The Complete Morgaine (101 page)

“This way!” It was the only time that Vanye had ever heard an
arrha
speak; but the young
qhalur
woman behind Sezar pointed them another direction, and Morgaine reined instantly off upon that track.

Swiftly it became a broad way among the trees of an aged grove, cleared ground where their horses could find easy passage, without brush to hinder.

They ran them, weaving when they must, until the horses were blowing with the effort and the trees, darkening their way, grew wider spaced. The Shiua seemed now to have lost their trail. They walked for a time to rest the horses, ran again, slowed again, making what time they could without completely winding the horses.

And suddenly they burst through upon cleared ground, a vast open space, and Vanye forgot all their haste in that instant.

Two hills upthrust, the farther of incredible steepness, although all the clearing else was naked and flat, hazy with distance and the westering sun. A vast hold sat atop that high place, dominating all the land round about, looking down on clearing and on forest, square, a cube such as the great holds of power tended to be.

Nehmin.

And before them on the flat of the vast clearing was mustered the host of
Shiuan, the glitter of arms ascending the side of the rock of the fortress, shining motes, rare in the dark tide of Men, all misty with afternoon haze.

Morgaine had drawn rein yet within the cover of the woods. Dismay seldom touched her face, but it did now. The number of those about Nehmin seemed that of the stones at Narnside. They stretched as a gray surging mass across the floor of the clearing in the far distance, stretched up the farther hill like the waves of Shiuan's eroding seas beating at the rock, tendrils of humanity which straggled among the rough spires and wound constantly higher toward the stronghold.

“Liyo,”
Vanye said, “let us work round the side of this place. To be caught between that and what already pursues us . . . little appeals to me.”

She reined Siptah about so that her back was to the clearing and her face toward the woods from which they had come. There was audible again the distant sound of pursuit. “They
have
us between,” she said. “There is ambush everywhere; they have come in by all three rivers. Days—
days
—before the
arrhend
can match this kind of force.”

Merir's face was grim. “We will never match it. We cannot fight but singly. In time, each will come, each fight.”

“And singly die,” Vanye said in despair. “That is madness, to go by twos against that force.”

“Never
all
die,” said Sharrn. “Not while Shathan stands. But it will take time to deal with that out there. The first to oppose them will surely die, ourselves surely among them . . . and thousands may die, in days after. But this is our land. We will not let it fall to the likes of these.”

“But Nehmin may fall,” said Morgaine. “Enough force, enough weight of bodies and doors will yield and even the jewel-force cannot long stop them. Their ignorance—let loose in Nehmin—amid the powers
it
holds—no. No, we do not wait here for that to happen. Where, lord, is the access to Nehmin?”

“There are three hills, not apparent from this view; there is the Lesser Horn, there to the side of the greatest hill, a fortress over the road itself: gates within it face this way and the far side . . . that is the way up. Then the road winds high to the Dark Horn, which you cannot see from here, and then to the very doors of Nehmin. We cannot hope to reach more than this nearest and least, the White Hill, before they come on us.”

“Come,” she said. “At least we shall not be waiting here for them. We shall try. Better that than sitting still.”

“They will know that horse of yours, even at distance,” Roh said. “There is none such in their company, yours or Lord Merir's.”

Morgaine shrugged. “Then they will know me,” she said. There was distrust in her look suddenly, as if she had of sudden reckoned that Roh, armed, was at her back in a situation where none could prevent him.

But the sound of pursuit was almost upon them, and she touched the spurs to Siptah and led them forward, circling within the fringe of trees, riding the bow of the clearing.

She meant a run with the White Hill between her and Nehmin, Vanye realized; it was what he would have done, running at the horde on the flat from an angle such that they had cover for at least a portion of their ride.

“They are on us!” Kessun cried; they looked back and the foremost of their pursuers had broken through, riders stringing out in wild disorder, cutting across the open to head them off while they still rode the arc.

But at the same moment Morgaine veered out into the open, and meant to lead them from under the face of that charge, riding for the White Hill.

