The Complete Morgaine (82 page)

Vanye struggled to his elbows to see them go; but he had view of nothing but horses' legs and a few
khal
afoot, scale-armored and wearing helms which gave them the faces of demons—all helmed, save their lord, who remained ahorse, his white hair flowing in the wind. It was not one of the Shiua lords he knew.

The men-at-arms cut the cords that bound his ankles and tried to make him stand. He shook his head at that. “The knee . . . I cannot walk,” he said hoarsely and as they spoke . . . in the
qhalur
tongue.

They were startled at that. Men in Shiuan did not speak the language of their masters, although
khal
spoke that of Men; he remembered that they were Shiua when one hit him across the face for his insolence.

“He will ride,” said the lord. “Alarrh, your horse will bear this Man. Gather up all that is strewn here; the humans have no sense of order. They will leave all this for enemies to read. You”—for the first time he spoke directly to Vanye, and Vanye stared up at him sullenly. “You are Nhi Vanye i Chya.”

He nodded.

“That means yes, I suppose.”

“Yes.” The
khal
had spoken the language of Men, and he had answered again in
qhalur.
The lord's pale, sensitive face registered anger.

“I am Shien Nhinn's-son, prince of Sotharrn. The rest of my men are hunting your mistress. The arrow that took her was the only favor for which we thank the Hiua cattle, but it is a sorry fate for a high-born
khal,
all the same. We will try to better it. And you, Vanye of the Chya—you will be welcome in our camp. Lord Hetharu has a great desire to find you again . . . more desire for your lady, to be sure, but you will find him overjoyed to see you.”

“I do not doubt,” he murmured; but he did not resist when they bound his
hands and brought a horse for him, heaving him into the saddle upright. The pain of his wounds almost took his senses from him; he swayed with dizziness as the horse shied off, and the Shiua began to dispute bitterly who should foul his hands and his person in seeing that he stayed ahorse, bloody and half-naked and human as he was. “I am Kurshin,” he said then between his teeth. “While the horse stays under me, I shall not fall off. I will have no
khal's
hands on me either.”

They muttered at that and spoke of teaching him his place; but Shien bade them to horse. They started off down the sandy bank with speed that jolted, likely malice rather than needful haste. They gave it up after a time, and Vanye bowed his head and gave to the horse's moving, exhausted. He roused only when they made the fording of the Narn, and the wide plain of Azeroth lay open before them.

After that it was grassland under the horses' hooves, and they went smoothly and easily.

He lived: that was for now the important thing. He smothered his anger and kept his head down as they expected of a Man awed by them. They would not anticipate trouble of him, these folk who marked their own hold-servants with brands on the face, to know them from other Men . . . reckoning no Man much more than animal.

It was not uncharacteristic of them that they found a means to splint his knee at their first rest, caring for him with the same detachment that they might have spent on a lame horse, no gentler and no rougher than that; yet no one would give him a drink because it meant his lips touching something they must use. One did throw him a morsel of food when they ate, but it lay on the grass untouched, for they would not unbind his hands and he would not eat after that fashion, as they wished. He sullenly averted his face, and was no better for that stop except that he could at least stand once he had been put on his feet. They saw to that, he reckoned, simply because it saved them having to work so much getting him on and off a horse.

“There was a
khal
with you besides your mistress,” Shien said to him, riding close to him that afternoon. “Who?”

He did not look up or give indication that he had heard.

“Well, you will find time to think of it,” Shien said, and spurred disdainfully ahead, giving up the question with an ease curious in his kind.

And that
who
seemed to desire a name in answer, as if they had taken Lellin to be one of their own, renegade to them. As if—he thought, hope stirring in him—as if they had not yet realized the existence of the
arrhend,
or realized a presence in this land besides that of Men. Perhaps Eth had held back more than seemed likely; or perhaps his killers had not left Shathan alive.

