would do her injury. I leave her to you.”
Finn grinned down at her. “Do you see,
meijha
? The clan-leader passes you back to me.”
“I will have none of you,” she said with effort, trying to speak beneath the weight of words in her mind. “Do you hear?”
Duncan said something to her but Alix heard nothing; she saw only that his mouth moved. She clapped hands over her ears and bowed her head, trying to withstand the patterns and tones in her mind.
Finn’s hands came down on her shoulders. Dimly she saw Duncan lead his horse away, leaving Finn on foot with her. She peered at him uncertainly.
“You have been given into my keeping,” he announced. “I do not intend to let you out of it.”
“Is it sorcery?” she gasped. “Do you seek to take my mind from me?”
Finn scowled at her. “You do not make sense,
meijha.
But I have no time to listen to you now…can you not hear them?”
“I hear their voices!” she cried, trembling. Finn’s look on her was strange. “I speak of their horses,
meijha.
I hear no voices.”
For a moment she pushed away the soundless words and listened to reality. Through the forest came the sounds of men battering their way through delaying brush. Her eyes flew to Finn’s.
“They will slay you,” he said gently.
The weight began to fall from her mind. Faintly she heard echoes of the tones and patterns, but she did not feel so bound by them. Her strength was spent. She nodded wearily at Finn and did not protest as he led her deeper into the forest.
“Storr?” she asked softly.
“He is behind, watching. He—like the others—will fight the Mujhar’s men.”
Finn pulled her down under cover of a broken tree trunk leaning drunkenly against another. Quickly he set deadfall over them, weaving a rapid shelter. When it was done he pushed her down on her stomach and knelt beside her. Alix, still shaken from the silent voices, watched from a distance as he loosened his belt-knife and effortlessly nocked a yellow-fletched black arrow to his compact, powerful bow.
Alix put her head down on one arm and longed for the security of her father’s croft.
“Watch my back,
meijha
,” Finn said roughly. “I have no time for women’s fears.”
She wrenched her head up and glared at him. His back was to her, presenting an excellent target for a furious fist, but the precariousness of their position was uppermost in her mind. She put away the urge to do him harm and turned instead to watch behind him, as he had bidden.
Alix’s head ached. She scrubbed at her forehead as if to drive the pain away, but it did no good. The voices were gone, only a figment of memory, but it was enough to leave a residue. Her entire body ached with the indignities she had been forced to endure: sores remained on her legs from continued riding; bruises dotted her flesh and her bones and muscles felt like rags. Her mind, she knew dimly, was as exhausted. For all they insisted they would do her no harm, the Cheysuli had accounted for more pain and fatigue than she had ever thought possible.
At first she thought it was a Cheysuli horse crashing through the brush toward their thin shelter. Alix stared silently up at the man a moment before she realized he was a mailed man-at-arms in the scarlet-and-black tunic livery of the Mujhar, sword drawn.
Relief flooded through her. She would escape Finn and the others now, putting herself into the care of a Mujharan guardsman, who would surely rescue her from her plight. Alix sighed in relief and crawled forward as the man’s eyes fell on hers. The beginnings of her smile of greeting faded.
The sword lifted in a gloved hand, swinging back over his shoulder. Transfixed, Alix stared at the bright blade. It hung over her, poised to fall, and in a blinding flash of realization she knew Duncan’s words were true. They would slay her where she stood, and call her shapechanger.
Alix lunged backward into Finn. He turned sharply and hissed something, then saw why she
Finn grinned down at her. “Do you see,
meijha
? The clan-leader passes you back to me.”
“I will have none of you,” she said with effort, trying to speak beneath the weight of words in her mind. “Do you hear?”
Duncan said something to her but Alix heard nothing; she saw only that his mouth moved. She clapped hands over her ears and bowed her head, trying to withstand the patterns and tones in her mind.
Finn’s hands came down on her shoulders. Dimly she saw Duncan lead his horse away, leaving Finn on foot with her. She peered at him uncertainly.
“You have been given into my keeping,” he announced. “I do not intend to let you out of it.”
“Is it sorcery?” she gasped. “Do you seek to take my mind from me?”
Finn scowled at her. “You do not make sense,
meijha.
But I have no time to listen to you now…can you not hear them?”
“I hear their voices!” she cried, trembling. Finn’s look on her was strange. “I speak of their horses,
meijha.
I hear no voices.”
For a moment she pushed away the soundless words and listened to reality. Through the forest came the sounds of men battering their way through delaying brush. Her eyes flew to Finn’s.
“They will slay you,” he said gently.
The weight began to fall from her mind. Faintly she heard echoes of the tones and patterns, but she did not feel so bound by them. Her strength was spent. She nodded wearily at Finn and did not protest as he led her deeper into the forest.
“Storr?” she asked softly.
“He is behind, watching. He—like the others—will fight the Mujhar’s men.”
Finn pulled her down under cover of a broken tree trunk leaning drunkenly against another. Quickly he set deadfall over them, weaving a rapid shelter. When it was done he pushed her down on her stomach and knelt beside her. Alix, still shaken from the silent voices, watched from a distance as he loosened his belt-knife and effortlessly nocked a yellow-fletched black arrow to his compact, powerful bow.
Alix put her head down on one arm and longed for the security of her father’s croft.
“Watch my back,
meijha
,” Finn said roughly. “I have no time for women’s fears.”
She wrenched her head up and glared at him. His back was to her, presenting an excellent target for a furious fist, but the precariousness of their position was uppermost in her mind. She put away the urge to do him harm and turned instead to watch behind him, as he had bidden.
Alix’s head ached. She scrubbed at her forehead as if to drive the pain away, but it did no good. The voices were gone, only a figment of memory, but it was enough to leave a residue. Her entire body ached with the indignities she had been forced to endure: sores remained on her legs from continued riding; bruises dotted her flesh and her bones and muscles felt like rags. Her mind, she knew dimly, was as exhausted. For all they insisted they would do her no harm, the Cheysuli had accounted for more pain and fatigue than she had ever thought possible.
At first she thought it was a Cheysuli horse crashing through the brush toward their thin shelter. Alix stared silently up at the man a moment before she realized he was a mailed man-at-arms in the scarlet-and-black tunic livery of the Mujhar, sword drawn.
Relief flooded through her. She would escape Finn and the others now, putting herself into the care of a Mujharan guardsman, who would surely rescue her from her plight. Alix sighed in relief and crawled forward as the man’s eyes fell on hers. The beginnings of her smile of greeting faded.
The sword lifted in a gloved hand, swinging back over his shoulder. Transfixed, Alix stared at the bright blade. It hung over her, poised to fall, and in a blinding flash of realization she knew Duncan’s words were true. They would slay her where she stood, and call her shapechanger.
Alix lunged backward into Finn. He turned sharply and hissed something, then saw why she
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