The Complete Morgaine (102 page)

He gasped and the horse staggered as they joined that bridge of force, but the little
arrha
held tightly and he blinked his eyes clear as the serried line of lances came at them, near and distinct, like a forest horizontal.

It was madness. They could not hit that mass and live.

Senses denied it, even while the terror of Gate-force ripped the air along the line they held. He thought of
Changeling
added to that, and that frightened him the more; but Morgaine did not draw it. The red fire of her lesser weapon laced across the charge, merciless to horse and rider. Animals went down in a line; those behind tumbled after in a screaming tangle; and others went round them, some falling, but not enough. The lances came into their very faces.

Vanye leaned aside as the Gate-force hit the rank like a scythe, tumbling horses and riders in the area of crossing forces; but the few riders nearest stayed ahorse, unaffected, flashing past most too dazed to strike well. Vanye could but lean and evade. A blade rang on his helm and shoulder as he bowed over the saddle and shielded the
arrha
as best he could. The horse stumbled badly, recovered by a valiant effort, and they rode over corpses and the unconscious; he was hit more than once, and then they broke into the clear, the horses running. Morgaine drew ahead of him, Siptah taking free rein for a space, with the marshlanders ahead of her. The rabble tried to hold their ground; a hedge of braced spears barred her way. Then
Changeling
flashed into the open, a force
that hit his nerves and sent the horse staggering even at this distance. It stopped; the
arrha
had shielded her own. For an instant he thought himself clear.

Then a hoarse shout warned him. He hurled the
arrha
off as he wheeled and leaned, holding to the mane only. Roh was there, and Lellin, and the rider that thundered past spun off over his horse's tail. More Shiua came on. Vanye gained his seat and whipped out his sword, feeling his backing horse stumble over a body, recover under the brutal drive of the spurs.

Hetharu. He saw the
khal
-lord coming down on him ahead of a trio of riders, and tried to gather himself to meet that charge. But Roh was already flashing past him, sword to sword with the
khal
with a shock of horse and metal, and Vanye veered instead for the rider at Hetharu's right—swordsman likewise. The halfling shouted hate and cut at him; Vanye whipped the sword aside and cut for the neck, knowing the man at the last instant: Hetharu's
akil
-drugged minion. He grimaced in disgust and reined about for the two that had sped behind him, expecting attack on his flank, but
arrhendur
arrows had robbed him of those. Roh needed no help; in his jolted vision he saw Hetharu of Ohtij-in flung nigh headless from the saddle, and themselves suddenly in a wide area where only corpses remained, corpses, a scattering of dazed men and horses only beginning to recover, and a handful of
arrhendim,
and the main body of the horde yet hazy with distance.

He reined full about in desperation, seeking Morgaine—but he saw her then beyond them, she, and Merir, and a wide area where no dead lay and their enemies were in confused retreat.
Changeling
's shimmer glowed moon-pale in the twilight, and his arm ached in sympathy, for he knew well what it was to wield it.

Then he recalled another companion, and looked right, turning his horse . . . saw with a pang of shame the little
arrha,
her white garments torn and bloody, who had gained her feet and caught one of the dazed horses. She could not reach the stirrup; the horse shied from her. Sezar reached her before any other, reached across the saddle from the other side and pulled her up. Then Vanye called to the rest of them and they started moving forward anxious to close the interval between themselves and Morgaine and Merir, for the Shiua were recovering themselves and their clear space was about to be invaded.

But Morgaine did not delay for them. Once she saw them coming she reined about and spurred Siptah into a charge, knifing toward the regrouping Shiua foot, driving them before her as they had scattered the first time. Arrows flashed about them, brief and short of the mark; the fleeing Shiua did not delay to fire again.

The Lesser Horn loomed now distinct and near, rising out of the twilight; a road led up to it, and marshlanders and Shiua humans scattered off it as they came. Some lingered to die, whirled away into that darkness at
Changeling
's tip;
more fled, even casting down weapons in their terror, scrambling down the rocks at the side of the road.