He lifted his head despite himself, and looked at the horizon before him,
which was grassy and flat as far as the eye could see, an expanse unbroken save for a few bushes or thorn-thickets randomly scattered. The unnatural shape of Azeroth was not evident to the man who stood amid it: it was too vast to grasp at once. Perhaps there was much still secret from the Shiua . . . indicating that as yet none of Lellin's folk had fallen into their hands, and that the Mirrindim might yet be safe.

He hoped so with a fearful hope, although he held out little for himself.

 • • • 

They camped in the open that night, and this time they yielded to practicality and freed his hands briefly, standing over him with swords and pikes as if he could run, lame as he was. He ate a little, and one of them condescended to pour a little water into his hands that he might drink, thus saving the purity of his waterflask. But they restored the bonds for the night, hand and foot, securing him to one of their heavy saddles on the ground, so that he could not slip off into the dark. Lastly they threw a cloak over him, that he not freeze, for he had no clothing on his upper body.

Then they slept, insolently secure, posting no guard. He fretted long, trying his bonds, with an eye to stealing a horse and running for it; but the knots were out of his reach and the cords were too tight. Exhausted, he slept too, and woke in the morning with a kick in the ribs and a
khal
's curse in his ears.

It was more of the same the next day: no food nor water until the evening, enough to keep him alive, but little more. He nursed his anger, for it kept him fed the same as the food did; but he kept his senses too, and bore their arrogance without resistance. Only once it failed him, when a guard seized him by the hair; he rounded on the halfling . . . and the guard stepped back at what he saw in him. They struck him to the ground then, for no more than that—that he had dared look one of them in the eyes. Their treatment of him worsened thereafter. They began to torment him with mindful spite when they must handle him, and began to talk among themselves, for they knew that he could understand, of what might befall him at their hands.

“You have the grace of your Barrows-ancestors,” he said to them finally, and in their own tongue. One of them struck him for this. But Shien frowned, and curtly bade his own men to silence, and to let him be.

 • • • 

That night, when they made camp by a new tributary of the Narn, Shien stared at him long and thoughtfully after the others had begun to settle to sleep, stared with a concentration which began to disturb him . . . the more so when Shien roused his men and dismissed them out of hearing.

Then Shien came and settled at his side.

“Man.” It was an inflection that only a
khal
could give that word. “Man, it is said that you are close kin to the halfling Chya Roh.”

“Cousin,” he answered, unnerved by this approach. No word before this had they drawn from him in questions. He resolved to say nothing more. But Shien stared at him in pensive curiosity.

“Fwar's handiwork has disturbed the resemblance, but it is there; I see it. And this Morgen-Angharan . . .” he used the name by which Morgaine was known to them, and laughed. “Can Death die?” he asked, for Angharan was a deity among the marshlanders of Shiuan, and that was her nature, the white queen.

He knew
khalur
humor, which believed in nothing and reverenced no gods, and he shut his ears to this pointless baiting. But Shien drew his dagger and laid it along his cheek, turning his face back with that, lest he soil his hands. “What a prize you are, Man . . . if you know what Roh knows. Do you realize that you could become both free and comfortable if you hold what I think you may, man who speaks our language. And I would not disdain to seat you at my table and give you—other—privileges. Gods, you have some grace of bearing, more than some who go boasting their tiny portion of
khalur
blood. You are not of the Hiua's kind. Do you know how to be reasonable?”

He stared into Shien's eyes . . . pale gray they were by daylight, as so few of the halflings' were: near full-blood, this prince. He was shaken to reckon that he could be what Shien said, a prize among
khal,
a commodity of value among the powerful: he had knowledge of Gates, the lore which they had lost, knowledge by which Roh himself had gained power among these folk.

“What of Roh?” he asked.

“Chya Roh has made mistakes, which may well prove fatal to him. You might avoid those same mistakes. You might even expect that Hetharu could be persuaded to forget his vexation with you.”

