The Complete Morgaine (83 page)

They did not stop at dusk, even to rest, and the night turned bitterly cold. He asked them for a cloak, but they refused it, though the guard who had lent it before would not wear it himself; they took pleasure in refusing. After that he bowed his head, trying to ignore them. They taunted him with threats which this time Shien did not silence, but he said nothing, cared nothing for them.

Then there appeared a glow on the horizon . . . cold, like the moon; but the moon was aloft, and the light was far brighter.

The Gate of Azeroth, that Men called the Fires.

He lifted his face, staring at that terrible presence, seeing now where they were bound, for nearer at hand were the dimmer red lights of woodfires, and ungainly shapes: tents and shelters.

They passed sentries who sat their posts concealed in shelters of grass; and rode past picket lines, where horses stood . . . few in proportion to the vast sprawl of the Shiua camp . . . the camp of a nation spread over the vast plains under the Gate; of more than a nation: of the remnant of a world.

And it aimed at the heart of Shathan.

Morgaine and I have done this thing,
he could not forbear thinking.
My doing as much as hers. Heaven forgive us.

They passed the fringes of the camp. Suddenly Shien put the company to a gallop, passing the sprawling shelters of grass and cloth which hemmed them about on all sides.

Men stared at their passage . . . dark shapes, small: true Men, of Shiuan's
marshes. Vanye saw the stares and went cold as someone sent up a thin, hysterical cry.

“
Her
man.
Hers!
”

Men rushed out to bar their way, scattered from the hooves of the horses when the
khal
kept coming. The marshlanders knew him, and would gladly tear him limb from limb if he fell among them. The
khal
whipped their horses and thundered through, reckless of human lives, and into a quieter portion of the camp, where demon-helms quickly parted and shut a barricade of brush and sharpened stakes, and backed it with a row of barbed pikes.

The mob no longer pursued; the gate sufficed. They slowed, the horses blowing and panting in exhaustion, stretching at the reins and seeking air. They rode slowly up to a sprawling shelter, the largest in the compound.

The structure was patched, cobbled together of various bits of cloth and bundles of reeds and grass, and part of it was a tent. Light blazed within, showing through the canvas; and there was music, but not such as the
arrhendim
had played. They halted there, and guards came to take the horses.

They lifted him down from the saddle. “Be careful,” said Shien when one of them jerked at him. “This is a very valuable Man.”

And Shien himself took him by the elbow and brought him toward the door of the tent. “You were not wise,” Shien said.

He shook his head, uncertain whether he had rejected a trap that would have killed him or whether he had rejected the only hope he had. It was impossible. A
khal
would scarcely keep faith with
khal.
That one would keep faith with a Man was not to be believed.

He blinked, suddenly thrust into the light and warmth within.

Chapter 8

Hetharu.

Vanye stopped, with Shien at his back, steadied himself on his wounded leg; and of all in that gathering, he recognized that tall, black-clad lord. The music died away with a hiss of strings, and noble lords and ladies of Shiuan stopped what half-clad diversions they were practicing and came to slow, studied attention where they lounged on sacks and cushions within the tent, against walls of bound reeds.

Of sacks and brocade cloaks was the throne to which Hetharu settled. A cluster of halfling guards was about him, some far gone in stupor, others alert, armored and armed. A naked Woman shrank into the shadows of the corner. Hetharu stared at the intrusion, blank with amazement for the instant, and
then pleasure grew on his countenance . . . thin and shadow-eyed that face, the more startling for the human eyes which looked darkly out from what were otherwise pure
qhalur
features. His white hair lay lank and silken on his shoulders. His black brocade was somewhat worn, the lace frayed; the ornate sword that he wore still looked serviceable. Hetharu smiled, and about him settled the miasma of all that was Shiuan, drowning and rotting at once.

“Nhi Vanye,” Hetharu murmured. “And Morgaine?”

