The Complete Morgaine (86 page)

Through the day he kept the compresses on the knee, and in late afternoon, Roh changed the dressings on his wounds and left him again a time, returning with food. Then Roh let him sleep, but waked him midway through the night and wished him to sit awake again while he slept.

He looked at Roh, wondering what was afoot that Roh dared not have them both asleep; but Roh cast himself down on his face as if the weariness on him were unbearable, as if it were more than last night that he had not slept securely. He stayed awake until the dawn, and drowsed the next morning, while Roh pursued his own business outside.

 • • • 

He waked suddenly, at a footstep. It was Roh, and there was commotion in the camp. He looked in that direction, questioning, but Roh sat down and laid his
sword on the mat beside him, then poured himself a drink. His hands were shaking.

“It will settle,” Roh said finally. “There has been a suicide. A man, a woman, and two children. Such things happen here.”

He looked at Roh in horror, for such things did not happen in Andur-Kursh.

Roh shrugged. “One of the
khal
's latest. They pushed the man to it. And that is only the edge of evils here. The Gate—” He shrugged again, that became a shudder. “It broods over all here.”

The curtain of the doorway was thrust back, and Vanye saw their visitors: Fwar and his men. He reached for the jug of liquor, not to drink; Roh's hand clenched on his wrist, reminding him of sense.

“It is settled,” Fwar said, avoiding Vanye's eyes, staring at Roh. “The
khal
gave grain; the kin have begun to bury their dead. But it will not stay settled. Not while this other matter has them stirred up. Hetharu is pushing at us. We cannot have men there and here. We are not enough to be in both places.”

Roh was silent a moment. “Hetharu is playing a dangerous game,” he said in a still voice. “Sit down, Fwar, you and your men.”

“I will not sit with this dog.”

“Fwar, sit down. Do not try my patience.”

Fwar considered it long, and sullenly sank down at the fireside, his cousins with him.

“You ask too much of me,” Vanye muttered.

“Have peace with them,” Roh said. “On your word to me: this is part of it.”

He inclined his head sullenly, looked up at Fwar. “Under Roh's peace, then.”

“Aye,” Fwar answered gracelessly, but Vanye gave it no more belief than he would have given Hetharu's word . . . less, if possible.

“I will tell you why you will keep peace,” Roh said. “Because we are all about to perish, between the
khal
and the marshlanders. Because
that
—” He hooked a gesture over his shoulder to the wall which concealed the Gate, and the glances that went that way were uncomfortable. “—
That
is a thing that will drive us mad if we stay here. And we need not. Must not.”

“Where, then?” Fwar asked, and Vanye set his jaw and stared at the mat to conceal his own startlement. He was afraid, suddenly, mind leaping ahead to unavoidable conclusions; he trusted nothing that Roh did, but he had no choice but to accept it. Fwar was the alternative; or the others.

“Nhi Vanye has a certain usefulness,” Roh said softly. “He knows the land. He knows Morgaine. And he knows his chances in this camp.”

“And with the likes of
them,
” Vanye said, and there was almost a dagger drawn, but Roh snatched up his sheathed longsword and thrust it at Trin's middle, stopping that with cold threat.

“Peace, I say, or none of us will live to get clear of this camp . . . or survive the journey afterward.”

Fwar motioned at Trin, and the dagger went back solidly into its sheath.

“There is more than you think at stake,” Roh said. “That will become clear later. But prepare for a journey. Be ready to ride tonight.”

“The Shiua will follow.”

“Follow they may. You have itched for killing them. You will have your chance. But my cousin is another matter. Keep your knives from his back. Hear me well, Fwar i Mija. I need him, and so do you. Kill him, and the Shiua will be on one side and the folk of this land on the other, and that is a position no better than we have now. Do you understand me?”

“Aye,” Fwar said.

“Start seeing to things quietly. As for me, I am not involving myself in any of your preparations. The Shiua have been urging me to send you out on a certain mission; if you are challenged, say that you are going. And if you stir up trouble—well, avoid it. Go to it.”

