The Complete Morgaine (91 page)

At nightfall there was another change of horses, and new guides took over. Vanye returned the blanket, but the
qhal
gently put it back about him and sent him on into the night with the new escort.

The
arrhendim
who had them in charge now were more than gentle with them, as if their condition aroused pity in them; but again at dawn, mercilessly, they were passed to others, and both of them now had to be helped to mount.

Vanye had no memory of how many changes there had been; it all merged into nightmare. There were always whistles and sounds about them now, as if they rode some well-marked highroad in the wood, one well-watched . . . but none of those watchers came into their view.

The trees here loomed up monstrous in size, of different sort than they had seen. The trunks were like walls beside them, and the place existed in shade that made it always twilight.

Night settled on them in that place, a starless dark beneath that canopy of branches; but there was the scent of smoke in the air, and one of their horses whinnied a greeting to another.

Light gleamed. Vanye braced his hands on the horse's moving shoulders, and stared at that soft glow, at the assemblage of tents gathered amid those great trunks, color showing in the firelight. He blinked through tears of exhaustion, fragmenting the image.

“Merir's camp?” he asked of the Man who led his horse.

“He has sent for you,” that Man said, but no more would he say.

Music drifted to them,
qhalur
and beautiful. It died at their coming. Folk left the common-fire and stood as a dark line of shadows along the course that they rode into camp.

The
arrhendim
stopped and bade them dismount. Vanye slid down holding the mane, and needed the bracing of two
arrhendim
to keep his feet as they guided him, for his legs were weak and the ceaseless motion of the horses still ruled his senses, so that the very earth seemed to heave under him.

“Khemeis!”

A cry went up. A small body impacted his and embraced him. He stopped, freed a shaking hand and touched the dark head that rested against his heart. It was Sin.

“How did you come here?” he asked the boy, out of a thousand questions that he wondered, the only one that made clear sense.

The wiry arms did not let him go; small hands clenched in the sides of his shirt as the
arrhendim
urged him to start walking, and drew him on. “Carrhend moved,” Sin said. “Riders came. It burned.”

“Go away, lad,” said the
khemeis
at the right—gently. “Go away.”

“I came,” Sin said; his hands did not unclench. “I went into the forest to find the
qhal.
They brought me here.”

“Did Sezar come back? Or Lellin?”

“No. Ought they? Where is the lady?”

“Leave him,” said the
khemeis.
“Lad—do as you are told.”

“Go away from me,” Vanye said heavily. “Sin, I am not in good favor with your people. Go away as he tells you.”

The hands relaxed, withdrew. Sin lagged behind. But then as he walked Vanye caught sight of him, staying to one side, trailing them forlornly. He walked, for they would not let him do otherwise, to Merir's tent. They brought him at once inside, but Roh was left behind: he did not realize that until he was faced about in front of Merir's chair.

The old
qhal
sat wrapped in a plain gray cloak, and his eyes were sad, glittering in the light of the lamps. “Let him go,” Merir said; they did, gently, and Vanye sank down to one knee and bowed himself to the mat in respect.

“You are sorely hurt,” Merir said.

It was not the opening he had expected of the old lord, whose grandson was lost, whose line was threatened, whose land was invaded. Vanye bowed again, shaking with exhaustion, and sat back. “I do not know where Lellin is,” he said hoarsely. “I want leave to go, my lord, to find him and my lady.”

Merir's brows contracted. The old lord was not alone in the tent; grim armed Men and
qhal
were about him, force at need; and there were the elders, whose eyes were darkened with anger. But Merir's frown held more of pain than of wrath. “You do not know the state of things here. We know that you crossed the Narn. And after that, the
harilim,
the dark ones . . . have severed us from the region. Is it not so, that you went to find Nehmin?”

“Yes, lord.”