“That matter must be cared for by now,” said Shien. Vanye clenched his jaw and stared through all of them, trying to use his wits; but that callous reckoning of Morgaine's life hit him suddenly with more force than he had yet felt.

Kill Hetharu? That was one of the thoughts that he had entertained over recent days; and suddenly it seemed useless, for here were thousands like him. Gain power among them? Suddenly it seemed impossible; he was a Man, and what else was here of humankind crouched naked and ashamed and weeping in the corner.

He took a step forward. Though his hands were bound, the guards were uneasy; pikes inclined marginally toward him. He stopped, sure that they would not be careless with him.

“I hear,” he said to Hetharu, “that you and Roh have quarreled.”

That set them back. There was an instant's silence, and Hetharu's face was whiter than usual.

“Out!” Hetharu said suddenly. “All of you who have no business here, out.”

That included many: the Woman, the majority of the
khal
who had disported themselves about the fringes of the gathering. One half-conscious lordling reclined at Hetharu's side, leaning against the sacks and the brocade with unfocused gray eyes and a dreaming smile that mocked all reality. A middle-aged
khalur
woman remained; and a handful of lords; and all the guards, although some of them were far-departed in dreams, and knelt near Hetharu and about the other lords with their eyes distant and their hands loose on their weapons. Enough still remained who had all their wits about them. Hetharu leaned back in his makeshift throne and regarded him with old and familiar hate.

“Shien, what have you been telling this Man?”

Shien shrugged. “I have been pointing out his situation, and his possible value.”

Hetharu's dark eyes swept over Shien narrowly. “Knowledge such as Roh has? Is that your meaning?”

“It is possible that he has it. He is reticent.”

“He,” said the woman suddenly, “might be more reasonable than Roh has been. After all, the human rabble hates him bitterly, and he cannot gain any followers among them. That is one sure advantage over Roh.”

“There are personal issues,” Hetharu said, and the lady laughed unpleasantly.

“We know the truth of those. Do not waste a valuable resource, my lord Hetharu. Who here cares about the past . . . things done and not done? Shiuan is behind us. Here is important. You have an opportunity to rid us of the so-named halfling and his followers. Use it.”

Hetharu was not pleased by that, but the lady spoke as one who was accustomed to be heard, and she was of the old blood, gray-eyed and white-haired, with guards about her none of whom were hazy in their look. One of the hold-lords, Vanye reckoned her: not Sotharra like Shien, but perhaps of Domen or Marcom or Arisith. The Shiua lords were not firmly held in Hetharu's hand.

“You are too credulous, lady Halah,” said Hetharu. “This Man is quite capable of turning in the hand that holds him. He surprised Roh, who should know him; and my lamented brother Kithan. And would you not attempt to surprise us in the same way, Man?”

Vanye said nothing. Debate with Hetharu could win nothing. The hope was rather in playing one and the other of his subordinates against him.

“Of course you would,” Hetharu answered for him, and laughed. “And you plan to. You are not the sort who will ever thank us for the handling you have had . . . at my hands and now at Shien's.—Beware this one, Shien. He is not hand-broken, though he may try to let you think so. His cousin says that he does not know how to lie; but he does know how to keep secrets, do you not, Vanye of the Chya? Morgen-Angharan's—” and he used a word that Vanye did not know; but he suspected, and set his jaw the harder, looking through Hetharu. “Ah, glare at me. We are better acquaintances than the others, you and I. So this Morgen is missing. Where?”

He did not answer.

“Over by the great river,” Shien said. “In the midst of our deepest penetration into the forest, with a Hiua arrow in her. Our riders have her trail, and if they have not found her by now, she will scarcely survive the wound. My lord, there was a
khal
with her and another human. And that is another thing this prisoner does not like to talk about.”

“Kithan?”

Vanye bowed his head and concealed his surprise, for Hetharu's brother had not come through, then, and he would have reckoned otherwise . . .
my lamented brother,
Hetharu had said. He was sorry to know Kithan was not in the camp, for with him there might have been some hope; that Kithan would have joined them instead was a natural conclusion for Hetharu. He shrugged.