They gathered themselves up. Vanye did not look at them, but stared into the fire, and glanced up only when he had heard the last of them walk away.

“Whom do you betray, Roh? Everyone?”

Roh's dark eyes met his. “All but you, my cousin.”

The mockery chilled. He looked down again, unable to meet that stare, which challenged him to doubt, and to do something about it.

“I will go with you.”

“And guard my back?”

He glared at Roh.

“It is from Fwar that I need most guarding, cousin. I will guard you, and you, me—when Fwar and his folk hold watch during the night. One of us will be awake, and seem asleep.”

“You have been planning this journey—from the hour you took me from Hetharu.”

“Aye. I could not leave the Gate before, for fear of Morgaine. Now I cannot stay here, for fear of her . . . now I know what I needed to know; and you will aid me, Nhi Vanye i Chya. I am going to Morgaine.”

“Not with my guidance.”

“I have run out of allies, cousin. I shall go to her. It is possible that she is dead; and then we shall see—we two—what we shall do then. But she does not die easily, the witch of Aenor-Pyvvn. And if she lives, well, I shall take my chances with her all the same.”

Vanye nodded slowly, a tautness in his stomach.

“You want your chance at Fwar,” Roh said. “Be patient.”

“Weapons.”

“You will have them. Your own; I gathered everything back that the Hiua had of yours. And I will splint that knee of yours. You cannot bear the ride we must make, otherwise. There are clothes there . . . better than the Hiua rags you and I will have to wear to ride out of here.”

He edged over to the bundle that Roh pointed out, gathered up his own boots, and what else he needed, and dressed: they were of a size, he and Roh. He avoided looking at Roh, holding what he did in his mind: Roh knew he meant to turn on him; Roh
knew,
by his own clear warning, and yet armed him. And there was no sense in it that pleased him, nothing.

Roh rested in the corner against the grass wall, staring at him from half-lidded eyes. “You do not believe me,” Roh observed.

“No more than the devil.”

“Believe this at least: that out of this camp you trust me and keep your pledge to me, or Mija Fwar will have both our skins. You can bring me down . . . but I promise you it will not profit you.”

 • • • 

The commotion did not die away. It rose up again within the hour, and Trin thrust his head inside the shelter and hung there against the doorway, hard-breathing. “Fwar says get ready now. No waiting until dark. There is talk now of coming up here. The marshlanders want
him
, slow-cooked; him they could have, for my opinion . . . but if they once pass those guards, with the
khal
on this side—well—If you want those horses brought through, we have a chance of doing it now, quick, while they talk down there; when it gets to more than talk, we have no hope of doing it.”

“Get to it,” Roh said.

Trin spat in Vanye's direction, and left. Vanye sat still, his breathing choked with anger.

“How long will we need them?” he asked then.

“You may have to endure worse than that.” Roh threw a bundle of cloth at him; he caught it, but did nothing more, blind with anger. “I mean it, cousin; armed you may be, but you will do nothing. You gave me a pledge, and I assume you will keep it. Smother that Nhi temper of yours and keep your head down. Leave your avenging to me until the time comes . . . act the part of an
ilin
to the letter. You still remember how, do you not?”

He was shaking, and expelled several short breaths. “I am not yours.”

“Be so for a few days. Bitter days. But by that means you may survive them, and so may I; and your surviving them . . . does that not serve
her?
”

That argument shot home. “I will do it,” he said, and started pulling on the Hiua garments over his own; Roh did likewise.

