The Complete Morgaine (90 page)

Vanye swore, clenched his hand on the sword he did not draw. “Do you not know,” he asked Roh hoarsely, “that Morgaine set me under orders to kill you? And do you not know that I have no choice where it regards that oath?”

That took the smile from Roh's face. Roh considered it, and shrugged after a moment, hands loose across his knees. “Well, but you could hardly out-fence me at the moment, could you?—save I gave you a standing target, which would hardly be to your liking. I shall go with you and abide Morgaine's decision in the matter.”

“No,” he pleaded with him, and Roh's expression grew the more troubled.

“What, is that keeping faith with your liege—to warn her enemies that she is pitiless, that she is unbending, that she understands no reason at all where it regards a threat to her? My oldest memories are dreams, cousin, and they are long and full of her. The Hiua call her Death, and the Shiua
khal
once laughed at that. No longer. I know her. I know my chances. But the
khal
will not forgive what I have done. I cannot go back; I would have no freedom from them. I saw what they did to you—and I am quick to learn, cousin. I had to leave that place. She is all that is left. I am tired, Vanye, I am
tired
—and I have bad dreams.”

Vanye stared at him. Gone was all semblance of pride, of mockery; Roh's voice trembled, and his eyes were shadowed.

“Is it in your dreams . . . what Liell would have done with me and with her?”

Roh looked up. Horror was in his eyes, deep and distant. “Do not call those things up. They come back at night. And I doubt you want the answer.”

“When you—dream those things: how do you feel about it?”

“Roh hates it.”

Vanye shuddered, gazing into the wildness in Roh's face, the war exposed. He sank down again on the bank of the stream, and for a time Roh wrapped his arms about himself and shivered like a man fevered. The shivering stopped finally, and the dark eyes that met his were whole again, quizzical, mocking.

“Roh?”

“Aye, cousin.”

“Let us start walking.”

 • • • 

They walked the streamside, which in Shathan was no less than a road . . . more reliable than the paths, for all the habitations of Men in Shathan were set near water. They must struggle at times, for the way was overgrown and at times the trees arched over the little stream or grew down to the very margin, or some
fallen log dammed it, making deep places. They had no lack of water, hungry as they were . . . and there were fish in the stream that they might devise to take when they dared stop: not favored fare for a Kurshin, but he was not fastidious, and Roh had fared on much worse.

He limped along with Roh at his back, saying nothing of how he guided himself, though perhaps Roh could guess; he had found himself a staff and leaned on it as he walked, though it was less the knee that troubled him than other wounds, which covered the most of his body and at times hurt so that the tears came to his eyes . . . an abiding, never-ceasing misery that now had the heat of fever.

He sank down toward noon and slept, not aware even that he chose to do so. He simply came to himself lying on the ground, with Roh asleep not far from him. He rose up and shook at Roh, and they both stood up and started walking.

“We have slept too long,” Roh said, anxiously looking skyward. “It is halfway through the afternoon.”

“I know,” he said, with the same dread. “We cannot stop again.”

He made what haste he could, and several times dared whistle aloud, as close to Lellin's tones as he could manage, but nothing answered him. There was no sight of game, hardly a flicker of a bird's wings through the trees, as if they were all that lived in this section of Shathan. No
qhal
were near . . . or if they were, they chose to remain silent and unseen. Roh noted it; whenever he looked back he saw Roh's anxious shift of eyes over their surroundings and agreed with Roh's uneasiness. They walked through something utterly unnatural.

They came upon an old tree, corded with white. It was rotten at the heart, lightning-riven.

“Mirrind,” Vanye said aloud, his pulse racing, for now he knew completely where he was, to what place the little stream had guided them.

“What is that?” Roh asked.

“A village. You should know it. The Shiua murdered one of its people.” Then he repented his words, for they were both at the end of their strength and their wits, and he needed no quarrel with Roh. “Come. Carefully.”

He sought the rutted road and found it, concealed as it was now by brush. He walked as quickly as he could with his limping stride, for the night was coming fast on them. From this place, he thought, he might try to find Merir's camp . . . but he was not sure of the way, and the chance was that Merir would have broken camp and left the place even if he could find it. He was only anxious now to put the
harilim
behind them before the dark came on them again.

Through the trees suddenly appeared a haze of open space, and when they had reached that edge there were only shells of stone and burned skeletons of timber where Mirrind had stood. He swore when he saw it, and leaned against
one of the trees by the roadside. Roh wisely said nothing at that moment, and he swallowed the tightness from his throat and started forward, keeping to the shadow of trees and ruins.

The crops still grew, although weeds had set in; and the ruins of the hall were mostly intact. But the desolation, where beauty had been, was complete.

“We cannot stay here,” Roh said. “This is within reach of the Sotharra camp. Shien's men. We have come too far. Use some sense, cousin. Let us get out of the open.”

He lingered yet a moment, staring about him, then turned painfully and began to do as Roh had advised.

An arrow hit the dirt at their feet, quivered there, brown-feathered.

Chapter 12

Roh started back from the arrow as from a serpent, reaching for his own bow. “No,” Vanye said, holding him from flight.

“Friends of yours.”

“Once. Maybe still.—
Arrhendim, Iher nthim ahallya Meriran!”

There was no response. “You are full of surprises,” Roh said.

“Be still,” he answered. His voice shook, for he was very tired, and the silence dismayed him. If the
arrhendim
themselves had turned against him, then there was no hope.

“Khemeis.”
The voice came from behind him.

