The Complete Morgaine (94 page)

Gate-force. An area about the
qhal
-lord—charged with the terror of the Gates.
I know,
Merir had claimed; and know he must, for the Gates were still alive, and Morgaine had not stilled their power.

“So,” Merir breathed at last, “you are brave . . . to have fought that; braver surely than to sink to violence against one as old as I.”

Vanye bowed his head, tossed the hair from his eyes and met the old lord's angry stare. “Honor I left long and far from here, my lord. I only wish I could have held you.”

“You know such forces. You have passed the Fires at least twice, and I could not frighten you.” Merir drew from his robes a tiny case and carefully opened it. Again that shimmering grew about his hand and his person, although what rested inside was a very tiny jewel, swirling with opal colors. Vanye flinched from it, for he knew the danger.

“Yes,” said Merir, “your lady is not the only one who holds power in this land. I am one. And I knew that such a thing was loose in Shathan . . . and I sought to know what it was. It was a long search. The power remained hidden. You fit well into Mirrind, invisibly well, to your credit. I was dismayed to know that you were among us. I sent for you, and heard you out . . . and knew even then that there was such a thing unaccounted for in Shathan. I loosed you, hoping that you would go against your enemies; I did believe you, you see. Yet she would seek Nehmin . . . against all my advice. And Nehmin had defenders more powerful than I. Some of them she passed, and that amazes me; but she never passed the others. Perhaps she is dead. I might not know that. Lellin should have returned to me, and he has not. I think Lellin trusted you somewhat, else he would have returned quickly . . . but I do not even know for certain that he lived much past Carrhend, I have only your word. Nehmin stands. Perhaps the Shiua you speak of have prevented her . . . or others might. You cast yourself back into our hands as if we were your own kindred—in some trust, I do think; and yet you admit with your silence what it was she wished in coming here . . . to destroy what defends this land. And she is the bearer of the power I have sensed; I know that now, beyond doubt. I asked Chya Roh why
she would destroy Nehmin. He said that such destruction was her function and that he himself did not understand; I asked him why then he sought to go to her, and he said that after all he has done, there is no one else who will have him. You say he rarely lies. Are these lies?”

A tremor went through him. He shook his head and swallowed the bile in his throat. “Lord,
he
believes it.”

“I put to you the same questions, then. What do you believe?”

“I—do not know. All these things Roh claims to know for truth . . . I do not; and I have served her. I told her once that I did not want to know; she gave me that—and now I cannot answer you, and I would that I could. I only know
her,
better than Roh knows—and she does not wish to harm you. She does not want that.”

“That is truth,” Merir judged. “At least—
you
believe that it is so.”

“I have never lied to you. Nor has she.” He strove to gain his feet; the
arrhendim
put their hands on him to prevent him, but Merir gestured to them to let him be. He stood, yet sick and dizzied, looking down on the frail lord. “It was Morgaine who tried to keep the Shiua out of your land. Blame me, blame Roh that they came here;
she
foresaw this and tried to prevent it. And this I know, lord, that there is evil in the power that you use, and that it will take you sooner or later, as it took the Shiua . . . this thing you hold in your hand. To touch that—hurts; I know that; and she knows best of all . . . she hates that thing she carries; hates above everything the evil that it does.”

Merir's eyes searched over him, his face eerily lit in the opal fires. Then he closed the tiny case, and the light faded, reddening his flesh for a moment before it went. “One who bears what Roh describes would feel it most. It would eat into the very bones. The Fires we wield are gentler; hers consumes. It does not belong here. I would she had never come.”

“What she brought
is
here, lord. If it must be in other hands than hers—if she is lost—then I had rather your hand on it than the Shiua's.”

“And yours rather than mine?”

He did not answer.

“It is the sword—is it not? The weapon that she would not yield up. It is the only thing she bore of such size.”

He nodded reluctantly.

“I will tell you this, Nhi Vanye, servant of Morgaine . . . that last night that power was unmasked, and I felt it as I have not felt it since first you came into Shathan. What would it have been, do you think?”

