The Complete Morgaine (29 page)

And perhaps even Ra-hjemur itself would follow it, and all within it. The force that had taken ten thousand men upon the winds at Irien and left no trace behind could not be so delicate as to take one man, if rent wide open, destroying itself.

He thought with a shudder of the retreating faces of those he had seen drawn into the field, the horror, the bewilderment, like men new arrived in Hell.

This would be theirs, this ending for the surviving sons of Nhi Rijan, for all their hate and striving against each other.

He kept his face turned from Erij until the wind had dried the tears upon his face, and gave himself up finally to do what he had given oath to do.

 • • • 

There lay before them the greatest valley in the north, and of Hjemur's hold, a grassy land ringed about by snow-capped peaks, fair to be seen save in one place, and that bare and blighted, even from such a distance.

“That,” said Vanye, pointing to the ugliness, and thinking of the waste the Gates made about them, “that would be Ra-hjemur.” And when he strained his
eyes he could see the imagining of a rise there, a hill such as might be Ra-hjemur, hazy in distance.

They had not, after all, overtaken Liell. There lay the road. Nothing moved upon it. They seemed alone in all the land.

“It is too fair,” said Erij, “too open. I should feel naked upon that road, by daylight.”

“By night?”

“That seems the only good sense.”

“I can tell you better,” Vanye said, persistent to the last. “That you let me do this.”

Erij stared at him and seemed to estimate him, so fearful in his own expression that fear of discovery wound itself through Vanye's belly. Almost he expected some harsh words, some flaring suspicion.

“What is it?” Erij asked, his tone curiously earnest. “What is it you expect down there? Has she warned you?”

“Brother,” said Vanye, “the both of you have me by oath; and if my proper
liyo
is alive and with them . . . I have one responsibility to Morgaine, another to you. Between the two of you, you will be the death of me, and I could think more clearly if there were not the two of you in one place, about to go for each other's throats.”

“I will give you this much,” said Erij, “that if she does not seem to need killing, I will not. I have never killed a woman. I do not like the idea.”

“Thank you for that,” Vanye said earnestly.

And then, thinking of Liell: “Erij. If it comes to being captured—die. Those tales of Thiye's long life are true. If they took you, your body would go on ruling either in Ra-hjemur or Morija, but it would not be your soul in it.”

Erij swore softly. “Truth?”

“For my sake, you have an ally if Morgaine is alive. Help me set her free and our chances of living become a thousandfold better.”

Erij merely stared at him, hard-eyed.

“I am almost as ignorant as you are,” Vanye protested. “I do not know the half of what is contained down there. I think she does. And for her own sake she would take our side. It is sure that no one else would. If you are going to start by killing our only possible ally in this business, or in keeping her helpless, well, then, you might as well tie me hand and foot before we go, since I am hers for a time yet . . . the hands, of which her science is the mind in this matter: and you would be wiser if you made use of both.”

Erij gave him no answer, yet it seemed he thought seriously about his words, and they rode down together into a wooded place where they could no longer see the valley.

“We will rest here a time,” said Erij, “and come in by night. Will Thiye resist Liell's entry?”

“I do not know,” answered Vanye. “I think Morgaine thinks Thiye once was master and Liell his servant, at least at Irien; and that they had some falling-out. But if Liell brings Morgaine to Thiye, she may be the key that opens doors for him. And then, I think, if the same ambitions move
qujal
as move human men—which I do not know—then there may be treachery, and we may have either Thiye or Liell to deal with, whichever one wins the throw. I think perhaps Liell has waited a very long time to find some key that would admit him to Ra-hjemur. But this is my estimation: Morgaine said nothing of her own reckoning of their plans.” He added, as Erij sat still upon his horse, listening, “I am not sure that Thiye is
qujal
or whether he is not simply some human man who employed a
qujal
for a servant and is now about to reap his reward for meddling; meddler is what Morgaine called him, and ignorant, and the Witchfires have no healthful effect on anything living. For some reason, if rumor is true, at least, he has let himself grow old. So Thiye may not be
qujal
at all, and I know that Morgaine is not, whatever you believe—but Liell is. That is the sum of it, Erij. Thiye is the matter of my oath, but I extend that oath to Liell most of all: and in good sense, you will let me do that.”

