The Complete Morgaine (24 page)

“What is our haste?” he protested. “Lady, we are all tired, you not least of all. After a hundred years of delay, what is a day of rest? We should have stayed at the monastery.”

“Are you fit to ride?”

“I am fit,” he acknowledged, which was, under less compulsion, a lie. He ached, his bones ached, but he was well sure that she was in no better case, and shame kept him from pleading his own. She had that fever in her again, that burning compulsion toward Ivrel; he knew how it was to stand in the way of that, and if she would not be reasoned into delay, it was sure that there was little else would stop her.

Then, when the sun was at their backs, reddening into evening upon the snows of Kath Svejur before them, Vanye looked back along the road they had come as he did from time to time.

This time the thing he had constantly dreaded was there.

They were pursued.

“Liyo,”
he said quietly. Both she and Ryn looked. Ryn's face was pale.

“They will surely have changed horses in Ra-baien,” Ryn said.

“That is what I have feared,” she said, “that there is no war nor feud between Morija and Baien.”

And she put Siptah to a slightly quicker pace, but not to a run. Vanye looked back again. The riders were coming steadily, not killing their horses either, but at a better pace than they.

“We will make the hills and choose a place for them to overtake us as far as we can toward the border,” said Morgaine. “This is a fight I do not want, but we may have it all the same.”

Vanye looked back yet again. He began to be sure who it was, and there was a leaden feeling in his belly. He had already committed one fratricide. To fight and to kill at a liyo's order was the duty of an
ilin,
even if he were ordered against family. That was cruel, but it was also the law.

“They will be Nhi,” he said to Ryn. “This fight is not lawful for you. You are not
ilin,
and until you lift hand against Erij and your kinsmen, you are not an outlaw. Go apart from us. Go home.”

Ryn's young face held doubt. But it was a man's look too, not the petulance of a boy, which was not going to yield to his reason.

“Do as he tells you,” Morgaine said.

“I take oath,” he said, “that I will not.”

That was the end of it. He was a free man, was Ryn; he rode what way he chose, and it was with them. It pained Vanye that Ryn had no more than the Honor blade at his belt, no longsword; but then, boys had no business to attempt the longsword in a battle; he was safest with the bow.

“Do you know this road?” Morgaine asked.

“Yes,” said Vanye. “So do they. Follow.”

He put himself in the lead, minded of a place within the hills, past the entry into Koris, where Erij might be less rash to follow, near as it was to Irien. The horses might be able to hold the pace, though it was climbing for some part. He cast a look over his shoulder, to know how things were with those behind.

The Morijin had fresh mounts surely, to press them so, grace of the lord of Ra-baien, and how much Baien knew of them or how Baien felt toward them was yet uncertain.

There was the matter of Baien's outpost of Kath Svejur, manned by a score of archers and no small number of cavalry. There was that to pass beneath.

He chose pace for them and held it, not leaving the highroad despite Morgaine's expressed preference for the open country.

They had speed to take them through, unless there were some connivance already arranged between Baien's lord and Erij—some courier passed at breakneck speed during the night, to cut off their retreat. He hoped that had not happened, that the pass was not sealed: otherwise there would be a hail of arrows, to match what rode behind them.

Those behind were willing enough to kill their mounts, that became certain; but there was the pass ahead of them, the little stone fort of Irn-Svejur high upon its crag.

“We cannot pass under that,” Ryn protested, thinking, no doubt, of arrows. But Vanye whipped up his horse and tucked low, Morgaine likewise.

They were within arrowshot both from above and from behind. Doubtless in their fortress the guards looked down and saw the mad party on the road and wondered which was friend and which was foe: yet there was in both Morija and Baien that simple instruction that what rode east was friend, and what rode west was enemy; and here rode two bands madly eastward.

Vanye cast a look back as they won through. A rider left pursuing them to mount the trail to the fort. He breathed an oath into the wind, for there would be men of Irn-Svejur after them shortly, and Ryn's dun was faltering, dropping behind them.