There were two more bundles. Roh gave one to him, and it was incredibly heavy. “Your armor,” Roh said. “All your belongings, as I promised. Here is your
sword.” And he unwrapped that and tossed it over, belt and all. Vanye set down the other and buckled it only about his waist, for to fasten it at the shoulder spoiled the Hiua garments and galled his wounds. Roh looked less Hiua than he, he reckoned, for Roh's hair was twisted at the nape in the warrior's knot, in the fashion of a hall-lord of Andur, and Roh was clean-shaven. His own face, bruised as it was, had not known a razor in days; and his hair, shorn in his loss of honor, had grown shoulder-length and a little beyond: usually that was held from his face by helm or coif, but now it went where it would, and he let it, which hid some of his bruises. He considered the bearing of the Hiua, and assumed in his mind their gracelessness, their hangdog manner: there was a nakedness in the prospect of going outside the shelter that chilled the blood in him.

Roh gathered up his own weapons, chiefest of which was a fine Andurin bow; the shafts his quiver carried were mostly long, green-fletched Chya arrows. He had the bone-handled Honor-blade at his belt, and bore sword and axe as well, the latter for the saddle.
Hall-lord,
Vanye thought in vexation;
he cannot seem anything else.

And when the horses came thundering to the front of the shelter, with the shouts of Men audible in the distance, there was Roh's tall black mare, conspicuous among the smaller Shiua mounts: no hope of concealment; the alarm was surely passed . . . Chya wildness—Vanye cursed it aloud, and flung himself for the saddle of the bow-nosed sorrel allotted him, . . . cursed again as the leg shot fire up the inside when he threw it over. He shook the hair from his eyes and looked up—saw a cluster of
khalur
riders bearing down on them from the center of the camp.

“Roh!” he shouted.

Roh saw it, wheeled the black mare about and plunged through the Hiua, drawing them face-about, nigh forty riders, Hiua and a scattering of renegade marshlanders.

“We will shake them from our heels,” Roh cried. “There is no luck for them in this direction.”—For they were headed for the sprawl and clutter of the human camp, where a thin row of demon-helms manned the barricade, barring the way of trouble coming out of it.

The guards saw them coming, hesitated in confusion. Roh drew rein, shouted an order to open the barricade, and Hiua sprang down to do it—Roh passed at the least opening, and Vanye stayed with him, raking his leg on the barrier: it was all too quick, the guards without orders, not resisting. More Hiua poured through, and they plunged for the midst of the human camp at a dead gallop, aimed for the mob gathered there.

Swords whipped out; the mob lost its nerve at the first shock and scattered from their charge, with only a few missiles flying. One man was hit and unhorsed, and they took him . . . for what fate was not good to think. But they
broke through by sheer impetus and shock, with the open plain before them and a scatter of futile stones pelting from behind. Vanye kept low; he had not blooded his sword, not on men's backs, not on the side of Hiua.

Roh laughed. “The
khal
will ride into a broken hive.”

He looked back then, and there was not a Man in sight; no more stones, no fight; the human folk had gone to cover, armed, and there was no sight of the Shiua riders behind them either. Either they would seek some exit that avoided the human camp, or they would make the mistake of trying to ride through, and either would take them time.

“When Hetharu knows we are gone,” Roh said, “as he must by now—then there will be no shaking them from pursuing us.”

“No,” said Vanye, “I do not think there will be.”

He looked again over his shoulder, past the dark mass of Hiua riders, and it dawned on him what should have before, that his flight with Roh would stir all the camp into action . . . the whole army would mass and move.

He said nothing, seeing finally the trap into which he had fallen—he had wanted to live, and therefore he had blinded himself to things other than his own survival.

Mirrind,
he thought over and over, grieving.
Mirrind and all this land.

Chapter 10

They pushed the horses to the limit, and it was dark before they stopped, a fireless camp, one that they would break before dawn. Vanye slid down from the saddle holding to the harness and found himself hardly able to walk; but he cared for his horse, and took his gear and limped over to Roh's side, head bowed as he passed through the midst of the men. He thought that if one of them should set hands on him he would turn and kill that man; but that was madness and he knew it. He endured one man shouldering his horse past deliberately, and kept his head down as Roh had said . . . assumed an
ilin
's humility like a garment.