“You wish to free the witch, that is what.”

“Yes. But in doing that, I will kill Liell, who is a threat to both our causes, and I want your help in it, Erij. I want you to understand that I have business in Ra-hjemur beyond Thiye, and that freeing Morgaine would not be treachery against you.”

Erij slid down. Vanye did not, and Erij looked up at him, face drawn against the winter sun. “There is one clear point in all of this: you will guard my life and help me take Ra-hjemur for myself. That is the sum of matters.”

“You have taken my oath,” Vanye said, miserable at heart. “I know that that is the sum of matters.”

 • • • 

There was no moon, and clouds had moved in. There was that help, at least.

Ra-hjemur sat upon a low, barren hill, a citadel surely of the
qujal
, for it was simply a vast cube, unadorned, untowered, without protecting ring-walls or any defense evident to the eye. A stony path ran up to its gate; no grass grew upon it, but then, no grass grew anywhere on the hill.

They crouched a time by the bend of the knoll where they had left their horses, merely surveying the place. There was no stir of life.

Erij looked at him as if seeking his opinion.

“The sword can breach the door,” Vanye said. “But beware of traps, brother, and mind that I am behind you: I do not care to die by the same chance that Ryn did.”

Erij nodded understanding, then slipped from cover, seeking other shadows,
Vanye quick to follow. They came not directly up the road to the gate, but up under the walls, and in their shadow, to the gate itself.

It was graven with runes upon its metal pillars, but the gate was iron and wood, like the door of many an ordinary fortress; and when Erij drew
Changeling
and touched its black field to the joining of the doors the air sang with the groan of metals. The doors parted their joinings, and the pillars too, and stone rumbled, loosed from its supports. Dust choked them, and when it cleared a mass of rubble partly blocked the entry.

Erij gazed but a moment at the destruction he had wrought, then clambered over the rubble and sought the echoing inside of the place, which burned with light no fires supplied.

Vanye hurried through, asweat with dread, snatched up a sizable rock in the process, and as Erij started to look back at him, smashed it to Erij's helmeted skull. It was not enough. Erij fell, but still retained half-senses and heaved up with the blade.

Vanye saw it coming, twisted to evade the shimmer, kicked Erij's arm so that it wrung from him a cry of pain, and the sword fell.

He snatched it up then, gazed down on his brother, whose face was contorted with fury and fear. Erij cursed him, deliberately and with thought, such that it chilled his blood.

He took the sheath from Erij, who did not resist him; and upon an impulse to pity for Erij, he cast down Erij's own longsword.

Arrows flew.

He heard their loosing even before he whirled and knew they had come from the stairs, but
Changeling
in his warding hand made an easy path to elsewhere for the arrows, and they both remained unharmed. He knew the sword's properties, had seen Morgaine wield it, and knew its uses in ways Erij did not. Erij would as likely have taken an arrow as not.

And perhaps Erij understood that fact, or understood at the least that continuing their private dispute could be fatal to them both: Erij gathered up the longsword with but a glowering promise in his eyes, and rose, following as Vanye began to lead the way.

Killing a man from behind was an easy matter, even were he in mail; but Erij needed more hands than one: he risked everything on it.

And quickly he dismissed the threat of Erij from his mind, overwhelmed by the alien place. Breath almost failed him when he considered the size of the hall, the multitude of doors and stairs. Morgaine had sent him here ignorant, and there was nothing to do but probe every hall, every hiding place, until he either found what he was seeking or his enemies found his back.

Save that, held straight before them,
Changeling
gave forth a brighter glow,
and when lifted, sent a coursing of impulses through the dragon-hilt, such that it seemed to live.

Carefully, Erij treading in his wake, he took the stairs to the level above.

