Free The Song of Homana by Jennifer Roberson Page B

You were flogged because you spilled wine on Keough himself, even though I asked them to spare you. Your back must show signs of the flogging, even as my arms show the mark of the iron.” I let go the sleeve. “May I have my sword back, now?”
    Stiffly, he lowered his head to look at it in his hands. And then, as if realizing the history of the blade, he thrust it out to me. I accepted it, feeling safer almost at once, and then he dropped to his knees.
    “My lord,”
he whispered. “Oh, my lord…forgive me!”
    I slid the sword home in its sheath. “There is nothing to forgive. You have done what you should have done.”
    He stared up at me. I saw how his eyes were yellow in the candlelight; I had always thought him Cheysuli. It was Rowan who denied it. “How soon do we fight, my lord?”
    I laughed at his eagerness. “It is late winter now. It will take time to gather what men we can. In true spring, perhaps, we can begin the raiding parties.” I gestured. “Get up from there. This is not the place. I am not the Mujhar quite yet.”
    He remained where he was. “Will you formally accept my service?”
    I reached down and caught his woollen shirt and leather jerkin, pulling him to his feet. “I told you to get up fromthe floor,” I said mildly, startled to find him so grown. He had been but thirteen the last time I had seen him.
    Rowan straightened his clothing. “Aye, my lord.”
    I turned to the other men. Rowan’s, all of them, intent upon rebellion. And now intent upon the scene before them; not quite believing the prince he had promised had come into their midst.
    I cleared my throat. “Most of you are too young to recall Homana before the days of the
qu’mahlin
, when my uncle the Mujhar ordered every Cheysuli slain. You have grown up fearing and distrusting them, as I did myself. But I learned differently, and so must you.” I put up a silencing hand. “They are not demons. They are not beasts. They serve nothing of the netherworld; they serve
me
.” I paused. “Has any of you ever even
seen
a Cheysuli warrior?” There was a chorus of denials, even from Rowan. I looked at each man, one by one. “I will have no bloodshed among my men. The Cheysuli are not your foes.”
    “But—” one man began, then squirmed beneath my eye.
    “It is not easy to forget a thing you have been taught to believe,” I went on, more quietly. “I know that better than you think. But I also think, once you have got over your superstitious fears of something you cannot comprehend, you will see they are no different from any other.” I paused. “You had
better
.”
    Rowan, behind me, laughed once. I thought there was relief in his tone.
    “Will you serve me,” I asked, “even with the Cheysuli by my side?”
    Agreement. No denials. I searched for reluctance and found none.
    “And so the
Song
continues,” murmured Lachlan, and at that I laughed aloud.
    It was Rowan who told me of my kin, what remained of them: my mother and my sister. We sat alone at a corner table, speaking of plans for the army we must gather. He spoke clearly and at length, having spent much of his time considering how best it could be done, and I was grateful for his care. He would make the preparation much easier.But when at last he chanced to say, off-handedly, that my mother no doubt missed my sister’s company, I raised my hand to stop him.
    “Is Tourmaline not at Joyenne?”
    Rowan shook his head. “Bellam took her hostage. Years ago; I think it was not long after you escaped from Homana-Mujhar.”
    Escaped—Tynstar had
let
me go. I picked at the scarred wood of the table and bid Rowan to continue.
    He shrugged, at a loss for what to tell me. “The Lady Gwynneth is kept at Joyenne, well-guarded. Princess Tourmaline, as I said, is at Homana-Mujhar. Bellam seeks to hold anything that might bring you to him. He dares not allow either of them freedom, for fear they could be used as a rallying point for the rebellion.”
    “Instead of