Free The Song of Homana by Jennifer Roberson Page A

a lord again, a man who can rouse this realm into rebellion.” He had all the dedication of the fanatic, and yet there was little of the madness in him, I thought. He was desperate; so was I. “I will not lie and say it would be easy, harper, but I think Carillon would find more than a few ready to rally to his standard.”
    I thought of the crofters, muttering into their wine and ale. I thought of what little success we had had in learning if Homana desired my return.
    “What would you do,” Lachlan asked, “were he to come home again?”
    The other laughed with a bitterness older than his years. “Join him. These few you see. Not many, but a beginning. Still, there are more of us yet. We meet in secret, to plot, and to aid Carillon however we may. In hopes he will come home.”
    “Bellam is powerful,” Lachlan warned, and I wondered what more he knew.
    The Homanan nodded. “He is indeed strong, and claims many troops who serve him well. And with Tynstar at his side, he is certainly no weak king. But Carillon brought the Cheysuli into Homana-Mujhar before, and nearly defeated the Ihlini. This time he might succeed.”
    “Only with help.”
    “He will have it.”
    Lachlan nodded idly. “There are strangers among you. Even I, Ellasian though I may be.”
    “You are a harper.” The young man frowned. “Harpers have immunity, of course. As for the soldier, he will be slain.”
    Lachlan looked at me across the room. “And the other?”
    The Homanan merely smiled. And then the men were at my back, asking for my knife and sword. After a moment’s hesitation, I gave them into their hands. Two men remained behind me, another at my left side. The young man was taking no chances. “He will be slain, of course.”
    Of course. I smiled at Lachlan, who merely bided his time.
    The knife was given to the young man. He looked at it briefly, frowning over the Caledonese runes and scripture, then set it aside on the nearest table. The sword was given to him then, and he did not at once put it down. He admired the edge, then saw the runes set into the silver. His eyes widened. “Cheysuli-made!” He glanced sharply at me. “How did you get this?” For a moment something moved in his face. “Off a dead man, no doubt. Cheysuli swords are rare.”
    “No,” I said. “From a live one. And now, before you slay me, I bid you do one thing.”
    “
Bid
me?” He stared, brows rising beneath the black hair. “Ask, perhaps…but it does not mean I will answer.”
    I did not move. “Cut the leather free.”
    His hands were on the hilt. I saw him look down at the leather, feeling the tautness of it. I had wrapped it well, and would do so again.
    “Cut the leather free.”
    His stare challenged me a moment. And then he drew his knife and did precisely as I asked.
    The leather fell free of his hand. He stared at the hilt: the rampant, royal lion of purest Cheysuli gold, the burnished grip, the massive ruby clutched in curving prongs. The magnificent Mujhar’s Eye.
    “Say what it is, so all will know,” I told him quietly.
    “The lion crest of Homana.” His eyes moved from the hilt to my face, and I smiled.
    “Who carries this sword, this crest?”
    Color had left his face. “The blood of the House of Homana.” He paused. Then, in a rush of breath and words, “But you might have
stolen
this sword!”
    I glanced pointedly at my guards. “You have disarmed me. Say I may come forward.”
    “Come, then.” Color was back in his face. He was young, and angry, and afraid of what he thought he might hear.
    I rose, pushing away my stool. Slowly I walked forward, looking only at the young man, and then I stopped before him. He was tall, Cheysuli-tall, but I was taller still.
    I pushed back the sleeve on my left arm, showing him the scar that ringed my wrist. “See you that? I have another exactly like it, on my right. You should know them both, Rowan.” He flinched in surprise. “You were prisoner to Keough of Atvia, as I was.