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

away on a wisp
of disbelief. He would not allow himself. Self-possession was the key, if he
was to survive.
                 Aidan
licked dry lips. "I came off my horse."
                 "Most
dramatically. Unlike you, the horse is unhurt." The voice was amused.
                 Aidan
focused with effort. Now he could see someone. A man, kneeling by his side. A brown man: hair, skin, eyes, leathers,
all degrees of peat-brown, as if he hid himself in the wood—or, Aidan thought
dimly, as if he was of the wood. Not
old, not young, but in between; a score of years older than Aidan, a score
younger than Niall. Dark eyes were kind, but compelling.
                 Something
in Aidan answered. "You are Cheysuli—?" But he broke it off almost at
once. "No—no, of course not… how could I think such a thing?"
                 The
Hunter smiled. "There is Cheysuli in me. Or, to be precise: there is me in Cheysuli."
                 For
a man only recently revived from unconsciousness—and with an aching head—it was
much too confusing. Very like his meeting with Shaine, which, Aidan was
certain, came as reaction to the fall. "Let me sit— aghh —"
                 "Perhaps
not," the Hunter said mildly.
                 Aidan
was appalled by the pain. His head hurt, aye, but not so much as his chest. A
demon was kicking his ribs. "Am I broken?" he asked faintly.
                 "Bruised,
a little. Repairable, certainly. I could do it for you, but that is not my
gift. I Hunt; I do not Heal."
                 That
won Aidan's attention. "Hunt—" he muttered blankly. "What is it
you hunt?"
                 "Men."
                 Something
jumped inside painful ribs. "But—" He stopped. "No—I think not…
you could not be—"
                 "—hunting
you?" the brown man finished. "Oh, indeed I could be… in fact, I am
certain I am ."
                 Sweat
sheened Aidan's face. He felt it under his arms; in the hollow of his belly,
beneath aching ribs. "What have you done with my lir ?"
                 "Sent
him ahead, as I said. Do you think I could hurt a lir ?" The tone changed to shock. "No more than harm you , who are true-born or the Cheysuli…"
The Hunter's voice faded. His face registered concern. "I have little
experience with humans, even with those of my blood… perhaps I would have done
better to come in another guise." He frowned thoughtfully. "But this
one has always served me… it has always been so benign …"
                 Aidan
lost fear and patience. "Who exactly are you? And why are you hunting me?"
                 The
dark face creased in a smile. "To discover what you have learned."
                 "Have—learned—?"
It was incongruous to Aidan that any of what he saw was real. That what he heard was real; the fall had addled his
wits. First Shaine, and now the Hunter. "Am I supposed to have learned
anything in particular? Or anything at all?"
                 "Oh,
I think something. You have been alive for twenty-three years… I think you must have learned something." The
smile was undiminished, though irony laced the tone.
                 And
yet another time, as if repeated asking would eventually win him an answer:
"What have you done with my lir ?"
                 The
brown man's smile vanished. "Ruefully, he rubbed his jaw. "I see the
link is even stronger than we expected… we might have done better to lessen it,
to make lir and warrior less
dependent upon one another, but without the strength of that bond, there could
be repercussions. And we could not afford those." He shook his head.
"No, I think it is as well."
                 Patience
frayed. " What is as well?"
                 "The
bond," the Hunter answered equably. "The thing you call the lir- link. The thing that sets you apart
from all