The Complete Morgaine (105 page)

“This Chya Roh,” Merir whispered that night, while the remnant of the company shared food together, all but Roh. “He is halfling, aye, and more than that—but Shathan would take him. We have taken some even of the Shiua folk who have come begging peace with the forest, who have some love of the green land. And could any man's love for it be greater than his, who has offered his life for it?”

He spoke to Morgaine, and Vanye looked on her with sudden, painful hope, for Roh's fate had blighted all the peace of these last days. But Morgaine said nothing, and finally shook her head.

“He fought for us,” said Lellin. “Sezar and I will speak for him.”

“So do I,” said Sharrn. “Lady Morgaine, I am alone. I would take this Man, and Dev would not reproach me for it, nor would Larrel and Kessun.”

Morgaine shook her head, although with great sadness. “Let us not speak of it again tonight. Please.”

 • • • 

But Vanye did, when that night they were alone, in the tent which they shared. A tiny oil lamp lent a faint glow among the shadows. He could see Morgaine's face. A sad mood was on her, and one of her silences, but he ventured it all the same, for there was no more time.

“What Sharrn offered . . . are you thinking of that?”

Her gray eyes met his, guarded at once.

“I ask it of you,” he said, “if it can be given.”

“Do not.” Her voice had a hard edge, quiet as it was. “Did I not say:
I will never go right or left to please you?
I know only one direction, Vanye. If you do not understand that, then you have never understood me at all.”

“If you do not understand my asking, hopeless as it is, then you have never understood me either.”

“Forgive me,” she said then faintly. “Yes, I do. Thee must, being Nhi. But consider him, not your honor. What did you tell me . . . regarding what struggle he has? How long can he bear that?”

He let go his breath and clenched his hands about his knees, for it was true; he considered Roh's moodiness, the terrible darkness that seemed above him much of the time. The Fires were near dying. The power at Nehmin had been set to fade at a given day and hour, and that hour was evening tomorrow.

“I have ordered,” Morgaine said, “that his guards watch him with special closeness this night.”

“You saved his life. Why?”

“I have watched him. I have been watching him.”

He had never spoken with her of Roh's fate, not in all the days that they had spent in the forest about Nehmin, while Roh and Sezar healed, while they rested and nursed their own wounds, and took the gentle hospitality of Shathan's east. He had almost hoped then for her mercy, had even been confident of it.

But when they had prepared to leave, she had ordered Roh brought with them under guard. “I want to know where you are,” she had told Roh; and Roh had bowed in great irony. “Doubtless you have stronger wishes than that,” Roh had answered, and the look of the stranger had been in his eyes. The stranger was much with them on this ride, even to this last night. Roh was quiet, morose; and sometimes it was Roh and as often it was not. Perhaps the
arrhendim
did not fully see this; if any suspected this shifting, it was likely Merir, and perhaps Sharrn, who knew fully what he was.

“Do you doubt I consider what pain he suffers?” Vanye asked bitterly. “But I have faith in the outcome of this mood of his; and you always have faith in the worst. That is our difference.”

“And we would not know until the Fires were dead, whether we should
believe one thing or the other,” Morgaine said. “And thee and I cannot linger this side to find it out.”

“And you do not take chances.”

“I do not take chances.”

There was long silence.

“Never,” she said, “have I power to listen to heart more than head. Thee's my better nature, Vanye. All that I am not, thee is. And when I come against that . . . Thee's the only—well, I would miss thee. But I have thought it over . . . how perhaps if I should harm this man, thee would hate me; that thee would, finally, leave me. And thee will do what thee thinks right; and so must I, thee by heart, I by head; and which of us is right, I do not know. But I cannot let myself be led by wanting this and wanting that. I must be right. It is not what Roh can do that frets me; once the Fires are dead—I hope . . . I
hope
that he is powerless.”

I know what is written in the runes on that blade,
Roh had said;
at least the gist of it.
The words shot back into his mind out of all the confusion of pain and
akil,
turning him cold to the heart. Little of that time he did remember clearly; but this came back.