“Find him,” Hetharu ordered. There was a frantic edge to his voice, more disturbance than Hetharu was wont to show.

Morgaine's weapons,
Vanye thought suddenly;
here is a man scarcely clinging to his position.

“My lord,” said Shien, “my men are trying to do so. Perhaps they have.”

Hetharu was silent then, biting at his lip, and what passed between him and Shien was plain enough.

“I brought you this one alive,” Shien said very softly. “And I had to pull him out of the Hiua's keeping. Else he would be in other hands, my lord.”

“We are grateful,” Hetharu said, but his eyes were dead, cold. They traveled back to lock with Vanye's. “Well. You are in a sorry position, are you not, Nhi Vanye? There is not a human in that camp out there but would skin you alive if he set hands on you; they know you well, do you see? And there are the Hiua, who are Roh's dogs. And your mistress is not coming here, if ever she comes anywhere again. You can hardly look for friendship from Chya Roh. And you know what love we bear you.”

“Yet you must keep Roh's favor, must you not, Shiua lords?”

Anger flared in the others; and guards fingered the hafts of their weapons. Hetharu only smiled.

“Now,” said Hetharu, “there are things we could do, regarding Chya Roh. But since he has been the only storehouse of the information we want, why, we have handled him with utmost respect. He is dangerous. Of course we know that. But now you have given us some latitude, have you not? You know what Roh knows, and you are not, now, dangerous. If we should happen to lose your life in the process, why—we still have Roh. So we can dice with it, can we not?—You are dismissed, Shien, with our—thanks.”

There was no stir of movement. Hetharu lifted his hand and the pikes inclined.

And Shien and his men strode out. One of the lordlings gave a low laugh. The others relaxed, easing back into comfort, and Hetharu smiled tautly.

“Did he try to persuade you to his cause?” Hetharu asked.

Vanye said nothing, his heart sinking with the knowledge that he had turned from one who might have done what he promised. Hetharu read his silence, and nodded slowly.

“You know the choice we give you,” Hetharu said. “You may volunteer that information . . . and you may live . . . while Roh will someday be surprised to discover that we do not need him. Now if you will do that, you will be wise. Or we can seek it against your will, and you will be sorry for that. So make your choice, Man.”

Vanye shook his head. “There is nothing I could tell you, only show you. And I need to be present at the Gate to do that.”

Hetharu laughed, and so did his men, for that was transparent. “Ah, you would like to find yourself there, would you not? No, what you can demonstrate, you can tell. And tell us you shall.”

Again he shook his head.

Hetharu's hand crept to the shoulder of the
khal
who dreamed, eyes open, at the side of his seat. He urged at that one gently until the dazed face lifted to his. “Hirrun, give me a double portion of what you have . . . aye, I know you have more with you. And give it to me—if you are wise.”

A mean and ugly look came on Hirrun's handsome face, but he flinched under the grip of Hetharu's fingers, and dug in his belt-pouch, brought forth something which he offered with shaking hands into Hetharu's palm. Hetharu smiled and gave it to the guard next to him.

Then he looked up. “Hold him,” he said.

Vanye understood then, and moved, flung himself backward, but others were behind him and he had no chance. The splinted leg lost its footing, and he sprawled along with his guards. They weighed him down and forced his jaws apart, rammed the pellets down his throat. Someone poured liquor after, to the laughter of the others, a sound that pealed like bells. He tried to spit them out, but they held him until it was swallow or choke. Then they let him go, amid much laughter, and he rolled onto his side and tried to vomit the drug up, but it was too late for that. In a moment he began to feel the haze of it—
akil,
that vice too common among the
khal
and the marshlanders who provided it to them, that stole his sense and sent a horrid languor over him. It was strange; it did not diminish the fear, but it sent it to some far place where it did not influence what he did. A warmth stole over him, and a curious lack of pain, in which the touch of anything was pleasurable.