“Because your lady would have it so, against my wishes. Because she was set on this thing; and warnings would not deter her. Now Lellin is gone, and Sezar; and she is lost; and war is upon us.” The anger did come, and stilled, and the gray eyes brooded in the lamplight, lifted slowly once more. “I saw all these things in her. I saw in you only what I see now. Tell me,
Khemeis,
all that happened. I shall hear you. Tell me everything and spare no detail. It may be that some tiny scrap of knowledge will help us understand the rest.”

He did so. His voice failed him in the midst of it, and they gave him drink; he continued, in their stark silence.

There was silence even after he had finished.

“Please,” he asked of Merir, “give me a horse and one for my cousin too. Our weapons. Nothing more. We will go and find them.”

The silence continued. In the weight of it, he reached to his neck and lifted off the chain that bore the amulet, tendered it to Merir. When Merir made no move to take it, he laid it on the mat before him, for his hand could not hold it longer without shaking.

“Then let us go out as we are,” Vanye said. “My lady is lost. I want only to go and find her and those with her.”

“Man,” said Merir at last, “why did she seek Nehmin?”

He was dismayed by the question, for it shot to the heart of things that Morgaine had withheld from their knowledge. “Does it not control Azeroth?” he countered. “Does it not control the place where our enemies are?”

“Were,” said another.

He swallowed, clenched his hands in his lap to keep them from trembling. “Whatever is amiss out there is my doing. I take responsibility for it. I told you why they came; they pursued me, and Nehmin has nothing to do with that. My lady is hurt. I do not know if she is still alive. I swear to you that she is not at fault in bringing attack on you.”

“No,” said Merir. “Perhaps she is not. But never yet have you told us all the truth. She asked truth of me. She asked trust. And trust have I given, to the very edge of war and the loss of our people's lives and homes. Yes, I see your enemies for what they are; and they are evil. But never yet have you told us all the truth. You and she crossed through the
harilim.
That is no small thing. You dared use the
harilim
in escaping your enemies; and you survive . . . and that amazes me. The dark ones hold you in uncommon regard—Man that you are. And now you ask us to trust you once more. You wish to use us to set you on your way, and never once have you told us truth. We shall not harm you, do not fear that; but loose you again to work more chaos in our land . . . no. Not with my question still unanswered.”

“What will you ask, lord?” He bowed again to the mat, trembling, and sat back. “Ask me tomorrow. I think that I should answer you. But I am tired and I cannot think.”

“No,” said another
qhal,
and leaned on Merir's chair to speak to the old lord. “Will a night's rest improve the truth? Lord, think of Lellin.”

Merir considered a moment. “I ask,” he said at last, though his old eyes seemed troubled at the unkindness. “I do ask,
khemeis.
In all cases your life is safe, but your freedom is not.”

“Would a
khemeis
be asked to betray his lord's confidence?”

That told upon all of them; there were doubtful looks among these honorable folk. But Merir bit his lip and looked sadly at him.

“Is there something then to betray,
khemeis
?”

Vanye blinked slowly, forcing the haze away, and shook his head. “We never wished you harm.”

“Why Nehmin,
khemeis
?”

He tried to think what to answer, and could not; and shook his head yet again.

“Do we then guess that she means some harm to Nehmin? That is what we must conclude. And we must be alarmed that she has had the power to pass the
harilim.
And we must never let you go.”

There was nothing else to say, and even silence was no safety. The friendship that they had enjoyed was gone.

“She wished to seize Nehmin,” Merir said. “Why?”

“Lord, I will not answer you.”

“Then it is an act which aims at us . . . or the answer would do no harm.”

He looked at the old
qhal
in terror, knowing that he should devise something to say, something of reason. He pointed vaguely and helplessly back toward Azeroth, from which he had come. “We oppose that. That is the truth, lord.”

“I do not think we have truth at all until it involves Nehmin. She means to seize power there. No. Then what else might she intend?
‘The danger is to more worlds than this one . . .'
Her words. They sweep much wider than Azeroth,
khemeis.
Do I dare guess she means to destroy Nehmin?”

He thought that he must have flinched. The shock was evident too in the faces that watched. There was heaviness in the air such that it was hard to draw breath.

