Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 05 (47 page)

           
"It is the way of things."
Strahan said. "When you breed a stallion and mare to improve exisiting
bloodlines, you desire offspring combining the best of both. And then you breed
get to get to fix the characteristics. It is the same with dogs, with sheep,
with cattle . . . and one day, when you have the characteristics you want, you
realize there is no need for the progenitors; they are obsolete. The new breed
is much better." The light was odd on his face. "It is the same with
people."

           
Corin laughed once. "You reduce
the House of Homana to a collection of studs and mares."

           
"Look at your prophecy,"
Strahan snapped impatiently. "Are you blind to its commands?" Glibly
contemptuous, he quoted. " 'One day a man of all blood shall unite, in
peace, four warring realms and two magical races.' " He stared at them
angrily. "Marry here, wed there, get the blood for the prophecy . . . look
to no other kingdom because we need this one, to fulfill the prophecy." He
shook his head in disgust. "A collection of studs and mares . . . what
else do you think you are?"

           
None of them could answer.

           
Strahan nodded slightly. "You
are all of you one of the final links in the prophecy. You combine the blood of
three realms: Homana, Solinde, Atvia. You lack only Erinn, but children born of
Brennan and Aileen will fulfill that portion, as well as children of Keely and
Sean. And that leaves only the blood of the Ihlini." Black brows touched
the circlet in an expression of delicate amusement. "The hardest feat of
all, getting Cheysuli to lie with Ihlini."

           
Brennan's flesh went suddenly hot on
his bones.

           
"Of course," Strahan
continued, "the precedent has been set. By Ian. The unspeakable was
accomplished once—and then again." He looked at Brennan. "And yet an
impediment exists. The child will not quite be a Firstborn, lacking some of the
blood ... it will not quite be the human equivalent to fulfillment of the
merging of power and bloodlines—but it will have a complement of powers greater
than most of ours. And I will put it to good use in breeding it for my
own."

           
"Then Sidra's child is
yours," Corin blurted.

           
"Of course." Strahan
smiled. "The Cheysuli have done well breeding so close to the prophecy, so
I will adopt a successful strategy and use it for my own. Rhiannon's child
shall marry mine, once the genders are in balance."

           
His glance at Brennan was amused.
"I doubt Brennan will freely participate again, but Sidra is young and I
am potent. In time, I shall have the pair I require."

           
"Then let us go," Hart
suggested. "Of what use are we to you?"

           
"To me. not so much. But to the
Seker, aye. He wants the realms, and I will do what I can to win them from
those who would keep them from him."

           
"Why does he want them?"
Hart demanded. "Why all this greed, this overweening ambition? He has the
netherworld—why must he want the rest?"

           
Strahan, for the first time, looked
truly perplexed.

           
"Why? Because he does." He
shrugged. "It is not my place to question the ambitions of a god."

           
Corin nodded. "And when you are
become a god?"

           
Strahan's motion was arrested. He
looked at Corin blankly,

           
"Aye," Corin said, "I
begin to put it together." He struggled to sit more upright on the litter.
"A faithful servant, Strahan, working for the god—but when the task is
done? When you have succeeded? Does he give you what you want?"

           
"What I want is
immaterial—"

           
"A godhood of your own?"

           
"Godhood!" Brennan stared.
"Is that what—“

           
"I serve Asar-Sutil"
Strahan's shout reverberated in the cavern. "He is my god, my lord, the
Seker, the font of all my strength—"

           
"And you want parity."
Corin smiled. "I understand an ambitious man. But I wonder . . . does Asar-Suti?"

           
Strahan's eyes narrowed slightly,
but his smile remained unblemished. "And does Brennan know how much you
want Aileen?”

           
Corin's arms collapsed beneath him.
He slumped back into the pillows.

           
"Aileen?" Brennan said
blankly. Then he looked at Corin. "You want-—"

           
"He said you were unfit."
Corin's tone was curt and characteristically defensive.

           
"Unfit! I? And you believed
him?"

           
"Are you not?" Strahan
asked.

           
Brennan nearly gaped. "I have
spent nearly twenty-two years of my life learning how to rule—I doubt I am
unfit!"

           
"Are you not?" Strahan
repeated. "Think back, my lord of Homana . . . think back to your
fear."

           
Brennan's color faded.

           
"Aye," Strahan said.
"Your fear of small, dark places—the terror of close confinement... the
diminishment of the man who becomes nothing more than a beast." He smiled.
"Do you think I have not seen it? Rhiannon told me of it, and I have
watched you in your cell."

           
"Enough!" Hart shouted,
seeing Brennan's eyes.

           
Strahan looked only at Brennan.
"I ask you to serve me willingly, as I have done before. Accept, and I
will free you forever of this fear."

           
Brennan swallowed tightly.
"No."

           
"Then live in it again . . .
show Corin how fit you are to rule." Strahan raised his hand and Brennan's
world was changed.

           
He was small, so small, so tiny in
the abyss of the world. He knelt on the ground and hugged himself, wrapping
himself in his arms, trying to withstand the pain and fear of knowing himself
alone.

