The Complete Morgaine (89 page)

Fwar rode into it, his own sword drawn: Vanye remembered the scale-armor and cut high. Fwar parried; Vanye rammed the spurs in and defended in turn, cut downward as the gelding shied up. Fwar screamed, tumbled under the hooves of his own backing mount as a second horse plunged past, riderless:
horses collided, went down on the slope, and Fwar was somewhere under them.

A third: Minur. Vanye spun the staggering gelding about and parried with a shock that numbed his fingers, whipped the blade about and across Minur's with a desperation Minur should have moved to counter: he had not. There was only his head in the longsword's path, and the Barrows-man died without a sound, dead before he left the saddle.

“Hai!”
Vanye shouted, and spurred past blind at the others, cut right and cut left and emptied two saddles, he knew not whose. The gelding brought up short as one of the horses shouldered it, staggered. He drew rein and saw Roh in his path; but Roh faced the other way, still ahorse, and his bow was bent and one of his green-fletched shafts was trained down that dark aisle of trees, which was held only by dead men.

“Roh,” Vanye called to him.

The shaft flew. Roh reined about and spurred toward him: a hail of arrows pursued, white-feathered, and none of them accurate. Vanye turned, and drove the gelding back toward the slope, weaving through the trees to avoid the obstacle at the bottom. The black mare stayed close behind.

An outcry rang out behind them, rage and anguish. Vanye took the gelding up the other slope, hearing brush break in the distance. The gelding reached the top and staggered, kept going a little farther and faltered badly. It was the end for it. Vanye slid down and slashed the leather that held the girth-ring, freeing it of the saddle, and he tore off its bridle and hit it a good slap to drive it further. Roh did the same for the black mare, though it could have borne him further—turned and nocked one of his good Chya shafts.

“We did not lose enough of them,” Vanye said, in what breath remained to him; he clenched the bloody sword in his fist and regretted bitterly the bow that was lost with Mai.

The sound of pursuit crashed nearer down the trail—and stopped, simply stopped. There was silence, save for their own hard breathing.

Roh swore softly.

A man cried out, and another. All through the forest there were thin outcries, and of a sudden a crash of brush near them that nearly startled Roh into firing. A riderless horse broke through and kept going, mad with terror. There were screams of horses and brush crackled in every direction.

Then silence.

Brush whispered about them. Vanye let his sword drop to the dry leaves, stood still, gazing into the shadowing dark with the hair prickling at his nape.

“Put down your bow,” he hissed at Roh. “Drop it, or we are dead men.”

Roh did so, nothing questioning, and did not move.

Shadows moved here and there. There was a soft chittering.

“Their weapons are poisoned,” Vanye whispered. “And they have had bitter experience of Men of our breed. Stand still. Stand still whatever they do.”

Then very carefully, arms wide, he limped a little apart from Roh, in the midst of the trail where they had turned at bay. He stood still a moment, then carefully turned, faced every quarter of the wood until he saw the strange shadow that he sought . . . not on the ground. It sat like a nest of old moss in the crotch of a tree. Enormous eyes were centered on him, alive in the midst of that unlikely shape.

He signed to it as Lellin had done. And when that brought no reaction, he bent his good leg and awkwardly knelt, hands still far from his sides, that it might see he held no weapon.

It moved. It was incredible how it descended, as if it had no need of branches, but clung to the wood of the trunk. It stood then watching him, tall and stilt-limbed. Voices chittered now from all sides, and all about them in the dusk, shadows moved, stalking into the pathway.

They towered over him as he knelt. He stayed absolutely still, and they put their hands on his shoulders and arms . . . slender, powerful fingers that tugged strangely at his garments and his armor. They closed and drew him to his feet, and he turned and stared up into their faces, shivering.

They spoke to him, and tugged at his clothing; there was anger in their rapid voices.

“No,” he whispered, and signed at them carefully:
friend, friend,
hand to his heart.

There was no response. Slowly he lifted his arm and pointed down the trail in the direction he wished to go, and saw that others considered Roh, who stood deathly still in their unhuman hands.