“He knows more,” he said hoarsely. “He has at least part of
Changeling
's knowledge.”

A moment she stared at him, stark-stricken, and then bowed against her hands, murmured a word in her own lost language, over and over.

“I have killed him,” Vanye said. “By telling you that, I have killed him, have I not?”

It was long before she looked up at him. “Nhi honor,” she said.

“I do not think I will sleep well hereafter.”

“Thee also serves something stronger than thyself.”

“It is as cold a bedfellow as that you serve. Perhaps that is why I have always understood you. Only keep
Changeling
from him. What wants doing—I will do, if you cannot be moved.”

“I cannot have that.”

“In this,
liyo,
I do not care what you will and will not.”

She folded her arms and rested her head against them.

The light eventually burned out; neither of them slept but by snatches, nor spoke, while it burned. It was only afterward that Vanye fell into deeper sleep, and that still sitting, his head upon his arms.

 • • • 

They slept late in the morning; the
arrhend
made no haste to wake them, but had breakfast prepared when they came out, Morgaine dressed in her white garments, Vanye in the clothing which the
arrhendim
had provided. And still Roh did not choose to sit with them, nor even to eat, though his guards brought
him food and tried to persuade him. He only drank a little, and sat with his head bowed on his arms after.

“We will take Roh,” Morgaine said to Merir and the others when they had done with breakfast. “Our ways must part now, yours and ours; but Roh must go with us.”

“If you will it so,” said Merir, “but we would go all the way to the Fires with you.”

“Best we ride this last day alone. Go back, lord. Give our love to the Mirrindim and the Carrhendim. Tell them why we could not come back.”

“There is also,” said Vanye, “a boy named Sin, of Mirrind, who wants to be
khemeis.
”

“We know him,” said Sharrn.

“Teach him,” Vanye asked of the old
arrhen.
He saw then a touch of longing come to the
qhal
's
gray eyes.

“Aye,” said Sharrn. “I shall. The Fires may go, but the
arrhend
must remain.”

Vanye nodded slowly, comforted.

“We would come with you,” said Lellin, “Sezar and I. Not to the Fires, but through them. It would be hard to leave our forests, harder yet to leave the
arrhend
 . . . but—”

Morgaine regarded him, and Merir's pain, and shook her head. “You belong here. Shathan is in your keeping; it would be wrong to desert it. Where we go—well, you have given us all that we need and more than we could ask. We will fare well enough, Vanye and I.”

And Roh?
The question flickered briefly into the eyes of the
arrhendim,
and there remained dread after. They seemed then to realize, and there was silence.

“We had better go,” Morgaine said. From her neck she lifted the chain, and the gold medallion, and gave it back into Merir's hands. “It was a great gift, lord Merir.”

“It was borne by one we shall not forget.”

“We do not ask your forgiveness, lord Merir, but some things we much regret.”

“You do not need it, lady. It will be sung
why
these things were done; you and your
khemeis
will be honored in our songs as long as there are
arrhendim
to sing them.”

“And that is itself a great gift, my lord.”

Merir inclined his head, and set his hand then on Vanye's shoulder. “
Khemeis,
when you prepare, take the white horse for your own. None of ours can keep up with the gray, but only she.”

“Lord,” he said, dismayed and touched at once. “She is yours.”

“She is great-granddaughter to one who was mine,
khemeis;
I treasure her, and therefore I give her to you, to one who will love her well. The saddle and
bridle are hers; Arrhan is her name. May she bear you safely and long. And this more.” Merir pressed into his hand the small case of an
arrha
's jewel. “All these will die in this land as the Fires die. If your lady permits, I give you this . . . no weapon, but a protection, and a means to find your way, should you ever be parted.”

He looked at Morgaine, and she nodded, well-pleased. “Lord,” he said, and would have knelt to thank him, but the old lord prevented him.