A vast gateway was open before them, and a dark interior with yet another open gate beyond, showing road and rocks in the fading light. Morgaine rode for that narrow shelter, and Merir beside her, the rest of them following in desperate haste, for arrows began to rattle on the stones about them. Then they gained the refuge, finding it empty—a fortress, of which the doors were splintered and riven, the near ones and the far. The horses skidded on the stone floor, hooves bringing echoes off the high arch above them, and stopped, hard breathing. Roh came in; and Lellin and Sezar; and Sharrn and Kessun and Perrin, the
arrha
with them. Vis came last and late. Perrin leaned from the saddle to embrace her, overwhelmed with relief, though the
khemein
was bloody and hurt.

“Dev is not coming,” said Sharrn; tears glistening on the old
arrhen
's face. “Kessun, we must make a pair now, we two.”

“Aye,
arrhen,
” said Kessun steadily enough. “I am with you.”

Morgaine rode slowly to the gate by which they had entered, but the Shiua seemed to have hesitance to charge the fortress, and had fallen back again. She found
Changeling
's sheath and despite the tremor of her arm, managed to slide the blade in and still the fire. Then she leaned forward on the saddle, almost fell. Vanye dismounted and came to her side, reached up and took her down into his arms, overwhelmed with fear for her.

“I am not hurt,” she said faintly, though sweat beaded her face. “I am not hurt.” He sank down on his knees with her and held her tightly until the trembling should leave her. It was reaction, the pain of the sword. They all settled, content for the moment simply to draw breath. The old lord was almost undone, and the little
arrha
lay down quietly sobbing, for she, like Sharrn and Kessun, was alone.

“Doors.” Morgaine murmured suddenly, trying to gather herself. “Better see if there is any stir outside.”

“Rest,” Vanye said, and rose and left her, picking his way back to the riven farther door of the fortress. There was little means to close those gates now, little left of them but splintered wreckage. He looked at what lay farther, a road up the height, winding turns indistinct in the gathering dusk. Sight of enemies there was none.

“Lellin,” Morgaine said elsewhere, and timbers crashed. She was on her feet by the other doorway, that by which they had entered, trying to move it alone. Lellin rose to help her; Vanye came to assist; others gathered themselves up, exhausted as they were. Down on the flat, in the gray distance across the clearing, there was a force massing, riders gathering, sweeping up the horde of foot and forcing them on, driving them rather than leading.

“Well,” Roh said hoarsely, “they have learned. That is what they should have done before now, put the weight of bodies against us. Too late for Hetharu. But some other leader has taken them now, and they care not how many human folk they lose.”

“We must get these doors closed,” Morgaine said.

The hinges were broken; the doors, thick at the edges as a man's arm, grated over the stone and bowed alarmingly close to coming apart as they threw their strength against them. They moved the other half as well, and that was too free at one point, for one hinge still held, but it too grated into place, with daylight between.

“That big timber,” Roh said, indicating a rough, bark-covered log which had been an obstacle in the hall, amid the other fallen beams. “Their ram, doubtless. It can brace the center.”

It was the best they had. They heaved it up with difficulty, braced it hard; but the broken gates could hardly stand long at any point if the Shiua brought another ram against it. The doors were a lattice of splinters, and though they braced them up with beams and debris from the rear doors, they could not stop them from bowing at their weak points, even to one man's strength.

“It is not going to hold,” Vanye declared in despair, leaning head and arms against it. He looked at Morgaine and saw the same written on her face, exhausted as she was, her face barred with the half-light that sifted through their barricade.

“If,” she said in a faint voice, “if those higher up this hill have not attacked us down here it can only be for one cause: that they see the others coming. They are waiting for that, to hit us from both sides at once and pin us here. And if we do not stop them from attacking Nehmin itself, then ultimately they can batter down its gates. Vanye, we have no choice. We cannot hold this place.”

“Those down below will be on our heels before we can engage those above.”

“Should we sit and die here, to no account at all? I am going on.”

“Did I say I was not? I am with you.”

“Get to horse, then. It is getting dark, and we dare not waste the little time we have.”

“You cannot go on wielding that sword. It will kill you. Give it to me.”

