The Complete Morgaine (78 page)

They had been maneuvered, but not to their hurt, and even Morgaine took it in good humor, smiling as the elders of Carrhend presented themselves. Three
clans lived here: Salen, Eren, and Thesen . . . and Sezar, who was of clan Thesen, kissed his elders both, and then his parents, and his brothers and sister. There was not overmuch astonishment in this visit, as if it were a frequent thing; but Vanye felt for the young
khemeis
they took perforce into danger with them, and reckoned why he would have been anxious to make this particular stop on their way to Nehmin.

Lellin also had his welcome with them. Neither young nor old had much awe of him. He took the hands of the kin of Sezar, and was kissed on the cheek by Sezar's mother, which gesture he repaid in kind.

But suddenly there were the Mirrindim, spilling down the steps of the common-hall, as if they had waited on their hosts' courtesies. Now they came. Bythein and Bytheis, and the elders of Sersen and Melzen, and the young women . . . some of them running in their joy to greet them.

There was Sin, among the other children. Vanye caught him up out of their midst and the boy grinned with delight when he lifted him up to Mai's back. Sin set himself astride and looked quite dazed when Vanye passed him up the reins . . . but Mai was too tired to give him trouble and would not leave Siptah.

Morgaine received the elders of Mirrind—embraced old Bythein, who had been their staunchest friend, and there was a chorus of invitations to hall and meal.

“Some of the men are still in Mirrind,” Bytheis explained when Morgaine asked after their welfare. “They will keep the fields. Someone must. And the
arrhendim
are watching over them. But we know that our children are safest here. Welcome, welcome among us, lady Morgaine,
khemeis
Vanye.”

And perhaps the Mirrindim were no less pleased to find them now in the company of their own legitimate lords, assurance that they had not given their hospitality amiss.

“See to the horses,” Morgaine said, when all the turmoil was past; and Vanye took Siptah's reins and Sin followed on Mai, the proudest lad in Carrhend.

Sezar walked with him to show him the way, while a cloud of children walked about them, Carrhendim and Mirrindim, male and female. They crowded in behind as they put the horses in the pen, and there was no lack of willing hands to bring them food or curry them. “Have care of the gray,” Sin was quick to tell them, lord over all where it concerned the horses. “He kicks what surprises him,” which was good advice, for they crowded too close, disrespecting the warhorse's iron-shod heels; but Siptah as well as Mai had surprising patience in this tumult, having learned that children meant treats and curryings. Vanye surveyed all that was done and clapped Sin on the shoulder.

“I will take care of them as always,” Sin assured him; he had no doubt this would be so.

“I will see you in hall at dinner; sit by me,” Vanye said, and Sin glowed.

He started back to the hall then, and Sezar waited for him at the gate, leaning on the rail of the pen. “Have a care. You may not know what you do.”

Vanye looked at him sharply.

“Do not tempt the boy,” said Sezar, “to seek outside. You may be cruel without knowing.”

“And if he wishes to go outside?” Anger heated him, but it was the way of Andur-Kursh itself, that a man was what he was born . . . save himself, who had always fought his own fate. “No, I understand you,” he admitted.

Sezar looked back, and a thoughtful look was in his eyes. “Come,” he said then, and they walked back to the hall with a few of the children at their heels, trying to imitate the soft-footed stride of the
khemeis.
“Look behind us and understand me fully,” Sezar said, and he looked, and did. “We are a dream they dream, all of them. But when they grow past a certain age—” Sezar laughed softly, “they come to better sense, all but a few of us . . . and when the call comes, we follow, and that is the way of it. If it comes to that boy, let it come; but do not tempt him so young. He may try too early, and come to grief for it.”

“You mean that he will walk off into the forest and seek the
qhal.
”

“It is never said, never suggested . . . forbidden to say. But those who will come, grow desperate and come, and there is no forbidding them, then, if they do not die in the woods. It is never said . . . but it is a legend among the children; and they say it. At about twelve, they may come, or a little after; and then there is a time that it is too late . . . and they have chosen, simply by staying. We would not refuse them . . . no child dies on his journey that we can ever help. But neither do we lure them. The villages have their happiness. We
arrhendim
have ours. You are bewildered by us.”

