The Complete Morgaine (74 page)

She laughed shortly, and Sezar's eyes flickered, puzzled. “Do not think I mean to let that start,” she said. “But bide easy until we know their minds; we need no unnecessary enemies.”

It was a longish wait, and all about them the folk of the camp stood staring at them. No weapon was drawn, no bow bent, no insult offered them. Children stood with parents, and old ones remained in the forefront of the gathering: it was not the aspect of a people who expected violence.

And at last Lellin returned, frowning still, and bowed. “Come as you wish. Merir will not insist, only I do ask you leave the horses; you cannot expect to take them too. Sezar will see that they are safe and cared for. Come with me, and see that you keep peace and do not threaten Merir, or we will show you quite another face of us, strangers.”

Vanye turned and took from Siptah's saddle Morgaine's personal kit, and shouldered the strap of that. Sezar took the reins of both horses and led them away, while he trailed Morgaine, and she walked beside Lellin to the green tent, that largest one of all in the camp.

The flaps were back, reassuring, indicating less chance of outright ambush; and the
qhal
inside were elders, robed and unarmed, with old Men, who looked too advanced in years to use the daggers they generally wore. In their midst sat an old, old
qhal,
whose white hair fell thickly about his shoulders, confined with a gold band about his brow in the manner of a human king. His cloak was green as the spring leaves, the shoulders done in layers of gray feathers, smooth and minutely black-edged, a work of remarkable skill and beauty.

“Merir,” said Lellin softly, and bowed, “lord of Shathan.”

“Welcome,” Merir bade them, a low and gentle voice, and a chair was unfolded and offered Morgaine. She settled, while Vanye stood at her shoulder.

“Your name is Morgaine; your companion's is Vanye,” said Merir. “You stayed in Mirrind until you took it upon yourself to bid its young folk venture into Shathan, and lost one of them. You say now that you are going to Azeroth, and you warn of invasion out of the Fires. You are not Shathana, neither of you. Are all these reports true?”

“Yes. Do not expect, my lord Merir, that we understand much of what passes in your land; but we are enemies of those who have massed out on the
plain. We are on our way to deal with them, such as we can; and if we must have your permission, then we ask it.”

Merir gazed on her a long time, frowning, and she on him, nothing yielding. At last Merir turned and spoke briefly to one of the elders. “You have ridden far,” he said then. “You are at least due hospitality while we talk, you and your
khemeis.
You seem impatient. If you know of some imminent attack, say, and I assure you we will act; or if not, then perhaps you will take the time to speak with us.”

Morgaine said nothing, and sat easily, the while such hospitality was arranged, and while the old lord gave instruction for the preparation of a tent and shelter for them. For his part, Vanye stood with his hand on the back of Morgaine's chair, watching every move and listening to every whisper . . . for they two had knowledge of Gates, and of the powers of them, knowledge which some
qhal
had lost and which some would kill to learn. Whatever the gentleness of the folk, there was that to fear.

Drink was brought and offered them both; but Vanye leaned forward and took the drink from Morgaine's hand, sipped at it first and gave it back to her before he took a drink of his own. She simply held the cup in her hand, though Merir drank of his.

“Are these your customs?” Merir asked.

“No,” said Vanye out of turn, “but they are, among our enemies.”

The other
qhal
looked displeased at that forwardness with the old lord. “No,” Merir said. “Let be. I shall speak with them. Go, all who should. We shall speak,” he added then, “of things belonging to the inner councils of our people. Although you have insisted that your
khemeis
must remain with you, still it might be well if you dismissed him as far as the outside of the tent.”

“No,” said Morgaine. Not all the
qhal
had departed. Those remaining settled, some on the mats and the oldest ones in chairs. “Sit down,” she said aside. Vanye unslung his bow and tucked his sword aside to sit crosslegged at her feet. It was a posture less than formal, and he kept the cup in one hand the while, sipped at it a second time, for he had felt no ill from the first taste. Morgaine tasted hers then, and crossed her booted ankles and extended her legs before her, easy in her attitude and bordering on too much casualness for the
qhal
's liking. She did it deliberately; Vanye knew her well enough to sense the tension in her. She sought their limits and had not yet found them.

