The Complete Morgaine

by C. J. Cherryh

  “Aye,” Fwar said.

  “Start seeing to things quietly. As for me, I am not involving myself in any of your preparations. The Shiua have been urging me to send you out on a certain mission; if you are challenged, say that you are going. And if you stir up trouble—well, avoid it. Go to it.”

  They gathered themselves up. Vanye did not look at them, but stared into the fire, and glanced up only when he had heard the last of them walk away.

  “Whom do you betray, Roh? Everyone?”

  Roh’s dark eyes met his. “All but you, my cousin.”

  The mockery chilled. He looked down again, unable to meet that stare, which challenged him to doubt, and to do something about it.

  “I will go with you.”

  “And guard my back?”

  He glared at Roh.

  “It is from Fwar that I need most guarding, cousin. I will guard you, and you, me—when Fwar and his folk hold watch during the night. One of us will be awake, and seem asleep.”

  “You have been planning this journey—from the hour you took me from Hetharu.”

  “Aye. I could not leave the Gate before, for fear of Morgaine. Now I cannot stay here, for fear of her . . . now I know what I needed to know; and you will aid me, Nhi Vanye i Chya. I am going to Morgaine.”

  “Not with my guidance.”

  “I have run out of allies, cousin. I shall go to her. It is possible that she is dead; and then we shall see—we two—what we shall do then. But she does not die easily, the witch of Aenor-Pyvvn. And if she lives, well, I shall take my chances with her all the same.”

  Vanye nodded slowly, a tautness in his stomach.

  “You want your chance at Fwar,” Roh said. “Be patient.”

  “Weapons.”

  “You will have them. Your own; I gathered everything back that the Hiua had of yours. And I will splint that knee of yours. You cannot bear the ride we must make, otherwise. There are clothes there . . . better than the Hiua rags you and I will have to wear to ride out of here.”

  He edged over to the bundle that Roh pointed out, gathered up his own boots, and what else he needed, and dressed: they were of a size, he and Roh. He avoided looking at Roh, holding what he did in his mind: Roh knew he meant to turn on him; Roh knew, by his own clear warning, and yet armed him. And there was no sense in it that pleased him, nothing.

  Roh rested in the corner against the grass wall, staring at him from half-lidded eyes. “You do not believe me,” Roh observed.

  “No more than the devil.”

  “Believe this at least: that out of this camp you trust me and keep your pledge to me, or Mija Fwar will have both our skins. You can bring me down . . . but I promise you it will not profit you.”

  • • •

  The commotion did not die away. It rose up again within the hour, and Trin thrust his head inside the shelter and hung there against the doorway, hard-breathing. “Fwar says get ready now. No waiting until dark. There is talk now of coming up here. The marshlanders want him, slow-cooked; him they could have, for my opinion . . . but if they once pass those guards, with the khal on this side—well—If you want those horses brought through, we have a chance of doing it now, quick, while they talk down there; when it gets to more than talk, we have no hope of doing it.”

  “Get to it,” Roh said.

  Trin spat in Vanye’s direction, and left. Vanye sat still, his breathing choked with anger.

  “How long will we need them?” he asked then.

  “You may have to endure worse than that.” Roh threw a bundle of cloth at him; he caught it, but did nothing more, blind with anger. “I mean it, cousin; armed you may be, but you will do nothing. You gave me a pledge, and I assume you will keep it. Smother that Nhi temper of yours and keep your head down. Leave your avenging to me until the time comes . . . act the part of an ilin to the letter. You still remember how, do you not?”

  He was shaking, and expelled several short breaths. “I am not yours.”

  “Be so for a few days. Bitter days. But by that means you may survive them, and so may I; and your surviving them . . . does that not serve her?”

  That argument shot home. “I will do it,” he said, and started pulling on the Hiua garments over his own; Roh did likewise.