Here, upon the open road and with precious scant cover, the cursed dun spelled end to their flight. Vanye began to pull in, where a bend of rock gave a little shelter before the brush began. Here he leaped down, bow and sword in hand, and let the black take what way he would down the road. Morgaine alighted into cover also, bearing
Changeling
in the one hand, and the black weapon at her belt, he doubted not. And breathlessly last came Ryn; he stayed to strike the dun and make it move, and the poor beast took an arrow then, reared up and crashed down, flailing with its hooves.

“Ryn!” Vanye roared, his voice cracked and hoarse, and Ryn came, stumbled in, his arm all bloody with the black stump of an arrow broken in the flesh. He could not flex to string the bow he carried, and it was useless. The riders pressed them, came in, close quarters—men of Nhi and Myya, and Erij with them.

Vanye ripped his longsword from its sheath, too late for other defenses; and he saw Morgaine do the same, but what she drew, he would not attempt to flank to protect her. The opal blade came to life, sucked arrows amiss, bent them up and otherwhere, and sent a man after them, screaming.

The winds howled within that vortex, the sword sure, a hand that knew it upon its hilt; and nothing touched them, nothing passed the web of shimmer that it wove. Through watery rippling he saw Erij's black and furious form. Erij pulled up, but some did not, and rushed toward nothingness.

And one was Nhi Paren, and another Nhi Eln, and Nhi Bren, spurring after.

“No!” Vanye cried, snatched at Ryn, who cried the same, and flung himself from cover, between blade and riders.

And ceased to be.

One instant Morgaine flung the blade aside, a saving reaction too late: her face bore horror—a rider thundered past, struck down at her, drove her stumbling aside.

Vanye cut at horse, dishonorable and desperate, tumbled beast, tumbled rider, and killed Nhi Bren, who had never done him harm. He whirled about then to see the red beam dropping beast and man indiscriminately, corpses and dying, writhing wounded. The mass of them that came reined back into better cover, still pursued by lancing fire that started conflagrations in the brush and in the grass—full twenty beasts and men lay stretched upon the road, the visible dead, and tongues of flame leaped up in the dry trees, whipped by the wind,
Changeling
still unsheathed in her right hand.

They fled, these others. Vanye saw with relief that Erij was among those that fled: though he knew that his brother had never run from anything, Erij fled now.

Vanye fell to his knees, leaned upon his sword's hilt, and gazed about at what they had wrought. Morgaine too stood still, the glimmer of
Changeling
dim in her hand now, still opal. She sought its sheath and it became like fine glass again, slipping into its natural home.

And so she rested, one hand upon the rock, until at last with a gesture like one grown old she felt her way back from that place and turned to look at him.

“Let us find the horses before they gather courage for another attack,” she said. “Come, Vanye.”

She did not weep. He gathered himself up, caught her, fearing that she would fall, for she walked like one that would; and he thought then that she would have tears, but she leaned against him only a moment, shivering.

“Liyo,”
he pleaded with her, “they will not come back. Stay, let me go find the horses.”

“No.” She freed herself of him, returned the black weapon to her belt, tried to lift the strap of
Changeling
to her shoulder, and her hands trembled too much. He helped her with it. She accepted its weight, eased it on her shoulder, and cast one backward look, before she began with him to seek the way the horses had gone.

And, brush rustling, there were with them brown men, gray men, men in green and mottled; men of Chya, who placed themselves across their path. With the men was Taomen, and another and another that they had seen before: they were Chya of Ra-koris, and leading them, last to appear, was Roh.

The eyes of the master of Chya swept the road behind them, gazed with horror on the thing that they had done.

Then with a quiet gesture he called Taomen, and gave orders to him, and Taomen led the others away, back into the wood.

