The Complete Morgaine (98 page)

Sanity returned after a moment. Roh breathed hard and bowed his head against his knees.

“Roh, she will not do that again. She saw. She will not.”

“I would be myself when I die. Can she not allow me that?”

“You will not die. I know her. I
know
her. She would not.”

“She will manage it. Do you think that she will ever let me at her back where you stand, or rest when I am near her? She will manage it.”

The veil shadowed, went back. Morgaine stood in the doorway. “I am afraid I hear you,” she said quietly. “The veils do not stop much.”

“I will say it to your face,” Roh said, “syllable by syllable if you did not get it clear.—Will you not return the courtesy, to me—and to him?”

Morgaine frowned, rested
Changeling
point down on the floor before her. “I will say this: that there is some good chance it will make no difference what I will and will not.” She nodded vaguely westward, at the other wall. “If you want to walk through that woods and take a look at the riverside, you will find enough Shiua to make any quarrel we have among ourselves quite pointless. What I say I would say if Vanye were not involved. The kindnesses I attempt generally come to worse than my worst acts. But murder sits ill with me, and . . .” She lifted
Changeling
slightly from the floor and rested it again. “I have not the options of fair fight that a man has; nor would I put that burden on Vanye, to deal with you in that fashion. You are right; I cannot trust you as I do him. I do not think I could ever be persuaded to that. I do not want you at my back. But we have mutual enemies out there. There is a land about us that does not deserve that plague on it . . . and you and I made it, did we not? You and I
created that horde. Will you share in stopping it? The fortunes of war—may make it unnecessary to concern ourselves about our . . . differences.”

Roh seemed dazed a moment . . . and then he set his hands on his knees and laughed bitterly. “Yes. Yes, I would do that.”

“I will not ask an oath of you or take one, no great one: it would bind me to an honor I cannot afford. But if you will give your simple word, Roh—I trust
you
can bind your other impulses.”

“I give it,” Roh said. He rose, and Vanye with him. “You will have what you want of me.
All
 . . . that you want of me.”

Morgaine's lips tightened. She turned and walked to the far wall and laid down
Changeling,
gathering up her armor. “Do not be too forward in it. There is food left, probably. Vanye, see he has what he needs.”

“My weapons,” Roh said.

She looked at him, scowling. “Aye, I will see to that.” And she turned again and began working into her armor.

“Morgaine kri Chya.”

She looked up.

“You . . . did not bring me from Ra-koris; I brought myself, I. You did not aim that horde at this land. I did, no other. And I will not take food or drink or shelter of you, not—as matters stand. If you insist, I must; but if not—then I will take it elsewhere, and not inflict any obligation on myself or on you.”

She hesitated, seeming stunned. Then she walked over and flung back the veil to the outside, waved a signal at the
arrha
who waited there. Roh left, pausing to offer a bow of courtesy; Morgaine let fall the veil after him, and lingered there, leaning her head against her arm. After a moment she swore, in her own tongue, and turned away, avoiding his eyes.

“You,” Vanye said into that silence, “you did as much as he would have asked of you.”

She looked up at him. “But you expect more.”

Vanye shook his head. “I regard you too much,
liyo.
You are risking your life in giving what you have. He could kill you. I do not think so, or I would not have him near you. But he is a risk; and I know how you feel. Maybe more so. He is my cousin. He brought me here alive. But . . . if . . . he is overmuch tempted,
liyo,
then he will lose. I know that. What is more, he does. You have done the best thing you could do.”

She bit her lips until the blood left them. “He is a man, your cousin. I will give him that.”

And she turned and gathered up the rest of her armor, put it on with a grimace of discomfort. “He will have his chance,” she said then. “Armor and bow: little use for anything else if this is like the last time . . . until they reach the rock itself. We are in no small danger.”

“They are prepared?”

“Some of them are well up the Silet, the tributary river to our south; the force at Narnside began moving across to our bank at dawn.”