  There were two more bundles. Roh gave one to him, and it was incredibly heavy. “Your armor,” Roh said. “All your belongings, as I promised. Here is your sword.” And he unwrapped that and tossed it over, belt and all. Vanye set down the other and buckled it only about his waist, for to fasten it at the shoulder spoiled the Hiua garments and galled his wounds. Roh looked less Hiua than he, he reckoned, for Roh’s hair was twisted at the nape in the warrior’s knot, in the fashion of a hall-lord of Andur, and Roh was clean-shaven. His own face, bruised as it was, had not known a razor in days; and his hair, shorn in his loss of honor, had grown shoulder-length and a little beyond: usually that was held from his face by helm or coif, but now it went where it would, and he let it, which hid some of his bruises. He considered the bearing of the Hiua, and assumed in his mind their gracelessness, their hangdog manner: there was a nakedness in the prospect of going outside the shelter that chilled the blood in him.

  Roh gathered up his own weapons, chiefest of which was a fine Andurin bow; the shafts his quiver carried were mostly long, green-fletched Chya arrows. He had the bone-handled Honor-blade at his belt, and bore sword and axe as well, the latter for the saddle. Hall-lord, Vanye thought in vexation; he cannot seem anything else.

  And when the horses came thundering to the front of the shelter, with the shouts of Men audible in the distance, there was Roh’s tall black mare, conspicuous among the smaller Shiua mounts: no hope of concealment; the alarm was surely passed . . . Chya wildness—Vanye cursed it aloud, and flung himself for the saddle of the bow-nosed sorrel allotted him, . . . cursed again as the leg shot fire up the inside when he threw it over. He shook the hair from his eyes and looked up—saw a cluster of khalur riders bearing down on them from the center of the camp.

  “Roh!” he shouted.

  Roh saw it, wheeled the black mare about and plunged through the Hiua, drawing them face-about, nigh forty riders, Hiua and a scattering of renegade marshlanders.

  “We will shake them from our heels,” Roh cried. “There is no luck for them in this direction.”—For they were headed for the sprawl and clutter of the human camp, where a thin row of demon-helms manned the barricade, barring the way of trouble coming out of it.

  The guards saw them coming, hesitated in confusion. Roh drew rein, shouted an order to open the barricade, and Hiua sprang down to do it—Roh passed at the least opening, and Vanye stayed with him, raking his leg on the barrier: it was all too quick, the guards without orders, not resisting. More Hiua poured through, and they plunged for the midst of the human camp at a dead gallop, aimed for the mob gathered there.

  Swords whipped out; the mob lost its nerve at the first shock and scattered from their charge, with only a few missiles flying. One man was hit and unhorsed, and they took him . . . for what fate was not good to think. But they broke through by sheer impetus and shock, with the open plain before them and a scatter of futile stones pelting from behind. Vanye kept low; he had not blooded his sword, not on men’s backs, not on the side of Hiua.

  Roh laughed. “The khal will ride into a broken hive.”

  He looked back then, and there was not a Man in sight; no more stones, no fight; the human folk had gone to cover, armed, and there was no sight of the Shiua riders behind them either. Either they would seek some exit that avoided the human camp, or they would make the mistake of trying to ride through, and either would take them time.

  “When Hetharu knows we are gone,” Roh said, “as he must by now—then there will be no shaking them from pursuing us.”

  “No,” said Vanye, “I do not think there will be.”

 
He looked again over his shoulder, past the dark mass of Hiua riders, and it dawned on him what should have before, that his flight with Roh would stir all the camp into action . . . the whole army would mass and move.

  He said nothing, seeing finally the trap into which he had fallen—he had wanted to live, and therefore he had blinded himself to things other than his own survival.

  Mirrind, he thought over and over, grieving. Mirrind and all this land.

  Chapter 10

  They pushed the horses to the limit, and it was dark before they stopped, a fireless camp, one that they would break before dawn. Vanye slid down from the saddle holding to the harness and found himself hardly able to walk; but he cared for his horse, and took his gear and limped over to Roh’s side, head bowed as he passed through the midst of the men. He thought that if one of them should set hands on him he would turn and kill that man; but that was madness and he knew it. He endured one man shouldering his horse past deliberately, and kept his head down as Roh had said . . . assumed an ilin’s humility like a garment.

