apart from the Cheysuli

even though he was in their midst.

Finn said something in a lyrical tongue she did not recognize

and one of the warriors came forward with a strange horse for

Carillon. He was being refused his own, and quick color rising

in his face confirmed the insult.

"We know the reputation of Homanan warhorses," Finn said

briefly. "You will not be given a chance to flee us so easily.

Take this one, for now."

Silently Carillon accepted the reins and with careful effort was

able to mount. Finn stored up at him from the ground, then

moved to the prince and without a word tore a long strip of wool

from Carillon's green cloak. He tossed it at him.

"Bind your wound, princeling, I will not lose you to death so

easily."

Carillon took up the strip and did as told. He smiled grimly

down at the yellow-eyed warrior. "When I am given the time,

shapechanger, I will see the color of your blood."

Finn laughed and aimed away. He grinned at Alix. "Well,

mei jha, we lack a horse for you. But mine will serve. I will

enjoy the feel of you against my back."

Alix, both furious and frightened, only glared at him. His dark

face twisted in an ironic smile and he took the reins of his own

horse from another warrior. He gestured toward the odd gear on

the animal's back. It did not quite resemble a Homanan saddle,

with its large saddletree and cantle designed to hold in a fighting

man, but served an identical purpose. Alix hesitated, then placed

her bare foot in me leather stirrup and hoisted herself into the

saddle. Before she could say anything to prevent him, Finn

vaulted onto the horse's rump behind her. She felt his arms come

around her waist to take up the reins.

"You see, mei jha7 You can hardly avoid me."

She did her best. The ride was long and she was wearied from

riding stiffly upright before him when at last Finn halted the

horse. She stared in surprise at the encampment before her, for it

was well hidden in the thick, shadowed forests.

Woven tents of greens, browns, grays and slates huddled in

the twilight, nearly indistinguishable from the trees and under-

brush of the forest and the tumbled piles of mountain boulders.

Small fires glowed flickeringly across the narrow clearing.

Alix straightened as Finn reined in the horse. She turned

quickly to search for Carillon, lost among the black-haired,

yellow-eyed Cheysuli warriors, but Finn prevented her. His left

arm came around her waist snugly, possessive as he leaned

forward, pressing against her rigid back.

"Your princeling will recover, mei jha. He is in some pain

now, but it will pass." His voice dropped to a provocative

whisper. "Or I will make it."

She ignored him, sensing a slow, defiant—and somehow

frightening—rage building within her. "Why did you set your

wolf on him?"

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JenniferRobersonwrites:"TheChroniclesoftheCheysuliisadynasticfantasy,thestoryofaproud,honorableracebroughtdownbytheavarice,evilandsorceryofothers—anditsownspecialbrandofmagic.It'sthestoryofanancientraceblessedbytheoldgodsoftheirhomeland,andcursedbythesorcererswhodesiredominationoverallmen.It'sadynas...

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