“You permit this?”

She gave a bitter laugh. “I? Permit? I fear I am not in charge here. The
arrha
have permitted it, step by step, until we are nigh surrounded. Powerful they are, but their whole mind, their whole conception of the problem, is toward defense, and they will not hear me. I would have done differently, yes, but I have not been able to do anything until recently. Now it comes to the point that the only thing I can do is help them hold this place. It has never been a matter of what I would choose here.”

He bent and gathered his armor from where he had left it.

 • • • 

They saddled the horses, not alone Siptah, but Lellin's and Sezar's, and gathered up all that they might need if it came to flight. What was in Morgaine's mind remained her own; but he reckoned in his own thoughts what she had told him, the isolation by wood and water of the area that was Nehmin, and the Shiua possessing the rivers that framed their refuge.

All the area about them was tangled and wooded, and that was a situation no Kurshin could find comfortable; there was no place to maneuver, no place to run. The horses were all but useless to them, and the hill was too low to hold.

They rode up the slope of the hill and among the twisted trees, down again by the winding trail among the rocks, so that they came out again on the meadow.

“No sight of them,” Vanye muttered, looking uneasily river-ward.

“Ah, they have learned a slight caution of this place. But it will not last, I fear.”

She turned Siptah to the right hand, and warily they rode away from that vicinity into the woods, through brush, into an area where the trees grew very large. A path guided them . . .
and our enemies next,
Vanye thought dismally. Horses had been down it recently.

“Liyo,”
he said after a space. “Where do we go? What manner of thing have you in mind?”

She shrugged, and seemed worried. “The
arrha
have withdrawn. And they are not above abandoning us to the enemy. I am concerned for Lellin and Sezar. They have not reported back to me. I do not like to take their horses from where they expect to find them, but likewise I do not want to lose them.”

“They are out there—toward the enemy?”

“That is where they should be. At the moment, I am concerned that the
arrha
are not where they should be.”

“And Roh.”

“And Roh,” she echoed, “though in some part I doubt he is the center of this matter. He may himself be in danger. Merir . . . Merir is the one who deserves watching. Honorable he may be—but thee learns, Vanye, thee learns . . . that the good and virtuous fight us as bitterly as those who are neither good nor virtuous . . . more so, perhaps—for they do so unselfishly, and bravely . . . and we must most of all beware of them. Do you not see that I am what the Shiua name me? And would a man not be entitled to resist that . . . for himself—most of all for what the
arrhend
protects?—Forgive me. Thee knows my darker moods; I should not shed them on thee.”

“I am your man,
liyo.
”

She looked at him, surprised out of the bitterness that had been her expression.

And around the bending of the trail there stood one of the
arrha,
a young
qhalur
woman. Silent, she stood among the branches and ferns, light in green shadow.

“Where are your fellows?” Morgaine asked of her.

The
arrha
lifted her arm, pointed the way that they were going.

Morgaine started Siptah forward again, slowly, for the trail wound much. Vanye looked back; the
arrha
still stood there, a too-conspicuous sentinel.

Then they passed into another space where few trees grew, and in that open space there were horses; the
arrhendim
were there, seated . . . the six who had gone out with Merir, and Roh. Roh gathered himself to his feet as they came.

“Where is Merir?” Morgaine asked.

“Off that way,” Roh said, and pointed farther on. He spoke in Andurin, and looked up . . . shaven, washed, he looked more the
dai-uyo
he was, and he bore his weapons again. “No one is doing anything. Word is the Shiua are closing on us from two sides, and the old men are still back there talking. If no one moves, we will have Hetharu in our midst before evenfall.”

“Come,” said Morgaine, and slid down from the saddle.

“We leave the horses here.” She wrapped Siptah's reins about the branch, and Vanye did the same for the horse he rode and the ones he led.

None of the
arrhendim
had done more than look up.

“Come,” she bade them; and in a stronger voice: “Come with me.”