  When he reached Roh’s side he flung his pack down and stayed standing, for it was painful to rise once down. “I would like to change clothes,” he said.

  “So shall I. Do so.”

  He stripped off the Hiua garments with distaste, and stood only in shirt and breeches, Shiua, of fine-spun cloth. The haqueton he put on, against the chill, and meditated putting on the mail-shirt as well, but the stiffness of his shoulders decided otherwise. He put on his cloak, no more. And Roh also rid himself of the disguise; and paused in that to give orders to Fwar.

  “We will want sentries watching all horizons. There are Shiua riders behind us without doubt; but there could be some returning from the forest edge, and we cannot risk that meeting either.”

  Fwar made a sound that might be agreement, turned, and with his foot hooked Vanye’s good leg.

  Vanye sprawled, his knee awash with pain, and rolled and started up as best he could; but Roh was on his feet in the instant, his sword drawn. “Do that again,” Roh said, “or lay any hand on him and I will have the head from your shoulders.”

  “For this?”

  Vanye struggled to his feet, but Roh laid a hand on his arm and thrust him back, turned on him when he resisted, and struck him hard across the face. “You forget yourself. Morgaine’s patience was longer than mine. Cause me trouble and I will give you to them.”

  Anger blinded him for the moment: and then he understood and bowed his head and sank down again—for good measure performed the full obeisance as an ilin, an awkwardness with a stiff leg. Then he sat down, head bowed. It amused the Hiua mightily. He did not react to the laughter, which, ugly as it was, lightened the air.

  “He is ilin,” Roh said. “Is that in the old songs? Perhaps you have forgotten that custom; but he is not a free man. He is outlawed . . . Morgaine’s servant, no more than that. By Andurin law, he is free of any blood he sheds: Morgaine is guilty. Now he is in my service, and he stays, Myya Fwar. Or would you rather kill him and lose our only hope of surviving? That is your choice. You are playing games with our own lives. Cripple or kill him and we have no guide, no safe passage. Hetharu is behind us. Why do you think? For me? No. I could ride out and Hetharu would bear that as he has everything else I have done, because he dares not kill me: I have the knowledge that provides him safety in this land . . . knowledge of the Gates and of power, my Myya friends, that is greater than Hetharu himself suspects. And because you serve me, Hetharu has feared us both. But listen to me now and I will tell you what has driven Hetharu and me to this parting of ways, why he has taken arms against us—and he has done so, if any of you care to ride back and find out. It is because he had a chance to question this man, and he knows enough now to fear my getting my hands on him. He knows that with this man I can overthrow the khal . . . and seize control of all this land.”

  There was dead silence. All the men had gathered, hearing this, and Vanye turned his face aside and kept his head bowed, his hand clenched on his sword.

  “How?” Fwar asked.

  “Because this man has knowledge of the forest, of its people, and of Morgaine. The khal have not found her. He can. And he is the means by which we can gain her weapons, and absolute control of the Gates. You have been trying to plunder villages. But with that power in hand, do you not think the khal-lords know what we will be then? They will risk everything to stop us. They are not anxious to be ruled by Men. But we will settle with them. No one . . . no one . . . is to set hands on this man. I have promised him his life for his help. The khal could get nothing from him . . . nor could you, my friends, where they failed. But me he will listen to; he knows I keep my word. Now if that is too great a matter for you to bear, ride off now and join Hetharu . . . take your chances you will survive that. But if you will stay with me, then keep your hands off him or go through life one-handed. He is too valuable to me.”

  “He will not always be,” someone said.

  “My oath,” Roh shouted at that man. “Put it from your mind, Derth. Put it from your mind!”

  There was sullen agreement. Derth spat on the ground, but nodded. Others muttered assent.

  “Four days,” Roh said, “and we will be within reach of all you came into my service to have. Does that not content you? Four days.”

  “Aye,” Fwar said suddenly, and the rest of the pack fell in. “Aye, lord,” the rest agreed, and the camp settled again, with mutterings of what would be done with the khal-lords when they had gained power over them.