He tried to leave those about him and walk in that direction, but they would not let him walk free: they brought him to Roh, holding him firmly. His eyes roved the area, counting: ten, twenty of them. Their faces, their dark, fathomless eyes, seemed all immune to reason or passion.

“They are
harilim,
” he said to Roh softly. “And they are of the forest . . .
of
it, entirely.”

“Morgaine's allies.”

“No one's allies.”

It was fully night now; the last twilight faded, and the shadows thickened. More and more of the
harilim
arrived, and all began to speak at once, in chittering rushes of sound that thundered like falling water; debate, perhaps, or chanting. But at last came other stalking shadows that simply stood and watched, and silence fell, so suddenly it numbed.

“The amulet,” Vanye said. “Roh. The amulet. Do you still have it?”

Roh reached very slowly into his collar and drew it forth. It shone in the
starlight, a silver circle trembling on Roh's hand. One of the
harilim
reached and touched it, and chirred softly.

Then one of the tall late-comers stalked forward with that heron-like gait, which halted several times and did not hurry. It too fingered the amulet, and touched Roh's face. It spoke, and the sound was deeper, like frog-song.

Tentatively Vanye lifted his arm yet again, pointing to the path that they wanted to go.

There was no response. He tried a step and none forbade. He took another, and another, and stooped very carefully and gathered up his sword and put it in its sheath. He edged back yet farther. Roh took his lead then, and moving very carefully, picked up his bow. There was no sound from the
harilim,
none anywhere in the forest. Step after step they were allowed.

A hail of twigs came down from overhead. They kept walking, and still none prevented them. They passed down the trail and met the stream again, where the trail ceased and they had only the streamcourse to guide them. Reeds rustled behind them. A chittering came from the trees.

“You planned this,” Roh said hoarsely. “Shien understood. I would that I had.”

“What did you plan for me?” he returned, half a whisper, for sound was fearsome in this place. “I promised only to go with you and guard your back—
cousin.
But what did you contrive with Fwar that so well pleased him?”

“What do you suppose I promised him?”

He answered nothing and kept walking, limping heavily over tangles of roots and washes in the mossy earth. The stream beside them promised water they dared not stop to drink, not until the breath was raw in their throats.

Then he fell to one knee and gathered a cold double handful to his mouth, and Roh did likewise, both of them taking what they could. Leaves rustled. A hail of twigs flew about them, leaves and debris hitting the water. They gathered themselves up as larger pieces began to fly. Shadows moved in the forest. They started walking and the shaking of branches stopped.

There came a time that they had to rest. Vanye sank down, hands clasped to his aching knee, and Roh flung himself down among the leaves, heaving with sobs for breath. They had left the stream for a trail that offered itself. There was only dark about them.

Of a sudden the shaking of branches began. A piece of wood cracked; a branch crashed dangerously near them, breaking young trees in its fall. Vanye reached for support and clawed his way to his feet, Roh springing up hardly slower. A scattering of twigs hit them. They began walking and it ceased.

“How far will they drive us?” Roh asked. His voice shook with exhaustion. “Is there a place they have in mind?”

“Till morning . . . and out of their woods.” He caught the bad leg and
stumbled, recovered with an effort that blurred his eyes. Almost he would have defied them and flung himself down to see whether they meant their threats, but he was too sure that they did. The
harilim
had done much, indeed, not to have killed them among the others . . . save that they might—at least one or two of them—recall him as a companion of the
qhal
 . . . if they had memories at all, if anything like the thoughts of Men existed behind those huge dark eyes.

Cruel, cruel as any force of nature: they would have their way, their forest cleared of outsiders. He reckoned that their freedom to walk was the utmost of the
harilim's
mercy and went blindly. Once they met another, broader trail, started to take it, but a hail of twigs came down on them, in their faces, and the chittering began to be angry.

“Go back,” he said, pushing at Roh, who was minded otherwise, and they turned and struggled the other, the harder trail, which took them deeper into the woods.