They looked uncertain; Larrel and Kessun stood up, but the elder
arrhendim
were reluctant. Finally Sharrn did so, and the six came, gathering up their weapons.

Wherever they were bound, Morgaine seemed to have been this way before: Vanye stayed at her shoulder, that Roh should not walk too near her, watching either side and sometimes looking back at the
arrhendim
who trailed them on this suddenly narrower path. He was far from easy in his mind, for they were all too vulnerable to treachery, for all the power of the weapons Morgaine bore.

Gray stone confronted them through the tangle of vines and branches . . . lichen-spotted, much weathered, standing stones thrust up among the roots of trees, closer and closer, until the stones formed an aisle shadowed by the vast trees.

Then they had sight of a small stone dome at the end of that aisle.
Arrha
guarded the entry of it, one on either side of the doorway that stood open, but there was no offer to oppose their coming.

Voices echoed within, echoes that died away at their tread within the doorway. Torches lit that small dome within;
arrha
sat as a mass of white on stone seats that encompassed more than half the circuit of the walls: the center of the floor was clear, and there Merir stood. Merir was the one who had been speaking and he faced them there.

One of the
arrha
arose, an incredibly old
qhal,
withered and bent and leaning on a staff. He stepped down onto the floor where Merir stood.

“You do not belong here,” that one said. “Arms have never come into this council. We ask that you go away.”

Morgaine did nothing. A look of fear was on all the
arrha
 . . . old ones, very old, all those gathered here.

“If we contest for power,” said another, “we will all die. But there are others who hold the power we have. Leave.”

“My lord Merir.” Morgaine walked from the doorway to the center of the room; Vanye followed her: so did the others, taking their place before that council. His distress was acute, that she thus separated herself from the door. There were guards,
arrha,
bearing Gate-force, he suspected. He could not prevail against that. If it came to using her weapons she needed him close to her, where he was able to guard her back . . . where he was not in the way of what had taken at least one comrade of theirs. “My lords,” she said, looking about her. “There are enemies advancing. What do you plan to do?”

“We do not,” said the elder, “admit you to our counsel.”

“Do you refuse my help?”

There was deep silence. The elder's staff rang on the floor and echoed, the slightest tap.

“My lords,” she said. “If you do refuse my help, I
will
leave you. And if I leave you, you
will
fall.”

Merir stepped forward half a pace. Vanye held his breath, for the old lord knew, knew utterly what she meant, the destruction of the Gate which gave them power, in her passing from this world. And surely he had told the others.

“That which you bear,” said Merir, “is greater than the power of all the
arrha
combined. But it was fashioned as a weapon; and that . . .
that
is madness. It is an evil thing. It cannot be otherwise. For fifteen hundred years . . . we have used our power gently. To protect. To heal. You stand here, alive because of
it . . . and tell us that if we do not bow to your demands, then you will turn that thing against us, and destroy Nehmin, and leave us naked to our enemies. But if we do as you wish—what, then? What are your terms? Let us hear them.”

There was no sound or movement after.

But suddenly other footfalls whispered on the stones at the doorway.

Lellin, and Sezar.

“Grandfather,” Lellin said in a hushed voice, and bowed. “Lady . . . you bade me come when the enemy had completed their crossing. They have done so. They are moving this way.”

A murmur ran the circuit of the room, swiftly dying, so that the tiniest movement could be heard.

“You have been out doing her bidding,” Merir said.

“I told you, Grandfather, that I went to do that.”

Merir shook his head slowly, lifted his face to look on Morgaine, on all of them, on the
arrhendim
who had come with Morgaine, and all but Perrin lowered their eyes, unable to meet his.

“You have already begun to destroy us,” Merir said. His voice was full of tears. “You offer your way . . . or nothing. We might have been able to defeat the Shiua, as we did the
sirrindim
who came on us long ago. But now we have come to this, that armed force has entered this place, where arms never have come before, and some have faith in them.”