“The sword was drawn,” he said, and hope and dread surged up in him—hope that she lived, and agony to think that she might have been in extremity enough to draw it.

“Aye, so do I judge. I shall take you to that place. You stand little chance of
reaching it alone, so bear in mind,
khemeis,
that you still ride under my law. Ride free if you will; attempt Shathan against my will. Or stay and accept it.”

“I shall stay,” he said.

“Let him walk free,” Merir said to the
arrhendim,
and they did so, although they trailed him back to the fire.

Roh was there, still under the archers' guard; the
arrhendim
signalled them, and the arrows were replaced in their quivers.

Vanye went to Roh, anger hazing his vision so that Roh was all the center of it. “Get up,” he said, and when Roh would not, he seized him and swung. Roh broke the force with his arm and struck back, but he took the blow and drove one through. Roh staggered sidewise to the ground.

The
arrhendim
intervened with drawn swords; one drew blood, and he reeled back from that warning, sense returning to him. Roh tried to rise to the attack, but the
arrhendim
stopped that too.

Roh straightened and rose more slowly, wiped the blood from his mouth with a dark look. He spat blood, and wiped his mouth a second time.

“Henceforth,” Vanye said in Andurin, “I shall guard my own back. Take care of yours, clan-lord, cousin. I am
ilin,
and not your man, whatever name you wear. All agreements are ended. I want my enemies in front of me.”

Again Roh spat, and rage burned in his eyes. “I told them
nothing,
cousin. But have it as you will. Our agreement is ended. You would have killed me without asking. Nhi threw you out. Clan-lord I still am, and for my will,
Chya
casts you out. Be
ilin
to the end of your days, kinslayer, and thank your own nature for it. I told them nothing they did not already know. Tell him, lord Merir, for his asking: What did I betray? What did I tell you that you did not first tell me?”

“Nothing,” said Merir. “He told us nothing. That is truth.”

The anger drained out of him, leaving only the wound. He stood there with no argument against Roh's affront, and at last he shook his head and unclenched his bloody hand. “I bore with everything,” he said hoarsely. “
Now
I strike back . . . when I am in the wrong. That is always my curse. I take your word, Roh.”

“You take nothing of me, Nhi bastard.”

His mouth worked. He swallowed down another burst of anger, seeing how this one had served him, and went away to his pallet. He lay down there, too distraught for sleep.

The others sought their rest; the fire burned to ash; the watch passed from Perrin to Vis.

Roh lay near him, staring at the heavens, his face set and still angry, and when Roh slept, if ever that night, he did not know it.

 • • • 

The camp came to slow life in the daylight, the
arrhendim
beginning to pack up and saddle the horses. Vanye rose among the first, began to put on his
armor, and Roh saw him and did likewise, both silent, neither looking openly toward the other. Merir was last to rise, and insisted on breaking their fast. They did so; and quietly, at the end of the meal, Merir ordered their weapons returned to them both.

“So you do not break the peace again,” Merir cautioned them.

“I do not seek my cousin's life,” Vanye said in a faint voice, only for Merir and Roh.

Roh said nothing, but slipped into his sword harness, and rammed the Honor-blade into place at his belt, stalking off to attend to his horse.

Vanye stared after him, bowed courtesy to Merir; empty reflex . . . and went after him.

There were no words. Roh would not look at him but with anger, making speech impossible, and he turned instead to saddling his horse.

Roh finished; he did, and started to lead his horse into line with the others that were mounting up. And on a last and bitter impulse he stopped by Roh's side and waited for him.

Roh swung to the saddle; he did the same. They rode together into line, and the column started moving.

“Roh,” he said finally, “are we beyond reasoning?”

Roh turned a cold eye on him. “You are worried, are you?” he asked in the language of Andur. “How much did they learn of
you,
cousin?”

“Probably what they did of you,” he said. “Roh, Merir is armed. As she is.”