“No. We honor
you. Khemeis,
I shall not live so much longer. But even when our children are dust, you and your lady and my small gift to you . . . will be yet upon your journey, perhaps not even across the simple step you will take this evening. Far, far travelling. I shall think of that when I die. And it will please me to be remembered.”

“We shall do that, lord.”

Merir nodded, and turned away, bidding the
arrhendim
break camp.

 • • • 

They armed with care for this ride, in armor partly familiar and partly
arrhendur
and each of them had a good
arrhendur
bow and a full quiver of brown-fletched arrows besides. Only Roh went unarmed; Morgaine bound his bow, unstrung, upon her saddle, and his sword was on Vanye's.

Roh seemed not at all surprised when told that they required him to ride with them.

He bowed then, and mounted the bay horse which the
arrhend
had provided him. He yet moved painfully, and used his right hand more than his left, even in rising to the saddle.

Vanye mounted up on white Arrhan, and turned her gently to Morgaine's side.

“Goodbye,” said Merir.

“Goodbye,” they said together.

“Farewell,” Lellin offered them, and he and Sezar were first to turn away, Merir after, but Sharrn lingered.

“Farewell,” Sharrn said to them, and looked last on Roh. “Chya Roh—”

“For your kindness,” Roh said, almost the first words he had spoken in days, “I thank you, Sharrn Thiallin.”

Then Sharrn left, and the rest of the
arrhendim,
riding quickly across the plain toward the north.

Morgaine started Siptah moving south, in no great haste, for the Fires would not die until the night, and they had the day before them with no far distance to ride.

Roh looked back from time to time, and Vanye did, until the distance and the sunlight swallowed up the
arrhendim,
until even the dust had vanished.

And no word had any of them spoken.

“You are not taking me with you,” said Roh, “through the Gate.”

“No,” said Morgaine.

Roh nodded slowly.

“I am waiting for you,” said Morgaine, “to say something in the matter.”

Roh shrugged, and for a time he made no answer, but the sweat beaded on his face, calm as it remained.

“We are old enemies, Morgaine kri Chya. Why this is, I have never understood . . . until late, until Nehmin. At least—I know your purpose. I find some peace with that. I only wonder why you have insisted on my survival this far. Can you not make up your mind? I do not believe at all that you have changed your intentions.”

“I told you. I have a distaste for murder.”

Roh laughed outright, then flung his head back, eyes shut against the sun. He smiled, smiled still when he looked at them. “I thank you,” he said hoarsely. “It is up to me, is it not? You are waiting for me to decide; of course. You bade Vanye carry that Honor-blade of mine, long since hoping. If you will give it back to me, I think that—outside the sight of the Gate—I shall have the strength to use that gift. Only—
there
—I could not say what I would do, if you bring me close to that place. There are things I do not want to remember.”

Morgaine reined to a halt. There was nothing but grass about them, no sight yet of the Gate, nor of the forest, nor anything living. Roh's face was very pale. She handed across to him the bone-hilted Honor-blade, his own. He took it, kissed the hilt, sheathed it. She gave him then his bow, and the one arrow that was his; and nodded to Vanye. “Give him his sword back.”

Vanye did so, and was relieved to see that at the moment the stranger was gone and only Roh was with them; there was on Roh's face only a sober look, a strangely mild regret.

“I will not speak to him directly,” Morgaine said at Roh's back. “My face stirs up other memories, I think, and perhaps it is best he look on it as little as possible under these circumstances. He has avoided me zealously. But do you know him, Vanye?”

“Yes,
liyo.
He is in command of himself . . . has been, I think, more than you have believed.”

“Only with you . . . in Shathan. And with difficulty . . . now. I am the worst possible company for him; I am the only enemy Roh and Liell share. He cannot go with us. Chya Roh, you have knowledge enough it is deadly to leave you here; all that I do would rest on your will to rule that other nature of yours. You might bring the Gate to life again in this land, undo all that we have done, work ruin on us, and on this land.”