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

in this. You know what this
is. Why will you not tell me?"
                 "I
am not meant to tell you."
                 Control
slipped askew. " Gods ,"
Aidan rasped, "will anyone speak plainly? My lir practices obscurity; now so do you. Tell me, shar tahl : am I to live, or die?"
                 "The
gods will decide that."
                 Aidan's
laughter was a sharp bark of blurted sound. "The Hunter tells me
differently. He speaks of choices,
even as you do."
                 Burr's
eyes glittered. "I do not know everything."
                 "Neither
do I," Aidan gritted. "I'm knowing nothing at all —d'ye think this is pleasant?" He sat rigidly on the pelt.
"I came to you for help, because grandsire suggested it. Because I think I
am going mad."
                 There,
it was said. The silence was very loud.
                 Burr
swallowed tightly. For a brief moment there was war in his face, a battle that
underscored, to Aidan, the great need for him to know. Then the shar tahl muttered a brief, sibilant
petition and pulled aside the doorflap.
                 Aidan
was filled with emptiness. He was six years old once more, faced with adult
betrayal; the inability of anyone—even those who should—to understand the pain
that drove him so desperately. "Nothing," he murmured numbly.
"You give me nothing at all."
                 Burr's
jaw was clenched. "If I could, I would. But if your lir will not, who am I to do it?" He gazed at the link,
glowing wanly in the light. "I only know part of it."
                 Aidan
scooped up the link and rose, turning to face the shar tahl . Contempt shaded his tone. "What do you have for me?"
                 The
yellow eyes were kind. "My lord, my sympathy."
     
  Chapter Six
 
 
                 « ^ »
     
                 It
was dark when Aidan rode into Mujhara, well after sunset. He had come close to
staying one more night at Clankeep, but judged three enough; it was time he
tested his newfound "knowledge" regarding links, Mujhars, and
himself.
                 He
rode in through the massive gates of Homana-Mujhar, only vaguely acknowledging
salutes and greetings—he was too weary to offer more—and gave the dun into the
keeping of the horseboy who came running. Brief instructions passed on, Aidan
then went into the palace by way of the kitchens, studiously avoiding his
kinfolk, who would no doubt ask him questions he did not wish to address. He
was not yet in the mood. First things first.
                 Word
of his return would not be carried to the Mujhar or his parents once they had
retired for the night. Aidan kept himself to the kitchens, cadging meat, ale,
and bread from servants startled by his presence, until well after bedtime.
Then he sent Teel to his perch in private chambers, and went by himself to the
Great Hall.
                 Bootsteps
echoed as he walked the length of the firepit, dividing the hall in half from
dais steps nearly to the doors. As always, he took no lamp or candle; this was
better done in dimness, with only the summer-banked coals for light.
                 He
silenced his steps, and stopped. In the darkness, Aidan laughed: bitter irony.
Speaking with the Hunter had changed nothing for the better. Now the dream was
real even when he did not sleep.
                 He
stood, as he had stood so often, before the Lion Throne. In its seat was the
chain.
                 Aidan
linked hands behind his waist. "No lir ,"
he declared. "Is that what makes the difference? You want me to come
alone?"
                 Nothing
answered him.
                 The
challenge faded away. Aidan sighed, smearing one palm against his brow hard
enough to stretch flesh. He was twitching from exhaustion, both mental and
physical; he had not slept very well in the three nights at