“Sometimes.”

“You are a different kind of
khemeis.
”

He looked down. “I am
ilin.
That—is different.”

They walked in silence, almost to the hall. “There is a strangeness in you,” said Sezar then, which frightened him. He looked up into Sezar's pitying eyes. “A sadness . . . beyond your kinsman's fate, I think. It is about both of you. And different, for each. Your lady—”

Whatever Sezar would have said, he seemed to think better of saying, and Vanye stared at him resentfully, no easier in his mind for Sezar's intimate observations.

“Lellin and I—” Sezar made a helpless gesture. “
Khemeis,
we suspect things in you that have not been told us, that you—Well, something weighs on you both. And we would offer help if we knew how.”

Prying after information?
Vanye wondered, and looked on the man narrowly; the words still afflicted him. He tried to smile, but it was effort, and did
not come convincingly. “I shall mend my manner,” he said. “I did not know that I was such unpleasant company.”

He turned and climbed the wooden stairs into the hall, where dinner was being prepared, and heard Sezar on the treads behind him.

 • • • 

The village had already begun the cooking before they came, but there was enough for guests and to spare . . . a prosperous place, Carrhend, and the Mirrindim in their well-ordered fashion took a share of the work as well as of food. Cooks laughed together and children made friends, and old ones smiled and talked by the fireside, sewing. There seemed no strife from the mixing: the elders could lay down stern edicts when they must, and the
qhalur
law was clearly set forth and respected.

“We have so much to exchange,” said Serseis. “We long for Mirrind already, but we feel safer here.” Others agreed, though clan Melzen still mourned for Eth, and they were very few here: most of the younger folk of Melzen, male and female, had elected to stay in Mirrind, a determination for Eth's sake, and showing a tough-mindedness that lay deep within the Men of Shathan.

“If any of these evil strangers pass through,” Melzein said, “they will not pass back out again.”

“May it not happen,” Morgaine said earnestly. To that, Melzein inclined her head in agreement.

“Come to the tables,” called Saleis of Carrhend then, desperate effort to restore cheer. Folk moved in eagerly, and the benches filled.

Sin scurried in and wedged himself into his promised place. The lad had no words during the meal, contenting himself with quick looks and much listening. He was there; that was enough for Sin; and Sezar caught Vanye's eye during the meal and flicked a glance at the boy, strangely complacent—as if he had seen something clear to be seen.

“It will come,” Sezar said then, which Vanye understood and none else might. A weight lifted from him. He saw Morgaine puzzled by that exchange, and felt strange to have one single thought in which she had no part, a single concern that did not touch her affairs—to that extent their lives were bound together.

Then a chill came on him. He remembered what he was, and that no good had ever come of friendship with those along their way; most that they touched—died of it.

“Vanye,” Morgaine said, and caught his wrist, for he laid down his spoon of a sudden and it clattered even amid the noise of voices. “Vanye?”

“It is nothing,
liyo.
”

He calmed himself, tried not to think of it, and tried not to let himself go grim with the boy, who had no thought of what fear passed in him. Food went
down with difficulty for a time, and then more easily; and he put it from his mind, almost.

A harp silenced the talk after dinner, announcing the accustomed round of singing. The girl Sirn, who had sung in Mirrind, sang here; then a boy of Carrhend sang a song for Lellin, who was their own
qhal:
they teased Lellin for it, fondly.

“My turn,” said Lellin afterward, took the harp and sang for them a human song.

Then, still holding the harp, he struck a chord to silence them, looked round at them all, strangely fair as all his folk, pale in that dim hall, among their faces. “Take care,” he wished them. “With all my heart, Carrhendim, take care in these days. The Mirrindim can have told you only a part of your danger. You are guarded, but your guards are few and Shathan is wide.” His fingers touched the strings nervously, and the strings sighed in that silence. “‘The Wars of the Arrhend' . . . I could harp you that, but you have heard it many times . . . how the
sirrindim
and the
qhal
warred, until we could drive the
sirrindim
from the forest. In those days Men fought against Men, and they fought us with fire and axe and ruin. Be on your guard. There are such
sirrindim
at Azeroth, and renegade
qhal
are with them. It is the old war again.”