“Go!” she shouted. “Lellin, Sezar, Merir, ride while you can. We will shake these from our heels and overtake you. The rest of you, stay by me.”

Well-done,
Vanye thought; the unarmed five of their party had cover enough in which to gain ground; the nine armed had cover in which to deal with these rash pursuers. He disdained the bow: he had no skill at firing from horseback. He was Nhi when he fought, and whipped out the Shiua longsword, at Morgaine's left. Perrin and Vis, Roh, Sharrn, Dev, Larrel and Kessun: their arrows flew and riders went down; and Morgaine's lesser weapon laced red fire across the front of the charge which met them. Horses and riders went down, screaming, and even so a handful broke through. Demon-helms, their barbed lances lowered, with a straggling horde of marshlands foot panting behind.

The charge reached them: Vanye fell to the side Nhi-style, simply not there when the lance passed, and the good horse held steady as he came thrusting up again, blade aimed for that rider. The
khal
saw it coming, horrified, for the lance point was beyond and his sword inside the defense. Then his point drove into the undefended throat and the
khal
pitched over his horse's rump, carried on the force of it.

“Hai!”
he heard at his side, and there was Roh, longsword flashing through
khalur
defense—no plains-fighter, the Chya lord, but there was an empty saddle where there had been a
khal
about to skewer him.

Others came on them; one rider pitched from the saddle short of them, a red streak of fire for his undoing. Vanye trusted to Morgaine's aim and took the gift, aiming for the rider hard behind, whose half-helmed face registered horror to find an enemy on him before he expected and his own guard breached. Vanye cut him down and found himself and Roh enmeshed in marshlands rabble. That dissolved in terror at what fire Morgaine sent across their mass, cutting down men indiscriminately, so that dying fell on dead. Grass was burning. The trampling of feet put it out as the horde turned in panic.
Arrhendur
arrows and Morgaine's bolts pursued them without mercy, cutting down the hindmost in windrows of dead and dying.

Vanye wheeled to turn back, chanced to look on Roh's face, which was pale and grim and satisfied. And he turned further and saw Larrel on the ground with Kessun bending over him. From the amount of blood that covered him and Kessun there was no hope he could live; a
khalur
lance had taken the young
qhal
in the belly.

Even as he watched, Kessun sprang up with bow in hand and sent three shafts in succession after the retreating Shiua. Whether they hit he did not see; the
khemeis'
face ran with tears.

“Horses!” Morgaine shouted. “
Khemeis
—get to horse! Your lord needs you!”

Kessun hesitated, his young face twisted with grief and indecision. Then Sharrn ordered him the same, and he sprang to the saddle, leaving his
arrhen
among the Shiua dead. The shock had not yet hit Kessun. Vanye hurt for him, and remembered at the same time that they had two horseless members of their company . . . one, now: Perrin had caught Larrel's.

And Roh came up leading one of the Shiua mounts, even as they started to move. They struck a gallop and held it, and Kessun rode ever and again looking back.

The White Hill lay before them, and their party neared it. Morgaine gave Siptah his head and the gray stretched out and ran with a speed which none of the
arrhendur
horses could match. Vanye dropped back in despair, but he looked on that craggy hill which rose so strangely out of the flat and of a sudden chill hit him as he considered how it seemed to stand sentinel to this approach.

Morgaine wanted the others stopped short of arrowflight of that hill; Merir's group was nearly there, moving at the best speed they could make with two horses carrying double, but she and the gray horse closed on them rapidly, the while they behind labored to stay with her. And she had their attention; the five waited at the last, seeing her desperate to overtake them, and in moments they all closed ranks, out of breath.

“Larrel,” Merir mourned, seeing who it was who had fallen. Vanye recalled what Merir had said of a
qhal
dying young, and grieved for that; but he grieved more for the stricken
khemeis
who sat his horse with his hands braced on the saddle and his head bowed in tears.

“Mount up,” Morgaine bade the
arrha
shortly; the young women scrambled uncertainly to the ground and Sezar helped them to the horses they were offered. Their handling of the reins was that of folk utterly unused to horses.