“And you will present that solution to Hetharu, is that it? I work at your orders, give what I know to you, and you regain what power Hetharu has taken from you.”

The blade turned, and bit slightly. “Who are you to talk of our affairs?”

“Hetharu brought all the Shiua lords to their knees because he had Roh to give him power. Do you love him for it?”

He thought for an instant that Shien would kill him outright. His expression was ugly. Then Shien flipped the knife back into sheath at his belt. “You have need of a patron, Man. I could help you. But you want to play games with me.”

“If there is a way out of my situation, make it clear to me.”

“It is very clear. Give me the knowledge that you have, and I will be able to help you. Otherwise not.”

He stared into Shien's eyes and read it for half-truth. “And if I give you knowledge enough to contest with Hetharu and Roh, then my usefulness is ended there, is it not? Give you knowledge so that you can politic with it and
trade influence with your brother-lords? Not in Hetharu's game. Be braver than that, Shiua lord, or do not think that you can use me for a weapon. Break with them both and I will serve you and give you the power that you want, but not otherwise.”

“The
khal
who rode with you . . . who?”

“I will not tell you.”

“You think that you are in a position to refuse?”

“Those men of yours . . . how well can you trust them? You think there is not one among them who would bear information to Hetharu for reward? How you killed me out here, trying for knowledge Hetharu would not approve you having . . . why else did you send them out of hearing? No. If you are going to break with Hetharu, you need me alive and healthy. I will
tell
you nothing; but I will help you get what you want.”

Shien sat on his heels and stared at him, arms folded. He knew that he had gone very far with this
khalur
prince. He saw a veil come over Shien's eyes, and hope failed him.

“It is said,” Shien murmured, “that you killed Hetharu's father. And do you hope to deal with him after that?”

“A lie. Hetharu killed his father, and blamed me for it to save his reputation.”

Shien laughed wolfishly. “Aye, so do we all think. But that is the kind of lord Hetharu is, and so he dealt with you once when you trifled with him . . . so he dealt with his own lord and father; and now do you propose that if I refuse your mad scheme you will throw yourself on his mercy again? You do not learn readily, Man.”

A chill came on him, remembering, but he shook his head nevertheless. “Then you also know him well enough to know that you will never profit by serving him. Take my way, lord of Sotharrn, and have what you want—or have nothing. I learn too readily to hand any
khal
the only thing that makes my life valuable.”

Shien's white brows knit into a frown. For a moment thoughts passed visibly through his eyes, none of them good to behold. “You assume that you know how to deal with us, and how I must deal with the other lords. You do not know us, Man.”

“I know that I am dead when you have what you want.”

Shien's frown bent slowly into a smile, “Ah, Man, you are too unsubtle. One does not accuse his possible benefactor of lying. I might even have kept my word.”

“No,” he said, though the doubt was planted in him.

“Think of it, tomorrow, when we deliver you to Hetharu.”

And Shien rose then and settled some distance away. Vanye turned his head
to stare at him, but Shien poured himself a cup from his flask and sat with his face averted, drinking delicately.

Beyond him sat the others, halflings aping
khal,
with bleached hair and coarse arrogance, and a hate for Men that was the greater because of their own human blood.

Shien turned his head and smiled at him thinly, lifting the cup in mockery.

“Tomorrow,” Shien promised him.

 • • • 

They forded two shallow rivers, one at dawn and one at noon. Vanye reckoned well now where they were, nearing the Gate that stood in Azeroth. He grew afraid, as it was impossible not to fear contemplating that power, which could drink in substance and ravel it.

But no sign of the Gate was yet visible, not in the long ride they made that afternoon. There were few rests; Shien had promised that they would come to Hetharu's camp in this day and seemed determined on it if it exhausted them. Vanye said nothing to Shien as the distance wore away under the horses' hooves. Shien had nothing more to say to him, save now and again to gaze at him brooding speculation. He reckoned again what his chances were if he yielded on the Shiua lord's terms, and averted his face from temptation.