They found a hall very like the one below, save that at its end there was a metal door, of that shining metal very like the pillars of the Witchfires.
Changeling
began to emit a sound, a bone-piercing hum that made his fingers ache; it grew stronger as he neared it. He ran toward that gate, figuring speed their best defense against a rally from Hjemurn: and froze, startled, as that vast door lightly parted to welcome him.

And startled more by the sight of gleaming metal and light that stretched away into distance, glowing with colors and humming with the power of the fires themselves.
Changeling
throbbed, his arm growing numb from holding it.

The field directed at its own source of power would effect the ruin of all the Gates.

The pulsing of conflicting powers reached up his arm into his brain, and he did not know whether the blade's wailing was in the air or in his own outraged senses.

He lifted it, expecting death, found instead that it did not much worsen, save when he angled it right. Then the pain increased.

“Vanye,” Erij shouted at him, catching his shoulder. He saw stark fear on his brother's face.

“This is the way,” Vanye said to him. “Stay here, guard my back.” But Erij did not. He knew his brother's presence close behind him as he entered that hall.

He understood now: it greatly disagreed with Morgaine's careful nature, to have expected him to carry out so important a thing with so few instructions. There had been no need: the sword itself guided them, by its impulses of sound and pain. After a time of walking down that glowing corridor of
qujalin
works, the sound wiped out other senses until nothing but vision was left.

And in that vision stood an old man, hairless and wrinkled and robed in gray, who held out hands to them and mouthed silent words, pleading. Blood marred his aged face.

Vanye lifted the sword, threatening with that dreadful point, but the vision would not yield, barring their path with his very life.

Thiye, some sense told him: Thiye Thiye's-son, lord of Hjemur.

All at once the old man fell, clawing at the air, and there was an arrow in the robes at his back, and the red blood spreading.

A figure stood clear of the hall behind, gray and green, the young lord of Chya, lowering his bow. With sudden, breathless haste, Roh started toward them, slinging his strung bow to his back.

Vanye sought
Changeling
's sheath at once, hope surging in him. The sudden
silence in the air as that point found its proper haven was overwhelming: his abused ears could hardly hear Roh's voice. He felt Roh's eager hands grasp his arms, distant even from that sensation.

“Vanye, cousin,” Roh cried, ignoring the threat of his blood-enemy Erij who stood beside, sword in hand. “Cousin, Thiye—Liell—they are at odds. Morgaine escaped them both, but—”

“Is she alive?” Vanye demanded.

“Alive, aye, well alive. She has the hold, Vanye. She means to destroy it. Come, come, clear this place. It will tumble down stone from stone. Hurry.”

“Where is she?”

Roh's eyes gestured up, toward the stairs. “Barricaded up there, with her weapons in her possession again, and willing to kill anyone who comes within range. Vanye, do not try to reach her. She is mad. She will kill you too. You cannot reason with her.”

“Liell?”

“Dead. They are all dead, and most of Thiye's servants are fled. You are free of your oath, Vanye. You are free. Escape this place. There is no need of your dying.”

Roh's fingers tugged at him, his dark eyes full of agony; but of a sudden Vanye broke the hold and began to run toward the stairs upward. Then he looked back. Roh hesitated, then began to run in the other direction, vanishing quickly toward the safety of the downward stairs, a wraith in green. Erij cast a look in either direction, as if torn between, then raced toward the ascending stairs, longsword in hand, pointed it at Vanye, his eyes wild.

“Thiye is dead,” Erij said. “He is dead. Your oath to the witch is done. Now stop her.”

The fact of it hit him like a hammer blow: he stared helplessly at Erij, owning the justice of his claim, trying to think where his obligation truly lay. Then he shook off everything and suspended thought: his duty to either one lay in reaching Morgaine with all possible speed.

He turned and ran, taking the steps two at a time, until he came up, breathless, into yet another hall like the one below.

And confronted Morgaine, as Roh had warned him, hale and well and facing them both with the deadly black weapon secure in her hand.

“Liyo!”
he cried, flung up his empty hand as if that alone could ward off harm, and with the other cast
Changeling
at her feet.