“I am not accustomed to be summoned,” she said. “But this is your land, lord Merir, and I do owe you the courtesy I have paid in coming here.”

“You are here because it is expedient . . . for both of us. As you say: it is my land, and the courtesy I ask is an accounting of your purpose in it. Tell us more of what you told the Mirrindim. Who are these folk that have come here?”

“My lord, there is a land called Shiuan, the other side of the Fires . . . I think
you understand me. And it was a miserable place, the people starving, Men first, and then
qhal. Qhal
had wealth and Men lived in poverty . . . but the floods that threatened their land were going to take them both all the same. Then came a Man named Chya Roh, who knew the workings of the Gates, which the
qhal
in that land had forgotten completely. He was not himself from Shiuan, this Chya Roh, but from beyond Shiuan's own Gates. From Andur-Kursh, as we two are. And that is how we came to be in Shiuan: we were following Roh.”

“Who taught a Man these things?” one of the elders demanded. “How is it in the land called Andur-Kursh . . . that Men make free of such powers?”

Morgaine hesitated. “My lord, it is possible . . . that man and man may change by those powers. Is that known here?”

There was utter silence, and looks exchanged: terror; but Merir's face remained a mask.

“It is forbidden,” Merir answered. “We do know; but we do not permit that knowledge outside our high councils.”

“I am encouraged to see so many—
elder
folk in places of power among you. Old age evidently takes its course here; perhaps I am among people of restraint and good sense.”

“It is an evil thing, this changing.”

“But one known to a few ruthless folk in Andur-Kursh. Chya Roh . . . There was once a great master of the powers of the Gates . . .
qhal,
at least in the beginning, although I have no proof of it: all the guises I have known him to use were Men. Man after man he has murdered, taking bodies for his own use, extending his life over many generations of Men and
qhal.
He was Chya Zri; he was Chya Liell; and lastly he took the body of Chya Roh i Chya, a lord of his land—Vanye's own cousin. So Vanye's knowledge of Gates, my lord, is a bitter one.

“After that, Roh fled us, because he knew that his life was in danger from us . . . life: I do not know how many lives he has known from the beginning, or whether he was first male or female, or whether he was born to Andur-Kursh or arrived there from beyond. He is
old,
and very dangerous, and reckless with the powers of the Gates. So for one reason and the next, we pursued him to Shiuan, and there he found himself trapped . . . in a land that was dying—a thing fearful enough for the people who were born there, who might have had several generations more before the end; but for a being who looked to live forever . . . that death was imminent enough. He went among the
qhal
of that land, and among Men, and declared to them that he had the power to open the Gates that had been so long beyond their own knowledge, and to bring them through to a new land, which they might take for their own . . . thus he had a way out and an army about him.

“We failed to stop him, Vanye and I. He was ahead of us on the road, and
we simply could not overtake him in time. It was all we could do to come through the passage ourselves. We were exhausted after that, and we ran . . . until we chanced into the forest, and then into Mirrind. We rested there, trying to find out what manner of land this is and whether there was any force in it that could stop this horde from its march. We did not want to involve the Mirrindim; they are not fighters and we saw that: our watch was meant to protect them. Now we see that there is no more time left, and we are going back to Azeroth to see to the matter as best we can. That is the sum of it, my lord.”

There was dismay among them, murmurings, distressed looks cast to Merir. The old
qhal
sat with dry lips pressed tautly, the mask at last broken.

“This is a terrible tale, my lady.”

“Worse to see than to tell. Whether Vanye and I can do anything against them, well, we shall see. There is little hope that the horde will not reach for Mirrind. They would have come there sooner or late . . . and on no account did I urge the Mirrindim to meet them. What I should have realized is that the Mirrindim would fear them no more than they feared us. I warned them; I warned them. But likely Eth walked innocently into their hands, fearing them no more than me, and that thought grieves me.”