He turned. A Man stood there, a
khemeis.
It was not any that he knew.

“Come.”

He began to do so, bringing Roh with him. The
khemeis
melted back into the forest, and when they had reached that place there was no sign that he had stood there. They walked further into the shadow.

Suddenly a white-haired
qhal
shifted into their view, from the shadow of the trees. His bow was bent, and a brown-feathered arrow was aimed at them.

“I am Lellin Erirrhen's friend,” Vanye said. “And
khemeis
to Morgaine. This man is my cousin.”

The arrow did not waver. “Where is Lellin?”

Then his heart sank, and he leaned on his staff, little caring whether the arrow was fired.

“Where is Lellin?”

“With my lady. And I do not know. I hoped that the
arrhendim
would.”

“Your cousin bears lord Merir's safe-passage. But that is good only for him who bears it.”

“Take us to Merir. I have an accounting to give him for his grandson.”

Slowly the arrow was lowered and eased from the bowstring. “We will take you where we please. One of you does not have leave to be here. Which?”

“I,” Roh confessed, lifting the amulet from his neck. He gave it into Vanye's hand.

“You will both come with me.”

Vanye nodded when Roh looked questioningly at him; and he hung the amulet again about his neck and, heavily, limped in the
qhal
's wake.

 • • • 

There was no stopping until long after dark; and then the
arrhen
halted and settled among the roots of a large tree. Vanye sank down, Roh beside him, tucked his good leg up and rested against it, exhausted. But Roh shook at him after a moment. “They offer us food and drink,” Roh said.

Vanye bestirred himself and took it, small appetite as he had now; afterward he leaned against the base of a tree and gazed at the
arrhendim
 . . . two now, for the
khemeis
had joined them.

“Do you know nothing of where Lellin or my lady is?” Vanye asked them.

“We will not answer,” said the
qhal.

“Do you count us enemies?”

“We will not answer.”

Vanye shook his head and abandoned hope with them, rested his head against the bark.

“Sleep,” said the
qhal,
and spread his cloak and wrapped in it, becoming one with the tree against which he leaned; but the
khemeis
vanished quietly into the brush.

 • • • 

There was a different
qhal
and a different
khemeis
in the morning. Vanye looked at them, blinked, disturbed that they had shifted about so silently. Roh cast him a sidelong glance no less disturbed.

“I am Tirrhen,” said the
qhal.
“My
khemeis
is Haim. We will take you farther.”

“Nhi Vanye and Chya Roh,” Vanye replied. “Where?”

The
qhal
shrugged. “Come.”

“You are more courteous than the last,” Roh said, and took Vanye's arm, helping him rise.

“They are Mirrind's guardians,” Tirrhen replied. “Would you expect joy of them?”

And Tirrhen turned his back and vanished, so that it was Haim who walked with them a time. “Be silent,” the
khemeis
said when Roh ventured to speak; it was all he said. They walked all the day save brief rests, and Vanye flung himself down at the midafternoon stop and lay still a good moment before he had caught his breath, eyes blurred and half-closed.

Roh's hand touched his. “Take the armor off. I shall carry it. You are done, otherwise.”

He rolled over and began to do so, while Roh helped him. The
khemeis
watched, and finally offered them food and drink, although they had had a little at noon.

“We have sent for horses,” Haim said. Vanye nodded, relieved at that.

“There is no word,” Vanye said again, trying another approach, “what became of my party.”

“No. Not that we know. And we know what there is to be known in this part of Shathan.”

“But others might have contact elsewhere.” Hope sprang up in him, swiftly killed by Haim's grim look.

“What there is of news is not good,
khemeis.
I understand your grief. I have said too much. Get up and let us be going.”

He did so, with Roh's help. The lack of the armor was relief. He made it until nightfall before he was utterly winded and halted in his tracks.

It was Tirrhen with them now, and not Haim; and Tirrhen showed no intention of stopping. “Come,” he said. “Come on.”

Roh flung an arm about him and steadied him. They followed Tirrhen until Roh himself was staggering badly.

Then a clearing lay ahead of them in the starlight, and four
arrhendim
waited with six horses. “They mean we should keep going,” Roh said, and his voice nigh broke.

Vanye looked, and knew none of them. He was helped to one of the saddleless horses, which was haltered only, and led by one of the
arrhendim.
Roh mounted the other without their help, and silently the party started to move.

Vanye leaned forward and rested against the horse's neck, instinct and habit keeping him astride over rough ground and through winding trails. The pain subsided to something bearable. The horse's patient strength comforted him. He slept at times, though once it cost him a bruise on a low branch: he bent back under it and slumped forward again, little the worse for it among so many other hurts. They moved through the night like shadows, and by morning they had reached another clearing, where more horses waited for them, with another escort.

He did not even dismount, but leaned, grasped a mane, and drew himself to the other horse. The party started forward, with no offering to them of food or water. Vanye ceased even to care, although such was finally offered at noon, without stopping. He rode numbly, silent as their escort was silent. Roh was still there, some distance behind . . . he saw that when he would look back.
Arrhendim
rode between them so that they could not speak to each other. They had not been disarmed, he realized at last, which heartened him; he trusted that Roh still had his armor and his weapons, for Roh had his own. He himself
was beyond using any, and wished only for a cloak, for he was cold, even in daylight.

He asked finally, recalling that these were
qhal,
not Hetharu's halfling breed, and not by nature cruel. He was given a blanket to wrap himself in as they rode, and they offered him food and drink besides, all with little delay in their riding. Only twice in the day did they dismount even for a moment.