There was frightened murmuring in the hall.

“Ill news,” Lellin said. “I grieve to bear it. But be alert and be ready to walk away even from Carrhend if it comes to you. Possessions are nothing. Your children are precious. The
arrhend
will help you rebuild with stone and wood, with our own hands and of all that we have; so must you be ready to aid any village that should be in need. Trust at least that we are moving to deal with it; the
arrhendim
are not always there to be seen, and so they serve you best. Let us do what may be done in the way we know; it may suffice. If not, then it will be your arrows that defend us.” The strings sighed softly into a
qhalur
song, and folk listened as if it cast some spell over them. There was neither outcry nor debate. When it was done, the hush remained. “Go to your homes, Carrhendim, and Mirrindim to your sheltering; we four guests will leave early in the morning. Do not disturb yourselves to see us go.”

“Lord,” said one of the young Carrhendim. “We will fight now if we can help.”

“Help by defending Carrhend and Mirrind. Your help in that is much needed.”

That one bowed, and joined his friends. The Carrhendim left, each bowing to their guests; but the Mirrindim stayed, for they were bedded down in the wings of the hall.

Only Sin departed. “I shall sleep by the horses,” he declared, and Vanye did not deny him that.

“Lellin,” said Sezar, and Lellin nodded. Sezar left, likely to his kinfolk for the night, or perhaps to some young woman.

 • • • 

The hall was long in settling. There were fretful children and restless young folk. Blankets hung on cords curtained the wings, making a sort of privacy, and leaving the area nearest the fire for their guests.

At last there was quiet, and they settled comfortably, without armor, sharing with Lellin a few sips of a flask that Merir had sent with him.

“Things are well done here,” Morgaine said, in the whisper the hour and the sleeping children demanded. “Your folk are very well organized to have lived so long at peace.”

The
qhal's
eyes flickered, and he cast off the sober mood that had lain on him like a mantle. “Indeed, we have had fifteen hundred years to meditate on the errors we made in the wars. So long ago we settled on what we would do if the time came; it has, and we will do it swiftly.”

“Is it,” asked Vanye, “that long since a war in the land?”

“Aye,” answered Lellin, compassing with that more than the known history of Andur-Kursh, where strife was frequent. “And may it be longer still.”

Vanye thought on that long after they had taken to their pallets, with the
qhal
-lord resting beside him.

Fifteen hundred years of peace. In some measure the thought distressed him, who was born to warfare. To be locked within such long and changeless tranquility, in Shathan's green shadow—the thought distressed him; and yet the pleasantness of the villages, the safety, the order—had their appeal.

He turned his head and looked on Morgaine, who slept. Theirs was a heavy doom, endlessly to travel . . . and they had seen enough of war for any lifetime.
Might we not stay here?
he wondered, brief traitor thought: and pushed it aside, trying not to think of their existence and Mirrind side by side.

 • • • 

Morning was not yet sprung where there came a sound of horses in Carrhend. Vanye rose, and Morgaine, sword in hand; Lellin padded after them to the windows.

Riders had come in, with two saddled horses in tow; they tied them to the rail of an empty pen and rode away.

“Well,” said Lellin, “they came in time. They have ridden in from the fields of Almarrhane, not far from here, and I hope they have care riding home.”

At the doorstep of one of the nearest houses Sezar appeared, lingering to kiss his parents and his sister, and then, slinging his bow and his gear to his shoulder, he walked across the commons, waved back at his family and then came toward the hall.

They went back to the fireside and armed, quietly gathering their belongings,
trying not to disturb the sleeping Mirrindim. Vanye slipped out to saddle the horses and found Sin awake, already beginning that task.