 • • • 

He fell. The leaves skidded slickly under his hands and for a moment he simply lay there, until the chittering nearby warned him, and Roh put a hand under his arm and cursed him. “Get up,” Roh said, and when he had his feet under him again, Roh flung an arm about him and kept him moving until he had recovered his senses.

Day was beginning, a first grayness. The shadows which stalked them became more and more visible, sometimes moving along beside them with more rapidity than a Man could manage in the brush.

Then as the light increased a hush fell, and nothing now disturbed the trees, as if their herders had suddenly become one with bark and moss and limb.

“They are gone,” Roh said first, and began to slow, leaned against a tree. Vanye looked about him, and again his senses began to leave him. Roh caught his arm, and he sank down where he was and sprawled on the dry leaves, numb and blank for a time.

He woke with a touch on his face, realized he was on his back now, and Roh's hand, cold and wet, bathed his brow. “There is another stream just beyond those trees. Wake up. Wake up. We cannot spend another night in this place.”

“Aye,” he murmured, and moved, groaned aloud for the misery in body and limbs. Roh steadied him to rise on his good leg, and helped him climb down to the water. There he drank and bathed his aching head, washed the dirt from him as best he could. There was blood on his hands and his armor: Fwar, he recalled, and bathed that off with loathing.

“Where are we?” Roh asked. “What do you expect to find here? Only their like?”

He shook his head. “I am lost. I have no idea where we are.”

“Kurshin,” Roh said, like a curse. Roh was Andurin, in all his lives, and
forest-bred, as Kurshin were of the mountains and valley plains. “At least that way is the river.” He pointed to the downstream of the brook. “And the ford where she was.”

“Which lies across the
harilim
woods, and if you choose that route, go to it; I will not. It was your imagining to use me for a guide. I never claimed for myself what you claimed for me to Fwar.”

Roh regarded him narrowly. “Aye, and yet you knew accurately enough how to cast us to those creatures, and you have travelled here. I think you are shading the truth with me, my Kurshin cousin. Lost you may be, but you know how to find yourself. And Morgaine.”

“Go to blazes. You would have thrown me to the Hiua if the hour had needed it.”

“A kinsman of mine? I fear I am too proud for that kind of bartering. Is that a reasoning you understand? No, I promised you to them, when we should have taken Morgaine . . . but I can shade the truth too, cousin. I would have shaken them from my track. I heard Shien's warning. I could have turned aside. I trusted to you. Are not a Kurshin and an Andurin match for Hiua in the woods? Do you think that I would ever have found them comfortable allies? Fwar hated me almost as he hated you. He meant to knife me in the back the moment Morgaine was no longer a threat and he had you in his hands, disarmed. That was the anticipation that sweetened his disposition. He thought he had everything he wanted, me to deal with Morgaine, and half-witted enough to strip myself of the only man who might give me warning if, they went for my back. Fwar saw himself as master of this land if he only tolerated us for a time; that I could give my trust to you, who had been my enemy—Fwar was not such a man, and therefore he could not imagine it in others. And it killed him. But you and I, Vanye—we are different men. You and I—know what honor is.”

Vanye swallowed heavily, uneasily reckoning that it might remotely be truth. “I promised to guard your back . . . no more than that. I have done so. It was your own saying, that you would find Morgaine and try to speak with her. Well, do it without my help. Here our agreement ends. Go your own way.”

“For a cripple, you are very confident to dismiss me.”

Vanye scrambled awkwardly to his feet, hand jerking his sword from its hook; he almost fell, and braced his back against a tree. But Roh still knelt, unthreatening.

“Peace,” Roh said, turning empty hands palm up. A mocking smile was on his lips. “In fact, you do think you can manage without me in this wood, and I would know why. Crippled as you are, cousin, I should hate to abandon you.”

“Leave me.”

Roh shook his head. “A new agreement: that I go with you. I want only to speak to Morgaine . . . if she is alive; and if she is not, cousin . . . if she is not,
then you and I together should reconsider matters. You evidently have allies in this forest. You think that you do not need me. Well, that is the truth, more than likely. But I shall follow you; I promise you that. So I may as well go with you. You know that no Kurshin can shake me from his trail. Would you not rather know where I am?”