Free Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 by Flight of the Raven (v1.0)

great-great-great-grandsire." Gray eyes narrowed. "A long
history. I weary of it all."
                 This cannot be happening. None of this is
real . Aidan stared at the man. He filled his eyes with the man, stretching
lids wide, then swallowed back the sour taste filling his mouth. Am I dead ? he wondered. Could this all be real ?
                 The
knots in his belly tightened. Aidan felt numb. "If you are Shaine…"
he mumbled. "If you are Shaine…"He
twitched the thought away. "Am I dead?" he asked flatly. "Oh,
gods, am I dead? Is this what it is to die?"
                 "Dead?
You?" White teeth parted the beard. "No, not yet. There is time still
left to you."
                 Fleetingly,
Aidan wondered how much; he forbore to ask. Relief was too overwhelming, until
he considered again the circumstances.
                 He
wiped one sweaty hand on a legging-clad thigh. His only chance was to focus on
something, anything, to keep himself from losing control. "If you are
Shaine the Mujhar, you are dead."
                 The
man did not reply.
                 Aidan
felt sick. He wanted to spew out the contents of his belly across the fallen
altar, or onto leaf-thickened floor. Sweat bathed his flesh. His head began to
ache. Worst of all was the fear.
                 I HAVE gone mad.
                 And
then, Gods, where is Teel? What has
become of my lir ?
                 Still
kneeling, he shuddered. Hands clenched on the links.
                 This is a new dream… gods, let it BE a dream —
                 Shaine
the Mujhar stared back. "We are not discussing me. We have come to speak
of you."
                 "Me?"
Aidan blurted. "What have you to do with me?"
                 "Stand
up," he was told.
                 Aidan
slowly rose. Links in his hand chimed.
                 The
man examined him. "Cheysuli," he said in disgust. "I should have
known Carillon would lift my curse as soon as he claimed the Lion… well, it
took him five years to win it back from Bellam, and longer still to end the
extermination." The line of the mouth was bitter. " Qu'mahlin , you shapechangers call it?
Aye, well, nothing lasts, not even the Cheysuli…" Gray eyes narrowed.
"Red hair, fair skin… is it merely you mimic the fashion?"
                 Sickness
was unabated. His belly writhed within. But he focused on something else so as
to ignore his discomfort.
                 "Mimic
the fashion—?" Abruptly, Aidan understood. It made him angry, very angry;
it gave him courage again. "These lir- bands
and the earring are mine, gained in the usual way, and properly bestowed during
my Ceremony of Honors. There is no fashion to them; nor to me, my lord apparition: I am Cheysuli and heir to Homana."
                 Shaine
the Mujhar smiled. "Are you so certain of that?"
                 Aidan
struggled with himself. I am mad — I must be mad — why else am I standing
here arguing with a fetch ? He glanced around for Teel. Where is my lir ?
                 Shaine
the Mujhar still smiled. "Are you so certain?"
                 The
derision snared Aidan's attention. "Of course I am certain," he
snapped. "I have told you who I am, and you say I am not dead; how would I not be heir?"
                 "By
never accepting the throne."
                 Aidan
swallowed a shout. Quietly, he said, "I was born to accept the throne. The
Lion will be mine."
                 Shaine
lifted a hand and pointed to the chain dangling from Aidan's hand. "Men
are but links," he said. "Links in a chain of the gods, who play at
the forge as a child plays at his toys. Make a link, and solder it here—solder
another there… rearrange the order to better please the eye." The
arrogance had faded, replaced by intensity. "Some links are strong