The Complete Morgaine (159 page)

Skarrin's presence—a man warded from assassination and accidents because he had stored—whatever of him mattered, in such fashion that the ordinary
traffic of the gates would deliver him a host virtually instantly, were it ever needed: different than
qhalur
knowledge, Morgaine had said.

Different—root and branch.

My father's legacy
, Morgaine had said.

And called Skarrin kinsman—whatever Skarrin's true name was.

Or hers.

The great Gate came slowly from the unfolding of the hill, the screening of the standing stones—a towering arch of stone, within which the blue sky shimmered like fever-vision. Hesiyyn's horse fought the bit wild-eyed, and the red roan Chei rode threw his head and fretted in distress; but Siptah went with his ears laid flat and pricked up by turns, trying to get rein to go, knowing where he was bound, what he must do, and all too anxious to make that jump, till Morgaine reined him down and patted his shoulder.

Closer and closer then, at a careful pace. There were no enemies at hand. They were alone at the height, on this Road which led to a place where the very air had sound and substance; and smaller sounds, those of hoof and harness, lost themselves.

“You can see the city,” Hesiyyn said, looking over his shoulder.

“Goodbye to it,” Chei said and seemed lost already in the Gate's spell.

They had reached the last of the road. After this it was the barren, rocky slope leading to the Gate itself, tracked and scarred with hundreds of feet, with the hooves of horses, the wheels of wagons; and here Morgaine drew rein.

“Go through,” she bade Chei and Hesiyyn with a wave of her arm. “I have yet something to see to from this side. I will overtake you, have no fear of it.”

Chei drew up on his reins and used his heels, for the red roan fought to turn away, and Hesiyyn circled his horse to distract it from full flight.

“Rhanin,” Chei said.

“The gate will give no warning when it seals. There is no time! If he comes, he comes. We cannot wait for him. Go through!”

Chei reined hard over and about again, holding the roan as it fought to get the bit. There was a frown on his face. He looked at Vanye then, full at him, and Vanye held his breath as Chei turned the horse yet again.

And back again, hard-reining it. This time as he came about, it was a wary look, a more and more misgiving look.

“Like the horses, is it? Send us through—
first
?”

“That you go at all is my lady's gift!” Vanye shouted at him. Gate-force oppressed the air, like impending storm. Hair crackled and metal stung when the hand brushed it, as he felt after his sword-hilt. “Go through!”

Chei's hand went to his own hilt; and in the same instant he cast a sudden and wide-eyed look toward Morgaine, toward a threat far more substantial than steel.

“My lord,” Hesiyyn said anxiously, fighting his horse steady. “My lord, likely it is safe. The lady has—”

“—set the gate herself,” Chei said; and looked her direction; and Vanye's, slowly, with a hard hand on the reins. “Is that it? Is it a trap, eh?”

“She set no trap,” Vanye said.

“No?” There was long silence. “Then it is his you suspect. Is it not?
Is it not?”

Vanye said nothing at all. He could think of nothing to say.

“Oh, my friend,” Chei said quietly. “What are you prepared to do? Threaten us with death—to make us risk that?”

“Death is not a risk here,” Morgaine said. “It is a certainty.
There
, in the gate, is the only doubt. Take it.”

“Or you will kill us. What good are we then?” Again Chei turned the horse about, and drew it in with a hard hand. “How will you know? How will you ever know that it is safe?”

“The risk is to one,” Morgaine said. “That is the truth. And it will not be myself; and it will not be Vanye. I promise you that.” She lifted her hand. “
This
need not kill.”

Chei stared at her, very long. Then he looked, slowly, toward Vanye.

“Forgive her,” Vanye said. “She has no choice.”

“Not forgive
you
?”

“She has no choice. I have. And for her sake—I cannot take it. I cannot even offer you fair fight.”

“It is not any grudge. Is it?”

“No, my lord. Not in this. Skarrin is waiting;—within the gate. We could not dislodge him. That is the truth. That is the trap. One of us—will host our enemy.”

Chei laughed—laughed, shortly and silently; and laughed a second time, reining the red horse about yet again. “He would. He would, the bastard.
That
was what he meant.”

“That was what he meant.”

A third laugh, shortest of all. “The boy urges me there is a logic in this. He has had his revenge. He confuses me. He urges me—we are best suited to this fight. It is his revenge on me. Or mine on him.
Damn you to hell, boy!
Damn you and all your choices!—Hesiyyn.” He took up on the reins, turning aside. “Hesiyyn!”

“No, my lord!” Hesiyyn cried, and rode his horse across Chei's path.

“I will race you for it,” Chei said, and cracked the rein ends down on the roan and drove with his heels. The red horse went, as Hesiyyn fought the bay about and into a run. “Let
him
choose!”

The gate took them. One—and the other. Hesiyyn did not slow at all.

Vanye shut his eyes, and rested so, a long, long moment, till he heard
Morgaine ride up beside him, until living warmth brushed against him. He looked then, at the vacant gate that loomed above them, with blue sky shimmering again where dark had showed for an instant.

“It is safe now,” she said, and reached and rested her hand on his arm.

“It was Chei and Qhiverin,” he said then. He was trembling, as if the gate-cold had gotten to his bones. “Skarrin—is their enemy. And Hesiyyn's. But Chei is overmatched. Both of them—are overmatched.”

“Skarrin has had only one body,” Morgaine said.

He looked toward her then.

“Chei was right,” Morgaine said, “altogether right. They are peculiarly apt for that fight. And Skarrin is their enemy.” Her fingers tightened. “We have given them such as we could. It is all the charity we have. Nhi Vanye—”

There were tears in her voice finally. He was glad of that. Her burden was absolute, and older; and that she still could weep—gave him hope for himself, in such a time, after so many journeys.

He took her hand in his and held it till the horses moved apart, fingertip parting from fingertip. Siptah was bound for the gate. Arrhan followed, of her own accord.

Gray horse and white. Dark rider and light. There was no knowing where they were bound, except they went
together.

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