Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 Read Online Free

needed, he
was important, he was necessary.
                But sometimes he wondered if he
himself, Kellin, were not so necessary as his blood. If he cut himself, and
spilled it, would that satisfy them—and then make him unimportant?
                Kellin grimaced at his reflection.
"Sometimes they treat me like Gareth's prize stallion ... I think he
forgets what it is to be a horse, the way they all treat him.. . ." But
Kellin let it go. The image in the polished plate stared back, green eyes
transmuted by bronze to dark hazel. The familiarity of his features was
momentarily blurred by imagination, and he became another boy, a strange boy, a
boy with different powers promised one day-
                "Ihlini," Kellin
whispered. "What are you really like? Do you look like demons?"
                "I think that unlikely,"
said a voice from the doorway: Rogan, his tutor. "I think they probably
resemble you and me, rather than horrid specters of the netherworld. You've
heard stories of Strahan and Lochiel. They look like everyone else."
                Kellin could see Rogan's distorted
reflection in the bronze. "Could you be Ihlini?"
                "Certainly," Rogan
replied. "I am an evil sorcerer sent here from Lochiel himself, to take
you prisoner and carry you away to Valgaard, where you will doubtlessly be
tortured and slain, then given over to Asar-Suti, the Seker—"
                Kellin took it up with appropriate
melodrama:
                "—the god of the netherworld,
who made and dwells in darkness, and—"
                "—who clothes himself in the
noxious fumes of his slain victims," Rogan finished.
                Kellin grinned his delight; it was
an old game,
                "Grandsire would protect
me."
                "Aye, he would. That is what a
Mujhar is for.
                He would never allow anyone,
sorcerer or not, to steal his favorite grandson."
                "I am his only grandson."
                "And therefore all the more
valuable." Rogan's reflection sighed. "I know it has been very
difficult for you, being mewed up in Homana-Mujhar for so many years, but it
was necessary. You know why."
                Kellin knew why, but he did not
entirely understand. Punishment had kept him from attending Summerfair for two
years, but there was much more to it than that. He had never known any freedom
to visit Mujhara as others did, or even Clankeep without constant protection.
                Kellin turned from the polished
plate and looked at Rogan. The Homanan was very tall and thin and was inclined
to stoop when he was tired, as he stooped just now. His graying brown hair was
damp from recent washing, and he had put on what Kellin called his
"medium" clothes: not as plain as his usual somber apparel, but not
so fine as those he wore when summoned to sup in the Great Hall with the
family, as occasionally happened. Plain black breeches and gray wool tunic over
linen shirt, belted and clasped with bronze, replaced his customary attire.
                "Why?" Kellin blurted.
"Why do they let me go now? I heard some of the servants talking. They
said grandsire and granddame were too frightened to let me go out."
                The lines in Rogan's face etched
themselves a little more deeply. "Even they understand they cannot keep
you in jesses forever. You must be permitted to weather outside like a hawk on
the blocks, or be unfit for the task. And so they have decided you may go this
year, as you have improved your manners—and because it is time. I am put in
charge . . . but there will be guards also."
                Kellin nodded; there were always
guards. "Because I'm Aidan's only son", and the only heir," He
did not understand all of it. "Because—because if Lochiel killed me, there
would be no more