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

And
what he might do with such thoughts—
                 Abruptly,
Aidan laughed. Is this what they say of
me ?
                 Burr's
smile lapsed. The eyes, so like Aidan's own, were fixed and uncannily feral.
The voice was very quiet; the tone a whiplash of sound. "If you question
my own commitment to my race, let me reassure you. My belief in the gods is
unshakable. It has been since I was quite young—I knew as clearly as I knew my lir what I was meant to be. It was my tahlmorra : I could be nothing else. No
man, no woman, no warrior—proscribed or otherwise—could ever turn me from that,
any more than Teirnan or anyone else could turn you from the Lion. I am a
Cheysuli shar tahl , fully cognizant
of my service." Intensity dispersed abruptly, as if no longer needed. The
calm smile returned. "What service may I do you?"
                 Something
in Aidan answered. His distrust of Burr faded, replaced with an odd
recognition. This man is very like me —He
smiled back slowly, though its twist was decidedly wry. "I have many
questions." He pointed at the link. "What do I do with that?"
                 Burr,
for the first time, looked at the link. Aidan knew what it looked like, what it felt like; he had carried it by hand
all the way to Clankeep, unable to hide it away. It was nothing and everything,
all bound into the gold and runes, and he dared not let it go.
                 For
Burr, he had let it go. It waited on the pelt, glinting dully in wan light.
                 Abruptly,
the man was shar tahl . Aidan was
startled by the sudden transformation. It was, he thought, merely his own
perspective, somehow altered; this Burr was no different from the Burr of a
moment before, in appearance or manner. And yet Aidan felt the change, the slow
comprehension, that flooded the man with an eerie exaltation.
                 Burr
unlaced his hands and reached out, as if to pick up the link. But he refrained.
Fingertips trembled a moment. Then quieted into stillness. He did not touch the
link. He looked searchingly at Aidan. Then abruptly looked away.
                 Aidan
frowned. "What is it?"
                 Burr
quickly rose to his feet and went directly to the open doorflap. The gesture
was blatant: Aidan was to leave. "I cannot help you," he said.
"You must find your own way."
                 Unquestionably
dismissal, in tone and posture. Part of Aidan responded instinctively—a
Cheysuli warrior was carefully tutored to honor a shar tahl —until he recalled his other self. The self meant for the
Lion.
                 "No,"
he said quietly, still kneeling on the pelt. "I came to you with
questions. You promised answers." Slowly he twisted his head and glanced
over a shoulder at the shar tahl .
"Are you the kind of man who can refuse to give them?"
                 Burr
did not hesitate. "You ask too much."
                 Aidan
was deliberate. "As warrior? Or as a prince?"
                 Burr
drew in a breath, then released it audibly. His expression was peculiar.
"We spoke of choices, my lord. We spoke of a warrior's tahlmorra . No Cheysuli is truly forced to accept his tahlmorra —he does have free will—but if
he is truly commited to his people, to the prophecy, to his belief in the
afterworld, he never refuses it. So we are taught: so I believe." The
phrasing was deliberate; Aidan understood. "I came to my own arrangement
with the gods when I was very young. Now you must come to yours."
                 "I
know my tahlmorra" Aidan
declared. "I came to you for this."
                 Burr
did not look at the link. "I have no answer for you."
                 Anger
flickered dully. He had come for help, as advised by his grandsire, and this
was what he got. More obscurity. His belly was full of it.
                 "Tell
me," he said quietly. "You see something