  Vanye swallowed heavily and looked up as Roh settled by him. Roh said nothing for a moment.

  “Are you hurt?” Roh asked then. He shook his head for reply, stared at Roh with an uneasiness he could not shake. He dared not question; Fwar’s cousins sat within earshot. This would be so for the duration of their journey. Roh could not be expected to reassure him, to do anything which would betray agreement between them. And he could not help wondering if he had not just heard Roh tell the truth.

  Roh’s hand clenched on his arm. “Get some sleep, cousin.”

  Vanye wrapped his cloak about him and lay down where the blanket was spread; he slept, but not quickly.

  • • •

  Roh nudged him in the mid of the night; he opened his eyes then and stayed awake while Roh closed his, as their agreement was. All about them were the sounds of men breathing, the sometime shifting of the horses, the strangeness of such a combination of men and purposes. It oppressed him.

  At the first hint of dawn the camp stirred, the sentries passing among the blanketed shapes and kicking this man and that . . . no more grace had they among their own folk than with strangers. Vanye did not abide that manner of waking, but reached and shook at Roh, disappointing the Hiua who was coming his way—sat up and began putting his armor on. Already there were men saddling their horses and cursing the dark and the chill, for the Hiua went unarmored save where they had plundered somewhat from the khal-lords. Fwar had a scale-shirt under his Shiua-cloth garments: Vanye had already marked that for a time yet to come. He eased on his own ring-mail with a protest of his scabbed shoulders and laced up, put on the coif as well as his helm, to keep his hair from his eyes. And Roh had included a dagger for his belt, not a proper Honor-blade, but a Shiua knife.

  “You carried mine so long and faithfully,” Roh mocked him out of the dark, “I hate to deprive you of it.”

  “Avert,” he said, crossing himself fervently.

  “Avert,” Roh echoed him, and made the gesture too, and, laughed afterward, which gave him no comfort at all.

  He slid the hostile weapon into place at his belt and went to seek the horses, walking through the Hiua, as he must ride among them and sleep beside them and endure them for days more. They did not lose whatever chance they could find to trouble him. He bowed his head and took the abuse, choked with anger, reminding himself that he had grown too proud. It was no mo
re than baiting, though uglier wishes lay beneath it. They hoped to provoke anger from him, which would bring Roh’s wrath down on him . . . Cause me trouble, Roh had said in their hearing, and I will give you to them. They longed for that. But their baiting was only what an ilin in Andur-Kursh might endure under a harsh lord. Morgaine’s service had been otherwise, even from the beginning, however hard it had been in other ways. He recalled her face and voice suddenly, and the gentleness she had given him, and thrust the memory away at once, for he could not afford to grieve.

  She was not dead. He was not forever bound to the likes of these, in a world where she did not exist. His sanity insisted to believe it.

  “Lord,” someone said, and pointed south, in the direction of the Gate. There was a second dawn on that horizon, a glimmering of red brighter than the true one.

  “Fire.” The word hissed through the company on many lips.

  Roh stared at it, and suddenly gestured for them to move. “The khal must have settled the trouble we started in the camp; there is no hope it could be any other way. That fire is their means of dislodging the lower camp and moving them on; we have seen that tactic before. They are behind us now, and their outriders will have moved out long before now. We have to ride hard hereafter. They are coming, all of them.”

  • • •

  The smudge of smoke on the horizon was evident in full dawn, but it soon burned itself out and dissipated on the winds: the wind was steadily from the north . . . had it been otherwise, it would have been a fire perilous in the extreme. “It has come up against the south river,” Roh surmised, on one occasion that he turned in the saddle to look back. “I am relieved. Their madness might have swept down on all of us on this plain.”

  “Their riders will not come much slower than the fire would have,” Vanye said, and looked back also; but all that was to be seen was Fwar’s troop, and their faces were a sight he cared for as little as Hetharu’s own. He turned about again, and spoke little to Roh thereafter, reckoning that much friendliness apparent between them could make things no better for Roh.