“The horses will stay with the group,” Roh told them. “Keep the reins in your hands and do not pull back on them. Hold to the saddle if you think you will fall.”

The
arrha
were frankly terrified. They nodded understanding, and held on at once when they started to move, the horses hardly more than loping. Vanye
looked on the women and cursed, showed them how to turn and how to stop, thinking with horror of what must befall the helpless creatures when they rode full tilt into the Shiua horde. It was all there was time to give them. He shook his head at Roh, and received back a grim look.

“Larrel was only the first,” Roh said; and that took no prophecy, for the
arrhendim
were not armed or armored for hand-to-hand. Only he, Roh, and Morgaine could fight that sort of battle. Vanye rode closer to Morgaine, taking his place by habit as much as clear thought; and it was impossible now to avoid the sight that faced them. Gray indistinct lines stretched across their whole horizon, the great rock of Nehmin behind. Their coming was not yet remarked or not yet known for attack: they might as well have been Shiua riders for all the main forces knew. The skirmish had not been seen because of the hill . . . and the approach of thirteen riders to that countless host could hardly seem threatening.

“Look!” cried one of the
arrha,
gazing back, for there was a signal fire lit on the White Hill, a plume of smoke trailing out on the wind.

And that was enough.

The sound that went up from the Shiua horde was like that of the waves of the sea, and their number—the number was unimaginable even to a man who had seen forces in the field and knew how to estimate them: all that the camp on Azeroth had spilled forth, the refuse and scourings of a drowning world.
Khalur
riders poured out toward them, a troop of demon-helms, a cold sheen of metal and a forest of lances in the fading daylight.

Then Vanye doubted their faintest hope of survival, for even if the marshlanders would flee and confound themselves by their own numbers, the Shiua riders would not: the
khal
knew what they attacked, had made up their minds, and came at Morgaine for hate. A hundred riders, two hundred, three hundred deep and twice that wide; a shout went up, drowned in the thunder of hooves.

And of a sudden Merir drew even with them in the lead, the white mare easily matching strides with Siptah and the bay. “Fall behind,” the old lord urged them. “Fall back. Here the
arrha
and I are worth something, if anywhere.”

Morgaine began to do so, falling back more and more, though Vanye shuddered at the sight of the old lord, out to the fore of them, and the frail white-robed
arrha
joining him in the face of those lances. Merir and his companions spread wide, and the horses shied with the
arrha
as Gate-force suddenly shimmered about them; one lost her seat and fell, a stunning blow; but the one on the horse which had been Larrel's rode still with Merir.

The downed
arrha
scrambled for her feet, scraped and shaken, childlike in her size and her helplessness. Vanye rode down on her and in a desperate maneuver leaned from the saddle and seized the back of the clothing as they
seized the prize in riders' games in Kursh . . . dragged the bemused girl belly-down across his saddle and kept going. Morgaine cursed him bitterly for his madness, and he flung her back a look of anguish.

“Stay with me,” Morgaine shouted at him. “Throw her off if you must; stay with me.”

“Hold on,” Vanye begged of the
arrha;
he could not do more for her. His horse was already laboring with that added burden. But the frail child struggled to rise, pounding her taut fist on his leg, until at last he realized that she yet held the jewel and wished him to know it. She was sore hurt; he thrust his sword into sheath and hauled her up with one hand by her robes, knowing what pain the saddle must be giving her. Thin arms went about his neck, held desperately: she dragged at one side and he leaned to the other. She flung a leg across his, relying on his balance with more courage than he had expected. The Shathana horse held steady with this shifting, staggered only a little, and when she had gained a hold he suddenly felt the queasiness of Gate-force about them: the
arrha
had unleashed the power of her jewel.

He knew then what she wanted of him, and used the spurs, aimed himself forward with all the speed the horse had left . . . defying Morgaine's direct order for one of a few times in their partnership. He pulled out to the side at the interval of Merir and the other
arrha,
hearing someone coming hard yet farther over; and it was, as he had thought . . . Morgaine.