“I shall carry it while I can.” Her voice went hoarse. “I do not trust it near Nehmin. There is danger that you might not feel, a thing one senses in the sound and feel of it . . . a limit of approach. A mistake would kill us all. If it comes to you—avoid the jewels . . . avoid them. And if someone stirs up the forces channeled through the fortress—I hope you feel it in time. It would tear this rock apart, unsheathed.” She thrust herself from the gateway and sought Siptah's side, took up the reins. “Stay with me.”

Others began to go to their horses, weary as they were, determined to come
with them. Morgaine looked about at them and said nothing. Only at Roh she looked long and hard. In her mind surely was Nehmin itself—and Roh for their companion.

Roh averted his eyes and looked instead toward their fragile barricade. The sounds of the horde were louder, the enemy almost at the foot of the road, by the sound of it. “I can keep a ram away from that barrier a little time. At least they will not be on your backs. That will give you a chance.”

Vanye looked at Morgaine, wishing otherwise, but Morgaine slowly nodded. “Aye,” she said, “you could do that.”

“Cousin,” Vanye said, “do not. You can buy too little time for your life.”

Roh shook his head, desperation in his eyes. “You mean well; but I will not go up there while there is any use for me here. If I went up there, near
that
 . . . I think I would break my word. There is some use for me here . . . and you underestimate my marksmanship, Nhi Vanye i Chya.”

Vanye understood him then, and embraced him with a great pain in his heart, then turned and hurtled himself into the saddle.

Sezar cried out sudden warning, for there was the sound of a force advancing not only up out of the valley, but down off the height, coming down upon them.

Only Perrin and Vis stayed afoot, leaning on their bows. “Here is work for more than one bowman,” Perrin said. “Three of us just might be able to change their minds; besides, if some pass you, we can keep them from Roh's back.”

“Your blessing, lord,” Vis asked, and Merir leaned down and took the
khemein
's half-gloved hand. “Aye,” he said, “on you all three.”

Then he broke away, for Morgaine turned Siptah's head and rode into the gathering dusk. Vanye followed closely, too wrapped now in their own fate to mourn others. Even for them it was a matter of time: Lellin and Sezar were with them, weaponless; the little
arrha
rode with them, bloodied and scarcely clinging to her saddle, but she stayed with Merir; and Sharrn and Kessun with their bows . . . the only two armed now but themselves.

“How far?” Morgaine asked of the
arrha.
“How many turns before the Horn? How many from there to the fortress of Nehmin itself?”

“Three before the Dark Horn; more after . . . four, five; I do not clearly remember, lady.” The
arrha's
voice was hardly audible in the sounds about them, a painful breach of habitual silence. “I have only been here once.”

Rocks hove up on either side of them in the near-darkness, making a wall on their left, sometimes falling away sharply to the right, so that they looked down a darkening fall to the flat. There was no more sound from above them, while shouts came distantly from the gray masses which surged toward the Lesser Horn.

Then the rocks began to rise on their right as well as on their left, and they must venture a steep, dark winding.

“Ambush,” Vanye muttered as they approached that. Morgaine was already reaching for
Changeling.

Suddenly rock hurtled down, bounding and thundering from above, and the horses shied in terror.
Changeling
whipped the air and wind howled, cold, sucking at them in that narrow chute. The moaning drank the thunder: the only rock to come near them plummeted down on their very heads and went elsewhere. Sweat ran down Vanye's sides beneath the armor.

Siptah leaned into a run; they pressed forward with arrows hailing down like invisible wasps, but the overhang of the cliff and
Changeling
's wind sheltered them from harm.

It was when they made the turning and faced the height that the arrows came truly; Morgaine held the fore, and the sword shielded them all, hurling the arrowflight into nothingness, the winds sucking such few as passed into forceless impacts. Men with wooden spears opposed them and Morgaine hit those ranks with a sweep that cleared Men and weapons elsewhere, flung them screaming into dark, and what remained Vanye caught, closer to
Changeling
's howling dark than ever he liked to come: he felt the cold himself, and Morgaine struggled to press Siptah as close to the outer margin of the road as she could, rather than risk him.