“Khemeis?”

“We . . . came to stop the Shiua. To prevent the kind of thing that has come on you.”

“Aye,” said Merir after a moment, and breath was held in that place; none stirred. “By destroying the passage. By taking and destroying Nehmin.”

“We are trying to save this land.”

“But you fear to speak the truth to those who live in it.”

“That out there . . .
that
 . . . is the result of the opening of your Gate. Do you want more of it?”

Merir gazed down on him. His senses blurred; he was shaking convulsively. He had lost the blanket somewhere; he could riot remember. Someone put a cloak about him, and he held it close, shivering still.

“This Man, Roh,” Merir said then. “Bring him in.”

It was a moment before Roh came, and that not willingly; but he seemed too weary to fight, and when he was brought to face Merir, Vanye looked up and whispered to him: “Lord Merir, cousin; a king in Shathan, and worth respect. Please. For my sake.”

Roh bowed: hall-lord and clan-lord himself, although they had taken his weapons and insulted him, he maintained his dignity, and when he had bowed, he sat down crosslegged on the floor . . . the latter a courtesy to kinsman rather than to Merir, for he should have demanded a seat on Merir's level or remained standing.

“Lord Merir,” Roh said, “are we free or no?”

“That is the question, is it not?” Merir's eyes shifted to Vanye's. “Your cousin. And yet you have warned us before now what he is.”

“I beg you, my lord—”

“Chya Roh.” Merir's eyes flashed. “Abomination among us, this thing that you have done. Murder. And how many times have you so done?”

Roh said nothing.

“Lord,” Vanye said. “He has another half. Will you not remember that?”

“That is to be reckoned . . . for he is both the evil and its victim. I do not know which I see.”

“Do him no harm.”

“No,” said Merir. “His harm is within him.” And Merir wrapped his cloak the more tightly about him and brooded in silence. “Take them,” he said at last. “I must think on these things. Take them and lodge them well.”

Hands settled on them, gentle enough. Vanye struggled to rise and found it beyond his strength, for his one leg was stiff and the other would scarcely hold him.
Arrhendim
helped him, one on a side, and they were led away to a neighboring tent, where there were soft skins still warm from someone's body. Here they were left, unrestrained, able to have fled, but that they had no strength left. They sprawled where they were let down, and slept.

 • • • 

Day came. A shadow stood against the light in the doorway of the tent. Vanye blinked. The shadow dropped down, and became Sin, squatted with his arms folded across his bare knees, patiently waiting.

A second presence breathed nearby. Vanye turned his head, saw a
qhalur
lad, his long white hair and clear gray eyes strange in a child's face; delicate, long hands propped his chin.

“I do not think you should be here,” Vanye whispered to Sin.

“We may,” said the
qhalur
child, with the absolute assurance of his elders.

Roh stirred, sat up reaching for weapons that were not there. “Be still,” Vanye said. “It is all right, Roh. We are safe with such guards.”

Roh dropped his head against his hands and drew a slow breath.

“There is food,” said Sin brightly.

Vanye rolled over and saw that all manner of things had been provided them, water for washing, cloths; a tray of bread, and a pitcher and cups. Sin crawled over and sat down there, gravely poured frothing milk into a cup for
him and offered it . . . offered a cup to Roh when Roh held out his hand for it. They breakfasted on butter and bread and a surfeit of goat's milk, the best fare they had had in many days.

“He is Ellur,” said Sin, indicating his
qhalur
friend, who settled crosslegged near him. “I thank that I may be
khemeis
to him.”

Ellur soberly inclined his head.

“Are you all right?” Sin asked, touching his splinted knee with great care.

“Yes. It is mending. I shall take that off soon.”

“This is your brother?”

“Cousin,” said Roh. “Chya Roh i Chya, young sir.”

They inclined their heads in respect as men might.

“
Khemeis
Vanye,” said Ellur, “is it true what we have heard, that many Men have come behind you against Shathan?”