The Song of Homana by Jennifer Roberson Read Free Book Online

perhaps?”
    Finn scowled. With the fortune in gold on his arms and in his ear, more would hardly tempt him. Or any other warrior. “He is not Cheysuli,” was all he said, and the meaning was quite clear.
    “No,” I agreed, sighing. “But perhaps he is only a spy, not a hired assassin. Spies I can deal with; often they are useful. How else could we have led Bellam this merry dance for five years?” I smiled again. Bellam had sent spies to track us down. Five had even found us. Those we had stripped of their task, giving them a new one instead: to take word to Bellam that we were elsewhere in the world. Usually hundreds of leagues away from where we were. It had worked with three of them.
    The others we had slain.
    “Then you mean to use him.” His tone was perfectly flat, but I knew he was not pleased.
    “We will take him with us and see what he means to do.”
    “You tread a dangerous path, Carillon.”
    I smiled. “It is already dangerous. This will add a fillip.” I laughed at his expression. “It will also keep you in practice,
liege man
. You were slow in coming to my aid.”
    “I had five men to slay before I could reach the harp.” But he frowned a little, and I knew he was not immune to the knowledge that he
had
been slow. Faster than anyone else, perhaps, but slow for a Cheysuli warrior.
    “You are getting old, Finn.” I gestured. “Set our harper free. Let us see what he intends to do.”
    Finn released Lachlan. The harper staggered a moment, then caught himself, touching his head with a tentative hand. His eyes were blurred and unfocused. “Have you done?”
    “More than done,” I agreed. “Now tell us why you wish to aid me.”
    He rubbed his brow, still frowning slightly. “It is a harper’s life to make songs out of heroes and history. You are both, you and your Cheysuli. You should hear the stories they tell.” He grinned, his senses restored. “A harper gains his own measure of fame by adding to the fame of others. I could do worse than to ride with Carillon of Homana and his equally infamous liege man.”
    “You could,” I agreed, and let him make of that what he would.
    After a moment Lachlan gestured. “Your fire has gone out. Do you wish it, I can give it life again.”
    I glanced down at the firecairn. Snow had been kicked into the fire during the scuffle with the Homanans and the weight had finally doused it. “I have flint and steel,” I said.
    “Your kindling is damp. What I do will take less effort.” Lachlan turned to go to his horse for the harp, but Storr was in his way. After a moment a gray-faced harper looked back at me.
    I smiled. “Storr does Finn’s bidding, when he does not do his own. Look to him.”
    Lachlan did not move. He waited. And finally Storr moved away.
    The harper took down his case from the horse and turned, cradling it against his chest. “You fear I will use sorcery against you?”
    “With reason,” I declared.
    “I will not.” He shook his dull, dark head. “Not again. I will use it
for
you, do you wish it, but not against. Never against. We have too much in common.”
    “What,” I asked, “does a mercenary have in common with a harper?”
    Lachlan grinned. It was the warm, amused expression I had seen the evening before, as if he knew what I could not, and chose to keep it that way. “I am many things,” he said obliquely. “Some of them you know: harper, healer, priest. And one day I will share the rest with you.”
    I lifted my sword. With great deliberation I set the tip against the lip of the sheath and let Lachlan see the runes, hardly visible in the dying light. Then I slid the sword home with the hiss of steel filling the shadows. “Do you admit to complicity,” I said softly, “take care.”
    Lachlan’s smile was gone. Hugging his harp case, he shook his head. “Were I to desire your death, your Cheysuli would give me my own.” He cast a quick, flickering glance at Finn. “This is Ellas. We have sheltered the