Roh had not known. The comprehension dawned on him slowly. “So that is what unnerved you.” He spat painfully to the other side. “And there is something here, then, that could oppose her.
That
is why you are so desperate. It was a bad mistake to set me at your throat; that is what you least need. You should not have told me. That is your second mistake.”

“He would have told you when he wished; now I know that you know.”

Roh was silent a time. “I do not know why I do not pay you what you have deserved of me. I suppose it is the novelty of hearing a Nhi say he was wrong.” His voice broke; his shoulders sagged. “I told you that I was tired. Peace, cousin, peace. Someday we shall have to kill one another. But not . . . not without knowing why.”

“Stay with me. I will speak for you. I said that I would, and I still mean it.”

“Doubtless.” Roh spat again to the side, wiped his mouth and swore with a shake of his head. “You loosened two of my teeth. Let it wipe out other debts. Aye, we will see how things stand . . . see whether
she
knows the meaning of reason, or whether these folk do. I have a fancy for an Andurin burial; or if things turn out otherwise, I know the Kurshin rite.”

“Avert,” he murmured, and crossed himself fervently.

Roh laughed bitterly, and bowed his head. The trail narrowed thereafter, and they rode no more together.

 • • • 

Larrel and Kessun returned; they were simply standing in the way as they rode around a bending of the trail, and met and talked with Merir.

“We have ridden as far as the Laur,” Larrel said, and both the
arrhendim
and their horses looked weary. “Word is relayed up from Mirrind: no trouble; nothing stirs.”

“This is a strange silence,” Merir said, leaning on his saddle and casting a look back. “So many thousands—and nothing stirs.”

“I do not know,” said Vanye, for that look shot directly at him. “I would have expected immediate attack.” Then another thought came to him. “Fwar's men. If any who fell behind were not killed—”

“Aye,” Roh said. “They might have given warning what that forest is, if any came out again; or Shien might. And perhaps others of Fwar's folk could do us harm enough by talking.”

“Knowledge where
she
is to be sought?”

“All the Shiua know where she was lost. And having lost us . . .”

“Her,” Merir concluded, taut-lipped. “An attack near Nehmin.”

The sword was drawn, Vanye recalled, two nights ago. There was time enough for the horde to have veered to Narnside. A fine sweat broke out on him, cold in the forest shadow. “I pray you haste.”

“We are near the
harilim
's woods,” Merir said, “and there is no reckless haste, not for our lives' sake.”

But they kept moving, the weary
arrhendim
falling in with them, and they rested as seldom as the horses could bear, save that they stopped at midafternoon and rested until twilight; then they saddled up again, and set out into a deeper, older part of the woods.

Dark fell on them more quickly under these monstrous old trees; and now and again came small chitterings in the brush that frightened the horses.

Then from the fore of their party flared an opal shimmer that made Merir's horse shy the more, horse and rider for a moment like an image under water. The flare died.

For a moment the forest was utterly quiet. Then the
harilim
came, stalking, rapid shapes. The first gave a chirring sound, and the horses threw their heads and fought the bits, dancing this way and that in a frenzy to run.

Then Merir led them forward, and their strange guides went about them, melting away into shadow after a time until there were only three left, which walked with Merir, chittering softly the while. It was clear that the master of Shathan had safe-passage where he would, even of these: they reverenced the power of the Fires which Merir held in his naked hand, and yielded to that, although the
arrhendim
themselves seemed afraid. Of a sudden Vanye realized what his chances had truly been, trifling with these creatures, and he shuddered
recalling his passage among them: they served the Fires in some strange fashion, perhaps worshipped them. In his ignorance he had sought a passage in which even the lord of Shathan moved carefully and with dread . . . and one of them at least must have recalled him as companion to another who carried the Fires. Surely that was why he and Roh lived: the
harilim
had recalled Morgaine.

His heart beat faster as he scanned the dark, heron-like shapes ahead of him on the trail.
They may know,
he thought.
If any living know where she is, they may know.
He entertained a wild hope that they might lead them to her this night, and wished that there were some way that a human tongue could shape their speech or human ears understand them. Even Merir was unable to do that; when he did consult with them, it was entirely with signs.