“You had no authority,” said another, “to send Men into Shathan. They thought that you did, and they went, as they would go for us . . . eager to please you. You sent that Man to his death, beyond doubt.”

Vanye glowered at that elder. “The Man was warned.”

“Peace,” said Merir. “Nhinn, could one of us have done better, alone and with a village to defend? We were at fault too, for these two moved so skillfully and settled so peacefully among the Mirrindim that we never realized their presence until this violence came. There could have been a far worse result . . . for this evil could have come on Mirrind utterly by stealth, with no one there to protect them. We were remiss; let us not pass the blame to them. These two and the others passed our defenses in small numbers, and that was my fault.”

“Eth may have been questioned,” Morgaine said. “If so, that means some of the
qhal
of the horde came into Shathan, for only they could have spoken to Eth: Men in Shiuan do not speak the same language. Your folk speak of invaders killed; you might judge how much the horde now knows by knowing if
qhal
were among them and if any escaped. But either a report from Eth's murderers or the mere failure of that force to return to the main body of the horde . . . will prick the interest of their leaders. Whatever else they are, they are not the sort to retreat from challenge. You might ask Lir. And I understand that you do not permit the Mirrindim to travel; if you have regard for them, I hope that you will reconsider that, my lord. I am very much afraid for their future there.”

“My lord.” It was Lellin, who had come in unnoticed, and all eyes turned to that young and uninvited voice. “By your leave.”

“Yes,” said Merir. “Go tell Nhirras to tend to that matter. Take no chances.” The old
qhal
settled back in his chair. “No light thing, this uprooting of a village; but the things you tell us are no light matter either. Tell me this. How do you two alone think to reckon with these enemies of yours?”

“Roh,” Morgaine said without hesitation. “Chya Roh is the principal danger, and next to him is Hetharu of Ohtij-in in Shiuan, who leads the
qhal.
First we must be rid of Roh; and Hetharu next. Leaderless, the horde will divide. Hetharu murdered his own father to seize power, and ruined other lords. His folk fear him, but they do not love him. They will split into factions without him, and turn on each other or on the Men, which is more likely. Men in the horde likewise have three factions at least: two kindreds which have always hated one another, the Hiua and the marshlands folk; and there are the Men of Shiuan, for the third. Roh is the piece that holds the whole together; Roh must be dealt with first . . . and yet not so simply done; the two of them are surrounded by thousands, and they sit securely by the Gate in Azeroth. It is the Master Gate, is it not, my lord Merir?”

Merir nodded slowly, to the consternation of his people. “Yes. And how have you means to know that?”

“I know. And there is a place which governs it . . . is there not, my lord?”

There was a stir among the elders. “Who are you,” one asked, “to ask such questions?”

“Then you do know. And you may believe me, my lords, or you may go and ask Chya Roh his side of the tale . . . but I do not advise that. He has skill to use such a place; he has force to take it when he locates it . . . as he will. But for me, I come asking you:
where,
my lords?”

“Do not be in haste,” said Merir. “We have seen your handiwork and theirs, and thus far prefer yours. But the knowledge you ask . . . ah, my lady, you do well understand what you ask. But we—we cherish our peace lady Morgaine. Long and long ago we were cast adrift here . . . perhaps you understand me, for your skill in the ancient arts must be considerable to make the passage you have made and to ask questions so aptly, and your knowledge of the past may match it. There were Men here, and ourselves, and our power had been overthrown. It could have been the end for us. But we live simply, as you see. We do not permit bloodshed among ourselves or quarrels in our land. Perhaps you do not understand how grievous a thing you do ask, even in seeking permission to pursue your enemies. We enforce the peace with our law; and shall we yield up our authority to keep order in our own land, and give you leave to hunt across the face of it and dispense life and death where and as you will? What of our own responsibility to our people? What then when another rises up from among us and demands similar privilege outside the law?”