           
The vastness amazed him. It made him
insignificant, reduced him to obsolescence. Alone in the world he knelt on a
vast stone plain, watching the world around him, and saw it begin to move.

           
—how it moved—

           
Like a sphincter squeezing closed,
it began to move upon him. Fold upon fold, swallowed by itself. The world grew
smaller and smaller and smaller, until he could put out his hands and touch it,
and then it grew smaller still.

           
All around him the world trembled.
And then it touched him, even as he withdrew. It drew closer, closer, until he
could not breathe without feeling its caress; without smelling the stink of its
fetid breath and the slime of its glass-black skin. Awash in the power of
helplessness, he felt the world draw closer.

           
—so small—

           
—he could not straighten legs—could
not sit up—could not stretch out his arms—

           
All around him the world squeezed.

           
—so dark—

           
He was entombed within the world,
and it was deaf to his cries.

           
Brennan fell backward, rolling from
one hip onto his spine. Cramped thighs spasmed and trembled. Jerking twisted
tendons. His skull banged against the floor, released from the rigidity of his
neck. He lay on the stone and shook, wet from the sweat of his fear.

           
Dimly he heard movement. But no one
came to aid him.

           
"What kind of king,"
Strahan said, "fears confinement more than death? Fears it so much that it
robs him of control?" He pointed slowly to Brennan's trembling body on the
floor, "Do you, Corin, truly believe him fit to rule? Fit to hold the
Lion? To sire children on Aileen?”

           
"Stop!" Corin shouted.

           
Strahan ripped open the box,
"Accept service with me, and I will make your brother whole!”

           
Sickened, Corin stared.
"Oh—gods—stop—“

           
"You see what Brennan is—I can
free him of that!”

           
"No more!" Corin cried.

           
"Take the Lion for me. Hold
Homana for me. Take the woman for yourself.”

           
Corin clapped both his hands to his
head. "Make him stop—"

           
Hart tried. Even as Strahan shouted
something more, he lurched forward and threw himself across the expanse of the
Gate.

           
Flame licked up. It bathed Hart
briefly as he leaped.

           
He cried out, came down, landed hard
on the other side, too near, too near the Gate—

           
Brennan, still weakened from his
ordeal, struggled to hands and knees. "Hart—no!"

           
Strahan stood his ground.
"Corin—"

           
"No—" Hart scraped his
knees and boots against the rim of the Gate, grimacing in pain.

           
"I will give your brothers
their lir."

           
"Corin—no—" Hart gasped.

           
Brennan rose unsteadily.
"Hart—get back—Hart—"

           
Abruptly, Strahan knelt on one knee
before Hart. His hands held out the box. "Do you want it? Do you want it?
You have only to say the word—"

           
"No—" Brennan shouted.

           
Strahan's smile was unearthly,
"To be a whole Cheysuli, honored by all the clan—"

           
"Leave him alonel" Corin
cried.

           
"—to be able to fly
again—"

           
Brennan stumbled forward.
"Hart—get back—"

           
Flame exploded from the Gate and
blinded all save Strahan.

           
"—to know the freedom of the
skies—"

           
Hart wavered on his knees.
"Ku'reshtin—"

           
"Take me," Corin shouted,
"I will accept the service—"

           
"Corin—Corin, no—" Brennan
tried to round the Gate.

           
Flame licked out, slapped him down,
smashed him against the floor.

           
"Take me," Corin cried.

           
Hart threw himself at the Ihlini.
Strahan fell heavily, landing on hip and elbow. A shower of sparks exploded
from the Gate.

           
"He is forsworn!" Strahan
shouted. "You heard what he said—"

           
Hart dragged himself forward, bodily
preventing the sorcerer from rising. Steadfastly he ignored the rope of Ihlini
godfire that caught an ankle and tugged, trying to jerk him into the Gate.

           
"He is forsworn!" Strahan
shouted.

           
Hart's hand was on the box. Runes
blazed up and writhed, then circled the rectangular box in a blur of uncanny
script. Faster, faster, until the blur ran off the wood and leaped onto Hart's
remaining hand. He cried out in pain, but did not release the box.

           
Brennan, badly disoriented, tried to
stand up and failed.

           
Nearly senseless, he crawled slowly
toward his brother.

           
Hart jerked the box from Strahan's
grasp. Twisting, he turned back toward the Gate. "—my choice—" he
gasped, and hurled it into the flames.

           
The loss was new again. He felt the
sword blade come down, divide flesh, muscles, vessels, shear easily through
bone. He saw the blood. Saw the severed hand. Saw Dar laughing at him.

           
Pain.

           
Hart screamed.

           
One Ihlini servitor caught Brennan.
A second dragged Hart off Strahan and pushed him back around the Gate.

           
Strahan sat at the rim and laughed,
one foot wreathed in icy Ihlini godfire. And then it crept up slowly, so
slowly, to touch his knee, his thigh, his hip; caressed his genitals.