“Come,” said Roh. “One of my men is holding your horses a little distance down the road. We knew them. It was they that brought us to help you, when we saw them bolt from this direction.”

Morgaine looked at him, as if doubtful whether she would trust this man, though she had slept lately in his hall. Then she nodded and set out, unneedful
now of Vanye's arm. He paused to clean his sword upon the grass before he overtook her: her blade needed no such attention.

It was indeed some distance. Men other than Roh walked with them all the same: there were rustlings in the forest about them, shadows whose nature they could not determine in the gathering dusk, but it was sure that they were Chya, or Roh would have been alarmed.

And there stood the horses, being tended and rubbed with dry grasses: the Chya were not riders, but they took tender care of the beasts, and Vanye for his part thanked the men when they took their animals back in hand. Then Morgaine thanked them too. He had thought her in such a mood she would not.

“May we camp with you?” Vanye asked of Roh, for the night was gathering fast about them and he was himself so weary he felt like to die.

“No,” Morgaine interrupted him with finality. She slipped the strap of
Changeling
, and hung the weapon on her saddle, then gathered the reins about Siptah's neck.

“Liyo.”
Vanye seldom laid hands on her. Now he caught her arm and tried to plead with her, but the coldness in her eyes froze the words in his throat.

“I will come,” he said quietly.

“Vanye.”

“Liyo?”

“Why did Ryn choose to die?”

Vanye's lips trembled. “I do not think he knew he would. He thought he could stop you. He was not
ilin
, not under
ilin
law. One of the men was his lord, my brother. Another was Paren, his own father. Ryn was not
ilin.
He should have gone from us.”

He thought then that Morgaine would show some sign of grief, of remorse, if it was in her. She did not. Her face stayed hard, and he turned from her lest he shame himself—from anger, no less than grief. Half-blind, he sought his horse's rein and flung himself to its back. Morgaine had mounted: she laid heels to Siptah and sped him down the road.

Roh held his rein a moment, looked up at him. “Chya Vanye, where does she go?”

“That is her concern, Chya Roh.”

“We of Chya have both eyes and ears in Morija, well-placed. We knew how you must come if you came from Kursh into Andur. We waited, expected a fight. Not—
that.”

“I am falling behind, Roh. Let go my rein.”

“Ilin
-oath is more than blood,” said Roh. “But, Chya Vanye, they were kin to you.”

“Let go, I say.”

Roh's face drew taut with some weight of thought. Then he held the rein yet
tightly, a hand within the bridle. “Take me up,” he said. “I will see you to the edge of my lands, and I know you will not stay for a man afoot. I want no more mischances with Morgaine. You stirred us up Leth, and they are still aprowl; you brought us Nhi and Myya, and Hjemur at once; and now all Baien is astir. This woman brings wars like winter brings storms. I will see you safely through. My presence with you will be enough for any men of Chya you meet, and I will not have their lives taken as she took those of Nhi.”

“Up, then,” said Vanye, moving his foot from the stirrup. Roh was a slender man; his weight was still cruelty to the hard-ridden horse, but it was all that could be done. He feared to lose Morgaine if he were delayed more.

Roh landed behind him, caught hold, and Vanye set heels to the black. The horse tried a quick gait, could not hold it, settled at once to a slower pace when Vanye reined back in mercy.

Morgaine would not kill Siptah. He knew that when her fury had passed, she would slow. And after a time of riding he saw her, where the road became a mere trail through an arch of trees, a pale glimmering of Siptah's rump and her white cloak in the dark.

Then he put the black to a quicker pace, and she paused and waited when she heard his coming. The black weapon was in her hand as they rode up, but she put it away.

“Roh,” she said.

There was moisture on her cheeks. Vanye saw it and was glad. He nodded courtesy to her, which she returned, and then she bit her lip and leaned both hands upon the saddlebow.

“We will camp,” she said, sensible and calm, the manner Vanye knew in her, “in whatever place you can find secure.”

Chapter 9